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mandoalorian · 5 hours ago

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sparks of submission [bucky barnes x bob reynolds x f!reader]

synopsis: the time has come for bob to prove himself as a member of the new avengers.

warnings: 18+ explicit content, mdni, unprotected p in v, riding, m receiving oral, f receiving oral, dom!bucky, sub!bob, tit play, threesome, bob is a begger, praise kink, bucky is a little controlling, power dynamics, multiple orgasms.

word count: 2.5k

hymns of hunger (optional read) | masterlist ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The Avengers Tower training room was a cathedral of shadows at 3 a.m., its mirrors drinking in the city’s neon pulse, casting fractured light across the mats like a mosaic of unspoken dares. Bob Reynolds stood at the centre, his faded tee soaked with sweat, clinging to the lean planes of his chest, mousy hair a damp, tousled mess.

Months of “training” with you—sparring by day, bodies tangled in fevered nights—had carved him into something sharper, but his blue eyes still carried the weight of what happened in the Void, haunted and hungry for redemption.

Tonight was his crucible: Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier himself, had promised him a shot at the New Avengers, but only if he could prove his worth. Bucky loomed at the room’s edge, metal arm glinting like a blade, his stare a storm of command and expectation.

“Time to show me what she’s taught you, Reynolds,” he said, voice a low growl, each word a challenge etched in steel.

You leaned against a mirrored wall, leggings hugging your curves, tank top taut against your skin, a smirk curling your lips like you owned the night.

“He’s got more than you think, Barnes,” you said, sauntering forward, hips swaying with deliberate confidence. “Question is, can you handle what we’ve been working on?”

Bob’s gaze snapped to you, a soft whimper escaping as his eyes traced your form, his erection already straining against his sweatpants. The sound sent a spark straight to your core, and Bucky’s lips twitched, a predator’s smile that promised no mercy.

“Prove it,” he said, crossing his arms, the metal of his arm catching the neon in a cold gleam.

You kicked off with drills—jabs, blocks, footwork—Bob’s movements crisper than when you’d started months ago, but still raw under Bucky’s unrelenting scrutiny.

“Faster, Reynolds,” Bucky barked, circling like a wolf, his boots heavy on the mats.

Bob lunged, all heart and no finesse, his fist grazing your shoulder. You dodged, grabbing his wrist, twisting until he hit the mat with a grunt, your thighs pinning his chest.

“Too slow, rookie,” you teased, leaning close, your breath hot against his ear.

His whine was raw, desperate, “Please, I—I wanna be good for you,” and the tremor in his voice set your pulse racing, heat pooling low.

Bucky stepped closer, his presence a tangible weight. “Months with her, and you’re still begging like a puppy?” he taunted, voice dripping with amused disdain. “Show her what you’ve learned, or I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Bob’s flush deepened, his hands hovering at your hips, unsure, pleading.

You tilted his chin up, locking eyes. “You know what I like, sweet boy,” you purred, guiding his trembling hands under your tank top, his calloused fingers grazing your skin, sparking fire.

He whimpered, a broken “Fuck, I need you,” and you laughed, soft and commanding, tugging his hair just hard enough to make him gasp.

“Earn it,” you said, standing, peeling off your tank top to bare yourself to the neon glow. Bob scrambled to his knees, eyes wide, reverent, a prayer in his gaze.

“Please, let me taste you,” he begged, voice cracking with need, and you nodded, shedding your leggings, guiding his head to your core.

His tongue darted out, eager, lapping with sloppy devotion, his whimpers vibrating against your clit as he found your rhythm.

“Good boy,” you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, hips grinding against his mouth. The mirrors caught every angle—his flushed cheeks, your arched back, the city’s electric veins painting you in fractured light.

Pleasure coiled tight, your gasps echoing in the empty room, and Bob’s muffled “You’re perfect” pushed you over, a sharp climax ripping through you, thighs trembling as he lapped up every shudder, his eyes pleading for approval.

You pulled him up, kissing him hard, tasting yourself on his lips, sweet and salty.

“You did so good, baby,” you purred, sliding your hand into his sweatpants, wrapping around his hard, leaking cock.

He gasped, hips bucking, a desperate “Please, ma’am” spilling out as you stroked him, slow and firm, rewarding his devotion. His head fell back, whimpers filling the air, his hands clutching your hips like you were his salvation. “I’m yours—fuck, I’m yours,” he panted, voice wrecked, and you smiled, savoring his surrender, the way his body trembled under your touch.

Bucky’s patience shattered like glass. “Enough,” he growled, stepping in, his vibranium hand wrapping in your hair, tugging with a possessive edge that made you gasp. “You’re hogging her, Reynolds.”

His flesh hand grazed your throat, a light squeeze sending a thrill through you, his touch a claim that sparked heat. Jealousy burned in his steel-blue eyes as he tilted your chin up, his cock straining against his tactical pants.

“Open for me,” he commanded, voice a low rumble, and you obeyed, lips parting as he freed himself, thrusting into your mouth with a guttural groan. The taste of him—salt, heat, and raw power—filled you, his grip tightening in your hair, setting a demanding pace that made your head spin.

“Keep up, Bob,” Bucky snapped, his voice a whipcrack of authority. “Take her from behind. Now.”

Bob whimpered, scrambling to obey, his hands shaky as he positioned himself, sliding into you with a desperate moan that echoed in the mirrors.

The stretch was exquisite, his thrusts uneven but eager, guided by Bucky’s orders.

“Harder,” Bucky growled, and Bob complied, hips snapping against you, each movement drawing a muffled moan as you worked Bucky’s cock, your tongue swirling, throat relaxing under his control.

The room started to spin—Bob’s needy whines, your gasping breaths, Bucky’s commanding grunts, all reflected in a kaleidoscope of desire.

Pleasure coiled tighter, Bob’s thrusts hitting deep, your body caught between his desperation and Bucky’s dominance.

“Please, I—can I cum?” Bob begged, voice a broken chant, his hands gripping your hips.

