#wants and craves and breathes with emotion

[mrsvante]

Safe & Sound

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, angst, pfp

summery: you waited the last six months for the love of your life to finally come home. and when he finally does with his uniform crisp, with open arms, smile bright—you realize some things can’t be rehearsed. some things break the script entirely. especially the kind of love that arrives shaking, breathless, and swollen with surprise.

warnings: military discharge, birth control failure, unplanned pregnancy, soft angst, lots of crying, oral!f receiving, breast play, fluffy emotional sex, mentions of body insecurity, aftercare,soft domestic jimin 😜, pregnancy cravings, brief depictions of labor & childbirth

word count: 5,819

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i’ve realized i might have a thing for daddy jimin. there’s just something about soft but fiercely protective jimin that gets me going 🤪. and i KNOW i’m not the only one. so don’t judge me, judge your mother. anyways, hopefully you enjoy! i definitely got a little carried away while writing this 🤭💜✨

The sun raked across Jimin’s cheeks as he smiled for the camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook in front of the training facility gates. Cameras flashed, reporters called his name & cheered from behind barricades.

It was a brief blur of gratitude, bows, and polite words rehearsed more times than he could count.

But none of it felt real.

Not the neatly pressed uniform or the click of camera shutters. Not even the company assigned car idling by the curb, ready to take him away from duty and back to the life he left behind.

The only real thing waiting for him, he knew, was you.

His fingers twitched as he climbed into the van, the smile he offered through the tinted glass fading the second the door shut. He blinked out the window, watching Jungkook’s van pull off first, laughing as it fishtailed slightly before catching traction again.

Typical.

Jimin glanced at the empty seat beside him and frowned, just for a moment.

You were supposed to ride with him. It wasn’t like you to skip something like this, especially after so long apart. His last leave was six months ago. Six months without your voice in his ear at the end of each day, your fingers in his hair, your warmth pressed against his side in bed.

You had said you wanted to surprise him. That you had something special planned.

And okay… you were terrible at keeping secrets. Always a little jittery. Always giving yourself away with the tilt of your smile or the too quick shuffle of your feet.

Still, Jimin’s stomach rolled with unease as the city blurred past the windows.

—

The apartment was dark.

Not dim. Not softly lit.

Dark.

The curtains were all drawn tight. The only light came from the blue glow of the television and the soft amber of an accent lamp in the corner. Even from the entryway, he could feel the chill in the air—sharp, unwelcoming.

He set down his overnight bag, toeing off his shoes with a frown.

“Honey?” he called gently, stepping farther inside.

No answer.

Then he heard the sound of a soft sniffle and the flicker of movement from the living room.

He found you bundled on the couch, a blanket pulled up to your nose. Just your eyes peered over the edge at him, wide and glistening. The sweater you wore hung loose around your shoulders.

You smiled weakly. “Welcome home.”

Jimin’s heart swelled and ached in the same breath.

He moved toward you, arms already outstretched. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me hold you—”

You jerked the blanket tighter.

“Don’t.”

His hands paused midair. “What? Why not?”

“I… I’m not feeling well,” you muttered, voice trembling.

Immediately, Jimin crouched beside the couch, his fingers brushing your forehead. “You’re freezing. Why is the apartment so cold, honey? Have you eaten? Are you sick?”

You flinched at his touch.

His brows drew tight. “Hey. What’s going on?”

The look in your eyes, a tortured mix of fear, guilt, and panic, sent alarm bells ringing down his spine. The hairs on his neck stood up like ice.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?”

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling, bottom lip trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

His heart stopped.

“What happened?” he asked, voice cracking. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shook your head, rocking slightly under the blanket. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Hey, hey—breathe, baby,” Jimin said gently, kneeling now with both hands on the couch as he tried to see your face. “I’m not mad. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t promise that!” you cried, eyes wide. “You don’t know what I did!”

He tried to smile, to keep the panic at bay. “Yah,” he said playfully, “Aegi-ah, why are you acting so weird? Just tell me what’s wrong, right now!”

“Don’t yell at me!” you snapped, voice breaking as the tears spilled over.

Jimin’s breath hitched. His expression sobering immediately.

“No—no, aegi-ah, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Shh, don’t cry, please don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry—tell Jimin-ie what’s wrong, yeah? Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He watched your lip tremble. Watched your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

Then, with shaking fingers, you began to push it off. Your breathing was ragged as you shrugged out of your sweater. And beneath it, round, unmistakable and impossible to ignore was the soft, swollen curve of your belly.

Jimin stared.

Everything around him slowed to a whisper.

You were crying before you could speak, words tumbling out like stones.

“I didn’t know—I swear—I kept taking the pill and I didn’t miss a day. I—I double checked the window every time, but it still—it still happened. I didn’t want to trap you—I’m not trying to ruin your life, I swear, it’s just—do you know how low the failure rate is? It’s like 0.1%—but that’s still me, because of course it’s me—”

“Stop, baby,” Jimin whispered.

But you didn’t.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t hiding it to be manipulative, I was scared, and I didn’t want to do this through a letter or video call, and you’ve been so stressed, and I know this isn’t what we planned—”

“Stop,” he said again, firmer this time.

He surged forward and wrapped you in his arms, gently but completely.

You froze.

Jimin buried his face in your neck, arms locking around you like a lifeline, and whispered, “You didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t fuck up. You didn’t trap me.”

You choked back another sob, fists clutching his shirt.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted softly, “but not because of the baby. I’m scared because you’ve been here… alone… carrying this without me.”

You broke.

And Jimin held you tighter.

“You’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m home. And I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You didn’t realize how long you’d been crying until your throat burned and your eyes felt raw.

The couch cushions had shifted beneath the weight of your grief and Jimin’s comfort, and now you were curled sideways into his chest with his arms around you like a shield. He rocked you without rhythm, just enough to soothe, thumb stroking slow circles against your side.

Your body trembled, and he didn’t let go.

“I hate this,” you whimpered against his shoulder, your voice thick and wrecked. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop crying. I’m trying. It’s just—fucking hormones.”

Jimin chuckled softly, lips brushing your hair. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had to live with Jungkook during a breakup. I know a hormonal crisis when I see one.”

You snorted, wet and weakly, but the sound made him smile.

He kissed the crown of your head, his voice low. “When did you find out?”

You swallowed. “End of the first trimester. I kept… I kept thinking it was a stress thing. Then I started getting sick every morning. And… my smell sensitivity kicked in.”

Jimin hummed. “And the doctor?”

“They said based on the scans, it likely happened about six months ago.”

Jimin blinked.

Then his brows lifted.

“Wait—six months? You mean…”

You nodded, already burying your face again, your entire body overheating with embarrassment. “Yeah. During your last visit. That morning. On the couch.”

Jimin stared down at you, eyes wide.

And then he burst out laughing.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He doubled over, wheezing through the laughter, eyes tearing up. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?!”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “We had this running bet in the barracks. Just something dumb to keep morale up. We were all guessing who was gonna come back home to a surprise baby or a panicked voicemail or a crying girlfriend on base leave.”

You blinked at him.

“And what?” you asked. “You lost the bet?”

“I didn’t bet on myself!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “I bet on Taehyung! Taehyung!”

You groaned, covering your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. I—”

“No,” he said quickly, firmly, cutting through your apology before it could root. “Stop that, baby. No more of that, okay?”

You sniffed, hands dropping slowly from your eyes.

Jimin cupped your face, brushing away the tear tracks with his thumbs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You made a human with me. Us. You don’t get to apologize for that.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. “I was just… scared you’d be mad.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m not mad. I’m overwhelmed, yeah. But not mad. Not even close.”

There was a moment of silence. Just the hum of the apartment and the background sound of the TV playing something long forgotten.

Then Jimin glanced down. “Can I…?” His hand hovered slightly above the curve of your stomach.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, eyes soft and big as he placed both hands on your belly. Spreading his fingers wide, thumbs brushing gently along the swell. You watched his eyes go glassy, his mouth parting like a breath had just caught behind his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning down. “I’m Jimin-ie. I’m… your appa. Kind of new to the job, kind of scared. But I already love you, so much.”

He kissed your stomach. Once. Twice. Again.

“I’m gonna try really hard not to screw this up, okay?” he murmured, speaking to your skin. “I’m gonna be there. Every day. Every appointment. Every craving. Every weird hormonal meltdown.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“I’ll help pick out the name, the crib, and paint the nursery. I’ll do the midnight bottles. The lullabies. All of it, honey.”

He looked up at you then, cheeks flushed, hands still gently cradling your belly.

“I’m all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears welling again—but this time, for a very different reason. You slid your fingers into his hair, tugging him up gently to kiss you.

And he kissed you like the promise he’d just made.Like a man finally home and finally whole.

—

The kiss deepened before either of you really noticed.

What began as a thank you, a you’re home now kiss, softened with relief and tears, slowly gave way to something hotter, heavier. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair. Jimin’s hands slid from your belly to your waist, gripping like he needed to pull you closer.

You shifted forward until your knees straddled his thighs on the couch, and Jimin hissed beneath you, like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

It hit him then, all at once.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant.

With his baby.

His breath caught as his hands slipped over the gentle curve of your stomach again, slower this time, more intentional.

He got you like this.

He did this.

You were swollen and round and glowing and gorgeous and his, and he hadn’t seen you in half a year, and now—

“Shit,” Jimin breathed, hips twitching beneath you as the blood in his veins surged south. “Baby… fuck. You’re carrying my baby.”

You flushed, squirming a little on his lap.

“And you’re so sexy,” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect, but like this—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned again, hard and straining beneath you now, one hand rubbing slow circles over the small of your back as the other gripped your thigh.

“I made this,” he said in disbelief, voice turning hazy. “We made this. And right here, just like this, is how it happened.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling your neck as he pulled you down snug against the outline of his cock.

“Right here on this couch,” he whispered against your skin, grinding up slowly. “We’re in the same position as when I knocked you up.”

You groaned and slapped his chest lightly. “Don’t say it like that. And don’t talk to the baby about sex right before sex!”

Jimin cracked up, his laugh warm and breathless against your shoulder. “Already a bossy momma,” he teased, licking a slow stripe along your throat.

You squirmed again. “Jimin—”

His breath hitched, and he moaned again at the word. “God, momma,” he whispered, hands smoothing up your back, “you don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

His tone dropped, growing deeper, hungrier, and you felt it. The shift. The heat. The effect that word had on him. The knowledge that you’d created a life.

His hands were trembling now, moving beneath your shirt slowly.

“Can I take this off, honey?” he asked, nodding to the tshirt swallowing you whole. “I wanna see you. Wanna see what’s mine.”

You nodded.

Jimin swallowed, then lifted the shirt carefully. You helped him tug it over your head, and the second it was off, he went still.

You weren’t wearing a bra.

Your breasts were heavier than he remembered, full and flushed and on display for him, your nipples peaked from the chill of the room and the ache of your arousal.

Jimin’s eyes darkened.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

He cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you gasped softly.

“Does this feel okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.

You nodded quickly. “Yes—Yeah, it actually feels really good.”

“Yeah?” he said, kissing the top of your chest. “Can I…?”

You nodded again, breath stuttering as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling slowly, hand splayed against the curve of your back for support. He moaned at the taste of your skin, kissing and suckling with soft hunger, flicking his tongue just right.

You sighed and rolled your hips, your cunt slick and throbbing, grinding right over the thick, hard press of his cock.

Jimin groaned—mouth still on your chest—his hands guiding your hips in a rhythm that made him tremble. Even now, with you straddling his thighs, bare from the waist up and glowing with heat and flushed emotion, Jimin moved like you were the most fragile, exquisite thing he’d ever laid hands on.

He couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmured. “So warm. So soft. Fuck, I want you, baby. I need you.”

You moaned, rocking your hips with more force.

“You’re sure?” he asked, hands cradling your hips. “You feel okay?”

You nodded, breath catching as you rocked against his lap again. “I’m okay. I want this, Jimin.”

He pressed a kiss to your sternum. “Okay, I’ll be careful with you, promise.”

He tugged his fatigues open, button by button, and shoved them down just far enough to free his cock, his boxer briefs dragged down with them. He hissed softly as the fabric peeled away to reveal him already painfully hard. Flushed tip wet, the whole length throbbing from the weight of wanting you.

But the moment your hips lifted, lining yourself up above him, his breath caught for another reason entirely.

He realized something.

You weren’t wearing anything else.

His eyes flicked up, wide. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

You shook your head, embarrassed and breathless. “Anything clingy is my worst enemy right now. Most of them don’t fit anyway.”

Jimin moaned like you’d just told him the sky was on fire.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

And then slowly, so slowly, he guided you down.

The head of his cock pressed at your entrance, and the second your slick walls wrapped around him, Jimin’s jaw dropped open in a silent gasp.

“Fucking hell—”

You whimpered above him, trembling, your body shuddering from the stretch and pressure. Even with how wet you were—soaked, he realized—your walls gripped him like they’d been missing him as much as the rest of you had.

You sank down inch by inch, both of you panting, your hands braced on his chest, his fingertips digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to reality.

Once he was fully inside, Jimin couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, honey,” he moaned. “I’m not gonna last. I swear to God, if you move—”

You did.

You rolled your hips slowly, moaning as your oversensitive body responded instantly. Every clench, every drag of his cock along your inner walls making your voice break with pleasure.

“Jimin—oh fuck—it’s so much.”

He nodded frantically, head lolling back against the cushions. “You’re so fucking soft. So wet—Jesus, baby—how are you this tight?”

You whimpered again, thighs trembling.

“I don’t know—everything’s just so sensitive now.”

And he could tell.

The way your hips moved in slow, quivering circles. The way your walls pulsed around him with every breath. The way you clenched hard at the smallest shift of his body.

Jimin gritted his teeth, trying not to thrust up. Trying to let you ride him, slow and safe, even as his cock throbbed like it couldn’t handle another second untouched.

“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, hands sliding up your sides, cupping your heavy breasts again. “Let me take care of these, yeah?”

You nodded, flushed and already falling apart.

He leaned in, suckling your nipples with devotion. His tongue teasing just enough to send a new wave of moans tumbling from your lips. He alternated between your breasts, worshipping your body with kisses, murmurs, and trembling hands.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Full of me. Taking me like you need it.”

Your hips stuttered.

“I do,” you gasped. “I do need it—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you without warning, walls fluttering around him, your body tensing up, hands flying to circle his shoulders as you cried out.

Jimin’s eyes flew open. “Holy shit—”

The feeling of your orgasm was too much.

Too tight.

Too wet.

He growled low in his throat, trying—fighting—to hold back, but the way you squeezed him, the way your body milked him for everything he had…

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned your name like a prayer and came hard, hips jerking up once, twice, as his cock throbbed deep inside you, his cum spilling into your fluttering heat.

He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart without the anchor.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You’re incredible, baby.”

You trembled in his arms, still catching your breath, still half floating.

—

Jimin was still buried deep inside you, your body soft and trembling in his arms, the air thick with sex and affection. But even after coming that hard, he didn’t want to let go.

Didn’t want to pull out.

Didn’t want to be anywhere but right here.

Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you.

“Jimin—” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re still—!”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thick. “I can’t help it. I want you again.”

He stood, carefully, adjusting your weight against him, keeping your bodies connected as he walked—slow, steady steps down the hallway toward the bedroom. His cock throbbed inside you with each step, and you clung to him, laughing and moaning as the movement pushed you deeper onto him.

“Still so full,” he panted, voice shaking with love and need. “Still so fucking perfect.”

By the time he stepped into the bedroom, both of you were flushed and breathless. He lowered you gently onto the bed, his hands never leaving your body, kissing you softly as he finally slipped out of you.

“Stay right there,” he whispered.

He stood and stripped the rest of the way down—tugging his fatigues off with eager hands, discarding the last of his clothing until he was bare.

Then he looked at you. And froze.

You were lying on your back, hair splayed across the pillow, lips kiss bruised and cheeks flushed. Completely naked and bared to him, and you were glowing, round and full with the life he gave you.

Stretch marks kissed your hips and lower belly, silver and gold under the soft light. You moved to cover them with trembling fingers, shame flickering in your eyes.

“Don’t,” Jimin said, voice low.

“I just… they’re not—pretty,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to see—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked.

He crawled onto the bed with quiet urgency, kneeling between your legs, his eyes wide with awe. “Are you serious? These?” His fingertips traced the soft curves of your belly and hips. “These are from me. These are from our baby. These are fucking beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, lip trembling, tears threatening again.

Jimin lowered himself, mouth to your belly, kissing every line, every mark, every soft place that had shifted and stretched.

“I love this body,” he murmured between kisses. “I love how it changed. I love how it knows how to carry something so precious. You’re beautiful. You’re amazing.”

He kissed lower—down to your thighs, your hips, then between your legs, licking up your slit as you moaned and arched into his mouth.

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

And then he was sucking your clit.

His tongue worked in soft flicks, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit with perfect pressure as two fingers slid slowly inside you, curling up and stroking until your entire body shook.

“Jimin—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”

And then…something definitely happened.

Your back arched. Your thighs clenched around his head. You screamed, sobbing his name as your release gushed from you, soaking his chin and the sheets below.

You trembled in disbelief, gasping for breath.

Jimin sat up slowly, licking his lips, wide eyed and flushed.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve never—?”

You shook your head.

He grinned, biting his lip. “Okay. Well. We’re doing that again.”

You laughed breathlessly, still shaking, and he leaned over to kiss you slowly and messily before positioning himself between your thighs.

“Let me in again, baby,” he whispered. “Let me love you again.”

He guided himself to your entrance, pausing only to press a soft kiss to your belly.

Then he slid in.

This time was different. This time he knew your body again. Knew your rhythm. Knew what felt good.

He rocked into you slow, holding himself up on trembling arms, watching every expression flicker across your face. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your lips, your chin—his hands roaming up to cup your breasts again, rubbing gentle circles over your sensitive nipples as you moaned into his mouth.

“Still okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you gasped. “More than okay.”

He moved a little deeper, a little faster.

Your hands gripped his waist, your legs curling around his hips as he built the rhythm, every stroke sending sparks across your skin.

“I can’t believe I get to do this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is mine. You. Our baby. This life.”

You moaned again, hips rolling to meet his.

He picked up the pace. Not quite rough, but deeper now. His pelvis grinding into your clit just right as your body trembled beneath him.

When you came again it was quieter this time, whimpering into his neck as you clung to him, your pussy pulsing around his cock.

Jimin growled against your shoulder, hips stuttering.

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Milk my cock—come on, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

And then he followed your lead, buried to the hilt, cumming inside you with a soft, broken moan, his whole body shaking as he collapsed into your arms.

After the final tremble passed through your body, Jimin didn’t move for a while.

He stayed there—curled around you, one hand on your thigh, the other gently brushing the curve of your belly, his cheek resting just below your breast, lips parted against your skin.

His cock had softened, his heart hadn’t. It overflowed with feeling.

You both lay wrapped in the quiet for long minutes, breathing together, heat lingering like the final note of a song that neither of you wanted to end.

But then he stirred.

He kissed your sternum and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before gently sliding from the bed. You whined softly, shivering when the air hit your skin, and he tugged the comforter up around your shoulders before jogging to the bathroom.

When he returned, his hands were full—warm glass of water, a clean washcloth, and a soft towel. He knelt beside the bed, mindfully parting your thighs with delicate fingers, and began to clean you up with careful movements.

You flinched slightly, still sore, oversensitive, and Jimin paused immediately.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ll be extra gentle.”

You looked down at him, lips curling faintly. “Jimin, I’m not made of glass.”

He gave you a look—half scandalized, half adoring.

“You’re not made of glass,” he echoed, carefully blotting between your thighs, “but you’re carrying very precious cargo.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Too late,” he said, setting the cloth aside and crawling back into bed beside you. He wrapped an arm under your shoulders, the other smoothing across your belly like instinct. “It’s my turn, anyway.”

You snuggled closer, forehead pressed to his temple as he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your lips, each one slower and more tender than the last.

He sighed, brushing his thumb across the slope of your stomach. “Gotta take care of my girls.”

You blinked.

Your head tilted.

“Did I… already tell you the sex?”

Jimin froze.

He looked up slowly.

“…No.”

You raised a brow.

He sat back, blinking in disbelief. “Wait. Wait.”

You laughed, wide eyed. “Jimin—”

“It is a girl?!”

You bit your lip and nodded.

And Jimin collapsed beside you. His face buried in your stomach, arms curled tightly around your waist, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he cried.

“Oh my God,” he whispered against your skin. “A girl. I have a daughter.”

He lifted his face and kissed your belly. Once. Twice. Over and over.

Then he pressed his cheek against your bump and whispered, “Hi, little cherry blossom.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Cherry blossom?”

“That’s what she is,” he said, eyes glassy. “Beautiful, and soft, and new.”

You swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He smiled, radiant and trembling. “I already feel like one.”

You nodded, thumb brushing under his eye. “You already are.”

And in the quiet that followed, Jimin curled around you again. His lips pressed to your belly, whispering soft promises to his little girl as you drifted to sleep with his love surrounding you like a fortress of love.

—

The apartment smelled like roasted sesame oil and toasted seaweed the moment Jimin opened the door.

It was almost midnight.

Practice had run late again—dance rehearsals dragging into vocal drills, vocal drills into a spontaneous team meeting about camera blocking and choreography marks.

He was exhausted, his hoodie clinging to his neck with sweat, shoes dragging a little more than usual.

But he still made the detour.

Because it had been two days.

And his baby, his girls, deserved their chicken.

“I’m home,” he called gently, pushing the door shut with his foot as he balanced the steaming container in both hands.

He spotted you immediately.

You were perched at the breakfast bar in one of his oversized tees. Looking achingly soft, stretched over your belly, with your hair swept into a messy bun on top of your head. A pair of chopsticks in your hand, a spoon in the other. A cup of barley water shimmered in the low kitchen lighting.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“I knew it,” you said, grinning. “I could smell it down the hall.”

Jimin beamed. “One rotisserie chicken for milady,” he declared, setting it down in front of you with a dramatic flourish.

You laughed, already pulling the container open, the rich, savory aroma spilling into the kitchen like a hug.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, already picking through the soft, steaming meat.

Jimin leaned over and kissed your temple. “It better. This place has your order memorized now. Chicken stuffed with garlic rice, extra drippings, sesame glaze on the side.”

You hummed happily, mouth already full, as Jimin stood behind you with his hands gently stroking your belly.

“Hi, Blossom,” he whispered into the crown of your head, smiling at the swell of your stomach. “Daddy brought your favorite.”

Your belly shifted slightly, a subtle roll just under his palm.

“Oh—!” Jimin gasped, eyes lighting up. “Was that a ‘thank you’?”

You snorted through your food. “Either that or she’s fighting me for the last thigh.”

He chuckled, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump as he continued speaking to her like she could understand every word.

“She’s been so active lately,” he said softly. “Think she’s excited?”

“She better not get too excited,” you muttered, spooning more rice onto your plate. “She still has a few days on the clock.”

Jimin smiled, stepping back around the bar to pull out the stool beside you. He flopped into it with a quiet groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Practice was brutal today,” he said, voice dipping into that familiar, raspy exhaustion. “We were polishing the floor with our sweat by the end of it. Tae almost passed out doing the chorus for the sixth time.”

You reached over, brushing your knuckles along his cheek affectionately. “You’re doing amazing, though.”

He smiled, watching you eat. “Can’t lie. I’m excited about this comeback. It feels… good. Different. Like we’re really starting fresh.”

He rubbed your belly again, tone softening. “It feels like everything’s starting over.”

You nodded, chewing slowly, eyes warm.

And then it hit. A tight, low ache clenched across your belly, enough to pull a small gasp from your lips as your spoon clattered to the plate.

Jimin was up in a second.

“What was that?” he blurted. “Was that it? Are we—? Should I get the bag? Where’s your charger? Do we need to call—?”

“Jimin.”

He stopped, wide eyed, practically vibrating with panic.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your palm to your bump. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks. Not the real thing.”

“But—but how do you know—?”

You gave him a look.

He swallowed, sitting down slowly, still tense as he reached out to feel your belly again.

You grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll know when it’s time.”

Jimin nodded slowly, but his gaze stayed fixed to your belly like he was waiting for it to glow or send up smoke signals.

You smirked. “I promise you won’t miss it.”

“I just…” He exhaled, rubbing your stomach gently. “I don’t want to mess anything up. I want to be ready.”

“You are,” you said, voice soft and sure. “You already are.”

He leaned in and kissed you, thumb brushing just beneath your navel.

“Still,” he murmured. “Next contraction, I’m putting on my shoes.”

—

The room was too quiet.

Too full of everything that had just happened and somehow, impossibly, not enough.

Then came the cry.

High. Piercing. Clear as glass.

A wail so loud and sharp it rang off the walls, and for a split second, Jimin forgot to breathe. Then the doctor laughed gently and said, “She’s got your lungs, dad.”

And just like that, his knees gave out.

He barely registered the slick weight of her being placed on your chest. She was red and warm and still covered in the traces of you, tiny arms flailing as she cried out with pure, unfiltered life.

You gasped, overwhelmed, arms trembling as you reached to cradle her. She fit like nothing had ever fit before. Like she belonged right there, a heartbeat echo of your own.

And Jimin…sobbed.

Collapsed against the edge of the bed, his hand covering his mouth, the other pressed against the fragile, damp curve of his daughter’s tiny back.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “Oh my God, honey, you did it—you did it. You’re amazing. You’re incredible.”

