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wayeasier · 2 days ago

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COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part five

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: One time you're in the limousine, then you're walking under the heat of the Utah's sun, then you're on a flight and then you're in a white van that a newly met additional stranger has most likely stolen. Also, you're on your way to save the man in hospital clothing.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE ...

A yell tore itself from the man's mouth as your body hit the metal trunk of the limousine, falling limply like a feather in the air. Dead in a flicker of a single moment.

John lunged instinctively, reaching his hand through the shattered rear window towards your fallen body. The few glass fragments of the broken window bit into the flesh of his hand as he reached desperately for you. His scream tore through the limousine he was in, he was scared. But before his hand could close around your vest or anything near you, his fingers passed through you like the body was not even there. Like it was a part of his imagination. Almost as if it was all fake. His mind playing some tricks on him.

Alexei who was behind the wheel was fully turned around in his seat. Speechless and bewildered. He just saw someone die. On his limousine. He was twisted completely, nearly forgetting that he was the driver of the limousine. He was panicked. He is absolutely panicking. Wide-eyed, staring at the back of his limousine, where a body had fallen onto his trunk. Dead. Somehow. None of you know how you managed to die, it was so quick. Just a moment and you were dead.

Little did you know how you died.

A little system of the Sokovian's experiment facility that now Valentina got her hands on. She had found it when she was digging up through your old files and records when you were a test subject back in Sokovia. When their experiments did not go well and you did not die, but stayed with the problems etched on yourself. There is this biochemical serum running through you, you can't get it out even if you tried. It breaks every rule of life. Defied every living being's body rules. It keeps you in the hell. Alive. Of course, Valentina had found the system to override that serum. She always finds something that shouldn't be found.

The Pulse system, or that's what they called it back in Sokovia.

It is a silent radius-based kill promise, a device once held only by the original Sokovians. The Pulse destabilizes the serum inside your body. It doesn't kill it, destroy it, or anything. It pauses it. For those brief seconds, your broken body becomes like anyone else’s. Then it realizes that it was supposed to die before. It was a kill switch.

And if the Pulse is still on?

You stay dead.

A quick death without anyone seeing how.

He let out a panicked wheeze of a yell. Alexei didn’t know, he didn’t know as the others did. That you always come back. That death doesn’t stick to you as it sticks to others.

"What just—Dead! Dead! No! What the—" he was completely turned in his seat, the fact that he was the driver was long forgotten in his mind. The car swerved from one side of the road to the other one. Staring at the dead body on the trunk of his limousine. He whispered something under his breath, something in Russian. He was panicking like he was the one dead.

Yelena had turned in her seat, staring back at the disappearing body, her lips parted. Her hand gripping the side of the seat she was on, not from fear. From restraining herself. She knows you come back. Still, it didn't make it easy for her to watch someone die.

"Alexei! The car! Focus on driving!" the blonde girl yelled out loudly at her father, who was still completely turned around in the seat. The car was close to crashing. Driving off the road, or even getting killed all other passengers. The man behind the wheel flinched at the loud voice from beside him, the car jerking again. His eyes flickered to the girl in the passenger seat and then he tried to rotate his body back into the right place in his driver seat. Just then he looked back at the road, his gaze wavering up to the rearview mirror and then back to the road. Frightened.

"Um—How did that happen? That was... What now?" he stammered, his voice cracking.

"I don't know. But Twenty-Two will be back... Give it a few seconds—" the blonde woman said calmly but was cut off by the loud booming Russian voice of the driver.

"Back?" he turned to his daughter swiftly. Once again making the car jerk to the side, which made Ava in the back yell out to watch the road before he crashes the car. He turned towards his daughter, his eyes completely wide, "are you crazy?"

Then a loud, deep noise cut through. The sticky bombs you had thrown detonated themselves. The truck jerked violently sideways. It twisted in the air, forcing itself off the road because of the explosion near its tires. It lifted into the air as if it weighed absolutely nothing. It slammed into the sand beside the road and rolled and rolled. The entire armored military vehicle flipped over and slammed down against the ground. It violently tumbled over all the stones and all the sand. Then it erupted into flames. Flickering around its edges. But the convoy it was with did not even slow. None of the other vehicles behind cared about the other vehicle burning down. They just drove closer, forgetting the other one.

Yelena then twisted her body in the front seat. She sat back up in her passenger seat, staring at the moving road ahead. Her mind seemingly running over different paths of her thoughts. Finding the best one. For a second, she closed her eyes and exhaled. A long, deep one. Her hand moved to the holster where her gun was safely hiding, she withdrew it quickly from its hiding place. Her fingers curled against the familiar cold metal of her handgun.

She rose up from her seat and leaned her body outside through the opened window to her right. Her body was now half out of the opened window of the limousine her father was driving like a wild unstable maniac. The wind hit her immediately, her hair flying around her face. Flapping over her face. Inside, Alexei was yelling at his daughter. He was scared, terrified. Already from the other person dying and now from his daughter pulling self-killing stunts. Yelena did not plan on dying. She raised her hand, her gun aiming at the convoy behind, which was rapidly approaching the back of the limousine everyone was in. Her eyes narrowed at the target. She aimed straight and then—

She shot at the armed truck.

The sound of her shot sounded out, but was quickly drowned out by something louder. Something different. A deep noise of an explosion sounded out. The truck she had just aimed at suddenly burst from the rear right side. An eruption of fire or an explosion occurred just where she had planned on shooting. The truck jerked and pulled itself upwards into the air and then fell back down. Tumbling off the road to its left. Like it was nothing. Like a child's toy truck falling.

Yelena gasped, still half of her body outside. She knew instantly. That was not her shot. She did not hit anything that important in that truck, nor could that shot from a pistol make such an explosive eruption like this. She quickly ducked back into the limousine, exhaling deeply as her back fell against the leather seat of the passenger place.

"What?" she gaped, blown away at the scene. Her mind still turning over her thoughts. Someone else was there. Her hands held the gun tightly in her handgun against her chest. Alexei was staring at her, confused as she was. He looked back, right over his shoulder. Yelena twisted her body against the seat as well, staring back through the shattered window in the back. Ava was staring as well, confused and waiting. John’s brows drew together as he looked out the rear window, his head peeking from behind his shield now. All the strangers in the car stared for a good moment before the convoy started shooting again.

John was quick to pull his shield back in front of his body, Ava dipping down to hide herself as well before getting shot.

All of sudden, another vehicle went flying to the side as an explosion rocked the truck into the side. Its wheels wretched into the side. Then it started rolling over multiple times. Its doors and wheels flew off into the sky, all over the ground.

John dipped back from behind his shield, his body tense, crouched on the leather seat in the back of the limousine. He blinked through the dust collecting in the air, squinting. He craned himself forward, looking through the collected dust and smoke to see the certain person who was helping them out.

Then through the hiding spot behind the smoke and dust, a shape came out. Breaking through the thick layer of smoke around. The dark metal of a motorcycle glimed underneath the Utah's sun. The rider was upright, composed and well positioned. No helmet, just dark shades perched on his nose. The sunglasses the rider was wearing were reflecting the glare of the sun. A massive gun, bigger than any of the weapons that the people in the limousine have, was fixed along the length of his left arm. The rider was holding tightly on it. That was the weapon that made the trucks tumble over and explode.

"Bucky!" yelled out John as he finally came to recognize the man on the motorcycle that had destroyed the other enemy vehicles.

Alexei in the front gasped. Gripping the steering wheel tighter as he finally saw the rider of the motorcycle. His mouth fell open and then stretched into a toothy grin, wild amazement on his features. He quietly muttered, amazed, "the Winter Soldier..."

A sharp sound and movement made John spin around. The feeling in the air itself seemed to shimmer and bend. It was like the atmosphere around itself had shifted.

The seat beside Ava was no longer empty.

You were sitting there. Whole, alive, and breathing. Your body as it had been just a moment before. But there was no blood on your shoulder. No tear in your grey suit from where you had been shot in the vault. No sign of pain or hurt. And there was no hint that you had been just killed outside that window a mere moments ago.

Ava moved away from you with a startled gasp. Her wide eyes locked on your face as she looked at the new you right beside her, "this is—"

"Twenty-Two! Fucking hell!" John's voice cracked through the air in the limousine and his hand shot up to your arm, grabbing your forearm. His fingers did not go through like before. You were actually here. His fingers wrapped around your arm without passing through you like you were a ghost. Not the ghostly nothing that his fingers had passed through before. The contact was solid. It was real. His eyes were on you, bewildered.

Alexei, in the front seat, turned halfway, his head turned over his shoulder and he stared at you, blinking rapidly as if he was imagining you, "how did you do that? That is crazy!"

John's fingers unclenched and clenched around your forearm. Then he let go of your arm, his hand falling away beside his body. He blew out, "you're fucking insane."

A grin spread on your face, "well... Hello to you too."

Then the grin dropped from your face. It hit you straight into your face, the realization of how they killed you. They used the Pulse System. That’s how they dropped you. But… they used it wrong. Whoever had their hands on it doesn't fully understand it. They don't understand how death works. The sly woman, Valentina; may have the device and its system, but she’s playing with something she barely grasps onto. She hasn't met death herself yet. You have. You know how it works, how the death treats you. If she figures out how to use the system, it will be the end of you. No reset, no regeneration no reappearance. You'll be gone.

They probably think it’s a switch. On or off. But you remember more. More about the Pulse. The real purpose of the Pulse wasn’t just to pause you. To kill you off. It was a tool that could be adjusted. Timed. Amplified. Obstructed. If Valentina ever learns that, she's going to kill the serum completely. Not pause it. Not suppress it. She will kill you. Forever. That would be your final death.

John shook his head once. Without another word, he turned back toward the shattered rear window, his attention snapping to the ongoing scene behind. Bucky was not stopping far behind the vehicle, already off his motorcycle. He grabbed the tow strap on the front before it was snatched back. He grabbed it and rolled it around his arm to tighten it well and then he pulled. With calculated force, he yanked the strap once, then he crouched down. His metal arm drove down, slamming into the asphalt with a deep shattering sound and a hard force. The ground split beneath the force and he was quick to bury the tow into the hole he had made. The strap pulled itself tight. Stretching straight in a line from one end to another. The vehicle then hit the limit of the strap it had. In an instant, the front end of the car was lifted violently off the ground. The entire vehicle flipped in the middle of the air. It was nearly looking as if it was flying. It was vertically in the air. Then it flipped onto its roof, its doors flying off. It rolled hard, tumbling over itself on the road.

"Aha! That's what I talk about!" Alexei exclaimed loudly in his thick Russian accent from the driver's seat. Hitting his fist into the air, grinning with his teeth out which were peeking from the bushy beard of his. John loudly exclaimed as well, happy with what the man on the motorcycle did. Ava was one to cheer as well, but was quick to look at you. Her eyes met yours and she grinned at you. Her hand reached out and patted your thigh, as well wanting to feel if you were real. You smiled back at her.

Out on the road, the man with the motorcycle stood still in the fading dust and smoke by the broken-down vehicle. The man tugged off his glasses, his eyes fixated on your limousine. His gun was already rising. Aiming right at the car you were in. The gun shot out. A quick shot burst forward, shrieking through the air of the desert. It hit the back of the limousine, just a good centimeters from John’s face, it was just on the back of the car.

"Yeah—Oh—" John's cheer was very quickly cut off.

The vehicle was lifted off the ground. The back of the limousine erupted as it exploded. Metal shrieked loudly, glass shattered all around you. You all were yanked and pulled upwards. Then the car was flipped. The limousine turned vertically, stood like a building on its back. Then it slammed down onto its roof with a loud noise of a crash. Windows shattered and dust collected all around. The limousine groaned on its roof, turned upside down, its roof crumpled. Tires in the air. Everything was upside down.

You landed right beside that weird, leaking cup of the Big Gulp drink that Alexei had warned you all about before. Your head hitting the cupholder where he had many bottles of alcohol sitting. The bottles fell, glass shattering because the car itself was upside down. Ava had hit the ceiling, now the floor of the limousine as it was flipped. She groaned loudly, sitting back onto, cradling the side of her stomach. Yelena was in the front, she was upside down as there was not a lot of space in the passenger seat. She was quick to twist her body and turn around, shaking her head to let the shards of glass fall from her blonde hair. John was sitting where he was before, now turned around. His shield clutched on his arm. He coughed out and started through where the window was supposed to be. Bucky was approaching you and the flipped limousine you all were in.

"We are upside down! Because of Winter Soldier!" Alexei was upside down as well, he did not have any space to twist his body or to turn around. He was hanging with his neck craned.

"Thank you! I did not notice, Alexei!" Yelena barked at her father from the passenger seat. Her brows furrowed as she looked over through the shattered window towards where the man with a metal arm was.

"I should've been dead longer," you muttered, pushing yourself off the shattered bottle glass around you. The spilled alcohol sticking to your gloved hands.

Yelena’s voice hissed out, sharp. She noticed that the man with the metal arm was just a good few steps away, "everyone, stay down..."

“Oh, Yelena! I am down,” Alexei grunted, still wedged upside down in the driver’s seat, he twisted his body, but nothing changed in his position, "do you not see the position I am in?"

"Shut up, Alexei!" John groaned from his place on the flipped ceiling of the limousine that was now treated as a floor. The footsteps stopped just outside the doors of the back of the limousine. Then the doors were ripped. A very familiar metal arm tossed the door aside like it was a light piece of nothing but a piece of a cardboard. Just staring in at the wrecked group of you five inside the trashed-up car. His jaw clenched, expression unreadable on his face. He crouched low and stared through the opened space at you all.

"Having a nice trip?" he met your eyes and then they flickered over to John's, then Ava's and then to the front of the car where the other two were twisted in their seats.

"Bucky—" John started to say, scrambling up. He was quickly cut off by Bucky literally yanking the closest person he had to himself out of the car like a ragdoll of no life.

You were that ragdoll.

His metal arm wrapped around your ankle and he pulled you through the ripped opening where the doors were a moment before he ripped them off like it was a piece of nothing. You didn't even have the time to process the metal fingers wrapping around your ankle before harsh daylight burned at your face and asphalt scratched your tactical suit-covered body. You were out of the limousine in a second of a blink of an eye, without your mind processing. Bucky’s grip was tight. His vibranium arm wrapped tight around your ankle. He then pulled you to your feet. You were quickly ready to kick him into his knees with your boot. But he did not even move, as if he had expected you to fight. In one swift motion, he spun you around, your body yanked forward by the force he used. Then both your arms were wrenched behind your back.

“What the hell are you—” you started to yell out angrily, but your voice cut out as the cold click of metal locked around your wrists. You stopped dead in your tracks, brows knitting together. You tilted your head back and stared at the new metal coverings around the both of your wrists. Your hands twisted around the restrainings, "are you kidding me? I didn't even—"

Without hesitation, the man's boot came down hard behind your knees and both of your legs buckled instantly in that moment. You hit the ground with a sharp groan, your knees slamming into the asphalt of the road. Your cuffed hands straining behind your back as you tried to catch yourself. You grunted loudly.

Then you heard Bucky move towards the opening of the limousine again. The next thing you heard was Ava yelling out, "get off me!" Bucky dropped the dark-haired woman right beside you. A pair of blue lightened-up handcuffs on her wrists. She couldn't even phase away.

“Bucky, what the hell is this?" John was roaring from the limousine, scrambling over the shattered glass inside towards the opening. He could barely move with the shield on one arm. He got quickly out but was knocked by Bucky wrapping his normal arm and metal arm around his wrists, prying the shield off his arm and throwing it on the floor next to the crashed limousine. The shield rattled against the ground. Then he was quick to put on a pair of handcuffs on the trashing man, then he bent a rusted bar stick around him like it was nothing. John moved around, yelling at the metal-armed man. Bucky was quick to also wrap a rope around the man, then he kicked him into his knees and he fell next to Ava with a grunt. John looked up, brows knitted in confusion, "what are you doing?"

Bucky did not answer and just ripped out, once again, the doors from the front. He pulled out the blonde woman by her suit and pulled a pair of metal handcuffs on her as well. She did not fight him, just cussed him under her breath. You were looking at the metal-armed man with a parted mouth, brows furrowed in lost confusion. Bucky struggled a bit with Alexei. The Russian older man was talking about Bucky like a fan of him, talking about his history. Bucky did not even say anything and just bent around him another rusted bar stick and gave him a pair of handcuffs. Not really phased by the blabbering from the bigger man.

He then made you walk. Under the blaring hot sun of the desert, the asphalt pulled the heat even more. You felt like you were burning under your tactical suit, sweat dripping everywhere. Your face was so sweaty and was your whole body under your tactical suit and all the gear strapped to you. Whoever had asked Bucky something along the walk did not get any response back, even Alexei's babbling did not get any comment from the man. Not a single remark or a hint of annoyance or anything close to that. You didn't try to ask anything about the man, you did not know him and you did not care about him. The only thing you knew about him was that he was an absolute piece of an asshole for dragging you across the asphalt and handcuffing you like you were some toy to play with. You hoped he's just shot you during the walk, so you could get yourself away. You tried to stop breathing for a good amount of time until John kicked you so hard into your knees, that you yelled out at him and had to breathe again. Bucky made you all walk, handcuffed like a group of prisoners, for a good tiring hour until you reached an old abandoned rusting dirty gas station. It was stinking of mold and filth. There was not a single soul near, it was completely abandoned. It looked like it had not been used in months. Maybe even years. The inside was horribly stenching.

Bucky led the group in, boots thudding as he walked through the old gas station. Then, he pushed you in first. His metal arm pushing at your shoulder, you stumbled but stood still and walked towards where he had motioned. You sat down at the edge of the mechanic’s pit in the center of the garage of the gas station inside. It was a smaller trench where a car could be worked on from underneath. The metal floor around it groaned under your weight as you sat down, your legs hanging off the edge, the back of your boots touching the metal surface of the wall.

John stood still, scowling at the man with the metal arm. Bucky then made a noise in his throat and grabbed the other man by the back of the suit and practically shoved him down next to you. John was then sat down, he grunted out and looked up at the other longer-haired man, "Bucky, listen—"

"No, Walker. I don't want to hear anything," Bucky shook his head and Yelena sat herself next to John. Then Ava was sat next to Alexei, right opposite the three of you. You groaned internally at this situation. You were supposed to be at an airfield, which was, according to John, close by. Maybe even on your way back to your apartment.

“No, no, no,” Alexei began, shaking his head, staring at the leaning man by the not-so-see-through window, "just when I get my team together! Mister Soldier, you are making a terrible mistake!"

"Save it for the committee," Bucky just tilted his head towards where the red-suited man was sitting, unfazed and unaffected by the man's words.

"What committee?" Yelena turned her head towards Bucky and asked him about his response. Her brows furrowed slightly on her face.

"You're all evidence in the impeachment trial against Valentina," the man with the metal arm replied flatly, staring once again out of the dirty window he was standing by, leaning against it. Barely glancing back at the speaking woman.

"We don't even work for Valentina anymore. She tried to kill us," Ava told Bucky, staring right at him, but once again, he did not turn to her.

"We were ordered to destroy all her secrets, but but we really were sent to kill each other in this vault!" John was next to chime into the conversation, his body moving next to yours as he leaned forward to talk to the man by the dirty window. He had turned his head this time, staring at the now shield-less man sitting with his legs hanging. Yelena then spoke out, "but then we met Bob,"

"Bob..." you and John spoke at the same time, nodding your head when you spoke out the three-lettered name.

"There was a man in the vault. She's done something to him. It's called Project Sentry—" Yelena went on, explaining what had happened in the vault and who they had found.

"And he... shot up in the sky, he exploded and then crashed into this mountain. Then he died, didn't die—" Ava's voice then cut into Yelena's talking, as well as explaining the situation with the man that they had met in the vault.

"Yes. I got it. He's very, very scary," Bucky said sarcastically, tilting his head to the side in a mockery. You raised your head at that, your eyes narrowing at the man by the window. Looking right at him. Your jaw tightened just slightly at his words. You muttered before you could stop yourself, "glad you think this is funny... Take this shit seriously."

Bucky didn’t answer right away, he lifted his head slightly and his eyes flickered over to you. He didn't recognize you at all. Nor you did him. There was nothing in his look. Just a disinterested glance.

“Who even are you?” he asked, the question flatly, almost carelessly. His hair fell just in front of his eye when he turned towards you a little bit more. You exhaled slowly through your nose, your eyes not moving from the longer-haired man, "your fucking nightmare,” you muttered, voice low.

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. Unimpressed by your words or you fully. John who was seated right beside you shifted and leaned in with a shake of his head, "ah, okay… Congressman Barnes,” he said in a mocking voice, dragging out the title like it was unfamiliar on his tongue.

Bucky pushed himself off the window that he was leaning against. His boots thumped across the dirty concrete of the garage as he started walking towards where you all were sitting with your legs hanging. Especially keeping his eyes on John.

“Alright, Walker,” he said he stopped on the other side, opposite the man he had called by name, "what's that supposed to mean?”

John just stared. He just lifted his chin, watching Bucky close in around the other side where Alexei and Ava were sitting, both of them handcuffed as well, sitting like a pair of prisoners.

“It means you know me, Bucky,” John said evenly, staring up with his blue lingering eyes, "so cut the shit and listen to what we’re trying to tell you.”

Bucky's jaw shifted, tightened and untightened for a few times, then he put his hands on his hips and stared down at the agent, "yeah. I know you, John. And you made your choices... I know it's been hard since Olivia had left you and took your kid, but still. This is on you."

John went quiet at that. Really quiet. And utterly still. He did not move a muscle, not a single twitch. He did not flinch, didn’t react to Bucky's words physically. But something inside moved. Something inside him flinched, deep in his chest. A movement was made, deep in his soul, like it was just a small piece moving. But you turned your head towards him anyway, your attention pulled by the words that left Bucky's lips like it was nothing, a small matter to not care about. John didn’t look back at first. His eyes were down, staring somewhere far away. His gaze held an edge of an emptiness. Heavy and unspoken. His focus was hidden, gone.

Your gaze stayed on him. Then John lifted his head, just barely. As if it weighed more than it had before. His eyes met yours. His jaw was clenched, the line of his mouth drawn tight. But he didn’t say a word. A single one. Instead, he gave you the smallest nod, a brief tilt of his head paired with a subtle shrug. Just an acknowledgment. It was there. It was not a response to your gaze, just a brief reminder of his own personal feelings. You did not need to speak, nor did he. Your silence said enough. Said everything he needed at this moment and also nothing at all.

"Bucky, there won't be a committee there. There might not even be a government. She has some big—" Ava started to talk to Bucky once more, trying to convince the man somehow.

"Great. Yes, I got it," Bucky's voice started to rise, volume adding up, "named Bob or Sentry. Who flies, right? And you're all heroes going after Val. Ready to save the day. You're all going after her together—"

"We're not going after her together—"John was quick to dip into the other man's monologue, defending his own innocence as a solo participant.

"We were just trying to get home. Alive. Actually..." Yelena said, her mouth tightening slightly at its corners as she spoke out, shifting slightly on the uncomfortable metal cold floor of the rusty-smelling garage.

"That's even more pathetic!" Bucky yelled out, pacing back to where he was before, right by the dirty fogged-up windows with heavy steps and putting his hands onto his hips, his back turned to all of you.

"Oh, yeah. That's what I've been telling she—" Alexei was quick to agree with the metal-armed man by the windows. His daughter was even quicker to yell out at him, "oh, shut up!"

"Plane lands in six minutes!" the man by the window announced but was cut off by his phone ringing. He didn’t even glance at the caller ID before he picked the call up, answering straight away.

“Yes?” he answered the second he picked up the call, pressing the device to his ear as he turned slightly away from the others.

You're sat there, your wrist behind your back, tightly bound with the handcuffs he got onto you when he pulled you out of the limousine. Your legs still dangling off the edge of the pit you're perched on top of. Your mind has completely drifted somewhere else entirely. As Bucky spoke into the device by his ear, you barely acknowledged the words coming out of his mouth. Hardly registering the sentences. You didn’t bother turning your head like the others. From the edge of your vision, you could see the way the blonde woman, Yelena, had turned her head towards him, how John subtly leaned forward over you, listening in and watching Bucky. Even Alexei had gone quiet, as well listening to the call. But their stillness felt distant, like they weren't even near you.

Your gaze remained unfocused. Your eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Nothing interesting, exciting or unusual. Just a spot your eyes found comfortable. Your thoughts slipping and sliding away from you. You were thinking of him.

