Hello Boys

“Yeah,” you hummed, “Doesn’t seem much of a talker to me, either.”

“Why not try getting his number?” She shrugged as you glared at her. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“I’m pregnant, you fool.” you reminded her, deliberately pointing at the glass of water before you. “Who’d want to try and shack up with a pregnant broad?”

“You’d be surprised at that fact, actually,” She nudged your arm, but you hardly moved an inch. You knew all too well who that man sitting in the corner had been. After all, your growing belly was proof that you knew the man. But the bartender didn’t need to know the facts. You knew it was almost her job to get people drunk and hooked up.

“Fine,” you grumbled, choking back the remainder of the water in your glass as though it would give you courage and luck. Quickly you strolled over to the booth before settling down in the seat opposite the man. Without much acknowledgement in your direction, he continued to glare out the window, a finger running circles around the brim of the barely touched glass in front of him.

“Hey,” you pouted, almost afraid at what his words would be as he finally turned his head to look at you, fierce brow pulled up with a scowl at his mouth. “Long time no see.”

“You made sure of that, Y/N,” he scowled, turning his head to look at you with venom clouding his eyes. “Fucking leaving in the middle of the night with nothing but a text message on my phone and an empty spot next to me in your absence as a farewell, without so much as an explanation.”

“Buck, you can’t blame me,” you pouted, nearly shrinking into the seat, fear pooling into your chest. “I had my reasons.”

“I loved you,” he growled out, leaning over the table, his blue eyes glaring harshly in the dim lamp that hung above your table. “And what the fuck did that get me? A broken heart and an empty bed to sleep in; I should have listened to Zemo when he warned me that you weren’t all there in your fucking head. Fuck, you probably slept with all of them before you left.”

“Helmut has absolutely nothing to do with my decision to leave, Buck." you shook your head in defiance, nausea pooling in your stomach at the thought of cheating on him. "Nobody had anything to do with my decision to leave you. I know I did wrong, but-.”

“Then why the hell should I even talk to you?” he growled, leaning back in his seat with folded arms. “And since when the fuck have you called that man by his first- you know what? I don’t even want to fucking know that answer. Go, Y/N. Leave me in-” he became silent as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, revealing the growing bump.

“You’ve gained weight,” he observed with a nasty scoff, “That is, I’m assuming?”

Quickly covering yourself, you shook your head. “No.”

“Why are you at a bar if you're fucking pregnant?” he leaned over the table again. You could feel the anger in his eyes. Not daring to look away, you sighed. “Tell me.”

“I’ve been watching you over the last few weeks, Bucky.” you admitted, tapping your fingers along the tabletop. “I’ve been missing you.”

“Don’t make me look like a fool.”

“Buck, the baby, it’s-” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Steve’s? Tony’s? Zemo’s, perhaps?”

You couldn’t help but feel incredibly offended. “Yours, you fuck.” You wanted to get up and walk away, never to see the man again after that assumption. Not believing he would ever assume that of you, you covered yourself up with your jacket before hurrying out of the booth. “I knew I shouldn’t have come; it was certainly a damned mistake.”

“Indeed, it was.” he growled. “DNA test when it’s born, or so help me.”

“Go fuck yourself, Barnes. You’ll be lucky if I allow you visitation after the shit you just said to me.”

“See you in court, darling.” He leaned back with a childish grin. Not wanting to cause a scene, you stormed out of the bar before getting in your car and pulling out your phone and erasing Bucky’s contact entirely. You’d be damned to hell if you ever allowed a man to treat you in such a way.

The next time you see Bucky shirtless, he’s covered in sweat alongside Steve and Sam as you pass the trio in the gym on your way to speak with Natasha about dinner plans.

You were nearly speechless as not only Bucky but Steve and Sam were also shirtless. You almost whimpered at the sight and sounds of the men as they lifted weights mere meters from where you and Natasha stood, quietly discussing dinner.

“Nat, a boxing ring is free to use if you’d like?” Scott Lang called as he stepped away from the ring and walked off to the showers, peeling off his sweaty shirt.

“Alright, Lang,” she answered before smiling at you gently and linking your arms together to walk into the kitchen.

“You’re doing that purposefully, right?” Sam grunted, smiling at Bucky as he set down the weights on the floor in front of him before walking over to the mirror and grabbing his water bottle that sat in front of it.

“Testing a theory, really,” Bucky smirked. “Tony said he’s heard her and Wanda discussing her crush on me. It seems that he was right, after all. I owe him twenty bucks.”

Steve scoffed as Sam choked on his water, sputtering nonsense.

