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ama3003 · 3 days ago

Text

Everything's Just Perfect

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“So…” John groaned, slumping against a cracked brick wall. Blood trickled from a cut near his hairline, and ash streaked his jaw like war paint. He held up what was left of his shield — warped, twisted, folded . “What now? Because we just got annihilated.”

“No shit,” Ava muttered, spitting dust from her mouth and flicking a burned scrap of fabric from her sleeve. Her split lip had swollen, and she could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. “I say every man for themselves. Bob’s gone full horror movie. This was fun — goodbye.”

She turned into the lingering smoke, already half-vanished — until Yelena’s voice cut through like a knife.

“We can’t leave him.”

Ava stopped, shoulders stiff. “Leave who? That wasn’t Bob back there. That was... I don’t even know what that was.” She turned, folding her arms. “Definitely not the guy who saved us.”

“No,” Yelena said, voice tight. “But he’s still in there. Somewhere.”

“Unless one of you has a secret anti-god laser in your back pocket,” Ava snapped, “what exactly is your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Yelena admitted, stepping forward anyway. “But we’re not leaving him. Not like this.”

Alexei groaned and collapsed dramatically onto a half-shattered bench, which cracked under his weight. “If we go back in there, I need... at least ten minutes. And a cortisone shot. Maybe a priest.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Let me stretch, drink some water, and then we finish him.”

“We’re not finishing him,” Yelena snapped, rounding on him. “We’re going to help him.”

“Oh sure,” Ava muttered. “We’ll just hug the powers out of him.”

“He ripped Bucky’s arm off like it was a doll’s toy,” Alexei added. “We go in like this, we die.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered as he calmly snapped the vibranium prosthetic back into place with a click. “Happens more than you think.”

John held up his bent shield, his face still a mix of shock and mild heartbreak. “He folded it. I mean—folded it. Like paper. Do you know what kind of force it takes to bend this thing?”

Ava raised a brow. “So… not vibranium?”

“It’s vibranium-adjacent,” John muttered defensively.

Yelena didn’t even look at him. “Maybe if it was actual vibranium, it wouldn’t look like a gas station burrito.”

Alexei lit up. “I could go for a burrito. Or a taco. The ones with the cheese in the middle. Mmm. I want that now.”

John groaned. “Focus! We got curb-stomped by Bob! Bob! The shy nerdy one!"

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly, brushing ash from her arm. “He’s not shy or nerdy anymore.”

That shut them all up.

Bucky exhaled. They were beat to hell, and morale was tanking fast. But more than that, they were scared. And for good reason.

He looked at them — bruised, dirty, half-limping, yet still bickering like middle schoolers on a broken field trip — and made a decision he was definitely going to regret.

“There’s a place we can crash. It’s not far. We lay low, regroup. Heal. Then we figure out what the hell to do.”

Yelena eyed him suspiciously. “Where?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and started walking.

The group hesitated, then followed — slow and shuffling.

A few blocks in, Ava broke the silence again, jabbing a thumb at John’s mangled shield. “So… can’t you, like, unfold it? You’ve got super strength, right?”

“I have super strength,” John snapped. “Not unfold-a-shield-bent-by-a-living-deity strength. It’s toast.”

Alexei squinted. “Is that, like… covered under warranty? Or do you have to mail it back?”

John gave him a deadpan look. “Do I look like I kept a receipt?”

“And you—” he pointed at Ava “—Ghost. Can you even do anything right now or are you just brooding professionally?”

Ava raised her brow. “I walked through a wall and saved your sorry ass five hours ago.”

“She literally did,” Yelena added, smirking.

“I-oh. Right. I forgot,” John said, flustered. “In my defense, I was the one who cut the power so she could walk through the wall.”

“How convenient,” Ava said flatly.

Their argument began escalating again — nonsense mixed with sarcasm, interrupted only by Alexei trying to convince someone to buy him tacos — until Bucky turned sharply on his heel.

“Enough.” His voice was low, tired, and just sharp enough to cut through the noise. “We’re almost there. If you keep yelling, she’s not going to open the door.”

They all stopped short.

“She?” they echoed, suspicious in unison.

“Yes. She. No more questions.” He resumed walking, jaw clenched.

Yelena sidled up next to him, grinning like a cat. “Is this a she-she, or a capital-She situation?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Alexei leaned toward John with a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she a friend-friend or a friendly friend?”

John nodded sagely. “I bet she’s way out of his league.”

“Maybe she's his girlfriend,” Yelena offered with a shrug.

“Highly doubtful,” Ava muttered.

“She’s not my—” Bucky stopped mid-sentence, face twitching. “Just... shut up. All of you. Or I will let Bob use you as a jump rope.”

They finally quieted.

The townhouse appeared as they turned the corner. It was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and an old record shop. String lights framed the little balcony, and a warm golden glow spilled from the upstairs window. Too calm. Too normal. It looked like the kind of place where people had tea and talked about their feelings — not where half-dead super-soldiers crawled in to sleep off a cosmic ass-kicking.

Bucky stopped in front of the door, hesitating. His jaw tightened as he raised his fist, his metal fist hovering before he knocked.

He hated this.

He hated that he’d brought them here — hated the pit growing in his stomach — hated that this was the only safe place he could think of. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Not since they separated. And now he was dragging a human dumpster fire of a team to her doorstep.

Behind him, the others bickered in hushed tones.

“Does she cook?” “I hope she has a comfy couch.” “If she has tea, I’ll marry her.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Just for a second.

He almost turned around — almost told them it was a bad idea and they should just sleep in a sewer.

But then he heard footsteps approaching the door.

Too late.

The door creaked open slowly, and there you were.

Your eyes landed on Bucky first — bruised, dirt-streaked, arm slightly disjointed, and he was holding his ribs with one hand.

“Bucky,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your gaze swept across him, and the flicker of worry that crossed your face was brief, but real.

Then it was gone.

“What do you want?” you asked. Not cold exactly, but not welcoming either. Just guarded.

Bucky looked down for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Worn. “I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now. But we need your help.”

“I don’t play superhero anymore,” you replied, arms folding as you leaned slightly against the doorframe.

“I know,” he said quickly, “I’m not asking you to suit up or anything. We just need a place to lay low. For a night. Maybe two. We got our asses handed to us like ten minutes ago.” He gestured to the group behind him, and your eyes drifted over the chaos on your porch.

“Please, doll,” he added, quieter now. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

The silence stretched between you. He held your gaze, waiting — wounded pride barely masked beneath the plea.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders softening. Without a word, you stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come in before the neighbors start watching.”

The team shuffled in, dragging in a trail of soot, broken egos, and exhaustion. Bucky paused as he stepped through, eyes flicking to the living room. It looked exactly like he remembered — warm, soft lighting, a shelf cluttered with books and candles. Homey. Safe.

Except the framed photos of you two were gone. Replaced by art. Abstract pieces. Beautiful, distant things.

Then something soft brushed against his leg.

He glanced down and froze.

A pristine white cat was weaving through his boots, its tail flicking with recognition. His expression shifted—stunned, tender.

“Hey, Alpine,” he murmured, crouching carefully. “Hi, pretty girl. I missed you.”

She meowed softly and launched into his arms, immediately purring as she burrowed into his chest. He cradled her like porcelain, one hand smoothing over her fur.

You watched from the kitchen threshold. You and Bucky had agreed Alpine would stay with you — your life was stable, his wasn’t. It had made sense. But it hadn’t been easy.

Behind Bucky, the team just… stared.

“Are you seeing this?” John whispered to Yelena.

Ava elbowed him without even looking. “Shut up.”

It was a surreal image: The Winter Soldier, dusty and battle-worn, cuddling a white fluffball like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You took in the rest of them. They were strangers, mostly. Strangers who looked like they'd crawled out of a battlefield and onto your rug.

The blonde woman leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The woman in the sleek suit by the door looked cool and dangerous in equal measure. Then there was the massive man in red. He smiled and gave a little wave when your eyes met. And then there was the guy with the folded shield and the “punch-me” face.

Bucky nodded toward the group. “Uh, yeah. That’s Yelena, Ava, Alexei, and... that’s John.”

They all gave awkward waves. Alexei’s was the most enthusiastic.

You nodded politely. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

They all looked like they were one nudge away from collapsing.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you offered.

“Water, please,” Yelena said quickly, her voice scratchy.

John raised his hand like a kid in class. “Same.”

Ava glanced at you, almost apologetic. “Do you have tea?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Anything.”

You turned to Alexei.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” he asked, hopeful.

“How strong?”

“Very strong.”

You smirked. “Got it.” Then disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment you were out of sight, all heads turned to Bucky — still petting Alpine, who had zero plans to move.

“So…” Yelena drawled. “You and her?”

Bucky tensed like someone lit a fuse in his spine.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

John leaned closer to Ava. “There’s definitely history here. Did you see the way she looked at him?”

“She also looked like she wanted to slam the door,” Ava replied.

“She likes him,” Alexei declared confidently. “There is affection. And the cat approved. Cats never lie.”

Bucky glared at all of them. “If you value your limbs, you’ll stop talking.”

Yelena held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. No shipping the grumpy soldier. Got it.”

A few moments later, you returned balancing a tray with glasses, a mug of tea, and a tumbler of something amber.

“Bucky, seriously?” you said, seeing them all still hovering like awkward ghosts. “You could’ve told them to sit down.”

He shrugged, still holding the cat like a teddy bear. “Didn’t want to break anything.”

You waved the team toward the couches. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

John and Yelena nearly collapsed into opposite ends of the same couch. Ava leaned against a windowsill, blowing gently on her tea. Alexei sniffed his drink, took a sip, then sat upright.

“You, my dear, are an angel,” he declared reverently. “Is this whiskey?”

“Only the best for unexpected guests,” you replied dryly. “I was meal-prepping earlier,” you added, glancing over your shoulder. “I’ve got a big pot of soup if anyone’s hungry. Showers are down the hall. Towels are in the closet. Clean shirts in the basket.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Soup would be heavenly,” John mumbled, eyes already closing.

You gave a small smile and turned toward the kitchen again.

Bucky hesitated, gently placing Alpine down as she curled onto a throw pillow. Then he followed you, slow and quiet.

You were setting down a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Still, you glanced over your shoulder. Bucky stood quietly near the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light, his hands shoved in his pockets, posture stiff like he hadn’t quite decided if he should be there.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. The soup was already simmering; your hands moved automatically to the ladle.

He offered a faint smile — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”

You nodded, focusing on the steam rising from the pot instead of the way your chest clenched. “You all looked like hell. Someone had to be decent.”

“Look, Y/N—”

“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You turned to face him fully, hands still holding the ladle. “You don’t have to say anything. I know why you're here. Nearest safe house. Not personal. It’s fine. Really.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening before giving a slow nod. “We’ll be out of your hair soon. Just need some rest.”

“That's fine.” You turned back to fill the bowls. “Alpine misses you.”

His voice was softer this time. “I miss her too.”

You didn't answer right away. But when the bowls were full and the bread was out, you called out toward the hallway.

“Lunch.”

A few thuds and grunts later, the rest of the group shuffled in like survivors of a disaster movie. Everyone looked slightly cleaner than when they arrived — but still bruised, bandaged, and about ten seconds from passing out.

Everyone except Bucky, who instinctively sat down in the seat next to yours.

Yelena took a spot across the table, her hands wrapped around her water. Ava perched at the end, still sipping her tea slowly. Alexei helped himself to three rolls before anyone else had time to blink.

John hovered awkwardly before finally taking a seat beside Alexei, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near Yelena again after their last round of bickering.

“And then��oh! Oh! Bob folded his shield like a freakin’ taco,” Alexei said mid-chew, nearly choking from laughter. “Just snapped it like paper!”

Yelena chuckled. Even Ava cracked a smirk.

John looked personally offended. “It’s not that funny.”

“And then—wait for it—he ripped off Bucky’s arm.” Alexei nearly doubled over at the memory.

Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth. You turned your head so fast toward Bucky, it made your hair sway.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Alexei, but when he caught your expression — real concern flickering beneath practiced calm — his demeanor softened.

“It’s fine,” he said gently, lifting the vibranium arm a little. “Reattached it without a problem.”

“Are you sure?” You were already reaching out, ignoring the way your hand trembled just slightly. You turned his arm gently, inspecting the seam where metal met flesh, eyes scanning for dents or stress damage. “Did you check everything out?”

“I’m okay,” he said, holding your gaze. You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He squeezed your hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”

His eyes looked at your hand, and something flickered behind them — something like a punch to the gut. It was bare. There was no ring on her finger.

Automatically, he reached up to his chest, fingers ghosting over where the chain should’ve been.

It wasn’t there.

His stomach dropped.

Bucky’s fingers frantically searched under his collar, pulling at his shirt, then dipping into his jacket pocket. Nothing.

No. No no no.

He never took it off. Ever.

His pulse spiked as he started checking every pocket.

“Bucky?” you asked, watching him unravel. “What’s wrong?”

“The chain,” he said hoarsely. “My chain. It’s gone.”

Panic etched across his face.

At the end of the table, Yelena blinked, frowning as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket. She felt the cool weight of something metallic there — something she had shoved away mid-battle and forgotten about.

When she pulled it out, her heart skipped.

It was a chain.

And dangling from it — a simple gold wedding band.

“Holy f—” she whispered, catching herself before the full curse slipped. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to look.

Bucky’s head snapped up.

She held the chain in her open palm like it was glowing. “This is yours.”

He surged forward before she could say another word and plucked it from her hand like it was oxygen. His breath shuddered as he slipped it back over his neck, the ring resting once again near his heart.

Relief washed over his features — raw and unfiltered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“You still have it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand brushed your ring finger again, almost absentmindedly.

“I—I…” Bucky swallowed hard, words failing. His throat felt too tight.

Alexei broke the silence like a sledgehammer. “Wait—you’re married?! Congratulations!” he bellowed, raising his glass. “That’s adorable.”

Bucky flinched like he'd been shot.

The silence that followed was very loud.

He looked at you again — the weight of everything unspoken between you crashing back in all at once — then abruptly stood.

He didn’t say anything.

He just left the room, Alpine trailing after him as the others watched, stunned.

“Did I…” Alexei frowned. “Did I say something wrong? Is that not a wedding ring?”

Yelena sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re gonna need way more soup.”

“Uh… we’re not married anymore,” you whispered, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

Everyone went quiet. You could feel the weight of their stares settle on you like a spotlight, but you didn’t look back. You just stood, heart pounding, and walked out of the room — your feet already knowing where to go.

Of course you knew where he was.

You and Bucky had lived in this house together for two years before everything fell apart. The bones of the place hadn’t changed — not the layout, not the memories buried in each room. And especially not the basement.

You made your way downstairs, the air cooler, quieter. The moment your foot hit the last step, he spoke.

“You kept everything the same,” Bucky said, his voice low but clear. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.

You crossed the room and slowly sat next to him on the old couch, the one you both used to fall asleep on watching bad movies. The cushions were still slightly sunken on his side.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice gentle. “It was our home. It felt wrong moving your things…changing your designs.”

Silence filled the space between you. Not heavy — just full. The muffled sound of the team arguing upstairs drifted down: something about dishes, someone calling someone a jackass.

“They’re a good bunch,” you murmured. “Very entertaining, too.”