You were thinking of Bob.

That particular boy with the mess of long, curls adoring his head. The one who had shown you one of your deepest secrets of pain hidden beneath your soul from your childhood. The one who had touched your cheeks like he was a god sent from the above and held his warm palms there like it had the significance of a future. The one who had sacrificed himself for the safety and time of the other strangers he had met a mere moment before, handing himself off to hundreds of armed guards to get himself killed. He went in, knowing he'd die. Not because he knew he'd appear like you. He wanted to choose his death. He wanted to be the one to pick out his death. The dying way. Back in the vault, he told others that burning alive was not a way to go. He looked genuinely terrified, maybe even frightened and sad, when Ava was not coming back. He stood still, eyes fluttering from moment to moment. Then they were wide, staring at the not opening doors in front of him. He knew that he was close to dying, but not the way he wanted to. He chose a different end. His own. He wanted to choose his way of dying. And he did. But he had not left the soul of his, he was still alive. Or well, you hoped so.

You could still see Bob's face. Not the terrified, frightened or exploding one. The fragile one. The one etched deeply in your mind like a painting from the above, drawn by the gods themselves. He did not look like a test subject, a soldier or a project like they had intended him to be. He was just a person. Living consequences of human greed for power used on a fragile being, which was ripped off by the world's pain and suffering that he did not deserve.

He had looked at you, so gently. The way no one had looked at you in a very long time. Then the way he placed his palms, warm and trembling, on your cheeks. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, memorize how real you are and were. Like it meant something. Like you meant something. And then he handed himself over to die.

You were only thinking of him.

And he was only thinking of you.

He was asleep. Deeply. He was no longer in the vault. No longer in the sun-heated nightmare of Utah’s desert. He was in New York. Specifically the old Avengers tower, now known as the Watchtower, owned by no other than Valentina. She had claimed the ruins of the symbolic building, the ghosts of memories lingering in the space where she had stood. Bob is laying, still and comfortable, in one of its many rooms. Hidden away. It did not look like a cell, he wouldn't call it a cell. But you wouldn't call it a room either. It was empty and colorless. A bed was there, two nightstands on both sides of the bed and a chair with a glass table beside it. It was not designed for comfort. It was for a look. For the luxury. A long, tunnel-like shaped interior wrapped around him, it stretched above like it wasn't even there. It was not making a good impression of light in the room. The walls curved smoothly into the ceiling. The only illumination of the lights came from the faint gold glow right from the behind the bed.

Bob was stretched across the bed, which was pushed at the center of the room against the straight wall edge. One arm is curled lightly at his chest, his fingers grabbing at the hospital-clothed pajamas that he was still wearing. His hair, long and curled at its ends, spilled across his face and on the pillow under his head. He was laying on his back, one of his legs bent while the other one was pulled straight. The blanket was under him, he was not covered under it.

And for the first time in a long while, he was dreaming.

It was not the kind of dream like he had any before. It was not from his trauma or memories of terror. This dream was quiet. He didn’t know it, he hadn't had a similar one in his whole entire lifetime. There was someone with him, keeping him calm. Keeping the darkness away. Someone was next to him in that dream. Not an illusion. Not a ghost. Not a blurry outline. It was you. You were almost real.

In this dream that he was having. You were sitting right next to him. You were simply there, knees almost touching as if you were really there. A presence he needed. It was something human. Everything looked so soft. The wooden attic looked soft as well. Bob knew the space he was in. He recognized it. He was sure of it. He had been there before, maybe once, maybe twice. Maybe many more times, he couldn't really remember. But it did not matter to him, because you were there. With him.

The two of you sat close.

Really close.

On a brown, or maybe it was a dark red, carpet that had once been thick and soft like a sheep's back that you could lay on for hours, but was now pressed thin, worn out by time of being used and sat on. He was sitting cross-legged, his back just slightly slouched over. His hair dropped over his face, but enough to leave a space to see you through it. His fingers turned over the corners of a Rubik’s cube he had in his hands. It wasn’t solved. It wasn’t even being worked on, it was just lingering in his hands. He doesn't know why it's there, but he keeps it in his hands, fingers running across its colorful edges.

You were right beside him, knees nearly touching if he moved just well. In your hands, you were holding something thin and small. Your gloved fingers were curled around something. It was a card. The edges creased slightly. It looked old. On its front were two white little ghosts, not frightening looking, but more sweet looking, with a very tiny orange-pink colored faded heart floating between them. Beneath the image was a line of text, strange symbols he couldn’t make sense of. The letters blurred every time he tried to read them when he glanced down at your hands. Like the dream refused to give him that piece. It looked foreign but familiar. Something he should maybe know, or try to find out. He tried to read it once again, but it was blurred. Like the letters were not real, but they were there.

You were in your tactical grey suit that you had back in the vault when you two first time. The suit was clean. There was no blood on your shoulder anymore. No torn fabric. It was not shredded or stained. It was just you. You looked like you.

You glanced at him then. Slowly. And then you looked back down at your card again, brushing your thumb over the two little ghosts like they were something precious. Something important. Like they had meant something.

Maybe they did.

He stared at you more than he looked at the cube or the card. Watched the way your fingers rested gently on the card, sliding your fingertips over the paper edges of the card. You were present. You felt real. His mind couldn’t pull the attic into sharp focus, the only thing in the focus was you and the card, apart from the letters. Then himself and the cube. The blurry images around him did not matter to him.

What mattered was that you were here.

With him.

Then, you looked up again. Your eyes locked with his and for a moment he forgot to breathe. Like the air was not present, like he couldn't open his mouth or breathe through his nose. But then you began to blur. First, your outline softened. Like someone had taken off his glasses. Like your vision was starting to get distorted and bad. Then your hands lost their shape. And when your face began to blur, almost disappear, something inside him moved. Maybe even screamed. It was the first thing he heard in his quiet dream.

“No..." the Bob, who was still in the dream, whispered, leaning forward. Almost too late. He was quick to reach forward. His fingers trembled as they stretched rightly towards your fading and blurring face. He was desperate to touch you. Before you vanished completely. Again. He touched your cheek. Or at least, he tried. His fingertips went straight through you. Going through nothingness. Then it was gone. You were gone.

His eyes snapped open.

The attic was gone. The soft carpet, the Rubik’s cube, your smile. It was all gone. You were gone. It was all erased. He was laying flat on his back and for a moment, he stared above. Still, mind-stuck at that dream. It felt too real. He wished that it was real, even though it was quiet.

The ceiling above was dull. It was connected smoothly from the walls like a tunnel. His breathing was even. Calm. His body hadn’t moved yet, but his eyes did. Shifting so slowly towards the corner of the room. That was when he felt it. A presence. A presence of someone else in the room. Someone was watching him. Watching him, observing him. Bob blinked once, then twice, and then turned his head to the side, catching the figure in the chair beside his bed.

"Hi. How—How are you feeling, Robert?" the figure asked from their chair, slightly leaning forward. It was a woman, "are you comfortable?"

"...yeah," he rasped out, his voice laced with the sleep. His mind still latching itself onto the dream, reaching to bring it back to fall back into it.

"My name is... Valentina Allegra de Fontaine," the woman leaned herself even closer, her hand coming up to her heart to introduce herself in a calm, relaxed, but professional manner. A deliberate gesture.

Bob was absolutely terrified to hear the name. His whole body recoiled. Before his mind could process what he was doing, he pushed himself far into the back. His own back hitting into the headboard of the bed, "oh, no, no... You tried to kill us," he pointed his trembling finger at the woman on the chair, who was smiling at him. Scrambling back, away from her. His eyes wide and his fingers trembling as he lifted them.

She then started shushing him with her own finger up. Shushing him gently. Then, something rattled against the glass table next to her chair. She put a metal-like object on the table, it had the letter S in the middle. Solid and metallic. It was black and golden, flicking off the light when it fell on it. An emblem. A symbol. His eyes flickered over it, something tugged at his chest. He recognized that symbol.

"Let me explain. Would you like that?" Valentina softly asked him, smiling like a cat at the trembling man hidden at the headboard of the bed. His eyes did not leave the metallic symbol on the table for a moment, but then they flickered back up at the woman. He nodded and whispered, "...yeah." He wanted to know the answers from her. She leaned forward slightly again, her elbows resting on her knees, fingers intertwined together. One through one

"You signed up for a medical study, which was as advertised as a cutting-edge human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—" her voice smooth, but smooth enough for Bob. He wanted to know something else, so he cut in.

"—What happened to Twenty-Two?" he blinked at her, eyes furrowing.

Valentina paused for a moment. Her smile dropping, staring at the man, then she continued, "what—oh... Twenty-Two? Oh... Those people you were with... Those are not honest people. They're criminals. Villains, really," her smile came back to her face, shaking her head gently, professionally.

"No... No, no... They helped me," he sat back up again, shifting his body on the e way too comfortable bed, knitting his brows on his face, mouth slightly parted. His mind was confused and running.

"Robert," she stood up from her chair and quickly walked over to his bed and sat beside him, "let's just forget about them," He hugged himself closer to the headboard, moving further from the woman, "let's just focus on you... And how perfect you are."

He stared. Confused. He was never told that he was perfect. Something tugged at him, again. Bob let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. It was quiet, and small. Almost not there. He shook his head slowly, a confused smile twitching onto his mouth. Her words were absurd, her thoughts were wild and absurd to him.

“Perfect?” he echoed, tilting his head, "no… no," Bob shook his head again, more firmly this time, looking down at his own hands and then back up at the woman, his brows once again furrowed. He couldn't believe this woman, he couldn't even believe himself. How could he believe someone else?

Valentina leaned in closer, her voice taking a lower tone, "you’ve always thought of yourself as a victim. But you overcame. You went to Malaysia. You were lost, right?" her eyes shot to his again, smile on her features, stretching on her lips like it did not belong here. Like it was not real. A playing one. To make him believe her words, her voice, her ideas.

"You were searching... And you found me," Valentina said, almost too enthusiastically. Her smile stretched. Her voice was soft, almost too soft. But something was off. The words were biting, they had teeth. Sharp ones.

"How do you know all that?" his gaze narrowed at the woman, his brows knitting even more. There was unease creeping onto him, right by his shoulders. All the way up his back and up to his neck. Like invisible fingers dragging slowly up and down. Slow and suffocating.

"I know all of it," Valentina leaned even closer to the man. Her voice was smooth, "I know about your mom's mental illness, I know about your addiction, your juvenile record..." she leaned even more forward and Bob leaned backward, further from the woman by his side on the bed he was on.

"Yeah, I even know about the time that your father had—"

"Stop!" he yelled out, his hands flew up in front of his face, shielding himself from the memories being brought back like they were on a thread. Pulled back by its end. He jerked back. Suddenly, the room shook, but none of the two paid attention to that. The people outside did though. The room shuddered. The floor let out a groan, the lights flickered, and the glass table trembled, "I—I didn't say you could know that."

"Robert. I know everything about you," the woman whispered, a smile beaming on her face like she had received the best gift ever, "and I still want you to be my guy!"

Bob was now hugging his knees, staring at the woman with a frown, "what happened to Twenty-Two? What happened to—"

"Nothing. Nothing important... Really, Robert. You are way more important than any of these cheap wanna-be heroes that cannot even save their own life," Valentina had this weird expression on her face. It was her smile twitching, but still on her face. He was looking at you, unblinking.

"Isn't that what you want? To be accepted? To be chosen?" she whispered, making him scowl at the woman, he was lost, he didn't know if he should go back into the dream or believe the woman. He tells him the sweetest lies, "no one else sees it. But I do. And I think your past is what makes you so perfect," she leaned closer and her fingers curled around Bob's. Holding his hand. Bob's head raised, his gaze lifting up. He knew what was about to come. Another dream. Another memory. Another traumatic moment. For him and the other person.

The second she's out of the room of shame, she pulls her hand away from him. Staring ahead, blinking all her thoughts away. Bob's eyebrows furrow, his head tilting as he stares at the woman sitting beside him. She takes a deep breath and says out, with a trembling voice, "would you excuse me for just a moment?" she awkwardly smiled at him. She then has her lips in a straight line, nodding her head a few times before standing up. She stood up with elegance, professionalism, and precision. Without looking back at Bob, she stepped toward the glass table where she was sitting near before. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the black-and-gold emblem, the metallic symbol with the golden symbol of the letter S in the middle. She grabbed it between her fingers and took it off the table with a clink noise.

Bob’s heart sank. Deep. The moment she lifted the emblem off the glass table, something inside him broke loose. Something broke. Something happened and it pulled him forward before he could even think straight. He scrambled off the bed to its middle, following Valentina's steps.

“No, no! Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Bob's voice cracked open with desperation as he stumbled forward, his knees bouncing at the comfortable soft bed.

She stopped. Standing still. Then she turned. Her eyes met his again. Her expression unreadable. The edges of her traumatic past clashed with her mind from what she saw when she touched Bob's fingers. When she was suddenly standing face to face with her childhood trauma. Her nightmare. The little girl, standing by the stairs, seeing her father get shot. Her lips parted slightly, staring at him at the bed.

“I can control it,” he blurted out, his voice shaking. He didn’t believe it. Not really. But he needed it to be true. He needed her to believe it. He needed someone to believe him. To believe in him. To make him seen, make him important. Make him someone.

Valentina smiled, "great,” she said without missing another beat to it.

She then turned once again, stepping into the doorway without another word. The door hissed as it sealed behind. Leaving Bob alone, once again. He was left there, frozen. Waiting. At the middle of the bed. He sat there, motionless. His knees were bent before him, his hospital pajama top wrinkled around his stomach.

He blinked slowly. Once. Then twice. Like he did not know if the images he was seeing were real. If he was real. If it all was real. Then he whispered, soft and quiet “where are you?" then for a moment he was quiet, then he repeated again, "where are you?"

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to. It all matched to him. Twenty-two letters in those two questions... They both held the same number. They both meant you.

Two questions. Two phrases. Both of them with eleven letters. Twenty-two letters together. Just like the name.

Twenty-Two.

You were the answer. He hunched forward slightly, resting his pajama-covered arms over his bent knees, his head dipping low between his shoulders, falling forward and hiding. His curls fell forward again. Like they had in the dream. This time covering his whole face. He had no reason to have any space between them, he had no one to look at through his hair. To make a space for. The only presence in the room was his memory of you and that wasn’t enough. Even the dream was not enough. Not anymore.

Your face. It flickered in his mind again. Not the version from the dream. But the real one. The last one he has seen. The one which still had a blood on your shoulder, a shot in. The look in your eyes when he had pushed you away from him. That look in your eyes when you saw him leave to sacrifice himself for you all. He remembered the way you had looked at him. Like he was still someone. Someone worth something.

You are someone worth something as well. You both are. Bob and you. And so are the people around you. The strangers you've met. Strangers turned to something else, something more. They were not perfect. None of them were, not even you. But you were still people.

"Twenty-Two?"

Came a hesitant voice from beside you. It was different. It was real and right beside you. It was a familiar call of your name by even a familiar voice. You didn’t answer right away. You didn't even acknowledge the sound until it was repeated again. The same double digits repeated again. The number. Your eyes blinked a few times as the room gradually slid back into focus. Everything came back, you came back.

You lifted your head. John was crouched beside you, one hand braced on his bent knee, and the other one was just slightly hovering in the air. He looked like he was considering touching your arm for a moment. He looked worried. Maybe, confused as well. But something was in his eyes that showed that there was something else swimming inside those blue eyes.

Behind him stood Bucky, arms crossed over his chest. He was staring down at you as well, he looked different. There was something in the way he was looking. Something softened. Something warm was there.

Your eyes fell back to your hands. They were sitting in your lap, palms up. Fingers free. No handcuffs around your wrists. You didn't even realize that they were off. That there is not Ava or Alexei sitting opposite you. Or that John is crouching beside you with his arms free as well. You were stuck in your mind. In a memory. You disappeared with him. With Bob, for a while. You thought about him just about the interactions you two had in a span of a few hours before. Nothing else. And it felt like you've been gone completely.

"You're here? Hey—" John said again, you lifted your head again and looked at him. You blinked a few times and then nodded again. You nodded slowly again, put your palms against the metal floor, and pushed yourself up slowly.

John saw you moving and rose up with you. He held his hand out to help you, but you ignored it. Pulling yourself up just fine without any help. John turned towards you again, standing taller above you, “you sure you’re good?” he asked again, his voice lower now. It was caring, not mockery like before when you spoke. When he spoke with others. You looked down at the outstretched hand which he wanted to help you with. Just underneath the gloves he had was something. Glistening. Flickering the sun off. Hiding just on his ring finger, but it was there. Around the finger.

A ring.

He was still wearing it. Even after Olivia left. With his kid. Even after the damage he did was done, after he hurt them. It showed well that he did not stop loving them. He still believed. He still believes. The hope is there, he knows it and feels it with him. Even though he was the reason it all went down. He still believed.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, then grunted out as you stood back onto your feet after a longer while, "go before I kick your ass.”

That made him snort, "yeah, there you are,” he said, more to himself than you. Shaking his head. He looked over his shoulder, where Bucky was not standing anymore, "come on. They're just outside. Plane's off in any minute now."

You followed right behind him. The others were just outside of the gas station, the smaller airfield just off to the side. Ahead of you, the others were waiting for you. Yelena with her arms crossed over her chest and chin tilted up, the sun showering her face with its warmth. Ava leaned casually against a rusted pole her arms also crossed over her own chest. Alexei stood a good few centimeters away from Bucky, he looked like a fan. Like he was observing the man as if he was not even real.

One minute you were in that greasy, rusty old gas station that smelled of mold and then next you were on your way onto a flight straight to New York. Where apparently Bob was according to Bucky's words that he had said about his phone call. The plane was waiting outside at the airfield where Bucky took you all on. The plane had no markings on it, no advertising or logos. It was military-looking. Bucky was the first one to be on the ramp of the plane, arms crossed and waiting. You all walked up the ramp right behind him, Alexei was quick to comment about the plane being not ordinary one. He also asked if there would be food served, which made Bucky and Ava scoff.

Then the ramp lifted and closed. The plane itself groaned into life, then the sky swallowed the plane and you were slowly rising away from the Utah's desert.

You sat beside Yelena, your arms crossed over your chest and your right hand's fingers were playing with the loose strap on your tactical best on your chest. Yelena had her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms thrown over them, a knife of hers in her fingers. Playing with it like you are with the loose strap. The dark-haired woman, Ava, was sitting opposite you. Both of her legs thrown up on a crate nearby, relaxing herself. John was next to her, staring into nothingness. A void. Bucky was sitting next to him, there was a good space between the both super soldiers. The third super soldier was near the cockpit, talking with the two pilots who were really not interested in having a conversation with the Russian fighter.

When you finally landed after a long flight, the weather hit you like a punch. New York wasn’t warm or hot like the Utah's desert. Bucky was once again the first to move when the plane touched the ground. You followed with John, Ava, Yelena, and Alexei right behind the metal-armed man. The second he was out of the airfield, he had waiting a car for you all

An ugly, worn-out old, white van was waiting there. Scratches on the sides as well. It definitely did look any good and you wondered if this would even get you to the point where you had to be. Alexei was the first to scramble into the front seat, sitting right in the passenger seat next to the long-haired man. When you rounded the back of the van, you stopped just behind it. Bucky is next to you. You raised your brows when you threw open the back door, it was empty with no seats. You, John, Ava, and Yelena were supposed to sit inside in the back on the floor.

You paused, thinking for a moment and then you turned towards the metal-armed man, "is this even yours? Is this thing stolen?"

“It's borrowed,” he said without looking at you, a smirk on his lips. You rolled your eyes and jumped into the back of the van. You dropped yourself onto the van's floor and leaned your back against the cold white wall of the van. Your legs stretched in front of you. Yelena was next to jump in, she sat opposite you, her back hitting the wall first and then she slid down onto her butt. John was next, he climbed into the van and sat himself next to you, but not before accidentally kicking your knees and acting as if he fell over them.

"Watch where you're going," you muttered to him, crossing your arms over your chest. He still stood above you and kicked his boot into your knee twice, "watch where you put your legs."

Ava was next to climb in and she sat beside Yelena. She was the closest to the doors of the van. John then as well slid himself down onto the floor, his now returned shield leaning on the wall behind him. The shield rattled against the wall when the van started its motor and moved forward. Ava, sitting next to Yelena's side, bent her knee and threw her arm over it, sitting more comfortably as the van rattled softly under.

You let your head gently fall against the van's wall, but a sudden, sharp turn sent John knocking shoulders with your head. You groaned and kicked your shoulder into his and he groaned in response. Ava chuckled, staring at the two of you, "you two act like children."

"Ah, thanks," John grinned and you shot him a look from your place on the floor. Yelena grinned at you and stretched her legs in front of her as well, the tips of her boots touching yours. She smiled at your touching boots and you made a small joking movement with the end of your boot, she copied it after you. Shaking the end of her boots touching yours with you, like a little silly wave.

Yelena opened her mouth to say something to you, but the van jolted again as Bucky took another sharp turn, which made you all move around and knock into others. John's shoulder knocked into your head again and you let out a groan again, kicking your shoulder into his once more.

“Jesus, Barnes!” John shouted towards the front of the van, "you too. Stop shouldering me," he looked down at you and hit you in the shoulder with his own for the last time. Rubbing his shoulder with his other hand as if he got hurt by you.

The city of New York rushed by, but from where you sat, all you saw was a white and wooden walls and nothing from the outside. Then three more faces sitting next and opposite you.

John shifted beside you, dragging his shield into his lap, "well, I have this thing,” he muttered, looking down at his shield.

"Cool. Cool," Yelena nodded and looked down at his shield. Ava nodded as well.

"Yeah. Very," he flipped the shield in his hands and then leaned it against the wall back where it was before.

"Um. I have batons. On my back. They're useful," Yelena motioned her thumb behind her, the sticking-out handles of her batons strapped to her back. Ava looked to her left, looking at the strapped weapons behind the blonde woman.

"Very useful," John replied, thinking about the situation in the vault's elevator shaft, when he got one of them to get himself and then others out of the hole. Yelena rolled her eyes but smiled, "yes. They are useful..."

"Cool equipment you guys have. I have a protective suit, so I can stay alive," Ava speaks from beside Yelena, her hands coming up to show off her suit hugging her body. Yelena makes a face and nods a few times, pleased with it. You smile at her and give her lazy thumb up and then you drop your hand back into your lap.

"Looks superb," John comments at her suit and she smiles at him. Yelena then nods and starts to speak about her equipment again.

"And then I have these little... Widow—buzz-buzz—bites things," she showed off her wrists, hitting her fists together to show off how to use them. John nodded a few times, looking at them, "yeah. I remember them," remembering the way he got electrocuted by them back in the vault.

"And then I have this nineteen," she pulls out her hand Glock from her thigh holster and then puts it back when John pulls his own handgun out.

"Forty-five," he unloads the magazine out of it, "the long barrel," he shows off his own handgun, proud of it. The two women opposite him grin at him and hums. Enjoying his blabbering about the gun.

"Woah. So big," Ava replies with a teasing voice. Yelena is next to add with also teasing manner, making fun of John without him really understanding that they're making fun of him, "...so long."

"Yeah. Um. It's like—Yeah. It's a little long," John put the magazine back inside the gun and then holsters it back where it was before. The women still teasing him.

"And that... What about your hat?" Yelena then points at the helmet sitting on the floor beside his stretched-out legs. John looks around, thinking about what she meant, "the hat..." then it clicks and he asks again, "the helmet?"

"Yep. Whatever you wanna call it," she nods and John picks up the helmet off the van's floor, "it's like cool. Um. You like it?" he asks the blonde woman and Ava next to her rolls her head to the side and smirks at her in amusement.

"Um... I mean. Do you like the hat?" she flips the question at the shielded man. John stares, blinking a few times at the woman opposite him, "yeah. It is pretty, um, pretty nice..." he adds, his fingers dancing over his helmet in his hands. Yelena looks down at the helmet and then back up at John, "that's cool."

"What about yours—the bombs? They were neat," Ava spoke out, her eyes flickering towards you next to the shielded man. You smiled at her and straightened up, you patted the pocket on your tactical vest, where the little sticky bombs were safely hidden. A small circular metal device. Very small and very helpful.