“Not yet,” Bucky snarled, his hand tightening on your throat, just enough to make your pulse race. “Make her come first, Reynolds.”

You moaned around Bucky, the vibration drawing a curse from him as Bob’s thrusts grew frantic, his whimpers a symphony of need.

“Ah-- fuck, Bob,” you gasped, muffled, and Bob’s answering whine pushed you over, a second climax crashing through you, your body trembling as you clenched around him.

Bucky pulled back, blue eyes blazing, and you moved, a string of your saliva between your lips and the tip of his cock. You pushed Bob onto his back, straddling Bucky’s hips instead.

“My turn,” you said, sinking onto him without hesitation, his thick length filling you as he groaned, hands gripping your thighs with bruising force.

Bob knelt beside you, eyes pleading, his hands roaming your chest, lips closing around your nipple, sucking with desperate reverence.

“Fuck, Bob,” you moaned, riding Bucky’s steady rhythm, his dominance anchoring you as Bob’s worshipful touch sent sparks through you.

“Please, ma’am—I need to—can I?” Bob begged, his cock leaking against your thigh, his voice a shattered plea.

“Wait,” Bucky ordered, thrusting up harder, making you gasp, his voice a low growl. “She comes first.”

Bob whimpered, sucking harder, his hands trembling as he caressed your other breast, his devotion a contrast to Bucky’s command. Your climax built again, fierce and blinding, and Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, possessive.

“Now, doll,” he growled, and you shattered, pleasure ripping through you as Bucky followed, a guttural groan as he spilled into you. “Now, Bob,” Bucky commanded, and you stroked Bob, fast and firm, his release hitting with a broken cry, his body shaking as he clung to you, sated and spent.

You collapsed, panting, Bob’s head on your shoulder, his breath warm and ragged, Bucky’s hand still tangled in your hair, possessive yet soft. The mirrors reflected your tangled forms, neon light painting you in shades of electric blue and violet.

“Not bad, Reynolds,” Bucky said, smirking, his voice softer but laced with a promise. “You might just make the team yet.”

A sharp beep sliced through the haze—a mission alert crackling over the comms, urgent and unyielding. Bucky’s eyes gleamed, feral and teasing.

“Next time, we do this my way—both of you,” he said, standing, his silhouette sharp against the neon glow. Bob whimpered, hiding his face in your shoulder, and you grinned, ruffling his hair.

“Better rest up, rookie,” you teased, the promise of more hanging like a star in the fractured dark.

────୨ৎ────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world @positivenergy @cherriesnmango @navs-bhat @hits-different-cause-its-you @avivarougestan @allhailbuckybarnes

Tagging those who requested a part two: @oscarisdaddy69 @furiousprincesskingdom @viennafromthelakes @dobby-is-a-freak-elf

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mandoalorian · 2 days ago

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and if i am undone, let it be by you [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky x f!reader

synopsis: with bob still missing and doom's arrival drawing near, the new avengers begin to fracture under the weight of uncertainty. as the team struggles to hold together, you delve deeper into the secrets of the multiverse… and sam calls in a favour from an old ally.

word count: 8000

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, mdni, unprotected p in v, fingering, intimate moment in the bath 🛁, bucky uses the shower head on you, biting, praise kink, lots of filth and dirty talk, yours and bucky’s first time (finally!), bucky shows a little insecurity, nightmares, more steve angst, canon typical action & jargon re the multiverse, cursing, avengers tower fic, the new avengers are breaking.

masterlist

previous part | current | next part [coming soon!]

The doors hissed open, and John Walker stepped in like a storm in boots. “Please tell me someone’s got eyes on Bob.”

Silence.

Yelena didn’t even look up from the holomap. “If someone did, you’d have heard it already.”

“I’ve been out there for six hours,” John growled, tossing his taco shaped shield onto the table with a clang. “And I’ve seen nothing. Where the hell could he have gone?”

“I told you already,” Ava snapped, arms folded. “He’s not gone. He slipped into the void again. Or it slipped into him. Same difference.”

Alexei let out a low growl from across the room. “You speak of him like he is some… dark entity. He is a boy. A scared one.”

“He’s a threat!” Ava fired back, stepping toward him. “You didn’t see his eyes in that last fight. Something inside him is changing. He said so himself.”

“Something inside all of us is changing!” Alexei roared. “We went from fighting people, to fighting gods and monsters! You think we walk out the same as we walked in?”

“Hey, hey—” John stepped between them. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Yelena snorted. “Oh please, don’t act like you’re the stable one here. I’ve watched you throw chairs for less.”

“I am stable,” John said, jabbing a finger at her. “I’m just tired of chasing ghosts while our strongest asset is out there, probably going nuclear.”

“Asset?” Yelena scoffed. “You call Bob an asset, like he’s some military experiment? No wonder you can’t connect with anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you’re the queen of emotional stability now,” John snapped. “Wasn’t it you who shoved a blade through a drone last week just because it beeped at you?”

“It startled me!” Yelena shouted.

“It was an espresso machine.” Ava sighed quietly,

“Enough!” Alexei bellowed, slamming his fists down on the edge of the table. The entire platform rattled. “We are wasting time. My son is out there!”

The room fell silent.

Even Ava flinched. “You think of him like he’s yours?”

Alexei turned, voice suddenly quiet and broken. “He looks at me like I’m his father. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t earn it. But I feel it. Every time he calls me by my name. Not ‘Red Guardian’, but Alexei. Every time he asks me if I’m proud of him.”

Yelena’s mouth tightened.

Ava said nothing.

John looked away.

And then, Ava phased—literally. Her molecules flickered, and she sank into the floor, escaping before emotion could expose her.

The silence was loud now, hanging heavy in the air.

And then Bucky finally spoke. He’d been leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching them all unravel. “Ava, get back here. Now.”

The dark haired girl immediately reappeared, guilt and shame etched on her face.