Bucky let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Your eyes drifted to the chain around his neck — barely visible, but there.

“You kept the ring,” you said softly, watching him tense just slightly.

He nodded slowly, the admission coming with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

He finally turned to face you, eyes tired but sincere. “It helps me. Grounds me. I didn’t have much left to fight for after Steve left. But then there was you. And that ring… it gave me comfort. Protection, in a weird way. It became my good luck charm. I couldn’t get rid of it after the divorce. I didn’t want to.”

You felt your chest tighten, but you gave him a small, sad smile. “So you’ve been wearing it around your neck this whole time?”

He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Every damn day,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s stupid, I know. Makes me look like a fool.”

You shook your head and stood up, walking to the cabinet on the far wall. He watched you with guarded curiosity as you pulled out a small, velvet box and returned to the couch.

“You’re not a fool,” you said gently. You opened the box and held it out to him. “I couldn’t get rid of mine either. Every time I tried, it felt wrong, like throwing away something sacred."

His gaze dropped to the ring in your fingers, and his throat tightened. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“I really wanted our marriage to work,” he said, the words coming out like a confession.

“I know you did.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“I know you are.” You reached for his hand and held it. It still felt the same — steady, calloused, familiar. “You needed to find yourself, Buck. I should’ve understood. Everything was changing so fast. Steve died. Sam had the shield. Walker was Captain America for a minute. And then… you got into politics. You’re actually a congressman now.”

He let out a breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up,” you continued. “And that was on me.”

“No. It was on me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t prioritize your feelings. I kept shutting you out — thinking I was protecting you. You were right to divorce me. I wasn’t a good husband.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and shook your head.

“Bucky, no. You were an amazing husband. You just had things to work through. And I pushed myself aside instead of speaking up.”

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace felt effortless. Like no time had passed.

His arms went around you instantly, like they never forgot how.

“I’m also sorry,” you whispered.

Bucky’s laugh was soft and bitter. “What the hell happened to us?”

“I don’t really know,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” He pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like he needed the scent of you to survive. Alpine purred softly at your feet, curling between your legs.

And for a while, it was enough.

Peaceful. Quiet. Just the two of you and the cat you shared, back in a place that still remembered love.

And then—

CRASH.

You both jumped slightly at the loud clatter upstairs.

“Did you seriously just break their bowl?” John’s voice rang out, horrified.

“Well, if you think you can do better, then help me wash the dishes, Walker!” Ava snapped back.

You giggled, forehead still resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “We should go before they break more of our dishes.”

He smiled — a real one, one that reached his eyes. It lit up something in him when you said our. He tightened his hold. “A few more minutes. They’ll survive.”

You didn’t argue.

And without meaning to, both of you drifted off, curled into each other like no time had passed at all.

********

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up, Alexei. You’re being too loud.”

“We should wake him up, though. We haven’t even talked strategy.”

“We can’t. Look at them.”

“They look like a cute, happy family.”

“We should take a picture.”

The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room, with the flash blinding all of them.

Bucky blinked awake, eyes adjusting slowly. There was warmth on his lap — Alpine, purring softly. And in his arms, still tucked close, was you.

For a second, he didn’t move.

This was what peace felt like. This was home.

“You woke him up,” Yelena hissed. “Seriously, Dad, turn off the flash and the sound!”

Bucky looked at them — bleary-eyed and still half-asleep — and his expression dropped into something flat and dangerous.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave,” he said calmly, voice low and sharp as a blade. “And if you don’t… Bob will be the least of your problems.”

The team scrambled out of the room like they’d seen a ghost.

He sighed, then looked back down at you — just as you stirred.

You blinked yourself awake slowly, eyes meeting his. He braced himself, just for a second, wondering if you’d pull away. Regret it. Pretend none of it happened.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled sleepily, and snuggled closer.

“Is everything okay?” you murmured, reaching over to pat Alpine, who purred louder.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for once, maybe for the first time in forever, Bucky believed that was true.

2K notes · View notes

mallory524 · 3 days ago

Text

a bunch of teenagers

bob x reader

(she/her)

pictures from pinterest

summary- Bob has really started to like you, but he assumes you don’t feel the same way about him. You do though, and everyone seems to know that except Bob… and apparently also Walker, who really thought he had a chance

tags- thunderbolts* spoilers kinda, thunderbolts being roomies and hanging out yayy, pining, slight jealousy, bob not feeling very confident :( small mention of void stuff, slightly suggestive mention, john walker likes you and of course that goes absolutely nowhere, bucky is getting too old for this foolishness, hand holding, fluff

word count- 1443

notes- i will write for any of the thunderbolts, you guys, the obsession has reallyyy set in

The view of the sunset from the Watchtower is a beautiful backdrop for an already nice evening with the group. You’re all sitting around, waiting for Bucky to come back with food for everyone. Alexei is telling some awfully embarrassing childhood story about Yelena, who keeps trying to cut him off mid-story. "No listen, I was a small child-"

Bob is listening and occasionally laughing, but he’s focusing on you more than he’s focusing on the story. You’re sitting right next to Alexei and trying really hard not to laugh at his story (for Yelena’s sake) but occasionally you cover your face as your whole body shakes with laughter. Bob loves it. He loves seeing you smile. He feels like he’s being weird so he looks away, but he quickly notices that he’s not the only one looking at you.

Walker, who’s sitting right across from him, keeps glancing your way, too. Bob’s never considered before that Walker would like you, but it's not surprising. Of course he would. You’re so funny and smart and you’re tough, but you can also be so kind and, of course, you’re absolutely beautiful... Walker would have to be so dumb to not to see all of that, but it doesn’t mean that Bob approves of this at all.

He doesn’t think Walker is right for you, and he's never considered that you might see Walker that way, but now the idea is in his head and he hates it.

Walker can be a real jerk, (and of course he’s got some rage issues), but he is good looking, and he’s actually able to help on missions. Bob has to stay back most of the time. Plus, sometimes Walker can be pleasant. Sometimes.

Walker also doesn’t risk showing you your most awful traumatic memories every time you touch. Bob’s mostly got it under control now, but it doesn’t matter because now he’s got the mental image of you and Walker touching and that makes him feel nauseous. The idea of you and Walker-

He doesn’t realize he’s been intensely staring down Walker until he looks up at Bob with the most confused look on his face and mouths “what??”.

Even the mere idea of something happening between you and Walker is bothering him, and he can't get it out of his head. I don't know why I'm upset. It's not like I ever had a chance.

After dinner, everyone starts to split up and do their own thing around the tower for the rest of the night. Of course, no one bothered to clean up after themselves, so you take it upon yourself. Bob walks over and hands you another dirty plate. “Sorry”, he says with a shy little laugh.

“Aww dang", you say with a chuckle, "Thanks for actually handing me your dishes, though. Ava left hers on the floor”, and the two of you quietly snicker.

Bob awkwardly fiddles with random things on the counter, as if one of them will give him another excuse to stay there and keep talking to you. You suspect that's what he's doing, but you never know exactly what's going on in his head. Whatever he's doing, it's endearing. Although, you find everything about him endearing: his smile, his little laugh he does every time he's nervous, his messy curls that are starting to fall over his eyes...

You realize neither of you have said anything in a while. "Hey, how are you feeling tonight? You've been extra quiet", you tell him with a sweet smile.

Bob panics, "No, what? I'm fine. Um. I'm just tired, that's what it is", and he smiles at you, but then the direct eye contact is a little too much for him and he redirects his smile to the tile floor.

"Okay, just checking", You aren't sure if you believe him, but you're not going to push it. "Hey, did you see that video where-", and you start talking about something else.

Yelena walks back into the room to grab her phone, and she smiles and rolls her eyes when she sees you happily talking and laughing together.

At some point, Walker strolls in and soo casually leans against the counter, (he thinks he's being really cool), and thanks you for cleaning up, completely ignoring Bob, who is standing right there and helping clean up, too. Bob glances at you, trying to see if you act any different when Walker's around.

As Walker steps back into the hallway to go to bed, he stops walking for a second and glances back at you from afar, until a voice totally pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Don’t even think about it”

“Geez Bucky, don’t sneak up on me like that”, Walker says before turning back to look at you and Bob again. “But seriously, do you think I should go for it?”

“No”, Bucky says with no hesitation.

“Well don’t think too hard about it.” Walker responds sarcastically and crosses his arms defensively.

“I’m not just saying this to be disagreeable. Everyone knows she kind of…” Bucky starts to say before trailing off.

“What? What is it?”

Bucky hesitates and then decides Walker isn’t going to let it go. He leans in and quietly says, “Everyone around here kinda thinks she likes Bob.”

He’s dumbfounded. “Bob?? You cannot be serious. There’s no way that-”

“Watch it, John”

“No, you know I love Bob! But come on, don’t you think if I put the idea out there that maybe she’d at least consider it?”

Bucky groans dramatically, “Ughh I do not want to be involved in all this. I’m just letting you know I think you’d be... unsuccessful”, and as Walker rolls his eyes and walks back to his room for the night, Bucky notices that Bob’s down the hall, and has apparently been listening to the entire thing.

Bob quickly walks up to Bucky. “Do you think that’s true? Actually?”, he says in a hushed tone, with what can only be described as big hopeful puppy dog eyes.

Bucky mutters something under his breath about his new team being “a bunch of teenagers” and then turns to face Bob again. “I mean, she hasn’t said anything to me, but it’s pretty clear. Yelena and Ava were talking about this earlier and they think so, too.”

Bob can’t believe this. There’s no way. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but if 4 of his friends think so, then maybe it really is true?

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ask her to get lunch with you or something tomorrow. You can decide for yourself.”

Bob starts to frantically shake his head, “No, no I can’t do that, it would be so embarrassing if she didn’t want to.”

“Come on, man. She’ll want to. You should probably do this soon before Walker beats you to it”, Bucky says with a little laugh.

That was enough to convince him.

The next afternoon, you’ve been training for a bit, and now you’re going over some random important documents the group was sent. You see Bob over at the counter, so you decide to walk over and pour yourself some tea, too.

“Hey, Bob”, you say cheerfully, and he turns to look at you.

“Hi”, and he pours the tea into your mug without you having to ask.

You thank him and then look in his eyes. He’s clearly thinking about something. “Bob?”

“Would you like to go get lunch with me today?”, he says out of nowhere. He says it like he thinks that if he didn’t ask you now, he never would. Which is probably true. Any more time to think about it and he might've convinced himself it was the worst idea ever.

You smile warmly at him. “Yeah I’d love to. What time were you thinking?”

Bob is so caught off guard by your positive response that he almost doesn’t answer. “Uhh, we could go in half an hour. If that works for you, of course.”

“Yeah that works. Thanks Bob!”, you say, and then you gently pat him on the shoulder and leave the room to shower and get changed. Bob stands there for a second, hoping he didn't just imagine all of that.

When the two of you are ready, you slowly take his hand, and he lightly squeezes your hand back and smiles at you.

Over on the couch, Ava smiles, and Bucky pats Walker on the back with no real sympathy. "Told ya".

Walker kind of scoffs, but he can't help but smile just a little as he watches Bob step into the elevator, happily holding your hand.

#thunderbolts*#thunderbolts x reader #bob x reader #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob x fem!reader #fem!reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #thunderbolts spoilers #john walker #bucky barnes

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cressidagrey · 20 hours ago

Text

White Horse - Chapter 27: July 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/gridgossip MAX. AND. BELLE. JUST. ANNOUNCED. THEY’RE. HAVING. A. BABY. I AM SOBBING INTO MY RED BULL CANS 😭😭😭

@/F1TeaSpiller not belle and max dropping the baby announcement like it’s casual and soft and sweet and now I have to reevaluate my life plans because I thought I was immune to feelings

@/F1DaddyTracker Max Verstappen is about to enter his DILF era and I, for one, am READY.

@/danielsleftbrow can’t believe we all watched Max win titles, dominate the grid, and somehow the most powerful thing he ever did was fall in love with a Leclerc and make her smile like that

@/FerrariPain charles leclerc right now watching his entire family realize they’ve been background characters in Belle & Max: The Verstappen Chronicles

@/F1WifeWatch MAX AND BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST ANNOUNCED THEY’RE HAVING A BABY I’M CRYING THE WORLD IS HEALING SOFT MAX ERA FULLY ACTIVATED

@/DutchBabyWatch MAX VERSTAPPEN. F1 CHAMPION. CAT DAD. NOW: ACTUAL DAD. The grid is not ready for Baby Verstappen. None of us are.

@/FerrariF1Pain Max Verstappen: wins races, wins hearts, wins at LIFE. Meanwhile Charles is in the studio playing sad piano ballads because his sister just announced a pregnancy in a Red Bull hoodie.

@/Lando4Life Lando definitely screamed when he saw the post. Oscar is already knitting a baby hat. Daniel is googling “godfather application template.”

@/MaxIsWinning Max Verstappen is about to be a dad. Somewhere in the Netherlands, Jos is already prepping a kart for a baby that isn’t born yet.

@/RedBullUpdates SOMEONE SAID “Baby Verstappen is already leading the Constructors’ Championship in our hearts” AND I HAVEN’T STOPPED CRYING SINCE

@/F1TearsDaily “Baby Verstappen coming soon” MAX. BELLE. I’M CRYING IN PIT LANE. YOU WIN. YOU WIN LOVE.

@/WifeGuyMax MAX VERSTAPPEN IS GONNA BE A DAD MAX VERSTAPPEN IS GONNA BE A DAD HE’S OUT-WIFE-GUYING HIMSELF AND I’M SOBBING.

@/MaxIsWinning Max Verstappen is winning on track. Winning in marriage. Winning in fatherhood. Max Verstappen is simply… winning.

@/landoismyman lando holding that baby like it’s his godchild next season i am SO SERIOUS

@/FerrariTired me: no parasocial relationships this season also me: sobbing over max and belle verstappen’s unborn child like it’s my niece

@/GridGossip: MAX. VERSTAPPEN. IS. HAVING. A. BABY. I REPEAT: THE REIGNING WORLD CHAMPION IS GOING TO BE A DAD. WE ARE NOT OKAY.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hülkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio P��rez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)

Carlos: (Sends screenshot of Belle’s Instagram post) WHAT. WHAT WHAT WHAT.

George: You’re joking. YOU’RE JOKING. I WAS JUST GETTING USED TO THE MARRIAGE.

Alex: I thought the secret wedding was the plot twist. I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR A BABY. WHO GAVE THEM PERMISSION TO OUTDO THEMSELVES AGAIN?

Lewis: I love this for them. I really do. But also. Max? A dad?? I need to lie down.

Sebastian: This is exactly the kind of news that makes you smile and panic at the same time. Congratulations to them both. And may the child inherit Belle’s patience.

Esteban: Wait wait wait Is this real or are we being collectively pranked?? Tell me this is Photoshop.

Zhou: IT’S A SONOGRAM POST, ESTEBAN. There’s a literal baby. Inside Belle. This is not a drill.

Lance: I feel like I need to send flowers. Or a onesie. Or a helmet. Do babies wear helmets?

Nico H.: I always said Max was a menace. Now he’s a domesticated menace. The most dangerous kind.

Logan: I’m not emotionally stable enough for this level of news before lunch. I was just making toast.

