#[[i'm so sorry]] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 24 days ago

Text

soulmate ; bob reynolds

fandom: marvel

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé (soulmate au)

notes: okay, listen, this was never supposed to see the light of day... this was what i would write between other fics when i felt blocked or wanted to be dramatic and wax lyrical about loving lewis pullman... so basically, this is me not-so-subtly saying i would abandon everything i know and love for him... please be kind! this one feels weirdly personal because it's so emo??? but regardless, i hope you enjoy and would love, love, love to hear what you think! (p.s. happy birthday to me!)

warnings: swearing, angst, mention of slight age gap (with bucky), heartbreak (lots), crying, fainting, the void (almost), alcohol consumption, acotar reference (if you squint), so many metaphors, nudity, and horniness very slightly bordering on smut (yes, i still managed to make it horny) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!

word count: 14951

Mates.

It’s not something you hear about often—and it happens even less.

Centuries ago, it was something creatures hungered for. Something that drove them. Compelled them to find their one true mate and, well… mate.

But that was long ago. Now, it’s rare. Fabled. Forgotten by most. Even fewer still are lucky enough to have one.

There are other words for it now—soulmate, twin flame, kindred spirit, true love. Softened, romanticised. Colloquial terms thrown around like confetti at a wedding. Used to describe someone you choose to love. Not someone you’re bound to by something older than time.

Because mates? Real mates? They aren’t chosen. They’re fated. Selected by some ancient magic. A gift from the gods—or whatever existed before gods. Two souls born within the same lifetime, tethered by something invisible and unbreakable. And if they meet?

Well... no one really knows what happens then.

You see, with a world this big, teetering on the edge of collapse, stuffed to the brim with people all trying to survive—who has time to go chasing destiny? Who’s got the energy to scour the globe in hopes of locking eyes with some cosmic stranger?

Sure, the sex would probably be mind-blowing. But sex can be plenty good without a soul-deep connection plucking the strings of your orgasm.

Which is exactly why no one really cares about mates anymore. Most people don’t even believe they exist. And those who do? They’re usually just lonely—reaching for hope, not magic.

And you? Well, you’re more than happy in the arms of your sex god super soldier fiancé.

Or at least… you were.

“Do we have to?” Bucky sighs, his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin.

You giggle and squirm beneath the weight of his body—his very naked body.

“Come on,” you say, half-heartedly shoving at his chest. “We’re already going to be late. Besides, you can’t possibly be ready to go again.”

He lifts his head, blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Sure about that, doll?”

He shifts, and you feel it—thick and heavy, pressing insistently against your hipbone.

Your eyes go wide, heat pooling between your thighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be like... over a hundred?”

He chuckles, sliding down a little, clearly aiming for your breasts.

“Technically, yes. Biologically, no.”

You hum, enjoying the rasp of his beard as it brushes against your skin. “Still,” you tease, “even biologically, you’re almost an old man.”

His head snaps up, eyes wide in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You giggle again, trying to wriggle free. As much as you’d love to stay tangled up with him all morning, you really don’t want to be late—again—and keep his teammates waiting. They’re not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type, but not in a bad way. More like the sarcastic, sharp-eyed, chaos crew who’d never let you live it down if you showed up looking freshly ravished. And honestly? You’re not in the mood to be roasted before coffee.

“For that little comment,” Bucky says, shifting to straddle you as the blankets fall away, “I’m cutting you off.”

You try to look up at his face, but your attention is… elsewhere. More specifically, the part of him that obviously doesn’t agree with this whole cutting you off plan. It’s hard—painfully hard—and staring right at you, begging to be touched.

You lick your lips, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Cutting me off?”

He nods, sliding off the bed and taking his gorgeous body with him. “Mhm. You’re cut off. For at least twenty-four hours.”

You scramble after him, following him into the ensuite like a woman on a mission. “Twenty-four hours?!”

His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but he keeps it together. “Yep.” He turns to you, leveling you with a mock-stern look. “You called me old.”

You jut your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “It was just a joke.”

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. “Well,” he murmurs, “maybe next time you’ll think twice.”

Then he turns to the shower and cranks on the hot water, leaving you standing there like a sulking child who’s just been denied dessert.

As the two of you shower and dress in companionable silence, a twinge of guilt starts to settle in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have made that crack about his age.

He didn’t seem offended—but still. The age gap is real. It’s not something either of you acknowledges often, but maybe you should be a little more mindful. He is the older one. The one in the public eye. The one who constantly fields backlash from idiot reporters and politicians, all desperate to dig up something to use against him.

And now that you’re engaged—engaged—right as he’s stepping into this whole New Avengers thing? The spotlight on him is brighter than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pick your playful jabs a little more carefully. Just for a while.

“Hey,” you murmur, lacing your fingers through his as you step into the tower elevator. “Sorry about before.”

He hits the button for the main floor, then glances at you with a puzzled little frown. “For what, doll?”