You turned your face, damp with sweat and tears, toward him and he kissed your temple again and again, crying into your skin.

“You gave her to me,” he whispered. “You gave me our daughter. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

She whimpered again, tiny voice softening, cries turning to little breathy hiccups as Jimin stroked his fingers down her back with infinite care.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the damp curls on her tiny head. “Hi, blossom.”

You inhaled shakily, eyes wide as you looked down at her. “Jimin…”

“I know,” he whispered.

His thumb swept across the arch of her tiny back, eyes shining with tears as he leaned in, lips ghosting just over her head.

“Hi, Jihyun,” he whispered, saying it aloud for the first time. “My little cherry blossom. Jihyun-ah. Appa’s here.”

Her whimpers softened again, her breathing growing slower and steadier, the sound of his voice was already something familiar. Like something she’d been waiting to hear on the outside.

Jimin turned to you, blinking fast through tears. “She’s here. She’s really here. You did so well, baby—God, you did so well.”

You smiled through the haze of exhaustion, cheeks wet with tears, your chest still heaving with disbelief and joy. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he whispered, kissing you again on your forehead, your temple, the cheek, anywhere he could reach. “I’m so proud of you.”

The nurse approached then, voice gentle. “We’ll just take her for a moment to clean her up and check her vitals, okay? You’ll have her back soon.”

You nodded reluctantly, and Jimin hovered as they carefully lifted Jihyun from your chest. He pressed one last kiss to her head before she was cradled into the nurse’s arms and carried to the bassinet just across the room.

Both of you watched.

You, eyes wide, mouth parted in wonder.

Jimin, still crying, one hand clutching yours tightly while the other wiped at his soaked cheeks.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“And so loud,” you added, grinning weakly.

“She’s got her father’s vocal cords,” the nurse teased, smiling over her shoulder.

Jimin let out a laugh that crumbled into another sob.

You turned to him, reaching for his cheek. “Jimin, take photos. Videos. We have to send them to the guys—and our parents.”

He nodded, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands.

“I want to remember this forever,” you added, voice soft. “I want her to see how much we loved her from the very beginning.”

Jimin lifted the phone, but before he could snap the photo, he looked at you again.

And it hit him all over again.

The woman he loved, glowing and flushed, tears in your eyes and a proud, tired smile on your lips. His daughter, just feet away, healthy and real and breathing.

His heart couldn’t hold it.

So he whispered, “Thank you,” one more time.

And took the picture—with trembling hands and love overflowing.

masterlist

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Laugh Tracks Part 2 !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha 2.0 x Avenger!Reader

Word count: 10,012

Chapter warning (s): MDNI; Agatha with a sedative dependency, Agatha is still depressed, guys it's Endgame--yes Nat still dies rip, Agatha has major PTSD, reader comes back yayyyy, very emotional and passionate smut

Summary: It's been five years since Agatha lost you. Sedatives are part of her nighttime routine, isolation is her new normal, and grief consumes her whole. But now, there's a way to get you back, and it takes everything in her to start hoping again.

A/N: Hi! I hope you enjoy this little finale, we are never seeing Avenger!Agatha 2.0 again after this. We are solely sticking to Avenger!Agatha 1.0 and reader and their domestic bliss in their NYC brownstone that Tony paid for. Also, if any of yall are editors, I saw an edit with Tchaikovsky’s nutcracker pas de deux and I’m craving an edit of this mini-fic to that. Just an idea💕

Spotify playlist I listened to

Masterlist

Part 1

New York City

5 years after the Blip

The days get easier.

Not easy.

But easier.

New York City is dark and sullen. The once lively city has been reduced to eerie silence.

“I can’t believe I agreed to go to this thing with you,” Agatha grumbles.

“It’ll be good for you,” Steve says, opening the door to the support group meeting room.

There are four other people already there. The room is dark, with three fluorescent lights shining above the circle of chairs.

Steve takes a seat with Agatha beside him. He’s quiet, but he brings a sense of comfort to the room.

“Hey guys,” Steve says. “Welcome to support group. Remember, you can share as much or as little as you want. We’re here to give advice and listen and lean on each other. So,” he sighs, “who wants to go first?”

A man sitting beside Steve pipes up. “I guess, I’ll go. So, I…uh…I went out on a date the other day for the first time in five years. You know? I’m sitting there at dinner.” He looks at Steve. “I didn’t even know what to talk about.”

“What did you talk about?” Steve asks, smiling softly.

“Same old crap,” the guy shrugs. “Past five years, how things have changed. My job, his job. How much we miss the Mets.” He trails off, thinking. “And then, things got quiet. He cried as they were serving the salads.”

“What about you?” one of the members asks. “Did you cry?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I cried…just before dessert. But I’m seeing him again tomorrow, so…”

“That’s great,” Steve says. “You did the hardest part. You took the jump. You didn’t know where you were gonna come down. And that’s it. That’s those little…brave baby steps you gotta take…to try and become whole again, try and find a purpose. Anybody wanna go next?” The circle is quiet and Steve nudges Agatha. “Agatha? What about you?”

Agatha huffs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine.” She sits up straight in her chair, arms and legs crossed. Her lips purse and her tongue darts in her cheek. 

“267 years ago, I lost my son, Nicky. He was six-years-old.” Agatha takes a deep breath. “I’m very experienced with grief,” she says, letting out a dry laugh before her face falls. “But, uhh…I don’t know how to cope with this loss. I knew her for over a century and…”

Agatha trails off, eyes going glassy before she blinks rapidly and chuckles. “I use sedatives almost every night because those are the only things that help me sleep…” She pauses again, and this time, the humorless chuckle turns into full blown laughter.

As tears start forming, Steve sighs, “Agatha…”

“I’m sorry!” she laughs, wiping her eyes. She stands up, still giggling to herself. Her hand gently pats Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…I’m gonna–I’m gonna go wait in the car…”

When the passenger side door slams shut, Agatha laughs again. She presses her palms into her eyes, giggling quietly, but when she sits up she catches a glimpse of herself in the side mirror.

The dark circles under her eyes, her hair, stringy and unkempt–she’s a shell of what she used to be. Her laughter fades into quiet chuckles before broken sobs rake through her. 

And they don’t stop.

In the past years the tears have faded, replaced with a deep, unshakable anger. At what, she doesn’t know. Questions and thoughts linger in her mind throughout days as she watches reruns of sitcoms–your sitcoms.

She refuses to watch anything else.

Trillions killed. Why was she one of them?

She slowly regains her motivation, but not for much. She eats. She socializes–more or less–with what remains of the team. She takes care of herself, even if it’s the bare minimum. She’s surviving, but not living.

Trillions killed. Why wasn’t I one of them?

The days get easier.

But they’re not easy.

Never easy.

An hour passes and the tears are starting to ebb. The driver side door opens and Steve slides in without a word. As they drive, it’s quiet.

But it’s not a bad quiet. It’s the quiet that’s needed. It’s given to her out of respect. It’s a quiet that’s oddly comforting, even if Agatha is sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. 

On the drive back to the Compound, they stop at a diner.

“Why are we here?” Agatha asks, voice thick and nose red.

Steve shrugs. “Just thought we could get some dinner. I know that support group days make me hungry, and this was your first one so…”

Agatha scoffs. “First and last.”

It’s amusing how stereotypical the diner is–checkered floors and red booths with frosted glass windows. The sound of espresso machines and bells ringing mingle with the conversations of waitresses at the counter.

“I’m sorry about your son,” Steve says quietly, taking a drink of coffee. “I didn’t kn–”

Agatha cuts him off. “Nobody knew,” she says, picking at the food on her plate. “Except, you know…”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“How did you do it?” she asks, eyes still focused on a piece of waffle.

“What?”

“With Peggy,” she clarifies. “How did you get through it? When I lost Nicky I had…plenty of distractions, but…not this time.”

Steve takes in a painful breath. “I…don’t know. I guess, at some point, you process it and you learn to live life without them–you live life for them. I guess it’s different with you two, though,” he says, sitting back in his seat. “A century is a pretty long time.”

Agatha hums. “Yeah, it is.” She finally looks up at him, an amused grin on her lips. “Who knew we had more in common than just being hot?”

 __________

“You know, I’d offer to cook you dinner, but you seem pretty miserable already.”

Steve leans against a shelf that separates the kitchen and dining table. When he and Agatha walk in, Nat sits at the table, hands pinching the bridge of her nose as she holds back tears.

“You here to do your laundry?” Nat asks.

Steve gestures to Agatha as she takes a seat with Nat. “Nope. Just droppin’ off Harkness.”

“Oh, yeah, he forced you to go to that support group he holds every week,” Natasha chuckles. “How did it go?”

“I started laughing during it,” Agatha smirks. “I had to leave.”

Nat hums. “Did he take you to that diner after?”

“Yeah,” Agatha chuckles. “It was nice, though. Thank you, Steve.”

A chime rings out and a hologram is displayed above the table. Nat sighs and taps at the invisible screen, and a sudden, vaguely familiar voice is talking.

“Uh,hi! Is anyone home?”

Across the room, a screen is lit up, showing a man at the front gate of the Compound.

“This is Scott Lang!” he shouts, waving at the camera. “We met a few years ago at the airport! You know, in Germany?” 

The three of them watch the video footage on the wall, exchanging confused looks with each other.

“I was the guy that got really big,” Scott continues. “I had a mask on. You wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Is this an old message?” Steve asks slowly, eyes glued to the screen.

“No,” Nat breathes. “It’s the front gate.”

Scott looks more and more desperate.”I really need to talk to you guys!”

Agatha, Nat, and Steve stand there awkwardly as Scott paces and mutters to himself.

“I thought he was blipped,” Agatha mutters to Nat.

Nod nods absentmindedly, squinting as she watches Scott. “So did I.”

“Scott,” Steve says. “Are you okay?”

He stops in his tracks. “Yeah.” Then he pauses, rubbing his face tiredly. “Have any of you ever studied quantum physics?”

“Only to make conversation,” Nat shrugs.

Scott perks up. “Okay, so…five years ago…right before…Thanos…I was in a place called the quantum realm. It’s like its own microscopic universe. To get in there, you have to be incredibly small. Hope, my, uhh…She was my…” He pauses, swallowing hard before getting back on track. “She was supposed to pull me out. And then Thanos happened, and I got stuck in there.”

“That must’ve been a very long five years,” Nat says.

“But that’s just it,” Scott says. “It wasn’t. For me, it was five hours.The rules of the quantum realm aren’t like they are up here. Everything is unpredictable.” His eyes dart to the kitchen table where a sandwich that Nat was making lies on a plate. “Is that anybody’s sandwich? I’m starving.”

“Scott, what are you talking about?” Steve asks.

“So,” Scott continues, mouth full of bread and peanut butter, “what I’m saying is, time works differently in the quantum realm. The only problem now is we don’t have a way to navigate it. But what if we did?” 

He starts pacing again, getting increasingly excited as he goes. “I can’t stop thinking about it. What if we could somehow control the chaos, and we could navigate it? What if there was a way we could enter the quantum realm at a certain point in time but then exit the quantum realm at another point in time? Like…like before Thanos.”

“Are you talking about a time machine?” Agatha scoffs.

“No. No, of course not,” Scott says.”No, not a time machine. It’s more like a…Okay, yeah. A time machine.” When he sees the looks on the other three’s faces, he gets defensive. “I know. I know, it sounds crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about it. There’s gotta be…some way…” He sighs and his face drops. “It’s crazy.”

“Scott, I get emails from a racoon,” Nat says. “So, nothing sounds crazy anymore.”

Scott nods slowly. “So, who do we talk to about this?”

Agatha sits in bed against the headboard, knees bent toward her as she hugs your pillow against her chest. The only light in the room is the bright TV as she watches more reruns of a sitcom. 

There’s a knock on the door and Steve enters at her quiet, “Come in.”

She doesn’t look at him, not right away. Even when he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

Agatha shrugs and responds with a hum.

“You don’t wanna do it, do you?” Steve sighs.

She looks at him now. “What?”

“The time travel thing,” he clarifies. “You don’t wanna do it.”

Agatha huffs. “It’s not that I don’t want to do it…I just…What if it doesn’t work?” Her fingers grip tighter onto your pillow. “You saw what happened after we killed Thanos…I can’t–” Her voice catches in her throat. “I can’t handle that again. It’s like I’m losing her all over again.”

Steve nods thoughtfully. “Yeah…I understand. But what if it does work? What if we are able to get everyone back?” 

When Agatha doesn’t respond, he sighs. “Look, I haven’t known her for nearly as long as you have. But I’ve known her long enough to know that if she was in your position, and she had the opportunity to try and get you back…she would jump on it in an instant.”

Agatha sighs, wiping away a tear and laughing quietly. “She’d probably take control of the entire thing.”

“She probably would,” Steve chuckles. His face drops and he swallows hard. “I know you don’t wanna hope. I can see it in your face. But I think you owe it to her, and you owe it to yourself, to try and get her back.”

“Myself?” she says quietly.

Steve nods. “You’ve lived a long life. You deserve to be happy, Agatha. I’ve gotten to know you in the past…what, eight years? 2015? You’re stubborn as hell. And more than anything, you always get what you want.” 

He stands up and heads back to the door. “If you want it to work, it’ll work.”

“I hate your optimism,” Agatha grumbles.

As Steve stands in the open doorway, he grins. “I know. I’ll be back in the morning around ten to pick Nat and Sott up. Just think about it, okay?”

The car doors slam shut. Tony stands outside on the porch of his cabin with his daughter in his arms. He doesn’t say anything, only acknowledging the four of them with a nod, but when they follow him in, he relents.

He pours five drinks when they’re back on the porch.

“Time travel?” he says, arching a brow.

“I know what it sounds like,” Scott says.

Steve scoffs. “Tony, after everything you’ve seen, is anything really impossible?”

“Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale,” Tony explains. “Which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition. Can we agree on that?” He hands Steve a drink. “In layman’s terms, it means you’re not coming home.”

“I did,” Scott shrugs.

“No,” Tony says. “You accidentally survived. It’s a billion-to-one cosmic fluke.” He begins to hand out the rest of the drinks. “And now you wanna pull a…What do you call it?”

Scott takes his glass and shrugs. “A time heist?”

“Yeah,” Tony scoffs. “A time heist. Of course. Why didn’t we think of this before? Oh, because it’s laughable. Because it’s a pipe dream.” 

“The stones are in the past,” Steve says. “We could go back, we could get them.”

“We can snap our own fingers,” Natasha nods. “We can bring everyone back.”

“Or screw it up worse than he already has, right?” Tony adds.

Steve’s face is cold. “I don’t believe we would.”

“I gotta say it,” Tony says. “Sometimes I miss that giddy optimism. However, high hopes won’t help if there’s no logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist.” He takes a seat with his drink in a wicker chair. “I believe the most likely outcome will be our collective demise.”

“Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel,” Scott counters. He sits down beside Tony. “That means, no talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting events.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Tony says, putting out his hand. “Are you seriously telling me that your plan to save the universe is based on Back to the Future?”

“No,” Scott sighs.

“Good. You had me worried there,” Tony says, “because that would be horseshit. That’s not how quantum physics works.”

“Tony, we have to take a stand,” Nat says, face falling. 

Tony looks up at her. “We did take a stand. And yet, here we are.”

Agatha’s chest burns with frustration. “Tony, we have a chance to bring everyone back!” Her voice begins to rise quickly. “And you’re telling us that you won’t even–!”

The door to the cabin opens and closes loudly, followed by the pitter patter of little feet. As Tony’s daughter runs over, Agatha stops.

“Mommy told me to come save you,” Morgan says quietly, climbing into his lap.

“Good job,” Tony groans, picking her up. “I’m saved.”

After the failed attempt with Tony, the second best option was Bruce. He was hesitant at first, but it took very little convincing. 

“Alright, fire up the, uh, van thing.” Bruce stands at a control panel for the time machine.

When Scott opens the doors an endless tunnel is displayed, glowing yellow and blue. Steve walks back into the room, head held high.

“Breakers are set!” he calls. “Emergency generators are on standby.”

“Good, because if we blow the grid, I don’t wanna lose, uh, Tiny here in the 1950s,” Bruce chuckles.

Scott’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Nat, who doesn’t look up from the tablet she’s typing on, snickers “He’s kidding.” She looks at Bruce and smiles. “You can’t say things like that.”

As Scott preps his gear, Agatha leans in close to Bruce, arms crossed and voice low. “You were joking right?”

“I…have no idea,” Bruce says awkwardly. “We’re talking about time travel here. Either it’s all a joke, or none of it is.” He turns away from Agatha and gives Scott a bright smile and a thumbs up. “We’re good!”

When Scott’s armor is secure Bruce starts up the time machine. “Alright, Scott, I’m gonna send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in ten seconds. Makes sense?”

Scott hesitates and then scoffs. “Yeah. Perfectly not confusing.”

When Scott is brought back the first time, he’s a teenager–and terrified. “Um…guys? This doesn’t feel right.”

“Is that Scott?” Nat asks.

“Yes, it’s Scott!” he snaps back. A button is pressed and teen Scott is sucked back into the time machine. When he reemerges, he’s about forty years older than his original self. “Oh, my back!”

“Oh, god, you turned him into a senile old man!” Agatha grimaces.

“Can you bring him back?” Steve panics.

Bruce rushes around the panel, pressing various buttons. “I’m working on it!”

Scott is sucked back into the van, and this time what pops back out is a baby.

“That is a baby!” Agatha shouts at Bruce. 

“It’s Scott,” Bruce points out.

Agatha gestures dramatically as her voice rises. “As a baby!” 

“He’ll grow!” Bruce tries to reason.

“Bring Scott back!” Steve argues.

Bruce presses buttons and turns knobs. “When I say kill the power, kill the power!” Nat groans as she runs to the electrical box. A loud, electrical whirring sound is heard as the time machine fires up again. “Kill the power!” Bruce calls.

And the baby is gone, replaced by the original Scott.

He stands there awkwardly. “Somebody peed my pants. But I don’t know if it was baby me or old me…or just me me.”

It’s warm outside as Agatha stands against a pillar. Footsteps come up behind her but she doesn’t look, because she already knows who it is.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Steve sighs, standing next to her.

Agatha scoffs and lets out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “It won’t work,” she says. “Not unless Tony gets his head out of his ass.”

And right on cue, the devil himself is pulling up in his sleek, black Audi. The tires squeak as he slams on the breaks and reverses.

The window rolls down and they’re met with Tony's smug face. “Why the long faces? Let me guess, he turned into a baby.”

Agatha rolls her eyes as Steve nods. “Among other things, yeah. What are you doing here?”

Tony gets out of the car. “It’s the EPR Paradox. Instead of pushing Lang through time, you might’ve wound up pushing time through Lang. It’s tricky, dangerous. Somebody could’ve cautioned you against it.”

“You did,” Agatha huffs.

“Oh, did I?” Tony perks up. “Well, thank God I’m here. Regardless, I fixed it.” He holds up his fist and wrapped around it is a metal band. “A fully functioning time-space GPS.”

It takes two weeks to get the entire thing situated–test runs, building a quantum portal, figuring out what dates and planets to travel back to. But now, as the sun rises, Agatha stands on the platform with the rest of the team.

Gears shift beneath their feet as the platform turns on and helmets activate. And then, the portal opens, and Agatha’s stomach is in her throat. The twists and turns of the quantum realm make her nauseous, but she regains her bearings when she lands on her own two feet in New York City.

“Alright, we all have our assignments,” Steve says sternly. “Two stones uptown, one stone down. Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock.”

A loud thud and roaring pierces the air and everyone jumps. In front of them, a bigger, angrier Hulk jumps forward and smashes an alien with a car. 

Everyone looks at Bruce who ducks his head in embarrassment. 

“Maybe smash a few things along the way,” Steve says.

Bruce rips off his shirt. “I think it’s gratuitous, but whatever.” He goes into the street, groaning and attempting a poor impression of his past self.

When Bruce leaves, Agatha, Steve, Tony, and Scott form their plan–break into Stark Tower and retrieve the Tesseract and Loki’s staff. The breaking into part is easy, but the Tesseract is another story.

When they round the corner of the building they landed behind, everyone freezes–and Agatha…well, Agatha almost collapses right then and there.

Every Avenger but Bruce is gathered as one–Tony, Steve, Nat, Clint, Thor…and you. 

As the other three move back to hide, Agatha stays right there.

“Agatha, what are you doing?” Steve asks.

But she doesn’t respond. She takes a step forward to see you better. Her heart flutters seeing you again, tears prick her eyes, and her stomach twists in knots.

“She’s…” Agatha’s lips are parted as she gapes. Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “It’s her first mission, she…”

Steve slowly comes up behind her. “Agatha, we need to go.”

Agatha doesn’t listen. Instead she takes another step, and another, and another. Tears stream down her face as she begins calling your name, but Steve’s arms are around her instantly and his hand covers her mouth. 

As he drags her back into the alley, she struggles against his grasp, cursing and screaming into his hand. Steve turns her around, hands grasping her shoulders.

“You can’t do that!” he spits out.

Agatha rips herself out of his grasp. “Let go of me!”

“I know you wanna go to her,” Steve says, voice calming. “But you can’t. She has a job to do just like us. Okay?”

Agatha doesn’t say a word, instead she sniffles and looks away with red, puffy eyes. And then she gives him a small nod.

Agatha and Tony not-so-discreetly fly up to the balcony of the lounge. Scott, in his ant size, rides on Tony’s shoulder.

They duck behind a divider, observing the 2012 Avengers as they corner Loki. 

And Agatha’s heart threatens to break again.

She watches you again, throat tight and eyes watering as you laugh at a joke Nat made. In front of Agatha, Tony scoffs. “Mr. Rogers, I almost forgot that that suit did nothing for your ass.”

“No one asked you to look, Tony,” Steve says in the ear piece.

Scott, still on Tony’s shoulder, radios through his own ear piece. “I think you look great, Cap. As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s ass.”

Agatha peeks through the divider, observing the cut of 2012 Steve’s suit. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I gotta say, I agree with Scott. That’s America’s ass.”

“I thought you were a lesbian,” Tony says, turning his head to look at her.

Agatha scoffs. “Just because I’m a lesbian, doesn’t mean I can’t look. You have a nice ass, Steve.”

“See, Tony,” Steve says. “Harkness is a lesbian and even she agrees that I have a nice ass.”

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay we’re getting off topic here.”

Without warning, the elevator dings and the doors open. Agatha and Tony sneak off quickly, hiding behind a wall that separates the lounge. They crouch down as they observe the interactions.

“Who are these guys?” Scott asks.

Tony watches carefully. “They’re S.H.I.E.L.D. Well, actually Hydra, but we didn’t know that yet.”

“Are you serious?” Agatha scoffs. “She told me they turned out to be Hydra, but she didn’t tell me they actually looked like bad guys.”

When the case to the Tesseract is open, Tony flicks Scott across the room. Both Tony and Agatha run out quickly, jumping off the edge of the balcony and flying down. They hover for a moment as Tony analyzes the building.

“Alright, Cap, got the scepter in the elevator, just passing the 80th floor,” he says.

“On it,” Steve says. “Head to the lobby.”

Agatha feels stupid as she looks at herself in the security uniform.

“Ugh, why are these things so itchy?” she complains, pulling at the neck cover.

“They’re just for a few minutes,” Tony sighs. “Just until we get the Tesseract.” The elevator in the lobby opens and the 2012 Avengers march out. “Thumbelina, do you copy?” Tony says. “I have eyes on the prize. It is go time.”

Scott’s voice crackles in the ear piece. “Bombs away.”

A large crowd is now forming and emotions begin running high as the Avengers begin arguing with the agents.

“Alright, Stuart Little,” Tony says quietly, “let’s go. Things are getting dicey out here.”

“Promise me you won’t die?” Scott says.

Tony’s voice is a mumble. “You’re only giving me a mild cardiac dysrhythmia.”

“That doesn’t sound mild,” Scott says.

“Just do it!” Agatha hisses. “We need to get out of here.”

As 2012 Tony convulses on the floor and the briefcase is left unattended, Agatha waves her hands and the metal case flies to her. She hands it off to Tony as they head for the exit, but when the door to the stairs bursts open, both of them are knocked down and the Hulk stomps in.

They lay on the ground, the wind knocked out of them as panic ensues.

“Where’s the case?”

“Where’s Loki?”

Scott radios through the ear piece as the both of them get up. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”

Back in the alley, Agatha sits in the passenger seat of a beat up car with Tony in the driver seat and Scott in the back. Steve jumps down from a fire exit in front of the car.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says. “We have a problem.”

Scott scoffs. “Yeah, we do.”

The situation is explained to Steve and the mood has dampened quickly.

“So what do we do now?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know!” Tony huffs.”Give me a break, I just got hit in the head with the Hulk.”

“You said that we have one shot,” Scott says, frustration boiling in his words. “This was our shot. We shot it. It’s shot. Six stones or nothing. Six stones or nothing!”

Tony hangs out the car window. “You’re repeating yourself, you know that? You’re repeating yourself.”

“You’re repeating yourself. You’re repeating yourself,” Scott mocks. 

“Oh, come on!”

“No, you never wanted a time heist!” Scott says. “You weren’t on board with the time heist!”

“I dropped the ball!” Tony says.

“You ruined the time heist!”

Agatha, who’s now outside of the car, and leaning against the hood, groans. “Oh my god, shut up!”

