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blank-potato · 21 days ago

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need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept here. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares.

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly.

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I’m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body.

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room.

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it.

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing.

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it.

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word.

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good.

But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body.

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible.

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie.

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

You groan into your hands, face burning.

Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off.

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles.

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

#john walker #thunderbolts #john walker x reader #x reader #fluff #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts x reader #gender neutral reader #implied smut #john walker fanfic #friends to lovers #thunderbolts*#the new avengers #new avengers #marvel fanfic #mcu fic #marvel fic

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cece693 · 2 months ago

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Just something short I thought of—sad Bucky because he thinks reader is planning on leaving him or just doesn't love him anymore. Like, you're ignoring him (not on purpose), but that makes the man go down a spiral of doubts which leads to comfort. It's definitely shorter than my other works, but I hope you enjoy it!

Did I Do Something Wrong?

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: sad bucky, misunderstandings, reader is just busy, I promise, comfort, fluff all the way, short little fic, might even be considered an imagine

Bucky tried not to let the little things get to him. The first time you brushed his hand aside, you’d been running on only a couple hours of sleep. After returning from a week-long mission, you were bone-tired—so you mumbled a distracted “Sorry,” shut your eyes, and promptly drifted off. Bucky told himself not to worry. You were exhausted, that was all.

But days passed, and the pattern persisted.

The next time he reached for you—lightly resting his palm on your waist while you scrolled through mission logs—you shrugged him off without a second glance. Then there were the mornings he woke up alone, the bed already cooling on your side by the time he blinked blearily at the clock. You were usually a late riser, but now? You were gone before the sun had fully climbed the sky. Sure, you’d told him you liked to get a head start on the day, to train or do paperwork, but it still left Bucky feeling abandoned.

And then there was Natasha.

Bucky had caught you and Nat in a quiet corner of the common room, laughing together, your heads bent in conspiratorial whispers. From a distance, it looked so intimate. He tried not to imagine the worst—he trusted you, he knew Nat was a close friend—but old insecurities, the remnants of a lifetime of trust issues, began to creep up. If you were distant from him, but so playful and close with Natasha…maybe your feelings had changed.

It all came to a head late one night when you finally tumbled into bed after a punishing day. Bucky was waiting for you, eyes filled with longing, an unspoken plea hidden in the furrow of his brow. You settled under the covers, practically collapsing into the pillows. You felt Bucky shift closer, his arms trying to wrap around your waist—but you were so groggy you hardly registered it. Without meaning to, you scooted away, giving yourself room to breathe.

It was enough to break him.

“Do I—” Bucky started, then swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Do I disgust you now?”

The sheer pain in his voice made you crack open your eyes. You squinted at him, your exhaustion making things blurry for a moment. His expression was drenched in equal parts hurt and fear. The exhaustion clinging to your brain cleared in an instant as alarm and confusion set in.

“Bucky,” you murmured, voice heavy with fatigue, “why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” He let out a rough exhale and ran his metal hand through his hair. “You never let me touch you anymore, you brush me off, you’re gone before I wake up. Half the time, I see you with Natasha instead. I just—I can’t figure out what I did, and it’s killing me.”

Your heart twisted as you finally registered the desperation in his eyes. He looked so lost, like a man expecting the worst. Pushing yourself upright, you shifted closer until your knees bumped against his hip, your gaze locked on his.

“Bucky,” you said softly, leaning in to brush a thumb over his cheek. “I’m not—I would never want to push you away. I haven’t been avoiding you on purpose.”

“But you are,” he insisted, voice small. It cracked a little on the last word. “You keep brushing me off, you don’t let me hold you. I…I don’t understand.”

You inhaled, guilt gnawing at your stomach as you realized how it must have looked from his perspective. “I’m so sorry,” you breathed. “I’ve just been so worn down. Between missions, late-night meetings, and a sleepless schedule, I’ve been running on fumes.” Your hand cupped his jaw, urging him to look right at you.

“I wake up early because…well, I know how important rest is for you. With the nightmares and everything, you don’t always sleep that well, and I didn’t want to risk waking you. So I figured if I slipped out quietly, you could stay under for a few more hours, maybe get some real rest.”

He blinked, startled. “You—You left so I could sleep better?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with apology. “You’re not disgusting to me. Far from it. I’m just so drained that half the time I don’t even realize I’m brushing you off. I’m on autopilot.” You sighed, pressing your palm against the place where his flesh arm met his shoulder. “As for Nat, we’re just close, like you and Steve. She’s been checking in on me, and I’ve been venting to her about mission stress. That’s all.”

Bucky’s posture loosened. You could see the confusion in his eyes giving way to fragile relief. Still, the ache in his voice lingered as he asked, “So, you’re not fed up with me? You’re not looking for a reason to leave?”

“No,” you vowed. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I’ve just been overwhelmed—no excuse, I know, but I promise, it’s not you.” You gently pulled him closer, letting him lean against you. “I’ll always need you, Bucky. Never doubt that.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling the breath he seemed to have been holding for days. Quietly, he brought a tentative hand to your waist, as if checking if it was really okay to hold you. Instead of moving away, you leaned your weight into him, letting your body mold to his.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m still tired, but not too tired to show you how much I care.” Wrapping your arms around him, you rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, hoping to soothe his lingering fears. “Just let me make it up to you, okay?”

Bucky managed a small, wobbly smile, eyes burning with unshed tears of relief. “You don’t have to make up anything,” he murmured. “Just let me know what going on. Even if you have to leave in the morning, wake me up first. Tell me, so I know it’s not because you don’t want me around.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest. “Deal,” you agreed, brushing your nose lightly against his.

With that reassurance hanging like a comforting blanket between you, Bucky allowed himself to settle into the bed, your arms wound safely around him. Soon enough, your shared warmth and the quiet of the night eased the frantic anxiety in his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling that familiar scent that reminded him you were his—and that no amount of exhaustion or misunderstandings could ever truly sever the bond you two shared.

In the morning, you did wake him up, gently this time. You had a briefing in a few hours, but before you left, you let him know—forehead pressed to his, your heart full of affection. Bucky watched you go with a subdued smile, heart so much lighter than it had been before.

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literaryavenger · 2 months ago

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Everybody pictures Bucky joining the team as a broody, sour and glaring machine, but what if he just... Isn't? Because I can honestly picture him as like Jim from The Office.

Like, after he recovers in Wakanda and they manage to stop Thanos before he can get all the stones because Thor went for the head, life settles into a routine as the Avengers work together to keep the peace on Earth (and the rest of the Universe in Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy's case) and living at the Compound.

Slowly, an organization not unlike Shield starts growing again, but this time it's done the right way with Steve as the leader next to Fury and no Hydra or Red Room or purple alien grape with a nutsack chin plotting behind the scenes.

Of course, this means the Avengers have to train new cadets. Each member gets their own class to teach between missions until they're ready to graduate to agents and then the cicle starts all over again.

Bucky is mostly fine with this, the cadets are competent enough and respect him because they know his history, (also who wouldn't respect an Avenger that literally helped save the Universe?) but every once in a while he gets a cocky, insubordinate, defiant cadet that takes advantage of his easy-going nature. And he doesn't know how to handle it.

"I have to make an example out of him." Bucky mutters lowly to you as you both discreetly watch Cadet Johnson take a break from training with the other agents-in-training he convinced to relax instead of doing the exercise Bucky politely requested ordered they do.

"I could yell at him?" Bucky looks at you with a small frown.

"Can you yell?" You raise an eyebrow at him, mostly amused.

"Oh, I yell." Bucky insists. "You've heard me yell."

"I've heard you exclaim." You correct him after thinking about it for a moment. "Like that time you said, 'Hey, we parked over here!'"

"Well, that was Plums Day. There's no need to yell that day." He says like it's obvious as he turns back to look at the trainees. "I was just excited to find our car after leaving the farmer's market. Perfect end to a perfect day."

You almost want to laugh and coo at him at how cute and innocent he seems when he talks like that, but you simply kiss his cheek.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Sarge." You pat his arm and make your way out of the training room, leaving an adorably pouty Bucky behind.

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chwrrylace · 3 months ago

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─── ❝ I LOVE YOU 3000 ❞

SUMMARY ; avengers confession hcs

AVENGERS x gn!reader.

CONTENT ; pinning, confessions, fluffy, use of y/n

WORD COUNT ;

A/N ; just rewatched avengers and fell in love w them again

── .✦ 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 smooth about it, cracking jokes to hide how nervous he actually is. He’s used to having confidence, but when it comes to you, it’s different.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍 a grand yet casual way—maybe over dinner at one of his penthouses, or while working in the lab together. “So, hypothetically speaking… if a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist had feelings for you, would you entertain the idea? Asking for a friend.”

𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐑 push for a serious answer, he’ll drop the act for a second. “I mean it, y/n. I want you. No games, no distractions. Just us.”

── .✦ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃-𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 it comes to romance. He’d take his time, making sure he’s certain about his feelings before confessing.

𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓—like a walk in the park, a quiet dinner, or even a handwritten letter if he’s too nervous.

“𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 you something, but I didn’t want to rush it. You mean a lot to me, and I…I care about you more than I should as just a friend.”

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 for any sign of rejection, but once he sees you feel the same, his signature soft smile appears.

── .✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄. 𝐀𝐓 all. He’d make his feelings clear through grand gestures—bringing you rare Asgardian gifts, calling you his beloved even before confessing, and just showering you with affection.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍��𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 with absolute certainty. There’s no hesitation in his voice.

“𝐘/𝐍, 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 battles, faced great foes, and yet none have left me as breathless as you do. You hold my heart, and I would be honored if you allowed me to cherish you.”

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓 ��𝐎 the confession, lifting his drink and demanding the others in the room celebrate this glorious revelation.

── .✦ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑

𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 with confessing. He’d second-guess himself, thinking he’s too dangerous or not good enough for you.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 out in an unguarded moment—maybe after a near-death experience where he realizes he can’t keep bottling it up.

“𝐈…𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐅 this is the right time to say it, but I need you to know. You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m more than just… a mess. I—God, I really care about you, y/n.”

𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 away, but if you accept his feelings, the relief in his eyes would be overwhelming.

── .✦ 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍

𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐔𝐋 at first, throwing in flirtatious quips and seeing how you react. But when he gets serious, he’s serious.

𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀 mission, still riding the adrenaline high, realizing that life is too short to keep things bottled up.

“𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊, 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 tomorrow brings, but I know I want you in it. I’ve been falling for you for a while now, and if there’s even a chance you feel the same, I’d be the luckiest guy alive.”

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀 smirk, a relieved sigh, and probably a terrible joke to lighten the mood.

── .✦ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 emotions, so her confession would be subtle at first—lingering touches, deeper conversations, protective instincts kicking in more than usual.

𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 casual, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but her words would carry weight.

“𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 whole… feelings thing. But if I did, I’d probably say that I want you. That you mean something to me. More than I let on.”

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 getting soft, she’ll roll her eyes, but you’ll catch the faintest blush on her cheeks.

344 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 10 months ago

Text

My Sundown

Summary: You’ve been a Hydra agent for as long as you can remember, when Wanda Maximoff and her brother, Pietro, volunteers for Hydra's human experiments.

Word count: 10K+ | Tags: Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader | Warnings: Only mentions of smut. Hurt/comfort. Reader is a little older than Wanda. Some angst. | A/N: I missed writing for Wanda, and have always wanted to write canon-ish oneshots for the MCU character. Main Masterlist

When they first bring her in, she looks like she's been through hell—eyes hollow, skin pale, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. Her hands tremble, not from fear, but from the sheer, unbridled power flowing through her veins. The room seems to shrink under the weight of it, as if even the walls are aware of what she’s capable of. The other recruits are scared and jittery, but she’s different. Her brother too—both rough around the edges, like two sides of the same scarred coin.

“Where did they round up these rats now?” you mutter to Lev, who’s standing dutifully beside you—the only person you've let close enough to be called a friend in all your years with Hydra.

“Sokovian volunteers,” he corrects you, eyes fixed straight ahead, mirroring your own unblinking focus on the twins. Maybe he feels the strange energy coming off them too, or maybe it’s just the routine numbness that sets in after years of blindly following orders.

You nod slightly, though the term volunteer feels like a cruel joke. No one truly volunteers for this.

“Agent.”

Dr. List’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts, dreary and impersonal. He calls everyone that way, as if you're just another tool, interchangeable and anonymous. It’s an intentional tactic—strip away the names, and you strip any sense of humanity. Without a name, you’re not a person; you’re just a weapon at their disposal.

But you know he means you.

You step forward. “Sir,” you reply, maintaining a ramrod straight posture, your eyes fixed on a spot just beside his perpetually scowling face. It seems all villains share that same dour expression, but if this woman—this girl—makes it through the experiments and officially joins the ranks, she might just break the mold, looking more like an angel than a monster. You quickly shake off the thought, stifling a grimace at the odd turn your thoughts have taken.

When you risk a quick glance at her, you catch a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips, as if she knows exactly what you were just thinking.

“You’re to oversee Wanda Maximoff’s progress,” Dr. List continues without sparing you a second glance. “Ensure she complies. If she doesn’t…” He lets the threat hang, but you don't need him to spell it out. You know what Hydra does to those who don't meet expectations.

“And the boy?” you ask, genuinely curious about the other twin.

Dr. List gives you a sharp look, like he suspects something. Questions are frowned upon here, but ever since you laid eyes on Wanda, a persistent tingling has crept up the back of your neck.

To put it bluntly, she unnerves you, and you'd much prefer to deal with her brother.

“Strucker decided to…take a more hands-on approach with him,” Dr. List says.

“Understood, sir,” you reply crisply, reaffirming your commitment to your orders. You steal another glance at Wanda, only to feel a rush of heat when you realize she’s been watching you the entire time.