The final time you saw Bucky shirtless, you could have sworn he did it purposefully. You had walked into the standard room, not expecting anyone to be sitting on the couch until you approached the sofa and nearly groaned out as Bucky was sprawled out over the couch, shirt tossed carelessly to the floor, pants hanging low on his hips.

“Bucky,” you called out, shaking his shoulder to rouse him back into the waking world.

“Hey, doll,” he smiled as he peeled an eyelid open, giving you a sleepy smile as he yawned and sat up on the couch, patting the cushion next to him.

“Are you trying to make me hate you?” you asked as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Why would I do that?” He teased as he arched a bow.

“Natasha said something to you, didn’t she?” You asked as you rounded the couch and sat down, folding your legs underneath you.

“Tony did.” He smirked with a childish smirk across his face. “I owe him money now.”

“Is this how little you think of our relationship?” he scoffed, taking a step back as you moved to grab his hand in desperation. The alcohol in your body causing a pathetic whimper to fall from your lips as he shook his head.

“I should have expected this; you never loved me. Did you? You wanted me gone so you could screw everyone in your line of sight.”

“Carter,” you glanced around you at the small crowd around you. “Can we please go somewhere else and talk?”

That’s what pulls him out of it. He exhales slowly, runs a hand over his mouth, and finally steps forward. Picks the test up. Looks at it closer this time, like maybe it’ll change if he stares hard enough. It doesn’t. He lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving huff of a laugh. “…We’re having a baby.” It’s not a question.

When he walks back into the bedroom, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in your shirt, eyes searching his face like you’re bracing for something—fear, anger, doubt.

Nick sees it immediately. And it guts him. “Hey,” he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Hey, none of that.” He crosses the room in a few strides and crouches in front of you, big hands coming up to hold your face, grounding you. “Look at me.”

You do.

“I’m not mad,” he says firmly. “I’m not… running, or whatever the hell you think.” His thumb brushes under your eye. “You kidding me? That’s—” he shakes his head, almost smiling, overwhelmed. “That’s mine. That’s ours.”

Your breath stutters. “You’re… happy?”

Nick lets out a low laugh, something rough and real. “Terrified,” he admits. “But yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second like he needs to steady himself. Then his hand slides down, slow, almost reverent, to rest against your stomach. Something shifts in him right there.

You feel it.

Nick has always been protective—dangerous men are, it comes with the territory—but this is different. This is deeper. Quieter. Colder. More final. “You’re not going out alone anymore,” he mutters, already thinking ahead. “No more late nights. No more—hell, I’m getting someone with you when I can’t be there.”

“Nick—”

“No,” he cuts in, but his voice isn’t harsh. It’s firm. Unmovable. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just you now.” His hand presses a little more firmly over your stomach, like he’s shielding something already. “This is everything.”

—

The change is immediate. It’s in the way he walks—closer to you, always between you and the door, the street, anyone who looks twice. It’s in how his hand never really leaves you anymore, always resting at your back or your hip or low on your stomach like he needs constant reassurance you’re still there.

Alive. Safe.

His guys notice. They see the way Nick’s temper shortens, the way he doesn’t tolerate mistakes anymore. The way one wrong move gets you a look that could end careers… or lives.

“Boss has something to lose now,” someone mutters one night. They’re right. And that makes him more dangerous than ever.

—

But at home? He’s different. Softer in ways he doesn’t let anyone else see.

You wake up one night to find him sitting beside you, lamp on, just… watching you. “Nick?” you mumble.

He startles slightly, like he didn’t expect to be caught. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly.

You push yourself up on your elbows, squinting at him. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He hesitates. Then his hand comes to your stomach again, gentle. “Just making sure,” he says.

“Of what?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That you’re still here in the morning.”

The words hang heavy between you. You sit up fully now, reaching for him. “Nick…”

He exhales, shaking his head like he said too much. “I’ve buried people for less than what I do every day,” he mutters. “I’ve made enemies that don’t forget. And now—” his hand spreads over you again, protective, possessive in the quietest way. “Now I got you. And a kid on the way.”

You take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “We’re not going anywhere,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours like he wants to believe that. Like he doesn’t. “…I might leave it,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Leave… what?”

“All of it.” His voice is low, serious. “The business. The jobs. The whole damn thing.”

That does shock you. Nick doesn’t walk away from things. Nick is the thing people don’t walk away from. “Nick… you built this.”

“I know.”

“And you’d just—what? Walk away?”

