#avengers ocs

[saiilorstars]

Just a Girl and a Boy

Pairing: 40s!Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Steve meets a girl at the carnival and it doesn't end up in flames like every other time. Seren is funny, kind and so pretty and best of all, she saw him first.

Story Masterlist ○ Seren’s Masterlist ○

Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​ @arrthurpendragon​ @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet​ @averyhotchner@foxesandmagic @kmc1989 @caplanbuckybarnes​

[If you’d like to be a part of any OC’s works/edits, let me know!]

Steve hated these nights out with Bucky and their dates. He always knew — they always knew — that the girls would always end up hanging out with Bucky. Bucky was just too nice of a friend to say it out loud. He had left the group with the excuse he was going to buy treats for them. Truly, he was only going to buy himself one sorry treat and then head home. He had nothing to do at a carnival on his own.

"C'mon, which one are you going to get?" The ice cream employee was a lot more impatient with him, though, than he had been with the customer before him.

Steve had fallen into his grim thoughts and had been staring at the flavors of ice cream. "Uh, sorry," he blinked and cleared his throat before actually taking a look at the ice cream flavors.

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind and before he could look back, the someone spoke to him in a sweet feminine voice.

"Mint chocolate is usually good!"

Steve did a double-take on the woman and flushed. She was very pretty, as was her sweet smile.

She had bright green eyes and perfect pinned curled brunette hair that shined under the carnival lights. She wore a soft green dress with a white shawl over her shoulders. Her smile was wide and beautiful with a soft pink tint on her lips.

"Let's go, man," the ice cream guy shot at Steve again, "You're getting in this nice pretty girl's way. Move it!" And suddenly there was a nice smile on his face as he motioned the woman forward.

Steve took the steps necessary to give way for the girl (who was indeed very pretty). She thanked him kindly and stepped forward to make her order.

"Two mint chocolates, please," she said, and the ice cream guy got right on it. In less than a minute, she had two ice cream in her hands.

"There you are, sweetheart! Enjoy your evening, alright?"

"Oh, I will," she assured and turned away. She suddenly held one of the ice cream in her hands towards Steve, leaving the latter to blink with confusion.

"I — um — you didn't — I didn't —"

The girl chuckled and even that Steve found to be very alluring.

"Don't tell me you don't like the flavor," she tilted her head at him.

Steve swore she was purposely batting her eyes at him. He was only guessing; no one ever did that to him.

Practically gulping, he reached out to take the ice cream from her. Their fingers brushed together and Steve found her skin to be as soft as silk.

She had everything, didn't she?

"I'm Seren by the way," she introduced herself.

"Steve," he said back, eyes glued to her. She had not stopped smiling at him and it took him a moment to realize she was waiting for him to try the ice cream. Like a little boy following directions, he dug his spoon and took a taste like he'd never tasted ice cream before.

Seren giggled as a brain freeze caught up to him. "I'm glad you liked it, but you should probably slow down."

Steve rubbed his forehead and tried his best to ignore the flourishing embarrassment. He was cursed to make a fool of himself in front of every woman on earth. "Th-thanks…"

Seren stopped him when he started taking money out to repay her. "It's on me!"

"Absolutely not, ma'am. Let me pay you, please," Steve was very insistent and even got the money out from his pocket.

"I paid because that guy," she nodded back to the ice cream stand, "was being an unnecessary jerk. Trust me, I would have taken 3 ice cream for free if I wanted to but unfortunately, I only have 2 hands."

Steve chuckled with her. "If you won't let me pay for the ice cream, then you have to let me pay something else for you."

"I'd be much more content with a walk around this place," Seren gestured to the carnival. "I lost my friends in the crowd and I'm new to Brooklyn."

"You're new?" Steve thought it made sense. He knew just about every girl in the neighborhood thanks to their rejections.

Seren nodded at him. "Just moved last week."

"And you already made friends?"

Seren laughed at the question. Steve realized how that sounded and flushed.

"Sorry, I-I'm not that great with, uh — never mind…"

"It's alright," she assured him and dipped her spoon into her ice cream. "I'm not exactly great friends with them. They're neighbors on my street and I suppose they felt sorry for the new girl and invited me here. Regardless of what they felt, I still lost them here."

"I can help you find them, if you'd like," Steve offered. He certainly wouldn't mind spending time with her.

Seren beamed at his help. "Thanks!"

Except instead of walking around the carnival to find said friends, they wound up on a bench together eating their ice cream. Neither one seemed to mind the detour.

"So where exactly did you move from?" Steve asked her out of curiosity.

"Hudson," Seren replied, "Because of the war, my father's job relocated him to Brooklyn."

"And how are you liking it so far?"

"Mm, other than the fact I don't know anyone here, it's great!"

Steve laughed at her sarcasm. "Well, you know one new person now."

"I'm happy about that, trust me," Seren said, sensing him a warm smile. He was the first guy she met who didn't immediately flirt with her. Plus, he was really cute. "What about you? Did you come with someone here?"

"Uh, yeah, my best friend and…and some others…" Steve had been very close to saying 'dates'. He wouldn't even mention it because said dates preferred to be with Bucky anyways. He didn't mind anymore. He found someone much, much better.

"Did you lose them too?"

"On purpose," said Steve quickly, making Seren automatically snort and laugh.

"That bad, huh?"

"Well…" Steve swayed his head, "My friend, Bucky, he's a thrill rider and me…I have some, uh, health issues, that make the repercussions just a bit worse for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," Seren said, genuinely sympathizing with him.

"It's alright, I've dealt with it my entire life. It's nothing I'm not used to."

"Well, if you ever need anything, my mother's a nurse. She'd be happy to help you out!"

Steve liked her. By God he was liking her a lot.

She was so sweet and she looked damn beautiful even if all she was doing was eating ice cream. She was funny and had the most dramatic eyes when she was reacting to something he said that she found amusing.

After leaving the bench, they wandered around the carnival in search of Seren's friends. Steve offered to buy her another dessert, noticing that she had a sweet tooth. It was both to repay her and keep her around for a bit more. She had no problem with that.

They came across a house of mirrors and before Steve could say anything — that he absolutely hated houses of mirrors — Seren pulled his hand and ran inside. It took Steve a while to get over the shock of her taking his hand, and it led to him being pulled every which way through the mirrors like an idiot…

But he was a happy idiot.

He held onto Seren's hand tightly and soon began to pull his weight through the maze of mirrors. He may have crashed into a few mirrors here and there — to which Seren giggled each time ��� but it was about the most fun he'd ever had in one of those things.

"Dammit, another dead end." Seren gazed at mirrors circling them. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

"Me?" Steve looked at her incredulously, though he was beginning to laugh. "I don't see you getting us out of here."

"I was following you!" Seren exclaimed. She walked up to the mirrors in front of them and fixed a few strands of her hair. "And look where you got us?"

Steve watched her with a fondness in his eyes. He'd seen plenty of girls do the same thing and always thought of them as shallow. Something about Seren screamed that was far from who she was.

Seren caught him looking at her and smiled at him through the reflection. "Sorry, the running messed it up."

"You look great," he said, his cheeks a bright red.

Seren stopped with her hair and turned around. "I never asked and I probably should have but are you seeing someone?"

"Uuh, n-no, not…not at all, trust me," Steve said. "A bit more running and you'll trigger my asthma. Not a very, uh, attractive quality…amongst others."

"Your health isn't well?"

There was a hint of worry in her voice and that alone was a very stark difference between her and the other girls. Most took his health as an excuse to reject him.

"Not as great as I would like," he replied, deciding to leave the full history of his illnesses to the side. "The friends I came with were, uh, supposed to be dates but…let's just say my friend Bucky is a bit better looking…"

"How rude of them," Seren scowled.

"It's fine, trust me—"

Seren walked back to him and took his hand again. The scowl was off her face and replaced with a sweet smile. "So then nobody will mind if I steal you for a bit more?"

Steve was sure the look on his face was that of an idiot…because it was. He blinked at Seren and even though his mouth was open, nothing came out.

"I'll take that as a 'let's go'," Seren chuckled and pulled him away from the dead end.

They maneuvered through the rest of the mirror maze until they finally found their way out. They both argued that they each found the way out, neither one willing to back down.

They settled their differences of opinion by playing at a stall of ring toss. Steve threw a few and (of course) missed all of them.

Next to him, Seren laughed teasingly at him. "Wow, you are horrible at this!"

Steve playfully rolled his eyes at her. "Ha, ha…I told you, I don't have the right coordination…"

Seren hummed. "That's alright. I can win…I think…" She prepared to toss the first ring forwards by stepping back and drawing her arm close to her chest.

"Don't miss," Steve said innocently just as she made the toss…and missed.

It hit the corner of the stall instead.

"Gah! You did that on purpose, you cheater!" Seren threw a reprimanding glare his way.

"No, I didn't!" Steve exclaimed, but Seren shook her head at him.

"I see you, Steve. Don't think for a second I don't. I see you!" With narrowed eyes, she turned her attention back to the bottles.

Steve watched her fondly again. Maybe it was all in his head but for the first time in his life, he actually felt seen.

Seren made the rest of her ring tosses and successfully landed them on the bottles. "I made it! I actually made it! Ha!" She bounced with excitement and threw her arms around Steve.

Steve was forced to bounce with her as she excitedly hugged him. He didn't mind — who in their right mind would? She smelled so sweet like flowers. His nose was ambushed by her hair and like her, smelled so nice. He felt so at peace with her — complete, one would say. He had problems that went on forever and yet in that moment, he couldn't remember a single bad thing.

~0~

"What are you talking about? Caramel popcorn is way better than buttered popcorn," Seren scrunched her nose. "Why would you pick butter over caramel? You're crazy." And to prove her point, she dropped a few pieces of caramel popcorn into her mouth. She winked at Steve afterwards.

He sat next to her on the bench holding his own popcorn in his hands — buttered popcorn. "Not everything needs to be sweet, you know."

"The best things in life usually are."

"What are you, a poet?"

Seren deadpanned him and threw a few pieces of popcorn at his face.

"Hey!"

Giggling, Seren continued to eat.

Steve picked up the pieces she threw at him and popped them into his mouth. They were pretty good. He offered her some of his own popcorn and just as she was going to take it, she reiterated that he was still wrong about the better flavor.

"I'm beginning to get that you are very stubborn," he remarked as she chewed.

"Never say that to a woman, Steve," she wagged a finger at him. "Especially when you're clearly wrong."

He shook his head at her and ate some more.

The sun had set a while back, leaving the carnival lights to illuminate the place. Steve was aware they had not gone in search of Seren's friends like they planned but Seren herself never mentioned them throughout the afternoon. His heart did a little flip wondering if it was because she had a good time like he had. Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end.

Steve heard Bucky's voice minutes before he appeared by the bench. For some reason, Steve felt disappointed. One of two things was going to happen in the next few minutes: either Seren would like Bucky more, or it was time to head home for all of them.

Bucky's gaze drifted towards Seren once he joined them. "I was wondering where you headed off to but it all makes perfect sense now. Hello there, I'm Bucky, and you are?" He held a hand out to her.

"Seren," she said back and took his hand.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand with his usual charming smile. Steve was giving him the flattest look ever, clearly not amused. Bucky noticed it.

"This is your best friend, then?" Seren's question and sudden glance pulled Steve out of his thoughts.

"Mhm," he nodded.

"Sorry I took him from you," Seren said to Bucky, and he noted the mischievous glint in her eye when she spoke. "Except I might do it again."

"Oh?" Bucky raised an eyebrow at her, chuckling, especially as he saw his friend flush with embarrassment.

"Well, it's just that I moved to Brooklyn literally last month and I still don't know much about the good parts of the neighborhood…" Seren trailed off as she met Steve's look, "He seems to know a thing or two about the best sweets…"

"Oh, he does!" Bucky exclaimed and not so subtly stared at Steve. "He knows the best spots, don't you Steve?"

"Uh, y-yeah…" He nodded slowly, "I d—"

"Seren!" A blonde girl from a distance shouted. Seren looked over and saw a group of girls waving her over.

"Oh, those are my friends! Scuse me for a second!" Seren promised she would return in a moment and rushed off to meet her friends.

"There you are!" huffed the blonde girl. "We've been looking all over for you."

"I got held up, Chloe," Seren said sheepishly. "Met a nice guy on the way. That's him over there — the blonde one. His name is Steve.

Chloe looked over Seren's shoulder and saw Bucky and Steve conversing with each other in a hushed manner. "I see…" she remarked with her own interest, "Who's his friend?"

Seren rolled her eyes.

Across from them, Bucky was trying his best not to smack Steve in public. "You need to ask that girl out on a proper date, you punk. She likes you!"

But Steve was still very nervous. Every time he asked a girl out, she always rejected him. The real mean ones laughed at him.

"Either you do it or I punch you right now," Bucky hissed. "She's coming!" He shoved Steve forwards. "Go!"

Steve felt like he couldn't breathe and it had nothing to do with his asthma.

"Go!" Bucky gave him another push then plastered on a faux smile as Seren returned. He made himself scarce and pretended to be interested in a nearby game booth.

"Seren, hey," Steve gulped, "everything alright?"

"Mhm," nodded Seren, "My friends were just worried about where I went. I told you, I don't know where anything is…" Her voice was with purpose and that Steve caught this time.

He cleared his throat, preparing himself to ask the simple question that wasn't really simple at all. "I was wondering if you wanted to—"

"Yes," Seren said with a bright smile. Her cheeks were tinted pink but she didn't care. Better to make it easy for both of them rather than lament what could have been.

Steve's eyebrows rose together, his own face feeling the same warmth as her. "I like you, Seren," the words tumbled out of his mouth. He was about to regret it when she giggled.

"Great, because I like you too," she said back. Then, without warning, she leaned over and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

If Steve was red before, he was as bright as a tomato. She was so beautiful…

They decided to meet next week at a certain park and then go from there to wherever they felt that day.

~0~

Many things happened between the day of the carnival and the day of their date. Seren didn't understand why Steve missed it. She was very upset and honestly disappointed in him.

"Honestly, don't get that upset," Chloe remarked the next day, "You could easily find another guy. Sure, he was good looking but he was kind of small — the girls all know he has health problems. He's always sick."

Seren didn't care about any of that stuff. She just wanted to know why, after having such a wonderful time together at the carnival, he would leave her hanging like that. And it's not like she could call him either. He disappeared, for a lack of a better word. He didn't strike her to be that kind of man. She couldn't understand what happened.

"Maybe he just stopped liking me," she said glumly, "Maybe I was too forward."

Chloe scoffed. "Please, you're the prettiest girl on the block! Trust me, Seren, you can find someone better. You'll see."

But a few weeks later, Seren (and Chloe) got the shock of their lives. There was a bumbling noise about the ongoing war and with it came something about a popular show across America. Steve was the face of it all, and he was very different.

For some reason, all of the noise and excitement around his new image didn't cause the same reaction as it did with everyone else. She grew angry, and even more disappointed. Even Chloe had changed her mind about him, although she still made her preference for Steve's friend very clear.

The weeks turned into months and Seren was very tired of seeing Steve everywhere. Suddenly, everyone around her adored him, especially the girls. She hated all of them. It was all a reminder of what he did to her.

The show-tour (whatever it was called) circled its way back to Brooklyn and that day, Seren ignored all her friends going there. She was not stepping foot anywhere near the place.

In the evening, she waited for her friends at a diner. She ordered herself a milkshake though she didn't drink a lot from it. Her mind was somewhere else.

From the corner of her eye, she saw someone take a seat on the empty stool beside her.

"You know, I'll bet the mint chocolate milkshake tastes better," he spoke to her in a friendly voice. "Or the caramel one…"

Seren did not afford him the same courtesy. "I'm surprised you found the place considering you should be 10 miles in the opposite direction…any direction, actually."

Steve supposed he should take the sarcasm as a blessing. She could have smacked him on the spot and left without saying a word. It's a start, he told himself.

Seren watched him through discreet glances. Dammit, he's still good looking. He was just taller now. "I guess I should say that you're about 4 months late to our date…if you even remembered it." She heard his quiet sigh.

"Seren, I didn't mean to leave you—"

"But you did," she snapped, turning on her stool towards him, "and I can see why. Congratulations. Everyone loves you now. My friends adore you."

"And you?" Steve met her look cautiously. "You don't…'like' me anymore?"

Seren scoffed quietly. "I liked you on day one. The carnival…the ice cream…the mirrors and the ring toss…I liked you then and you blew me off." She noticed longer wanted her milkshake, she didn't want to be at the diner again. "So let me repay you with the same coin."

"Seren," Steve watched her get up to leave, "Please just—"

"Goodbye, Steve," she reiterated and walked past him.

"Oh, no you don't…" Steve mumbled under his breath and got up after her. "Seren!" He went after her, following her out the diner.

"Stop following me, you creep!"

"I'm a creep now?"

"Trust me, it's better than what I actually want to call you!"

Steve rolled his eyes behind her. He picked up his pace and caught up with her down the street. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. His pull was a bit stronger than he expected — he was still getting used to his newfound strength — and so her body fell against him.

"Get away from me!" She pushed him away but found it did nothing against him. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"I don't, please just listen!" Steve exclaimed. His arms were wrapped around her waist to keep her with him.

"I don't need to listen to anything you have to say because I know what you're going to say!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes!"

"And how do you know what I'm going to say?"

Seren scoffed in his face. "Because every guy says the same thing when he blows off a girl! You'll say the same thing to get me to forget what you did and guess what, I'm not buying it!"

"Well, I actually have something I need to tell you that will definitely help you understand what happened and why I didn't come find you!"

"I severely doubt that! Now let me go!" she hit her fists against his chest. "I will start screaming! Don't think I won't!"

"I'm sorry, Seren! I didn't mean to leave you like that, I swear! I-I tried enlisting into the war and I met a doctor and he — he did this —" Steve gestured to his new appearance, "—and before I knew it, I was being put through tests. I would have called, but I didn't have your number. I didn't even know where you lived."

Seren stopped hitting him there and then. Her big green eyes flickered up at him, her brows hunching together. "What?"

Steve felt confident enough to let her go without fearing she would run off. "They took me away to run these exams and yeah, it was in Brooklyn, but I had no way of contacting you. I didn't have your number…I didn't know your home…I only had your first name. Your beautiful name and the memory of you is all I had. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Seren stared at him in silence, making Steve feel worse. She brought her arms across her chest and began to feel quite awkward once Steve's words registered in her head.

You never gave him your number…She closed her eyes as a sigh left her lips.

"God, I hate that you're making sense," she muttered with annoyance.

Steve blinked at her, then realized what her words meant. His heart began to relax then.

"I guess…I was just so confident that you were going to come…" Seren lowered her head, "Didn't even think about…"

"I was going to come," Steve promised her. He stepped closer to her, daring to slip a finger under her chin to lift her head. "You have no idea how awful it was knowing I was supposed to be there and I wasn't. The idea of you waiting for me killed me."

"Trust me, it was not very fun for me either," she mumbled. In that moment waiting for him, she felt embarrassed just sitting on her own waiting for a guy she thought liked her back.

"I'm sorry, Seren, I really am."

She nodded at him, accepting his apology. Her eyes looked him over then. "So…enlisting in the war…makes you change your whole body?"

Steve chuckled lightly. "Not really."

"Did you do it for everyone else, then?"

"No—"

"Why did they do this to you?"

Steve paused for a second and took note of her expression. "Do you…do you not like me…?"

Thanks to the night, he couldn't see the complete blush on Seren's face. She was very grateful. "No, no, I — of course I do — I — yeah, I—" She passed a hand through her hair, feeling the air suddenly get very hot around her.

Steve tried to follow but in the end, Seren's stammering entered a whole other language. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Seren nodded and worked hard (and fast) to calm herself down. "I was, um, I was asking…wh-what was the…the, uh…purpose…of your…change…?"

"It was supposed to be a blueprint thing to create a better soldier for the war," Steve explained. "More strength, better senses…"

"Was?" Seren caught the word, as well as the lingering sadness in his eyes.

"The creator, Dr. Erskine, was killed just seconds after the experiment happened. He was a good man. He didn't deserve that."

"Oh, I'm very sorry," Seren said, touching his arm for comfort. "So if this whole thing was to help the war…why are you here?"

"With Dr. Erskine dead, there's no way to recreate the serum. I'm sort of all they have and, uh, they don't really want me."

"They have no idea what they're saying," Seren said decisively. "You look perfect to me."

Steve felt the familiar warmth spread across his face. "I thought of you," he said, looking her in the eyes, "Every day I was thinking of you…"

"Really?" Seren raised a brow at him. "Why? Everyone loves you now…you didn't even have to come back to find me anymore…"

"You said it — they love me now. They would've never looked in my way before I changed." He gently touched her cheek and grazed her skin with his thumb. "You made me feel seen when I only ever knew what it was like to be invisible. You, the carnival, that whole afternoon was the best day of my life. Why did you see me?"

It was hard concentrating with his fingers rubbing her cheek, but Seren still tried. "I…I thought you were…sweet. When we were waiting in line for the ice cream…I don't know, I just wanted to talk to you…maybe it was all my big mouth…"

"I'm glad you did," Steve said, bringing his hand down under her chin, "Because I don't think I would've had the courage to talk to you."

"Mm, did I look mean?"

"Beautiful more like it. The most beautiful girl at that carnival…"

He thought of her in the house of fled fixing her hair that didn't even need fixing in the first place; then of her at the ring toss and how happy she was to win; her eating popcorn with him on the bench bantering about the better flavor.

"Do you think I could steal you this time?"

Seren looked at him with a mischievous glint. "I thought you said you weren't brave enough to talk to me?"

"It's either I try or I lose you forever this time," Steve said, "I prefer the former. Are you busy?"