Wanda looks even more formidable once she’s showered and changed into fresh clothes. You can’t decide if it’s because the sinister gleam in her eyes remains untouched or because the grime and hardships of life on the streets have been washed away, revealing a haunting beauty beneath the dirt. Clean, she’s striking—but that beauty only makes her more dangerous. You’ve tried to delay any direct interaction with her, but this morning, Dr. List visited to follow up on the initial assessment, leaving you no more time to postpone. After a week of stalling, you’re out of excuses, and there’s a lot of ground to cover.

As she steps out of the small bathroom, her damp hair clings to her shoulders, softening her otherwise sharp features. The moment she becomes aware of your presence, her gaze locks onto you, and she begins to comb the wet tendrils back with her slender fingers. Your hand tightens around your keycard involuntarily as you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that Wanda is just like any other volunteer who entered the organization and never left its walls to see the light of day. Besides, you’re armed, and Wanda is not. It’s ridiculous to be this on edge around someone who's at a disadvantage.

“You,” Wanda murmurs, her accent rolling off her tongue like a slow, winding river.

“Shall we begin?” you ask, keeping your tone even and detached. You can’t afford to let her see how much she frighte—affects you.

Wanda ignores your request. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying you with a keenness that makes your skin prickle. You meet her stare, determined not to show any cracks, even though your heart's hammering away.

Finally, she nods—a small, almost imperceptible movement.

You clear your throat and motion towards the small cot given to them as beds. “Please, have a seat,” you say.

This time, Wanda complies without a word.

You glance around the room, searching for a seat, and silently berate yourself for not arranging one beforehand. It’s a small oversight, but it makes you feel foolish. With no other option, you settle against the farthest wall, opposite her, and lean against it, though it doesn’t make you feel any more grounded than you did a second ago.

In your hand is a file detailing everything Hydra knows about her, which isn’t much. You open it with a practiced ease, flipping through the pages, but you’re aptly aware of her eyes on you, watching your every move.

“Wanda Maximoff,” you start. “The procedures you're about to undergo are highly experimental. Hydra won't be held responsible for any injuries, no matter if they're permanent or temporary.”

Including death. But you are prohibited from disclosing this to avoid causing panic or stress among the subjects.

Wanda says nothing, her expression unreadable, but you can sense she’s lingering on a thought. Not sure what it is, you go on, falling back on the lines you've memorized these last few months.

“These procedures will enhance your natural abilities, giving you powers beyond what you may or may not currently possess. However, there are risks involved. Do you understand the nature of these risks?”

Wanda nods again. It’s the same answer you’ve received from countless other volunteers, most of whom had no idea what they were truly signing up for. But there’s something different about her, something in the way she holds herself that tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting into—and she’s not afraid.

“There will be a series of physical and psychological evaluations. We will push you to your breaking point and beyond. It is crucial that you cooperate fully. Resistance will only make the process more difficult, both for you and for us.”

You scan her face for any sign of fear or hesitation, but she's a blank slate. It’s as if she’s made peace with whatever fate awaits her here. That bothers you more than you’d care to admit.

“We will also be conducting interviews throughout the process,” you continue. “These will assess your mental state, your thoughts, your fears. Everything you say will be documented, and nothing will be private.”

Wanda's eyes narrow a touch, the first sign of any emotion since she sat down. It’s subtle, but you notice it. Maybe the thought of her mind being picked apart like a lab specimen is getting to her more than the threat of physical harm. Or it could be something else entirely.

“We’ll begin the physical tests tomorrow,” you say, closing the file and hugging it to your chest. “For now, you should rest and eat as much as you like. Your room is monitored constantly. If you need anything, just ask, though your movement around the facility will be restricted.”

The mask of indifference slips back into place. Wanda leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows in a display of casual ease.

“Do you have any questions?” you ask, mostly because you have to, not because you really want to know. You figure she won't ask anything—most are too scared or too defeated to speak up.

But Wanda Maximoff isn't most people.

“Why do you do this?”

You can’t help it—a faint smile begins to creep across your face at her question. Most volunteers, when they ask anything at all, are fixated on their own impending ordeal, too scared of what's coming.

But Wanda isn't asking about herself; she's asking about you. It feels like forever since anyone showed that kind of interest.

Pausing at the doorway, you turn your head just enough for her to see the profile of your face.

“I do what I'm told,” you say, dodging the deeper question she posed—the real why behind your actions. The truth is, you stopped asking why a long time ago. Reasons tend to blur into excuses when moral lines are crossed in an organization you once trusted.

You're already tapping your keycard against the scanner when Wanda speaks again.

“Will doing what you're told bring them back?”

Her question spins you around so fast it's almost like whiplash. How did Wanda know about that? Was it just a wild guess meant to throw you off? Whatever it was, it worked.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t even remember the last time you even thought about them. You've never shared this with anyone—not even Lev. Only a handful of Hydra figures were ever privy to your past.

Wanda couldn't possibly know. Unless—

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda says, her tone dismissive as she curls into a fetal position, turning her back to you.

If your theory holds, Wanda might be the key Hydra has been searching for—the one who can unlock the powers of the scepter that have eluded so many others. Her apparent ability to read minds could be the very breakthrough Dr. List has been waiting for.

Finding yourself hesitating to report this discovery surprises you. It’s almost ironic how your conscience decides to kick in now, just when Hydra's goal seems tantalizingly close with the acquisition of the twins. You know what Hydra would do if they realized just how special she is, and the thought of them twisting her into something monstrous is something you can’t even begin to imagine.

In the days that follow, you keep quiet about your suspicions regarding Wanda’s innate abilities. You tell yourself that Dr. List will probably uncover them through his experiments soon enough. It’s definitely not because you're worried about what they might do if they decide to fast-track her program.

Yes, you’re just staying out of it, certainly not because you want to protect her.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your next face-to-face with Wanda comes a week later.

Though you have merely been observing her through a two-way mirror, you've been plagued by sleepless nights since your last meeting, and not even the strongest sedatives at your disposal have helped. Thoughts of her well-being nag at you, despite Hydra's strict rules limiting interaction between volunteers and handlers to prevent any emotional attachments. Such attachments have formed before, and Hydra has always dealt with them ruthlessly.

When you enter her room, she's in the same position as before—curled up on her cot, making herself appear small and almost childlike. She looks up as the door closes behind you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet recognition.

As you step closer, the hollowness of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and her pale complexion are unmistakable. The word weathered hardly does justice to the toll her first week has taken. You know exactly what she’s been through. The tests here aren’t just tests—they’re torture, meant to break people down, body and mind. Even with her powers and confidence, Wanda shows the same signs of strain. She's slight, frail, and clearly, she's had as rough a time as anyone else here.

This time, you come prepared with a metal chair and a freshly prepared tea set next to it, and take a seat across from her.

“How are you holding up?” you ask, although the answer seems painfully obvious.

Wanda shrugs, barely moving, as if the effort to appear okay is too much for her. But then she surprises you.

“How long until Hydra enhances my powers?”

You weren’t expecting that. After everything she’s been through, she’s asking for more? You thought she’d be wary, maybe even broken by now. But the question says otherwise. She’s been through hell, and she’s still pushing forward, demanding more. Is she courting death?

“You seem in a hurry,” you say, hiding your worry behind a soft chuckle.

Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t come here to wait around. If they want to use me, they need to make me stronger.”

Use me.

How disconcerting. She’s asking for more—more pain, more trials. As if everything she’s endured isn’t enough, as if she needs it to become something greater. It’s reckless and foolish, to say the least.

“We’re moving as fast as we can—”

“Move faster.”

“Wanda,” you say quietly. “What you’re asking for... it could break you.”

“I’m already broken,” she declares, cold and matter-of-fact. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s only when you notice the disgust in her eyes that you realize you’ve been looking at her with pity. Wanda is about to snap back, likely to tell you she doesn’t need your sympathy, when her expression shifts abruptly to one of curiosity.

She tilts her head, studying you—or maybe, with the mirth in her eye, it’s more like she’s mocking you.

“You look at me like that again, and I’ll ask you a question,” Wanda says, her voice low, almost a whisper.

You stiffen, uncertain of what's coming next, but before you can say anything, she continues.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you, abrupt and a bit too loud—almost like you're trying to convince both yourself and Wanda how absurd she’s being. But as the laughter dies down, you feel your face heat up, your cheeks flushing a telltale red that you can't hide.

“No,” you say, your gaze dropping to the floor as you shake your head. You clasp your hands behind your back, one finger nervously picking at a cuticle. “This isn’t what this is about.”

Wanda smirks slightly, her lips twitching, amused by your discomfort. “Isn't it?”

For a split second, you start to doubt everything. Did you really want to sleep with her? It's been ages since you've even considered intimacy with anyone—maybe too long. Life here doesn't leave space for that kind of thinking, and even if it did, the situation wouldn't allow it. Your heart's been shattered so often you're sure there's nothing left to give—especially not to someone you've only known for a week.

Wait—love?

This is, at best, lust—nothing more.

“No,” you repeat with more conviction.

Wanda’s smirk fades into a slow, knowing smile. “Fine. Just know the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

A proposition. It’s not the first time you’ve received one, but this offer sticks with you longer than you’d like. Wanda’s already spent too much time in your thoughts, and you’re desperate to shake her off and get back to the task at hand. But she makes it maddeningly hard to do so.

Without looking at her, you clear your throat and begin the routine interview. You refuse to focus on the fact that she’s just openly considered a physical encounter with you—and you’re definitely not considering it in return.

“Have you noticed any unusual side effects since the last session? Headaches, nausea, dizziness?” you ask, skipping the pleasantries.

“No,” she says dryly. “No headaches. No nausea. No dizziness.”

You jot down her answers, ignoring her evident disinterest in the proceedings.

“Any changes in your sleep pattern?” you continue.

“No.”

“Any unusual pain or discomfort?” you ask, forcing yourself to meet her gaze, but her focus is on the rings on her fingers. The prisoners—volunteers, you correct yourself—aren't supposed to keep any personal items. It baffles you how she managed to hold on to those cheap pieces of metal and silver.

It takes Wanda a moment to respond. “Just the usual soreness.”

You suspect it's more than just soreness. She’s probably downplaying the pain, so you make a note beside her answer.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye on that. Any changes in your mood? Irritability, anxiety, anything like that?”

Wanda shrugs. “Depends on the company, I suppose.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Noted. We’ll stick with the same regimen for now. Any concerns or questions about the next phase?”

“What happened to them?” Wanda asks, steering the interview off course.

Annoyance flares up as she probes again, prying into your business. “Don’t you already know?” you snap, your patience wearing thin.

But Wanda doesn’t even blink. She isn’t scared, and that just irks you even more. She should be, if she knew what you’ve done to others who’ve pushed your buttons. You’ve never hesitated to throw your weight around with those who make your job harder.

“Sometimes what really happened and how we remember it are two entirely different stories,” she says, taking a deep breath before she continues. “Our mind protects us from the truth. It obscures what’s real, and what’s not becomes all we remember.”

You're stone-still, your mind drifting back to the past Wanda keeps prodding at. You don't even have a picture of your family anymore. Their voices are gone from your memory, and you're barely holding onto their faces. It used to tear you apart, thinking about them, but now there's just emptiness. You realize Wanda can’t rattle you—she has no leverage because there’s nothing left inside you to disrupt.

You’ve got nothing.

“Y/N?” Wanda presses, her features tightening with concern.

You consider throwing her blunt words right back at her, but you hold off. Instead, you set the clipboard down on the counter with a soft clack. Turning to the medical cart, you grab a tray of needles and tools, then bring it over to her bed. Wanda's eyes widen slightly, and she scoots back as you sit down on the edge of the mattress. It’s satisfying to finally see her react with something other than that usual smug, unshakable attitude. You pick up a syringe, fill it with a bright yellow liquid from an unmarked bottle, and swipe a cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the top.

“What’s that?” Wanda asks evenly, though you can detect traces of doubt in it that suggest she’s trying to put up a brave front.

“Supplements.”

Wanda raises a skeptical brow.

You lift the syringe slightly, letting it catch the light so she can see exactly what you’re holding.

“May I?” you gesture toward her arm.

Wanda eyes you warily, then gives a quick nod.

With her consent, you scoot closer until your knees almost touch. You gently roll up the sleeve of her scrubs, exposing her arm. This close, you can see the goosebumps on her skin and feel the slight tremors running through her. You hadn't noticed before, but she's shivering—not from the cold, but probably from a fever.

Instinctively, you press your palm against her forehead. Wanda flinches but doesn’t pull away. Slowly, she settles into your touch and lets out a small sigh.

“You're hot,” you blurt out, and then quickly realize the unintended double entendre. Fortunately, Wanda lets it pass without comment. You retract your hand and hold the syringe up to her arm, poised but something stops you.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda prompts impatiently.

You're thinking of straying from the usual protocol, knowing the yellow meds might worsen Wanda's condition, especially with her fever spiking. Deciding against it, you put the syringe down and grab another bottle off the cart, this one filled with a clear liquid.

“Change of plans,” you murmur, prepping the new syringe. You nod at her for her arm, and she shifts closer, making it easier for you. When you depress the plunger, it's quick—so quick that Wanda barely feels the needle's prick.

You pull out the needle and press a small bandage onto the spot. “All done,” you announce.

Wanda massages her arm, feeling no real pain at the injection site. “T-Thanks,” she murmurs softly.

You acknowledge her gratitude with a nod and start collecting your notebook and tools. As you rise to leave, Wanda's hand shoots out, her fingers wrapping around your wrist urgently. You turn, meeting her striking, green eyes.

“I’m sorry about your family,” she murmurs quietly. Her words solidify your suspicion: she came to Hydra with powers already in tow. Mind reading or memory extraction would be invaluable to Hydra, and now, with even more power at your fingertips, you find yourself hesitating to use it.

If Dr. List catches wind of your hesitations, the reprisals will be brutal.

You glance down pointedly at where she's holding your hand, but Wanda doesn’t let go.

“It was a long time ago,” you whisper.

“Time doesn't really heal that kind of loss,” she says, still holding onto you.

