#running in the cold in Central park

[reasonsforhope]

"In Northern California, a Native American tribe is celebrating the return of ancestral lands in one of the largest such transfers in the nation’s history.

Through a Dept. of the Interior initiative aiming to bring indigenous knowledge back into land management, 76 square miles east of the central stretch of the Klamath River has been returned to the Yurok tribe.

Sandwiched between the newly-freed Klamath and forested hillsides of evergreens, redwoods, and cottonwoods, Blue Creek is considered the crown jewel of these lands, though if it were a jewel it wouldn’t be blue, it would be a giant colorless diamond, such is the clarity of the water.

Pictured: Blue Creek

It’s the most important cold-water tributary of the Klamath River, and critical habitat for coho and Chinook salmon. Fished and hunted on since time immemorial by the Yurok and their ancestors, the land was taken from them during the gold rush before eventually being bought by timber companies.

Barry McCovey Jr., director of the Yurok Tribal Fisheries Department, remembers slipping past gates and dodging security along Blue Creek just to fish up a steelhead, one of three game fish that populate the river and need it to spawn.

Profiled along with the efforts of his tribe to secure the land for themselves and their posterity, he spoke to AP about the experience of seeing plans, made a decade ago, come to fruition, and returning to the creek on which he formerly trespassed as a land and fisheries manager.

“To go from when I was a kid and 20 years ago even, from being afraid to go out there to having it be back in tribal hands … is incredible,” he said.

Part of the agreement is that the Yurok Tribe would manage the land to a state of maximum health and resilience, and for that the tribe has big plans, including restoring native prairie, using fire to control understory growth, removing invasive species, restoring native fish habitat, and undoing decades of land-use changes from the logging industry in the form of culverts and logging roads.

“And maybe all that’s not going to be done in my lifetime,” said McCovey. “But that’s fine, because I’m not doing this for myself.”

The Yurok Tribe were recently at the center of the nation’s largest dam removal, a two decades-long campaign to remove a series of four hydroelectric dams along the Klamath River. Once the West Coast’s third-largest salmon run, the Klamath dams substantially reduced salmon activity.

Completed last September, the before and after photographs are stunning to witness. By late November, salmon had already returned far upriver to spawn, proving that instinctual information had remained intact even after a century of disconnect.

Pictured; Klamath River flows freely, after Copco-2 dam was removed in California

“Seeing salmon spawning above the former dams fills my heart,” said Joseph L. James, chairman of the Yurok Tribe, the leaders of the dam removal campaign along with the Karuk and Klamath tribes.

“Our salmon are coming home. Klamath Basin tribes fought for decades to make this day a reality because our future generations deserve to inherit a healthier river from the headwaters to the sea.”

Last March, GNN reported that the Yurok Tribe had also become the first of America’s tribal nations to co-manage land with the National Park Service under a historic memorandum of understanding involving Redwoods National Park.

The nonprofit Save the Redwoods bought a piece of land adjacent to the park, which receives 1 million visitors annually and is a UNESCO Natural Heritage Site, and handed it over to the Yurok for stewardship.

The piece of land, which contained giant redwoods, recovered to such an extent that the NPS has incorporated it into the Redwoods trail network, and the two agencies will cooperate in ensuring mutual flourishing between two properties and one ecosystem.

Back at Blue Creek, AP reports that work has already begun clearing non-native conifer trees planted for lumber. The trunks will be used to create log jams in the creek for wildlife habitat.

Costing $56 million, the land was bought from the loggers by Western Rivers Conservancy, using a mixture of fundraising efforts including private capital, low interest loans, tax credits, public grants and carbon credit sales.

The sale was part of a movement called Land Back, which involves returning ownership of once-native lands of great importance to tribes for the sake of effective stewardship. [Note: This is a weirdly limited definition of Land Back. Land Back means RETURN STOLEN LAND, PERIOD.] Studies have shown around the tropics that indigenous-owned lands in protected areas have higher forest integrity and biodiversity than those owned by national governments.

Land Back has seen 4,700 square miles—equivalent to one and a half-times the size of Yellowstone National Park—returned to tribes through land buy-back agreements in 15 states." [Note: Since land buyback agreements aren't the only form of Land Back, the total is probably (hopefully) more than that.]

-via Good News Network, June 10, 2025

[sunsburns]

the complete knock (ii) — bob reynolds

⟢ synopsis. joaquín convinced you to stay in new york as a chance to regroup... and maybe look into who the hell this bob guy is. and just when things could not get any worse, john walker finds you both under the ruse of wanting to talk.

⟢ contains. spoilers for thunderbolts*, sequel to this fic right here! a lot of plot. reader is described as female. reader and joaquín are sambucky children of divorce :( joaquín is sooo baby brother. a bit of stalking happens, walker is a punching bag (i love him tho), reader is crazy stubborn, #justiceforsamwilson.

⟢ wc: 21.2k+

⟢ author’s note. bob wears bunny slippers. that is all i had to say.

You should’ve been halfway back to Washington by now. Maybe already unpacking your bag in your bedroom, or sitting shoulder to shoulder with Joaquín on the couch while Sam paced in front of you both, jaw clenched, hands on his hips and brow furrowed like he was about to crack the floor with how hard he was pacing back and forth. He’d be muttering something about how disappointed he was, how you went behind his back and dragged yourself into this morning’s breaking news cycle.

Instead, you were still in New York, sitting across from Joaquín in a café that toed the line between ‘upscale diner’ and ‘hipster brunch spot.’ Somewhere in Mid-Manhattan, near enough to the buzz of the city, but tucked just far enough to feel like a secret. Still, it was too close to the watchtower for your liking, just down the street.

The café had all the trimmings of old New York: polished floors, and red leather booths, but filtered through the lens of reclaimed wood walls and Edison bulbs.

It was early enough that there were only a handful of people occupying the other booths. Old soul music hummed softly from the speakers overhead, and a couple of waitresses bustled between tables, laughing in Spanish. There was a white man across from you who was poking into his own breakfast with a strange mannerism only filthy rich people would have.

The mug of coffee in your hands had gone lukewarm. The latte art was so nice that it made you hesitate even to drink it, but you also wondered if you could force yourself to have an appetite after last night.

Joaquín had convinced you to stay just a little longer; said it might help you feel better. He sat in front of you in the booth, wearing an I LOVE NYC shirt, sipping from his cold brew as if he hadn’t dragged you out of bed at five in the morning for a run around Central Park that took an hour and then saw the sunrise. Which then became a detour to Times Square before it got crowded. Which then became breakfast out, because apparently, room service wasn’t “authentically New York enough.”

And now? Now you were here. Staring into a latte you didn’t ask for, stomach coiled too tight to even think about food, wishing you could leave the city already.

You hadn’t said much since leaving the gala. Not in the van, not in the elevator ride up to your hotel room, not even when Joaquín offered to stay. You’d nodded, locked the door behind him, and then downed whatever overpriced minibar bottle of tequila you could find. Maybe two.

You kept replaying it all. The way the crowd went quiet when the cameras caught you with Valentina. The fake smile politeness as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and whispered poison in your ear.

The words still echoed: What’s loyalty really worth?

She wanted you to betray Sam, as if enough people hadn’t already done that.

And then there was Bob.

Fuck that guy.

Fuck Bob.

You went back to nursing your coffee, eyes glazed, ears barely catching the low hum of the voice of the lawyer Joaquín had hired as he explained your legal options. You weren’t sure what he was saying. Something about image rights, team misrepresentation, staying away from De Fontaine and possible lawsuits: you nodded because it was easier than arguing.

Joaquín said you would stay just until noon like this city hadn’t already taken enough energy from you. And you agreed because part of you still hadn’t figured out what to do next.

Besides, it was only eight-thirty in the morning by the time you both got your drinks.

“…And those are just a few steps I’d recommend moving forward,” the lawyer said smoothly, adjusting his glasses as he sat back. “I’ll be honest, this isn’t exactly my usual wheelhouse, but I think we’ve got a decent case if we frame the whole thing as a misunderstanding. Especially if De Fontaine keeps using ‘Avengers’ without clearance.”

His tone was calm. Unbothered. Confident, even. You couldn’t tell if that made you feel better or worse. You probably could have avoided this entire situation if you had stayed home and told Congressman Gary to suck it.

“Yeah, thanks,” Joaquín said brightly, finally glancing up from his laptop.

The man stood, reaching for the sleek red cane that rested against the booth. “Well, you’ve got my number,” he said. “Call if you need anything. I’m happy to keep looking into it.”

“Thanks, Matt,” Joaquín said again, giving him a grateful smile.

“Seriously,” you added, your voice a touch warmer now. Maybe it was the way Matt had actually made the whole mess sound… manageable. “Thank you.”

Matt turned in your direction, that easy smile not fading. “Don’t worry. If you want to push the misunderstanding narrative, you’ll be fine. And if Valentina keeps branding this team as Avengers, there’s a solid case for misrepresentation, especially if your likeness is being used to imply endorsement.”

You nodded. “Right. Yeah. Got it. Thanks.”

Matt paused, as if catching the hesitation in your voice. “You’ll be okay,” he said, then offered a small wave as he made his way toward the door.

Joaquín watched him leave, the bell above the café door giving a soft chime as it swung shut behind him. Then he turned back to you with a grin that was way too proud for someone who’d just hired a lawyer from a newspaper ad. “He seems nice.”

You narrowed your eyes over the rim of your coffee mug. “Where’d you find that guy?”

He pursed his lips, “You said we needed a lawyer. I got us a lawyer. He has really good reviews on Yelp. One of the best in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hell’s Kitchen? You made that pour man come all the way down here for us?”

“He offered,” Joaquín said defensively, “Matt said he preferred to meet in person anyway. Besides, we need someone who’s not scared of Valentina. The man literally sues billionaires in his spare time.”

You set your mug down a little too hard, making it clink against the saucer. “We have lawyers. Sam knows people. Actual governmental legal teams. With offices. Why didn’t you call one of them?”

“I didn’t realize we needed the god of lawyers to step in,” he muttered, exasperated as he rolled his eyes. “Relax. We’ve got more than enough to blow this thing wide open. The press photos alone are enough to raise suspicion, and the way Valentina keeps parading that ‘New Avengers’ name around? That’s grounds for a cease and desist.”

You leaned back in the booth, rubbing your temple as you exhaled. “We don’t have as much as you think.”

“But we will.”

You didn’t respond, you just turned your head and focused out the window again. Outside, the city moved on without you. Pedestrians marched by in layers of spring coats and scarves, dodging puddles and taxis like it was all muscle memory. There was something comforting about how oblivious they all were, how none of them had been at that gala last night or had their name blasted across every trending tag before noon.

Inside, the warm smell of eggs and expensive coffee lingered in the air, but you couldn’t shake the sourness sitting in your stomach.

Joaquín, thankfully, didn’t push. He went back to typing on his laptop, though you could tell the silence was killing him. His foot bounced under the table. Occasionally, he muttered something to himself, probably reviewing the security cam footage from the gala again, probably rewatching the exact moment Valentina draped an arm over your shoulders like she owned you.

The two of you were dressed down, in civilian clothes (if Joaquín’s tourist merch would count as such), and baseball caps pulled low. Your sunglasses sat folded beside the ketchup bottle and sugar packets, next to the fresh copy of this morning’s Daily Bugle. Your photo was front-page centre. The shot of you in the dress, frozen between Valentina and Yelena, half-turning like you weren’t sure if you wanted to be there or bolt.

At least you looked pretty.

You wondered if Bob had seen it.

The thought hit you suddenly, out of nowhere, and lodged itself in your chest like a splinter. You hadn’t even realized you were still thinking about him, not actively, anyway, but the memory of his face lingered stubbornly. The way he’d looked at you like he didn’t know whether to reach for you or let you go. The way he’d said your name, low and careful. Like it mattered. He felt like a scent on your jacket or a song stuck in your teeth. Something stupid and soft that wouldn’t let go.

You pressed a hand against your thigh under the table, grounding yourself. It wasn’t the time.

A waitress approached not long after, balancing two plates in her arms with the practiced grace of someone who’d been doing it since before either of you were born. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, a pencil tucked behind her ear, and she gave your table a friendly smile.

“Three pancakes, three eggs, and three sausages?”

Joaquín perked up immediately, pulling down his headphones and sliding his laptop to the side like he hadn’t been glued to it for the past twenty minutes. “That’s me, thank you.”

“Berry waffles?”

You raised your hand, and she set the plate down gently in front of you before asking if there was anything else either of you wanted. You both politely declined, and she left.

Joaquín didn’t waste a second. He picked up his fork and immediately began cutting into his mountain of food. Syrup pooled fast over his eggs and sausages.

You just stared at your plate. The waffles were warm, the fruit arranged in neat little clusters, but your stomach still felt like it had been twisted into knots. You poked at a strawberry without much commitment.

“So,” Joaquín said between bites, reaching for his cold brew and sipping loudly from the straw just to get your attention like a child.

You didn’t look up, just stabbed a strawberry on your plate.

He tried again. “Do you… Do you wanna talk about it?”

That time, you met his eyes. His smile was soft and a little tentative, but he was holding himself like he expected you to throw your drink in his face. His shoulders were hunched, eyes flicking between you and his plate like he was bracing for impact.

“Talk about what?”

He blinked at you, then gave a pointed look. “Last night.”

You frowned, “We already debriefed.”

“I—I know that,” he said, fork mid-air. “I meant, like, talk about it to me. As friends. Just… me and you. Like we usually do.”

You didn’t answer right away. The quiet between you stretched long enough for the sounds of the diner to filter in again; the clatter of dishes, the sizzle from the kitchen, someone laughing faintly three booths over. Then you sighed, setting your fork down with a metallic clink against the ceramic.

“It’s just...” Joaquín tried again, not looking at you now, like the words would land better if he said them sideways. “You’ve been kinda like… a pain in the ass. To put it nicely.”

That drew a faint grin from you, brief, reluctant, but real. No one could needle you quite like him. Maybe that’s why you both worked. Maybe that’s why it always worked. You rolled your eyes, not quite ready to give in.

“I just don’t understand why you got us a lawyer off Yelp.”

Joaquín pulled a face, somewhere between defensive and done-with-you. “It’s not about the lawyer, man.”

“It kinda is, though.”

“No, it’s not. I’m talking about what Valentina said to you.” His voice dipped low, more careful now. “And… y’know. That Bob guy.”

“Can we not?” you muttered. The words left your mouth too quickly. “Not here, Quín.”

He didn’t say anything. Just watched you for a second longer, his fork hovering above his plate like he was debating whether to say more. Then he dipped his head, gave a short nod, and went back to his food.

You cut another piece of waffle and chewed slowly. It was good, golden and fluffy, the syrup pooling around the edges—but it didn’t warm you the way it should’ve. Didn’t ease the dull pressure blooming in your chest.

Across from you, Joaquín had only taken a few more bites before he set his fork down and wiped his hands on a napkin. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice a little quieter this time. More careful.

“We’ve done a lot of missions together, right?”

You glanced at him, wary. “Right.”

He nodded, like you’d confirmed something only he knew how to track. “And we’ve both done our fair share of flirting here and there. You know… for the job. Sometimes not for the job.”

You gave him a look, already spotting the slow grin building on his face. “Not this again.”

“I’m just saying, we do pretty well for ourselves. I do especially well.” He smiled. “Like, remember that Peruvian girl from last month—?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, spotting that dumb smile on his face he only has when he's about to say something stupid. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, remember how I—”

You didn’t even let him finish. “Oh my god,” you groaned, putting your fork down again. “Is there a point to this story? Because I really don’t think I can stomach hearing about that one again.”

He had the decency to look mildly sheepish—just a flush rising to the tips of his ears—but it didn’t stop him from doubling down.

“It was good sex.”

You snorted. “Mediocre at best.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“And yet, I know you need to get laid more. You talk about this girl like she changed your life, and then you follow it up with ‘she liked my jacket.’ That’s it. That’s the story. You slept with her, and she left the next morning.”

“She did like my jacket,” he muttered defensively, half under his breath.

“You need to get laid more.” You repeated into your coffee.

“I need to get laid more?” he scoffed, eyes narrowing. “You need to get laid more.”

You leaned forward just slightly, squinting at him like you dared him to double down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He blinked at you, deadpan. “You know what it means.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It means,” he said, drawing the words out slowly for dramatic effect, “you need to get laid.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. “I get laid.”

“Not enough,” he shot back, mimicking your tone with a mockery of concern in his voice.

You jabbed your fork in his direction. “More than you.”

“Sure.” He waved his hand dismissively, like he’d already let you win for the sake of moving on. He tugged the brim of his cap lower over his forehead, leaning back into the booth. “Can we circle back to the actual point here?”

“Whatever,” you muttered, voice low, flat. You stabbed at your waffles again, syrup pooling under your fork.

He pointed at you then, vaguely, as if trying to name something intangible. “See, this is what I’m talking about.”

You didn’t look at him, but he kept going.

“You’re off. Last night, you took a few hits—I mean, emotionally. I’ve never seen you like that before. Not really.” He scratched at the side of his jaw. “Valentina was just trying to get in your head, you know that, right?”

You let out a bitter, breathy laugh and grabbed the newspaper from beside the salt shaker. “It’s working.” You held it up with both hands and shook it for emphasis. “‘Reformed or Recruited? Meet the New Face at The New Avengers’ Table.’” You slapped it down in front of him, the headline side up. “I could kill her.”

“Okay,” Joaquín said, glancing around the café, lifting both brows. “Maybe don’t say that so loudly in public?”

You ignored him, still staring at the article. “It’s just—she talks like she’s already won. Every word out of her mouth is loaded. Like no matter what you say, she’s already said it in her head and spun it into something smarter. It’s so fucking frustrating.”

Joaquín didn’t interrupt. You kept going.

“She knows things. Things she shouldn’t. About me. About you. About everyone. And the way she talked about Bucky—” Your voice dipped again. “She’s got him on a leash. She has to be blackmailing him. There’s no other reason he’d stick around a group like that. You remember how long it took for him to even trust us? How much work Sam put in for us? And now she’s got him sitting next to Walker and a bunch government rejects that should be facing lifetimes in jail.”

Joaquín was quiet for a second, stirring his drink with the tip of his straw. “I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing. Maybe she’s got something from his Winter Soldier days. Something buried.”

“Maybe,” you murmured. “But I don’t know. He made peace with all that. Or he was trying to.”

Joaquín nodded solemnly. Then, with perfect timing and a shit-eating grin, he added, “She probably found his butt pics or something.”

You recoiled, immediately groaning, “Ugh, gross, Joaquín. Come on—I’m eating.”

He laughed into his straw, biting it. “I’m just saying. It would explain a lot.”

You tried to keep your glare steady, but your mouth twitched, the corner threatening to pull upward. You hated that he could do that, break through the spiral with the dumbest thing imaginable. But maybe that’s why he was still your first call every time things went to shit.

Joaquín’s voice softened a little. “You know she doesn’t win just because she made the headlines first, right? She wants you rattled. She wants you to think she’s got it all figured out. But she doesn’t. You’re better than her.”

You looked down at your plate, the fruit now limp and soaked through with syrup, and slowly pushed it aside.

“I just hate not knowing,” you said quietly. “Not knowing what she’s playing at. Not knowing what Bucky’s really thinking. Not knowing if any of this is going to matter.”

“It matters,” Joaquín said without hesitation. “And if it doesn’t yet, we’ll make sure it does.”

That finally made you look at him.

He gave you a lopsided smile, stupid, warm, stubbornly sure of you in a way you weren’t even sure of yourself right now.

“You’re not alone in this,” he added. “You’ve got me. And Sam. And probably, like, three semi-legal encrypted files Matt just handed over.”

You huffed out a soft, reluctant laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“Yeah, but I’m right.”

You didn’t say it out loud—but maybe, just this once, you didn’t disagree.

Your phone buzzed against the table, and both you and Joaquín froze, mid-sentence, mid-chew. His fork hovered halfway to his mouth. Your eyes locked on the screen.

The display lit up, just enough for you both to see the name.

Captain Sammy!

Neither of you said anything at first.

You’d been waiting for this. Dreading it, really. That’s why your phone had been sitting so close to your plate all morning, screen facing up, volume on for messages only, buzz setting maxed out. Every scrape of cutlery, every breath between words had you waiting for this.

Joaquín leaned in slightly, eyes scanning your face. “Is it Sam?”

You nodded, slow. “Yeah.”

“What’s he saying?”

You didn’t move right away. Your hand hovered over the phone like it might burn you. “I don’t know. I’m… too scared to open it.”

His brows pulled together, and he leaned further across the booth, trying to read the message upside down. “Why hasn’t he messaged me yet?”

“I don’t know,” you repeated, this time quieter, and your thumb swiped across the screen like muscle memory. You tapped into your messages.

Your stomach twisted before your eyes could even process the text.

Call me soon. We need to talk.

You winced.

“Well?” Joaquín asked, watching you too closely. “What’d he say?”

You turned the phone toward him.

He read it, then leaned back slowly. “Woah.”

“I know.”

“No emojis?”

“No.”

“He used proper punctuation.”

“Yeah. Caps. Periods.”

Joaquín let out a long whistle and slouched deeper into the booth like the air had been sucked out of him too. “Shit. He’s so pissed.”

You exhaled hard and tossed the phone facedown onto the table like it might accuse you of something else if you looked at it any longer. Your shoulders slumped, and you dropped your head into your hands, the motion knocking your cap off in the process. It hit the seat with a soft thump.

“God, I’m so fucked,” you groaned into your palms.

“Hey…” Joaquín’s voice softened. No teasing now. Just warmth. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing your wrist. Gently, he coaxed your hands away from your face. “We’re fucked. We’re a team. We both get fucked together.”

You stared at him for a second.

Then winced. “...Dude.”

He blinked, mouth twitching, and then his expression crumpled into a wince of his own. “Yeah, yeah. I heard it as I said it.”

You shoved his hand away, and he laughed. It was the kind of laugh that let you breathe again, even if only for a second.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Do you wanna book a plane home or should we just drive back?”

“Let’s drive,” he said without missing a beat, already pulling his laptop closer. “The longer it takes to get back, the better. We need time to stall.”

“I’ll rent a car.” You thumbed open the app, scrolling through the available options. “Any preferences?”

“I’m not picky.”

You nodded absently, letting the words pass between you like background noise. Your finger moved down the screen, but your mind wasn’t really following. Each name—Toyota, Chevy, Honda—blurred past you.

The pressure had started to settle beneath your ribs now, a slow-building ache that hadn’t let up since last night. It pulsed quietly with every breath. You tried to ignore it, tried to act like you were okay, like you weren’t picturing the message on your phone or imagining the conversation that would come when you finally called Sam.

But you weren’t okay. Not really. You hadn’t been okay since that tower. Since Valentina’s voice crawled into your skull and made a home there.

The sound of Joaquín tapping at his keyboard pulled you back to the present.

“Hey,” he said, his tone cautious, like he already expected you to roll your eyes again. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about last night anymore, but that guy you were talking to—Bob? I managed to get a voice match, and I did some digging for you.”

You didn’t look up. Your thumb hovered over a rental listing. “I really don’t care. Do you want a Honda or—”

“Well,” he cut in, “his full name is Robert Reynolds.”

You froze, just for a second. Just long enough for Joaquín to notice.

“Jesus,” he added, grinning like he couldn’t help himself, “you were flirting with a guy named Robert.”

You lifted your gaze, flat but not without bite. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed, light and triumphant. “There’s not much on him. He’s kind of a nobody, to be honest. Valentina must have wiped him or something. He’s got an old Instagram account but hasn’t updated it since before the Blip. Mostly middle school, high school stuff. A couple of mirror selfies. Not much else.”

You didn’t mean to be interested. Not really. But your head perked up anyway.

“Let me see.”

He angled the laptop your way without a word, thankfully.

The screen showed a grid of filtered, slightly overexposed images, pictures that fit from the time they were taken and posted. Group shots at what looked like house parties. Underage drinking and smoking. A photo of a dog. One of the sunset, blurry and underwhelming, captioned ‘summer’ with a cute emoji of the sun. Most of the posts were book covers, titles you vaguely recognized; a few you’d read yourself. The kind of things people share, not for anyone else, but just to remind themselves they were still here.

He didn’t post himself often.

But one picture stopped you.

A younger version of him stood beside someone in a graduation gown. His hair was shorter, his face leaner, his body thinner. He wasn’t wearing a gown himself. Just a hand shoved awkwardly into a hoodie pocket, the other slung around the person beside him. Still, he was smiling—kind of half-hearted, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his face. It was the same mouth, same sharp features. But softer.

You stared at it a moment too long.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Maybe something to prove he wasn’t a threat. Or maybe something else entirely.

You could still hear the way he said family, like he believed it, like he needed to.

You hated how easily he’d gotten under your skin. How, even now, some part of him was curling its way around your thoughts, threading through your brain like smoke through a vent. He was weird, and there was something about him that felt too big to look at directly. Like if you focused too hard, he might burn a hole through you.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything. You tried to tell yourself he didn’t matter.

But your hand was already resting on the corner of Joaquín’s laptop, scrolling gently through the next photo. And the one after that.

And you didn’t stop.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until Joaquín cleared his throat.

“He never graduated,” he said, “Dropped out.”

You blinked, sitting up a little straighter, “What?”

Joaquín tilted the screen back toward himself. “I couldn’t find any school records past sophomore year. No GED either. He just kinda... worked odd jobs before disappearing.”

Your eyes scanned what was left of Bob’s social media feed. Just ten posts in total. Ten fragments of a person whose edges were too slippery to pin down. Still, that didn’t stop the strange kick in your chest, like your body knew something your brain hadn’t caught up with yet.

“Disappearing?”

“Yeah. And it gets weirder.”

He clicked over to another tab. The brightness of a mugshot hit you instantly.

“There’s a criminal record,” Joaquín said. “Not sealed, surprisingly. Valentina’s people probably missed it—or didn’t care enough to clean it up.”

You leaned closer as he continued.

“An assault charge from one of his part-time jobs years ago. He attacked a civilian.”

“At work?”

“Yeah,” he said grimly. He tapped the keyboard again, and up came a police scan. Bob, older than in the Instagram posts, but still younger than last night, sat facing the camera with a vacant expression. His cheeks looked hollow, his eyes rimmed with red and shiny with unshed tears. Sweat slicked his forehead, and his lips were split as if he’d been grinding his teeth on them.

“He was on drugs,” Joaquín said, his voice a little quieter. “Methamphetamine.”

You vaguely remember him mentioning he was sober.

“…Jesus.”

“And,” He continued, hesitating only slightly, “he was wearing a chicken costume when he got arrested. Like, full mascot getup. Worked at Alfredo’s Bail Bonds. I don’t even know what that is.”

You frowned. The ache in your chest curled tighter as if the image on the screen weighed something you couldn’t name. Bob didn’t look dangerous in that photo. He didn’t look angry or unhinged.

He looked lost. Like he’d already been falling long before anyone ever thought to arrest him.

“It’s not funny, Joaquín.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” Joaquín glanced at you. And even though the grin tugged at his lips, he raised one hand in surrender. But the humour was still there. You know he didn’t mean anything by it, not really. You could tell he was just trying to lift the mood. “But like… come on. A chicken costume? It’s objectively a little funny.”

You scoffed, reached across the table and closed his laptop with two fingers, giving him a flat look. “You’re the worst.”

“Shut up,” Joaquín said, flashing you that stupid grin again as he tugged the laptop back toward him. “You love me.”

The warm morning sun was finally starting to cast a glow through the window and onto your half-eaten plate of waffles.

Joaquín opened his laptop again and tapped a few keys, lips pressed together now. “I still don’t get what he was doing in that tower last night.”

“He knows Valentina to some extent. We know that much,” you murmured, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He nodded, gaze fixed on the screen, but your voice dropped with the weight of what you were about to say next.

“…He called Bucky family.”

That made him pause. He turned toward you fully, his brows lifted. “Family?”

“Yeah,” you said, quietly. “Like Walker. Starr. Belova. He said they saved him.”

You watched Joaquín’s expression shift, his usual spirit tempered by something more focused, sharper around the edges. He leaned forward a little, propping his elbow on the booth table again as if the change in posture could help him wrap his head around it.

“Saved him from what?” he asked. “When?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

He frowned. “You didn’t ask?”

“I didn’t really get the chance,” you said, your voice catching for half a second. Then you exhaled. “Or—I don’t know. I just freaked out.”

“You freaked out? You?”

You gave a dry, humourless laugh, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your napkin. “You haven’t met him. He just… he threw me off.”

Your voice was quieter now, almost drowned out by the soft rumble of a waitress rolling a cart past your booth.

“I was already on edge after everything Valentina said. Then he shows up, out of nowhere... and he acts... he was really sweet, actually. And I know it’s stupid but I let my gaurd down. Then he said Bucky’s his family, and I—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? ‘Cool, same’? I don’t even know if Bucky considers us family.”

Joaquín rested his chin in one hand, looking thoughtful. “I mean… I probably would’ve asked him more questions. Try to figure out who he is before jumping to conclusions.”

You shot him a look.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, hands up in defence. “The idea of them saving him could be legit. Like—it could go back to what happened in New York a few months ago. The whole Darkness or Void incident. That was a mess. Maybe he got caught in all that and they pulled him out or something.”

“Maybe,” you said, still not convinced. “Lot’s of people got caught up in that. What makes him so special?”

Joaquín exhaled through his nose. “Could’ve been one of those publicity saves. You know how they’ve been staging those lately.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. You hated the thought of that being true. That Bob was just another pawn in Valentina’s carefully calculated optics campaign. But there was something else in your gut. That didn’t feel like the whole truth. Bob had looked at you like he knew something. Like he’d seen something you hadn’t yet.

You rubbed at your eyes. “Are there any records of that?”

“No,” Joaquín said, tapping his finger against the side of his laptop. “Not really.”

You sank back into the booth, staring at the streaks of syrup on your plate.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you said after a long breath. “We’ll probably never see him again. Or Bucky, for that matter.”

Joaquín shook his head, his expression tightening. “Don’t say that. He’ll come back.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said without missing a beat. “He can’t stay away from Sam for too long. Those two go into, like, withdrawals if they spend enough time apart. Sam starts getting all twitchy. It’s weird.”

You let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, right.”

Joaquín grinned, kicking you from under the table. “Hey. Fun fact. Bob’s from Florida.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “What, you think he’s from Miami too?”

“Sarasota Springs.” He said, “Makes sense, I guess… with his criminal record, it kinda tracks. Rich, by the coast, drugged-up suburbia. Perfect place to arrest a meth-head chicken.”

You shot him another glare. “That’s not funny, Joaquín.”

“I’m sorry!” he shrieked when your foot connected with his shin under the table.

He was not sorry—his laugh betrayed him. He kicked you back with zero remorse. The table wobbled with the weight of your childish back-and-forth, your drink nearly toppling as Joaquín banged his knee into the edge, cursing. You stopped before either of you caused a spill.

But then, he froze.

Not the usual kind of still, either. He stopped laughing mid-breath, spine straightening with a jolt, and his eyes cut toward the window in a way that immediately froze your blood. The humour drained off him like a tide pulling back to sea.

Your own posture tightened. “What?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer; he just grabbed his sunglasses and slapped them on, even though you were indoors. That alone told you how bad it was.

“Get down,” he muttered, reaching across the table and sliding the newspaper to you. “Look casual.”

You snatched it without a word, unfolding the pages like you cared about the stock market. Your heart beat too loudly in your ears, and your eyes scanned the ink without registering a single word. Still, you followed his lead, the two of you falling into sync like clockwork.

You tried to guess what had set him off. Your brain jumped straight to Sam, storming through the front entrance, arms crossed like a disappointed dad at parent-teacher night. But no. He was still in Washington, right?

You glanced over the paper’s edge. “What is it?” you hissed.

Joaquín didn’t move much—just lowered his voice to a whisper through clenched teeth. “It’s Walker.”

You blinked, lips parting in disbelief. “What?”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up.”

You straightened up ever so slightly, trying to look calm, normal, bored, but you angled your head toward the door.

“Where?” you whispered, barely moving your lips.

“By the entrance,” Joaquín murmured, adjusting his cap lower. “With the ghost girl.”

You squinted subtly. “Ghost gi—?”

Ava Starr. You caught sight of her instantly, despite Joaquín not needing to say her name. She stood like someone perpetually mid-departure, her hair pulled back and jaw set tight as she waited at the counter. Her arms were folded, and she was already halfway through her order. Beside her, unmistakable in his broad, self-assured posture, stood John Walker. He wore a sun-bleached military jacket and—God help you—that stupid beret. His eyes weren’t scanning the room yet, just the menu above the barista, but that could change at any moment.

You ducked back behind your newspaper like it might physically protect you. “We should just… lay low until they leave,” you said under your breath, acting like it was all casual. “The last thing we need is getting caught with them. Especially now. If anyone sees us here with them, it’s gonna look real convenient.”

“Okay,” Joaquín murmured, fingers tightening around his coffee cup. “But I’m telling you, if Walker starts walking this way, I’m crawling under this booth.”

You almost laughed, but it didn’t quite make it out. Instead, you focused your gaze on your plate, trying to pretend your nerves weren’t crawling all over your skin.

The seconds ticked by with unbearable slowness. Joaquín took a sip of his drink, eyes still hidden behind his glasses and the screen of his computer. For one full, glorious moment, it seemed like maybe—maybe—they’d leave without seeing you.

“Hey, guys,” came a voice behind you. Too familiar. Too smug.

Your stomach dropped.

“Funny seeing you here in New York.”

Your spine stiffened like a board. Across from you, Joaquín let out what had to be the quietest groan of his life, a barely audible sigh that still managed to scream you’ve got to be kidding me.

You didn’t look right away. You already knew who it was. But slowly, cautiously, you turned in your seat, past the half-finished plate of fruits and the folded newspaper still clutched in your hand, to find John Walker standing at the edge of your table.

Hands on his hips, back straight like a soldier reporting for duty. That signature smugness twisted his mouth into a grin that looked about ninety percent forced and ten percent calculated. A politician’s smile, one he’d probably been coached on.

Ava Starr stood just behind him, half-shielded by the oversized sweater and black trench coat she was wearing, and her baseball cap pulled low like you were. She sipped from a takeout cup like none of this had anything to do with her. Still, her eyes flicked over the two of you, sharp and curious. There was intrigue there, and something else. Something like suspicion.

“Walker,” Joaquín said, dragging his sunglasses off and trying on a smile that was just a little too wide to be natural. He leaned back against the booth like he wasn’t one second away from bolting. “Long time no see, man. When—when was the last time we saw each other?”

Walker didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know, Torres.” He tilted his head, pretending to think about it with mock sincerity. “I think it was about two, three years ago? When you pled against me in court.”

Joaquín blinked, just once, then let out a breathy, “Right, right.” A stiff nod followed, and you caught the colour blooming in his cheeks before he turned back to Walker, trying to recover. “Wow. Time flies. How’s Olivia?”

Walker’s jaw flexed, the grin faltering just slightly. “She’s fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Happy wife, happy life, am I right?”

“Ex-wife, actually,” Ava said casually, her voice cool and clipped—and British, you noted, catching you a bit off guard. It was the first time you’d heard her speak. “She took the kid and left him.”

A sip. Deadpan. Not even a blink.

Joaquín flinched like she’d hit him. “Oh—uh. Sorry.”

Walker sighed, running a hand down his face, but he didn’t look particularly angry at her for saying it. If anything, he just looked annoyed, maybe even tired. Like someone who didn’t have the energy to defend himself anymore.

You cleared your throat, eyes narrowing just enough. “Who’s your friend?” You asked it knowing full well who she was. You had files on every single New Avenger. The question was less about gaining information and more about playing the game. Buying yourself time. Pretending this conversation was normal when every instinct in your body said otherwise.