"I am, actually…"

"Oh," Steve startled, not expecting that answer. "I'm—"

But then Seren started giggling at him. He threw his head back and groaned.

"Okay, I deserve that…"

"You do," she nodded. As soon as he straightened his head, she grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him down for a kiss.

The shock of it wore off pretty quickly as Steve preferred to take advantage of her move and show her how much he missed her. His arms came around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. His new strength definitely gave him a few new perks he loved, like this one.

He had taken her air in a way Seren never dreamed of. Pulling away from her almost made her mad. Her hands were still on his face, lowering to his jawline.

"You were planning on doing that for our first date?" she whispered, her eyes still shut. She didn't want the moment to be over just yet.

He pressed a kiss on her forehead. "Not precisely…just felt right…"

"You've definitely changed a bit on the inside too…"

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know yet, give me another kiss and maybe I'll decide."

Steve smirked. "You're certainly the same."

"And is that good or bad?"

Steve took her hands off him in a gentle manner. "I'll decide in a moment," he said before diving forwards for another kiss.

[ironshieldchild]

a little something i made lmao

[moonlightsolo]

thunderbolts where you're exhausted to the brim and they're worried

lights out | thunderbolts* x reader ⋆｡°✩

pairing: thunderbolts* x fem!reader (with a slight hint of bucky x reader)

warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, insomnia, reader being kinda strung out lol

word count: 2.1k

note: okay wow. it’s been two years since i actually wrote anything and posted it on here so i’m glad to be back!! i hope u like it <3

It’s been four days since your last mission. Four days since you’ve felt the relieving bliss of a full night’s rest. 

96 hours. 5760 minutes. 345,600 seconds. 

But it’s not like you’re counting anyway. 

Usually you’re fine after an assignment, maybe a little sore or winded— but not this exhausted; mentally and physically. 

It’s almost like clockwork now as you lie in bed throughout the night. Your thoughts loud as you listen to your own breathing, and thrumming of your heartbeat beneath your ribs. How the air conditioning kicks on and blows cold air onto your face, causing you to bundle up under the covers. 

The only source of light in your dark room is coming from your phone as you scroll through numerous social media apps. Your eyes dancing over the screen, switching between tiktoks and instagram reels as you doom scroll. 

And then your eyes begin to flutter shut, hand going limp as your phone drops beside you on the bed. Your body allows you all but twenty minutes of sleep before your heart constricts with anxiety. 

You wake up gasping for air, sitting straight up in your king-sized bed. Your oversized pajama shirt is drenched in sweat and stuck to your body as if it’s clinging to the sleep you’ve been so rudely disturbed from.  

Your eyes dart around your dark room before following the beam of light coming from your phone. The same video has been playing on repeat, along with a song as someone dances to it on the screen. 

With a loud sigh and a deep breath, you reach over to check the time on your phone. In the top corner it reads, ‘2:18’ a.m. With your heart still beating heavily against your ribcage, there’s no way you can try to sleep now. You might as well go watch some tv instead of mindlessly scrolling on your tiny phone screen. 

You rub your eyes with your fists, eyes watering desperately as you stifle a yawn. Your feet kick the covers off as your legs swing over the side of your bed. Shuffling your feet into your slippers, you use your phone screen as a flashlight to direct yourself to your door. 

Your head peeks out as you slowly open it, looking down the dark hallway. You listen for any movement, any sign of life from your other comrades. 

Sometimes you wonder if they can tell you haven’t been getting enough sleep, maybe it’s the dark circles or how you space out more often. 

Or maybe it’s that you’ve skipped training five times in the last four days. It wasn’t a rare occurrence to have bouts of sleepless nights, they knew that too— but this has been the longest and most exhausting four days of your life. There’s no way that they haven’t caught on yet. 

As you make your way to the living room, your body viscerally shivers from the crispness of the air in the tower. The sweat on your skin cools, and the dampness of your shirt turns chilly. You need warmth, and you know exactly what will suffice. After snatching a blanket off the couch and wrapping it around your shoulders, you shuffle into the kitchen. 

Yawning as you pop a pod into your coffee maker and quietly pulling a mug from the cabinet. It reads, ‘I ♡ NYC’, which makes you smile and scoff at the irony of it. The coffee maker splutters and spits out coffee as it brews the liquid gold into your cup. 

The aroma almost does the job of energizing you itself. You wrap your hands around the hot mug, hissing from the heat, but you allow it to warm your cold hands as you make your way to the living room. 

Tucking yourself into the far corner of the plush couch, you pull your knees close to your body to drape another blanket over your legs. Your hand clicks buttons on the remote as you sip on the hot coffee, humming from the taste and how it warms you from the inside out. 

Some late-night sitcom is on, so you resort to watching that for now. Quietly giggling along with the laughter in the background of the show. You don’t even notice soft footsteps padding down the hallway towards you as you stare wide-eyed at the tv screen. 

A deep voice calls out your name, making your eyes snap towards the sound. It’s Bucky. 

“What are you doing up?” His voice is scratchy from sleep as his half-lidded eyes squint from the brightness of the tv. His hands are on his hips as he stares at you, almost like a disappointed dad. 

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Your hand grips the remote as you hurriedly turn it down. 

His feet drag as he walks into the living room, still standing up as his eyes watch the screen. The light casts over his features as you stare at him from your position on the couch, “No, no, it’s okay. I heard the tv but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay…” He trails off and turns toward you with his eyebrows wrinkled in the middle, “Well, uh… Are you okay?” 

Your eyes nervously dart from your coffee in your lap to him, and then back to the tv. Your body shudders, urging you to word vomit about how you haven’t slept in four days and how your stupid mind won’t shut up. 

“Y—yeah, Buck. I’m good.” You send a quick, insincere smile his way before looking back down at your steaming mug. You can still feel his eyes on the side of your face, refusing to look up at him. He knows. 

The couch dips beside you, making your breath catch slightly as you side-eye him. 

“Well, I’m gonna sit out here with you and watch whatever the hell you’re watching.” He almost chuckles, his hand motioning toward the tv. 

He looks over at you as his metal arm folds behind his head, the other sprawling out on the back of the couch toward you. Almost like he’s inviting you to move closer to him. 

It’s not weird for you and Bucky to cuddle—especially during your low points, but you can’t give in.

“It’s called friends.” You mumble, still staring into the mug. 

“Hm?” He hums and adjusts himself so he’s a little closer to you, his head leaning forward so he can hear you clearer. 

“The show. It’s called friends.” You speak up, and turn towards him now before taking a sip of your coffee. 

Bucky watches you intently, how you bring the mug to your lips, how your bloodshot, purple-rimmed eyes flick to the screen and back to him. 

“Is that coffee?” He questions with a raised eyebrow, his hand reaching out for it, and you hand the mug over to him. He takes a sip out of your cup before handing it back to you, settling himself into the couch with a satisfying tsk and an, “Aah.” 

“So why haven’t you been sleeping?” He asks with his eyes trained on the tv. You start to fumble over your words, stuttering and wiggling in your spot. “I-uhhh.. wha-?” Your voice trembles. 

Why can’t you just admit it? 

“We’re all worried about you, ya know. Missing training, showing up to meetings late, stumbling into the kitchen for food… or coffee. You've been hiding in your room for days now.” He tilts his head toward your cup to prove a point. 

Tears begin to well up into your eyes, your bottom lip shuddering and your hands trembling. Bucky watches as your walls start to crumble, the exhausted, beaten, and bruised version of you seeping through. “Hey hey. It’s okay, doll.” He sits up now, taking the mug from your hands to set it on the coffee table. 

Once the coffee is safely put to the side, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you from your cocoon of blankets. Your face is smushed into his soft cotton tee shirt, tears soaking the fabric as you silently weep into his chest. 

“I-I jus-just can’t sl-sleep.” You stutter out, arms still by your side, his strong arms caging you in, “My-my mind, my th-thoughts… I just can’t anymore.” 

Bucky shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles into your back. “I know, I know.” He hums. 

Bucky lets you cry into him until it turns into quickened breathing, and then your body starts to go slack. He’s been through this with you so many times, too many times. 

Your head moves from his chest, wiggling your way up to fit into the crook of his neck. Your soft breath fans across his warm skin, and your arms hesitantly wrap around his solid waist. 

Bucky pulls you closer, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple as you snuggle in close. The sound of footsteps breaks you from your little bubble with Bucky, your watery eyes lifting to see Yelena standing at the edge of the couch. 

“Everything okay?” Her usual strong, accented voice is soft as she stares at you with tender, yet tired, eyes. 

Bucky pulls back slightly to turn, his flesh arm still holding onto your waist as he looks at Yelena. A small smile plays on his lips before turning back to you, tapping your hip as his grip loosens. 

“Yeah, she’s good now. Can’t sleep.” Bucky yawns at the end of his sentence and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. You move back slightly, still pressed against his side but not in an embrace. 

“Good. We were worried about you.” Yelena comments, which makes you snort. Both of them turn towards you, looking confused. 

“Bucky said that earlier.” You poke at him jokingly, and he swats at your hand. Yelena lets out a raspy laugh and plops down on the chaise lounge, kicking her feet up as she looks at the tv. “Friends, really?” She rolls her eyes and motions for the remote with her hand. 

You toss the remote to her, and she catches with ease—not even looking as it flew toward her. She flips through the channels as Bucky pulls you closer, your head gravitating towards his lap. You keep telling yourself this is a normal thing for you and Bucky to do; he helps you. But this time, it just feels different. 

You lay on your side, head on his thigh as you curl up into yourself. His hand instantly goes into your long flowing hair to play with it before he pulls a blanket over your body. You can feel yourself relax, your chest warming up as your nervous system resets itself. 

You can feel yourself growing sleepier by the second as Bucky’s hand cards through your hair. Yelena and Bucky’s quiet conversation is slowly drowned out as your ears start to ring, blinking slowly as you try to fight the weight pulling down your eyelids. 

The tv in front of you blurs out of view as your eyes shut, finally succumbing to the sleep your body has been begging for. 

-

You wake up to a bright room around you, sunshine illuminating the walls shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You can feel wetness around your mouth, almost as if you’ve been drooling. 

Wait, where are you? And what is that delicious smell?

Your eyes fully open and you suck in a deep breath of fresh air. It smells of breakfast, like bacon and maple syrup. You’re surprisingly still in the living room, but the tv’s volume is lowered and Bucky isn’t under you anymore. Your coffee cup has been cleaned up, and you’re still covered in a blanket or two. 

As you sit up, you groan, muscles aching from sleeping in a weird position on the couch. You move your neck side to side, yawning as you stretch your arms above your head. 

“Ah! Sleeping beauty is awake!” Yelena’s voice shouts, making you jump as you spin around to face her. 

Bob is sitting at the kitchen island alongside Bucky, while John is at the stove cooking. Yelena is sitting on the counter, laughing at something Bob said as she bites into a piece of bacon she has in her hand. 

The sound of something sizzling catches your ears, and suddenly your stomach grumbles. Bucky swivels on his chair to turn toward you, his face beaming when he sees you’re awake. 

Your lips twitch upwards into a smile, sliding off the couch to shuffle over to him. His arm wraps around your waist from his seated position, “How ya feel?” He asks, looking up at you. 

“Pretty good, still tired but much better.” You sigh happily, smiling around at your teammates who return the same expression.  

John sneakily eyes Bucky’s hand sitting comfortably on your waist, winking at you which makes you blush. 

You know you’ll start to feel better, slowly but surely. Especially with everyone around you being so supportive. They’ll make you feel more like yourself again, and you know you’ll be back to a regular sleep schedule soon. Hopefully with Bucky’s help again. 

[stargrillzz]

Can’t help it, he’s so cute

summary: Bucky, knowing the team needs a new place to hide, turns to the only person he knows will support him. You didn't expect him to bring an entire team with him.

note: OMG BOB IS SO CUTE. xoxo

The makeshift safehouse reeked of dust and distrust.

It was someone’s abandoned cabin off-grid in the middle of Wyoming—too many pine trees, not enough coffee. The floor creaked when Yelena shifted her weight, sitting cross-legged on a rickety table while eating sunflower seeds like she was born for the apocalypse. Ava was pacing like a caged animal near the window. John Walker had his arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. Bucky sat in the middle of the room, elbows on knees, fingers threaded into his hair.

And Bob Reynolds… well. Bob stood shirtless in the corner, looking like an accidental god. His shoulders didn’t fit into normal space. His glowing eyes flicked around the room like he was still trying to figure out how reality worked. Or maybe he was just bored. Hard to tell with him.

“So what now?” Alexei grunted from the only real chair, arms stretched wide like a king. “We camp here and wait for the government to find us again? Bad plan. Terrible plan. I’ve been in Russian prisons with more dignity.”

“No one asked you,” Walker muttered.

“We need somewhere better,” Ava cut in, her voice sharp but tired. “Somewhere we can lay low. Where they wouldn’t think to look.”

“Well unless one of you has a vacation home in the Alps,” Yelena said dryly, “we’re pretty much screwed.”

Bucky didn’t move. His jaw ticked once, like a switch flipped in his brain. Slowly, he stood up, eyes distant. “I might know someone.”

That got everyone’s attention. Bob tilted his head, blinking once. Ava stopped pacing. Yelena actually paused mid-sunflower seed.

“You know someone?” Alexei asked.

“Who?” Walker asked, skeptical.

“Just—give me a minute,” Bucky said, already walking outside. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, heading into the cold with a phone already in his hand. His thumb hovered over a number he hadn’t dialed in a long time. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he wasn’t sure he should.

Your contact lit up his screen: Cutest Stark💋 Obviously you saved your contact under that name when you were helping Bucky use his new phone, he just laughed an decided keep it that way.

He sighed and hit call.

Meanwhile, in New York City…

In the gleaming kitchen of Stark Tower—your inherited kingdom—you stirred a bubbling sauce with one hand while balancing your phone between your shoulder and cheek. Morgan’s face filled the screen. She was giggling at something offscreen, probably one of the robots you still kept around.

“—and then I told him,” Morgan said between snickers, “if he thinks he’s smarter than me, he can explain why he just fell for the oldest prank in the book.”

You laughed, warm and full, moving around the kitchen barefoot in one of Tony’s old MIT sweatshirts. “God, you’re such a Stark it hurts.”

“I know,” Morgan beamed. “You taught me well.”

Before you could respond, a second call tried to interrupt. Your screen flashed with a name you hadn’t seen in weeks. Maybe months. James. F. Barnes.

You froze.

Morgan squinted. “Is that who I think it is?”

You smiled, heart stuttering, sauce forgotten. “Yeah. I—hang on, peanut.”

You switched the call, pressed video, and Bucky’s face filled your screen, framed by pine trees and late afternoon light. His hair was longer. His stubble thicker. He looked tired… but your name made him smile.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Bucky!” You nearly dropped the spoon. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see your face. Where have you been? Wait—never mind, I don’t care. I missed you. Are you okay? Are you safe?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I missed you too. I, uh… I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

“We’re in a tight spot. New team, no allies. We need a place to lay low for a bit.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You’re coming home.”

He blinked. “You sure?”

“Bucky,” you said gently, “I kept this place running for a reason. Your room’s still here. The tower’s secure. FRIDAY still knows your coffee order. Come home.”

He exhaled slowly, like the weight of the world finally slid off his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You don’t even have to ask.” You paused, smirking a little. “But when you get here, you will have to explain why the hell it took you this long to call me. I mean, seriously. I thought you died. Again.”

He chuckled, that low, gravelly laugh that used to echo through the Tower halls. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

Then your voice softened. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

The call ended, but your chest stayed warm. Morgan peeked back on the screen, smirking. “So… do I get to meet your war criminal boyfriend now?”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “He’s not my—oh, shut up.”

Because yes, obviously, you always liked Bucky.

Who wouldn't?

It was just a crush though.

He was clearly a man who wasn't ready for anything with anyone, and you were a person who wanted everything with someone. Clearly, you weren't a good match. The point here, the sweet tone you used with him and the tender way you looked at him, was because he was your last lifeline. The last thing you had left connected to your father, Steve, Nat. Bucky is the last thing you had left, the only living proof that everything that happened really happened and wasn't in vain.

“We have a place,” Bucky said flatly, stepping back into the cabin’s main room. Everyone looked up.

Alexei blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, pulling his glove tighter. “It’s secure, off-radar, not government-controlled. We’ll be safe.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where?”

He hesitated just long enough for them all to stare.

“…Stark Tower,” he finally muttered, and immediately regretted how that sounded.

Walker nearly choked. “You’re taking us to Tony Stark’s skyscraper? The Stark Tower? Didn’t that thing light up like a Christmas tree every time someone sneezed near Manhattan?”

“It’s under new management,” Bucky grumbled, grabbing his bag. “Let’s go.”

The quinjet landed on the private helipad atop Stark Tower at sunset, the entire skyline of New York painted in golden pinks and fire. The building glowed from within — a quiet kind of warmth, like someone had taken a monument of history and turned it into a real home.

The moment the team stepped into the elevator, surrounded by polished chrome and holographic glass panels, Bucky turned to face them all like an exhausted dad.

“Okay,” he said, lifting his hands. “I mean this — please. Behave.”

Yelena gave a little shrug. “You act like we are not capable of being polite.”

“You’re not,” Bucky shot back.

“Who exactly lives here now?” Ava asked, watching the floor numbers tick upward.

“That’d be…the older Stark,” Bucky said carefully. “Tony’s oldest daughter.”

The group went quiet.

“Oh,” Alexei said. “That Stark.”

“Wait wait wait,” Walker held up a finger. “Like Stark-Stark? The billionaire genius daughter of Iron Man who disappeared from public life after he—”

“Yes,” Bucky cut him off sharply. His voice lowered. “She was like family to Tony’s team. She stayed behind to keep the place safe. And she’s letting us stay, so try not to ruin it.”

Before anyone could reply, the elevator chimed — and the doors opened.

You stood there.

Hair soft and glowing in the evening light. Wearing leggings and a loose tank, barefoot but radiant, like the Tower itself breathed easier when you were in it. You held your breath the moment you saw Bucky, your eyes wide, lips parted, like you weren’t sure if he was real or a memory.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

He barely had time to register your name before you ran.

You launched into his arms like muscle memory, clinging to him with your face buried in his shoulder, and he caught you without hesitation, arms winding around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was tight, grounding, a little desperate.

“God, I missed you,” you murmured against his neck.

“I missed you too,” he said into your hair. “You look—Jesus, you look beautiful. You always do.”

You pulled back, eyes glossy but full of a grin. “You really ghosted me, Barnes.”

“I know.” He grimaced, brushing your cheek. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“You better.”

You finally turned your attention to the crew behind him, all still in the elevator like they were watching a rom-com unfold in real time.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You brought… everyone.”

He cleared his throat, hand still on the small of your back. “Right. Uh—guys, this is Y/N Stark. She’s letting us crash here.”

You smiled. “Welcome to Stark Tower, or what’s left of it. Now a semi-chaotic haven for misfit vigilantes, apparently.”

Alexei stepped forward and shook your hand with a grin. “Is honor to meet small Stark daughter.”

“Oh no,” you smiled. “I’m not small. I’m just the older sibling now.”

Yelena stepped out next, and the moment your eyes locked with hers, you froze mid-breath.

“…You okay?” Yelena asked gently, brow creased.

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “It’s just—Natasha… she was like an aunt to me. We lived here together. She’d braid my hair in the mornings. Seeing you—it’s like a part of her walked back through the door.”

Yelena’s gaze softened instantly. She stepped forward and pulled you into a quiet, firm hug. “She would’ve loved that,” she said into your ear. “And I think she’d be glad you’re still here.”

You clung to her a second longer than expected, heart full. Bucky smiled to himself, a weight lifted.

Then John Walker strolled forward, flashing you his best smug grin. “So… you’re telling me a gorgeous, genius Stark lives in a high-rise all alone? How’s that legal?”

Before you could answer, Bucky’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Back off.”

Walker blinked. “What? I’m just saying hi.”

“Say hi to the wall,” Bucky muttered.

And then—

You turned.

And saw him.

Bob Reynolds stood awkwardly near the elevator’s edge, towering, golden-haired, built like a titan and blinking like he didn’t know where to put his hands. His eyes met yours, and then traveled—slowly, reverently—across every inch of you.

And then, aloud—without even realizing:

“…She looks like a goddess.”

Everyone went still.

Bob’s face froze. His mouth dropped slightly.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, eyes wide in horror. “I—I thought that. That was supposed to stay inside my head.”

You laughed, hand covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”

Bob blushed so hard it looked like his skin might combust.

“I—I didn’t mean to—like, you are, but—oh no, I should stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you said, grinning. “You’re adorable. You can talk.”

He looked at Bucky for help. Bucky looked like he wanted to throw him off the balcony.

You clapped your hands. “Okay! Quick tour before someone combusts. Everyone gets a private room with a bathroom. There’s a training floor on level 12, a kitchen that doesn’t explode anymore thanks to FRIDAY, and a living space where you can yell at each other like a dysfunctional family. Just—don’t break anything expensive, or sentimental. Or, y’know, the structural integrity of the building.”

Yelena raised her hand. “Do weapons count as sentimental?”

“Only if they were gifted,” you winked.

---

It was late.

The kind of late where the city had gone quiet, even the Tower’s hum softened like it was tucked under a blanket. You were curled into the corner of the oversized couch in the common room, legs folded, one of Tony’s hoodies hanging loose off your shoulder. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the skyline blinked in a million tiny stars.

And Bucky was sitting beside you.

Not close enough to touch — not yet — but close enough that your knees almost brushed, that the weight of his presence filled the space in ways silence never could.