"Sticky bombs, I call them that. You just need to throw them, get them some air and then they just stick onto anything. Then boom," you grinned at her and zipped down the pocket of the tactical vest you were wearing and pulled out one of the little circular bombs. Ava leaned closer, observing the small circular bomb you held in between your fingers. Then you put the small device away, zipping it back inside your pocket to keep it safely hidden.

"Very cool. Like really cool. I want to get one," Ava grinned at you and you grinned back at her, "I can give you some later." She smiled and hit a fist into the air, a small sound of excitement leaving her mouth.

"Sticky bombs?" John asked you, wondering about the name. You looked up at him, furrowing your brows, "yeah. Because they stick onto any surface when—"

"You know what else—"

"Fuck you. Stop acting like a child!" You groaned, once again hitting his shoulder, because you knew what he was about to say. He started chuckling, holding his hands up in mock offense, and then he started rubbing the shoulder where you hit him. Once again acting as if you hurt him any badly. Like he was wounded. He then turned to you once again, "sticky bombs are kind of badass, though. Can I try one later?”

“No,” you replied instantly. Shaking your head and avoiding his eye contact.

“Come on..." John groaned. His lips turned downward into a frown.

“You’d stick it to yourself," you replied to the man which made him gasp and raise his hands above his head. Ava chuckled and so did Yelena. The dark-haired woman did agree with you on your statement, "he definitely would."

"When are we gonna be there? I'm running out of ideas for conversations," Yelena groaned from opposite you, which made you chuckle. It's been a long flight and drive, hours stretched on.

"Are we there yet?" Yelena yelled out, her voice loud and booming through the van, reaching the ears of the two supersoldiers in the front.

"Almost!" yelled Bucky from behind the wheel and then a second after him sounded the Russian voice of Yelena's father with the same answer, "almost!"

"Almost, almost, almost. Fucking when?" Yelena repeated under her breath and rolled her eyes, leaning her head against the van's wall behind her.

The day had been long. Really long. Like it wasn't even twenty-four hours like it has been way more. Now you were many, many kilometers away from Utah, its deserts, and the secret vault of death. Instead, you were inside an old white van, crammed in the back with the other three people. On your way to the late Avengers Tower, now called as the Watchtower, where apparently, inside, was Bob. Trapped in whatever nightmare has Valentina prepared for him. You need to save the man. And save yourselves too.

Even death could not stop you.

Especially not you.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

also thank you so much for all the love this fic is getting!!! both here on tumblr and on archive. it means absolutely everything to me i love u guys thank you so so so much

also..... some scenes here mayyyy lead up to other ones in the future so write it down!!!! hahaaha u will see then i will remind u guys wink wink

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180

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a-sebastian-stan · 12 hours ago

Text

I'm telling you, I 👏 WOULD 👏 CLIMB 👏 TOM 👏 HIDDLESTON 👏 LIKE 👏 A 👏 TREE 👏 ANY 👏 DAY 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

(with consent of course 🥺)

secret notes part 2: torete

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Summary: The morning after Stark's NYE party, and your first upload, you're in better spirits and the team assumes it's because you hooked up with someone after the party.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: none, really…this is just fluff [let me know if i missed smth tho and i'll update immediately]

Things to be aware of: idiots in love; angst; translations will be in the Author's Notes

"Do you mean to tell me, Brother, that you kissed Lady Y/N at the stroke of midnight last night, and still nothing came of it?" Thor questioned his brother.

"Well, Thor, you entered my chambers barreling in to greet the new year. Do you see Y/N anywhere?" He shook his head. "No. No you do not. You see no one here but myself."

"Despite the offers of those beguiling women who call themselves Angels?" Thor's tone dripped with disbelief. "I saw them surrounding you last night, Brother. They seemed very willing to have kept you company if that was all you desired."

"I desire Y/N. I care not for the willingness of others," Loki answered simply. "To answer the questions boiling in your head, Brother, yes. This does mean that I would rather spend my nights alone than have any other share my bed."

"I do not understand you, Loki. Your words…they imply a loyalty to Lady Y/N that is reserved for—"

"She has my heart, Brother." Thor's eyes widened at his words. "I cannot, will not, see myself desiring another. Not since my eyes met hers. The next lover I take will be my last, and it can only be her. Every other, no matter how striking they may be, can only pale in comparison to her."

"Brother, you must tell her. Your affections might not be unreturned."

"I will not risk her friendship if they are. I would rather play a painfully platonic role in her life than none at all," he answered Thor dismissively. "She is far too valuable for me to lose. I would rather love her in secrecy and be able to protect her where and when I can, than confess my affections and face her not only rejecting my heart, but rejecting my entire presence in her life."

"Perhaps I will never truly understand you, Brother. I only wish for your happiness but you seem to be content stewing in your self-inflicted pain."

The sound of your pouting cry broke through their conversation, sending the God of Mischief striding out of his room and into the common area.

"If you insist on loving her in secrecy, you're terrible at the secrecy, Brother," Thor commented, casually walking down the stairs to where you currently were. Oaf. "Lady Y/N, what ails you this fine morning? And is there anything I may do to help?"

"I can't find my mug. Obnoxiously pink with the words kindly fuck off on the side?"

"Ah, yes. I do recall seeing your drink holder when our Captain instructed me to unload our dishwasher."

"Thor." Your tone was laced with a threatening aura. "Please tell me you didn't put it on the top shelf."

"I may have," he answered you with a hint of caution in his voice. The scene unfolding before him made Loki chuckle to himself. The formidable God of Thunder being threatened by a significantly smaller Midgardian, the very same one that he wanted nothing more than to lift into his arms and claim as his own.

You groaned again. "I am this close to climbing up on the stovetop and getting it myself, dammit, Thor."

"You'll injure yourself, darling," the raven-haired god warned as he walked toward you. "If you require assistance, you simply need ask."

"Okay I am too hungover to even begin to fathom what's happening. You two? Eye fucking? After I could swear on my drunken ass I saw you kiss at midnight?" Your eyes widened at Stark's words. "Is that why you're in such a good mood, Y/N? Even though you're pissed at Point Break right now, I can see it. You're…less depressing. I can actually look at you without wanting to wrap you in a blanket and give you a mug of hot chocolate—"

"Happy fucking New Year to you, too, Tony," you shot back. "The first slice of toast is yours if it means you shut your hole." The billionaire gave you a sloppy salute. "And whatever the question you were trying to ask was? About me and Loki? No, Tony."

"But you definitely got some," Romanoff chimed in from the stairs. "I know you too well, babes. You have a glow about you."

"Ahh that's our girl," Stark said in an all too chipper tone, holding out a fist your way. You threw him a look and shook your head at him. "Whatever. At least you got laid. I mean, you did get laid, right? You wouldn't get that glow if you got none."

Stark's line of questioning didn't sit right with Loki. Was that what he heard when your door opened and closed twice throughout the night? You had a tryst with someone? The way you answered with a shrug and a coy smile made his heart plummet once more. Was the lack of confirmation and denial an indicator of the affirmative?

"Let's just say I finally found an outlet," you addressed the two prying team members. "Whether it be something or someone…is my business. And mine alone." Then you turned back to face Loki with wide eyes that almost reminded him of a puppy. "I require assistance. Please."

When you looked up at him like that it was all he could do to not give in, but a part of him wanted to alleviate the sour mood that your conversation with Romanoff and Stark had put him in, so he decided to have a bit of fun with you. He could have so easily reached the top shelf and handed you your mug; instead he held out his arms toward you. "Come on, then."

You eyed him with incredulity. "So you don't want me to climb the stovetop—"

"This is safer, darling, I promise you."

"Go ahead, babes, climb him," Romanoff quipped from her position at the kitchen island. "Safer than the stovetop."

You glared at the god. "You know that I will, don't you?"

Oh I'm counting on it, he thought to himself, smiling as he watched you shrug and step toward him, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he lifted you up. He shifted you in his arms, the sudden motion causing you to wrap your legs around him, giving the dark-haired Asgardian a delicious glimpse of what your life could be like had you been his.

You reached out and took your mug. "Thanks, Mischief. You can put me down now."

Instead of heeding your words, he held you up by a single arm as he used his free hand to take the mug from you and gently set it down on the counter. "You're very welcome, darling. But no. No I don't think I will."

"Wait. What do you mean no?"

He shifted you in his arm once more, causing you to wrap your arms around him a bit tighter and making him chuckle. "I quite like you this way, my dear Y/N."

"Loki, I'm serious, put me down." The laughter threatening to bubble out of you betrayed your words; you were not, in fact, serious. Not yet anyway. "You can't just lug me around in your arm all day like a weird captive koala."

"Why ever not?" He placed his free hand on your back, keeping you stable. "Seems like an interesting endeavor. It would also mean you're mine for the day."

You huffed in a show of annoyance. "Alam mo pag minsan nakaka-torete ka talaga."

He chuckled at your words. "You are aware, little mortal, that I am more than capable of understanding what you just said to me--"

"Yeah yeah I know, thanks to your Allspeak," you cut him off, rolling your eyes. "Sometimes it's still better to tell you how fucking annoying you are in my mother tongue."

"Has anyone ever told you how ravishing you look when you're cross?"

"Mischief, I swear to the God that we don't believe in I will happily break my hand punching your face if you don't put me down right now and I will have no regrets over it." That stilled the god in his tracks and made him release you from his hold. Once your feet were back on solid ground, you gave him a big smile. "Thank you!"

As you walked away from him, Loki couldn't help but look at you with fondness. You would surely be the death of him, being the little minx that you were. He had to stop himself from blurting out the words at the tip of his tongue after your little exchange. I love you.

And then the words from earlier began to sunk in. The possibility that you'd taken a lover last night, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Was he still in your chambers? Did you view your previous exchange as nothing but a bit of fun? Was engaging in such banter such a natural thing for you that you thought nothing of it?

The moment your feet landed on the ground, you turned around and busied yourself with breakfast for the team, deciding on a crustless quiche so you could at least keep your hands busy for a good while and turn your mind off, because it was going all over the place with what just happened.

As you moved around the kitchen, Loki's words kept on replaying in your head. I quite like you this way. You're mine. Did he really know and he was just trying to see how little effort from him it would take to get you flustered? Was this all a game to him? Was--

"Y/N, if you keep cutting like that we're gonna need Banner to reattach your fingertips," Nat commented from the kitchen island. You looked down and your eyes widened at how dangerously close the knife was to your skin. "You might need another hit of that outlet, whatever it may be. You're still a bit spaced out."

"And you're still a bit hung over," you bit back.

"Speaking of hungover," Wanda called out as she descended the stairs. "Why aren't you, Y/N? You drank nearly as much as me and Natasha."

"I made a plate of pasta last night when the party wrapped up," you answered. "I know better than to go to sleep drunk. Should've dragged your asses out here with me, I guess."

"Ohh. That's what I heard when your door opened!" Nat commented, realization dawning on her face. "But yes, next time we're drunk, remember us when you're carbo loading?" You nodded. "You're the best, babes."

Had you been paying attention to what was happening around your conversation, you would've heard Loki murmur 'Thank the Norns' once he realized that the sound of your door in the early hours of the morning did not come from a lover sneaking out of your chambers.

"Hi, everybody. Happy New Year!" Peter chirped from the stairs. The team murmured their greetings. "Miss Y/N, was I seeing things at midnight or did you and Mister Loki kiss?" You nodded your answer. "So you two? Finally?" Finally? You had to ask yourself if you saw the spiderling drink anything from the bar last night, narrowing your eyes at him as you shook your head. "Oh."

"Hold on, that kiss lasted for a literal second, Parker. What did you do at the stroke of midnight that you saw that?"

The kid looked down at the ground as he mumbled, "I jumped."

You had to put the knife down on the counter before you doubled over in laughter. Yeah. That sounded about right.

A/N: Heaven help these fools they're so in love--

Translations: Alam mo pag minsan nakaka-torete ka talaga – You know sometimes you really drive me crazy Song Lyrics Translation here

Taglist:

Everything: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston

secret notes: @taro-gabi @kats72 @rmoonstoner @moonlightreader649 @loz-3 @beata1108 @fandumbug @crystaldragonborne @goblinhobo @nataliewalker93 @highkeysimpingforloki @constablewafflebottom @gracecaldwellx

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #marvel #tom hiddleston #loki

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queen-of-the-avengers · 2 days ago

Text

Moving On

Pairing: Eventual Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end

Summary: Bucky is definitely moving in with Sharon, whether you want him to or not. If you can’t get on board, then you’re going to try like hell to make him realize what he’s missing. Then, you come to the realization that if you love someone, you do what’s best for them, even if it sucks for you.

One in a Million Series

Square Filled: shipwrecked (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

Not even twenty-four hours have passed since Bucky dropped that huge bomb on your life. He’s leaving. He’s really leaving, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. No more late-night conversations. No more drinking his new concoctions he’d like to serve at the bar. No more going on late-night drives on the back of his motorcycle because neither of you could sleep.

All that is going away because he thinks Sharon is a changed woman. You, Sam, and Steve are sitting at the dining room table while Bucky sits at the head of the table studying your reactions. He refuses to meet your eyes because he knows what he’s going to see in your eyes. You’re disappointed. No, you’re heartbroken. He’s leaving for another woman. He’s chosen.

He didn’t choose you.

Not like he’d know you were ever an option. You never told him how you felt about him. Now, he’s gonna live with Sharon and live out his life not knowing that he could have had a life with you. What about you? You broke things off with Tony because there wasn’t any passion. Bucky is passionate. Are you just going to coast through life with meaningless relationships while Bucky is out there living his life?

“So, as you all know, I am going to be moving in with Sharon. Is there anything any of you would like to say?”

“You’re making a huge mistake. Why can’t you see that?” you ask.

“Think of all the money I’m gonna save not covering for you,” Sam chuckles.

“We could turn his bedroom into a movie theater. You always love watching movies at full blast like we’re not right next to you,” Steve says to Sam.

“What are you guys doing? Are you seriously going to let this happen?” you gasp.

“What can we do? He clearly knows what he wants.”

“Do you?” You look at Bucky. “Do you know what you want?”

“I do.” You look away from him so he doesn’t see the film of tears in your eyes. “Listen, this isn’t easy for me.”

“It sure as hell sounds like it. This is bullshit. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this.”

You stand up and storm to your room.

“Y/N, come on,” Bucky sighs.

“This is going well,” Sam grins.

“Shut the fuck up, Sam.”

Bucky leaves the table and approaches your door. Sam and Steve are silent until they hear him go into your room.

“You know what we gotta do, right?” Sam asks.

“She won’t like it.”

“Rent’s gotta be paid, though. Want to increase your cut, or do you want someone else to live here?”

Steve sighs and pulls out his phone. “I’ll put an ad out.”

Meanwhile, you rummage through your closet for something else to wear while Bucky shuffles on either foot awkwardly.

“We gotta talk about this.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Y/N, just stop and think about this through my eyes. I know you don’t like Sharon, but I think this could work between us.”

You pause and let the tears fall freely. You don’t dare look back at Bucky because then he’d see how heartbroken you are. He’s moving on with you, all because you were too cowardly to confess.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Please leave. I just want to be alone right now.”

Bucky sighs, but he leaves without another word. You wish you didn’t fall for him. You wish you could be happy for him. All you see is him with her, loving her, when it should be you who he loves. It’s like you’ve been shipwrecked and you can’t find your way off this godforsaken island. You don’t see Bucky for the rest of day, only in the morning as he continues to pack.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and Steve put out an ad for the place yesterday, and there is already one person who is interested in taking Bucky’s room. Maybe this is for the best. The sooner someone else moves in, the sooner you can get him out of your head. You, Steve, and Sam are sitting on the couch with the new potential tenant in the small chair across from you. Bucky shuffles around the place and quietly packs, but he always looks back to watch you.

“So, Reese, tell us about yourself,” Sam says.

“Okay, well, I am a mechanic and I own my own shop not far from here. I think I’ve worked on half the cars in this city. I don’t do my jobs half-assed. I also dabble in a bit of home maintenance because I know how unreliable landlords can be. I’m thirty-five and single, and I’m a pretty quiet guy.”

“Reese, was it?” Without waiting for him to answer, you continue. “How do you feel about really loud music, because I love playing my music to the max. I also love going on feminist rants. I hope you don’t mind the rats in this place.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he passes by. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to scare you.”

“Would you mind giving us a few minutes? We’re just going to talk for a second.” Steve nudges you and Sam. “Come on.”

You three walk into the bathroom, and Sam shakes his head. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting insane.”

“Don’t give me that look, Wilson. Why are we even entertaining the idea of another person right now? Bucky isn’t even gone yet.”

“We need a way to pay the rent. Unless you want to cough up Bucky’s share.”

“I think we need to take a step back and just think about this for a second. Why are you two rushing this? Don’t tell me it’s the rent when I know one month won’t kill us.” Sam and Steve are silent. “Please, just slow down.”

Steve sees the desperation in your eyes, and he can’t help but cave. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”

Steve leaves to tell the guy that while he is a good candidate, they’ll need some time to think about it. You shrink away from Sam’s gaze.

“Do you have a thing for Bucky?”

“Drop it, Sam,” you say, and leave the bathroom.

Bucky doesn’t have a lot of things, so with the guys’ help, he’s done packing by the afternoon. The truck he rented is parked outside, and the guys help bring his things there. It’s not a lot, but it looks like they don’t need you. Not like you’d help. You don’t want to aid in his departure.

Bucky slides the door closed and locks it. “Alright, that’s the last of it. Thank you for helping me pack.”

Steve and Sam agreed to go with him to the new place so that unpacking goes as smoothly as the packing, but you’re not going. You don’t know if you can face Sharon right now. What would you say to her? You know what you’d like to say, but if you keep acting like a petulant child, you’re going to push Bucky away.

You look up just as Bucky walks to the driver’s side. “Bucky, wait.”

Steve and Sam get into the truck, giving you two a moment alone. “Yeah?”

“Look, I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want? You don’t want to, I don’t know, slow down?”

“I know what I want.” Even he doesn’t believe his words fully. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

He gets into the truck and leaves without another word. You turn and head back inside the apartment, not even shocked to see Natasha here. Steve must have called her when he saw you close to freaking out. Bucky’s room looks so big when it’s empty.

“Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why you feel like this? Why you hate the idea of him being with Sharon?”

“You know why. You’ve heard the stories. She mistreated him. She took advantage of him.”

“Come on, that’s not the reason.” She follows you into your room. “Answer me this. If it were anyone else, would you feel this way?” You don’t answer because you both know your answer. “Maybe you should tell Bucky how you feel about him.”

“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

“Look, I’m going to sleep over tonight, but I have a few showings to get to. I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Take your time.”

You’re left alone in the loft, something that is never a good idea. Now that Bucky is gone, all you can think about is his empty room and Reese. He seems like a sensible roommate, but you’re not going to stop fighting Bucky until all his things are unpacked. Not until you know he is happy with her.

On the drive, all Bucky can think about is you. Is he making a huge mistake? Did he choose the wrong woman? He doesn’t even know if you’re an option, so there’s no one to choose between. Sharon is the only one who has shown him interest, but she’s not the one with whom he has spent almost every night.

His mind is confused, blurry with images of you and Sharon. He truly doesn’t know what he wants, but if he wants to get over the idea of you, then he has to do this. Regardless, that doesn’t calm his mind. In fact, it only makes him panic more. Instead of driving straight to his new place, he keeps driving and drives onto the freeway.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks.

“I’m freaking out!”

Bucky drives straight until he can’t go straight anymore, and then he parks on some cliff that overlooks a desert valley. He gets out and walks to the edge of the cliff, just staring at the valley below. Steve and Sam watch with worried glances. Not worried because they think he’ll jump, but worried that Bucky is making a mistake he won’t be able to get out of easily.

“Look, Buck, this was a nice day trip, I’m sure, but I don’t normally drive one hundred and fifty miles out of my way for nothing. Look, let’s just get back in the car and go home,” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, we should,” Bucky whispers.

You’re about to go out of damn mind when you get a call from Sam. Natasha is back and is making herself comfortable on your bed.

“Hey, how is the new apartment looking? Does it reek of desperation and compromise?”

“I wouldn’t know. Bucky drove us to the middle of nowhere and threw the keys like a goddamn sociopath. We’re stranded.”

“What?” you ask, alarmed.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need you to come get us.”

“Fine. We’re on our way.” You hang up. “Apparently, Bucky freaked out, and they’re in the desert. Maybe he doesn’t want to live with her. I knew this was going to happen. You’re coming with me. Grab some water bottles for the guys.”

“Cool. I’ve never done it in a desert before.”

“No weird sex things with Steve.”

One hundred and fifty miles later, you pull up to the same clearing where the moving truck is, and the boys look grateful.

“Thank God. I did not want to spend a night out here,” Steve shudders.

You pass out the water bottles to the boys. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah. Look, if we leave now, we’ll get to Sharon at eight.”

“Wait, you’re still going back to her?” you ask.

“Yeah. I had a moment, but I’m good now. We’ll just come back for the truck tomorrow.”

No. If you drive back now, he’s going to live with her and ruin his life. No, he needs a night to think about what he is missing. You don’t want to do what Bucky did because you’re not an idiot, but if you pretend to throw your keys, then he’ll be forced to stay here. He’ll be forced to think about what he’s trading in for a life with Sharon.

“How are you gonna get there?” you ask.

“You’re going to drive me.”

“Kinda of hard to do that without keys.”

You run to the cliff’s edge and pull your hand back. With a slight of hand, you transferred the keys to your other hand and throw the empty fist out. Everyone is too far to not see the keys, so they all think you’ve thrown them.

“What are you doing?” Steve yells first, followed by protests from the others.

You slip the keys into your pocket before turning around. “What?”

“What do you mean, what? Why the fuck would you throw your keys?” Bucky asks.

“Sorry, my hand slipped.”

Now that the gang is forced to camp out here for the night, the back door to the moving truck is opened, and Bucky’s things are laid out to create a cozy campsite. No fire, but the few furniture items are out. One of his bed sheets is tied to the top of the truck to the top of two lamps to create a flimsy roof. Other items are scattered around to make a makeshift bedroom.

Bucky, of course, packed a cooler full of beers, so everyone is lounging around drinking beers and making lemons out of lemonade. You look through one of the boxes and grin when you see one of Bucky’s cassette tapes.

“Look what I found!” You grin and hold up the tape. “Let’s see what’s on this bad boy.”

You put the cassette tape into his battery-powered radio, and 80s music crackles to life. “Time After Time” by Cindi Lauper starts playing, and you all sway softly to the music. This goes on for hours, even with the sun already below the horizon. Just sitting back, listening to good music, and being in each other’s company. This is what Bucky is going to miss, and you’re going to make this the best last night possible if he is going to continue to see Sharon.

Madonna’s “Crazy For You” comes on, and you look at Bucky who is laughing with Sam. It’s true. You’re crazy for him, and he doesn’t even know it. Steve and Natasha are sitting together on the couch with his arm around her shoulder and a beer in the other hand.

“I’m gonna miss this. All of us just hanging out together.”

Bucky pauses when he feels the weight of his words. He can’t believe he’s been so blind.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you. You got me. I see what you guys are doing. You’re trying to force me to remember how great it is that we’re all hanging out so I won’t want to leave.”

“We’re just having fun, Bucky,” you say.

“I get it. I haven’t always made good decisions, but this isn’t that. This isn’t some mistake.”

He sets his beer down and walks off.

“Bucky, where are you going?” you ask.

“To find my keys.”

He walks off alone, and you debate whether you should follow him or not. You stay planted on the dirt and watch him disappear further into the valley. Natasha nudges Steve and gestures to you with a tip of her chin. He pats her knee, kisses her cheek, and walks over to you.

“Hey, you doing alright?”

“No. I hate this whole thing.”

“You like him, right?” You start to deny it, but Steve sees right through you. “Come on. It’s me. It’s just us. You like him, right?” This time, you nod with tears in your eyes. “Do you care about him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want him to be happy?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff out in frustration.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but when you care about someone, you do what’s best for them… even if it sucks for you.”

His words weigh heavily on your mind. All you ever want for Bucky is for him to be happy. If he’s happy with Sharon, then so be it. It’s time to stop playing.

“Thanks,” you whisper. “I’m gonna go find him.” You walk in the direction that Bucky went, and you see him using his phone’s flashlight to search for the keys. “Hey, Bucky? Come on, we’ll look for the keys in the morning.”