Fernando: The real story here is that Max Verstappen kept this quiet Through a championship fight A media circus Family drama I’m officially scared of them.

Mark: I. KNEW. IT. I SAW THE LOOKS. I SAW THE RING. I KNEW IT.

David Coulthard: So do we just… collectively agree that Belle Verstappen has us all wrapped around her very chic, very pregnant little finger?

Valtteri: Respectfully… I’m going to cry.

Kimi: Hope the kid has better media training than Max.

Nico R.: I just want to know when to make popcorn. I want to be emotionally prepared.

Alex: So what’s next??

George: Soft-launch gender reveal via helmet design. I’m calling it now.

Fernando: Does this mean I’m godfather or what?

Daniel: BACK OFF. I CALL DIBS. I already started a registry. I have bibs with his race number on them.

Oscar: They announced it. Finally.

Lando: Oscar, Daniel and I have been living with this secret like it’s national security.

Carlos: YOU ALL KNEW??

George: AND YOU DIDN’T TELL US??

Daniel: Max said if we spoiled it he’d change our sim passwords.

Sebastian: Honestly fair.

Lewis: All I care about is that they’re happy. That baby’s going to be loved. That’s what matters.

Fernando: I’m serious about the godfather thing. Just putting that energy into the universe.

***

The paddock always buzzed on Thursdays — a kind of controlled chaos, full of camera crews and media handlers and engineers pretending not to be exhausted before the weekend even began. But Silverstone felt different. Louder. Brighter. Familiar in the way only a home race could be.

For Max, it wasn’t his home race.

But for her, it almost felt like it.

She tugged Max’s jacket closer around her shoulders as they walked through the gates, the Red Bull staff practically parting for them. Sunglasses on. Hair tucked into a soft braid. Her hand curled around his — always his — and the new, quiet weight of the gold band on her finger and the knowledge beneath her skin that she wasn’t walking in alone anymore.

Not as someone’s sister.

Not as an afterthought.

But as his.

A Verstappen. A wife. A mother.

Their schedule was tight — a dozen media stops and a million eyes. Belle stayed mostly in the background, answering a few polite hellos, sipping tea when someone offered it. Max had been pulled aside for his Viaplay interview, and she stood off-camera with his comms lead, watching with mild amusement.

It was in Dutch. Which made sense.

And would’ve made it easy to tune out.

Except she didn’t.

Not anymore.

“Je hebt iets gedeeld op Instagram deze week — gefeliciteerd trouwens — hoe voel je je over vader worden, Max?” (You shared something on Instagram this week — congratulations, by the way — how do you feel about becoming a father, Max?)

Max gave that soft, crooked smile she loved. “Blij. Echt blij.” (Happy. Really happy.)

“Hebben jullie al nagedacht over namen?” the interviewer said brightly. (Have you thought about names yet?)

Max laughed softly, nodding. “We hebben er een paar… maar dat houden we nog even voor onszelf.” (We have a few… but we'll keep them to ourselves for now.)

Belle smiled. She could understand every word.

Then, with a devilish glint in his eye, Max added, “Maar je kunt het natuurlijk ook aan mijn vrouw vragen.” (But of course you can also ask my wife.)

The mic turned to her immediately — and Belle didn’t flinch.

She stepped forward slightly, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “We hebben een shortlist,” she said, in calm, careful Dutch. “Maar voorlopig heet het nog gewoon ‘de kleine.’” (We have a shortlist. But for now it's just called 'the little one.)

The silence was instant.

A few Red Bull staff members standing nearby audibly choked. The cameraman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “what the hell.” Even Max looked slightly stunned — eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in that you didn’t tell me you were going to do that way.

The interviewer recovered quickly, laughing. “Spreek jij Nederlands?” (You speak Dutch?)

Belle smiled. “Een beetje,” she answered, with near-perfect pronunciation. Then, a bit more shyly, “Ik ben nog aan het leren, maar ik begrijp het meestal. ” (A little. I’m still learning, but I understand most of it.) Then in English: “Max learned French for me. I figured it was only fair.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

She caught the way Max’s face softened — the pride there, the quiet awe. The way he looked at her like she was magic. He laughed, low and warm, reaching for her hand without even thinking.

And the cameras caught all of it — the quiet pride in his face, the ease in hers, the way her fingers curled into his like they were already a team of three.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1WifeWatcher: the baby bump. the oversized red bull jacket. the way Max kept checking on her i'm going to cry in the paddock car park

@/GridGossip: Belle Verstappen walking into Silverstone in Max’s jacket, sunglasses on, baby bump very much visible, hand in his — THIS is what winning looks like.

@/TifosiGoneSoft: THE BABY BUMP IS BUMPING THE RED BULL JACKET IS SWALLOWING HER MAX LOOKS LIKE HE’S IN LOVE IN 4K I AM ON THE FLOOR.

@/softlaunchqueen: no but Belle absolutely glowed today like she woke up radiant and said “i think i’ll wear my husband’s race jacket and casually destroy the internet.”

@/VerstappenFanclubNL: She’s wearing his jacket. She’s carrying his child. She answered in Dutch. He looked at her like the sun rose just for her. I need a moment.

@/RedBullTroll33: it’s the way max has one (1) arm permanently wrapped around her like she’s a national treasure which she is obviously

@/MaxIsWinning: he keeps brushing his thumb against her hand like he can't believe she’s real guys this is love i’m not okay

@/DutchPressRoyalty:

“Spreek jij Nederlands?” “Een beetje.”

UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR.

@/F1Dutchies: Belle Verstappen just answered a Viaplay question in flawless Dutch. I am on the floor. Charles is on the floor. We are all on the floor.

@/GridGossip: Belle: speaks Dutch Max: smiles like a man who knows he married up Charles: googling 'how to say betrayal in French'

@/RedBullWivesClub: Belle said "He learned French for me, so I learned Dutch for him" and now I need a moment. Or several.

@/F1MemeLord: Belle: exists Belle: speaks Dutch Dutch media: collective meltdown Charles: throws phone into the Mediterranean

@/TifosiTears: Charles Leclerc watching his sister speak Dutch on live TV: [insert gif of man screaming into the void]

@/RedBullHeartthrob: Max said “ask my wife” And then his wife answered. In Dutch. With perfect pronunciation. I AM NOT OKAY.

@/TifosiTears: Belle Verstappen understood the assignment and then re-wrote the syllabus. She said “Max learned French for me, so I learned Dutch for him.” Excuse me while I sob.

***

Charles Leclerc hadn’t meant to watch the interview.

He had been scrolling idly — background noise in the Ferrari motorhome, waiting for his next media obligation, pretending not to exist — when he heard Max’s voice in Dutch.

It was Viaplay. Of course it was Viaplay. Max sounded relaxed. Too relaxed. The kind of calm that made Charles’ jaw clench automatically.

He almost turned it off.

And then he heard her.

Belle.

Not just speaking, but answering the question. In Dutch. Her accent was soft, rounded, but unmistakably fluent. And she was smiling.

Max was looking at her like the rest of the world had disappeared.

Charles sat forward, frozen.

“She learned Dutch?” he muttered, as if someone would answer. “Since when does she—?”

And then she laughed — that same, easy laugh that used to fill their kitchen on Saturday mornings — and said, “He learned French for me. So I learned Dutch for him.”

The hosts laughed. Max beamed.

Charles felt like the world tilted sideways.

It was so obvious now. So stupidly, glaringly obvious.

Her hand kept drifting to her stomach when she talked. The slight curve under the Red Bull polo. The way Max hovered just half a step closer than usual — not possessive, but protective. Her skin glowing. Her eyes bright. Her posture… different.

She looked happy.

Not pretending-to-be-happy. Not “smile for the cameras” happy.

Real.

For the first time, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

His sister — the one he hadn’t looked at properly in years, the one whose birthday he forgot, whose voice he hadn't really heard until she stopped using it — was standing on international television, glowing. Speaking a language he didn’t know. With a man she clearly loved. A baby on the way. A whole new life, right in front of him.

And Charles?

Charles was a spectator now.

Just one more person in the crowd.

***

Silverstone was chaos — fast, loud, relentless.

But the McLaren hospitality deck, tucked above the paddock like a sun-warmed balcony, felt like a pocket of calm.

Belle sat back on one of the canvas deck chairs, nursing a cold lemonade and adjusting her sunglasses. Her Red Bull credentials hung from her neck, but nobody at McLaren minded. Especially not when she came with Lily, who had already claimed one of the outdoor tables as their unofficial headquarters.

Emilie sat beside her, picking at a bowl of olives like they’d personally offended her, while Lily — Oscar’s girlfriend — was draped across the opposite bench, sunglasses on, talking animatedly about the papaya merch queue.

“Fifteen minutes,” Lily declared, “for a hat! Oscar said the only people that wait in lines that long are people in love or British.”

“You’re both,” Belle offered with a smile.

“And you’re married and pregnant,” Emilie added, “so I feel like that makes you Queen of the Queue.”

Belle rolled her eyes fondly. “I haven’t queued for anything since Max found out I was craving strawberries.”

“Must be nice,” Emilie drawled, reaching for another olive.

“You could have that too, you know,” Lily said innocently. “If you just admitted that you and Lando—”

“Don’t,” Emilie warned, holding up a finger. “Don’t you dare start.”

Belle tried not to smile. “I’m just saying, you do spend an awful lot of time watching TikTok Thirst Traps for someone who’s just friends with their star driver.”

“It’s anthropological research,” Emilie deadpanned.

“Sure it is,” Lily said, grinning. “And the way Lando looks at you like he’s planning to build you a sim racing shrine?”

Belle nearly snorted lemonade through her nose.

Rebecca — Carlos’ girlfriend — arrived, dropping into a seat with a huff and a pastry in hand. “It’s a zoo out there. Carlos just walked past and someone yelled “El Smooth Operator” like they were summoning a demon.”

“Did it work?” Emilie asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Lily - Alex’s girlfriend - showed up a few moments later, all grace and wit in a floral dress, her sunglasses perched on her head. “I bring sunscreen, gossip, and absolutely no patience for men who think DRS zones are personality traits.”

“Excellent,” Belle said. “We’re forming a coven.”

“I call Head Witch,” Emilie muttered, still annoyed about the Lando commentary.

They were mid-discussion about who would win in a team radio insult battle when someone cleared their throat behind them.

Belle turned — and froze.

Alexandra.

She looked… uncertain. Out of place, maybe. But she was holding a cup of coffee and a quiet kind of determination in her posture.

“Hi,” Alexandra said. “I was hoping… could I join you?”

The table quieted.

Belle met her gaze. No walls. No pretense. Just truth.

“Of course,” Belle said softly.

She looked… nervous. Which was new.

Belle’s heart beat faster. But she didn’t move.

Alexandra stepped forward, hands clasped tightly. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. I should’ve seen it sooner. The way you were being treated. The way you disappeared. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to say something without stepping on Charles’ toes.”

“You should’ve stepped harder,” Emilie muttered, not unkindly.

“I know,” Alexandra said, her voice quiet. “I got caught up in what Charles was feeling and forgot to think about what you were going through.”

Belle nodded, not quite smiling. But not frowning either. “Thank you.”

“I hope, someday,” Alexandra said, voice steady, “we can build something separate from all that.”

“I’d like that.” Belle said softly.

Alexandra let out a breath of relief and was immediately handed a fruit skewer by Lily. Rebecca scooted over to make room. Emilie raised a brow but didn’t argue.

And for a little while, they just talked.

About nonsense. About the race. About how McLaren’s espresso machine was criminally underrated.

Belle sat in the middle of it all — women who saw her as Belle Verstappen, not Isabelle Leclerc. Who didn’t ask her to justify her happiness or explain her choices. Who accepted her seat at the table without debate.

Her hand drifted to her stomach again, gently, instinctively.

This, she thought, was what peace felt like.

And then Lily, with a wicked smile, said, “Okay, but seriously. When is Lando asking you to dinner again, Emilie?”

Belle laughed into her lemonade while Emilie choked on a grape.

Silverstone was loud.

But here, Belle felt calm.

She was exactly where she belonged.

***

The paddock buzzed around her — a blur of lanyards, team polos, media badges, and engines humming distantly like a heartbeat under the concrete. Belle had just stepped out of the McLaren hospitality unit, the lemon tart Lily had smuggled into her bag clutched triumphantly in hand, when she heard someone call her name.

"Belle?"

She froze for half a second. The voice was familiar — so familiar — and when she turned, Arthur was already standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes wide and nervous like he hadn’t expected her to actually turn around.

He wasn’t in Ferrari gear — just a plain hoodie and jeans, no PR team trailing behind, no cameras lurking near.

"Hi," she said softly.

He took a step closer, then stopped. “I didn’t think I’d… run into you. Not here.”

Belle smiled faintly, more out of instinct than anything. “I’m technically on dessert patrol. Don’t tell Red Bull.”

Arthur’s gaze flicked to the little paper box in her hand. “Lemon tart?”

“Always.”

He nodded, then looked at her again — really looked at her. And she knew the moment he saw it: the curve of her belly, visible even under the loose Red Bull jacket she’d tugged on that morning.

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, his voice softened.

“You look… really good,” he said. “Happy.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “I am.”

He nodded once, slowly. “That’s… I’m glad. I mean it.”

There was a pause. Not awkward — just careful. Like walking across a rope bridge and not wanting to look down.

Belle looked at him properly then — at the brother who had actually tried, who had sat next to her in therapy and said I’ll do better without waiting to be congratulated for it.

“Thank you,” she said.

Arthur’s expression cracked into something closer to a smile. “Does Max know you’re out here unsupervised?”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Touché.”

He glanced down, then back up again. “Can I… can I hug you?”

Belle hesitated — not because she didn’t want to, but because it had been so long since it felt safe to let anyone in like that.

But Arthur had come back. Had tried.

She nodded.

He stepped forward carefully and wrapped his arms around her — gentle but protective, like he remembered what it had been like to hug her when they were kids, when thunder scared him and she read him stories by flashlight.

She let herself lean in for just a second.

When they pulled apart, Arthur’s voice was quieter. “Do you… know what it is yet?”

Belle smiled. “Not yet.”

He grinned. “Boy or girl, they’re going to be loved. And probably terrifying in a kart.”

Belle laughed, the knot in her chest easing just a little. “Definitely.”

A voice called for her from the Red Bull side — someone from comms, letting her know Max was finishing up his last interview.

Arthur nodded toward it. “Go. Before your husband launches a search party.”

Belle took a step back. “See you around?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You will.”

And for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

***

FIA Post-Race Press Conference – Silverstone 2024

Drivers: Lando Norris (P3), Max Verstappen (P2), Lewis Hamilton (P1)

Moderator: Congratulations, gentlemen. A fantastic race here at Silverstone — Lando, home crowd, amazing drive; Lewis, a win at home once again; and Max, back on the podium. We’ll begin with questions from the media.

Reporter #1: Max, Lando — obviously there was a lot of talk after Austria last week. There was contact, some tension. Can you tell us if things are resolved between you?

Max: (with a faint smile) I mean, yeah. We talked.

Lando: We did. Sort of.

Lewis: (chuckling) That doesn’t sound reassuring.

Max: No, no, it’s fine now. My wife and Lando’s… friend staged an intervention. They made us play Mario Kart until we stopped glaring at each other.