You smiled softly, looking out the window. “Morgan asked about you again today.”

He glanced over. “She did?”

You nodded. “She thinks you’re my boyfriend. Keeps insisting on it, actually. Says she’s seen the way I smile when you text.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Smart kid.”

You bumped his knee. “She gets it from me.”

He looked over, finally meeting your eyes. His were tired, but soft. "I missed this. I missed you."

“I missed you too,” you whispered, and you meant it like it had been carved into your chest.

A pause stretched between you — not awkward, just heavy. Heavy with time. With words you hadn’t gotten to say.

“How’ve you been?” you asked gently.

He exhaled, leaning back. “Weird. Floating. Sometimes I feel like I’ve figured things out. Then I wake up and I’m right back where I started. The team helps, but… I’m still figuring out who I am when I’m not being used. When I’m not fighting.”

You nodded. “I get that.”

He looked at you for a long beat. “How about you?”

You hesitated.

Then you told the truth.

“I’ve been lonely.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to. You stared at your hands. “At first, it was just grief. For my dad, for Nat, for Steve—God, even Thor. I don’t know where the hell he is. Clint’s with his kids. Bruce is off somewhere being Bruce. Everyone left. Or died. And I… stayed.”

Bucky watched you like the world might shatter if he blinked.

You gave a small smile. “I kept this place alive, Bucky. I filled the Tower with warmth again, but it didn’t feel like home. Not without any of you here. So I got used to it. The quiet. The space. The ghosts.”

Bucky moved closer, slow and careful, like approaching a wounded thing.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice steady. “Not anymore. Not as long as I’m here.”

You looked at him.

“I mean it,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. His metal fingers brushed against your skin like he was still afraid to break it. “You and me, we’re gonna stick together.”

“‘Til when?” you asked, a small smile playing at your lips.

He squeezed your hand.

“‘Til the end of the line.”

You closed your eyes. That old phrase — it still made your heart ache in the sweetest way. You turned your hand to link your fingers with his, soft and sure.

And then you whispered back: “I’ll love you 3000.”

His breath caught.

And he smiled.

Like something lost had just come back to him.

Like a promise he’d almost forgotten was suddenly real again.

---

The training room of Stark Tower was nearly empty — just the quiet whir of air conditioning and the thud of your feet hitting the mat as you moved through a practiced series of kicks and strikes. You’d been at it for an hour, sweat glistening down your neck, your breathing even, controlled. The Tower’s AI, FRIDAY, had the playlist low in the background, something smooth with a beat you could punch to.

You weren’t showing off.

But you weren’t holding back either.

Your dad started your training when you were a kid — when you were still small enough to sit in the lap of one of his Iron Man suits. And when Natasha took over, it became second nature. Your body knew the dance of it. Every twist, every dodge, every controlled exhale.

And then—

You felt it.

The eyes.

You stopped mid-kick, chest rising and falling.

“…You know,” you said without turning around, grabbing a towel from the bench and dabbing your forehead, “if you’re gonna stare at me like that, the polite thing to do is say hi.”

A pause. Then a very deep voice stammered—

“I wasn’t—staring. I mean—okay, I was. But not in a weird way.”

You turned.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, sheepish and impossibly sweet for a man who could melt steel with his pinky. His hair was tousled like he’d just run a hand through it out of pure nerves, and he was already blushing, even before you smiled.

You cocked your head. “That so?”

He blinked. “I mean—you were… doing that spin-kick thing. It was really impressive.”

You took a few steps closer, casually. Your sports bra clung to your ribs, the black fabric soaked in a way that definitely wasn’t helping Bob keep his thoughts PG. “Thanks. I’ve been training since I was little.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I could tell. You move like a storm.”

You raised a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment, or a warning?”

His eyes widened. “Compliment! Definitely. A very respectful—intense—uh, not creepy compliment.”

You laughed, crossing your arms loosely. “Relax, Bob. I’m not gonna kick your ass.”

“…I’d probably let you.”

Your smile froze for a second, caught off-guard — and then widened.

“Oh?” you teased. “You into that sort of thing?”

Bob’s face went bright red. “N-no! I mean, I—I don’t know if I’m—uh, maybe? Oh god, I said that out loud again, didn’t I?”

You laughed so hard you had to brace your hands on your knees. “You really need a filter.”

He groaned, half-hiding behind a training dummy. “I swear I used to be cool.”

“I think you’re pretty cute like this.”

That got his attention.

He peeked out at you, blinking like he wasn’t sure you were being serious. “You… do?”

You took a step closer again, slow and smooth. “You’re like a golden retriever with godlike powers. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bob laughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, his voice a little softer. “Yeah, well… you’re like… if a goddess got bored of Olympus and decided to just casually ruin me on a Tuesday.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “Ruin you, huh?”

He looked like he might spontaneously combust. “I—I mean emotionally. I think.”

You leaned in just a little. “You say the sweetest things.”

Bob’s breath caught as your fingers brushed his arm, just lightly.

Then you backed up, letting him breathe, and turned your attention back to the training mat.

“I’m done here,” you said, tossing your towel over your shoulder. “You coming?”

He blinked. “Coming where?”

You looked over your shoulder, your smile slow and teasing. “Kitchen. You owe me a smoothie. For the compliments. And the stare.”

Bob followed like a puppy. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I make a killer smoothie. Or, like… an aggressively average one. But I’ll give it emotional effort.”

You snorted. “Just don’t explode the blender.”

“No promises.”

As the elevator closed behind you both, he looked at you again — still soft, still wonderstruck — and whispered, “You really are something else.”

You didn’t answer.

You just leaned a little closer, brushing his knuckles with yours.

---

The kitchen was full of sunlight and chaos.

Alexei was digging through the fridge like it personally offended him. Yelena was perched on the countertop, already eating cold pizza with no shame. Ava stood in the corner like a ghost who had opinions but refused to share them. John Walker was trying — and failing — to figure out how to use the espresso machine.

And Bob?

Bob was making pancakes.

Or attempting to.

“Is this… normal?” Yelena asked, watching with a crooked grin as Bob poured another lumpy circle of batter onto the skillet, half of it splashing onto the stove.

“It’s either breakfast,” you said, tying your robe a little tighter around your waist as you stepped into the room, “or a science experiment.”

Bob turned around at the sound of your voice and lit up. “You’re up!”

You smiled. “Didn’t think I’d sleep through a kitchen explosion.”

He beamed like you’d just handed him a Nobel Prize. “I made you pancakes!”

You walked over, inspecting the pile. “…You tried to make me pancakes.”

“They’re… heart-shaped?” he offered hopefully.

“They look like they’re bleeding.”

He laughed, bright and boyish, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you — low, casual, watchful.

You turned just in time to catch him entering, hair still damp from the shower, black T-shirt clinging to his chest, dog tags tucked out of sight. His eyes flicked from you to Bob, then to the pancakes, and then back to Bob again.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That for her?”

Bob straightened. “Yeah! I mean—yeah, I wanted to make her something. As a thank-you. For letting us crash here.”

Bucky’s tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Right. Real thoughtful of you.”

Bob swallowed, and you quickly stepped between them.

“He’s just being nice,” you said with a smile, brushing Bucky’s arm as you passed. “And I did promise to let him cook something after that smoothie yesterday.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “He cooked?”

“Well… he blended.”

Walker wandered in with a cup of badly frothed coffee. “We talking about Bob’s pancake massacre? I give ‘em 4 outta 10. Points for optimism.”

“You put ketchup on eggs,” Yelena muttered.

“That’s freedom flavor.”

You rolled your eyes and slid onto a stool, sipping the orange juice Ava had silently placed beside you. “Thank you, Ava.”

She nodded, her version of a hug.

Bob placed a plate in front of you, his proudest smile yet. “Okay. Taste test.”

You picked up the fork dramatically, took a bite… and paused.

Bob leaned in. “Well?”

“…It’s not the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” you said.

Yelena choked. Walker snorted. Bucky froze mid-sip of coffee, eyes locked on you.

You turned to Bob with a sweet smile. “That was not meant to sound that filthy.”

Bob, very red: “I—uh—I wasn’t thinking anything. I mean I was, but not that—well, okay, I was but I—”

Bucky stepped between you both, casually, placing a protective hand on your back and subtly guiding you away from the stove like it was radioactive.

“She doesn’t need to eat any more of that,” he said firmly. “I’ll cook something decent.”

“Hey,” Bob protested. “They’re edible!”

“Barely,” Bucky muttered, already cracking eggs into a bowl. “She deserves real food.”

You leaned on the counter, grinning at him.

“Overprotective much?”

He glanced at you sideways, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. “You’ve had enough men treat you like something to win. I’m not letting him be one of them.”

You stared at him, heart skipping just a bit.

“…You know I can take care of myself, right?”

“I know.” He handed you a fork. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still try.”

You bit your lip, hiding a soft smile.

And Bob — poor Bob — watched you both with a mixture of awe and panic, like he’d just stumbled into a Netflix rom-com and realized he might be the side character.

“Uh,” he said finally, “I can do dishes!”

Yelena patted his shoulder. “That’s probably safer.”

---

The training room was charged.

You were in leggings and a fitted tank top, wrapping your wrists in tape, jaw set with a hint of a smirk. Across from you stood John Walker, cocky as ever, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this was a warm-up. Ava and Yelena sat off to the side, watching with sharp eyes and popcorn-level interest.

Bob was leaning on the far wall, arms crossed, pretending not to watch too hard. He was failing.

And Bucky?

He was there too. Silent. Focused. Leaning against the glass with arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched, eyes glued to you.

“I go easy on Stark’s kid, or what?” Walker joked as he stepped forward.

You smirked. “If you need to.”

The match started.

Walker was good — strong, fast, overconfident. You was better — precise, fluid, cool as ice. He threw a hook. You ducked. Spun. Grabbed his wrist, twisted, and swept him flat onto his back in one breathless second.

“Jesus,” Walker groaned, staring at the ceiling. “You marry me and we rule the world or what?”

From the corner, Bucky pushed off the wall.

“No.”

Walker blinked up at him. “Uh—wasn’t really asking you.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He stepped into the ring without a word, eyes locked on you. The tension in the room crackled. Even Bob stood straighter.

You tilted your head. “You wanna go?”

His voice was low. “You need a real challenge.”

You smiled. “Alright, soldier.”

You circled each other slowly, like a dance you’d done before. Bucky moved with sharp grace — watching, calculating, and when he struck, it was fast. You blocked. Countered. Moved into his space. He grabbed your waist during a fake-out — held you a second too long — and flipped you.

You hit the mat with a laugh. “Cheap.”

“You love cheap.”

“You love controlling.”

He smirked. “Only when it keeps you safe.”

You were breathing fast, skin flushed, limbs burning with adrenaline — and you knew what this looked like. The way he lingered in your space. The way your hand lingered too long on his chest when you got back up.

And Bob?

Bob had gone very, very quiet.

When the match ended, you caught your breath and turned — but Bob was already gone.

---

You found him on the balcony outside the Tower gym. His back was to the wall, hair tousled, long legs stretched out, eyes on the sky.

You stepped out, closing the door behind you. “You ghosting me?”

He didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t trying to.”

You sat beside him, knee brushing his. “You left kind of fast.”

“I figured you and Bucky needed… space.” He forced a laugh. “Looked like you two had your own language going on.”

You were quiet for a second. Then—

“He’s protective,” you said gently. “Always has been. But that doesn’t mean—”

Bob cut you off, voice low. “You let him touch you like that.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I know it’s not my place,” Bob went on, rubbing his palms together like he was trying to wring something out of them. “I just… I see how he looks at you. And you let him get close. Real close.”

You swallowed. “He’s family, Bob.”

“Family doesn’t look at you like that,” he whispered. “Like they’d burn the world down just to keep you for themselves.”

You turned to him — really turned.

And for the first time, Bob didn’t meet your gaze. He stared straight ahead.

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know what I am. I’ve been broken. Rebuilt. Ripped apart inside. I know I’m not the guy someone like you is supposed to end up with.”

“Don’t say that.”

He exhaled, a bitter edge curling into his voice. “You laugh at my stupid jokes. You let me make you smoothies. You smile like I’m more than just some weird science accident with a god complex. And I don’t even know if you mean it or if you’re just—being nice. Because you’re kind.”

You reached out, gently cupping his jaw. That got him to look at you.

“I meant every smile, Bob. Every time.”

He blinked, breath hitching.

You leaned in, forehead brushing his. “If I didn’t… would I be out here with you, when I could be inside with him?”

He closed his eyes. “You make me feel like I’m not a mistake.”

You kissed his cheek — soft, lingering. “You’re not.”

And in that moment, something shifted.

He didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

But he stayed close.

And he didn’t look at the sky again.

He only looked at you.

---

It was late.

The city was quiet in the way it only gets around midnight — the hum of traffic in the distance, a breeze threading between tall buildings, neon lights flickering against puddles.

You were walking with Bob, hands brushing now and then, neither of you saying much.

You didn’t have to.

He’d shown up outside your door after dinner with two milkshakes and a hoodie that was definitely his and had asked if you wanted to take a walk. No big mission. No team. Just you and him.

And now you were here. Calm. Close. Every few seconds, he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You turned to him with a smile. “You keep staring.”

Bob flushed. “Sorry. You just look…”

His voice trailed off.

You raised a brow. “Look what?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Like you should be illegal.”

You laughed. “Is that your way of flirting?”

He grinned shyly. “I’m new to it.”

You were about to respond when you heard it — footsteps quickening behind you, a camera flash, and then—

“Hey! Hey, wait—aren’t you Stark’s daughter?”

A man with a phone stepped in front of you, suddenly way too close. He wasn’t paparazzi — just some guy. Early twenties, beer on his breath, and eyes darting up and down your body like you were on display.

“Holy sh*t, it is you,” he said, stepping closer. “Damn, I thought you were hotter on the news, but—Jesus, you’re—”

“Back up,” Bob said sharply.

The man blinked, finally looking at him. “Relax, dude, I’m just trying to get a picture—”

“I said back the f*ck up.”

You grabbed Bob’s arm, gently. “It’s okay—”

But it wasn’t.

Because the air changed.

The golden hum started in Bob’s chest — soft, at first. His breath hitched, eyes flickering. You saw the power curling at his fingertips, glowing like a warning.

He stepped between you and the stranger, voice like steel. “You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get to talk to her. You don’t even get to look at her like that.”

“Jesus, alright,” the guy muttered, backing off. “Freak.”

And then he was gone.

Bob didn’t move.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping around to face him. “Hey, look at me.”

His jaw was tight. Hands shaking. Power still crackling in his veins.

“I’m okay,” you said, placing both hands on his chest. “I’m okay, Bob.”

He looked at you like he was barely holding it together. “He was looking at you like you were a thing.”

“But I’m not,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Right?”

Something in him broke.

In a second, his hands were on your hips, gripping hard like he needed to feel you to believe it. He pulled you close — flush against him — and kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it.

You gasped, and he groaned, deep and rough, backing you up against the nearest wall, his body covering yours. The city faded. There was only him.

His voice was low, shaking. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

He kissed down your neck, open-mouthed, desperate. “I want you so bad. I want to keep you like this — close. Always.”

“You can,” you said, tugging his hoodie until he was practically on top of you. “You already do.”

“I’ll protect you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let anyone get near you like that again. Not even him.”

You shook your head. “Bob…”

He smiled, eyes soft now. “I know. It’s not about him. It’s just—when it comes to you… I go a little feral.”

You kissed him again — slower this time, deeper, and when you pulled back, his eyes were glowing with heat and something softer too.

“You make me feel like I’m someone worth loving,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You are.”

And right there, in the quiet dark of the city, Bob Reynolds kissed you like a promise:

That you were his. And he was yours. And no one would ever touch you again — not unless they wanted to burn.

---

The front door clicked shut behind you.

The tower was dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You kicked your shoes off, tossing your jacket on the bench near the elevator.

Bob followed behind you, quieter than usual, hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw tight.

Neither of you had said much since that moment in the alley. His hand had hovered at your lower back the whole walk home, but he didn’t touch you again.

He hadn’t needed to.

The air between you was thick.

You glanced at him now as you padded toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I think there’s still some—”

Bob grabbed your hand.

You turned.

He was right there.

Close. Eyes burning. His thumb brushed your wrist, and when he spoke, it was low and aching.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

You stepped into him instead.

His hands found your waist, slow and reverent. “I almost lost it earlier,” he whispered. “The way he touched you. Looked at you. I—I saw red.”

“I know,” you said softly, reaching up to touch his face.

Bob leaned into your hand. “It scared me. How fast I’d burn down the whole world for you.”

Your chest rose and fell, breath catching.

“Bob…”

“I don’t want to be careful with you anymore,” he said, voice rough. “I want to be yours. I want to show you what it means to be wanted—not just protected. Not just looked after. Claimed.”

A beat passed.

Then you whispered: “Then take me.”

That’s all it took.

He kissed you.

Not the sweet, nervous kisses from before. This was hungry. Deep. Desperate. Like he was memorizing the taste of your mouth in case the world ended tomorrow.

You gasped as he picked you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, walking you backwards down the hallway toward your room — his hoodie riding up your thighs, your fingers twisted in his hair.

He dropped you onto the bed like you were the softest, most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed, crawling over you, every line of his body pressed to yours. “You walk into a room and I forget who I am.”

“Bob—”

He kissed your neck. Your collarbone. Worshipping. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you what it feels like to be mine.”

You nodded, chest rising and falling fast. “Please.”

He pulled back just long enough to tug the hoodie over your head — and then paused.

His eyes swept over you. Slowly. Reverently.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

You reached up, tugging at his shirt, and he let you peel it off. And when his skin touched yours — warm, flushed, shaking — he groaned like he’d just come home.

Everything after that blurred into heat and light and him:

His mouth tracing every inch of your body. His voice in your ear, thick with praise: “You’re so beautiful… so sweet… so mine.” His hands holding you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And when he finally pushed into you — slow, deep, trembling with how badly he needed it — he buried his face in your neck and whispered, “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

You clung to him, breathless, lost in the feel of him, the weight of him, the way he filled you so completely it felt like he’d marked your soul.

And when you came undone — shivering, gasping his name — he followed seconds later, holding you tight like he never wanted to let go.

After, you lay tangled together, sheets kicked down, the city glowing outside the window.

Bob kissed your forehead, still breathless.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”

You smiled, eyes heavy, voice soft. “Good.” Because now? You were his and he was yours.

---

The next morning in Stark Tower felt unusually quiet.

You were in the kitchen, making coffee, wrapped in one of Bob’s oversized hoodies, the fabric soft against your skin. The scent of fresh brew filled the air, a small comfort in the sprawling, empty space.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a careful gaze that had grown sharper over the past few days.

At first, he thought it was just the normal relief of seeing you safe — but lately, there was something different.

The way you smiled at Bob across the room, the easy way you let him touch you, the way Bob’s eyes lingered on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

It hit Bucky like a punch to the gut.

He cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he said, voice a little rough.

You turned, bright-eyed and warm. “Hey, Bucky. Coffee?”

He nodded, stepping inside. “Thanks.”

There was a pause.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “Look… I just wanted to say… it’s good to see you smiling again.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “I’ve missed this. Missed all of you.”

He gave a short laugh. “Yeah… well, some things don’t change. I still don’t like the idea of anyone—” He glanced toward Bob, who was casually lifting weights nearby, “—getting too close.”

Your smile faltered just a bit.

Bob caught the glance and grinned, waving a dumbbell like a trophy.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything else.

Later, as you and Bob settled in the training room, Bucky lingered nearby, watching from a distance.

He noticed how Bob’s hand found yours easily, how your laughter sounded lighter when you were with him, and how Bob’s protective gaze never left you, even in moments when no one else was around.

The realization was sinking in.

Something had changed.

And Bucky wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

[houseofaegon]

ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS/VOID SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ dark themes, witchcraft, mentions of trauma, grief, mentions of character's death, blood & ritual imagery, possession, morally gray characters, violence, sexual tension, slow burn, nsfw smut scenes, chapters with explicit sexual content will be tagged and rated accordingly. each chapter will include specific warnings.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. this series is my love letter to witchy women, lovers of fleetwood mac and mother stevie nicks, and misty day devotees. this is for the ones who speak to the moon, pull tarot cards, carry crystals on their purses, and leave salt at the doors just in case. arabella montenegro is an original character born from my obsession with witchtcraft, feminine rage, tarot cards, and folklore. she's not just a witch, she's a girl with a monster inside of her who still dares to love deeply and profoundly. i also craved a latina!oc for bob reynolds bc yes—latinas for bob reynolds. let's be for real right now, bob needs someone who can hex him and heal him at the same time. thank you for reading and giving this series a chance. reblogs are always welcomed and deeply appreciated, comments warm my heart and inspire me to keep writing, so thank you for always supporting me! lots of love, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

⠀‘  ݁  ִ ׂ  ̧ ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ ˖ 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ prophet girl, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chosen by the sun, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you hear the gods whispering ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀those silent stardust words?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀cursed daughter, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ uttering insanities no one believes ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you regret taking the vow?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‘  ݁  ִ ׂ  ̧ ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ ˖ 

♱ ˖ ࣪ .  ARABELLA MONTENEGRO was born under a blood moon, marked by old gods, bound to ancient magic, cursed and chosen all at once.

A witch.

A weapon.

An Avenger once, before the world became too loud, and her own shadows grew teeth sharper than anyone could control.

They called her The Enchantress, not realizing that name belonged to something else—the other half of her.

The darkness that lives beneath her skin.

Not evil. Not good. Just ancient, and waiting to be let out.

Now, Arabella walks barefoot through the Watchtower—salt at her doorways, obsidian rings on her fingers, shadows whispering her name like a sacred incantation. Her tarot cards never lie. Her shadows never sleep.