Bucky sighs and looks at you. “I don’t want to come back, Y/N. I want to be in my new bed in my new apartment with my new old girlfriend.”

“I get it, Bucky. I’ll help you look for the keys.”

After thirty minutes of looking, you’re no closer to finding the keys. Yes, you have yours in your pocket, but he needs those keys if he is going to get the truck out of here.

“Why did you keep driving, Bucky?”

He pauses and looks away from you. There aren’t any clouds preventing the moonlight from shining down, and his eyes have never looked so blue as they do right now.

“I’m not talking about this with you. I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“No, you don’t.” He looks at you. “You don’t know what I’m going to say.” Bucky parts his lips as he waits for you to continue. “I want you to be happy, and if that means moving in with Sharon, I think you should do it.”

“Really? You really think I should do it?”

“Yes.”

“I think you need me too much.”

“I’m gonna be fine. Do you know why?” He doesn’t answer. “Because I met you.” He briefly glances down at your lips. “That’s why I’m gonna be okay.” Bucky steps closer to you. “Come on. We’ll look for the keys in the morning.”

Right. The keys. Back to Sharon. The night is cold but you make it until morning without incident. The keys are lost, but Bucky was able to call a tow truck to come get his things. While he is on the phone, you’re off to the side with your keys in hand. This is for Bucky’s happiness.

“I found my keys!” you yell to the others and hold your keys up.

“Finally!”

The truck is packed and hooked up to the tow truck when they arrive. You drive the one hundred and fifty miles back to Bucky’s new place in silence. Everyone is tired and aching from the awkward sleeping positions. Everyone piles out of the car to give Bucky a proper goodbye. Sam and Steve are first, followed by Natasha. The last one is you, and you step closer to Bucky. Everyone is back inside the car, but the windows are rolled down so they can hear what you say.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“As long as you’re happy, right?”

Bucky barely nods. “Yeah.”

You pull Bucky in for a hug and rub his back. “Listen, make sure Sharon knows you like sleeping with the fan on full blast. I also made sure to slip in some of that lotion you like because I know the skin where it meets your metal arm is sore sometimes. Oh, and I left some coupons in a box for more of that deli meat you like, so you can have that with your eggs. Oh, and if she has one of those key hooks, make sure to use it. You’re always losing your keys.”

Bucky can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’re gone before he can say anything else. The loft feels empty without Bucky, and you sit on the couch in defeat. This is for him. It’s because he’s happy, and that’s all you ever want him to be. After a shower, Steve sits next to you.

“It’s not like you’ll never see him again.”

“It’s not the same.”

That night, you’re folding your laundry when you notice something outside your window. You push your curtains aside and gasp when you see Bucky’s moving truck parked outside. The front door closes, and you turn to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe.

“I broke it off with Sharon. It was never going to work anyway.”

You bite back a smile, but you can’t really hide it. Not like you’re trying too hard.

“Welcome home.”

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fluff #marvel angst #mcu #mcu fluff #mcu fanfiction #mcu angst #mcu fanfic #mcu fic

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rissararity · 2 days ago

Text

"From the bottom of my heart; fuck you." - John Walker x reader

Word count; 1,008

No use of y/n

Thunderbolt!Reader x John Walker

Frenemies to lovers, bickering, firm dom John, asshole John, mutual pining, size kink, undertones of Sadism/masochism, unspoken consent, heightened senses Super Soldiers. Once things progress more (few chapters in, most likely) Minor humiliation kink, Unprotected P/V sex, creampie, dirty talking John, both degradation and praise sprinkled about, touch her and die and of course, gradual realization of mutual feelings.

I usually take a month to pump something out and this took like 3 days, so it may not be my best but I had a lot of fun writing it. Its also my first attempt at writing in the second person.

---

“I'm Captain of this mission and I am giving you an order! Shut your fucking mouth!” John growled before stepping into the next room, shield first.

You tried to get Yelena or Ava to go on this mission in your stead, but both were also being sent on assignments.

Bucky and Bob weren’t options; The former because the two super soldiers would/have beat each other to a pulp if/when left alone for too long, and the latter...was Bob.

You all adore Bob but he's… not mission ready. Nor does he want to be, really.

And so here you were, in an old Hydra base looking for some kind of power source prototype with the former dollar store Cap who’d been a dick to you since the moment you met him.

An energy you didn’t take laying down.

Fortunately, the two of you had an understanding not to physically fight each other. Not everyone has super healing…you certainly don’t-not anymore.

He'd hurt you before – Bucky stepping in to save you- and he felt immensely guilty for it ever since.

Trying to be better, John has since become acutely aware that he could literally murder you with a single punch.

Not a single punch (outside of training) was acceptable.

Not gonna risk it. Never gonna kill another innocent.

…Alright well, none of The New Avengers were innocent but the principle stands.

“You aren’t captain of shit, and there’s only two of us so what makes you the leader?” your voice echoed a bit, luckily this base seemed to be long forgotten.

Dropping his shield to his side, he whirled around blue eyes ablaze. The brief look of shock and genuine fear in your own eyes reminded him of his unspoken oath.

Not a single punch.

Relaxing his fists, he shook out his shoulders and took a short but slow breath to calm himself.

“First off, from the bottom of my heart; fuck you.” He paused for effect, almost as if waiting for applause. “Second; I was Captain of my high school’s varsity football team and Captain America!”

You arched an eyebrow. “You were top meat head, and got fired from your first real job in like two seconds.” Now it was your turn to pause for effect.

You put your dominant hand on your waist and shifted your weight to one leg, popping out one round hip the way you always did when you got annoyed-tilting your head slightly as if to say seriously?!

He'd rather kiss Alexi than admit he thinks you’re smokin’ when you’re angry.

Then again, maybe he should. You’d be furious.

“Omg captain of the football team, I’m so impressed and have such a desire to submit to you, now.” Sarcasm dripped from your words as you mocked being a teenage girl.

You missed the glint in his eye when you said the words he didn’t realize he wanted to hear; have such a desire to submit to you…

Fuck that would be…

ANYWAY – he shoved the fleeting thought aside, putting his shield on his back before quickly storming toward you.

You couldn’t help but trip over your boots as you backed up just as quickly, needing a moment to collect yourself but getting none.

As much as you loved to joke that he was so tall because the length was taken from other places, it didn’t change the fact that he was 6’1 and you?

In your combat boots, you were up to his chest at best.

At best.

So when your back hit the cold steel wall, a small yelp leapt from your throat.

A tiny sound that made a cocky grin break across his features, straight white teeth on display.

You could feel the heat coming off his body even through his suit, super soldiers always ran hot – especially when they were fired up.

His beard glistened slightly in the dull glow of the old lights placed along the walls that – somehow – still had some power left.

He placed his hands on the wall on either side of the dips of your waist, not touching but close enough that if you took too deep of a breath…

Said breath caught in your throat, mask starting to crack as your heart beat out of your chest.

His cologne surrounded you, reminding you just who was under that weird cowl, hat thing.

He enraged you…but he was a good teamate, and fuck was he hot.

“With your powers gone, you’re pretty helpless aren’t you?” he stood close, looking down at you, emphasizing the size difference.

It was a weakness of yours you’d never tell.

Some of the butterflies in your stomach turned to bitterflies, your eyes hardening as you glared up at him - secretly hoping he didn’t have Bucky’s weird heightened senses.

If he did, he would smell how wet you were getting right now.

If he did, he would know about the way your clit throbbed when he gave you that slightly unnerving smile.

If he did, he’d have called you on it and since he hadn’t you internally breathed a sigh of relief – deciding his brand of the serum must have forgone that part.

You were wrong, of course, but that was John’s little secret.

He definitely knew.

He knew it happened whenever the two of you would bicker while alone and he’d start to get aggressive, try to pin you or box you in and…boom!

Slip and slide in your panties.

(Part of him wanted to talk to you about the questionable personality traits you were turned on by)

Then you would overcompensate by being even more of a bitch, continuing to rile him up and get a reaction.

And another throb.

The cycle continues.

But again, this is John’s little secret.

If you knew that he knew, it wouldn’t happen as much and he couldn’t have that.

Messing with you was too much fun.

And now, it was just the two of you.

Alone.

Until one of you called for transport.

THROB.

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Thanks for reading! Re-blogs are always appreciated 💜

#marvel fanfiction #the thunderbolts us agent #the thunderbolts #the thunderbolts fanfiction #thunderbolts john walker #john walker fanfic #john walker x reader #marvel us agent #us agent fanfic #captain america fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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marvelmaven · 2 days ago

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Broken But Brave Pt. 6

This is my first attempt at a fic, so encouragement and kind advice are welcome. Let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes/Original Fem! Character

Set in an AU where Tony DOESN'T die after End Game and Steve is actually with Bucky till the end of the line.

Summary: Bucky is going through therapy, consulting with the Avengers, but not interested in living under Stark's roof, for reasons he thought should be obvious to everyone. On his way home to his Brooklyn apartment, he bumps into his new neighbor, a petite, self-proclaimed cat lady. But he notices something about her that will have him keeping his eye out.

Trigger warning: References to Domestic Abuse (Not Bucky)

This chapter is a bit heavier, but it is base on my lived experience with the subject matter.

Part 6/?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A knock sounded on Lori’s door while she was brushing her teeth, she peered out her peephole and saw a slightly confused and worried James on the other side of it. Tonight had been a whirlwind, her neighbor was not only a gentleman, kind, and quiet, he was also an Avenger, or at least Avenger-adjacent. Lori still didn’t completely grasp the entire “consultant” thing. She opened the door, talking around the toothbrush still in her mouth, “one sec, I just need to finish brushing my teeth.” Lori dashed down to her bathroom, rinsing her mouth with water before returning to speak with him.

“Everything okay, James?” She frowned, he seemed to be trying to figure out how to say something, and then she noticed the very familiar cat carrier in his hand. Marvin’s “bougie” carrier, the one with the rhinestones and that had cost an eye-watering amount of money, too much money. The one that she couldn’t take with her when she ran from Daniel. Her face felt cold and numb, and she felt her legs wobbling where she stood.

He found her.

It took James helping her into a seat at the couch for the rushing sound to leave her ears and realize he had been talking to her.

“Where was it?” Her own voice sounded hoarse and far away, but that was the only thought that had penetrated her haze. Was it outside on the street or had Daniel been able to get in?

“I found it when I came back in from walking the guys out, it was under the mailboxes. Lori, doll, you’re pale as a ghost. What’s going on?” James was crouched in front of her and she looked wildly at the door, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw he had deadbolted her door behind him.

“I…um…” her eyes were fixed on the cat crate, her brain whirring. He’d gotten in, but he hadn’t tried to get into her apartment. Why? The reason settled over her, dread and nausea warring in her stomach. This. Daniel wanted her to be scared, he wanted her to feel like this. “He did it to prove he can get in here, to me.”

“Who’s he, doll?” James’s eyes met hers as he took one of her hands in both of his. There was worry in his eyes, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable, but I’m here, okay?”

Lori’s eyes filled with tears at his words, and she hung her head. She must seem so weak, so frail, in comparison to the supersoldier in front of her, and the first instinct he had was to care for her and offer her safety. She fought the threatening tears back with all of her strength, she didn’t want to cry in front of him.

James sat beside her and pulled her gently into his chest. Lori felt the fragile wall holding her tears back break, sobbing as James rubbed comforting circles on her back. They sat like that for a long time until she was able to pull herself together. She couldn’t meet his eyes, her face flaming in embarrassment.

“I dated a guy, Daniel. He was so nice at first, but once he had me all to himself, it became clear that it wasn’t a good relationship. He was so…” Lori wiped away the tears roughly, “He was cruel. Nothing was good enough, I wasn’t enough. I didn’t look right or act right or do anything right. So, I tried to leave. That's, um, that’s the first time he hit me. It stopped for a while, he said he was sorry, but me trying to get away had made him so upset, and so he made me promise I’d give him a second chance. But, things got worse, so I told someone I thought was a friend, and they ran straight to him, telling him everything. Then, it was just…all the time.” Lori couldn’t look at James, she could only look at her knees, tears dropping onto her leggings and hands that were fisted in her sweater. “So, I planned carefully. The people around me knew, but they didn’t offer to help, even though it was so obvious, and I was too scared to ask again. So I just waited, and planned, and tried to keep out of his way.”

She pushed her hair back off of her face, staring at the corner of the window, numbly remembering how no matter how careful she’d been, he’d found a reason. Paying attention to him, not paying attention to him, breathing too loud. “He left at the beginning of September for a work trip and I grabbed what I could and I ran. I’m so stupid, thinking that I could outrun him or hide from him or–”

“You’re not stupid, Lori.” James’s voice was soft, “you are unbelievably strong and smart and –.”

“You’re just saying that,” Lori shook her head, shame filling her belly. She still couldn’t bare to look him in the eye.

“I don’t generally say things like that, unless I mean them, doll.” James put a hand over hers, it seemed so big in comparison to hers. “But you don’t need to run and you don’t need to be scared, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“What if…what happens when he comes back?” She knew it was a matter of when, not a matter of if.

“You let me know, and I’ll take care of it.” James squeezed her hand reassuringly. She finally met his eyes. They were kind, but underneath, she could see a storm raging in them. A storm raging for her.

“I just feel like such a dummy, thinking I could try to carve something out without my past following me.” Lori shook her head, pulling her phone out of her pocket, intending to show James the emails she’d been receiving from him. There was a new one.

“I saw you with him, What did I do to deserve any of this you selfish, little girl. You’re cold, you’re mean, I would've done anything for you and this is how you repay me? I loved you, loved you, and the whole time you’ve been sleeping around. I’ll see you soon…

Lori’s hands were shaking, but she passed her phone to James so he could scroll through. After the twentieth email he put her phone face down on the coffee table, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Lori,” James’s voice was soft, “This is ...”

Lori looked at her hands again, tears falling freely. Great, she’d scared off her only real friend. James shifted and he pulled her back into this chest.

“This guy sounds unhinged. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, okay?” his voice broke slightly, “I just, I can’t keep reading that filth. Anyone who meets you can see how wrong he is about you.”

They stayed like that for a while, Lori crying, now in relief. Eventually she mumbled into his chest, “I felt alone for so long, no one cared.”

“They’re…You deserved better, they failed you, but you won’t be failed again…if you need me, I’ll be there.” James held her while she cried, a glimmer of hope after so much pain and loss.

Lori nodded into his chest, she’d forgotten the feeling of being cared for, of community and safety. With James in her corner, she felt braver. What was Daniel compared to a man like him?

#bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu fanfiction #james bucky barnes #marvel au #winter soldier

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addyb4barnes · 1 day ago

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i’m gonna need someone to hold me like that 💔🥀

I Got You.

summary: bucky moves in next door, and you both form an unlikely friendship. one day, he comes in late, and hurt, and it seems to change the way you once saw him

pairing: TFATWS!bucky x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

content: friends to lovers, drunken mistake, banter, angst, grief on both sides, both oblivious to their own feelings, yearning without knowing they are, soft touches, soft bucky

a/n: this was sm fun to write!! i love them so much i think im attached, i might write a p2...

You told him not to bail.

Reminded him, actually. Multiple times. But there you were, walking back and forth, outside the door to his apartment, occasionally ringing the bell, with a large paper bag full of ingredients.

It was your turn to bring the ingredients for dinner this time, and you had found this delicious pasta bake recipe online you were so excited to show him. Dinner together used to be a once in a blue moon thing, that turned into a weekly thing, that turned into a daily thing. Both of you use the reason of it being convenient and easy, but you secretly did enjoy Bucky’s company more than you’d like to admit. Platonically, of course.

Of course.

As it would be with any other friendship. You had to thank the Bucky from four years ago for picking the one bedroom apartment opposite yours. You remembered that day so vividly–as you did with most of the interactions you had with him. You were doing a random deep clean to distract yourself. Your friend Natasha had died recently, sacrificing herself for the greater good of the world, so they say. But you knew. You knew she didn’t need to do that.

Or maybe you were just being selfish–mad at the fact she left, mad at the fact she left you, so easily and without a second thought. It was eating you alive–from the inside, bit by bit, till you were left hollow and empty.

That’s when you heard voices, indistinct and muffled, from the outside. You immediately switched off your radio and put your broom down, trying to not make a single peep. You lived at the end of the hallway, so no one really came here unless they had to. And you might have been avoiding your rent bill for the month.

You went up to the door, tiptoeing slightly, to peek through the peephole. A tall man stood there, talking to your landlord, Michael. You couldn’t really see what he looked like, other than the short hair and sharp cheekbones that could be noticed from even a mile away.

Michael handed him his key and shook his gloved hand. They briefly spoke about the furnishing before he left, leaving the man alone in the narrow hallway. You decided to introduce yourself.

You peeked out the door, seeing if the coast was clear, immediately grabbing the attention of the man in front of you. You slipped out of the door, trying to seem nonchalant.

“‘Sup.”

The man furrowed his eyebrows, his face turning more into a scowl than it was just now. But you only seemed to notice his piercing blue eyes–sharp but soft, like he’s painfully aware of everything happening around him, even if he didn’t want to be. He looked familiar.

“I live here,” you nodded towards your room.

His eyes scanned you up and down. “I can tell.”

You felt your face fill up with heat, your head feeling like it was going to explode, as you realised what you were wearing in front of a stranger–thin sheep patterned pyjama shorts and a braless tank top. Your cool demeanor fell as quickly as it came.

“Right. Yeah, I–uh, I was cleaning, so…”

The man's lips curved up into the smallest smile. “Yeah. It looks clean. From here, I mean. Looks pretty clean.”

“Yeah. I like…clean.”

Bucky nodded in amusement. “I like clean, too.”

Could this get any worse?

You crossed your arms against your chest, trying to hide yourself as much as you could at that point. “Well it was nice meeting you, um–yeah,” you turned around to go hide yourself back in your room.

“Nice meeting you too, sweetheart!” the man called out as you slammed the door shut.

You proceeded to spend the rest of your day going back and forth between unnecessarily over cleaning your entire apartment and screaming into your pillow.

You weren’t sure why her death had hit you especially hard today–maybe it was the fact that it’s been a month since she’s been gone, or maybe it was that awkward moment with the familiar looking stranger who was now your neighbour.

Either way, you decided to take your mind off it by going down to the pub right below. You quickly showered, applied a little makeup–just so you didn’t scare anyone away with your massively dark eyebags, put on a deep red top with a frilly black skirt that reached your mid-thigh to feel a little more like yourself, and went right ahead.

It was around seven when you entered the pub, so it was a little crowded, but your eyes only noticed one thing. You felt your heart stop beating for a second. Your neighbour–the one with the pretty blue eyes–was sitting at the counter, having a drink silently with his head down, like he was deep in thought. Maybe he wouldn’t notice you if you were really quiet.

You made your way to the bar and made a conscious decision to sit at the other end of the counter. You called the bartender over, who, luckily, was a friend, and whispered your order to him. He gave you a weird look before going to make your drink.

“You’re really bad at being discreet, aren’t you?”

Your head snapped to the direction of where the voice came from. He was staring at you–you weren’t sure if he knew he was doing that, but it made you feel so bare, so vulnerable, like he could see right through you.

“Oh!” you giggled awkwardly, “I didn’t see you there, uh…”

“Bucky.”

“Bucky! Yes. of course.”

You paused, your smile fading from your lips. Bucky.

Natasha had mentioned him before. She said something about him being Steve’s friend. And that in the red room…

Oh.

He seemed to notice the dawn of realisation on your face too, because he immediately turned to look at his drink again, staring intently like it was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

At that moment, your drink was placed in front of you. But you didn’t look away from the man at the opposite end. A part of you wanted to. You wanted to run away and not look back–to push away anything with any relation to her, to just stay with the one person you could truly trust. Yourself.

But you didn’t.

You mumbled a quiet thank you, and before you knew it, your legs walked you over and placed you in the seat right next to him.

“I’m Y/N,” you stuck your hand out towards him. He stared at it–like he wasn’t sure if it were real, like you’d really want to do this, even after knowing who he was, or what he’d done.

“I know,” his voice was quiet and hesitant, just like the gloved hand that took yours in a firm but tender handshake.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “I asked Michael the second you went back into your room,” he mumbled in admission, seemingly embarrassed by it. You smirked.

“He then started to complain about you and how you weren’t paying your rent.”

Your smirk faltered.

“He acts like I don’t pay it every other month,” you roll your eyes, “At least I’m paying him with cash and not with his dick in my mouth.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, surprise written all over his face. “Who’s doing that?”

“Daisy from third floor. Ugh, she’s insufferable. And she makes sure that everyone knows that.”

“That she’s insufferable?”

“No, she doesn’t need to make sure of that,” you grumbled. “That she sucks his dick.”

And that’s when you and Bucky became friends–at least that’s what you believed. He might not admit that, though. Every time the topic comes up, he says that he isn’t sure if you’ve reached the friend stage yet. That little bitch.

A couple more drinks in, and a lot more for Bucky, and suddenly you were both talking about things you’d never talk about to anyone. But here you were, doing exactly that.

“I just miss her, you know,” you sloppily took a sip out of your drink, droplets of it escaping your mouth and dripping down your chin. “She just…left. No goodbye, no nothing. Just,” you paused, “poof. Gone.”

Bucky's eyes stayed there for a couple seconds, before his hands shakily reached up to wipe it off, the covered tips of his finger brushing the corners of your mouth. Your lips parted at that, and you didn’t know if it was the grief or the alcohol, but suddenly you had a huge urge to rip the clothes off his body right then and there.

“Yeah,” he kept his eyes still trained to your lips–glossy and wet, “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Before you knew it, you found yourselves tangled in your bedsheets, hearts filled with shame and guilt, and full of loneliness. Your bodies moulded as one, sharing the grief that clouded your systems, that consumed you, day and night.

He touched you, every part of you, with tender caresses and fervent lips, making you crumble under each graze.

You felt wanted. You felt needed. You felt.

The next morning was full of regret. The both of you pretended that that incident never happened after that, both mentally pining it to a drunken mistake. You never spoke of it ever. Ever.

Despite that, your friendship grew. You spent every second–when you both weren’t busy and working–with each other. Most of the time, you didn’t even talk, just being in each other’s company felt good enough. Whether it be doing the laundry or taxes, it was enough, just as long as you were together.

And for two loners, being with each other felt so much better than being alone.

But even so, you found yourself growing more anxious by the second, waiting for him by the door.

You had placed the bag of groceries on the floor, pulling out your phone to call Bucky for what seemed like the 50th time. You listened to the robotic voice send you to voicemail, again.

Just as you were officially going to lose your mind over this, you heard soft thudding coming up the stairs, and it came closer, the familiar scuffle of boots making you hold your breath. It sounded…uneven.

That’s when you saw him. Slightly limping, holding onto the side of his stomach, with a large red gash on his cheekbone. When his eyes met your worried ones, he grinned, which looked more like him baring his teeth at you.

You rushed up to him. “What the fuck happened to you?” you asked, panicked and angry, smacking him on the chest, to which he winced.

“A mission happened. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m fine,” he said, his words coming out slightly slurred.

“Don’t worry? Don’t worry? I’ve been waiting here for hours. Hours, Bucky. For you. And you weren’t even answering the fucking phone. I was ringing your doorbell for hours, I even used that key you gave for emergencies to check if you were there. Nothing. You weren’t there. Do you know how scared I was? That something happened to you? That I might have lost–” your voice cracked, your throat feeling tighter and sore.

Bucky went silent, his eyes softening at your unnerved state. His gloved hand reached up, before he dropped it back down to his side.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his voice heavily twinged with guilt.

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest as you turned away from him to hide your glossy eyes and trembling lips.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were getting too emotional over this. He was right there, in front of you and alive, but the thought of him not being there was plastered in the back of your mind, and it was tearing you apart.

“Fuck,” he whisperes under his breath, catching a glimpse of your eyes—misty and red-rimmed—for a split second before you looked away. Hey,” he bent down a little to meet your eyes, “I’m here.”

When you avoided his gaze, Bucky frantically tugs the glove off his right hand, dropping it as he carefully laces his bare fingers with yours–the flesh of his skin touching yours burning him on the inside, igniting a fire he tried so hard to burn out.

“See,” he says, his voice soft and reassuring as his thumb brushed the back of your hand in slow, calming circles, “I’m okay, sweetheart.”

The way he used the endearment, it wasn’t teasing or sarcastic like it usually was–slipping past his lips in a way that wasn’t calculated or formulated–it was reckless, impulsive.