You shrug. “Calling you old.”

He chuckles—low, rough, and unfairly attractive. “Don’t be sorry. I’m a big boy. I can take a joke.”

There’s a beat of quiet as the elevator hums around you. Then, he leans in, lips near your ear, breath warm on your skin.

“I’ll just have to punish you for it later.”

Anticipation sizzles beneath your skin, adrenaline zipping down your spine before settling between your legs—a place Bucky’s words have a habit of landing.

Before you can fire back something smart—or filthy—the doors slide open, and you're greeted by the wide, sunlit expanse of the New Avengers common room.

“Finally!” Yelena calls, her head popping up over the back of the couch. “You’re like… twenty minutes late.”

“It’s not my fault,” you say quickly, slipping away from Bucky toward the kitchen. “All Barnes.”

He shoots you a look, lips twitching, then turns back to his teammates, moving toward where most of them are crowded around the living room setup in the centre of the huge space. Everyone is here except their newest specially-abled member—Bob.

You haven’t met him yet, and honestly, you’re not exactly eager. You know he’s got… issues, to say the least. And with all the other complications this group brings, you’re already close enough to being overwhelmed. How they came to be Earth’s Mightiest Heroes 2.0? You’ll never understand.

You busy yourself in the kitchen, fixing coffee and some breakfast while Bucky and his team dive into their meeting. You don’t live at the tower—you and Bucky have a small apartment a few blocks away—but you’re more than comfortable here. At first, coming along to all the meetings and mission briefings felt like a drag, but eventually you got to know everyone, and now, it doesn’t bother you so much.

An hour later, the meeting slips into something more casual. Bucky excuses himself to take a phone call, and Ava disappears—literally—so you take the opportunity to settle onto the couch, half-listening as John and Alexei bicker over what to watch on TV.

John wins, and you’re stuck watching college sports.

“I read your book,” Alexei announces, turning to you with a proud smile—his back now to John.

You tilt your head, frowning. “My book?”

“Yes, yes.” He slings an arm over the back of the lounge, turning fully toward you. “The one you told me to read.”

You stare at him, confused, for a beat longer than you’d like—until realisation dawns, followed swiftly by mortification.

“Oh my God, no,” you mutter, face burning. “No, Alexei, you didn’t—”

“The one about the faeries,” he says proudly. “It is a little naughty, but it is good.”

“You!” Yelena gasps from across the room. “You’re the one who told him to read those books!”

You sink deeper into the plush couch, hands flying up in surrender. “No, I swear—I didn’t tell him to! He asked what I was reading, and I... I told him. That’s it. I never told him to read them!”

John groans. “He hasn’t shut up about those porn books all week.”

From the kitchen, Bucky turns sharply, halfway through his phone call. His eyes land on you—wide with amusement, brows lifted in mock surprise, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“They’re not all naughty,” Alexei says with a small frown—and you’re not sure if he’s defending himself or you. “There is fighting and magic too. They are good books.”

You can’t help but let a quiet giggle slip past your lips. “Which one are you up to?”

His eyes sparkle with excitement. “I just finished the second book.”

You sit up and lean toward him, ignoring the dirty looks from Yelena and John. “Oh my God, did you love it? The second one is my favourite.”

Alexei nods eagerly. “I loved it. They are perfect together. Much better than the blond man.”

“Much better,” you agree with another soft laugh.

“I have question, though,” he says, his smile faltering into a curious frown. “How can they be mates if they are born hundreds of years apart?”

Yelena scoffs. “The book has soulmates too?”

You turn to her with a playful smile. “They’re mates, not soulmates. Like, fated mates. It’s not as lame as it sounds.”

“It sounds very lame,” she deadpans.

“It is not lame,” Alexei argues. “It is beautiful.”

Yelena rolls her eyes and John lets out a disbelieving laugh, still focused on the TV.

“You know,” you say slowly, leaning forward to catch John’s eye on the other side of Alexei, “some people actually believe in mates. Like real soulmates.”

“Yeah—desperate people,” John quips.

You roll your eyes. “No—I mean, yeah, but not just lonely people. Some still think fated mates are real. Rare, but real. Like some kind of ancient, sleeping magic. Most people won’t find theirs, because the world is too crowded now. But centuries ago, it used to matter. In some cultures, it still does.”

Yelena snorts. “Still sounds lame.”

You’re just about to respond when Ava phases in beside you, startling you.

“It’s true,” she says plainly. “I’ve heard stories.”

You ignore your spiked pulse and tilt your head. “You have?”

She nods. “Yeah. You know, when I was stuck in a lab for most of my childhood. I read a lot. Learned a lot. There are a few different versions, but some cultures still believe in real mates.”

Yelena frowns, but leans in—clearly intrigued. “This is ridiculous. There is no way every person has someone they are destined to be with. If that were true, we’d know more about it.”