After the near-destruction of New York by the Void, she's called back to a world she tried to leave behind, she’s called back to the fight—to the Thunderbolts, to Bucky, to the ghosts of who she used to be.

And to BOB REYNOLDS.

The golden god with too much power, and too many fractures.

He is power incarnate.

And Arabella is the only thing he cannot destroy.

But the Void sees her too. Wants her. Recognizes the entity buried inside her—the one who looks back when she stares too long into the dark.

Because inside Bob, something dark stirs.

And inside her, something just as dark answers.

Arabella Montenegro doesn't believe in salvation. Not for herself, not for anyone else.

But somewhere between salt circles and moonlit rituals, between banter, bitten lips, and stolen touches—the witch and the void begin to burn.

And when they finally touch, the world will never be the same.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ROBERT 'BOB' REYNOLDS ╱ THE SENTRY/VOID

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ARABELLA MONTENEGRO ╱ ENCHANTRESS

 

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

[virginburial]

.·:*¨༺    cupid's girl.    ♱   bob reynolds   ༻¨*:·.

SUMMARY: in which a failed assassination attempt turns into something more

SHIP: afab!reader x Robert Reynolds WARNINGS: explicit content (minors stay out), unprotected p n v, and f receiving oral, sub!reader, bob can't pick between being a soft or hard dom, spittingggg??? also you hate bob's guts before he rearranges yours! #enemiestoloversfinalboss. random storytelling/porn with a plot. is this a self insert? i wish I knew. also btw you're from florida now :D!! TW FOR: mentions of murder/violence/self inflicted harm, grief, recovery/healing, ptsd related topics, mass violence mention.

WORD COUNT: 7K

SONG: cupid's girl by MARINA "Don't panic when it hits ╴shoot my arrow right into your back!"

A/N: well well well shawties... I've returned. This plot is a lil crazy but it made sense in my head so i wrote it.  I haven't written smut in so long but i have been treated well since then so maybe this is better than my previous work ;) I'm having such a weird regression into my old fandoms so I might publish more work soon! as always, reblogs, comments, likes, and shares are greatly appreciated!

.·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

Quiet steps lingered down the hall as you got a handle on your bow, you knew your mission was only complete if he was taken down, and the last thing you wanted to do was betray Valentina. You were her favorite…which only started to click for you now. Of course you were. There’s no Valentines without cupid shooting arrows and manipulating the background. You were the baseline for The Sentry Project; a test dummy. And similar to the Sentry, you were the only one to survive. Valentina’s secret weapon. You were agile, quick, and seemingly docile and sweet. 

To quote Valentina, directly; “she’s like if Sabrina Carpenter and Natasha Romanoff had passionate sex and scissored out their love child…that’s you, by the way.” 

Of course, you didn’t harbor the same powers as Sentry, in fact, you were almost sure you were created to be the Eve in this situation. Some sidekick with the cute gift of emotionally manipulating the emotions of others, while also being a ruthless killer. You don’t emotionally manipulate others the way most people think off; sure, you bat your pretty lashes and you talk lightly and yes, occasionally, you play devil's advocate. However, you could feel and change the way others feel just by touching them. You know your hand to hand combat, but what's the point if you can just shake someone’s hand, hunt them, seduce them, and control someone so well that they do the job for you? 

No bruises, busted lips, or bloody noses if you will someone to…well, you know. 

It’s what made you so dangerous, and maybe, just as powerful as Valentina’s trophy. It’s also what made him such a good target for you. No need to take him down if you just shake his hand. You could feel the calmness around the room he stayed in, it was almost too calm. It was expected; Valentina just paraded him around and called him and his ragtime team of circle jerkers the “New Avengers”? New Avengers? The sentiment alone made you gag on envy. You hated that they got their flowers while you stayed put, while you obeyed, while you kept sweet. Sentry was just a glorified military weapon. You were the will of Eros and Sigmund Freud’s worst nightmare. 

It should’ve been you. 

And the fact that Valentina still wanted him gone, despite everything, made this operation all the more vital; promising you his spot, promising you everything you initially signed up for when you decided to go through the test trials for the Venus project; a better life. Not a life of suffering. 

It was easy sneaking into where the Thunderbolts were staying at, in fact, you already ran into two members already; that fat oaf Red Guardian and the family dollar (and slightly closeted) Captain America, John Walker. It was easy to get them out of your way, the same way you got men to move out of your way your entire life. Staring up at them with your big eyes and pretending that you were doing the opposite of what you were actually doing; And maybe you did pat a couple shoulders here and made them less…on guard. 

It didn’t matter, you weren’t here for them, you’re here for the poor man’s Homelander. Or whomever he really is. Despite having the same background, being from the same lab, you never once met him, or knew him beyond his project name. You knocked on the door, laying your weapon against the frame of the door as you straightened up. It was your time to shine. Your time to prove everyone wrong; dressed in a white blouse, a black skirt that was way above your knee, and knee high boots with tights underneath. 

The door slightly opened, a small crack of light entering the room as curious, doe eyes peaked out behind the slab of wood that separated you from your most treasured victim. The plan was simple; fill him with the doubt, the rage, the sadness that he had before, and then some. Let him do the rest. It wouldn’t surprise anyone considering his history. You were a character assassin. However, the awkwardness filled the air with its stiffness. You could smell how anxious he got as it sept through every pore. Once he opened the door, you realized he was a lot more timid than previously mentioned. You almost thought you had the wrong guy.

“Um…can I help you?” He stammered. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you smiled. “Yes.” a soft hum leaves you. “Are you Robert Reynolds? I-I got sent here by Mel to do a room check.” you lied, even dropping a slight stutter to convey just how nervous the idea of this made you; even if it didn’t bug you at all. “I already checked in with the others, you were last on my list.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “...Why couldn’t Mel do it?” he asked earnestly. 

He already had you stumped, but you just shrugged. “She got promoted, so I'm the assistant’s assistant now…funny how life works, right?” you stared up into his eyes, you could practically hear his heart beating faster and faster the longer he made eye contact with you. Anxiety mixing in with curiosity, and a hint of attraction; oh, he was in for a rude awakening. He didn’t need to know that just yet. “So, are you gonna let me in?” you ask kindly. 

He hesitated, you could see his jaw clenching–was that irritation? You didn’t care. The minute he stepped aside, you sauntered in, looking around at the bare room as your eyes went towards the nightstand. You slowly walk over as you open the drawers and rummaged through what was inside with only your eyes. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

You snap over to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I would have recognized you if you worked for Mel.. or Valentina, for that matter.” he leaned against the wall, looking down at the ground until his eyes met yours. You brushed it off with ease. “Was always more of a background actor.” you hummed as your fingers went to the other drawer. “Besides, I was away while everything was happening, just got back from a trip the minute you strolled in. I can't say I'm terribly inconvenienced by the suddenness of everything.” it was a white lie, you were inconvenienced. 

he just nodded. “I mean…you’re a government worker.” 

Yeah, and so are you; 1/4th of the military spending.  

You clenched your jaw, releasing it as you turned your head, flashing a fake smile as you shut the drawers behind you. “You can say that, yeah.” we’ll agree to disagree for now. You sigh softly and look around. There wasn’t much else to check for your fake assignment, it was time to move onto the real one. You approached him. “You should hit up an Ikea or something, and soon, it’s kind of sad in here.” you joke lightly, feeling him slightly relax.

“Eh, I guess…I could fill it up with some things like a bean bag or a nice rug, maybe a couple of posters like a SlowDive one or maybe even an FSU one-”

General disgust hit your face, and you weren’t too keen on hiding it, and he noticed it right away. He furrowed his eyebrows, laughing nervously. “...what?” 

“An FSU poster?” your voice winced softly.

Then it hits him, he takes a step back, and a smug look on his face replaces the timid one. “Are…are you from Florida too?” he questioned, and you shook your head, not to say no, that you’re not from Florida, but to say; “The Gators are so much better-” “-Ew, no.” he combated. “Let me guess, Orlando?” he joked softly. God, we really are in a sassy man apocalypse. 

You scoffed. “Gross, I’m from Tampa.” 

“Should’ve seen that coming.” he smiled softly. “You’re…a lot nicer than Mel and Valentina, despite your bad taste in college sports-” “-I’ll have you know, that the Gators have won multiple national championships, and I also root for the Bulls.” you cut off, then blush slightly. “Sorry…and thank you, Robert.” you stare up at him, and there it is again; Anxiety mixing in with curiosity, and a hint of attraction; a shot of attraction now, there might as well be a pint of it the next go around. The man looked down at her. 

“I’m…Bob, by the way. No one calls me Robert.”  He sticks his hand out. 

The golden opportunity, you practically water at the mouth to get your hand over his. You didn’t want to make yourself look desperate to touch him; that’s always a little awkward. You wanted to give it such a good shake that you were able to send him on that spiral, without having to use that weapon you brought and stashed in his blindspot. So you grin, your manicured fingers slowly slithering over and interconnecting with his fingers, as power surged through you. It felt like a runners high, better than sex, better than taking back what’s yours. “Y/N”

You could see it actively working, the uncertainty that lingered on his face, yet, something else started to swallow you whole. You felt it run through you as everything turned black, and for a second, Bob was gone. He was the Sentry, after all, maybe you were the delusional one for thinking you could be as powerful as him. However, Valentina didn’t mention this. She didn’t mention this unwavering ability he had that made you feel utterly alone.

You felt yourself shift to a new plane of existence, your body now sitting as slight murmuring grew louder and more coherent. The smell of coffee and old books hit your senses like a gut punch, and fluorescent lights peaked through your thin eyelids and lashes. Your clothes were the same, yet everything was different. When your eyes opened, you noticed yourself sitting in a group with people you wouldn't believe you were seeing. Because they were your classmates. Because it’s been years. Because..they’re all dead. The monotone voice was your teacher. She was dead. The clock struck 2:15, and stayed that way after that day. You were strapped to your seat, an adult, seeing your teenage pupils panic to news over the intercom. 

Stuck to your seat, you watched them scramble to barricade doors. Stuck to your seat, you watch them arm themselves with textbooks and chairs. Stuck to your seat, you watched as everything failed, and each life got ripped away from you, the way you couldn’t have seen back then when you played dead. This was what you were escaping. This is the promise Valentina failed at keeping; having to see it play out over and over again; until you realized you could move. You could always move. 

You try to run to the door, swinging it open and seeing yourself and Valentina going over your own project. Before you could run to your salvation, you see Bob on the other side of the classroom, staring at you in horror. 

You snap back to reality, stumbling back as tears reach the rims of your eyes. You were on the verge of hyperventilating as your legs shook, holding onto the edge of the bed frame. Your knees cowering as you look down at the floor. Bob puts his hands up, almost as shocked as you are. As your mind racks with the idea of how your powers failed you here, Bob stares at you. 

“I know what you are…” he says sternly, his jaw tensing up as he keeps his gaze. “Project Venus?” he asked. 

You try to calm down, your breaths slowing down slowly as your eyes finally meet him. You neither confirm or deny. “...Project Sentry.” you grit. You see him slowly put his hands down. “Valentina told me that everyone from Project Venus died…” you watch as he connects the dots as to why you were kept in the dark for so long. Before he had time to process the possible failed assaination by proxy attempt, you ran to hit, backhanding him, distracting him, before kneeing him in the stomach.

He groaned, annoyed, and before you could land another punch, he grabbed your wrist; holding it tightly as you tried to snatch it away. “I’m not gonna fight you-” “-bullshit, if you know me, and what I can do, then you know why I’m here-” “-it doesn’t work, and that’s why you were scrapped, now stop before you sprain something-rob” you didn’t listen, you kicked him and pushed him out of the way, running to the door and grabbing the bow, and aiming it at him. 

“God, what the fuck, Stop!” He holds his hands up. 

“What did you do to me?” you barked. “How did you-” your voice shook as Bob shook his head. “Look, it’s clear that Valentina fucked us both. Okay? You-You have every reason to be upset! She didn’t care about you then and doesn't now either. She probably sent you here to be killed just-just-put the fucking bow down, please!” he pleaded. “Please don’t make me hurt you more than I already have-” 

“Oh shut up!” you raised your voice over his. “I was supposed to be you! I signed over my entire life to be as great as you and you stole that from me, you stole my life…” your tears ran down your cheeks. “You stole my life, and I'm gonna get it back!” 

“I didn’t steal your life.” he snapped. “Valentina did. That man who did that to your friends back in high school did.” he huffed out as he dropped his hands. “God, Y/N, what was the plan here? You ‘infect’ me with depression until I kill myself? Do you know anything about me outside of me being the Sentry?” he stared in bewilderment. “Valentina used just about everyone in this building, you’re not alone.” 

Your hands shake as you hold the bow, and you start to realize that you never shot the bow before, and that you’ve always cruised simply by using your powers. Bob saunters over, his hands reaching towards her bow and lowering it. “There’s…nothing you can do that I haven't already done to myself.” he admits. “Please stop, before you hurt yourself.” 

You’re enraged, and you want to do everything you can to regain control, but there’s no use. You throw your weapon on the ground, drying up your own tears as you sniffle softly. “Did you learn all that after singing kumbaya with Red Room Barbie and her fucking friends?!” you spat. Bob just nods. “I don’t know, have you ever considered that maybe you could use your powers to help people? Instead of hurting them?” he barked back. “You know how much time you could save if you healed people instead of, I don’t know, inducing suicide–Can you stop fighting with me for a second.” 

You hate that he’s right. “If i started with you, we’d be here all night. You have enough personalities to keep me completely occupied.” 

“Now that’s a low blow.” 

You both just stare at each other, staying silent for a second as you sigh. “Why didn’t my powers work on you?” you were dying to know, even if it meant knowing that you were a failure, and you were meant to be scrapped. 

Bob shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you.” he sincerely said. “Maybe instead of filling a…whatever I am with depressive thoughts, have you considered filling me up with happy thoughts? Let me live like that for a bit and then come back to take it from me? Maybe I'll do what you want then.” he muttered that last part under his breath. 

“Are you seriously giving me tips on how to kill you more efficiently?” 

“I don’t know anymore, Y/N. This is awkward–I’m feeling awkward, in case you can’t tell.” he stared into your eyes. “You know why your trial was called Project Venus, Y/N? It’s because Valentina wanted to make a-a seductress who was an assassin. A whole…Killing Eve situation.” he critiqued. “You put the super serum in Steve Rodgers, you get Captain America. You put the super serum in me, you-you get a clusterfuck of problems. But if you give it to a people pleaser? you get an emotional manipulator…” 

You had enough. “You know what? Fuck you, Sentry.” you pick up your bow, not drawing anything, but holding it, just ready to leave this all in the past. “If there’s nothing I can do that you ‘haven’t already done to yourself’ then my work here is done. You’re the ticking time bomb. Not me.” you spat, only to feel what you felt earlier again; the anxiousness, now masked with annoyance and anger, the curiosity, the attraction skipped the pint size, and the pitcher, and the gallon, it jumped two gallons three. Four. Five. You didn’t care, though. He kept pissing you off. 

“You aren’t gonna try?” he asked.

You groaned and turned around. “Jesus christ, Bob. What would make you happy, huh?” you bellowed. “A puppy? A girl? FSU actually winning something?” 

Bob sighed. “All I know is that we came from the same lab, and we’re both the only survivors. It’s not a fluke. If you truly want to know why your powers didn’t work on me, then I'm telling you that you’re using them wrong.” he looked down at your hand. “Put it on my chest, make me think of something good. Valentina sent you here to die…prove her wrong.” he earnestly suggested. “I was able to prove her wrong, so were the Thunderbolts.” 

You hated that this might be the reason why it didn’t work on him. Maybe he was already filled with such darkness, that filling him with more, oversaturating the inevitable, it was never going to work. The public knew about Project Sentry, but not Project Venus. It made sense as to why you’d never be in the picture. It was a losing game. It was always a losing game. Reluctantly, yet, willingly, you dropped your bow and placed your hand on his chest. Oh… there had to be a rock underneath his sweatshirt…was it always this tight? Didn’t matter, you tried to focus on something that would make anyone feel good. Chocolate, a good cry, ten hours of sleep. Something. 

Bob looks at your hand, then down at your face, studying every feature. Your hand glows a soft pink, your eyes moving underneath your eyelids as you try to change his demeanor. You just sigh and pull away. “This is stupid-” “-maybe.” he muttered. Looking up at him, you realized how close you two were to each other. “All I can feel is how much I annoy you and stress you out.” his heart beats faster, the blood rushes to his face, and you felt all of that too, you just didn’t want to entertain that possibility. “Can also feel how bad you want me.” 

Bob’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, he furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, Cupid’s Girl. at least you didn’t force me to feel that.” he looked down. 

Your breath hitches slightly, but you shake your head at the idea of it. “I’m not dealing with this-” 

“I’m just trying to help you see that you don’t have to follow her orders anymore.” He gulped softly, staring into your eyes. “None of us do. Actually, the last thing I want is to see another person like me be under her thumb-” 

“-I’m nothing like you.”

“Bullshit.” he said softly. “Traumatized Floridian escapes pain by signing up for a trial, instead of going to therapy, they become the sole survivor of said trial and, under Valentina De Fontaine’s thumb, they become her own personal weapon…Sounds familiar?” you couldn’t escape from the similarities after he put it into words. You just sigh, opening up your mouth to say something, but Bob cuts you off. “I mean, we own her. Don’t you want that? It doesn’t drain you to do her bidding every now and again?” 

Damn it. You just look down, but feel his hand slowly raise to your cheek. He was right. Part of you hated how something as beautiful as being an empath, emotionally attuned, as turned into some cheap party trick to make top scientists and government officials leave the world behind without a single thought. There was a time you wanted to help others. You figured after you learned what you could do, you could help yourself. It doesn’t work on you, but you wished it did. You felt Bob’s thumb run across your cheek, feeling his anxiety tremble once the both of you locked eyes. “...you’ll never have to force anyone to do anything awful ever again, you won’t even have to force them to love you.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

Bob just gazed into your eyes, trailing along your soft features as his eyes fluttered down to your lips. Oh, because I didn’t have to force you to want to help me. I didn’t have to force you to see me as more than just a potential enemy. His eyes flicker back up to yours. He wants to say more, maybe even show you exactly what he means. He’s too anxious, too awkward, too nice, while also flooding with some sick desire to have his way with you. The air between the two of you gets thick. The same way it did when he first opened the door, except now the playing field has flipped itself on its head. You stare down at your hands, and so does he, before his eyes find yours again. It’s almost like he’s signaling you on what to do. 

Your hand slowly reached his chest, but before you could make him feel anything, he mustered up the courage and grabbed your chin, slowly bringing it over to him as he kissed you softly. Maybe he just wanted you to touch him, not to make him feel anything he doesn’t already feel, but to reassure him that he wanted to feel you and only you. You feel him relax into you, all the anxiety and curiosity quieting down as you gently kiss back, bumping noses and heavy breaths as the kiss deepens. One hand shakily goes to your waist as he uses the other to slowly shut the door behind him. 

You weren’t expecting this, and part of you wasn’t sure if this is something that should happen, but once you both pulled away, your lips chased each other again; like magnets trying to find their polar opposite. You felt his grip on your waist slowly tighten, almost scared he’d break you if he grabbed too roughly too soon. Your arms find themselves around his neck as you feel your body get warm with need, way too soon to be feeling like that until your tongues accidentally brush past each other; then it was game on for the both of you. 

He feverishly kissed you as his grip on you strengthened, a small huff leaving him as you felt yourself gravitate to him. Feeling his knee slowly slip between your thighs, it was all too convenient. His hand grappling to the back of your neck as he pulled you in more; like he was some needy vampire and you were a blood bag with his name written all over it. His hand on your waist slid over to your lower back as he pulled you more into him, as if you could fade into him, as if he wanted you all to himself. And who were you to deny him of that? Especially if you just started to feel yourself dampen, and wanting nothing more than to get rid of the chaste feeling of not knowing what to do, and wanting something more so bad. 

Alchemizing the hate into passion was something you never thought you could do for yourself. Your hate for Sentry turned into wanting nothing more than to show him just how deeply you felt about him, how deeply you felt for him. The kissing picked up more and more, until teeth started clashing and the both of you started running out of breath. You pull away, breathing heavily and almost mumbling against his lips. “Bob-” oh god, you can’t believe you were getting hot and heavy over someone who willingly goes by the name ‘Bob’. 

He whines softly after he stops chasing your lips for more kisses, you can feel the heat radiating off of him like a space heater. His fingers run through your hair, as he huffs gently. “Sweetheart…” he hoarsely said, his voice dripping in desperation as his thumb slowly ran across your bottom lip. He couldn’t believe that you’d let him get this far with you. “You stress me out.” he chuckles softly. And it turns you on. you think to yourself as he leaves soft kisses on the corners of your mouth. “Picking a fight with me just to…” his mind lingers on the idea of having you in his arms the way he has you now. He loves hearing your heartbeat speed up with such a slight or sudden move, and you realize you’re not the only one who can hear hearts too. 

He softly kisses you for a split second, before leaning his forehead against yours. “Please?” he asked tenderly against your lips. You nearly squeeze your thighs around his knee at the idea of him touching you without it whisking you away to some twilight zone. This could be a sweet dream instead of some awful nightmare, one you deprived yourself of since the trial. “Please I wa-want…” he chokes up, before you nod your head and reciprocate the kiss from earlier; short and sweet. You felt him smirk against your lips as he gently pushed you back up against the bed. 

