#thor 2 headers

[bestwitchsam]

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I was thinking of reader being pregnant but not being aware yet but bucky can hear the heartbeat of his unborn child but what if the reader and Bucky weren't in an established relationship in fact the two don't really get a long at all but they hooked up once and Reader got pregnant. After a mission they end up in a safe house and Bucky realizes that he's hearing the heartbeat of their unborn child

Unexpected » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger/Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds out Y/N is pregnant with his unborn baby when he hears the heartbeat.

Warnings: mix of Fluff and Angst, language, mentions of sex (18+), kissing, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @annekelovesreading 🩵

A/N #2: @little-miss-dilf-lover wrote a similar one shot. Just know I’m not copying her in any way. Her and I just got the same request. She said I can write this and I thank her for allowing me to write this🩷

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this one on Pinterest.

“I had him, Barnes!” You yelled, panting.

“No you didn’t. You could barely-” That’s when he heard it, the noise he’s been hearing all week.

“I could barely what, huh?” You asked.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “Let’s just finish this mission so we can go to the safe house.” He says, gently nudging you in the direction you two need to go.

Bucky thought he had been hearing things all week. He has been hearing a little thumping noise. He only hears it when he’s around you which is weird, considering that you two don’t get along. He’s been trying to figure out what the noise is and it’s driving him crazy. That was the only thing on his mind as you two finished the mission and went to the safe house. It didn’t take long for realization to hit him. The little thumping noise he has been hearing all week is a heartbeat of an unborn baby. Meaning, you’re pregnant with his child. Bucky remembered the one time you and him had sex. You two got drunk off of Asgardian alcohol Thor gave you and him at Tony’s party a few weeks ago, making his eyes widen.

“Oh my god.” Bucky says to himself.

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth in the bedroom. If you knew, you would’ve told him, right? You wouldn’t keep something this important from him, would you? Or maybe you don’t know it yet. Instead of jumping to conclusions, he laid down on the bed and tried to relax, but that got him nowhere. He just stared up at the ceiling. Bucky already knew that he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night so he just tried to relax. He turned the TV on for background noise to drown out his thoughts. He soon fell asleep. A few hours later, he woke up from his dreamless sleep. A sigh left his lips as he got out of bed to get something to drink. He stopped in his tracks, hearing the heartbeat of his unborn child coming from your bedroom. Bucky was tempted to go in your room to hear the heartbeat better, but he didn’t want to wake you. He went to the kitchen and got some water and went back to his room. Bucky laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling once again till he fell asleep. When morning came, he woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the sun shining through the curtains. Bucky rubbed his eyes to wake himself up more before getting out of bed. He went to the kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when the smell of coffee didn’t instantly hit his nose.

“You didn’t make coffee?” Bucky asks, slightly annoyed.

“No.” You took a sip of your orange juice. “For some reason, it’s been making me nauseous for the past couple weeks.” You tell him.

Bucky’s breath got caught in his throat when you mentioned being nauseous.

“That’s weird.” He says, clearing his throat.

Bucky got a cup from the cabinet and poured himself some orange juice. He went to the living room and sat down next to you.

“Just out of curiosity…” Bucky took a sip of his orange juice before asking his question. “Does anything else make you nauseous?” He asks curiously.

“Now that I think about it, some of my favorite foods have been making me feel sick lately.” You answered. “Wait a minute. We don’t like each other. Why are you asking me this?” You asked, looking at him.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of his orange juice.

“Are you thinking I’m pregnant?” You asked.

“What? No. I’m not thinking that at all.” He says, lying through his teeth.

That’s when Bucky heard the little heartbeats again. He glanced down at your stomach, listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child.

“Either you have a staring problem or you know something I don’t.” You say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, moving his eyes away from your stomach.

“You’re a terrible liar.” You tell him. “Tell me what’s going on before I interrogate you.” You say, turning your body to face him.

“Last time I checked, you’re not a detective or a cop.” He says, standing up and went to the kitchen.

“I was trained in that area, Barnes.” You followed him to the kitchen. “I’m going to ask you again, do you know something I don’t?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Bucky gave in with a sigh and turned to face you.

“Heartbeats.” Is all he said.

“You mean our heartbeats?” You asked.

“Not ours. An unborn baby’s heartbeat.” He says.

“What do you mean an unborn baby’s heartbeat? I’m not-” You stopped to think for a moment. “I’m not pregnant. Am I?” You say, more to yourself.

You kept thinking. You haven’t gotten your period in two months and most of your favorite foods and drinks make you nauseous. Some of your clothes don’t fit you like they used to. Your mind started to wander to the time you and Bucky had sex. That was two months ago as well. You two got drunk on Asgardian alcohol Thor gave you guys and neither of you thought to use a condom when you guys had sex. As you were putting the pieces together, it was beginning to make sense.

“Maybe I am pregnant.” That’s when your eyes widen in realization. “Oh my god.” You whispered. “I’ve been taking a lot of hits during this mission. What if- What if I did something to hurt the baby?” You say, looking at Bucky with tears in your eyes.

“Hey, don’t go there.” Bucky cooes, wrapping his arms around you. “You didn’t know, doll. I’m sure the baby is fine.” He says softly, rubbing your back to calm you down.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, holding you in his arms till you said something.

“How can we raise a baby together if we don’t get along?” You asked, looking up at him.

“We’ll figure something out.” He says, moving a piece of your hair from your face.