Lando: We weren’t allowed to eat dessert until we finished one race without throwing things.

Max: They said it was therapy. It was war.

Lando: But it worked. I still think he’s a menace on track. And in Rainbow Road.

Max: (smirking) You’re just mad I blue-shelled you.

Lewis: (chuckling) That’s the most domestic F1 conflict resolution I’ve ever heard. What’s next, baking competitions?

Max: (bemused) We did have lemon tart after. But only once we shook hands.

Moderator: So things are good between you?

Lando: We’re fine. We just needed to remember we’ve known each other forever. And that Max can’t win every race and then act surprised when I get annoyed.

Max: I’m not surprised. I’m just better at Mario Kart.

(laughter)

Reporter #2 : Max — a lot of talk this weekend, not just about the race, but also your personal life. You and your wife made your pregnancy public before the weekend — congratulations.

Max: (nods, smiling softly) Thank you. We’re both really happy.

Moderator: Does becoming a father change your mindset behind the wheel?

Max: I think it changes everything, honestly. It’s a different kind of focus now. I want to win, yes. But I also want to go home safe. I want to build a future. And… I want to be someone my kid looks up to one day. So yeah, it changes things.

Lewis: (respectfully) Congrats again, mate. Fatherhood suits you.

Reporter #3: Max, if I may ask — there’s been a lot of discussion online about your wife’s family and their absence. Can you comment on the Leclercs and their current relationship with you and Belle?

Max (calm, but firm): No, that’s private. It’s not for the media. I’ve said what I wanted to say — Belle is my wife, and we’re building our life together. That’s all anyone needs to know.

Moderator: One last question?

Reporter #4: Max, now that everything’s out in the open — the marriage, the baby — any regrets about keeping it quiet?

Max: No regrets. We weren’t hiding it. We just wanted it to be ours, for a while. And now that it’s out — I still don’t regret it. She’s my wife. We’re starting a family. That’s all that matters.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1TeaSpiller GUYS. BELLE VERSTAPPEN AND ARTHUR LECLERC JUST HAD A FULL CONVERSATION IN PUBLIC. IN THE PADDOCK. WITHOUT CRYING OR YELLING. IS THIS... PEACE???

@/GridGossip She smiled. Arthur smiled. THEY HUGGED. AFTER EVERYTHING. I AM EMOTIONALLY UNPREPARED FOR A SIBLING REUNION ARC.

@/FerrariTears So let me get this straight:

Belle’s bump is showing

She’s glowing in Red Bull merch

She’s joking with Arthur in front of the media

Max is stonewalling everything Leclerc I LOVE MESS.

@/MaxIsWinning Max ignoring the Leclercs like they’re on a different time zone. King behavior. You forgot her birthday, now you don’t get to be part of the baby era.

@/PaddockSecrets Reminder that Belle’s horse Blanche was sold when she was a child because the family couldn’t “afford it” while Charles was climbing through F2. AND THEY FORGOT HER BIRTHDAY. Forgiveness would take divine intervention if you ask me.

@/MrsVerstappenStan Imagine selling her horse. Forgetting her birthday. And THEN watching her become Belle Verstappen — loved, thriving, glowing. Redemption arc not guaranteed. But Arthur… maybe.

@/CharlesSlippedUp: Arthur hugging Belle: ✨ hope Charles not even making eye contact: 🚨 flop

@/gridchaosdaily “my wife and lando’s friend made us play mario kart” sir. that’s not a sentence. that’s a romcom premise.

@/f1softlaunches: “Lando’s friend” is code for “the girl he’s in love with but won’t admit it yet,” pass it on.

@/theblondetrauma: no but who IS lando’s “friend”? because there was a very pretty blonde with Belle Verstappen at McLaren and I’ve seen her before 👀

@/wagsandwifi: So let me get this straight. → Lando crashes with Max in Austria → Max’s WIFE and Lando’s mysterious “FRIEND” stage a Mario Kart therapy night → Lando’s “friend” was at Silverstone, hanging with Belle and Lily → ??? → grid peace is restored SOMEONE WRITE THE FANFICTION

@/pitlaneplants: calling it now: lando’s “friend” is belle verstappen’s blonde best friend she had the ✨vibes✨ and the “i yell at you because i care” energy we love to see it

@/lando_fanacc44: lando in the cooldown room: 😐 lando being gently bullied into mario kart therapy by a beautiful woman: 😵‍💫💗

@/mcblush: “max’s wife and lando’s friend” shoutout to the women ending grid wars and fixing male friendships with Mario Kart and lemon tart

@/VerstappenWifeWatch: Max just shutting down the question about the Leclercs with "that’s private — Belle is my wife" I have never seen protective energy delivered with so much calm fury. Iconic behavior. 10/10 boundary setting.

@/RedBullRoyalty Arthur Leclerc hugging his very pregnant sister in the paddock while Max is across the track refusing to even mention her family by name… The range. The narrative arc. The fanfic writes itself.

@/MonacoMess: Still not over Max going "no regrets" about keeping Belle and the baby private. That man would burn the world for her and smile while doing it.

***

They were finally home.

The kind of home that smelled like lavender laundry soap and the ocean just beyond the windows. Monaco glittered outside in quiet golds and silvers, but the apartment was calm — lights low, Belle curled into the corner of the sofa with her tea and a blanket thrown over her legs, Max next to her with one hand resting instinctively on the soft curve of her belly.

It had been a long few weeks — Silverstone, media frenzy, a dozen headlines he wanted to ignore and a thousand photos of Belle he secretly saved just for himself. She was glowing. She was exhausted. She was everything.

He was just about to suggest a bath and bed when her phone rang.

Belle blinked, startled. “It’s the stables,” she murmured, already sitting up straighter.

Max was alert in an instant.

She answered with a soft, “Bonjour?”

There was a pause — a breath of silence — and then her entire expression changed.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, hand flying to her chest. “She’s foaling?”

Max didn’t understand the words, but he understood her.

She looked up at him with wide, bright eyes. “Fleur’s in labor.”

Max was already standing. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t mind?”

He gave her a look. “You want me to say no to the birth of your horse’s foal? No chance.”

She was already grabbing her coat — or trying to. He beat her to it, wrapping it gently around her shoulders. She still moved too quickly sometimes, like she forgot that there was more of her now. He kissed her forehead, then her temple, and helped her into her shoes before she could argue about it.

They were in the car five minutes later, tires rolling over the slick stone streets, headlights cutting through the dark. Belle’s hands were fidgeting in her lap — not anxious, exactly, but alive. Lit up.

Max reached over and took her hand. “We’re going to be right there.”

She nodded, eyes misty. “I just… I didn’t think I’d get to be there. Not after Blanche was sold. Not after everything.”

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Blnache had been a wound that Belle rarely touched. He knew the story — the silent heartbreak of a teenage girl watching her family sell off the one thing that made her feel seen.

And now she had a piece of her back. In Fleur. And in the foal Fleur was carrying.

Twenty minutes later, they were at the stables — warm hay, soft light, the familiar murmur of quiet voices around the foaling stall. The stablemaster nodded respectfully as Belle approached, and Max stayed a step behind her, hand on her back.

Fleur was standing, breathing hard, but calm.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Belle whispered, moving to the edge of the stall, voice thick with emotion. “You waited for me.”

Max watched the way her shoulders dropped — how her whole body softened in relief. She was radiant in that moment. Full of life in more ways than one.

***

The air in the stable was warm and heavy, thick with the smell of straw and anticipation.

Belle stood near the edge of the stall, one hand braced lightly on the wooden rail, the other pressed instinctively over the curve of her belly. Fleur stood only feet away, her coat shimmering with sweat, her breath fast but steady.

Max stood at her side, quiet and solid, one hand resting between her shoulder blades. She could feel the tension in his posture — not nerves, exactly, but something taut and controlled. He hadn’t said much since they arrived, but he hadn’t let go of her once, either.

“She’s doing so well,” Belle whispered, voice caught between awe and something close to reverence.

Fleur shifted, groaned low in her throat.

“Is it weird I feel like I’m going to cry?” Belle asked softly.

“No,” Max said, his voice low. “But if you do, I might have to join you.”

She turned to look at him — and froze.

He was pale.

Not just pale but white, like all the blood had drained from his face in the last five minutes. He wasn’t breathing heavily, wasn’t panicking — but he definitely looked like someone who was two seconds away from either sitting down or passing out.

“Max,” she said slowly, hiding a smile. “Are you okay?”

He gave her a tight, slightly wild-eyed smile. “I’m fine. Just… watching a living thing emerge from another living thing. With hooves.”

Belle covered her mouth to muffle the laugh. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

He exhaled through his nose. “No. Definitely not. Maybe.”

“Max.”

He gave her a shaky thumbs up. “It’s good practice, right? For when it’s our turn?”

Belle wheeze-laughed. She couldn’t help it — the image of Max holding her hand during labor looking like this while trying to coach her through contractions was too much.

“You’re so pale,” she whispered, wiping tears from her eyes — this time from laughter. “You look like someone just told you the Red Bull sim rig was down permanently.”

“I am fine,” Max muttered with as much dignity as a man watching a horse give birth for the first time could muster.

But then — just like that — it happened.

Fleur let out a final grunt and shifted her weight, and there he was.

The foal.

Small and slick and dark as midnight, legs too long for his body, ears flicking even before he finished unfolding into the world.

Belle’s breath hitched in her throat.

A black colt.

Perfect and new and hers — Fleur’s — theirs.

She felt Max slide an arm around her waist, steadying her.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until he pressed a kiss to the side of her head and whispered, “He’s beautiful.”

Belle nodded, unable to look away. “He is.”

Her heart felt too big for her chest.

The foal wobbled on unsteady legs, blinking at the world like it might blink back. Fleur turned her head and nuzzled him gently, and Belle’s hand tightened on the railing.

“I didn’t think I’d get this moment,” she said, voice barely above a breath. “I thought I lost it.”

Max didn’t answer right away. Just held her, safe and warm and unwavering.

“You didn’t lose anything,” he murmured. “You were always meant to come back for it.”

Belle let the words settle, let the tears fall freely this time.

She reached for Max’s hand and squeezed it tight.

And as the colt took his first few wobbly steps beneath Fleur’s watchful eye, Belle felt something click into place — a full-circle kind of peace.

She had a home. A future. A family. And now, a foal. Black as night, born of hope.

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

Comments:

@/oscarpiastri: I’m sorry… did you two just name a foal like he’s about to pull a sword from a stone and rule Camelot?

@/lando.jpg: ngl I want to meet him. does he bite?

@/emilie_abadie: the knight of your little kingdom is HERE and he’s STUNNING. (also please send pics daily or i will riot)

@/danielricciardo: I need to meet this horse immediately. Also, calling it now: Galahad will grow up to have a mane like Zeus and kick fences for fun.

@/arthur_leclerc: He’s perfect. Fleur looks proud. Please give him a carrot from me.

@/f1softlaunches: not belle casually dropping the most magical name + max almost fainting + making the entire grid feral in one post

@/gridchaosdaily: THE HORSE HAS A NAME MAX ALMOST FAINTED BELLE IS CRYING I AM ALSO CRYING WE ARE ALL CRYING

@/maxverstappen1: That’s slander. I was visibly concerned not fainting. (He’s already faster than me out of the gate, btw.)

@/georgerussell63: I’ve never seen a newborn horse look so judgmental. Galahad is already disappointed in us all.

@/sebastianvettelofficial: This is the best kind of news. Congratulations to you both. 🐎💚

@/alex.albon: Max Verstappen: World Champion, Sim King, nearly taken out by a baby horse.

@redbullracing Congratulations to the newest honorary team member 🐴💙 (Do we need to start making Galahad merch??)

@/carlossainz55: i would’ve actually fainted. respect to max for holding the line under pressure.

@/victoriaverstappen: Driver, Husband, Future Horse Dad of the Year. Congrats! Galahad is beautiful, Belle! 🐎✨

@/tifosimess Raise your hand if you're emotionally compromised over a foal you’ve never met 🙋‍♀��🙋‍♂️

@/f1softlaunches: welcome to the grid, galahad verstappen, first of his name, foal of fleur, baby of belle, breaker of max’s cardiovascular stability

@f1babywatch Was Fleur okay?? Did everything go smoothly?? I’m emotionally invested in your horse now 😭

↪@/belleverstappen She was amazing. Strong and calm the whole way through — typical Fleur. She’s resting well, and already giving Galahad the “don’t wander too far” look. 🐴💕

@/hoofandheartdressage: Do you mind sharing who the sire is? That colt looks beautiful 👀

↪@belleverstappen: Not at all! Galahad’s sire is Glamourdale. He and Fleur made magic. ✨

@/formulaphoenix: Does Galahad live in Monaco with you guys?? Because I’m picturing a tiny foal climbing apartment stairs.

↪@/belleverstappen: As chaotic as that sounds, no — he’s staying at the stables just outside of town.

@/ponyclubpatrol: Congratulations!!! Galahad is GORGEOUS 😍 Are you keeping him or planning to sell?

↪@/belleverstappen: He’s staying with us. 100%. He’s already family.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/f1inlaw: genuinely not sure if galahad is a foal, a future champion, or the next king of arthurian legend. either way, he’s already outpacing us all.

@/wifeguyverstappen: max really married belle, bought her a horse, stood next to her while she sobbed through foaling, NEARLY FAINTED, and then posted “he’s already faster than me” like a proud dad

who is this man. i love him.

@/mclarenshadowtea: Lando’s in the comments like “does he bite”

Sir you have never wanted to pet something so badly in your life

@/sainzsimping: Carlos saying he would’ve fainted is the most relatable part of this whole saga can’t believe max verstappen held it together while watching childbirth but make it horse edition

@/gridgossip: MAX. ALMOST. FAINTED. OVER A HORSE. THE WORLD CHAMPION WAS TAKEN OUT BY A FOAL NAMED GALAHAD. I CAN’T BREATHE.

@/f1babywatch: Me, emotionally stable: Also me, reading “Welcome to the world, Galahad”: 🥹😭🫠

@/chequeredhearts: Belle Verstappen crying. Fleur calmly foaling. Max barely standing. Galahad judging us all. This is Shakespeare with horses and I’m obsessed.

@/f1horsepower: Galahad’s dad is GLAMOURDALE?? You mean the 2022 world champion in the Grand Prix Special and Grand Prix Freestyle Glamourdale? Dutch Warmblood Glamourdale?! No wonder the colt’s already a legend. Give him a paddock and a pony podcast immediately.

@/tifosimess: Raise your hand if you're emotionally compromised over a foal you’ve never met 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♂️🙋

@/rainbowroadgp: “Fleur is fine, Max nearly fainted” is the single greatest Verstappen update I’ve ever read. Give her the driver seat.

@/fernandofanz: not me plotting how to break into a stable in Monaco just to meet Galahad.

@mcpradaqueen

No bc imagine Blanche looking down from her pasture in the sky like “that’s my girl. look at her. excellent name choice. 10/10 job, baby human.”

@/f1ponygirls: you don’t understand. blanche was taken from belle as a sacrifice to fund her brothers’ careers. and now her daughter just had a foal that stays. Galahad is not just a colt. he is history rewritten with love.