The bed is plush, and soft; it’s a stark contrast compared to the surprising pair of abs underneath Bob’s shirt. He eagerly attaches his lips to your neck, taking a deep breath and smelling the sultry perfume and the vanilla shampoo that you lather your hair in each night. Your skin is the softest thing he’s ever touched, and he misses it more and more each time he pulls away from you. “So..fucking pretty.” he mumbles to himself as his lips trail down to your collarbone, your blouse getting in the way of everything he wants. 

Your breathing speeds up softly as his hands fidget with the buttons of your blouse, you can feel him have some semblance of self control, and how close he was with throwing it out the window just to have you. God, you can feel the self constraint. He was strong enough to rip your clothes off with one tug, but the last thing he wanted was for this to be shorter than he wanted it to be, even if he wanted nothing more than to dive into you. The more buttons he unclasps, and the more skin he sees underneath, the harder you feel him get. It was right up against your thigh, and all you wanted was to feel it break you in. 

He breathes out a soft ‘fuck’ as his eyes wander onto yours, almost pleading for permission to strip you from the rest; please let me undress you, let me tear this off of you, let me have you. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet with each passing second. The way his hands slowly went over to your inner thigh and softly stroke his thumb closer and closer to your core was just the tip of the iceberg. He slowly leans forward, leaving another kiss on your plump and chapped lips. He stares down at you. “I need to taste you…please?” his voice becomes rash, strained, restricting himself so he doesn't go crazy needing you. 

“You wanna taste me?” your voice is tainted with the desire to assume control, because he sounded so pathetic for you. He nods like a puppy, nearly salivating from the mouth like one too. “You wanna taste how fucking sweet I am for you?” you reiterate, feeling his thumb slowly slide between your clothed crotch, feeling how damp your tights were, knowing your panties had been lined with how sweet and wet you are. 

He blushes at your words. “That…mouth of yours.” he raspily voiced, and before you knew it, the self restraint he could have prided himself on melted away. He pulls your hips down, taking your black miniskirt with you and unzipping your boots in the process as well. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Someone’s eager-” you hum before a gasp leaves you, because before you knew it, he had ripped your stockings; tears lining down your leg as he leaned down. God your panties were cute, and you weren't even planning on this happening. Lucky you. 

He leaned down and gently kissed your clothed clit, a shiver went down your spine as tender whines left your parted lips, and the more noise you made, the more Bob kissed and rubbed and sucked on your panties. The friction makes you more and more desperate. You then felt Bob slowly slide that strip of soaked fabric to the side, spitting on your clit before ravenously lapping his tongue over your sensitive, throbbing nub. 

A moan rips from your throat as you toss your head back, feeling your back start to sweat with anticipation as he buries himself more into your cunt. His arms wrapping around your thighs as he forces you down on his tongue. If there was a heaven, this was it; getting endlessly eaten out by someone you tried fist fighting with earlier. You feel your stomach churn with excitement as he drinks out of you, instantly getting drunk off of you, and muttering helplessly against your clit; “god so sweet–so fuckin’ sweet–sound so pretty” intercutting with a few moans and swear words. You relished in how weak he was for you. “Fuck, Bob!” 

Just the single mention of his name made him speed up, sucking on you as his tongue gently continued to savor every last drop of you. You’d squeeze your thighs around his head, and he forced them back open. If you wanted, he could stay like that for hours; tongue deep into you while prying your shaky legs open. He wanted to stay like that, until your moans became higher in pitch, and more airy in tone. 

His eyes searched for yours, and the way he was looking up at you made it impossible for you to look away or not beg for more. Before you had the chance to, his fingers slowly slid into you, causing your back to arch since there was no sign of him ever slowing down his tongue. Moans spilled out of you as your wetness leaked all over your ripped stockings; dribbling down Bob’s chin and making him even more privy to what you liked, what you wanted, what you needed. 

If he was drunk on your juices, then you were equally as drunk as him on his motions. You became a bumbling mess, and he hasn’t even stuck himself in you just yet. “Ohmygod.” you mumbled as more moans got caught up in your throat. You felt the urge in your stomach, blood rushing more and more to your groin as you whimpered. “Just…breaking…you…in” he muttered against your clit, a low hum escaping him as his fingers rapidly entered you, leaving you, entering again, and feeling it overwhelm you. 

“God-so close!” you whined as he sped up. He huffed out a small laugh, continuing to work on your clit as his fingers curled inside of you, pressing into that soft spot none of your past partners could reach. A small squeal left you as your legs shook with desire. Grabbing a pillow and holding it to your mouth, you came all over his tongue, and you watched as he licked up everything he could get out of you. Your muffled moans were music to his ears, as he pulled himself up, grabbing the pillow from you and engulfing you in another kiss. 

Tasting how sweet you were, how tart it was on his tongue, and how it ran down his neck; you grabbed his face and pulled him away from your lips. He kept on wanting to kiss you, pouting when he couldn’t. You tried to catch your breath before feeling him slide off his sweatpants, exposing his boxers and the giant bulge he was sporting. You could see it throb as he looked into your eyes. “Please Sweetheart…” he begged. “I wanna feel how soft and warm you are for me please.” his voice strained as he looked into your eyes. 

You nod, eagerly pulling off his underwear with him and staring at his cock. Your cheeks, as if they weren’t red already, turned crimson at the idea of him splitting you in half with his member, already dripping in precum. Your hand slowly goes over and wraps around him delicately, seeing a shiver run through him as he grabs a chunk of your hair and pulls you up just to kiss you, then softly letting go and slowly going back down with your lips still attached to each other. A soft moan passes his lips, which are red and plump from the excessive kissing. He teases your entrance. “Sweet thing…” he whispers before placing a soft kiss next to your lips. “Good girl” he hums as he slowly slips himself in you; whimpering the deeper he went

A gasp leaves you as you try to adjust to his length; you weren’t expecting it to make you feel so stuffed already, and it wasn’t even fully in you just yet. “Oh fuck…fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” it all spills out you as Bob chuckles weakly, trying to keep himself together under the amount of pleasure he was feeling. He almost couldn’t think straight with how tight you were around him. How perfectly your cunt sucked him in; like you were both designed for each other. “So-so fuckin’ pretty when you swear-makin’ pretty noises for me.” he musters out before his hips finally react, finally slamming into you in a repeated fashion that’s just…perfect. 

A loud squeal left you, and his hand flies to your mouth as he keeps you quiet; clasping so hard around your jaw that the pain alone makes you cry out for him. Yet, it was overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you the way you were meant to be fucked. Your body jolts with each movement as cries spill out from the crevices of his hands. “My sweet fuckin’ girl…” he nearly growls, loving the way you were getting worked up for him; but also getting worked up over you himself. He moves his hand away from your mouth and kisses you softly; god, he had to be addicted to your lips. 

You took this opportunity to express just how good he was making you feel. You knew others were going to hear you anyway. “God-fuck you fit so well in me i-it-s just perfect for you!” your voice wavered, coated in pleasure, feeling him pick up the pace. “I fucking-love-it when you fuck me like this I deserve to get fucked out-” you cry, looking into his eyes.

He slows down, almost to get back at you for all the trouble you put him through earlier. “Never expected something so nasty to come out of those pretty lips of yours…”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Sentry?” You challenged. 

You could see his eyes bristle with power as he grabs you and flips you over, forcing your head down into a pillow and holding your hips up as he slams into you; not caring about how rough he was being. You scream with pleasure as your arms try to hold you up, but the pressure of taking him in this position forces your face back down on the pillow. You whine and swear and cry out, but it’s muffled underneath all the pillows. His grip on your thighs holds you in place; you could’ve almost collapsed with how bad your legs were shaking. 

“Yeah?” he grunted. “That’s what I'm gonna do.” He murmured hoarsely, trying to keep his control for just a second longer so he could enjoy you, but he’s been close to cuming the minute you put your hands on him. He grabs your hair and pulls your head up; forcing you to take his cock deeper and deeper as he tries to whisper in your ear; “shut you up, sweetheart.” he declared as he let you flop back onto the pillow. He stops thinking about being gentlemanly, and more about how to make you cum for him a second time. He could fuck you for hours until you came if it came down to it. 

Your screams and cries and coherent thoughts turned into a jumbled up pile of words, as you drooled onto the pillow; hair sticking to your face as Bob continued to unapologetically thrust against your cervix. It didn’t matter how nervous he was at the beginning, you had him right where you wanted him; helplessly plunging into you and whimpering with each jab. Feeling him rub against your clit with the speed he was going was sending you into a frenzy, causing your thighs to tremble more and more. “What was that, sweetheart?” he slightly smirked as more and more of your muddled moans sept through the fabric of the pillow. 

“You…yes…fuck…so…good.” you cried out aimlessly. 

Bob’s breath shook as he sped up. “Sweet, dumb, thing.” he groaned with each lunge into your cunt. “Good…handsome…boy…fuck!!” you whimpered out as Bob felt his stomach churn with excitement. He didn’t care to slow down, the last thing he wanted was to ruin the moment just to catch his breath. Why do that, when he can finally release the tension he’s felt since laying eyes on you? He groans at the idea of cuming in you, filling you up and making you his. God, he wanted you to be his so badly. He doubted it, but he wanted you every day of the week. 

Sooner rather than later, he felt his own thighs shake. His hands climbed from your hips to your waist, pulling you deeper and closer as he groaned loudly. “Holy fuck…” you felt his cock seize inside of you, twitching every time you squeeze your walls around his member, and every time you did, he’d suck his breath and try to move. He couldn’t take it anymore, he quickly pulled out and pressed his tip against your raw and sensitive clit. He came on your clit, watching his semen roll down your cunt and veer off onto your inner thighs as your hips finally lower themselves.

Bob flops onto the bed and tries to catch his breath. His eyes still glowing as he huffs out in exhaustion, he looks over at you and smiles weakly. “You look…so cute when you’re tired.” he joked lightly.

You face him, blowing a piece of hair away from your face and blushing at the thought of Bob being one of the only people who’s ever seen you this tired. You kept to yourself up until now, and now knowing that someone has seen you all dazed and fucked out turned from an insecurity to something to be celebrated. You reciprocate the same smile. “Well…it’s not every day I get dicked down by someone I was supposed to…” you cringe at the thought of why you came here earlier. “So..this team you’re a part of…”

“The Thunderbolts?”

You nodded. “They…didn’t judge you? Like, at all?”

Bob stops for a second, then shakes his head. “No…you don’t even have to fight, Y/N, I just…don’t want Valentina to hurt you the way she’s hurt me or the others. No one deserves to feel that alone.” he looks into her eyes. “You have something that can…change the world. You always took care of Valentina’s problems, always took care of her. But..who takes care of you?” he asked with genuine concern. 

He was right. No one did. But maybe here there could be companionship, support, trust, everything you ran away from before Valentina, because you thought it was no help to you; and only got worse with Valentina sending you on pointless missions. Maybe you were done being under her thumb just like how Bob was, and the others were as well. Maybe it was time for you to forge your own path–talk about some serious post-nut clarity, but at least you have it now and not down the line when it eventually gets worse. If you wanted there to finally be someone who cared for you…why not have it be Bob? If he wanted to hurt you, he would have already. 

Your eyes stay on his, as his hand slithered to yours; no ominous black shadows included, or horrible memories that already plagued your mind; just a true alliance, an unadulterated connection (despite how smudged your makeup is and how red Bob was) and all the mess that came with it. “What do you say, Cupid’s girl?” and with a soft breath, you nod, giving him a resounding yes. He nearly leans in to kiss you, but you stop him. He pulls away and raises an eyebrow. “What? We’re team members now so we can’t kiss?” he asked, but you shake your head. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what is it?”

“…Cupid’s girl is not my hero name.”

 .·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

buy me a coffee ૮⸝⸝> ̫ >⸝ ა

[pankowcrumbs]

You never called me back X Sebastian stan

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Words: 9.3K

Plot: You and Seb have a fight and break things off but you find out you're pregnant but Sebastian already blocked you… years later it all comes to light and he wants to be involved.

I don’t remember what the fight was about. Not really.

Funny, isn’t it? How something that ripped through me like a bomb tore everything down, burned every bridge could blur so quickly into fragments. I remember shouting. His face flushed with frustration. My voice breaking. The way we kept cutting each other off, like listening had suddenly become a luxury we couldn’t afford.

But I don’t remember what started it. Not the words. Just the hurt.

It had been two years since that night, and still, sometimes I’d wake up gasping for air, my chest tight with the weight of words I never got to say properly. Maybe that’s why I kept that last voicemail. Or maybe because it was the only proof I had that I’d tried.

That he chose not to.

We were never supposed to get close.

That’s what we told each other from the beginning laid out all the ground rules, like that would somehow protect us. No sleepovers. No public outings. No feelings. It was a laugh, really. As if two people could keep sharing their bodies without ever sharing anything else.

But he was Sebastian. And I was me. And things never really stayed simple for long.

We met through mutual friends in London, during one of his longer stays. He was working on a film, I was freelancing photography mostly, though I dipped in and out of projects like a magpie. One night turned into two. Then three. Then a casual kind of routine: his place, mine, wherever. It wasn’t romantic, we insisted. Just easy. Convenient. Fun.

Until it wasn’t.

Until he started cooking me breakfast.

Until I started waiting for his texts like a schoolgirl.

Until he looked at me, once, with something in his eyes that felt like everything and nothing all at once.

And then, just like that, it all collapsed.

The fight was brutal. Raw. We’d been skirting the edge of something heavier for weeks, pretending we weren’t. He slept with someone else casually, as we were allowed but then lied about it. Said he hadn’t seen anyone in ages. I only found out because someone else let it slip, and when I asked him about it, he brushed it off like I was being dramatic.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said.

And that, I think, was the final crack.

Because it did matter. To me.

I remember standing in his hotel room, half-dressed, mascara smudged from crying and wiping too hard, while he stood there with that maddening calm of his, arms crossed like I was the problem.

“You said no strings,” he reminded me. “You can’t flip the rules just because you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t flip anything,” I snapped. “I just expected you not to lie. There’s a difference.”

He scoffed. “We’re not dating, Y/N.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Thank God, right? Because if this is how you treat someone you don’t care about, I’d hate to see how you screw up with someone you do.”

He flinched barely but it was enough.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he said coldly.

I nodded, trying not to let the tremble in my chin show. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

I left. Slammed the door behind me. Walked home barefoot because I couldn’t be arsed to put my heels back on. And when I got home, I cried until my pillow was soaked.

The nausea started two weeks later.

I brushed it off at first. Blamed it on stress, or a dodgy meal, or maybe the hangover from the wine I drank alone three nights in a row while watching terrible romcoms and pretending I was fine.

But when I missed my period, everything came into sharp, unbearable focus.

I bought the test in a daze didn’t even make eye contact with the woman at the till. Took it home. Stared at the little plastic stick on the bathroom sink like it might morph into something else if I just blinked hard enough.

But no. Two lines. Bold. Unmistakable.

I sank to the floor.

Pregnant.

Pregnant with Sebastian Stan’s child.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, curled against the cold tile, hands shaking. The fear wasn’t loud it was quiet. Hollow. Like standing in a tunnel after a bomb’s gone off and waiting for the dust to settle.

After a while, I called him.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again.

Same thing.

I texted first a simple “Hey, can we talk?” Then, “It’s important.” Then, “Please, Seb.”

Nothing. Just greyed-out ticks and silence.

I told myself he was busy. Maybe out of the country. Maybe his phone was off.

But I knew. Deep down, I knew.

Still, I tried every day for a week. Then two. Then three. I even emailed. No reply. No bounce back. Just a void.

I spiralled. Anger and fear twisted together into something sharp and unrelenting. And eventually, I caved. Left the voicemail. The one that still haunts me.

I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, heart in my throat, voice shaking so badly I had to stop halfway through.

“Seb… I know you’re ignoring me. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I did that was so unforgivable, but”

I swallowed hard. Took a breath.

“ I don’t want anything from you. I just am just begging you to call me back it's really important ”

A pause.

Another breath. Shaky. Shattered.

“Please. Just call me back.”

I hung up.

He never did.

Time passed like a slow drip. Each day a little heavier than the last. At some point, I stopped hoping for a reply. Stopped checking my phone every five minutes. Stopped replaying the voicemail to hear how desperate I’d sounded.

I changed my number. Moved flats. Started seeing a midwife. Told my parents in a tearful phone call. It wasn’t easy God, it wasn’t even close but eventually, I stopped waking up with that ache in my chest. The one shaped like him.

I focused on the baby. On the little life growing inside me. And slowly, I let go of the version of the future that had him in it.

I never told anyone his name. Never gave details. Just said he wasn’t around. People filled in the blanks themselves. Assumed it was a one-night stand or a fling. No one ever imagined it was Sebastian Stan. Not the movie star. Not the charming, funny man I’d once shared takeaways and late-night confessions with. Not the man who once kissed my forehead and whispered he liked the way I laughed when I was half-asleep.

No. That version of him existed only in memories now.

Or dreams.

And even those, I tried not to indulge in.

Now, two years later, my daughter is asleep upstairs.

She has his eyes.

That’s the part that guts me most. Every time she looks at me with that stormy blue gaze, every time she frowns in concentration or bursts into unexpected laughter, it’s like he’s right there etched into her face in ways I could never erase.

I love her more than I ever thought possible. Fiercely. Protectively. She’s my whole world. And she’ll never know she was unwanted.

Not by me.

I tuck her in every night. I hold her when she cries. I make her pancakes in the shape of animals and let her draw all over the walls of the spare room because she says it makes her brain happy. I show up, even when I’m tired, even when I’m scared.

I’m the one who stayed.

And if he ever comes back if he ever dares to walk through the door and ask for a second chance he’ll have to answer for the silence first.

Because I begged.

And he never called.

It was meant to be a quiet lunch. Just a few old friends, a couple of glasses of wine, and hopefully some adult conversation that didn’t involve Bluey or Paw Patrol.

I hadn’t expected to bring Isla with me, but my babysitter rang last minute, her voice hoarse and apologetic. Flu. Couldn’t be helped. And I didn’t want to cancel not again. So I packed a little bag with crayons, her favourite snacks, and the sticker book she was currently obsessed with, and brought her along.

She was happy enough in her little booster seat, colouring away and chatting softly to her unicorn plush while I slipped back into conversations I used to be part of more often. It felt… nice. Like brushing off a coat I hadn’t worn in ages and realising it still fit.

Until he walked in.

Sebastian.

I spotted him the moment he stepped into the restaurant tall, broad-shouldered, that same damn leather jacket he always used to wear like it was armour. My breath caught in my throat before I could even process it. For a moment, everything around me went still. Like the clink of cutlery and low murmur of conversation had faded into the background, and all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.

I didn’t know whether to run or throw up.

He saw me almost instantly. His eyes flicked across the table, scanning faces and then landed on mine. A beat passed. Then another. And I swear something flickered behind his expression. Recognition? Surprise? Confusion?

Then his eyes shifted to Isla.

And he stared.

She was chewing on a grape and humming under her breath, completely unaware of the earthquake that had just walked through the door. Her curls were pulled into two puffy bunches, a tiny daisy clip stuck haphazardly in one side. And those eyes his eyes turned briefly towards him, wide and unbothered.

He blinked. Said nothing.

I cleared my throat and stood up halfway, pasting on a polite smile. “Hi.”

His gaze snapped back to mine. “Hi,” he said softly.

I didn’t hug him. Didn’t offer a seat. I was too stunned, too careful. My friends were already shifting to make room for him at the end of the table, greeting him with easy smiles and enthusiastic hellos. No one noticed how my hands trembled slightly as I reached for Isla’s juice box.

“Didn’t know you were back in London,” said Alice, scooting over. “How long are you here?”

“Just a couple of weeks,” he said, sliding into the chair. “Got in this morning.”

“Ah,” Liam grinned. “Makes sense. You texted me, what, two hours ago? Said it might be nice to catch up. Figured I’d surprise everyone.”

Everyone. Everyone.

My stomach dropped. So he hadn’t come for this lunch. Not deliberately. Not to see me.

He didn’t know.

Not really.

And from the way he kept glancing at Isla subtly, but not subtly enough it was clear something was churning behind those eyes of his. He hadn’t asked anything yet, but I could feel the question dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“This is Isla,” I said quietly, almost before I realised I was speaking. My voice sounded thinner than usual stretched. “My daughter.”

His head turned slowly, fully facing her for the first time. He looked at her like someone trying to solve a riddle they already knew the answer to.

“She’s beautiful,” he said eventually.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Isla, oblivious, offered him a sticker a shiny butterfly. He smiled and took it without hesitation, sticking it to the back of his hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

And my heart twisted.

He used to say that to me.

The rest of the lunch was a blur. I tried to focus on the conversation on the stories, the jokes, the shared laughter that should’ve anchored me but my mind kept floating. Kept returning to the fact that Sebastian was sitting just two seats down, watching Isla with that cautious intensity like he was reading a page from a book he thought he’d already finished.

He barely touched his food. I barely touched mine.

Every now and then, I caught him looking not at Isla, but at me. Like he was trying to piece something together. Like the cogs in his head were turning, slow and deliberate, trying to unearth something he wasn’t ready for.

He still hadn’t said a word about it.

And no one else knew. Not a soul at that table knew that Sebastian Stan was Isla’s father. Not even Alice, who I used to tell everything. I’d never wanted to risk it. Too many questions, too much mess.

But now, sitting across from him, I felt like I was holding a grenade in my lap, just waiting for the pin to fall out.

At one point, Liam leaned towards me with a grin. “Did you know Seb was in town?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

“Yeah,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on a chip. “Texted me this morning out of nowhere. Said he missed us. Thought it’d be nice to invite him. Hope that’s alright.”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “Just… a surprise, that’s all.”