It was genuine.

You let out a shaky sigh. “I know. I know. I just…” you voice was barely audible, broken and raw. You felt hot tears streaming down your face, staining your cheeks, making them redder and puffier than they already were. You felt embarrassed. Pathetic, even.

Bucky, slowly, wrapped a hand around your waist as the other cradled the back of your head, pulling you to his chest. His grip was first light, giving you the option to pull away. You didn’t.

Instead, you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers clinging onto his jacket like he was going to leave you and crumble in your arms at any given second.

“It’s okay, you know. I get it,” he whispers, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, “I got you.”

He tightens his grip on you, his bare fingers threading in your hair, “I got you,” he mumbles again, this time more for himself than you.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #thunderbolts #the falcon and the winter soldier #mcu fanfiction #fanfic #bucky barnes x fem!reader #mcu

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cricket-reader · 2 days ago

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Lilacs On Her Lips

summary: You didn't mean to fall in love with her. Truly, you never meant for it to go this far. But as the lilacs begin to overtake your lungs, one thing is clear: Natasha Romanoff will be the death of you. Because you'd rather die suffocating on something as sweet as her love than ever forget what it meant to love her.

warnings: hanahaki disease, internalised homophobia, near-death, blood, infidelity, toxic boyfriend, female reader (she/her pronouns)

word count: 3,844

A/N: prompt fill for day 4 for @juneofdoom | "It's really not that big of a deal | Denial

{Read on A03} | what i’m listening to

I love him.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

It’s easy to pretend when I’m pressed against my boyfriend’s side, his arm heavy around my shoulders—too tight, too stifling. It’s easy when he’s kissing me—too forceful, too eager; I tell myself that I don’t hate it—I just need to get used to it, that’s all. It’s easy when he lets his gaze wander, and I have to pretend I don’t notice. It’s easy when I see Natasha across the room, laughing with someone else, with her lips on someone else—just a reminder that I will never be on the receiving end of such affection.

I am happy with my boyfriend. He’s the good choice—the expected choice. The kind of man I am supposed to want—all broad-shouldered, confident and charming.

So I can ignore the knots that grow in my stomach every time his eyes turn hungry and dark, I can ignore the prickling of my skin when his hands wander too far, I can ignore the dread that suffocates me every time that we’re alone.

I love him, and he loves me.

It doesn’t matter how heavy my lungs feel when I see Natasha slip into her room with someone else—choking on jealousy as I force myself to follow my boyfriend into bed. Everything is as it should be.

The first time I cough up a petal, I stare at it for what feels like hours. Breath hitching in my throat, I run my fingers over the silken purple petal. I don’t need to be told who it is for. Deep down in my heart, I know there’s only one person who could evoke this kind of suffering. It doesn’t stop me, however, from trying to deny it. I clench my hand around the delicate object, crumpling the petal beyond repair. As if destroying the evidence could destroy the feelings taking root inside of me.

I swallow down the rising panic and tell myself it’s just a mistake.

I have a boyfriend that I love. A boyfriend who loves me.

It should be enough—it has to be enough.

Stuffing the petal deep into my pocket, I tell myself that I will get over it. I don’t love Natasha. We’re friends, and that’s all we will ever be—all we ever should be.

It seems, however, that my body doesn’t get the memo.

Soon one petal becomes two, becomes three and so on and so forth. I stuff them in my pockets, in tissues I discreetly throw away, in cloths or towels that find their way into trash bins before anyone can notice. I excuse myself when Natasha brushes against me, when her touch lingers too long, when the warmth of her presence makes my chest tighten, vines wrapping around my lungs.

I hold it down, swallow it back. Until I can’t.

The petals come in fits now—sudden, ruthless attacks that wrack my body with horrifying coughing spells. Tears burn in my eyes as I hack up another mouthful of lilacs, my body trembling violently. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep it from the team—my boyfriend doesn’t notice. He never notices anything, too wrapped up in himself to bother.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time, collapsing against the porcelain bowl as my body expels the evidence of my own denial. I’d gotten too close to Natasha, letting the redhead lean her head on my shoulder during the team’s biweekly movie night (my boyfriend had come up with a lousy excuse to miss it once again). It was almost as if I was trying to prolong my own suffering (the team always did say I lacked self-preservation instincts).

I flush the petals away. Watching them spin in the water, delicate even as they violently swirl away. I swish tap water through my mouth in an attempt to expel the sickening taste of lilacs from my tongue.

But it lingers even still.

It’s always there nowadays. Nothing I do will get rid of that sickeningly sweet taste.

No matter how much I tell myself that I don’t love Natasha—

My body knows the truth.

I love Natasha, and Natasha doesn’t love me back.

Sometimes, when we’re alone—late night hot chocolate simmering over the stove, I can convince myself that maybe Natasha does feel something for me. Maybe it’s only friendship—perhaps it's merely lust or curiosity. Whatever it is, it isn’t love; it won’t save me.

I sip the burning liquid to combat the flowers crawling up my throat. Listen absently as Natasha’s gravelly, sleepy voice lulls in the quiet of the kitchen. Let myself fantasise that this is what it would be like if I were Natasha’s lover. No more cold nights alone, wondering where my partner is. No more stilted conversations, needing to fill the empty space with nothing but noise. No more pretending I don’t feel hollow when being kissed, kisses that are more out of obligation than desire.

I shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want her, but really, when have I ever been normal? All my life, I’ve tried to fit into that cookie-cutter mould, tried to be the person that everyone wants to see—never offensive, never different, never difficult. I wonder if the plant growing inside me is the universe’s way of telling me that I had failed. Had I been doomed from the start? Destined to be a spectacle even with my last dying breath. Destined to be different—to have that imperfection rooted deep within me as proof of that.

For all that I would never fault another, I can’t help the self-hatred that clouds my mind like a grey overcast. Inexplicably, I am the only one on the receiving end of my prejudices. Shame curls around my heart in iron-hot tendrils. The thought of anyone knowing the truth sends spiders crawling up my body.

And so I hide.

I put on an artistically crafted mask, something to hide my greatest shame, and I hope that no one will see through it. I play the part of the loving girlfriend to a man I hold no feelings towards, but perhaps resentment. I hold steadfast to my facade, never wavering despite the fact that it’s killing me.

No one can know.

I wake to a cold, empty bed.

It’s no different than any other morning, yet the smell of his sweat, the burn of his lingering touches makes my stomach twist. I long for cinnamon and sandalwood, yearn for lithe fingers and red hair, wish for lazy mornings spent kissing and snuggling.

Jolting upright, I hack a mouthful of blood-stained lilacs onto my lap. I stare at the blood staining the gorgeous petals and white sheets, my heart sinking. My time is running out. Soon I’ll be nothing but a memory—the girl who died suffocating on her love. I wonder if Natasha will care.

Tears roll down my face as the loneliness sets in. For so long, I’ve been hiding. I wish someone was there to wrap me up in a hug, to tell me everything is going to be okay, even if the words are nothing but an empty platitude. Instead of cleaning up the petals, instead of soaking the sheets before the blood has time to set into the fibres, I curl up under the sheets. Tears stain the pillowcase as I wallow away in solitude. Why would anyone miss someone like me? Why would anyone care?

I awaken to a crash, my eyes sore and nose clogged. Someone says my name, but I just want to go back to sleep. I could sleep for a century, and it wouldn’t be enough. Pulling the sheets over my head, I pray that whoever it is will leave me to die in peace.

“Jesus Christ.” The voice is closer now. Groaning as the sheets are yanked down, I glare at the offender with red-rimmed eyes.

Clint stares back at me, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned. “Who is it?” He asks, raising a gentle hand to push away the hair sticking to my face.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “They obviously don’t feel the same.”

Clint makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat as I hack up full blooms, sticky blood matting them down. He runs to the en-suite bathroom and returns with a damp rag. He kneels at my side, taking my face into his hands. “Have you thought about the surgery?” Clint asks as he wipes the blood from my face.

“No surgery,” I say, heart constricting at the mere thought of losing my Natasha. Clint just sighs, resigned—as if he knew that would be my response.

“What is taking you so lo-” Natasha’s voice cuts through the silence.

Throat constricting, I cover my mouth in a last-ditch attempt to hide what can’t be hidden. Without a moment’s hesitation, the redhead is at my side, eyes alight with fury as she takes in the massacre of flowers before her.

“Who is it? Tell me who it is,” Natasha says, voice sharp. “Is it that piece of shit you call a boyfriend? I’ll kill him!”

“Stop, Nat,” I choke on my words. “I’m fine. It’s really not that big of a deal”

“Not that—Not that big of a deal?” Natasha splutters. “You’re dying! You’re dying and you didn’t say anything! You… were you ever going to tell me?”

My heart constricts in my chest as I take in the tears forming in Natasha’s eyes. The tears I put there. It’s not Natasha’s fault that she doesn’t love me, it’s not her fault that I had to grow feelings for someone so unattainable.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” I confess, tears forming in my eyes. “I didn’t want to upset anyone.”

“You idiot,” Natasha scolds, her hand brushing against my clammy forehead. “Я не могу жить без тебя.”

“You know… You still haven’t taught me Russian,” I say before coughing up another bout of lilac blooms. It was one of those things we talked about over hot chocolate late one night—one of those things we just never got around to.

Clint furrows his brows as I stifle another round of lilacs from erupting onto the sheets. His eyes dart between Natasha and me, calculating—as if he knows—no he can’t, no one can know. He raises a brow at me, a silent question hanging from his lips. I cut it off with a sharp glare.

“I think I’ll leave you two alone,” says Clint as he pushes himself up from the bed. A look passes between him and Natasha that I can’t even begin to comprehend—their bond so long-formed that their thoughts have practically become one.

Natasha’s face twists up as he leaves the room, eyes shut tight. When she opens them, Natasha fixes her eyes to the dying woman before her, two bright emeralds shining with grief. Warm hands wrap around cold hands, holding tight as if that alone would keep me weighted to this world.

“Я не могу жить без тебя.” Natasha says, voice wobbling through every syllable. It’s almost terrifying, seeing the world’s most composed, strong woman being brought to her knees. “It means: I can’t live without you.”

My heart stutters in my chest. I’m not foolish enough to believe those words hold any more weight than that of a dear friend, yet the way Natasha says it…

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, for lack of anything better to say. I’m sorry for falling in love with my best friend. Sorry for putting her through the pain of losing yet another person she cares for. Sorry for not getting over the juvenile feelings that plagued me from day one.

“Whoever it is… they are a fool,” Natasha declares, that sweet furrow settling in between her brows.

“I am the fool,” I mutter, eyes lowering to our entwined hands. “For falling for someone who deserves so much better.”

Natasha’s eyes light up with a familiar spark of fury. “Don’t say that.”

“Nat… I never deserved this person’s affection. I was fooling myself for ever believing that I had a chance. I’d only drag her down.”

Natasha freezes. “Her?”

My heart stops in my chest, cold dread seeping through my blood. The secret is out. Grimacing, I say, “Yes. Her.”

“You… you like girls?”

Mortification curls deep within my soul. “Don’t tell anyone,” I plead, eyes brimming with shameful tears.

“Why not?” Natasha questions.

“I’m not… I shouldn’t… I can’t…” I can’t even finish my sentence without a burst of lilacs erupting from my lungs. They expel onto the stained bedding, adding to the disarray of bloodied flowers scattered around me.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, just calm down,” Natasha coos, pushing back the hair in my face. More flowers follow, crawling up my trachea and tearing up my throat. Tears burn in my eyes with the force of the flowers. I gasp for breath as Natasha kisses my hand, tears streaming down her lovely face.

“Please,” Natasha sobs, cradling my hand as if it’s something precious—as if I were something precious.

“Hold me?” I choke out, as the lilacs fill my lungs to the brim. I could die happy in the arms of my love, surrounded by her warmth and comfort. If the request is nothing but a selfish wish, something that will only hasten the flowers growing inside me, I would never say.

Natasha complies, her entire body trembling with the force of her sobs. She places a kiss to my forehead, murmuring in unintelligible Russian, words broken up by the shock of emotion welling up inside her.

“I love you,” Natasha cries, holding on for dear life. “Don’t leave me, please.”

I splutter on a cough at the words, heart working overtime. “Don’t say that,” I croak, voice thoroughly destroyed by the blooms. “Don’t.”

“I know it’s not a good time,” Natasha says, her hand weaving through messy tresses. “But I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” I protest, heart ripping to shreds. Not in the way I need you to.

“Yes, I do,” Natasha insists. Mourning the heat as Natasha pulls away, I try to crawl back into those loving arms, only to be held off. I stare into those green eyes, burning with such passion. “I’ve loved you for so long, Милая—darling.”

I shake my head, thoughts spinning out of control. My world tilts on its axis as Natasha murmurs to herself: “Why couldn’t it have been me?”

“What?” I question, convinced I hadn’t heard the redhead correctly. Certainly… certainly it cannot be so…

“I know I’m being selfish,” Natasha admits, “but if it were me… if it were me, you wouldn’t be… you wouldn’t…”

“You love me?” Words whispered so quietly, as if afraid to break the illusion.

“Of course, I love you!” Natasha says it as easy as if she were stating the weather. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t live without you. You are everything to me.”

“But… those other women…”

Natasha sighs, mouth pulling into a deep frown. “They were a poor attempt at distracting myself. You were already dating someone else, and no matter how much I wanted to murder him, Clint always talked me down.”

“You love me,” I repeat, disbelief coursing through my veins. All this time…

“Yes.” She furrows her brows. “We’ve already established that. It doesn’t matter, though. Tell me who these flowers are for, please. I can… I can make them-”

“Natasha…”

“Let me help-”

“Natasha!”

“What?” Natasha shouts, chest rising rapidly.

“They’re for you.” The words hang heavy in the air, almost as suffocating as the lilac bush inside my lungs. Natasha just stares, dumbfounded. Her intelligent eyes trace over my features, then to the blooms surrounding us both, then back to my face.

“They’re for me?” Natasha breathes out, her face pinched up. “But I love you.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Natasha flinches as if physically struck, her face contorting into the most pained expression I’d ever seen. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? You were dying because of me, and you didn’t say anything! How could you be so… so… so stupid?”

I open my mouth to retaliate, but stop as soon as I feel the roots inside me tear out of their iron-tight grip on the lining of my lungs. Screaming in anguish, I clutch my chest. Natasha is at my side immediately, a warm presence in the most agonising experience of my life. Her words are drowned beneath ear-splitting cries as flowers pour from my lips. The blood-stained lilacs join my pathetic arrangement, each bloom more painful than the last until, finally, the most excruciating thing crawls up my trachea, thick and hard, scratching at my throat as it expels from my body.

I stare down at the roots of my love, now sitting in my lap. A physical manifestation of my hidden desire for that which I shouldn’t. The room is silent, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I look at the object of my desire, her eyes rimmed red, and the stains from her tears left behind on her cheeks. Even in this moment, she sparks the desire I’ve been tamping down, trying to suffocate it before it grew to this. And yet, in this moment, there is nothing more I yearn for than to kiss her—to taste those chapped lips, to feel her body pressed against mine, so warm, so soothing.

Against my better judgement, throwing all rationale to the side, I lean in. Slowly, so as to give Natasha ample time to pull away, to reject me if she so pleases. But she doesn’t. Her eyes bore into mine as she met me in the middle, tears still on the precipice of falling.

I close my eyes as our lips meet, suppressing the bodily shudder that tries to overtake me as I feel those warm lips move against mine. Never in my wildest imaginings would I have ever believed that Natasha would kiss me like this. So soft, so sensual, every bit as sweet as she is. Treating it as the most precious moment, treating me as the most important thing in her life. Every moment so tender, the care behind her lips more than I’ve ever even dared hope for in my lifetime.

Natasha pulls away first, and I open my eyes to see the wet streams of tears flowing down her face. “You taste like lilacs,” Natasha says, her eyes darting to the flowers strewn about the bed.

She sniffs once, wiping the tears from her face. “I’m still mad at you,” she says, voice still a bit unsteady from the overwhelming emotions of almost losing me.

“I’m sorry,” I say because I truly am.

“You could’ve died. You almost died because you didn’t tell me that you loved me.”

“You never said that you loved me either,” I counter, squirming at the way her eyes pin me.

“You were in a relationship,” Natasha protests.

“You were in multiple relationships.” A low blow, sure, but nonetheless true.

Natasha glares at me. “They meant nothing to me.”

“They meant something to me.”

Silence encapsulates the room.

Then, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I think we both messed up.” I sigh. “I… I’m not that comfortable with this kind of thing.”

Natasha raises a brow at me. “What do you mean?”

My face heats under her calculating eyes. “I don’t… I’m not comfortable with people knowing that I’m… that I like women.”

Natasha frowns at that, and for a second, I think that it’s over. No one would want to help pick up the shattered pieces of my self-esteem. Not even the most patient person could put up with such a thing. If I can’t love myself for who I am, who am I to expect someone else to? I couldn’t possibly ask Natasha to stay with me though I feel shame for our relationship.

“Why not?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know.” For honesty is the best policy. It’s better for her to know that I won’t be an easy fix. That this insecurity runs as deep as the dark cave I buried my truth in.

“But you still want to be in a relationship with me?” Natasha questions, voice teetering on the verge of sounding hopeful.

“Of course,” I say, “I just don’t want you to be upset that I want to keep it private.”

“I don’t care,” Natasha insists, stubborn as always.

“Maybe not at the moment, but you will.” They always do. Not that I could ever fault them when their own girlfriend doesn’t want to even hold their hand in public.

Natasha narrows her eyes at me, taking in the certainty of my statement. “Comparing me to anyone else wouldn’t be fair.”

I swallow down the urge to berate her for being so observant. “You’re telling me that you don’t care if I’m not comfortable holding your hand in public? That you don’t mind us not showing up to events as a couple? That it might take years for me to ever be ready for even the idea of telling the team? That it’ll take even longer for me to be comfortable with the idea of marriage?”

Natasha smiles at my rant, only furthering my rapidly beating heart. “I love you. I don’t care how slow we take this. I just want you.”

“That’s not…” I trail off, unable to form a single coherent thought. That’s not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to realise how much work I was—how loving me was a feat impossible to overcome.

“What about my boyfriend?” I gasp. “I kissed you while we were still-”

“He’s done more than that with others,” Natasha interrupts, voice downright murderous. “Don’t you dare feel bad about that. He’s a piece of shit.”

“He’s not that bad,” I feel obligated to say.

“I would murder him without a second’s hesitation.”

“Nat!” I scold, hitting her arm. Natasha grabs my hand, bringing it to her lips before placing a reverent kiss on it.

“I would kill anyone for you,” she smiles.

“That is the most awful thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I groan behind my laughter.

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” Natasha asks, pulling me into her arms. She brushes through my hair, the steady rhythm of her chest nearly lulling me to sleep. “Don’t ever do something like that again,” she murmurs into my hair, holding tight.

“I think it’s pretty safe to say that I won’t get Hanahaki again. Unless you stop loving me, of course,” I smirk.

“I’m serious.” She pulls away from me, a frown steady on her face. “If you even so much as a cold, I want to hear about it, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I dutifully respond.

She rolls her eyes at me. “You are something else, y’know that?”

“Hey, you’re the one that’s in love with me.”

“For better or worse,” she says, kissing me on the forehead.

Taglist: @harleycao @fxckmiup @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair

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bellestalesoffiction · 9 hours ago

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Got Milk? - Steve Rogers x mom!Reader

Summary: It's late at night and your neighbor is the only one that you know will help. He also happens to be Captain America

Warnings: fluff, mom!reader, female presenting reader, use of Y/N, named child, parental exhaust, past trauma, allusion to mental abuse/gaslighting by ex

A/N: This is unedited on my phone, 5 minute ficlet written in between answering phones at work when I should be doing my job. Also sorry if I miss any triggers, this is my first post like this in i think almost 2 years since Reassurance and Cuddles 😅 feedback appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

A frantic knock at his door had Steve jumping in his reading spot. He had been so engrossed in his newspaper that he didn't hear anyone approaching, rising from his spot the knock sounds again. He approached the door carefully, tension tightening when he picks up on the sniffling and whining of a child.

Cautiously, looking through the peephole, his body instantly relaxes entirely seeing his neighbor, Y/N, and her little boy in her arms, Alex.

"Hey, whats wrong?" He opened the door, taking in their state immediately. Y/N looked exhausted and ready to cry, tears brimming her eyes, a few betraying her already had escaped down her cheek. Little Alex, just a few weeks over a year old, curled into his mother whining and gripping at her shirt sniffling.

"I am so so sorry to bother you, Steve" Y/N started out, taking a shakey breath mid scentence, voice trembling sentence, "I-i just got off work, the sitter, Mrs. Derek's granddaughter drank the last of the whole milk with dinner and didn't say anything until I got home, a and Alex keeps waking up and won't go down, you wouldn't be able to spare a cup with the shops closed?" Y/N's voice drifted between exhausted anger and pure defeat as she looked up at him gripping her child arms shakey and tense.

Steve glanced at the digital clock in his stove. 12:43 glared back at him, he didn't realize it was that late at all.

"Of course, come in. Give me just a moment" he watched as she shyly stepped in, trying to make herself small, holding out the spill proof cup for Steve to fill, doing her best to soothe whatever was making Alex so upset.

Steve watched, his heart clenching for a moment, taking the cup and hurriedly filling it, wanting to help and make his little buddy feel better. He toke a moment to softly coax Alex, finger brushing softly against his cheek, standing behind Y/N so the little boy could see him clearly. Gently, Steve watched as the little guy lifted his head from hiding and offered him the cup, "hey buddy, need a drink?"

Alex whined lip trembling, wet spots on his mother's work vest from his tears, moved to grab his cup hugging it to his tiny body while rubbing at his face watching Steve as his little body slowly started to calm down, recognizing his 2 favorite people. Y/N let out a small breath of relief as her son's whimpers died down and he started to drink and soothe himself. Her shoulders sagged, arms shifting to continue holding up her son's growing weight.

"Here, why don't I take him for a moment and we can sit on the couch and get you off your feet?" Steve offered softly, keeping his voice low and calm. He had Y/N and Alex over plenty of times before, dinner, neighborly chats and even watched him for a bit when a sitter quit last minute and she had to run into work due to demanding shift managers threatening her job. Y/N looked up at him, tearing up again slightly, face flushed, and nods slowly, turning towards his living room still hugging Alex close, who was much calmer now and drinking the cool milk in his cup to soothe him.

Steve followed, hand resting on the small of her back in a guiding manner, concerned for both of them, having known them long enough that whatever had happened recently was enough to startle them both and it was more than just lack of sleep and milk.

Once seated on the couch, Steve grabbed a blanket and set it over Y/N's lap gently, moving to sit himself, holding out his hands for Alex, smiling softly. Alex, hugging his cup in one arm, reached out to Steve as well, babbling and cooing softly, sniffling slightly.

Y/N hesitated, but handed her baby boy over trying not to let the butterflies in her stomach come out to play seeing this man, their neighbor, be so soft and caring with her little boy. If only his father was that way, she thought, but no, she had to fall for the tricks of a man less than kind.

Alex's father had been a very handsome man, one that once made her feel secure and protected, but also talked down to her and made her feel like she needed to earn his love. He had slowly changed her view of her world, isolated from all her friends, family and those that had told her there was something off with him, waving those comments off stating they were jealous or couldnt see how he loved her. He had convinced her to move in with him, before suddenly getting a great opportunity in his carreer stating they had no choice but to move to Washington DC. A month later, with no support system, she had showed him a positive pregnancy test and he chose to blame her and leave her for his young secretary who wasn't trying to 'trap' him or force him to be what he wasnt, when he had been the one to for go protection.

This story Steve had heard few couple times when he had offered assistance. Y/N's story was always one that made his blood boil.

Steve had noticed how amazing Y/N is the more he got to know her. Living next door for the last 6 months, watching her struggle as her baby turned into a toddler, little Alex growing from 6 months old to a whole year. When Alex's birthday came around, Steve was sure to drop off a little cupcake and a gift, having felt bad that they had no one else to rely on. Y/Ns family had never responded when she tried to reach back out and same with friends. She had co-workers, sure, but Steve was pretty sure in the way she tried to hide in on herself most days, he was her only friend.

He wanted to be so much more to her and to Alex, and it seemed like Alex wanted that too with the way he settled right into Steve's elbow, drinking from his cup and his eyes drooping shut slowly, finally feeling calm enough to sleep.