“This is Ava,” Walker said, gesturing toward her with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Ava offered a faint smile, small, and polite, but with an unmistakable edge of sarcasm. It was a smile that said she knew exactly how uncomfortable you were, and she probably felt the same way.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi.” You nodded once, tight-lipped.

Joaquín, ever the icebreaker, leaned forward in what was possibly the worst possible moment. “I gotta say—your powers are so cool. Like, if I could have powers, I’d want something like yours.”

You didn’t even have time to stop him.

Ava blinked, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Thanks. The cells inside my body are tearing themselves apart every second. Chronic pain. Constantly.”

He deflated like a balloon with a hole in it, sinking back into the booth. “Oh.”

“Sorry about him,” you said, giving Ava a small shrug. “He never knows when to speak or what to say.”

Ava gave a short, amused nod. “It’s alright. I’m better now, anyway. My cells only tear apart on my command.”

“That’s nice.” You tried not to show it, but the offhandedness of that statement—how someone could say something so gruesome with such ease—did something to your stomach.

Then Walker turned back to you.

“See, I thought I saw you last night,” he said, voice casual in the most deliberately uncasual way. He scratched at his beard.

Your jaw tightened.

Of course he saw you last night. You saw him too. He knew it. You knew it. And the fact that he was pretending like this was just now dawning on him made your teeth itch. Especially since your photos from that gala were currently trending on half the internet. The press had already decided what it meant. You didn’t need Walker playing coy.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling sweetly. “I saw you too. Then you turned and walked the other way before I could say hi.”

Ava snorted into her drink, reaching over to smack Walker’s arm. “You ran off?”

“No—” Walker started, but you cut him off with a tilt of your head and a raised brow.

“You did.”

“I didn’t run off,” he said, defensive now. “I just had business to attend to.”

You didn’t bother replying. He was still talking, but his words blurred into the background as your phone buzzed once again on the table beside you. Sam. Probably asking when you'd be ready to talk or when you were coming home.

You caught Joaquín glancing at the screen, and a silent understanding passed between you both. Time to wrap this up.

You turned back to Walker with a pleasant enough smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Did you need something, Walker? I mean, it’s great to see you—” (lie) “—but we were just trying to have some breakfast before we went home.”

“Home? You’re leaving so soon?”

“We’ve got things to do. It’s a long drive back.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “We can fly you back to Washington. No problem. You’d be home before sunset.”

You blinked once. “No thanks.”

Walker chuckled, a low, dry sound that barely passed for humour. “You should come by the tower anyway. We’ll show you around. It’ll be fun.”

You couldn’t think of anything that had to do with John Walker being described as ‘fun’.

Also, he wasn’t exactly subtle with the way he asked the two of you to go to the tower with them. You didn’t know what was up there waiting for you, and you didn’t want to find out. You just wanted to go home.

“Really,” you said, the word coming out like dead weight. “We’re good. We’ll just get the bill and go.”

Right on cue, the waitress showed up, sliding the receipt onto the table with a bright smile that faltered the second she noticed Walker and Ava still hovering beside your booth. She glanced between all four of you, sensing something off, the way people do when they walk into a conversation that’s gone a degree too cold. Without a word, she walked off, her shoes squeaking faintly against the linoleum.

The table went still for a beat. Then Ava finally spoke.

“We know you talked to Bob last night.”

That shut you up. Just like that, your posture went a little rigid, shoulders tensing into steel as the name settled like a stone in your gut. It landed like a trigger pull. You tried not to be too obvious but you were failing.

Joaquín was worse, he froze mid-bite, his fork hovering just an inch from his lips before he slowly set it down. His eyes darted to you, then back to Ava.

Ava shifted slightly, her voice calmer now, but precise. “We also know you asked about Barnes.”

That got you. You didn’t respond; you didn’t need to. The fact you were suddenly locked in, gaze narrowed, said enough. She had your attention. And she knew it.

Ava scanned the café. Her eyes didn’t linger too long on anything, but you recognized the sweep, measured, tactical. The way a person looks when they’ve been taught to watch for threats before they come through the door.

“We’re not with Val,” she said. “Not in the way you think. Just… give us a chance to talk. Somewhere private.”

You nearly laughed. Or maybe you wanted to. Or maybe you wanted to scream. Somewhere private? As if that didn’t set off every alarm in your body.

You didn’t know Ava Starr beyond what you and Joaquín had pulled from the files: taken by S.H.E.I.L.D. as a child, quantum instability, a near-lethal skill set. You didn’t know John Walker beyond the courtroom footage, the headlines, and everything you watched from the sidelines, a man who still believed he deserved redemption without ever earning it. You also knew he had taken a dangerous dose of the super soldier serum, making him violent and twitchy.

But you definitely didn’t know them well enough to follow them into a quiet place with no exits or no witnesses.

And you definitely did not want to be caught walking around New York City with them. The last thing you needed was another headline featuring your face beside the likes of John Walker. And Joaquín? You weren’t about to drag him deeper into a mess that wasn’t his.

But before you could say any of that, before you could even start lining up all the reasons this was a terrible idea, you heard: “Okay, sure.”

Your head snapped around. “Quín?”

Joaquín had turned his hat backward, that familiar nervous tell masked behind the casual flip. He was already sliding his laptop into his bag, fingers moving with a kind of focused ease that suggested he’d been waiting for this the whole time. Like part of him had been waiting for someone to finally offer an answer, any answer, and now that it was on the table, he couldn’t bring himself to hesitate.

“What?” he asked.

“You can’t just—”

“What?” he said again with a little more attitude, zipping the bag closed. “You’re always saying how much you hate being in the dark. They’re offering answers.”

“They could be lying,” you shot back, sharper than you meant. “This could be a trap, or another setup.”

You said it like they weren’t standing right there, and you didn’t care if they heard. They could take the hint or choke on it.

He shrugged, cool, easy, frustratingly calm. “Then we’ll find out.”

You stared at him, your chest tight all over again. He meant that. You could see it in the set of his jaw, in the way he shouldered his bag like it didn’t weigh a damn thing. That unbearable sincerity, that same stubborn belief in people that made you trust him, was now steering him straight into a situation you didn’t trust at all.

You wanted to snap. Wanted to grab his arm, drag him out of the café and into daylight, anywhere but here. A bitter remark rose in your throat, hot and ready to be thrown—about the last time he leapt before looking, the last time he decided to be a hero and ended up flatlined for two full minutes on a hospital table, blood-soaked and broken and somehow still apologizing for it afterward.

But the words caught in your chest.

You didn’t say it. You didn’t even whisper it.

You just looked at him. Tried to say it with your eyes, with the hard, silent glare you shot across the table—don’t do this.

He didn’t meet your gaze.

Instead, you turned, eyes locking onto Walker and Ava, your voice low and sharp. “How’d you find us?”

Walker raised both hands, a placating gesture you didn’t buy for a second. “We didn’t follow you or anything. Personally, I couldn’t care less about what you two are up to.”

You bristled at the you two, and you hated how they started to drag Joaquín into it.

“But,” Walker went on, “Yelena’s been tracking you since the gala.”

Your blood ran cold. “What?”

He said it casually like it was nothing.

You blinked, stomach lurching. There’d been no tag, no weight in your coat, no itch along your back where something might’ve been placed. You’d showered. Slept. Walked half the city this morning without even realizing it. And that was the point, wasn’t it? You never saw her. Never felt it. Never even noticed.

Because Yelena Belova didn’t need a tracker when she was one of the best Red Room assassins. You only couldn’t understand why she hadn’t killed you when she had the chance.

Unease coiled at the base of your spine. You felt exposed. Like someone had peeled back your skin and left it raw in the open air.

“Please,” Ava said again. Her voice was quiet, almost too calm, but there was something underneath it, something tense and taut like she hated begging for trust. “Just hear us out.”

Your stomach continued twisting, hard. Every instinct screamed don’t go. Don’t let them get you alone. Don’t let Joaquín near whatever this is. But you could already feel the decision slipping away from you.

The elevator couldn't have been any fucking slower.

You swore you could hear the grind of the gears behind the panelling, dragging each second out like a countdown to something awful. The small screen above the door blinked from floors 37 to 38 to 39 with glacial slowness.

You thought this building had state-of-the-art technology remodelled. Why the fuck was their elevator so damn slow?

Your chest was caving in on itself, a familiar panic clawing up your throat and settling behind your ribs like a second heartbeat. Every inch of this place felt too polished. You hadn’t forgotten how sharp the Watchtower felt—like walking into a wolf’s mouth made of steel and luxury.

Your brain spiralled—clawing through every possible worst-case scenario like it was trying to prepare you for all of them at once. You hadn’t even gotten to the part where Valentina might be standing on the other side of the doors. You could already see it: that smug, all-knowing smile she wore like lipstick, arms crossed, voice dripping with venomous delight. She’d say something like “Took you long enough,” and you’d want to punch her in the teeth, even as you walked willingly into the trap.

Matt would kill you.

Your lawyer had explicitly warned you to stay away from anything remotely connected to Valentina. Wait it out. Stay clean until the dust settles. This was the very opposite of that.

You rubbed a thumb across your phone screen, opening and closing your texts with Sam. The messages were still left unanswered. You had typed seven different versions of a reply: “I’m okay”, “Just give me a second”, “Long story, I’ll explain later” and deleted them all.

You couldn’t leave him in the dark. You didn’t want to be like Bucky. But how the fuck were you supposed to explain this?

‘Call you soon, busy talking to John fucking Walker’?

Joaquín shifted beside you, close enough that you could feel the low heat radiating off his arm. He wasn’t saying anything, but his tension mirrored yours—jaw clenched, eyes locked on the doors, hands flexing at his side. You could see it in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his thigh like he was ready to move, run, or punch someone if needed.

If you were to die, at least you could blame it on him.

Behind you, Walker and Ava stood just a little too casually; coffee cups in hand, speaking in quiet tones you couldn’t catch. Not that you tried. Every nerve in your body was too loud already, the soft hum of the elevator music a scream in your ears.

They were calm. You weren’t. That alone was reason enough to worry.

You glanced at the elevator buttons. No emergency stop. No backup plan. You weren’t sure what you’d even do if you had to fight. You couldn’t land a hit on Ava unless she let you. She could phase her entire body into atoms and probably rip your spine out if she wanted to. Walker? He definitely had a gun. And he was superhuman. You’d go down in minutes. Joaquín too.

No. Fighting was not an option.

But running? That window was already gone. You’d known that the moment they cornered you at the diner. There hadn’t really been a choice. They would’ve followed you all the way back to D.C. if they had to.

So here you were. In a box of steel, crawling toward confrontation, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out. The air was too still. Too thick. Your reflection in the brushed metal doors looked sick. Unsteady. Tired.

Joaquín glanced at you from the side, like he could sense what was happening in your head without you saying a word. His hand hovered near yours, not touching, but there. Just in case.

You should’ve just gone home. Should’ve skipped breakfast, told Joaquín to let it go, and gotten on the first flight out of New York before any of this spiralled.

Your spine ached from tension as you shifted in place, uncomfortably aware that you were still wearing the same clothes you’d gone running in earlier that morning—damp with city sweat and stale adrenaline, clinging wrong to your skin. No time to change, no time to breathe. They hadn’t given you the chance.

The elevator slowed. You felt it before you saw it—an unnatural stillness as it glided to a halt on a floor you didn’t recognize. One that hadn’t been accessible during the party last night.

Your pulse ramped into overdrive. You braced yourself, watching the doors split open with agonizing slowness, and for a split second, you were sure something was about to go horribly wrong.

Because something was there.

A long, black cylinder slipped between the doors just before they finished opening. You didn’t wait. Instinct took over—you lunged back, grabbing Joaquín and yanking him behind you as your heart rocketed into your throat.

“What the hell—?” Ava started to say, already stepping forward, but you weren’t listening.

You were listening for an explosion.

And it came.

A loud pop! cracked through the elevator like a gunshot, sharp and close. Joaquín jumped, slamming into your shoulder, and your breath caught, chest tightening as you threw your arms up. You were ready for anything—smoke, gas, flashbang, worse.

The four of you stood frozen, fists clenched, muscles coiled, every instinct screaming fight.

Then… something fluttered.

Light. Soft. A delicate brush against your cheek.

You opened your eyes slowly, blinked once, twice, and saw colour drifting down around you. Red. Gold. Silver.

Confetti.

Tiny scraps of shimmering paper were falling in slow spirals over your head, clinging to your sleeves, catching in Joaquín’s curls. You glanced down and realized you were still gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline, your knuckles tight in the fabric. He looked just as stunned as you did, eyes wide, jaw slack.

Behind you, Walker groaned loudly, swearing under his breath. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You finally looked up. And there, standing just outside the elevator, was Alexei Shostakov grinning like a child with a confetti cannon in his hand.

“Surprise!” he boomed, shouting your name, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

You blinked at him in disbelief. Your body hadn’t quite caught the memo that you weren’t about to be murdered (which could still happen), it was still locked in a battle stance, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs.

Sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows lining the lounge beyond, bouncing off the glossy, marbled floors and catching in the confetti still drifting down like ashes from a very sparkly apocalypse. The room stretched wide and open—modern, luxurious.

Alexei took a triumphant step forward, tossing the cannon aside with a clatter and reaching for your hand like he hadn’t just given you a heart attack.

You didn’t take it, your fingers were still trembling, but he didn’t seem to notice as he tugged you into the room. He waved his arm grandly toward the entryway, where a crooked banner hung overhead: WELCOME TO THE AVENGERS! The lettering was large and smudged, still drying in places, and the fabric sagged slightly in the middle.

Paint-streaked fingerprints decorated the edges, and sure enough, Alexei’s hands were splotched in red and blue. He must’ve made it himself. That realization made your head spin harder than the confetti had.

Your mouth parted, trying to find words, but before anything could come out, Walker stormed forward and beat you to it.

“What the fuck is all this?”

Alexei dropped his hand, puffing out his chest with dramatic offence. “It is party!” he declared, gesturing at you with a broad, proud smile. “For our new member! Did you not read the news?”

He turned to you again and slapped a heavy hand against your back, nearly knocking the air from your lungs. “Congratulations, my friend. We are very happy to have you on our awesome team.”

“No. No, no, no,” Walker muttered, dragging a hand down his face like he was already exhausted. He stomped up beside Alexei and grabbed his arm, pulling him gently, but insistently, away from you. “No party.”

“What do you mean no party?” Alexei protested, wide-eyed. “This calls for… what is word? Celebration! She has joined the Avengers!”

“No. We do not need to celebrate, there’s nothing to celebrate.” Walker hissed, his voice strained as he pointed back at you. “This isn’t—she’s not joining the team.”

Alexei looked at you, expression falling. “You’re not?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he said.

Walker guided him off toward the far end of the lounge—a massive open-concept kitchen with gleaming appliances and a dining area you were certain had hosted at least one illegal meeting in the past month.

“Sorry about him,” Ava said, stepping beside you now. Her tone was breezy but fond like she was used to this. “I’d say he’s not usually like that, but I’d be lying.”

She reached over and gently plucked a curl of confetti from Joaquín’s hair. He blushed, mumbling something under his breath that made her grin wider when he tugged his cap back on again.

“I’m gonna go find Yelena,” she added, stepping away. “She’s around here somewhere. Make yourselves at home.”

“Wait—” Joaquín called after her, taking a cautious half-step forward. “Valentina’s not… here, right?”

Ava laughed without turning back. “God, no. She’s probably halfway across the country by now. Besides, she can’t hurt you if you’re with us.”

You weren’t sure if that was comforting or worse. You tried to make sense of what that even meant as she disappeared up a set of spiralling steel stairs toward the upper floor.

The silence that followed made you acutely aware of your surroundings for the first time. This wasn’t just another floor in the tower. This was where they lived.

The room you stood in opened into what looked like a shared lounge and rec space. Through the transparent panels of frosted glass, you could see a massive sunken living room just ahead—an enormous circular couch built into the floor like a pit, all pointed toward a huge flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

Through the windows, the whole upper side of Manhattan was seen and Central Park stretched out in the distance, green and gold beneath the morning sun.

The marble floors gleamed beneath your shoes. A massive, shaggy rug near the couch looked warm and strangely lived-in. The entire space looked lived-in now that you got a better look at it, cluttered with mismatched mugs, throwing knives, forgotten jackets, guns, socks and someone’s boot kicked off to the side. It was the kind of mess that told you, yes—this was where they really stayed. A home, despite how cold and glossy it looked at first.

“Bet you’ve never been greeted into a home like that,” Joaquín said quietly, almost hopeful.

You turned on him so fast he barely had time to register it before your hand smacked the back of his head, knocking his hat off.

“Joaquín. What the fuck are you thinking?!” you hissed, voice low and sharp, even though you were sure no one was listening. “We shouldn’t be here. We can’t trust these people.”

He rubbed the spot you hit, wincing and bending down to pick up his cap from the floor. “I know. Okay? I know. I’m sorry. I just—I really think we should hear them out.”

“Hear them out?” You blinked at him, disbelief carving out your words like broken glass. “What?”

He stepped closer, voice dropping lower, more urgent. “Listen,” he said, eyes flicking around like he was afraid someone might actually be listening. “I don’t think John Walker would willingly try to talk to us if it didn’t mean something. Think about it—that guy fucking hates us. And Bucky doesn’t mess around. If he’s even entertaining working with Walker, it’s gotta be for a reason.”

You stared at him like he’d just lost his mind.

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” you snapped. “No, seriously, are you hearing the words coming out of your mouth? Did you not understand anything that happened last night? Bucky’s—he’s not doing this—Valentina said—we already know—he’s being blackmailed—” You struggled to find the words because you really weren’t sure if he even was. “This?” you waved your arms around frantically, “this is literally the one thing Matt told us not to do. He told us to stay clear of anything even remotely tied to Valentina and this fucking tower—”

“Okay, okay—”

“—And now we’re here. Willingly. Jesus Christ, Joaquín. We are putting ourselves in a worse situation by the minute. We need to leave. Now.”

Your fingers closed around his arm as you spun toward the elevator, dragging him with you before anyone could return. The urgency prickled along your spine like static.

Joaquín tried to pull free. “Wait—just wait a second—”

But then your phone started ringing. The sharp, sudden sound sliced through the moment. You flinched, instinctively reaching for it.

You didn’t need to check the screen to know. You already knew. Still, when you looked, your chest clenched anyway.

It was Sam.

His contact photo filled the display—an old picture from last summer’s cookout, blurry and sun-drenched. He had an arm around your shoulders, the both of you mid-laugh, framed by folding chairs, paper plates, and the golden glow of fireworks behind you. Bucky had taken the picture, you could see his thumb in the corner. You could also see Joaquín cut off on the side, the photo taken seconds before he tried to bomb it.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

“You gotta answer that,” Joaquín said.

“I’ll answer it later.”

“I think you should answer it now.”

You turned your glare on him so fast that he almost took a step back. “I could kill you.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.”

You flipped him off as you turned away, stalking into the nearest hallway. You didn’t want to go far, you didn’t trust this place enough for that, but you needed space. Air. Somewhere quieter to breathe.

The hallway stretched narrower than expected, cooler too. The light dimmed as you moved in, shadows creeping in like something alive. The apartment’s polished glamour fell away here, replaced with something colder. Raw concrete walls. Steel framing.

You slowed when you noticed what was displayed along the wall.

Glass cases lined the corridor like a gallery—each one holding weapons. Blades, a shield, and a blackened skull mask with a hollow stare. Scorch marks bloomed along the gear like they’d been found in a fire. The plaque caught your eye:

Antonia Dreykov.

You didn’t know who Antonia Dreykov was. But you knew how people treated the dead when they didn’t know how to let go. This seemed something like it.

Your hand drifted to the case before you could stop yourself. One of the smaller knives had been left slightly off-centre, the glass not fully locked. You slipped it free, weighing it in your palm. The metal was cold but familiar. Comforting in a way that made you hate yourself.

You tucked it into your pocket, then took another. Not because you planned on using them. Just... in case. You couldn’t afford to be the only unarmed person in the apartment.

You kept your back to the wall, thumb hovering over the green Accept Call button on Sam’s contact. You weren’t ready. Not for the sound of his voice. Not for the questions. Not for the disappointment he wouldn’t bother hiding.

Because no matter how reckless Joaquín had been to get you here—you still came.

You bit the bullet and answered, bringing the phone to your ear with a shaky breath. “Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.”

His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. Not anger, but the obvious disappointment you expected. Concern, tight and braced behind his words like he was afraid of what you’d say next.

“Sam…”

“Do you wanna talk or should I?” he cut in firmly. “Because I need a very good explanation as to why your face is all over the damn news.”

You exhaled, slow and uneven, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead.

You knew he wasn’t trying to berate you. Sam wasn’t like that. His voice didn’t carry malice, not even now, when he had every right to be furious. You knew it looked like you’d gone behind his back the same way Bucky had. And while your intentions had been good, that didn’t matter, not when Valentina had twisted it, splashing your name across every headline like you were some kind of defector.

“I’ll talk,” you said quickly. “I’ll talk. Just… let me talk, okay?”

A dozen excuses lined up behind your teeth. Every one of them was flimsy and easy to knock over. But lying to Sam? You couldn’t stomach it. Not after everything. Not after he’d trusted you.

“I fucked up,” you whispered. The admission stung worse than you expected. “I thought… maybe I could talk to Bucky.”

There was silence on the other end. A pause, heavy with surprise. “Talk to Bucky?” Sam echoed, more cautious than confused now.

“Yeah.” You rubbed at your face, suddenly cold despite the weight of your spring jacket. “I got invited to their black tie event. Congressman Gary sent the invite, and I was going to say no—I swear—but then I thought, maybe… maybe Bucky would be there. And if he was, maybe I could corner him. Ask him what the hell he was thinking. Why he left. Why would he join them after what Ross offered you? And he knew. Bucky knew and I just couldn’t understand why he would... leave.”

You leaned back against the cool wall of the hallway, careful to keep your voice steady. Just far enough from Joaquín’s line of sight. Just close enough to watch him, still poking curiously at things he definitely shouldn’t be touching.

“I just…” You shook your head. “Things haven’t felt right, Sam. None of it makes sense. One minute Bucky’s fighting to get Valentina impeached, the next he’s... working under her? The fuck? He shuts you out and I thought maybe... I could find out why. Maybe I could fix it.”

On the other end of the line, you heard him sigh. He murmured your name, and it made your chest ache.

“You were right, by the way. Valentina’s a total snake,” you said quietly, trying to fill the silence because it made you feel more uneasy. “I came in looking for Bucky and walked out with half the press calling me her newest toy.”

“She really played you, huh?”

“Like I’m her bitch on a leash.”

Sam let out a short, dry laugh that made you feel a little better. “Yeah. She does that.”

“We think she did the same thing to Bucky. Joaquín and I, I mean. Got in his head.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Sam murmured. “But listen… I don’t want you carrying my mess, alright? I’ll deal with Bucky. That’s on me.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know, kid. I know. And I know your heart was in the right place. But next time… just talk to me first. Please.”

There was no guilt in his voice. Just a quiet exhaustion. A gentleness that somehow made it worse.

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Okay.”

A pause stretched across the line. Then, softer: “Are you two okay?”

Your hand tightened around the phone, glancing down the hallway like the sound of his voice might give something away. You caught sight of the display again—the glass case, the weapons, the skull-like helmet and the burnt suit. You didn’t even know who it belonged to. But you’d still taken the knives.

That probably said something about where your head was at. Obviously not good.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good,” Sam said. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

You hesitated. “Tonight, for sure.”

There was another small beat. “Alright. We’ll talk more then. Maybe we can clean up this mess of yours, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Stay out of any more trouble.”

You broke a smile, frankly a little panicked. “We’ll try.”

The call ended with a soft click, and you stood there for a second longer, your thumb still resting against your phone as if it might ring again.

You did feel better. Not safe, but... better. Like you’d finally caught your breath after running too long on adrenaline and guilt. The tightness in your chest had lessened, the weight of what you’d said to Sam lifting enough for you to think clearly again.

You slid your phone back into your jacket pocket, already piecing together an escape route in your head. Get Joaquín. Get out of this tower. Back to the hotel and then home, away from politicians and new-age Avengers and whatever the hell this place really was.

But when you turned around, someone was already waiting for you.

Yelena Belova stood by the mouth of the hallway you’d come in from, arms at her sides, not moving. Her blonde hair was loose now, falling messily around her face, not the slicked-back style from last night. She wore a worn grey hoodie and loose pants, a silver chain glinting at her collarbone, and faint smudges of yesterday’s eyeliner still clung stubbornly beneath her eyes. Her hands were tucked deep into the kangaroo pocket of her sweater, shoulders propped casually against the wall like she’d been there a while.

“Hey,” she said, nodding once.

You froze, your entire body tensing instinctively. “Uh… hi.”

You didn’t move toward her. The space between you was the only thing keeping your pulse from skyrocketing. It wasn’t fear, not really—not the kind you’d feel around someone like Walker. It was more like wariness. The same kind you’d feel staring down a loaded gun with the safety off.

She straightened slowly like she could sense your unease. Her hands slipped from her pocket, fingers spread slightly, palms open like a silent I’m-not-here-to-fight gesture.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything,” she said carefully, her voice thick with a Russian accent, stepping forward just once. “Sorry.”

You didn’t reply. Didn’t flinch either, though your muscles stayed tight. There was something different about her, something calmer than the confusion of last night. Something that made you hesitate before writing her off completely. She was a lot shorter than you expected now that you had a better look.

She pointed vaguely to herself. “I’m Yelena.”

“I know,” you said.

“Oh.” She gave a slight nod. “I know you too, then.”

“You were spying on us.” The accusation left your mouth before you could stop it, sharp as a blade. She had been, her eyes on you the moment you’d stepped out of that gala, leading Walker and Ava right to your heels. You decided to leave out the part that you and Joaquín had been spying on them too, before the gala.

Yelena winced, visibly. “They told you about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” she said again, and this time she took another step forward. You didn’t move back. She noticed. “It wasn’t personal. Everything happened so fast…” she trailed off, not bothering to lie.

You remembered the brief, icy introduction last night. The short nod. The way she kept her distance but still watched. You remembered the moment she looked at you like she already knew what mistake you made by just being there.

“And sorry about my dad,” she added, nodding toward the lounge. Confetti still clung to the floor. “I tried to tell him. But he’s, you know… dense.”

You stared at her for a second, “It’s fine.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly, as though your words had released a little pressure she’d been holding in.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

You narrowed your eyes. “About what?”

She hesitated—just for a second. Then: “Valentina.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want your help,” she said, voice low now, the trace of her accent curling around each word. “To take her down.”

If someone had told you two hours ago that you’d willingly be sitting in the residential level of the New Avengers Tower—with John Walker of all people—you probably would’ve laughed, then punched them in the throat for saying something so profoundly stupid.

But here you were.

Your footsteps echoed on polished floors as you followed Yelena into the common space, sunlight spilling in through massive, floor-to-ceiling windows that made the entire room glow. The city stretched far below in every direction. The furniture was modern and the air smelled like lemon polish.

You didn’t sit right away. You stood behind the couch with your arms crossed as Yelena handed Joaquín a small USB stick like it was a grenade. You were halfway through convincing yourself to walk out when he plugged it in. And then… you stayed. Not because you trusted them. Not because they’d earned anything. But because if what they were saying about Valentina was true, if this was the crack in her foundation, you needed to see it for yourself.

So now you were seated stiffly on a sprawling U-shaped couch, the leather cool against your legs. Joaquín sat beside you, his knee brushing yours every now and then as the two of you leaned in toward his laptop screen, silent. He scrolled slowly, eyes narrowing at every pixelated image, every fragmented document. Your jaw ached from clenching it too long.

“Holy shit,” Joaquín muttered under his breath. “How did you get this?”

“Mel left her laptop open and I snooped,” Yelena said casually, shrugging.

There wasn’t much—a few blacked-out files with top-secret headers, jagged audio clips spliced together, blurry footage from surveillance drones and security cams—but it was enough. Enough to start mapping connections between government disappearances and political scandals, between untraceable funding and medical supply routes that didn’t quite add up. The FBI had been speculating De Fontaine’s place in the CIA for years.

“This confirms it,” Joaquín said quietly, glancing back at the others. “Valentina’s the chairwoman behind the O.X.E. Everything Bucky said… about human experimentation, black-site trials, illegal trafficking, missing personnel…”

Yelena stood a few feet away, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her posture was tense and Ava sat on the armrest beside her, fingers curled tightly into her knee, expression locked somewhere between guilt and resolve. Walker hovered by the window, pretending to be disinterested as he squished a stress ball, probably taken from a therapy office.

At least you hoped he was going to therapy. You hoped all of them were, actually. They peculiar group with a lot of... problems. You did not have to be a genius to know that.

The tension between them all was heavy, but not disorderly. Rehearsed, maybe. Like they’d already had this conversation among themselves a hundred times, and now they were looping you in it.

“Great,” Yelena said, straight to the point. “So you’ll give it to Sam Wilson? Say a friend slipped it to you?”

You and Joaquín exchanged a look. Just one. That was all it took. If you handed this over, if you made it official, if Sam went public, it would burn everything down, this false sense of security Valentina had built to the press, this twisted team parading as heroes. This was it. The key. The proof.

And even though part of you wanted to spit in every face in this room and walk away, you also wanted Valentina Allegra de Fontaine to fall. To rot for what she’d done and gotten away with.

“Sure,” you said slowly, “we could.”

“But,” Joaquín added, eyes narrowing, “if we turn this in, you’re all going down with her.”

Walker straightened from where he was loitering, his arms dropping to his sides. “How’s that?”

You glanced at him, your patience thinning. You figured he would understand the most since he was in the Army, a decorated officer at that. But then again, all he ever knew how to do was take orders from someone else, no questions asked.

“Because you didn’t just work under Valentina. You were her operatives. Whether you realized it or not, you were complicit. You consented to all of this. You willingly helped execute illegal missions. You helped bury all traces of O.X.E.. Mind you, an illegal corporatization.”

Walk huffed bitterly, “Thought I was doing the right thing.”

“By stealing? Hiding evidence? Killing people?”

Ava shifted uncomfortably, and Walker’s stress ball nearly popped.

“We were her clean-up crew,” Yelena said finally.

“Right,” you replied, the corner of your mouth lifting bitterly. “Clean-up crew. Wiping traces. Silencing threats. Tying off loose ends. If someone tried to go public with O.X.E., whistleblow, or even just poked their head into the wrong corridor—what then?”

Ava spoke up, quiet and dry. “We were sent in.”

“Exactly,” Joaquín said. “What you’re describing? That’s illegal black ops. Domestic and international interference. Unregistered kill orders. You were running operations that not even the Pentagon would dare put in writing.”

Walker frowned. “Okay, but—”

“You don’t understand,” you cut in, voice tightening. “You show up in these files, in this footage. As long as you're in it, you’re leverage.”

Joaquín leaned back slightly, arms crossed now. “We could have you arrested right now. Everything you just gave us is enough for a military tribunal. Long-term sentences. Treason, obstruction, conspiracy. Pick your flavour.”

Yelena didn’t flinch. “But you won’t.”

You couldn’t help but frown at such confidence. “Is that a threat?”

She let out a snort. “No. You would know if I was making a threat. I’m very clear. You also won’t arrest us.” 

“You sure about that?”

She nodded once. “I’m willing to be. Because if you’re sitting here, reading this, it means you care about stopping Valentina... maybe helping new friends along the way. Because that is what you do. You help people, yes?”

You rolled your eyes, you could hardly consider them your friends.

“That’s what we’re trying to tell you, even if we help there isn’t much we can do to keep you out of trouble,” Joaquín said, “You think you’ve been using De Fontaine? This evidence goes both ways—and if she falls, she’s not going alone.”

“She probably knew you'd kill her if you could.” You said, “That’s why she gave you everything. The tower. The team. The illusion of purpose. Something that felt clean and heroic. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Across from you, the shift was subtle but telling.

For the first time since you stepped into the room, these guys looked… uncertain.

Ava glanced down, studying the tile beneath her boots like it might give her a way out. Walker crossed his arms and chewed at the inside of his cheek, jaw working, but saying nothing. Even Yelena, unmoving as a statue, had a muscle twitching along her jawline.

Silence settled in—tense and humming, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Then Walker broke it.

“If that’s the case,” he muttered, tone flat, “you might as well arrest Bucky too. Y’know—for his Winter Soldier days.”

You didn’t like that. Not just the deflection, but the name. It struck a nerve.

You hated that Walker brought Bucky into it now. Hated even more that the drive you’d been digging through for the last hour or so had nothing about him. No trail. Nothing to explain why he’d joined the team. No answer for why he was there the day everything went to hell—why he was helping them when the sky turned black and New York vanished into chaos for twenty agonizing minutes.

No one had explained a thing. No one had tried.

Joaquín’s mouth twitched. “Bucky was pardoned. Publicly.”

“So was I.”

“Yeah,” you said, “For killing a man in a public square three years ago. But we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about everything you’ve done since then. The black ops. The cover-ups. Evidence tampering. Political interference. Murder. Do you think a pardon protects you from three years of new crimes? Of acts of terrorism?”

Yelena scoffed, “Terrorism?”

“Did you or did you not bomb a building in Malaysia?”

“It was just one floor…” she muttered. “and Valentina owned it and the lab. Hardly an act of terror… or what you said.”

“Civilians were hurt.”

She didn’t say anything at that.

No one spoke.

Not because they didn’t have something to say, but because they weren’t sure how to say it anymore.

You could feel it now—how fragile the balance was. The way this whole thing had felt so certain when you walked in. Like the truth would be enough. Like justice could be clear-cut.

But now, it was murky.

You glanced back at the laptop, watching Joaquín continue to open new folders, skimming through them. One of the files showed grainy security footage from the vault they’d mentioned—one of Valentina’s archives. You could make out the three of them, half-lit in the shadows and red emergency lights, walking through sealed crates. Just behind them, in the back of the frame, was someone else. A body dressed in hospital scrubs.

You blinked. “Wait. What’s that?”

Ava followed your gaze, her expression unreadable. “It’s just a test dummy.”

“That looks like a man—”

“We need to focus,” Yelena interrupted, suddenly stepping forward, distracting your view of the screen. “If we waste time worrying about the wrong things, we’ll all lose.”

“You could try for a sympathy pardon,” Joaquín said eventually, eyes back on the drive.

Ava looked up, confused. “Sympathy pardon?”

You nodded. “If you turn yourselves in. Cooperate. Help take Valentina down, publicly and completely. There’s precedent for it. Limited sentencing in exchange for full debriefs. If you start working with the courts instead of hiding behind her money—”

Walker snorted. Loud and dismissive. “Turn ourselves in? For what—saving New York?”

“Congrats,” Joaquín said. “You’re heroes. You and every other vigilante in this city. The only thing that makes you different is that Valentina can market you. And you let her instead of coming clean right away.”

“You might see ten years,” you counted. “Maybe eight. Less with good behaviour. But keep hiding behind her... it’s just gonna get worse.”

Walker paced now, muttering something under his breath.

“Awesome,” he said louder. “Awesome. So this was a waste of time. Thanks a lot, Yelena. Now we’ve gotta worry about these two running off to Wilson with this. Then the press. Then all this?” he waved around the space surrounding you all, “All this is gone!”

Ava raised her voice carefully, almost hesitant, glancing at the short blonde. “What happens to… you know. If we do turn ourselves in? Where will he go?”

Yelena’s expression shifted for the first time.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, quiet now. Her hands drifted to her hips, fingertips twitching like she was resisting the urge to fold in on herself. Her head dipped low, eyes on the floor.

You weren’t sure who they meant. But it was clear from the way everyone avoided eye contact that whoever he was, he wasn’t just another asset.

Joaquín sat up straighter, eyebrows pinching. “What’s Project Sentry?”