“A good one though?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Across the table, Sebastian’s gaze caught mine again. Held. My breath hitched just slightly before I looked away and wiped Isla’s mouth with a napkin.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

When we all finally rose from the table and paid, the spring air outside felt too cold too sharp for the sun that was supposed to be shining.

The others began saying their goodbyes with hugs and promises to do it again soon. One by one, they peeled off down the high street until only Sebastian and I were left standing awkwardly in the dappled sunlight.

Isla was crouched by the wall, examining a trail of ants with the kind of intensity only a toddler could manage.

I could feel Sebastian beside me, tense and restless. Then...

“I’m going to ask a stupid question,” he said, voice low.

I turned to look at him.

He wasn’t meeting my eyes. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking.

A beat passed.

Then he looked up.

“Is she mine?”

I didn’t speak right away. Just nodded, slowly.

He blinked like the world had just shifted sideways.

A crack formed in his expression something raw and almost unbearable flickered through his eyes. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start.

Then came the quiet, controlled anger. Not loud enough to draw Isla’s attention, but sharp enough to sting.

“You didn’t tell me.”

I stared at him.

“I tried,” I said.

He frowned. “No. I never... You never”

“I called you,” I cut in, my voice firmer now. “I texted. I left voicemails. Long ones. I told you I needed to talk to you. I begged you to call me back.”

He was shaking his head, almost in disbelief.

“I didn’t get any of that”

“Because you blocked me.”

His breath caught. A flash of guilt washed over his face.

“I left you one last message,” I went on, quietly now. “I told you it was important. I didn’t say the words, but I hoped you’d hear it in my voice. And then… I promised myself that if you didn’t have the decency to call me back to even ask what was so urgent then you didn’t deserve to know about our child.”

Sebastian looked like I’d slapped him.

He turned slightly, raking a hand through his hair, pacing one small, frustrated step.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

He looked over at Isla again still crouched, still happy, still blissfully unaware.

“She looks like me,” he said under his breath. “I noticed it straight away.”

I didn’t answer.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he exhaled, barely holding his voice steady. “I’ve missed everything. Her first steps. Her first words. The first time she got sick. I’ve missed all of it.”

“You weren’t there,” I said, more softly this time. “That wasn't my fault”

His eyes snapped back to mine, something close to panic surfacing.

“Can I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “Can I see her again? Another time? Properly?”

I hesitated. The wind caught Isla’s curls just then, and she looked up at us, smiling, waving one sticky hand in the air.

I waved back before answering.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I need to think.”

“I understand.”

“I just… I can’t let you dip in and out,” I added quickly, voice trembling now. “She’s not a surprise cameo. She’s a person. A whole person.”

“I’m not going to disappear again.”

“You did once.”

He flinched. Said nothing.

I took Isla’s hand gently, feeling the tiny warmth of her fingers against mine.

“We should go.”

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

As I turned, I heard him whisper so quiet it was almost carried away by the breeze:

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t sleep much the night after that lunch.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sebastian’s face. The flicker of disbelief. The pain behind his eyes. The way his voice broke when he said he’d missed everything.

And he had.

Isla’s first laugh. Her first wobbly steps across our tiny flat. The first time she said “mummy,” and the second time when she tried to say “banana” but called it “ba-an-ah.”

He wasn’t there for any of it.

And yet, something inside me some maddening, gentle part couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at her. Not with pity or fear. But awe. Like she was the most precious thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

The very next day, he messaged.

Hi. I don’t expect a reply straight away. But I just wanted to say thank you for introducing me to Isla. I would like to see her again, if and when you’re ready. I want to do right by her. And by you. –Seb.

It took me hours to reply. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I had to force myself to believe he meant it.

I finally wrote back:

If you want to be in her life, it has to be consistent. No dipping in and out. No disappearing. If you say you’re coming, you come. Also, I’m there. Always. You don’t get to take her anywhere yet. We meet in a public place. Sunday. 11am. The park by my flat Hampstead Heath. Bring snacks. She likes grapes and cheesy crackers.

He replied almost instantly.

I’ll be there. Thank you.

Sunday came faster than I expected.

I dressed Isla in her little denim dungarees and tied her curls into two tiny buns on top of her head. She giggled as I wiped toast crumbs from her cheeks.

“Mummy, Sparkle?” she asked, holding up her unicorn plush with one floppy, sparkly leg.

“Of course, baby.”

I didn’t tell her who we were meeting. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to confuse her until I was sure.

When we arrived, he was already there sitting on a bench near the swings, clutching a bag and looking like he’d been waiting for years, not minutes.

He stood as soon as he saw us.

“Hi,” he said, awkward and gentle all at once.

“Hi,” I replied, tightening my grip on Isla’s hand.

She looked up at him curiously. “You’re tall,” she declared.

Sebastian let out a breath of laughter. “I am, yeah. I should warn you, I might bump my head on tree branches sometimes.”

She giggled, and I watched him melt a little right there.

“I brought snacks,” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. “Grapes and those little bear-shaped biscuits?”

“Approved,” I said.

We settled on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree. Isla flopped onto her stomach, unpacking her unicorn and immediately appointing Sebastian as a guest in her imaginary tea party.

He played along like a pro.

“Would Sparkle like one lump of sugar or two?” he asked with great seriousness.

“Three,” Isla whispered conspiratorially. “She’s sweet.”

He nodded solemnly. “I should’ve known.”

I couldn’t help it I smiled. And for a moment, the tension between us eased, just a little.

The visit only lasted an hour. I kept my boundaries clear when Isla grew tired, I stood and said it was time to go. He didn’t argue.

“Can I see her again next weekend?” he asked as I packed up our things.

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Same place. Same time.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath since I first messaged him.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

I didn’t say anything. I just picked Isla up and walked away.

But I let her wave.

He waved back.

It became a pattern.

Every Sunday, 11am.

He showed up every time. On time. With snacks. With stories. With toys. With questions about her favourite songs or how she liked her sandwiches cut.

He never overstepped. Never pressured me. Never tried to rush anything.

He just showed up.

One Sunday, Isla crawled into his lap without asking, holding a book she wanted him to read. He blinked hard, caught off guard, then wrapped an arm around her and read every page with the same dramatic flair she’d come to expect from me.

I didn’t realise I was crying until I felt the tears hit my lips.

one month in, we started having coffees after the park. Just the two of us. Isla would nap in her buggy and we’d sit at the little café on the corner, sipping flat whites and talking really talking for the first time in years.

“I blocked you,” he admitted one afternoon, his voice heavy with shame. “After that fight… I couldn’t handle seeing your name. It made me feel sick.”

I nodded slowly. “I figured.”

“I didn’t expect to feel so much,” he said. “Back then. When you told me it was over. That you didn’t want whatever we were doing anymore.”

“We were toxic,” I said. “It wasn’t healthy. For either of us.”

“But it wasn’t nothing.”

“No,” I agreed. “It wasn’t nothing.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. And I saw it the weight of everything we could’ve been if we’d only known how to love each other properly.

“We can’t rewrite it,” I said, softer now. “But we can give her something steady. Something whole.”

He nodded. “I want that. More than anything.”

The first time he came to my flat, Isla squealed like it was Christmas.

“You can sit here!” she said, dragging him to the couch like a prize. “Mummy makes hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows if you ask really nicely.”

“I shall beg,” he said seriously, making her cackle with delight.

I brought them mugs and stood in the kitchen for a moment, watching them.

He was holding her plush unicorn on his shoulder like a baby. She was giggling so hard she snorted.

My heart hurt.

In a good way.

In a terrifying way.

Later that night, after Isla had fallen asleep and the flat had gone quiet, he lingered in the doorway.

“Thanks for letting me come today,” he said. “For trusting me.”

I nodded. “She loves you, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“She doesn’t even know what that means yet,” I added. “But it’s in her bones already.”

He swallowed hard. “I love her, too.”

And then he looked at me. Really looked.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

My breath caught.

“We can’t” I began.

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… I needed you to hear it. I should’ve said it years ago.”

I didn’t say it back.

But I didn’t close the door, either.

I could hear them from the kitchen.

Isla’s delighted giggle. The thump of toy blocks tumbling. Sebastian’s overly dramatic “oh noooo!” as he pretended to be defeated by her tiny rubber dinosaur.

I stirred the pasta absentmindedly, letting the warm sound of their play fill the flat like music. It had only been a few weeks since I’d started letting him come by more regularly, and already, it was becoming second nature the coat dropped on the hook by the door, his trainers neatly beside mine, the sound of his laugh joining ours.

I peeked into the living room. Isla was balanced on his knee, proudly showing him a sticker book while he listened like she was reading him Shakespeare. Her curls bounced as she babbled on, and he nodded along as though every word made perfect sense.

“Seb?” I called gently.

He looked up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

He followed me back into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard like it was his place. Like he’d always known where things were.

I hesitated, wiping my hands on a tea towel. “What… what are you going to do? I mean about living in New York. Projects. Work. Everything.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said. “I’m not expecting things to be easy or perfect. I’d never ask you to uproot your whole life, or hers, just to make things easier for me.”

He looked out toward the living room, where Isla was now humming to herself.

“I know you’ve built a life here. You’ve got your work, your friends. Her routines. I’d never take that away from her.”

I softened, listening closely.

“I’ll work around you,” he said firmly. “Around her. I’ve already told my agent I only want to take jobs that keep me free to fly back and forth. If I’m not on set, I’m here. Every chance I get. Whatever your schedule is, I’ll match it. I just… I want to be in her life, and yours, in whatever way you’ll let me.”

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

“That sounds… fair,” I said after a beat. “I think we can figure it out, as it happens.”

He smiled, relieved. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the quiet filled with the distant sound of Isla talking to herself about grapes and teddy bears.

“There’s one more thing,” I said, glancing at him.

He straightened.

“I was wondering… if you’d want to tell her.”

“Tell her?” he asked, confused.

“That you’re her dad.”

His face changed slowly the emotion building behind his eyes, guarded but rising. He glanced again toward Isla, who was now crawling under the coffee table, murmuring nonsense to her unicorn.

“She’s only one and a half,” I added gently. “She doesn’t fully understand anything yet. Not really. But she knows who’s kind. Who loves her. Who shows up.”

He looked back at me, eyes glossy.

“I think… I think if you wanted to tell her, you could.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight. “I do want to. God, yeah, I want to.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “Then let’s tell her together.”

After dinner, we all sat in the living room. Isla nestled in my lap, still holding her unicorn, while Sebastian knelt beside us on the rug, nervously fiddling with the zip on her little cardigan.

She looked between us, cheeks rosy, babbling in toddler-speak about some imaginary friend who lived in the kitchen cupboard.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said gently, brushing a curl from her face. “Can Mummy and Sebby tell you something?”

She blinked up at us, mouth sticky with leftover banana.

Sebastian smiled nervously. “Hi, Isla.”

She pointed at his nose. “Boop.”

He chuckled softly. “Boop,” he repeated.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, then composed myself.

“You know how you love Sebby?” I asked.

She nodded. “Sebby fun.”

“Well,” I said slowly, “Sebby’s a very special person. He’s not just Mummy’s friend. He’s something even more special to you.”

Her little brows furrowed in confusion.

Sebastian swallowed thickly and moved in a little closer. “I’m your daddy, Isla.”

She blinked.

I watched her tiny mouth work around the word. “Da…dee?”

He smiled, eyes watering. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m your daddy.”

She looked at me for confirmation. “Mummy?”

“Yes, my love,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “He’s your daddy.”

There was a long beat.

Then Isla broke into the sunniest grin and launched forward into his arms.

“Daddy!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck in a way only toddlers could all elbows and love.

Sebastian held her like she was spun glass, one hand cradling her head, the other wrapped protectively around her back. His shoulders shook slightly, and I realised he was crying.

“Isla,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

She patted his cheek like she was comforting him now. “Daddy sad?”

He laughed wetly. “No, baby. Daddy’s happy.”

She pulled back slightly and, in her most serious tone, said, “No cry. I gots blankie.”

And then she stood, waddled off, and returned moments later with her favourite duck-print blanket, throwing it over his lap like a royal gift.

He laughed again, wiping his cheeks.

“Thank you, my love.”

He looked up at me, and I saw it all in his eyes the joy, the pain, the love, the regret.

I nodded, smiling through my own tears.

“She’s got your eyes,” I said softly.

He took a deep breath, clutching the blanket to his chest.

“And your fire,” he added, gazing back at her. “I don’t deserve either of you.”

“No,” I said honestly. “But you’re here. And that’s a start.”

That night, after he’d gone and Isla was tucked into bed, I sat alone on the sofa, sipping tea and staring at the quiet living room.

The sticker book still sat open. The little pink socks she’d kicked off were on the rug. Her unicorn was slumped over like it, too, had had a long day.

And something about it all made my chest ache with happiness, with hope, with the tiniest flicker of fear.

The first time Sebastian took Isla out on his own, I nearly called him three times in the span of twenty minutes.

I didn’t, of course. But I hovered near my phone like it might cry out for help on its own. I’d kissed Isla’s curls, watched her waddle off toward him with her tiny backpack on, and smiled as she shouted “Bye Mummy!” from the doorway.

And now the flat was still. Too still.

I tried to focus washed the dishes, made the bed, even started replying to some work emails but everything reminded me she wasn’t here. Her sippy cup left near the telly. A sticker of a giraffe stuck to my laptop screen. The scent of her baby shampoo lingering faintly in the hallway.

They were only gone for a few hours.

I still jumped when I heard the key in the lock.

“Mummy!” Isla’s voice rang out like a song.

I met them at the door. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her curls a little frizzier than they’d been when she left. She looked delighted.

“We saw ducks!” she said, waving a half-eaten rice cake. “And Daddy buy juice. He say don’t tell Mummy it has sugar.”

I raised an eyebrow at Sebastian, who held his hands up in mock surrender.

“It was organic. Ish.”

I smirked despite myself. “And how did it go?”

“She’s… perfect,” he said, lowering himself to unbuckle her shoes. “I mean, she’s got energy like a caffeine-fuelled squirrel, but she’s amazing. She made a friend at the café. Shared a biscuit. Talked to a pigeon for ten minutes.”

I laughed.

“She’s got your charm,” he added, glancing up at me. “Everyone in that park was wrapped around her little finger. Including me.”

I softened, brushing Isla’s hair back from her forehead. “She had a good time?”

“I think so,” he said.

“Best day!” Isla chirped, confirming it.

My heart melted.

And just like that we had our first solo day out under our belts.

It became routine, slowly. Some weekends, Sebastian would come by with plans: the zoo, a soft play centre, a toddler art class that ended in a very colourful disaster. Other times, we’d spend time together the three of us curled on the floor with picture books, Sebastian dutifully voicing animals while Isla cackled and corrected him.

I’d never imagined this kind of dynamic with him. A year ago, I couldn’t even look at photos of him without feeling that old, deep hurt.

Now, he was in our lives. Tangibly. Steadily. Bit by bit.

And not just when it was convenient.

One afternoon, a month later, we were sat in the garden while Isla napped the baby monitor beside us, my tea half-drunk on the table.

Sebastian was scrolling through his phone with a pinched look on his face.

“What’s up?” I asked, wiping suncream from my wrist.

He hesitated.

“I got papped yesterday,” he said. “Coming out of your building.”

My stomach tightened. “What?”

He turned the phone to show me. A grainy photo clearly taken from across the street. Him holding Isla in one arm, pushing the door open with the other. Her face was angled slightly away, but not enough to be hidden.

“Oh god,” I whispered. “Her face is in it.”

“I know,” he said, jaw tight.

“Was it posted?”

“Not officially. Not by a real outlet. Yet. A few fan accounts have it already though. I’ve already messaged my team. Asked them to make sure no one runs it. But I wanted to be honest. I didn’t see the camera.”

I sat back, heart hammering.

“She’s just a baby,” I muttered.

“I know,” he repeated, more softly this time. “I’m sorry.”

I swallowed hard. “This was always going to be the hardest part.”

He nodded. “I don’t want her dragged into anything. Not without your say. And hers, when she’s old enough to make that decision.”

I looked at him, properly.

“I never wanted to keep her from you,” I said. “But I did want to keep her safe. From this.”

“You’re right to,” he said. “I get it now. More than ever.”

We sat in silence a beat.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said. “Always. I’ll wear the stupid hat. I’ll do what it takes.”

I smiled faintly. “You in a stupid hat is its own public risk.”

He chuckled, the tension breaking slightly.

“She’s priority,” he said. “Always.”

I nodded, finally allowing myself to believe it.

A few days later, I found a locked folder in my inbox.

Private photos for Y/N and Isla only.

Inside: professional-grade images of Sebastian with Isla. Ones I hadn’t taken.

One of them sitting on a park bench, her tiny fingers tangled in his hair. Another of him kneeling beside her in front of a fountain, both their faces lit up in pure laughter. They weren’t for press. Just for us.

He’d hired someone discreet. Kind. Someone who wouldn’t sell them.

I opened the last one a quiet shot of the two of them under a tree, her asleep on his chest, his head resting lightly against hers.

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.

Not because it hurt.

But because it was healing.

“Can I keep one in my wallet?” he asked the next day. “Or is that… too much?”

“Of course you can,” I said, handing him a small print.

He held it like it was made of gold.

That weekend, he took Isla for an overnight. My first night without her since she’d been born.

I won’t lie I paced the house like a restless cat. But Sebastian texted updates without me having to ask.

-She made me sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ six times before bed. Slightly off-key. She was not impressed.

-Porridge everywhere. Literally. Everywhere. Might burn this hoodie.

-She named a duck “Simon Sebastian Stan” today. Not sure whether to be honoured or worried.

I laughed through my tears.

The next morning, they returned both wearing matching duck-print pyjamas from the gift shop.

“She insisted,” he said, half apologising.

“I love it,” I said truthfully.

She flung herself into my arms like she’d been gone a year. “Mummy I miss you!”

I held her tightly. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

Sebastian watched us, his eyes warm.

“I can’t believe how much she changes week to week,” he said. “Every new word. Every new thing she does. I don’t want to miss any of it.”

“You won’t,” I said softly. “Not anymore.”

We weren’t perfect. There were disagreements. Moments where we both got defensive, or overwhelmed. But every time, we circled back to what mattered. To her.

We never called ourselves anything. Not co-parents. Not friends. Not… more. We were still figuring that out.

But we were present. We were kind. And Isla, clever little sponge that she was, knew she was safe. She was loved.

One night, as I tucked her into bed, she pulled me close and whispered, “I love Mummy. I love Daddy. We all together.”

I kissed her forehead, my throat tight.

“Yes, baby. We’re all together.”

The morning Sebastian left for New York, Isla was still asleep.

He stood in the doorway to her room, his hand resting lightly on the frame, watching her chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. A stuffed dinosaur was tucked beneath her chin. Her curls were everywhere, as usual.

“Want to wake her?” I whispered.

He shook his head slowly. “She looks too peaceful. I’ll FaceTime her when I land.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

It wasn’t like this was permanent. He was only going for two weeks. Filming some last-minute reshoots, meetings, events. All the usual chaos that had once seemed so far removed from my quiet life.

But now it was tangled up in ours.

“You packed her drawings?” I asked, handing him the rolled-up bundle Isla had insisted he take.

He smiled, tucking them carefully into the front of his carry-on. “Front and centre.”

Then he looked at me that soft look he wore lately when he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Thanks,” he said. “For trusting me with all of this. For letting me be in it. Even when I didn’t make it easy.”

I didn’t say anything. Just hugged him tightly and let go a second later than I meant to.

That evening, the FaceTime came right on time.

“ISLA!” he shouted playfully from his hotel room, his face filling the screen. “Hi, monkey!”

“Daddy!” she shrieked, practically launching herself at the phone in my hand. I steadied it with both hands as she clambered into my lap, eyes wide.

“You there?” he asked, tilting the phone to show her a small plushie she’d given him. “Look who came with me.”

“That’s Duck!” she giggled. “Duck go New York!”

“He says he misses you.”

“Where’s New York?” she asked, frowning.

Sebastian chuckled. “Very, very far away.”

“Far like Nanny’s house?”

“Even farther than Nanny’s.”

She blinked. “But why you go?”

My heart squeezed.

He smiled gently. “I had to do some work, baby. But just for a little while.”

She studied his face seriously, then looked at me. “He come back?”

I nodded. “He always comes back, love.”

Sebastian leaned in closer to the screen. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring you something special.”

She gasped. “A horse?”

“Maybe not a real horse.”

“A big horse?”

“A… toy horse,” he offered.

She considered that. “Okay. But pink.”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Each night after that, the calls became routine. She'd hold up her latest drawing, or babble about what she ate for lunch. He’d ask questions. Listen. Pull faces to make her laugh.

On the fourth night, she was quieter. Sleepier.

She leaned against me, cheek resting on my shoulder while the phone sat propped in front of us.

“Long day?” Sebastian asked.

“She ran the entire length of the park three times,” I said, adjusting the camera so he could see her properly.

“She’s training for a toddler marathon,” he joked. “I respect the hustle.”

“Mmm,” she murmured.

“Hi baby,” he said gently. “You tired?”

She nodded without lifting her head. “You come back soon?”

“Very soon.”

“Okay,” she whispered, already half-gone.

And then slowly, right there in my lap, she drifted off.

One chubby hand curled around my sleeve. The other still loosely clutching a toy she hadn't let go of all day.

I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Sebastian watched her from the screen, his face soft, quiet.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered.

“I know,” I murmured, brushing a curl from her eyes.

We sat like that the three of us in our own little stillness for a long moment.

“I hate being away,” he said eventually. His voice cracked just slightly. “Even when I’m doing something I love. It feels like I’m missing real life.”

“She misses you,” I said. “She asks where you are every time she sees your shoes in the hall.”