@/tifosimess: I was not prepared for the generational symbolism of Blanche → Fleur → Galahad

this is a bloodline forged in heartbreak and healed with love and carrots@/godsavethefoal Blanche was taken from her. Fleur was given back to her. And now Galahad is hers from the start. THE HEALING. THE HERITAGE. THE VERSTAPPEN EQUINE DYNASTY.

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potato-non-grata · 22 hours ago

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I want to explain this compassionately.

I am actually not at all opposed to the idea of hesitancy about the humanity of a fetus. If you believe a fetus is human, tbh all the power to you, especially when it contributed to broader moral consistency. BUT there is no other human that has innate rights to the body parts of another human. If you believe a fetus is fully human and fully alive, ensouled, whatever, that's fine, but the host parent still has the right to revoke access to their biological material at any time. If they don't, they do not fully own their own body -- that is literally dehumanization.

Someone on life support is human, and their next of kin can pull the plug. An organ donation recipient is human and the donor can still decline the donation (even if they are a parent and even if the need was their fault somehow).

If you truly value moral consistency, that's great! But be fully consistent -- no human gets to deprive another of their bodily autonomy, even if that means their death. You can think that's sad, but it's sad the same way people can die without organ or blood donations, or that grandma can be taken off life support by her family.

For me this isn't even about empathy or sympathy (though there's value in those as well), it is just straight-up a human rights thing. Once you have decided that there is *any* category of human that can be treated as less-than-human you've said that humanity is conditional, and so are the rights that come with it. You've already lost, you've granted the fascists their point because *you agree with them* that some people don't deserve to be treated like humans.

#abortion #I do think people who think like the commenter above have done some moral assessment and I do respect that #and while I agree with prior generally #i think broadly saying they cant be “people” because saying so deprives someone else of their rights would not be convincing #because couldnt that be said of any oft dehumanized group?

12K notes · View notes

pokeballvictim · 2 days ago

Text

Something I don't think people necessarily understand is that when you send an aggressive and condescending anon to a trans woman, you are making a threat. It might not be intentional. Maybe you would NEVER do anything beyond a single anon. But your face is hidden, and there are groups of people who look for trans women to harass and gang up on. They will spam report, they will make callout posts, and all this stuff ends with trans women either fleeing the platform or outright being deleted. When you send an aggressive anon, like it or not, you are invoking that specter. You are saying "respond well, tranny, or get ready for public mockery." And of course, to the uwu soft bean sending their first anon hate, the trans woman in question responds so aggresively!?! They're just asking questions, why is this fucking tranny crawling up their throat? She must be kind of a bitch, huh! They fail to realize that they have walked into a space where they are wielding power (or taking on the visage of someone who does), and then proceeded to threaten someone with that power! No wonder trans women react defensively!

#n@ post

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2pndr · 2 days ago

Text

The Final Mix

A/N: Written for a prompt by @woollypoison. Much love for hosting! This is also my first time officially writing smut. Enjoy!

Karina & Hyeri x Male Reader Smut

5.7k words

Now here’s the thing about Lee Hyeri:

She gets it.

She’s loud, she’s lazy, and she’s casually filthy, sure. But she doesn’t pretend this is about attachment or romance or whatever else people try to slap onto a good fuck. She moans like a banshee, curses like she’s getting paid by the word, and she’ll laugh in your face if you try to call this passion.

It's not passion. It's Tuesday.

You like her for that. That, and the fact that she squirts like a pornstar and doesn’t mind doing it on company time.

Desk, floor, couch, conference table—pick your battlefield. She’ll bring the war. (And open the floodgates.)

Today’s bout happens to be in your vocal booth.

Or, happened, rather.

“Don’t fall asleep in here,” you remind her, yanking your pants up. “You drool on anything expensive and the label’s gonna think I adopted a stray.”

“Hah,” she laughs dryly. “You owe me lunch, for that one. Or, I dunno, a lozenge. I can’t feel my throat.”

You snort, still half-naked, still sweating—absolutely not in a position to debate sexual reparations.

Meanwhile, Hyeri’s lying across the vocal booth bench like it’s a fucking chaise lounge, panties twirling in her fingers, skirt still hiked up, and blouse open like the concept of modesty just doesn’t apply after three orgasms.

Which, it doesn’t, so you’ll give her that one.

There’s sweat on her chest and something else between her thighs—it yours, obviously—and she’s tracing lazy circles around her navel with one red-tipped nail. “I really think I hit that harmony this time,” she muses. “Like... actually nailed it.” She is, of course, referring to the song you’re supposed to be recording and not the chorus of moans she let out as she came all over you.

You shoot her a sceptical look, shoving a cable out of your way with your foot, hunting for wherever your belt got thrown off to. “You moaned through half of it.”

“Artistic expression,” she shrugs, reaching for a tissue. “Adds texture.”

“It adds me spending an hour editing out your sex noises,” you grimace, pulling your belt out from where she's hidden it under her. “That or we schedule another day to record.”

“Oh no,” she mocks, wiping your cum from between her thighs. “Not post-production work—y’know, the thing you’re paid to do. But,” she’s thinking now, tapping her chin with a finger, “you would like another day with me all to yourself, now wouldn’t you?”

You flick her the bird as you slip back into your button-up. She smiles like she’s won something. She has, technically. Three times, in fact. The first when you ate her out on the bench. The second when she rode you on said bench. And the third against the booth wall, displacing soundproofing with a leg around your waist, your cock in her cunt, and a finger in her ass for good measure.

But unlike your little sexcapade with Hyeri, this was supposed to be quick.

Track the bridge, tweak her verse, maybe do a dry run of the group chorus. Nothing that warranted sweat-slick skin and a room that smells more potent than a fish market. But with Hyeri, quick is theoretical. She’s chaos and lust wrapped in short skirts and high heels—all while masquerading as the Nation's Little Goody-two-shoes.

And then, like the universe itself is showing its disapproval for your pseudo-professionalism, your phone buzzes.

12:15 PM – Karina | Vocal Tracking

“Shit.”

You have exactly thirteen minutes to unfuck the studio.

Hyeri doesn’t look up, popping a mint and digging in her bag for lipstick. “What now?”

“Karina’s coming.”

She looks up. There’s a beat. Then she laughs—not shy, not sorry.

Delighted.

“Did you schedule us back-to-back, again?” she asks, sitting up, buttoning her blouse like it’s a suggestion and not an obligation. “Jesus, you’re bold.”

“I forgot,” you admit, which is true. Sort of.

You remembered the moment Hyeri finished singing the bridge. But when the Nation’s Little Sister is in your vocal booth moaning into the mic and flashing her tits, your list of priorities gets jumbled just a teensy bit.

She cackles, sliding off the bench and onto the floor like this is all the setup to a really good punchline. “Wow. Can’t wait for her to sing backup on the chorus while standing in a puddle of my cu—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Hyeri holds her hands up. “What? It’s a collab.”

Right. The collab. Two idols, one producer, and a track about heartbreak or temptation or something equally ironic. Not to toot your own horn or anything but the beat’s good. An obvious hit.

What makes no sense is the lineup.

Hyeri—basically retired idol turned variety darling turned actress. 90% charm. 100% chaos.

Karina—hot as all fuck, a pillar of fourth-gen K-pop, and somehow still the weirdest girl in the room. ‘A loser in a goddess’s body’ as the internet puts it.

There’s absolutely no correlation between the two other than industry and that they’re both drop-dead gorgeous. It’s like some wacky higherup wanted the most oddball idol pairings possible. And for some reason, you’re the glue holding it all together.

The calendar notification flashes up at you again, sending you hurtling into action. “Fuck, I really thought it was just you today,” you scramble, grabbing the tissue box and frantically wiping off the bench drenched in her sweat and fluids. “Are you gonna help?”

Hyeri just shrugs. “I had bridge duty,” she begins, ignoring your pleas entirely. “And Karina’s laying down the second verse, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, dejected and slightly annoyed. She’s not doing shit. “Just…” you begin, like this makes up for anything,”— don’t leave your bra again.”

She pauses, looking down at her chest like she only just remembered she owns one. “Shit—did I?”

You both spot it at the same time in the far corner of the room. Lace, red, costs three figures. Definitely hers. You snatch it like it’s a grenade and shove it into her tote without ceremony.

Hyeri simply grins. “Oops.”

“Can’t believe you left it in the booth last week,” you hiss. “Karina walked in and asked if you were doing your laundry in here.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you got hot.”

“That’s not even a good lie,” she replies, quite obviously amused by the whole fiasco. “You should’ve said I was doing vocals in lingerie—very French. Very sexy.”

“Very suspension-of-contract,” you mutter.

“Barely noticed it was gone, to be honest. Was it the black one?”

“...Yes.”

“Mm,” she nods. “Thought so. I’ve been wondering.”

“For a week?”

“I’m not particularly sentimental about bras,” she says, like it’s a flex.

You shake your head. “Do you want it back?”

“Nope. Keep it,” Hyeri zips her tote with a smile, “as a memento.”

You shrug. Can’t argue with that.

With one last wipe you finish scrubbing down the vocal booth like it’s a crime scene clean-up, which, given your contractual obligations such as: Don’t Fuck The Talent, might actually be.

Three sprays of some bergamot mist tries to mask the smell of sex, sweat, and the lastest in your long line of poor decisions. It doesn’t. At best, now it smells like bergamot and sex.

But it’ll have to do.

Hyeri simply watches from her place on the floor. She’s mostly dressed now—blouse crumpled but closed, lipstick redrawn, auburn hair finger-combed into something that says either sexually satisfied or hungover. Almost normal is how you’d describe her—the faint marks just visible above her collar put an emphasis on the almost.

With a couple more sprays of the citrus you and Hyeri are out of the booth, but you’re desk is a mess too: A tangle of wires, half drunk coffee and—

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard.

Stop recording.

Three peaks. Clear as day.

You don’t need audio engineering school to know what they are. You’re staring at the literal shape of her orgasms.

“Wow,” she says, squinting beside you. “It’s like… orgasmic morse code.”

You glance at her. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs. “Sounded smarter in my head.”

You look back at the waveform, playing one of the peaks.

No vocals. No takes. Just moans. Whines. Wet, slick sounds. You. Her. You in her. And then:

“Oh my fucking Gggggggod,” she moans through the monitors.

Hyeri watches your face. Smiles.

“I should delete it,” you say looking back.

“But you won’t.”

“But I should.”

“But you won’t.”

She’s right. You won’t.

Instead:

Export > Documents > Private > ALT_Hyeri_Vocals.wav

“Ooooh,” she sings, nudging you with her shoulder, a little too pleased. “Wait, alt vocals? Not even a cute name? Not even ‘HyeriMOANS_FinalVII_REALFINAL_usethisone.wav’?”

“It’s for the back-up vocals,” you lie as naturally as you breathe.

“It’s for your spank bank,” she retorts.

You don’t answer. Partly because she’s right and mostly because you’re red from realizing how much you moaned, too. Not your finest hour, you’ll admit.

“Shouldn't you be going?” You finally ask her.

“Fine, fine.”

With one last devious smile, Hyeri pulls on her tote, checks her reflection in the black of the studio glass, and re-combs her hair. “Well,” she says, turning to leave, “have fun explaining our completely professional relationship to Karina.”

“What? Why would I ever—”

“Oh come on,” she cuts in, laughing. “These fourth-gen girls? You think they’ve never walked into a studio that smells like cum and perfume? Please. I’d seriously be surprised if she hasn’t picked up on it by now.”

“Hyeri.”

“I’m serious. She’d have to be Mother Teresa to not know what’s going on in here.”

You’re mortified. Full-body cringe—It’s delicious to her. “So, unless she’s got a cross under her clothes, you’re not fooling anyone.”

You go pale. She beams.

“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

She pretends to think for a second before landing on a simple:

“Nope.”

At the door, she turns, planting a kiss on your cheek—sweet, sinful, smug. “Good luck,” she sings. “See you next week.”

And just like that she's gone.

You’re completely frozen. Save for the moment you spray the bergamot again.

Five times this time.

Spoiler alert:

It doesn’t help.

Karina arrives at 12:16.

Which is a little late. But when your producer’s secretly been balls-deep in your sexy co-worker, and your body has curves that put cue balls to shame, a little late is just fine.

She pokes her head in, hair in a low ponytail, gray hoodie and sweatpants on, face bare save for chapstick and what you hope is not suspicions of contract violations.

“Hey,” she chirps, offering a small smile. One of those slow, polite things that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Traffic was a nightmare. Did I miss anything?”

Only a live porno starring your dick and Hyeri’s everything.

“Nope,” you lie, voice almost cracking. “Perfect timing.”

She steps inside like she owns the place, which is fair, considering her vocals are probably worth half your paycheck this quarter. Then, she gives you a quick once-over—nothing obvious, but her eyes pause on your sloppy collar, then your flushed ears. You sit up straighter. Try not to look like you’ve just been reverse-exorcised by a woman with zero gag reflex.

Then Karina sniffs.

“New room spray?” she asks, nose wrinkling.

“Uh, yeah. Some limited edition one, I think. Intern picked it up for shits and giggles.”

“Huh.”

You try to make yourself look busy, turning away and absentmindedly double-clicking shit on your desktop, minimising and maximising random windows just to make your screen flash. You wish you could minimize yourself while you’re at it.

“You, uh… just finished with Hyeri?” she asks, looking over.

There it is.

You nod. Neutral. Casual. “Yeah. She was recording the bridge.”

“Mm.”

Just a sound, not even a word. And yet you can practically hear the subtext screaming: Bridge, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?

You shouldn’t be scared of her. Of all people, Karina is the probably least intimidating idol you’ve ever worked with—soft-spoken, professionally polite and always just a little behind the tempo of group conversations.

So then why the fuck does she manage to hit the nail on the head with every word out of that gorgeous mouth?

“I could tell,” she shrugs. “Smells like her.”

You cough so hard you hit a new vocal register.

But Karina doesn’t say anything. Just makes her way to the booth.

You’re about to ask if she wants water—anything to offset the tension and your crippling anxiety—when she peels off her hoodie.

And fuck you.

It’s not even that it’s scandalous. It’s a black sports bra. Basic. Functional. Nothing that should bring a grown man to his metaphorical and literal knees. It’s gym attire. But it’s her gym attire, and that makes a world of difference.

The bra doesn’t so much as hide her tits but politely suggest they quiet the fuck down, doing a noble yet futile job of containing what you really wish wasn’t. Because God damn if her breasts aren’t full, shapely—obscene in their perfection, indecent in their splendour. And if that weren't enough for you, right below her stomach tapers in, all sharp lines and lean muscle, just begging for you to run your hands and tongue along.

Karina tosses her hoodie onto the vocal booth bench—the same one you railed Hyeri on half an hour ago. She stretches, arms up, spine arched, that long line of torso on blatant, mouth-watering display. You pretend you’re checking the input levels, but your gaze keeps slingshotting back to her like it’s tied on elastic.

She catches you.

Which, yeah, you’re about as subtle as a cymbal crash.

“It’s really…  stuffy in here,” she remarks as she meets your staring gaze, fanning her face with one hand. “Something must have happened in here.”

Well, if she didn’t know earlier, then she definitely knows now. And she’s fucking with you to boot.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Your throat works around a lie. Futile, probably. Any moment now she could report your horny ass to a higher-up and have you on the street within minutes. But she hasn’t. So either she’s getting off fucking with you, or she wants something in return for keeping hush. Either one isn’t particularly ideal.