His voice cut like a wire snapping. “This is exactly what Doom wants.”

Eyes turned.

“You think he’s coming for Bob?” Bucky asked. “For Reed? For revenge? No. He’s coming because we’re fractured. Because he knows if he pushes hard enough, this team breaks.”

He stood tall now, stepping into the centre of the room. “We’ve all lost people. We’ve all watched universes end. The Blip. The Void. But that kid—Bob? He believed in us. Every single one of us. He saw something good here.”

He looked at John. “You saved his life. Remember that.”

Then at Ava. “You protected him like a sister, even when you pretended not to care.”

He met Yelena’s eyes. “You were the first to train him when he got here.”

And finally Alexei. “And you… you gave him something none of us could. A family.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “We don’t give up on our family.”

There was a long pause.

“…So what do we do?” Yelena asked quietly.

“We plan,” Bucky said. “We get smart. We go back to his last steps, track every anomaly, every void echo. Ava’s gonna help me pull system scans. John, I want you on street patrol. Check every safehouse, every contact. Yelena—dig up anything Reed might’ve missed. Alexei, take the sublevels and tunnels.”

He took one final glance around the room.

“We’ve got three cycles before Doom shows up. We find Bob before then. No excuses. No egos. Just the mission.”

John stepped forward and grabbed his shield.

“…Yeah,” he said. “Alright.”

Yelena nodded, brushing a hand under her eyes.

Alexei cracked his knuckles. “Let’s bring him home.”

────✪────

The elevator ride to the sublevels was silent, save for the low drone of machinery humming beneath your feet. Down here, time felt warped—like every second stretched a little longer, wore a little heavier. It was colder, too. The kind of sterile cold that seeped into your bones and reminded you that this was the edge of something unnatural.

The whir of fluorescent lights overhead barely masked the buzz in your head as you stepped back into the lab.

Reed Richards stood alone in front of a levitating schematic, the blue light washing over his gaunt features. He didn’t even glance up when you stepped inside.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” you said.

He blinked slowly. “Define ‘something.’”

You walked closer, peering over the layers of holographic data. “Doom’s location?”

“Gone.”

Your pulse skipped. “What do you mean gone? Gone like our Johnny is gone?” Your patience was wearing thin.

“I had a trace,” he said, voice clipped. “Three cycles out, stable and predictable. But sometime around 7pm, the energy signature dissipated. Phased out of spectrum or slipped through something I can’t yet detect. The signature we were monitoring—it blinked out. Cloaked. Or maybe moved dimensions. Or he’s… I don’t know. I’ve rerun every model. He’s vanished.”

You frowned. “So he’s still coming… we just don’t know how or where.”

“Correct. Best estimate still remains: three cycles. But I feel like I’m navigating the end of the world with a paper map and a flashlight.”

You let that hang in the air. The number tasted sour in your mouth. “We… really appreciate your help. Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe you need a break.”

“Doom is coming, I can’t make time for a break,” Reed scoffed, like your suggestion was crazy.

“But I think that maybe—“ you started but Reed cut you off.

“I’m fine.” Reed finally looked at you, a flash of annoyance on his face. “Why are you here?”

You nodded. “Thought I should check in.”

“With Johnny?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “How’s he doing?”

He rubbed the back of his neck—nervously, which was rare for him. “Worse today. He doesn’t like confinement. Keeps igniting himself just to set off the sensors. I’m worried he’s going to fry the shielding.”

“Fuck,” you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing away all of this. What you’d give for things to go back to normal…

But then, you’d never have met Bucky.

Reed moved aside, allowing you to access the containment room console. “He’s starting to feel like a caged animal. I won’t be able to hold him here forever.”

You didn’t answer. Just keyed in the security code.

The door hissed open.

Johnny Storm sat cross-legged on the metal cot inside, tossing a ball of fire from palm to palm. He didn’t look at you when you entered.

“Ah, the babysitter returns! You should start charging me rent,” he muttered.

“You’ve been here less than 24 hours,” you sighed at his dramatics before approaching cautiously. “Wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“Oh, I tried leaving,” he said, still not looking. “Some pretty aggressive energy shielding kept me from burning through the wall. Not bad for a toaster scientist.”

You fought a smile. “Reed’s doing his best.”

“That makes one of us,” he snapped.

Silence hung between you.

Then he glanced up, expression unreadable. “So. You gonna tell me what’s really going on?”

You sat on the edge of the metal bench opposite him. “That depends. You ready to cooperate?”

“I’m not the one holding you in a room.”

You took a breath. “Fine. Doom’s arrival is accelerating. Reed says three cycles left. Maybe less.”

Johnny’s expression changed. “Doom? He’s back?”

“Back? He was never here in the first place,” you narrowed your eyes.

“No but…” Johnny froze up.

“Wait, Johnny, do you know him?”

He laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound. “Know him? I’ve fought him. Victor Von Doom—industrialist-turned-magic-wielding-megalomaniac? Yeah. We go way back.”

You stepped closer. “Then tell me everything.”

Johnny paused, watching you.

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. The Doom in your universe—did he ever talk about crossing dimensions?”

“He talked about dominating them. Said this world was soft. Idealistic. He always wanted to burn it down and start over.” He frowned. “Wait… you think it’s my Doom?”

“We don’t know. But this variant has Tony Stark’s face, and he’s already leveling cities off-world. We need any edge we can get.”

Johnny blinked. “Who the hell is Tony Stark?”

You stared.

“Wait—Iron Man? Genius, billionaire—?”

“Never heard of him,” Johnny said, brow furrowed. “That a comic book character?”

Your skin prickled and you figured you’d try your luck. “Okay. What about Captain America?”

Johnny shook his head. “Is that, like, a propaganda mascot?”

You inhaled sharply.

He noticed your expression shift. “Hey, what?”

“It’s nothing. Just… we’ve been assuming some shared universal constants. Clearly, that was naive. Do you have the Avengers?”