All three men look at her.

“Stop acting like children!” Agatha snaps. “It’s nobody’s fault! It’s done. There’s no going back. The mission…” Her voice is tight. “We failed. That’s it.”

“There have to be other options for the Tesseract,” Steve says.

“No, no, no!” Scott says, flipping out at the idea. “There are no other options! You heard Harkness, we failed! There are no do-overs. We’re not going anywhere else. We have one Pym Particle left–each. We use that…bye-bye, you’re not going home.”

Steve huffs. “Well, if we don’t try, then no one else is going home, either”

Tony gasps, getting out of the car quickly. “I got it! There’s another way to retake the Tesseract and acquire new particles!”

“And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?” Agatha asks, rolling her eyes.

Tony ignores her and goes straight up to Steve. “A little stroll down memory lane. Military installation. Garden State.”

As they discuss their plan, both Scott and Agatha look at each other, confused.

“What are we doing?” Scott asks, but he receives no answer. “What’s happening? What is it?”

“Improvising,” Steve says. He hands the scepter to Agatha. “Get this back to the Compound.”

__________

Despite every Infinity Stone being in possession, the Compound is bleak. 

“Do we know if she had any family?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “Us.”

The fresh air on the dock does little to help with the shock of Nat’s death.

Thor walks up to Tony, sneering at him. “What?”

“Huh?”

“You’re acting like she’s dead,” Thor says. “Why are you acting like she’s dead? We have the stones right? As long as we have the stones, Cap, we can bring her back, right? So, stop this shit. We’re the Avengers. Get it together!”

“We can’t get her back,” Clint chokes. “It can’t be undone. It can’t.

Useless arguments play out as Clint and Thor debate the possibility of Nat being revived.

“It can’t be undone!” Clint insists. “A soul for the Soul Stone! That’s it. That’s the price.You can’t undo it.”

Agatha surprises herself with how affected she is by this. Five or six years ago, the only person she’d feel this way about would be you. But Nat was there. Nat picked up the broken pieces for Agatha. Nat was the one who forced her out of bed to keep living. Nat was the one who cared for her when she couldn’t care for herself.

“She’s not coming back,” Agatha mutters, sniffling. “She sacrificed herself for the stone, we have to make this right.”

All six Infinity Stones are locked onto the new gauntlet. 

Space.

Power.

Time.

Reality.

Mind.

Soul.

“Alright,” Rocket says. “The glove’s finished. The question is, who’s gonna snap their freakin’ fingers?”

Multiple people put themselves forward, and they’re all shot down. Thor even makes an excuse of being the strongest Avenger, and therefore he should be the one to snap his fingers–and he even breaks into tears as he begs Tony.

But in the end, it’s Bruce.

“The radiation’s mostly gamma,” he explains. “It’s like I was made for this.”

“Alright,” Tony sighs. “Bring everyone back.Don’t change anything from the last five years.”

Bruce nods. “Got it.”

Those with armor suit up as if they’re going into battle. Agatha stands beside Sott, a wary look on her face as a shield of purple is formed in front of them. Metal doors encase the room from ceiling to wall with loud thuds, and then it becomes quiet.

“Everybody comes home,” Bruce mutters.

Agatha’s heart is thundering in her ears. Everybody comes home.

Every person–and raccoon–in the room watches intently as Bruce slides the gauntlet onto his hand. It adjusts in size and streams of bright color swim up his arm. He collapses instantly, groaning loudly in pain as electricity crackles over his back. 

“Take it off!” Thor shouts. “Take it off!”

Steve holds out his hand. “No, wait! Bruce, are you okay?”

Bruce doesn’t respond, and groans and yells even more as he clutches the gauntlet with his other hand.

“Talk to me, Banner,” Tony says.

And then he nods. Bruce seethes, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

He screams as he uses every last bit of strength in him to raise his hand. And then, he snaps. A white flash, and he collapses.

Tony, Steve, and Thor are on him immediately, but when the metal doors lift, Agatha’s head turns. There’s a ray of sunshine beating down into the small courtyard, and on the tree is a small flock of birds. She gasps quietly as she follows Scott.

“There are birds,” she whispers. “There haven’t…They haven’t been out there in years.” She looks at Scott, and she can’t help but smile, because the birds tell her everything she needs to know.

The Infinity Stones worked.

And you’ll be back in her arms by tonight.

__________

Your eyes flutter open against bright sunlight. You can still feel the imprint of Agatha’s kiss on your lips, but Agatha herself is nowhere to be found.

It feels like only moments have passed by–like you passed out and woke up again seconds later. But you know that’s not what happened.

Is she alive?

Where’s Agatha?

What happened?

You roll over quickly and steady yourself on your knees. All around you is confusion. Wanda lays on the muddy ground, Sam is just coming to his senses, Bucky and T’Challa have just reformed into their own beings, and no one knows what’s happened.

“Wanda?” you call out, and run over to her as she sits up. 

The last time you saw her was hunched over Vision’s lifeless body, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and Wanda’s slowly remembering what happened. Sam comes over, Bucky joining him soon after, and no one knows what to do. 

“Where is he?” Wanda panics. “Where’s his body?”

A ring of shimmering orange and gold manifests in the air with the bottom quarter ending on the ground. Inside is a portal to what looks like a grand entrance hall. A man walks through the arch, drawing robes. His face is stern, almost somber, and everyone exchanges glances.

The man takes a careful look at each one of you and nods at T’Challa. “Your majesty…”

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asks. “Where is everybody?”

“It’s been five years,” the man explains, all too calm with his words. “Thanos wiped out half of all living creatures in the universe.” He turns to T’Challa. “Thanos is back. I need you to gather every soldier you can. We’re going to battle.”

__________

Blood trickles from her forehead and water rains down on her face.

It happened quickly–the stones, the birds, the explosion. 

Agatha’s head throbs as the sound of streaming water hits her ears. When her eyes open, her vision is slowly going back into focus, but it’s dark. 

“I can’t breathe!” Rocket’s small shrieks come from only a few yards away. “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”

James crawls from his suit of armor toward Rocket, lifting a sheet of rock from his body. Agatha sits up quickly and regrets it immediately as her head gets dizzy. 

“Rhodey!” Bruce stands on the opposite side of them, arms flexed above him as he holds up a piece of concrete. 

When the three of them look, a wave of water floods down, filling their pocket of rubble.

“Mayday!” Rhodes calls over the ear piece. “Mayday! Does anyone copy? We’re on the lower level! It’s flooding!” No answer. “Mayday! We are drowning! Does anybody copy?”

The water is rising quickly. Agatha’s head is tilted back as she tries to stay above water. 

Only one voice answers.

“Wait!” Scott’s voice is filled with static. “I’m here! I’m here! Can you hear me? Hang on! I’m coming!”

Of course it would end like this, Agatha thinks.

The stones worked.

You’re back.

But she’ll still never get to hold you again.

Scott manifests in front of them out of the blue–literally. He struggles in the water, but manages to stay afloat. “Okay, here’s the plan guys. I’ll make myself a bit bigger and I’ll gather all of you in my arms and make myself giant and bust out of here. How does that sound? Because if you think it could be better–!”

“Drowning!” Agatha yells, cutting him off.

“Oh, right!” he panics. He grows about four feet taller. The concrete crumbles around them, but the four of them move to Scott. His arms wrap around them tightly and then, with a press of a button, he’s growing again.

Scott’s hand catches all four of them and he balls up his fist. It’s dark, but when the sound of crumbling concrete dissipates and his hand opens again, portals fill the sky. Rings of gold give way to distant lands and below, in the rubble of the Compound, are thousands of people in battle formation.

Agatha’s eyes scan the battlefield as she hovers in the air. When she spots you, her world tilts on its axis. You stand beside Wanda, orange balls of magic radiating from your palms, but you never look up. You don’t see her.

Battle cries and screaming pierce the air as both sides sprint toward each other. Leviathans drift through air as Chitauri and Outriders storm the ground, but Agatha doesn’t care. Her eyes remain on you, even when dodging plasma rays and blades. 

But it doesn’t last long. Agatha loses sight of you after a Leviathan goes down and she searches frantically on the field of rubble. Clouds of dirt and flames block her view. All she desires right now is to see you again, but even in the air, she can’t spot you.

When she lands, it’s right by Steve, who’s wielding a giant axe. As she clears out the never-ending stream of Outriders, she watches Thor take the axe and hand him the hammer.

Agatha scoffs loudly and chuckles. “Look at you, pretty boy!” she teases. “We got Mister Chosen One over here!”

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes. “Alright, Harkness.”

“I mean, I knew you were a goody two-shoes,” she laughs. “But, really? The hammer?”

“Well, this hammer is about to save your ass,” Steve calls, and launches the hammer towards her. It misses her by inches and lands right in the face of a Chitauri before flying back into his hand.

__________

“Cap, what do you want me to do with this damn thing?” Clint’s voice radios over the ear piece as you and Wanda stand back to back.

“Get those stones as far away as possible!” Steve responds.

Bruce is heard next.”No! We need to get them back where they came from!”

“No way to get them back,” Tony says. “Thanos destroyed the quantum tunnel.”

A familiar yet vague voice radios over, “Hang on. That wasn’t our only time machine.”

As you knock down a swarm of Outriders you watch T’Challa, with the Infinity Gauntlet in hand, become encased in a tower of rubble. You call out his name and retrieve the gauntlet with a glow of orange from your hand, flying past the man whose aim is to get it. Above you, Peter is swinging from obstacle to obstacle.

“Hey, Parker!” you shout, and he looks down. “Go long!”

You throw the gauntlet and he manages to catch it with a web. When you land on the ground, your breath stops. Just a few hundred feet away, within running distance, is Agatha. You shout–scream–her name, and just as you start running, and just as her eyes lock on yours, you’re knocked back by an explosion.

Blue plasma rays shower the rubble of the Compound. You drag yourself a few yards to duck beneath the ceiling of a gold shield held up by a sorcerer. Your eyes scan the grounds, but you’ve lost sight of her. It’s nothing but smoke and dirt and concrete powder, all mixed in a whirl of flames.

When the explosions stop, it’s quiet. Eyes are immediately averted to the sky where the canons have begun firing at another object. A flash of light shoots through the sky before the space ship above begins falling. Mini explosions are set off, one by one until it’s landed in the lake. 

“Hey, Danvers,” Steve says, voice crackling over the ear piece, “we could use an assist over here.”

You don’t hesitate. You’re on your feet–then in the air. You watch Wanda fly toward the direction that Peter was going and you follow her quickly, still scanning the field for Agatha. With Carol taking the gauntlet, you assist Wanda with the Leviathans. More explosions fill the battlefield as Carol flies through machinery and debris, and you watch as Thanos sprints toward her, double edged sword in hand.

You call out Pepper’s name and the two of you, with two other women you’ve never met, charge at him. The combination of the magic and plasma rays send him flying back as Carol keeps flying toward the brown van. 

But he gets up.

And he raises his arm.

And the double edged sword is launched into the time machine.

You’re blasted back at least fifty feet by the burst of energy that erupts. And when you land, face first into the rubble, your head is pounding and your nose is bleeding. 

You don’t move. 

You don’t want to move.

You lay there, breathing heavily. Your eyelids are heavy as you watch the last ditch efforts of everyone against Thanos. 

Thor and Steve are violently thrown against the ground.

Carol is forced away by the Power Stone.

And then Tony gets up. 

Your eyes are slowly becoming too heavy to keep open, and you desperately want to close them. To sleep. To wake up when everything’s over. To wake up when Agatha’s there.

It’s quiet, almost drowned out from the ringing in your ears. But you know your name was just called. Tony is still fighting Thanos, Steve and Thor lay on the ground unconscious, Carol is nowhere to be seen. But then you hear it again. And again.

You roll onto your back and take in a painful breath–definitely a broken rib or two. Your name is called again, and even through the pain, you sit up. Your vision is slowly focusing and when you see that purple lycra jumpsuit and that frizzy, brown hair, you push the pain aside and climb to your feet.

You sprint toward her.

You don’t stop, not even when you stumble on a piece of concrete. 

Agatha throws herself at you with all the force of a semi-truck, completely toppling you over as she laughs and cries. She’s covered in dirt and dried blood matts her hair and stains her clothes. 

“Ow! Ow!” you say through a messy combination of laughter and tears.

“I’m sorry!” she cries. “I’m sorry!”

You wince, clutching your side as her hands hold your face.”It’s fine, it’s just some broken ribs…and a broken nose, I think. I’ll be okay.”

As you sit on the ground, you cling to her. Agatha’s hands grab at every inch of you, as if testing to see if you’re really back.

Her hands cup your cheeks. She presses kiss after kiss to your face and when she pulls away, her lips are trembling and her face is red and splotchy. Her thumbs gently caress your skin and she looks over you, letting out a soft cry. 

“You’re really back,” she croaks. Agatha presses a hard, tearful kiss to your lips. “God, I missed you.” Another kiss to your lips and she pulls you in closer than ever. As she holds your head, she buries her nose in your hair and inhales deeply. 

Nothing has changed. You still smell like the shampoo and conditioner you used that morning before going to the jet hangar. You still smell like your perfume–the perfume she occasionally sprays on her pillow to ease her to sleep at night. Even covered in blood and dirt, you’re still you. 

Agatha takes a deep, shuddering breath in and lets it out. “I love you so much.”

With your head on Agatha’s shoulder you can see across the field of debris. Thanos stands there, Infinity Gauntlet on, but his face has fallen. And then your eyes drift.

Tony kneels on the ground, hand raised, and when you focus on him, there they are.

All six Infinity Stones are locked in the glove of his armor.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god!”

“What?” Agatha asks quickly, pulling away.

And then he snaps.

A white flash and then silence.

Eerie, skin-crawling silence.

Ash and dust are now floating through the air as Thanos’s army crumbles. Agatha helps you up and the two of you make the walk toward Tony. The sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s pale and his eyes stare straight ahead, struggling to focus on who’s in front of him.

Peter crouches down in front him, hands resting on the warm metal of his armor. “Mr. Stark, can you hear me?” His voice is straining and stumbles through his words. “It’s Peter. We won.” He smiles through his tears. “We won, Mr. Stark. We won, Mr. Stark. We won. You did it, sir, you did it.” 

Peter starts crumbling, hands clinging onto Tony. “Mr. Stark…Tony…”

Agatha steps forward, her hands gently taking his shoulders. “Peter, sweetheart.” He stands up and curls in her arms, sobbing against her shoulder. Agatha holds him tightly, hand rubbing over his back. “I know,” she mumbles. “It’s okay.”

The weeks after the battle are a haze. With the Compound gone, the only other place is Stark Tower, but Pepper informs you that it’ll be shut down within the next month. So, that’s where those remaining stay until they can find a new home.

Two nights after, you’re woken up by the feeling of Agatha thrashing in sleep. You can see her breathing beginning to quicken and when your hand shakes her awake she gasps. Her eyes fly open and she sits up, hyperventilating and looking around.

“Agatha,” you say, trying to calm her down. “Agatha!” She stops when your hands grab a hold of her and force her to look at you. “It’s okay.” Your hands cup her cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears that slipped free. “It’s okay,” you breathe. “It’s just a dream.”

The panic leaves her body and her eyes close. Her hand takes one of yours and she kisses your palm. “I’m–uhh–gonna go to the bathroom,” she rasps, and drops your hand. 

The door to the bathroom opens and shuts, and you’re left to sit alone in bed.

And these nights repeat many times.

You can’t leave the bed unless Agatha is up before you, otherwise she panics and searches for you frantically.

One night, you were gone for twenty minutes to get a glass of water. Agatha had been fast asleep when you left, but the second you opened the door the sound of sobbing hit your ears. You rushed in to find her curled around your pillow with red and puffy eyes.

She sits up quickly when she sees you and you climb into bed. “Agath, wha–?”

“Where were you?” she sobs into your shoulder as your arms wrap around her.

Your hands run through her hair as she cries quietly. “I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “I didn’t realize…I was just getting some water…I’m sorry.”

Tony’s funeral is intimate and quiet. You and Agatha stand with Wanda, Bucky, and Sam as you watch the flowers float along the water. Dinner is served–also quiet–and soon, you find yourself alone with Steve on the porch.

“What happened during those five years?” you ask, accepting a beer that he offers you. 

He takes a seat beside you. “You mean in general, or–?”

You open the beer and take a drink of it. “Agatha,” you say. “What happened with Agatha when I was…gone?”

“Umm, well…” He sits back, sips his beer, and nods his head thoughtfully. “A lot. Nat and I were usually the ones who were there for her. She, uhh…” He looks at you and sighs. “She wasn’t okay.”

“I figured,” you hum.

“She didn’t leave her room for almost a month,” Steve says. “And then, we killed Thanos, hoping to get everyone back using the Stones, and…she started isolating. Nat made sure she ate, helped her shower. The first year was…really, really hard on her.” Steve chuckles. “Last month, I took her to a support group I started for people to talk about the Blip.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you scoff. “And how did that turn out?”

“She started laughing during it,” Steve shrugs.

You take a sip of your beer. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“I know she won’t tell you this,” Steve says, “because she’s Agatha and she doesn’t want to be seen as someone with feelings…but, uhh…she has to take sedatives to sleep.”

“Really?” you ask quietly, heart breaking at the mere thought.

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you breathe, clearing your throat and drinking your beer. You wipe away a tear and then chuckle. “You know, the last time I saw you two interact was in Wakanda when she told you that your punches were sloppy.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, we’ve…we’ve gotten closer. I can see what you love about her.”

The screen door creaks open and Agatha steps outside. “Oh, good. There you are,” she sighs, clearly annoyed by someone inside. “Are you ready to go, or are you gonna crack open another cold one with Pretty Boy here?”

You stand up and hand her the beer, smiling as she immediately downs the rest of it. “Yes, I’m ready. Give me a second.”

When Steve stands up, you hug him tightly while standing on your tippy toes. “I love you…Thank you,” you whisper, watching over his shoulder as Agatha walks toward the car. Your voice is breaking now, and tears start to spill down your cheeks as he holds you tight. 

“Thank you, both, for taking care of her when I wasn’t able to.”

It’s cold and bleak outside when you move into your apartment the following month. It’s slow, but Agatha begins pulling away–physically, emotionally. But you’re still there for her when she wakes up screaming. You’re still in the kitchen making chamomile tea to help her fall back asleep. You’re still there, waiting for her to come back to you.

You’re there for her, but no one is there for you.

Not Steve.

Not Nat.

Not Tony.

Not anyone you called family.

But you don’t say a word, because Agatha needs you. 

And as much as you love and cherish her…it doesn’t feel mutual anymore.

You lay in bed at night, watching her sleep–the slow rise and fall of her chest, the quiet snores that slip out of her mouth. She looks so peaceful, but when you see her eyelids fluttering and feel her limbs twitching under the covers, you know what it means. She thrashes around, only startling awake when your hand touches her.

“Agatha, it’s okay,” you whisper, sleep weighing heavy on your shoulders. Your hands reach out for her, but she flinches and you pull away. “What’s the m–?”

Agatha recoils and balls up her fists, clenching and unclenching them repeatedly. “Just–it’s fine–I’m fine.” She gets out of bed and sighs as she opens the bathroom door. “You can go back to sleep, I’ll be a while.”

So, you listen to her, and you go to sleep.

That’s all you do.

Sleep.

But not in her arms. 

You sleep on your side of bed, tucked under the covers as Agatha lays facing away from you. 

It’s like she’s a whole different person. In the century that you’ve known her, she always had a hand on you–your lower back as you walked down the street, on your leg as you sat beside her reading, on your waist while sleeping. There was never a moment where she wasn’t touching you. And now there is.

You miss her.

You miss the old Agatha that would tease you for doing everything in a pattern of three.

You miss the old Agatha who would kiss you and touch you, and run her finger tips over the side of your waist, knowing how sensitive you are.

You miss your Agatha.

There’s a moment where you think she’s coming back. She’s slowly starting to smile again–starting to laugh again, returning to her wit, slowly but surely becoming herself again. 

You walk into the bedroom with a full basket of clean laundry. When the door opens, Agatha’s searching the closet for a pair of clothes.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” you chirp. “I was thinking that we could go get a late lunch or early dinner. Maybe around three?” You set the basket down on the dresser and lean against the doorframe of the closet, looking up at her. “Nowhere fancy, but I just don’t feel like cooking.”

Agatha passes you a glance. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Okay,” you mutter. “If you have anywhere you wanna go, just…tell me and we’ll go…”

You take her hand and squeeze it before reaching up and aiming to place a kiss on her cheek.

But she pulls away.

Your hand lets go of hers and drops to your side. “Why won’t you touch me?” you ask quietly.

“What?”

“You won’t touch me,” you say. Your voice is meek and you hold back tears. “Why?”

Agatha hesitates. “I don’t–what are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you say. The frustration builds quickly, and as hard as you tried not to, your voice ends up rising. “You won’t touch me, Agatha! You haven’t touched me in months! You barely hug me! Barely kiss me! You’ve pulled away from me! Why?”

“I’m sorry that I’ve been grieving for the past five years!” Agatha shouts back. 

Tears flood your eyes and you quickly bite back. “Well, I’m grieving right now!”

Agatha’s jaw tenses and her eyes flare. “What are you grieving? You didn’t lose anything! You didn’t spend five years by yourself!”

“You didn’t spend them by yourself!” you yell. “You isolated! Steve and Nat did everything to help you! He told me at the funeral, everything they did for you, and you say you grieved alone?”

The dam breaks and your vision is clouded with tears. “I am grieving alone! You’re the only close person I have left in my life, and you’re not even here!”

“Steve and Nat were two of my closest friends! They took care of you! I am grieving them, Agatha! The world that I lived in is gone!” Your throat is tight, but you continue. “The life I knew is gone! The family that I loved for ten years is gone! The Compound is gone! Our home is gone! You’re not the only one grieving, Agatha!” You take a deep, steadying breath and look her in the eyes. “It was five years for me too, even if I wasn’t here to experience it.”

Agatha opens and closes her mouth, but clearly doesn’t know what to say.

So you continue.

Tears continue streaming your cheeks. “I am devastated that you had to spend those years grieving. But I feel like you’re punishing me for it! I didn’t choose to go, Agatha,” you breathe. 

You sniffle and let out a sob, your voice strained as you practically beg her. “I want you back. I want you to do more than just hug me. I want your touch. I want you to kiss me!” You almost have to force your next words out. “I want you to love me like you did five years ago!”

Your head drops in your hands and your palms press into your eyes. “Oh, god,” you sigh, shoulders shaking. When you uncover your eyes, Agatha stands there, thinking of what to say. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I just…Agatha, I miss you. I nee–”

You’re pulled into her arms immediately with a hard kiss on your lips. Your arms wrap around her tightly, tears mixing with spit and teeth and tongue. It’s impossible to get close enough to her. 

You both stumble to the bed and you fall down onto the mattress in a heap. You’re both gasping for breath as clothes are frantically ripped from one another’s bodies, and you almost moan from how good the skin-to-skin contact feels.

The both of you sit in the center of the bed. Agatha’s arms hold you as you sit in her lap, legs wrapped around her waist as you kiss her hard. Tears have begun to fall from her eyes now, mixing with your own and adding the flavor of salt to the kisses.

“I’m sorry,” she huffs into your mouth. Agatha presses a gentle, wet kiss on your lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“I miss you,” you whisper, and kiss her again. “Touch me. Love me. Please, Agatha.”

Her hands pull your face in as she presses frantic kiss after frantic kiss to your lips. “I love you.” A kiss. “I love you so much.” Another kiss. “I love you so fucking much. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You pull her down on top of you. She straddles your hips as she kisses you, muttering quiet apologies between each one.

“I don’t care,” you mumble. You roll her onto her side and your legs tangle as you pull her in close. “Stop apologizing and kiss me.”

Hands grab and grope at skin. Agatha’s lips attach to your neck and she rolls you onto your back again. Her fingertips graze over your side and she smiles in the crook of your neck as you shiver.

You arch into her feverish touch as her fingers trail lower and lower. Your breaths are shallow with anticipation, and after almost two months (and five years), the touch that you’ve been craving so badly has returned.

You tremble beneath her, fingers digging into the pillow under your head. Agatha’s lips return to yours in a fiery passion of teeth and tongue and you gasp in her mouth.

“I love you,” you huff. “I love you, I love you, Agatha.”

Her fingers don’t change their pace. They’re steady, not quite slow, but enough to drive you to the brink as she presses into you. “I love you,” she mumbles, and kisses you hard. 

“I wanna cum,” you cry, lips brushing hers, and nails digging into her arm and shoulder. “I wanna cum, please!”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw drops. Agatha kisses you hard as you shake and sob, grabbing at every possible thing to ground yourself.

She slowly fucks you through the aftershocks, pressing kiss after kiss to your face. “I love you,” she mutters between each one. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

When she brings her fingers back up, you don’t hesitate. With wide eyes, you take them quickly, sticking them in your mouth to lick clean. She watches you in awe–a look that she’d given you a hundred times before.

“God, you are incredible,” she breathes. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent like this–backs arched, breaths heavy, chests covered in sweat, and hands grasping at whatever they can reach.

Agatha’s thumbs softly swipe over your cheeks as the kisses slow and noses brush against each other.

“So much for an early dinner,” you say, stifling a yawn as you lay on your side facing Agatha.

“Did you really think I stopped loving you?” Agatha murmurs, pulling away just enough to look at you.