His gaze drops back to your stomach. “For them?” he says quietly. “Yeah.” There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just that same terrifying certainty he brings to everything—except now it’s pointed in a different direction.

Not violence.

Not power.

You.

Your future.

Your child.

“I don’t need the money,” he continues. “Don’t need the reputation. All that does is paint a target on your back.” His jaw tightens. “I’m not raising my kid in that.”

You swallow hard. “You really mean that.”

He looks at you like it’s obvious. “I’d burn the whole thing down if it meant you were safe.”

Your breath catches at that—at the intensity, the promise, the quiet threat underneath it.

And then he softens again, just for you. His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re not losing me,” he says. “You’re gaining a version of me nobody else gets.”

You lean into him, heart full and aching all at once. “Good,” you whisper. “Because they don’t deserve you.”

Instead, you walked in with a large grin on your face. “Nick Fowler?” your voice was calm, warm, just a hint amused—like you already knew exactly what kind of man had walked into your space.

And for the first time in a long time… Nick forgot what he was about to say. “…Yeah,” he managed, a beat too late. God. That was embarrassing.

You stepped aside, letting him in, completely unaware—or maybe very aware—of the way his attention lingered just a second too long. “I read your file,” you said, moving toward the table, already pulling out materials. “You need conversational fluency in—what was it—three weeks?”

“Two,” he corrected, automatically.

You paused. Looked at him. Really looked at him this time. And something shifted behind your eyes—interest, calculation… challenge. “Two?” you echoed softly. “That’s… ambitious.”

Nick smirked, falling back into himself a little. “I don’t really do ‘easy.’”

Your lips curved. Oh, that was trouble. “I can see that.” You gestured for him to sit, but instead of taking the chair across from him, you moved closer—too close—and perched on the edge of the table beside him.

Nick stilled.

“…We’ll have to be efficient, then,” you continued, like you hadn’t just completely wrecked his focus. “Immersion. Repetition. Stress conditioning.”

“Stress conditioning?” he raised a brow.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to pull him in with it. “The brain retains language better under heightened emotional states.”

Nick held your gaze. “…And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

There was a flicker—something playful, something sharp. “Depends,” you said lightly. “How well do you handle pressure, Agent Fowler?”

He let out a quiet breath through his nose, something dangerously close to a laugh. “You’re the teacher,” he murmured. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

You smiled again.

Day One Lesson:

Nick learned how to introduce himself. He learned basic phrases. He learned how to say “I understand.” But what he couldn’t seem to learn Was how to stop watching your mouth when you spoke.

Or how your hand felt when you corrected his pronunciation, fingers brushing his jaw just a second longer than necessary.

“Relax,” you murmured, thumb briefly pressing under his chin. “You’re too tense.”

“I’m fine,” he said, voice a little rougher than he intended.

Your eyes flicked up to his.

Oh. You noticed. Of course you noticed. “Are you?” you asked softly.

And suddenly, This didn’t feel like a lesson anymore.

By the end of the session, Nick had memorized more than vocabulary.

He knew the way your voice dropped when you were focused, the way you leaned closer when he got something wrong, the way you looked at him when he got something right. And as he stood to leave, he hesitated.

Which… wasn’t like him.

“At this rate,” you said, gathering your things, “you might actually be ready in time.”

“Might?” he echoed.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. That same knowing look. “That depends,” you said. “On how… dedicated you are to your studies.”

Nick stepped closer without thinking. Close enough now that he could see the subtle shift in your breathing. “Guess I’ll have to make a good impression, then.”

A pause. Tension. Thick. Quiet. Charged.

Your lips parted—just slightly. “…Careful,” you murmured. “You’re starting to sound motivated.”

His gaze dropped—just for a second. Then back up. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”

There it was. That moment. That thing neither of you were acknowledging out loud but both of you felt. Clear as day.

You had talked to a handful of men. But none of them were worthy enough to meet in person. One had sent dick pictures straight away after receiving your match. Another had messaged you only in the middle of the night asking if you were giving it up yet. Another man only talked about himself when you had finally agreed to meet up.

You had almost given up. Until you met this guy. His name was Steve. He was a total sweetheart, though his height was on the shorter side. His deep blue eyes had caught you off guard when you met hi for the first time in person. You learned that he was a sickly man, having a ton of health problems. 

But then, just as you were putting your wine glass to your mouth, you felt a presence behind you and sniffed a too-familiar cologne wafting in the air.

He was walking towards your table when you had turned around fully. His jacket hung open, collar loosened, and that unbothered facade he wore so well was already cracking at the edges. His drink stayed untouched. Every time you smiled, his jaw ticked.