Y/N watched Steve and Alex quietly, wiping away tears from another rough shift between the corner shop she worked at during the day to pay rent and the grocery stocking she worked in the evenings to buy food and keep Alex fed. She had gotten it from both managers for being half asleep durring her shifts, neither knowing that she had stayed up 2 nights in a row with teething pains and nightmares after Alex's father had shown up, drunk. He had been beating on her door, screaming at them making Alex cry in fear. She hadn't told Steve it had happened because she was scared to involve him in her toxic ex and his hot and cold attitude with their son. Scared that Steve would eventually see them in the same light, something not worth fighting for.

A sad soft tired smile graced her lips seeing Alex fully resting against the man that was there for them and that had helped so much more than their blood. A man that had been there and celebrated his 1st birthday with them, that had taken photos with and of them for a scrap book. A man that Y/N had a secret crush on, but would never admit because why ruin a good thing with messy relationship stuff when there was no one else around, especially because she thought she wasn't worth the trouble.

Little did she know, the super solider sitting across the sofa from her was thinking the exact opposite. Thinking they were exactly what he wanted to come home to, wondering how exactly to ask her over for dinner to discuss them and wanting to be apart of their family. Steve decided, that night in his apartment, baby asleep on his chest, hand reaching out towards Y/N, they were worth every battle.

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #5 minuite ficlet #captain america #catws #fanfic #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x mom!reader #captain america the winter soldier #pre!CAtWS

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lolab4t · 26 days ago

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off duty - fluff

18 + part two

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x fem!avenger!younger!reader summary: after a rare night off, you stumble back into avengers tower at 2 am.. tipsy, feet hurting, and definitely not expecting to run into bucky barnes on the couch. word count: 5.8k warning(s): light cursing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, fluff, use of nicknames, humor, age gap, mild suggestive language, reader is a young adult avenger, reader is described as wanting to party a/n: here's my first fic! it's a throwback to the avengers before the infinity war. i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please like, comment, or reblog! <3

cherry - lana del rey

being a young adult and an avenger at the same time wasn't easy. you wanted to be like others your age... party, stay out late, maybe dance with a random guy you found mildly attractive under the dim nightclub lighting, then bolt when you actually saw his face in the light. hell, you would settle for just shopping or grabbing lunch with your friends, however mundane that sounded.

but, as a full-time avenger, you weren't privy to this lifestyle. the main issue was your schedule. being an avenger isn't exactly a 9–5 job... it's more 24/7. you're meant to always be ready to jump into a mission when needed. with your time mainly consisting of training, meetings, and missions, you didn't exactly have free time.

this didn't stop your friends from pushing, though, and they eventually got through. so, after a few long conversations of begging stark, here you are, stumbling into the elevator of the avengers tower at like 2 in the morning, ever so slightly intoxicated. who can blame you? it was your first night off in a while; of course you took advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and got shitfaced. you might regret it during training later that day, but for now, all that mattered was that you had fun with your friends.

you did regret wearing heels, though. you wanted to trade in your boots for something more fun tonight, but god, did your feet hurt. you were also dying to get out of your minidress. considering your wardrobe now reflects your job and only consists of suits and very little casual clothes, you had to borrow this dress from your friend. you were beginning to remember why you never liked to wear dresses even before joining the avengers.

the elevator dinged, and the door opened to the top floor, the avengers' quarters. you dragged yourself out, hair messy, dress slightly hiked up, and feet already blistering. your makeup made it clear you had been sweating on a dancefloor not long ago. you headed to your room when a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"where ya been?"

you turned to the source, shocked to see bucky barnes sitting on the sofa. he was laid back, one arm draped lazily on the backrest, and the other on his knee. he was almost smirking, likely having a good idea of your whereabouts based on your appearance.

you and the winter soldier weren't exactly close. he was a very quiet and reserved guy, usually a man of few words. your interactions mainly consisted of short conversation and sometimes catching him staring at you on the quinjet or in meetings. you never really thought much of it.

but his tone... his expression right now was different. it was weird, but a good weird.

"why're you awake?" you huffed, walking toward the couch.

"couldn't sleep," he stated simply, scanning your form with that smug look on his face. "you have a fun night?" he chuckled to himself a bit.

"yeah, i went out with some friends," you replied, sitting on the couch. you began fiddling with your heels, wanting to go ahead and relieve yourself of the pain. however, the alcohol was messing with your coordination, and you were struggling rather pathetically.

noticing the pout forming on your lips and the clear trouble you were having, bucky snickered, speaking in his gruff voice, "need some help?"

you looked up at him and nodded, still pouting. without a word, he moved a bit closer to you and curled his fingers around your ankles, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he rested them across his lap. you were reclining into the corner of the sofa now, watching him in shock. he hummed as his fingers slipped through the straps of the heels, sliding them off your feet gently. he set them down carefully, his free hand absentmindedly rubbing your calves.

"i've never seen you in anything but your boots," he grinned, turning his head toward you. "so, how much did you drink?" his grin turned into a knowing smirk.

you scoffed, pulling your legs away, drawing your knees to your chest. the short dress wasn’t doing you any favors, and you were probably flashing him, but bucky never looked. he was a gentleman... at least in the ways that mattered. you groaned, rubbing your face sleepily. no point in pretending.

"too much," you muttered.

"yeah, i can tell. you practically stumbled out of the elevator," he chuckled, eyes following your every move.

you let out a half-laugh, sheepish. your head dropped to rest on your knee as you sighed.

"kill me."

"not tonight, doll. i’m off duty."

your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raising. "did you just call me ‘doll’?" you snickered at the old-fashioned nickname, trying to hide how much it made your heart beat faster.

he smirked, leaning back again with that maddening ease. "i dunno. you kinda look like one."

was he flirting? surely not. he probably saw you as some annoying kid.

"alright, old man. what do you call natasha then? sugar? darling?" you smiled lazily, thinking of more old-timey terms of endearment.

"hell no. she’d break my jaw," he grinned.

"and you think i won’t break your jaw?" you smirked, raising a brow.

bucky scoffed out a laugh. "oh, i'm sure you can, but i don't think you would."

"if i wasn't tipsy, i might've. you're getting off easy this time, grandpa," you giggled, starting to slur your words. your eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and you found your head resting on your knee again.

bucky laughed at your slurred speech, not sure if it was the alcohol or just exhaustion. "you okay, doll?"

"mhm," you hummed, obviously dozing off.

"alright, i guess i'll babysit the lightweight," he joked, his grin never faltering.

you eventually drifted off, and so did bucky not long after. you both slept better than you had in a while. that was, until you awoke to the stunned faces of the other avengers. they definitely weren't expecting to find you in bucky's arms on the sofa. hell, you weren't expecting it either.

thanks so much for reading <3

18+ part two

3K notes · View notes

kylopen · 3 months ago

Text

In My Head

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.

Word count: 8.2k words <3

Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece I’ve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 I’m in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)

Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.

Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of ‘Good boy’, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receiving— THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.

There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.

You’d always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

-END-

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takenbypeter · 1 day ago

Text

Meeting the team

Bob Reynolds x reader

Words: 849

You were fine. Everything was fine. Is what you told yourself as you stared at the elevator numbers that were increasing as you ascended higher and higher.

You watched as the number three displayed, then the number four. Then five.

Letting out a puff of air, your arms lay at your sides nervously playing with the hem of your dark blue shirt.

You had been planning the whole week for this day. The day to meet Bob’s teammates, and you were feeling fine before. But now as you made your way up, you could feel your stomach flipping with each floor you passed.

Finally unable to take it you turned to Bob who stood beside you seemingly unaware of your current despair, “is there a bathroom I can go to before I see them?”

Bob turned to you and nodded before reaching out and hitting the next floor up. You let out another sigh, your heart relaxing at the moment you successfully stalled.

The elevator doors opened to an unoccupied room and Bob led the way, guiding you to the bathroom.

Thanking him you entered and out he stood waiting by the door.

He waited...and waited…and waited. If anyone saw him standing there they would think he was guarding the place with how he stood, his arms crossed as he waited.

The whole time he could hear the sink water running and honestly as time ebbed away Bob grew more and more concerned, until eventually he decided it would be best to check up on you and knock, “everything okay in there?”

Through the door he could hear some mumbling before he heard your voice, “yeah fine! Everything’s fine.”

While Bob may have been oblivious to your feelings before he was now aware of how familiar that statement sounded.

You stood across from the sink mirror just staring at yourself as you let the water run. In the reflection you watched as the door opened and Bob poked his head in, “are you sure?”

“Bob! Get out of here, this is the women’s restroom!”

“Who cares,” he entered completely, making his way to you and standing beside you across from the mirror. In the reflection he met your eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You frowned, your face finally matching how you felt. “I don’t know, I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

His expression shifted, “…okay.”

“I felt fine before but I guess now that I’m here I’m freaking out.”

In the mirror you watch as he holds his hand closest to you out in front of him and you take it, once you do he spins you to him and takes the other hand too, to make your only focus on him, “breathe with me.” He said and he took a deep breath in and then out.

You followed and after a few breaths you admit it, you did feel better, but you were still on edge.

“Why are you freaking out?”

You let a final breath out, “because they’re cool and they’ve got powers. And I want them to think I’m cool—“ your eyes wandered with each reason as you spread your arms out for the next sentence despite your hands still being connected to his, “I even bought this new outfit but now I’m thinking maybe the shirt was a giant mistake.”

He shook his head and you met his eyes again, “and they’re your friends. I want them to like me.”

“Relax. They’re going to like you. Cause I like you.” He swung your hands back and forth, “They may be a bit protective of me in a way but in their own weird way they just want me to be happy and YOU make me happy.”

What was once a worried expression was long gone and was now replaced by a nervous smile.

“I know. I'm just inside my own head—Ugh! I just hate this feeling though. It makes me feel like I can’t do it. But I want to do it.”

Bob squeezed your hands, waiting for you to come to your own decision because while he of course wanted you to meet them, he wasn’t about to force you to do something you didn’t feel you could do.

After a few debating moments with yourself you nodded, “it’ll be fine. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Everything IS going to be okay,” he copied right after you, “you can do this.”

And with a final nod and squeeze of his hand you agree, “okay let’s go, before I chicken out again.”

And off you were following Bob as he led the way back to the elevator. You got inside, surprised to see it empty again and once in the doors shut.

Ding. Ding.

You breathed slowly as you watched the numbers increase again, this time with Bob never letting go of your hand.

And finally the dings came to a stop and the door swept open. Bob stepped out and you followed closely suddenly aware of the other five figures in the room.

“Guys I want to introduce you to someone.”

#marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #thunderbolts fanfiction #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts imagine #thunderbolts fanfic #bob reynolds fanfiction #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds fanfic #bob reynolds x reader #the new avengers x reader #new avengers x reader

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sacredsorceress · 30 days ago

Text

the fling / bob reynolds

pairing: bob reynolds x f!avengers!reader summary: bob finds out that you had a one night stand with bucky a few years earlier and feelings bubble to the surface. a/n: heavy on the dialogue since i'm still trying to learn how to write for these characters I'm sorry. for the people who went to thunderbolts for bucky and walked out with a crush on bob- I hope this is okay!! first time writing in a bit word count: 4.3k warnings: no smut, but there are mentions of sexual content so minors please dni!!, former one night stand with bucky (y/n living the dream life fr), john walker!! jumpscare!! (kidding, but he is in it), feelings of worthlessness- anything that would have been in thunderbolts*, drug mention

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Just one more time?" You asked. "Please? For me?"

Maybe you batted your eyelashes on purpose- your smile soft and warm, as you brushed your baby hairs from your face. Maybe it was on accident. Even you had been unable to differentiate between the blurred lines of how you instinctively reacted to his presence versus when you consciously tried to impress him.

You had been in the training room for an hour and although the ceiling fan whirred incessantly above the both of you and the fluorescent lighting had begun to give you a headache, you weren't ready to quit.

A glass of water stood on the far side of the room, among a few small puddles that had spilt as Bob had tried (and failed) to successfully raise it in the air telekinetically. A month earlier you had offered to help train Bob; with abilities the most similar to his out of anyone in the group, it felt like a natural step.

But as days turned to weeks, you needed a win just as much as him.

"Try to feel the energy running through you." You said, laying your hand against his shoulder. "I can feel it radiating off of you. You have to remind yourself that you're the one in control, Bob."

Bob's skin rose underneath his sweater- tiny goosebumps scattered across the expanse of his body. A shiver ran down his spine at the spark of your touch. As your hand trailed from his shoulder down his arm, his heart raced.

"It's all you." You whispered. "Now concentrate. Focus on the energy coursing through you. From your fingertips, up your arms," your fingers tracing up his arm as you spoke until they reached for his chest. "...to your heart..."

When Bob could feel your fingertips ghosting over his chest, pressing through the sweater that hung loosely on his frame, his breath hitched. His brain- a jumble of emotions that had far less to do with whatever god-like power was flowing through his veins and more to do with the brain of a man fogged by the woman he loved- lost focus on the task at hand.

His eyes screwed shut as the glass shattered in midair.

"Nice going, Bobby." Walker called, learning against the door frame.

Suddenly aware of how close you had become, you swiftly pulled away from Bob.

You scoffed.

"Don't be an ass, John."

The tension in the room was palpable as the three of you stood in silence. Only the mechanic whir of the fan click, click, clicking as it rattled on the ceiling kept you from hearing each other's breaths.

Glancing between John and Bob, you rolled your eyes and scooped your things up off the floor.

"Good work today, Bob." You said turning back with one last smile as you headed for the door. "See you at dinner."

Bob raised his hand to say something back, but before he could, you had scurried out of the room leaving him with Walker. Wonderful.

As if the room had been vacuum sealed and released, it was as though the liveliness of the room had been sucked out with your departure.

John gestured to the door.

"So you two are getting close, huh?" He asked, striding into the room with a beer bottle in his hand.

Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks- was it that obvious?

"Oh uh... I guess." Bob smiled politely, shoving his hands in his pockets.

John's feet dragged against the floor as he walked, the sound of rubber against concrete like nails on a chalkboard in Bob's ears. Walker's gaze travelled across the room as if he was seeing it for the first time and hadn't trained in it himself daily, until his focus landed on the water spill from moments earlier. He kicked a stray piece of glass with his foot.

The super soldier cleared his throat.

"You know, man-to-man, Bobby: I'd be careful with her if I was you." Walker chuckled dryly. "Y'know, after what happened with Bucky."

Just as quickly as it had raced by your touch, his heart now stopped.

Everything that had been bothering him previously- the mechanic clicking of the fan, the bright white lights that reminded him a bit too much of a ward, the crisp tag that scratched the back of his neck, the way John spoke with drops of beer still hanging on his lips- it was endless, really- had faded into the background.

What did Bucky have to do with you?

He fidgeted with his hands, digging into the nail beds that were still dried with blood.

"What uh.." A nervous laugh escaped his throat. "What happened with Bucky?"

"Hooked up." Walker said, bringing the bottle to his lips. "Yeah.. it was like, a while ago back in my Captain America days." He raised his eyebrows. A pause. "She didn't tell you?"

As much as Bob had a difficult time lifting a glass, his heart had no problem dropping into his stomach.

One thing that Bob had always been cursed with from a young age was a hyper-active imagination that rarely ever served his own benefit. Now, it plagued him with the idea of you and Bucky together. Blurry images of you falling into bed together- your laugh in his ear. His lips on yours. His hands running up and down the length of your body...

He could be sick.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

They all had their flaws but Bucky had been forced into a life of heinous acts and had still managed to come out on top. Captain America's best friend. A hero against Thanos. Fuck, he was even a congressman... meanwhile you had been there to witness the vivid memory of Bob high out of his mind working as a sign flipper first hand. He didn't even work for his abilities, he received them on the hunt for another high.

What was he thinking?

Bob's eyes fell to his hands as they fiddled in his lap and he shook his head.

"No uh, no..." He coughed, attempting to mask the tremble in his voice. "She never um.. mentioned it."

"Huh."

"What?"

John took another swig from his bottle.

"Nothing, nothing..." Walker said with a shrug. "I just figured you guys were close. Always hanging out n' all."

And by all means you were.

There was no coffee run complete without Bob's vanilla milkshake, or a night where you fell asleep on the couch without him by your side. He tasted everything you made before it managed to find its way into the oven. He came with you to every bookstore and supermarket run under the guise of 'wanting to feel useful', while really just wanting to observe you in mundanity outside the tower and carry the bags for you effortlessly home.

Him and Yelena were close, but you and him were partners.

Bob had understood that his more-than-friendly feelings for you would likely have been in vain, but he had never considered that yours were already taken by another.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Bob tugged at his hair and scratched the scruff that had begun to grow on his jaw.

"Yeah..." He shrugged. "I mean.."

John sized Bob up, trying to estimate how he was feeling. He was a difficult one to read- chronically calm in the face of adversity as if it was the life he was assigned to live. Staring at the polite smile that Walker could've sworn was glued to Bob's face, he accepted that he wouldn't know.

"Well, anyway," John said. "Time for dinner, right?"

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Can I ask you a question?"

It was a simple question. One that you didn't think would have much bearing. Afterall, the two of you were finally organizing your bookshelf- the final step in making Avengers Tower your home. You figured that it would be about where to place a book or how you liked it.

You would have never anticipated where the conversation was heading.

You absentmindedly flipped through the pages of one of your paperbacks before slipping it onto the shelf.

"You can ask me anything, Bob." You replied. "I'm an open book."

Bob watched where you were knelt on the floor below. The sun peeking in through the window behind him had cast a golden glow on your face, highlighting the crinkles that formed as you focused on the task at hand.

Did he want to know if you were Bucky's? Now, with the two of you alone in your room, doing a mundane task like organizing your bookshelf he could convince himself that this was his life. That you were his.

The truth could shatter that illusion.

What was he thinking? Of course he wanted to know.

The sound of his sock feet shuffling on the floor pulled your focus from the shelf to his flushed face.

"Is everything okay, Bob?"

You pulled your hand from the pile and laid it gently against Bob's clothed leg.

Bob cleared his throat.

"Are you and Bucky.. are you... did you-" Bob tugged at his hair. "Fuck, uh.. this is awkward. Were you two ever...?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you listened and you swear you felt your blood pressure spike.

How did he know?

Bob was the last person on Earth you wanted knowing about your sex history- especially with someone so close to the two of you. His spluttering only dragged the moment on and you needed a mercy kill.

"Are you asking if Buck and I were a thing?"

Buck. Bob's mind raced. She's the only one in the tower he lets call him that. How did I not notice?

You watched him physically deflate once you posed the question for him- whether that was out of defeat or relief at the awkwardness being stripped from his own hands and shoved into your own, you weren't sure.

Your eyes trailed to the books in front of you.

"I guess, once." You replied trying to even the thumping in your chest. You were never sure of the extent of Bob's powers and if super-hearing had slipped its way into his skillset. "It was a one time thing. I think we just got lost in the heat of it all and when we were done with our mission, we got busy with our own things and it just... fizzled, you know? We're just friends now, Bob."

Without realizing it, your hands had clasped together, circling around one another nervously as you spoke. Noting your demeanor, you picked up another book from the pile.

"Walker just made it seem like-" Bob started.

Of fucking course it was Walker.

You shoved a hardcover into a free space on the shelf with a thud.

"Well Walker's an asshole." You stated flatly, loosing the composure that had been held together by the wringing of your hands. "There's nothing there, Bob. I mean, Buck is a good friend, but he's not the type of guy who'll grab coffee with you, or read your book recommendations, or-" You stopped yourself short, realizing the relationship you were describing was your own. "He's just.. he's not the guy for me."

A silence hung in the air for a brief moment until you could no longer take it.

"I'll be right back."

Before Bob had the chance to argue, you were on your feet, slipping through the door, and rushing down the hallway.

You welcomed yourself inside Yelena's room and shut the door behind you.

"I could kill John!"

Yelena, who had been sat on her bed reading, threw her book to the side.

"Uh, hello?" Yelena said pulling out an earbud. "Have you heard of knocking?"

Waving away her argument, you paced the length of her room.

"Walker told Bob that I had sex with Bucky."

Yelena had become well acquainted with John Walker's slights in the time since meeting him- he enjoyed getting under someone's skin like no other- a natural instigator- though, the team had become immune to it. But watching you now, burning a whole in the carpet with your pacing, Yelena realized she had never seen you so frantic.

"Well?" She asked. "Did you?"

You gave her a pointed look and sighed. That's all she needed to know.

Her jaw dropped.

"When was this!" She shouted, waving her arm in the air.

"Three years ago!" You yelled back. "But that's not the point- the point is that Walker told Bob!"

Yelena, quickly digesting the grenade of a revelation you just threw at her, shrugged.

"Well you just told me," she said. "Who cares if Bob knows?"

"I care!" You said flopping onto the bed. "It's different."

The blonde furrowed her brows.

"Why is it different?"

Staring up at her ceiling, you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Because you're a girl."

Yelena tapped her finger against her chin: "Well Walker knew and you did not care until he told Bob."

"That's because he was there, Yel." You argued. "I wouldn't want Alexei to know either."

A dry laugh escaped her lips.

"That is different." Yelena said. "Alexei would tell the whole world that you had sex with Barnes and the news would call you the Avengers' whore."

You reached for one of her pillows and threw it at her.

"Oh my god, Yelena!"

You hid your face in your palms.

"Not that I am calling you a whore!" She defended herself. "I am just saying-"

"Yelena." You said, face still hidden behind your hands. "Focus."

"I just do not understand why you care if Bob knows!" Yelena said with an exasperated sigh, running her hand in circles on your back. "You two are very close. He won't judge you. I mean, he is very awkward, but I am sure he's had sex before. It won't affect your-"

As if a cartoon lightbulb had appeared above her head, the thought finally came to her. Yelena ceased the motion with her hands.

"Wait." She said, pulling herself away from your touch. "Do you like him?"

You rolled your eyes.

"What are we?" You said, deflecting. "Kindergarteners?"

"Aha!" Yelena said, hopping off the bed. "I knew it!"

Somehow telling another person only made your feelings more real, tangible. Before you could deny that they had ever existed, but now that it was out in the open, you were vulnerable not only to your feelings but Bob's too. You could feel your face burning from the confession and groaned.

"You like Bob!" She said with a pout, as if it were the most wholesome idea in the world. "That is so cute. Why do you not you tell him?"

She asked it as if it were simple. As if the only thing that stood between you and what you wanted was a sentence. And that if things didn't go the way you hoped, that your desires would blow away like dust in the wind.

If anything, the revived information that you had a history with Bucky only further pushed down your inclination to confess your feelings to Bob. If three years had passed since a mutual one night stand and that was still haunting you, how would an unrequited love with your roommate be?

You weren't sure you could take it.

"You're joking, right?" You wrapped your arms around your legs and tucked your knee under your chin. "He's literally 'the golden god'. I mean Bob's just... he's so attractive and fit and nice... there's just no way he would feel the same and then it would make everything so awkward."

Yelena quirked her eyebrow at you.

"I am confused." She said. "Are we talking about the same Bob?"

You gave her a sad smile and swat at her arm.

"Yelena. I'm serious." Your argued. "Just think about it."

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth, tut, tut, tuting you as she brushed her hand against your forehead.

"Y/n, before you started training with Bob, he could throw us all across the room without even thinking about it." Yelena said, stroking your hair. "Now, he can't even pick up a glass of water. Do you know why that is?"

You hadn't considered it.

"Do I make him uncomfortable?" You asked.

"No! I mean, yes, but it's not like that." She said, pulling away. "You make him so nervous that he cannot think straight. We all know that he's in love with you, we just did not think you felt the same."

You pulled yourself up onto your elbow to get a better look at Yelena, the sheets crinkling under your touch. In your chest, you swore you could feel your heart thumping against its cage.

Bob liked you? You?

As if you were a kid again you felt an adrenaline rush through your veins, begging you to hop off the bed, skip around the room and run into the arms of the man you loved.

But you were an adult who lived with both a man from your past and one who would, hopefully, be your future. Care and precision was needed.

"Really?" You asked, pressing your hand to your chest to steady your breathing. "Don't mess with me, Yelena."

Yelena laughed.

"Oh yes. He is very obvious." Yelena shook her head. "Always making the googly eyes at you when you talk and asking where you are... it's gross."