Her hand brushes through your hair as you sniffle. “No…I don’t know…I think I was just being dramatic.” 

You let out a quiet chuckle and Agatha shakes her head. “No,” she croaks. “You’re not. I…I missed you so fucking much but I didn’t even…I never asked about you once…how you were feeling…I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes, puffy from tears, soften as you look over her face. Your hand rests over her forearm in a comforting way to both of you. “Steve told me that you went to a support group,” you snicker. “And that you had to leave because you started laughing.”

Agatha rolls onto her back and groans. “Yes, I did. And it wasn’t as helpful as he said it would be. Is there anything else he told you?”

“That you can’t sleep without taking a sedative,” you whisper, still on your side and facing her.

Agatha’s head turns quickly to face you. “What?”

“It’s okay,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it, but I wanted you to know that I know.”

Tears fill her eyes once again. “I’m sorry,” she rasps. “I told you that you did have to worry, but…I’m sorry.”

Your hand rests gently on her cheek. “Agatha, don’t apologize for the way you coped with your grief. I’m here now. We can grieve together.”

__________

You’ve never been more content.

You lay in bed, in the darkness of your bedroom with the only light being the TV on. You let out a quiet chuckle as you watch the sitcom you had seen a thousand times.

And the best part–Agatha’s arms are wrapped around you again.

Your face rests against her chest and her fingers run up and down your back. You can hear her heart beating beneath your ear and your eyes grow heavy. 

“I wanna get married,” she blurts out.

You look up at her, wide awake now. “What?”

Agatha swallows hard. “The night that we were supposed to go see a show on the West End…I was gonna propose to you at dinner. I wanna get married.”

“Agatha, I…” You smile softly and let out a sigh. “For better or for worse, right?”

Agatha leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your lips. And with the laugh tracks in the background, she smiles, muttering, “And ‘til death do us part.”

[rwandacatboy]

Gojo Satoru isn’t an easy person.

Sometimes, he doesn’t even consider himself one — so maybe it’s more accurate to just call him complicated. And he knows it. Too well.

As the years passed and he grew older, he didn’t grow softer — he grew colder. Sharper. He built more walls, wore more masks. He got better at pretending, worse at feeling. And after what happened with Suguru, it all just… collapsed inward. What little light he still held onto flickered behind locked doors and forced smiles.

He doesn’t do relationships.

Not serious ones, anyway.

He might let someone into his bed for a few hours. Maybe. On a bad day. But they never stay. He doesn’t let them. They don’t even make it past the hallway — no one gets into his space. His apartment, his thoughts, his real life — that’s all off-limits.

His friendships? Old. Familiar. Safe. The kind that don’t ask questions.

They don’t talk about emotions. They don’t say “I miss you” or “Are you okay?”

Feelings are a trap.

Connection is dangerous.

And vulnerability? That’s a knife waiting to be twisted.

He doesn’t need anyone.

He doesn’t need feelings.

And he definitely doesn’t need love.

But then… you.

You didn’t storm into his life.

You didn’t demand attention.

You just… stayed.

You were there when Suguru left. When Satoru broke in ways he didn’t even understand yet. You didn’t offer empty words. You didn’t try to fix him. You just made sure he ate. You made sure he slept. You waited at his door with warm food and quiet presence and the kind of patience that felt almost cruel, because he didn’t know what to do with it.

You were a teenager too, but you carried yourself with a calm that made him feel both safe and exposed. Like you could see through him. Like you knew exactly how much he was pretending. You didn’t flinch when he lashed out. You didn’t leave when he shut down.

You were more than a friend.

But you never asked for more.

And that? That’s what ruins him.

You didn’t want his power. You didn’t want his name.

You weren’t impressed by his strength.

You just… cared. In the most terrifying, unconditional way.

And he hates it.

Because he can’t make you leave.

And you won’t let him destroy you like he destroys everything else.

So he tells himself, You’re just friends.

It doesn’t matter that you held him while he cried, shaking and silent.

It doesn’t matter that you saw him fall apart and didn’t look away.

You’re just a friend.

He’s been repeating it like a mantra for years.

Every time he sees your smile.

Every time you call him “Satoru” in that voice that makes something tighten in his chest.

Every time he watches you walk into danger and his heart stops.

Because the truth is —

You’re not just a friend.

And now he’s 27.

Still the strongest. Still smiling. Still alone.

Suguru’s death hangs like a shadow over the season, and he’s spiraling just a little more than usual.

And then he sees you — laughing — with someone else.

Someone who doesn’t look afraid to touch you.

Someone who gets to have the pieces of you that he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t crave.

And maybe it’s jealousy.

Or maybe it’s panic.

Or maybe it’s that final thread of self-control snapping —

Because before he can stop himself, he’s grabbing you.

Teleporting you.

Dragging you into his space like a storm, breath shallow and hands shaking.

And it’s definitely not because he’s in love.

It’s not because he’s thought about you every single day since he was sixteen.

It’s not because he’s imagined a thousand different versions of what it would be like to touch you like he means it.

It has nothing to do with how he’s sought out strangers who looked like you.

Nothing to do with the way your name has slipped past his lips in the dark.

Nothing to do with the fact that you are the one thing he’s never been able to bury or break.

…

The point is:

Gojo Satoru doesn’t do love.

He doesn’t believe in it.

He doesn’t trust it.

But whatever this is —

Whatever you are —

It’s tearing him apart.

And he’s so damn tired of pretending he doesn’t feel anything for you.

[hahaifolded]

Sorry y'all - this has been marinating for awhile. Please accept this word vomit por favor… this is in reference to If I Can't, No One Can after this part. Warnings: MDNI, Angst, Death, Possible insinuation of suicide (depends on how you read it)

Because I can’t stop thinking how you stand nervously with Kate at the tarmac. She just got off the phone on evac, informing her that the mission had to be cut short. They don’t tell her much, but inform her that one of the teams didn’t make it. 

So you stand with her on the landing bay with baited breath to see who made it and who didn’t. You’re honestly not sure who you want to see walk off that plane. 

Do you want to see Price, the man who you still secretly look up to, or Ghost, who’s approval  you still craved, or Kyle, who’s smile makes you feel like everything will be okay even if it isn’t for you, or Johnny, the man who’s laugh never fails to make your heart flutter? Did you want to see the 141 walk off that plane, bruised and beaten, but alive? Despite everything you’ve gone through these past few months, do you still want to see them alive and well or would you prefer—

“Eyes ahead. They just landed.” Kate’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You look ahead and see the evac plane opening up, revealing who came back.

Your heart feels like its about to explode as Price, Ghost, Kyle, and Johnny wobble out of the evac plane. If they’re here that means your boys are lying in some ditch in who knows where. That means no more words of wisdom from your gentle giant Nikto. That means no more random snack breaks with your pretty boy Keegan. That means that no more impromptu meetings about the randomest things with your sweet boy Horangi. Ultimately that means you’re still stuck here with them. 

“Thank God,” Kate whispers. She moves towards the banged-up 141 and signals you to follow. You take a step forward but falter as your knees nearly give out. Kate pauses and looks back at you. Her gaze confused at first but immediately falls as she sees the grief in your own. 

And I’ll be honest, I am not sure how Kate would react here. Because it can go one to two ways:

At that moment, everything clicks for Kate Laswell. Maybe not 100% but she at least understands that you are not ecstatic with the 141’s return. So she pauses and decides to give you a moment. She may not get what’s going on but she knows that the 141 did something for you to not be relieved by their return. 

But on the other hand, I can also see Kate being utterly confused and even annoyed because why aren’t you happy? The 141 are alive and well. Sure, the Kor-tac boys didn’t make it back but your guys did. So maybe in this scenario, she tells you to get it together and pockets this for a future scolding conversation. 

But one thing for sure, no matter how Kate reacts, the 141 make the devastating revelation. You are not relieved that they are alive. You are not happy to see them. You are devastated that they came back instead of the trio. You wish that Kor-tac had returned, not them. 

They eventually make it to you and Kate and feel the awkward energy. Kate hugs Price while you just awkwardly stand behind her, doing your very best to control the tears welling in your eyes. Despite Kate being right in front of them and expressing her relief for their return, they all stare at you. Price feels like a piece of shit. Johnny can feel is heart about to give out. Ghost goes numb despite the gun shot wounds. And Gaz feels bile climb up his throat.

Kyle tries to go in for a hug (because being so close to death made him realize that he needed you, that no-contact rule Price put can go to hell for all he knows), but Ghost stops him. The Lieutenant can tell now is not the time. 

“Gentleman, g-glad you’re back,” you manage to say through gritted teeth. You take one deep breath and mask all of your emotions. Your face hardens and goes blank. Everyone is taken aback, even Kate. 

Johnny is the first to recover from your sudden energy shift. “I am so sorry. We tried saving them but there were too ma—“

You cut him off. “No need, Sergeant. Loss is part of the job.” You nearly get away with this whole no-emotion act if it wasn’t for you swallowing as soon as you finished your declaration. 

“Love.” John calls out to you. He takes a step forward but you immediately take one back. You put a hand out and shake your head no, keep them all at bay. Your facade breaks. Tears stream your face. You try to hold back your sob, but the pain is too much. 

Why did your sweet team have to die? Why did they abandon you? Why did they leave you alone with these four who don’t care about you?

Why couldn’t you have gone with them? 

Word Count: 855

Author's Note: I genuinely considered this. But I held back because it would just be too much. Maybe some other time, in some other series, who knows. Also y'all ignore the fact that I could have reblogged this, I had my reasons

More Thoughts - Folded's Masterlist - Important Message

[etherealwitcherys-blog]

PICK A CARD: What People Wish They Could Tell You ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

1.   2.   3.

Take a quiet moment to breathe and let your intuition guide you. Look at the three images...which one pulls at your energy or catches your eye first? That’s the pile you’re meant to explore. If you feel drawn to more than one, that’s totally fine. It just means you’ve got multiple messages waiting for you. Dive into whichever speaks to you most!

If you enjoyed this reading, book a personalized paid reading here!

My Masterlist!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Pile 1 - “I wish I knew how to say it all without falling apart.”

Alright, let’s be honest: this person has been carrying what happened between you like it’s a weight pressed against their spine, something they can’t just shrug off. And here’s the thing they’re not quite ready to let go yet. It’s not that they want to stay stuck, but their heart is tangled in the aftermath, still searching for meaning, still trying to make sense of it all. They’re caught in this in-between space where moving forward feels impossible until they can rewrite the story in their mind and find some kind of peace with their role in it.

They wish more than anything they could sit down with you, just the two of you, no barriers, heart in hand, finally speaking the things that never found a voice. The apologies that weigh heavy but are necessary. The truths that felt too fragile to share before. The times they didn’t show up fully, not because they didn’t care, but because they were struggling to hold themselves together. They didn’t know how to be present for themselves, let alone for you. Now, though, they see it clearly, and it hurts in the most honest way.

You were their anchor. The emotional space they couldn’t create on their own amid the chaos. Even when they acted distant, when silence became their shield, and they seemed indifferent, it never meant they stopped caring. It meant they were scared of how deeply it mattered.

There’s a raw indecision inside them, not just about reaching out, but about whether they even deserve to. They crave peace, but they’re terrified that peace might mean fading from your life completely. So they hold back, stuck between hope and fear, wanting to heal what broke but doubting the bridge to you still exists.

Here’s the cosmic insight: Lapis Lazuli is shining bright here, signaling that their third eye is wide open, buzzing with awakened awareness. This isn’t just regret; it’s soul-level grief that sinks deep and aches in their chest. They’re realizing, with a painful clarity, that they mishandled something sacred between you.

If you’ve found yourself waking up at odd hours, heart racing with thoughts of them, it’s no coincidence. That restless energy is alive on both sides, like an unspoken conversation neither knows how to begin. They’re thinking about you, intensely and often, even if they hide it behind silence.

This reading is a reminder: your story isn’t over. The space between you is still charged not just with unresolved pain, but with the potential for healing, if and when the time is right. Sometimes, the hardest part is holding space for someone who hasn’t yet learned to hold space for themselves. Maybe that’s where you are, standing at the edge of what was, what could be, and what’s still quietly unfolding in ways neither of you fully understand.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Pile 2 - “I'm Not The Same Person You Walked Away From."

This energy? It’s huge. Like, ego-shattering, Tower-card-level collapse kind of transformation. The kind that feels like the ground beneath you gave way and the sky cracked open with a thunderous wake-up call. This person? They’ve been through the fire. They stared themselves down in the mirror and finally saw through the illusion they’d been living inside—the one where they pretended everything was fine, where denial was a shield, and truth was too sharp to face. That mirror didn’t just crack—it shattered, and it left them raw, exposed, and somehow open to change in a way they never imagined possible.

What they want you to know? You were the spark. Not in the way you might think, this wasn’t about abandonment or punishment. No, your distance, your silence, the boundaries you held firm they weren’t walls meant to shut them out. They were a mirror, reflecting back truths they weren’t ready to face until now. And that mirror? It burned them. It scorched away the lies they told themselves, forcing them into a reckoning that was as painful as it was necessary.

They’ve learned lessons that run deep now, patience, the kind that grows from falling apart and piecing yourself back together more carefully. Humility, in knowing they don’t have all the answers, and never did. And, most importantly, that love without respect isn’t love at all, it’s just attachment wearing a prettier mask.

Now? They’re trying to move forward differently. Like someone who’s actually done the work, who’s willing to show up with more than empty promises. But the question still haunts them: is it too late? Are the cracks too wide to bridge? They wish with everything inside to demonstrate not just through words, but through steady, genuine action that they understand now. That they aren’t coming back emotionally bankrupt or hollow. That what they offer is real, hard-earned, and whole.

Labradorite appearing here is no accident. You were the mystic in this story, the one with the vision, the intuition, the clarity that they lacked. You held the light when they were still fumbling in the dark. But here’s the wild thing: now they’re beginning to trust their own light. It’s a flicker at first, uncertain, but growing stronger every day. And what they want more than anything? To share that light with you if you’re still willing to see it.

You might notice their energy swirling around you during full moons, or in those moments when you’re reclaiming your power and standing taller in your truth. That’s no coincidence. They’re tuning into your frequency, reaching out across the invisible threads that still connect you, even if the words haven’t been spoken yet.

This isn’t just a story of endings or loss. It’s a story of transformation and the slow, difficult path to something new, something that, maybe one day, could be stronger, wiser, and more alive than before. And if you listen closely, the echoes of their growth are waiting for you to hear them.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Pile 3 - “You Were The Best Thing I Didn't Know How To Hold."

Alright, here’s the real truth you need to hear: this person? When they had you, they weren’t really there not emotionally. They were numb, like their feelings had flatlined long before you came into the picture. This wasn’t about you at all. It was about everything life had already thrown at them; the heartbreaks, the betrayals, the disappointments, that made them shut down, put up walls, and retreat into a place where vulnerability felt impossible.

And then you showed up. You were the softness in their storm, the gentle light cutting through the dark. You were the quiet hope that whispered, “It doesn’t have to stay this way.” But here’s the painful part, they couldn’t hear that whisper. Not yet. Because inside their mind, fear was louder. Fear told them they didn’t deserve kindness, that no one could love them as gently as you did. So instead of rejecting you, they rejected the idea that someone like you could exist in their world.

Now? They’re watching you. Maybe from a distance, scrolling through your social media, hearing your name in conversations, catching glimpses of your energy in the spaces you leave behind. And every time they do, it cuts deep. Because finally, they get it. You were their Star, their guiding light when everything else felt lost. You were the clarity they so desperately needed, the direction that could have led them out of their fog. But back then? They were too trapped in their own darkness to follow.

If they could speak freely, what they’d say is this: You changed me. Even if the two of you never speak again. Even if you’ve walked completely away. They carry you as the turning point in their story, the moment when things could have been different, even if they weren’t ready to believe it at the time.

And here’s where Moonstone comes in, carrying the energy of transcendence, healing, and divine feminine truth. This person is waking up to something powerful: their old ways, their logic, their emotional detachment, didn’t save them at all. Instead, those defenses isolated them further, cutting them off from the very connection they craved. Now, slowly, they’re learning to feel again. To open their heart again. And it’s all because of the imprint you left on their soul.

You might be picking up their energy in unexpected ways, through songs that hit too close to home, vivid dreams where you see them, or moments of déjà vu that make you pause. Those are their soul signals reaching out, calling to you across the silence, even if their voice is still too afraid to break through.

If you enjoyed this reading, book your own personalized in-depth paid reading here!

Thank you so much for sticking with me through the whole reading! This is my first time posting a PAC Reading on Tumblr in this way! I hope what you found here spoke to you and that you enjoyed the experience. If it did, please consider liking and sharing—it truly means the world to me!

I’d love to hear which pile you picked and any thoughts you want to share about the reading. Your feedback is very important to me! If this reading connected with you, you might be interested in exploring one of my paid readings, which also helps support my work! ☺︎

Side Note: Tarot offers guidance based on current energies, feelings, and choices. It points toward possibilities rather than set-in-stone futures. This is a general reading, so trust what feels right for you and leave the rest behind!

[aceauthorarielle]

On Choosing and Being Chosen

As I move forward this week with making some difficult choices that I know will improve the health and well-being of my own life and partnerships, I’ve also had the opportunity to reflect on the concepts of love, forever, and being chosen. David and I were given the deeply wonderful honor of officiating the wedding of two dear friends yesterday, and while there, I had the opportunity of enjoying another beautiful milestone in our lives with so many of the friends who I’ve now come to firmly believe are my forever family.

Here are a couple of remarks that I wrote for the wedding.

Welcome everyone, to what I hope will be one of the happiest days of our lives! And that’s it, really; watching two people we love get married is an incredibly joyful thing for all of us, not just for the two of them. Their love spreads. It grows. It encompasses everyone who gets too close!

I was so excited and shocked when (my friend) asked David and I to officiate today. I felt so chosen by someone I really love and admire, and I think that’s the word of the day today; chosen. We’re all here because we’ve been chosen by this couple to celebrate the exquisite joy of them choosing each other, forever. It’s maybe the most special, the most breathtakingly wonderful thing in the world to be chosen, to be told and shown beyond question that you matter so deeply to someone that they want you to be a part of their life in every single phase of it. They’re choosing their family, their future, their forever, and they chose us to be with them today to embrace and delight in that.

What better gift could they have given any of us? What better gift could they be giving each other?

There is maybe nothing so wonderful and affirming as hearing someone say to you, “I want to get to know you better.”

We live in a lonely world. It’s a world where we’re taught to hide our emotions, to swallow our feelings, to express ourselves only when it’s convenient and comfortable for the other person. We’re isolated by our culture’s insistence that love is meant to be appropriate and quiet and only expressed with force and intent in the bedroom. We walk through the world making fleeting eye contact with other people who are living in the same isolated, internal, lonely spaces, yearning for contact, craving connection … and so to say “I like you, I want to be friends with you, I’d like to get to know you better” can be subversive. To reach out to someone across any length of space; a table, a work desk, a classroom counter, the vast expanse of the internet - and to say “you’re someone I think I want in my life, let’s spend time together, let’s connect on a deeper level” is like a deep breath of fresh, clean air to an asthmatic.

I cherish the magical moments in my life during which someone has turned to me and said “I think you could matter to me. Let’s talk.” We can’t form bonds or fall in love without it. I’m proud of every person who has gotten up the courage to say “I like you, I’m interested in you, I need you, let’s be for each other and not just next to each other.”

Never forget to be authentic. Never forget to say “I need you.” Because you do, we do, I do. We need each other. I’m proud of needing you, and I’m grateful, honored, elated that you need me.

It doesn’t have to be a secret. We should celebrate it.

I love you, I need you.

Thank you.

[romanscoming]

HUSBAND!SALESMEN/RECRUITER x BLACK!WIFE!READER SMUT

TAGLIST ! | REQUEST ! | WATTPAD ! - VISUAL PORN -

SUMMARY - you think wivies are the only one who can be bratty .. true but whats worst is a hubby who wont admit to being wrong — and whats the best way to get that out of him .. by flirting down .

LATELY YOUR MOOD HAS BEEN ALL OVER THE PLACE .. but so has your husband as well .

you could say anything bratty and he would have a small slick comment to say under his breath . this was happening a lot recently . and maybe a little too much .

arguing was normally never a problem .. your husband would always be quick to pull you into his chest nd kiss your lips and apologize for his wrong doing, and you would apologize right after .

every argument came with a heartfelt apology .

just not these .. and that was the 1st problem .

the 2nd problem was the reassurance that was needed which was the real cost of the argument .. coming home late with no explanation, leaving without a kiss or even a simple small ‘i love you, have a nice/good day .’

emotions were running high and wild .. your mind starts to play tricks on you and have you thinking that your marriage is failing .. something is wrong — something just isnt right with you and your husband .

every argument made u fall into a deep hole sunken into the ground, and was eating you alive .

the annoyed feeling went away but it was just overcame by sadness, you were upset that there was a big change and nobody was talking about it but it was there .

ever since then, you both seem to distance .. maybe on his behalf it was work but you .

that was a different story .

IT WAS FINALLY A MORNING WHERE YOU BOTH WERE OFF OF WORK .. and you so happened to wake up before him . now sitting up again the headboard as you watched him like he’d just vanished into thin air .

you didnt kno how long you were staring until you felt a water roll down your cheek .

quickly wiping it away as you got up and rushed to the bathroom . pulling your toothbrush out the cup and rinsing it off as you place toothpaste onto it and sat it to the side for a minute, looking back into the mind you stared once again before turning the faucet on and cupping the water into your hand and throwing it onto your face .

letting out a sigh as you picked up the toothbrush and started to brush your teeth as you thought to yourself .

on normal days like these where you both were free to spend time together, you would be inseparable, but this wasnt a normal day .. it was a odd day .

finishing with your teeth to rinsed it off once more before putting it back into the cup and pulling out your face cream, moisturizing it again your skin getting that glow youve been wanting and smiling to yourself in the middle .

not even realizing your husband was watching that whole time while leaning against the door frame .. smiling .

“your amazingly gorgeous .. my angel .”

you turned looked at him and froze .. before looking at the floor again and humming at his words before mumbling a small ‘thank you’

turning your body away from him as your nightgown shifted as he came up behind to and fixed it as he embraced you .

you wanted to melt into his touch, the same touch youve been craving for a long time but u couldnt .

he held on to you as u looked down, he lifted your face up and you turned it away as you walked away to the shower turned it on, and went into the closet grabbing a towel and a rag and placed them both onto the bar on the shower door before walking out .

he let out a sharp exhale, and figured you guys were taking a shower together and quickly got naked and got in, but he realized that idea was false when he seen only one towel and seen that you weren’t returning .

you stold by the close bathroom door listening, going downstairs to the kitchen to cook .

you made him a omelette with cheese, bacon and sausage with a side of toast and apples kiwis and pineapple as you made yourself a fruit bowl, and ate it before he had came down stairs to eat with you .

this is where he figured he mustve did something wrong .

you were now in the shared study, sitting on the couch with a book in your hand reading with a cup of coffee .

he walked in expecting you to look up at him but you didnt . he walked closer up to you and u still didnt look up .. he shoved his right hand into his pocket, as his left reached for your face .

your eyebrows furrowed at him, not wanting to start another argument you locked eye with him and obeyed .

he squats in front you, cupping your face and places soft small kisses onto your lips .

and you fold, you fold so fast .

pulling away from the kiss he plants kissing on your exposed thighs make your mouth water as you felt your panties start to become damp . he lays his head slowly and softly onto your plumped thighs as he drops from a swuat and onto his knees as if he wss about to beg you .

his hands rubbed up and down your inner thighs and all around your legs inhaling you sent like he needed it to live, before batting his eyes up at you with sad glossy eyes .

the book you were reading was now on the floor beside him as he took your hand to place it on his face as he stared up at you .. “god—ive miss you so, so, so much ..”

“its only work—i promise ive been busy trying to get this for you, im sorry .. so sorry,, the arguing that isnt us .. we love eachother—i love you [name].. i promise, i promise, i promise .”

you rolled your eyes as the tears started to fall from your eyes .. and he rushed up to kiss them away, before kissing your forehead and then your lips .

you rested your forehead onto his as you exhaled and inhaled, he stared into your eyes as you shook your head letting out more tears .. “no- im sorry.. i was being a bratty and all needy when u needed to make money for us—im selfish.. im sorry.”

he chuckled before shaking his head no at your words and kissing your lips once again, cupping your face with his hands as he embraced your presence more .

“you just wanted attention, reassurance, and me to be present with you just how your present with me .. and i understand which is why .. i got you this .”

he pulled a box from his pocket and was a upgraded wedding ring as beautiful as ever .

“i cherish every moment i have with you even the bad, the arguments and the ups and downs—i love you [name] always and forever . you are my sweetheart .”

your face dropped as you locked your lips against his as you pulled him even close to you then before as you both fell back into the sofa .

you both laughed together as he sipped off your old ring and replaced it with a new one and kissed your hand .

you were mesmerize, so grateful for your husband as your water works started to pour out again and fall down your face .

“no, no” he shushed you kissing them tears as he kissed your nose, “noo crying, i want your permission to please you in the way you been needing me to .. i want to cherish all of you whole, embrace you into myself and to be moded together.. forever and till death do us part .”

you nodded your head yes, before kissing him as a approval, “yes yes—a million times yes .”

you shared one intimate kiss with each other as the hands of his traveled around your body, and you iched to take off your gown .