“I’m not even going to even ask what the Avengers is,” he said, “my universe has four overworked, underpaid cosmic disaster magnets trying to keep Doom from melting entire cities.”

“And you… you were one of them.”

“Yes!The Human Torch. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” He gave a cocky little smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You gave him a look. “You’re aware you’re currently stuck in a universe that thinks you’re a ghost.”

“Yeah, and apparently I look like your dead best friend or whatever?”

“He wasn’t mine,” you said quietly. “I didn’t know him. My brother idolised him when we were kids, but… I only ever saw him on a screen or in magazines or action figures.”

Johnny’s demeanour shifted.

“Still. That’s gotta be weird. Seeing me.”

“It’s… disorienting,” you admitted. “It’s like staring at a memory I never actually lived.”

He nodded slowly. “Well, for what it’s worth… I’m not him.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s everyone else I’m worried about.”

He tilted his head. “You mean Barnes… I overheard your conversation with Richards.”

You tensed. “You don’t need to say his name.”

“But that’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Johnny leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re scared he’ll see me and unravel.”

“He’s been through enough.”

“So have I.”

That made you pause.

You studied him—closely, quietly. There was still heat radiating off him, but not like before. This was grief, frustration, confusion. The raw edges of someone pulled from his world and dropped into a foreign body. His aura.

“Do you miss your world?” you asked.

“Every minute,” he said. “But I miss my sister more.”

You blinked. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah. Sue. And Reed, Ben—my team.” He glanced at the door. “Even Doom, in some twisted way. At least he made sense.”

You swallowed. “We’ll get you home.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You promise?”

You tried to smile. “I’ll do my best.”

He stood then, walking toward you slowly. Not threatening—just steady.

“I’m sorry I lashed out before,” he said. “It’s been a mindfuck.”

“I get it.”

He stopped just inches away.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Or remind you of someone you lost.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

Something in the air between you went still. He smelled faintly like ozone, like charged air after a storm.

“Three cycles,” you said. “That’s what we’ve got before Doom makes landfall. And Reed can’t track him anymore.”

Johnny let that sink in. “So we fight. Together.”

You nodded. “But for now… you stay here.”

He sighed, resigned but not bitter. “Fine. But someone better bring me food that doesn’t taste like chalk.”

You smirked. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As the door sealed behind you, your heart pounded.

Steve Rogers was long gone.

But his face was standing in a room behind you, glowing with cosmic fire.

────✪────

The rooftop was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below and the rhythmic pulse of helicopter blades somewhere far off. The wind tugged gently at your clothes, lifting your hair as you stepped out onto the open concrete. You found Sam sitting on the edge of the helipad, legs dangling over the side like he didn’t have a care in the world, though you knew better.

You walked over and sat beside him without saying a word. For a while, neither of you did.

The city stretched out endlessly below, lit like it was trying to mimic the stars above. It smelled faintly of ozone and jet fuel, familiar and oddly comforting.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” you said softly.

Sam didn’t look at you at first. He just sipped from the cup in his hands—probably black coffee, lukewarm by now—and tilted his head toward the skyline. “It’s the only place I can breathe lately.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

You sat in silence for a moment longer. Then he turned to you, studying you like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough.

“You look like hell.”

You laughed—quiet, tired. “Thanks.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged. “There’s too much to say. Not enough time.”

Sam leaned back on his hands, the movement casual, but his voice was anything but. “You know you don’t have to carry all this alone, right? You got people.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s just hard to know what parts I can share.”

He gave you a side-eye. “Try me.”

You smiled softly. “Let’s just say… I’m learning there are more versions of this world than I ever imagined. And some of them? They bleed through. Even when you’re not ready.”

Sam was quiet a moment. “Multiverse.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. God. It would be so nice if there were someone who… specialised in that kind of thing. You know, someone who didn’t blink when the fabric of reality tore open in front of him.”

Sam chuckled under his breath. “I might know a guy.”

You blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Nope. He’s eccentric. Kinda dramatic. Has a goatee that makes him look like he just stepped out of a Victorian funeral home.”

You laughed. “What does he do?”

“Magic,” Sam said simply. “Or… something that looks like it.”

You turned to face him. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re telling me you know a wizard?”

Sam grinned. “Yeah. A real one. Flies without wings. Opens portals with his hands. He lives in this big haunted-looking place in Greenwich Village.”

You squinted. “You’re not messing with me?”

“Not even a little.” Sam shifted his weight and nudged your shoulder gently. “He helped us during the Infinity mess. And again with… everything after. He doesn’t always pick up his magic phone, but when he does, he tends to solve problems the rest of us can’t even pronounce.”

You exhaled slowly. “Sounds like exactly who we need.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll reach out. Might take a little time, but I’ll do what I can.”

You turned your head toward him, touched. “Sam…”

He gave you a look—soft, protective. “You didn’t ask. I’m offering. Whatever this is? You’re not in it alone.”

You smiled, swallowing past the knot in your throat. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat there a little longer, letting the silence stretch again, not awkward this time but full of something warm and unspoken. The city below, the sky above, and a million unknowns in between.

Finally, just as he stood to leave, you asked, “What’s his name?”

Sam paused, looked back over his shoulder with a small smirk, and said—

“Stephen Strange.”

Then he was gone, leaving the night colder but your hope a little warmer.

────✪────

You closed the door to your bedroom behind you with a soft click, leaning your forehead against it for a second longer than necessary. The conversation with Sam replayed in your head—his promise, his quiet strength, the name Stephen Strange echoing through your thoughts like a bell rung too close to your ears. Your body was buzzing with exhaustion and tension all at once. The kind of pressure that lived in your chest and shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

You didn’t even notice Bucky at first.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, head turned toward the window where the city lights poured in like liquid gold. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, dog tags glinting in the glow.

His eyes met yours the moment you moved. He read you instantly—because of course he did.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, standing. “What happened?”

You forced a small smile, voice hoarse. “Just… was out on the rooftop. It was cold.” It was only a half-lie.