“Not everyone has one,” you say. “It’s actually pretty rare.”

Ava raises a sceptical brow. “So, you believe in mates?”

You shrug, your cheeks warming with a touch of embarrassment. “I don’t know.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Yelena asks, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

You press your lips together, buying a moment to decide whether or not to tell them your story. But really—why not? It’s not like you have anything to hide. Mate or not, you’re happy with Bucky. And you know you will be for the rest of your life.

“Okay,” you begin, leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. “A few years ago, I was at this gala—something for work—and this woman approached me…”

- Five Years Ago -

You tip the champagne flute to your lips, emptying it in one gulp.

“Wow,” you mutter to yourself. “These fancy events are stingy with the refreshments.”

An older couple nearby gives you a dirty look, but you ignore it and wander off in search of another waiter with another tray of tiny, unsatisfying champagne flutes.

“Excuse me?”

A woman steps into your path before you can reach the next tray. She’s older, with a lined face and silver-grey hair that falls almost to her hips. Her floral dress flows a little too gracefully for a ballroom with no breeze, and the many pieces of jewellery adorning her neck and arms clink softly as she moves.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says with a small, serene smile. “But I had to speak to you.”

You tear your eyes away from the waiter retreating with your drink.

“That’s okay,” you reply, turning to meet her gaze—only to falter when you notice her eyes. They’re not hazel or green or brown. They’re gold. Entirely gold.

“Sorry, I—uh, I don’t think we’ve met?”

You offer your hand, which she takes gently, though her eyes never leave your face. They scan your features like she’s searching for something—something buried. Something you’re not sure is even there.

“No, we haven’t,” she says, stepping a little closer. It’s invasive, but her strange energy keeps you frozen in place. “I don’t normally do this. I usually keep my… visions to myself.”

Oh, God. She’s a fucking loon.

You let out a soft, awkward laugh. “Visions?”

She nods. “I’m not crazy.”

Sure, lady.

“My family is gifted—well, some of us are,” she continues. “I prefer to keep to myself, but when I saw you, I had to say something.”

You frown. “Say what?”

“You have the mark.”

“The… mark?”

“Yes,” she says, and you realize she’s still holding your hand as she gently places her other over it. “In your fate lines.”

Your eyes dart around the room. Why is no one noticing this weird little encounter?

You glance back at her—into those strange gold eyes. “My what, now?”

Her brows pull together slightly. “You don’t believe in fate?”

“I believe in free will.”

She smiles. “The two aren’t so different. Fate offers the door. Free will decides whether you open it.”

“Okay...” you murmur. “So I’m marked?”

“You have the mark,” she corrects. “The mark of a mate. Your other half. The dark to your light. You’ll know him when you feel the pull. It won’t be gentle—it never is, for ones like you.”

Your brow creases. “Ones like me?”

She studies you again—longer this time. Her smile is faint, but her eyes are deep, unblinking. She’s not looking at you. She’s looking through you. Still searching for something beneath your skin.

“You’re not ordinary,” she says softly. “Neither is he—at least, he won’t be when you meet. That’s why it matters. You two were made for something bigger. Together, you’ll either shift the course of something… or break it entirely.”

Okay. Definitely time to find that waiter. And take the whole damn tray.

She leans closer, her voice a whisper now—but somehow heavier. “This isn’t about belief. It’s about design. You can walk away—fate gives the door, not the hand that turns the knob. But when the moment comes, it won’t feel like a choice. Not to you. Not to him. Because something in the marrow of your bones will know.”

You swallow hard, the hairs on your neck standing straight.

She glances around once, then leans in—like she’s sharing a secret. “There will come a time when everything depends on whether you hold onto each other. Or let go. And if you let go…” Her lips press together, almost regretful. “Well. I suppose the universe will just have to adjust. Somehow.”

And then, like smoke in a breeze, she slips into the crowd—leaving your pulse racing and the taste of stardust on the back of your tongue.

- Present -

“Were you on drugs?” Yelena asks—not accusing, just curious.

You shoot her an unimpressed glare. “No.”

Of all the faces in the room, Alexei’s is the most excited—his eyes practically sparkling.

“Did you go after the mysterious woman?” he asks, leaning in.

You shake your head. “No. I went after the waiter and took his tray.”

Yelena snorts. “So you were drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” you argue. “Yet, at least.”

Ava tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Did you believe her?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It sounds far-fetched, but… look at the last ten years. Super-people, aliens, sorcerers, magic. It’s not that hard to believe in the grand scheme of things.”

Alexei leans closer, dropping his voice. “Do you believe Barnes is your mate?”

No—but you’re not saying that out loud.

“Sure,” you say, your voice just a little too high. “I mean, assuming I believe the woman—which I never said I did—”

“You do,” Yelena cuts in. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You shoot her a look. “Whether or not I believe her... I love Bucky. He’s my person. I don’t care if he’s my cosmically assigned soul partner or not. I want him. Only him. End of story.”