“No, but you learn to live with it,” you reply, feeling the truth of your own words.

Wanda's hold slackens but remains. You feel awkward standing there, yet something holds you back from pulling away. You hadn't realized until now how starved you were for such a simple, human connection.

“I lost my parents the same way,” she shares.

“I'm sorry,” you say, and you really mean it. You can't read Wanda like she seems to read you, but in this brief moment, with the walls down, you decide to ask, “Is that why you came to us? To avenge your parents?”

Wanda's grip loosens completely, and she lets go of your wrist. You rub the spot where her fingers were, still feeling the warmth she left behind.

“‘Avenge’,” she spits out. She draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close. “I hate that word. Pietro and I, we're here to stop them. I wish… I wish they’d just leave Sokovia alone. They won’t leave because we can’t fight back.”

Your own past with Hydra comes to mind as she speaks. Back then, you joined because you were out of options. No country to fight for, no people to call yours. It strikes you how different Wanda's motivations are—rooted in something far more personal and noble. She deserves more than what Hydra can offer.

Wanda looks at you, waiting for an answer. When you don't say anything, she pushes, “Do you think we made the right decision coming here?”

You're all too aware of Hydra’s real agenda. They're not about peace. They're here to extend their control, to bend the world around their so-called divine mission.

“Sometimes, you don't know if it’s the right choice until it's too late to change it,” you say, knowing it’s not much of an answer. It's just the bitter truth you've come to know. It's all you can offer Wanda.

“Can you do me a favor, Y/N? Will you look after Pietro?”

The same way you’ve been looking out for me, Wanda thinks to herself, relieved that there’s only one telepath in the room.

“No promises,” you say.

Wanda gives a slight nod and starts to withdraw again. She settles back down on the cot, turning away from you, the conversation clearly over.

Lev sneaks into your room just before midnight, the door giving a soft creak as it swings open. Though friends, you typically keep to your own spaces. You blink sleepily at him, fighting to sit up and shake off the grogginess.

“Dr. List decided to skip ahead,” Lev says in a rush, closing the door with a gentle click. “He’s moved forward with exposing the twins to the scepter.”

“When?” You're wide awake now, sitting bolt upright in bed.

Lev’s eyes dart to the small window in your room before returning to you, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “An hour ago.”

That can’t be good. It’s far sooner than anyone had anticipated. Dr. List’s decision to advance the timeline without further testing could have unpredictable consequences. You swing your legs off the bed, your brain ticking through the possible scenarios.

“What’s the status now? How did Wan—the twins react?” you ask, grabbing your jacket and shoes and throwing them on without taking your eyes off Lev.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They rushed them to the Observation Chamber right after the exposure. Everything’s been kept under wraps.”

You pace a few steps, mulling over your next move. Exposure to the scepter has been lethal for everyone. Even with Wanda's unique abilities, there’s no guarantee she’ll pull through when others haven't.

“We need more information. Can you get access to the observation logs?”

Lev nods, though his expression shows his apprehension. “I’ll try. But security has been tighter since the exposure.”

You catch the anxious twist of his mouth at the idea of sneaking around, and choose to spare him the risk. His relief is palpable when you tell him, “I'll handle it myself.”

He sighs in relief. “Be careful…”

Only a select few can get into the Observation Chamber, and your badge isn’t on that list. You're going to need something stronger than just caution.

You slip your underwear back on, feeling Laura’s eyes tracing the contours of your body.

After Lev left, you headed straight for her. Laura Brown, the Hydra director's daughter, hadn't seen you in almost a year, but the nature of your previous encounters left little doubt she'd be open to reconnecting.

Laura reclines on the bed, a sheet loosely draped around her, smirking as she watches you. “I knew you'd come back eventually,” she purrs, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

You straighten up, deliberately avoiding her eyes as you button your shirt. “I need a favor, Laura.”

She leans back against the headboard, the sheet falling to her waist and revealing her bare chest. “This sounds serious.”

“I need to get into the Observation Chamber. Tonight,” you say. You despise asking her—or anyone, really—for favors, but you need to see Wanda. It's imperative.

Laura's eyebrows go up, her smile growing. “Direct and desperate. What's in it for me?”

“What do you want?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

She thinks it over, then answers, “Keep me company tonight, no strings attached. Just like the old days.”

“Done.”

Laura claps her hands, clearly pleased, and tosses you the badge from the bedside table.

You pick it up, feeling a bit degraded, like you're picking up coins someone's thrown your way. “I'll be right back,” you promise.

The guards give you weird looks as you show up at the Observation Chamber. They had clear orders: only Dr. List or Baron Strucker can go in. But dropping the director’s daughter’s name does the trick. You flash her badge and they let you pass, no more questions asked.

The hallway is pitch-black. This place had been sleeping until now, woken up by the fact that Pietro and Wanda Maximoff hadn’t died like the others who met the scepter. Clearly labeled doors mark the new, grim function of the space.

You think about heading straight to Wanda's room, but you remember her earlier request and decide to check on Pietro first.

The soft beeping of monitors greets you as soon as you step inside his room. He's in rough shape, alive but barely hanging on. You quickly check the chart posted next to the door—it shows low blood pressure and a high dosage of Epinephrine administered, with a note that his chances of survival stand at only 57% as of 11:30 PM.

He looks much thinner and more worn than the last time you saw him, his condition evidently worse. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones. As you move closer, you notice his body trembling, a sheen of sweat covering him despite the room's chill.

Quickly, you pull the extra covers from beneath his bed and wrap them around him, trying to stabilize his shivering. Then, you snag a water bottle from a nearby stand, helping him take slow, measured sips.

Pietro looks at you, his eyes filled with confusion and pain, struggling to form the words. “Who are you?”

“Just someone who made your sister a promise,” you say, scooping up some water in your palm and gently drizzling it over his head. Pietro sighs in relief. “Get some rest now, and try not to die.”

His eyes flutter shut in seconds, his breath smoothing out as sleep claims him. You linger just a moment to make sure he's really out, then hurry off towards Wanda's room. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear pulsing through you. Pietro was in rough shape; how bad might Wanda be? You cling to a shred of hope that she's holding up better.

The air stays heavy as you enter Wanda’s quarters. You tread lightly, making sure not to disturb her sleep, and check the medical chart by her bed. Unlike Pietro’s dire prognosis, Wanda's stats are steady, but still troubling. Her breaths are regular, without the distressing shivers that torment her brother.

What strikes you is how normal, how peacefully she's sleeping, despite her recent exposure to Loki’s scepter.

Relieved to see her condition isn’t more severe, you end up at the foot of her bed. There isn’t much to do after confirming she’s stable, and you know you should head back to Laura. But leaving Wanda’s side proves difficult once you're there. Almost immediately, your mind floods with ideas on how to get her out of Hydra’s clutches. If they fully realized her potential, it wouldn't just be dangerous for her—it'd be catastrophic for anyone in their path. Internally, you start plotting escape routes and thinking about who might be willing to help.

It’s strange to think how you went from one of Hydra’s most devoted agents to scheming against them.

Lost in your plans, you're jolted back to the present when you feel a gentle nudge against your thigh. Wanda's foot is pressing against you. She's awake. You look up to find her eyes open, wary and searching.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice raspy from lack of use. “What—what happened?”

You subtly shift on the bed, making sure her toes aren't touching you anymore. You're not sure when you became so acutely aware of Wanda’s proximity, or of the points where your bodies meet.

“What do you remember before all this?” you ask.

She rubs her forehead, straining to recall. “There was a room... a stone emerging from the scepter. Bright lights… then nothing.”

You nod, already knowing half of what Wanda just told you. This is the first time anyone has lived to tell about their experience with the scepter, and you were hoping for more insights into how it unleashes its power. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about trying it yourself, wondering if you could resist its effects. Being Hydra, curiosity about power was a constant temptation.

“You weren't supposed to be exposed to the scepter yet,” you admit quietly. “Dr. List sped things up, maybe because he suspected—”

“Pietro,” she cuts in, her thoughts finally catching up. “Was he exposed to it too?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, clouded with worry. “Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” you say. “I just saw him before coming here. He's stable, but it’s precarious.”

Wanda’s face crumples as soon as the words leave your lips. Before you can react, she throws her arms around you, her face buried in your shoulder. You freeze for a moment, uncertain how to respond. It’s been so long since you’ve held someone like this, since you’ve allowed yourself to care enough to even consider it. But then you feel it—tears, warm and wet against your neck. She’s crying.

After a moment, you hesitantly wrap your arms around her, holding her as she trembles against you. You can feel her fear, her desperation. It cuts through your defenses, the ones you’ve built so carefully over the years.

You tighten your hold on her, offering what little comfort you can, but inside, you’re battling your own fear. You can’t afford to care about her this much—not here, not now. But as you hold her, feeling every shake of her body, you know it’s already too late.

Wanda's sobs slowly subside, and you pull back slightly, intent on offering some kind of reassurance despite how foreign it feels to you. You reach up, brushing away her tears with your thumb, trying to find the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, as your hand lingers on her cheek, she pins you with a quiet stare. Before you realize what’s happening, Wanda leans in and presses her lips softly against yours.

The kiss is brief, just a fraction of a second, but it leaves you utterly breathless. She pulls back almost immediately, watching you, waiting to see how you’ll react. For a heartbeat, you're stunned, but then something ignites inside you, something you’ve been holding back without even recognizing it.

Acting on pure impulse, you reach up, grasp the back of her neck, and pull her in for another kiss. In an instant, you take control effortlessly, letting the animalistic and Hydra part of you come to the forefront. Your thumb presses roughly against her chin, coaxing her mouth open, and you slide your tongue in, staking your claim. Wanda responds with a gasp, her hands clutching at your shoulders, but you’re too far gone to think about anything except the taste of her, the way her body molds against yours.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss further, your other hand sliding down to grip her waist, pulling her closer still. The feel of her, the heat of her skin under your fingers, it’s intoxicating, and you can’t get enough. You've never allowed yourself to want someone this much. Just as you think you can't hold back any longer, Wanda's hand captures yours and guides it under her shirt. You're startled to find out she's wearing nothing underneath when your knuckles brush against her hardened nipple. That unexpected discovery is what compels you to pull back.

Wanda's lips leave yours with a wet sound, and she begins kissing down your jaw to your neck.

“Wanda, wait—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” she says. Her breath is hot against your skin, and you feel her tongue trace a line up to your pulse point, leaving a fiery trail that makes you shiver. “You can claim your reward, you can have me.”

Her words snap you out of the haze, that single word—reward—ringing in your ears like a warning bell. You quickly place your hands on her shoulders, pushing her back gently but firmly.

Wanda blinks, confusion and hurt flashing in her eyes as she looks up at you. “What’s wrong?” She knows she’s attractive and has already glimpsed your desire for her during your visits, reading it in your thoughts. It’s why she finds your rejection so absurd—frustrating, even, given her openness.

“I'm not here for that,” you say, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

“Then why are you here?”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, unaccustomed to openly discussing your feelings. “I came to see how you're doing after... after the scepter.”

“I'm fine,” she answers flatly.

You nod, still feeling the residual heat of her closeness. “Do you feel any different?” you ask, partly out of concern but mostly to shift the conversation elsewhere.

“I'm just tired,” Wanda says, closing her eyes and running a hand through her tousled dark hair. “Can we do this tomorrow?” She sounds a bit let down, assuming you're here just for a routine check—looking for any new powers or changes—as if she had hoped for something more personal.

“I'm sorry,” you quickly say. “I’m not here on any official orders. In fact, I shouldn't even be here.”

This revelation softens her look, her eyes narrowing slightly with renewed interest.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I'm working on getting you and Pietro out of here. It's not set yet, but—”

“Out of here?” Wanda cuts in, her eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement. “Why would I want to leave?”

“You got what you came for, right? The power of the scepter? Now you can leave. Hydra isn’t what you think,” you explain, trying to make her see the danger.

“Look who's acting all self-righteous all of a sudden. You've been here for years, and I've seen you do things,” she retorts sharply.

“Stop looking into my mind,” you snap, irritated by her knack for sifting through your thoughts without permission and using your past against you. Just because she can doesn’t mean she should.

“You’re saying I’m wrong?” she sneers.

You shake your head. “Look, I’m just trying to help—”

“If you really want to help, just do your job.”

Her words hit you harder than any physical blow could. You knew better than to let someone get this close, to allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. But there’s no one to blame here but yourself. Wanda didn't even have to do much to earn your solicitude; it was your own doing, your own need to make things right that led you here.

Hydra’s training kicks in like second nature, and you shut down the emotions before they can show, your face hardening into a mask.

“Alright, Wanda. I'll do just that.”

It’s easier the second time you’re with Laura that night.

After Wanda's dismissal, you find Laura’s body to be the comfort you need. You lose yourself in her, the way she responds to every touch, every move you make. Pushing everything else from your mind, you focus solely on her, making her come again and again until she’s too bone-tired to do anything but black out beside you.

After it's over, you slip out of her bed, leaving her to sleep off the night’s weariness, and return to your room. You don't think about Wanda. Not even once.

In the following days, Wanda's recovery is swift—too swift for your level of clearance. Dr. List decides she’s beyond your oversight and assigns her to a higher clearance team. You’re left dealing with new recruits, volunteers who are eager yet naïve, none of whom survive the brutal exposure to the scepter. Each failure hardens you a little more, cements the necessity of detachment.

But even with countless deaths on their hands, Hydra doesn't back down. If anything, they’re more driven now, hungry for more power, spurred on by the success of the twins. Pietro develops superhuman speed, a skill Hydra quickly puts to use by dispatching him to enemy territories for intel. Wanda’s abilities become more varied, showing signs of what could be categorized as psionic powers. She demonstrates capabilities that suggest telekinesis, manipulating objects without touching them, and telepathy—which she employs at her whim.