He crossed the room in three strides and was in front of you, his hands cupping your face before you could think. The way he looked at you—searching, tender, that quiet kind of worry he wore like armour—you nearly crumbled.

“You’re stressed,” he said, low and steady. He saw straight through you. “Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”

You blinked up at him. “Bucky, I don’t need—”

“I’m not talking about fixing the world,” he cut in gently. “I just want to help you breathe again.”

You swallowed hard.

“Come with me,” he said.

He took your hand and led you into the bathroom. You hadn’t even noticed him running the water, but the tub was nearly full, steam curling into the air like a warm fog. Candles flickered from the sink and windowsill. The scent of eucalyptus filled the room—soothing, clean.

“I figured…” he began, then paused. “You take care of everyone else. Let me do this for you.”

You stared at the water, at the candlelight reflecting off his eyes, and suddenly, something inside you cracked open.

You nodded.

“I’ll wait outside if you want privacy,” he offered.

But your fingers were already slipping into the hem of your shirt. “Stay.”

His throat bobbed. “Yeah?”

You met his gaze. “Join me.”

The water lapped softly against the porcelain as you leaned back, steam curling around your shoulders, calming the tension in your chest.

But when you looked up and saw him watching you from the doorway — jaw set, eyes unreadable — something inside you twisted tight with nervous anticipation.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and almost hoarse. “You want me in there with you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He didn’t move right away. Just let his gaze linger on you for a second longer, as if committing the sight of you in the bath to memory. Then he reached for the hem of his shirt.

You tried not to stare. You really tried.

But when the fabric lifted and his chest came into view — all lean muscle, old scars, and the quiet strength of a man who’d survived more than anyone should — your breath hitched in your throat.

He stripped slowly, deliberately, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to rush. As if he were giving you a chance to look away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His metal arm glinted faintly in the soft, golden light, catching on the rivulets of steam that curled through the room. You followed the line of his torso with your eyes, past the faint trail of hair down his stomach to the waistband of his boxers.

Bucky paused when he caught your stare.

“I’m not exactly… a pretty sight,” he muttered, eyes dipping to the water like he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Bucky,” you said softly, and he looked at you again — wary, like he was bracing for something that never came. “You’re beautiful.”

The words spilled out before you could second-guess them. And once they were out, you didn’t want to take them back.

He huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, and finally stepped out of the last layer between him and you. You caught the faint tremble in his hands as he did, the unspoken weight of vulnerability in every movement.

And then he was climbing in beside you, the water shifting and rising with his presence.

You made room for him, settling against the opposite side of the tub. Your knees brushed under the surface.

It was quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, but thick with something unspoken. Reverent. He didn’t look at you right away. Just leaned back and exhaled, the heat loosening the muscles in his shoulders, in his jaw. Like it was the first time in days — maybe years — he’d let himself relax.

And then his eyes found yours again, dark and unsure.

Then you reached for him — gently, slowly — and he came without hesitation, shifting so you could rest your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your middle beneath the water. His lips brushed your temple.

You leaned back into his chest, your head resting beneath his chin, the heat from the water soaking into your bones — but it was him that made you feel warm. His presence, his arms around your waist, his breathing slowly falling in sync with yours.

Then, without a word, Bucky reached for the bath oil on the rim. Unscrewed the lid, poured a small pool into his hand. The floral scent mixed with steam, soft and soothing.

He brought his palms to your shoulders, slow and steady, and began to knead.

A sigh slipped out of you before you could catch it.

“Yeah?” he murmured near your ear, voice low and fond.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His thumbs worked into the tension at the base of your neck, careful and steady, tracing the edges of your shoulder blades and easing the tightness you didn’t realise you’d been carrying. His metal hand stayed at your side, warm from the water, anchoring you there — holding you like you were something precious.

You melted under his touch, sinking further into him, into the way he treated your body like it deserved to be cherished.

“You’ve been holding the world on your back,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. “Let me carry it for a while.”

You didn’t say anything. Just turned your face into his neck and let yourself breathe.

His fingers drifted upward, threading gently through your hair.

“You mind?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Please.”

He reached for the shampoo with one hand while the other gently gathered your hair behind you. He was so careful — so tender — massaging your scalp in slow, circular motions, working the lather through each strand as if this moment were the only one that mattered. He cradled your head like it was the most natural thing in the world, rinsing the suds away with soft strokes and whispered reassurances.

“Feels nice,” you murmured.

His voice came next to your ear, low and warm. “Good. You deserve nice.”

You turned in his arms just enough to see his face — calm, almost bashful — and gently reached for the bottle yourself.

“My turn,” you said with a small smile.

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Sit back.”

And to your quiet amazement, he did — just like that. Trusting you with something so small, but so vulnerable.

You poured the shampoo into your hand and moved in close, brushing your fingers through his dark, damp hair. His eyes fluttered shut as your nails scratched lightly against his scalp, his head tipping back slightly into your touch.

It struck you, then — how often did he get to be taken care of? To let his guard down?

You weren’t sure. But you were damn sure going to make this count.

“Feels good,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Good. You deserve nice too, y’know.”

He opened one eye at that, and the look he gave you — equal parts grateful, adoring, and stunned — made your chest ache.

The bathwater shifted gently between you as you rinsed the soap from his hair, your hands lingering at the nape of his neck. Your noses brushed. His breath hitched.

And for one suspended moment, it felt like the world outside the bathroom simply... stopped.

The bathwater sloshed gently around you both, warmed by the glow of candlelight and the low hum of Bucky’s breathing behind you. His strong thighs bracketed yours, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. It was quiet—soothing. His fingers trailed idle patterns on your stomach, up along your ribs, barely ghosting the underswell of your breasts.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, voice thick with warmth and something else—something heavier, molten.

You turned your head slightly, catching the corner of his mouth with yours. He kissed you slow, tender. Lips parting like it was the first time all over again. When you gasped softly into his mouth, his hand drifted lower. Curious. Careful. He cupped your heat beneath the water, the gesture instinctual but full of restraint.