“no keep this pretty thing on .. please for me .”

“mhmm—okay.”

he kissed your lips, down to your jaw, to your neck and shoulders to the outline of your nips throughout your thin gown, your belly button, and inside of each thigh .

you moaned low, as you gripped the couch when u really wanted to pull his hair .

he blew onto your wet panties, making your thighs squeezed against his head wanting more .

he chuckled to himself as your heart increased as u watched him pull your panties with his teeth and think inhale the scent of your nature, while releasing a long slow kitty lip against your lips .

licking stripes after stripes against your clit, pushing you to the edge making u want to fall and throw your head back into a pillow .

your moans got louder as he kept licking but then he stopped, pulling and pushing all over his clothes off, and pushes you further up onto the counch and crawled on top of u before planting you a kiss on the lips and holding your head into his forearm .

cradling you like a baby, as he stroke his cock twice before pushing inside of you as you head fell back and he laughed, kissing the side of ur exposed neck .

once u were comfortable again he started moving, slow but it quickened fast, you moaned were musice but his moans were gold to you .

he wondered how long it would take him to cum, base off the way you were squeezing him in your pink puffy cunt .

he exhale as he eyes rolled back and a moan fell out his moans as his thrust got deeper .

you watching him only to feel more pressure on your spot, you smiled up at him as you locked eyes, kissing his lips as you took his other hand and led it to your lower stomach to he can feel where hes at .

and ohh boy did it feel it .

it was amazing again, he press down onto it getting more reactions out of you as you moaned extremely loud, he kissing your forehead as his hand moved from your stomach to hold ur waist and make u bounce back onto him .

you legs flew up and crossed around his back as you wanted more from him, arms wrapped around his neck as you wanted him even closed, pleading to him for your release and for more and more .

“gonna cum .. g’cum baby— please.”

he smiled kissing you lips as he thrusted and paused and thrusted again fuckin over your climax, “f’me princess ? hm gonna cum for me ?”

you nodded quickly as you cries grew louder, “please please pleasee, please baby.”

he pulled your breast out of your gown and began to suck then as you whined and moaned, before shaking his head yes as you pushed your head into his neck and moaned as your body shook as you became one with him and released your substance .

you kissed his neck as his thrusting slowed down letting you reach your high, turning to meet you face to face as he plants kisses onto your lips, sweet loving kisses just as he started his fast quick thrusting again .

“one more .. mm—just one more my angel one fuuuckin move from this little cunt of yours .”

you whined even more but shook your head as he tucked his head into your neck started full speed thrusting, back to back as sweet and liquid substance from both of your boths started to form on the the seat and onto each other .

the sound of you both panting and moaning together, as your hand interlinked with his as he lifted up off of the couch and locked eye contact with you as he kept thrusting .

more and more again and again, as you started to tighten up again his member, molding together like a puzzle piece, you tears falling as you were on edge, mouth falling open as you mouthed, “i love you so much—my dear husband.”

he kissing your forehead, nose and lips as he cradles your body once again holding you close, “i love you more then you know it, my wife .” just as you release around him and he release inside of you and onto your stomach before collapsing on told of you .

 

[ 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽 ]

sorry for any mistakes and misspelling — finished this at 5 am and its currently 8 .. yeah goodnight .

i didnt do a warning ! list, i feel like all my warnings on all my stories are the same sooo hopefully that wasnt a problem ..

this was kinda hard with the salemen have no name LMFAOO, i kept having to use he/him and yada yada trying to improvise !!!! i got a couple of more squid game drafts so they will be posted soon hopefully, im planning on posting a little sinners black reader x bo chow *wink wink .

but yeah, and i am getting to request, i promise i promise .

— 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝖱𝖮𝖬𝖠𝖭𝖲𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖦 —

[ghostofviriena]

“Shadows and Silk”

Rook Hunt x Fem! Reader [🌶️]

Sypnosis:

You never expected your quiet night shift to end with Rook pressing you into the ivy-wrapped garden wall, his lips burning declarations against your skin. Hidden beneath moonlight and silk, he finally lets the hunger in his gaze speak.. with fingers, with teeth, with every reverent touch. In his arms, you’re not just seen— you’re devoured.

Minors DNI 🔞.

Labels: NSFW, smut, soft romance, possessive desire, moonlit intimacy, tension, aftercare, slow burn, semi-public (no one's around except the both of u), emotional vulnerability, hidden longing, garden setting, quiet passion, mutual craving, worshipp!ng, gentle dominance, teasing touches, intense eye contact, reader is not yuu & spicy!

You never thought a quiet night shift in the dorm’s shadowed garden would lead to this— the way Rook’s hunter green eyes glinted in the moonlight, fierce yet tender, burning into your soul with a hunger he’d never quite masked before.

The festival’s roar was miles away, swallowed by the thick ivy and midnight air around you, cocooning you both in an intimate world where only your breath and his heartbeat mattered. You had been stealing glances all evening, the way his fingers grazed the edge of yours, the subtle brush of his jacket against your skin as he passed.

Now, here in the garden, the barrier of silence finally broke.

Rook stepped closer, his voice low, almost a growl, “You know I’ve been watching you, right? Every moment.” His hand slipped to your jaw, thumb tracing a feather-light path that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You swallowed hard, breath hitching, eyes locked on his as he closed the distance. His lips found yours in a fierce, demanding kiss, tongue swirling in a dance of temptation and promise. You melted instantly, hands tangling in his wild hair, pulling him impossibly closer as your body pressed against his lean frame.

His hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into your hips, grounding you in the heat of the moment. The silk of your shirt made it almost sinful how easily he peeled it open, revealing the skin beneath, pale and inviting under the moon’s glow.

Rook’s touch was a mix of fire and feather, roaming over your ribs, brushing the sensitive skin beneath your breasts before settling at your waist. His mouth trailed down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, marking you with kisses that made you gasp loudly.

He paused to look at you, eyes dark with desire and something softer— protectiveness, perhaps? but before dipping lower, lips capturing your collarbone, teasing the swell of your breasts with a reverent hunger.

Your breath hitched when his fingers slipped beneath your waistband, the cool night air brushing your heated skin as he explored you with deliberate slowness. He didn’t rush with you as every stroke, every flick of his fingers was a promise, a vow to savor you, worship you.

The first flick of his tongue to your clit was electric, sending a rush of pleasure that had you trembling against him. His hands and mouth worked in perfect harmony, coaxing your hips to grind against his hand, desperate for more.

Rook’s breath was hot against your skin, voice a husky murmur, “Trickster, You’re mine tonight. I’ll show you exactly how much I want you.” His fingers curled inside you, stretching and pulsing in time with the mounting tension building inside you.

You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as he deepened his ministrations, mouth closing over your clit in a slow, torturous suck that left you gasping for air. His other hand found your throat, not to choke but to cradle— grounding you, reminding you he was here, with you.

Then, when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he shifted, fingers pressing harder, faster, curling just right to hit your most sensitive spot as his tongue flicked urgently against your clit. You came undone with a shuddering scream, body arching into him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

But Rook wasn’t finished.

He rose with a growl, lips brushing against your jaw, neck, each kiss a declaration. His member pressed against your wet heat, teasing the entrance slowly before pushing inside, filling you with a slow, possessive thrust that made your breath catch.

The world narrowed to the sound of your joined breaths and the rhythm of his hips, powerful and steady, grinding deep into you with an intoxicating mix of control and need. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as he whispered your name like a secret prayer.

“Feel..haah .. how much I want you,” he said, voice rough and low. “Every inch..nggHh~!.. of you is mine.”

You clung to him, matching his pace, losing yourself in the storm of sensation.. the slick heat, the fierce grip, the way his body moved with yours in perfect harmony. His lips found yours again, a bruising kiss filled with desperation and promise.

You gasped as he hit your sweet spot, the coil inside snapping loose into a shattering climax that left you trembling and breathless. Rook followed seconds later, groaning your name as he also cums inside of you, holding you tight through the aftershocks.

As you lay tangled in the shadows, hearts still pounding, his fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, voice softening. “You don’t have to hide it from me,” he whispered. “I want all of you— always.”

He chuckles as he sees his cum dripping out of your cunt then whispered, “Shall we go for another round, Trickster?”

[whiteraven87]

The Flame That Never Fades - chapter 4 - Lilith (4/16)

pairing: Toto Wolff x Victoria Lorenz (Original Character)

summary: She's young, fiery, naive and blindly in love. He's older, married, powerful and dangerously irresistible. To him, she was an obsession, an escape, a desire. To her, he was everything. The Flame that Never Fades is a story of forbidden love in the world of Formula 1, born from lust… and ending in something that can never be undone.

warnings: age gap (28 years), forbidden romance, obsession, desire, dark romance, smut, infidelity, emotional manipulation, dominant older man, angst, longing, possessiveness, emotional pain, toxic dynamics, no promise for happy ending.

word count: 37k

read on: AO3 - Wattpad - Tumblr

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my other finished fanfiction: The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist [Toto WolffxOC]

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

chapters until now:

Prologue 1: Middle of the Night 2: Frozen 3: Shameless 4:Lilith

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

Chapter 4: Lilith

I tried to scream but lilies clouded my mind The petals softly floating into my eyes I felt your fingers slowly crawl up my spine We didn't have to sink for you to be mine Lilith - Saint Avangeline

May, hotel in Barcelona, Spanish Grand Prix

The door opened before him almost soundlessly. The hotel hallway was wrapped in deep silence, as if the whole world had drifted into sleep... and he was just leaving its most sinful corner. For a moment, he leaned against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath. His body was still burning — with the memory of her skin, the trembling whisper of his name, her nails on his back.

Toto turned once more and looked toward the bed. Victoria was asleep. Her tousled hair fell over her shoulder, the blanket barely covering her bare hips, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of relief... and fulfillment.

Beautiful. Wild. His.

He took a step back, drawn to her like a moth to flame. Sat at the edge of the bed. For a moment, he simply watched. Then gently traced the marks he'd left on her skin. He knew he shouldn't. That every touch was another nail in the coffin of their shared damnation.

And yet...

It had all begun innocently years ago. She was young, ambitious, brilliant, defiant. There was something... untamed about her. But it wasn't then that he broke the rules.

It wasn't then that he tasted the forbidden fruit.

It was that passionate night, after her phenomenal victory, when she became World Champion six months ago... That's when he was lost.

Victoria, for all her innocence, burned like fire — and quickly learned to dance in his hands. She surrendered with a trust that terrified him. She was ready to give him everything.

And he... took it all.

He showed her a world of pleasure, domination, whispers in the dark. And she craved more. Drank in every word, every command. She gave him her body — but her soul had long been his.

He knew her better than he wanted to. He knew she loved him beyond reason. She never said it. Not once. But she didn't have to. He saw it in her eyes when she begged him to stay. In the soft "just a little longer," spoken barely above a whisper.

And he?

He loved Susie. His days began and ended with her. Jack was his world.

Victoria was the night. The secret. A burst of adrenaline that gave him a second life when the first one felt too neatly arranged.

And yet, he couldn't walk away from her — just as he couldn't truly belong to her.

He cared for her. Always. He was her support, the arm that steadied her on the podium and in moments of doubt.

But her love for him... It was her sentence.

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder softly. She didn't stir, lost in sleep.

"Don't fall in love with me..." he whispered, more to himself than to her. Though he knew it was far too late. "This has to stay between us."

He rose. Soundlessly. Looked at her one last time, then stepped out into the night — which suddenly felt colder.

He had to return to the hotel room next door. To Susie. To his family. To the life he didn't have the courage to leave.

But there, behind a closed door, slept the girl to whom he'd given more than he ever intended. And whom — against all logic — he thought of as he fell asleep beside his wife.

***

Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, dancing across the white sheets. Victoria woke slowly, still warm from the remnants of sleep. For a split second, all she felt was warmth. Softness. Closeness. And then she realized she was alone.

She turned sharply. He was gone.

Only the imprint of his head on the pillow remained — and the crumpled corner of the sheet.

No note. No words. Only silence. And emptiness.

She sat up, pulling the blanket around her naked body. She felt every part of herself — not just physically. Her heart ached. Her stomach twisted with unspoken fear.

The memories returned in waves: his breath on her neck, his hands — firm and steady — the commanding whisper in her ear. He had led her. 

She was his. That night and all other nights that they shared - entirely, unconditionally.

And now? Now she was just the girl in the hotel bed. The girl who loved a man she could never have.

She rose slowly, feeling the pleasant ache between her thighs. She walked naked to the mirror.

For a moment, she studied her reflection — disheveled hair, flushed lips, the faint mark of his mouth on her neck.

She was no longer a girl. She was a woman. And she looked like someone who had tasted fire for the first time. But in her eyes — there was something more. A shadow.

She returned to the bed and hugged his pillow. It smelled like him. She inhaled greedily, as if trying to trap that scent inside her forever. She knew this wasn't accidental. That it wasn't just her who wanted this. He did, too. But for him... it was just another secret. And for her — the beginning of the end.

Her phone buzzed. A short notification.

A message from Toto:

> "I have to go back. Thank you for last night. Please... be careful. We can't give anyone reason to suspect. See you in the paddock. — T." <

No tenderness. No "you were beautiful," "you were incredible." No us.

Just "see you in the paddock." As if nothing had happened.

She clenched her fingers around the phone and set it down.

She loved him. Madly. For years.

And now she knew — there was no turning back.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the silence of the room:

"I gave you everything. And you didn't even look back."

And yet — despite the humiliation, the loneliness, the grief — She knew that if he knocked again tonight... She would open the door without hesitation. Because she was already his.

Completely.

Monaco, May, the apartment building where the Wolffs and Victoria live

Victoria stood in front of the mirror, not entirely sure why she was even going. She was supposed to be celebrating. It was her night — she had just been named Athlete of the Year. Well deserved. Fought for with blood, sweat, and endless battles on the track, crowned with her World Champion title. Susie had invited her to celebrate this new success together. Victoria couldn't refuse. She owed a great deal to Susie... and to Toto.

And yet, it wasn't the award she saw in her mind tonight. It was him. And her.

She wore a black dress, her long blonde hair let down, cascading over her shoulders and back.

She crossed the threshold of Toto and Susie's apartment. The dinner was meant to be "intimate." Susie had prepared everything herself — candles, classical music, homemade dishes, a light wine. She wore a flowing pale blue dress that draped off her shoulders like mist. She was the embodiment of gentleness. Of femininity. Of warmth.

"Darling!" Susie called out with a smile, approaching to hug her. "You look beautiful."

Victoria smiled faintly and allowed herself to be embraced. Susie's perfume drifted into her nose — soft, floral. Toto liked that scent. He once said it reminded him of home.

And then came him. Toto. In a dark sweater, classic, elegant. Broad shoulders, posture as upright as ever. And that gaze. A gaze that lingered on her for just a moment before it dropped — to her shoulder, where a small tattoo peeked out, one he had caressed with his tongue only the night before.

Victoria felt her body tense under his stare. But he said nothing. No gesture, no furtive touch. Just:

"Congratulations, Vici. We're proud of you."

We. A family. He and Susie.

They sat. The dinner played out to the sound of Mahler and toasts. Susie laughed, telling stories about Jack building a model of her race car out of blocks. Toto poured wine, his hand brushing his wife's. He pulled out her chair, whispered something into her ear, and she blushed.

And Victoria?

She felt like a blot of ink among watercolors. And yet it wasn't jealousy that burned. It was the knowledge of his real touch. The memory of the sound he made when he climaxed. The trembling, the urgency, the whispered "my wild girl."

When Susie went to the kitchen for dessert, Toto stood and walked over to her, seemingly by accident. He leaned in to pour more wine.

"You're quiet" he murmured low.

"I'm observing" she replied coolly.

His hand brushed her shoulder. A fraction of a second. Yet her skin ignited.

"Don't get your hopes up, Victoria", he whispered, barely audible. "What we have stays in the shadows. Where no one looks."

She looked up at him. Her eyes glinted with fury and longing.

"You don't need to remind me. I tell myself that every single day."

He wanted to say something else, but Susie's laughter drifted from the kitchen. He stepped back. Smiled at his wife. Took his seat again. Kept playing the part.

And Victoria? She was burning inside.

Because she knew that tonight he'd knock again. That once more the darkness and flame would swallow her whole. And afterward, he'd return to his family.

And once again, it would be just her. And that cursed taste of a love that was never meant to be.

When Toto said he'd walk her back, Victoria's heart started beating faster, even though she tried to stay calm. Susie had just taken Jack to his room to tuck him in, kissing Victoria's cheek goodnight with a tenderness only she could give.

"It was a lovely evening" she said softly. "You're part of our family."

Victoria smiled, choking on something between a scream and a sob.

Toto didn't say a word as they walked down the hallway together. The silence between them was dense, suffocating, heavy with all the things left unsaid. Her apartment was just one floor below — close. Too close to their world.

She closed the door behind her. Hadn't even turned around yet when his hand landed on her hip. His other hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her roughly into a kiss. Their mouths collided — it wasn't a kiss of love. It was hunger. Hunger with only one release.

"Toto..."she murmured between kisses, but he didn't let her finish. He shoved her toward the dining table.

"Shhh... Just a moment", he whispered, pulling off his sweater in one swift move.

There was no tenderness here. No slow undressing, no tender whispers. She pulled off her dress in one motion. He lifted her, sat her on the table — their eyes met for a moment. In hers: love, devotion, yearning, desperation. In his: fire, hunger, power.

He entered her abruptly, without warning. She gasped — not in pain, but in relief. It was exactly what they both needed. His hands clutched her thighs, his hips slammed into the table's edge, and the sounds of their bodies mingled with breath and moans.

They didn't talk. There was no time. This was war against reality. Against a world that had to stay blind. His movements were fast, dominating. Her body yielded to him, entirely, as always. She was his. Only in these moments.

And she knew, if he ever said "come", she'd drop everything.

When they were finished, she rested her forehead against his chest, and he held her tightly for a moment longer. Then he stepped back. Wordless. He reached for his sweater, fixed his hair in the hallway mirror — as if nothing had happened.

"I have to go back" he said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

She remained naked on the table. Sweaty, trembling, wrecked from the inside out.

She nodded.

"I know."

The door closed softly. Again. Like always.

This time, she didn't cry. She simply reached for the glass of unfinished wine, still sensing his scent on her skin, his fingers on her flesh.

And only one question returned, over and over like a mantra:

How many more nights like this before it breaks me for good?

***

The door clicked shut behind him. He stood for a moment in the dark hallway of the apartment, trying to steady his breath. His body still vibrated, smelled of her. Her sweat. Her hair. Her kisses. He felt her everywhere — under his skin, in his mouth, between his fingers.

And right behind it... came the shame. Heavy as lead.

He straightened the sweater that had only moments ago hung over the back of a chair in her dining room. Reached for the cologne on the hallway shelf. Tried to wash the scent of sin off his skin. But his soul still smelled like her. Like Victoria.

In the rooms next door, his life slept. Susie. Jack. His family.

He should've been better. Wiser. He was the adult. The responsible one. The one who knew the consequences. And yet... he'd done it again. Stepped between her legs, into her thoughts, into her dreams. Took what wasn't his. And left behind the kind of emptiness only he could leave.

But he was addicted to her. To this young, wild woman who looked at him like he was a god. Who gave herself to him completely, no masks. Her body trembled under his touch. She surrendered without hesitation — with full trust and... love.

And that was the worst part.

Because he saw it in her eyes. Every night. Every time she kissed him, when she whispered "Toto..." with a sigh that pierced straight into him. When she held him with her hands as if she could stop time.

She would give him everything. Herself. Her career. Her heart.

And him? He only gave her the night.

He slipped quietly into the bedroom. Susie was curled under the covers, her face peaceful — more so than usual. In this light, she looked like the girl he once fell in love with. The mother of his child. The home he always returned to.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She stirred in her sleep, but didn't wake.

He lay beside her, still feeling Victoria's skin beneath his nails. The image of her arched body on the table, her wet lips, her blown pupils returned with brutal clarity. The way she moaned his name when she came — it was like a blade between his ribs.

She didn't deserve this. She was young. Real. Loving.

And he was a coward.

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he prayed to fall asleep. Even if just for a moment. Without her face haunting him.

Because he knew he would never truly be able to leave her. Just as he would never have the courage to stay.

-----------

Next -> chapter 5: Ruthless

-----------

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Ngl I'm kind of dillydallying around my own SDV fixation and i'd KILL to see what your brain is doing to this game like i for one would eat up dat stuff UP . . .

I love the way this is phrased; genuinely 😭💖 like im a force of nature tearing through any new interest like its made of wet tissue paper 💥💥💥

I thought about it some more and i will (eventually) make an sdv blog. Its going to be a mess having all my interests on one dashboard (im lazy and i dont want to sign in and out all the time for diff accounts lol) but i need sdv stuff in sight or ill explode. For now tho i will ramble about random hcs rattling around in my brain

- The valley is FULL of magic, but not alot of Magical Beings that utilize that magic. If the residents of pelican town knew more about magic, there would be alot more wizards than just. The Wizard.

- Everyone in pelican town has some kind of latent magic, or at the very least, an affinity or sensitivity to magic. I like to think that magic builds in very secluded corners of their world and the area including (and surrounding) pelican town is simply one of those places.

-(sorry, i am just obsessed with Places and Magic) I like the idea of your farmer being drawn to pelican town bc they have a bit of magic in them. The letter is just A Letter, but it is the desire to see this town that makes them leave their old life behind. I am obsessed w the idea that the magic in the farmer craves the valley bc it sees the valley as its home, and by extension, the farmer sees the valley as their home. The people of pelican town rarely leave bc the magic in them sees the valley as their home always. The biggest examples of this are Kent, Demetrius, Evelyn, Emily and Shane. The huge exceptions to this (still workin on it) are lewis and sebastian; lewis bc i see him as a normal, non-magical being trying to wrangle the weirdness of this town, and sebastian bc his feelings of isolation and not being understood propels him to crave the world outside of the valley. (That changes a bit if u befriend him/romance him)

-(shane is weird bc hes super depressed and lonely but his happiness comes from his new ‘ragtag family’ (his words) and his very Not Normal chickens. The animals of the valley love him bc he loves them and he becomes tied to the valley bc of it. Marnie has always loved the animals of the valley and some of the love they had for her definitely rubbed off onto shane, who very openly admits he loves the chickens 💙)

-I wasnt very fond of the idea of purple=magic but i think that was bc i often saw it as a way to tie-in the wizard and abigail. I am still trying to get through the friendships for everyone but rn it doesnt feel like theres any connection between them (and caroline). But. I do like the idea of odd, unnatural colors coming through bc of magic. Alex and Pierre having normal brown hair; Haley and Sam being true blondes. BUT. Shane and Jas having purple-ish hair. Emily and Caroline have blue toned hair. Even vincent have pinkish hair 🥺💖 (and dare i say….sebastian with purple/black hair like shane 👀…maybe he has more magic in him than hed like to believe). Abigail doesnt count bc from what ive seen, Caroline laments about her daughters dyed hair. “When she was younger it used to be chestnut brown” which…awww she took after her dad lol.

- LAST THING. This is not an hc i am just mad about this. I cannot believe the game doesnt allow u to befriend Marlon. What the fuck. What the fuck !!! I love him!!! I want to be friends w the chill monster slayer! Im a monster slayer too!!! Let me give him gifts !!! Fuck ! 😭😭😭💥💥💥💥 Also. I know how to write old man yaoi. They shouldve let me do a romance path for willy, clint and marlon. And the wizard i guess but someone already did that. Linus doesnt count bc hes ascended the need for human romance; hes one w nature (read. aroace). And we (linus and willy and the farmer) already co-raise leo so that counts for something i think 🤔

[adiadagaki]

| obsessive!satoru hates you having a job

Why?

That is his main question. His net worth is in the billions, he has old money, the type passed on through generations of ridiculous wealth. Money has never been an issue, never will be, so imagine his displeasure when you insist on remaining employed.

If you worked at home, Satoru could deal with it, hell he would probably encourage it. He wants you to need him, course he does, but he also doesn’t want you bored. Bored means you’ll search for excitement outside of his arms, that he can’t have.

But actual work? The type you have to leave the house for, smile kindly at others, clear other peoples dirty plates?

He bought you a custom Porsche for your birthday you don’t need to do such things for money.

No matter how hard he pushed on it though, you refused, claiming it was the one thing you could never give up because it was something for yourself.

“C’mon Toru, you’ve known about this shift all week.” Yeah, it was his least favourite shift. 5pm until 11pm. What sick individual decided they were suitable working hours, especially for you, his pretty little girlfriend.

“Call in sick. Pleaseeeee sweets. Your boyfriend is in desperate need of cuddles after a day of being the strongest.” Smushing his cheek against your stomach, he listed five ways he could burn down your workplace while making it look like an accident in his head.

Coaxing him off you was no easy task and you were almost late from his clingy habits.

Satoru, on the other hand, had decided enough was enough. That pesky job had torn you from his arms one too many times and he wouldn’t stand for it anymore.

Dialling up the number he waited until someone answered, his jaw ticking with every ring. “Hello? Jenna speaking.”

“Hello Jenna, I’m gunna need you to grab your manager real quick.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just go get him, yeah?” Impatience packed his tone, his control slipping. All he wanted was his beautiful girlfriend in his arms, was that so much to ask?

Apparently so.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, I need you to sack (y/n) immediately.” The man down the line blubbered, unsure how to react to such a preposterous request, never mind the fact you were one of his best members of staff.