“A‑ah, yeah,” you stammer. Smooth start. “HVAC’s acting up. I’ll put in a ticket.” You flick a random knob that does absolutely nothing, praying she’ll drop it. “Let’s get your tracking done before the air gets worse, yeah?”

Karina nods. Noncommittal. Disbelieving.

Man, you’re so fucked.

Karina nails the verse on the first pass—pitch perfect, emotion dialled, consonants crisp enough to slice butter. And for a little while, you forget about her standing in a room soaked in Hyeri’s cum.

Second pass? Even better. Third? Pure polish. By the time you hit stop for real, you're covered in goosebumps and it has nothing to do with the prospect of losing everything.

Karina’s simply that good.

You press the talk‑back. “That’s the one. Seriously, Karina—gold. Take five?”

She lifts one ear‑cup and flashes a grin. “Sure.”

You breathe a sigh of relief when the conversation ends there. Maybe… just maybe… you’ve dodged a bullet.

You lean back, arms stretching over your head, casual as you can fake it. The worst is over. You’re in the clear. She probably bought the ventilation excuse. Probably thinks nothing of the citrus-and-sex sauna she walked into.

Professional crisis: averted.

Thank fuck.

Karina hums a little under her breath, fiddling with her phone. She looks harmless. Normal. Just a girl in a sports bra and sweats, checking her messages, laughing at a reel.

Perhaps Hyeri’s wrong. Perhaps Karina’s a little too sweet, a little too spaced-out, a little too fourth-gen golden girl to know what a post-sex room smells like.

But then you let your gaze skate over her bare stomach again. Then those magnificent tits.

And you wonder how that would be possible.

You shake your head. Refocus.

“Seriously, you crushed it,” you say, half to fill the air, half to genuinely compliment. “Some of your best work, period.”

Karina beams, cheeks flushing pink. And for another second, it’s easy to forget the whole ticking-time-bomb nature of this room. To forget Hyeri’s cum still somewhere deep in the booth fibers. To forget everything except how fucking pretty she looks smiling at you.

You even start mentally scheduling next week’s sessions—like you’re gonna get away clean.

You’re an idiot.

Because then she ruins your fucking life.

“So,” Karina starts, tilting her head just slightly, “how long have you been fucking Hyeri?”

You choke on absolutely nothing. Do a spit-take with no drink.

She says it like it’s a joke. Like she’s asking if you’re out of oat milk.

Except she’s not joking.

Not even a little.

“I—I—what?”

“I mean, I’m assuming it’s Hyeri,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin. "She did look pretty worn when I passed her in the lobby.”

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You wish you could eject yourself into the sun.

You wish she hadn’t said it with that much fucking glee.

“Don’t worry,” she says in a half-shrug. “I’m not gonna tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Thank fuck.

“There is just one thing though…”

Oh fuck.

"I don’t really like being left out."

What the fuck?

"I want in."

What the fuck.

You stand up, pace around the room. Try to gather your thoughts, try to process what exactly she’s proposing here.

Karina wants to fuck you.

You won’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. That you’re some righteous saint without the need for fantasy.

But this is Karina you’re talking about.

It’s one thing for you to be caught with Hyeri, but Karina? Pillar of a whole generation? If the two of you were caught it’d be—

“—A PR nightmare?” she supplies. “A scandal? Headline of the century?”

You nod so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

She just shrugs again, careless, reckless, hot as sin. "Don't care."

You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. "You—you have no idea what you're asking—"

"I do," she interrupts, stepping closer, breath frosting the booth window. Her voice is silk now. A trap you’re already caught in. "I know exactly what I’m asking."

She walks back to the bench, hands bracing behind her, legs spreading just enough to hint at what’s awaiting you.

“I want you like she has you.”

You’re not strong enough.

You’re not stupid enough to pretend you are.

But even if you managed to steel your resolve, Karina bites her bottom lip. Runs a hand along her crotch.

"I’ve wanted you since the demo."

And you’re moving before you even register it.

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, front-row seats to an Eiffel Tower light show in a suite. Gorgeous, all of them. Low-end bucket‑list kinda stuff.

But this view might just take the cake.

Sweat slicks Karina’s collarbones, soaks the carelessly lifted sports bra, gathers at the dip between her breasts, slides down to where your hands own her hips. Every grind turns your spine to liquid. Every thrust drives you deeper. And every bounce sends those perfect tits—shape and size defying God and physics—swinging in hypnotic rhythm.

“You fill me so good,” she pants, words cutting the hush of the booth, dirty and devotional at once. “Knew you'd feel this good—just knew it." She braces one palm against the glass, the other yanking her own hair into a makeshift ponytail, dragging it off her glowing face. The move juts her chest higher—an unspoken invitation, one you answer with your mouth. You latch on to the reddened mark just above her nipple, tongue finding its way around the sensitive circumference.

She whines.

You suck harder.

She tightens.

And you’re gone.

You should be thinking your job, about morality, about the very real possibility that a lone intern could wander past and see silhouettes doing something distinctly un‑PG behind the frosted glass. Instead, you’re cataloguing micro‑details: the faint scent of her shampoo under the musk of sweat, the tremor in her thigh when she sinks too deep, the almost reverent way her eyes lock on-to you when you hit that spot.

“Been wanting this for so long,” she reiterates, rolling her hips in a tighter circle. “Wanted your cock buried so deep I can’t hit a high note without it in me.”

The image alone nearly finishes you. You grit your teeth, hold your release back with sheer will and bruising fingers at her waist.

“Fuck, Karina—”

Karina leans in, panting against your mouth, grinding harder and harder, chasing her high and yours without a single shred of shame.

“Wanted you so bad,” she whines, breath hot against your ear, “thought about this every time you said my name—every fucking time—”

Your head falls back against the booth wall with a thunk.

You’re losing it.

She feels it—smiles a broken, wicked smile. “Already that close? Poor producer.” She makes a teasing cluck of the tongue, a soft caress to your cheek, then she slams down hard enough to shatter the bench. “Then give it to me,” she growls. “ Give me everything.”

You can’t not obey.

Pressure builds and so does your pace. Driving into her with a fury you didn’t know you had in you. Karina’s moaning openly now, every last shred of composure thrown to the wind.

Pressure builds then detonates.

Heat floods every nerve.

You break.

She follows.

And it’s bliss.

Her cry is earth-shattering, torn from somewhere deep as she clamps down hard around you, milking you for everything you’ve got. Her thighs lock, her body seizes. She’s trembling, gasping, riding wave after wave like she doesn’t know how to stop.

Her nails rake your back, half for balance, half to brand you, and you let her. Let her take. Let her have you. Her breath stutters against your mouth as you kiss through the fallout—sloppy, greedy. A thank-you and a promise and a question all at once.

Aftershocks hit her in uneven jolts, and you revel in the way she twitches around you with each one. You’re still inside her. Still hard. Still pulsing. Still drowning in her.

KArina collapses forward, full-body flush against yours, forehead pressed to your collarbone. Her heartbeat drums against your ribs. You’re shaking. So is she.

For a long, breathless moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined panting, then, your lips colliding.

You’re engrossed. And so is she. So much so that you both miss the sound of the booth door opening.

“And here I thought I came too early,” a voice says from the doorway.

You don’t look right away. You don’t have the mental bandwidth for anything beyond Karina’s skin and the twitch in your cock.

And besides, you already know exactly what you’ll see.

Your head finally turns toward the door.

Hyeri’s grinning. “You two certainly wasted no time.”

“Hyeri,” you begin, less surprised, more irritated, “ what the fuck are you—”

“Save it,” she interrupts. “You’ll ruin the mood.”

“What fucking moo—”

In an instant Hyeri’s blouse is open again, revealing an absence of fabric over her tits.

You feel Karina tighten.

“Room for one more?” she asks with a sly grin.

You look at Karina.

Karina looks at you.

And Karina—God bless her, damn her, ruin you for life—grins.

"Yeah," she says, voice high and sweet and so very, very gone. "Okay."

"You good with it, Producer-nim?" she teases.

You are not good.

You are very, very bad.

But Karina’s hips are still pressed against you, and Hyeri’s smile is so knowing, and your cock—traitorous, eager—twitches inside the girl already dripping down your thighs.

You’re fucked.

Yet you nod.

Reluctantly. Helplessly.

(Gratefully.)

Hyeri claps, wickedly pleased. “God, I love consent.”

Then she drops to her knees.

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, Karina, sweat-slick, tits swinging and your name on her breath as she rides you into the Earth’s core.

But this view might just take the cake.

Which is ironic, because there’s no view at all.

Because Karina’s sitting on your face.

Full weight, full warmth, full heaven and hell combined.

Her meaty thighs clamp around your head, her cunt pressed flush against your mouth, slick and perfect and utterly suffocating. Her ass—round, shameless and the urban dictionary definition of fuck you—is covering everything else.

You couldn’t open your eyes even if you wanted to.

And you don’t want to.

Because the raw sensation—the taste of her dripping down your tongue, the way she grinds against your mouth with broken little whimpers—is worth more than any skyline on Earth.

You’re drowning in her.

And if that wasn’t enough?

Hyeri’s riding you at the same time.

Usually, you’d feel her braced against your chest, feel the needy, desperate grip of her hands as she takes everything you have and begs for more with every bounce.

But you suspect her hands are elsewhere: fondling Karina’s bare tits, holding her throat as they duel with their tongues. Either or works.

Because God if that mental image isn’t Louvre material.

A lick to the clit softens Karina’s grip around your ears and you settle for sound instead.

Wet, filthy kisses sound somewhere above you. Giddy little gasps. The faint slap of a palm against skin. Karina moans into Hyeri’s mouth—or maybe it’s Hyeri moaning into hers—you can’t tell, you don’t care.

“Fuck, you’re cute,” Hyeri purrs against her, the smacking of lips resuming instantly.

You feel the words vibrate through Karina’s body, then feel her clench around your tongue.

“Sensitive too,” Hyeri adds. “You like it when I touch you here?” Karina gasps, the result of having her pussy licked and her tits caressed.

Karina tries to answer, but it comes out as a high-pitched whimper instead.

Hyeri laughs softly—not cruel, but giddy, drunk on the power she holds.

You hear the slick sound of their mouths meeting again. The sticky, obscene sound of a kiss that isn’t meant for cameras or fans or anything else where clean and polished is the expectation.

Just raw, messy and private.

Karina breaks away from it first, panting hard, lifting her hips just enough that a thin string of slick snaps between your mouth and her pussy.

You catch a glimpse of her when you blink up—face flushed, eyes glassy, lips and nipples swollen from Hyeri’s assault.

You’d worship her if you could breathe.

But Hyeri’s hand is curling into Karina’s hair, tugging her up—gentle but insistent—and she moans like she’s been waiting for it.

"On your hands and knees, baby," Hyeri coos through another kiss, brushing the hair out of Karina’s sweaty face. "Be a good girl for us."

Karina whimpers, flushed and dazed, but obeys without hesitation, scrambling off your mouth and onto the bench, ass high, head low, presenting herself so shamelessly it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The second she’s steady, Hyeri slinks in front of her—legs spread, pussy slick and glistening, thighs trembling from earlier—and cups Karina’s flushed cheeks in her hands.

"You know what to do.”

Karina doesn’t hesitate.

She dives in, mouth open, tongue flat against Hyeri’s cunt, licking her like she’s starving for it. Like she needs it more than air.

Hyeri gasps, hips twitching, hand fisting tight in Karina’s hair. She catches your eye over Karina’s bowed back, grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Well?” Hyeri says to you, mid-moan. “You just gonna sit there and look pretty?”

You don’t need more encouragement.

You’re behind Karina in an instant, hands gripping her hips—tight, possessive—and line yourself up.

One push. Slow? Yes. Deep? All the fucking way.

Karina cries out into Hyeri’s pussy, body arching towards the flat of the bench. Hyeri laughs, breathlessly. Her hand strokes Karina’s cheek almost tenderly, but her words are anything but.

“Fuck, you’re loud,” she teases. "Who knew you were such a slutty girl?"

You thrust into Karina again, harder this time, savoring the ripple of her ass you do, the obscene wet sounds filling the booth as she tries—and fails—to keep up with both of you.

"He was like this with me, too," Hyeri purrs, hips rolling against Karina’s mouth in lazy, devastating circles. "First time he fucked me? Thought I was gonna cum at the first thrust.”

You’re turned on by the memory, driving yourself intoKarina harder.

Karina whines around Hyeri’s clit, her thighs shaking, her slick dripping down your cock every time you bottom out inside her.

Hyeri threads her fingers tighter in Karina’s hair, guiding her movements now, rocking her face exactly where she wants it.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Hyeri croons, locking eyes with you again. “Makes the prettiest fucking sounds.”

You can’t do anything but nod, the tightness and sight stealing your breath.

Karina's arms tremble where she braces against Hyeri’s thighs. Her moans are constant now—muffled against Hyeri’s.

And you’re so close you can taste it.

Hyeri gasps, grinding down against Karina’s mouth with reckless, frantic need.

"You close?" she teases, voice shaky but still smug. "Gonna fill her up while she makes me cum?"

“Fuck yeah,” you manage to get out.

Your hand finds its way to Karina’s clit: extra stimulation to make her tighten, to get her closer to her own release, to motivate her to suck Hyeri even harder.

Your strategy works like a charm, and you’re graced with the sight of Hyeri’s head’s rolling back, a sharp cry escaping her as she cums all over Karina’s face. “Fuuuuuuck me,” she exclaims, thighs clenching around Karina’s head, hands yanking her closer like she never wants her to stop.

Karina whimpers too, grinding her ass back against you in frantic, desperate little jerks, her own orgasm building with nowhere to go.

And then you snap.

You grab Karina’s hips, pull her flush against you, and empty yourself inside her with a strangled groan, spilling deep into her own trembling body.

Karina falls apart between you both—moaning and sobbing and soaking the bench with her release.

The three of you collapse together, sticky and shuddering and utterly spent.

And despite being suffocated and impaled at the same time, Karina perks up again. She’s still panting, still catching up on oxygen, but that doesn't stop her from asking:

“Now who’s ready for round two?”

The booth door swings open.

Hyeri’s hair is a disaster, Karina’s everything is either red, swollen, glistening or all three, and you’re pretty sure you’ve left fingerprints in places you’re contractually forbidden to even think about.

(And probably teeth marks, if Hyeri’s wincing is anything to go by.)

And yet, somehow, you’re all laughing.

Half-dressed, fully wrecked, riding the tail-end high of the worst—and best—decision you’ve made in years, but still: laughing.

Karina tugs the hem of her hoodie down like it might erase the obvious evidence of a threesome. Meanwhile, Hyeri buttons maybe one button of her blouse and calls it a day and you’re wiping sweat off your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt when you notice it.

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard.

Again.

Stop recording.

There are fourteen peaks this time.

You know exactly what they are before Karina even asks, hobbling over as she pulls her sports bra back over her tits.

“What are those?” she asks, peering at the screen with curious eyes.

Hyeri’s already smiling, smugness just emanating from her. “Our orgasms,” she says proudly, like they’re her children.

“Wait, it was recording? The whole time?”