Sometimes you wonder if she ever peeks into your mind anymore. But then, with the kind of power she wields, why would she even bother with what you're thinking? You're not special. Not even your badge, which doesn't get you into sections of the base without currying favor with Laura Brown first.

The Sokovian base is sprawling, and encounters with either of the Maximoff twins are rare but unavoidable. Pietro remembers your visit that night. Now and then, he nods at you politely. Wanda, on the other hand, acts as if you don’t exist. If you pass her in the hallways, she looks through you as if you're invisible. So, you make it a point to stay out of her way, blending into the dull walls and shadows as much as you can.

This detachment suits you in a way. It allows you to focus on your duties, on surviving one day at a time in an environment where the stakes are always high and the consequences often lethal.

It leaves you with nothing to lose, because there's no one left to lose.

Weeks pass quietly until rumors start floating around that Wanda's been seeing someone inside the complex. It’s hard to call it dating, really, since concepts like love and trust struggle to take root in a place as bleak as this. It’s probably just two people keeping each other company through the colder nights. Still, you can’t shake off how much this bothers you.

But it's not surprising. The twins' popularity has only grown, especially since, months later, no one else has matched their extraordinary feat of surviving an Infinity Stone—a term you picked up only after Hydra discovered what was really behind Loki's scepter.

Sometimes, you find yourself observing Wanda from afar, trying to figure out if there’s any substance to the rumors. Who makes her laugh? Who does she choose to sit with at meals? The more you notice your own scrutiny, the more you recognize a feeling of jealousy stirring within you, an emotion that’s prevalent among your peers but not in this regard. You're bewildered and annoyed by your own reaction—why should who Wanda spends time with matter to you? Whatever she does, whoever she fucks—it's none of your business.

You hate this feeling, but you combat it by heading to Laura’s room every night, as if she’s the cure you need to keep yourself in check.

“They’ll betray us someday,” Lev murmurs as you both amble through the dense woods, taking a rare break from the base for a smoke. He breathes out slowly, watching the smoke curl upwards. You don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about the twins.

“No sooner than Hydra will throw us under the bus when the Avengers show up,” you reply, stepping around a fallen branch. “We’re all expendable. You know that, right?”

Lev takes a deep drag, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “Yeah, I know,” he says at last, releasing a plume of smoke. There’s something in his eyes, a look that tells you he’s not saying all he could about the twins.

You eye him suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Lev glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he's deciding how much to share. After a moment, he nods.

“Okay, I wasn't planning on telling you this yet, but I've been handed a special assignment—the Maximoff Contingency Plan,” he reveals.

You scoff at him. “You’re the contingency plan?”

“No, not just me,” Lev chuckles darkly as he tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. “I'm involved, but it's more than that. We're working on a weapon, one that borrows from the tech of the Infinity Stone.”

The seriousness of what he's saying sinks in. Leveraging the power of an Infinity Stone means they're not messing around.

“And what's this weapon supposed to do?” you ask, not sure if you want to hear the answer.

Lev’s expression darkens. “You know what weapons are supposed to do,” he says tersely, turning to head back. “Let’s go.”

Hydra does not tolerate treachery. Even the mildest punishment is a swift death—a quick end, but an end all the same.

It’s only a matter of time before the Avengers find the Sokovian Base. Tensions had been mounting and Hydra's movements had become increasingly aggressive, drawing unwanted attention. When it all goes down, you’re in your room, scrambling to suit up and arm yourself with pistols—not to confront the Avengers, who are essentially gods, but to fight for your way out.

As the base descends into turmoil, you hear that Wanda and Pietro are attempting to escape. Hydra has a ruthless protocol for such situations: eliminate the entire unit to prevent any leaks. It's cleaner to destroy and rebuild than to let loose ends compromise the organization. Knowing about the contingency plan to eliminate the twins, you grab your radio and contact Lev, asking where he is.

“You’re just in time. I need backup. I've got Wanda Maximoff in my sights, waiting for the right moment to take her down,” he radios back.

“On it, I’m with you,” you reply, feeling the sweat bead on your forehead as you move toward his location. When you get there, you find Lev, poised and ready, his eyes fixed on the target through the scope of his rifle. You scan the surroundings, looking for hazards until you spot Wanda among the debris. Iron Man's missiles have turned the area into a deadly maze of flying rocks. From her fingertips, streams of red magic swirl, skillfully steering the massive boulders away from crushing both Hydra agents and civilians.

Wanda isn’t trying to escape—she’s helping fend them off. Seeing her save these lives, something inside you breaks. Lev has his rifle aimed at her, ready to pull the trigger while she's busy playing the hero. The possible outcomes flash through your mind: Wanda dead or imprisoned by the Avengers. The thought is unbearable. You've spent months pretending you didn't care, but now, faced with the reality of losing her, you realize all you want is for her to live, to be free—something you've long given up for yourself.

You're about to dissuade Lev, to argue her worth, her potential, anything to stall, when an explosion nearby startles Wanda. She turns, momentarily distracted, and Lev's finger tightens on the trigger, ready to end it all.

But you're faster.

He collapses with a shocked gasp, the life leaving his eyes as he hits the ground. The noise of his body falling draws Wanda’s attention. She turns just in time to see what you've done—for her. Her eyes, wide and questioning, boring into yours.

Why did you save me? They seem to ask you, those green orbs that have hunted you ever since you looked into them. There's no time for lengthy explanations—not that you have a solid one anyway. But with each passing second, the chance of escaping undetected by these so-called superheroes dwindles.

“You need to leave, now!” you yell at her, but she doesn't budge. Instead, she looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time with something other than disdain. It’s the same look she gave you the night the scepter awakened her powers. It’s a look that tells you that maybe she’s been pretending too, these past few months.

You’re about to sprint toward her, to drag her to safety if you have to, when a blur of motion sweeps her away. Pietro appears out of nowhere, whisking them both out of the base before the Avengers close in.

For a second, you're left standing there, surrounded by the wreckage and the friend you just betrayed and killed. There's no time to grieve, no time to second-guess leaving his body behind—it's pure instinct that forces you to move quickly. You head towards an exit known only to the most important figures of the organization, a piece of information you picked up from Laura. She wouldn’t have given it away if you weren’t frequently sleeping together, those personal liaisons caused by trying to forget Wanda.

It’s strange, in a way, how you both just ended up saving each other.

Several weeks after the Avengers demolish the Sokovian base, Wanda finds you at a small cabin you own on the outskirts of Novi Grad. The modest structure sits on a 2-acre plot near the woods—a spot you picked up when your stint in Sokovia stretched past thirteen months. You never really planned on settling here; you thought you’d be moved to another location and sell this land at a profit eventually. But life, it seems, had other plans.

You’re chopping wood beside the cabin when you feel her presence. Dropping the axe, you straighten up and spot her at the edge of the clearing. Your eyes quickly sweep her surroundings for any sign of Pietro, but it appears she has come alone.

“Why did you do it?” she asks once she's close enough. You take a few moments to take her in, hardly believing she's actually here, and touched by the thought that she sought you out. You've missed her presence, even though the last few months have only found you both inhabiting the same compound, breathing the same air but never speaking.

Sometimes, lying in bed at night, you wonder why you can’t shake Wanda from your thoughts. You’ve even entertained the idea that she might have hexed you, that her magic has somehow ensnared your mind and… maybe your heart. It seems like the only logical explanation, because since the day you met, Wanda has never really left your mind.

“I did what I thought was right,” you finally answer, tucking your hands inside your pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

“He was your friend,” Wanda points out softly.

Your lips curl into a strained smile; of course, she’d know. She knows things about you that you'd never voice out loud. Wanda’s ability to read minds makes hiding anything impossible. Does she understand how deeply you care for her? She must. Wanda has always seen right through you, so why does she need to ask?

“Did you ever think about me after that night?” she asks out of nowhere. The night the Infinity Stone changed everything, when you were closer to her than you’d ever been before.

You're taken aback by her directness. This, too, she probably knows the answer to because you've thought of little else.

“Everyday,” you say.

That night, you invite her to your home, the first person ever to share the space you once believed would always be just yours. Your living room is snug, with a three-seater couch and a medium-sized TV mounted on the wall. There’s also a fireplace that lights up the space with an amber glow as you hand Wanda a cup of hot chocolate.

You and Wanda find yourselves chatting about lighter topics. She shares her favorite shows from childhood, and you're surprised to learn she’s a big fan of American sitcoms. You enjoyed them too when you were younger, but not to the extent that you'd watch entire seasons over and over like Wanda did. Your preference leaned more toward books, gobbling up Agatha Christie novels when you were younger.

While you're in the middle of sharing a particularly funny memory from one of those old sitcom episodes, Wanda suddenly leans in and kisses you. Though your first instinct is to dive back into the kiss, you pull back instead. The last time you were this close, things escalated quickly before they crashed and burned.

“Are you sure?” you ask, searching her eyes for an answer. Learning from past mistakes, you want to make sure it's what she really wants.

She nods, her eyes steady and invitingly dark. “I’m sure.”

You close the distance between you, kissing her to your heart’s content. Before long, clothes are discarded, and you move from the couch to the bed, leisurely exploring each other, discovering how to bring one another to new heights of pleasure.

As you lie next to her afterward, breathless and tangled in the sheets, you realize there’s no way to pretend anymore—you care too much to go back.

The quiet doesn’t last long.

Tony Stark’s experiment goes awry, giving rise to Ultron—a global threat with ambitions that soon become clear. It seeks to bring about what he perceives as peace, by any means necessary. And just when you thought you and Wanda might have found some peace, she tells you she’s joining Ultron.

“It’s too dangerous,” you tell her. The twins and a robot against the entire Avengers team? The numbers alone put the odds against them. “We can stay here, help the people around us, and actually make a real difference.”

She shakes her head, her jaw set. “You don’t get it,” she argues. “You never will. You’re not…”

Special. Go ahead, Wanda, say it. Say what you really think of me.

“...you don’t have powers. You don’t know what it’s like to be able to change things and then just stand by, powerless.”

You were bracing for it, but it hurts all the same.

“So what am I then, Wanda? Just a bystander? Someone not worth listening to because I don't have powers?”

“I’m saying I have to do this,” Wanda mutters solemnly. “I’m the only one who can do this.”

You can see in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. You’re still racking up your brain for something that might make a difference but she speaks again.

“I’m doing this for Sokovia,” she says quietly. “For everyone who's suffered because of Stark.”

You say nothing. Her fierce loyalty is one of the things you adore about her.

Wanda steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch your face, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ll come back,” she promises. “When this is over, I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, resigned to the reality that you must let her go. “I’ll be here,” you say, your voice thick with regret that you can’t do more to protect her, to make sure she’s safe. “Waiting for you, right here.”

Pietro Maximoff dies riddled with bullet wounds—over a dozen of them. You learn the details of his death through a tabloid, days after witnessing Novi Grad being torn from the ground.

A week later, Wanda comes back to you, just as she promised, but she’s not the same. The light in her eyes is gone, replaced by a ghostly void. It’s a look you know all too well, the same one you’ve seen staring back at you in the mirror for years.

A loss of purpose.

In the days that follow, you try to restore some normalcy, but nothing feels right. You cook meals she barely touches, sit beside her during long stretches of silence, and listen when she occasionally finds the strength to talk. It's tough, seeing her struggle, but you stay by her side, hoping things will begin to heal.

But they don’t.

Every day, you see it—the guilt, the pain, the loss. She tries to find reasons to keep going, but nothing seems to hold. And as much as you want to be the one to help her, to pull her out of this darkness, you know you're not enough. Not this time.

Wanda is adrift, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t anchor her to this life you’re trying to build. She’s lost her brother, her home, and whatever sense of justice she thought she could achieve by joining Ultron. And you—you’ve been running from your past for so long, and you’re simply tired of it.

You start thinking about what’s best for her, about what she needs to move on and find a new purpose. Deep down, you recognize that maybe the best way for her to truly heal is if you step aside.

Like Wanda, you don’t trust Stark. So, with the skills you’ve honed during your time with Hydra, you manage to find a way to contact Steve Rogers instead.

The conversation happens one afternoon, over a phone call. You tell him everything—your past with Hydra, the things you’ve done, and why you’re ready to turn yourself in. He listens without interrupting, letting you confess everything. You mention that Wanda's with you, and make it clear this isn't about trying to reclaim some lost sense of patriotism. You're doing it for her.

“You did the right thing by coming to me,” Steve says when you finish. “Wanda has so much potential. She deserves a chance to become who she’s meant to be.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice dropping to a whisper. You’ve known it all along, perhaps better than anyone. It’s why you’re doing this, even though it feels like tearing yourself apart.

Over the course of the conversation, you and Steve work out an agreement. You’ll serve a reduced sentence in exchange for all the intel you have on the remaining Hydra heads still out there. You’ll act as an informant, helping to bring them to an end, once and for all. And maybe, after you’ve paid your dues, there’ll be a chance for you to live something close to a normal life. When the call ends, you're washed over with a feeling of real freedom, despite knowing it might cost you Wanda all over again.

Later that night, you find Wanda in the kitchen, stirring a pot and humming a tune you don't recognize, looking more alive than she has in weeks. Seeing her like this is bittersweet; she’s here, but soon, you might not be.

She notices you and gives a small, relieved smile. “You’re back,” she says.

“Yeah, I had a craving for this specific brand of red wine…” You say, tossing out a casual lie since you did swing by the grocery store, and errands are a regular part of your routine.

“Red wine?” Wanda perks up. “Perfect, I’m just about done with dinner. It should pair nicely.”

The kitchen smells foreign but amazing, and you can't help but compliment her. “It smells incredible in here,” you say as you start setting the table.

Wanda smiles softly as she turns down the stove and grabs a bowl to serve. You set out two wine glasses and place them on the table.

You pour a generous amount of red wine into each glass and watch as Wanda carries the meal over.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say with genuine appreciation.

“Try it and tell me what you think,” she urges, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she watches you with anticipation.

You take a bite, the flavors unique and perfectly blended. Looking up, you see her watching you, eager for your reaction.