“What about the mission? I obviously can’t finish this mission in the condition I’m in.” You say.

“We’ll call Steve later and figure something out. As of right now, let’s get you comfortable.” He says.

Bucky lead you to his bedroom. You got underneath the blanket while Bucky stared at your stomach for a moment.

“Can I listen to the heartbeat?” Bucky asks.

“Of course you can. It’s your baby too.” You say with a smile.

You took the blanket off of you and moved your t-shirt just above your stomach. Bucky’s eyes filled with adoration when he seen your baby bump beginning to form. He laid down on the bed next to you and pressed his ear against your stomach, smiling when he heard the baby’s heartbeat.

“What’s it like?” You asked curiously.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Bucky says, completely astonished.

You couldn’t help but reach a hand down, running your fingers through his hair. Bucky hummed at the feeling.

“You know…” Bucky starts. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. That was in the 40s and I still want that now.” He tells you.

“Wanna know something?” You asked. “I’ve always wanted a daughter too.” You say with a smile.

A smile grew on his face. What Bucky did next surprised both of you. He leaned up and kissed you passionately.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, pulling away.

“No need to be sorry. I’m pregnant with your baby. You get to kiss me all you want.” You say, cupping his scruffy cheeks and rubbed your thumbs over his beard.

“Well, in that case…” Bucky kissed you again. “A kiss for my doll and…” He moves down to your stomach. “A kiss for our little one.” He says, kissing your stomach.

“You really think we can work this out?” You asked.

“For the sake of the baby, I hope we can.” He says, lying down next to you.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you protectively and pulled you closer to him, placing one of his hands on your stomach. You and Bucky spent the rest of the day cuddling and talking out your differences so you two can raise this baby together.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[thenameswinterfics]

VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying. 

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way. 

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago. 

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky. 

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars. 

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories. 

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.  

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go. 

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach. 

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her." 

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature. 

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened. 

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again. 

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..." 

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past. 

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?” 

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them. 

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd. 

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question. 

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long. 

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over. 

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight. 

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for. 

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust. 

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him. 

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern. 

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you. 

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do. 

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters. 

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead. 

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him. 

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.  

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.  

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.” 

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes. 

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it. 

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile. 

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words. 

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in. 

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks. 

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence. 

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning. 

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands. 

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him. 

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding. 

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness. 

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her." 

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours. 

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..." 

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.” 

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact. 

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before. 

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was. 

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave. 

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers. 

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim. 

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you." 

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors. 

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts. 

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt. 

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch. 

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

[saiyanprincessswanie]

SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Week 223 & 224

A/N: Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me. 💜 This week had me reading 25 fics. Absolutely amazing fics here. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community.  💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Header by @fictional-affairs

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

Love of my Life - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Party Prep - (Curtis x Honey) - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

A Hunters Promise - Part 2 - (Sam Winchester x Reader) - @b3autyfuld1sast3r

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 9 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Bad day at work (2) - (Jake x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Old Habits - (Bucky x Reader) - @labella420

Captain's Boinking Escapades - @mercurial-chuckles

Here's Stud - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Unexpected In the Shower - (Nick x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

The Imperfect Couple - 2 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Confessions of Mr. Grumpaholic - (Bucky x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Everything Happened So We'd Meet - (Lee x Reader) - @foxgloveprincess

Lumberjack Tales - The Hairy Bear (2) - (Ari x Reader) - @holylulusworld

The Imperfect Couple - 3 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Shifting Tides Pt. 3 - (Ari x Reader) - @labella420

Moving in Slow Motion - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

An eternity together - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

The open door - @nekoannie-chan

Fancy For Love - (Bucky x Reader) - @caplanbuckybarnes

In Your Arms - (Jake x Reader) - @bigtreefest

This Is Love - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Clashes of Thunder - (Raiden, Thor) - @caplanbuckybarnes

Lying in your arms, so safe and warm - (Andy x Reader) - @worksby-d

Bucky and the Books - (Bucky x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

His Inheritance - Part 35 - (Steve x Reader) - @jtargaryen18

[parkerrfkz]

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

Like or reblog if you save!

Don’t repost.

[packerlands]

Thor : The Dark World headers

© to @bieberdwards​  > (credit tweet) - like/reblog if you save

Click on the header, then save it to keep the right size

[raresciences]

marvel cinematic universe (films) headers

• fav if you like it

• reblog if you save it

- credits if use: @ raresciences

[sweetgwlaxy]

[heroicons]

like/reblog or credit dccosmics on twitter if you save/use

[aphredits]

like/reblog if you save.

[muddyorbsblr]

relinquish the crown – masterlist

It's bb's first dark story omg. It's inspired by House of the Dragon and was inspired by this TikTok specifically. It really just set me down a path of writing nearly nonstop for a full day.

Warnings (and trust me you should read these): themes of incest (kinda i mean he is adopted but still), arranged/forced marriage, mentions of blood, mention of suicide if you squint, Loki's definitely kinda dark in this one [let me know if i missed anything and I will update these warnings immediately]

Summary: Loki surrenders his claim to the throne on one condition: He be betrothed to you, as was once tradition in your family's ancestry. You…are Thor's daughter.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

story header by the amazing @mochie85 💖💛

Main Story

Prologue Season 1 Season 2 Season 3

Bonus "Episodes"

Non-Story Media

'relinquish the crown' Spotify playlist

listicle: silent ways they've said 'i love you' part 1

AUs

Multi-Part

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟...𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢?

part 1: bigger than the whole sky part 2: all will be alright in time

[ynscrazylife]

Hi! Love your writing! Can I please request Y/N being Natasha and Wanda’s daughter? Maybe like Y/N gets sick and her moms take care of her, lots of cuddles and fluff 🥰 Ty!