“Courtesy of me,” Hyeri says, with an even bigger smile now. “Turned it on while you two were getting busy. “

“Surprised you’re smart enough to know how,” you tease. And she hits you right back, literally.

“Ow!”

“Gonna fap to this one too, are ya?” she cackles.

“He’s gonna what?” Karina squeaks, slightly turned on.

You barely make it three seconds into the collective laughter before Hyeri steamrolls right through it.

“That’s it!” she exclaims, snapping her fingers. “This could totally work!”

"Work?" you echo. "What do you—?"

“We use this,” she begins with manic glee, dragging the track into the main sequence, “in the final mix.”

Karina’s eyes light up. "Wait, that’s genius!”

You’re frozen. Horrified. Horny.

“We could layer it in,” Karina continues. “Just subtle. Like an Easter egg.”

“A very hot Easter egg,” Hyeri adds, giving you a wicked eyebrow waggle.

You can barely think up a response. Between the countless hours today you’ve spent having sex, agonising about losing your job, and simply dealing with the pair of women before you, the amount of fucks you can currently give is strewn remarkably thin.

Not thin enough, though.

“This,” you say, pointing to the screen,“is a horrible idea.”

It’s Hyeri’s turn for her eye’s to light up.

“Hear that Karina?” She steps closer to you, hand going to your exposed cock. “Sounds like he needs some convincing.”

“Mm,” Karina hums in agreement, fingers making their way up your chest. “Definitely does.”

You groan, running a hand down your face.

You’ve already lost.

“...We’ll put it in the song.”

“Yay!” they both squeal at once, pressing quick, sticky kisses to either side of your cheeks.

You sigh, sitting back at the console, exhaustion setting into your bones.

But you’re already thinking about it.

You’re thinking about how those breathy, desperate little sounds could melt into the track.

How no one would ever know except the three of you.

How every time the song plays, it’ll remind you of the heavenly feeling of Karina’s pussy on your tongue and Hyeri’s cunt on your cock.

You sigh.

You’re weak.

But with the two of them broaching yet another round, who could possibly blame you?

Your hand finds the mouse.

Export > Documents > Private > Vocals — The Final Mix.wav

What a fuckin’ Tuesday, huh?

#karina smut #karina x male reader #hyeri smut #hyeri x male reader #aespa smut #girls day smut #karina #aespa karina #lee hyeri #hyeri

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homunculus-argument · 2 days ago

Note

about the Finnish gender pronouns (or lack thereof). Is gender not a part of the conversation at all? Like do you guys have strict distinctions between male and female names or gendered honorifics? As a native English speaker, I find it fascinating to see what other culture groups have words for. One of my favorites is the Faroese "jarðartrá" which basically means "dust to dust", but a more literal translation would be something closer to "longing for the grave". Jarðartrá is also the name of a very good song by Eivør.

Finnish is... I wouldn't say strict about gendered names, but gender-neutral names are virtually nonexistent. There are like three traditional finnish first names that haven't been distinctly assigned to one gender or the other, most people have heard of one or two of them, and nobody has actually met a person irl who has one of them as their legal first name that their parents gave them.

Nonbinary people I have met apparently tend to choose names that are in accordance to traditional names' style - being nouns, mainly related to nature and weather phenomena - but which haven't been standardised as gendered names. For example, Tuuli (wind) is a woman's name, and Pyry (harsh snowy wind) is a man's name, and I've encountered more than two NB people who have settled on the name Tuisku (snow blown by gusty wind, not as relentless as pyry), and I believe I've heard of at least one Viima (strong, cold wind, but not necessarily mixed with snow).

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olenoidedserratuspilled · 2 days ago

Text

I don't think very many people will see this post, but I needed to get this out there anyway:

The prevailing sentiment within transmasc communities right now is that the people above are only a loud, terminally online minority that holds no meaningful sway over IRL spaces. I won't deny that.

But you have to understand that rhetoric of this kind spreads easily - and that there's nothing you can meaningfully do to stop it from spreading. There's no amount of discourse that will prevent people from falling for the rhetoric you see above, nor any amount that can convince them to leave it.

This mentality is going to spread, it already is. I'm not here to offer a solution, but a warning: transmascs as a whole, and very likely many other groups besides them, will at some point have to cope materially, psychologically and emotionally with the reality of an LGBTQ+ community that does not include them.

I don't say this out of malice, and I do wish it weren't the case, but at this point I've also accepted that it'll happen. I urge that you prepare for it in any way you can.

#doomerisms #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry

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sacredsorceress · 1 day 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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ang3ltine · 3 days ago

Text

"𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬?"- Bucky barnes x former Avenger freader

An unexpected surprise awaits you when Bucky shows up at your house with a group of strangers

a.n - This is just a scenario of what it would be like for the members of the thunderbolts to crash at your place. Also this fic contains spoilers! (Let me know if you want a pt.2!)

Warnings - John Walker, dark humour, mention of injuries, minor cursing, making out and major fluff!!

"You gotta be kidding me, were not seriously bringing Bob with us are we?"

"Look Captain America, if it weren't for Bob we wouldn't have made it out of that death trap of a lab alive!" Yelena replies sternly. "Besides, he seems to have more discipline than you'd ever have."

This seemed to tick John off as the two of them started shouting back and forth, while Bob sat between the two of them awkwardly.

"Ok uhm...can we maybe...not fight?" He mutters under his breath but was completely ignored. Ava rolls her eyes at the childish scene before her and flickers her gaze down towards the nervous man. Silently telling him that it wasn't worth wasting his breath.

Surprisingly enough, he understood rather quickly and kept his mouth shut. Bucky groans in annoyance at the bickering in the backseats, and it didn't help either when a large man was snoring away next to him.

But swiftly brushes it off after pulling into a familiar driveway. He hadn't been back at this house for about a week now, so he was dreading what awaited him when he opened the doors. Especially since he has four other guests with him, who he quite recently found acquaintanceship with just a few days ago.

"Listen up, we're staying at this place for a while until things die down. So please, don't make this harder for me than it already is." Bucky states as the the group follows him down the pathway towards a red brick secluded house that was tucked in a small corner of New York City.

They all exchanged confused looks before reluctantly nodding at the grumpy man, with a few grunts and hushed responses. Honestly they were just really tired and their bodies were sore so there was no use in complaining.

"God - I hope she's in a good mood..." Bucky mumbles before reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys and was about to put it into the keyhole. Only to be interrupted midway as he hears the sound of another car pulling up behind him.

"Bucky honey? Is that you?!"

Everyone turned around at the sudden mention of 'Bucky' and 'honey' in the same sentence. All but Bucky himself as he walks back down the pathway towards you.

"Did I hear that right? There's no way Mr. Congressman would have a girlfriend." Ava whispers to the others as they all watched him walk past the minivan, disappearing from their sight.

There were mixed reactions as they all talked amongst themselves, trying to figure out who you might be.

You were pretty confused as well since there was a dirty minivan parked in your driveway. As soon as you step out of your car to examine the vehicle, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the corner of your eye.

Adrenaline kicked in almost immediately, thinking maybe this was going to be a robbery. I mean you do live in a pretty sketchy neighbourhood so it was possible. The sun was setting so it was pretty difficult to see who it could be, you had your fighting stance ready as the person steps out of the shadows.

"God Bucky! You could've said something instead of sneaking up on me like that!" You yelled and tried calming yourself since your heart was practically hammering against your chest.

"Yeah sorry 'bout that doll, didn't mean to scare you," Bucky drawls as he pulls you into his arm for a warm embrace. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the strong scent of gasoline mixed with his cologne.

There was sand mixed with dirt on his tough leather jacket, but you didn't question it since he had finished a mission. Honestly speaking, you were just glad he was home again.

You then peer over Bucky's shoulder and finally noticed the rugged group of individuals standing in your porch.

They wanted to see what all the fuss was about so they snuck up on the couple and spied on them from behind the van. You were about to open your mouth to say something before spotting a familiar face amongst them.

She had short and slightly messy bob cut and an oddly cute frown on her face. Yelena steps forward hesitantly while examining your face at the same time, seemingly trying to figure out where she had seen you before.

Then it clicks, you were her older sisters best friend. She remembers how kind and comforting you acted towards her whenever she'd come to visit her sister.

You spread open your arms for her and without hesitation, Yelena falls into your embrace.

"Its good to see you 'lena," you murmured into her hair while she smiles at the mention of her nickname.

" 's good to see you too..."

Bucky joins the rest of the group, a small smile tugged at his lips as they all watched the heartwarming scene unfold before them.

He's not sure what waited them past this, but for now, he just wants this disfunctional group of anti-heroes to find some sort of peace while they stayed here.

"Sorry I brought them here on such short notice," Bucky mutters as he leans down to your height when you let the others into your house.

"Ahh it's no biggy. Besides, I'm happy to have more house guests." You quipped while closing the door after Bob awkwardly walks in as the last in line.

Everyone had already made their way down the hall towards the living room to look around. Yelena let's out a long whistle as she checks out the place, to be fair, your house was quite spacious since you got the best place in the neighbourhood thanks to Pepper.

Although she insisted on getting you a penthouse, you turned down the offer.

"What's this?" Alexei asks with curiosity after picking up a delicately crafted box. You ran over to where he was and effortlessly took it from his hands so that he doesn't break it.

"Oh well - it's a gift from a friend. She's gone now...so I like to keep it up on the mantle to remember her by." You say in a hushed tone while you look down at the detailed craftsmanship in your hands.

Alexei knew exactly how you felt, so he placed a large hand on your shoulder and gave you a light squeeze of acknowledgement. "I understand, Alexei has been through much loss just like you."

Thanks to Yelena, you had the privilege of meeting Alexei a few years back when Natasha was still alive. So you were happy to have both of them back in your life.

"Dad, you can stop bothering her now. You've said enough shit already." Yelena groans while dragging Alexei away from you since he was still rambling on about Natasha and how much you reminded him of her.

"Do we have enough space for them?" You felt Bucky's fingers brush against the back of your hand to get your attention since you were still deep in thought.

"Hey...you ok doll?" Bucky asks with a worried tone since you hadn't responded to his previous question. You snap out of your thoughts and look to your left to see Bucky by your side. His brows were furrowed as he brought up his other unoccupied hand to cup your cheek.

"Uh yeah..! I'm fine," you respond with a tight-lipped smile. Bucky had just come back from a mission, so you didn't want him to now worry about you too. He wanted to press on but then thought it would be better if he just let it slide this time.

"Are we sleeping down here?!" Yelena yells from another room down the hall. The rest of you make your way to where Yelena was, she had found one of the guest rooms and was already laying down on the neatly done sheets.

"You could've at least taken a shower before hopping onto the bed," Bucky sighed in disappointment. Yelena's clothes were pretty dirty since they had come back from the desert.

"Oh right! Sorry that was my bad," Yelena responds in a muffled voice as her face was now planted into the plush pillows.

"Its fine, there's extra duvet covers in the storage closet," you say while walking towards the walk-in closet in the room. "Don't worry guys! There's more rooms upstairs."

"Do we have to share? I'm not sure how I'd feel if I have Santa Clause sharing a bed with me." John grunted while crossing his arms. You assumed he was referring to Alexei , which almost made you snort in response.

"I'm serious! Does he not look like the Russian Santa Claus to you?" John carries one while Yelena lets out a coarse laugh from the bed.

"Pfft - sorry John, there's only 3 guest rooms, so you have to pick your roommate wisely." Bob lifts his hand up shyly and clears his throat.

"I wouldn't mind sharing...if that's OK with you?" John thought about it for a moment before giving in. "You know what? Why not?"

"Great! That leaves one more vacant room -" You were cut off by another female voice.

"I'll take it," Ava replies rather quickly. John was about to protest and say that he changed his mind, but Ava gives him a sharp look which made him backdown. You were going to ask for her name, only to be cut off yet again.

"Oh right sorry, the name's Ava," she says plainly while giving you a small smile.

"Uhh OK cool, it's nice to meet you Ava. Let me guess, you also have an incredibly sad back story like the rest of us?"

"Oh God, don't even get me started..."

"Also...what's all this talk about 'thunderbolts'?" You prodded while giving Ava a confused look. Ava curses underneath her breath while the others shout in since that they're not called 'the thunderbolts.'

"Thunderbolts yes!! That's my lovely 'lena's football team name from when she was a child -"

"Dad please stop--!" Yelena groans while trying to get Alexei to stay quiet. It brought a smile to your face to see how liveley your house had become after being alone for a week.

"Alright, is there anyone here who needs medical care?" You asked while handing the new duvet sheets to Yelena.

"I think all of us do," Yelena sighed while clutching her side. She was so excited to finally sleep on a comfortable bed that the adrenaline rush took over, making her forget about the pain.

You nodded before turning back to the group. "Right, who wants to go first?"

Everyone had lined up in the washroom to get themselves checked since it would be easier for you to clean up afterwards.

You were currently bandaging Yelena's arm as she winces slightly. If anything, she had been through the worst due to the others being practically impenetrable.

"Just leave this on for a few weeks and take some painkillers. Trust me, the pain will be gone before you know it."

"Ok, thank you," Yelena exhaled while she got up to let the next person in. John walks into your view as you clean up the area for him to take his seat on the stool. The space was pretty cramped since you chose the guest washroom instead of the large one upstairs.

"Hey John, got any major inuries?" You asked while preparing a wetcloth and some bandages. John stops you midway and he shook his head.

"No not really, just have a few cuts on my face and the side of my head." True enough, he looked like he was perfectly fine except for some cuts and grazes that was scattered across his face.

You almost forgot that he took the super soldier serum back when he was Captain America. It was hard to forgot since you were with Sam and Bucky at the time. You nodded before putting away the bandages and took your seat infront of him. Now that you were face to face with him, you noticed how mature, yet different he looked from before.

"Must've been rough for you, running from the law." You start off by cleaning some of the smaller cuts with some wipes. "Trust me...I would know."

You were referring to the time you were on the run with Steve and the others for two years after freeing Bucky. That was how you two met and became close in Wakanda.

"You have no idea..." John responds with a slight waver in his voice. You choose not to press further and lightly dab the bigger cut on the side of his eyebrow.

Unbeknownst to you, John was silently admiring the way you were taking care of him. He doesn't mean this in a creepy way, rather he's surprised that anyone would show an ounce of care for him due to his character and lack of social awareness.

Bucky, on the other hand, misunderstood the scene completely. He had a glass of water in his hand when he went to check up on you. The water that was already in his mouth almost made him choke as he saw the way John made doe eyes at you.

As much as he wanted to strangle the man on the spot, he waited and observed at the doorframe. A smile threatened to tug at the corner of your lips as you felt the presence of the jealous man boring his eyes at the side of your head.

"Relax hon', John's just being John." Speaking of John, he blinked at you in confusion before looking up to see Bucky shooting bullets at him with his eyes.

"Don't worry, he's not going to do anything." You whispered before placing a clear bandaid on the scar. John didn't know if he felt reassured or threatened, so as soon as you finished, he scrambles to his feet.

Bucky steps aside to let John leave, but not before leaning towards him to say something. John flickers his gaze between you and Bucky before leaving with a terrified look on his face.

"Bucky dear, what did you say to him?" You sighed while placing the remainder of the medical equipment back in the medicine cabinet.