His expression faltered, and for a second, he didn’t say anything.

“I miss her too. And you.”

I glanced at the screen.

He looked tired. Jet-lagged, sure, but also… something more. That specific ache of absence you only feel for the people who’ve rooted themselves in you.

“She’ll be here when you get back,” I said softly. “So will I.”

He swallowed. “Can I call tomorrow morning too? I want to say good morning before I go to set.”

“Of course.”

We both lingered, neither of us ready to hang up just yet.

Isla snored gently against my shoulder.

“Sleep well, monkey,” he whispered.

I smiled. “Night, Seb.”

“Night,” he said. “Give her an extra cuddle from me.”

“I will.”

The screen went dark.

But the space he’d made for himself in our routines, in Isla’s heart, and maybe in mine too was still very much there.

The flight tracker said he landed at 8:06 a.m.

By 9:00, Isla was in her favourite dress the one with tiny strawberries all over it pacing the hallway with Duck the plushie gripped tight in her arms.

“When Daddy home?” she asked for the fifth time.

“Soon, baby. He’s in a car on the way.”

She looked at the door with suspicion, like she didn’t quite believe me.

Then the knock.

She shrieked. “DADDY!”

I barely managed to unlock the door before she was pulling it open herself.

And there he was. Jet-lagged. Bag slung over his shoulder. A plastic bag in his hand that I could already tell contained something pink and equestrian-themed.

“Horse!” Isla gasped.

“I told you I’d bring one,” he grinned.

She leapt into his arms, and he caught her effortlessly, burying his face in her hair.

I stepped back, letting them have that moment the kind that made my chest ache and swell at the same time.

It wasn’t until later, after breakfast and playgrounds and a nap that ended with Isla drooling on his chest on the couch, that I noticed the quiet between us.

The kind that wasn’t strained. Just... full.

Full of everything we hadn’t said yet.

That night, the flat was calm.

Isla had gone down easier than usual, her little body worn out by the day’s excitement. Duck was tucked under her chin, and Sebastian had read her two bedtime stories in a voice softened by exhaustion and something deeper.

Now we sat in the lounge, two mugs of tea cooling on the coffee table, a film playing quietly in the background that neither of us was really watching.

I was curled into the corner of the sofa. Sebastian sat on the floor, his back against the opposite end, head tilted back, eyes half-closed.

“You alright?” I asked gently.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just coming back to earth a bit.”

“Busy trip?”

“Busy brain.”

I hummed. “Understandable.”

He looked over at me then. Really looked.

“You’re good with her,” he said softly. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“She’s easy to love,” I replied.

A pause. Then...

“I think about it a lot,” he said.

“What?”

“What it would’ve been like if I’d called you back.”

I swallowed, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “Sebastian”

“No, I know. I’m not asking you to make it easier. I was a coward. I shut everything out. I can’t explain it without sounding pathetic.”

He looked down at his hands. “But every time I see her every time she says my name or shows me something she’s proud of I wonder what I missed. I wonder how I could’ve been so stupid.”

“You’re here now,” I said. “That’s what matters.”

“Is it?”

I looked at him. His expression was open, raw. Like he wasn’t asking for forgiveness, just understanding.

“She doesn’t know any different,” I said. “And she loves you. She’s never once questioned whether you belong. Kids are funny that way.”

He nodded, quiet again.

The film ended. The flat fell into silence but for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of traffic outside.

I stretched, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

“You don’t have to stay on the floor, you know,” I said, tilting my head toward the space beside me.

He hesitated, then climbed up beside me, cautious, like he wasn’t sure of the rules.

We sat close not touching, but near enough that the air felt different.

“I missed this,” he said. “Not just Isla. You.”

I looked at him carefully. “Seb...”

“I know. I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly. “I just needed you to know.”

I nodded, heart thudding, unsure what to say.

He shifted, lying back across the sofa, head resting lightly on my thigh.

I froze.

“Okay?” he asked.

I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded.

His breathing evened out slowly, the weight of him warm and real.

I ran my fingers gently through his hair a motion so instinctive it scared me a little.

“Sebastian?”

He hummed sleepily.

“You’re not the only one who thinks about it,” I said quietly.

He didn’t reply. Maybe he was already asleep.

But his hand found mine and held it just tightly enough to answer me.

I woke up to the sound of Isla’s giggles bright, squeaky ones that tumbled through the hallway like a soundtrack to joy itself.

I rubbed my eyes, the warmth of the morning sun pouring across the duvet. My legs were tangled in the sheets, hair sticking up in every direction. But none of that mattered because her laugh that laugh was the kind that made everything feel okay.

Then I heard his voice.

Low. Sleep-rough. Warm in a way that made my chest ache.

“Easy now, chef. We don’t want eggshells in the batter.”

“Eggie shell funny!” Isla squealed.

I sat up and blinked blearily toward the door. My flat felt different with him in it. Lighter somehow. Full.

I padded into the kitchen quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

Sebastian was standing at the counter his hair still messy from sleep. Isla sat on the counter in her little lemon pyjamas, gripping a whisk with both hands, entirely focused on the bowl in front of her.

“Morning,” I said softly.

Two heads turned.

“Mummy!” Isla chirped, bouncing slightly on the counter.

“Morning,” Sebastian echoed, smile crooking as he held up a wooden spoon. “We’re making pancakes. Or attempting to.”

“Only a few casualties so far,” I said, nodding at the flour all over the counter.

“And her,” he grinned, nodding at Isla’s cheeks, which were dusted white.

“I a pancake,” she giggled, beaming.

“You’re a beautiful pancake,” I murmured, crossing the kitchen and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Sebastian handed me a mug of tea black and strong, just how I liked it without needing to ask.

“Thank you,” I said, surprised by the small detail.

“Always.”

Our eyes met for a beat too long.

Then Isla sneezed flour all over his shirt, and we both burst into laughter.

Breakfast was messy and chaotic.

Pancakes were too brown on one side, syrup was everywhere, and Isla somehow got butter in her hair.

But I couldn’t stop smiling.

Once Isla was down for her midday nap, the flat fell quiet again.

I was rinsing dishes at the sink when Sebastian came up beside me, towel in hand.

“Let me help,” he said, nudging my shoulder gently.

We worked in silence for a moment not heavy silence, but thoughtful.

Then he said, “Last night… was nice.”

I glanced at him. “Yeah. It was.”

“And this morning?”

I smiled. “Even nicer.”

He looked down at the dish in his hands. “You know, when I’m with her and you it feels easy. Like I can breathe.”

I dried my hands on the towel slowly. “It is easy,” I said. “When we’re not overthinking everything.”

“I’m trying not to,” he admitted. “But I keep wondering… is there a version of this where we figure it out? Not just co-parenting. I mean us.”

The air felt still for a moment, like the flat was listening too.

I met his eyes, steady and honest. “Seb, I don’t have the answers yet. We’re still healing. Still learning how to be… this.”

“I know. I’m not rushing it,” he said quickly. “I just want you to know I’m here. For both of you. For real.”

I nodded, heart beating in my throat.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He reached out, his pinkie brushing mine lightly. Not a grab. Just a touch.

It was enough.

Later, while Isla napped curled up like a tiny comma in her cot, I found Sebastian in the lounge, flipping through one of her picture books, eyes distant.

I sat down beside him, close but not touching.

“You okay?” I asked.

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just thinking about how much time I missed.”

“You’re making up for it now.”

He looked at me then really looked. “I don’t want to miss anything else.”

“You won’t,” I said. “As long as you keep showing up.”

“I will,” he said.

When Sebastian first mentioned going out for the day properly out, not just the local park or walking Isla in the pram before sunrise I didn’t say no.

But I didn’t say yes either.

It was a quiet evening, the three of us curled on the sofa, Isla half-asleep on my lap with her bunny clutched tightly to her chest, her curls stuck to her forehead. I watched him watching her eyes soft, protective, still amazed by her.

That look always got to me.

He reached over, gently adjusted her sock so it wouldn’t slip off, then glanced up at me.

“I was thinking,” he said, cautious. “It might be nice to take her out somewhere. Maybe Covent Garden. The street performers, bubble guys she’d love it.”

I felt my stomach twist. “You mean, in public? Like… properly public?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know it’s a risk, but I’ve spoken to my publicist.”

Of course he had.

“She’s already drafted a statement,” he continued, voice low. “Said we can pre-empt the press interest. Make it clear we’re not hiding anything but also set a hard line.”

“And that line is?” I asked, not unkindly.

“No publishing Isla’s face. Full stop. Anyone who does gets hit with legal.”

I swallowed. “Will that actually work?”

“It’s been done before. She said if we post something ourselves a photo that shows we’re a family, without exposing too much most of the reputable outlets will follow suit. Anyone who doesn’t… well, that’s where the lawyers step in.”

I didn’t answer right away. I looked down at Isla. At her tiny hand curled around my hoodie string. She looked so peaceful, so safe.

“We can keep it lowkey,” he said gently. “We’ll take the buggy. Stay in busy areas. No big gestures, no hand-holding if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I said quietly. “I just… I never wanted her in this world.”

“I know,” he said. “But she’s my world. And I don’t want to hide that.”

I looked up at him, and for once, I didn’t see the actor. I didn’t see the tabloid fixture, the Marvel star. I saw him the man who read bedtime stories in funny voices and cried when Isla called him Daddy for the first time.

“Okay,” I said. “But we do it our way. On our terms.”

He nodded, eyes filled with something heavy and grateful. “Always.”

The next morning, the post went up.

A candid black-and-white photo of Sebastian’s hand in mine, and Isla’s tiny hand in both of ours just our fingers, nothing more. His caption read:

Family means everything to me. Please respect the privacy of our daughter. She’s not part of this industry, and she deserves to grow up without flashbulbs in her face. Thank you for your kindness and understanding.

It was short. It was heartfelt. And it worked mostly.

His publicist followed up with media contacts, reinforcing the boundaries. Within hours, our names were trending. The comments were a chaotic mix of shock, support, and inevitable speculation. But no one knew her name. No one had a clear image of her face.

And for now, that was enough.

We stepped out just before noon.

Isla was bouncing in her buggy, chattering to her toy bunny as I clipped her hat beneath her chin. Sebastian wore a hoodie pulled low and sunglasses, and I had a cap on, hair tucked behind my ears.

It wasn’t exactly a disguise. But it helped.

As soon as we reached the heart of Covent Garden, the world buzzed around us music, smells from food stalls, children laughing, buskers drawing crowds.

Sebastian wheeled the buggy while I held Isla’s snack pouch, and for a brief stretch of time, it felt normal. Ordinary.

Until I heard it the faint click of a shutter.

Then another.

He caught my eye.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… don’t leave my side.”

“Never,” he said without hesitation.

We sat at a little outdoor café, tucked behind a flower stall. Sebastian ordered coffee, I got tea and a fruit salad to share. Isla sat on his lap, pointing at pigeons and mimicking their noises, which made us both laugh more than we should’ve.

I saw a phone aimed at us from across the square. Not a pap, just someone who recognised him.

“Here it starts,” I murmured.

Sebastian didn’t flinch. He just leaned in, kissed Isla’s forehead, and whispered something to make her giggle.

“I can’t pretend this won’t happen,” he said quietly. “But I promise you I’ll handle it. You and Isla, you come first.”

I looked at him, at the little crinkle by his eyes, the way he held her like it was instinct.

“You already are,” I said, barely louder than the wind.

Later that afternoon, we wandered through the quieter side streets, stopping by a toy shop where Isla picked out a fabric book with animals and squeaky buttons. The clerk gave us a knowing smile but said nothing.

Just as we were heading home, I felt Isla tug on my wrist.

“More Daddy time?” she asked sleepily, blinking up at him from the buggy.

His expression melted.

“I’ll be around a lot more, sweet pea,” he promised. “As much as I can.”

She reached for him, and he scooped her up without hesitation.

I watched them, hand over my heart, unsure when this became our life.

By the time we got back home, Isla was already nodding off in her car seat, her little bunny clutched tight to her chest like it had been through battle with her.

Sebastian carried her up the stairs without a word, holding her with a gentleness that never failed to gut me a little. I trailed behind, carrying her bag and the folded buggy, trying to breathe out the tension I hadn’t realised I’d been holding all day.

The moment the front door shut behind us, the outside world slipped away like fog clearing from glass.

Seb gently laid Isla down in her cot, brushing her curls back with the edge of his finger. She stirred, mumbled something about “bubble man”, and rolled over, thumb making its way to her mouth.

I watched from the doorway, my arms crossed, still trying to settle the thrum beneath my ribs.

He looked up at me. “She’s okay.”

“Yeah,” I said, softer than I meant to. “She’s more than okay.”

He followed me back into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa with a sigh and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Well,” he muttered, “we survived.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Barely.”

There was a moment of quiet. Not awkward just… full. Charged.

I sat next to him, close enough to share a cushion but not quite touching. He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling.

“How are you doing?” he asked, voice gentle.

I hesitated. “I think I expected it to be worse. More invasive. But it wasn’t.”

“That’s the bar now?” he asked with a wry smile. “Not completely soul-crushing?”

I gave him a look. “It’s better than her face on a tabloid tomorrow morning.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

A beat.

“I meant what I said,” he added, quieter now. “About putting you two first. This wasn’t just a PR decision. I want her to grow up feeling normal, even if nothing about this setup is.”

I bit my bottom lip, chewing on it a little. “You’re doing a good job so far. She adores you.”

His eyes warmed at that, softened in a way that made my chest ache.

“She’s… she’s everything,” he murmured.

And then he turned to me.

“And so are you, you know. I know we’ve not really talked about… whatever this is. But I notice the way you look out for her. The way you still look out for me. Even after everything.”

I swallowed, feeling the tension rise again not the anxious kind, but something else. A quiet, invisible tether tightening.

“It’s not easy,” I admitted. “Letting you back in.”

“I know.”

“I’m scared,” I said, almost in a whisper. “Not just of the press. Of us. Of opening the door again when I spent so long forcing myself to close it.”

His face fell a little, but he nodded slowly. “I get that.”

“I’m not saying never,” I added, hurriedly. “Just… not yet.”

He turned fully to face me, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said simply. “Whatever pace you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his voice made my eyes sting.

I blinked, then cleared my throat. “Come on. Let’s have something to eat. We didn’t finish lunch, thanks to the pigeon incident.”

He laughed, that real laugh, low and breathy. “She tried to share her breadstick with it. That was pretty generous.”

I stood, walking to the kitchen, and called over my shoulder, “She gets that from me.”

Dinner was leftovers reheated pasta, garlic bread, and some roasted veg that had seen better days. But we ate at the kitchen island, still in our coats, talking about nothing and everything.

He told me about a script he was reading. I told him about Isla’s obsession with the alphabet song. We laughed when he tried to mimic her little voice and failed miserably.

And after we put the dishes in the sink and dimmed the lights, we just sat there, side by side, listening to the rain tap against the windows.

“Do you think she’ll remember today?” he asked after a while.

“Maybe not the details,” I said, resting my chin in my hand. “But she’ll remember the feeling. Of being loved. Of being safe.”

He nodded, eyes distant but full.

“I’m glad it was with you,” he murmured.

I didn’t respond not with words. But I reached out, resting my hand gently on top of his.

He looked down at the touch, then up at me, and smiled. Not the movie star smile. The real one. Quiet, a little sad, a little hopeful.

[venum0us]

Its Mina's birthday today! She's 4 years old now 🥰 She has a new reference and render to celebrate! :-D

[cece693]

Hii could i request top m reader overstimulating tony stark? Like, to the point he's crying shaking mess and just melts into reader:3 with sweet aftercare pretty please?

So I tried with this because nothing but the best for my man, but mistakes are forewarned.

tags: sex, duh, dom reader, overstimulation, smut isn't the greatest, but I'm trying, crying, aftercare

You have Tony pinned beneath you, body trembling against the soft sheets, face glistening with sweat and tears. He’s already come more times than he can count—his dick twitching, overstimulated and slick with his own release. Every brush of your fingers, every grind of your hips against him, sends him spiraling further into a haze of raw sensation.

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, voice cracking as another jolt hits him. His usually sharp brown eyes, now clouded with need, roll back. “I can’t— I can’t take—”

You see the plea there, but you also see the spark of desire that hasn’t faded. He asked for this—begged, really—wanting you to take him past the point of no return, to show him that brilliant mind of his can slip away into nothing but overwhelming bliss. And you deliver, pressing him into the bed, thrusting with a deliberate rhythm.

His cock is rock hard again despite everything. You stroke him in time with your thrusts, watching as the friction makes his breath hitch. His walls grip you tight, and you can’t help but groan at the hot, desperate clutch around your own dick.

Tony’s tears spill over when he comes yet again, sobbing out your name as his release splatters across his stomach. The hot, wet pulse of his orgasm makes him seize up and tremble. You ride out every wave with him, letting him whimper and cry against your shoulder.

The slick slide of his cum across your fingers and the messy warmth of him has you on the edge, too. When you finally let go, your hips stutter, and you bury yourself inside him with a deep groan. Tony’s a sobbing, shaking mess, but still breathlessly beautiful. His fingers twitch, reaching for yours. You let him cling to you, pressing your chest against his. One arm slides around him, and your free hand drifts down, smoothing over the curve of his hip and then gliding back up again—gentle, grounding caresses that keep him tethered to the moment.

Tears glisten at the corners of Tony’s eyes, his breath hitching as he tries to calm the tremors running through his overstimulated body. You can’t help but marvel at the sight: Tony Stark, usually so composed and confident, now undone by your touch. He tenses slightly, a gasp escaping his lips, and you pause to brush a thumb across his cheek, catching a stray tear. His breathing stutters as he tries to speak, but only broken sounds escape. You gently hush him, leaning in to press your forehead to his, skin warm against warm.

“Shhh,” you whisper. “You’re alright. You did so good.”

His eyes flutter shut; for a moment, he just focuses on the sound of your voice, on the feeling of your body shielding him from everything else. Slowly, his trembling fingers find yours, lacing together. When he tugs, you move closer, letting him bury his face against the hollow of your throat.

The sticky remnants of your combined cum cling to both of you, and Tony’s body flinches when you shift. Sensing his oversensitivity, you move carefully, groping for the tissues on the bedside table. With as light a touch as you can manage, you start cleaning him up, wiping away the slick mess from his stomach and thighs. Each time he lets out a shaky breath or a quiet whimper, you pause, murmuring soft reassurances. “Stay with me,” you say, voice tender. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Tony nods against your collarbone. His eyes flicker open, glassy with the last remnants of tears. “That was…that was…” His voice cracks, too overwhelmed to string the words together.

You press a gentle kiss to his temple. “I know.”

Eventually, you tug the covers up, cocooning him in warmth. You nestle beside him, one arm sliding beneath his shoulders to cradle him closer. With the other, you stroke the damp hair back from his forehead. His chest still quivers with each uneven breath, but little by little, he relaxes into you. He attempts a shaky grin, eyes fluttering open. “That was incredible,” he manages, voice still ragged.

“Yeah?” You smile softly, leaning in so your noses brush. “You’re incredible.”

His cheeks flush, and he breathes out a stuttering laugh. “Wish I had the energy to… y’know, banter back,” he teases. “But I’m too far gone.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you say, lips curving in amusement. “Right now, let’s just take care of you.” His hand, still linked with yours, tightens for a moment. Then he eases his grip, letting you rearrange the pillows so he can lie more comfortably. Once you’re sure he’s settled, you curl into his side, offering your body heat and a steady heartbeat.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his damp cheek. “Get some rest.” He nods, lashes fluttering shut. The tension in his brow smooths out, though you can still feel the occasional tremor in his limbs. You keep rubbing slow circles into his back, reminding him with every pass of your palm that you’re there, you’re safe, and he’s safe too.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

The Beach

A/N: Shirtless Bucky? Shameless fondling? I think so Relationship: Bucky Barnes | Winter Soldier x Reader (implied/established relationship) Tags: bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x y/n, The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier!Bucky, fluff WARNINGS: consensual petting, FLUFF Summary: Post CATWS, you and Bucky have found temporary refuge somewhere warm and tropical. Now, you both enjoy an early morning on the beach.

Word Count: 1.1k+

You’ve decided you like the beach. 

Ten months after escaping HYDRA, you find the warmth of the sand and the sound of the ocean therapeutic. Your worries ebb and flow with the tide, peaking at night in your dreams and subsiding as the sun rises. Skin, previously pale and dry from captivity, is now sun-kissed and glowing. You even changed your hair, allowing it to grow in a way HYDRA never would. The little shop down the street sells hair dye, and you might purchase some when it feels right. 

Even Bucky, impenetrably serious and ever-vigilant, seems to share your sentiment. 

You wake in a haze of orange light, sun creeping over the mountainous horizon. Rays of light slink into your tiny bungalow from the sliding door, and the smell of coffee rouses you from your sleep. The bed- one you shared to keep each other from waking up screaming - is empty, second pillow cool to the touch. It’s been strange, waking up without a name or past in a place so beautiful, but you’ve kept each other motivated with shreds of memories. The bond you shared was deep, hardened by the torture you’d been subjected to together and solidified by blood. 

In the kitchenette you find a mug of coffee on the tiny counter, a note placed underneath that simply says ‘beach’ in sloped cursive. You try to sip the coffee, only to find it cool and bitter. It ends up running down the drain while you rinse the mug, deciding instead to follow the note outside. You change into a light blue sundress, stepping out of the sliding door to make your way to the water with journal in hand.