Battle of the Fever (Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff x Daughter!Reader)

Summary: Natasha and Wanda return from a mission to find their daughter sick.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! I’m sorry there’s not really cuddles in this. I couldn’t figure out how to fit it in. Hopefully the fluff is enough! Also, as reminder, I write Wanda as Romani and Jewish because in the comics, she is Romani and Jewish.

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/piratanjo

Descending down the stairs, Clint let out a low, tired whistle as he ran a hand through his hair. Three days ago, Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Thor, and Bruce had left for a special mission. One day ago, his niece and goddaughter Y/N had practically stumbled into the Avengers tower. He had been relaxing on the couch, reading a magazine when she emerged from the elevator. He still remembered F.R.I.D.A.Y announcing her arrival and looking up, nearly mistaking her for a zombie at first glance. (In his defense: she did look like one, but he never said that out-loud.)

It turns out that she had caught a nasty cold and developed a chill and a fever amongst the usual annoying symptoms. Unfortunately for the pair, their resident doctor was unavailable and Y/N insisted that they not bother Dr. Cho, saying that they could handle it themselves. Clint was prepared to take on the task, having dealt with many whiny, sniffling children of his own. But that was the other thing: as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t watch over her 24/7. He was a father himself and needed to go home to his wife and children. In his absence, Tony would take over, clad in his Iron Man suit as he absolutely refused to get infected from a teen.

On the bright side, the team was expected to arrive home any day now — perhaps even any minute. Clint had been so caught up in his trial and error to bring Y/N’s fever down that he hadn’t checked on the team’s progress. Now, Y/N had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep, but was resting nonetheless, giving Clint a break.

He wouldn’t say this to her, but he had grown worried about her condition. He knew that it was nothing serious, but not knowing when it would get better was his main concern. Plus, if Y/N didn’t get better soon, Clint would face the mighty wrath of two angry, protective mamas.

“Hawkeye is the best! Hawkeye is the best!”

Clint blinked, pulled back from his thoughts by the ringtone he had F.R.I.D.A.Y program. He got it out of his pocket, looking down at the screen to see the smiling face of Wanda staring back at him. He answered it with a simple, “Hello.”

“Hey! We’re going to be back soon. In about an hour or less, if Natasha speeds,” Wanda told him. Based on her cheery tone, Clint figured that the mission had gone well on their end.

Well, at least one of them had succeeded.

He imagined his redheaded partner-in-crime adamant to return home, since neither she nor Wanda tolerated being away from Y/N for very long on missions. She’d increase the Quinjet’s speed when Steve wasn’t looking (although she wouldn’t bother to hide it from him anyway, but she was a spy — sneaking was in her nature).

“That’s great! Maybe you guys can hold off on the mission briefing for a bit?” He proposed.

Although he couldn’t see it, he had a gut feeling that Wanda’s demeanor shifted immediately (and he would be right). “Why? Is everything okay?” She fretted, her nerves clear as day.

Clint bit his lip, eyes sweeping around the tower’s living room as he briefly wondered if he should go back and check up on Y/N. “She’s sick, Wan. It’s nothing too bad, but she’s had a fever since yesterday,” he admitted to her.

The Avenger quieted and Clint heard some shuffling before her voice picked up again. “Oh, dear. We’ll be back soon. Can I talk to her?”

He cast a look at the doorway, to the stairs where he had come from. “She’s sleeping now. She was up most of the night last night — at least that’s what Tony said,” he reported, recalling how the businessman quite literally typed up what happened on their paperwork. (He claimed he needed something to do while he watched Y/N, but they both knew that it was his way of distracting himself from his worries.)

“Poor dear,” Wanda murmured and he heard her take a deep breath. “We’ll see you soon.”

The moment Natasha steered the Quinjet to touch down on the ground, she was out of her seat. Steve just barely made it to the controls in time to keep the wheels from being damaged.

Wanda popped up from her own seat and was hot on her trail, speeding up so they could walk side-by-side. Neither one of them needed to exchange any words, Wanda’s hand interlacing with Natasha’s with a firm grip was enough.

Both women were too deep into their own thoughts that they hadn’t realized that Bruce was right behind them, saying something about having to bring down Y/N’s fever. In fact, they only registered his presence when he slipped into the elevator before the doors could close.

“Oh, Bruce!” Natasha said, blinking as she watched the doctor catch his breath.

Bruce managed a tired smile at the wives. “We-we gotta bring her fever down. Depending on how high it is, an ice bath would be best. I gotta conduct the team check-ups as procedure, but all the medicine should be in the bathroom and let me know if Y/N needs anything,” he said.

Natasha nodded and found herself smiling at him. His words were music to her ears; a nice relief as it was the first piece of good news she had gotten since their mission had succeeded. “Thank you, Bruce,” she murmured, the weight of her gratitude conveyed in her simple words. She watched as he got off at two floors before them, heading to his and Tony’s shared lab.

Once the elevator continued its journey, Wanda’s hand found Natasha’s again. Natasha only had enough time to give her a reassuring squeeze before the doors opened; both women immediately sprinting out once they could.