Ava flinched. “Lena, I thought you cut that out.”

She moved fast, hand darting toward Joaquín’s laptop. He tried to pull it away, but she was faster—phasing into thin air and reappearing at his side, yanking the drive from the port and slipping it into her pocket like it hadn’t happened at all.

You never even got the chance to see what he was talking about.

You stood up, preparing for a fight. “You can’t pick and choose what gets turned in or not.”

“Are you serious right now?” Alexei’s voice boomed from the hallway as he stormed back in. He had disappeared a few minutes ago under the pretense of “getting snacks for the guests,” and now he returned with arms overflowing—half-crushed bags of potato chips, trail mix, something suspiciously resembling astronaut food.

He dumped the haul onto the coffee table and glared at Yelena.

“Lena, you said you wanted purpose. This—” He gestured around the room like it held meaning. “This is our purpose!”

But Yelena still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s built on lies, Dad.”

That made Alexei bark out a laugh, one with no humour in it—just tired frustration.

“Everything is. The whole country runs on lies. At least we did something good. We saved people. Because we’re the Avengers!”

The word Avengers didn’t sit right in your mouth anymore. It felt hollow coming from them like they’d tried to slap a fresh coat of paint over a burned-out house.

Joaquín’s tone was dry as he leaned forward again. “I mean, technically, there’s enough on the drive to bury De Fontaine for a long time without bringing you guys into it directly. But if any half-decent detective picks it apart, it’ll all start to unravel. Eventually, it’s going to lead back here.”

You saw the doubt flash behind Ava’s eyes.

“And even if Valentina is arrested,” Joaquín added, “then what? The funding still stands. The CIA owns the New Avengers. Someone else just like her will take her place. Same game, new face.”

You were just about to speak, something sharp about this group’s complete lack of accountability and morality, how their so-called heroism was held together by delusion and money when the elevator chimed.

A soft ding. Too soft to mean anything, and yet it sliced straight through the tension like a blade.

You stiffened on instinct.

Joaquín reacted just as fast, snapping his laptop shut with a harsh click that echoed louder than it should’ve. You didn’t move, couldn’t. Your breath caught in your throat as the rest of the room stilled. Not a sound. Not a single goddamn sound.

A slow, creeping dread tightened in your chest.

“Shit,” Yelena muttered under her breath, almost too quiet to catch.

And then chaos in silence: hands on your shoulders, your back, Ava’s voice in your ear, sharp and focused.

“Move. Now.”

The next second blurred. Joaquín was pulled off the couch beside you, your hands and knees hitting the expensive carpet before you fully processed what was happening. The couch loomed above you. Your back scraped along the base as you were shoved beneath it, knees pressed awkwardly into the floor, spine hunched to fit.

Your breath hitched as the space closed in, dim, and a little dusty, the underside of the furniture creaking against your weight. You could see the stretch of rug in front of you, Walker’s boots retreating as he kicked Joaquín’s bag under the coffee table. He shoved the laptop in after it with even less care.

Above you: Yelena’s fuzzy purple socks. Ava’s boots, planted like guards. Their stance wide. Ready.

The heels came first. A sharp, deliberate cadence—click-click-click—on the marble. The sound bounced through the space with the confidence of someone who had never once questioned their right to be heard.

And then the voice of the very woman you hated most at the moment. Familiar. Arrogant.

“Bob, what do you need a phone for?”

The name alone felt like a gut punch.

Bob?

Fucking Bob?

The shock didn’t register right away. It slid in sideways, a slow prickle along your spine before crashing into you all at once. You hadn’t even considered him—not since the whirlwind of last night, not in the scramble of digging through drives and false leads, not in the silent fear of what might still be buried. Bob Reynolds had slipped your mind entirely the moment Yelena showed you those files.

And now, here he was.

You twisted your head toward Joaquín, who was already looking at you. His jaw clenched tight. Eyes wide. Shoulders wound like a coiled spring. You could see the thought flash behind his stare—both of you thinking the same thing.

Holy shit.

Then you heard it. His voice confirmed that he was there, too. Low, quiet. Soft in that uncanny, almost youthful way. Still his.

“…to talk to people.” he said.

Your stomach sank. For a beat, you could only stare at the ground, your mind racing. An image flitters through your mind’s eye. A dark balcony. Warm fire light. Big suit. Dark, tussled hair. That nice smile of his.

Above you, the sharp click of stilettos came to a sudden halt at his words.

Through the sliver of space beneath the couch, you spotted the edge of Valentina’s pencil skirt. Sleek black, tailored to a blade-sharp silhouette. Her shoes were thin and spiked, gleaming slightly under the overhead lights. Beside her, a pair of soft bunny slippers, nearly swallowed by the cuffs of soft-looking, faded baby blue pyjama pants.

That was him.

Bob.

And someone else. A third pair of feet, neatly poised in polished flats. Pressed trousers. You couldn’t tell who, only that they stood slightly apart.

Valentina’s voice again, laced with sweet condescension. “To talk to people?”

Bob seemed to hesitate now, his voice smaller. “I just thought—”

“What’s all this?” she cut him off before he could finish. “Did someone give Alexei another confetti cannon? Seriously? You know the cleaners are going to start charging us combat pay. Just look at this place.”

A beat of silence.

Then the soft shuffling of someone stepping around the coffee table. You held your breath, instinctively pressing yourself flatter to the floor. Your shoulder brushed against Joaquín’s chest. You felt him suck in a quiet, sharp breath. You wondered what would happen if you were caught.

Above you, the room shifted.

Yelena’s voice came first, Russian-rough and stripped of patience. “What are you doing here?”

There was a pause. Just long enough to feel it.

“I’m sorry?”

“We thought you were en route to California,” Ava chimed in. Her tone was light, but the edges were too clean. She was trying too hard. That alone made your stomach twist.

“Oh. Right. California. Mel—?”

“The jet will be ready in one hour,” a smooth, polished voice cut in. Feminine. A little anxious. Definitely not one of theirs. It must be the third person.

You turned your head slightly toward Joaquín, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t move—only lifted his brows, then mouthed: the assistant.

Of course. Mel.

You nodded once, your heart hammering.

“See?” Valentina said breezily. “We’ve got time. So tell me… what’s this mess about?”

A clumsy chorus followed:

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Just messing around.”

“Nothing?” Valentina echoed, with just enough doubt in her voice to rattle the moment.

And then, soft again, Bob.

“Val…?”

“Yes, Bob, honey. What is it?”

“The phone.”

“You want a phone?”

“…yes, please.”

“Okay. Fine. Mel, get him a phone. We have plenty.”

“What kind?” Mel asked.

Valentina exhaled. You could practically feel the irritation coming off the woman in waves, even though you couldn’t see her. “What kind—? Any kind. I don’t care.” There was a pause, and then her voice dipped again into that overly sweet register that set your teeth on edge. “Bob, what colour do you want?”

“Oh. Any colour’s fine. Thanks, Mel.”

“Sure thing, Bob.”

You heard Mel’s shoes retreating. Then the doors dinged again, distant, followed by the mechanical swoosh of the elevator sliding shut.

“So…” Valentina said, dragging the word. “Who’s the banner for?”

Alexei jumped in too fast. “Banner? What banner?”

“The big one. By the elevator.”

More shuffling. A murmur of uncomfortable voices scrambling for footing.

“Oh, that banner,” Yelena said.

“The one by the elevator, yes,” Alexei added, awkwardly.

“Missed it earlier,” Walker threw in, humming with forced casualness.

Your breath caught. They were bad liars. Terrible liars that were going to have you and Joaquín caught. You felt your body instinctively press closer to his, every part of you suddenly aware of how fragile this moment was. If one of them slipped up... shit.

“What’s the deal with that?” Valentina pressed.

Silence.

You could feel the group faltering. And for a moment, you were sure someone would fold.

Then Yelena’s voice again. “We thought… with the headlines today...”

“There might be a new addition,” Ava said, cutting in with a cleaner tone.

“A new team member,” Walker followed, steady, trying to cover the tracks.

Valentina laughed. A quiet little thing, amused and bitter all at once. “Oh, well isn’t that sweet.”

A pause.

Then Yelena pushed: “What’s… what’s the deal with that?”

“Nothing’s confirmed yet. It’s still in the air,” Valentina said. The click of her nails against a screen followed. You imagined her scrolling through messages, “She’s a tough cookie, isn’t she, Walker?”

His answer was dry. “Right.”

“I just thought this team could use someone a little less…” She trailed off, teeth behind her voice.

“Less what?” Ava asked, carefully.

“…like you guys.”

“Like us?” Walker repeated.

“Melodramatic,” Valentina said, and you could hear the malice in her voice. “No offence.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ava asked.

The sound of Valentina shifting again, heels clicking softly against the marble, the dull swish of her skirt brushing behind her. “Well, it’s not a secret that all of you have done some pretty messed up shit. People don’t trust you. And trust is branding. It’s everything. If we bring in someone tied to Wilson—one of Captain America’s right hands—suddenly, we’re legit. We’re palatable.”

You’d already suspected that was her idea, that selling you out had been nothing more than strategy. Calculated. Self-serving. You hadn’t believed a single word of the bullshit she fed you last night, not the part about being “special,” or the vague promises of a bigger purpose. It had all been smoke.

Still, something about hearing it confirmed, hearing her say it so plainly, like she was already pulling your strings, lit a fire low in your chest.

You weren’t her puppet.

You weren’t anyone’s.

And the fact that she thought you were that easy to bend, that she saw you as just another tool to wield when convenient, made your skin crawl.

“And how do you plan on pulling that off?” Yelena asked, her voice a notch sharper now. Less curious, more hostile. Defensive.

“Aren’t you full of questions today?” Valentina didn’t even try to mask the irritation in her tone. “That’s for me to worry about, hun. Not you. Why don’t you all relax? Enjoy yourselves. Kick your feet up. Make the most of it until the next villain of the week shows up.”

Her words lingered like a smirk in the air, condescending, smug, and venomous.

It was only then you realized how cold the floor had become beneath you. The chill was creeping into your skin, seeping through your clothes, biting at your joints. Your hands had curled into fists without meaning to, nails digging into your palms, the tension wound so tight in your chest it hurt to breathe. Beside you, Joaquín was breathing fast and shallow, barely audible, but enough that you could feel it.

You released your fist and your fingers started to move on instinct, brushing against the knife you’d taken from the display case earlier. You hadn’t even realized you’d been reaching for it. The cool metal kissed your fingertips, grounding you. You closed your hand around the hilt, the weight of it settling in your palm like muscle memory.

Across the room, Valentina’s heels clicked softly on the marble as she began to walk away, casual, unhurried. “Where are you guys keeping the liquor now?” she asked airily. “I can’t fly sober, and there hasn’t been a restock in the kitchen since last night…”

Her voice trailed off as she disappeared around the corner.

Then you heard the soft shuffle of slippers on tile, a nervous fidget. “W-wait. Who’s joining our team?”

Walker answered, bone-dry. “That girlfriend of yours from last night. You know, the one you scared off?”

There was a pause.

“Oh. No. It’s not—” Bob stammered, his voice flustered, uncertain. “We’re not… You think I scared her off?”

You hated that something about the way he asked that fluttered against your ribs, like a moth against a windowpane. Ridiculous, considering the circumstances. You bit down on the feeling.

He didn’t get an answer before Valentina returned, heels striking the floor like punctuation. “Found it,” she announced. You heard the clink of glass. “Alright, Mel and I will be gone for a few days. Don’t do anything stupid. And Bob, your phone will be downstairs.”

And just like that, she was heading back toward the elevator. You watched her feet vanish from view. Then the soft ding of the lift. The whisper of the doors sliding shut. Gone.

You exhaled for the first time in minutes. The pressure in your chest finally let go, but you still didn’t release the knife. Even when Joaquín began shifting beside you, his legs uncoiling. Yelena’s voice came from above, low but audible: “It’s clear.”

Joaquín started crawling out from under the couch, but you reached for his sleeve, grabbing him without thinking. Just for a second. He glanced back at you.

Then you nodded. He moved. You followed.

Your hand stayed in your pocket, curled tight around the blade.

“Were—were you there this whole time?” Bob asked, his voice cracking on the question. He stepped closer to the centre of the room, joining the others.

You finally looked at him.

Gone was the suit. Instead: a grey sweatshirt, soft and clean, and thrown over a pair of baby-blue pyjama pants. And on his feet, bunny slippers. Actual bunny slippers. You had thought maybe you made it up in your head. But no. You blinked. Then you looked back up at his face.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hi,” That same, dopey grin split his face and you almost felt your own lips move to return it. But you stopped yourself and pushed the feeling back down, “What are you doing here?” He had that same bemusement from yesterday as if he was just happy to be here. Wherever here is. 

“We were just leaving,” you said, crouching to grab Joaquín’s bag and laptop from under the coffee table. You shoved them at him.

This time, he didn’t argue.

Maybe the brush with Valentina had knocked the fight out of him, or maybe he finally saw the writing on the wall. Either way, Joaquín was already jamming the laptop into the bag and pulling the strap over his shoulder.

“Leaving?” Yelena echoed, surprised.

“But I just woke up.” Bob frowned.

You didn’t answer.

You had heard enough.

Valentina was still a manipulative bitch, and now you had proof sitting on an old drive tucked into Ava Starr’s pocket. But this team? These people? They weren’t exactly running to stop her. Didn’t seem nearly as willing to hand over that evidence now that they knew it’d be trading their own freedom and newfound fame and luxury. You also knew they weren’t being entirely honest with most of it, so what was the point?

And Bucky?

He could eat shit for all you cared.

“You said you’d help us,” Yelena said, voice quieter now, tight, trembling at the edges like a thread pulled too taut.

“No,” you shot back, sharper than intended. “We said we’d listen.”

Joaquín stepped up beside you, his voice steadier. “Unless you hand over that drive, there’s nothing we can do for you.”

Ava’s stance hardened. Her hand flexed at her side. “You can leave,” she said. “But the drive stays here.”

That made Walker flinch. “Wait—what?” he barked, stepping forward. “You’re just gonna let them walk? After what they know? They’ll have us on The Raft by tomorrow.”

Alexei groaned, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I can’t go back to prison.”

“Prison? Wait—what are we talking about?” Bob interjected, blinking between everyone.

“God forbid you ever take responsibility for anything, Walker,” you said coolly, your eyes on the blonde man. “That there are consqueneces for your actions.”

His jaw twitched. You could see the pressure building in him like steam behind glass, his shoulders shaking. “Don’t get smart with me. You think I don’t know about consequences?”

Your fingers curled tighter around the handle of the knife in your coat. Cold steel kissed your palm, grounding you. You didn’t flinch as Walker loomed over you, not even when the heat of his breath hit your face.

“I’m sure you were starting to get it once your wife left,” you murmured bitterly.

Walker squared his shoulders like he was about to make good on the threat behind his scowl, or maybe hit you hard enough to knock your teeth out.

“Woah, woah—no fights here!” Yelena suddenly launched herself over the couch, landing between you with a firm thud. Her socks scuffed slightly on the rug as she extended both arms, placing one hand on your chest,.

It was oddly gentle—so soft you almost forgot that those same hands had likely killed thousands. Her palm rested right over your heart. You wondered if she could feel how fast it was beating.

“No fights,” she said again, a note of pleading curling into her voice. “We can’t get blood on the carpet. It’s new.”

Her words were light, but her eyes weren’t. They were serious—tired, even. Like someone who’d already bled for too many causes and was still waiting to find one worth it.

“I don’t want this,” she said firmly, now addressing the whole room. “None of us do. We’re on the same side. We’re just… on different pages.”

“That’s generous,” Ava muttered.

“No. It’s the truth,” Yelena shot back. “Valentina wins when we fight. That’s how she does it—she divides, she confuses, she corrupts.”

You met her gaze. And there it was: the flicker of desperation she was too proud to hide. Not fear, just a weariness, like she was sick of surviving in a world built on grey lines and crossed wires.

“…She’s right,” Joaquín said reluctantly. There was a tightness to his jaw as if it pained him to agree with any of this.

A heavy pause settled. Dust hung in the sunlight pouring through the tall windows, undisturbed.

Then Yelena turned back to you, her voice softer this time, almost hollow. “Is there really no other way to stop her?”

You hesitated, your mouth opening before the words were fully formed. You wanted to have an answer, something solid, something certain. But all you could offer was the truth.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

Because you didn’t. You weren’t a strategist. You didn’t sit in war rooms or comb through legal loopholes. Your background was in the Navy—flying jets, executing orders, staying alive. Similar to the work of every other person in this room. The closest you’d ever come to investigative work was chasing the Flag Smashers, or trying to clear Isaiah’s name when the system nearly buried him for something he didn’t do.

Your grip on the knife loosened. You hadn’t realized how hard you’d been holding it until your fingers started to throb, blood returning like a warning. You let it fall back into your jacket pocket.

“We’re not lawyers,” you added.

Walker took a step back—not far, but enough. Just enough to mark the shift. His breathing was loud in the quiet, uneven. His fists were still balled tight at his sides, like tension waiting for an excuse to spark again.

But he didn’t come closer. You almost felt bad for bringing up his wife.

Yelena nodded slowly, “Do you think Sam Wilson could help?”

That question hung in the room. It was different from the others. More personal.

You caught it in her voice first, a crack in her composure. Distress, raw and unpolished. Her eyes searched yours, not for strategy, but for hope. She was asking you to believe in something, even if she couldn’t anymore.

And the others were watching too—Ava, still guarded but listening; Alexei, wringing his hands; even Bob, with wide, unknowing eyes.

You looked at Joaquín. He met your gaze and nodded once.

“He could,” he said.

“But will he?” Yelena pressed. She needed an answer that sounded like a promise.

You hesitated, shoulders sinking under the weight of everything unsaid. The silence stretched, heavy with reluctant hope, weak trust and a dozen unspoken things. Then finally, with a sigh that felt like it pulled from the base of your spine:

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “He’s pretty understanding.”

Yelena nodded once, slowly, like that alone was enough to make something shift. Then she extended her arm behind her, her fingers flicking in silent command.

“Ava.”

“What?” came the flat reply, bristling with suspicion.

“Give them the drive,” Yelena said, jerking her chin toward you and Joaquín.

Ava blinked, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“Give it.” Yelena didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The words landed sharp and sure, heavy with a quiet authority. Whether it was her posture, the chill in her accent, or the way she stared Ava down without blinking, it worked.

Ava rolled her eyes hard enough that you were sure she saw her own brain. But still, she stomped over, pulling the small drive from her pocket and shoving it into Joaquín’s hand.

He took it wordlessly, slipping it into his jacket without fanfare.

Yelena turned back to you. “I trust you’ll do what’s right.” Her voice softened, “I just… I want to do good. Be good. Like my sister.”

You blinked. The honesty in her tone caught you off guard. You stared at her for a beat, the brows on your face knitting together. There hadn’t been a moment yet where you felt like you couldn’t trust Yelena—if anything, she was the only one in this dysfunctional little collective who seemed a little more grounded in reality than the others. Steady in her beliefs.

You nodded slowly. Not just to acknowledge her, but because you understood. You wanted to be good too. Like Sam.

“Sure,” you said.

“Unbelievable,” Walker muttered. He threw his hands up and stormed toward the spiral staircase, his boots thudding too loudly for the steps.

You met Yelena’s eyes one last time. She raised her brows at you funnily, a silent ignore him written across her face. That earned the smallest smile from you, which she returned, not quite warmly, but not unkindly either.

“Bye, guys,” Joaquín called, already moving past you toward the elevator with an urge to get the fuck out of this place.

“Bye,” Ava called back with a lazy wave.

Alexei flopped onto the couch like a man ready for retirement. “We will see you later, new friends,” he announced, already unlocking an iPad and flicking through apps with surprising focus. Only then did you notice the ridiculous shirt stretched across his chest—his own face beaming up at you.

Of course he owned a shirt like that.

Yelena gave you one final nod as if to say I’ll handle things here. You held her gaze a moment longer before turning toward the elevator.

And there was Bob.

Still standing there quietly by the steps of the sunken living room like he didn’t quite know where to go next. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, and when your eyes met, he gave you a shy little wave.

You raised your hand and waved back.

What a strange turn of events, you thought, stepping into the elevator beside Joaquín.

It felt like your world had been flipped upside down, spun sideways, and then set back upright—all before noon. Great. So much for Walker flying you back to D.C. Not that you were exactly heartbroken about it. At least you were finally getting out, and better yet, leaving with more than you'd hoped for. Thanks to Yelena.

Joaquín pressed the button to the lobby, his movements brisk but silent, like he was still trying to catch up to the emotional weight of the last hour or so.

You both stood in silence as the doors began to slide shut.

And then suddenly they didn’t.

Another body slipped through the narrowing space.

“Jesus!” Joaquín hissed, jerking half a step to the side. “What the hell—?”

“Sorry!” came the quick, sheepish yelp.

It was Bob.

His eyes were wide, hands lifted like he’d just stumbled into a hostage situation instead of an elevator. “Val said my phone’s downstairs…” he offered lamely, voice trailing as he glanced between the two of you. “Hey.”

“Hey, man, ”Joaquín huffed out a breathless sigh, “Scared the shit out of us.”

That made Bob crack a grin. He gestured toward himself like he was still catching up to the social rhythm. “I’m Bob.”

“Joaquín,” came the reply, quick and warm.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. The three of you must’ve looked like the beginning of a joke: two randos and a guy in bunny slippers walk into an elevator. Bob’s pyjamas looked like they hadn’t seen the outside of a laundry basket in days, wrinkled in all places, but you thought the slippers were undeniably cute.

“Yeah, you’re the Falcon, right?” Bob asked, turning to Joaquín with a genuine light in his eyes.

Joaquín puffed up slightly, the pride flickering across his face before he nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

You rolled your eyes, but the fondness came easy.

“That’s cool,” Bob said, his grin stretching even wider—until it didn’t. Until it faltered just enough for you to catch the flicker of something behind it. He glanced at you again, eyes darting nervously before he dropped his gaze to the floor. “So um… I guess you know about me now.”

The elevator hummed beneath your feet, descending gradually.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he continued, voice quieter. “I wasn’t sure if… I was allowed. Or if I should. Are you… afraid of me now?”

Your heart thudded once, harder than expected.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Joaquín shift slightly, his body tense, watching, waiting to see what you’d say.

You drew in a breath, trying to steady yourself before you looked at Bob again. His posture had crumpled slightly under his own words. Shoulders curled in. Smile gone.

“Why would I be afraid of you, Bob?”

His gaze lifted, hopeful, but guarded.

“Because of what I did.”

That brought you up short.

You’d thought you’d had enough surprises for one day. Apparently not. Apparently Bob Reynolds had more where that came from, like some twisted magic trick where he kept pulling the rug out from under you, over and over again.

The elevator hummed. The floor numbers kept ticking down, steady and oblivious.

You swallowed. Almost afraid to ask.

“…What’d you do?”

He winced, rolling his shoulder like it physically pained him to answer. “That thing… in New York.”

You blinked, trying to process. When you didn’t respond, he looked at you, hesitant. “You read my file, right?”

“We didn’t… get that far,” you muttered.

But your brain was already scrambling to fill in the blanks. Every major incident in New York flashed behind your eyes—there were too many to count. Alien invasions. Robot uprisings. Sorcerer nonsense. But then you narrowed in. The one that had involved the New Avengers. The one the news had dubbed The Darkest Day. The terrifying grainy footage you’d seen during the hearings. The impossible collapse of light, sound, and structure. The city submerged in absolute darkness.

You stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Joaquín said slowly, “You’re telling me you’re the one who turned New York into a black hole? You?”

Bob scratched the back of his neck, visibly squirming under the weight of it. Another awkward move, nervous, even. “…I didn’t mean to. I swear.”

And that was the kicker. That was when the full weight of who he was finally settled on your chest.

Bob. The Bob who tripped over your dress last night. The Bob who sat by a fireplace and made you smile until your face hurt. The Bob with an Instagram account full of second-hand paperbacks and soft, orange-pink Florida sunsets. That Bob—was the same man who apparently swallowed half of Manhattan into a void.

And now he was standing in the elevator, right between you and Joaquín, in bunny slippers.

It took all your effort not to show how much that messed you up. It set your heart racing, made it pound a tattoo against the underside of your ribs hard enough that you can feel it all the way up in your throat like it was trying to get your attention: this isn’t normal. This isn’t safe.

But then Bob gave you the exact same, uneasy, shy smile as before. Only this time, it’s much harder to meet it with one of your own. You forced a tiny twitch of your mouth upward, barely there, because Joaquín was right beside him too, and you were almost certain he was freaking out enough for the both of you.

You’d seen the footage. You’d read the transcripts. Sat in on court hearings. Heard survivors speak. The sheer level of devastation. The fear. The unanswerable questions.

And that was him. This man in the elevator. The man who smiled at you like he still hoped you didn’t hate him.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted to reveal the glossy, open expanse of the lobby. Joaquín stepped out first, more hurried than usual. You followed on autopilot, your head still spinning.

The three of you drifted toward the grand lounge area, hovering near the secretary’s desk, not quite ready to separate. Like no one knew what to say next.

“So,” You begin awkwardly, “Bob. That’s... that’s pretty... uh, how’d that happen?”

He winced again, more out of embarrassment than pain. “Um. I don’t really know. My memory’s been foggy since I went through the experimental program,” he admitted slowly. “It… it comes back in pieces sometimes.”

Your brows rose. “Experimental program?”

“Project Sentry,” Joaquín muttered, eyes narrowing as if the puzzle was finally clicking together in his head.

You blinked. You’d known of De Fontaine’s side projects. Rumours of off-the-books enhancements and reconditioning efforts. Human experimentation. Yelena’s files had confirmed them, but you never knew the name of it. You never knew it was called Project Sentry.

You looked at Bob again. Jesus. Bob was one of Valentina’s experiments. That realization settled cold and sharp in your gut.

“Yeah, that one.” Bob nodded sheepishly. “But I don’t remember all of it. I get flashes. I remember getting injected with stuff... being blonde… getting killed.”

You stared, concerned, “You… remember dying?”

He blinked hard like he was trying to shake the static off his brain, or maybe trying to forget it. Then he looked at you—really looked—and something softened again in his expression.

The corners of his mouth twitched up and a blush grew on his cheeks.

“…Don’t worry, though,” he added, voice softer now, more tentative. “I remember you. Don’t think I’ll be able to forget you, actually.”

This time, you did manage a smile.

God. That line shouldn’t have hit the way it did, but it did. Somehow, it fractured the version of him you were just starting to piece together again. Mysterious World Ending Shadow Guy and Sweet Bob From Party were the same fucking person. And you weren’t sure if that was comforting or horrifying because you were growing flustered at his comment.

From the side, Joaquín snorted. “Smooth.”

You caught the way Bob’s blush deepened, the colour rising visibly along his cheekbones. He ducked his head, clearly flustered.

You shook yours gently. “Don’t listen to him.”

“…Okay,” he said earnestly. Then, after a beat: “So… you never got to the part about the experiments?”

You inhaled, slow and careful, trying to find the right words, trying not to sound like someone who’d had the wind knocked out of them several times over in the span of an hour.

“I don’t think your friends wanted us to know,” you admitted.

“Oh.”

Just that. One word. But it carried something heavy, something almost brittle underneath. A quiet, hollow kind of disappointment.

It stopped you cold.

Part of it was guilt. Upsetting Bob felt like kicking a puppy that didn’t even know what it had done wrong. But the other part, the more rational, still-on-edge part of your brain, reminded you of who you were talking to. Of what he’d done. And maybe it wasn’t a great idea to make someone who once tore a city in half feel unwanted.

“Bob?”

The sudden voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You flinched. Joaquín immediately straightened beside you—his hand half-rising on instinct. Both of you spun, the tension surging through your limbs once more.

A woman dressed in black was already walking toward you, shoes clicking lightly across the lobby floor. She faltered slightly when she took in the three of you together, but her smile held firm. Calm. Polite. Her hands extended a small box toward Bob.

“Um, here’s your new phone,” she said.

You recognized the voice. Mel. Valentina’s assistant. Which meant someone—likely everyone—was about to find out that you and Joaquín were here.

You returned her smile with one of your own, both of you sharing the kind of strained politeness that only came from being on opposite sides of a very expensive, very fragile chessboard.

“Thanks,” Bob said, taking the box carefully. Mel nodded once and turned, gliding away as quickly as she’d arrived.

Bob looked at the box like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Then his gaze drifted to Joaquín—just a glance—but when his eyes found yours again, he was flushed and fidgeting, all over again.

“Phone,” he chuckled nervously, rubbing this thumb over the side of the box, “yeah, um… I asked for a phone because I—Walker said I should just ask you—uh,” he huffed, blinking hard as if to gather his thoughts. “I know you’re leaving and all, but… it was really nice to see you.”

He gave a kind of half-shrug like he wasn’t sure what he meant by that until it was already out.

“I honestly thought I wouldn’t—see you again, I mean,” he went on. “I thought I’d messed it up. Back when I brought up… uh. Bucky.”

Yeah. That moment had soured everything fast. You hadn’t thought you’d see Bob again either, not after that mess. For a while, you’d convinced yourself you didn’t want to. But you also knew that no matter how many hours the drive back to Washington took, you’d probably spend all of them scrolling through his old Instagram posts—those quiet book reviews, those blurry sunset photos, that one stupid post about jelly beans you think he posted when he was high.

You didn’t crush on people easily. Even less so on people tied to your work. But with Bob, it had happened fast, softly, then all at once.

His honesty caught you off guard again, and you felt a flush rise to your own cheeks. Joaquín’s head turned toward you, a little too quickly, a little too hopeful, and you could practically hear the gears in his nosy little brain turning. That bastard.

You ignored him.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, eyes on Bob. “It was nice to see you too.”

And God, wasn’t that the understatement of the year?

“Can I—um…” he shifted on his feet, thumb brushing over the edge of the box in his hands. “Do you think I could have your number? For when I finish setting up my phone. In case you… still want to talk.” His voice softened, almost hopeful. “I really did like talking to you yesterday. You can say no, that’s alright.”

You weren’t going to say no. And honestly? You doubted Joaquín would let you. He’d been silently rooting for this since he stepped on your dress—he was a hopeless romantic under all that tactical gear.

Still, that didn’t stop the soft, fluttery weight building in your chest. Like your stomach had filled with butterflies in mid-takeoff. It made you feel… like a teenager. God, when was the last time something had made you feel like that?

“Sure, Bob.”

You must’ve caught him off guard. His eyes widened a little. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “Do you have a pen?”

His whole face lit up in panic. “Uh—no. Wait, hold on—” He spun, glancing around frantically.

Joaquín, bless him, was already halfway to the secretary’s desk, digging through an Avengers-themed mug filled with pens. He came back triumphantly, tossing one to Bob, who fumbled it slightly before returning to you, grinning like an idiot.

“Here,” he said, holding it out.

You reached for it. Your fingers brushed his—warm, solid, and really soft—and the moment was small, fleeting, but it sent a pulse through your wrist all the same.

“Where can I write—?”

Bob didn’t hesitate. He rolled up the sleeve of his sweater, tugging it past his elbow in one smooth motion before offering his bare arm to you.

You stared.

Not because you were trying to be weird. But holy shit.

He was built like a statue someone forgot to put on a pedestal. Long forearms, defined muscle, a vein trailing up the centre of his arm like it’d been drawn there on purpose. His skin was golden and warm and very, very nice to look at.

“My arm’s fine,” he offered casually, but his voice cracked just enough to betray him.

You blinked, pulling your gaze back up to his face. He looked away, sheepish. Maybe he caught you staring. Okay, he definitely caught you staring. But then again, he was also sneaking glances of his own. His eyes lingered on your mouth for a second too long. A tiny flick down your neck, then away.

He had more shame about it than you did.

“Alright,” you said, trying not to grin like a fool. “Don’t move.”

You stepped in, gently taking his wrist in one hand and steadying the pen with the other. The contact sent another flutter up your arm, but you focused, carefully writing your number across the warm stretch of skin.

One, two, three digits at a time.

By the time you finished, you felt a little breathless.

You let go, reluctantly, and stepped back.

Bob was red. Visibly, unapologetically flushed from his cheeks down to the base of his neck. Still, he gave a quick, grateful nod and tugged the sleeve back down, much to your disappointment.

He took the pen from you, fingers brushing again, and gave you a soft, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll text you. Once I figure this out.” He lifted the phone box with an amused smile. You realized you could have written your number on the box instead, but you refused to say anything about it. His voice was still quiet, but it held a kind of warmth you hadn’t expected to hear again so soon.

“I’ll be waiting,” you said.

He laughed under his breath. Then, almost like he didn’t trust himself to say anything else, he gave a short nod and turned away. You watched him cross the floor toward the elevators.

Halfway there, he paused. Turned slightly. You thought he was going to say something, another goodbye, maybe a joke, something. But he just gave you a little wave. Kind. A little bashful.

You waved back, lips still curved in a smile.

“And they say romance is dead,” Joaquín snorted into your ear, slinging an arm dramatically around your shoulders as soon as the elevator doors shut.

You groaned, but it came out more like a laugh. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He leaned all his weight onto you like an overgrown, smug barnacle. “You were totally about to kiss him. Don’t lie. I saw the look on your face. So did he. I’m kinda disappointed, actually. Was fully expecting a public display of—you know, soul-consuming makeout rage.”

“Shut. Up.”

“You’re smiling,” he said in a sing-song voice. “You like him.”

“I will kill you.”

“You like him.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it actually hurt. But your cheeks were warm, and the flutter in your chest hadn’t totally calmed down. You weren’t even that mad. Not like you had been this morning when your entire life felt like it was fracturing under the weight of secrets, lies, and political backstabbing.

Now? You were still exhausted. Still confused. But something about Bob—awkward, charming, possibly world-ending Bob—had given you a moment of quiet in the middle of all of it.

“I bet you’re glad we stayed longer.”

“I lost a few years of my life from stress,” you muttered. “But yeah. Sure. I’m glad.”

Joaquín finally stopped leaning on you, but he kept his arm there, resting it across your shoulders like a shield. You fell into step with him, the two of you weaving through the flow of people on the sidewalk, the city alive around you in a way that felt almost… normal again.

Then, softer, “So what now?”

You glanced sideways. His joking edge had slipped off somewhere between steps, and now you could see the fatigue settling over his face. He looked as drained as you felt—eyes tired, jaw clenched slightly like he was holding something unspoken just behind his teeth.

You didn’t blame him. You were both running on fumes.

“We get the fuck out of here,” you said simply.

He let out a hum of agreement, nodding once as if the idea itself was a balm. But then he hesitated, giving you a sidelong glance.

“We’re not telling Sam about any of this, right?” he asked. “Like, the whole… following Walker into the tower part.”

“God, no,” you said immediately. “We’ll tell him I found the drive last night.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, satisfied. “He doesn’t need to know you almost got swept off your feet by a guy in a chicken costume.”

“Joaquín.”

He laughed and pulled you a little closer, and the two of you kept walking, two specks swallowed by the sprawl of Manhattan at noon, leaving behind the kind of chaos you weren’t sure you could ever fully explain. But for now, you had your answer, and you’d get the hell out of here.

text messages with bob!

[milla-frenchy]

Trapped

Written together with @aurorawritestoescape

3k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller | ao3 Summary: you run out of gas in the middle of nowhere at night. A stranger comes to help Warnings: 18+ mdni. DDDNE, NONCON, DARK Drugging, somnophilia, dacryphilia, kidnapping, hunter/prey,  allusions to past victims, shifting pov Oral (f/m), overstimulation, dry humping, piv, creampies

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape and I wrote this fic for @pedgito 's Spring fever writing challenge and we asked for Backwoods Horror #2 (gas station). Thank you so much for this horror film challenge Ali! 👻 Kate, sweetheart, as always, I loved writing with you 🥹💕🫶 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

Heed the warnings! If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. We are not responsible for the content you consume. This is not for everyone and that's okay. We don't condone the actions of the characters. 