“Well?” she asks impatiently.

You laugh, then wipe the corners of your mouth with your thumb. “Don't you already know?” you tease, hinting at her telepathic abilities.

Wanda pretends to be offended, crossing her arms. “I haven’t read your mind in a long time.”

You can’t help but be a little skeptical of her claim. “Since when?”

Wanda blinks, her gaze veering away as she hesitates, clearly not eager to revisit the memory.

You give her a gentle nudge, mimicking her earlier prodding “Well?”

Wanda turns to face you, her bottom lip pushed out slightly in a pout. “Since I saw you were sleeping with the director’s daughter.”

Saw? Did she see everything I did with Laura? The thought that Wanda witnessed it all like a scene playing out in front of her makes your stomach twist. You blush, mortified. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” you mumble, looking away.

Wanda shakes her head, trying to dispel her lingering jealousy. “I shouldn't have been peering into your head that much to begin with,” she says softly.

Your ears catch on a particular phrase. “‘That much’?”

It’s Wanda’s turn to blush, her cheeks flushing deeper as she quickly downs the rest of her wine and then holds out her glass for a refill. Deciding to show some mercy, you pour her another glass without prying further. The conversation stalls into an awkward silence until you finally decide to break it by giving your verdict on the dinner.

“By the way, this is delicious,” you say, adding another serving to your plate.

Wanda's face lights up, her smile stretching so wide that she looks almost like a giddy child. But then, she is young. You can’t help but imagine how she'll fit in with them. Steve, in particular, seems like he’d be good for her. Even though you don't know him well, that one phone call was enough to get a sense of his character and leadership. He seems like the kind of guy who'd really look out for Wanda, in ways you can't.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Wanda suddenly asks.

Your smile falls a little, but you manage to keep it there. You wish she could read your mind now, that she could understand the choices you’ve made today better than you could ever explain them. You’re not abandoning her—you’re setting her free from this life. You've done too many unspeakable things to ever truly deserve a quiet life with her. Eventually, your past will catch up to you, and the opportunity for Wanda to do something good might slip away if she’s still tied to you. You wish she could see how much you care for her, how much she’s changed you. Because of her, you’ve felt the desire to be good again, to be human again. To open yourself not just to grief, but also to love.

You wish—

“Maybe we can visit that lake you mentioned? I've spent my whole life in Sokovia but never really left Novi Grad,” Wanda suggests.

“Rain check?” you say, trying your best to sound like tomorrow isn’t goodbye. Steve wanted to move quickly, and you’ll be expecting him and a small squad tomorrow, no later than noon. “I’m thinking I might just stay in, catch up on some reading.”

Wanda cocks her head, a puzzled look on her face. You’ve been the one pushing her to get out of the cabin more, so your answer isn’t what she’s expecting. But she likes the idea. She just wants to spend time with you. The hole Pietro left in her heart is only bearable when she’s with you.

“Okay,” she mumbles, starting to clear the dishes. You place a hand over hers, silently telling her you’ll take care of it later. Leaning in, you plant a soft kiss on her lips.

“You want to go to bed early?” you whisper quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She looks up at you, a playful gasp escaping her lips.

“Just to sleep,” you add quickly. I just want to hold you all night, one last time.

“I might not be sleepy right off the bat, maybe if you tire me out—”

“Naughty,” you chuckle softly, giving her nose a gentle tap.

“You love it.”

“I—” Love you. You want to say it, but you don’t want to make it harder for you both when the time comes.

Without another word, you grab her hand, holding on to this moment, to her, for as long as you can.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff #gender neutral reader #hydra #avengers age of ultron #Steve Rogers

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fruitiesss · 1 month ago

Text

|| SWALLOW YOU WHOLE ||

PART 1

There is a darkness that surrounds your new team. It is something you have never seen before.

tags: reader gets a wound, ew blood, the thunderbolts are found family, nightmares, the void word count: 2k

pairing: eventual bob x gn reader

a/n: wowowowowow this took time to plan out and i actually proofread this time. Pls enjoy. Lmk if you want another part to it.

Every sound around you was muffled, your ears ringing as Bucky and John took each arm and pulled you away from the middle of combat, Yelena crouching in front of you to snap her fingers in your face and ask a question that fell deaf on your ringing ears. She held up 3 fingers and started talking, her lips moving but nothing reaching you. The battle around you slowed as the two super soldiers sat you against the outer wall of the watchtower, John pressing his hands firmly against your stomach and crouching beside you so the other two could finish the fight off. Your head fell forward and shoulders sagged while he held you up with his sturdy arm.

With time, the sound seemed to return to you, intensifying with each passing moment. John had left you and someone else had come to your aid. Bob's hand splayed across your font as he kept you from getting up that you returned with a grunt of exhaustion and protest. He shook his head and slid his arm underneath your knees and supported your back and he lifted you up and carried you inside to safety. With your senses shot, you succumbed to sleep.

Darkness. Pain. Void. Your eyes shot open to nothing, an empty yet endless null. Your heart pounded against your ribs rhythmically as you got to your feet, turning around again and again in an attempt to find something, anything.

The third time you turned, bright amber crowded your vision despite the darkness around you. Two people, man and woman, stood beside each other on a grassy hill deep within the spot of colour. Their faces were hidden and their hands were joined but they looked… uncanny. Wrong.

Dread filled the pit of your stomach as you took an uneasy step back, gaze scanning them up and down as they just stood there, motionless. Their forms twisted, spun and dissipated into the amber alongside the grass of the hill, leaving behind a barren and rotten ground. Perplexed, you took measured steps forward until your canvas shoes hit soft ground. Moving further, you looked over the contour of the hill down onto more barren ground.

Snap.

You whipped around, seeing that the void had vanished, the amber and strange surroundings fully encapsulating what had just been endless black and you shut your eyes for a brief moment, only to open them to the familiar ceiling of the infirmary.

Sitting up with a start, you frightened Bob and Yelena, who had both been sitting beside you since you'd passed out. Bob tilted his head with a quizzical expression and Yelena sat forward, hands out as if she had been ready to catch you.

"What happened?"

According to the rest of the Thunderbolts, you had taken a blow from some enemy they had been stopping, though you strangely don't remember any of it, only the searing pain in your side which had been a blow from their blade evident by the mass of bandages around your midsection. Bob had been the one to carry you inside as he had refrained from using Sentry in battle since the New Avengers were established.

Bob. He sure had been a pivotal relationship in your recent life. You connected with him, his past resonated heavily with yours and you found him genuinely pleasant to be around. He had his dark moments, as did you, so you both helped each other out when you were having trouble. There would be times he was experiencing hardship that you held his hand through, making sure he ate and wasn't alone at all. And there would be times you'd be struggling where he would do the exact same for you. You two had grown to be inseparable and the rest of the team knew it.

That's why you found yourself sneaking into his room late at night when you couldn't sleep or were having nightmares about horrible things, just to feel human touch and comfort. Alexei would make jokes about you two exiting his room together in the morning, which always earned a smack to the back of the head from his daughter. You both grew flustered when it was brought up, stuttering and stammering to brush it off casually but there truly was nothing going on between you in those moments, just shared comfort and warmth.

This was one of those nights. That void you'd woken up in, or dreamt, you really have no idea, had been haunting your thoughts like a ghost. It had you twisting and turning on your plush bed, eyes screwed shut one moment and the next wide open and looking around. Eventually, you sat up and looked around, that dread settling in the pit of your stomach once more as the shadows danced across the walls, taunting and leering at you. Your breath became shallow as you picked up your phone and left your room, pacing the halls for a few minutes before shaking your head and coming to a stop outside the familiar door of his room. Inhaling deeply, you knocked quietly on the hardwood.

Bob answered the door in a matter of seconds, his soft brown hair tousled from sleep and his eyes half lidded from sleep. Your knock had woken him.

"I'm sorry--" You began, interjected by Bob's soft sigh and voice.

"It's fine, come inside. Tell me what's up." He stepped aside, allowing you to slip past him. You sunk onto his teal beanbag that he'd begged to move from the main room to his bedroom, sinking into the beads.

"I can't sleep. There was this dream I had, in this.. void.. you know, not that void, but a different void. There was just nothingness. And it was so vivid." He listened to you ramble and recall the events of that dream, nodding his head along as he woke up properly. His hands came to rest on top of yours as your voice trailed off in the middle of a sentence, eyes meeting his. "Bob..?"

He squeezed once, twice, three times and sighed again, holding your hands firmly between his. "It was just a nightmare." He reassured. "I haven't been using my powers, so there's no way that I-- that he can do anything like this." His eyes were weary, exhausted. "Come and sleep, okay?"

Searching his eyes, you nodded and stood alongside him, slipping into bed beside him and wrapping your arms around him. His hand found its place on your back, making sure it was alright to place it there before doing it. His soft breathing lulled you to sleep.

The next week was a blur. You were forced to take a step back and focus on healing while the others got missions, all except from Bob, who had been staying beside you and helping you with every step. He had been your rock during all of this, without him you wouldn't have healed as fast as you had. Now it was Saturday, the whole team got together every Saturday for what you referred to as 'Family Game Night' to Bucky's dismay (he secretly loves it).

You, Bob, Alexei and Ava were sat on the couch while Bucky, John and Yelena were on chairs around the coffee table, each of you holding a set of uno cards with the discard and deck on the coffee table. You had changed into your pyjamas after you had all eaten dinner together, the comfiest pair you owned. It was a cream set, oversized fit, with small grooves in the fabric like corduroy.

"I am greatest at this game!" Alexei announced, setting down a wild draw four and making John pick up four new cards. He sighed and threw a blue one on the pile with a grumble and rolled eyes. Yelena put another blue one on the pile while Bob set down his blue one on top of theirs with a triumphant smile.

"Uno." He grinned, holding his single card close and shielding it from Ava, who was trying to peer over his hand.

You sighed and drew a card while Ava, still trying to see Bob's card, lazily placed her next card onto the pile. Alexei laughed again, the sound booming around the living room, and placed his next card. It was a draw 2. Walker smirked and set down another draw two, shooting a victorious glance at Alexei as Bucky sighed exasperatedly, drawing the four cards and tipping his head back so he was looking at the ceiling.

Bucky would win, Bob would end up with eight cards and a grudge, and you would retire to bed moments after they began to argue. You'd had your fun for tonight, so now it was time to rest. Your wound had been pulsing with aches and pains all day but you had persisted and now it was time to suffer the consequences.

Sleep would come but not easily which was a recurring factor of yours nights recently. Dreamless, boring nights without interrupting Bob. It was torture.

Alas, you closed your eyes and started counting sheep. But then you opened your eyes to a sharp noise.

You were in a laboratory. Clinical white intruded on your gaze as you dazed around, squinting at the harsh light around you. A dark figure sat atop a medical bed in an alcove of the lab, head sagged forward and stance defeated. Two humanoid shadows standing either side of it, their borders bleeding into the surroundings and posed as if they had been in excruciating pain for whatever had come before.

Your eyes widened as you eased forward again, still dressed in your cream pyjamas. Your heart pounded in your ears, the light becoming too much, too harsh, burning your retinas.

The figure stood slowly, lead by it's head, and faced you. It was all black, as if what was standing there was devoid of light. A void. The void.

Your heart leaped into your throat as the dots began to connect. "You--"

It cocked it's head with a sickening crack, and you woke up with a sharp gasp, sitting up and accidentally tearing a stitch or two. Your face contorted into a wince as you held your side, gasping your air. your throat constricted around your gasps, eyes watering as red seeped into your clean bandages. Calming down, you peeled your duvet off of you and glanced down at your bandage. You'll have to change it.

You stood from your bed and left the safe confines of the room, the tall walls feeling like they were caving in on you as your limped, clutching your side as if it was a fresh wound. Uneven steps echoed throughout the hallway while you made your way to the medical bay, your eyes bloodshot from the strain and stress of what you had woken up from. Your heart still pounded in your ears like you had just been ripped from the dream and placed back into reality, never changing.

The digital clock on the tray in the infirmary bleeped in and out, red digits reading 5:28AM as you sat on the first bed in the row, unwrapping your bandages from your middle. Blinking through bleary eyes, you took the supplies you had gathered and soaked a cloth in antiseptic, pulling the skin taut to clean it when you noticed something. The edges of the gash were seeping droplets of blood here and there but where you had the skin stretched, your eyes caught something that had that unease settling in your gut again. Where the skin parted in a smooth line across your midsection, a dusty pool of black seemed to ebb onto the surface from inside. It was surreal, something you have never seen before in anyone. It began to grow, the veins around the wound turning black and stretching around your middle like lightning. It was slow, and then it stopped.

What was going on with you?

#marvel #thunderbolts*#bob reynolds #thunderbolts #mcu #robert reynolds #the new avengers #dysfunctional found family type beat #alexei is loud #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #the sentry #sentry x reader #bob thunderbolts #the void #sentry #x reader #gender neutral reader #angst

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notanactressyay · 1 year ago

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— ₊˚⊹ 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐬

— ₊⊹ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 . Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader

— ₊⊹ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 . she takes her time to explore you closely, as if compensating the time she didn't notice your true needs.

— ₊⊹ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — reader being needy, swearing, pet names, making out, oral, strap on, begging, possessive Nat, multiple orgasms. r receives all. soft sex. no real plot.

— ₊⊹ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 . just because i'm in need of a very soft Natasha to take care of me. 😣

fic started: june, 23, 2024, 11:55pm. | finished: june, 25, 2024, 11:42pm.

dividers belong to: @/anitalenia and @/rookthornesartistry ₊⊹

you weren't sleeping. your eyelids were shut, but she could tell you weren't asleep. she felt your heavy breathing, and how changed depending on her actions. under the covers, the only thing separating you both being the silk sleepwear you were in. the thin shorts rolled up whenever she shifted, and the skin to skin contact coaxed a small whimper out of you. Natasha was used to sleeping only in her lingerie, and the fact you wore babydolls didn't bother her — not at all. she could use it to her advantage. to tease you, when she felt like doing so.

the room became a hundred times hotter as she nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, emphasized by your body lotions. her palm slides under your top, pressing flat against your stomach, counting the exact amount of times you inhaled and exhaled. rapidly.