You’re moving on. He told himself it was fine. You deserved someone who made you happy. Someone who didn’t risk their life going on these damned suicide heists... Someone who wasn’t made of secrets and violence. But watching you there, with some polished guy in a tailored suit, made something ugly rise in his chest.

He wasn’t sure how he came to be standing in your view. Or when he started walking toward your table. Maybe it was the alcohol cruising in his system. Maybe he missed you. Maybe he didn’t want you to be happy while he was still brooding over you.

The air between you and Nick went tight. You hadn’t seen him in months, and somehow he looked even sharper — dangerous in a quiet, deliberate way.

“Nick,” you breathed.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t know you were into places like this. Guess things change fast. Could have fooled me, huh.”

Steve started to speak, but Nick’s gaze didn’t leave yours. That intense, storm-dark stare you’d spent months trying to forget.

“Mind if I say hello?” he asked, already pulling out the empty chair beside you.

You gave him a warning look. “Nick, don’t—”

He leaned closer, voice low, quiet enough that only you could hear. “You can pretend all you want, sweetheart, but I know that look. You’re trying too hard to seem happy.”

“Maybe I am happy,” you said. “I’m happy to finally be rid of you and your bullshit.”

He laughed under his breath but he was anything but entertained. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

You pulled them into your lap, glaring at him, but his words sank in like hooks. Your date said something about calling security, but Nick didn’t even glance at him.

He stood, finishing what he came for — not peace, not closure, just the simple act of reminding you he still existed. He will always exist in your mind. No matter how hard you tried to move on from him. He will always be in your line of sight.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the back of your chair as he passed. “But next time, pick somewhere less predictable. I always did have a thing for expensive tastes.”

When he walked away, you realized your heart was pounding loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.

The night air was sharp when you stepped out of the restaurant. Steve had gone to call a car, and you told him you needed a moment. You knew it was a lie, but one that gave you the space to breathe.

You should’ve known Nick would still be there, waiting around for you just like always.

He was leaning against a sleek black car, hands in his coat pockets, city lights catching in his eyes. The kind of image that could be mistaken for calm — until you saw how tight his jaw was.

“Couldn’t even wait until I got home to start stalking me again?” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m sure the loneliness of your house misses you more than I do. I suggest you don’t keep it waiting much longer.”

Nick gave a quiet laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Stalking? That’s a strong word for checking on someone I used to care about.”

“Used to.” You threw the words back at him like they might sting. “Exactly.”

He stepped closer, the scent of whiskey and expensive cologne hitting you all at once yet again. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend it’s over for you,” he said softly, almost pleading. “I saw your face when I approached you. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I did.”

That smirk of his tugged at his mouth. “You still wear my ghost, sweetheart. Every damn look, every breath. For fuck’s sake, your pupils still dilate when you look me.”

You tried to move past him, but his hand caught your wrist. Not hard, just enough to make you stop. The warmth of his touch was a mistake — it burned too familiar.

“Let me go, Nick.”

He didn’t. Not right away. His voice dropped low, rough with something between jealousy and longing.  “You really think that guy inside knows you? What was his name, ‘Steve’? The way you hate mornings but love thunderstorms? The way you hum when you’re nervous? The way you pick at your fingernails when your anxious, just like you’re doing now?”

Your throat tightened. You hated that he was right as you looked down at your hands.

Nick’s hand loosened, fingers brushing over your pulse before he let go. “I’m not here to ruin your night,” he said, quieter now. “I just… I had to see if it was real.”

“If what was real?”

“That look in your eyes,” he said. “The one that says you still think about me.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Cars passed. The restaurant buzzed behind you. Somewhere, Steve was probably wondering where you went.

Nick finally took a step back, forcing a smile that didn’t hide how wrecked he looked. “Guess I got my answer.”

You wanted to say something-- to tell him he was wrong, that you’d moved on — but the words wouldn’t come.

He opened the car door, hesitated just long enough to meet your eyes again. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” Then he was gone — taillights fading into the night, leaving you in the quiet, heart hammering, wondering which of you was lying more.

That’s what pulls him out of it. He exhales slowly, runs a hand over his mouth, and finally steps forward. Picks the test up. Looks at it closer this time, like maybe it’ll change if he stares hard enough. It doesn’t. He lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving huff of a laugh. “…We’re having a baby.” It’s not a question.

When he walks back into the bedroom, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in your shirt, eyes searching his face like you’re bracing for something—fear, anger, doubt.