Natasha went straight for Clint, her best friend, while Wanda made a beeline for Y/N’s room. He quickly greeted the spy and updated her on her daughter’s condition, and then followed her as she made her way to Y/N’s bedroom as well.

Not bothering to knock, Wanda’s heart broke when she saw her daughter lying in a sweaty heap on her bed. Her eyes were only half-open, her entire body trembling with each cough. Wanda left the door open for Clint and Natasha, who came tumbling in moments after, and gravitated towards Y/N’s bedside.

Natasha did the same as her wife, heading to Y/N’s unoccupied side, while Clint ducked out of the room to give his friends privacy and to get more medicine and supplies.

“Honey,” Wanda said softly, pressing the back of her hand to her daughter’s forehead. At the warmness she felt, she sent a look to her wife. “It’s your moms. We’re back from the mission.”

Y/N blinked a couple times until she could open them all the way, looking around until the realization set in of whom she was facing. “Hi,” she croaked out, managing a weak smile.

“How are you feeling? Let’s take your temperature,” Natasha said, taking the thermometer from Clint who had returned to the room. He crossed to the other side of the bed to give Wanda a damp cloth, a glass of water, and various medicines.

Y/N nodded and slowly eased herself up a little bit, leaning forward to allow her mother to take her temperature. They waited until the beep, and Natasha frowned as she reported that her temperature was 100 degrees. Not a high fever, but a fever nonetheless. Wanda took it upon herself to drape the damp cloth on Y/N’s forehead, and the teenager quickly relaxed.

Clint excused himself and the mothers calmly watched their daughter until her breathing had evened out and she had fallen asleep. For the first time since hearing about Y/N’s condition, Natasha allowed her muscles to relax as she lent back in her chair. Wanda smiled at her from the other side sympathetically and sighed.

“I know we haven’t done much, but just being here makes me feel better already,” Natasha murmured, her gaze shifting back to Y/N.

Wanda nodded, humming in agreement. “I think I’ll go cook us some dinner — if that’s okay? I’m thinking her favorite, with a side of soup in case it’s too much,” she said.

“That sounds wonderful,” Natasha agreed, catching Wanda’s hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze when she passed.

After she left and closed the door behind herself, Natasha continued watching over their daughter. She could tell that Y/N still wasn’t feeling the best, but at least she was not suffering as much since she was asleep.

When Wanda returned with the food, the smell lured Y/N out of her sleep. However, she awoke in a coughing fit, and Natasha jumped to pat her on the back while Wanda patiently held up a glass of water for her. When the coughs slowly subsided, she gratefully took small sips.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding less frog-like. Sniffing, Y/N’s eyes widened with glee when she spotted the food her mother cooked.?

Natasha and Wanda chuckled fondly at that, and Wanda put aside a serving for her daughter and wife. “Small bites, dear,” she advised.

Y/N nodded eagerly, and her mothers weren’t even sure if she had listened to what Wanda had said. The moment she was handed the plate, the dug into the food. Chewing, she leant back against her pillows dramatically.

“So good!” She said, her voice muffled by the food.

Natasha and Wanda smiled and dug into their own food. By the time the meal was finished, Y/N was already starting to feel better. She continued to let her mothers take care of her and the next morning — they had successfully won the battle against Y/N’s fever. 

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @kathryndimitrescu @snipyloulou @big-galaxy-chaos @cc13723things  @passionswift @drayshadow @amaryllis23 @storysimp @lamieshelmy @fantqsha @galacticstxrdust @a-lil-bit-nuts @marvel-to-infinity @maryseesthings @lovelyy-moonlight @dumb-fawkin-bitch

MCU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @summerlovingbaby @ineffablebean@okkulta @procrastinatingsapphictrash @prettysbliss @caseyfish-blog@sarahp-stan @thewidowsghost @basiclesbianbitch @mycosmicparadise​ @kidswhofightmonsters @xtraordinaryfangrl @peggycarter-steverogers@username23345 @ima-gi--na-tion @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok@xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mads-weasley @tenaciousperfectionunknown @afraid-to-be-me @lilclownx @acertainredhead @lilymurphy03 @thanossexual @avengersz-biotch @kozumekoi @mjaudrey @un-name-d@leyannrae @buckyandstevesbitch @kuzomekou-blog @nylevea @suckerfornatstits @bentleywolf29  @bunnyweasley23 @ss @pianogirl2121 @@beth-gallagher22 @pleasantbearscissorstoad @marvelwomen-simp @wandaswifeyforlifey @that-napa-know-how @wisteriaandauroras @mirakeul @eternallyvenus @thatoneshykid13 @@jeminiepabo @skagelynn @redsakura101 @todaywasafairytale07 @yelenarmnv @lazyloki @nerd-88 @fairydxll @v0idl1nq_ @inluvwithfictionalwomen @scarthefangirl 

[gl00mystarz]

Masterlist

Markers :)