Without thinking, you closed the space between you and Yelena by gripping her hand.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." She assured you, squeezing your fingers, "And you should tell him. Now that he knows about Bucky it is going to mess with his head. It is better to tell him soon."

Suddenly, you thought of Bob's feelings. The way he must have felt learning about Bucky.. if you were in his shoes and he had been with a member of your group, you think you would be sick.

As much as you wanted him- to hold him, to tell him you love him and hear it back, to be able to call him yours- it wasn't your feelings that drove you, but Bob's.

Yelena could be wrong, but she could also be right. You couldn't risk the latter by fear of the former.

You'd tell him tonight.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

After your conversation with Yelena, you had headed back to your room only to find it abandoned by Bob. The afternoon had dragged on in agony, avoiding Bob like the plague until dinner. Even once the dishes had been served, wine was poured, and you had relaxed into your seat beside him, it had taken you all dinner to get up the nerve to speak to him again.

Afterall, what if Yelena's intuition was wrong?

"Can we talk after dinner?" You asked.

You turned your head towards Bob and whispered, careful that the other members of the table wouldn't hear. Bob, who had been half-heartedly been picking fries off of his plate the entire dinner, bit his tongue at the sound of your voice.

"Ow- what? Y-yeah," He said with a polite smile. "We can talk."

You smiled.

"Perfect." You smiled. "It's a date."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Your footsteps were the first thing he heard.

They were soft, hesitant. As if you had to convince yourself to take another step. You had wrapped your sweater tight around yourself to brace the chill that came with being so high above the ground and all Bob could think was he would warm you up if you let him.

But he'd never say that.

Instead, he braced himself against the railing and greeted you with a wordless smile.

"Hey."

"Hi."

You glanced down at your shoes then back to his face.

Just do it.

"I'm sorry that you had to find out about Bucky and I from Walker." You glanced between Bob and the traffic lights on the street below. His stare, so filled with kindness and care, made your breath catch in your throat. "But it's only because it's one hundred percent in the past. And I... was afraid that you'd look at me differently because of it if you knew."

Bob, usually the victim of low self-confidence, hated the look on you. Not because it made you look weak or worthless, no- but that he wished he could take whatever weight it carried in your body and absorb it into his own. Valentina may have called him the golden god, but you were the shining light that kept him him.

"Why?" He asked. "I could never judge you."

Your eyes locked with his and for a brief moment it was like the rest of the world fell away. You studied the blue in his eyes and the way gold specs floated around in them- as if the power within him was always just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. You took it in. If this all went south, at least you could remember him like that.

"Fuck." You laughed, taking a sudden interest in your shoes. "This sounds so childish, but I really don't know how else to say it..." Wrapping your arms tighter around you to brace the wind, you looked up at him and smiled. "I like you, Bob. Like more than... more than I probably should."

A shiver visibly rattled your body as another gust of wind hit. Rather than suggest that you go inside, Bob laid his hands against your arms, warming them.

"What do you... what do you mean by that?" He asked.

"C'mon, Bob." You sighed, shielding your face in your palms and burying your face into his chest. "You know what I mean. I just look at you and don't even know what to do with myself anymore; and I know I'm supposed to be your friend, but I can't keep pretending that I'm not having a heart attack every time you look at me like that."

A deep sigh shook your frame.

"Anyway just tell me you don't feel the same and I'll forget it." You said, "and we can pretend this never happened."

He could feel his heart shatter in his chest.

He knew the tremble in your voice well. The tone. The complete lack of confidence. It was unfamiliar coming from your lips but he had heard it come from his own every time he opened his mouth. To hear it come from you was not just unfathomable, but heart breaking.

How you could think that way about yourself in comparison to him... he couldn't believe it.

"Don't... don't say that." He said no more than above a whisper. "You're like, just perfect to me."

Bob stepped back, leaving space to get a better look at you. Running his hands up your arms, he reached your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, gently as if one wrong move would make his earth shatter, and guided your face up to meet his gaze.

"Look, I'm uh.. I'm not good at this whole... relationship thing..." Bob said, eyes darting from your face to your hair, to the space behind you as the glimmer in your eyes made him nervous. "But I- I feel the same... About you."

He laughed. The same sweet, nervous laugh that followed you into your dreams and gave you a reason to come home; and you felt your heart swell at the familiar smile painted on his face- this time for you.

"Really?"

Your fingers clung to the fabric of his sweater as if you feared that if you let go, it would turn out to just a figment of your imagination.

"Yeah."

Tendrils hung in his eyes as he leaned further, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin and and breath fanning your face. When your noses touched, ever so slightly brushing at the tips, you placed your finger against his lips.

Confusion and hurt painted his features until you gestured behind him.

"We have company." You whispered.

Framed by the warm light of the tower behind them, five all-too-familiar figures watched from the doorway.

"Should we be worried about the two most powerful people on the planet being in love?" Ava asked, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

"I'm more worried about the mental stability of their future kids." John deadpanned.

"No!" Alexei argued, slapping his hands against Ava and Walker's backs. "What are you saying? They will make strong babies!" He raised his fist in the air: "And they will be the pride of the New Avengerz!"

"Alexei!" Yelena groaned. "Stop making it weird."

As if Yelena had physically stung him with her words, Alexei's hands flew to his own chest.

"I do not make it weird." He argued. "I am being supportive. How is that weird?"

"They have not even kissed and you are talking about super babies!" Yelena shouted. "You are lucky they cannot hear you."

You called back.

"Oh no, we can hear you!"

Bob pointed to his ears and mouthed: "Super hearing."

Still cradled in Bob's arms, your eyes met Bucky's from across the landing pad. He smiled softly.

"C'mon." Bucky said waving the onlookers inside. "Let's go. Leave them alone."

Waiting until they left your sight, you looked back at Bob and breathed him in. His cheeks had begun to burn a bright pink that was visible even in the dim light of dusk, but he looked at you with eyes that could only be described as love drunk.

"So..." You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The palm that still laid flat against his chest felt his heart skip a beat. "Where were we?"

#bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #sentry x reader #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds fanfiction #thunderbolts fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bob fluff #bob angst

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blank-potato · 20 days ago

Text

Loving You Is Easy

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds. You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold. “Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?” “Bob.” “Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.” Or You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, no smut, amnesia/memory loss, abandonment issues, pancakes may as well be a main character, hurt and some comfort?, acquaintances to lovers?

WC: 9.6K

A/N: Title from Easy by Mac Ayers. Also, the response to my last Bob fic was absolutely insane, thank you! Hope you enjoy this one, might write a part 2 later

***

Bob doesn’t particularly like you.

It’s not like he hated you or anything; the two of you just didn’t connect.

Conversations were always awkward and stilted, full of long silences and forced small talk. You’d crack a joke, and he’d give you a tight smile. He’d ask a question, and you’d give a clipped answer, unsure of his tone or where you stood.

It wasn’t animosity. It was worse: indifference with a touch of tension. Or maybe it was just that sometimes people don’t mesh, no matter how hard they try. So both of you stopped trying. You’d walk into the gym and see him already there, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat dampening his shirt.

He’d glance up. “No, no, you can stay. I was just leaving.” Even if he wasn’t actually done with his workout.

“Okay…” you’d reply, pretending not to feel the sting.

Or one time, you both ended up in the kitchen at 2 a.m., bleary-eyed and looking for snacks.

You froze. So did he.

“I’ll just—”

“No, it’s fine. I just needed water,” You interrupted.

You both moved around each other like magnets flipped the wrong way, close but never touching, repelling, retreating.

It was easier this way.

One day, you're on a mission and get injured after a strange encounter with an absurdly eccentric villain. He hit you with some mysterious ray that blasted you through a wall and left you unconscious. The whole team was worried about you… including Bob.

Sure, the two of you were awkward, distant, neither of you quite knowing how to be around the other anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that he still cared.

So they brought you back to the Tower and did everything they could. Monitors, scans, and even a few calls to some old contacts who specialised in the weird and unexplainable.

As you lay still, unmoving, they waited. They took shifts, refusing to let you wake up alone, just in case.

Bob stayed longer than anyone. Even when it wasn’t his shift, he lingered outside your room. Because no matter how weird or strained things had become, he wanted you to wake up.

It takes a few days, but you wake up, your eyes blinking rapidly as you adjust to the light. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers faintly in the air, and your body feels achy, like you’ve been asleep for a century.

And then you see him.

A random, handsome man is slumped over in the chair next to your bed. His head is tilted forward slightly, chin tucked, a book loose in one hand as he dozes.

His lips part slightly in sleep, brows twitching like he’s dreaming. Something about the sight is comforting.

You don’t recognise him.

But something in you wants to.

“Hello?”

You slip out of bed, groaning as you do so. You step close to the man until you’re but a few feet away, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper stirring inside.

You’re right next to him now, and suddenly your heart races uncontrollably. He’s beautiful — if there’s such a thing as love at first sight, this had to be it. You can’t think about anything else except his sharp jawline and that messy, adorable hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes snap open. A piercing blue that somehow feels like a shock and a spark all at once. He screams. You scream back, startled, your breath catching in your throat.

You stumble backwards, about to fall, when suddenly he reaches out and grabs your hand. Firm but gentle, steadying you.

“Thanks, guy.”

“You’re welcome,” Bob replies quietly.

“Where am I? What happened? Who are you?” you ask, panic threading through your voice.

Suddenly, a fog rolls over your mind, and you try your hardest to think, but everything’s blank except for your name.

“You don’t… remember me?” Bob asks hesitantly.

“No, are you…”You search for the right words, trying to piece things together. He was in your hospital room, probably stayed overnight, worrying about you. You’re not sure what your type used to be, but if you had one, this had to be it. Then the question slips out, “Are you my boyfriend?”

Bob’s eyes widen as if they might pop out of his head. He stammers, “Oh, no, we’re not… that’s not…” His words trip over themselves, betraying the panic and confusion inside him.

“We’re teammates,” he finally manages to say, and you take a step back, giving him space to breathe.

“We’re on a team? Like what? A swim team?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, like a superhero team.”

You blink, confused. “I’m a superhero?”

“An Avenger, to be exact.”

“What the hell is that?”

***

Bob was pale and quiet, still reeling from what had happened to you. The medics were running tests, whispering terms he didn’t fully understand, frowns etched deep into their brows.

Bucky came out of the room a few minutes later, expression unreadable as he approached Bob, pulling him aside.

“What did they say?” Bob asked, his voice hoarse, almost afraid of the answer.

From the look on Bucky’s face, it wasn’t good. “She has amnesia,” he said softly. “Doesn’t remember much of anything right now.”

Bob felt the air leave his lungs. He looked toward the room, the edge of the hospital bed just visible through the cracked door. You, in there, not knowing him.

“Can you take care of her?” Bucky asked gently. “We won’t all be around all the time, and she’s going to need someone who won’t push. Someone who’ll be patient.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

All day, he deliberates on how he can help you out. They were going to let you out of the medbay the next morning, so he wanted to make sure you’d have something comforting waiting for you. After some thought, he lands on pancakes.

Good food had always been his go-to to shake off a bad mood, maybe it would work the same for amnesia.

After helping you into the kitchen, he serves you the pancakes he prepared, sliding the plate toward you a little sheepishly.

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds.

You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold.

“Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?”

“Bob.”

“Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.”

You start digging into the pancakes and let out a squeal of happiness. “This thing is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, well technically one of the only things I remember tasting, but still.”

Bob feels a small rush of happiness that he was able to do something for you, no matter how simple.

“So, Bob, you and I are superheroes, correct?” you say between mouthfuls of delicious pancakes.

Bob hesitates; he didn’t quite have full control over his powers yet, but he was sure he’d get there one day.

“Well, yes…”

“Do you have powers?”

“I can fly, and I’m kinda invincible, and a couple of other things,” he says, looking away sheepishly. He didn’t want to sound like he was bragging.

But then he looks back and sees you beaming at him, the same way you had been since he gave you those pancakes.

“That’s awesome, can you show me?”

He hesitates, “It’s complicated. I can be…dangerous.”

“Oh, I get it, no pressure.”

He's surprised at how quickly you drop it, but appreciates it nonetheless. You take another bite of the pancakes before asking with a little smile, “Do I have powers?”

You were already thinking of the possibilities, maybe you could fly too, or teleport or even turn into a giant frog. The sky’s the limit.

“No…” he says, and the wind is taken right out of your sails. So much for being a frog woman. But seeing the disappointed look on your face, he quickly adds, “You’re a really talented fighter, though, great shot too.”

“Really?”

Bob nods, giving you an encouraging smile. You twiddle your fingers, trying to ask more questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Florida.”

“What’s Florida like?”

He strains to think of what to tell you. Flashes of sticky summer air, thunderstorms rolling in over flat suburban streets, and the hum of cicadas come into his mind.

“It’s… hot.”

You giggle softly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Good to know.”

“So let me summarise. You are Bob, Florida is hot, I can shoot stuff.”

“That’s about right.”

He watches you devour the whole plate of pancakes, and he's still having a hard time reconciling the you he knows and the you sitting in front of him. For one, you were actually talking to him and talking to everyone a lot more. Your dynamic with the rest of the team wasn't nearly as bad as yours with Bob's, but now you seemed a lot more open.

It’s a trend that continues as you ask him and the rest of the Avengers questions incessantly the rest of the day, your curiosity never seeming to run out. Every new answer only sparks ten more questions, and somehow, they never seem to mind your enthusiasm.

“You can go through walls?!” You gasp, eyes wide with amazement, and you nearly pass out when you see Ava do it, your hand reaching out as if trying to touch the air she just phased through.

Or when you sat cross-legged on the floor, chin resting on your hands, listening to one of Alexei’s stories with such intent. It was nice seeing you so bubbly, laughing at his exaggerated tales and rolling your eyes when he insisted every mission ended with him saving the day. “There’s no way you took them all down yourself!”

“The Red Guardian defeated them all single-handedly, I tell you,” Alexei says, enjoying your reactions, insisting no one listens the way you do.

But there was a little downside. Now you were more eager to do things, and since you were also restricted to the tower, all that restless energy had to go somewhere.

This morning, it was the kitchen.

The truth is, if he knew that his making pancakes would cause the mess that you unleashed, maybe he would’ve chosen something easier to make.

He walks into the kitchen to see you surrounded by chaos, flour on the counter, batter on the ceiling, and a pan smoking in the sink. It looks like a warzone.

“What is all of this?” he asks, blinking at the sight.

You glance up at him, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild, looking like you’d just gone ten rounds with your own breakfast.

“Pancakes,” you say with exaggerated confidence, like it was obvious.

“If you wanted pancakes, you could’ve asked,” he says, stepping closer with a shake of his head.

He would’ve made them in a heartbeat. He didn’t always know how to fix things, but it made him happy to be useful, even if it was hard to get the energy sometimes.

Bob says, rolling up his sleeves, “I happen to make pretty good pancakes.”

“I know. The ones you made for me the other day were really good.”

“One of the few things I can do,” he mutters, the self-deprecation slipping out like muscle memory, automatic, unfiltered. He's been working on it, but old habits die hard.

You nudge him gently with your elbow. “I’m sure you’re good at a lot of stuff. And if not, at least you’re good-looking.”

Bob blinks at you, looking at you incredulously, like you’d just said the sky was green. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to argue, but then doesn’t.

A beat passes, and he gives a soft huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “You really are different,” he says, eyes full of something like wonder.

“But… in a good way.”

“Thanks…” You say. “So, about these pancakes, how about we make them together?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He’s about to start making more batter when he notices you didn’t even bother to put on an apron. He grabs one off the hook and makes his way back over to you.

“But I’m already messy,” you say, looking down at your shirt, now covered in flour.

“Better late than never?” he says with a grin.

Agreeing with him, you duck your head down as he slips the apron over you. Accidentally ruffling your hair in the process, and you let out a small noise of protest.

Then, gently, almost instinctively, he smooths your hair down with both hands, his fingers brushing along your scalp.

It makes you shiver and shake a little against your will. Your body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo on playing it cool around hot men who are weirdly good at domestic affection.

Great. Just great.

He steps closer and delicately wraps the apron ties behind you, moving with such care. You can only imagine what his hands must feel like, strong but soft, you thought.

All you can focus on is the little sensations you do get. The brief, accidental caresses against your back as he tries to tie the apron. His fingers brush your spine, light as a whisper, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Let me do yours,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart’s trying to break out of your chest.

He turns, and you tie the apron behind him. You can't help but notice how solid he feels, how broad his shoulders are. You feel that same flutter in your stomach you had when you first saw him in the med bay, those damn butterflies that show up uninvited whenever he’s near.

You step back and smooth out the fabric on his chest, trying to act casual.

“How do I look?” he asks playfully.

“Very chefy,” you reply with a grin.

You step aside, and he turns to see what you’ve done.

“First of all, what did you put in here?” He asks, looking at the strange concoction you had made up. It looked like a science experiment gone wrong, the way it was bubbling like it was about to come to life.

“Pancake stuff.”

“Why is it blue?”

“To complement your eyes.”

He blinks, fully expecting to see you grinning or laughing, but you’re dead serious.

As he chuckles and starts remaking the pancake batter, shaking his head with the tiniest smile, he says, “Why didn’t you just ask me to make them for you?”

“I, uh… was trying to return the favour.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head. “You made them for me when I needed them. Thought it’d be nice to do the same.”

He pauses mid-stir, glancing over at you. “That’s really sweet.”

Bob is about to go back to stirring when he sees something.

“Oh, wait a second, you have a…” He says before trailing off, his expression shifting slightly. He reaches out without hesitation, fingers gentle as they brush your cheek. Your breath catches, heart thudding like it’s trying to escape your ribcage, as he plucks an eyelash off your face.

“Make a wish,” he says softly, holding it out to you.

You close your eyes for a moment, your mind blank except for the thought of him. You blow it away, your breath catching just a little as the lash flutters and disappears.

And a tiny part of you wonders if wishes like that ever come true.

“What did you wish for?”

Your eyes scan his, you know exactly what you want, what you need.

“It’s a secret.”

***

“You need to eat more than just pancakes,” John says with a sigh, arms crossed like a disapproving dad.

You shrug from your spot on the couch, hugging your knees and avoiding eye contact. “They’re comforting. And Bob makes them really well.”

“That’s not the point,” he replies, “You need nutrients. Vegetables. Something green.”

You’re finally saved when you see Bob come into the room.

“Bob!”

You scramble out of your seat the moment you spot him, excitement bubbling up as you point at the TV screen. An ad for a local pizza place flashes by, and it somehow sends you into a state of near awe.

“I know what pizza is, but I don’t remember what it tastes like.”

“Can we…?” you begin, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too eager—if you asked, would he eat it with you?

“I’ll order,” he says without hesitation.

“Pizza isn’t good for you either,” John points out, and you roll your eyes at him before throwing your arms around Bob, hugging him tightly.

You throw your arms around him in an instant, hugging him tightly. He stiffens for a second, caught off guard, he still wasn’t used to how openly affectionate you'd become since the memory loss.

“Sorry, got a little excited,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

Bob just smiles.

“We can eat it on the roof if you want,” he offers. “It’s a really nice view.”

“I’d like that,” you say softly, already picturing it.

When the pizza arrives, the two of you head up to the roof, scarfing it down like you hadn’t eaten in days. Bob watches you in quiet amusement, the city of New York sprawling beneath and around you. Lives moving, horns blaring, people rushing through the streets, but up here, it feels peaceful. Safe.

“This is so good, I could die right now and be happy,” you declare dramatically, a slice still in hand.

You flop back into Bob’s lap without warning, gazing up at him with a lazy, contented smile. He freezes slightly, his leg twitching with nerves. You’re too busy chewing to notice the way his eyes widen, or how he swallows hard and looks away for a second.

He’s glad you can’t hear how loud his heart is pounding.

“Hey,” you say after swallowing a particularly big bite of cheesy goodness.

“Yeah?” Bob answers, turning to you.

You don’t respond right away, just stare at him again, like you’re trying to memorise every detail. There’s something about being near him that makes everything else fade out. Being in love with him, even without remembering it, feels like breathing.

“I wish I could take a picture.”

“Of… the pizza?” Bob asks, confused.

“No. Of you. You just… have one of those faces.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?” There’s a note of genuine concern. Was this your weird, roundabout way of calling him ugly?

“You have a face I wanna… immortalise. Is that super dramatic?” you ask, gesticulating with your slice of pizza. Cheese flopping to the side with every word.

Bob lets out a stunned laugh. He honestly can’t believe half the things you’ve said since the memory loss, but this might be the most unexpected yet. His ears turn a little pink.

You’re both quiet for a beat before you break the silence with a chuckle. “What is it? Have I grown another head?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “I just… you’re so different.”

But he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing.

“How so?” you ask, muffled slightly by the mouthful of pizza you just shoved in. Even that, being messy and unfiltered, was a pretty big shift. Before the accident, you would’ve never let Bob see you like this. You were all sharp edges, always composed around him. Never vulnerable. Never soft.

“You didn’t… we didn’t really get along before you lost your memories,” Bob says carefully, like he’s stepping over landmines.

“Did we hate each other?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just… awkward,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Huh…” You glance past him, up at the stars overhead. The sky looks endless. “I know I don’t remember anything, but something in me tells me I liked you more than I let on.”

You turn your gaze back to him, sincere now. “It’s just a feeling,” you say, lightly tapping your chest. “In here.”

There’s a loud bang in the distance that interrupts the two of you, and it jolts you upright from your place on his lap.

You and Bob are instantly alert, eyes scanning the skyline.

“Fireworks?” you ask, squinting toward the horizon as bursts of colour light up the sky.

The distant booms echo softly through the air, and for a second, the world seems to pause. The sky is painted in shimmering golds, purples, and reds. You shuffle closer to the edge, your mouth slightly open in awe, your eyes reflecting the vibrant display.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah…” Bob’s voice is quiet as he looks over at you. His eyes don’t linger on the fireworks, instead, they find you. The glow of the explosions dances across your face, illuminating your smile. “It is,” he says, but he’s not talking about the sky.

You don’t notice his stare, too entranced by the spectacle. “I mean, I don’t remember what pretty things I’ve seen before,” you say with a soft laugh, “but there’s no way anything beats this.”

The two of you stay there for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder as the last of the fireworks fade. You forgot about the pizza. It goes cold beside you, untouched. But neither of you cares.

You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed despite the crackling fireworks and the hum of New York City below. Somehow, in the middle of all that noise and chaos, you find peace. A kind of quiet you didn’t know you needed. And before long, you’re completely asleep, your breathing soft and even, your body relaxed against his.

Bob glances down at you, frozen for a second, not from discomfort, but from something more tender. He doesn't want to move, not really. But the night is getting cold, and you shouldn't sleep on a rooftop. Gently, he shifts, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. You barely stir as he lifts you.

He walks quietly down the stairs, careful with each step, your head nestled into his chest.

Then—

“What’s this?” comes a voice that makes him jump nearly out of his skin.

Yelena is standing in the hallway outside her room, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, clearly in the middle of getting ready for bed.

“She fell asleep,” Bob says, adjusting his grip on you slightly, trying to look casual. “So I thought I’d help her to bed…”

Yelena arches a brow. “That’s very gentlemanly of you, Bob.”

“She’s had a long day,” he mumbles, eyes avoiding hers as he starts to move past.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, still grinning.

He walks into your room, carefully sidestepping anything that might creak or clatter. The last thing he wants is to wake you. But when he leans down to gently lay you onto the bed, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt like talons.

He freezes. “Seriously?” he mutters under his breath, glancing down at your sleeping form. You’re completely out cold, but your grip says otherwise.

He tries again, delicately prying your fingers away one by one, but you’re like a koala in REM sleep. “Yelena?” he whisper-shouts, trying not to jostle you too much.

After a few seconds, Yelena pokes her head around the corner, toothbrush in hand, completely unbothered. “What?”

“She won’t let go,” he says, exasperated.

Yelena steps into the room, takes one look at the situation, and her face breaks into a slow grin. “Of course she won’t.”

“What do I do?” Bob hisses.

Yelena shrugs. “Get comfortable?”

Eventually, after a few more whispered pleas and another failed attempt to detach you, she sighs and calls for backup. “Ava, we need a second pair of hands.”

It takes a combination of Bob and Yelena pulling while Ava gently works your grip free one finger at a time, to finally get you into bed without dragging Bob in after you.

By the time they’re done, Bob is sweating, slightly rumpled, and staring at you with a look that’s somewhere between exasperation and complete emotional defeat.