Yelena breaks into a cheesy smile. “Aw, you are so cute. Sappy, and a little gross, but cute.”

You roll your eyes as she pushes off the lounge and heads toward the kitchen, where Bucky is still muttering into the phone. John’s attention is glued to the TV—you’re not even sure he heard your story. And Ava phases out again, disappearing somewhere into the tower.

After a moment, Alexei turns to you, voice lowered. “Are you scared?”

You frown. “Scared of what?”

“If you meet your mate.”

You laugh—softly, uneasily—ignoring the sharp twist of anxiety in your chest. “I don’t even know if I believe in that. So why would I be scared?”

“Because,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, “you’ll either have to break his heart, or break your own by refusing fate.”

His words hit harder than they should. For a moment, it’s like your lungs forget how to work—air punched right out of your chest, heart pounding hard and fast against your ribs.

You’ve never thought about it like that—because you’ve never truly believed the strange woman’s prophecy. You met Bucky nearly a year later, and the thought never crossed your mind.

Not until now. Not until you had to retell that bizarre encounter out loud.

And sure, you could keep telling yourself you don’t believe in it. But there’s always that one question that lingers.

What if?

What if what she said was real?

What if Bucky isn’t your mate?

What if you find him?

What if she was right—and you can’t stay away?

What if the choice comes down to breaking Bucky’s heart… or your own?

“You okay?” Bucky asks, his fingers laced with yours as you walk down the corridor toward the elevator.

You’d spent the last few hours watching TV with Alexei and John—mostly talking about books—while Bucky worked. You tried to push all the weird questions and swirling doubts out of your mind, but it wasn’t easy with Alexei’s constant interrogation.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “Just tired.”

He squeezes your hand. “You sure?”

You glance up and meet his baby blues—so sincere it makes guilt creep up your spine. You can’t just tell him you’re scared he’s not your person... That would break his heart. And for what? Some cryptic message from a strange woman about a mark you’ve never even seen? Or believed in.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, his eyes snapping away from yours.

You frown and follow his gaze, eyes widening when you see the end of the hallway swallowed in black.

“Um,” you lean into him, “what the fuck?”

“It’s Bob,” he says, slowly backing away. “He’s having a nightmare.”

You glance up at your fiancé. “He’s still sleeping?”

“Yeah, he has trouble actually sleeping,” Bucky replies. “That’s why he’s in his room all the time. He’s trying to sleep, and then whenever he does... it’s this shit. I thought I had nightmares, but this kid…”

Your heart thuds heavy in your chest—but not fast. Not panicked. You should be panicked. But you feel calm. Strangely calm. Even as the darkness creeps across the floor and walls, inching toward you as you back away.

“What happens if we touch it?” you ask, hesitating mid-step.

Bucky tugs your hand, urging you to keep moving. “Nothing good.”

Your head tilts as you watch the inky mass crawl, swallowing everything in its path. Your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—but you know better.

“Is it cold?” you ask, eyes still fixed on the darkness.

Bucky frowns. “What?”

“The darkness,” you say, glancing up at him. “Is it cold? It doesn’t seem cold.”

He stares at you like you’ve just asked if it tastes like chicken. “It doesn’t really... feel like anything,” he says, eyes darting between you and the growing shadow. “Now, come on. We’ll take the stairs and warn the others.”

You stop short, frowning. “You’re just going to leave him?”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “Well, no. We’ll go in if we have to, but it’s usually better to wait it out. He’s getting better at managing it. It usually stops before it spreads too far. So, we try not to interfere unless we need to.”

“He shouldn’t have to deal with it by himself,” you argue.

“I know that,” Bucky says, tipping his head slightly as he studies you. “We all know that. And he knows we’re here for him. But we can’t sleep beside him every night—if we do, we get pulled in the second he starts dreaming. He knows we’ll help him if he needs it, but he’s trying to learn how to control it on his own.”

You feel an ache to run in after him—a man you barely know—to dive into that abyss. But you know it’d be stupid. You’re not like Bucky or the others. Not enhanced. Not particularly special. You probably wouldn’t last a second inside whatever hellscape awaits you in that darkness.

“Okay,” you mutter, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go.”

You backtrack through the tower to the common area and give the others a heads-up. Then, taking the route furthest from Bob’s room, the group filters out. Yelena and Ava decide to hang back and keep watch, while Alexei and John head off in search of lunch.

You and Bucky say your goodbyes—for the second time today—before heading down the street toward your shared apartment.

“What was all that, hm?” Bucky asks gently, his voice soft but his eyes sharp with concern.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still want to go back. The darkness hadn’t scared you—it hadn’t even really deterred you. All you could think about was the man trapped inside it—scared and alone. Gifted with powers like a god, but still powerless against his own demons.

“Nothing,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just feeling a little extra empathetic today.”