NSFW ⌦ - SFW ♢ - Fluff ♧ - Angst ♣ - Gender neutral ⚧ - Male ♂

Header and Divider from: @justlgbtthings

Red Dead Redemption 2

Arthur Morgan

Life is Good- ♢♧♣♂

--

Sean MacGuire

Battle Scars, sorta ya know?- ♢♂♧

Stardew Valley

Harvey

Harvey HC's- ⌦♢⚧

--

Genshin Impact

Scaramouche

Scaramouche HC's- ⌦♢♂

--

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

Eddie with a tall and muscular BF HC's- ⌦♢♂

Eddie with a chubby BF HC's- ⌦♢♂

Bratty Baby- ⌦♂

Eddie with a glamrock BF HC's- ⌦♢♂

Dancing Queens- ♧⚧

Safe Space- ♧♂

Smile, Sweetheart- ♧♂

Eddie with a scary dog privilege BF HC's- ⌦♂

You really think that low of me, Munson?- ♢♣♂

--

Steve Harrington

I wish I knew...- ♢♣♂

Foam Hearts and Bittersweet Lips-♧♂

--

Jonathan Byers

I hope you find peace for yourself-♣♂

The Hobbit

Thorin Oakenshield

My Beloved- ⌦♢♂

--

Bilbo Baggins

Bilbo with a tall puppy like BF HC's- ⌦♢♂

Lord of the Rings

Gimli

"House" Husband- ♢♂♣

--

Aragorn

Aragorn dating Gandalf's son HC's- ⌦♢♂

God of War

Thor

My Love- ⌦⚧

[saiyanprincessswanie]

SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Week 213 & 214

A/N: Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me. 💜 This week had me reading 50 fics. Absolutely amazing fics here. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community.  💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

Header by @fictional-affairs

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

Need You Now - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight

Goldi locked - (Curtis x Reader x Ari x Steve) - @biteofcherry

one for you and me - (Bucky x Reader) - @mellowsaturns

no place like home - (Steve x Reader) - @mellowsaturns

Drugged Courage - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Berserk Captain Rogers - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Out of My Head - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Stay - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Making Time - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Sunrises and Sunsets - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

More time - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

somebody else - (Bucky x Reader) - @lunarbuck

Deception - (Andy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Fate Part 1 - (Curtis x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute

Fate Part 2 - (Curtis x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute

Guilt - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Oh My - (Jake x woc!Reader) - @syntheticavenger

hard drive - (Jake x Reader) - @syntheticavenger

Comply - (Winter Soldier x Reader) - @tumblin-theworldaway

Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight

A Much Needed Reminder - (Andy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Hold Me - (Ari x Reader) - @flordeamatista

Losing Control - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista

till the end of time - (Thor x Reader) - @sergeantxrogers

for so long as you live - (Bucky x Reader) - @witchywithwhiskey

"My King" - (Thor x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty

Vicious - (Bucky x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty

Another Ending 1 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Another Ending - 2 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

You Should've Seen Him - (Steve x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

I Will Always Come When You Call - (Bucky x Reader) - @eat-limes-bitches

Love Marks - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista

Betrayed heart - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Hold You Tight: Part 6 - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Cold hearted - Chp 3 - (Multi Pairings) - @missvelvetsstuff

Cold hearted - Chp 4 - (Multi Pairings) - @missvelvetsstuff

Indecent Proposal - (8) - (Stucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Leap of faith - (Steve x Reader) - @mostly-marvel-musings

Drabble Roulette: F*ck Machine - Bucky Barnes - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

Touching - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Delivered - (Curtis x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Big Pharma - (Steve x Reader) - @ronearoundblindly

Back to the Office - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

liquor - (Thor x Reader) - @syntheticavenger

I know what you did - (Lee B x Reader) - @tumblin-theworldaway

Chivalry - (Steve x Reader) - @mostly-marvel-musings

So, This Is Love! - (Ransom x Reader) - @americasass81

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet - Chp 10 - (Curtis x Honey) - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Your Mark On Me - Part 13 - (Steve x Reader) - @georgiapeach30513

[theconstantsidekick]

Avengers: Infinity War ft. Static (3)

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader (past ish), Natasha Romanoff x Stark!Reader (flirting), Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: This is kinda cute ngl.

Summary: Natasha and y/n get to talking on their way to Wakanda.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Smoking (don't do it kids), Brief Mentions of Past Trauma

a/n: read Age of Ultron (ft. Static) to get a better backstory. And also Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) if you wanna get to know the backstory what Natasha is talking about. Highly recommended. And it’s fun. I promise.

sidenote: took longer than I thought, couldn't get it to be just right. @freeflyingphoenix and @astraealupinblack thank you so much for helping with this one.

Also, this one is dedicated to @siwiecola who not only made my header but also made this delicious piece of art. I love you so much. Thanks.

Avengers: Infinity War ft. Static (2) | Avengers: Infinity War ft. Static (4) | Series Masterlist | Age of Ultron (Static Origin Story) | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier ft. Static | Static Verse Masterlist

“What did you say to him?”

Y/n looks at the redhead who’s now not a redhead at all, eyebrows furrowed. “What makes you think I said something to him?”

“He’s moping,” Natasha replies, pointing at Steve who’s sitting in a corner, elbows resting on his thighs, head hanging low.

Y/n might have liked that look of remorse if she didn’t love him so much. But there’s principles involved in things like this. And the principles—her principles require her to consider his remorse to be a kind of recompense. Not as shiny as revenge but better than the balm that pettiness provides her.

“And?” Y/n urges from where she sits, eyes flying from him to her.

Everyone’s picked a corner for themselves. Sam’s piloting. Vision and Wanda are off to one side, whispering. Bruce is fidgeting, animatedly telling Rhodey about his adventures with Thor in space. Rhodey is passing looks at Y/n silently asking her to get him out. But she’s talking to Natasha, who’s arming herself up to the nines, sliding knives in every pocket of the vest. And her vest has a lot of pockets. That leaves Steve and well, Steve—he’s moping.