To your manager, the notion wasn’t appealing.

“I’m sorry but-”

“Listen, I get it, she is irreplaceable, but that is why I need her at home with me. Does five grand sound good enough to weaken your morals?”

Silence. Very loud silence.

“Not enough huh? How about 10?”

Long story short, the man was not as strong hearted as some may believe, and you were already on your way home. Of course, he was tracking you on your phone, watching with a heaviness in his chest only you could ease.

The minutes dragged, comparable to hours as he watched the door knowing any second you would slink inside.

The jingling of keys stole his breath, his leg bouncing in anticipation.

“Why are you back so soon sweets?” He called over his shoulder, trying his best to appear nonchalant and concerned.

“I was laid off because of staff cutbacks.” Your voice was heavy with emotion and he almost felt bad for putting his beautiful girlfriend through such an upsetting ordeal.

Almost.

“What? How could they have let you go sweets? You were their best member of staff.” That he didn’t have to lie about.

Embracing you in a hug, he kissed the top of your head over and over, comforting you in your moment of need.

Soon you quietened down, your eyes a little puffy but other than that you were OK, something Satoru craved to see. You, healthy and happy, with him.

Nuzzling his nose into your hair, he let out a pathetic little noise of content, rocking you gently to soothe you while simultaneously satisfying his urges.

Satoru had never claimed to be a good man, but he was a man in love, and he would sacrifice the world to have you in his arms, even if that meant stealing the last fraction of your old life.

[kurooh]

keigo is unapologetically a whore when it comes to sending you voice notes. it’s a surprise every damn time—it could be the middle of the day, and you’ll press play, expecting a rant about something, only to for his pretty groans to reverberate through the earbuds.

your jaw drops, and a low heat begins to simmer in your stomach. after you’ve quickly scanned the area to make sure nobody’s around, you crank up the volume to the max and restart the note.

“god, fuuuck,” he moans, the word trembling on his lips, and it is just too easy to picture him right now. in your mind’s eye, you can see him leaning against a wall on the very top of a tall building, flushed cock in hand while he tries his hardest not to drop his phone. “i need you, baby. i need to bend you over right now and give you this dick.”

keigo shudders, and you can hear the ruffle of his agitated feathers in the background. his breaths come in both hot and heavy, crackling through the phone between each pinched gasp or moan.

“i - i know you’re gonna say i’m being dramatic, but god, you have no ideaaa,” each slick pump of his hand on his cock brings less relief than it is meant to, and you notice the frustration making its way through his dirty talk. “i can’t focus. all i’m able to think about is—nghhh, shit—is how goddamn pretty you look when you’re fucking me back.”

keigo takes a moment to drag in a shaky inhale, his nose whistling softly as he does so. your thighs squeeze together tightly, arousal pooling sticky and wet between them. just like he had intended, you’re hanging off every word, nearly sick with desire as you wait for more.

you think of him throwing his head back in that certain way that he does when he nearly sobs out your name, sounding broken and debauched all at once. god, he’s so damn shameless, sending you shit like this while he’s on patrol and you’re somewhere across the city. it’s hard to complain, though, with the way he spoils you—you almost begin to wonder what you did to deserve a four minute audio jam packed with noise.

“oh, oh fuck,” keigo whines, sounding like he’s nibbling at his chain, a nervous habit of his, “christ. you—you gotta tell me where you are, angel. i can’t handle this anymore, i really can’t.”

not far from the speaker, his feathers flick and shuffle, sounding more uncontrolled than before. “ughhh, i just wish you could see what you do to me. i’m crazy for you and sometimes it’s like you don’t even know it.”

he goes on to say something else, but it’s too crackly and muffled to understand. you shift in your seat, feeling hot all over—you’ve seen what you do to him, and is it a sight.

keigo’s cheeks always flush a rosy color, and when his body is tangled up with yours, it’s impossible for him to even attempt to mask his emotions. breaking down his daytime defenses and making a mess of him is satisfying in a way that is impossible to stop craving. on the other side of the phone, he probably looks even better than you could even imagine—golden and flushed in the afternoon sun, chain between his teeth, expression crumbling into one of absolute bliss.

you can hear the change in his breathing pattern, the way it becomes more stuttered and gasping, and you know your favorite part of the audio is coming soon. literally.

“—so close, i’m so fucking close,” a litany of moans spill out of his mouth, each one softer than the last. “all i want you to do is come here and take what’s yours, angel . . hah, i’m gonna cum—shit, ‘m gonna cum for you.”

you’ve got stars in your eyes as you mentally cheer him on, feeling your own arousal swell and rise in your chest like a tidal wave. thanks to keigo, you’re all hot and bothered in a café.

keigo falls apart just as a barista passes you with a coffee in hand, and you ride the high along with him. he sounds nothing short of beautiful as his groans dissolve into overstimulated gasps of your name and various pet names.

he chuckles, quaking with sensitivity. “there’s so much. if you were here, you might’ve choked,” he sighs dreamily, starry-eyed. “i’ve combed through this district and the next one over twice already. send me your location, angel.”

there’s some static and shuffling before you hear him shaking his wings out to get them ready for flying. “we’ve got plenty of time, if you’re fine with not being able to walk after. maybe i can drop you off at the house and we can take a quick shower there too.”

[mannien]

I Don't See Your Mistakes, I See You | Bucky x f!reader

Pairing: Thunderbolts*Bucky Barnes x enhanced female character

Summary: A peaceful evening in Brooklyn turns into emotional chaos when Bucky comes home and brings unexpected guests.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers!, established relationship, enhanced female character with magical powers, third person narration but no name is called, swear words, angst, soft comfort, slow burn, sexual tension, heavy petting, dry humping, (not porn but +18 minors pls stay away!), teasing, flirting, protective and tired Bucky, mild wound description, talk of magical powers, depression, references to past trauma, English is not my first language

Note: Watching Thunderbolts* got me heavily daydreaming about Bucky and his new friends! It's also been a very therapeutic experience to write this for the past 2 weeks (yes, that long). I hope at least someone will enjoy it!

(Edited)Tagging @loving-barnes @kinanabinks @real-jane @cheekybarnes @marvelstoriesepic @aquaticmercy @witchywithwhiskey @sergeantbarnessdoll @mercurial-chuckles @navybrat817 and @captainsimagines because when I think of writing, I immediately think of you! I won’t tag you again if you don’t want it, just wanted to share my inspo with you

            The late afternoon carried an ambiance of comfort. The smell of cooling air after a slightly warmer day; the soft hum of the city somewhere in the distance, broken by a clutter of local shops closing down nearby. The sun already hid behind the tall horizon of Manhattan, but the city was still very much alive. 

            The apartment in Carroll Gardens was like a safe haven. Nested in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, close to the park and surrounded by families or people who crave a respite in the middle of a crowded city. A quiet street of brownstones and aged trees led to a renovated block, slightly modernized to facilitate to the everchanging world, yet still full of soul, of Brooklyn heart, of the things that brought Bucky the most peace.

            The long-stretching Thursday was coming to an end, but her night was only beginning. A quick and effective plane trip from D.C., an overly expensive taxi drive from the airport, and you made it to your second home. 

Or first, depending on the day of the week, time of the year, time of their lives.

            The home in Washington was where legislations, reports, and analyses were read. Where congressman and strategic liaison ate quick breakfast and indulged in a late-night dinner on a commitment-free evening. Walls were bland, countertops marble, and kitchen big enough to fit a multigenerational family. Something that felt closer to a temporary solution rather than a home for years. Only a couple of personal touches here and there – misplaced accessories, loose change, a piece of jewelry she took off once and forgot to put back on. A pair of colorful mugs, because she refused to drink from plain whites that came with the interior. Bucky’s suits and tuxedos were there, fitted to perfection, dry-cleaned and delivered straight to the door, only a couple blocks away from the center of the country’s government life. A place where she managed not to kill only one succulent, because the time spent inside these walls was not dedicated to hobbies. This is where they worked, where they came back after their long days – Bucky from the Capitol Hill, and her from the Agency. 

            But the home in Brooklyn? 

            Not ideal or picture-perfect. With mismatched furniture in their bedroom, because they couldn’t agree on one style, yet somehow creating their own world. A soft, off-color sofa, deep and slouchy, remembering many movie nights and hushed conversations. Soft lighting, making the bookshelves glow with colors of many loved and exchanged titles. Spare blankets thrown over bedding and chairs. A place where they laughed, cried and loved. A safe haven for the time they need to breathe, be in peace, be themselves. With a kitchen that hosted a few too-many gatherings for Bucky’s liking, but that proved to them that they can live a normal life. 

            Entering the building of their Brooklyn home felt like a ray of sunshine after months of gloomy winter. Unlocking the door was a warm hug. 

            The apartment was empty, but the familiar walls spoke to her in their own way. When she breathed deep enough, she could sense the good, soft comfort of a judgement-free space. The empath in her recharged in a place full of hers and Bucky’s things and memories. She quickly fell into a routine that brought her so much ease. She took a shower, to take off the smell of office buildings and public transport, put on a quick laundry load, and slowed down. 

            Slowing down was as close as she could get to relaxing, when she hadn’t heard from Bucky in two days. Three, if we count the whole day he was held up in meetings, before he shared with her a change of heart, a new plan, and promised to be back soon. She knew he had reasons, had a hint of what this might entail, and just waited, trying to carry on. 

             The soft glow of the semi-open plan kitchen welcomed her. The floors were soothingly cool against her bare feet, grounding in the moment. With hair still wet from the shower and seeping through the shoulders of Bucky’s old t-shirt, she fixed the waistband of her leggings and exhaled some of the tension that was still left and strong in her body. 

            The quiet whirring noise of the washing machine died down in the background when garlic and shallots started sizzling on the pan. When she occupied her hands, her mind could focus more and wander less. She tried really hard not to look at her phone, and really poured her heart into making a hearty meal. A therapeutic resolve, some might say, but it really was one of the healthy outlets she could use so that her magic doesn’t go on an uncontrollable rollercoaster of anxiety. She stirred in two cans of the good tomatoes from the Italian shop two streets away and let the sauce simmer. With the dinner slowly cooking away, she leaned on the kitchen island over a notepad and a bright screen of her laptop, reviewing some of the files from the last intel she requested, before the CIA went through a major lockdown due to events that Bucky was supposedly notinvolved in. She knew better than to read too much into it, so she focused on the facts – the data logs, mission reports, and a side of agency’s new recruits’ evaluation, that she was actually being paid for. 

            Long minutes passed, the sauce sizzling away and pasta water ready in the pot. She was rinsing her hands when she felt it – an emotional tug at her heart. A sprinkle of tension pulling her magic through the veins, making her aware of her heartbeat and suddenly perked up attention. She stopped the music playing from her laptop and turned off the stove, listening in. She was hyper sensitive, but lacked the enhanced hearing of a super soldier, so the silence that followed only frustrated her. She closed her eyes and tried to listen to her senses, but a heavy bang at the door startled her instead. She visibly flinched, loose sparks flying around her fingertips at the intrusion. 

            Another harsh movement against the door and before she could even react, it burst open, the handle hitting the wall in the hall. She spun around and felt the heat trickling down her fingertips, right when a familiar voice rung out through the apartment.

            “Hey, it’s me. Not alone. Don’t hex anyone.”

            Right when she exhaled, she felt how tight her chest had been a second earlier. The sparks swirling around her hands died down with the flow of his voice, and she briefly touched her chest, taking one more grounding breath. 

            “I swear, if you scare me like that one more time…” She walked out to the hall and saw him. A bloody bruise on his cheek, dusty forehead and a trickle of either dirt or dried blood down the side of his neck. His tactical shirt cut in a few places, definitely by something sharp and she hoped not by a knife. Left shoulder lifted in slight discomfort and right palm of his hand flexing uncomfortably. But he was standing, breathing, and looking at her with a tinge of relief. 

            He was most definitely not alone – the crowd behind him was bigger than she could have expected:

            John Walker, scrunching his forehead so hard that at least one of these wrinkles could become permanent. 

            Yelena, assessing her surroundings with caution and desperately needing a band aid to her temple. She let go of the forearm of a guy whose picture covered half-a-page in the files that she briefed through mere minutes earlier. 

            Red Guardian, blocking off almost the entire entryway, smiling in awe and in a suspiciously cheerful nature.

            Ava, leaning her side on the door, limping and tugging at the neckline of her suit with desperation. 

            When her eyes were quickly assessing the situation, Bucky stepped closer to her and exhaled with visible remorse.

“I should’ve given you a heads up,” he said, voice low, eyes scanning her face. “I know we planned a quiet weekend. Things just went sideways fast.”

She lifted her hand to his chin, angling it gently to examine the gash above his stubble. The blood had dried in a jagged trail down his neck. “You need patching up.”

“We need to lay low and figure out our next step,” he said, though his eyes stayed on her more than the group behind him. His tone held that familiar thread of guilt — like he’d brought more than dirt into their home.

            She did pay attention to what he was saying, but not more than to the exhaustion visible around his eyes, the tension that he carried in his muscles and nerves that trickled from behind him, from the group of guests he brought. 

            “When you said you know someplace safe, I thought you meant like a safe house,” John pitched in, taking measured steps forward, still cautiously watching his surroundings as if it was a trap. 

            “It is a safe place, and it is a home. Anything else you need to fit the description?” Bucky turned back and gestured them to move forward. He made sure to close the door with the secure lock and offered Ava his arm to offload her weak side. 

            Some of them knew who she was, but she offered her name anyway, just to stick to the friendly pleasantries. They needed security, she could feel it. She invited them in and made a beeline for the heavily equipped first aid kit hid in the bathroom. 

            She carried the large box and a few towels in to the table, laying the kit out. Bucky gestured for Ava to sit down and helped her find the antiseptic and sterile bandages. 

Yelena leaned over the table with a surprised look on her face.

            “That’s not an ordinary first-aid kit.”

            “You’re in a house of people who refuse to go to urgent care,” she piped in with a lightness to her voice. She took a look at Yelena’s gash on the temple and sprayed an antiseptic over a gauze. “and in case you didn’t notice, he is the type to attract knives and bullets.”

            “Yeah, I know the type.” Yelena replied, nodding in thanks for the help. 

            “If you want to clean up, bathroom is down the hall,” she pointed to the corridor and already started walking that way. “I’ll get more towels.”

            She got accustomed to tuning out people’s feelings. It took years of practice as an empath. But the moment a group of troubled, battered and bruised fallen heroes entered their home, her mind was struggling. So, she switched into action mode, preferring to be of service and of help, rather than linger around and fight the feelings that creep in. She piled the spare cloths on the dresser in the corridor and made sure Yelena got the right door – which she did, because she immediately let out an impressed whistle. 

            Taking a moment to breathe in the empty hall was a mistake – she started spiraling. She didn’t understand why. Bucky is home. He is safe. He trusts these guys, because he brought them in. Why is my mind screaming?

            The apartment became too loud. Not in volume, but in energy. Something was stretching her mind to stay open, and she couldn’t contain the input of feelings. She didn’t dare pull on the threads – they weren’t hers to play, not tonight. But something definitely triggered her soul – something powerful and unknown. A new source of energy that she hadn’t felt before. 

            She moved. Mechanics and focus were a taming tactic, so she settled on a kind attitude and acts of service. A large pitcher filled with water, ice packs that were always on the top shelf in the freezer, and almost all of the glasses they owned. She set them all on the table. The heat on the stove put back on, water slowly coming to boil under the pan. 

            When she carried a bunch of napkins to the table, Bucky was closing the first aid box. She looked up to his face and still saw the bright red scratch atop of his cheekbone. That woke her up from the haze.

            “No, no. You’re getting cleaned up.” She tried taking the box from him, but he pulled it behind him too quickly. 

            “I’m fine.” He said it too calmly and too confidently, so it riled her up. Steered her hears away from whatever ate at her, and made her narrow her eyes at him. 

            “Fuck fine, you’re bleeding.” She tried reaching out for the box again, but took a hold of her hand instead. He shook his head lightly and let their gazes meet for a silent conversation. 

            “I am fine. Later, I promise.” He softens his voice, squeezing her palm briefly in reassurance. It makes her release a heavy breath and finally nod in acceptance, understanding that she won’t be able to push him now. 

            “We’re waiting for pasta to boil. Dinner should be ready soon.” 

            That sparked interest. While she was still looking up his gorgeous eyes, trying to find comfort in his presence, the word dinner seemed to have perked up almost everyone in the room. 

             A packet and a half of spaghetti was carefully thrown into the boiling water, barely fitting and almost overflowing the pot. People started moving, matching the rhythm of the bubbling heat on the stove. Someone dragged a chai and moved the table to fit more people; the clinking noise of jackets taken off and weapons meeting the floor echoed through the walls almost naturally. A few relieved exhales followed, mimicking a moment of peace for the loud minds. 

            “Can I help you with anything?”

            The question startled her, pulling at the invisible trigger of her anxiety even harder, making her drop the spoon. The quietest guy, Bob, shyly lurked into the kitchen. His eyes were kind, soft, almost scared, but something dangerous and dark tingled her fingertips when she paid too much attention. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

            The harsh noise of the metal spoon against the tiles kept on ringing in her head, but she tried to shake away the feeling. The unnerving moment stretched until Bob took a cautious step forward, probably in worry, and Bucky walked into the room, intentionally. 

            “Yeah, um…” She started to break off the static that clouded her brain in weird, dark clouds. “The plates are just above you,” she pointed to the cupboard and started moving towards him to help.

            “I got it,” Bucky stopped her, and pulled the door open instead. He looked to her with quiet concern painted on his face, lips pursed. The unusually tall stack of plates was laid on the counter near the stove. She focused on trying if the pasta is soft already, adding spices to the sauce and stirring more than necessary.

            In the fleeting moment of quiet cooking, Bucky stayed with her. Eyed her for a moment, resting his hip against the counter and switching his attention between her determined movements, aggressively boiling pasta and focused eyes that watched the steam blow away from above the pot. He moved closer, his side meeting hers, and rested his hand gently on her waist, enveloping her in a cautious embrace. The heat that travelled from his body made her eyes flutter and upper back lean into his side, resting some of her weight on him. The thread of anxiety loosened where he held her. He was leaning in, the way he always was when he wanted to kiss her head, but his breath only escaped near her forehead, interrupted. 

            “It smells like you’re actually gonna feed us,” Yelena appeared, hair slightly wet and skin visibly cleaner, even the gash on her temple was smaller once the dust was not sticking to it. Bucky moved away towards the fridge, and her fingers subconsciously wandered over the countertop to find the oven mitt and safely drain the pasta. 

            “Well, it looks like it,” she gently poured the pasta into the pan with bubbling sauce and blew air over her hands, feeling the heat from the steam prickle at her skin. “I don’t expect you all had a shawarma on your way here,” she glanced at Bucky, who has already taken out cheese and still fresh enough salad mix from the fridge, but was still fidgeting to find a quick snack. “I’m not going to eat by myself and have you watch me. That’s creepy.”

            “Ah! That’s a good home with a good hostess. Whatever else would you need from a safe house?” Alexei’s loud voice shook the walls and made Bucky sigh with exasperation. 

            “Your hands to set the table,” she smiled, holding out a handful of forks and knives. He took them with a small bow and a hand salute, and it weirdly fit to his huge posture, bright red costume and a crooked smile. 

             With focused precision, she laid out hearty, more or less even portions of pasta for their guests. 

            “You are so calm for a person whose night just got ruined by a bunch of strangers with guns and knives,” Ava wondered in curiosity from her spot at the table and showed a shadow of an honest smile when a steaming bowl was set in front of her.

            Others were already coming in to the table and grabbing a bowl, only John was still standing off to the side, his eyes cautiously eyeing the corridor to the bedrooms, lurking in to get a peek of what is on the pictures hung on the wall. 

            “Walker,” Bucky’s warning made everyone look up at him in curiosity, “if you’re so desperate to snoop around, there are spare chairs in the entryway closet.” It made the others snicker or hide a chuckle. 

            “I’m not snooping around,” he mumbled like a stubborn child. Before she carried in the last two portions – a bigger one for Bucky, smaller and just enough for her - John was already carrying in four folding chairs, a confused grimace still glued to his face. “I just- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful or anything,” he turned to her briefly with a somewhat apologetic tone. She only raised a brow and took a seat at the last free corner of the table, next to Bucky.

            “Usually when you say you don’t want to be disrespectful, you already are.” Yelena chipped in, blowing on the pasta wrapped neatly around her fork. 

            “No, listen –“he hesitates, rubbing his eyes in frustration. She could feel the bubbling confusion threatening to slip out from his aura, and it made her hide her smile. She should not laugh at their guests, even if it was John Walker. “it just doesn’t make sense. Why would Barnes bring us to a place like this?”

            “Like what?” Bucky raised his eyebrow, which could pass as a warning, but she could see a tint of amusement in the way his lip twitched.

            “I don’t know, this feels too… cozy,” He gestured vaguely around the living room. “I didn’t expect you to hide away at a place that has colorful pillows and scented candles.”

            Ava snorted, “You thought he sleeps in a cell?” 

            “No,” he replied almost too quickly, defensive mode kicking in. “It just doesn’t fit the general description, I guess.” He shrugged, then looked from the flickering candle on the countertop, to the soft lights that shined near the corner of the living room. “I thought you would crash somewhere between government reports and military bases.” He said the last sentence directly to Bucky across the table. She could feel his chest rising heavier than before, so she laid her hand on his thigh, massaging in calming rhythm. 

            “That’s not really a nice thing to say to someone who trusted you and invited you to their home.” She said calmly, with a tint of a kind smile on her face, looking carefully to Bucky. Her sentence made him loosen up, exhale a breath and almost chuckle. Almost, because it died down in the awkward series of coughs from the team, and earned a wide-eyed stare-down from John. 

            “Wait, hold on—” 

            “You really didn’t see that coming, Walker, did you?” Ava cut him off between bites.

            “You’re a clueless boy, John Walker,” Yelena mused, and then turned to her. “This is really good, by the way. Do you have any hot sauce?”

            “Yeah,” she nodded and almost got up, but Bucky beat her to it, putting away his napkin and steadying her on her chair with a warm hand on her shoulder.

            “I’ll get it.” 

            John watched Bucky retreat back to the kitchen like a hawk, the gears in his brain working overtime. Then he looked back to her, like he tried really hard to match two puzzle pieces together. 

            “I know you.” He said bluntly, which made her smirk. 

            “Do you?” She asked from above her bowl, twirling the fork around another string of spaghetti. She tilted her head, almost in a challenge, surely in amusement. 

            “You were there when we fought in Riga,” he started, his eyes focused like in a distant memory, “and then in New York… Shit, yeah. You were with Sam and Bucky there.”

            “And you were acting like authority, yelling and breaking things.” She blew on another bite of pasta before eating with composure. The unnerving feeling danced around the table, she could still feel it, but John provided her enough of a distraction to lower the tension in her chest.

            “Ha, I wish I could see it!” Ava’s chuckle lifted the atmosphere.

            Bucky came back with a bottle of sriracha and passed it to a brightly smiling Yelena.

            “Okay, alright – as far as I remember, you weren’t exactly a definition of peaceful, either.” John held up his hands in defense. “I mean, you were waving your fingers with this weird energy, making people dizzy.” John doesn’t let go, but at least manages to sit down at his waiting spot and take a hold of his fork. “You were giving very strong ‘weird glitter witch’ vibes.”

            Bucky chose to walk around the table to his seat. His stride didn’t break, but only faltered for a millisecond, when his open palm flicked into Walker’s head with dull force.

            “Hey!” He held his hand up and recoiled. Bucky was already sliding into the chair. “What was that for?”

            “For the weird glitter witch.”

            She bumped her knee into Bucky’s and sent him a grateful look. She put down her fork and cleared her throat, before speaking up with a measured tone. 

            “I like glitter. My magic shines like sparkles when it’s visible, look,” she turns to Alexei right next to her and lifts her hand above the table. She let a tingle of emotion to travel through her body and stop at her fingertips. A few light sparks started to dance around her nails, swirl around like calm beacons of energy, delicate enough to mesmerize whoever watched. 

            “Oh, that is pretty.” Alexei widened his eyes and leaned closer, admiring the spark of magic.

            From next to John, Bob spoke up with curiosity and fascination. His voice resonated with calmness, but it made her hand tremble with something unknown. “What else can you do?”                   

            She pursed lips and tried to choose her next words wisely. Looking to Bucky and seeing no hesitation from him, she took a breath and continued.

            “I’m an empath.”

            “So, you mess with people’s heads. I thought so.” John nodded to himself, but his face was not dismissive anymore.

            “Do you really?” Yelena perked up, more curious than wary. 

            “Not exactly,” she started, letting the sparks die down. With elbows now resting on the table and soft focus, she looked at John and just listened. “Right now, John is curious and very defensive. He’s angry at himself for…” she pauses, filtering what to display for others, and what could be too private. “…some of the things that happened today. And you hate it that the clasp on your jacket is broken.” She smiled up at him gently, trying to not add on to the overwhelming situation. 

            The table was silent for a moment, broken only by a soft clutter of a fork against the plate. Ava whistled under her nose and avoided eye contact. 

            “You do that to everyone?” 

            “No.” She shakes her head lightly and feels Bucky’s fingers rest on her thigh in quiet comfort. “I control it. I know when there’s a lot of emotions bubbling up in a room at once, but I won’t listen in without consent. Well, not unless my line of work requires it.”