"is there a reason why you're still awake, dorogaya?" she purrs into your ear. the groan you let out, as if admitting you got caught, amuses her. you turn around in the embrace, so now you're both face to face. "no no no. let me rephrase. is there a reason why you're still awake, and letting me touch you like this?"

you sigh, hand moving up to cup her cheek. she leans against your palm, but keeps the questioning, almost teasing look up. you decide to stay silent, for a while. the reason was almost.. silly, in your point of view. but Natasha knew you. more than you knew, in more ways than you could imagine. so she took note of your response and continued with her test.

she pulls you closer, and her hand moves from your stomach to your waist, giving it a light squeeze. her fingertips are delicate against your skin. you sigh quietly, grabbing a strand of her red hair and begining to twirl it on your fingers. "i miss you."

"you miss me?" she inquires softly, eyeing you up and down. she had imagined it was something to do with that, but not that you'd stay awake at night missing her without reaching out for her.

"i mean.." you clear your throat, not knowing how to put your thoughts, desires, into words. "it's not your fault. it's just.."

it was just the fact that you missed being truly seen. taken care of. the last times you and Natasha had sex were extremely rushed, since she had to be awake early in the morning, or for whatever reason. but now that she had taken a break from missions, it could be the perfect chance for you to properly catch up.

"just tell me." the redhead demands. she leans on her ewbol, next to your head, looking down into your eyes. her hair gently falls against your face, and you tuck the locks behind her ears.

"can you.." you sigh. a timid smile tugs on your lips, your voice barely audible. "can you make love to me?

her eyes brighten up, lips parting to say something, but closing afterwards. god, imagining you saying it was something, but hearing you ask for it? her heart melted completely. the woman leans down, face close to yours. she slowly begins to pull the blankets downwards, to the end of the bed. "ask me again, baby."

"Nat," you shakily breathe and glance at her hand, heart beating faster in anticipation. "fuck me, please."

"oh, shit," she mutters to herself. for such a long time, she wanted to properly have her way with you, and the fact you took so long to ask disappointed her somehow. but it wasn't time for that.

she sits up on the bed, both hands grabbing your waist and pulling you onto her lap, so you're straddling her. the sudden action makes you gasp, which turns into a giggle as you see the sparkle in her eyes. your hands grab her shoulders, and you hold onto each other, pressed up, finally, closely. she doesn't want to talk, but makes sure her eyes passes you the message. don't ever hesitate on communicating with me again. your eyes close, enjoying her proximity, the fuzzy feeling her closeness gave you — before she grabbed your chin, and claimed your lips with hers. you almost immediately moan, returning the slow kiss.

seconds go by of your lips just being pressed against one another, so just then her tongue would slip in your mouth and dance with yours. you felt so warm, everything was warm. especially the spot between your legs. her nails graze upon your back, making you shiver and want to get rid of those clothes as soon as possible. as you pull away from the kiss, a small strand of saliva still connects you, and neither of you bother to break it.

"i'll take me time with you," her lips trail kisses down your chin, to your shoulder blade, hands tightening on your torso. "take it as an apology for not giving you what you deserve, malyshka."

"Natasha," you moan, head tilting back. you allow your weight to fall on her, body completely in her grasp, utterly hers — to do as she pleased. "i-i don't blame you.. you don't have to—"

"quietly, now," she husks out, forcing your head to look at her.

she wanted you to know you could openly tell her your desires and fantasies, she needed you to. and in case that possibly happened again — you, hiding yourself — the spy needed to know every little spot that made you moan out her name, all the ways she could make you go crazy for her. make you come so much, just to remind you all she wanted to do was make you feel good, make you satisfied.

"take those pajamas off." the redhead commands gently, tugging on the silk fabric and quickly standing up from the bed.

your breath hitches again, watching her figure leave the mattress. you oblige, pulling the top over your head, and sliding the shorts down your thighs. Natasha walked over to the closet, which was coincidentally by the window. it was late night, so the moonlight shone on her hair — the beautiful red locks falling down her back. that woman, so goddamn gorgeous. your eyes were locked on her figure as she slowly god rid of the wine-red lace underwear that once covered her. she was now nude, and purposefully showing herself to you. what couldn't get better, did — you were almost drooling now. she took the strap you most liked from the dresser's drawer, putting on herself and tightening it on her hips.

"underwear off, too, princess. do i gotta remind ya?" she smirks and walks over to you, winking. when you strip out of it, she kneels down in front of the bed and pats the end of the mattress. "c'mere."

you certainly got wetter with that. crawling over, you sat where she wanted you, feet now touching the floor. she kisses your knee, and thighs, slowly spreading them. her face slowly approached your core, eyeing you intensely.

"god, you're visibly dripping." she moans, placing her hands on your hips to pull you towards her. so, she devours you.

your head tilts back instantly. the walls feel like closing in, all the sounds suddenly dying around you and the only thing you could focus on were the sensations. Natasha's experience never showed more until now — lips slowly, but surely sucking on your clitoris, then her tongue, sliding in between your folds, going deep into you.

"mhm, fuck," your mouth parts, fingers making a makeshift ponytail of her hair to get it out of the way. your body arches forwards, meeting the thrusts of her tongue in and out you. she finds your g-spot, contently humming to herself as you moan louder. "yes, yes, don't— d-don't stop,"

that familiar feeling of a knot building inside your lower stomach starts to wash over you as long as she repeats her motions, but now, it just feels.. more. it has something else to it when the person's determined to do something. doesn't take long before your eyes squeeze hard, a gasp escaping your throat, and Natasha feels your walls clenching around her tongue.

"i'm coming, i'm, i—" you quickly mutters as you come. the russian's mouth opens wider, welcoming in your sweetness. her hands gently grab onto your ribs to contain the spasms going through your body. she smiles.

"good job," she coos, pressing a kiss to your hip and crawling upwards again. she gives you time to enjoy and recover from your first high. but it was only the start.

"feel s'good, Nat," you whimper, eyebrows furrowed as you reach out for her. seeing you like this did something to her. "more."

"you want more, don't you?" she hisses, body hovering yours. her hands grab your hips, shifting your position on the bed so that you're even more in display for her. "that's good, detka. i was just making sure you're wet enough for me to fuck you, like i really want to."

she spreads your legs once more, and without warning, lines the strap towards your entrance and shoves into your pussy with little effort. you gasp loudly, feeling sensitive but deliciously filled, after so long. Natasha takes your legs and throw them over her shoulders, allowing you to feel her deeper and deeper, allowing her own body to press up against yours — hard nipples rubbing against themselves, sweaty skins gliding on each other. she gasps as well, feeling more connected to you than ever. she wondered, how good it would be to actually feel your cunt clench around her. that drove her wild. the silicone material drags up across your walls, just to completely slam in again, hips slapping soundly.

"please, oh, my goodness," you mutter, grabbing onto Natasha's arms tightly, keeping her close. her body rubbed against yours with each thrust, and you both still felt like it wasn't enough. "i fucking love you,"

"i love you so, so much, krasivaya," she huskily manages, breathing rapidly and squeezing your body with all her might. "so beautiful taking all of me."

you're barely aware of what you're doing as your hands caress up her back, shoulders and neck, savouring the feeling of her skin, and the little scars that painted the canvas of her body. the fake cock snugly brushes over and over in you, it gets hard to hold back the moans you let out in Natasha's ear. she pounds into you quickly, surprisingly finding somewhere else which made you cry out.

"oh, please, Nat," you beg, back arching off the bed. your hands slid down her hips, giving her rear a squeeze, encouraging her to go faster. "right there. right fucking there."

"so eager." she hums, continuously hitting where you wanted, before you couldn't take it anymore. your legs shook as another heavenly pleasure consumed you, an almost embarrassing moan coming out of you.

"Natasha~" your head fell back against the pillow, nails scratching her back, cum soaking the length of the toy.

your eyes stayed close for a long while — you weren't even sure how long, just when she started with slow thrusts, that eventually quieted down, and the before you knew, her head was resting right above your heart. weakly, she pulls out of you and sets the toy aside to be cleaned later.

"feeling better, baby?" she murmurs. you smile softly, satisfied. you don't speak yet. she sees your expression of bliss, and that was enough for her. "promise me you wont hide your desires from me anymore?"

you breathlessly sigh, and nod. "i promise,"

she cuddles up against you and brings you to the top of the bed with her, properly laying down on the pillows. the blankets were probably on the other corner of the world right now, but you were both too warm still, so they weren't needed.

"thank you, Nat," you murmur, curling yourself up into her. her hand cradles the back of your head, feeling your messy, tangled hair.

"always, my girl." Natasha gives your lips a final peck, and don't say anything else, nor do.

you both relaxed, but the most important, you felt cared, loved. it was undescribable how glad you were for having that woman in your life, in all aspects.

#notanactressyay #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x you #the avengers #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat #natasha marvel #natasha x you #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanov #natasha x reader smut #natasha romanoff smut

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slasherslittlesimp · 13 days ago

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Just A Little Longer (Bob Reynolds X Reader)

Despite living in the tall and luxurious Avengers tower- a tower that has hosted numerous different heroes throughout the years and is a staple in history- the people currently living in it don’t act as if they have everything they could possibly want or need at their fingertips.

They do everything on their own, never sending an assistant or anyone to do things for them. They clean their own clothes, cook their own meals, wash their own dishes. And the one thing that needs to be done the most often is grocery shopping. Feeding three super soldiers takes a lot, and food quickly runs out. They all usually take turns going out to get groceries- though Alexei has been banned from going alone due to him bothering strangers in attempts to get recognized by pointing out their specially branded cereal with their faces printed across the front.

And today, for the first time since moving into the tower, Bob gets to leave to go grocery shopping alongside Yelena.

He’s been restricted to the tower for safety reasons up until now due to his inability to control his powers, but the others managed to not only convince Valentina that he’d be fine, but to also persuade him into going by telling him that everyone else was too busy to help Yelena and he was the only one that could go. And Yelena is the one person Bob would force himself out of his comfort zone for.

So that’s how he finds himself in a seemingly massive grocery store, eyes flickering about nervously while he fiddles with his fingers, awkwardly following behind Yelena as she tosses miscellaneous items into the shopping cart while crossing them off the very long list in her hand. About halfway through the list she suddenly stops and groans, making Bob immediately ask what’s wrong.

“We already passed the aisle with one of the items in it.” She huffs slightly in annoyance at the idea of having to go back.

“I can go get it.” Bob offers, the words tumbling from his lips before he can even fully think them through.

“Can you, please?” Yelena looks up at him, her eyes filled with relief at his offer. “It’s only a few aisles away. I promise I will stay right here and wait for you.”

Once she tells him what the item is and which aisle to find it in, he nods in determination before walking away to go find it. However, the further he gets from her the more his confidence wavers. By the time he reaches the correct aisle, his mind is racing and he’s all but forgotten what it was he was supposed to be grabbing. His eyes quickly search the shelves in hopes of jogging his memory, and eventually he spots what it was he was supposed to be getting. The problem? There’s many different brands with many different prices. He knows money isn’t technically a problem, but he still doesn’t want to grab the most expensive one. Higher price doesn’t always equal higher quality, as well.

It feels like hours pass by as he stands there, staring at the items lining the shelves as if the correct one to choose will just jump out at him. It gets to the point where he feels bad about making Yelena wait for him for so long so he just blindly reaches out to grab a random brand, simply hoping that it’ll be good though. Just as his hand goes to grab it, Bob finds his breath hitching in shock when his fingertips brush against another persons hand.

He recoils instantly, yanking his hand away as if he’s been burned. He hadn’t even noticed that someone was standing next to him, too lost in thought. And he wishes he had been paying more attention because now he likely just sent a complete stranger into a horrible memory like he did to the others all those weeks ago. He’s practically spiraling at this point, thinking that he completely messed up and that it was a mistake to leave the tower.

Until he hears a voice.

“Are you okay?” The voice snaps him from his thoughts, making his eyes flicker to the stranger that he had accidentally brushed hands with. Bob half expects the person to look at him in fear, but instead he finds nothing of the sort. Instead, their eyes are shining, a soft smile on their face as they look at him with nothing but kindness.

You’re looking at him like… like he is worth looking at.

When Bob doesn’t respond to you, you simply hum in understanding, recognizing the look in his eyes- the look of someone who has experienced so much pain in life and expects too experience so much more. So, instead of pressuring him, you reach out, gently taking his hand into yours as you place the item you both reached for into his palm before closing his fingers around it. You don’t say anything. Just place it into his hand, giving his hand a soft pat, and then flash him a kind smile before turning and walking away.

It takes a moment for Bob to snap out of it. To realize what you did. He can just barely feel the warmth of your touch lingering on his skin. And as he watches you walk away, he finds himself a bit upset that he couldn’t even say anything to you. That all he’ll know you as is the kind stranger with a gentle touch and soft smile who looked at him in a way that made his heart flutter.

Bob stands there in the aisle for a while longer, still staring off at the direction you left in. And it isn’t until he hears his name being called by Yelena that he finally looks away. She questions him, asking what was taking so long and if he was alright. And all he can do in response is nod, a shy smile tugging at his lips as he thinks about the stranger he hopes to see again one day. And maybe next time he’ll actually work up the nerves to say something to you. Something that will get you to stay by his side just a bit longer.