It’s warm already despite the early hour, and you trail your fingers across bright green trees and fauna on your way to the sandy beach. Crystal clear water greets you, a lone figure bobbing in and out of the waves. You sit cross-legged in the sand, content to watch him get his morning exercise in. A practiced hand makes note of the date and time, recording everything from the cold coffee to the creamy smell of ripe coconuts on the wind. You lose yourself in the words, adding tens more to the journal already bent from furious scribbling. 

Bucky either decides to keep up his laps or doesn’t notice you, paddling back and forth through rolling waves. You’ve close the journal and set it to the side, purposely slapping the cover shut to catch his attention. He must have been oblivious to your arrival, as he changes his course to immediately swim towards shore. You pad across the sand to meet the Winter Soldier- Bucky- soft hands coming to rest on his mismatched shoulders. He’s shirtless, wearing a teal and gray pair of boardshorts. 

A mischievous look crosses his face for a brief moment, and you just barely choke out a protest before he tries to tug you into his sopping wet body. 

“No!” You backpedal playfully, stepping out of his reach. “My clothes are dry.”

Bucky steps closer, coy smirk turning the corners of his lips. “Clothes can be changed.”

You scowl with no heart, growling his name in warning. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s to no avail.You’ve spent countless hours sparring with Bucky - with The Winter Soldier- and predict his pounce before he leaves the ground. Leaping out of his way is easy, but you forget the speed his titanium arm possesses. It strikes like a cobra, wrapping around your ankle and pulling you down into the sand. You catch yourself with your hands and roll, using your other foot to send a jab to his abdomen. It’s not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to release his grip on you. 

“That was good.” Bucky compliments, climbing to his feet and dusting sand away from his damp torso. He stands with his back to the water, casting a shadow where you’re still sitting in the sand. A hand reaches down to you, offering help up. 

You reach up to meet him, realizing too late that he had you beat in the wits category this morning. As soon as your fingers wrap around cold metal digits his hand pulls back and lifts. You’re scooped into his arms, and he takes off at a run into the waves. 

“Bucky, don’t you-” You’re cut off when both of you plunge into the drink, your clothes soaked beyond help. 

The water is shallow enough to stand, and you find your footing while soft waves rock your body about. Bucky is laughing when you surface, hair wild and plastered to your face. Your dress is in a similar state, every curve and contour of your body highlighted. You do your best to put on a serious face even though nothing but affection is moving through your brain. 

“You are in trouble.” You poke a finger into his chest, and he uses it to draw you into the embrace he searched for just a minute earlier. 

This time, you allow it. Sunshine warms the surface of his prosthesis, glinting into your face and twinkling through drops of water. His body is a familiar comfort, slotting into your arms with the ease of a final puzzle piece. A flesh and bone hand combs through the ends of your wet hair where it brushes the surface of the water. Bucky nuzzles his way down from your crown, nose nudging sweetly against your forehead before plush lips press against yours. 

He tastes like salt and fruit, the sweet tang of pineapple nipping at your tongue when his own traces your bottom lip. A moan escapes you, lost in his mouth as he pulls you in with an iron grip. Your hands creep up his chest, one sliding up to tug not-so-gently on the hair at his nape. His teeth nip at your bottom lip in response, hard enough to draw a whine. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” He murmurs to you, lips leaving yours to trail down the side of your neck. A series of love bites are engraved into your skin, the pain morphing into pleasure as he soothes each spot with his tongue. 

“I could say the same to you.” You purred, nails scraping along his good shoulder. 

A fistful of his hair is locked in your grip when his teeth tweak a pert nipple through the fabric of your dress. 

“Buck…” You turn to look for any stray people walking down the beach, unwilling to be found by any government due to getting carried away with each other in public. 

He chuffs his displeasure with your warning, hot air dancing across the already sensitive skin on your neck. Bucky’s teeth graze by each of the love bites again, and his prosthetic hand squeezes the round of your ass. 

“Let me take you back inside, then.” He kisses your lips in between words. “Show you how beautiful I think you are.” 

Strong hands glide down your curves and squeeze, brushing by the most sensitive parts of your body. 

So, yeah. 

You’ve decided you like the beach. 

-

Thank you for reading, much love ❤

Masterlist

[thinkinonsense]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO✿

old!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: pure fluff, sad lonely old man, brief mention of possible sa, soft logan

wc: 500+

a/n: this is part two to my 'work song' one-shot. thinkin' about making a hozier mini-series for old logan. if anyone is interested...

part one here

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Your old apartment building was close to the club downtown where Logan would drop customers off every weekend. Some nights on your walk home from work, you would pass him in the parking lot where he sat alone with a lit cigar in his mouth and waited until he needed to take people back home.

The handsome stranger always managed to catch your eye but the two of you never spoke; till the night in the alley.

It was later than usual, almost three am when a group of men approached you. They called after you, harassing you until they caged you in against the brick wall of the club. You couldn't even hear your cries for help over the loud music. When one of the men placed his hand on your hip, the sound of metal rang in your ears, and blood splattered across your upper body and abdomen.

The blood belonged to the man who touched you. His friends scattered and that's when you saw Logan standing there. His claws hid back into his hands as you ran into his arms.

"Are you alright?" He bent down to ask.

"Y-Yes, Thank you." Your voice trembled as you cried into his suit. Believe it or not, you had seen crazier things than a man with claws.

Logan was confused by your kindness. He has just killed a man in front of you; both of you are still covered in blood. You didn't even ask where he came from or how he knew you were in trouble. None of that mattered though, when you offered him into your apartment to clean him up.

"I um, I shouldn't" Logan hesitated in your doorway.

"Please, allow me to help." You begged with pouty lips and wide eyes that he couldn't say no. He waited on your couch while you grabbed a wet towel and bandages.

"You first." He said, taking the rag from your hands.

You nod then give him room to run the towel down your neck and collarbones. His huge hand lifts the bottom of your shirt to get the blood underneath. All you could do was watch him take care of you.

When he finished, you sat closer to him than he expected. The scars around his knuckles weren't pretty but you took your time cleaning off any dried blood, kissing each knuckle softly before wrapping them up.

"You're good at this," Logan muttered.

"My mother was a nurse." You smile at him.

Logan already thought you were beautiful but now he stared at you like you had just hung the moon with your own two hands.

You spoke the same secret language to each other, and neither of you questioned how he managed to pull you from the earth. Logan thought you deserved a real explanation though.

"I heard you behind the-"

"Shh..." You cut him off. "Doesn't matter."

In the close proximity, he could see the longing in your eyes and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward to kiss you. It was quick and innocent, more of a thank you Logan thought; but the second you tasted him, you couldn't stop.

He knew not to get attached. After tomorrow, you wouldn't want some old pathetic man like him. Logan had to savor this moment though.

"Stay." You whispered.

"I appreciate everything but I should get-"

"Please, I want you to stay."

And so he did.

The two of you lay on the couch and talked for hours. Logan kept telling himself that when you fell asleep, he would quietly leave. That was before you crawled on top of him and decided to rest there for the evening. You felt safe here with Logan. He looked down at you as you slept on top of him then down at his bandaged hands. For the first time in a long time, he felt cared for.

[saiilorstars]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2024. Day Twenty-Seven: HORROR ARCHETYPES

Which horror character tropes do your ocs embody? The Final Girl or The Killer? The Accomplice or The Harmless Antagonist? The Harbinger or The Nonbeliever? The Comedic Relief or The Hysteric Annoyance?

Chloe - With the Hivemind in her head, Chloe would know what is coming for the rest of the group...

Romina - Being the youngest and a literal child, everyone would try to protect Romina until she is the last one standing.

Rosalie - Ancestor of the witches later to become the Heretics, Rosalie is an outcast amongst the group, having very little power of her own.

Maleny - After a thousand years of living and dying for the benefit of the others, she falls to the world of darkness.

Grier - Brainwashed or not, definitely skilled through wars and training, Grier is out on the hunt.

Seren - The leader of the Avengers and devoting her entire life to protecting the innocent, Seren would sacrifice herself to save the others, no questions asked.

OC Masterlist

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​ ​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​​​​ @gloryekaterina​​ @lenonizi​ @averyhotchner​​ @foxesandmagic @kmc1989 @caplanbuckybarnes

[lovewithmary]

loving hearts (and growing homes), max verstappen & charles leclerc — one

an f1 x mcu crossover

★ fc: madison beer ☆ pairing: stark!oc x max verstappen (current), poly!max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc (future) ★ summary: evangeline "evie" stark has been the subject of headlines even before she was born, subjecting her to much scrutiny over the years. ever since she became a teenager, the media has always speculated on who she was dating, whether it be her long-time best friend/colleague peter parker, or fellow billionaire's child, harry osborn, or whoever they can connect evie with. frankly, it was a little disparaging considering that she's been in a relationship with one max verstappen since they were 15. however, once their relationship has been revealed, will their relationship stay the same, or does a certain monegasque ferrari driver have something to say about it? (spoiler alert: charles wants both of them, not just one) ☆ notes: to those of you who are familiar with my work, this is a reboot of one of my old series, (not) moving on. however, this series is not going to be like (not) moving on, as i've changed a lot of things about the series and what's coming up. so i hope you guys enjoy it!

( 1997, 2004, 2009 ) ( pictures are in chronological order )

( 2012 )

Evie's phone buzzed, removing her attention from what she was working on to grab her phone quickly. She smiled at the sight of Max's text and texted back.

"Is that lover boy texting you? Do I have to revoke your phone privileges or can you refrain from making puppy dog eyes at it?" Tony teased his daughter, fully knowing what was taking her attention.

Evie looked up to see that both her dad and Peter were looking at her. Her dad with the smug look he always made when he had caught her doing something, and Peter with a clueless expression, looking like he didn't have any idea what the conversation was.

She rolled her eyes, sending a response to Max's text before putting her phone down. "I was not making puppy dog eyes. And for your information, it was Max," she said, going back to her laptop.

"Lover boy, Max, same person," Tony remarked.

"Who's Max?" Peter asked.

"Max is..." Evie trailed off, not knowing if Peter was even allowed to know.

Despite her and Max getting together only recently, they had readily agreed to keep their relationship a secret. Not because they were ashamed of it, never because of that (if it had been Max's choice, he would've told everyone he knew he was dating the Evie Stark, future CEO of Stark Industries) (and Evie would've been telling everyone she was dating the Max Verstappen, future F1 WDC).

It was because of the media, for the most part. They both knew how vicious news outlets and gossip columns were, considering they had a few stories come out about them and they didn't even do anything. Evie was familiar with being rumored to be in a relationship with every billionaire son who was in a close age range with her, so she had her fair share of rumors.

"Just tell the kid, he might be here for long enough to meet Max anyways," Tony shrugged.

Evie turned to Peter and said, "Whatever I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room,"

Peter quickly nodded and said, "I won't tell anyone,"

"I have a boyfriend," Evie said.

Peter blinked. "That's it?"

"Okay, I am so not loving the enthusiasm right now," she said.

"I mean, everyone gets boyfriends," Peter shrugged.

"I missed it when you were scared of me and thought I was going to terrorize you," Evie sighed.

"The rumors called you scary! I thought if I looked at you wrong, you were gonna yell at me!" Peter defended.

Evie rolled her eyes and said, "The only reason why I don't want a lot of people knowing is because he's a driver,"

"So what, he drives? I don't have my license yet but that's only 'cause we're in New York and who drives in New York besides Taxi Drivers and Business Men?"

Evie already felt a headache forming. "Not just a driver, a race car driver,"

"Like Dom Toretto? Is that why you're hiding your relationship, because he's older and illegally drives cars? Is he bald too?"

"What—no, Peter, I am dating someone that's our age and drives cars professionally and in no way illegal. And not bald!"

"Oh, who is he? Maybe I know him,"

"His name is Max Verstappen and I highly doubt you know him,"

"Verstappen? Isn't he that driver guy that drove for F1 and Mr Stark talked to him once?"

"Ha, I want you to refer to Jos as 'that driver guy' and see how he reacts," Tony cackled.

"It's not Jos, it's his son. And don't say that ever again, I do not want that insinuation in my mind," Evie gagged.

"Did you guys meet when Mr Stark's nearly died in Monaco?" Peter questioned, the relationship piquing his interest.

It wasn't every day you'd be able to hear the relationship details from someone as well-known as Evie Stark, especially since she had made him swear he wouldn't say anything. Also since a driver wasn't someone he expected Evie to be interested in. Peter thought that she would be dating a billionaire's son or the son of a superhero.

"We met when we were kids, actually. His dad knew mine, and I'm pretty sure Jos was trying to get on Dad's good side using me. But now I'm dating his son and he can't get rid of me so that backfired on him since he and Dad just bicker all the time whenever they see each other," she told him.

"You don't like him, Mr Stark?"

"More like I don't like how he treats his son sometimes, but that's neither here nor there. I just try to make sure the kid gets to be a kid with Evie sometimes," Tony said.

Peter was about to ask one more question, but Evie's phone started to buzz incessantly, indicating someone was calling her.

And based on how Evie's eyes lit up and how she smiled, Peter could only guess that it was Max. "Can I..." Evie trailed off, looking at her dad.

Tony rolled his eyes and said, "Go,"

Evie stood up from her chair and gave a brief hug to Tony and a wave to Peter then said, "Talk to you guys later!"

( 2016 )

"You don't have to watch every race. The time difference is too much, especially here in Spain and you're in New York," Max spoke into the phone.

"Nonsense, if I don't watch every race, then I can't say that I'm the biggest Max Verstappen fan since day one, can I?" Evie replied.

Max smiled at that. Despite Evie regularly insisting she was the original Max Verstappen fan, he still couldn't get used to how much faith she had in him. At this point, it had been 4 to 5 years since he had asked her to be his girlfriend, and she still was so confident in his abilities to reach F1 that he had actually managed to achieve it.

Being together this long was impressive, especially since they were still young and long distance for the most part due to Max's career. But both of them were willing to make it work and put in the effort that was needed to keep the relationship strong. Like daily phone calls and text messages throughout the day helped them.

"Besides, I was already awake so I might as well stay up for a little longer to watch your race," Evie casually said, but Max knew better.

"Did you stay up late again? You know how messed up your sleep schedule is," he lightly scolded her.

Evie had a habit of staying up to work on projects, which she got from Tony. From what he knew, she mainly worked on her dad's Iron Man suits and Peter's Spider-Man suit. There were many sleepless nights Max had spent with Evie when he was over in New York, trying to convince Evie to go to sleep. Most of the time it worked, but other times, he resigned himself to staying up with Evie so she had someone to be with, even if she was focused on her project and wasn't very talkative.

"I'll go to sleep right after your race, promise," she said to appease him, which it kind of did (he would've preferred she sleeps now but he'll take what he can get).

"You wouldn't even miss anything, I probably won't even finish the race again with my luck," Max sighed.

He heard rustling from the other side and Max could just tell that Evie had sat up indignantly, ready to scold him. "Max, you can't say that!" she said, sounding angry at him on his behalf.

"Look, Schat, I'm just being realistic. It's a miracle if I even finish a race," he told her.

"That's not very future World Champion of you,"

"World Champions would finish races," he countered.

"Maxie, you're not gonna win anything—"

"Well, thanks for the words of encouragement,"

"If you let me finish, smartass, you'll hear me say you aren't gonna win anything with that mindset. And do you think that every World Champion is going to win automatically? It's a process, and you'll get better with time,"

"And how do you know?"

"Because you're Max Verstappen, and when you have your first WDC, I'll be the one beside you to tell you I told you so, and this time I'll be the Trophy Girlfriend," Evie teased.

( 2021 )

sinews has tweeted!

───

f1 has tweeted!

───

f1gossip has posted on instagram!

29402 likes

f1gossip: Max Verstappen seen with mystery woman 👀👀

view the comments

user1: all these angles and you guys couldn’t even get her face??

user2: even dispatch could’ve gotten her face come on guys

user3: HE GETS BITCHES???

user4: all these years we thought he was bitchless, he just knew how to hide it from us

view all comments

───

eviestark has posted on instagram!

liked by tonystark, peterparker, pepperpotts, and 9914509 others

eviestark: my world champion <3

i don't want to say i told you so but... i told you so

ive been in love with you ever since we were 15 and knew you'd become an f1 wdc for even longer than that.

happy 9-year anniversary and congrats to your first wdc (and many more to come)!

tagged: maxverstappen

view all comments

maxverstappen: I love you schatje ❤︎ by eviestark and 56733 others

───

[janeluartakaragou2niko]

Finally drew my Skitty pmd avatar for playthrough purposes. and poured salt over that mofo that is snover from Bidoof special episode, so he deserved it.

[slimysillysnail]

GUYS THUNDERBOLTS* CAME OUT TODAY SLOW DOWN WE DONT NEED 49 CHAPTER FANFICS THIS SECOND

Anyway…give me Bucky, Bob Renolds, and Yelena (MAYBE John if I can be convinced) requests I will be making multi x reader/oc chapter fanfics, blurbs, one shots, the like

I’m going to go absolutely nuts

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Bickering (John Walker x Reader)

word count: 1k

masterlist

Okay, so in my opinion, y’all wouldn’t be friends at first. You hop on the bandwagon of kind of making fun of him, which is fair. He’s a rather easy target. Plus, it’s not like he’s nice.

So while y’all don’t say anything rude about each other behind the other one’s back, you’re mean as hell while you’re talking to each other. 

Unfortunately, it’s funny. 

Yelena has an absolute ball listening to the two of you. She’s even started writing down her favorite quotes that she’s heard from you two.

From you: “Shut up, easy bake oven.” “You’re like an expired coupon: useless.” “If you ran like you run your mouth, maybe you’d be in better shape.”

From John: “I’ve heard enough from you, unnecessary movie sequel. You’re like the third Matrix.” “The trash gets picked up tomorrow. Might wanna get ready.” “I will pour yogurt into your ears if you interrupt me again.”  

It’s better entertainment than reality TV, and even Bob, who is often bothered by bickering, is amused. Because no one’s really getting hurt.

Bucky kind of loves it. He’ll intentionally get you two going and then just kick back and watch it. 

Yelena occasionally slips you lists of ideas for insults and then cheers when you use them. 

Ava tries her best to ignore it but she gets wound up in it, too. It’s sort of like when your mother watches something you have to pretend you have no interest in, even though you wanna know what happens. 

Alexei believes that it’s a weird form of flirting. And ever since he found out what shipping is, he definitely ships you two together. 

You catch a flu, and Alexei has you on the couch, compress on your forehead, and the TV on. Until you fall asleep, and the TV shuts off. When you wake up, sweaty and exhausted, you can’t get it back on. Miserable, you shove your face into your pillow.

“Oh, God, what now?” John asks you. “You need medicine or some shit?”

“Probably,” you groan. “I don’t know what time I had any, though.”

“Why is the TV off?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want it on?”

“...yeah.”

“Fine,” John picks up the remote and tries for a minute or two to get the TV on and working. “It’s not working.”

“I can see that,” you reply, sounding congested. 

John hits the same button he’s been hitting five times rapidly. 

“Well, there’s no cure for stupid,” you say. 

John groans. He tosses the remote to you on the couch. “Here you go. You want the TV on, you can get it on yourself like a normal person.” 

You toss a pillow at his head.

You eventually give up on the TV, take your medicine an hour later, and fall asleep again on the couch. John sees you there, face flushed from the warm blankets piled on top of you and from being sick, late that night. So he gently pulls the blankets off of you and brings you to your bed, turns the fan on to keep you cool, and pulls a light quilt over you, making sure your head rests on a comfortable pillow so that you won’t get a neck cramp. 

It is unbearably nice, and Alexei sees it. And Alexei cannot keep secrets, so he runs and tells Yelena and Bob immediately, and the story quickly ends up at the feet of Bucky and Ava. Soon, everyone but you knows. 

You are asleep, as comfortable as you can be while you’re sick, in your room. 

Once you’re better, you get right back to arguing with John over iced coffee, figuring that it had been Alexei, who had been taking care of you while you were sick, that had brought you upstairs. John never brought it up. 

Eventually, Ava kind of corners him and says, “I think you should flirt with her.”

John looks confused. “Who? What are you talking about?”

Ava rolls her eyes. “C’mon. Y/N. I think you should flirt with her.”

“Wha-what the hell? Why?” John stutters out. 

“Because you like her!! C’mon, John, you’re an idiot!”

John sees you that night, sitting on the couch on your computer. “Hey, broken toaster,” you greet, not looking up. 

“Spam email,” he replies casually, sitting down next to you with his book. The two of you sit in silence, doing your separate things side by side. 

“That does not count as flirting,” Ava tells John later. 

“Well, what am I supposed to say?” John asks. “I don’t want her thinking I’m a complete weirdo.”

“You called her spam email.”

“And apparently I’m a broken toaster. What do you want from me?”

“Some romance. Flirty energy. See if she plays into it! You like her, and I think she might like you,” Ava argues.

“Fine, how about we end this song and dance and I just ask her out?” John argues back.

“Fine! Great!” Ava yells.

“Great!” John yells in return.

John power walks into the kitchen, Ava hot on his heels. You look up from your phone confused. 

“Do you wanna go out?” John asks, almost sounding frustrated. 

“Uh, sure?” you reply. 

John throws his hands up in the air like he won something. “Excellent. Seven. We’ll do dinner. You like Italian?”

“Sure,” you shrug.

“Great,” John gives you a thumbs up and turns to Ava. “Voila, I’m done. We’re gonna go out. Next time you want me to try to flirt, maybe start by giving me some actual pointers.” And with that, he points at you and says, “Seven, I’ll see you,” and leaves. 

Ava turns to you, trying to hold back a laugh. The smile on your face indicates you’re trying to hold one back too. Then the two of you burst into happy laughter. “Oh my God, what did you even do to the poor man?” you ask.

“Just gave him a push in the right direction.” 

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@spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

just thunderbolts

@papitas-con-sal