“Can I…?” he asked against your lips, his voice low, rough, reverent.

Your breath caught. You nodded. “Please.”

He kissed your neck as his fingers slipped between your thighs, parting you gently beneath the water. His other arm tightened around you, grounding you as he slowly slid one finger inside you. You gasped, your body tensing from the sudden stretch and the feel of him—so intimate, so close.

“Shh… you’re okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing behind your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

And he did.

Every movement was patient, controlled, worshipful. He curled his finger inside you just right, watching your face tilt up toward the ceiling, your mouth falling open in a soft moan. The bathwater rippled with each slow thrust of his hand, the tension building, his palm pressing against your clit in smooth, gentle circles that made your thighs twitch.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your hips rocking involuntarily, pushing back against him, chasing the edge.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered. “So goddamn perfect.”

A second finger slid inside and your breath hitched. His metal hand cradled your hip as you writhed against him, water sloshing softly with each shift. He kissed the side of your throat, your shoulder, murmuring low praise into your skin.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.”

And you did. You fell apart in his arms with your hand clenched in his hair and your mouth on his shoulder, moaning his name like it meant salvation. He held you through it, rocked you through every tremble.

And even as the waves of pleasure faded, he didn’t let go.

He just whispered, “That’s my girl.”

You were still trembling in his arms when you felt the soft brush of his lips on your shoulder, lingering like a promise. Bucky cradled you tighter, one hand gently splayed across your stomach, his other still between your thighs, not moving—just resting there, keeping you open and warm in the aftermath.

"Still with me?" he murmured against your ear.

You nodded, eyes fluttering open. “Barely.”

He chuckled low, kissed your cheek. “Good. Because I’m not done showing you how good this can feel.”

You blinked at him, heart skipping.

He shifted behind you, the water sloshing softly as he reached for the detachable shower head hooked to the wall. You looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Trust me?” he asked, voice quiet but full of that same molten heat he always kept hidden behind a steel jaw.

You nodded again. “Always.”

He smiled—a soft, dark smile—and turned the dial. The shower head vibrated gently to life, the narrow stream of water hissing softly as he adjusted the setting. A low, teasing spray pulsed in rhythmic beats from the nozzle, and Bucky tested it against his palm before bringing it down between your thighs.

Your breath caught—your entire body going taut.

“Relax,” he whispered, letting your head rest against his shoulder again. “I’ve got you, doll.”

The first pass of the water was a gentle caress—just enough to make you gasp, your thighs instinctively pressing together. But Bucky’s hand was there again, metal and sure, keeping you open.

The second pass made you moan.

You felt your hips twitch forward, a low whimper falling from your lips as the spray focused directly on your clit. The pulsing rhythm from the nozzle hit your nerve endings like lightning. Bucky’s mouth was at your neck again, teeth grazing your skin, one hand stroking your stomach as the other expertly guided the water over your most sensitive spot.

"That's it," he murmured. "Look at you… fuck, you’re perfect like this.”

You whimpered his name and felt his arm tighten around your waist.

“Please,” you whispered, breathless.

“I know, baby. I know.”

You relaxed into him as the stream found your clit, and a soft moan spilled from your lips—unexpected, delicious, embarrassingly needy. He angled the water again and fuck, your hips jolted forward.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You like when I do that to you?”

You whimpered in response, legs trembling in the water.

“You ever touch yourself like this?” he asked, voice a little darker now—deeper. “In the bath? In the shower?”

Your lips parted, heart pounding. “…Back at the safe house,” you admitted softly. “That night we had to share the bed… I couldn’t stop thinking about you, in the other room, undressing. Had to pretend like— like I didn’t want you right there and then.”

Bucky groaned in your ear, the sound low and guttural. The water pulsed against you again, and he held you tighter, guiding your hips just slightly to ride the rhythm.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “If I had known that… things would have went a lot differently.”

You let out a shaky moan at his implication, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“You wanna know what I did?” he whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “Every time I was alone in the shower… hand wrapped around my cock, water beating down on me… I was thinking about you. Your mouth. Your thighs. Your pretty little noises. Even when you hated me, I wanted you.”

You whimpered helplessly, pressing back against him.

“I’d picture you dripping for me,” he murmured. “Begging for me. Just like this.”

The confession was too much. Too vivid. Too filthy.

Your thighs tightened, a cry stuck in your throat.

“You gonna come for me again, baby?” he whispered, rotating the angle of the spray just right. “Come knowing I used to fuck my fist just thinking about making you fall apart?”

Your mouth dropped open in a breathless gasp as your entire body went taut, every nerve ending alight. The pleasure hit hard, slamming into you like a wave—your muscles tensing, water splashing over the edge of the tub as you cried out, hips grinding helplessly into the rhythm of the spray.

Bucky held you through it, his hand firm across your stomach, mouth on your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he breathed against your skin. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

You collapsed back into his chest, boneless and dazed, barely able to catch your breath. He pressed kisses along your shoulder, your jaw, your temple, grounding you through the aftershocks.

You let out a shaky laugh, your voice hoarse. “Jesus, Bucky…”

He chuckled, kissing your cheek again. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

Your heart still thundered as he turned off the water and cradled you against him, both of you wrapped in warmth and silence for a long moment.

Your limbs felt boneless, melted from the pleasure still echoing through you like waves lapping the shore. The soft slosh of the bathwater was the only sound, save for your shallow breaths. You blinked slowly, dazed and spent, leaning into Bucky’s chest as the warm water began to cool.

“Hey,” he murmured against your temple, brushing your damp hair back. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you dried off now.”

His voice was so gentle, reverent. You barely managed a nod.

With slow, practiced strength, Bucky slipped his arms under your legs and back. You squeaked softly as he lifted you, and he chuckled—low, fond. Water dripped down your bodies, your skin slipping against his chest, your pulse skipping as you felt his heartbeat against your shoulder.