Kate's masterlist | Milla's masterlist

You were trying not to panic, even though you checked the remaining fuel on your car display far too often. It all could have been avoided, if you hadn't taken the wrong exit, if you hadn't ended up in that godforsaken corner in the middle of the woods, if you hadn't lost your GPS signal. But the last half hour had been nothing but a pile of shit.

Your headlights could barely allow you to see what was around, and you were on the verge of crying when you checked the gas gauge again, the low fuel warning lit for far too long. You swallowed back the tears, when you saw the sign of a gas station, just a few miles ahead.

The station was then in sight, dimly illuminating the surrounding trees, when your car began to hiccup, before it finally stopped once the last drop of gas had been swallowed.

“Fucking hell,” you said out loud but then tried to calm down, telling yourself that it could have been worse.

You looked around, the trees were making the night even darker, and you wondered what animals might be in the shadows. Bears? Someone worse?

You took the key out of the ignition and turned off your headlights to observe your surroundings. You hoped that the station employee had seen your car and would come out to help you. But it didn’t happen.

You grabbed the door handle, your hand shaking uncontrollably. “Come on, girl. Count to 5, take a deep breath, and get out.”

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

You inhaled and opened the door, walking as confidently as you could, watching your surroundings, listening for the slightest noise, until you reached the gas station.

“Closed,” said the sign on the door. 

Fuck.

You pressed your hand against the glass and peered inside. Maybe the employee was in the storage room? Or gone for a few minutes? But you shook your head. Gone where? There was absolutely nothing around.

You turned toward the pumps and then approached them.

“Out of gas”

The sign was handwritten in red.

There it was, your last hope being crushed. You took out your phone and checked the signal. Nothing.

Fear overtook you, its cold hand gripping your ankles before creeping up inch by inch, freezing your entire body, giving way to terror. You ran to your car, mind blank except for the images worthy of a horror movie.

You slammed the door once seated and activated the central locking. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, and you tried to rationalize your situation. You were safe in your car, you had to hold on to that thought.

It could have been worse.

Minutes passed. You kept checking your phone signal, which, of course, couldn't magically change. You looked at it for maybe the tenth time, when you saw headlights in your rearview mirror. Your instinct was to curl up in your seat, to hide in a rather stupid way.

The car slowed down, approaching you, and you saw that it was a truck. When it drove by, it was hard to say if you were more scared that the driver would keep going or would stop.

 A red brake light came on, then a reverse one, and the truck backed up until it was parked in front of you. Your heart was pounding so loudly that the beating seemed to fill the cabin of your car. A few long moments passed before the driver's door opened and a man got out. You were relieved that he seemed to be alone, you’d probably die of fear if two or three men had been there, in the night, in those woods. He walked slowly to your car, your eyes set on him. He was tall, dark-haired, middle-aged, but you couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“You need help, m’am?”

At least, that's what you read on his lips, since you couldn’t hear him through the closed windows. His gaze softened when he saw your worried expression, and with his index finger he signaled for you to lower your window. He maintained the same distance, didn’t try to approach your car, so you opened it a little. Just to hear him.

“You need help, m’am?” he said, confirming your guess.

“I uh… no, I’m ok. Thank you.”

“Sure,” he said, smiling at you, and started to go back to his car. You rolled up your window and thought about your situation. There might not be anyone else coming for several hours. Or you could find yourself in danger. 

Or you could be in danger with him, too.

“Shit,” you mumbled. “What should I do?”

You looked at your phone again — still no signal. Suddenly a low battery notification popped up. The fear of being alone there, with your phone dead, overshadowed everything else.

“Sir!” you shouted as you opened your door, making him stop and turn towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Could you help me, please? I’m… I'm out of gas and the station is closed."

"Of course," he replied calmly. "I have gas cans on my property. We can make a round trip, and you'll be back on the road with your car in no time."

Your last uncertainty vanished with his reassuring smile. You grabbed your bag, locked your car, and got into his, when he opened the door for you.

“Thank you, that's very kind of you,” you said once he started driving.

“Sure, m’am. I ain’t gonna leave you here alone until morning. My house’s near, so it doesn't bother me at all.”

You smiled at him, your bag on your lap, noticing the music. Probably some 50s or 60s rock tune.

“I bought a coffee on my way home from work, about fifteen minutes ago. I haven't touched it, if you want it.”

You hesitated and your stomach churned. You didn't know this man, you couldn't drink anything he offered. 

But when you looked at him, his eyes were still as soft, his smile still as sweet. A dimple creased his cheek. All he‘d been doing since you’d met him was helping you. You brushed off your worries and thanked him, before bringing the Starbucks cup to your mouth. The coffee was warm and delicious.

“There’s a Starbucks nearby? Seems like there's nothing for miles around!”

He chuckled, then replied “we ain’t that far from a town. A few miles, at most. Did you get lost on your way?”

“Yeah, took the wrong road, and then there was no signal, no GPS. And no gas,” you added, laughing at your own bad luck.

“Well, looks like you've had a bad evening so far.”

“Yeah. Good thing you came by.”

“It would have been a long night otherwise, right?”

You nodded and started humming the song. It was one of your favorites. 

You kept sipping the coffee until all of a sudden sleepiness took over you. You glanced at the man with droopy eyes and saw him looking at you. His lips curled into a smirk as his stare went dark.

You passed out before you had time to think that you should have trusted your gut.

******

Joel was at home when he got a text from Tommy. 

It was a single photo from a security camera at the gas station. Joel zoomed in on the pic and narrowed his eyes. 

It was a photo of you. 

You were alone. Probably scared. Perfect. 

His lips twisted into a wolfish smile. He took in your body and adjusted his bulge. Before getting up he texted back, 

“On my way.”

********

“You’ve been so naive. Getting into a car with a stranger like that…Ugh, baby. Do you have anything in your pretty head?” 

Joel was talking to you but you didn’t answer. 

You were still out, the drug was working perfectly, keeping you asleep in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, vulnerable and pliant for him. Restraining you wasn’t necessary which was a good thing— he didn’t like leaving marks on his girls. Your skin was too beautiful to ruin. At least for now. 

You were naked on an old iron bed, legs spread, thighs resting on Joel’s broad shoulders. He was looking up at your sleeping face from between your legs, his lips over your glistening cunt. 

“It’s good that I took you, you know. I'm not a monster… gonna take good care of you…,” he looked down at your sopping pussy “..of her. Gonna make her wet and ready for me.”

He carefully traced the edge of your entrance with a pad of his index finger, then slid it up to your clit and drew a few tight circles over it. You softly whimpered, making Joel smile. 

“That’s my girl. Giving me these pretty sounds even in your sleep. Sing for me, baby.”

Joel kept swirling your hardening bud with his thumb, drawing soft moans from your parted lips, but soon desire overtook him, and he latched onto your crying pussy. He was licking your arousal off, slurping and growling against your folds, swallowing your juices with loud gulps. His hard cock was straining his jeans, but Joel didn’t want to let him out just yet. Instead he was lazily humping the bed, his strokes short and languid.

“Not gonna cum like that, beautiful, don’t worry,” he cooed, fanning your pussy with his hot breath. “Ya getting all my milk.” 

Your face was twisting with pleasure as you were lying there, your mind deep in the darkness. 

Suddenly Joel heard a noise downstairs. 

His hand darted to the gun in his holster, his eyes fixed on the door. 

Knock, knock - pause- knock. 

Joel breathed out with relief and returned his hand to your thigh when his younger brother entered the room. 

“Fuck, ya scared me. Text me next time you’re close.“

Tommy came up to Joel, taking his jacket off. 

”‘k, next time. Was too busy getting rid of the car.”

Joel looked at him intently. 

“Done?”

“Done,” Tommy nodded but his eyes were glued to your naked body, splayed on the bed. 

“Damn,” he smirked and palmed himself over his jeans. 

“Right? Good catch, Tommy.”

The younger brother gave Joel a wide smile, his chest expanding at the praise. 

“Thanks. But it’s all her. When I saw her at my station …,” he shook his head, “couldn’t believe our luck. She’s perfect. Did you get her with the Starbucks trick?”

“Yeah, works every time,” Joel chuckled.

Tommy’s gaze was dark as he was eating you alive with his eyes, and his hands started unbuckling his belt. 

“Hold your horses,” Joel groaned. ”Ain’t fucked her yet.”

Tommy scoffed.  

“Were ya sucking on her pussy all this damn time?”

“I do to her what I please,” Joel bit back, glaring at his brother. “Made her come a few times. You’ll thank me later.”

Tommy cursed and plopped into a squeaky chair near the bed. 

Joel echoed his brother’s scowl with his own and then returned his eyes to your cunt. He kissed it gently and Tommy scoffed. Your skin was cold and not minding his brother’s mpatience, Joel breathed on your folds to warm your pussy up. “Ahhh…,” you moaned and Tommy squirmed in the chair. 

“‘s ok.” Joel raised his hand, his lips brushing your cunt. “She’s out. Jus’ enjoyin’ herself.”

Joel mumbled “one more, baby,” and pushed his tongue between your folds. He lapped at your pussy, then focused on your clit— began flicking it with the tip, swirling it around, his palms on your hips. 

Your chest was rising and falling fast again, your skin erupted in goosebumps, your face contorted with ecstasy and you came with a little cry. 

You kept mewling like a wounded animal, when Tommy got up and bent over to collect a tear beading in the corner of your eye with his thumb. 

He brought it to his lips and licked it off. Then his eyes returned to Joel  and he grunted,

“Enough. Let’s fuck her.”

Joel would gladly spend another hour drinking from your dripping hole, your juices were headier than any whisky, more delicious than anything he’d ever tasted. If only Tommy had come a bit later. 

Fuck it, Joel thought. His cock was soaking through his jeans, the constant ache of need was buzzing in his balls harder with every second, so when Tommy pushed, Joel parted from your juicy cunt and nodded.  

“Yeah, ‘s time.”

Joel stood up and kneeled on the bed, unbuckling his jeans with one hand, the other wiping his slicked up chin. Tommy licked his lips, excited to start on you, but stayed standing by the bed, waiting.  

Joel set that rule a long time ago—  

”I do the dirty work so I’m always the first.” 

He pulled his jeans down, finally letting his dick spring free, clear drops of precum landing on your naked thighs and mound. He couldn’t wait to pierce you with his cock, but there was something special about you, something that made him lean down and glide his palm between your puffy folds. Your pussy had been generously leaking all the time he’d been eating you out, and Joel gathered some of your wetness to lube up his member with your slick. 

Tommy chuckled,

“Jeez, you’re not in love, are ya?”

Joel didn’t even look at his brother. The only thing on his mind and in his eyes was you — wet, hot and ready for him to devour. 

Holding his girthy cock at the base, Joel settled between your legs and nudged your hole with his fat tip. Your eyelids fluttered but you were sleeping. 

The warmth of your soft pussy sent a shiver through his body and Joel slid his head up and down between your folds, grazing your clit, making you whimper from overstimulation. He could listen to you forever. 

He sensed Tommy’s impatience as well as his eyes on himself but didn’t care. Taking his time, Joel slowly pushed his tip inside you and his head dropped, his grunt ringing loudly in the small room. 

“Fuck… she’s tight.”

“She still better be, when you're done with ‘er,” Tommy grumbled, shifting on his feet. 

“Not a chance,” Joel smirked but immediately choked on a moan when his cock began pushing your walls aside, deeper and deeper, until he bottomed out in your perfect cunt. 

The feeling of you wrapped around his shaft was too strong, and Joel gripped the sheets, sparing your pretty skin once again. With his chest rumbling, he began carefully pumping his length in and out of you, his blown out eyes set on your face, tense with pleasure or pain, or both, he couldn’t know. Then his gaze moved down your sweaty body to your spread pussy, that was swallowing his fat cock again and again.  

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Tommy growled, unbuckling his belt, and pulled out his cock, hard since the moment he’d seen you naked on the bed.

“No,” Joel barked, not slowing down his pace. “You’ll let me finish. Wait for your turn.” 

“I know, I know, god damn it,” Tommy growled, stroking himself quickly. “Gonna fuck her mouth.” He knelt on the bed and turned your face towards him, forcing your jaw open, spat on his cock and pushed the tip into your mouth, holding it open for his wide girth. A bump formed against your cheek when he pushed in.

“Fuck yeah,” he said, one hand on the back of your head, the other around your throat, to keep you in the position he needed. He pushed in slowly at first, enjoying watching you take it, then deeper and deeper with each thrust, and chuckled when you gagged on his shaft. 

“Shit, ya such a freak. Don’t hurt her,” Joel warned, still fucking into your cunt, your thighs spread wide open around his.

“And what d’you think you’re doing?” Tommy scoffed.

“Making her come. Again,” thrusting in, “and again. Taking care of her, making her feel good. Fuck, this pussy, man…” he added, as if he already forgot about his brother fucking your throat.

“I wish she was awake. Wish I could see her eyes begging me to stop, while I force my cock down her throat.”

“She’s gonna be out for several hours, won’t happen. Fuck, gonna make her come on my cock soon,” he said, placing his thumb against your swollen, overstimulated clit. “Pull out, I wanna hear her,” he ordered his younger brother.

“Ugh, hurry. Fill her up. Need to drain my balls in this bitch.”

“Won’t take long. Fuckkkkk, she’s gonna come, look at that. Look at her face… She can’t take it anymore, but she can’t do shit about it. Right, baby? This cock’s too much for you, uh? Come on, beautiful, come on it. Choke me with your sweet cunt.”

His hand on your hip tightened as he sped up, finger still rubbing your clit, and you moaned again, face twisted with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Look at her! Yeah, giving it to her good, yeah, just like that!”

“Oh fuck, fuck, she’s coming, oh fuck… squeezing me so fucking hard…” Joel groaned, freezing inside you as you climaxed, and he began  shooting his cum deep into your pussy that was milking him. Tommy leaned down and licked a tear that was trickling down your cheek, then he grabbed your hand to jerk himself off with it. 

Holding your hips, Joel started thrusting in again, as deep and hard as ever with each stroke, groaning, head thrown back in pleasure.

He stopped once his balls were fully empty, and looked at your body spread out for him. “You did great, baby,” he said, patting your belly, and pulled out.

“My turn… fucking finally,” Tommy mumbled, taking his place between your thighs. He lay down on your limp body, pushing you into the mattress with his whole weight, and bottomed out in one go. 

“Fuck, you ruined her, motherfucker,” he growled. Joel snickered as he tucked his cock into his jeans and sat in the chair to watch his brother use you.

“Gonna fuck you all night, baby. Gonna fill this whore snatch,” he said, licking at your lips then your neck. “That’s what you wanted, uh? Going in the woods at night, all alone? Fucking bitch. Got what you wanted.”

He quickly chased his orgasm. He always loved to fuck them quickly the first time, knowing that he’d rail them all night long. That he'd come several times, already wondering which hole he would use next. He groaned, rutting into your cunt, squeezing one of your breasts with a hand. He didn't make you come, didn’t want to. Not that time anyway. He had a whole night. 

After he came, he pulled out, not looking at you.

“Shit, she’s good. Even though you already opened her up too much like every damn time.” 

“I love to eat their cunts, you know it. And I didn’t want ya to split her in two. Look at how you fucked her… just pushed your dick in one go. Don’t know why you’re complaining, you love them sloppy.”

“Shit, yeah,” Tommy laughed. “Can’t wait to be hard again.”

“Yeah, me too. You’ll go first this time.”

They fucked you all night, like he said. Taking turns between your thighs. Your body was probably sore but they didn’t care. 

They fell asleep, their cocks red and sensitive, once they were unable to fuck you again. Once Joel’s tongue was numb from eating you out. 

They were so tired that they forgot to tie you up to the bed, when they left the room.

You woke up early in the morning, the sun's rays heating your face. You winced. First at the bright light, then at the pain in your body. You sat up, wondering where you were, and looked around. A dusty room, undecorated, only an iron bed and a chair. 

You quickly glanced over your legs, your stomach, your whole naked body. You felt the pain in your lower abdomen and panicked as the memories from last night emerged in your mind. That man and his truck. The coffee. You stifled a cry, your hand over your mouth. Your body was sticky, and the smell of cum made you nauseous. 

You looked for your clothes but they weren't there. You had to get out of there, quickly. 

You stood up and walked to the door, staggering. Your legs were weak, and the pain was unbearable, but you couldn't focus on it. First, you had to leave. You opened the door as quietly as possible and slowly walked downstairs, preventing the aged wooden steps from creaking.

You stepped out of the house and looked around. There was nothing but trees as far as you could see. 

You started to walk, naked, unable to run, trying to push away the pain twisting your stomach.

I can do it, I have to survive, you thought. 

You didn't hear anything, but suddenly a hand grabbed your shoulder and threw you to the ground.

You screamed but still heard the attacker clearly. 

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” a man asked, excitement thick in his voice. You felt his hard-on against your naked ass before he turned you over, as if you weighed nothing, and lay down between your legs. He looked like the man from last night, but had longer hair.

You tried to push him off you but it took him only a second to restrain you with his big hand around your wrists. To your horror, he began unbuckling his belt and sneered,

“Was damn good to fuck you all night. We love that, using bitches like you. But I like it even more when you whores fight back.”

Assignment mood board:

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Other fics by Kate and me:

Keep on your mean side - Joel x f!reader - dark fic

The Burglary -Joel x f!reader x Tommy - dead dove, noncon

Bad Girl - Joel x f reader x Tommy - dubcon

The hounds of hell - Series - Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy

Harder than you think - boss!Joel x fem reader x co workers - dead dove, noncon

npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday posts ❤️

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @sawymredfox @baronessvonglitter @iamasaddie @schnarfer @604to647 @tateypots @toxicanonymity @arcanefox207 @sunshineispunk

[trainer-from-unova]

mission accomplished

english ao3 ❄️ spanish ao3 ❄️ masterlist

ship: bob reynolds x f!reader (x the void)

summary: after you faint in a mission bob discovered that you're not dating bucky as he guessed and finds the perfect opportunity to ask you to hang out with him and confess his feelings

word count: 3k (+6k counting the second part)

c/w: hurt/comfort, fainting, needles, misunderstanding, lack of communication, post-canon (and written before watching the movie, edited version after watching it: ❄️)

a/n: this is almost plotless tbh, I just put together some scenes and concepts I had in mind and character study/headcanons + I got lazy at the end, this was supposed to be longer, I'll post a second part

"I don't think I could build a castle with one stomp," she replied, playing along.

"It's literally you," said Bucky mockingly.

"Have you ever tried?" he asked.

"No, but..."

To the girl's right was Bucky, to her left was Bob, on her thighs was the almost empty popcorn bowl and in front of them was the television with Frozen. It was a film that Bucky, because of his age and his past, had never seen, but he knew and knew it was very famous so it was on his watchlist, and his best girl friend, teammate and flatmate had the same powers as one of the main characters, so he had decided to watch it once and for all. The others had already seen it, but still joined him on the couch of the living room. The others were away from the base, which was normal: John had a wife and very young child, Alexei had been locked up in prison for about twenty years, and Ava and Antonia had been controlled and isolated by their circumstances, so when they had a chance to go out and have a normal life in their free time they took it.

Suddenly they heard footsteps and hooves coming into the room, and then there they heard someone press the switches to turn on part of the living room light near the hall. It was obviously Yelena, bundled up with the intention of taking Fanny for a walk.

"Can I go with you?" asked Bob as he watched his friend bend down to attach the leash to the dog's collar.

"Yeah," she replied as she stood up, and he got up from the couch, leaving the other two standing there alone.

It was winter, so it was obviously cold. The two of them were bundled up as they walked the dog around Central Park, their hands in their pockets as they talked. When they were alone they usually talked about the team, specifically Bucky and _______.

Bob loved the latter very much. And he also liked the former, he was a good man he admired and was grateful to him for helping him in the past and making him a better person. But he couldn't help feeling jealous, not just because he wanted her all to himself but because of how insecure he was — he thought it was more likely that she had feelings for Bucky than for him, and obviously he also saw it as possible that Bucky was in love with her. In the moment before, watching Frozen with them, he couldn't help but feel that his presence was in their way, that they would rather be alone and cuddling. Luckily for him he was saved by the bell.

"You should have stayed and watched the movie with them," Yelena said slightly annoyed by her friend's self-sabotage, but at the same time holding back her laughter. She averted her eyes from her dog running away behind the tennis ball she'd thrown her well away seconds before to take a quick glance at her friend next to her, and passed her smile on to him.

After _______ she was the one he felt most comfortable with and was closest to so he confessed this secret to her, and she always encouraged him to confess his feelings and told him that she clearly reciprocated his feelings, but he didn't listen or believe her.

"Am I such bad company?" He replied a little mockingly as she shook her head silently and went back to watching her dog, catching the ball in her mouth.

"I know worse," she said sarcastically and nudging him affectionately, and Bob knew exactly who she was referring to.

______ also loved Bob. They had been through all kinds of situations together. She considered it normal to fall in love with him, but she also considered it normal for him to fall in love with Yelena and vice versa. And she was also her friend and considered her a good woman, but she couldn't help feeling jealous of the closeness between the two of them.

Bucky and ______ were literally in the same situation as Yelena and Bob, talking about the others and trying to convince her that Bob felt the same way about her and that she should be encouraged to hit on him or ask him out on a date.

"Don't get so worked up about it," Bucky told her as _______ leaned back at the kitchen island, watching as he quickly scrubbed the bowl of popcorn they had eaten with Bob's help earlier. The mood had been tense since the latter had gone after Yelena, as if she were another dog.

"Who says I'm thinking about them?" and he looked at her annoyed, saying "Really?" with his eyes. "I'm just waiting for him to propose first, I'm an old-fashioned woman," she joked as he put the bowl in the sink, though she wasn't partly lying.

"In my day women used to propose too, you know?" he decided to say, playing along as he dried his hands with a towel.

"What a liar you are," she laughed as she went over to hug him, and he returned the gesture as they heard the door of the house open and close, and a couple of footsteps. A few seconds later she broke away from him and turned to see who was approaching them: it was Bob.

She tensed, hoping he hadn't heard anything, and he tensed at the sight of her hugging and being hugged by Bucky, but they both tried to hide it as best they could.

"Hey, how was the walk?" he asked as Yelena and Fanny appeared on the scene as well.

"Good," he replied, "are you guys done with the movie yet?"

"Yeah," she replied as Bucky and Yelena gave each other a quick glance, trying not to laugh at the situation. Sometimes, alone together, the two talked about their best friends and the clear amorous tension between them, but they never confirmed to each other that either of them confessed to being in love with the other, keeping the confession a secret.

The team was assembled in full for yet another mission, this time in the southern hemisphere, in a well-insulated laboratory in the middle of an Australian desert. It was hot as hell, and the worst offender was ______ — it didn't help that she was moving around, the suit she was wearing and that not all the rooms in the building were air-conditioned. Her powers had disadvantages in that she couldn't tolerate the heat at all well and had to be well hydrated at all times — she was melting.

One last shot from Yelena a few metres away from her and mission accomplished, that was what the blonde said through her earpiece to warn the others who were in other locations, but all she heard was the gunshot, and even though she was in front of her she heard it in the distance as her vision began to darken.

"Yelena, I'm fainting," she announced as she tried to hold on to one of the tables in the lab where they were, drawing her friend's attention. She couldn't even hear herself.

She turned quickly when she heard it, and saw her friend's lips turning white as she slumped to the floor. Luckily for her, she didn't hit her head too hard because it fell on one of the corpses they had killed seconds before, either with a gun or by sticking weapons made of ice. Yelena ran to her and crouched down to her level to hold her in her arms.

"______ has fainted!" she announced through her earpiece.

"What!?" asked a voice familiar to her, but Yelena couldn't tell if it was worried Bob or angry Void.

He was the first to arrive at their location, followed by the others (except for Alexei who was in the jet, waiting for them).

"The blood isn't hers," Yelena reported as the most powerful of the group took her in his arms and scanned her up and down, reassuringly. She knew that, especially for him, the blood stood out too much on her suit, "and luckily she hadn't hit her head."

"Quick, to the jet," Bucky said as Antonia grabbed what they had come to steal.

The jet wasn't the best place to give medical assistance, but at least they could give her serums with IVs, and there was air conditioning and fresh water, which everyone could use.

Antonia stowed the stolen items and sat in the passenger seat next to Alexei to help him and turn on as much lighting as possible, so it would be easier to find her veins and stick her. Ava pulled out some towels and quickly threw them on the floor so she could lie there and be comfortable, while Bucky went to get the serums and John got a fresh bottle of water. He laid down _______ and stepped away, leaving the others to do their thing but mostly to hold his hands over his head and go around blaming everyone for what had happened and swearing to kill them if her situation got worse — there was no longer any doubt for anyone present, the present was Void and not Bob. They chose to ignore him, letting the insults and threats go in one ear and out the other, but they felt his anxious gaze upon them.

Ava crouched down, pinning her knees behind her teammate's head, and lifted her up for John to give her a drink of water, who was in the same position as her but to her right, while Bucky prepared the serums and needles. When she had drunk enough water, with Yelena digging her knees into the passed-out woman's left to remove her gear, she unzipped the front of her suit a little to cool her down further.

Then Ava laid her back down and the blonde squeezed her arm tightly with her left hand and began tapping the veins with the fingers of her right hand as John stepped back to make room for Bucky to do the same as Yelena on her right arm. The IVs were punctured, the serum bags were left on her abdomen and Antonia turned off the lights above her so that she wouldn't disturb them while she slept. Bucky continued to sit next to her, and Ava got up to drink water next to John.

"Will you shut the fuck up?!" Yelena asked Void as she approached him, trying to keep the volume down even if it was a little lower than he was. "This is nobody's fault, it's a fucking heat stroke!" she reminded him, stepping in front of him. "If you're so worried about her, shut up and let her rest," she whispered seriously and firmly as she looked him in the eyes and grabbed his shoulders. Void wasn't as fond of this one as Bob was, but after ______ she was the one he could stand the best of all those present, so he listened to her.

Perhaps it was the poking or the shouting of Void, but the young woman came to her senses for a moment. At first she barely heard anything and had trouble opening her eyes. She turned her neck (which she noticed was resting on a small towel soaked with cold water) towards her favourite voice and the first thing she saw when she was able to focus her eyes as the blurring stopped was Yelena in front of what she thought was Bob, with her hands on his shoulders and him staring into her eyes. She didn't like what she saw.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty, are you all right?" Bucky asked as he realised she had woken up, although she clearly wasn't completely awake. It was obvious from her facial expression how exhausted she was, and that she was still not fully conscious. It caught not only her attention, but that of the others, who, except for the pilots, turned to look at her.

"Tired..." she whispered as she grimaced and closed her eyes again, as even the dim light bothered her. She couldn't see Void looking worriedly at her and approaching her. "Mission accomplished...?"

"Yeah," John replied.

"Don't worry about it and get some rest, you deserve it," Ava said.

They didn't have to prod her much, she quickly fell asleep again, with the others calmer about her condition and silent so as not to wake her again. When they arrived in New York she was still asleep, but Bob woke up. They removed her IVs and when they got home it was Bucky who carried her to her room and laid her on her bed, even though he wanted to do it himself.

"Bucky, can I... stay with her now?" Bob asked him when the older man came out of her bedroom, after laying her down on her bed. Ava and Yelena were inside, changing her into fresh, comfortable clothes while Antonia went to deliver the stolen goods. "I know... you two are very close," he said nervously, "but you've already been taking care of her on the jet and you should rest," and it was partly true, but he didn't want to take care of her just because he thought Bucky deserved some rest, "let me take care of her," and instantly he saw Bucky smile, and as always, he thought the worst — he thought he was laughing at him, but in fact he was doing it in a loving and genuinely happy way. "I didn't mean to offend you, I'm sorry," he said even more nervously and apologetically.

"No, don't be," he shook his head, trying to wipe away his smile but failing in the attempt. "But... did you really think that she and I... are dating or something?"

"Um yeah, didn't you...?" he asked confused. "It depends on the day, really," he shrugged, "but yeah, sometimes, yeah."

"No, no! She's all yours, don't worry," he tapped him on the shoulder, and he knew from his smile and the look on his face that he knew. "I know you'll take good care of her," he said before he left, not only referring to that day.

He stood in thought, happy to have the way clear but confused that he had realised his feelings for her, wondering if the others had noticed too, and especially her.

The next time she woke up was in her bedroom. She woke up slowly, and noticed that she was wearing one of her pyjamas and that the window was open, so it was cool. When she opened her eyes she saw that the light was dim, with one of her lamps on. She turned her neck and saw that the bedroom door was closed (so that she wouldn't hear noises that might wake her up and so that the heat from the heater wouldn't come in) but that she wasn't alone — Bob was sleeping as a ball in her chair, resting his elbow on the armrest and his cheek on his fist, covered with blankets and warm from head to toe, with a hat included.

She looked at him for a moment, smiling. Then she got out of bed and moved slowly and quietly to the window to close it, and then to him to cover him well, but the movement woke him.

"Hey," he greeted half-sleepily, happy and yet confused to see her awake and up, tucking him in.

"Shit," she cursed, pulling away from him quickly, "did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No no, don't worry about it," he said as he sat up properly, "How are you?" he asked as he reached down for a bottle of water on the floor beside the chair. "You had a heat stroke and fainted," he informed her as he handed her the bottle.

"I'm better now," she said as she pulled the cap off the bottle, "thank you," she said before raising it to her lips, and as she drank she noticed that she was wearing plasters on the inside of her elbows.

"Bucky and Yelena shot you up with serum in the jet," he reported as he saw her eyes go to these.

"Oh yeah, Ithink I remember..." she said as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"And she and Ava put you in your pajamas."

"I thought so," she said smiling sideways, but then her face saddened. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you for everything."

"No no," he hastened to say worriedly, getting up to sit next to her, "it's normal, it could have happened to any of us, don't worry."

She knew it probably hadn't happened to him in particular, but she appreciated his attempt to cheer her up. She smiled apologetically at him and dared to lean her head on his shoulder, and he did the same, leaning his head on hers and holding her hand, interlacing their fingers and stroking it with his thumb.

"Look, you need to cheer up," Bob said suddenly and pulling his head away from hers but still holding her hand, and he didn't even believe himself what he was saying at last, but he really wanted to cheer her up and it was the perfect opportunity to offer her some time alone together, "so this weekend we're going out, wherever you want and it's on me, okay?" he said smiling sweetly at her.

"Okay," she said laughing quietly, "thank you."

© trainer-from-unova / alicent burton | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[youngsadlesbian]

THREADS OF FATE | chapter 03

chapter summary: the avengers and shield continue trying to recruit you, but you remain focused on your life in new york. however, during a mission, someone gets severely injured, and your instincts kick in, making you realize you might be destined for something bigger.

a/n: hope you like it!

word count: 2,7k

warnings: none.

You had done your best to move on.

It had been a year since the Battle of New York, a year since you had healed Natasha Romanoff and walked away from the Avengers and SHIELD.

And they hadn’t stopped trying to recruit you.

At first, it had been subtle—calls from unknown numbers, emails from accounts you didn’t recognize, people who looked just a little too interested when you walked into a café or bookstore. Then, it became less subtle. Natasha had shown up at your apartment one night with takeout and a simple, “So, when are you going to stop pretending you’re normal?”

You had laughed, shaken your head, and told her that you were normal.

She hadn’t believed you.

Neither had Steve, who had found you one day in Central Park, offering you a coffee and a speech about responsibility. Tony had sent a drone to deliver an actual contract to your mailbox, because of course he had. Even Maria Hill had tracked you down at your college library, sitting across from you and sliding a SHIELD file toward you with a raised eyebrow.

But you had refused.

Because deep down, despite everything, you weren’t ready to be part of that world.

So you went to class, studied late into the night, worked a part-time job at a bookstore, and tried to pretend like you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for the moment when fate would drag you back in.

And fate always found a way.

It started slowly—small things that should have meant nothing.

A stranger sitting in the same spot every time you went to your favorite coffee shop. A car that seemed to take the same turns as you on your way home. A flicker of movement in a reflection, gone the moment you turned your head.

At first, you convinced yourself it was paranoia.

New York was a big city. People moved, watched, blended into the background. You weren’t special. You weren’t important.

Except… you were.

And you realized it late one night when you took the long way home from work. The streets were quieter than usual, dimly lit by flickering streetlamps. As you walked, the sensation of being followed pressed against your spine, sharp and suffocating.

You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep walking like you hadn’t noticed.

Then—

A sudden scuffle. A sharp gasp.

You turned your head just in time to see a woman being yanked into an alleyway.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Walk away, a voice in your head whispered. You don’t do this. You don’t fight. You don’t save people.

But your feet were already moving.

You barely registered the cold bite of fear in your chest as you rushed into the alley.

Three men surrounded the woman, one of them holding a knife too close to her throat. She was shaking, her breath coming in terrified gasps.

They hadn’t noticed you yet.

You could have turned around. You could have called for help, run for the nearest police station.

Instead—

“Hey!”

The word burst from your lips before you could stop it, your voice sharper than you expected.

The three men turned at once.

Their eyes flickered over you—assessing, weighing. You weren’t big. You weren’t threatening. You were just a girl, standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The man with the knife sneered. “Walk away, sweetheart. This isn’t your problem.”

But it was.

Because when the woman’s eyes met yours, wide with fear, you saw Daniela.

You saw your sister, helpless, desperate.

And something inside you snapped.

You moved before you had time to think. Your body acted on pure instinct as you lunged, your foot connecting with the man’s wrist before he had time to react. The knife clattered to the ground. The woman stumbled backward, barely able to scramble away.

The other two lunged at you.

Pain exploded across your ribs as a fist connected, knocking you off balance. But you had learned how to take a hit—growing up with Daniela had taught you that much. You twisted, dodging the next swing, landing a hard kick to the second man’s knee.

And then—

A gunshot.

Your heart stopped.

For a moment, you thought you had been hit. But then you saw the woman—the one you had tried to save—collapse to the ground, blood staining her dress.

No.

You scrambled toward her, hands already reaching.

The men ran. You barely noticed.

All you could see was the blood.

Too much blood.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, pressing your hands over the wound, feeling the warmth of her life slipping away.

And then—

Light.

Soft and golden, glowing beneath your fingertips.

Her body jerked.

The wound began to close.

Her breath steadied.

And when her eyes fluttered open, the fear had turned into something else entirely—something like awe.

“You’re—” she gasped. “You’re one of them.”

Your stomach twisted.

Footsteps pounded against the pavement. Sirens screamed in the distance. And before you could react, a shadow loomed over you.

“Damn,” a familiar voice murmured. “You really don’t do anything the easy way, do you?”

You looked up.

Natasha Romanoff.

Her green eyes flickered with something between amusement and exasperation as she crouched beside you. Behind her, Steve Rogers and Clint Barton stood at the alley’s entrance, watching with unreadable expressions.

“You followed me,” you whispered.

Natasha tilted her head. “Technically, I was just keeping an eye on you. But then you went and made things interesting.”

The woman you had healed was staring, still shaken but clearly alive.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt it—that undeniable pull toward something bigger than yourself.

Destiny had caught up to you.

And this time, you weren’t sure you could run from it.

The ride back to the Avengers Tower was quiet.

Too quiet.

Natasha sat beside you in the car, arms crossed, staring out the window like she was giving you space—but you knew better. She was waiting.

Steve was driving, his jaw set, while Clint Barton sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at you through the rearview mirror. You avoided his eyes.

Your mind was still reeling.

You had saved that woman.

Without thinking, without hesitation.

Your whole life, you had treated your ability like something delicate, something to be kept secret, only to be used when absolutely necessary. And yet, when faced with that moment—when someone’s life had been slipping away in front of you—you hadn’t hesitated.