Taglist: @rubyyym

Wrote this in one sitting at 1am and did not proofread it at all. Hopefully it’s good 🙏 there will be another part at some point

#reader insert #x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #theundyingavenger #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #the new avengers #sentry #the void #bob reynolds x reader #gender neutral reader #mcu x reader #mcu #thunderbolts x reader

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the-voice-beckons-below · 6 months ago

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the end of the (red) line

bucky barnes x steve rogers x gn! reader

synopsis: red string au, in which a thread, invisible to others, tangles you and your soulmate together. you’ve been waiting a long time to meet the person at the other end, the problem is, they keep damaging the thread, leaving you unable to track them down.

warnings: angst (it’s a fic involving bucky, it’s to be expected), fluff, reader is down bad, mentions of death, self loathing, reader is technically an orphan (blame new york not me), big muscly super soldiers !! reader is confident!

word count : 2,928

this whole red string business had cost you many nights of sleep. all your friends had been lucky, bumping into their supposed soulmate in a store or cafe, or getting a new job and seeing a prominent string dangling from their coworker’s fingers.

see, it isn’t visible at all times, which is arguably less and equally more frustrating. there’s only certain times you can follow it, or tug on it if you’re impatient. there’s a possibility you walk past your fately betrothed and you’ll miss them, because the universe decides you’re not ready.

it’s been five years since it first showed up, looped around your fingers snuggly. it happened after a nightmare, which were all too common. witnessing the attack on new york first hand had been devastating, bodies upon bodies. screams and cries and families torn apart, including your own.

it was just you now, scattered in the vast expanse of the world like a drop in the ocean. friends were distractions, only so much could tackle the constant ebbing and aching deep within your chest. tucked away so far that it was normal, like it had always been there.

it was at a bar when the familiar red showed up, and in frustration, you yanked hard. standing up from the booth with your friends and determinedly walking to try once more. the bond was fickle, or maybe, it was just yours specifically. seemingly disappearing each time some ground was made, like someone had purposely cut it.

you learnt to be fast, coiling the thread and pacing swiftly. weaving through crowded streets on a winter’s eve, eyes narrowed and scrutinising. your lips dried at the cold air, and a small voice reminded you that the jacket you’d been wearing was still slumped in the bar’s booth. was it worth it? getting cold and also getting a dead end?

the trail never seemed to end, with each tug and pull, there was no resistance. leaving a yarn-like pile puddled at your feet. it could’ve been the frustration or exasperation that triggered the next moment, gripping onto the thin crimson and jerking it with every ounce of might you had.

it wasn’t noticeable at first, but steadily a burning littered your palms. for the very first time, you’d gotten rope burn from wrenching the thread.

there was also a man who was distinctively dishevelled, like he’d been displaced.

he was littered in crimson.

not only was it looped around him, it also continued from him. which was just too much to comprehend at the given moment, was it possible to be attached to multiple people?

the man whipped his head up, almost like he’d been shocked, and belatedly met eyes with you. locking with a shudder, his gaze was almost frantic.

at the same time, you both spoke, your voice edging on angry and confused. while the stranger’s seemed unbelievably stunned.

“you!”

in all years of imagining your future partner, you’d never expected them to be so…unfairly attractive. adorned with dull blonde locks, a sharp jaw and icy blue eyes that held a depth you hadn’t prepared for. he was tall, and built, gods he could crush you.

it almost cooled the anger in your veins.

“why did you keep cutting me off?” you snapped, fists clenching from anxiety this time. had they seen you before and decided you weren’t enough? could you be enough? why wait all this time? why sever the connection over and over?

“what?” he breathed, the air in his lungs fled. the blonde’s train of thought was completely dismantled, a flicker of hurt and confusion flooded his face. “that - that wasn’t you?”

steve still remembers when it appeared. just after his major transformation from frail to superhuman. the sight caused him to stutter, whole body feeling just as weak as he was before. immediately he’d gone to find peggy, hoping it was her, she was breathtaking. first woman to see him as someone, and who looked at him with a hint of softness that he melted for each time.

and he still remembers the way his heart had plummeted upon finding out his newly acquired string was not attached to peggy. it shattered a part of him, he’d never felt like this with anyone before, and yet peggy wasn’t the one. her bold lipstick would not litter his cheeks or lips, her soft yet strong hands would not rest in his own.

it was confusing.

but what was truly heartbreaking was finding out who it was attached to.

after rescuing bucky from hydra and finally having his best friend back, steve thought maybe it would be okay not to know the person on the other side of the string. him and buck would be alright if they had each other, his fondest and happiest of memories included barnes.

on that train, time stopped. bucky dangling from a scrap of metal, steel eyes terrified and begging for steve to haul him back up.

he couldn’t reach him. he tried, god he tried.

the worst part of it all had been seeing glimmering thread falling into the snow with his best friend. he’d found and lost his soulmate - best friend, at the exact same time. it was a good thing to have crashed that jet into the ice, he was content with it. knowing if there was an afterlife, buck would be there with open arms.

but that’s just not how it went.

instead he woke up from a presumably deadly sleep.

all he had ever known was gone, apart from peggy, who after a little while, was gone too.

thread was still attached to him, he felt it, it was heavy, dragging him down in what felt like every step. the weight was there, but he didn’t see it.

not until a masked assassin stood in his path, mask strewn across concrete. his beautiful bucky was alive, and almost unrecognisable with the torment that surrounded him.

he cried that night.

eventually, after he fought through what felt like hell, he’d pulled bucky back from the torturous programming he’d been under. they’d come to realise that their thread, ignited since the 40’s had changed, it went in another direction.

“multiple soulmates huh?” buck realised, if steve was observant enough, he would’ve seen the defeat in his former best friend’s (now lover’s) language.

“i don’t think it will be a bad thing, it’s, exciting.”

bucky’s bit his lip, “maybe.”

it had taken years to let steve in again. he was on edge all of the time, was real panicky too. spent so much time locked in his room, and went between eating so much his stomach hurt and not having an appetite at all. it felt undeserving to have what he wanted, to have a soulmate, to be potentially happy after what he’d done.

the lives he’d taken.

the guilt had crushed him, and the self hatred never dulled. he didn’t deserve steve, he was too good. too sweet, too soft. too, steve.

when it became clear that someone else was out there, linked to steve and him, he panicked. it had been hard enough coming to terms that steve didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him. no one else could get close, what if he hurt them? what if they took steve?

what if this string thing didn’t work out all the time? everything was fine with steve. he felt safer than ever, with a calm so alien to him.

it wasn’t purposeful, but whenever the other string popped up, every time he went to touch it, it frayed. like the bond didn’t want him.

time after time it dissolved after bucky touched it, no matter how gentle or rough, it vanished. it was humiliating. after a while he just swiped at it whenever it did reappear, wanting it gone. it was just there to insult him. of course it would fray when he touched it, it was naive of him to think that a killer, someone drenched in the blood of others, could be wanted.

steve would disagree of course.

steve loved him with every fibre of his being, so fiercely it was near startling. it was more than he deserved. every embrace was simultaneously his oxygen and his undoing.

captain america was righteous, strong. believed in bucky and nursed him back to ‘health’ as much as he could. rogers was more than a tight suit and a impenetrable shield. he was everything.

he knew that steve was searching for their other, other half. knew that he was excited to meet them, wanted to show bucky that it would be a good thing. steve hadn’t accounted for one thing, bucky’s fear.

bucky was internally petrified of losing his everything.

he swiped at the string over and over, and the guilt was way lesser than the fear.

the name you’d gotten was steve, which you knew from the moment his trademarked straw hair and ocean eyes filled your vision, you’d quickly texted your friends not to worry.

followed string, please hold onto that jacket, it’s my favourite. i’ll be sad if you lose it :(

he had ordered two coffees, “this may take a while.” the man wrung his hands nervously, it was mildly comforting to know you weren’t the only one with a pounding heart and a sweaty brow.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be.” it had come out in a splutter, scrounging for a conversation, it would be embarrassing to confess you just wanted to hear him talk more.

the raise in his brow only made your heart thud faster, eyes becoming half amused and half apprehensive. “how so? i’m sorry if uh, don’t cut it.”

you had practically interrupted him, “no - you’re just, i mean for one you’re captain america. makes sense why i couldn’t find you, you’ve probably been all over the place.” after years of pondering about your soulmate, finally coming face to face with one of them was exhilarating and overwhelming. and you couldn’t stop talking, spilling too many words. it was a wonder that he kept up. “and secondly, you cut it, how you look is borderline unfair to the general public.”

you had caught him off guard, and his laugh, it came from his chest. deep, rich and warm. “fighting takes you all over. i’m glad - that i cut it. been worrying that you were making it disappear, that you didn’t want to see me - us.”

mid sip, you halted. he drank his own coffee with a small smile. “you uh, know the other one?”

his lips quirked up more, a fondness shining in his pupils, “you could say that.” steve cleared his throat, thumbing the handle of the coffee cup, “i’ve known him my whole life,” he hesitated, “his name is bucky.”

everyone who’d paid attention to the news was aware who this ‘bucky’ was. captain america’s best friend who was taken in by hydra and brainwashed so severely he’d lost himself along the way, who was used as a weapon for a long, long time.

steve was prepared for a bad reaction, people weren’t always understanding when it came to buck. more often than not, they’d call him a killer or become uncomfortable. it made him incredibly protective, and he struggled to stay present in a conversation after judging bucky so poorly.

“you don’t need to be on edge you know.” you spoke, spotting the super soldier’s tense posture. “i know who he is,” you started carefully, sweeping across the expanse of steve’s face, “and anyone with a brain knows what happened to him, is not his fault.”

steve inhaled with a shaky, but relieved breath. “thank yo-“

“you don’t need to,” you cut in, “i’ve been waiting for years, for you, for you both technically.” a blush quickly swarmed your cheeks, and you broke the eye contact between the two of you. the rest of the sentence was silent, but steve would’ve decoded it as: i don’t give up so easily.

being connected by fate to one extremely attractive man was already hard to grasp. but two of them? it was almost sending you to an early grave. it was easy to see just from a small interaction that steve was sweet, protective, handsome and you were bound to him.

“he’s a tough nut to crack.” a part of you laughed at the innuendo, but outwardly, just managed to keep it in. “he’s probably worried, said i’d be back by 5, always make sure im never late.”

“trying to escape already?” you teased, before asking for his number. he fumbled around with his phone, shaking his head at your question. it was slightly endearing how steve’s fingers shook as he pulled up his contact details. despite the pair of you trying to appear confident, you were equally as nervous and giddy.

as soon as you finished inputting the information, the door to the cafe dinged, and in walked the reincarnation of sin itself. brown messy hair and the most hypnotising steel irises. red thread wrapped around the metal of his arm beautifully. you sucked in a breath, not out of fear of who bucky was, but the dawning realisation you were linked with perhaps the prettiest men on earth.

his face was hard set, pulled taut and serious. clinically, and methodically, he swept over the cafe until he found his target. the tension from the man visibly eased, enough so that he didn’t even clock the person sitting across from steve. who, if he had noticed, was staring at him unashamedly.

“it’s 6, you’re never late.” bucky narrowed his stare pointedly, quickly checking to see if steve was perhaps held back by an injury. when he found nothing, he almost looked offended.

steve’s lids fluttered at the timbre of his partners voice greeting him, “mhm.” amusement quickly overcame his expression, “well, i was busy.”

“busy with what?” bucky almost growled, frowning at the pleased glint present in steve’s pupils, and how his partner seemed smug. he was happy about not coming home? he’d been waiting at home like a damn dog, until noticing the string and following it to steve like he was on a mission. steve shifted to look at you, and couldn’t help the smile that burst from him. oh you were perfect. not afraid or judgmental of bucky at all, you instead looked all but ready to devour the ex assassin.

at steve’s silence, and sudden interest looking at something else, bucky cranked his head to the side. all words dying on his tongue the second he caught onto you, the string cocooning you and your ecstatic half crinkled eyes. “oh.”

“oh.” steve echoed with a poorly hidden smirk, anxiety tugging at his chest, waiting to see how bucky would react. it all depended on this moment.

it was basically a staring contest with the amount of eye contact between the two of you. it was like bucky was searching for something within you, trying to dig into your core and assess what laid there. “this is an acceptable reason for being late.” and with that, he turned away.

steve sighed exasperated, “i’m sorry for him, that, that was rude buck.” back in the 40’s bucky was an unrivalled gentleman, polite to women and men alike. he was guarded, too much so. steve had desperately wanted to forge a connection with their third partner, and didn’t expect bucky to seem almost against it.

“don’t apologise for me.” he withheld a small scowl, flicking back and forth between steve and you. it didnt deter you, rationally maybe it should have, but you waited 5 years. you’d be damned if you gave up on the first hurdle. steve had said he was a ‘tough nut to crack’, so cracked he would be.

“it’s alright,” you waved steve’s concern off, “it’s good to meet you, years of waiting was worth it.” you raised your hand expectantly, bucky hesitated, until stubbornly wrapping his metal fingers around your flesh ones. the lack of alarm or fright from touching the metal limb had him faltering.

you truly weren’t affected by him or the history and baggage he carried.

with a confidence you weren’t sure you had, you leant closer, heart hammering at a speed that felt dangerous. slowly, and tentatively, you placed a tender kiss upon the back of the silver hand. bucky’s reaction was a sucked in breath and a sharp twitch in the prosthetic limb. it was almost as if he’d felt the sensation coursing through him. “i am sorry for keeping your partner, do forgive me.”

“i’ll think about it.” his stoic facade bled at the edges, challenged by the smallest lopsided lift of his lips. “here again, tomorrow at 2.” he all but demanded, pulling away and walking towards steve.

“bucky! you can’t just - buck!” the blonde groaned, jumping at bucky interlinking their hands and dragging him away. before he was completely swept, steve fumbled through his wallet and laid money on the table for the coffees, “i hope tomorrow at 2 is convenient.”