He studies you a beat longer, but you keep your eyes fixed ahead. After a minute or two, he sighs, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring something too quiet for you to catch—but you’re pretty sure it’s an I love you.

Once back at your apartment, you curl up on the couch together and start watching a movie—one you insist Bucky has to see, since he missed out on so many years of excellent pop culture. About an hour in, the pressure in your chest finally starts to lift—the weird heaviness that had been stopping you from telling Bucky what was really wrong. But instead of relief, guilt settles in, and you quickly turn to him.

“Buck,” you say softly.

His eyes are on his phone. “Bob’s fine now. Yelena said he woke up and wasn’t even rattled. Said the nightmare was bad, but he found it easier to stop.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

He locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch beside him, giving you his full attention. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah—um, about before. I’m sorry for not listening to you. For arguing. It was weird, and I was kind of lost in my own head.”

He leans forward, takes both of your hands in his, and doesn’t speak—just laces your fingers together and watches how his hands swallow yours.

You clear your throat, hesitating. “Do you remember when I told you about that strange woman who came up to me at The Vantage Summer Gala a few years ago?”

His gaze lifts to yours, steady. “Of course. The lady who told you about your soulmate.”

“Well,” you begin, “I was telling the others about it—Alexei brought up those books I supposedly told him to read, and... I don’t know, we ended up talking about soulmates, or whatever. And after I told them the story, Alexei started asking weird questions. Like if I believed her. If I think you’re my soulmate. And then... what if you’re not? And—and—” Your voice catches, throat thickening. “And w-what if—”

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You’re not about to cry over something dumb Alexei said, are you?”

You let out a watery laugh, your eyes welling as you press your cheek to his shoulder.

“I knew something was eating at you, doll,” he whispers into your hair, breath warm against your skin.

You sniffle, blinking fast. “It just feels so stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid if it hurts you,” he says firmly. “And you don’t ever have to keep things from me. I don’t care how small it feels—if it’s bothering you, I want to know.”

“Okay,” you mumble into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you, still holding you close. “Don’t ever be sorry for being upset.”

You swipe the back of your hand beneath your nose.

“Now listen, okay?” He takes your hands again, holding them tight. “This might not help, but I need to say it.”

You frown but stay quiet, holding your breath like it might help hold back the tears.

“I know you’re unsure about what that woman told you,” he starts, “and I don’t know if soulmates are real or if fate really gives a damn about people like us. But I know what I feel when I look at you, and when you look at me.” He pauses, just for a beat. “I love you. And not because the universe says I should. I love you because you’re kind, and sharp, and stubborn as hell. I love the way you get quiet when you’re overthinking, and the way you look at me like I’m someone worth staying for.”

A few tears slip down your cheeks as he takes a shaky breath.

“But if one day, you find out there is someone else—if that soulmate thing is real, and you meet him and your whole world shifts—then I won’t hold you back. Even if it kills me, I won’t be the reason you’re not happy.”

The tears start falling faster.

“Do I want that? Hell no. I want you. Here. With me. Always. But loving someone means putting them first, even when it hurts. So if it ever comes to that… I’ll let you go. But until then… I’m all in. Every part of me is yours. No marks. No fate. Just choice. And I choose you.”

His voice wobbles as he finishes, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

You swallow a sob and take a deep breath, willing your voice to work.

“I love you too,” you whisper, a little pitiful after his brilliant speech.

He grins—and you barely get a second to appreciate it before he’s on you. His lips crash into yours, his hands gripping your body as he presses you back on the couch. The movie is long forgotten as he kisses you like you're the only place he’s ever felt at home.

You start fumbling with his shirt, trying to undress him, but barely make it far before his phone starts buzzing.

He groans and pushes up, and you let him go—his line of work is literally life or death.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

He nods, tapping out a quick reply before locking his phone again. “Yeah. Just John asking about tomorrow night.”

“The foundation ball thing?”

“Yep,” he sighs. “Can’t wait.”

You lean in until your lips are just inches from his. “Can I come?”

He frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “But now I do. I think I need to be there.”

His expression softens as he leans in to kiss you again, murmuring, “Of course you can come.”

You feel strange under the glowing lights of the lavishly decorated ballroom. You haven’t even stepped foot in a place like this since your encounter with the fate lady—which isn’t helping that nagging anxiety that hasn’t let up since yesterday. But you’re still here, dressed to the nines and sipping champagne, because you knew you had to be. You just felt it. In your bones.

“Wow, you clean up nice,” Yelena says, her eyes sparkling as she approaches.

You’re at a high table near the back of the room, conveniently close to the bar.

“And excellent choice in location,” she adds with a wink.

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of these kinds of functions unless there’s copious amounts of alcohol involved.”

“I’m not a fan of much without copious amounts of alcohol,” she says dryly. “But I imagine you’ve got a little PTSD from this kind of thing. Especially after the voodoo lady read your palms.”