You had chosen to help.

And now, there was no undoing it.

With a deep breath, you broke the silence.

“How long?” you asked, voice quiet.

Natasha didn’t look at you. “How long what?”

“How long have you been watching me?”

Clint snorted. “Would you be mad if we said a while?”

Your stomach clenched.

“You were never exactly off our radar,” Steve admitted, his voice even. “We knew you didn’t want to be involved, but that didn’t mean we could just ignore you.”

You turned to Natasha. “You never told me.”

Natasha finally met your gaze, her expression unreadable. “Would it have changed anything if I had?”

You hesitated.

Would it have?

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say that you would have been furious, that you would have cut her off and disappeared, made sure they never found you again.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You wouldn’t have left.

Because no matter how much you tried to pretend otherwise, Natasha Romanoff had become your friend.

And part of you had known—somewhere, deep down—that this day would come.

The car pulled up in front of the Avengers Tower, the massive structure looming over you like a reminder of the life you had refused for so long.

You weren’t ready for this.

But maybe you never would be.

“Let me be clear,” you said as you stepped into the tower, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “I haven’t said yes to anything.”

“Sure,” Tony Stark’s voice rang out as he stepped into view, a smirk playing at his lips. “You keep telling yourself that, kid.”

Your eye twitched.

Tony thrived on being insufferable, and it had been no different the handful of times you had met him in the past. He had never been subtle about wanting you on the team, but this time, his smirk held something else—something like satisfaction.

Like he already knew you were going to say yes.

You hated that he was probably right.

Bruce Banner was already sitting at the long table in the common area, watching the interaction with mild amusement. Thor was standing by the windows, gazing out at the city as if he had better things to do, while Clint was lounging on the couch with a beer in hand.

And then—

Your gaze landed on Maria Hill.

She was standing near the corner of the room, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk.

“Agent Hill,” you said stiffly.

She nodded once. “Glad to see you again. Took you long enough.”

You sighed. “I haven’t said yes.”

Tony clapped his hands together. “Uh-huh. And yet, here you are, in our very fancy, very top-secret superhero lair.”

You rolled your eyes.

Steve cleared his throat. “Look, we’re not here to pressure you into anything. We just—”

“She already knows why she’s here,” Natasha cut in, her voice cool.

Your jaw clenched.

She wasn’t wrong.

No one had dragged you here. No one had forced you into that car.

You had chosen to come.

Just like you had chosen to use your powers in that alley.

Just like you had chosen to save Natasha a year ago.

You had spent your whole life believing that everything happened for a reason, that destiny had a way of leading you where you were meant to be.

And yet, you had spent the past year fighting that destiny.

Maybe it was time to stop running.

You exhaled slowly.

“…Fine.”

Tony blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

You shot him a flat look. “Yes, seriously.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Huh. That was easier than I expected.”

You groaned. “I already regret this.”

Natasha smirked. “Too late.”

You definitely regretted this.

But beneath all of that—beneath the sarcasm, the nerves, the overwhelming reality of what you had just agreed to—there was something else.

Something terrifying.

Something exhilarating.

Something that felt a lot like finally stepping into the life you were always meant to live.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t stay long.

You had told yourself that this was just temporary—that you would train with SHIELD, help out where you could, and leave when it became too much.

And yet, two years later, you were still here.

Still an Avenger.

Your first few months had been brutal.

SHIELD didn’t believe in easing people into things, and neither did Natasha. She had taken your training into her own hands, dragging you into the gym at ungodly hours and pushing you until your muscles ached and your lungs burned. You had never been a fighter, never been the kind of person who threw punches and broke bones, but Natasha had made sure you learned how to defend yourself.

“You might be able to heal yourself,” she had said after knocking you flat on your back for the third time in a row, “but that doesn’t mean you should get hit in the first place.”

Steve had been gentler. He had taken the time to show you proper form, correcting your stance, teaching you how to move efficiently. He had been patient in a way Natasha wasn’t, explaining things until you understood, never rushing you.

Clint had made it his personal mission to throw you into ridiculous scenarios. “What do you mean you don’t know how to hotwire a car? What if you’re being chased and you need to steal one?” He had taught you how to pick locks, how to disappear into a crowd, how to improvise when things went wrong. “Nat and Cap are teaching you how to fight. I’m teaching you how to survive.”

Tony, on the other hand, had treated you like an exciting new puzzle. He had poked and prodded at your abilities, running tests, making snarky comments, throwing you into simulations that forced you to think on your feet. “You heal people, but can you un-heal them? What happens if you—ow, okay, okay, don’t hit me, I was just asking.”

Bruce had been the only one to ask if you were okay.

If you were overwhelmed.

If you needed time.

And you had, at first.

But the missions had come quickly, and there had been no time to hesitate.

Your first real mission had been terrifying.

It was supposed to be a simple retrieval—go in, grab the stolen SHIELD tech, get out. You weren’t even supposed to fight. You were just backup.

But nothing ever went according to plan.

Gunfire. Smoke. The sharp, metallic scent of blood.

You had been crouched behind cover, heart pounding in your throat, hands shaking. People were screaming. Someone was bleeding out just a few feet away from you. You could hear Steve shouting orders, Natasha moving like a shadow through the chaos, Clint firing arrows with deadly precision.

You could have stayed hidden.

You should have stayed hidden.

But you hadn’t.

Instead, you had scrambled toward the injured agent, pressing your hands to his wound, willing him to live. The warmth of your power had spread through your fingers, golden light illuminating the darkness. The wound had closed in seconds, and the agent had gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.

Then, an enemy soldier had spotted you.

You had barely registered the gun aimed at your head before Natasha had taken him down with a clean shot.

Later, when the mission was over, when you were back at the Tower, she had cornered you in the training room.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she had said, voice like steel.

“He was dying,” you had argued.

“And you would have been dead if I hadn’t been there,” she snapped.

You had clenched your jaw, refusing to look away.

Natasha had sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Just—be careful, okay?”

You had nodded.

And after that, she had trained you even harder.

It had been during one of those late-night training sessions that you had told her.

You hadn’t meant to.

It had just slipped out.

You had been sprawled on the mat, sore and exhausted, when she had asked, “Do you ever date?”

You had snorted. “Not much time for that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You had hesitated, wiping sweat from your forehead. “I like girls.”

She hadn’t reacted right away.

Then—

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

Natasha had smirked. “I was wondering why you never looked twice at Steve.”

You had groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my God, don’t start.”

And that had been it.

She hadn’t treated you any differently.

She hadn’t made a big deal out of it.

She had just accepted it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow, that had made all the difference.

Telling Tony had been… a mistake.

You had mentioned it casually one night, expecting a similar reaction.

Instead—

“Oh my God,” he had said, eyes lighting up. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I know people. I could set you up. What’s your type? Redheads? Blondes? Do you like scientists? I know a couple of biochemists—”

You had regretted everything.

Clint had found the whole thing hilarious.

Bruce had just sighed. “Tony, leave her alone.”

Thor, bless him, had simply nodded solemnly. “Love is a gift, regardless of where it is found.”

And Steve had patted your shoulder. “I know a nice girl from Brooklyn—”

“Oh my God,” you had groaned again.

After that, Tony had made it his mission to introduce you to every woman he thought you might like. “You need to have a social life,” he had insisted.

You had started avoiding him.

But despite everything, despite the teasing and the meddling, there had been something comforting about it.

About having a family again.

About belonging.

Two years later, you still weren’t sure if you were cut out for this life.

You still had nightmares.

You still doubted yourself.

You still froze up sometimes, remembering the first time you had ever seen someone die, remembering what it felt like to be powerless.

But you weren’t powerless anymore.

You weren’t alone.

And when Natasha smirked at you after training, when Steve handed you a cup of coffee before a briefing, when Clint dragged you into ridiculous pranks, when Bruce asked if you were sleeping enough, when Thor clasped your shoulder with a grin—

You knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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[ohbabydollie]

imagine schlatt asking you to move back to new york with him because he wants to take things more serious and maybe start a family

When you and Schlatt began seeing each other, Schlatt didn't expect much to come from it. Maybe a few dates before your relationship became another failed few dates. He expected to be thinking of you a few years from now, maybe a few what of scenarios with you involved, but that was all he expected.

Women like you never stuck around often anyways, girls that were sweet and loving and caring, they left running the second they saw his online career. His streak of misogynistic and incel jokes made them leave, he expected the same from you.

That was until he saw you stick around even after you found out.

You didn't necessarily judge him for it, just told him to not treat you that way and he listened.

Time went on, the fancy dates became hanging out with him weekly, even if it was doing something boring like running errands. You both finding excuses to hangout on your days off, even though you lived a good 25 minutes from him.

Slowly the relationship went from fancy dates, you dressing up and nervous to be seen less than perfect by him, to hanging around his house, dressed in an old stained shirt and socks around his house, feeding his cats treats and whatnot.

You were the only thing keeping Schlatt in Texas, he didn't think he could handle being away from you for a long time, at least not without being tempted to fly you out or go to you. You had become such a part of him that he had become used to finding your hair elastics everywhere, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, his clothes missing only to find you comfortably watching some show in a very familiar hoodie.

You lingered in all corners of his house and his mind, you existed all around him.

Schlatt knows he would miss you if he left to New York with Jambo and the other guy. Not to say they were bad company, but they didn't do the same annoying things you did, always telling him to guess what, he'd fall for it like always and it would end with you grinning ear to ear, the words chicken butt leaving your mouth as you started to giggle.

Or coming up behind him and bending his knees. You always had something annoying to do, it would make him sad to be looking over his shoulder, locking his knees, waiting for you and you'd never come.

It was a hard choice to make, he wanted to be with you and go back home to New York, but he didn't know if you wanted to go to New York with him. You liked it here in Texas and he only liked Texas because Texas had you.

Schlatt knew he had to make a choice, being in Texas had made him depressed, not to say he didn't like being with you, he just wanted to be with you in the snow, in the rain, in the hot summer.

He wanted different seasons with you, he wanted to go ice skating with you during Christmas, picnics in central park in the springtime, traveling to the beach in the summer.

Here he only had hot and so cold his heating broke, it wasn't like in New York, experiencing every season, all sorts of weather.

At some point Schlatt decided to just bite the bullet, go back to New York and ask you to come with him.

Schlatt normally wasn't one to feel nervous asking a question, but he felt nauseous just thinking about asking you to go with him. You could say never, dump him right then and there, possibly tell him you'd think about it before dumping him or stay with him and stay in Texas, finding another man that fulfills you in ways Schlat couldn't, doesn't want to go to New York and you cheat on him with the guy and you break up with him afterwards, you both get married, start a family and Schlatt is left alone.

He prepared himself for the worst scenarios known to man, ones where you left him to rot, maybe even taking jambo and [redacted].

So he took you on a dinner date, his heart in his stomach, getting nervous to ask you, the scenarios entering his mind again.

"Are you okay Schlatt?" you asked, looking at his almost sick expression, "Does your stomach hurt?"

"Just fine" he says, holding his stomach, trying to stop the dinner he just had from spewing all over you as you begin to look through your purse.

"Maybe the ramen upset your stomach" you say softly, "I think I might have some tums in here" you say before grabbing a little plastic container from your bag, offering one to him.

He rejects it, "I don't need that" he mumbles, "Um, I do need to ask you something though" he says softly.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting up as you put away the tums.

"So, I-I think we're getting pretty serious" he starts as you feel your heart starting to pound.

This is just what you feared, coming off too strong on Schlatt and just like every other guy, he leaves, not ready for the commitment. Of course you didn't expect him to stay with you for so long, you knew he was way too good to be true, sweet, loving, likes animals.

You should've prepared yourself for this heart break, shouldn't have worn your heart on your sleeve, maybe it was your habits, maybe they were getting annoying, maybe that's why he decided to leave you.

Your heart is racing a mile a minute, but you manage to nod.

"we practically live together at this point, I mean you spend most of the week at mine instead of yours" he says, managing to chuckle as you start to mentally prepare for him to politely tell you to grab your things and get out of his house.

"yeah, I mean you can say that" you say softly.

"yeah" he says looking at you, taking a deep breath in and exhaling, "Shit, sorry, its..." he sighs, "what I'm trying to say is that I'm going back to New York" he says softly, his heart ready to burst from his chest, "And that because we're getting pretty serious, I want to know if you wanted to, really wanted to, would you come to New York with me, not to visit but to live with me"

He looks up from his hands to you, you're in tears, holding back a sniffle before you nod, hugging him, "yeah, I'll go to New York with you" you sob before he wipes your tears.

"Why are you crying?" he chuckles softly, making you sob as he holds you closer.

"I thought you were gonna break up with me" you say, laughing softly, "y'know, you sat me down to have dinner and then to talk"

He smiles at you, "really? I thought you were gonna leave me for asking you to move in with me" he chuckles, causing you to laugh.

"why would I do that?" you grin, "I wouldn't dump you for that"

"good" he chuckles before pulling out a little black velvet box.

Your eyes widen as he opens it to reveal a delicate little ring inside, gently grabbing your hand.

"I promise to be there for you when you need me, anytime, anywhere, that I am committed to you and our future together" he says, slipping the ring on your finger.

You start to sob before pressing kisses to his face, "jus wait til my lease is up" you say softly, smiling at him as he nods.

[vivid-ink]

"The Love Shack" Part II - Three is a Perfect Crowd

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)

Read Part I - The Proposition HERE

Story Summary: You’d heard the whispered speculations and stifled giggles during the daytimes. You’d seen the furtive glances that the other women cast at Neteyam and Lo’ak through coquettish eyes, cheeks stained a blushing mauve as they exchanged coy smiles with the two brothers. And during the nights? Hell, you’d heard the moans and wanton cries for yourself… You were definitely curious, but did you have it in you to go through with their proposition?...

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI Word count: 7.9k Content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome, smut, sex toy play, squirting

Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who read, commented, reblogged, liked and asked to be tagged for Part II!

@teymars @eyweveng @leaveitbythewave @luvteyams @ @akiras-key @bajbr @questioningconstellationsstuff @reggiesslut @neteluvr @savvysscandles @dasaniix @emery-333 @vintaqestar @ @live-laugh-neteyam @itssomeonereading @strawberry-vamp0 @clairevoyanceee @delacruzyari @bluecooki3 @aalex561-blog @frustrated-kitten @innercreationflower @wolf12thsworld

Here is Part II and I warn ya, it's all filth. 🤭 Grab a glass of wine, a blanket, a towel, whatever you need... and enjoy!

***~~~***

Indecision wasn’t something you were accustomed to. You’d always prided yourself on making strong decisions both personally as well as professionally. It was one of the reasons you rose through the ranks to beat out all the other warriors to become Neteyam’s second-in-command. So, the fact that you’d spent majority of today vacillating in your decision to either go or not go to the outpost was an uncomfortable anomaly.

The conclusion of last meal earlier in the evening had brought with it a burning imperative for you to make your final decision and stick with it. You were dismayed to find that the urgency of the time didn’t help you one bit.

You’d trudged on shaky legs into the woodlands in the outpost’s general direction, before being overwhelmed with a severe case of cold feet. However, instead of turning and running for home, you’d plopped yourself down on some moss and begun whittling away at your half-finished spear from yesterday while you dithered further.

That was a couple of hours ago and it was getting late now.

The present found you parked in the woodland scrub just outside the old outpost with your finished spear in hand. The hesitant side of you hoped that maybe Neteyam and Lo’ak might have abandoned their proposition after your no-show, given the late hour. However, the lambent glow of the lamps inside the outpost shelter and the muffled sound of one of them laughing told you otherwise.

The curious side of you thrilled with anticipation at the unknown…

The brothers had done well to refurbish the abandoned outpost. It had been the central gathering place for the war council during the Long War with the sky people, and it had suffered severe damage during battle. The end of the Long War had been a long-awaited blessing and the outpost had been abandoned, its function no longer necessary and the memory of what it symbolised too painful for some to bear.

But Neteyam and Lo’ak had rebuilt the damaged settlement, renewing it with new textiles, new fibres and new designs. Apart from its core structure, it hardly even resembled the old war outpost anymore.

Approaching the outpost’s entrance where a set of draping cloths served to shield its interior from outside eyes, you steeled yourself under your breath, “Come on, just go and have a look. You can leave if it’s not your thing, like Neteyam said.”

You’d come this far… one peek wouldn’t hurt? If you were honest with yourself, the taste of Neteyam’s kiss had lingered on your lips and tongue all of last night, and it was your craving to experience it again that had brought you here.

Urging your feet forward, you were in process of reaching to part the cloths when they suddenly flew apart from before you as someone made to exit. You hissed, startled in alarm, instinctively lowering yourself into a defensive position with your spear pointed frontward.

“Argh! Holy shit!” Lo’ak exclaimed, stumbling backward in the face of the sharp weapon you were wielding, “Great Mother, who do you think you’re going to be spearing with that?!”

Immediately lowering your spear when it became apparent you were in no danger, you were quick to deliver a faltering apology, “Sorry, you gave me a fright!”

“I gave you a fright? Goddamn woman, I was just going to take a leak and I nearly pissed myself!”

“Sorry!”

The other side of the entry cloths parted to reveal Neteyam who had come to investigate. There a momentary flash of surprise on his face before one side of his mouth quirked upward in a wily grin that made your ears heat.

Recovered now from the scare you’d inflicted on him, Lo’ak shot a smug smirk at Neteyam and remarked at you, “You’re very late. Don’t have too much fun without me, I’ll be back.”

Neteyam stepped aside to allow you to enter while Lo’ak left to relieve himself. You padded on tentative feet into the outpost and you were astonished to find the space quite innocuous. The interior held all the usual furnishings that you’d expect in a living space; rugs, throws, cushions and soft mats; woven decorations hung from the upper framings of the outpost and a cosy-looking fire burned in a central hearth.

Your expression must have betrayed your thoughts as Neteyam broke the silence with a chuckle, “Not what you expected?”

“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest.” That was mostly true, you didn’t have any specific expectations or imaginings of the place, you just hadn’t expected the space to look so normal.

From the salacious gossip that had run rampant amongst the women about their experiences here, as well as from your memory of the sensual cries you’d heard that one night you’d ventured near enough, you’d projected a more sordid atmosphere than the one you currently found yourself in.

“When you didn’t show soon after last meal, I figured you weren’t coming.” Neteyam breathed.

You turned to look at him properly for the first time this evening and you noticed his relaxed attire. You were used to seeing him in full warrior regalia, but tonight he was dressed simply, without his cummerbund, arm and leg guards, and no weapons. A beaded choker necklace adorned his neck and a woven armband hugged one of his impressive biceps, but apart from this and a purple loincloth, the rest of him was bare.

You could see so much of his skin… smooth and striped, and cerulean blue all over hard muscle…

“My curiosity evidently won out in the end.” You replied, attempting to tamp down the buzzing knot of nerves in your belly with a small smile at him.

“You can put this down.” Neteyam reached for your spear, prying it gently from your grasp and moving to set it against the nearest wall. His eyes glimmered warmly in the firelight, “No one will hurt you here.”

You nodded, rubbing your empty palms together with a deep breath. You began to circle the space, noticing that it was bigger than you initially thought as there were more cloth draperies that hung to the sides of the shelter that served to partition it off into different sections. Each section held more of the same comfortable furnishings, but the drapes clearly served the purpose of privacy.

Thankfully, as your curiosity increased, your nervousness decreased and you finally felt comfortable enough to ask, “So, what? The women come here and everyone just plays?”

A husky chortle from him, “If that’s what people want to do. Sometimes everyone just relaxes over some drinks and hangs out. Things don’t necessarily always escalate into more.”

You cast him a sceptical look, continuing on your exploration of the place, “And how often is it that sex and body play doesn’t end up on the agenda?” If gossip was to be believed, then you knew it wasn’t often at all that things stayed chaste.

When Neteyam didn’t respond, you turned to face him as he followed you and the wicked grin on his face confirmed that what you’d surmised was right. You rolled your eyes and he laughed.

“And what are these tawtute (human) things that all the women rave about? These tools that supposedly bring pleasure like nothing they’ve ever experienced before?” You queried, intentionally keeping your tone flippant despite the flagrantly sexual nature of your question.

Neteyam’s hot breath ghosted the nape of your neck and you realised he had walked right up to your back, “Come, I’ll show them to you.”

A warm, large hand enveloped one of yours and he led you over to another part of the shelter where a cloth-covered shape lay. Kneeling before it, Neteyam lifted the soft cloth to reveal an intricately designed chest woven from flax and colourful fibres. Undoing the leather snap at its front, he opened it to reveal a plush-lined inner in which sat a series of instruments in of varying shapes and materials you’d never seen before.

The colours of these instruments were also bright, unnaturally so. There were a myriad of shades and tones of colour that existed on Pandora, but the pinks, purples a blues you were looking at were very artificial. A bright blue tool caught your eye and unable to resist, you slowly reached to pick it up. It was smooth and long, and you could only just wrap a hand around the width of it. Its length was also slightly curved, tapering upward at the end.

Neteyam watched quietly as you picked through the various offerings in the chest, running your fingers over the smooth silicone of the toys. He fought to keep his composure as erotic thoughts of you using them began to assault him. You appeared rather intrigued by the blue g-spot vibrator you held, though he could tell by the slight frown on your face that you weren’t really sure what it was for.

“That’s an insertion toy. It goes inside you.” He informed, “And if you turn it on. It vibrates.”

Vibrates… You’d never heard that human word before and you didn’t know what it meant. You let Neteyam take the toy from you and he fiddled with something on its length before it came to life with a buzzing hum that made you jump.

Extending cautious fingers towards the humming toy, you touched its vibrating form before withdrawing your hand, “It tickles.”

“It feels good against you when it’s in the intended place.” Neteyam’s voice was slightly rough and you could smell the familiar musk from last night emanating from him again.

“Do they all go inside?” You asked, eyeing up the other oddly shaped toys, some of which did not look particularly comfortable to insert.

“Not all. This is a wand vibrator and it’s generally only for external use.” He picked up a purple toy, which had a longer handle and a large bulbous head at the end. Switching this one on, you noted that his one hummed even more aggressively than its blue predecessor.

“Whoa, straight into the toy box, are we?” Lo’ak had returned and his voice was a teasing drawl as he joined you and Neteyam, “Getting right down to business then.”

Ears flattening a little at the jibe, you harrumphed at Lo’ak, “I’m just looking.”

The few loose braids by his temple clacked as he laughed, “Oh, they’re not made for looking at, trust me.”

The bravado you’d found waned a bit with Lo’ak’s return, the reality of the situation seeping into you. Great Mother, were you really here discussing sexual implements with two men?... Were you seriously contemplating engaging in a sexual encounter with them?...

Standing up to put some distance between you and the two brothers, you dusted your knees off lightly and suddenly felt rather out of place. You didn’t know what to do with your hands and you didn’t know where to rest your eyes either.

Sensing that his bold teasing had thrown you off kilter, Lo’ak stood to meet your eyes and his face was sincere as he spoke, “Hey, if you were curious and just wanted to see what this place was about, that’s OK. We can just hang if you want to.”

You didn’t acknowledge Lo’ak’s last statement with a definite answer. You warred within yourself. What did you want?... You were nervous, but you didn’t want to go either. The recollection of the searing but short-lived kiss you’d shared with Neteyam made an appearance again in your mind. You wanted to explore that further… By Eywa, you didn’t think you’d object to kissing Lo’ak either…

Like his older brother, Lo’ak too was dressed simply. Neteyam had risen to his feet next to him and they made an incredibly handsome pair. You could absolutely understand why the other women lusted after them. After all, you were hardly innocent of that crime. Your long-standing attraction to Neteyam had ensured that.

“No, I’ll- I’ll stay.” You resolved, “I don’t want to be the only one who’s left out of the loop.”

The two brothers shared a look that you couldn’t decipher the meaning of. It was a glance between them with fairly neutral expressions, but you did see the slight upturn of their lips.

“Where’d you even get those things anyway?” You questioned. You knew that with their mixed heritage and with Jake originating from the humans’ side, that there were many tools and instruments that the olo’eyktan had adopted for use in the clan. However, you could hardly imagine the olo’eyktan openly bringing in sex toys for the clan’s wider use.

“Spider.” Neteyam supplied with a fond laugh, “He’s got quite the knack for sourcing and supplying us with contraband under the radar from the avatar camp.”

You giggled at the thought of Spider. You liked the human. He lived majority of his life amongst the Omatikaya with the Sullys anyway, so despite his foreign form, he was very much Na’vi at heart.

There was one last set of drapes in a corner by the toy chest which caught your eye. It was the only partitioned section of the outpost that you hadn’t yet explored. Ambling towards it you murmured, “What’s behind here? More of the same?”

Neteyam and Lo’ak watched you approach the last partition, knowing full well that what was behind the draperies was not simply more of the same. The last pair of drapes led into their main play area. Quietly they awaited your reaction and sure enough it came soon after in the form of a soft gasp.

They’d built a large, raised bedframe in there and on it sat a thick bedding mat swathed in silken fabric. The bed was sizeable enough to sleep several adults and piles of plush cushions and rolls lined one end of it. The other main feature of the play area, which was also courtesy of Spider, was a large mirror that ran along one entire wall.

You’d never seen anything like it. The gigantic bed was one thing, but the strange pane of whatever it was that spanned the entirety of the opposite wall was breathtaking. You had never seen your own reflection so clearly in your life, save for the completely still water of a puddle after heavy rain, and even that was a far cry from this. Mesmerised, you approached the large pane until you were standing right before it.

“It’s called a mirror.” Lo’ak’s deep timbre sounded.

You’d been so entranced by your reflection that you hadn’t noticed the two brothers enter the space behind you. They flanked you now, one on either side.

“It’s amazing.” You breathed in astonishment. Your fingertips met its cool and solid surface and you marvelled at the clarity of it, “Everything is so clear. It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you are, paskalin.” Neteyam’s words elicited another intake of breath from you and your amber eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror.

Both brothers were standing very close to you, their bodies angled inward towards yours. They were close enough that a subtle shift on either side of you would cause your arms to brush their torsos. Your ears twitched as you perceived the quiet sound of their breaths and your skin prickled with the body heat you could feel exuding from their bodies.

The mirror’s reflection also allowed you to see yourself in-between them and it became apparent to you how much taller and bigger they were in stature compared to you. The top of your head only just skimmed past their chins and your lithe body was much willowier next to their more muscular physiques. The image was as arousing as it was intimidating…

Lo’ak was carefully scenting you now, in a very similar way to the way Neteyam had done the night before. He trailed a hand up your forearm and he pulled you against him to sniff at your hair. Lo’ak’s scent was different to Neteyam’s, but it was no less appealing to your feminine senses.

Through the reflection you saw Neteyam dip his head and you anticipated his action moments before you felt the scorching heat of an open-mouthed kiss against the other side of your neck. Your next inhale was a quivering rush of air into your lungs and your heart began to pound with want.

Leaving a trail of nips up your neck to your jaw, Neteyam paused to purr by your ear, “This is a place where people come to feel good and surrender to pleasure. Rank doesn’t matter here and you leave the outside world at the door. You set the boundaries, paskalin, but if you stay tonight then you must also promise to trust us.”

You turned your head towards him, chasing Neteyam’s lips with your own, yearning to taste him again. But he pulled away with a roguish smirk that promised your patience would be rewarded if you waited.

Your reply was a breathy whimper, “Yes.”

“Is there anywhere you don’t want to be touched?” Lo’ak murmured, the fingers of one hand tickling your hip while its twin splayed flat against the small of your back.

“No, it’s all fine.” Your chest heaved with your deepening breaths, every nerve ending hyperaware and hypersensitive in the waking dawn of your arousal.

Lo’ak’s answering grin was lascivious and the hand at your back pulled the tied knot of your chest-covering free. The garment shifted as it loosened, the beads scraping over your stiffening nipples. Neteyam was quick to undo the last tie of the garment behind your neck, and with a gentle swish it fell from your body entirely, leaving you exposed.

A harsh groan sounded from Neteyam and he cupped one of your breasts, letting his thumb flick over its hard peak, “Eywa, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted touch you like this. Every time your covering shifted at work, every little peek I was afforded when it slipped momentarily, it was torturous.”

Neteyam had been looking at your breasts?... The sentiment was an exciting surprise to you and you leaned into the agonising brush of his fingers over your nipple.

Lo’ak joined his brother, stroking and fondling your other breast, “You’ve got such pretty nipples, and Eywa, they love being touched.”

A stifled moan left you as pleasure shot straight to your core from the stimulation. Your head lolled onto Neteyam’s shoulder and he clasped your chin to angle it the right way so he could reward you with a passionate kiss. You felt him snake a hand down your front, the heat of his palm blazing past your navel to travel even lower. You jolted when he cupped your crotch, his fingers deftly finding the outline of your clitoris and rolling against it.

Neteyam broke away and the absence of his mouth allowed a desirous whine to escape you. He posed another question to you, “How much do you want from us tonight?”

You were dizzy with desire and your core pulsed with liquid heat. You gave another ragged moan when Lo’ak knelt down to capture one nipple in his mouth. Your eyes flicked forward to the wanton reflection before you; one brother suckling on your breast, the other with a hand buried between your thighs while he watched you. The press of their bodies against yours was delicious and you could see matching erections straining behind their loincloths in the reflection.

Your decision came to you undeniably, and you abandoned all your inhibitions in the heat of the pleasure you were experiencing, “I want everything. I want you both to fuck me tonight.”

Their reaction was immediate. There was a flurry of motion as both brothers moved, working in tandem to free your loincloth as well as their own. Naked now as the day you were born, every part of you screamed with want while every inch of your bare skin was pressed up and imprisoned between two aroused male bodies.

You were turned and facing Lo’ak now and you could feel his hard erection throbbing between the press of your torsos. He claimed your lips in a full but brief kiss and then said, “You know, if we’d known that all it would take to get you here was a private session with us, we would’ve done this sooner.”

“You’re incorrigible.” You retorted with a chuckle.

“Shall we move to the bed?” Neteyam suggested hoarsely, “I’m rather impatient to explore you, paskalin.”

“No wait,” You stopped him. You looked into the mirror again, rather enjoying the wide and unimpeded view it gave you of the whole space. Both Neteyam and Lo’ak were gorgeous to look upon and you wanted to enjoy the vision of their imposing frames while they were standing. “I want to enjoy looking at you both like this first.”

Facing the mirror front on with the brothers on a slight angle, your eyes tracked from the top of the pane downward. They were both panting lightly and their pupils were dilated wide with lust in their beautiful faces. Broad shoulders and muscular chests were followed by powerful abdominals that tapered to their slim hips and strong legs. But of course, the two things your attention snapped back to, once your eyes had reached their feet, were their impressive erections.

Biting your bottom lip and feeling frisky, you encircled each of their cocks in your grasp, one in each hand. They were both strapping men, so it didn’t surprise you that they were proportionate in this department too. Simultaneous grunts came from them both when you began a slow squeeze and stroke. Great Mother, they were gorgeous here too… long and girthy, hot skin over rigid hardness that made your pussy clench in yearning…

Lowering yourself to your knees, you peered up at them both while you continued your pumping rhythm over their lengths. You could see they were enjoying themselves, their abs flexing and contracting with their pleasure.

Turning your face towards Neteyam, you held his eyes as you parted your mouth and licked a slow stripe up his cock and over the head of it. His hips jerked involuntarily, a hiss whistling from between his gritted teeth. When your next move was to take his cock into your mouth and suck most of the way down, his response was a strangled cry. It took some effort and co-ordination on your part, but you conscientiously bobbed and sucked while still stroking Lo’ak as well.

“Fuck, you look and feel so good.” Neteyam droned, panting through an open mouth as his face contorted and moved through a series of expressions, all of which spoke to his immense enjoyment.

Lo’ak’s hips were thrusting lightly, pushing and pulling his hard flesh in a delicious glide through your grasp. He would let out the occasional whimper, which mingled sensually with Neteyam’s unrestrained groans. Lo’ak gave a small whine shortly after and you gently drew off Neteyam’s cock with a small pop, licking your lips.

You turned to the younger brother and grinned coyly at him, “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

Lo’ak’s deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and he cocked his head at you with a wink, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have let you forget about me anyway.”

The higher-pitched whine that then followed when you did take his cock into your mouth was a very stimulating contrast of sound.

Neteyam was shifting behind you and you felt him pat the inside of your leg lightly, “Part your legs a little for me.”

Still pleasuring Lo’ak, you multi-tasked and did as you were told. Out of the corner of your eye in the mirror, you saw that Neteyam had moved to lie on his back and had shimmied his head and shoulders between your knees.

Having a bird’s-eye view of the situation and understanding his brother’s intent, Lo’ak smirked and looked down to meet your eyes where you continued to suck him off, “You’re in for a treat, sweet thing.”

Neteyam’s firm hands gripped your hips to lower you slightly towards him. You could feel his breaths puffing gently against your pussy, which you knew was slick with your arousal. The rasp of his tongue against your folds and up to your clit was like a bolt of lightning to your core and you jumped, choking on Lo’ak’s cock when your body failed to co-ordinate your inhale of air with the bob of your head.

The assault that Neteyam began on your core was rapturous. He alternated between broad licks and swipes of his tongue and nose, and intent suckling on your clit. Lo’ak had withdrawn himself from your mouth, settling for stroking himself instead while he enjoyed the view of you squirming over his brother’s face. Leaning forward to place your hands on the ground, you rocked your hips, smoothing your core over Neteyam’s face. Breathy whimpers were coming from you as you neared your climax, but just as it was within your reach, his grip on your hips shifted and he lifted you upward from him to sit up.

“W-Wait no!” You squealed as your bottom plopped onto the ground beneath you, “Why’d you stop?!”

“Shh sorry, paskalin.” Neteyam soothed, cleaning his face off on the back of his wrist and swooping in to kiss you, “We’ll take care of you later, promise. We’re just building you up first. It’ll be worth it. Trust us, yeah?”

Chortling at the wounded expression of disappointment on your face, Neteyam got to his feet before reaching down to pull you up to your own. Your legs were unsteady, but it didn’t matter as he bent to scoop you into his arms next and carried you onto the large bed. Lo’ak had momentarily disappeared from view, but when he reappeared with three colourful implements in hand, you understood the reason for his disappearance. The sex toys.

You felt like you were burning up as you lay on the soft bedding. The heat was like molten pleasure through your veins. The tips of your nipples tingled and your pussy ached to be touched again. Lo’ak returned to join you on the bed and he handed the toys to Neteyam.

Coaxing you to sit up, Lo’ak moved to sit behind you with his legs spread so you could lean back against him. Pressing a kiss to the side of your face, Lo’ak whispered, “How about we give my brother a bit of a show, hmm? He likes to watch. It really gets him going for later.”

You looked at Neteyam, who had perched himself at the end of the bed facing you both. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, almost as if he’d heard what Lo’ak had whispered to you and thoroughly agreed with the idea. You felt Lo’ak’s hands snake under your knees and he proceeded to then hitch them up towards your torso, leaving you splayed wide in exhibition before Neteyam who merely smirked.

Neteyam crawled closer, a couple of toys in hand. You recognised the blue one from before, but there was another strange gold coloured implement you didn’t recognise. You frowned at it warily and your body stiffened as you tried to sit more upright, “What does that do?”

“It’s a suction toy. It goes over your clit.” Neteyam explained while Lo’ak soothed your nerves with some gentle hushing. Stroking a hand over one of your parted thighs, Neteyam reassured you, “If you’re not enjoying it, let me know and we can stop, OK?”

Relaxing back into the position Lo’ak had put you in against him, you nodded in consent. At this moment, you really just wanted to be touched again.