Nick sees it immediately. And it guts him. “Hey,” he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Hey, none of that.” He crosses the room in a few strides and crouches in front of you, big hands coming up to hold your face, grounding you. “Look at me.”

You do.

“I’m not mad,” he says firmly. “I’m not… running, or whatever the hell you think.” His thumb brushes under your eye. “You kidding me? That’s—” he shakes his head, almost smiling, overwhelmed. “That’s mine. That’s ours.”

Your breath stutters. “You’re… happy?”

Nick lets out a low laugh, something rough and real. “Terrified,” he admits. “But yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second like he needs to steady himself. Then his hand slides down, slow, almost reverent, to rest against your stomach. Something shifts in him right there.

You feel it.

Nick has always been protective—dangerous men are, it comes with the territory—but this is different. This is deeper. Quieter. Colder. More final. “You’re not going out alone anymore,” he mutters, already thinking ahead. “No more late nights. No more—hell, I’m getting someone with you when I can’t be there.”

“Nick—”

“No,” he cuts in, but his voice isn’t harsh. It’s firm. Unmovable. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just you now.” His hand presses a little more firmly over your stomach, like he’s shielding something already. “This is everything.”

—

The change is immediate. It’s in the way he walks—closer to you, always between you and the door, the street, anyone who looks twice. It’s in how his hand never really leaves you anymore, always resting at your back or your hip or low on your stomach like he needs constant reassurance you’re still there.

Alive. Safe.

His guys notice. They see the way Nick’s temper shortens, the way he doesn’t tolerate mistakes anymore. The way one wrong move gets you a look that could end careers… or lives.

“Boss has something to lose now,” someone mutters one night. They’re right. And that makes him more dangerous than ever.

—

But at home? He’s different. Softer in ways he doesn’t let anyone else see.

You wake up one night to find him sitting beside you, lamp on, just… watching you. “Nick?” you mumble.

He startles slightly, like he didn’t expect to be caught. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly.

You push yourself up on your elbows, squinting at him. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He hesitates. Then his hand comes to your stomach again, gentle. “Just making sure,” he says.

“Of what?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That you’re still here in the morning.”

The words hang heavy between you. You sit up fully now, reaching for him. “Nick…”

He exhales, shaking his head like he said too much. “I’ve buried people for less than what I do every day,” he mutters. “I’ve made enemies that don’t forget. And now—” his hand spreads over you again, protective, possessive in the quietest way. “Now I got you. And a kid on the way.”

You take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “We’re not going anywhere,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours like he wants to believe that. Like he doesn’t. “…I might leave it,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Leave… what?”

“All of it.” His voice is low, serious. “The business. The jobs. The whole damn thing.”

That does shock you. Nick doesn’t walk away from things. Nick is the thing people don’t walk away from. “Nick… you built this.”

“I know.”

“And you’d just—what? Walk away?”

His gaze drops back to your stomach. “For them?” he says quietly. “Yeah.” There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just that same terrifying certainty he brings to everything—except now it’s pointed in a different direction.

Not violence.

Not power.

You.

Your future.

Your child.

“I don’t need the money,” he continues. “Don’t need the reputation. All that does is paint a target on your back.” His jaw tightens. “I’m not raising my kid in that.”

You swallow hard. “You really mean that.”

He looks at you like it’s obvious. “I’d burn the whole thing down if it meant you were safe.”

Your breath catches at that—at the intensity, the promise, the quiet threat underneath it.

And then he softens again, just for you. His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re not losing me,” he says. “You’re gaining a version of me nobody else gets.”

You lean into him, heart full and aching all at once. “Good,” you whisper. “Because they don’t deserve you.”

Angelic Rage || Summary: Castiel brings you along to rough up some thug. You don’t quite know how to react when he starts the violence.

The Baby Talk || Summary: Cas comes to you with a serious question. Dean doesn’t wanna hear it.

Baseball Bats & Teeth || you see the monster that your boyfriend truly is. [Mafia au]

Bears And Nurse || Summary: After waking from a twelve-year coma caused by a brutal bear attack, Doctor Castiel Novak, helps you on your healing journey. [Nurse!Castiel]

Beginnings || Summary: you’re terrified to tell Castiel you’re pregnant with his child.

Biting Comforts || Summary: you find comfort in biting another person. It just happens tat Castiel is that person.

Breaking My Heart || Summary: Castiel never loved you

Buzzing Bees || Summary: Castiel watches a beekeeper. She notices him and teaches him the way of bee keeping.

Comforting Angels || Summary: you’re cold in the bunker and Castiel does whatever he can to make you feel warmer.