“Still with me?” he whispered, grinning as he held you tighter.

“Barely,” you murmured. “But I like it here.”

“Me too,” he said, and then he kissed your forehead.

He carried you effortlessly from the bathroom, cradling you like you were something precious, something breakable. The cool air kissed your wet skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Bucky noticed instantly.

“Hold on,” he said, setting you down gently at the edge of the bed. He grabbed one of the thick towels hanging near the bathroom and wrapped it around your frame with the utmost care, tucking the corners around your body like you were a gift he never thought he’d get to unwrap.

“You’re trembling,” he said, crouching before you. “Was it too much?”

You smiled softly, eyes glazed. “No. It was perfect. I just… I can’t believe you did that.”

His gaze flicked down briefly, watching the water drip from your collarbone down into the towel. His jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

You reached for him.

“Your turn,” you whispered.

Bucky rose slowly, water still glistening on his skin, and let the towel slip from your shoulders so he could wrap a new one around his own waist. As he stood, you caught sight of the unmistakable ridge straining against the terrycloth—hard and thick, barely contained.

Your breath hitched.

He followed your eyes and gave a lopsided, bashful smile. “Yeah,” he rasped. “That’s what happens when I watch you come like that.”

You stared. “You’re—”

“Hard as hell,” he finished for you, stepping close between your knees. “For you. Always for you.”

You reached up with both hands, dragging your fingers slowly down the plane of his abdomen, over the curve of his hips, the towel damp and warm beneath your touch. You looked up at him, wide-eyed and awestruck.

“I want you,” you whispered.

Bucky swallowed hard, chest rising.

“Then you have me,” he said, and bent down to scoop you up once more.

This time, he didn’t bother asking permission—he laid you down across the bed with something close to reverence, kissing your bare shoulder as he adjusted the towel around you again.

His hands roamed your body like he was learning scripture—slow, reverent, almost trembling with how much he needed to memorise the way your skin felt under his palms. He wasn’t just touching you; he was worshipping you. Like you were holy. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Bucky murmured as his lips trailed down your neck, voice hoarse with wonder. “Every inch of you… you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

You gasped when his hand slid between your thighs, his eyes drinking in your reaction like it was his only salvation. Your back arched instinctively, your body begging for more.

“I want you to feel good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the curve of your breast, then another just below your ribs. “Wanna take my time. Wanna taste you everywhere. Let me?”

“Please,” you breathed, and he smiled like a man ruined.

He kissed down your stomach with reverence, pulling your towel off your body slowly, like he was unwrapping the last good thing in his life. When he spread your legs and settled between them, the heat of his breath made you shudder.

But when he looked up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with hunger, he froze.

“You sure?” he asked, voice breaking just a little.

“I want you, Bucky. I want all of you,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “I always have.”

He groaned like the words hurt—like they healed something too.

When he finally pushed inside you, thick and aching and perfect, you bit down on his shoulder—just hard enough to make him hiss, just enough to leave your mark. His body jolted at the sting, a deep growl ripping from his throat, and he held you tighter.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so tight. So warm. I can feel you everywhere, baby. You feel like heaven.”

You barely had time to respond—your mind was already gone, lost in the way he filled you so perfectly, in how he whispered your name like it was a sacred thing. His metal hand held your hip like he was grounding himself, but the other caressed your face, thumbing over your cheek like you were fragile, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

“Gonna take care of you,” he promised between kisses. “Gonna fuck you slow so you feel it for days. Gonna make sure you know what you mean to me.”

You whimpered something unintelligible, overwhelmed with sensation and the way he made you feel so seen, so wanted. Your nails scratched down his back. Your teeth found his neck again.

“Mine,” you whispered against his skin.

That sent him over the edge—his rhythm faltered, his breath catching as he groaned your name again and again, buried so deep inside you it felt like the world disappeared around you.

And still he moved.

Slow, sweet thrusts. Words of worship between panting breaths. He kissed your temple. He kissed the corner of your mouth. He kissed you like you were the last good thing in the world.

“Oh my God, Bucky…”

“Shh… I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

His movements were deep, and steady thrusts that made you feel every part of him. His pace built gradually, like he was savouring every second, watching your face twist in pleasure, whispering how beautiful you looked, how good you felt, how long he’d waited for this.

Then it turned feral.

His hand locked under your knee, hitching your leg higher. His hips slammed into yours, faster now, rougher, but still full of so much feeling. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes never leaving you, every breath a moan.

“You’re mine,” he groaned. “Mine. You feel that?”

“Yes—Bucky—I—fuck, I feel you—”

“Come for me again, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

His words undid you. You shattered again, legs quaking, crying out his name as he fucked you through it—his own release close behind, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a deep, broken growl.

He collapsed over you, panting, trembling, pressing kisses along your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone.

You held each other in silence, sweat cooling, hearts slowing, the smell of candle wax and sex thick in the air.

He looked at you like you were the stars.

Outside, the city buzzed with life.

But in here, wrapped in Bucky’s arms, with his warmth still inside you—you finally felt safe.

Your legs were still tangled with his when the silence settled. A soft, reverent kind of silence. Not the awkward kind that follows something rushed or uncertain — this was the kind that came after something real.

Your body was still buzzing from the aftershocks, but your heart… your heart felt raw and full all at once.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his hand drawing slow, grounding circles over your back. You felt his lips brush the crown of your head like a vow. Like he didn’t quite know how to say what he was feeling yet — only that it mattered. That you mattered.

“You okay?” he murmured against your hair.

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah. Are you?”

His arm tightened around you. “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

You lifted your head to look at him. “In a bad way?”

“No.” His eyes were so soft, so open, so bare. “In the best way.”

You smiled. Sleepy. Full of warmth. But you still noticed the faint furrow between his brows.

“Buck?” you asked gently, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “What is it?”

He exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding something in. “Just didn’t expect that to feel like… that.”