As if hearing your thoughts, Lo’ak’s hands shifted to your breasts, caressing the soft flesh and toying with your nipples again. Your back arched into his hands and he chuckled by your ear. You felt Neteyam place the gold toy carefully between your legs, adjusting it so he nestled neatly against your tingling clit.

With a few clicks, the toy whirred to life and your eyes flew open wide at the new sensation. It was like a pleasant and rhythmic series of tapping against you, and as Neteyam increased the intensity of it, the taps got faster and faster until it all melded into an incredible humming sensation with a delightful suction to it.

“O-Ohhh,”You sighed, your eyes sliding shut as you concentrated on the pulsing pleasure. The pleasure settled into a delightful tempo of rhythmic contractions that made your thighs quiver in Lo’ak’s hold. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced. You’d pleasured yourself and been pleasured by men before, but this was something else…

“That’s it, paskalin, just lean into it. Feel for the rhythm of it.” Neteyam coaxed, watching keenly as the muscles in your pussy began to visibly throb and squeeze. His next words were a profane curse as he palmed his straining erection with his free hand. He badly wanted to have your pussy throbbing and squeezing around his cock like that… not yet, but soon…

Lo’ak was watching through the mirror’s reflection, thoroughly enjoying the view of you whilst also relishing the way you were writhing against him with mewls and sighs. His gaze lifted to lock with his older brother’s and he grinned when you your moans began to intensify, “Let’s see what we can make of her, bro.”

Thoroughly absorbed by the building waves of ecstasy that wracked your core, you didn’t even register that Lo’ak had said anything. The bliss was unreal. You felt the smooth blunt tip of something prod at your entrance and you cracked open a lid to see Neteyam running the blue vibrator through your folds. He was watching you carefully for any sign of objection and when you didn’t give him any, he breached you slowly but surely with it.

A hoarse groan tore from your throat at the satisfying addition that filled your pussy. The pulsing and clenching between your legs intensified and just when you thought things couldn’t feel any better, Neteyam switched the vibrator on and it began to hum inside you too. Your jaw was slack and you could feel your face was contorted into a grimace of pleasure.

Neteyam began to pump the vibrator in and out in a mimicry of thrusting, and your hands flew to clutch at Lo’ak’s thighs beside you. You were only half-aware of yourself, your body suspended in what felt like a never-ending loop of thrumming ecstasy that was speeding you towards an inevitable orgasm that would tear you apart. Something else was building too amid the throbbing of your core. There was a pressure increasing behind your pelvis with each terribly torturous thrust of the vibrator within you.

The throaty sounds you were emitting now were making it very challenging for the two brothers, whose own lust had skyrocketed in the last while as they’d watched you. Both hands occupied with pleasuring you, Neteyam was caught in a cruel contradiction between wanting to see you through and also wanting to touch himself to ease some of the pressure. Meanwhile, Lo’ak was canting his hips against your lower back to find whatever friction he could.

You were so close, teetering on the precipice of blessed oblivion, but you needed more…

You squirmed, trying to shift in Lo’ak’s hold where he had a firm grip on you behind your knees, straining to reach your climax. Your speech was a stutter, your panting breaths punctuated with by whimpers, “P-Please, I want to- I need-”

“What do you need, paskalin?” Neteyam asked, swallowing the saliva that was rapidly pooling in his cheeks at the shameless sight of you, almost completely undone under what his hands were doing to you.

“Please, one of you, just fuck me already!”

There was an immediate halt in the unforgiving pleasure that had assailed you as Neteyam haphazardly flung the toys aside, crawling on all fours to reach you. However, Lo’ak was faster.

The younger brother had shifted you to lie on your side while he stretched out alongside you with your back against his front. He’d hoisted one of your legs upward bent at the knee to splay you, his hard cock poised to enter you.

Hisses and growls filled the air suddenly, startling you somewhat out of your lust-filled haze. You peered through foggy eyes to see Neteyam knelt on your right, his nose wrinkled and teeth on display in an aggressive snarl at his brother, who you could hear hissing in return by your ear.

Lo’ak let out a glacial laugh, “Don’t be like this, bro. We’ve been through this before.”

Neteyam’s response was a harsh growl and his ears were pinned flat to his skull.

Not wanting any animosity between the two brothers, you attempted to mollify them, “Hey, don’t fight, what’s wrong-”

An unimpressed scoff sounded from Lo’ak and he tightened his hold around you, “I know my brother, sweet thing. He won’t let me have you once he’s gotten his hands on you. See, you’re not the only one here who doesn’t like to share.”

Neteyam scowled but he didn’t disprove his brother’s assessment. With a resigned growl like thunder in his chest, he appeared to acquiesce so long as Lo’ak abided by one demand, “Fine, but don’t cum inside her. She’s mine.”

You saw a gleam of possession in Neteyam’s eyes and heard the covetousness in his voice. It was such outlandish behaviour from him, considering you were so accustomed to his usually placid demeanour, but his jealousy was thrilling to you. He lowered himself onto his side in front of you, propping his head up on one elbow to watch.

A shudder rippled through you when you felt Lo’ak glide his cock against your slippery entrance. You felt him reach between you to position himself and he penetrated you with a sharp thrust. Your cry of pleasure was a croaky moan that sounded in time with Lo’ak’s guttural groan of satisfaction as your walls clenched tight around his length. Your pussy fluttered around the width of him and you revelled in the delightful stretch of the feeling. Definitely bigger than the blue vibrator that had been there before…

Lo’ak set a punishing pace of thrusts and your breaths punched out of you with each one as his hips collided with yours. Through half-lidded eyes, you noted that Neteyam was surveying the pair of you with a rather tetchy countenance. Reaching out to him with the hand you weren’t lying on, you caressed his cheek, beckoning him to kiss you. You were enjoying being railed by Lo’ak, but you still wanted Neteyam too.

Neteyam indulged you and you moaned into his mouth while his tongue and lips swept against yours. The pressure at your core was mounting rapidly again and Lo’ak’s uninhibited moans, as he took his pleasure from your body, only served to spur your pleasure onward.

Through the moist melding of your lips with Neteyam’s, you took his wrist and purred a request to him, “Touch me, Neteyam.”

His fingers found the swollen nub at the apex of your thighs and he began to press and circle it in an insistent rub. Your head flopped back against Lo’ak while you whined in bliss at the addition of Neteyam’s actions.

The nagging pressure in your pelvis returned along with the burn and pulse of your pussy. You could see your anticipated ecstasy within reach, but the pressure behind your pubic bone was increasing with each of Lo’ak’s hard thrusts. It felt like an urgent and insistent need to relieve yourself all of a sudden, and it alarmed you…

Eyes flying wide, you tried to shift in Lo’ak’s hold to stop him, ““W-Wait, I need to-”

Neteyam silenced you with a kiss and he hushed you softly, “Let go, paskalin. I know it feels strange, but just go with it.”

Frantic and feeling completely out of control as your orgasm loomed, you spluttered, “It feels like I’m going to wet myself!”

You saw Neteyam’s eyes flick to his brother behind you and they must have shared a meaningful look, for instead of slowing down or being gentler, Lo’ak added a swivel to the trajectory of his hips and Neteyam’s fingers persisted in their massage against your clit.

“Let go, trust me.” Neteyam breathed over you, “Come on, Neyomi.”

You didn’t know if it was the way he’d purred your given name, or if it was just a coincidence of timing and you couldn’t bear it any longer, but you succumbed to the tidal wave of pleasure and allowed it to consume you. A piercing scream ripped from you upon the initial wave. Your entire body went rigid and your pussy contracted intensely, pushing several spurts of fluid from between your legs. You were only dimly aware of the wetness you were emitting as you enjoyed the fleeting weightlessness of your powerful climax.

“Ah, fuck!” Lo’ak pulled free of you with a guttural shout to spill outside of you and over your taut belly and hips as your orgasm has triggered his own.

His breathing was ragged now whilst he came down from his own high and with a wary glance at Neteyam, he leaned over to steal a sloppy kiss from your parted lips, which you returned with a soft moan. He rolled away then onto his back, knowing that his brother would want his time with you now.

The keenness of your senses were slowly returning to you as you recovered from the explosive sensations you’d just experienced. All too aware now of the dampness on the bedspread beneath you, your hands flew to your face in embarrassment. What the fuck happened?... It had felt so amazing, but you’d wet yourself at the end of it…

“Great Mother, I’m sorry. I’ve made a mess.” You murmured through your fingers and you scooted up the bed into a sitting position, looking mortified at the drenched patches on the bedding.

Neteyam’s husky laugh was an unexpected reaction and your round eyes regarded him in bewilderment. Even Lo’ak was chuckling away where he lay relaxing with an arm thrown over his eyes.

Neteyam pulled gently at your hands, “Look at me. You haven’t wet yourself, alright?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What you just experienced was a squirt. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it can happen with intense orgasms from rigorous stimulation.” Neteyam explained mildly, before he graced you with a devious smirk, “It was extremely arousing to witness, paskalin.”

The deepening growl of his tone set shivers tingling down your spine again and your eyes dropped to the still prominent erection in his lap. That’s right, you asked to be fucked by two brothers tonight… one down, one more to go… and this was the one your blood seemed to sing for; that your heart leapt for whenever you saw him…

You knew your skin was already flushed from the earlier activities, but you felt renewed heat tinge your cheeks as Neteyam pushed onto his knees to shuffle closer to you again. Sitting before his kneeling form, you were just at the right height to take hold of his cock. Stroking it gingerly, you placed a shy kiss on its tip and lifted your eyes to meet Neteyam’s as he stared down at you. Great Mother, you felt your pussy squeeze again at the expression he wore, which was masculine possessiveness in the best kind of way…

“Don’t get shy on me now. I’m not done with you yet.” He hissed, grimacing as you began the luscious suck and bob of your head over his swollen length, “That all you got for me? You were choking on my brother’s cock earlier.”

Lifting your gaze to his again at his goading, you perceived a familiar warmth swirling behind the covetousness in his eyes, and something warm unfurled in your chest. Neteyam’s words had been taunting, but you could see he was just teasing you. You doubled down on your effort anyway, savouring the titillating feeling of his throbbing cock in your mouth while he groaned openly.

An unexpected click and rumbling buzz caught you unawares and you stilled. You felt the bed sink a little behind you and you realised that Lo’ak had moved to place something next to you on the bed. Drawing your lips up and off Neteyam’s length, you picked up the purple wand toy you’d seen in the chest before. It rumbled temptingly in your grip and you instinctively look at Neteyam for instruction.

“On your hands and knees, but keep facing me.” He directed, “My brother can help with this toy.”

Once again, you did as you were instructed and you redirected your attention to Neteyam’s hard flesh, returning it to the moist confines of your mouth. You’d always enjoyed giving blowjobs. Men were beautiful creatures, especially the one before you now, with all his formidable strength and taut muscle. You’d always found giving them pleasure a turn-on.

You jumped when the rumbling vibrations of the wand toy skimmed up the inside of one of your thighs, drifting dangerously close to your core before it was moved away. It repeated a similar path up the inside of your other thigh before trailing downward yet again. The vibrating tip of it began its ascent again and this time you canted your hips towards it, earning a dark chuckle from Lo’ak who was clearly enjoying teasing you.

Deciding not to be cruel, Lo’ak pressed the bulbous head of the wand against your core and began to stroke it back and forth over you. Your throaty groan of pleasure was muffled and Neteyam thought to himself how alluring you looked with your eyes rolling back while your mouth was full of him. It was an image straight out of his erotic fantasies of you…

Rocking to and fro as you sucked, the delicious rumbles of the wand were deep against your sensitive flesh and your clit was throbbing under the onslaught. You could taste Neteyam’s pre-cum on your tongue and his hands had framed your face, stroking your hollowed cheeks while he slurred pledges to you of how beautiful you looked.

Lo’ak was afford an unimpeded view of your rear and your pussy, your tail curled up and away in an erotic display. He could tell from the twitching throb and clench of your muscles that your second orgasm was not far away. “She’s close, bro.”

You whimpered as Neteyam extracted himself from your mouth at his brother’s report and he bent to whisper in your ear, “I’m going to fuck you now, paskalin. Do you want me to take you from behind or do you want me to face you?”

“I want to kiss you.” Your response was not quite a direct answer to his question, but it was telling enough for Neteyam to make his decision. Grasping you under your underarms, he hauled you upright onto your knees before he toppled you onto your back against the plush cushions.

Pinning you under the delightful heaviness of his muscular physique, you parted your thighs to cradle his slim hips as he positioned himself where he needed to be.

Neteyam’s handsome face was wicked and he paused to purr a filthy promise to you, “You’re going to remember me like this. Every day at work and every night in your dreams, you’re going to remember the feel of my cock inside you as I fuck you.”

Oh Eywa your work days… It was going to be a test of your composure not to let your very unprofessional behaviour not colour your professional conduct with him…

Like with his brother before, the burning stretch to fullness of him as Neteyam pushed inside you was incredibly satisfying, but it was more intimate face-to-face like this. You could watch his every expression like this as he began to thrust; his eyelids were heavy; his lips were parted, and a variation of higher-pitched whimpers and low groans were falling from him.

For Neteyam, your wet heat clutching at his cock was a staggering sensation. He felt his length throb in gratification as your pussy squeezed around him. After watching his brother fuck you and then having to wait his own turn, his own orgasm was racing towards him at a much quicker pace than he anticipated. He wanted to wring another climax from you first though…

Remembering that you’d expressed a desire to kiss him, Neteyam lowered himself onto his elbows so your front was flush with his and only his hips were canting back and forth. Nuzzling your cheek tenderly, he sealed his mouth over yours in a fervent kiss that stole your breath from you.

The hardness of his pubic bone rocked over your clit with each of his thrusts in this position, and each press of his body against yours brought you one step closer to ecstasy. These ‘steps’ weren’t a slow stroll either, they were more like a hurtling sprint. The familiar pressure within your pelvis started up again, but this time it didn’t alarm you. Every piston of Neteyam’s hips was hitting a pleasurable spot inside you that acted like a pump, building the pressure and winding it tighter and tighter.

Neteyam distractedly wondered to himself how Lo’ak had held out for as long as he did when he’d fucked you. Your core was a slippery vise around him, every thrust working his swollen cock from root to tip. His head was buried by the side of your face now as he groaned and panted. Your own cries were getting louder now, to his relief. He didn’t know how much longer he’d last…

“Fuck, paskalin, you’re driving me insane. I’m so close.” He grunted.

“Same. Keep going.” You kissed him again.

When the surge of ecstasy washed over you a second time, you relinquished your control and the pressure in your pelvis snapped with another orgasmic squirt. With your thighs cradling Neteyam’s hips and your arms raking his back, you felt him stiffen with his own climax, his thrusting becoming erratic as he roared his pleasure into the cushion under your head. A viscous heat seeped out from your core where you were still joined, a sensation that had been absent before with Lo’ak, which you now recognised was the evidence of Neteyam’s orgasm.

Adjusting himself so he wouldn’t crush you under his weight, Neteyam rolled onto his side. He tittered naughtily then and his grin was smug, “I told you I’d make you come. Welcome to the love shack.”

Recalling your foot-in-mouth innuendo from the previous night, you rolled your eyes and giggled, “Great Mother, who would’ve guessed that underneath the well-mannered gentleman that you’re such a wild beast.”

Warm skin enveloped your other side as Lo’ak shifted closer to join you, throwing a leg over one of yours and tangling you to him. He murmured by your temple when he placed a kiss there, “Think you’ll swing by again, sweet thing?”

Tilting your head back and craning your neck upward, you gave Lo’ak a deep kiss before turning to do the same to Neteyam, “Only if I can have you both to myself again.”

Lo’ak smirked, bending to kiss and nip at a gradually peaking nipple while Neteyam ran a hot hand down your torso to slip his fingers through your folds, slick with a combination of your own wetness and his seed. You could feel their cocks hardening again where they were pressed to either side of your hips.

By Eywa, stamina as well as skill? No wonder the women kept returning…

Neteyam eyed you and his response was a salacious murmur, “I believe that can be arranged, paskalin.”

PART III - Blurring Lines HERE

***~~~***

Author's Note: I'm quite sure this is filthiest piece I've ever written... 🫣I don't know how I pulled almost 7.5k of sexy stuff out of my brain, but I hope you all FELT this in all the right ways and all the right places... Three cheers for our two boys Neteyam & Lo'ak!! Woot woot! Thanks for reading this! Leave me a comment, I'd love to hear from you and thanks for all your likes and reblogs too! 😘

[httpsleclerc]

under the monaco moonlight☾ part 2

summary: Charles and Arthur try to deal with the fallout after Charles turns you into a vampire and kills your boyfriend.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, swearing, yelling

word count: 2k

a/n: I lowkey love this im for sure making it a series !!

read part one here!

Charles looked back as he drove, you, pale and unconscious laid across his back seat with your head laying on Arthurs lap. He knew he had fucked up, Pierre was going to kill him for turning you - Especially since he had promised to keep you safe that night, but had ended up inadvertently ended up taking the rest of your life from you.

"Is she still asleep?" Charles' eyes flicked up to his rearview mirror, looking at Arthur, hoping that  you were unaware of the pain that transformation caused. Arthur looked down, noting the slow and steady rising and falling of your chest as you were out cold.

"Yes, she appears to be," Arthur confirmed, running his fingers through your hair. You and Arthur had grown up together, being the same age everyone had speculated it would be Arthur you would end up with, not Charles. You knew that Pierre would have preferred that, Charles was his best friend, he couldn't bear the thought of Charles breaking your heart and leaving him to put the pieces back together as he so often did when your boyfriends messed you around. "He is going to kill you, Charles." His brother looked away shamefully, but he knew for true that he loved you, and that was why he did this, because he loved you.

Parking in the garage of the apartment building, Charles picked you up from where you lay on Arthurs lap, stopping dead in his tracks when you whimpered, then groaning as you started to wake. Quickly, Charles scooped you up into his arms, swiftly making his way up to his apartment and laying you on the couch, trying to make you as comfortable as possible.

You were lucky to have slept through the pain, but you didn't know what had happened. The last thing that you remembered was being in the bathroom at the club with your boyfriend, knowing that Charles and Arthur had been watching you the entire time thinking that they were being slick - But you had known them your entire life, they stuck out to you like sore thumbs and you knew that Pierre had sent them to be your body guards. 

But right now, you knew that something was wrong. You didn't feel right, you didn't feel like you - Like something in you had changed, and you didn't know what yet, but you knew it happened. You knew by the way that Charles was looking at you that something had changed, and you could see the concern in his eyes as he studied your now red ones.

"Charles, what is going on?" Your throat was hoarse as you spoke, your voice coming out raspy and broken. You squinted at the harsh lights that you recognised as being in Charles apartment, and you shot up in a panic, with no recollection of how you got home and where your boyfriend was. "Where is (Name)? What's going on, why is Arthur here?" You started to feel alarmed as you would have normally felt your heart racing, but you were met with the dull and faint thudding of nothing in your chest.

Charles and Arthur sat at either side of you, unsure of how to break the news to you that;

1. Your boyfriend was laying, bloodied and dead, in an alleyway in central Monte Carlo

2. That Charles had turned you into a blood sucking demon

It was no easy task, especially since the brothers, Lorenzo included, had all promised that they would never turn or feed from another human due to the risk of anyone finding out - Coming up with excuses for a lack of aging was a task in of itself, never mind having to explain a sudden spot of blood around the mouth.

"Arthur. You tell me what is going on, please." You begged your best friend, Arthur was almost unsettled by the red colour that now replaced your normal eye colour, the paleness of your skin and the now ever pointedness of your canine teeth. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked behind you and at Charles, who could not begin to try and hide the guilt on his face.

How could he hide the enormous and all consuming guilt bubbling inside of him. He had stolen the rest of your life from you, confined you to a life of secrecy, a life of immortality, bonded to him for eternity - There would come a time where you would have to live without your brother, your best friend. How could he have done this to you?

Taking both of your hands in his own, Arthur tried his best to settle you with a smile, but could tell that nothing would settle you from the hard look on your face. You knew that you were now fundamentally different, that you knew a switch had been flicked and you needed someone to tell you what was going on with you - And you had a sneaking suspicion that these two had something to do with your newfound change.

"Y/N, I need you to understand that Charles did what he did to protect you. He was just doing what Pierre asked him to," Arthur started, trying to soften the very, very brutal blow that he was about to deliver to you. "(Name)...he was going to hurt you, and Pierre made us promise that we wouldn't let anything bad happen to you. Charles did what he had to, he had put something into your drink and you were begging him to stop and-"

"Arthur. Just fucking tell me what Charles did." You were short with Arthur, you just wanted a straight explanation at this point instead of being treated like you were made of glass by everyone in your life.

Arthur just didn't want to witness when your newly heightened emotions took over you and you would react one way or another - You'd either completely break down, or you would get violent. He hoped for the former and not the latter, not for his own sake, but for Charles'. It was no secret to anyone around you that the middle Leclerc brother was truly madly deeply in love with you, so Arthur wasn't sure how you would be with Charles after this.

"Charles...he...hurt, (Name), bad," Arthur studied your face for any semblance of a reaction, and his heart clenched as he saw tears fill your eyes - Despite how awfully he treated you, it was clear that you loved him, even if the feeling wasn't mutual. 

"Is he okay?" Your voice was thick with tears, your now red eyes bleary with tears as you silently begged your best friend for an answer. Arthur looked away from you shamefully, he should have told Charles to stop, told him just to spook him so he would leave you alone. "Arthur, please." Your bottom lip quivered as you realised that Arthur's silence answered your question.

"Y/N, Charles did what he did to protect you, (Name), he was going to hurt you," Arthur tried to justify it to you, but also perhaps himself - He wanted to make you feel better, to try and soften the blow about your boyfriend. 

Then it dawned on him.

You didn't know that you were now a vampire.

"Charles also...so..um...you know how Charles, Lorenzo and I joke about not tanning because we try and not go in the sun..so..we um..."

"Spit it out, Arthur." He could tell your patience was wearing thin, your tears no longer clouding your vision, your vibrant red eyes a clear sign of your anger and impatience. Arthur swallowed his fear, making eye contact with you for what felt like the first time ever.

But he supposed it was, this was a new you. The old you had died in the alleyway in Charles' arms as he drained the life from you.

Meanwhile, Charles paced around his bedroom, wondering how on earth he was going to explain to Pierre that he had killed your boyfriend in a fit of rage before he physically assaulted you, and turned you into a vampire, bonded to him for eternity. Your phone sat on his bedside table, charging just in case your brother called you.

Charles' thoughts were interrupted by your phone ringing, an incoming call from your older brother almost causing his still heart to resume a beat after years of being still. Slowly, he made his way over to your phone, observing the photo you had for Pierre's contact, a picture of you and him at his first F1 race, where you had only been 16 at the time, but had always been his biggest fan. With shaking hands, Charles picked up your phone, sliding the answer button and raising it to his ear.

"Y/N?! Where the fuck are you?!" Pierre sounded panicked. Had they found your boyfriend's body, and seen your blood on the ground beside him. Charles couldn't find the words to answer Pierre, so just gulped. "Y/N answer me. Your boyfriend is dead, please let me know that you're okay."

"Pierre, you're going to kill me," Charles blurted out, ready to accept whatever Pierre did to him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stay strong in the face of your brother, but he had to be honest and upfront, especially for your sake. 

"There's something I haven't ever told you and I never told you because it was never meant to impact you, but now it does. So..We are all vampires. But I never wanted to hurt Y/N, her boyfriend had slipped something into her drink and before Arthur and I could do anything he had her outside down the alleyway, you told me to help her and so I did but I didn't mean to kill him. Y/N was panicking and I tried to calm her down  but she told me she loved me and..Pierre I turned her."

Charles felt like the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders, but it then came collapsing back down on him, 100x heavier than before as the line remained silent, only shutting off as he heard a car door slam and then Pierre hanging up. He placed your phone back on his nightstand, murmuring curses under his breath, knowing how badly he had fucked up this time. His head flicked up upon hearing a thud from the living room, and then yelling.

"You bastard, why didn't you stop him?!" 

Oh. You were awake.

And you knew.

Charles ran out into the living room to see you sitting on Arthur's chest, hands around his neck as to choke him out. Running to his younger brother, Charles grabbed you under the arms and lifted you off of Arthur, watching as he scrambled back in shock.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you Charles!" You screamed, thrashing in the older man's arms to try and get him to let go of you. "I can't believe you did this to me! I fucking hate you!" Charles tried to ignore what you were saying, but he understood why you were saying - How could he not? He had only taken the rest of your human life from you. Then he remembered, that you were bonded to him and that he could have some sort of element of control over you - Not that he would ever use it to take advantage of you.

"Y/N. Calm down." Charles said assertively, feeling some relief when you stopped struggling against him. "There, just relax, okay?" Thinking he had gotten you calmed down, he put you down, until the door to his apartment swung open, revealing your older brother in the doorway.

"Where is he?!"

To be continued....

[luminoustarlight]

Saccharine | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

What do you get when you mix a college Halloween party with beer and a pretty girl wearing a pirate costume?

A jealous Anakin Skywalker.

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.3k | read on ao3 warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, drinking, jealousy/possessiveness, SMUT [fingering, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, come eating/swallowing, mild degradation, like a really brief moment of lactation kink(???)]

the lovely @queenie-official asked for someone to write anakin and reader at a halloween party and anakin gets jealous. i have no idea where 5.3k words came from but y'all i love this one!

and i dedicate this to @hanasnx because we were talking about how we would suck anakin's dick every day if we could.

Here’s the thing about Halloween parties— or rather, Halloween and parties.

Anakin hates both of them. Halloween is a stupid holiday where girls wear short skirts, low-cut tank tops, and a pair of generic animal ears and call it a “costume”. Then they complain about being cold and ask for your jacket. It’s fucking October in New York, what do they expect? 

As for parties, Anakin has never liked them. He’s not a particularly social person. Hell, he’s not even that pleasant of a person but he somehow wound up with you as his best friend in college. He’s the grumpy to your sunshine. He’s a pessimist, you’re an optimist. He drinks black coffee, you like it full of syrupy caramel. He hates everything you like and you don’t understand any of the things he finds fascinating.

The logistics of your friendship is complicated. You don’t know why Anakin is the easiest person for you to talk to even though you have just about nothing in common. You don’t know why Anakin chooses to spend all of his time with you, even though there are other girls in his engineering classes who would kill to talk to him about their shared major. 

You don’t know why he holds your hand when you walk through Central Park while telling you about his hookups. (You wish he wouldn’t talk about other girls with you but you just like the sound of his voice so you do your best at drowning out the meaning of the words). 

If only he knew how miserable it makes you feel to hear about his dating life. If only you knew how difficult it is for you to do the same because every single guy is lack-luster compared to Anakin.    

“I hate parties,” Anakin states. He’s tossing a baseball— the foul ball he caught for you at a Yankees game— in the air to keep his hands busy.

“Yeah, but you love me,” you reply while taking a cream flowy blouse out of your closet. 

“Not if you make me go to this stupid Halloween party with you.” 

You roll your eyes and rest your shirt hanger on one of the knobs on your dresser. You catch the baseball midair and flop beside Anakin on your bed. He props up on an elbow and you just want to soothe the crease between his eyebrows. “Pleaaaase, Ani?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, c’mon! When’s the last time you did something for me?” 

“Look around, sweetheart,” Anakin gestures his arm out lazily. “I helped you move into this place.” 

You huff. “Okay, fine. But you offered. And if I recall correctly, I supplied you with all of the coffee and bagels your heart desired.” 

“There’s only one thing my heart desires.” A lopsided grin forms on Anakin’s lips as his fingers brush against your elbow. It’s a barely there type of touch, one you might not even notice if it weren’t for the sparks you feel every time you and Anakin make contact. 

You fail to mask the sharp intake of air that passes through your teeth. “Wh-what’s that?” 

Anakin runs his tongue over his bottom lip and you think maybe, maybe he just might say what you want him to say. Your heart expands with hope as you await his answer with a bated breath. “To not go to a fucking Halloween party.” 

And just like that, your hope deflates. Of course he wasn’t being serious. Why does his blatant disinterest in you make tears threaten behind your eyes? Is your affectionate friendship really so common that it doesn’t mean anything to him?   

You quickly stand up from your bed and distract yourself by finding the skirt you want to wear in your pile of clothes on the floor. You clear your throat and rapidly blink back any tears before they fall down your cheeks. “Fine,” you say as you find your skirt. “I don’t want you there anyway. It’s the senior Halloween party and I’m not going to miss it because of you.”

“Fine,” Anakin says back. “Go. I don’t care.” 

You gather your clothes in your arms and stand at the foot of your bed. “I have to get dressed first.” 

“So?” Anakin is back to throwing the baseball in the air. Oh, you hate him so much sometimes. You swat the ball out of the air so it lands on Anakin’s stomach, making him groan and his legs curl up to his chest. “Ow.” 

 “So, get out,” you instruct. 

“Jeez. Alright, alright.” Anakin slowly gets up from your bed, being the overly dramatic douche you had to fall in love with. “What, they didn’t put enough sugar in your coffee this morning?” 

“Out!” you point to your door. You’re fuming with him. Why does he have to be so fucking difficult? At this point, you don’t even want to go to the party but you’ll go anywhere to get away from him. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

You take a good thirty minutes to get ready for the party. Inspired by a recent rewatch of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, you decided to dress up as a pirate. You didn’t have to buy a shirt or skirt, which helped keep the cost down. You did purchase a corset, hat, and knee high boots from a thrift store in Brooklyn. With the crimson scarf you’ve had since freshman year wrapped around your waist, you’re set. 

Anakin waits for you on your aubergine couch in your living room. Why he’s waiting, you’re unsure. He’s stretched across the entire length of the couch, his long legs hanging over the armrest. Upon hearing your boots scuff across the floor, he quickly locks his phone and stands from the couch. 

“What are you still doing here?” you brush past him and into the kitchen. 

“I changed my mind,” Anakin replies, following you. You don’t notice the way he looks you up and down, soaking in the entire image of you. The scoopy neckline of your shirt, the flounce of your brown skirt, and the tightness of the corset. The only thing he’s disappointed by is the length of your skirt. It’s not short enough. 

Still, there’s no way he’s letting you go to the party alone. Somebody has to pretend to be your protective boyfriend to keep the college douchebags away. “I’m going with you.” 

You turn around without realizing how close Anakin is to you. You practically step on his toes. He looms over you and you fear he might actually hear your heart racing with how close he is. You back away, straightening your skirt for no other reason than to not look at Anakin. “Are you, now?” 

“Yes.” Anakin crosses his arms. “Are you ready?” 

“You’re going like that?” You counter. “In a zip-up Yankees hoodie?” 

“Take it or leave it, sweetheart.” 

You hate him. You love him. You hate that you love him because you know he doesn’t feel the same way. At least not in a romantic way. You grab a banana off of the counter and march toward the door. “I’d rather leave you here.” 

“Not an option.” Anakin closes your door and uses his key to lock it. The act of him using the key you gave him for emergencies makes your insides twist. It’s on a ring with his own apartment key, as if he’d need yours as frequently as he needs his own. 

You walk down the hallway with a quick pace and make a point to stomp down the stairs, even if it annoys your neighbors more than Anakin. “You’re being exceptionally annoying today.” 

“Thank you,” Anakin accepts the insult as if it’s a compliment. He holds the lobby door open for you and a rush of late October air attacks your skin. You have to hold your hat on your head so it doesn’t blow away. You make an effort not to shudder in front of Anakin, knowing how much he hates girls being unprepared for the weather. At least you’re wearing long sleeves. But it’s not not like the fabric was made to keep the Autumn chill out. 

The party is only a couple of blocks away in Hell’s Kitchen and you’re determined to stay silent all the way there. You’ll just eat your banana and pray Anakin isn’t in a rare talking mood. 

“Why are you walking so fucking fast? I have longer legs than you and I’m practically running.” 

You ignore him. You just want to go to the party, have a couple of drinks, maybe flirt with some guys you have no intentions of screwing, and then go home. Preferably without the puppy dog currently following you. 

“So. Pirate. Interesting choice. You got a thing for Jack Sparrow or something?” Why does he never have anything interesting to say when you actually want to talk to him? Now he can’t seem to shut up. 

Just one more block. Why did he change his mind? Why couldn’t he just be content with going back to his apartment and finding someone to hook up with? You’re sure that’s what he was doing while you were getting ready. The way he locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket when he heard you come out of your room. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you two are dating or anything. He doesn’t have to hide his booty calls from you. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Anakin jogs in front of you and starts walking backwards. “You’re ignoring me.” 

You give him a look that has “No shit, Sherlock” written all over it. 

“Y’know I don’t like being ignored. I’m too sensitive.” 

You have to laugh. “You? Sensitive?” 

“Ha!” Anakin points at you. “Gotcha.” 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “We’re here, anyway. I know you’re just gonna find a corner and sulk in it so please, just let me have a good time tonight.” 

“Alright,” Anakin surrenders. You walk into the brick building together, the heavy bass of the music thrumming through your bones. “But just one thing.” 

You raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You look beautiful tonight.” 

Your heart skips a beat and you hate how easily he makes you swoon. How easily your feelings of irritation disappear after one compliment. “Just tonight?” 

“Ah- what?” Anakin looks at you quizzically. Perhaps he didn’t hear you over the booming music and chatter. 

“Never mind!” you shout. “I’m gonna get a drink. You want a beer?” 

“Sure,” Anakin shrugs. You nod and skip off without another word. When you don’t come back after twenty minutes, Anakin starts to worry. It doesn’t matter how many girls have come up to him and batted their lashes at him. It doesn’t matter that he has 11 unread messages from several past hookups waiting for him on his phone. What matters is that you’re alone at a college party with booze and guys who get a little too handsy when they’re drunk. 

He pushes himself through the crowd, not an ounce of care that he’s severely undressed and out of place. Actually, he’s overdressed. He didn’t know the fire marshal could allow so many shirtless ‘Gladiators’ in one building. And here he thought only girls used Halloween as an excuse not to wear anything. He bumps into several people on his quest for you. 

“Hey, man! Watch it!” 

“Yo, dickhead, you made me spill my beer!” 

“What are you supposed to be? A sad Yankees fan?” 

Anakin hardly hears any of it. Actually, everything seems to fall silent when he spots you. Every other body blurs as he focuses on you and your hand on the forearm of some guy dressed as Captain Kirk from Star Trek. At least he has a goddamn shirt on. It doesn't make the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach disappear, though. You know why? It’s because you’re throwing your head back with laughter. Real, genuine laughter. What is this guy saying to you? And why hasn’t Anakin made you laugh like that recently? 

When the familiar figure of Anakin approaches you, you instantly feel bad. You forgot to bring him his beer! And then you realize that you actually handed it to the guy you’re talking to. Oops? 

“Ani! I never brought you your beer! I am so sorry. I got distracted talking to- oh my God, I don’t even know your name!” 

“Oh, uh, Jeff,” the guy tilts his beer bottle toward you and smiles. You smile back and tell him your name. You also introduce Anakin, but he’s not feeling very friendly right now. He’s too busy criticizing the way Captain Kirk introduced himself. 

Oh, uh, Jeff? He had to think about his name? He couldn’t just say Jeff? 

“Jeff and I were talking about baseball. He’s a Mets fan, though,” you fake gag. “I told him about the foul ball you practically saved me from. Whew, my life flashed before my eyes.” 

“Yeah, they come out of nowhere when you’re not paying attention.” 

Anakin hates this guy. He fucking hates him. His fists clench by his side before sidling up next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. You stumble when he pulls you toward him. “She was paying attention. Are you implying that she wasn’t watching the game?” 

“Anakin, it’s fine,” you place your hand on Anakin’s chest to calm him. “I’m sure that’s not what Jeff meant.” 