"Oh nothing really, just...gave him a peptalk." Bucky responds with a smug smirk as he walks into the washroom. You raise an eyebrow at him, which prompted Bucky to pull you in close by your waist with his arms.

"I didn't threaten him doll," Bucky drawls while bumping his forehead against yours, letting his hair frame his face. It was slightly damp with clumps of sand still stuck in some places. You'd have to remind him to take a shower later after dinner.

"Uh huh, that's why he left like a pale ghost? Because you gave him a 'peptalk'," you mused while playing with the lose strands of Bucky's hair that fell over his eyes. Bucky chuckles softly before responding.

"Right...just a peptalk." Your breath hitches when he bends down to your height while his hair tickled your nose from a loose strand.

"You know you're a really bad liar, right?" You huffed while the rough pad of Bucky's thumb ran gently across your cheek. Your skin felt soft and warm underneath his touch since the blood had rushed to the surface, painting a soft hue of red across your cheeks.

"So? Is that a bad thing?" Bucky's voice goes an octave lower while he inches closer towards your lips, his breath now heavy against yours. His scent flooded your senses, it was a mixture of his cologne and his natural musk from his skin. He hesitates before flickering his gaze up to you again. Silently begging for your permission.

You pondered for a moment while tapping a finger on your chin. "Hmm, do you really deserve a kiss?"

Bucky tilts his head to the side before giving you a deadpan look. But you knew that he was fighting back a smile, so you were the first to lean in. He did deserve a reward for being the amazing partner that he was. Except, he was too quick for you.

He dips his head low, and presses his slightly chapped lips against yours, practically melting into yours. The kiss was gentle yet full of desire. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as his tongue dragged gently across your bottom lip.

Coaxing you to open your mouth. Your tongue meets his as the hand slips down towards your waist. Pressing his fingers into your supple skin, which will definitely leave marks considering how tight his grip was. Not that he didn't mean to, of course.

"Love you s'much," your voice was barely a whisper as it was all becoming too much for you. Bucky let's out a small chuckle as you began to pepper his face with quick pecks before moving back to his lips.

He could picture his lips were probably now a sugary pink colour due to the lipbalm that you wore. The brand was probably called... Summer Fridays? Or something across that line.

"Love you too angel..." he mumbled against your plush lips.

The couple completely unaware that Yelena, Ava and Bob was spying on them from afar with popcorn in hand.

"Guys...I feel a sneeze coming," Bob whispers towards the two women sitting next to him.

"Cucumber! Cucumber! Cucumber!!" Both Ava and Yelena whisper shouted back and forth hurriedly. But it was no use, the sneeze along with their hushed shouting caught the attention of the couple in the washroom.

Needless to say, they learned their lesson from Bucky after an hour long lecture of why they shouldn't spy on people. That also included the punishment of getting limited screen time on the TV as well as playing video games.

p.s - I really love John's character and I believe he has some depth to him that could be explored more

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @starktonyx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @perdidosbucky-yyo

#bucky barnes #thunderbolts #yelena belova #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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darkredsugarcookie · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances.

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you.

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers?

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.”

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said.

“Her assistant? Mel?”

“Yes. She’s on the fence.”

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile.

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied.

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.”

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered.

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood.

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory.

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them.

“He’s married?” the brunette asked.

“In the process,” I corrected.

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered.

“Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?”

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind.

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.”

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.”

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you.

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said.

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

#fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #self insert #james bucky barnes #the avengers #thunderbolts #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #writing

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roanofarcc · 3 days ago

Text

PICNIC DAY

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x fem enhanced!reader

summary: when rain threatens a thunderbolts team bonding outing, per the request of Alexei, they turn to their resident weather-controlling team member to save their plans.

warnings: shy!reader, pre-established relationship, the thunderbolts being one big happy family!

notes: just when the world needed it the most, found-family avengers fics return from the grave

word count. 1k | masterlist

You sat a picnic basket on the kitchen counter, the old-fashioned kind made of wicker with red and white fabric on the inside. Begrudgingly, Ava and Walker had made sandwiches earlier that morning, bickering the whole time but not allowing anyone else to take over, and you packed them along with other containers of food and drinks.

“Do you need any help?” asked Bob, who had abandoned his reading to join you. He fiddled with his hands, a nervous habit. You smiled at him, and he returned it with ease in his shoulders.

Months had passed since you all had moved into the Watchtower, growing closer with each day that passed. You and Bob in particular had grown the closest. No one was sure how it happened, how the two shy, slightly awkward members of the team ended up together. You weren’t sure either, but since the moment you met him in the warehouse set to be incinerated, you were drawn to him like a magnet.

It was unlike you to approach someone, much too stuck in your own world and fear of rejection for that kind of thing. But despite the storm that raged inside Bob’s head, amplified by the Sentry Project, you saw something else in him. Kindness that masked hurt, and a lost soul whom you wanted to find. It was an odd override in your anxious brain, but you wanted to be there for him, a stranger with a clear weight trying to keep him down.

Your likeness to each other formed a bond quickly, allowing an understanding to bloom and a friendship alongside it. When the Void overtook him, you and the not-yet-established team pulled Bob back, weaving through your own nightmares until you found the source of Bob’s.

The group stumbled into their new title of heroes, forced to be a team, but there was no complaint from the collection of people all in search of a purpose. You all had found it within each other.

It worked better than it should have; everyone got along better than they should have, forming a unit. You were close with all of them, but you and Bob had a connection unlike any other. While the rest of the group resembled a patchwork of family members, the adoration you grew for Bob wasn’t that.

Love was a word too scary to think yet, but it toed the line.

“I think I have everything packed. Yelena’s on the hunt for a blanket we can sit on,” you replied, closing the basket before you rounded the counter to where Bob stood. You gently pushed a few of his curls behind his ears to get a better look at him. He leaned into your touch as you rested your hand against the side of his face.

“Did you sleep okay?” you asked, noticing the ghost of dark circles under his eyes.

He shrugged. “For half of the night.”

“You should have woken me up,” you said with a small frown. You didn’t like to think of him tossing and turning at night. You had suggested sharing a bed on those bad nights, but he was too scared he’d drag you into your fears unknowingly if he fell asleep beside you.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

You raised your other hand to his face, holding him like he was worth something; to you, he was worth everything. “You’re never a bother,” you said, a gentle reminder, and brought his face closer to yours. Pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, you felt him smile into it. His arms loosely wrapped around your waist and didn’t move even when you broke apart.

“Look at you two lovebirds!” The booming voice of Alexei startled both of you. Bob’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as the team all wandered into the kitchen.

Yelena grinned at the two of you. “Don’t embarrass them,” she said to Alexei. “I found a blanket and we are…” Past you and Bob, her eyes fell onto the windows that overlooked the city. “Oh, man. Are you kidding me?!”

Everyone turned their attention to the window just as droplets began to fall from the heavy clouds. Alexei groaned loudly. “It was picnic day!”

“Looks like we’ll have to take a rain check,” Ava said with a shrug, setting down her bag on the floor.

Walker furrowed his brows and nodded his head toward you. “Are we forgetting we have weather girl here? Not that I care if we go or not, but I’m just saying.” He attempted to act nonchalant; he was rather bad at that. If his meticulous crafting of everyone’s ideal sandwich wasn’t enough of an indication of how he secretly wanted some more team bonding, his words just gave him away.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Bucky added, looking at you with a tired but kind glint in his eyes.

You studied the incoming storm for a moment and flexed your hands in thought. “Sure,” you said, earning a tilt of Bucky’s head that said he needed a better answer than that. “I want to. ”

You moved in front of the windows and closed your eyes, allowing your abilities to take hold. A buzzing rang in your ears as you focused on exactly what you wanted the weather in New York City to be like. You envisioned a clear sky, spotted with white clouds that allowed little breaks from the sunshine.

When you reopened your eyes, the rain had ceased, and the dreary sky turned bright.

A cheer sounded from Alexei as he clapped his hands together. “Let us go have picnic in park!” He grabbed the basket and everyone’s bags and started toward the elevator. The rest of the team follow, last in tow you and Bob.

“That’s so cool,” Bob said, glancing behind at the ray of sunlight you had placed there.

You giggled, looping your arm through his. “Cool enough to deserve a name better than weather girl?”

He smiled, not even comparable to the sun in your opinion, and pressed his shoulder against yours. “For sure.”

You joined the team in the elevator, off to enjoy a sunny picnic for the rest of the afternoon.

#thunderbolts*#the thunderbolts*#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #marvel #marvel fanfic #mcu #yelena belova #john walker #alexei shostakov #bucky barnes #ava starr

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chris-continues · 3 days ago

Text

I’ve Got My Eye on You

If you dance I’ll dance <3

Robert “Bob” Reynolds/reader

SYNOPSIS: When you’re forced to attend Valentina’s gala for publicity, you find solace in a familiar face.

CONTAINS: fem reader, fluff + a dash of angst, mutual pining, reader is convinced she shouldn’t pursue Bob, brief moments w the team, my dialogue is ass because I need to understand his character more so if any Bob writers have insight pls lmk

You did not want to come out tonight.

Well, in part you were curious as to what exactly a gala entails, but with your ragtag team of mercenaries almost nobody was invested in appearing tonight. Well, aside from Alexei eager to show off the team. You rarely see Yelena and Ava dress formally, their dresses notably elegant and distinct.

Your own feels pale in comparison, having to shove yourself into a box that you could not quite seem to fit. Sleek black silk cloaks you, its floor length obvious as the hem brushes the marble below you. The lot of you had hardly any time to view one another, crammed into the backseat of a limo Valentina had used to collect you. At least now you can get a decent look at everyone after the initial round of press.

Bob had been invited along with the team, but was forced to take a separate vehicle. He was maintaining a low profile ever since the incident only a few months prior, and nobody could fault him for that.

“Do you think they have hoity toity hors d’oeuvres or something?” Yelena prods, probably just thinking aloud, “I’m starving,” she sighs, pacing towards the entryway that led to the main dance hall. Her blonde hair is tousled with waves, her bangs framing her face. Stubbornly, she attempts to blow it away to no avail.

“You think with your stomach. The whole common fridge has a shelf dedicated to your pickles and cheese,” Ava retorts, but she’s grown fonder of the team nonetheless.

Alexei storms in front of everyone else, bursting into the room several paces ahead with extreme enthusiasm.

The banter fades into the recesses of your conscience, more focused on the grandeur of the main hall. A grand staircase greets you, your hands gingerly raising your dress as you descend. An air of opulence floats about the room, a crystal chandelier hanging upon the ceiling.

Your lips part in awe, continuing to step down. Many view your group, your eyes raking over the audience until you find him.

His eyes are transfixed upon you, hopeful, admiring, and yearning. The Bob you see is a far cry from the one lounging around the compound, no loose sweaters to hide his figure- a fitted tuxedo hugs his torso.

“He’s doing the googly eye thing,” Yelena whispers, eliciting an amused scoff from you. She seems entertained by playing matchmaker, but you’re sure Bob has his own problems to manage. He doesn’t need you.

Still, the most polite course of action is to greet your coworker/friend/roommate of course, so you find yourself weaving through the crowd while the remainder of the team disperses into the room. Unbeknownst to you, he’s been doing the same, hopeful for your company ever since he arrived.

Up close, he doesn’t seem so startlingly different in contrast. He’s still the same man. A crooked boutonnière stands proud upon his lapel, a lock of hair refuses to be styled, and his cerulean eyes seem to always be focused on you.

“You… you look beautiful,” he says, reverent as ever. He cautiously steps closer to you, as if attempting to fathom that you’re even real.

Because you’re not a memory stolen from the Void, nor a fleeting glimpse of joy in his previously bitter life. You’re real, tangible and absolutely striking. Your lashes kiss your cheeks as you glance towards the ground, a bit shy.

Of course someone as wonderful as him has the ability to make your knees weak.

Your eyebrow raises, playfully eyeing him. “You’re one to talk,” you shrug, a moment of pause standing between the two of you. You’d hoped that the two of you would grow more comfortable conversing. There was occasional banter, where you’d share details of your day. The store clerk at a bagel shop in the city, a little girl pointing up at you with awe, and the kind lady on the subway. He’d do the same while the two of you cleaned around the compound or went grocery shopping. Spending time with him became domestic, something that terrified you and stoked the flames of your fondness for him.

“..do you wanna dance?” You offer, extending a hand towards him.

“Sure- yeah,” he nods, his free lock of hair bobbing with the movement, “if you’ll have me.”

A scoff escapes you, the thought of turning him away now was ridiculous.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You comment, not leaving any room for questioning. The two of you weave your way through to the dancing portion of the hall, his hand resting on your own as the other rests just above your waist. You step a tad closer, the air stifling and your breath almost stilling.

His hands rest tentatively, yours doing the same. You feel a streak of boldness, your thumb gingerly smoothing out his lapel. You almost don’t notice the way his heart is racing beneath your palm.

“I was hoping you’d be able to stay at the compound with me this week,” he confesses, “I’m due for a night of rest.”

You cock your head to the side, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“Trouble sleeping lately?”

“That, and everyone’s been on their toes lately. Been remindin’ me-“

Suddenly, a jolt of force almost seems to knock you over. You don’t catch a decent look of their face, your shoulder stinging from the impact. Your torso is knocked, half pried out of Bob’s hands as the hand on your waist solely supports you.

His eyes are flooded with concern, never once leaving you as he scans you frantically.

“Hey- you ok?” He inquires, voice tinged with worry. The raspy quality to his voice has you attempting to steady your legs, lest you almost tip over once more.

You can feel the gaze of several onlookers, but you find yourself seemingly unbothered. His is the only one that matters.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” you mutter, the hand that was once on his chest finding purchase on his shoulder. If anything, from an onlooker’s perspective this could’ve been played off as him dipping you, which seems to stir something within your stomach.

“You’re more heroic than you give yourself credit for,” you tease after a moment, the two of you stepping in tandem with the surrounding couples.

“It’s more natural than you think,” you murmur, your hand resting on the nape of his neck. You almost don’t notice the way he melts, leaning into your touch.

Curiosity flickers behind his eyes, a warmth blooming within his chest.

“Do you like me playing hero? N-not that you need saving or anything-“ he rambles, but trails off once he sees you. Not the hardened front for press, but the kind, empathetic and caring person he’s come to know. The one who gently glides behind him in the kitchen to add something to a skillet, who accidentally locks eyes with him from across the conference room, who’s lingering touches have been seared to his skin and worshipfully committed to memory.

“Yeah. I do.” You whisper, your lips pressing together before they part for a cheesy grin.

Your steps are careful, measured, worried your step on his toes. Despite your coordination as a mercenary, you still manage to be rendered immobile by his presence. Especially when he’s holding you like porcelain, hands cradling your figure like you were worth more than anything.

“I’m up to stay behind from a mission this week.” You state after a moment, recalling his prior statement.

Something small twists in your gut, guilt eating away at your conscience. You shouldn’t be doing this, it’s a far cry from your main priority- yet his smile keeps your worries at bay for now. Keeping him company is enough, the soft moments between the two of you something sacred and almost saccharine.

#chris writes #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#Robert Reynolds #Robert Reynolds X reader #Bob Reynolds X reader #sentry X reader #thunderbolts Bob

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