“i’ll think about it.” you replied, slyly laughing at steve before he disappeared through the glass cafe door.

there was no doubt about it, they would cram into every space hidden within your head, without any resistance. one interaction with them both, and you were a goner.

you leant into your hands, muffling the borderline painful grin painted on your face. after a moment, you turned on your phone, sending the fastest text.

you are never going to believe this, i’m coming back for my jacket, and for drinks.

your index hovered over the new contact in your phone, and before you could think it through, you typed away.

you both cut it ps. do you or bucky want flowers or chocolates?

a/n: so i started this fic today, and it was meant to be a very short one, more of a drabble than anything. i’ve become more attached than initially expected, and it became a longer fic. divider credits are me just in case anyone was about to ask about them, i might post them!! i think i need some more to do a batch though.

i don’t normally see more confident readers/a mix of flustered and confident, and i’m not sure how well received it will be because of that. i hope there’s people that can appreciate a cheeky hand kiss and a little bit of flustered steve and bucky. reader would spoil them both, gifts and open affection, would be so supportive and protective, steve and bucky would end up so possessive of them in return.

i hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it !! merry early christmas <33

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auroracalisto · 5 months ago

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loki x gn!reader, 574 words summary: loki's angry, trying to push you away. just a few soft gestures will make him melt. a/n: technical established friendship? could be relationship if you squint.

Loki was angry. That was understandable. The anger seeping off of him like a thick smoke traced his every movement. His eyes were locked onto you, keeping you from breathing; he wouldn't just let you be there with him.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

His words had far more bite than his voice, though. He knew why you were there, just as much as he knew why he was angry. But he wouldn't tell you that. He would rather settle in his anger than let you in on what had upset him so, regardless of how that made you feel. Regardless of how alone it subsequently made him.

You had come to Asgard with the prince—a human who had first been friends with Thor and then gained the trust of his brother. You had been here time and time again, but never once had you seen the true effects of their father. Thor had been upset, but not like Loki was.

What had he even said to him to make him react this way?

"I came to see if you were okay," you softly said, arms wrapping around your torso. You kept your eyes on his.

"You should leave."

"I'm not leaving."

Your voice remained the same—soft, steady, and only giving truthful words. You weren't leaving him just because he said that—not unless he truly meant it. And as of right now, you knew your dear friend didn't mean it.

He swallowed thickly and looked away from you, peering out the window of his room.

"What happened, Loki?"

"Nothing."

"Loki..."

He clenched his jaw.

"It is nothing that a lowly Midgardian should worry themselves with," he said, turning to face you. "You have no reason to even be here. Will you listen to me for once and leave?"

You paused.

"I'm not leaving, Loki," you said.

"No?" he said, blinking slowly as he watched you. He took a step closer, tilting his head. "You Midgardians are so full of yourselves. Leave, before I make you regret it."

"Look, Loki, I—"

"I am not asking!" his voice boomed, and he crossed the room to you in a matter of seconds. He grabbed you by your shoulders, giving you a good shake as he looked down at you. His hands are cold, and he wants you to think that he is furious, but you can feel the way he trembles.

"Leave me," he said, but he doesn't have as much gumption as he once did. He stared you down, eyes searching yours. "Please."

"Is that truly what you want?" you softly asked, gently grabbing onto his wrists to pull them away from your shoulders.

"Yes."

You frowned softly, watching him. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek in goodbye.

His arms suddenly wrapped around your body, pulling you close. You yelped softly in surprise, your arms going around his torso as he hugged onto you.

"What—"

"—I changed my mind," he simply said, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He sucked in a shaky breath, just holding you.

You said nothing more, resting against him. Clearly, whatever had happened had gotten to him. You wondered if he'd ever had a shoulder to cry on—a body to hold when the pains of the world seeped into his very pores.

No matter—you'd be that for him, if he wanted you to be.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #fanfic #loki odinson #loki mcu #mcu #marvel #marvel x reader #avengers #thor #asgard

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blank-potato · 20 days ago

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Kitchen Hazard

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader x Yelena Belova

Summary:

“I…” Bob says, stepping forward to take one for the team before Yelena stops him. Patting him on the shoulder as if throwing herself on the grenade for him. You smile at her as she takes a small bite. As soon as it hits her tongue, her mouth is immediately assaulted with an overwhelming burst of sourness and a hefty helping of… salt? What on earth did you put in them? “It's delicious,” She wheezes with a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek. It was not. You can't cook for shit. Or You can't cook, and you're a massive distraction in the kitchen, but they love you regardless.

WC: 2.0K

A/N: A little fluff kinda crackfic I started the night after I watched Thunderbolts, and I'm finally getting it out my drafts

You were trying your best, the whole team could see that.

“Somebody taste this.”

You weren't exactly the most well-adjusted, but thankfully, no one on the team was. But one of the only things that made you feel calm was cooking. It was your way of getting away from all the stabbing, shooting and kicking your superhero day job affords you. It also allowed you to show the team how much you loved being with them and how much you cared about them. Because the way to someone’s heart is through their stomach, at least that’s what you’d learnt from TV.

You pout, looking around as you offer your cupcakes, but no one has even moved, except Ava, who had phased out of existence as soon as you turned around with the tray in your hands.

“Bob? Yelena?” You ask, fluttering your eyes at them. You knew they could never say no to you. You were each other’s something, you hadn’t exactly put a label on it, but they loved you, they loved each other, and you loved them, which means they were more often than not your cooking test subjects.

“I…” Bob says, stepping forward to take one for the team before Yelena stops him.

Patting him on the shoulder as if throwing herself on the grenade for him. You smile at her as she takes a small bite. As soon as it hits her tongue, her mouth is immediately assaulted with an overwhelming burst of sourness and a hefty helping of… salt? What on earth did you put in them?

“It's delicious,” She wheezes with a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

It was not.

You can't cook for shit.

The first time you made cookies, they came out so hard that they could’ve been used as weapons. In fact, you ended up leaving a small bruise on John’s head when you threw one at his head when he said they had more in common with rocks than cookies. You apologised profusely afterwards, but you still thought they weren’t that bad, maybe John’s head was just soft.

But that was hardly the last time you hurt someone with your food. Like when you almost poisoned and killed Bucky with your experimental fusion noodles, which tasted, according to him, like what he imagines jet fuel must taste like.

Or the time you attempted to make soup for Ava when she was sick, and you managed to overcook the meat and vegetables in it. She had no voice, a fever, and still managed to croak out, "Is the soup supposed to be black?"

Not to mention that every other thing you made was unbearably spicy. At one point, John even started inspecting your spice usage like he was defusing a bomb.

Your cooking could be considered biological warfare.

“You really like it?” you ask, your eyes sparkling with pride. You really tried this time. You measured things (mostly), followed instructions (kind of), and only deviated from the recipe a tiny bit to add your own special touches. Which, in reality, meant you went completely off the wall and threw in everything that looked “inspired.”

“It’s…” she says slowly, her eye twitching just a little as she fights to keep the smile on her face, “…perfect.”

There’s a beat of silence before she clears her throat and adds, “Really… unique flavour profile.”

“Great! Dig in,” You exclaim, pushing the cupcakes in front of her. Bob feels his stomach lurch at the thought of having to eat it all and is eternally thankful to Yelena and her seemingly iron stomach.

“I can cook dinner too—”

“No!” came the resounding chorus from everyone in the room, except Alexei, who somehow didn’t mind your food and would always be reaching for seconds with alarming enthusiasm.

“That’s not necessary. Let Bob and I do it,” Yelena cut in quickly, a flicker of fear in her eyes like she was remembering the great ‘Turkey Incident’ of last Thanksgiving. They still got war flashbacks every time a turkey was so much as mentioned.

You blink, the hopeful smile on your face slowly melting into a confused, almost pouty frown.

“But… I can help. I want to help,” you say, your voice softening with genuine intent, oblivious to the silent, panicked glances being exchanged behind you.

Bob watches you for a moment, and he understands that feeling all too well, wanting to be of use to the rest of the team and not feel like dead weight. He smiles gently, leaning over the counter and taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.

“You can keep us company instead,” Bob suggests softly, his eyes warm and reassuring.

You nod slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing as you return the faint smile. “Sounds good,” you murmur, squeezing his hand in return.

The three of you enter the kitchen and look around.

“So, what are we making?” you ask, hopping up onto the counter briefly before deciding maybe that’s not the best idea with Yelena around. You have found yourself pinned against one or two with intense makeout sessions following after and you should probably let them actually cook...probably.

“Creamy tomato pasta. If we try anything else, I’m scared we’ll burn the place down,” Yelena replies dryly, already grabbing tomatoes and garlic from the counter with practised ease.

You watch them fall into a rhythm, working in surprising harmony. Bob is boiling the kettle and starting to gather other ingredients, while Yelena multitasks like a pro, heating oil and prepping a pan. It’s almost domestic. Who are you kidding? It is domestic.

“Do you know where the basil is?” she asks, not looking up.

“Grab it for me?” she adds a beat later.

Bob reaches over her, brushing slightly against her side as you snag the fresh basil from the windowsill planter, handing it over with a little flourish. She smirks, not missing the theatrics.

“Can you open this for me?” Bob suddenly asks, holding out a stubborn jar to Yelena.

You raise an eyebrow. “You could crush that jar with your pinky.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly, “but it’s more fun when she does it.”

Yelena rolls her eyes but takes it, popping the lid off with a casual twist like it was nothing. “Hopeless,” she mutters playfully, setting it down on the counter.

He lingers, sticking closer to her, hovering a bit too obviously over Yelena’s shoulder as she preps ingredients. You exchange a glance with her, trying not to laugh.

“What?” she asks with a knowing smirk, catching his gaze.

“Just go cut onions,” Yelena adds, nudging him away with her elbow.

He obeys, letting out a sigh before grabbing the cutting board and starting to slice.

Both you and Yelena keep a not-so-subtle eye on him, watching his clumsy but careful movements. His eyes dart to both of you.

“I’m being careful, okay? I won’t cut myself. Invincible, remember?” he says, feigning confidence.

You don’t say anything, but you remain close. Curious, quiet, and maybe a little mesmerised as you watch his hands work. There’s something oddly calming about the way Bob moves: precise, steady, almost delicate despite his size. He’s focused, thoughtful, and your eyes follow the subtle shifts of his fingers, the crease of his brow, the way his lips part slightly in concentration.

It’s… entrancing.

Your skills of observation come in handy a few moments later when you notice his nose twitch ever so slightly. He clearly doesn’t want to break focus, but it’s distracting him.

Anticipating his needs, you reach over and gently scratch the side of his nose for him.

His shoulders relax, and he exhales with a laugh. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Turning your sights over to Yelena, you notice she forgot to put on an apron—again. With a dramatic sigh and a teasing shake of your head, you grab one off the hook.

“Let me put this on you,” you say, holding it out.

Yelena raises a brow but obliges, dipping her head slightly with a smirk tugging at her lips.

You slip the apron over her and step behind her to tie it, fingers brushing gently against her back as you secure the strings. You can feel her tense ever so slightly under your touch, but she doesn’t move away; in fact, she leans back just a bit.

“There. Now you won’t ruin another one of your ‘cool assassin’ shirts with tomato sauce,” you say with a playful nudge to her shoulder.

“I would make tomato sauce look badass on my shirts, but I get your point,” she quips, turning her head to glance at you over her shoulder, that smirk now fully formed.

“I’m the best sous chef anyone can ask for,” you chirp with a confident grin. Seeing a smudge of sauce on the corner of Yelena’s mouth, you lean in and kiss it off, marvelling at the taste as your lips brush hers.

“It tastes so good,” you murmur, cooing over the tiny bit you tasted on her lips before turning back to the pot, taking a spoonful and humming in delight.

“Yeah?” Yelena muses with a smirk, clearly amused by your enthusiasm.

“Bob, you have to try some,” you say, not even giving him a second to react before you reach up and kiss him quickly on the lips. “Good, right?”

Bob flushes a bright red, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, it’s uh—” he stammers, coughing slightly as his body tries to recover from you making his heart skip a beat.

“You guys might just be better than me at cooking,” you say with a playful grin, leaning in toward him. His hands immediately fly up, cradling your face, but then he pulls back.

“Wait, my hands are onion-y, I don’t want to make you cry,” Bob says, a little sheepishly.

“Then don’t use your hands,” you tease, eyes sparkling.

You lean in again to kiss him, and he’s forced to keep his hands by his sides, despite clearly wanting to cup your face and deepen the kiss.

Pulling back with a mischievous smile, you reach out, grabbing Yelena and tugging her closer. “I’m cooking.”

“Not anymore,” you declare firmly, determined to kiss your not-quite-girlfriend, not-quite-boyfriend, because honestly, dinner didn’t matter anymore.

You wrap your arms around her, starting to kiss her neck as Bob’s lips trail over yours. His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer.

“We need to—” Yelena starts to say, but neither of you are listening.

Your hands are wandering, and honestly, you don’t even know whose hands are where anymore. Nothing could pull you apart.

Well, except for a fire.

Suddenly, the only sound in the room isn’t the soft brushing of lips or the quiet gasps—it’s the loud whoosh of a pot catching fire, flames licking upward, smoke building fast, filling the air.

You dramatically scream in pure horror, as Yelena rushes forward, swearing fiercely in Russian while searching for something to smother the flames.

“I’ve killed us, I’ve killed us all!” you wail, like you’ve discovered you had actually been switched at birth. Melodrama seemed to suit you quite nicely, another cute attribute they liked about you.

Bob quickly wraps his arms around you, his voice calm and steady as he gently strokes your hair. “It’s just a small fire, see? Yelena is taking care of it.”

Within seconds, Yelena smothers the fire, the smoke beginning to clear.

She turns to you both with a sharp look, her tone a mix of warning and amused exasperation.

“What did we learn?”

“Never leave the stove unattended,” you say with a pout.

“And?” Bob asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t distract the cooks when they’re cooking…” You reply, giving a small shrug.

“Can we just order food?” you suggest, admitting defeat. They both nod in agreement, no way they're letting you anywhere near the kitchen for a while. You were a hazard, whether you were actually cooking or not.

You start to help them clean, the some smoke still comes out as Ava walks in, eyes wide. “What did you do in there?” she asks, taking in the smoky room and the faint scent of burnt tomato sauce.

Masterlist

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