Her tone is teasing, but her words still prick your chest like tiny needles full of panic.

“Very funny,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a crazy woman tonight who can tell you all about your future.”

She scoffs. “No thank you. I am perfectly happy keeping that a mystery.”

You snort softly into your glass and take a generous sip of champagne.

“I’m pretty sure the only reason Alexei came tonight was in hopes of getting his fortune told,” she says, glancing across the room to where he’s talking to Bucky. “You know he hasn’t shut up about it for the past twenty-four hours? He even asked me to help him use a computer so he could research.”

“Oh my God,” you giggle. “I’m so sorry.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Alexei catches your eye and his face splits into a grin. He waves enthusiastically, then quickly excuses himself and begins weaving through the crowd.

“Oh, great,” Yelena sighs. “He’s coming over here.”

“You are here!” he exclaims, earning a few curious glances from nearby guests. “I am so excited to see you. We have much to talk about.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. “Hey, Alexei. Yelena was just telling me you’ve been doing some research.”

“Lots of research,” he confirms, setting his beer down on the table. “I know everything about mates. Ask me anything.”

Ignoring the sting of nerves rushing through your veins, you start to search for a safe question—something that won’t set your anxiety on fire.

“How do you know if you’ve met them?” Yelena cuts in before you can speak.

Alexei’s eyes light up. “Ah, good question. It is obvious. You cannot deny it once you meet them. It feels like gravity is gone, and they become your only tether to the earth. You don’t need oxygen. You don’t need water. You just need them.” He smiles proudly and nods at both of you. “Now ask me what happens when you touch them.”

You frown, curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the difference? Between simply meeting them and touching them?”

“There is all the difference,” he says, frowning like you’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “You see them, and yes, you know—but you still have choice. When you touch them, you cannot change mind. You can try, but it is too painful.”

You tilt your head. “Like... it actually hurts? Or it’s just emotionally difficult?”

“It physically hurts,” Yelena answers, and your gaze snaps to her. “You’ve acknowledged the connection, so you can’t go back to being without them. It feels like you’re being torn apart the further you try to get away.”

You raise your brows, surprised by her sudden expertise.

“What?” she snaps. “I was helping him use the computer, okay?”

You press your lips together to stifle a laugh and turn back to Alexei. “Okay, so what happens if you don’t like your mate?”

He scoffs, throwing his head back dramatically. “It is not possible. These two people are designed to be together, from birth. It is deeper than souls or magic. You cannot even describe it. There is no way two beings created for each other could possibly dislike one another.”

“Okay...” you say softly, “but what if you deny it?”

“Deny it?” he echoes. “You cannot—because you will not want to. The second you find them, you will ache for them in ways you cannot explain. No one else will ever fit. No one else will ever satisfy. You will crave them in your blood, in your breath. Denying it would be like trying to unmake the sky.”

His words knock the breath out of you for the second time in twenty-four hours. You nearly stumble back at their weight—at the way they land straight in your chest.

“This part is interesting too,” Alexei continues, ignoring the way your face has paled. “Before you meet them, you feel it.”

John appears beside you, setting his drink down on the table and eyeing Alexei with a frown. “What do you mean, feel it?”

“When you are close to meeting them, everything shifts,” he says. “Just a little. Sometimes it feels like anxiety. Sometimes it feels like peace. But always, it feels like something is happening—something inevitable. You start going places without knowing why, saying yes to things you would normally refuse. There is a pull in your gut, something telling you where to go. Like the universe is nudging you to where you are supposed to be.”

The words hang in the air, humming like static before a storm—until Yelena’s voice slices through the tension.

“Walker,” she snaps, frowning. “Where the hell is Bob?”

John blinks, taken aback. “I don’t know. I thought Ava was with him.”

You glance between the two blondes, blinking slowly. “Wait—Bob is here?”

“Yes,” Yelena says, clearly irritated. “He asked to come. Said he needed to be here—I don’t know. I felt bad saying no, he never leaves the tower.”

John exhales sharply. “I’ll go find him.”

Yelena turns to Alexei. “Can you go track down Ava? Let us know if she’s with him.”

“I’ll tell Bucky,” you say quickly, already moving as you slip away from the table and into the crowd.

You move through the crowd with steady purpose, weaving between glittering gowns and polished tuxedos, eyes scanning for that familiar face.

Bucky. You’re looking for Bucky.

The ballroom thrums behind you—laughter, clinking glasses, the low swell of music—but it all begins to blur. Your heartbeat picks up, not with panic, but with something else. Something you can’t name. A shift beneath your skin.

You slip through a side door, into a wide corridor draped in golden light. The hush is immediate, swallowing the noise of the party like a dream closing over waking thought. The silence buzzes in your ears, and the air feels... heavier. Thicker. Like the world had been holding its breath, and you just stepped into the exhale.