“Yeah, man, not at all. I’ve had a couple of close calls myself.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been hit in the head a couple of times with the way you introduced yourself,” Anakin spits. “Who has to think about their name? ‘Oh, um, I can’t remember. I think my name is Jeff,’” Anakin mocks.  

“Anakin, stop,” you try pushing away from him. “You’re being incredibly rude.” 

“I don’t care,” he replies. He begins ushering you away from Walmart Captain Kirk. “We’re leaving.” 

“Seriously, Anakin,” you manage to slither out of Anakin’s grasp. “Stop it.” 

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” Jeff puffs out his chest. 

Anakin steps in front of you and squares himself in front of the guy with no chance with you. “Funny, I was going to ask her the same thing about you.” 

“Are you her boyfriend or something?” 

“He’s not-” you begin, standing on your toes to talk over Anakin’s shoulder. 

“Something like that,” Anakin answers. Huh? 

“Whatever,” Jeff scoffs. “Thanks for wasting my time.” 

“Wait, Jeff!” you call. “It’s not like that-” 

“Let him go,” Anakin grits. “He’s not worth it.” 

You had almost forgotten about the frustration Anakin made you feel in your apartment. Now it’s all coming to the surface again. Yes, you feel bad for abandoning him and not bringing him his beer but he had no right to ruin your conversation like that. “Oh, and you are?”

“We’re not talking about this here.” Anakin turns and expects you to follow. You have half a mind not to scream at him in the middle of the party but it would be a waste of breath. He’s already nearing the door. You down the rest of your beer and follow Anakin out of the party and onto the street. 

It feels drastically colder outside but perhaps it’s all coming from Anakin’s stare. You stuff your hands beneath your arms in an attempt to keep them warm. “What the hell, Anakin? What was that all about?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘nothing’? That was not nothing, Anakin. That was… that was…” you search for the word but your toes are starting to freeze. You don’t know how frozen toes correlate to not being able to think, but it does. The wind is biting at your legs and your teeth are chattering. 

“Jealousy?” Anakin fills in the blank. 

“Yes! Jealousy! Are you fucking jealous, Anakin?” 

“So what if I am?” 

You’re both shouting unnecessarily but you’re fucking pissed. This cannot be the way you admit your feelings for each other. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It’s supposed to be romantic. It’s supposed to happen when you’re strolling through the park and the leaves are falling around you and you kiss and everything falls into place. It’s not supposed to happen during a screaming match on the sidewalk while you’re dressed like a historically inaccurate pirate. 

“So what if I feel like punching every single guy who talks to you? Or even look at you? Hm?” Anakin is backing you into the wall and you have no choice but to retreat. “I am jealous every fucking day. I feel possessive over you and I know I shouldn’t. You’re mine, even though you’re not.” Anakin has caged you in with his arms pressed against the wall above your head. His leg is nudged between yours and if you just lower yourself a tiny bit, you might feel a bit of friction where it’s needed. 

Anakin drops his head down so his nose brushes against your cheek. Your lips are so close, you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You never asked me,” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“You never asked me to be yours,” you unzip Anakin’s sweatshirt and slide your arms into the warmth of his jacket. You press yourself against his chest and you think perhaps everything is falling into place.

“Then I’m asking you now,” Anakin cradles your face in his hands. He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones and wonders why it took so damn long to finally get to this point. “Will you be mine?” 

“I already am.” You pull Anakin down to your lips by the collar of his sweatshirt. He tastes like Altoids and you taste like beer, which isn’t necessarily a pleasant combination but it doesn’t matter. Anakin’s lips are so plush and soft, everything you dreamed they’d be but better. They work against yours like it’s the only thing they’re made for. He’s groaning against you, slipping his tongue carefully past your lips. He’s not overzealous with it like some people are. It’s just perfect. He’s perfect. 

The heat in your core continues to grow and spread throughout your body, suddenly warming you up. “Anakin,” you murmur. 

“Hmm?” He replies, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. He pays attention to your neck—which smells of vanilla and everything nice— and is nibbling gently but kissing harshly. His hands have found their way to your breasts, massaging you through your bra and you just fucking wish he’d stop for a second because it’s all too distracting. 

“Anakin, stop,” you breathe out. 

“What? What, are you okay?” Anakin withdraws himself from you completely and you damn near whine at the loss of contact.

“I’m fine, Ani. More than fine.” 

Anakin relaxes at your assurance and takes a moment to admire you. Your hat is askew on your head and your shirt is crooked from him cupping with your boobs. He hopes the corset isn’t difficult to take off… 

“Anakin?” you snap your fingers in front of his face. 

“Huh?” 

“What are you thinkin’ about, pretty boy?” 

“So many things,” Anakin smirks.  

“Care to enlighten me at my apartment?” 

“Way ahead of you, babe.” Anakin whips out his phone and orders an Uber. He’s not walking five blocks back to your apartment with a hard-on. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

You have no clue how either of you manage to keep your hands to yourself in the Uber, but you do. You hardly make it through your door before Anakin’s lips are back on yours with a heavy desperation. He throws your hat off, letting it land who knows where. His hand is on the back of your neck and you’re doing a clumsy dance around your living room. You’re tugging at the roots of his wavy hair, which he’s been growing out since last semester. 

You and Anakin are a mess of hands as you’re both trying to get the other’s clothes off with your mouths still attached to each other. He’s fumbling with the laces of your corset and you wonder how long it will take him to realize there’s a zipper in the back. 

You shrug off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a basic white tee. Anakin reluctantly breaks away from you when he accepts he’s getting nowhere with your corset. “This thing is fucking impossible,” he groans. 

You giggle as you draw the zipper down your back and remove the black corset from your body. You let it drop to the floor as you drape your arms around Anakin’s neck. “You were saying?” 

“I hate you,” Anakin says with a smile. 

“You love me.” 

“So much,” he replies, lips trailing down your neck once again. “I love you so much it consumes me. I’ve tried to fill this void inside of me with other women but it’s never enough. It’s not enough because they’re not you.”

You’re smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. You consume him. He loves you. You’ve never been happier. “I love you too, Anakin. You have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” he smiles. He grabs a fistful of your skirt and slips his hands beneath the hem to find your panties. “Are you going to let me take care of you tonight?” 

“Anything,” you nod, giving him the permission to remove your panties. You take off your boots and blouse and while it’s by no means a show, Anakin is enjoying every second of it. 

“I’ll let you do anything, Anakin.” You unclip your bra so all that you’re left in is your skirt. Anakin is still wearing a shirt and jeans, which is only mildly infuriating since his golden tan skin looks so radiant against the bright white of his shirt. 

As Anakin admires you, he can’t possibly be filled with any more lust than he is right now. Three years of pining after you is surging through his veins and his cock is insanely hard. He’s imagined this so many times. Would he fuck you slowly? Or maybe you’d rather have it fast and hard. Do you like to be called sweet things? Would you be his good girl? Or would you rather be his little slut? 

He’s overwhelmed with the incessant need to taste your cunt. “Get on the couch,” he instructs. “Take your skirt off, too. I want to see all of you.” 

You nod and once you’ve stepped out of the fabric, you situate yourself on your couch. Anakin kneels down in front of you and resists the urge to spread your legs open so he can see your pussy. “You have to take something off, too,” you say sweetly.  

Anakin swiftly tears his shirt over his head and you knew he was fit, but you just didn’t realize how fit. “Oh my God,” you practically drool. 

“Yeah?” Anakin smirks whilst hooking his arms beneath your thighs, pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. His cock strains against his jeans even more now that he can see your glistening pussy. “You like what you see, sweetheart?” 

You shrug. “Mm, yeah. It’s alright, I guess.” 

“You’re a little brat,” Anakin says before kissing up your thigh. The feather-light touch of his warm lips makes you wiggle. Your hand rests atop of Anakin’s head, fingers massaging his scalp in an effort to keep him traveling up to your core. “You’re lucky I can’t resist a pretty pussy like yours.” 

“Is it the prettiest?” 

Anakin lays a kiss on the inside of your other thigh. His nose brushes against your clit as he places a chaste kiss over your folds while running two fingers down your slit. “No doubt about it, babe,” Anakin praises. Fuck, you smell divine. He wants to spend all day between your thighs.  “The absolute prettiest. Bet you taste the sweetest, too.”

With that, Anakin dips a finger inside of you, making you gasp. “Fuck, sweetheart,” Anakin sucks in a breath. He lays his head on your thigh to watch his finger disappear inside of you and then reappear glistening with your juices. “How can you be this wet already? I’ve barely gotten started.” 

You roll your head along the couch cushions, impossibly worked up and craving more than just one of Anakin’s fingers. “Then show me what you’re made of, Skywalker.” 

Oh, that sends a jolt straight through Anakin’s cock. He wastes no more time teasing you and slips another finger into your hole while attaching his lips to your clit. He flicks the tip of his tongue over your bundle of nerves, two long fingers are curling against your walls, and Anakin can’t get enough. Pussy just tastes better when you love the person you’re eating out. It’s pure saccharine to him. He needs it pumped into his blood to survive. 

Anakin finesses his cock out of his pants and strokes himself several times to alleviate the terrible pain that has come over him. Your strangled cries of pleasure and hand on his head pushing him further into your cunt encourages Anakin to add a third finger. “Anakin! Fuck!” 

“You like that, baby?” Anakin is breathless, lips coated with your nectar. “You like being stretched by my fingers?” 

“Mm,” you hum, fisting his hair, “yes.” 

“Bet you do.” Anakin bites the inside of your thigh and pumps his three digits agonizingly slowly so he can really admire the stretch. It’s a toe curling sensation and a bit foreign more than anything. You had no idea fingers could feel so good. Maybe it’s just Anakin’s. He places the pad of his thumb on your clit, applying even pressured circles and yeah, it’s totally just Anakin who makes you feel this good. “Good little whores love to be stretched out.” 

“Oh my God!” you exclaim, pussy clenching at Anakin calling you a whore. Your bodily response doesn’t go unnoticed by Anakin. No, he’s storing all of this in his memory, creating a file of all the things that make you go wild. “Fuck me, Anakin. Please.” 

“Currently doing that with fingers, sweetheart.” He pumps his fingers faster but rolls over your nub with a more delicate touch. By now you’re squirming off of the couch, heels digging into the cushion and all you can do is chant Anakin’s name. You’re caught in a dichotomy of wanting to cum while also wanting Anakin’s cock. “C’mon, angel, let it go. I want you to cum on my fingers before you take my cock.” 

“But I- hngh…” your words are mangled as it’s no longer an option to stave off your orgasm. Your clit is overly sensitive and the tightness in your tummy begins to unravel as your walls pulse around Anakin’s three fingers. “Mm— oh, fuck! Ani-”

“That’s it, baby,” Anakin coos. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cum.” He draws his fingers from you one by one, each time making you cry from emptiness. Anakin sits beside you on the couch, bringing his fingers soaked in your goodness up to your mouth. You open obediently, only taking in two of them. Your tangy sweetness coats your tongue and you’re looking straight into Anakin’s ocean eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel seasick. 

When Anakin takes his fingers out of your mouth, you maneuver yourself on top of Anakin. The rough denim of his jeans creates a rough contrast to the silky tip of his cock poking your thigh. He manages to get his jeans down his legs and around his ankles. Kicking his feet out of them impatiently, his large hands find a home on your breasts while you grab the base of him and position him under your cunt. He’s kneading your mounds gently, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You slot your lips between his as you lower yourself onto his lap. 

“F-fuck, Ani,” you rest your forehead on Anakin’s as your breathing becomes one. He runs his hands down your tummy, landing on your waist and gives you an encouraging squeeze. “So big, so full,” you murmur. Anakin guides your hips forward and backward, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He’s sucking down hard, no other thought other than claiming you as his.

It’s fucking magnificent having his cock nestled deep inside of you while you’re moaning in his ear, and soft hands roaming his upper body. His hands drop down to your ass, grabbing a handful of your peachy cheeks. You start bouncing on his cock, each time you drop down you feel like he’s in your stomach. “Cunt’s so fuckin’ greedy,” Anakin groans. “You just can’t get enough of my cock, can you?” 

“Mmh, nuh uh,” you babble mindlessly. Your legs are starting to ache but the pain goes in tandem with the pleasure. Anakin presses your chest to his with his arms around your back. You kiss along his jaw lazily, feeling your energy deplete with each landing on Anakin’s thick length. “Need you to…mmm-” 

“Say no more.” Anakin flips you over seamlessly with his cock still anchored inside of you. He hikes your leg over his shoulder and he drills into you at a delicious new angle. His fingers fall to your clit and it sends you soaring. “Fuck,” Anakin breathes. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this tight cunt from me for three years.” 

“Y-yours now,” you have some brain cells left to respond. He’s fucking you hard, tits bouncing with each thrust and Anakin just has to have one in his mouth. While he encloses his lips over one of your nipples, he cups your other breast in his hand. He flicks his tongue across your bud and suckles, as if there’s something in there to nourish him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant. It’s all getting to be too much. The bulge you feel in your belly, the pressure on your clit, Anakin’s warm mouth on your breast. How is he so good at doing so many things? “Ani, I’m close.” 

“I feel it, angel,” Anakin drags his lips across your chest and up your neck until he reaches his final destination. With his lips slotted between yours once more, the roll of his hips is languid and methodical. He’s bringing you along gradually, until your second orgasm washes over you and your limbs are convulsing. You moan into Anakin’s mouth and he swallows it happily. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?” 

“Mouth!” you manage to say. Anakin loses every single semblance of control he had when you utter that one word. He pulls out of you just as he begins to cum, hot ropes landing on your chest before he’s propped his foot by your head and shoves his cock between your lips. 

Your warm mouth welcomes him greedily as his seed coats your tongue. “Shit,” Anakin grumbles. “Such a little cum slut.” 

You nod submissively, wrapping your hands around the rest of his length, all slippery from your juices. You look so fucking sexy with his dick in your mouth, he can’t even think straight. You on the other hand, you could suck his cock all damn day. You don’t even have to think while you’re doing it, you’ll just let your hands, mouth, and tongue do whatever they want. It isn’t until you feel his dick start to soften do you realize he’s finished releasing his load. 

Anakin breathlessly slumps down on the other side of your couch. You scoop up his cum from your chest and bring it to your mouth. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that,” Anakin says rather firmly. 

“Why not?” you blink innocently. 

“You know exactly why.” 

You don’t reply. Instead, you crawl over to him, pulling the blanket that’s draped over the back of your couch and lay on top of Anakin’s chest. He lets you get comfortable as you’re sandwiched between his body and the back cushions of your couch. Once you’ve settled, his strong arm holds you against him protectively. He kisses the top of your head gently and mumbles something you can’t understand. 

Neither of you say anything the rest of the night. Anakin isn’t a man of many words, anyway. But when he has something to say, he’ll make sure he gets his point across. The point he made tonight was very clear. 

He loves you.

remember to reblog and leave comments to support authors!

(ps i'm not a yankees or mets fan. hayden's sweatshirt just kinda looks like the yankees logo even though i know it's not. okay that's it.)

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[on-a-lucky-tide]

woke up out of a cold sweat to run to your inbox. Free spirited Omega Nik + upstanding, clean cut Alpha John who's so used to Omegas hiding their scents behind suppressants. Then he watches Nik fly through a dog fight with ease in the middle of one of his heats and has NO idea what do to with him.

Not that he thinks he needs some form of intervention, but how do you even court an Omega like Nik? Does he want to be courted?? What could Price get him when Nik already gets himself what ever he wants?? And that's when he notices, WAIT- is nik trying to court him??????

Nik goes into heat. Price wants to help.

cw: omegaverse; omega Nik, alpha Price.

Price had been quietly harbouring a romantic attachment to Nikolai for many years. It was difficult to pursue such a thing in their line of work and, if Price was honest with himself, he was too much of a coward. He had talked himself out of it by assessing the “risk”; losing Nikolai by fuckin’ up a romantic entanglement would do irreperable harm to the 141, Coalition and Allegiance in general. The reality was that losing Nikolai would fuck up Price more than anything else; the 141 would continue to tick over, but Price wasn’t sure he would.

It was far safer to exist in the liminal space of friendship and desire. Nik wasn’t stupid and Price was surprised he was permitting it to continue, but either way, they had settled into a comfortable friendship that often bordered on something else, but never progressed it into anything official. It was like they went through all the motions without actually… consummating it.

They regularly went out for dinner, sharing bottles of scotch late into the night. Nik bought Price expensive cigars and always ensured he had his most favoured kit on operations. Price made sure any stray arrest warrants or unwanted chatter swerved Nik when he could; he gifted Nik with a TF141 patch for his jacket one winter and something unspoken had shifted between them.

Nik went into heat while operating alongside Gaz in Khorramshahr. They had split into two teams with Price as the eyes in a central base of operations. Soap and Ghost had covered from a sniper’s nest on a nearby building, while Nik and Gaz had extracted the target from the military compound—a stolen laptop containing CIA codes for hundreds of covert operations. Laswell wasn’t sure how it had fallen into enemy hands, but she was pissed enough with her own to send in the 141 instead.

Unfortunately, the base hadn’t been empty. With Ghost’s help, they had managed to progress their way to the hanger they had already earmarked for a quick escape should the situation turn to shit. There were three Sea Cobras parked up. Liberated from occupying American forces over the border, no doubt.

Nik crooned gleefully through the Comms as they ran into the hanger. “Ona prekrasna.”

”Gaz, any luck?” Price asked, watching their flickering green outlines on the screen in front of him. Nik’s flickered as he climbed into the helo.

”Nik’s working on it.”

”Soap, got eyes?”

”Aye, sir. Ghost layin’ doon cover. Hostiles headin’ in from th’ east.”

”Spotted. Hurry it along, Nik. You’ve got minutes.”

“Pomurchi diya menya, kotonok,” Nik growled. Even through the Comms, the silky rumble of it did something to every alpha listening in. Price’s legs spread in his seat, arse lifting a little as his Carhartts became suddenly a little tighter at the crotch. He recognised that voice—that tone—on an omega. He’d had a handful of partners in his lifetime with only one progressing to the point there had been discussions about mating and marriage, but that soft, sultry purr could only mean one thing.

”Gaz, is Nik—?”

”Yeah, sir.”

”Stay focused, son.”

”I’m under control.”

”It is fine, captain,” Nik said, and Price heard the whine of rotary blades spinning up in the background. “We are good to go. Gaz, load up."

Price lifted his eyes from the screens and watched as their heli appeared over the rooftops. Nik spun her around to face the hanger and made sure that neither of the other two would be taking off with a quick burst of fire from the Sea Cobra’s 40mm grenade launcher. The plume of smoke and from the explosion that followed mushrooming high into the dull grey of the sky. Unfortunately, their escape was further complicated by a new arrival.

Price growled as another blip appeared on his radar. “Nik, you’ve got company. Westbound,” Price looked through the window as it came within naked eyeline, “Soap, you got visual on the pilot?”

”Negative, sir. Movin’ too quick, heavy armour.”

”Nik, ya gonna ‘ave t’ outfly it.” Price glanced back down at the monitors.

”Copy, captain.”

And Nik fuckin’ well did. Price knew of only one conflict where helicopters had been involved in dogfights—Iran-Iraq war—and Nik was flying one of the main participants. It might not be his Black Hawk, but Nik controlled that Sea Cobra around the sky like she was another appendage, turning her on a pence piece, with targeted bursts of turret fire whenever he secured an opening. It was quick, brutal, the rat-ta-ta of gunfire against concrete echoing over the buildings, and all Price could do was monitor incoming traffic.

It felt like a lifetime, but the reality was that the exchange was over in under ten minutes. The enemy helo went down when Nik took out its secondary rotary engine, and it spun out into a nearby building, sending a fireball outwards into the townsquare.

”Sitrep,” Price barked through the Comms.

“A few holes, but stable. Disengaging. Meet at rendezvous. Out.” Nik said, his voice somehow deeper than it had been before. Ghost and Soap provided their updates. All was fine. Mission success… so far. They still needed to get to safety.

Price packed up in record time, leaving no trace of his presence. He caught up with Soap on the exfil—an old Jeep with the keys in on the outskirts of the city—and drove off into the damn sunset. Price followed the Shatt Al Arab south to the Persian Gulf, where they picked up a light craft waiting for them with a member of Laswell’s team on board.

Their final destination was an American-owned cruise ship currently sitting stationary off the coast of Saudi Arabia. Laswell had co-opted their ‘service’, citing it as an issue of ‘national security’. It was a little more covert than having an aircraft carrier lurking in the gulf following an incursion into Iranian territory. Risky though, involving civilians at any stage of the operation. Price hadn’t been particularly happy with the arrangement.

By the time they arrived, it was late, with several floors of loud, drunk parties currently in full swing, but Price was unable to settle.

He needed to see Nikolai.

Once Laswell had been debriefed via satellite phone, and he’d caught up with the rest of the 141 to check on injuries—none but for a few of the usual scrapes and bruises—Price returned to the small room on the ship he’d been assigned to scrub himself clean. Nik was a few floors up. He’d booked himself something a little plusher for the occasion, because of course he fucking had. As the cruise ship sailed onwards, heading towards Dubai where they were due to pick up a flight home, Price took the stairs two at a time.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. For some reason, he stopped off at the hotel bar and bought an exorbitantly expensive bottle of vodka and two only moderately less eye-wateringly expensive cigars. Was he expecting to court Nikolai on an accelerated time scale with cigars and bloody vodka?

How did someone even begin to court an omega like Nik? He could have anything and everything he wanted at the snap of his fingers and the flash of some plastic. Why was Price even considering it now? He had never seen Nik in heat. Not in their twenty-or-so years of friendship. Sure, he had smelled pre-heat on him, knew Nik’s scent well, and had often been comforted by it in the past.

Nik didn’t use suppressants. He never had. His secondary sex was a point of pride and Price had always liked how it seemed to calm the 141 when he was around; Ghost’s shoulders relaxed, Soap’s hyperactive energy calmed and Gaz found an outlet for his affectionate nature.

They hugged him, scented him, and often fell asleep around him when the operation was over. Price too always felt less stressed, less… like the world was about to explode at any minute. Nik had adopted them as his. That was no secret. Why else would he fly into danger to rescue them at a moment’s notice? An omega would tear the world apart to defend their pack.

His mind was buzzing with all this when he arrived outside Nikolai’s door, his knuckles white around the bottle of vodka in his hands. There was a way to do these things. His old man, for all his sins, had certainly beaten that into Price for the day dot. He definitely hadn’t had a man like Nikolai in mind for his runty, underfed alpha son though. The thought of his face now would have been amusing if Price’s heart wasn’t currently sitting in his throat, trying to suffocate him.

He managed to extract one clammy palm from the vodka bottle and knocked. There was the sound of shuffling from the inside, the slide of the lock, and the door swung open. The sweet, overpowering scent of heat hit Price full in the face and, if that wasn’t enough to make him weak at the knees, the sight of Nik certainly finished him off.

Nik leaned against the doorframe, his head tilted against his forearm as it slanted across it, cigarette dangling from his broad mouth. His hair was ruffled, more curls forming around his ears and neck than his usual regime of gel would allow. Price’s eyes raked down the length of him, his full tits with their dark pelt of fur, his dusky nipples peaked and hard, his solid core revealing the hint of definition every time he drew in a deep breath, the elastic of the sweats he’d pulled on clinging to his hips, the v-slant of muscle disappearing beneath the line of fleece along with the thick happy trail of hair down his belly, begging for Price’s mouth to follow their lead.

”My eyes are up here, captain,” Nik said softly, lips tilted in a wry smirk. He took his cigarette from his mouth and placed his other arm high up on the door frame. Posed like this, even so nonchalant, he struck an imposing sight, spread out, so bloody confident, but with his armpits, the sides of his tits, the curve of his waist, all exposed, begging for an alpha’s hands just to—

“Nik, I…” Price’s eyes snapped up as he spoke, his voice cloying in his throat. Every breath he drew in fogged his brain with scent. He needed to behave his-bloody-self. With a restrained cough, Price offered out the bottle. “I brought ya some vodka t’ see ya through.”

”I have vodka, John,” Nik said dryly. Tilting his head back and up to take a drag of his cigarette without having to drop his arm, and it only served to show off the slope of his neck and throat, completely unblemished, his glands just below the skin.

“Ah, yeah, ‘course you do,” Price croaked, his eyes lingering on the spot where he knew Nik’s gland would be. His mouth watered. “That was… some amazing flyin’, with the… the Sea Cobra.”

”Mmm,” Nik groaned, flexing his back, rolling his shoulders. A subtle wave of cramp. “The Hinds were better armed, but the AH1 is a more agile aircraft… it took down a Mig 21 during the Gulf War.” He watched Price with dark eyes as he spoke, scrutinising his face and, slowly, the rest of his body. Price knew he was being sized up and felt his shoulder square despite knowing he was being bloody stupid. “Why are you here, John?”

”I…” Price swallowed. “I want t’ help, Nik. An’… uh… I wanna do this right, I—“

If any of the 141 had heard the yelp that followed Nik’s gruff “finally” as he took the front of Price’s belt and dragged him into the room, Price would have silenced them under threat of a damn court martial, because it was the most undignified sound he’d ever made. The bottle of vodka thumped on the carpeted floor as Nik shoved him into the room and the door clicked shut. The cigars followed, because Price’s hands were soon occupied by Nik’s chest as Nik closed in.

[monarchberrysblog]

𝑼𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍

part 1.5 — a fool in love 🩵

An inspired baby daddy au from @yougavemeyourheartyouknow as I wanted to add my own spin to it!

🎧 summary: just two, small unexpected coincidental encounters with Miguel and his dog.

🎧 content warning: doggie shenanigans, food is mentioned, fluffy content, miguel and reader are feeling each other slowly but surely

🎧 word count: 1.5k words (something small)

🎧 author’s note: ugh, I took a wee break, and damn it, I needed it, so! But we are back with baby daddy Miguel's chaos and wholesome content.

❄️ not proofread! ❄️

encounter one: cilantro 🌿 y cebolla 🧅

The tantalizing aroma of tacos de trompo wafted through the air, weaving its way into your consciousness and calling your taste buds to life. It was enough to draw you from the cozy confines of your apartment and into the vibrant scene of food trucks that lined the street outside your complex.

As you approached, the familiar figure of the owner—a middle-aged man with a warm smile and hands deftly working with the spices and meats—greeted you with a knowing smile. “Cuatro tacos de trompo?” He asks with a smile. You nod, handing him a ten-dollar bill.

Before the older man takes the wrinkled bill, someone from behind holds a twenty-dollar bill and orders their meal. That damn detergent smell… “Victor, dame cuatro tacos de barbacoa.” The older man takes the twenty and flattens it out with his hands. “Y voy a pagar sus tacos de trompo tambien.”

The older man nods before calling into the food truck, listing off the order to the cook.

/

“You didn't have to pay for my meal.” You held your container of tacos. “It's no problem. I might as well because I keep running into you.” He forces a laugh as well as you do. “Yeah,” You nervously laugh as you swig your soda. “Bella is nothing but a troublemaker.” You shrug and walk beside him.

Nothing came to mind, really, no words at all. Just a feeling. A feeling of familiarity. It twisted at your stomach like the bag in your grasp twisted with every swing or stride. It would be strong enough to make you throw up butterflies if it could. But nothing comes out.

The coke soothed out the butterflies, working as a detangler. But what could you say? This is a guy you ran into twice at Central Park, but it felt as if he ripped your heart out, ate your heart in two bites, and proceeded to eat your brain, plaguing away your words.

It felt as if your body betrayed you, telling the remains of your brains, “Good luck! You're on your own with this man.”

You look down to the gum-covered pavement of the sidewalk but stop when you see the familiar stairway to your apartment. “Well, this is my stop.” If it was possible and comical, you nearly climbed up the stairs like a little kid — on all fours. If anything, you didn't want to look out of shape in front of this stranger and be gasping for air after a flight of stairs. Instead, you take your time of going up the stairs, not daring to stoop down to a degenerate level.

“Oh, I’ll see you around.” He sounded disappointed — a little too disappointed to your liking. You nod awkwardly before a nervous giggle leaves you. You stop and clear your throat.

“Thank you for walking me home.” You stumble into your warm apartment complex, the warm air of the building blowing the warmth away from your cheeks and ears.

“It’s no problem.”

encounter two: wrapped up in each other’s business

Despite it being a few months after adopting the puppy, Bella had finally grown out of her puppy pads. No longer relying on them, she waited by the door every morning, ready to take care of her business. Her trots soon became measurable walks in the park, no longer having to run to catch up to you. But as soon as she grew, her pulls became stronger…

The cheerful sounds of Bella’s enthusiastic barks echoed through the park, mingling with the delightful jingle of her name tag and leash. Her little paws pattered energetically across the cold concrete sidewalk.

Her yaps pause, and her eyes lock on a familiar man and his dog. She tilts her head to the side and focuses on them, precisely the same Dodgers hat she saw a couple of weeks beforehand.

She looked over at you with pleading eyes, attempting to get any form of attention. But your attention was on your mobile device, mindlessly tapping at the end tap screen. She whined to you before tugging on her leash. She pulled you along the concrete path of the park, leading you toward the German Shepherd and his owner. Her heart swelled with excitement, tagging you along for another play date. But the enthusiasm ends as you lead her to another path instead. “C’mon, Bella. We have to take you to the groomers.”

She whines before tugging with all her might and pulling you back to the path. “Hey, Bella—” You stammered.

She tugs you along, running full speed towards the familiar Dodgers cap. She yaps happily as you yell out in dismay.

“Not again!” You whine out, stumbling down the sidewalk and across the park. “Bella! Bad dog! No tugging!” You demanded as you got tugged away from your usual path.

“What did I say Bella?” Bella dashed forward, her fur glinting in the sunlight as she expertly maneuvered the leash around you and Miguel, creating an unexpected twist. With a mighty tug, she pulled you both together. Your bodies are pressed tightly chest to chest. “Oh no! Bella!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment. His detergent overwhelmed your senses as you tried not to breathe down on his smell.

Meanwhile, Bella looked up at you, her eyes sparkling with joy, utterly oblivious to the chaos she had caused. Apollo, barking as if he were trying to aid his owner in escaping the entanglement, echoed around you, adding to the whirlwind of the moment.“Hey.” He greets you through the barking dogs as you feel your cheeks blossom into heat.

“It’s been a while.”

“Seems like karma wants us to run into each other once more.”

encounter three: bedsheets and duvets

“Apollo, bajate, estoy tendiendo la cama.” Miguel pulls at the clean bedsheets, egging the dark German Shepherd to jump off the bed. The large canine does this before grabbing the bedsheet and taking the semi-clean sheet. “Que no! Apollo!” He reaches for the bedsheet and grasps on it, only to feel the burn of the fabric slipping through his palm like a snake slithering past his grip.

“Apollo, no!” He pounces for the bed sheet, playing a round of tug of war. “Que Noooo!” He yells out, realizing he sounds like his aunt in this interaction with his dog. Even though he was a gym rat, it felt as if his dog could do much more than him, such as dragging him out to the hallway.

“You caused enough trouble at the park with that little dog, Bella! Don't fuck with me, Apollo!” With one final yank, he falls back, his hand holding the torn bed sheet.

“Apollo…” He groans before the large canine barks and runs laps around him, holding onto the torn blankets in his mouth.

He shoots an all-knowing look at the canine and looks at his naked bed. “…why?” He questions. The dog only whines in response, dropping the bedsheets onto the floor and nuzzling close to Miguel, seeking forgiveness. He gives in when he feels the wet nose against his cheek and nose. “Alright, bud, I forgive you.” He gives the German Shepherd well-needed ear scratches as he looks off into space momentarily.

“Looks like we need some new bedsheets. This is the second time this week.” He tosses the flimsy material into the laundry bin and reclines back against the wall of the hallway.

Homegoods felt… sanctioned.

Going into a store like this in the late evening filled Miguel with dread. The idea of having people gawk at him while shopping for bedsheets was something he didn't want to do. Mainly if the bedsheets only available for his bed were patterns of little cats or little hearts. Who knew that patterned bedsheets were still prevalent? Even for a king-sized bed. He exhaled a sigh of defeat when the sight of kittens playing with a ball of yarn on the bedsheets came into view.

He looks down the isle and the familiar silhouette stops his wandering eyes. There you were. Bella in your arms while holding a package of new bedsheets. His breathing hitched before he darts his eyes away. It was embarrassing enough to be tangled in leashes, but seeing each other three times after the park was too much for Miguel.

He looks once more, and a pair of eyes are on him. The young puppy barks, recognizing the same baseball cap. He inhales with gritted teeth but looks down, using the lid of his cap to hide his face.

“Bella, no!” You hissed, looking away from the bedsheets displayed and looking where she was looking. When you do, no one is down the aisle—a vacant space is what you only see. “Silly Bella, no one is there.” You coo to the canine, scratching her head gently with a free hand. She whines quietly and looks adamantly into the space while you shop.

The cocker spaniel smells the air. The clean laundry smell collides with your rosy perfume. The combination is sweet yet clean. The small puppy stays put in your arms, enjoying the rocking motions.

tag list:

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @opaloharas @hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo @keiva1000 @slushycoookie @miguelsfavwife @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[mehiwilldoitlater]

(requested by @silenthopper)

The first time he saw you, Bulkhead never planned to get so wrapped up in you. Damn, he didn't even plan to walk in the park that night, but Sari insisted since there were some cool activities in Central Park. Of course she never mentioned something like a ballet representation and didn't even plan on seeing it.

The first thing that caught Bulkhead's attention was the structure, an open-air theater installed just at the side of the artificial lake, and, of course, the music. Bless his heart, he wasn't so invested in knowing every detail of earth, but he had enough to recognize something beautiful when he heard it. When he finally got his attention towards that structure, he saw a young man, armed with a crossbow, running in a forest made of fake trees, meeting another, dressing something that reminded him of those black birds that he saw sometimes here and there. Prowl had called them crow? He didn't know, but that man had a strange, ominous look. They moved strangely, but it wasn't a strange bad; they moved pretty! Like seeing some birds moving here and there on the concrete, it wasn't made up; it had a purpose.

Then the lights went off, and the forest scenery changed; now the bright and full moon reflected its entirety on a lake made of fabric and glitters. The ruins of an old structure were covered in fake vines and wildflowers. Then, something white appeared, something soft, light, and swift.

Your white tutu stood out on the dark scenography; the small crown on your head shone like a star in the cold space, alongside the diamonds on your gown and your small slipper.

His jaw dropped open, amazed by the scene.

He decided to stay and observe, near enough to see and hear the music but not too close to bother anyone; he just sat there, observing. Bee and Sari, of course, couldn't understand what was so interesting about some people in costumes that like to dance, but there was something captivating for Bulkhead, and that something was you.

Were you real? You seemed pretty real, but you look so…non-human. Up on those two small feet, your graceful movements on the wooden floor, your expression too was completely different. He couldn't describe it, but the only thing that he was able to come up with was beautiful; everything about you was beautiful.

"What is it?" he asked, concentrated but curious.

"Ah, the opera house does these shows every summer. It's ballet…"

"Ah…and…what are they doing?"

"Dancing, of course. It's a kind of dance; I would never do that, but some people like it."

"She seems scared of that man, the one with the black feathers…!

"Uuuuh… It's the Swan Lake, I guess. A girl is turned into a swan by a bad wizard, and a prince tries to save her."

He wasn't sure that he had understood the thing; what he knew was that the curious man with the black feathers was bad because you, the princess, who has the crown and it seems logical, were scared of him, while the other male was protecting you from him… So in the end, Sari's story seemed true!

He had stayed there, curious and fascinated by this curious activity that humans seemed to have created on their own. He wondered if Prowl was able to move like that; he was the most agile of the team after all, and so he stayed there, now curious to know how the story ended, while his group decided to head up to some more interesting activities.