“You really did a number on him,” Natasha states, one of her legs is up on the seat next to Y/n as she fiddles with the holster on her thigh.

At the lack of response, Natasha looks at her.

Y/n knows she’s wearing a ‘And what are you going to do about it?’ look. Her brow cocked, her face stern.

The unspoken challenge, however, is denied immediately.

Natasha throws up her hands in defense, instantly, “I’m not saying he didn’t have it coming.”

“Then what are you saying?” Y/n asks, back to her casual drawl, taking a drag from the cigarette between her fingers.

“I’m not saying anything.” Natasha goes back to the thigh holster.

“You’re saying something,” Y/n argues, playing her game very happily. She’s never been good at rejecting Natasha at anything, at all. She flicks the butt of the smoke to ash it carelessly.

Natasha nods once in offhanded agreement, still playing with the holster.

“You plan on telling me now or are we waiting till we’re dead?” Y/n chides. Another drag.

Natasha smiles a little. “I just said he was moping.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Y/n grumbles, placing the cigarette between her lips and then slapping away Natasha’s hands. She begins fixing the holster for her. “Just spit it out, Romanoff. You know I hate this dilly dally bullshit.”

“Dilly dally? God. You really are a 95-year-old woman,” Natasha retorts grinning.

Puffing out the smoke, she replies, “That's ageist.”

Natasha snickers as Y/n finishes up, patting her thigh once.

“You wanna talk about it?” Natasha asks, taking a seat opposite her. The genuine care in her voice doesn't go unnoticed by Y/n.

“God no,” she answers unabashedly, inhaling deeply. “Can we talk about anything else, anything at all? Just this once, let’s pass the fucking Bechdel test, shall we?” She sounds annoyed even to herself. She isn't though. She's just tired.

Natasha smiles, “What do you wanna talk about?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s not about a ‘boy’,” her nose scrunches up. She breathes out the smoke through her nose. “We’re going to war, Nat. What do people usually talk about before war?”

Natasha shrugs, pursing her lips. “I don’t know… What they’ll do if they make it back?” She suggests.

“I’m going back to Japan,” Y/n admits, a small smile breaking onto her face.

“That’s where you were?” Natasha asks. When Y/n just nods in response, she adds, “That where the shirt was from?”

Y/n chuckles then. “Yeah maybe,” she answers dismissively. She looks up at her, hands fiddling with the butt of the cigarette. “What about you? What did you do?”

Natasha smiles too. “Went to Budapest.” Her eyes are shining with something Y/n hasn’t seen before. “Met my sister.”

Wait, what?

“You have a sister?”

Natasha nods, the smile not leaving her face.

She looks… proud?

“Younger or elder?” Y/n asks.

“Younger.”

“What’s her name?” She’s prodding. She knows. She can’t help it. Natasha has always been her favorite puzzle to solve. And she knows the feeling is mutual.

“Yelena.”

“Strong name.”

“Strong girl,” Natasha agrees.

Y/n looks at her then, smirking, “She is your sister. I don’t think her being strong was ever in question.”

Natasha looks away, shaking her head, but the smile on her face remains. “You’d like her.”

She leans back on her seat, taking another drag, “I’m sure I would… What's she like?"

"Blunt, beautiful, adorable but in an annoying kind of way?"

She chuckles at the description. "Yeah," she nods. "Yeah, I'd like her a lot."

Natasha's eyebrows just wiggle in easy agreement.

Y/n takes another long drag. "Will you introduce me to her?” She asks, hesitantly.

Natasha looks back at her.

And Y/n wants to read her. God. She’s been trying to read this woman since the moment they met all those years ago in Tony’s gym when her name was Natalie Rushman, the notary, who slammed Happy’s face into the floor of the boxing ring with too much ease. Y/n has been wanting to read that woman for just as long as she’s wanted to marry her.

But tough fucking luck, she still can’t.

“If we make it back,” Natasha offers.

A grin breaks out on her face, “Yeah?” She asks, excited.

“Yeah, Stark. Why not?”

She shrugs. Cause that question is heavy. Pretty fucking heavy. “Didn’t really think anyone trusted me anymore, is all.” She was going for nonchalance, but she missed by a mile.

She knows she missed because Natasha sobers, only for a second. “I’ve done a lot of things—worse things… You’ve always trusted me," Natasha says, smiling again. It’s a comforting smile, meant to reassure her. And it’s so fucking gorgeous.

She smirks. “How can I not when my best girl smiles at me like that?” She adds a wink, just to be sure the message gets across.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “That’s not trust, Stark. That’s just you being a horndog.”

Both women break out in hushed laughter.

Inhaling intently, holding the smoke in her lungs, “I like to believe what we did, who we used to be doesn’t matter as much as who we are right now,” she says earnestly. “Just in case you wondered why I trust you,” she adds with a smile.

Natasha nods once, acknowledging her answer. “You really think so?”

“Well,” she begins, “it’s more that I have to think so…” She takes a drag. “The things I’ve done if they define me till the day I die, I’m kinda screwed.”

“You remember how I said that I didn’t understand you back in D.C. after we took down Project Insight?” When she nods in reply, Natasha continues, “I think I do now.”

“Do you?” She challenges, with a smile.