“She’s gonna be the end of me,” he sighs.

Ava pats his shoulder. “Not a bad way to go.”

***

Weekend rolls around, Bob had offered to help you go through your stuff, maybe handling familiar items, seeing old things, would help jog something loose in your memory.

You had found an old teddy bear, a digital camera with very few pictures, and throwing knives. You think it’s nice to know you’re very versatile.

You’re in your room, standing on your tiptoes trying to reach another box on the highest shelf. You stretch a little too far, fingers just grazing the edge of it, when suddenly, Bob's reaching for it too.

“Oh, don’t worry, I can—”

Your hands slip under Bob’s, and in a sudden pulse of light and warmth, the room falls away. You’re no longer in the safety of your space. It’s a hazy afternoon, the golden sunlight casting long, sleepy shadows across cracked pavement. The distant sound of a train horn echoes through the air, and there’s a soft breeze drifting in from somewhere, maybe the coast, maybe the open countryside. It smells faintly of dust and old paper.

You’re in a memory.

A small train station. Quiet. Still. You see a little child, no older than four, and a woman beside them. The child is you.

The woman bends down, brushing your hair back with tender fingers. She’s beautiful in the way only memories can be, edges blurred, features softened by time and pain. Her lips move, whispering something you can’t hear. Words drowned out by the roaring silence in your ears.

She kisses your forehead.

Then she straightens, turns, and walks away. Her hand slips from yours like sand, and you’re left standing alone.

“Mom?”

You call out for her, a small voice barely rising above the bustling noise of the trains, but no one comes. Watching the little kid, watching yourself, sit there and cry until your voice is hoarse, tears streaking down chubby cheeks. People pass. Some glance, others don’t. Looks are given, but no one stops to help.

You come to with a sharp gasp, the memory still clutching at your chest like cold fingers. Bob is in front of you, eyes wide, his hand gently on your shoulder as he steadies you.

“Was that my memory?” you ask, your voice faint. You’re still there, in that memory, like part of your mind is dragging its feet back to the present.

“I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to do that,” Bob says, his expression crumpling with guilt.

You blink at him, really seeing the way his hands are trembling slightly, his face pale. He looks visibly shaken. Like he’s taken away your clean slate. And now the only memory that’s surfaced from your past is that of being left behind.

“That’s the first thing I remember,” you whisper. “That’s the only thing.”

Bob’s throat bobs, and he steps back slightly, like he’s not sure if you want him near anymore.

“I—” he tries, but the words falter.

There’s a thick tension in the air as you try to come to terms with what just happened. You’re uncertain, scared, and hurting in a way you don’t fully understand. But through it all, the only anchor you have is Bob.

You reach for him instinctively, like your heart knows the way before your mind catches up, but he flinches. It’s a small movement, but it cuts deep. Not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s terrified for you. Of what he might do, what you might see again, what memories might bleed through just from a touch.

“Please?” you whisper, voice trembling. “I just… I need you.”

You hold your hand out, palm open and steady despite the way your insides shake. Like you’re telling him: It’s okay. I trust you. I’m not afraid of you.

He hesitates for a beat, long enough that you can see the storm behind his eyes. Then slowly, cautiously, he reaches out. His fingers curl around yours, and the moment they connect, you don’t wait. You step into him, into his arms, burying your face against his chest. His arms come around you like instinct, and you finally feel like you belong again. Like his arms are exactly where you’re meant to be.

He thought you wouldn’t want him anymore. Thought whatever pain you’d seen in that memory would make you run.

“I feel safe with you,” you murmur, your breath warm against his neck. It was like you could read his mind.

You sit there until you feel normal again, breathing in sync with Bob as you toy with his shirt and he pets your hair.

“Why were you so scared?” You ask suddenly.

“The last time I used my powers, things got out of control.” Flashes of what happened appear in his mind— the darkness, the destruction.

“I read about it. What happened that day…”

Bob looks down, jaw tight, the guilt still weighing on him.

“Where’d you hear it from?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve been trying to get my memories back,” you say. “So I’ve been reading my diary.”

Bob’s eyebrows lift, surprised. You didn’t seem like the type to keep a diary.

“I write about you quite a bit,” you add, offering a small smile.

His breath catches slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I don’t seem to understand you. Every other entry is me trying to figure you out, analysing the interactions we have. One minute I think you hate me, the next I think you’re just… scared.”

He doesn't answer right away, just looks at you like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

“I think I was scared too,” you admit.

“The way I write about our relationship in my diary seems sad. Like there’s so much I wanted to say to you, but couldn’t for some reason.”

You twiddle with your fingers for a moment before finally saying what's on your mind.

“I think you should read it.”

“Your diary? That's crossing a boundary. When you get your memories back, I don’t think you’ll appreciate it.”

The tone of his voice told you he was resolute in his decision, but you wanted to leave the door open. “If you want to read it, it’s in the top drawer by my bed, in the very back. I think it’d clear a lot of things up between you and her, or I guess me. I don’t know how to address myself.”

He looks at the drawer and thinks of what might be inside your diary, which you wanted him to read so badly. A few moments later, you get up off the floor and offer him your hand again, “Let’s go, I think Yelena’s making dinner.”

***

Waking up to you was disorientating as fuck.

Since you lost your memory, you’d been clinging onto him like a lifeline. Sure, you followed the rest of the Avengers around like a lost duck, trailing behind their conversations and mimicking routines, but with him… with Bob, it was different.

You didn’t just follow him, you stuck to him like glue. Something about him made you feel safe.

“Sorry! I wasn’t watching you while you slept,” you blurt suddenly, catching yourself as he looks over at you from his bed. “I mean—well, technically yes, I was, but not for a long time... just like a minute because I didn’t want to wake you, but—”

Bob doesn’t respond, just blinking at you.

“I really didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—I came in to see if you wanted to make breakfast together, and you were asleep and you looked so…”

You stop yourself as the words threaten to spill out. If you didn’t stop, there was a solid 90% chance you’d end up professing your undying love for him, and maybe even proposing marriage right there.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says gently, cutting in before you can spiral any further with embarrassment. “Let’s just go make breakfast.”

You exhale a laugh, relieved, your nerves settling just a bit.

You both go to make breakfast and settle on grilled cheese sandwiches. You watch as he takes a bite and melts, visibly softening. He looks so cute, and all he was doing was chewing. You loved all the little mannerisms no one would notice unless they looked closely. The way his nose would scrunch up when he laughs, how he'd caress his hands to soothe himself, or how he makes eye contact when people are talking so intently to make sure that they know he was listening. You take out your digital camera that you had found in the box in your room, angling it just right.

Click.

When he realises you’re taking a picture, he freezes mid-bite, eyes wide.

“I’m making memories,” you say simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m just eating a sandwich,” he replies, baffled.

You shrug, grinning. “Exactly.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright…”

He tries to look unaffected, but you can see it. His shoulders relax, and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. All of a sudden, you have this unexplainable power over him. He wasn’t used to someone looking at him like that, like they wanted to remember him.

“I’m sure you could find more interesting things to shoot,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “There’s something special about you. You look so real when you think no one is watching. I can’t help but want to capture that.”

“You mean that?” Bob says, traces of doubt leaking in.

“From the bottom of my heart.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and a little surprised. “Still… I think you should explore other things if you want new memories. Let’s go somewhere today.”

You grab his hand gently, excitement bubbling up inside you.

He takes you to a park, but all you can seem to focus on is him, how he moves, how he laughs. So you keep sneaking pictures (not so sneakily), desperate not to forget a single moment.

“There’s a whole park to take pictures of, you know?” he says, grinning as he lowers the camera.

You glance around, finally noticing the trees, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the vibrant colours all around. But you quickly look back at him, your smile soft.

“Yeah, but you’re the best part of the view,” you admit quietly, making him blush just a little.

Bob clears his throat, cheeks warming as he tries to shift the attention away from himself.

“Okay, okay…but you should let me turn the favour. Give me your camera, I’ll take some pictures of you,” Bob states, holding out his hand with an easy smile.

“Oh no, that’s fine. I doubt I’m that photogenic,” you say, laughing nervously. “You don’t really want pictures of me.”

Then with a sudden surge of confidence, he says, “I don’t think you realise how beautiful you are.”

Bob doesn't know where it comes from; he wasn’t one to say something so bold like that, but he couldn't stand hearing you downplay yourself.

He says it so softly and genuinely, you swear you heard your heart skip a beat. Your eyes meet in the silent pause, but it isn’t uncomfortable like awkward silences tend to be. It’s warm and cosy like one of Bob’s many sweaters.

Feeling like he was staring for too long, he clears his throat before adding, “Plus, all your memories can’t be pictures of me.”

“R-right,” you stutter as you hand over the camera, your fingers brushing his. The touch is brief, but it leaves a spark, a lingering warmth that settles somewhere deep inside.

“Say cheese.”

“Cheese!” you grin, striking a playful pose.

The rest of the day is spent taking pictures as you wander around New York, basking in the warm sun, laughing at everything you see, carefree and lighthearted.

“We should get ice cream!” you declare suddenly.

He buys it for you without hesitation and snaps a candid photo as you dig into it with delight.

“This is heaven,” you sigh dramatically. “Second only to your pancakes.”

He takes another picture, catching you mid-bite, and you catch him smiling to himself.

You notice and nudge him, “How do I look?”

He looks at the screen. Your eyes are closed in pure bliss, a little smear of vanilla ice cream on your lip, with the brightest smile on your face.

“Perfect,” he says, and for a second, you’re not sure he’s talking about the photo at all.

Eventually, after your long day of wandering around, the two of you get on the subway to head back home. It's packed, shoulder to shoulder, a blur of strangers and noise. You manage to find two seats side by side, squeezed tight among the crowd.

Sitting next to each other, you're pushed up close, legs touching, shoulders brushing with every lurch of the train. The warmth of him seeps through your clothes, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you are.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Bob says, leaning in so you can hear him over the rattle of the subway.

“So did I,” you reply, smiling. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Bob Reynolds.”

The train jerks to a stop as it pulls into the next station. The doors slide open with a hiss, and a few people step off, thinning the crowd a little. You glance up and notice an older couple standing nearby, gently swaying with the movement of the train.

You and Bob exchange a look, then both rise at the same time.

“Please, take our seats,” you offer warmly.

They smile gratefully as they settle down, and you both step back to stand nearby, holding the pole for balance. It’s quiet for a moment, and you watch as the elderly man gently brushes something off his wife’s shoulder, then takes her hand in his. The tenderness in his gesture makes your chest ache. It was simple and sweet, watching him dote on her like she was still the only girl in the room.

“You two make such a cute couple,” the old lady says suddenly, looking up at you both with a knowing smile.

You both blink, completely caught off guard.

“Oh, we’re not…” You start to say, but your voice trails off when Bob nudges your arm gently.

“Thank you,” he says to her, still smiling, then glances at you.

“How long have you been together?” The two of you weren’t anticipating any follow-up questions, so you had to think on your feet. It was time to put your non-existent acting skills to the test.

“A yea–” You start, but seeing the look on Bob’s face, you morph it until you say, “Month. A month.”

They both smile, clearly loving young love because old people do that.

“And how did you two meet?” She asks, and you’re starting to see why the Avengers get annoyed with you.

“We met at…” You start looking for Bob to save you, and he does. “Hospital.”

That wasn't where you were heading, but technically it was true. “Yes, I was hit by a… bike.”

Their eyes go wide with shock. “Yes, it was an awful affair. Bike messenger gone rogue.”

“When I heard what happened, I rushed over to see her and I slept by her side,” Bob adds, which was very close to what happened when you got hit with the ray.

“When I woke up and saw him there waiting for me to wake up, I fell in love with him on the spot.”

They both swoon at your story, and when it was said like that, it did sound quite romantic, Bob realised.

“You take care of her,” the old man interjects, his voice gravelly but kind. “Girls like that, with that light in their eyes… they don’t come around often, trust me, I’d know.”

Bob swallows hard, his gaze softening as he looks at you. You had a light—a spark about you—that he’d be crazy to deny. But the two of you were just becoming friends, finally finding solid ground; how could he risk messing that up?

Still, for the old man’s sake and maybe a little for himself, he says quietly but with conviction, “I will.”

Even if he didn’t mean it in the way the old man intended, he would take care of you.

“And keep her away from bikes. They’re trouble,” the man added, and Bob gave him an affirmative, “Of course.”

He’d protect you from bikes too.

You both watch as the couple get off at the next stop, but what they said sticks with you for much longer.

As you walk away, you whisper, “That was… something.”

Bob glances sideways at you, amused. “You didn’t correct them.”

“You didn’t either,” you shoot back, cheeks flushing.

“I didn’t want to.”

The train buckles a little, making you lose balance and stumble, but he catches you instantly, his hand wrapping securely around your waist.

“Trying to sweep me off my feet?” you joke, but if you’re being honest, you’re just trying to hide how breathless you feel. His strong arms are around you, keeping you upright without effort. It’s enough to make your pulse stutter.

He smirks faintly, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “If I were, would it be working?”

You look away, flustered but smiling. “Shut up.”

But you don’t pull away. And neither does he.

“The next stop is ours.”

The two of you break away almost reluctantly. By the time you get back to the tower, you feel like your heart has been racing nonstop.

Once inside, you both go your separate ways, he finds his comfy spot by the window while you wander around, looking for an Avenger to follow around and maybe learn from.

A few hours later, he hears you come back into the room. You’re following behind Bucky, asking questions, and he wonders how, in the two or so weeks you’ve been like this, you hadn’t run out of questions.

“Is it wrong of me to want to know how many pushups you can do?”

Bucky sighs, running out of words to give you. Fortunately, he’s let off the hook when you catch Bob’s eye and bound over to him.

“Meet me on the roof in 10?” you ask, leaning in close.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, smiling.

You stand looking out at the sunset, waiting for Bob to show up.

A moment later, he appears, turning toward you and noticing you’re still holding the camera.

“I just realised we didn’t get any pictures together, so I figured…”

You stand at the edge of the roof as you sidle up next to each other, sharing the warm glow of the setting sun.

“Ready?” you ask, lifting the camera.

You snap a picture of the two of you. The flash flickers briefly.

The two of you turn toward each other, the space between you suddenly feeling electric and full of possibility.

You glance down, checking the picture on the camera. A small smile tugs at your lips, and Bob watches you with quiet intensity.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend, and he was. He was your friend now. But being this close to you, when you looked like a daydream, it was hard to think of anything else. He liked seeing you happy. He liked being the reason you were happy. So this just felt like the natural step; he wouldn’t be afraid anymore.

“Can I kiss you?” He utters so softly that you might not have heard it if you weren’t so dialled in to him.

“Yes.”

It was the easiest question you’d ever had to answer.

The moment is instantly electric. It was love at first sight for you, like fate had placed him in that chair just for you. His hands gently cup your face, drawing you closer as he leans in to kiss you.

The moment your lips meet, you melt into it.

It’s easy, it’s natural. But it also feels like you’re walking on air.

Your lips melt together as the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like you’ve both been holding your breath for days and finally found air in each other.

Then, suddenly, you feel the ground vanish beneath your feet. It takes a few moments to realise what’s happening. You're both slowly lifting into the air, weightless, like the kiss has broken gravity’s hold.

You pull back, breathless, eyes wide. “We’re flying.”

Bob’s eyes are glowing, soft gold, like sunlight through clouds. And to make it that much more perfect, he’s staring at you like you hung the stars.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “we are.”

***

The world feels light. You feel like you could do anything. Bob kissed you, and somehow, that made everything else fall into place, like that one moment was enough to ground you and lift you all at once. You kissed him so good, he fucking flew! That was something to be proud of.

“Morning!” you greet cheerfully, practically floating into the room.

“Well, aren’t you in a good mood?” John comments, raising an eyebrow at your brightness.

“I am. Quite literally nothing could ruin my day.”

You look over at John’s plate filled with all things healthy and not a pancake in sight, and sneer, “Not even whatever is going on over there.”

“You’re going to die if you keep eating the way you do.”

“At least I’ll die happy.”

And probably in Bob’s arms, but you’d keep that to yourself. You keep flitting around the kitchen, flashes of Bob popping up like you had a gallery in your head dedicated to him.

Then, of course, that’s when Bucky and Yelena appear, both standing stiffly in the doorway. Their faces are unreadable, but it’s clear they’re not here to chat.

“Can we talk to you?” Yelena asks, her voice calm but firm.

Your smile falters. The tone in her voice doesn’t match your mood. You glance between them, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. They lead you to another room, and your heart pounds with each step. Once you're face to face with them, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Just tell me,” you say, steeling yourself.

Bucky steps forward, voice gentle. “There’s a way you might be able to get your memories back.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“They’ve made a device,” Bucky says carefully, “to counteract the effects of the ray you were hit with.”

You swallow hard, your lungs suddenly tight, like the air has turned to cement.

“Will I remember what happened these past few weeks?” you ask, already bracing for the answer.

“They’re not sure,” Yelena replies gently. “There’s a chance you won’t.”

The rest of the day blurs. You wear that carefully constructed smile while inside, everything feels like it’s unravelling. You laugh at jokes, eat meals, and talk to the team, but every time you look at Bob, it’s like looking at a sunset you might never see again.

Because what if you disappear?

What if the version of you that exists now—the one who fell in love, who made pancakes, who learned to laugh again—vanishes?

What if all of it was just borrowed time?

You’re curled up on the couch later, trying not to let the weight of it crush you, when Yelena finds you. She pauses, studying you quietly.

“You okay?” she asks, snapping you out of your spiral.

You glance up at her with a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m… I’m great.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Yelena presses gently. She sits beside you, eyes focused and unwavering. She sees right through you.

You hesitate, then finally let it slip out like a confession you’d been clutching too tightly.

“What if, when I get my memories back… things are different? What if you guys don’t like me anymore?”

Your voice cracks on the last word. It’s not just about them, and you both know it. It’s about him.

Bob liked you now. The person you’d become. The version of you without all the baggage, the walls, the defence mechanisms. What if the old you came back and pushed him away again?

“We’ll like you regardless,” Yelena says, firm but kind, leaning forward, her words meant to stick. “All of us.” She emphasises that last part, not missing the real question behind your fear. You and Bob haven’t exactly been subtle, floating around the Tower like someone told you the world was ending and you decided to fall in love anyway.

“You think?” you ask quietly, hating how small your voice sounds.

“I know,” she replies without hesitation. “Bob isn’t the type to run. He’s not just here for this version of you. He’s here for you, full stop.”

The thought of him leaving still prickles, sharp and cold. But there’s something warm in her certainty that you cling to. You want to believe her.

“Thank you,” You whisper with a small smile. But there’s still that little piece of doubt lingering in the back of your head.

***

You spend all night worrying, your mind running in circles while your body stays perfectly still, tucked into Bob’s arms. His breath tickles the back of your neck in soft, steady waves. You can feel the quiet thud of his heartbeat against your spine, a rhythm that grounds you more than anything else ever has. This feels like happiness. This feels more right than anything you’ve ever known.

And nights like this… how could you give it up, when you had just begun to have it?

The thought won’t let you go. So, when you’re sure Bob is fully asleep, you carefully slip out of his arms. You sneak out of bed, heart pounding with every silent step, padding your way barefoot down the hall to the lab.

The room is dim and still. On the central table sits the device. The thing that could give you everything back and take everything away.

You stare at it. Your reflection glints back at you in its smooth surface. What would you really be giving up? The person you were before. Aloof, guarded, and apparently barely connected to anyone. No warmth, no laughter, no Bob.

Your fingers close around it. Maybe this was the price of keeping what mattered. Maybe this version of you was the better one. Maybe memories weren’t worth more than love.

You raise the device in the air, prepared to end it all before it can change you back—

Then the door creaks open behind you.

“Hey,” Bob’s voice is low, thick with sleep but steady. He stands in the doorway, his eyes not on the device, but on you. “What are you doing?”

His eyes widen in alarm. “You need to put that down. Without it, you can’t get your memories back.”

You stare at the small device in your hand, the one meant to unlock everything you've forgotten. Everything that’s been haunting your dreams and slipping through your fingers like mist.

You’re so close to throwing it on the ground, your grip tightening as your voice shakes. “Maybe I don’t want them back.”

He goes still. You can see the panic in his face, but it’s laced with something else too. Pain.

You’re biting back the heat behind your eyes, the pressure building in your chest, like red-hot guilt piercing through you. Because it’s not just about your memories, it’s about him. The fear that if you remember everything…you might lose this. Lose him.

“I don’t want to remember a world where you’re not in it,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “What if I get it all back and I’m not me anymore? What if I’m someone who doesn't love you?”

Bob takes a careful step closer, like you’re on the edge of something fragile. “Then I’ll help you fall in love with me all over again,” he says quietly. “No matter how many times it takes.”

What if you don’t love me anymore? What if getting these memories back means you lose me…?” Your voice is shaking now. “What if who I am is just… broken? I mean, my own mother didn’t—”

You stop yourself, the words dying in your throat.

Bob takes a step closer. He feels that pang again, deep and aching, like something in his chest is being pulled taut. Not just because of what you said, but because he’s watching you unravel in front of him, and he never wants you to feel like this, like love is conditional.

“The person I am now… I want to be that person. I don’t want to be the girl you think of as a stranger. I want to be the girl you love.”

Bob’s eyes are soft, full of a sadness he tries to hide, and a depth of affection he doesn’t bother to. “I’m telling this to you because I love you. If you don't get your memories back, you'll always be left wondering who you were.”

Your hands are trembling when you finally set the device down on the table. You throw your arms around him and hug him so tightly he thinks he might break apart, and he doesn't mind it especially if it meant being held like this by you.

“I love you too,” you murmur, burying your face in his shoulder.

You both freeze for half a second, the realisation hitting you at the same time, how easy it was. How natural.

You pull back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You said it.”

“So did you.”

And then you’re laughing softly into each other, that weight between you gone, just you, him, and the now. “I love you. No matter what version of you I get.”

He kisses you lightly, your lips moving in sync with one another. It’s more than a kiss, it’s a promise that no matter what, you’d fall in love over and over again, no matter how long it took.

You pull him flush against you, the feeling of his shirt beneath your fingers keeping you in the moment. Like you were scared it would slip right through your fingers. You pull back and look at him; his eyes are full of desire, and so are yours.

You jump and he catches you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your lips reconnect as if they were magnets. The kiss is more fast paced, filled with passion as you who each other just how much you need one another. He places you on a counter, his hands roaming your body as the need to explore every part of you becomes too much to bear.

Both of you stop suddenly, your foreheads against each other as you breathe heavily. Your chests rise and fall in sync, hearts thudding loudly in your ears. You wanted to go further, God, you both did, but you knew you had to stop.

“When you get your memory back,” he whispers.

You nod. As much as you both wanted this…you couldn't yet. Not while you weren't whole.

“When I get my memory back.”

***

“So this is it?” you whisper, voice barely steady.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, the sterile smell of the room thick in the air. You can feel your heart pounding harder than it should.

Bob is standing beside you, his hand tightly wrapped around yours, thumb running slow, comforting circles over your knuckles.

You glance up at him, eyes searching. “What if everything changes?”

Bob is the first thing you see when you wake up. You’re sleepy and groggy, and he’s sitting there, book in hand.

“You’re awake,” he says softly. You nod, your eyes slowly adjusting as you take in your surroundings. “Maybe I could make you some pancakes,” Bob says, trying to see if you remembered.

“Why would you do that?” you ask, letting out a confused laugh.

His face falls, hands tightening around the book. “You don’t… remember?”

“No, sorry. Did I miss something?” you say, blinking at him, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m sorry, I… I was just—” He stammers, trying to backtrack. “It’s nothing.”

“I should let you rest,” he adds, sensing your discomfort.

Bob gets up and walks to the door, and he’s about to leave when you stop him, your voice softer now.

“Thanks for being here when I woke up. It’s very kind of you.”

He musters a small, genuine smile and replies, “Anytime.”

In the days that passed, it was hard mourning someone who’s still alive and technically shouldn’t have existed. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be the end. The person he fell in love with was gone, but maybe he could fall in love again, with the person you are now.

One morning, you’re sitting by the table, scrolling through your phone, when Bob quietly walks in and slides a plate of pancakes to you.

“What are these for?” you ask.

“Just felt like it,” he replies, watching your eyes light up when you bite into them despite your best efforts to hide it.

You’ll fall for each other again; it’s only a matter of time.

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