Crooked Halo || Summary: you've been hunting Castiel for quite some time now. But when the opportunity arises, will you take it? [Hunter!Reader]

Crocheted Angels || Summary: you finally show Castiel the hat you’ve been crocheting for him.

Divine Intentions, Human Errors || Summary: Cas tries to make you something to eat.... instead he nearly burns the bunker down.

Every Ounce of My Soul || Summary: you're on the brink of death and Castiel finds you.

Kiss Me Tender || Summary: you confess to Castiel that you're in love with him.

Polished Butterflies || Summary: You ask Castiel if you can paint his finger nails. He agrees.

The Secret Baby Bump || Summary: You didn't think the angel would find out why you’d left the bunker many months ago. In fact, you'd never thought you'd return back to the city until one day you walked into a bar and saw the angel seated in a booth in the corner by himself.

Seventy Percent || Summary: Castiel feels a warmth he must share with you.

The Smart One || Summary: Being autistic, you don’t always understand social cues or whats appropriate. You don’t always understand sarcasm either. Chatting with Castiel, the Angel of Thursday in all of his non-human glory, you find that the pair of you can relate to one another.

i've been wanting to return to tumblr but this place distresses me so bad. nobody talks, nobody interacts. so im just most likely not returning from hiatus. i have posst that shwo where y'all can find me.

my mental health has been up and down for several months and im just over it.

i have absolutely no desire to return to this hellhole, or writing as of this current moment.

She squealed, clapping her hands. You swallowed hard, chest tightening as you watched the effortless way she gravitated toward him, the trust she instinctively placed in his arms.

Later that evening, Bucky took over bath duty. Kobalt splashed wildly, water dripping from the tub. “Whoa, hey! Careful, kiddo!” he laughed, ducking to avoid a spray. “We don’t want to flood the apartment.”

You perched on the edge, watching, mesmerized. His hands were gentle but confident as he washed her hair, talking her through each step. When she reached up to touch his face, he didn’t flinch—he smiled. “That’s right, you can touch me. I’m right here.”

The ache in your chest was unavoidable. You had forgotten how tenderness could coexist with strength, how he could be so dangerous and yet so undeniably soft when it mattered.

You’d forgotten what it felt like to love another human being just as much as you loved your daughter.

****

Kobalt slept, and you both sat on the couch, the apartment quiet except for the faint hum of the city. Bucky’s hand rested lightly near yours, tentative.

“You’ve done an amazing job,” he murmured. “With her, with… everything.”

You laughed softly. “Amazing? I barely survive each day without screaming.”

He gave a small grin, eyes softening. “She doesn’t see it that way. And… neither do I. You’re amazing. She’s lucky. And I…” His voice faltered. “…I’m to be part of that. Part of her life, if you’ll let me forever.”

“I… I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “It’s so much. I’ve been used to doing this alone. But… I want to trust you. Slowly. With her, with me.”

“Slow is fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You let yourself lean back, feeling the warmth of the moment, the quiet intimacy of a shared trust. For now, there were no ultimatums, no demands. Just Bucky, just you, just Kobalt asleep between you—a fragile bubble of peace and tentative love.

----

Small routines became your anchors. Breakfasts where he fed Kobalt bite by bite, her babbling endless and delighted. Walks where he pointed out trees, dogs, cars, teaching her the world gently. Bedtime, where he rocked her in his arms, humming low, soft tunes that made her sigh in contentment.

One morning, she waved her tiny arms at him, demanding he hold her while she ate her pancake. He smiled down at her, then glanced at you with a shy, almost sheepish look.

“She wants you,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he replied softly. “She always has.”

And in that moment, watching him cradle her with such careful devotion, something inside your walls cracked—not enough to fall completely, but enough to let warmth, hope, and maybe love start creeping back in.

It was moments like this picture i nfrotn of you that made you wish the big fight between you had never happened. That you and him had been together throguh all of it; the pregnancy, the ultraasounds, the doctors visits where you were informed she was a risk risk pregnancy. 

But you couldn’t keep dwelling on the past. You had to focus o nthe fact that bcuky was trying now. He was sorry for the way he acted. Yeah, you still held resent and you still felt guarded. But you knew you could trust hi with your daughter. After all, you allowed hi mto walk to the park with her almost every morning -- a thought you never once questioned.