            “The most accurate intel I’ve ever worked with.” Bucky said quietly, and the fond look in his eyes wrapped warmly around her heart. 

            “And you make a very good pasta. Impressive, for a last-minute host.” Yelena’s nod of appreciation was enough for the conversation to die down a tone, and everyone to continue their dinner.

            She took a deep breath, playing with the last few strings of spaghetti in front of her, letting the twinkles of magic settle in her body. At least Bucky’s arm was still brushing hers, reminding that he’s back home. 

            They clink of plates slowly died down, everyone resting more comfortably and enjoying the moment of peace. Exhaustion was written all over their faces; some deep in thought, others slowly scrapping off the outer layers of their suits. 

            Bucky’s arm laid atop of the back of her chair, fingers brushing her shoulder briefly. It made her look up to him, notice his irises already shining. She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Her fingertips brushed the stubble of his cheek for a fleeting moment, before they locked gazes in a silent conversation. He nodded towards the group – a movement barely noticeable, but she could feel it against the palm of her hand. He exhaled a heavy breath and she knew what it meant – they needed shelter. She could only agree to that, so she sent him a sad smile and let him kiss the inside of her hand.

            “If you want to avoid being chased by Valentina, her strike force or reporters, I suggest you stay the night,” Bucky cleared his throat. Someone sighed, someone nodded pensively, but she only looked at him with patience and curiosity. “I guess we could fit everyone, right?” He looked back to her, to which she immediately nodded. 

            “How do we know they won’t knock on your door in the next five minutes?” Yelena asked, pushing away her plate. 

            John immediately agreed with that, “Exactly. I mean, she’s Val, right?” He looked around the table, “nothing should surprise us anymore.”

            “Well, if she has a reason to, I’m sure she will try hard to find you,” She spoke up carefully, but kept on eyeing Bucky. A slight raise of her brow told him that she has questions, but whether they should be answered right now or later, she left for him to decide. “but she won’t succeed here. We made sure it’s a secure home. Only a handful of trusted people can find it.” 

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that a lot more happened than they managed to share. She kept her eyes on Bucky’s face, watching as it scrunched in confusion at a comment that someone made. The way the corners of his eyes dropped told her that he had a long day, and endured more than he was prepared for. With the omnipresent unnerving feeling of anxiety that drifted around the table, she felt even more braced and worried, struggling to not let anything inside her consciousness. Keeping her magic at bay after a bunch of neurotic, special people faced something difficult, was harder than she wanted to admit. Already zoned out of the conversation, she stood up slowly and grabbed a few plates to start cleaning up. Bucky watched her, but was still talking back to John and Alexei about something, so he didn’t manage to stop her. 

Ava and Bob helped. She was mid-rinse, still holding the dirty pan, when they came in with two stacks of dirty plates. 

“You should be careful with that wound,” She pointed to her bandaged side, but knew better than to stop a hurt agent who wanted to feel useful. “There are some more pain meds in the box if you’ll need them during the night. Just… take it easy.”

“Thanks,” she showed half of a smile, “I’ll be fine.”

She let them take over the dish duty and paid attention to the notorious buzzing that resonated from the countertop. Her long-lost phone laid on top of a closed laptop, screen facing down, but vibrating as if it was ready to burn a hole in everything nearby. 

Four missed calls and a long list of new text messages.

SAM WILSON: Call me back. 

SAM WILSON: We need to talk.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You need to see this

Then, a stream of breaking news alerts and notifications. Against the better judgement, she started scrolling through all of the key words and headlines. Her heart rate sped up and her mind started tightening in a mix of worry, confusion, fear and disbelief. 

DARK CLOUD ATTACKING MANHATTAN 

DISRUPTIONS AND DISAPPEARANCES IN THE CITY. WHAT CAUSED THE MASS PANIC?

THE NEW AVENGERS ASSEMBLED.

VALENTINA DE FONTAINE: ‘THE NEW AVENGERS!’

DID CIA PLOT THE TRAGEDY TO UNVEIL THE TEAM OF FUGITIVE HEROES?

“You didn’t know what happened before we arrived, did you?” Yelena’s voice broke the nauseating screams in her head and made her look up. Cheese grater and an empty glass in hand, her eyes were almost sympathetic. Ava and Bob looked at each other but didn’t speak up. 

“No.” 

Even though her response was quiet and measured, it sparked a burst of fearful emotions to try and kick into her soul with a crashing effect. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, but with Yelena turning back to wave Bucky over, nothing would make sense. It could be a combination of everything, so she didn’t look for the cause of overwhelming feelings. She only looked up at her partner, walking into the kitchen with a worried look on his face, eyes resembling those of a scared puppy. 

“I was going to tell you later,” he started, taking slow steps and looking briefly to Yelena. She didn’t back off, but just leaned on the opposite wall and pretended to help with the clean-up. 

“Tell me what?” She didn’t know what was she expecting, but she needed something. She showed him the screen of her phone and let him look through her notifications, speaking for themselves.

“There’s a lot more to the story than the news is covering.”

This feeling, again. A simmering tension, pulling at her emotional strings harder than anything that Bucky’s words could cause in that moment. Sparks shone in her eyes as she quickly looked around the room, uncomfortable enough to break up the conversation. A particularly louder clank of a dish in the sink and that’s when she noticed it – Bob’s staring. Not dangerous, but fearful. Scared, but also fierce and with underlying certainty. He looked away quickly, but not enough to lose her attention. 

“What’s up with Bob?” She suddenly asked, and the weight of emotions sounded like shrill cry. Everyone looked up at her and then to Bob, who straightened up and dried his hands on the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m okay…” 

“Bob’s just fine.”

Him and Yelena replied at the same time. Bucky sighed in defeat. She felt cornered, attacked by everyone in the room by asking just that question, so she took a breath to calm down. She could read the room. 

“That didn’t sound nice, I’m sorry.” Apologizing seemed to have a calming effect. Yelena leaned back on the wall, losing her braced stance. Ava continued to put away the dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, the world moved on. 

“You said you’re an empath,” Bob started quietly, with a shadow of a kind smile. “Maybe you could, you know…”

“Not happening,” Bucky suddenly cut him off, stepping one step in front of her, like a predator ready to pounce. He then turned back to her with a determined look, “you are not reading him.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t.”

“Huh,” she breathed, “thank you, honey, that explains it all.” 

That shut him up. With squared jaw and soon-to-be pleading eyes, he didn’t have any immediate response. He started to understand that he might not win. 

“Bob,” she turned to him, forcing a gentle tone. Bucky’s eyes were burning holes in her face but she just let him. “Are you sure you’ll be fine with this?”

He shrugged, but took a moment before speaking up again. “How does it work?”

“To make it easy on the mind, I would touch your hand and just… feel whatever you feel right now. I might see the emotions that drive you, or how they manifested for you recently. You won’t feel a thing.”

“You might do, though.”

Yelena’s comment made her turn her head. 

“How so?”

“I’m a little enhanced, too.” Alexei’s boisterous laugh echoed through the apartment at Bob’s response. “But-but I won’t do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He added immediately. 

“This is a terrible idea.” Bucky shook his head, disappointed. 

But she did it. She crossed the short distance to Bob and reached out, waiting for him to take a hold of her hand. When the palms of their hands clasped around each other, darkness filled her mind. 

She felt it all. The darkness. The Void. The fear of a regular guy who just wanted to be better. The overwhelming dark cloud, turning the minds of thousands of people into their darkest memories. She could seeall of it. She was everywhere with him: in the lab in the Philippines; in Utah, feeling the first spark of something hopeful; in the old Avengers tower; on the streets of New York in the spotlight of cameras, giving way into something too forceful to fit inside her mind. The overpowering depression and its camp set up in Bob’s mind. The depths of it stretched onto everyone who came into their home today. Disturbing images of people struggling, fighting their old demons. A soul-crushing image of screaming Bucky, tied up to a chair. 

Then, something strong pulling her in – a weave of power different than hers. Pulling her into a very specific scenery from her childhood, where the sight of her mother was the first alarming point. She was slowly losing control of her magic and giving way to Bob’s powers, and it took a toll on her. Dark fumes wanted to hide her sparks flowing through her blood, and she couldn’t let it happen. The only way was through pulling his darkness in and shifting it into something better, so she focused on the beauty of being an empath. She imagined taking care of a broken mind, tending to a hopeless soul, giving reassurance and caressing the thoughts. She didn’t want to be trapped in a memory she knew as long gone – she pushed away, let the darkness slip, imagined a stream of golden power that could light up every room and pushed it away, towards the heavy train of thoughts. 

She let go of his hand as soon as the light gave her enough strength to pull away. The eyes of everyone in their apartment were focused on her; Bob stood there, as if nothing happened, still shyly looking up at her with an expectant look. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked around, trying to ground herself in the walls of their home. Bucky was immediately next to her, steadying her frame against his side, letting her rest. The silence stretched for a very long moment, until she managed to find her voice again.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Bob.”

The rest of the evening carried on with more of a quiet understanding. After they finished cleaning up, spare pillows and bedsheets were pulled out of the depths of the hallway closet. Bucky was in charge of setting up the pull-out bed in the living room and the extra mattress on the floor, and she worked in the peace of the guest bedroom, fluffing the fresh sheets and adding an extra blanket on the armchair. It was comfortable enough for a mid-reading nap, so it had to suffice for a few hours of sleep. 

When she carried the last of the decorative pillows that could help someone sleep better into the living room, some guests were already setting camp in their sleeping spots. Alexei started to doze off in the armchair so the voices – if any – were now a bit more hushed. 

She noticed Yelena in the corner of the room, standing still, eyes focused on the wall where a few pictures were stuck to the corkboard. The makeshift office corner was full of papers, files and random things that they didn’t clean up the last time, but that didn’t matter. The picture of Natasha was the sole focus, radiating happiness from her captured smile and the tight embrace that they had on each other. The took it during one of their cheer-up movie nights, two years into their new reality after Thanos had snapped his fingers. Another shot from the same night, but with Steve in the frame too, was right next to it. 

“She talked a lot about you, you know?” She was careful with her words, but poked Yelena’s hard to read exterior anyway. “She never really stopped looking for you during the blip. The same way I always kept looking for him,” a finger pointed at a slightly bigger picture of the couple, Bucky hugging her from behind and looking down at her with love painted all across his face. “Steve was the only one to actually try and move on, before we found a way to get everyone back.”

Yelena’s eyes didn’t leave the picture of her sister, when she finally spoke up. “She called you Sparkles. Didn’t say much, but enough for me to understand that you kept her company in times she least expected it.”

Her face scrunched in grief, but only for a fraction of a moment. Neither of them moved, just stayed still with heads full of memories that spoke without words. She didn’t have to look into Yelena’s mind to know that grief has started to mix with grace. It reassured her, knowing that her friend’s sister is finally coming to terms with some of the more difficult truths. Natasha would want her to find peace.

“The bed in the guest room is still empty, you can still beat Walker to it if you make it before he leaves the bathroom.” She said after a moment of silence. A corner of Yelena’s lips twitched upwards and she simply nodded, sneaking away to find respite in the more convenient sleeping arrangement. 

Most of the lights in the living room and in the hall went off. A peaceful quiet was broken only by random murmurs of movement around the apartment. Their home was full, a questionable mix of characters, preferences, and assassin skills sizzled in their safe space, but there was an odd familiarity to it. Something that she sometimes felt hanging in the air back in the Avengers compound. 

Before entering their bedroom, she hovered by the doorframe for just a second. She could still feel the tension hanging low between her and Bucky, the unspoken heaviness was starting to lift slowly with the layer of exhaustion that took the reins of their bodies. 

The bedside lamps were on, and a trickle of light traveled from underneath the bathroom door. Their bedroom felt like a soft embrace, even though her heart was still probed at with a stick of emotions. Darkness threatened to loop around her veins, especially when she sat down on the bed and opened her laptop that still had classified files open, screaming at her. Her fingers tapped on the mousepad until they reached the last documents that were sent to her: the designs behind the Sentry Project. Eyes scanning the page, her hands shook with nerves. 

The water in the shower was still running when she stopped reading. His shower was now longer than usual. With something forceful still squeezing her heart in discomfort, she let go of the intelligence, files and access passwords. She closed everything she worked on earlier and put her laptop away, desperate to ease her consciousness into something easier. Something she missed in all of this. 

She softly knocked on the door that would usually stay creaked open when they were alone. Her knuckles made a rather quiet sound on the wood, so she thought he did not hear her, but then a very low “Yeah?” travelled through her ears.

He was in the shower, standing still under the forceful stream of water, his back to her, arm resting on the wall for support. His head hung low, tilted only slightly when she came in, enough to recognize her presence. He didn’t turn back to her. Didn’t stop the shower or make any move to finish it.

She stripped of her clothes, leaving a pile on the tiles next to the door. Without thinking, she stepped into the shower. Tried not to hiss when she felt how cold the water was. It made her hurt for him, so she reached his body in no time. Wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight, her lips finding the skin between his shoulder blades. He was tall, stood strong, muscles almost ripped at the seams, and the tension in his body pulsating with each breath. Her hands travelled higher, to his chest, finding the spot where she could feel the steady beat of his heart. He exhaled with something that reminded her of relief and covered her hand with hers, intertwining their fingers. Her lips kept on pecking his wet skin until she also breathed, inhaling the familiar scent that followed her every time they were close. Her mind, gentle touch and kisses begged, Come back to me.

One of her hands wandered off to the shower knob, twisting it until the water warmed up at least a little bit. His muscles softened almost instantly, his skin giving way for her fingers to hold his skin tighter.  

“You’re freezing,” she mumbled, caressing the skin of his chest, letting her hands rub on his skin up to the shoulders and down his arms, just to help him get rid of the goosebumps quicker. 

“Got lost in thought for a minute,” his voice was softer around the edges now that they were alone. He got a hold of her hands and slowly detached them from his skin, taking measured steps in place to face her instead. 

Lukewarm water streamed down their bodies, scars lined up on his torso glistening under the shower. Her hands traced his chest and arms with subtle movements, until she reached his head. Wet hair flopped down the back of his head and she run her fingers through it, gently massaging the scalp and taking out any remaining bubbles of shampoo that he didn’t manage to rinse out. He hummed in soft contentment at the drag of her nails, his hands landing on her waist for grounding. 

“Cold shower and poorly washed hair?” Her voice was soft, but with a tint of something bright and warm. She tilted his head under the stream for the last good rinse and rested her hands on his cheeks, caressing his rough stubble. “I might think it you wanted me to come and save you from your poor washing habits.”

He breathed out a small laugh at that, light enough to mistake it for a gasp of air. 

“You got me, baby.” 

She leaned in to his chest, landing a kiss above his heart and feeling the way his hands started to weight more on her hips. 

“I do,” she murmured into the bruised skin. “always.”

She tugged him out of the shower and passed him a fresh, fluffy towel. They both dried each other slowly, and then stood close when they brushed their teeth. She slid back into her underwear, pulled the same t-shirt over her head and grabbed the small tubes of ointment and antiseptic from the drawer. 

She made sure there is enough light on his side of the bed, but not too much to disrupt their tired haze. She pulled out the covers so they could slide right in, and sat down on the side of the mattress. He came in to the bedroom a minute later, clad only in his black boxers, excess water shaken off from his dark hair. 

“Sit down, Mr. Soldier.” She pointed to the bed and sent him a barely-there smile, mocking the name Alexei kept on using all evening. He shook his head in disappointment, but climbed in bed and rested his back on the headboard nonetheless. 

“He thinks I got the ‘fancy stuff’ with the Hydra serum.” His low voice leaked annoyance, but his face was too tired to show it, too. 

“Well,” she breathed out a chuckle. She went up on her knees on the mattress and walked up to him, climbing over his lap. “I think you are my fancy stuff.” 

That put a brief, but cheeky smile on his face. He took a hold of her hips and helped her land in a comfortable spot on his thighs, but never let go of her body. His warmed-up hands traveled underneath her shirt and set camp on her skin, moving around ever-so-slightly, but never breaking contact. 

She leaned to his torso to inspect the bruises that were already formed over his ribs, checking for any cuts. There was an already closed-up gash on his side, wide enough to think that a sharp object was pushed into his skin, and then pulled out quickly. The line was faintly pink, healed nicely because of the serum, but still enough of a tell that recently something caught him off guard.

Bucky watched her in silence. Eyes scanning her focused face, looking down at the delicate inspection of her fingers, and the caring and focused way she watched him, reserved only for him. 

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered at some point, when her focus switched from his chest to his face. She held his chin gently, inspecting the scratch above his cheekbone. She sat back on his thighs and worked with the ointment tube, pushing out the right amount on a cotton swab. “I should’ve told you that the situation changed. Not just barged in with a group of strangers. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Her eyes still focused on dripping the antiseptic on the right spot beneath his eye. 

“You’re allowed to do your thing. You can bring people home,” she started gently, while the cotton swab precisely rolled over the torn tissue. “Just…” she sighed, straightening up and putting away the medication. “Seeing how severe the situation was, what unveiled and how messy it will be now…” Her mind kept going back to every image that Bob showed her earlier. “I just wish I knew sooner.”

“I know. I’m sorry, doll.”

“I didn’t even know you were hurt until I saw your face.” She whispered with a sad smile, caressing his clean cheek. He leaned into her hand and sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I wasn’t watching the news, I had my notifications off - except for yours, of course,” she kept on talking, feeling her chest swell with the accumulated worry and affection. “and then Bob showed me everything. I saw the pain you were in,” she gulped, trying to contain her emotions. He tugged on her hips to bring her closer, letting her fall forward and rest her forehead on his. “It’s been a minute since you were out in the field. I guess it scared me.”

Bucky took a deep, shaky breath, his fingers flexing on her skin, slowly drying hair loosely falling over his ears. 

“I didn’t think it would escalate this quickly.” he whispered right into her lips. His flesh hand traveled up to her face and caressed her cheek, wiping underneath her eye to take away the first tear that threatened to drop. 

“I know.”

“And now with Valentina claiming us as the New Avengers?” He mused, letting out a dry chuckle. He kissed her nose affectionately and let them breathe together. “This definitely wasn’t on my campaign.”

She smiled at him then, locking their gazes in a comfortable stare-off. She could feel her magic start to turn blue, the same color as his eyes. Something that happened whenever their hearts were on their sleeves, and where they both were feeding off each other’s love. 

“Sam needs an explanation. He called so many times.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, a fake seriousness flashing across his face. “good luck with that.”

She gasped at that, smacking his arm playfully.

“What? He called you, not me. My phone was dead.” He smiled. She started to climb off his lap but he stopped her, sitting up and tugging her in for a very tight embrace. “No, don’t leave me. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“You better do it before I do.” He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, kissing her skin and smelling it deeply. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky looked up at her, eyes shining, smile threatening to break. 

Finally, she relaxed into his body, leaning in with purpose. Her nose touched his gently, before their lips connected in a gentle, loving kiss. Her hands hugged his shoulders and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss and breathing in his scent. Bucky let out a quiet sound from the back of his throat as they pushed toward each other, with more relief than desire at first. Then, with each of the caress against the other’s lips, with each tug of his hair and delicate scratch of her fingernails, the need grew. 

She kissed him like she almost lost him, and he kissed her back like he never wanted to let go. Her thighs firmly wrapped around his hips as she moved impossibly closer, earning another groan from his wet lips. She smiled into his mouth and he bit her lip in response, grazing his teeth across tender skin and teasing her with purpose. 

“I thought you were tired,” she murmured against him.

“I am,” he agreed, “but I missed you more.”

His breath got heavier. Their mouths kissed harder, hungrier, chasing each other like careless teenagers who have just realized how magnetic it is to make out with someone you love. Her hips rolled forward, out of habit, causing a whimper to shake her lips against his. He held her tighter, vibranium palming and kneading her ass, the other hand moving freely under her shirt. Magic trickled at her fingertips, making each of her nervous ending even more sensitive to the feeling of his body against hers. Another move of her hips, a raspy groan from Bucky’s throat, and—

A creak of the floor, movement on the pull-out sofa, or maybe even a footstep towards the kitchen. A quiet sound that made them stop, freeze in their embrace. Her hand travelled to his chest, letting his heart beat hard against her fingertips, catching a breath. 

“Don’t,” he almost begged, leaning in again to kiss her neck in places that make her shiver. “If we stop now, I might cry.”

A breathy laugh escaped her mouth. She tucked her face into his shoulder, holding him close. 

“If we can hear them moving, they will definitely hear us, baby.” She whispered, peppering his jaw in short and chaste kisses. “We’re enough of an entertainment to Walker.”

Bucky groaned in response, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly and rolling them over. With a huff, she landed on top of her pillow and spread her legs enough to let him lay between them. He caged her head with his arms and leaned down for another kiss.

“Don’t talk about Walker when you’re making me hard.”

She chuckled quietly, letting his nose travel along the side of her face. Warmth enveloped her whole body and she wished they could stay like this forever. With no care in the world about politics, agendas, no missed deadlines or events to attend. No one else around them, just her and Bucky, tangled in the sheets of their Brooklyn home. 

“Hey,” he nudged her cheek and searched her eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments, engraving this moment in their memories. “How was your day?”

“You’re asking that now?” She lifted her eyebrow in question, gently caressing his face and tucking away the loose hair that threatened to cover his eyes.

“Now is perfect.” He mumbled into her cheek, leaving a wet kiss behind. “It’s just me and you.”

She sighed, trying to focus and gather her most mundane thoughts of the day. 

“They put me in the middle seat on the plane from D.C.” 

Bucky fake-gasped at that, “How dare they?” 

“I know, right?” she smiled at his disappointed face. “but I survived in that middle seat. Can you believe it?”

“Impossible,” another kiss to her cheek, before he rolled over and landed on his side, his legs tangled with hers, tugging her as close as possible so they could still stare in each other’s eyes. “What else happened?”

He listened to her until her eyelids turned heavy. Until her lips started moving slower and slower, pushing forward one last time to touch his skin. He covered them with the sheets and held her close, watching as a single blue spark flew away from her fingertips, fading into the night. Her breathing evened out, arm still tucked in his torso. A quiet ‘I love you’ mumbled to each other in a sleepy haze, like nothing else mattered. 

[buckysleftbicep]

all that's left 𐙚 b.b

pairing: fwb!bucky barnes x fwb!fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, friends with benefits relationship, unprotected sex, lots of angst, arguments, hurtful words, bittersweet ending (sorta)

summary: you and bucky were never meant to be more than friends with benefits—until you say those three words. he walks out. then a mission traps you both in a sealed room, and suddenly, there’s no escaping the walls you both built.

word count: 4.4k

author's note: hi! for my first fic, it's kinda long, started working on it after watching thunderbolts! i hope you enjoy it, if you did, let me know or reblog, whichever works! love ya and have a great day! i hope this doesn't flop :")

“(Y/N), you’ll be with Bucky”. 

The sentence cuts like paper through skin — quiet, clean and a lot deeper than it actually looks. Steve’s voice is steady, casual, captain-like, just as he always was when it came down to missions, the kind of tone he uses when he is expecting no resistance, and despite the glance that seems to reflect some sort of apology and perhaps even pity, you knew he was just doing his job. He is the team leader after all. 

But the sound of his name, his name that you couldn’t bring yourself to even utter for the last two weeks, drops into your gut like a live grenade, you didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Your fingers stayed steady on the edge of the thick mission file, but inside you, something splinters, not all at once, but just a small, sharp crack under your ribs, the kind that gets worse when you pretend it doesn’t exist. 

Across the briefing room, Bucky’s face remains still, his expression stoic, unreadable and you find yourself thinking that perhaps, you never were able to read him the way you thought you did. Because if you did, you’d figured out that everything that had transpired between you and the brunette was nothing more than meaningless flings, quick fucks if you will. 

What was it they said? 

Right — good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love. 

You exhale softly, biting your lip as you scanned the file quickly, hydra base, intel recovery, two agents in, clean extraction. Of course it’s you and him, it always had been, both of you were known as SHIELD’s dream team when it came to intel extractions, break a few necks, fire some bullets and you both were out, unscathed, efficient, dangerous. 

And then you’d return back to base, where his lips would meet yours feverishly as his hands trailed your curves, his fingers long accustomed to every crevice of your body. Bucky knew how to draw out every sound, every breath, every damn piece of you that craved to feel wanted.

You could remember the way he undid your suit on his bed, whispering those sweet nothings in your ear as you begged him to fuck you, your eyes blown wide with lust, and lips swollen as he teased out of you feelings you never knew you had. 

But all of that was short lived, because well as much as you harboured nothing but stupid, aching love for the cerulean eyed man, he thought differently. That was clear as day when he had pushed himself off you, shock painted on his face as he pulled his pants on hurriedly, almost as if being in the same room for just another second would kill him. You had stumbled to your feet, bare and trembling, your voice rising as your heart cracked wide open, “I didn’t mean to, I swear Buck, please-”. You had reached for him, almost as if he’s already gone and left you, and he is. 

“You were never supposed to fall in love with me (Y/n)-”

“I-I know Buck, please even if its not real for you, p-please, I just-”

He cuts you off, the emotions that were warring in his face replaced with that of coldness, the icy gaze that fell on you crushed whatever hope you had left.

“Let’s stop this, you were just convenient, don’t make this more than that”. 

You had remembered that silence, god, it was deafening, and you felt the words like a harsh slap, like a knife twisting under your ribs and you watched, eyes rimmed red as the man you once believed could one day love you back walked out.