You walk slowly, drawn forward without thought. Each step echoes, like it belongs to someone else.

And then—you see him.

At the far end of the hallway, half-turned as if he wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, stands a man. Tall. Tousled brown curls. Shoulders hunched just slightly in a way that says he doesn’t quite know how to fit inside his own skin. His head lifts as if sensing you, like a string inside him just snapped taut.

His eyes meet yours.

It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not an explosion. It’s worse—or better. It’s everything. The moment stretches, distorts. A pressure builds in your chest, like gravity has decided to anchor you only to him.

You can’t breathe.

The world doesn’t blur—it sharpens. Every detail. The rise of his chest as he inhales, the exact shade of his deep blue eyes, the way his fingers twitch like they know something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, like a long-lost note finally striking true.

Your mouth parts, but there’s nothing to say.

He takes a step forward, unsure. Almost afraid.

And you realise—you weren’t searching for Bucky. Not really.

You were being led to him.

“D-Do I know you?” His voice carries down the corridor—low, deep, wrapping around you like silk and smoke.

“No,” you whisper, even as every part of you screams yes.

He’s still a few feet away, and you’re not even sure he heard you—but his head tilts, just slightly, like he did. Then he takes a step. And another.

Drawn forward like the tide answering the moon.

His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s caught in the pull of something he doesn’t understand, only knows he has to follow. Eyes locked to yours, wide and dark, shimmering with a quiet awe you can’t name.

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough to forget how to breathe. But you don’t need to breathe. Not now. Not when he’s here.

He is your oxygen. Your gravity.

He is everything you will ever need.

Everything you want.

He is everything.

“Hey—there you are.” The voice crashes into you like a wave shattering glass.

You jolt, snapping your head toward Bucky as he rounds the corner, a sheepish grin on his face, completely unaware of the world he’s just torn apart.

“Bucky,” you mutter, as if reminding yourself of his name.

Bucky frowns, curiosity sharpening his gaze as it flicks between you and the man beside you. “Bob?”

You whip back to Bob, eyes widening at his outstretched hand—fingertips hovering just a breath from your arm.

You flinch as if burned, stepping back before he can touch you—and his eyes snap up, darkening with something raw and wounded. The crack in your chest widens, because you feel it too. The sting of refusal. The ache of distance. The desperate, inexplicable need to feel his skin against yours—a need neither of you understands, but both feel deep in your bones.

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice is tight as his eyes settle on you.

You meet his gaze, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through your chest—because the face you love isn’t the one your heart seeks anymore. Your eyes? They’re drawn only to Bob. To memorise every line, to trace every curve. To know him more intimately than your own reflection, more deeply than the shadows behind your closed eyelids.

“I was—I, uh—looking for you,” you say, forcing your gaze to stay with him.

His posture stiffens, guarded—something you know all too well after years together. His brow furrows as his sharp eyes dart between you and Bob. He can sense it—whatever it is. The shift in gravity, the subtle movement beneath the earth. He knows there’s something more, but he doesn’t know what. Or maybe he doesn’t want to.

He fixes his gaze on you. “Are you okay?”

You nod slowly, then glance at Bob—you can’t help yourself—and it feels like surfacing from deep underwater, finally able to breathe. “Bob,” you whisper.

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Of course. You two haven’t met yet.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and Bob’s eyes flare with heat—anger. He moves as if to shove Bucky away, but you find his gaze and silently plead for restraint.

You swear his eyes darken a shade, but he holds back. Jaw clenched, shoulders rigid—tense—but no longer coiled to strike.

“Bob,” Bucky says, eyes flickering between the two of you—clearly not missing the silent exchange or the way Bob’s body tensed. “This is my fiancé.”

Time stops—or at least, it feels that way. Bob’s eyes don’t leave yours, that same wounded look returning—only now, it’s splintered into something far more devastating. Like he’d caught a glimpse of heaven—just for a moment—before being ripped from the sky and cast down. Down through the clouds, through the earth, all the way into fire.

He was so close. So close to having everything. To having you.

Now all that’s left is ash in his mouth, and a slow, burning fury aimed at the man standing beside you. A man he calls a friend. A teammate.

“I need to go,” you whisper. “I—I feel sick.”

Bucky’s arm tightens protectively around you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “I need to leave. Can we go—” your voice breaks as you glance up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, “—please.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take you home, doll.” Then he turns to Bob. “Yelena’s looking for you. Come on.”

Bucky guides you back through the same door you’d slipped through earlier, back into the chaos of the ballroom. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all feels like it’s coming from underwater. The world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware that your axis has tilted.

A few guests nod or greet Bucky as he passes, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel the way you’re swaying beside him, the way your weight leans harder against him with every step. He’s moving fast now. He knows something’s wrong.

So do you.

Your vision swims. The lights blur into streaks of gold and silver, voices folding into one another like crashing waves.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Yelena. Then Alexei. Then—Bob.