You leaned forward and kissed his jaw. “Me neither.”

He sat up a little, just enough to shift beside you on the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover your body. He took his time — tucking them around you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he stood.

“Don’t go far,” you mumbled.

His chuckle was soft. “Just grabbing a clean towel, sweetheart.”

When he came back, he knelt beside the bed and gently started wiping between your legs — slow, careful, with more tenderness than you ever expected from a man with hands like his. You winced slightly, and he immediately stilled.

“Too much?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. Just a little sore.”

His jaw flexed. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, Bucky.” You reached down, touching his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. “You were perfect.”

He nodded once, like he didn’t quite believe you — but he wanted to. Then he cleaned himself off, tossed the towel in the hamper, and crawled back into bed beside you. Not just beside you — into you. Curled around your back like he was built for it.

You felt his hand slide under the blanket, finding yours beneath the pillow, threading your fingers together.

“Don’t wanna let go of you,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

The room was dark, but not cold. The covers were heavy but comforting. The sheets still smelled like him. Like you. Like this.

“Are you okay?” you asked after a minute.

He hummed. “I keep thinkin’ about how you looked. When I was inside you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you twisted just enough to glance at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You looked like… mine.”

A pause stretched between you.

“Do you want me to be?” you asked softly.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

You swallowed thickly and turned to face him fully, pressing your forehead against his. Your legs tangled again. Your hand found his chest.

“Then I’m yours.”

You felt him smile — and you knew, in that moment, that for all the chaos waiting beyond these walls, you had built something real here. Something that wouldn’t break.

Not easily.

Not ever.

────✪────

The room was still. Just the quiet hum of the city outside, the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

You lay curled in the sheets, your breathing slow and even against Bucky’s chest, your hand tangled with his beneath the blanket.

But Bucky was elsewhere.

His mind had drifted, tugged down by exhaustion and emotion, and when his eyes closed, the world around him changed.

The bed was gone. The warmth. The flickering candlelight.

Now it was dusk, and the Brooklyn pier stretched out before him—old wood creaking underfoot, the water lapping gently against rusted metal pylons.

He heard footsteps.

Turned.

And there he was.

Steve Rogers. Cap tilted back, blond hair catching the dying sunlight. He looked just like Bucky remembered him before the war: young, alive, untouched by the centuries of loss that followed.

Except his eyes weren’t soft.

They were steady. Knowing. Sad.

“You’re late,” Steve said, hands in his pockets.

Bucky froze. “Steve.”

“You haven’t talked to me in a while.”

“Maybe i’ve moved on,” Bucky said, a little sharper than he meant it.

Steve didn’t flinch. “And yet you’ve been burying yourself in guilt for it.”

Bucky exhaled shakily and looked away, out at the water. “I didn’t mean to dream about you.”

“You always do,” Steve said quietly. “Usually when something’s eating at you.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed. “You left.”

“I had to.”

“You didn’t have to,” Bucky snapped, rounding on him. “You chose to. You handed off the shield, said goodbye like it was nothing, and you left me to clean it all up. Again.”

Steve took it. He didn’t argue. Just looked at Bucky with the weight of someone who had known him longer than anyone ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And somehow, that hurt worse than if he’d said nothing at all.

“I didn’t know what to do without you,” Bucky whispered. “I still don’t.”

Steve stepped closer. “Then why are you trying so hard to pretend like you’re fine?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… trying to get over it.”

“With her?”

That stopped him.

Steve’s gaze softened. “You love her.”

Bucky’s throat worked around the words. “I… I don’t know.”

“Buck,” Steve said gently, “when you love someone, you should tell them. Because sometimes the chance doesn’t come again.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky admitted. “What if she wakes up one day and sees me for what I really am? Not just the parts I try to show her, but the broken stuff. The old war dog with blood on his hands. What then?”

Steve stepped up until they were face to face. His voice was low.

“She already sees you, Buck. And she’s still there.”

Bucky looked down, breathing hard. “I don’t know if I deserve her.”

“You’ve always deserved to be loved.”

Steve reached up, placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you.”

The pier began to dissolve, light washing it all away in a slow blur.

“Don’t waste it,” Steve said, his voice distant now. “Let yourself be happy.”

Bucky gasped awake, chest rising fast, eyes wet.

The room was warm. Quiet. You were asleep against him, peaceful and soft, your cheek resting on his arm.

He looked down at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

She already sees you. And she’s still there.

He gently brushed your hair back and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I think I love you,” he whispered, barely audible.

And you didn’t stir—but somehow, a tiny smile curled on your lips.

────✪────

It started with a faint vibration.

Subtle, at first—like the kind you’d feel when the subway rumbled deep beneath Manhattan, gentle and distant enough to be ignored.

But it didn’t stop.

Somewhere deep in Avengers Tower, a low hum began to build—power surging through reinforced circuits, cascading red alerts lighting up control panels, one by one.

Reed Richards was already awake when the tremors began. He hadn’t slept in days.

He stood over his lab’s main console, eyes glued to a flickering monitor, its screen flooded with lines of alien code, dimensional pulse readings, and quantum flux trails.

Then a single alert cut through all of it:

MULTIVERSAL SIGNATURE DETECTED DOOM // EARTH-9211 // COORDINATES LOCKED STATUS: BREACHED ATMOSPHERE

ESTIMATED IMPACT: INCOMING.

Reed's breath caught in his throat.

"No. No, no, no, no—he was three cycles out, he was—"

He spun around, fingers flying over the keyboard, scanning the waveforms, matching the signature.

But it wasn’t on the outer rim of the multiverse anymore.

It was here. Earth. Now.

The data didn't lie.

Victor Von Doom had just broken through the upper atmosphere.

────✪────

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mandoalorian · 2 days ago

Note

the russo brothers are out and rach barnes is in!

#rach answers #this made me laugh and blush #i am glad you enjoyed the chapter <3 #nice things

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mandoalorian · 3 days ago