You allowed hi mto bathe her at night time before he would leave to retun back to the tower again for the night, just to arrive at your house at the ass crack of dawn with coffee and breakfast for the three of you. He almost neer failed, unless he was away on missions -- which weren’t too often, thankfully. You didn’t want to think about losing him again but permanently if he died on a mission. You’d even allwoed the thought to mingle in your head, how devastated you would feel if he died on a mission somewhere that you couldn’t be there for him in his final moments.

It was nearly nighttime before you had noticed you’d fallen asleep in his lap that night. You don’t even remember doing it. All you remembered was him putting on a movie for the pair of you after he had put Kobalt to sleep.

Scratching your eyes, you noticed the movie was long over and he was watching some random show on silence. Alerted by your movement, he looked down at you, a nervus smile on his face.

“I would have left for the night, but you looked entirely too comfortable; I hope you don’t mind that I overstayed my welcome.”

Groaning as you sat up from his lap, you almost missed the pitiful sigh from his mouth as you stretched your limbs. 

“Come on,” you stood up and fully stretched out, not waiting for him to follow. But you didn’t lead him to the front door like usual. Instead, you led him throguh the short hallway that led to your bedroom and promptly laid down, before getting comfortable.

When he didn’t move from the threshold, you looked over at him. “Well? Are you going to sleep or are you going to be a creep and stare at me all night?”

Snapping out of his reverie, he nodded, pulling off his jeans and folding them gently before placing them beside the empty side of the bed and yanking his henley from his body before laying down stiffly under the duvet beside you.

Letting out a chuckle, you turned to face him. “Bucky, for crying out loud, we’ve fucked too many times for you to be acting like a virgin. Now get over here and cuddle me before I kick you out of my bed.”

Finally relaxing next to you, he put his arm out so you could cuddle into his warmth, which you happily did. It was silent only for a few minutes.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” he whispered as he started tracing around patterns with his fingertips across your bicep. “Never in a million years did I ever expect to be here liek this with you again.”

“Fortunately, Buck, it’s real.” you smiled up at him and searched his face. “I know the last time we actually talked, the day everything blew up, was really rough for the both of us.”

He grimaced at the statement. “Can we not think about that right now?”

“No, let me talk,” you took a deep breath. “I want you to know, my intentions in telling you that I was pregnant wasn’t meant to bring you down at all. I don’t know why you thought I was cheating on you. And it’s okay. I’ve forgiven you for that. And I’m still trying to be okay with you being in her life full time.”

“I can’t thank you enough for that,” he whispered.

“I was going to bring you to custody court,” you admitted, licking your lips. “It was all I thought about while I was pregnant. I was dead set on getting a paternity test from you to prove she was yours and then I was going to take you to court.”

“Wasn’t the court thing my idea?” he chuckled bitterly. “God, I was so stupid back then.”

I thought so too, at the tiem,” you admitted. “But liek I said, I’m starting to forgive you. And maybe a small part of me still wants to be in love with you.”

He started at you, his big blue eyes shining with more emotion than you ever expected. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate to nod your head before he leaned down and kissed you hard on the mouth.

The kiss started soft, hesitant, but it quickly deepened, a mix of longing and caution as if both of you were testing the waters of a river you’d been afraid to approach for years. His hand slid from your bicep down to your waist, pressing you closer, while your fingers threaded through the dark strands of his hair, holding him like you never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. “I’ve wanted this… for so long,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “Every time I saw her laugh, every time she looked at me like I was magic… I wanted this. You. Us.”

You swallowed hard, chest tightening, heart pounding like it might burst. “I’ve wanted it too,” you admitted softly. “I’ve been scared, Bucky. Scared that you’d come back and she’d want you more than me. That… I’d feel like I’d lost both of you all over again.”

He kissed your temple gently, a soft, grounding touch. “You won’t lose us. Not her, not me. I promise. I’ll earn her trust. I’ll earn yours. And I’ll wait for however long it takes.”

Your lips curved in a small smile. “Then I guess we should start… somewhere.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his nose against yours before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every taste. Your hands traced over his shoulders, down his back, pulling him closer, until the world outside your bedroom—the noise, the city, the past—didn’t exist.

Finally, you broke apart just enough to breathe, your foreheads resting together. “I don’t want to rush anything,” you whispered. “But… I want to try. With you. With us.”

Bucky’s fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “I’ve waited for this moment for so long… Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. With you, with her… with us.”

You let yourself melt against him, heart full and fragile, as if every wall you’d built had softened under the warmth of his presence. For the first time in years, the past’s shadows didn’t feel like chains—they felt like lessons that had brought you here, to this moment, in his arms, finally letting yourself hope.

“Then…” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “maybe we can start with tonight.”