“I do,” Natasha answers. “Like you said, you’re not that hard a puzzle to solve once you have all the pieces.”

“Alright, lay it on me.” Leaning forward in her seat, elbows resting on her knees. “Who am I?”

“You think you’re just a girl trying her best not to become the weapon they wanted to make you into.” Way to hit the nail on the fucking head, Romanoff. “Just like me…”

“You’re more, though,” she contends. “You’re not just someone trying to—to fix their mistakes. You’re a sister. You’re a friend, a really good one.”

“Exactly,” Natasha concurs. The enthusiasm in her voice makes Y/n’s brow furrow a little. And seeing that, Natasha adds, “Back in D.C. you also said we weren’t that different. I think we're pretty much the same. This life was chosen for us without our permission, but we’ve managed to make it our own somehow. So if I’m more than my desperate attempt at cleaning my ledger, what makes you think you aren’t either?”

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

She can’t help but smile at the sentiment. “Guess that’s fair,” she acquiesces. “But you do think our past matters,” she urges.

“I think… I think we’re all products of our past in a way,” Natasha answers. “What we did, who we were… It brought us here, it makes us who we are now.”

“And who we are now are a bunch of self-sacrificial dumbfucks running towards a war that we never signed up for, to protect a world that’s been unkind to us time and again,” she states, blowing out the smoke. “How bad could we possibly be?”

“I wouldn’t say the world was always unkind though,” Natasha contends. “We had some good moments here and there... We had this,” she points from herself to Y/n.

And yeah she has to agree with that. “Could’ve had more if you swung my way,” Y/n insinuates with a coy smile, cigarette sitting pretty on her lips.

Natasha’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Who says I don’t?”

WAIT, WHAT?

“Huh?” Is all she can get out as the cigarette hangs at the edge, almost dangling off her lips.

“Of course, I swing your way! I had a crush on you pretty much since the day we met,” Natasha says. And the redhead turned platinum blonde says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Huh?” The cigarette falls to the floor.

This is supposed to be an inner monologue but Y/n’s brain isn’t functioning right now. Sorry for the inconvenience, please try again later... when her brain isn’t melting.

“Come on! Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?” Natasha retorts, extending her leg to crush the fallen cigarette butt. “I called you the 'prettier Stark', like, all the time. I was far from subtle.”

And that finally wakes her up.

“You? You were far from subtle?” She balks. “Woman! I flirted with you every chance I got. I flirted with you like I was getting paid for it, like my life depended on it, and you think you weren’t subtle?”

Natasha hushes her, kicking her leg lightly with her own. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Y/n exclaims, standing up. “We could’ve married Nat! MARRIED!” She groans in displeasure. “I’ve always wanted to marry you, I thought you were never into me.” She is pacing around, hands pulling at her hair. “God. Why didn’t you ever say anything!?”

Natasha just smiles, shrugging. “You were with Steve.”

“Ste—” she stops in her tracks, looking down at Natasha. “You’re telling me that that jerkface didn’t just lie to me but also cockblocked me??” She squeals. Natasha just laughs. But Y/n doesn’t think this is even a little bit funny. “I’m gonna kill him,” she mutters to herself.

“Y/n,” Natasha chides with barely any heat.

“No, no!” She admonishes, pointing at Natasha. “I’m gonna finish what I started in Siberia. I’m gonna kill him,” she states with determination.

Natasha continues to laugh, “First of all, it wouldn’t be cockblocking. It would be pussyblocking.” Kicking the back of her knee lightly, she adds, “And, second of all, sit down, Stark. You don’t want your legacy to be the murder of America’s favorite Golden Boy.”

“Wouldn’t be worse than the one I’ve currently got,” Y/n argues, hand on her hips.

“Which is?”

“The attempted murder of America’s favorite Golden Boy.” She pulls out another cigarette from the pack in her pocket along with the lighter. She places the smoke to her mouth. “It’s a legacy of failure.” She brings up the lighter, lighting the nicotine, inhaling simultaneously. She pockets the lighter, turning to look at the woman she could've married.

"Do you think about it a lot?" Natasha asks. "Your legacy?"

She takes a drag, sitting down on the floor of the jet. Her own legs are crossed, while her body is framed by the end of Natasha’s feet on either side of her. She looks up at her as she says, "Legacy is a luxury for those to leave behind who have someone to leave it behind to…"

"You've got Tony," Natasha remarks, leaning forward.

Another drag, "I've looked like his younger sister for the last three decades…. And, the kid has the self-preservation of a fucking moth. You do the math." When Natasha doesn't answer, only stares at her intently, she asks after a brief pause, "What about you?"

Natasha thinks for a second, ponders the question, biting on her lip, chewing on the inside of her cheek. And then, "I think this is my legacy.” She looks around the room, and Y/n follows her gaze.

She looks at the people she called—calls her team, she looks at the people she’s very willing to go to war with, the dude in the bird costume, the dude with pretty severe anger management issues, the only sane dude on the jet who taught her how to cook, the sentient android, the kid with witchy mind control powers, the man who broke her heart and then her eyes meet the woman who has been with her since the start of this team.

“I think, you are my legacy,” Natasha states simply, like it’s a fact. Like an indisputable fact that demands no more explanation.

“Motherfucker,” she breathes out, smoke flying out with it.

“What?” Natasha asks, brows quirking up.