“Everything alright?” Steve’s voice cuts through your thoughts, you nod, eyes still trained on the file even though you damn well knew that moment was still playing in your head, like some sick film that couldn’t stop replaying itself.

“Buck?” Steve asked, shooting a glance towards his pal, you dared yourself to look up, Bucky’s jaw is clenched tightly, eyes unreadable as always, fixated on the door behind the capotain, almost as if it could offer some kind of salvation. 

“Yeah, all’s good”. The brunette replied. 

Liar. 

The flight is quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that is far from peace, it was brittle, breathless, the kind that hung in the air like smoke after a fire. You had sat at one end of the jet, legs crossed, a mission file open in your lap that you hadn’t actually read past the first line.

Across from you, Bucky sat with, face turned just enough that you could see the line of his jaw, tight and unmoving. He hadn’t even looked at you once since takeoff. 

Not that you were looking. 

Well, not really. 

But it was impossible not to notice him, the way he took up space without even trying to, the low sound of his breathing, even and steady, the slight twitch in his gloved fingers where they tapped a rhythm only he understood. You used to know that rhythm. You used to know everything about James Barnes.

And now?

Now you couldn’t even tell if he hated you or worse — felt absolutely nothing at all. 

You kept your eyes fixed on the printed pages in front of you, even though your mind was anywhere but on the mission specs. It was a simple job, according to the file at least, in and out like Steve had said. You and Bucky had done this dance dozens of times, a flawless rhythm honed by years of fieldwork, communication and something that had once resembled trust. 

Once. 

The last time you were on a mission like this, you had ended up on Bucky’s lap, breathless, gasping, half-dressed as his mouth burned its way down the soft skin of your neck to the valley of your breasts, metal hand fluttering over your skin like he wanted, no, like he needed to memorise every inch.

Your moans had bounced off the walls of the jet as it lurched from turbulence, as Bucky kissed you though it, called you his pretty girl, said he needed you, wanted you. 

And now, he wouldn’t even look at you. 

“Should be a quick one, get the files, and you’re both out, no detours, as far as we know, this base has long been abandoned”. Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, grounding you with its usual steadiness. “Files are stored in a secure server, sublevel three, eyes up, low contact expected, you two copy?”.

“Copy” you said first, voice even, rehearsed, almost if you didn’t just cry your throat raw the last two weeks. 

There was a beat of silence, then, “copy”. Bucky’s voice was rougher, lower and it sounded like a word forced out through clenched teeth. 

And that was it, silence reclaimed the jet, thicker than it was before. 

You risked a glance at the brunette, a real one this time, and your stomach twisted in a knot. He hadn’t moved. His eyes stayed fixed on the small window beside him, gaze distant, the curve of his brow giving nothing away. 

There was a time where you thought you could read him, every flicker of emotion, every blink, every breathe, you knew when he had a bad night, when the nightmares plagued his dreams, you knew when his therapist had hammered down on him, giving him one of her many unsolicited advices that well, he never did take seriously, besides the one where she told him to talk to someone he trusted. You.

Well, it was you, between the hungry kisses and your back against bathroom walls as Bucky filled you so perfectly, he was sharing his life with you, the days he spent with HYDRA and of course, the 40s. 

But maybe that had been an illusion, or maybe you were just hopelessly naive, stupid. 

You turned your gaze back to the file, the words blurry as a headache bloomed at the base of your skull, you could feel tears well up in your eyes as you tried to get the words Bucky spat harshly out of your head. 

God, you had begged him to stay, to not leave. 

Begged him to stay after the words slipped out, — I love you — so fucking stupidly, so recklessly when your body was tangled with his as his hips had snapped against yours. You hadn’t even realised you had said them at first, until you had seen the look on his face, almost like you had stabbed him. 

Your voice, small, shaking naked in every sense of the word, you could still see his cold, icy, piercing gaze, the softness draining from him like light bleeding out of a room. 

Now, here you were, trapped in a tin can, above hostile territory with the man who shattered you, who was fine pretending you were both just teammates. Just agents. Like you hadn’t fallen asleep in his arms and thought, maybe, just maybe this could be real. 

You clenched your jaw, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. 

You didn’t want to love him anymore, but god, you missed the way it almost felt like he did. 

The hallway stretched ahead like a vein of steel and silence, cold and humming with the kind of tension that settled in your bones, the kind that made your skin itch under your tactical gear. You and Bucky moved through it like you always had, together, seamless, wordless.

Muscle memory wrapped in old wounds, you fell into the rhythm automatically, Bucky would  move, and you would follow, you’d gesture, and he’d respond, the dance that made SHIELD send the both of you out for every data retrieval mission, because the both of you never failed. 

Even now. 

At the end of the corridor, two guards stood, chatting lazily, their rifles slung low, Bucky glanced at you, nodding towards them, you didn’t hesitate before the both of you sprang into action. 

It was efficient. Brutal. Over before the guards even knew they were in danger, you veered left, using the shadows like muscle memory, silent steps, steady breaths, the first guard didn’t even have time to draw his weapon, you slipped behind him, arm hooking around his neck in one clean, practiced sweep, the way Nat taught you, he struggled for a moment, but you held tight, twisting just enough until his knees buckled and he went down like a soft thud.

Bucky was already on the second guard, a flash of movement, a sharp, harsh kick to the back of knee to drop his stance, and before you knew it, guard two collapsed like dead weight. 

You didn’t flinch when Bucky’s hand brushed against yours as you passed the second server room. But you felt it, a graze of skin. barely a touch — and yet it seared like contact with a live wire.

He flinched, not a recoil exactly, but a hitch. The faintest disruption in his usually smooth motion. 

Enough to make you ache.

Then the door to the server room hissed open. You entered first, sweeping the corners, eyes scanning out of habit more than necessity.

“Clear,” you muttered

You knelt by the console and pulled the flash drive from your pocket, it slid into place with a soft click, and lines of code immediately flickered across the screen, the words, “download initiated” flashed across the computer, the whir of fans, the pulsing red light overhead and the steady tick of your heartbeat.

Then— SLAM.

The door behind you shut like a guillotine, a mechanical hiss following the unmistakable sound of a lock sliding into places the panel on the wall started blinking red. 

“What the fuck—” you whirled, reaching instinctively for your comm.

Absolutely nothing, no static, not a voice.

You looked at Bucky, already at the keypad, jaw tight, eyes focused on the screen as his fingers danced over the keys, punching in override codes with mechanical precision, but even he looked tenser than usual — less sure.

“Backup lockdown protocol?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. 

“Could be,” he said, not looking at you. “Maybe they knew we were coming.”

“Great.” You exhaled sharply. “Perfect.”

The room was small, closer than it had felt a minute ago, the red emergency lights cast shadows across the concrete floor, licking up the walls like flickering firelight, and the fact that you were this close to Bucky didn’t help, thoughts ran through your head as you tried to suffer through the silence.

Too tense. Too close.

“You don’t have to look so pissed,” you muttered after a long, stretching silence, arms folded tight over your chest like they could hold the ache in. Your voice echoed slightly in the metal-and-concrete hush of the server room, small but biting. “It’s not like I planned to get stuck in a room with you.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn around.

That silence was cold and heavy and deliberate, it was more infuriating than any argument. More cruel than any insult. And just like that, the restraint you’d been clinging to fractured, snapping apart like thin glass under pressure.

“Seriously, Bucky?” You took a step forward, fists curling tight at your sides, heat prickling behind your eyes. “You’re just gonna stay quiet?”

He paused. His back tensed. Then, without looking at you, he said flatly, “I didn’t realise we had anything left to say.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Sharp. Surgical. You sucked in a breath like it would stop the sting, but it didn’t. Instead, your lips curled into a bitter smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, voice tight with disbelief. “Maybe a follow-up to ‘you were convenient.’ Maybe that’s not something you just say and then disappear.”

At that, his shoulders stiffened. His fingers twitched near the keypad, as if they were still trying to solve the problem — like maybe if he focused hard enough, he wouldn’t have to face the real one standing behind him. But the motion faltered, and he let his hand fall away.

“You said it like I meant nothing to you,” you continued, voice cracking, breath hitching somewhere between fury and heartbreak. “Like I was just some mistake you made in a moment of weakness. Some warm body you used to get through the night.”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” The words tumbled out of you now, raw and ragged. “I was there for you, Bucky. Every night. Every fucking night. When you couldn’t sleep. When the nightmares got so bad you couldn’t breathe. When you looked in the mirror like you didn’t deserve to be alive—I was there. And y-you used me.”

He turned at last, his eyes wild, stormy. His voice broke as he spoke.

“You told me you loved me.”

You flinched like the words had weight,  like they could bruise you more than he already did.

“You think I could keep touching you after that?” he said, quieter now, like something inside him was unraveling.

And you froze.

The air thinned, shrank around you. Your heart thundered against your ribs.

“You think I could keep doing that to you,” he went on, his voice barely holding together, “knowing you felt something—when I... when I couldn’t let myself feel anything at all?”

Your voice was barely more than a breath. “So you ran. Because someone gave a shit?”

His eyes flared, a flicker of something wounded flashing through the cracks in his carefully worn armor.

“You don’t get it,” he snapped, cerulean eyes darkening. “You never did.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, stepping forward until the air between you pulsed. “Help me fucking understand why I wasn’t enough.”

He looked like he wanted to bolt. Like the truth was a weight too heavy to hold. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“You were supposed to know the rules,” he said finally, voice flat but not emotionless. “You made them. No feelings. No strings. You knew what this was.”

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you,” you whispered, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I just... did. And maybe that was stupid. Maybe I read something into it that was never there.”

His jaw flexed. His face closed off. And when he finally spoke, it was like ice cutting through your ribs.

“You did.”

The silence that followed was endless. Deafening. It rang in your ears louder than gunfire.

You stared at him, something inside you slowly collapsing in on itself. Your spine straightened, chin tilting up in a last shred of defiance even as your voice wavered.

“Wow,” you said. “Guess I really was convenient.”

He didn’t move. But something flickered across his face — guilt, pain, maybe even regret — and for the smallest second, it looked like he might take it all back.

But he didn’t.

Your throat closed. You couldn’t breathe past the pressure rising in your chest. You were unraveling, piece by piece, in front of the one person who’d already seen you at your most vulnerable. And it still wasn’t enough.

“I was a mission to you,” you said. “Something broken to fix. A distraction. A warm place to hide when the rest of the world got too loud. But y-you…”

Your voice cracked, and you turned away, hating yourself for how much it still hurt.

“You were everything to me. And I hate that you still are.”

That finally did it.

Bucky’s face shifted, like something inside him broke and bled out all at once. His jaw clenched so tight the muscles twitched, his lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, but even that didn’t hide the tremble beneath. His eyes, dark, stormy—flickered with something close to pain, raw and real, like the weight of everything you said was scraping against his soul.

The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened, harsh shadows carved by years of anger and loss, Bucky’s breathing hitched—sharp and ragged—like he was fighting against the damn emotions clawing their way up from somewhere deep and dangerous. You caught the briefest flicker of something you’d never seen before: brokenness. 

A crack in the armor.

His metal arm twitched at his side, a reminder of what he’d been through, what he still carried. The cold gleam of the metal contrasted with the heat of his skin, flushed in anger or pain, or both. His whole body was tense, like he wanted to run, or fight, or maybe just disappear.

And yet, even with all that anger, all that rage, there was this dark, raw ache in his eyes—like he hated himself for feeling it, for letting you see it. He looked like he was on the edge of losing control, and maybe that scared him more than anything.

“I begged you to stay,” you said, almost whimpering as tears fell, Bucky’s voice came a second later, rough and ruined.

“I left because if I stayed, I would’ve destroyed you.”

You turned then, eyes blazing through the blur of tears. “You didn’t destroy me, Bucky. You left me alive to remember it.”

The server beeped — a cold, neutral sound. Files downloaded. Mission complete. Job done.

But this wasn’t a mission. This wasn’t something you could walk away from with a pat on the back and a debrief.

This was ruin. Quiet, private, and absolute.

You turned your back to him, shoulders trembling. Your hands curled into fists, knuckles white with the effort of staying upright. Silent tears carved paths down your cheeks, but you didn’t make a sound.

Behind you, Bucky didn’t speak. Didn’t move. The air between you was thick and poisonous, buzzing with everything you’d said and everything you hadn’t.

And in that unbearable silence, you finally understood the one truth that stung more than all the rest:

He wanted to love you.

But James Buchanan Barnes didn’t know how.

The server beeped again.

Still, you didn’t move, you couldn’t. Your hands trembled at your sides, your back still turned, chest rising and falling like your lungs were trying to remember how to breathe without pain. The words still echoed in the tight air between you, circling like ghosts neither of you could exorcise.

And then you heard it.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. The quiet creak of his boots across the floor. Closer. Closer still.

“Don’t,” you rasped, not turning around, afraid that he would see the tears that now stained your cheeks. “Don’t come near me if you’re just going to walk away again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky said behind you, voice thick, low, loaded.

Then his hand was on your arm, warm flesh this time, not metal, turning you gently, carefully, until you were facing him.

Your eyes met his cerulean ones, and something snapped, Bucky crashed his lips against yours like he’d finally broken through whatever leash he’d kept himself on, no, it wasn’t gentle or sweet, it was punishment and apology and desperation all at once — teeth and tongue and heat and anger and god, it was everything you remembered and everything you’d tried to forget.

You kissed him back with everything you had.

Your hands clawed into his shirt, dragging him closer, pouring all your pain into it, needing him to feel it. You wanted to hurt him with your mouth, your nails, your breath — the way he’d hurt you — but it was all tangled in love, twisted, beautiful and devastating all at once.

Bucky’s hands cupped your jaw, tilted your head, deepened the kiss until you were dizzy.

“Say you hate me,” he growled against your mouth.

You gasped, breath catching. “I do.”

“Liar.” His voice was rough, ruined. “You feel this. Same as me.”

And then his metal hand gripped your waist, pulling you against the hard line of his body. You moaned — couldn’t help it — the contact lighting a fire beneath your skin, melting the last of your resolve.

“Fuck,” you hissed, as he backed you into the server console, lifting you onto it with ridiculous ease.

He stepped between your legs, breathing ragged, hands everywhere,  tugging at your clothes, sliding under them, desperate to feel skin.

“You still feel like mine,” he muttered, voice cracked and reverent as he shoved your shirt up, exposing your stomach, your bra, the sweat-slick skin he used to worship like religion.

Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of his tac vest, shoving it off, needing to touch. To drag your nails down his chest. To mark him, claim him back.

“You walked away from this,” you gasped, kissing his jaw, biting it. “But your body still remembers me.”

He groaned deep in his throat. “I never forgot. Not once.”

And then he was on you,  mouth on your neck, tongue sliding down to your collarbone, hands rough as he ripped open the button of your pants, dragging them down with agonizing speed. You gasped as cool air hit your thighs, and then again as he dropped to his knees like you were something to be worshipped.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you with blown pupils and a bruised mouth. His hands hooked behind your knees, dragging you to the edge of the console like you weighed nothing.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped.

You stared down at him, chest heaving.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

That was all he needed.

He buried his mouth between your thighs like a starving man, and you screamed — hands fisting in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue slid deep, his stubble scraping your thighs in the most delicious way. It was filthy. Sinful. He moaned into you like he was addicted to the taste of your pain, your need.

You were already close — the heat was unbearable — but he didn’t let up, didn’t pause, not even when you came apart on his tongue, shuddering and crying out his name like it was a confession.

He stood then, mouth wet, eyes feral, dragging you off the console and spinning you around.

Your palms slapped against the metal surface. You were still panting, legs trembling, but you wanted more. Needed him.

“Tell me you still want this,” he said against your ear, one hand trailing up your back, the other palming your ass.

“I want you,” you choked out, pressing back into him. “I want all of you.”

The sound he made — a desperate, broken groan — was followed by the sound of his zipper, then the feel of him, thick and hard, rubbing against your slick folds.

When Bucky pushed into you, it was like being split open and healed all at once.

You both gasped. Swore. Clutched at the metal console like it might save you from drowning in the fire.

He set a brutal rhythm — relentless, deep, pounding into you with years of unsaid words and unmet longing. You met every thrust with your own, sobbing his name, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure coiled tight again in your belly.

“You feel like home,” he groaned, fucking you deeper. “You are home.”

You shattered with his name on your lips.

And this time, when you broke, he didn’t let go.

He followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a raw, guttural moan, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his arms wrapping tight around your waist like he was terrified you might disappear again.

The silence that followed wasn’t the cold, cruel kind anymore.

It was quiet. Close. Reverent.

And when he finally pulled back, pressing a kiss to your spine, your shoulder, your temple — you knew.

Bucky couldn’t say it.

But this time, he wasn’t going to leave.

“I left because if I stayed, I would’ve broken you. And maybe… maybe I already did.”

Your breath caught, the confession hanging heavy in the room between you both. For a moment, the walls didn’t feel so cold. The distance shrunk, just a fraction, because finally, for the first time, he wasn’t hiding behind that ironclad façade.

You took a shaky step closer, eyes searching for something you’d never dared hope to see: vulnerability.

“Maybe you did,” you whispered, voice trembling, “but I’m still here.”

His gaze faltered, raw and unguarded. The storm behind his eyes softened, just enough to invite you in.

Before you could think twice, your fingers reached out, tracing the cold metal of his arm, and then his cheek. His skin was warm, alive, and beneath his guarded exterior, you found something broken, but not beyond repair.

Bucky’s lips parted, as if to speak, but instead, he pulled you into a bruising, desperate kiss that said everything words couldn’t. It was an apology, a plea, a promise all tangled into one.

The mission could wait. The past could wait.

Right now, it was just you and him, raw, broken and real.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start again.

i love, love, love, thunderbolts, it reignited my love for bucky ౨ৎ

[luna-azzurra]

Vibes for Characters #1

Who Are Angry, But Don’t Know Why...

(aka the ones who punch walls emotionally, even if they never touch anything)

☽ Clenched fists for no reason. Fingernails digging into palms. White knuckles. Always. ☽ Their jaw is sore, but they don’t realize it’s from grinding their teeth all day. ☽ Quick to snap at people who ask “Are you okay?”—because no, but they don’t have a map to what’s actually wrong. ☽ Laughs in the middle of an argument, but it’s that ugly laugh. That “God I wish I knew how to scream without breaking something” laugh. ☽ Gets weirdly emotional over small inconveniences. Burnt toast. Traffic. Missing socks. Not because of the thing—but because of everything. ☽ Hates being pitied more than being hated. ☽ Half the things they say sound sarcastic, even when they’re not trying to be. ☽ Walks too fast. Eats too fast. Always doing something like stillness might swallow them whole. ☽ Tells people “I’m just tired” when what they mean is “I don’t trust myself not to explode.” ☽ Picks fights with mirrors. Or themselves. ☽ Looks calm from a distance, but their energy feels like a storm about to break. ☽ The kind of person who storms out and comes back five minutes later because they weren’t done arguing with themselves.

Who Don’t Think They Deserve to Exist

(The “I’m fine, but I’m not supposed to be here” kind of characters. The ghost-in-their-own-body ones.)

☽ Flinches when praised. Freezes when complimented. Looks confused, like kindness is a foreign language they never learned. ☽ Keeps everything small. Their voice. Their handwriting. Their footprint in the world. ☽ Won’t ask for help, but apologizes for asking if they’re allowed to ask. ☽ Constantly feels like they’re taking up space they didn’t earn. Physically, emotionally, narratively. ☽ Will drop everything to take care of you—and absolutely cannot handle being taken care of in return. ☽ Fills silences with self-deprecation. Can’t stand being left alone with just their own breathing. ☽ Has entire imaginary conversations in their head about being a burden. Usually ends with them deciding to stay quiet. ☽ Smiles when they’re sad, because they’ve learned people like them better that way. ☽ Lives in survival mode, even in safe places. ☽ The kind of tired that isn’t fixed by sleep. The kind of ache that doesn’t bruise. ☽ Doesn’t think anyone would miss them if they left—but still shows up for everyone anyway. ☽ Would literally sacrifice themselves for someone else’s peace, and not tell anyone they were in pain while doing it.

Who Would Rather Self-Destruct Than Be Vulnerable

(You know the type. “I’m fine,” they say, while bleeding emotionally in six places and making it your fault.)

☽ Has a six-sense radar for emotional intimacy and bolts the second they feel it coming. ☽ Jokes about their trauma before anyone else can ask questions. ☽ Flirts like it’s war. Gets emotionally close like it’s a death sentence. ☽ Hates silence because it feels like it might start telling the truth. ☽ Master of the “accidental push away” (says things like “You don’t really care,” when what they mean is “Please prove me wrong.”) ☽ Would rather burn a bridge than admit they actually want you to cross it. ☽ Says “It’s not a big deal” about everything, even when it obviously is. ☽ Responds to “Are you okay?” with “Define okay.” ☽ Thinks vulnerability is weakness, but secretly craves someone who’ll stay after seeing the mess. ☽ Their love language is sabotage. Their defense mechanism is charisma. ☽ Will talk you through your emotional breakdown with terrifying clarity—and ghost you the second you ask how they’re doing. ☽ Would rather be hated for who they pretend to be than be hurt as who they really are.

[loveanddeepspaceimagines]

Talking to your baby bump ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Zayne carefully arranged pillows to support your sleeping form before settling beside you on the bed, your baby bump now beneath the covers. His hand wandered to stroke gentle circles over the swell, awestruck as always by the miracle inside.

"Hey little one," he murmured softly so as not to wake you. "It's just you and me for a chat." A tiny fluttering kick met his palm, drawing a quiet chuckle.

"I want you to know how excited your dad is to meet you," he continued, voice full of wonder. "I'll teach you everything how to walk, talk...".

His eyes drifted to your peaceful expression, love swelling in his chest. "You're going to have the best mommy, you know. She's the kindest, bravest person I know." Brushing hair from your cheek, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

Turning attentions back to your unborn child, Zayne smiled. "I promise I'll support both of you no matter what. We're gonna have so much fun together, the three of us."

Caressing the bump once more, he whispered, "I love you so much already, little peanut. Can't wait to hold you in my arms."

As if in reply, a stronger fluttering pressed against his palm. Smile stretching ear to ear, he rested his head by your side, content to keep watch over his perfect little growing family.

You were curled up asleep on the couch, your baby bump pressing against the cushions as you rested. Rafayel came over quietly and knelt beside you, gently placing a hand on your stomach.

"Hey little one," he whispered softly so as not to wake you. "It's daddy."

He still couldn't believe there was life growing inside the woman he loved most. Your child wasn't even born yet and already he loved them fiercely.

"I just wanted to tell you how excited I am to meet you," he continued, rubbing gentle circles with his palm. "Your mommy and I have been waiting so long for this."

There was a flutter of movement under his hand and Rafayel's breath caught, overcome at even the smallest response. "I know you can't understand me yet, but I promise I'm going to be the best daddy."

Throughout your pregnancy so far, he had doted on your every need and craving. But in quiet moments like this, he also spoke his heart to your unborn baby through your belly.

"We're going to have so much fun learning and playing together. I'll teach you how to draw if you want!" He chuckled softly. "But most of all, I want you to know how much you are loved already, little one."

He placed a tender kiss to your abdomen resting his cheek there.

The evening sun slanted gently through the bedroom window as you slept, your soft breathing the only sound amid peaceful quiet. Xavier lay beside you, propped on an elbow while watching your belly rise and fall beneath his palm.

9 weeks along now, just the faintest swell showed your child's growth nestled safely within.

Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss to your belly through fabric before whispering, "Hey little one. It's Daddy. I know you can't hear me yet but I just wanted to say hi."

He scooped gentle circles with his hand, half expecting to feel answering flutters even this early. His heart swelled impossibly at the idea of hidden tiny fingers and toes taking shape, getting ready to greet him.

"I can't wait to meet you. Your mom and I will do everything to take care of you, keep you safe and loved."

"You'll know so much love, little peanut. We're going to be a perfect happy family together - just wait and see." Xavier sniffed, emotion rising in his voice. His eyes strayed reverently to your peaceful face.

"You're so lucky to have her as your mom. She's going to be the best." He murmured placing soft kiss to your stomach.

You had drifted off to sleep early in the evening, Sylus sat beside you on the couch, watching your peaceful slumber with a quiet smile.

His large hand drifted to rest gently against the swell of your abdomen, feeling the occasional flutter of tiny movements stirring within. His child, strong and spirited even now, responding to his touch.

"Hey there little one," Sylus murmured low, careful not to wake its mother. "It's just us guys for now. You keeping momma company in there?"

A curious prodding against his palm seemed to answer. His smile widened as he continued his one-sided conversation.

"You're going to turn our whole world upside down soon. But me and your mom, we can't wait to meet you. We'll teach you everything - how to walk, talk. Maybe how to wrestle if you're up for it."

Soft chuckling accompanied the mental image before growing serious once more. "Most of all, we'll make sure you know how much you're loved. No matter what."

His fngertips traced soothing patterns over stretched skin, voice dropping lower. "We'll be here for you always, little crow. Me and your mom against the world."

Glancing once more at your sleeping form, he placed a tender kiss to your belly. "Be good to your mom, you hear? See you real soon, little one."

©loveanddeepspaceimagines 2024

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Hope you enjoyed reading this peace! Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated. I'm hoping i can find mutuals in lads fandom! Thank you for reading!