His lips found yours again, soft, insistent, and in that kiss there was both forgiveness and promise, a fragile, trembling hope that maybe, just maybe, you could all find a new kind of family—together.

The night deepened around you, quiet but full of possibility, and somewhere in the background, the city hummed a lullaby that seemed just for the three of you.

****

The morning light spilled through the thin curtains, warming the small apartment in a soft, golden glow. You stirred, blinking against the sun, and realized with a jolt that you weren’t alone—Bucky was still next to you, sprawled on his side, one arm draped protectively across your waist in your bed. His breathing was steady, calm, and for a moment you just watched him, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, the softness in his usually intense features.

A tiny squeal drew your attention, and you noticed Kobalt had wriggled out of her crib somehow, standing on the floor with her little rhino in hand. She toddled toward the living room with determination, babbling excitedly.

“Morning, Daddy!” she chirped, throwing her arms toward Bucky as she ran.

He lifted his head just in time, catching her in his lap with ease. “Morning, kiddo,” he said softly, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well?”

She nodded enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on his knees. “Rhino!” she declared, holding up the toy.

Bucky chuckled, ruffling her hair. “I see that. Did you bring him to breakfast too?”

You watched from your side of the bed, groggy, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. Something about seeing them together—the ease, the laughter, the soft way Bucky’s arms fit around her—made your chest ache in a familiar, dangerous way. You realized just how much you’d missed this, missed him.

He glanced at you briefly, a shy, almost nervous smile appearing. “Want to help us with pancakes?” he asked, tilting his head toward the hallway.

You raised an eyebrow, setting your mug down. “I thought you were the pancake king this morning.”

He shrugged, still holding Kobalt. “I can share the title. You’re welcome to assist.”

Grinning, you joined them in the kitchen. Kobalt babbled at both of you the entire time, insisting on handing Bucky the ingredients, watching with wide eyes as he flipped a perfectly golden pancake in the pan. You leaned against the counter, heart full as you watched him patiently explain, coax, and encourage your daughter with every step.

At one point, Kobalt pressed her little hands to his cheeks, giggling uncontrollably. “Daddy!” she squealed.

Bucky laughed, eyes softening as he looked at you over her head. “She’s definitely got your stubborn streak,” he whispered, and you felt your pulse spike, a warmth spreading through you.

After breakfast, Kobalt insisted on being carried around, “showing him her grand castle” to her dad, though really she just wanted him to carry her. You followed quietly, watching Bucky expertly balance her in his arms, making silly faces, answering her babbles as if each one were a perfectly coherent question.

“You’re really good at this,” you said softly when he handed her to you for a moment so he could refill his coffee.

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, blue eyes earnest. “I’ve had some practice… mostly with missions. But with her… it feels right, you know? Like it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, busy adjusting Kobalt’s tiny socks. “Yeah… I see that. And… I don’t know how to say this, but… I’ve missed it. Missed you. Missed… this.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then maybe… we keep doing it. Every day. Slowly. Carefully. But together.”

You met his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, the walls around your heart felt thinner, fragile but willing to bend. “Yeah,” you whispered, a small smile forming. “We can try. Together. One Day at a time.”

Kobalt squealed again, throwing her tiny arms around his neck. He laughed, holding her close, and you felt a quiet swell of something you hadn’t dared feel in years: hope, love, and the possibility of a family—not perfect, maybe, but real.

And in that golden morning light, you realized you were already madly in love with him once again.

What if the one you believed was yours was not as perfect as the tales claimed? Or worse, what if you hid your own truths so well that even you didn’t recognize them?

The day you died was quiet, almost too quiet. You found yourself standing before the All-Father himself—Odin, robed in starfire and shadow, eyes like the endless cosmos.

Beside you stood him. Thor Odinson. Your soulmate, the thunder in your veins, the storm you thought you could tame.

Yet, looking at him now, his fierce gaze softened but shadowed with something unknown, you felt the weight of silence between you.

The All-Father’s voice echoed, deep and solemn: “You have come to answer for your bond.”

Your heart clenched. Because in this hallowed hall, the secrets you’d buried both came to light—like lightning tearing through a calm sky.

Thor’s eyes met yours, wide and raw with confession.

“I have carried a secret,” he murmured. “A shadow from my past realms. A truth I feared would tear us apart.”

You searched his face—was it betrayal or pain? Or a love desperate to survive beyond death?

The All-Father’s gaze pierced through you both. “The bond you forged is severed, broken by truths unspoken.”

You stumbled, breath caught in your throat.

Were you ever truly his? Could love endure when souls were torn asunder?