At some point the story had come to an end; the music roared stronger than all the night, all the dancers on the stage, the bad man, the prince, and the princess. Previously, something bad had happened because the prince danced with another one in a black dress, and you seemed like you were crying. He tried to understand the integrity of everything until…. YOU JUMPED? He stood up, panicking, starting to run to where he thought you must have landed! BEHIND THE STAGE!

Poor Bulkhead, he hadn't thought that this was all part of the show like he had missed the finale! He was so genuinely concerned about your well-being that he completely forgot that everything was just fake!

Behind the theater, while the orchestra started to play again after the roar of the applause, you and your companion were slowly getting down from the mechanic scaffold after the last scene; Odette and Siegfried unite in eternity by love in death. You both were completely breathless, just like everyone around. The cheers covered the laugh and the screams from the dancers, everyone so helplessly enthusiastic for the good result of tonight's show.

"Everyone! Everyone!" The maestro tried to hide his happiness too, but he was clearly over the moon: "All of you have been GREAT! But the show is not over! We must end the"

"MOVE MOVE MOVE!"

Suddenly the sound of metal steps startled you all, and the presence of one of those Autobots suddenly changed the atmosphere of the crew.

"Where's she?! Is she okay?!" He started to look around, everywhere! The maestro tried to stop the frantic searching of the bot.

"W-wha-whaT-STOP! Hey hey hey QUIT THIS!" he finally intervened, holding a ballerina all dressed in white, but putting her down gently noticing that she didn't had a crown on her head.

"CUT IT OUT! You can't stay here, out from the backstage!"

"She jumped! How can you not be panicking?! SHE JUST JUMP!"

"WHO JUMPED?!"

"The princess! THE PRINCESS HAS FALLEN! Is she hurt?!"

Everyone needed to make two plus two to realize what he intended and about who, the maestro had enough time to make the orchestra take some more time, excusing himself for some troubles.

"First, no one here is hurt. Secondly, of course she's fine! It's just a spectacle! Look!"

The maestro showed you and the other male looking confused at Bulkhead. Ah…it was true…you were fine! Thanks, Primus! He sighed in relief.

"Oh… Oh, I thought… Primus, I thought something bad had just happened!"

"Oh…" you finally took some courage to speak. "It's…fine. I mean, you must have been influenced by the story and—"

"Yes, yes, yes, everything here is amazing! NOW MOVE AWAY! Hero or not, you're stopping us! EVERYBODY BACK ON STAGE!"

He muffled an apology while everyone moved between his legs trying to get on stage on time, trying to look like it was just a small delay. That wasn't even backstage, he thought; it was the park ground… That grumpy man had no right to tell him to not stay there… Nah, those were some silly excuses; he was just too embarrassed to admit that he had looked like a fool.

You, on the other hand, have found this event quite cute.

The next day he came back; he found out that this kind of event was supposed to stay for a few more days, and he decided to take this opportunity to properly apologize to you and, of course, to the rest of the crew.

"Bring some flowers! And launched them!" said Bee, laughing. "On TV, they do this every time!"

And of course, that day, just a few hours away from the starting of the spectacle, everybody in that half-made backstage found himself under a curious rain of flowers.

"Look!"

"What's happening?"

"Some prank?"

By looking around, you spotted the figure of the same giant of the previous day, occupied by throwing flowers… A lot of flowers—the cargo of a small truck was full of them!

When you approached him, he was still focused on that, not acknowledging your presence from the other side of the small fence that delineated the area.

"Hi!" He jumped, throwing on himself a bunch of those flowers, surprised by your sudden appearance.

"Oh, um… Hi!" He scoffed away a few flowers. "Haven't seen you there… You're very good at sneaky!"

"First time someone said that to me." You chuckled a little, noticing then his nervousness. "But I'll take that as a compliment! So… Are you still checking if I'm hurt?"

"No, no, no! I…wanted to apologize about yesterday; I didn't mean to ruin…whatever thing that was; I was just so so worried!"

"It's alright! Even heroes can make mistakes, right? ...so…" You moved away a few petals from your shoulder. "About the flowers…"

"Oh yes! My friend Bumblebee told me to throw them!"

"…AH! Oh my!" You started to laugh; Bulkhead still looked confused. "At the end of the show, not during the rehearsal!"

"Oh…,he scratched his head. "I had mistaken…again…"

You took one of the flowers, one of the few blue ones that stand alongside those sugary pink that prevail on the multitude, and put it on your ear.

"No, it's just the cutest thing that could have happened to us… So… Bulkhead, right? Can I presume that you enjoyed the show?"

"Oh! Enjoyed?!" His face converted into a giant grin, especially knowing that you knew his name. "I loved it! You were amazing back there! I don't need to breathe, but WOW, you were breathtaking! You were like…flying on that thing; you were…you are…um…"

He felt the weight of his words, feeling a rush of awkwardness on him, realizing that he let his mouth move faster than his thought.

"…I think you were so pretty…"

Your mesmerizing look was on him, and…you started to laugh again, mostly for the nervousness and the cuteness that this big robot had brought you. You were used to compliments, critiques, or children that think of you as some kind of fairy, but receiving a big amount of them from a big robot that saves the day as an occupation? That was…new! For a moment, he thought that you may have found him ridiculous, but then you offered him your hands for a handshake.

"Thank you, Bulkhead… I'm Y/N, by the way!"

From that day on, the biggest of the Autobots became the biggest of you fans, too.

You couldn't resist, but besides the fact that he was able to destroy everything thanks to his herculean strength, he was surprisingly adorable for his way of acting around you. When facing an enemy, he was unstoppable, courageous, and prone to the attack more than the thinking. But around you, he was completely different!

He was shy, unsure about how to say things and how to express them. He was clumsy, things that you had found almost cute, but he had tried several times to be careful about things that he knew people cared about.

You had tried to invite him to some of your shows, but he had to decline many of those invitations, with a heavy heart too. The theater was too small for him!

Well, he didn't know that the first ballerina of the opera house had a few friends here and there! And how could they deny the desire of one of Detroit's protectors to enjoy one of their spectacles?! When he found out that they did recreate a nice place just for him, he couldn't hold his joy!

You even found time to spend with him on some dates, as you love to say, just to tease him a little, a thing that made him look even more cute than ever!

But mostly, he loved when he could find some time to see you practice. He loved how concentrated you were when you needed to practice one of your performances; he loved the passion that you emitted from your eyes! You were a contrast, delicate and strong, gentle but powerful, elegant and passionate. He couldn't not stare at you, admiring your tiny foot supporting your entire body without a trace of fatigue.

He could have never even dreamed of doing something like that.

He had found himself, in his alone time, painting things that reminded him of you, like flowers, river streams, or those animals that gave the name of the first spectacles that he had seen you in. And yet, he never found the courage to give you one of those, too embarrassed that you could find them silly or stupid…damn, you would have found him stupid.

"You know, Bulkhead," you spoke on one of those many walks in the park near him, "I was wondering, would you save me from a deception if it was the case?"

"Uh? Why do you say such a thing? …ARE THEY TARGETING YOU?! ARE THEY NEAR?!"

You calmed him down, caressing his giant servos.

"No, no, Bulky, no! No one is targeting me! It's just a guess! It's just that you remind me of a knight… so strong, so brave… It just makes my heart bump a little!"

You made his spark completely go shut down… He scratched his head again, coughing a little.

"I'm…not sure if I'm a knight, but...I'm pretty sure if one of those boozos tries to hurt you, they'll face me first!"

He truly was your knight!

[mariacallous]

Wraps are awful. At best, they ruin perfectly serviceable fillings by bundling them up in a gummy, cold tortilla. At worst, they do this with less-than-serviceable fillings. They’re like a salad, but less refreshing, or like a sandwich, but less filling—a worst-of-all-worlds Frankenstein’s monster, an indistinguishable food slurry wrapped in edible cardboard, like the world’s rudest present. They’re desperation food—“the stuff,” Lesley Suter wrote a few years ago in the food publication Eater, “of refrigerated airport deli cases, conference center lunch trays, and the dark side of a Subway menu.” Every single part of them is the wrong texture.

And yet: This month, McDonald’s announced that it would be bringing back its chicken Snack Wrap, after nearly 19,000 people signed a Change.org petition arguing that it was “easily the best thing” on the chain’s menu. The announcement came a day after Popeyes introduced three new chicken wraps. TikTok is now filled with wrap-recipe cook-alongs and clips of attractive young people hunting for the best chicken-Caesar wrap in their given city.

If you are over 40, this might sound a bit familiar. Wraps were one of the biggest eating fads of the 1990s, after a group of enterprising friends decided to put Peking duck inside a tortilla and see if San Franciscans would buy it. They would, and they did, and then so did the rest of the country. Soon enough, the nation’s leading newspapers were running careful, anthropological explainers about wraps, as though a sandwich were a newly discovered animal species. (The Washington Post, 1996: “They’re called wraps—big, fat, tortilla-wrapped bundles similar to burritos but with a wild choice of international fillings.” The Post again, six months later: “It looks like a giant egg roll.”) Tavern on the Green, which had at that point been selling down-the-middle American classics in New York City’s Central Park for two generations, introduced a pork-and-potato wrap. Around the country, as The New York Times wrote in 1998, “tiny stores selling wraps sprang up like weeds.”

Wraps, like garbage cans, can hold anything; for this reason, they aligned perfectly with the ’90s fascination with so-called fusion food, which combines dishes from different culinary traditions. But more important, they were a vessel for the era’s body anxieties. Extreme thinness was trending; Dr. Richard Atkins had recently reissued his diet guide, one of the best-selling books in history. Wraps were—in marketing, if not always in reality—lower-calorie and lower-carb than normal sandwiches, all that pillowy, delicious bread having been replaced with a utilitarian tortilla forgery that tasted and looked virtuous, especially when it was flecked with spinach or tomato. If traditional sandwiches were greasy and chaotic, the province of children and cartoon slobs, wraps were tidy and sensible, the province of working women with slim hips and pin-straight hair. They were fuel more than food, practicality more than pleasure. The fact that they didn’t taste good was maybe even part of the point. A couple of weeks ago, I was talking with a woman about this story at a party, and she mentioned that she used to eat a lot of wraps. I was incredulous—until she explained, breezily, that she had had an eating disorder for many years.

Trends are pendulums. Wraps and extreme thinness eventually became less fashionable, but not because they were a terrible waste of time and imagination—they became less fashionable simply because new orthodoxy about how to eat and how to look replaced them. Bowls became the dominant healthy-ish working lunch, and a curvier silhouette—less ruler, more Jessica Rabbit; less Kate Moss, more Kim Kardashian—became the aspirational female body type. Third-wave feminism and its attendant media turned dieting (or at least talking about it) into something archaic and deeply uncool. But America’s golden age of body positivity had its limitations: People were still expected to fall within a narrow band of acceptable sizes and shapes, and they were expected to have a particular body by accident, without effort or deprivation or shame or depressing sandwiches. For a while, the feminine ideal was a beautiful woman with a tiny waist, a giant butt, and a hamburger in hand, meat juice spilling down her forearm.

But recently, the mood has shifted again. Hip bones are jutting out once more from above low-rise jeans. The Kardashian sisters have been talking about their “weight-loss journeys.” Estimates suggest that up to one in eight American adults have taken Ozempic or similar drugs since they were introduced. In the extreme, influencers are building social-media empires by bullying women into cutting calories and exercising for hours a day. Everywhere I look, the aesthetic values of the ’90s have returned, even if the vocabulary has changed: Low-carb has been replaced with high-protein; dieting has been replaced with wellness; starvation has been replaced with fasting. Diet culture is being revived, repackaged, and resold for a new era, and so are the foods that fed it.

Two decades ago, when Subway launched a new line of wraps, they were advertised as a “carb-controlled” option compatible with the Atkins diet. In 2024, when Subway launched a new line of wraps, a company press release foregrounded their protein content and promised to “fuel you up without weighing you down.” The Snack Wrap Change.org petition explicitly cites the wrap’s calorie count, which is typically below 300. On TikTok, fitness bros are bragging about the “macros” on their “XL Grinder Salad Wraps,” and women are posting recipes for 300-calorie buffalo-chicken wraps to a chorus of comments such as “YALL THIS IS SOOOOO FILLING. I LOVE HIGH VOLUME LOW CAL EATING 🔥🔥🔥.” A thinness-obsessed nation is turning once again toward joyless tubes of functional slop, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

[titanrogue]

i knew them

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader, bucky barnes x fem!reader, stucky x fem!reader

summary: you wake from cryo with no memories, only a familiar face before blacking out. as you recover at the tower, fragments of your past with bucky and hydra surface, and your bond with steve deepens, leading to a quiet life together—until chaos returns. bucky reappears, memories clash, and your shared past resurfaces, intertwining love, war, and unfinished missions.

words: 1.9k

note: this one is a series. stand by for the next chapter. situated after the avengers and during the events of ca:tws. feel free to send requests and leave comments.

next | masterlist (yet to come)

It was blank. A loud buzz in the ear. Cold skin as the temperature is raised. Firm hands helped you out of the cryo capsule. A group of various people. All with different clothes. Your eyes found another blue pair.

"Steve..." You said before falling unconscious in the arms of those who held you.

"So, she's your 40's girlfriend?" Natasha asked with that tone of hers.

"Not like that, she was more of Bucky's girlfriend than mine..."

"You three spent the night together, didn't you?" Tony asked and Steve sighed, clear disgust on his face, "no judgement but it was before or after the whole super soldier thing?"

Your body twitched above the examination table where Banner drew blood from your body in order to perform various tests.

"I think y'all should leave. She needs to rest." He said before putting her on an IV. "Don't worry, Cap. I'll let you know about any updates."

"Thank you, Doc. Banner."

Again, all blank. This time only your vision is filled with a white room, white sheets, translucent cables on your body. Metal equipment and a constant bip that buzzed your ears. Vitals, you thought. Mision. You remained still, waiting for someone to take to the room where they activated you.

A man in a white coat entered the room, you followed him with your eyes. He greeted you, saying a name you couldn’t recall ever being named. The man, Bruce Banner, introduced himself to you. He said you were just fine, vitals came good, tests too.

“Captain Rogers will be-...” The door openned, the man you vaguely remembered again in your sight. “He’s already here, I’ll leave you. Captain.”

“Doctor.”

Bruce leaved. The door made its sound as it closed behind him. The blonde one came closer to your left side, he had changed his uniform. The name, again. Your breath became agitated.

“Y/N” You looked at him, an immensely sad expression painted in your face. Weird feeling that you didn’t remember. “Keegan Y/N. It's okay. You are okay.”

He started talking, about you, about the person you were before he and Bucky, the man said to be your boyfriend, … enlisted to the U.S Army. A sweet loving talkative creature with the gift of comforting people. You remained quiet as he told you how he and Bucky had lost your trace after forming the Howling Commandos. Too busy with missions against Hydra and then, he told you how he had gone into the ice. Losing consciousness and freezing, he thought he’ll die and then, 70 years later he wakes up as if no time has passed. A radio is playing a Brooklyn Dodgers vs. Philadelphia Phillies baseball game, a game he had previously gone to. He knew something was wrong.

“Don’t you remember anything?” He asked again.

“I-I do. The last night Buc-he and I were together. Stark expo. You let us go. I don’t remember anything else.”

The next weeks consisted of you getting a room in the tower. Meeting the other Avengers. Even geeting a therapist. Steve guides you in the process, he takes you on long runs across central park. You like it.

The squirrels always came closer to you and raccoons often followed you during your running spree. Steve often wondered what it was, why were you so appealing to the animals. That until he finally took you to the Central Park Zoo. There the animals would come even closer, curious, yearning for touch. In the temperate territory the snow leopard paired a hand with yours across the glass.

Both of you exited the zoo after going through each zone. Steve handed you the popcorn he had bought for both.

“The animals really like you, how do you do it? I mean, I remembered you having that cat and bird of yours, but not raccoons following you around.” He said, you smiled softly. Agatha and Ozzie, respectively. A white cat and a yellow bird. 

“I talk to them, they understand me.” Steve looked at you dead in the eye and you manteined that look. “That’s how I got intel. That was my job at Hydra.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. Therapy has been working out.”

“Not like that. I have dreams, images, they just come at night. They are just random, often a man with a muzzle securing my perimeter, he and I in a jet, me in a dog’s skin. I don’t know how much of that actually happened or what is real.”

Steve listened to your words. He thought about it a lot. How had you ended up 70 and a few more years alive, in cryo and under Hydra’s control. No file about you, no info about your missions nor the experimentation you went under.

“I understand. I’m here now, you don’t have to keep those for yourself anymore. I’m with you.”

You looked into his blue eyes, a strange relief going through your veins. Small smile on your face as you held his arm. After that things started to change quickly. Both of you had to move, a fresh start in Washington. He was thrilled.

“I think you’ll like the apartments I chose. The landlord allows pets, I know you want a puppy.” He said.

“Aren’t we living together?” You questioned, Steve turned to look at you. Clueless eyes scanning your tilted face while holding a box to pack your few belongings. “I mean, we are together, right?”

Your tone changed as he reduced the little distance between you and him. He cupped your face with his hand. Sweet kiss on your lips as he nodded, caressing your hair and holding your body in a hug.

“We are together and we will live together.”

The place was nice. Not too big, not too small. An afternoon full of kisses while unpacking the few boxes and putting the stuff in order. Steve and you spent your first days getting to know the city, the transportation routes, the parks and it wasn’t too long before you both visited for the first time the Smithsonian Institute. You smiled at the pics of pre-supersoldier Steve and you remembered a lot of things about those times.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. The name of the man you both longed for. It was quiet after that. Exhibition after exhibition. Records of Peggy, the woman Steve had fallen for during his time in service. He held your hand tight during the tour and you stayed close to him.

That was your quiet way of saying that both of you are still with each other. Still together, still working.

Your vacation has gone to an end, at least Steve’s were. Fury called him to get him back in operation and of course, reclute you for his own agent squad. The blonde had intervened for you. Negating the offer before you could even speak.

“I do wanna try, Steve. And I do wanna start slow, Fury.” Steve turned to you as a smile came across Fury’s face. “It’s okay, really. Maybe, I could remember more.”

After that you were called on training sessions that progressively augmented. As Steve was back on missions with Natasha and, or STRIKE, you were regaining practice with guns, learned to fly a quinjet, use modern technologies and what Fury was more interested in, your powers.

Days had gone cold. Steve was often on missions overseas and he did not spend much time in the city and when he did, he often went out on runs, maintaining his routine. But you knew. He often went to see Bucky, the man you both had loved during your first twenty something years, or at least his pictures, the videos they shared. But more often he went to see her, the woman he loved during the war. She was still alive and you knew.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t ask. Just plain, old, accepted it.

Even the puppy he had promised now had banished.

You were making dinner when the alert of some pigeons made you get in position. Knife in the hand as you slowly walk to the door. It was a very wounded Nicholas Fury.

“Y/N, you’re here.” He said.

“Steve didn’t give you a key, did he?” You asked back, helping him to get to the sofa.

“I have never needed one.” You laugh. “My wife kicked me out. Thought I could talk to you and Steve about that.” Ears everywhere.

“Didn’t know you have a wife. But, I guess it is okay. We should wait for Steve and talk while eating. Feel free to entertain us.”

Fury chuckled and searched for an old vinyl. Steve’s disks. You continued with dinner as the volume rised. It wasn’t long before Steve’s arrival, the shooter that almost landed a bullet in your arm and that killed Nick. 

You remained in silence while Natasha said goodbye to him. Steve went after her. You stayed with Hill. Both looking at each other with glassy eyes.

“They want me back at SHIELD. I’ll report when I can.” You nodded as he landed a quick kiss on your temple.

Show must go on. You handled everything with Hill. Getting Fury’s body to a safe location where he could get treated safely. Mainly playing the role of securing the outside with your powers.

“Go in cover and hear everything. Report when needed.” Maria ordered and you nodded.

Heavy steps as you changed into different clothes and put in those earplugs that allowed you to enhance the range of your hearing. You went to a tall building, eyes closed as you looked for them. Steve, Natasha and Sam. You had the tip, now you had to follow them.

You walked a few blocks away from where they were. You couldn’t risk being noticed. They lead you to the highway, a convoy, an attack. “I have her. Find him.” That voice. Short fragments of russian came to your head. Those weren’t actually happening but they did happen. Long before the Avengers retrieved your cryo body.

Feet guiding themselves closer to Natasha’s voice, just to see an explosion and Natasha running. It was him, he had been living in your dreams rent free. With whom you had shared more than a mission. Now, the dreams, the fragments of what you some day had lived, all of them had sound. 

“Bucky?” Steve.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky.

You disappeared after the explosion. Corrupt teams coming closer. Now you had him. You followed him until Hill gave you the sign to return to base. They were all there. Steve locked eyes in your trembling frame, disbelief in his eyes as you nodded. There was no need for words when you two talked through looks and expressions. 

It’s him. You both agreed.

“You never told me you knew.” He whispered in your ear after embracing you.

“It was in the job description.” You softly responded. Pressing a needy kiss on his lips. 

You felt him and he felt you.

“The man on the bridge. Who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

“But I knew him. And the woman who followed them?”

“That I don’t know. Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society’s at a tipping point between order and chaos. And tomorrow morning we’re going to give it a push. But, if you don’t do your part, I can't do mine. And Hydra can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

“But I knew her. I knew them.”

[ohdorothea]

More information about the tournament here and lyrics are below the cut! Happy voting!!!

The Bolter lyrics

By all accounts, she almost drowned

When she was six in frigid water

And I can confirm she made

A curious child, ever reviled

By everyone except her own father

With a quite bewitching face

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless

Excellent fun till you get to know her

Then she runs like it's a race

Behind her back, her best mates laughed

And they nicknamed her The Bolter

Started with a kiss

"Oh, we must stop meeting like this"

But it always ends up with a town car speeding

Out the drive one evening

Ended with the slam of a door

Then he'll call her a whore

Wish he wouldn't be sore

But as she was leaving

It felt like breathing

All her fuckin' lives

Flashed before her eyes

It feels like the time

She fell through the ice

Then came out alive

He was a cad, wanted her bad

Just like any good trophy hunter

And she liked the way it tastes

Taming a bear, making him care

Watching him jump then pulling him under

And at first blush, this is fate

When it's all roses, portrait poses

Central Park Lake in tiny rowboats

What a charming Saturday

That's when she sees the littlest leaks

Down in the floorboards

And she just knows

She must bolt

Started with a kiss

"Oh, we must stop meeting like this"

But it always ends up with a town car speeding

Out the drive one evening

Ended with the slam of a door

Then he'll call her a whore

Wish he wouldn't be sore

But as she was leaving

It felt like breathing

All her fuckin' lives

Flashed before her eyes

It feels like the time

She fell through the ice

Then came out alive

She's been many places with

Men of many faces

First they're off to the races

And she's laughing drawin' aces

But, none of it is changin'

That the chariot is waitin'

Hearts are hers for the breakin'

There's escape in escaping

Started with a kiss

"Oh, we must stop meeting like this"

But it always ends with a town car speeding

Out the drive one evenin'

Ended with the slam of a door

But she's got the best stories

You can be sure

That as she was leaving

It felt like freedom

All her fuckin' lives

Flashed before her eyes

And she realized

It feels like the time

She fell through the ice

Then came out alive

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus lyrics

Your hologram stumbled into my apartment

Hands in the hair of somebody in darkness

Named Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

And I just watched it happen

As the decade would play us for fools

And you saw my bones out with somebody new

Who seemed like he would've bullied you in school

And you just watched it happen

If you want to break my cold, cold heart

Just say, "I loved you the way that you were"

If you want to tear my world apart

Just say you've always wondered

You said some things that I can't unabsorb

You turned me into an idea of sorts

You needed me, but you needed drugs more

And I couldn't watch it happen

I changed into goddesses, villains, and fools

Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules

All to outrun my desertion of you

And you just watched it

If you want to break my cold, cold heart

Just say, "I loved you the way that you were"

If you want to tear my world apart

Just say you've always wondered

If the glint in my eye traced the depths of your sigh

Down that passage in time

Back to the moment I crashed into you

Like so many wrecks do

Too impaired by my youth

To know what to do

So if I sell my apartment

And you have some kids with an internet starlet

Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon?

Like it never happened

Could it be enough to just float in your orbit?

Can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses?

Cooler in theory, but not if you force it

To be, it just didn't happen

So if you want to break my cold, cold heart

Say you loved me

And if you want to tear my world apart

Say you'll always wonder

'Cause I wonder

Will I always

Will I always wonder?

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

SOME TYPE OF SKIN (2).

PAIRING — billy russo x reporter f!reader

CONTENTS — part 2 of a short trilogy; home invasion; coarse language; billy is such a little shit; hints of pining; some fluff.

SUMMARY — There’s an intruder in your apartment, but despite your self-defence training, you are hopeless against him… in more ways than one.

WORD COUNT — 2.3k

NOTES — soooo i decided to make this a three-parter. billy will face consequences for his shenanigans in part 3. coming soon! 💕

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

« PART 1 || PART 3 »

You look around carefully when you reach your front door, eyeing the small camera above the door, still breathing a little hard from your run and wearing only one earbud as you fumble with your keys.

After the incident a few weeks ago, you’ve gotten into the habit of having your running playlist on low volume, your other ear free to listen for any potential threats. Billy would be… well, maybe not proud per se, but somewhere along those lines, you think to yourself as you unlock the door.

When he asked for a rundown of your daily schedule, you told him you like to start your days with an early morning run. He seemed to nod in approval, but that endorsement quickly vanished when you told him you always went at the same time every day.

“You take a different route every day though?” He asked, his shiny monogrammed fountain pen pausing above his notepad.

“Uh…” and when you hesitated, his eyes snapped to yours. He looked almost horrified, as though you just told him you liked to kick puppies in your spare time.

“God, you really don’t have any sense of self-preservation, do you?” Billy ran a frustrated hand through his hair, but the dark locks just magically fell back into place and he looked just as well put-together as he always did. Shithead. You wanted to throw your own pen at him; it wasn’t nearly as fancy as his, but that meant at least you could afford to part with it. “Like you’re askin’ to get kidnapped again.”

“Hey, don’t blame the victim!” You snapped defensively, slumping back into your chair and willing yourself not to pout, but all he did was roll his eyes. He wasn’t all that impressed with your setup at your apartment either, and ended up installing that camera as well as changing all your locks and setting your lights on timers. “And for the last time, it was an attempted kidnapping.”

“You know, even if you qualify it like that,” he sighed, lowering his head to scribble something down on paper. Even if you could read upside down, his handwriting was absolutely too atrocious to be legible. “It’s not exactly reassuring.”

Well, ever since Anvil and its stubborn CEO decided to take you on as a client—free of charge, you haven’t forgotten that little detail—you thought maybe it wasn’t the worst idea to change up your routine a little, especially as a single woman living alone in New York City.

You’d taken a new route today on your run, deciding to go through Central Park instead of just the surrounding few blocks around your apartment. It was already pretty crowded despite the early hour, which left you feeling a bit self-conscious.

Yes, the crowds were the only reason. Not at all because Billy just so happened to mention that he always ran there in the mornings before work.

“I can do that, because I can kick the ass of anyone who tries anything. You still can’t even hold a knife properly,” he’d interrupted when you tried to voice your protests.

Not at all because your stomach flipped at the thought of possibly running into him, seeing him all sweaty and panting from his workout despite the chilly weather. Oh no, not at all.

But still, a cold shower would probably do you some good, you decide as you step into your apartment. You close and lock the door behind you, shutting out the sounds of the city noise outside. Your music suddenly seems much louder in the stillness of the dark and otherwise unoccupied space, and you pull out your phone to shut it off.

Just as you tap the pause button, your hand hovering over the bowl on the table where you keep your keys, you hear it: a slight creak in the floorboards. There’s a spot in the hallway, right at the corner, that’s always a little bit creaky. Your heart speeds up; there’s someone here, lurking somewhere behind you in the dark.

And you’re locked in here with them. Would you even have enough time to unlock the door and open it before they caught up to you?

Your first instinct is to turn, to try and gauge where the intruder is watching you from. But despite Billy’s lack of faith in you, those self-defence lessons must have taught you something because instincts kick in, your fingers moving to strategically place the jagged pieces of metal between your knuckles.

Breathe, you can almost hear Billy’s voice in your ear, from all those sessions the two of you spent in Anvil’s basement until you were sore and exhausted (although, not for reasons you would’ve preferred).

But you do, breathe, keeping your makeshift weapons firmly in place as you grip your phone tighter in your hand. You try to remain calm, to mentally map out the fastest escape route—because even though you hate to admit it, Billy was right; you aren’t ready for a full-on showdown just yet—your thumb ready to dial 911 on your phone, until a masked figure bursts from the concealment of the dark hallway.

A hand, clad in a grip-tight glove, clamps over your mouth, stifling your startled cry. It happens so quickly you drop your phone in surprise, your stomach dropping when you hear it thump harmlessly onto the floorboards.

An arm, steel-corded and unyielding, wraps around your waist, hauls you back into the depths of your apartment and away from the relative safety of the door.

Muscle memory from countless drills and sparring lessons Billy had so arduously put you through starts to kick in. You twist your body, trying to break the assailant’s hold, your fist, the one with your keys so carefully placed between your fingers, aiming for their face, your elbow for ribs, heel for instep, any vulnerable point you had been taught to target.

But your attacker is always one step ahead, anticipating, countering, and dodging with an expertise that leaves you flailing ineffectively—each strike you attempt slides off the stranger like water on glass.

With a swift and practiced motion, the intruder pivots and hurls you towards the floor. The world tilts dangerously before your breath whooshes from your lungs, your back hitting the floor and your keys scattering some distance away.

Panic surges then, your heart hammering in your chest, and all you can do is try to drive the heel of your palm into their chin, but strong fingers close tightly around your wrists. With every ounce of strength you can muster, you push through and manage to grip the edge of the balaclava they’re wearing.

As they move to push your hands away, they unwittingly unmask themselves, the knit fabric sliding off to reveal a face and a smirk that doesn’t belong to a stranger at all.

“What the—” you blink, willing your eyes to adjust faster in the dark, because he cannot be serious. The low chuckle that sounds above you, however, is instantly recognizable. You gasp. “Oh, you little fucker—William!”

“No one’s called me that in a while, but I think I like it,” Billy lets out a fuller, heartier laugh at your outburst, lifting one leg to place his knee on your other side, effectively straddling you now as he pins your wrists to the floor on either side of your head.

“I can not believe you!” You shriek, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. The fight immediately goes out of you, your arms stop grappling against him, your body slumping back onto the floor. The last remnants of adrenaline seep away, leaving you feeling weak and boneless.

Billy, on the other hand, is still grinning. You can see him clearly now even in the limited light, and he releases one of your wrists to brush some hair away from your face.

“Breathe, darlin’. You’re alright. It’s just me,” he chuckles again, and you should be so pissed but there’s also a part of you that wants to cry with relief. Not to mention his hands are so damn gentle… but then he shifts a little above you. “Oh, hang on a minute. What’s this?”

He removes a glove—with his teeth, the absolute menace, letting it drop harmlessly to the floor—and carefully unzips your hoodie. He finds nothing of note, and with one raised eyebrow, he slowly lifts the hem of your t-shirt. You hear him exhale a bit harshly, watching his face as he takes in the hilt of one of his knives poking out from the waistband of your leggings.

“So that’s where it went,” he shakes his head, but there’s not even a single hint of displeasure in his voice. “When were you planning on pulling this out, hm?”

“I didn’t have time—” you begin, but in reality you literally just forgot you had it. Your protests are cut short when Billy leans back a little, like he’s admiring the sight, his thighs squeezing just a smidge tighter next to your hips.

“Damn, that’s hot,” it comes out so quiet, his eyes darting so quickly to yours, you think maybe he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

A heat creeps up your neck, and not just because of the way his voice sounds or the way you think he’s looking at you (even in the dark, you can’t be imagining that, right?), but it’s the warmth of his hand as he tugs your t-shirt back down, covering that sliver of exposed tummy. He’s gentle as he pulls the sides of your hoodie back into place, zipping you back up and enveloping you in warmth once again.

“I can’t believe you broke into my apartment,” you mutter, still slightly winded from the altercation… or maybe a little something else. But what pains you even more is that you didn’t even do any damage; Billy’s not even breathing hard, didn’t even break a sweat.

“I told you I would,” he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen before, the bastard genuinely enjoying himself. It occurs to you right then and only then, what the two of you must look like right now.

“When?” You ask, trying not to think about it, but the thoughts invade your consciousness anyway and your body comes alive.

“Our first session. Don’t you remember?”

“Fuck you, Russo—”

“Oof, potty mouth. I like.”

“—you absolutely did not!”

But then it hits you. He had said something like that, hadn’t he? After he practically held you in his arms in an almost embrace, strangely intimate and soft, and then proceeded to taunt you with—

I’ve just broken into your apartment, then a goading wave of his hand, what do you do?

“You are insane,” you breathe, your eyes going wide with dawning realization. You finally look away from that irksome face of his with monumental effort, seeing that he’s dressed in full camouflage gear. “You hear me? You’re insane!”

“I wasn’t actually going to,” Billy admits, finally moving off of you and standing. Slowly, though, like he’s trying to prolong physical contact. Or show off those long, lean, strong legs of his… yeah, you know what? The latter seems more on point for him. “But you just made it so damn easy. Are you even taking my lessons seriously?”

“Maybe I’ve got a shit teacher,” you remark snidely, taking the hand he’s offering you and sitting up with a soft groan. Billy pulls you up to your feet with little effort, his other hand on your lower back when you stumble a bit.

“Keep talkin’ back to me like that and I might have to…” he trails off when you look up, standing a little closer than anticipated, your noses almost touching. The lights are still off, your heart rate still elevated, and your breathing still a little rushed.

“Might have to what?” You push, testing the waters. His eyes are locked on yours for a few tense moments, until they aren’t, suddenly darting down towards your mouth for barely half a second.

“Teach you a lesson,” he murmurs, taking barely half a step closer, the thump of his boots on the floorboards mimicking what your heart must sound like, thumping erratically against your ribcage.

“And what would that entail, exactly?” You stay perfectly still, admiring the sight of his long lashes casting even longer shadows down his cheeks, not wanting to be the one to give in first. Billy, however, dips his head and starts to lean in. His lips are tantalizingly close…

“Ten laps.”

“…What?”

“Your next lesson will start with ten laps around the building,” he says airily, smirking as he steps away from you—again!—flicking the lights on. He turns away to check the newly installed alarm system next to the door, tutting in disapproval when he realizes you haven’t turned it on. He gestures to it, tossing an unimpressed look over his shoulder. “Seriously? Make that twenty laps.”

Despite your disappointment, you act unfazed, “you call that a punishment? I can do that blindfolded.”

His eyes light up, his lips twitching in amusement, “Twenty laps… and you’ll spar with Weems.”

You groan, “Oh, come on. Tom fights dirty!”

“Well, I’m going to a conference next week, and nobody else is willing to babysit you for me,” Billy ignores your grunt of protest as he turns on the alarm system, satisfied when he hears it trill and the screen lights up green, “And maybe learning to fight dirty wouldn’t be the worst thing. Anything to stay alive, right?”

He reaches out and taps your cheek twice, the gesture almost affectionate if he weren’t wearing the world’s most shit-eating grin, chortling when you bat his hand away with a huff. Billy unlocks your door and pulls it open, stepping out into the chilly morning air.

“Don’t miss me too much, hm?” Then the door closes again and he’s gone. You would miss him, and the thought of showing up at Anvil for your training when he’s not there fills you with a strange kind of despondency. The idea of letting someone else’s hands teach you how to throw a punch or hold a dagger seems… wrong.

Not that you’d ever tell him.

But fighting dirty, huh? Fine. When he comes back, you’d definitely show him.

Well, too bad you wouldn’t get the chance.

to be continued.

🫣🫣🫣

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