“I just—I never… I never thought about it like that.” She takes another drag, ashes the burnt tip by flicking the butt. Her eyes are fixed on the cigarette in her hand, watching the soft orange light burning dimly; the strong stench of burnt nicotine, its only legacy… apart from the lung damage. The thought makes her snort.

“Would that be okay?” Natasha asks.

She looks back up at her then. Wets her lips in anticipation before she answers with as much diligence as she can muster, “It would be an honor.”

Natasha smiles at her then, a soft one, a kind one. It warms up Y/n’s heart.

It’s a little too much if Y/n is being honest. The whole day has been too much. So she can’t be blamed when she adds, “I mean, I would’ve much rather preferred if you’d been my wife but fine, I guess I’ll be your legacy or whatever.” The jovial nature of her tone is blatantly false Natasha knows it just as well as her but like a good friend, she plays along.

“You had to ruin it,” she says, feigning exasperation. “You just had to ruin it.” She’s not exasperated at all, she’s smiling shamelessly.

Y/n smiles too, putting out the cigarette at the bottom of her shoe. She pulls out another, brings up the lighter but the moment she clicks it—

“You light one more of those, I swear to God the alien army is gonna be the least of your worries!” Sam scolds loudly from the console.

“But—”

Sam cuts off her argument before it even begins, “This is a tiny freakin’ jet, Y/n. And it smells like a shady dive bar because of you. It smells like absolute ass! So, quit it!”

“God, what crawled up your ass today?” She retorts, putting the cigarette back into the pack.

“A freakin’ alien invasion, Y/n! Try to keep up,” Sam throws back.

She likes the reprimand, it feels homey. It feels familiar. She can even admit she's missed it a little too much.

Eventually, after a few more agonizing hours of flight, they land in Wakanda.

Steve and Natasha exit first, then Rhodey and Bruce alongside her, followed by Vision and Wanda with Sam at the end.

T’Challa stands proud and strong surrounded by his king’s guard and the Dora Milaje. He looks as he must—majestic.

“Should we bow?” Bruce asks her and Rhodey as they approach the king of Wakanda.

Instantly Rhodey’s eyes meet hers ignoring Bruce in between them. They both instantly nod grimly as Rhodey states, “Yeah, he’s a king.”

“You’ve gotta bow to a king, Bruce,” she adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Seems like I'm always thanking you for something,” Steve says, shaking hands with King T'Challa.

Bruce on the other hand begins to bow awkwardly to King T'Challa.

“What are you doing?” Rhodey asks, in mock surprise.

“Uh, we don't do that here,” T’Challa states, hands flying up in dismissal of his action.

Bruce looks at her and Rhodey, knowing full well that he’s been played and he’s only answered with a big grin from both parties.

Turning to T’Challa, “Your Majesty,” she greets in Wakandan, taking a step forward.

“I dislike the sarcasm in your tone,” T’Challa retorts back in English, feigning offense as the two share a hug.

The niceties out of the way, all of them turn around and begin walking back to the building “So how big of an assault can we expect?” T’Challa asks.

“Uh, sir. Sir, I think you can expect quite a big assault,” Bruce replies stumbling forward.

“How we looking?” Natasha asks the King from next to him.

“You will have my Kingsguard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and—” He points towards the man that stars in all her dreams.

“A semi-stable, 100-year-old man,” comes a reply from Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes as he walks towards Steve with a soft smile.

It’s a good smile, she thinks. It’s a damn near perfect smile. It’s warm, warmer than the sun.

The two men hug each other as Wanda and Vision are escorted away.

“How you been, Buck?” Steve asks gently as he pulls away.

“Uh, not bad, for the end of the world,” Barnes replies with a toothy grin.

Sunshine.

His smile reminds her of sunshine.

The rest of them shake hands with the man or nod in greeting before passing by, both T’Challa and Nat passing her a look before leaving.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Y/n greets while Steve moves to stand next to him, facing her.

The smile vanishes.

Tsk.

She misses it.

“I—I don’t think I’m a Sergeant anymore,” Barnes replies hesitantly. He’s slouching a little, making himself smaller. He won’t look at her, his eyes are flicking everywhere. He’s scared of her.

Look how the tables have turned.

“And yet you’re serving in a war…” she notes knowingly. But before he can reply to the connotation, she adds, “But if you don’t like it, I’ll keep that in mind… James.”

His eyes finally meet hers; finally something akin to spark she saw only moments ago making its way back.

“Th—thank you.”

She nods in acknowledgment.

There’s a brief yet heavy pause and then, “I am sor—” Both of them say at the same time.

“I—”

She cuts him off, “I’m sorry.”

His face contorts in confusion. “Why?”

“For dragging you away from whatever peace you’d found.” She hopes he can tell she means it. Cause she does. She really fucking does.

Peace isn’t easy to come by for ex-HYDRA assassins. She’d know. She’s one of them.

Barnes’ mouth opens and closes a few times but he fails to come up with a response. She doesn’t need one though, with one last look at Steve she begins walking away.

“She doesn’t hate me,” she hears Bucky say to Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “Apparently you’ve got to be a lying boyfriend to make her hate you”

“But I—”

She cuts Barnes off again. “And James,” she calls out over her shoulder. Without stopping or turning back she adds, “You touch my brother again, I’ll rip your arm off… the right one.”

Read the next part here.

Find out about the conversation with Nat during CA: The Winter Soldier here.

Find her origin story here.

Find other static verse works here.

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[packerlands]

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