Bob.

You spot him behind Yelena, eyes wide and wounded, standing like a ghost at the edge of your unravelling world.

He’s the only thing that makes sense in the chaos.

The only thing that’s clear.

And all you want to do is reach for him.

But you can’t.

Not here. Not now.

Not ever.

Because you love Bucky.

Because you chose Bucky.

“Bucky,” you murmur, barely audible, “Need t’ go…”

His arm tightens again. “I’ve got you.”

“Is she okay?” Yelena’s voice cuts through the noise.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers, urgency creeping into his tone. “I need to get her out of here—now.”

You try to blink, but your eyes don’t open again.

The music and chatter twist into a storm—deafening, chaotic, pounding against your skull.

You try to move, to breathe, to see—but nothing works.

Your eyelids are too heavy.

Your lungs feel like they’re filling with water.

Your chest is caving in under the weight of it.

Everything is too heavy. Too loud. Too much.

Then—

The world cuts out.

Everything stops.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yelena’s voice is muffled, but still clear.

“Keep it down,” Bucky hisses, his voice low—laced with urgency and… grief.

“I came here to ask if you knew what happened to Bob last night, because he’s been acting weirder than usual,” Yelena snaps, no softer than before. “But I did not come here for bullshit—I get enough of that from Alexei.”

Bucky exhales a long, tired breath. “Maybe we need to talk to Alexei.”

“Why the hell would we do that?” Yelena demands. “Whatever he’s been on about these past few days isn’t real. He’s off with the fairies—literally. Do not tell me you actually believe in all that stupid soulmate crap.”

There’s a pause. A thick, heavy silence as you try to peel your eyelids open. But you can’t. They’re too heavy.

“You didn’t see what I saw, Yelena,” Bucky says, voice strained. “The way they looked at each other... it felt—I don’t know. Like something cracked open. They were just standing there, but it was like all the air got sucked out of the room. I could feel it—the whole world shifting.”

“You sound like Alexei,” Yelena replies, deadpan. “So you’re either on drugs, hit your head, or you’re trying to be funny.”

“Why would I joke about the woman I love being inextricably bound to another man?”

Your eyes snap open. Heat licks up your spine and burns behind your eyes as your vision adjusts to the harsh morning sun.

“Okay. So, drugs. Or you bumped your head,” Yelena says, voice carrying through your bedroom door.

“Yelena,” Bucky pleads, voice cracking. “Please. I don’t know what happened, but I know something did. I need your help.”

She sighs. “Okay, fine. But you asked for this.” There’s a pause before she adds, “I’ll call Alexei.”

Your mouth is dry and your whole body aches with stiffness as you sit up, rubbing at your burning eyes. The sun through the window is too low and too bright for it to be your usual wake-up time—so you know you’ve overslept.

You throw back the duvet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, curling your toes into the plush carpet you and Bucky picked out together. You’d chosen it the second you stepped into the flooring store. The saleswoman warned you off it—something about loose threads and visible tread marks—but it was just so unbelievably soft, you couldn’t imagine choosing anything else.

The day it was installed, you and Bucky spent the first fifteen minutes making carpet angels, laughing like idiots, and revelling in the feel of it beneath your skin. Then you spent the next hour defiling the brand-new flooring. There’s still a stain you never managed to get out—thankfully hidden beneath the bed.

Your stomach twists with nausea, bile climbing your throat until you gag. You scramble to your feet and rush into the ensuite, gripping the basin for dear life as you cough up nothing but stomach acid.

Tears well up, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks before your mind can even catch up.

You feel wrecked. Totally and utterly ruined. Chewed up and spat out by the universe.

You don’t understand anything. It’s like you’ve been dropped into the centre of the labyrinth without a torch. But there’s a rope inside your gut—tugging, steady and sure—pulling you in a direction that promises escape. Only, it’s not leading you toward where you should be going. Not to Bucky.

No, the rope is dragging you toward someone else. Your mate. The man from last night. Bob. The only thing your body seems to crave.

“Fuck,” you mutter, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut as you slowly straighten.

You avoid your reflection in the mirror as you strip off and step into the shower. You can’t look at yourself right now. You’re not just confused—you’re scared. Something inside you has changed, irrevocably. And you know that the moment you admit it, you’ll lose the power to stop it.

Once you’re showered and slightly less of a wreck, you wrap yourself in a comfortable pair of sweats and an old hoodie—one you haven’t worn in a while, since you usually prefer to steal Bucky’s. But not today. You tried to put on one of his sweaters, but the smell made you gag. And then you started crying again. Because yesterday, his scent was one of the most comforting things in the world to you. But not anymore.

Now, all you can think about is Bob—where he is, what he’s doing. And you know he’s thinking about you too. You can feel it.

After another few minutes of tears, you dry your cheeks and take a deep breath before stepping out of the bedroom and padding down the hall. When you reach the lounge room, the low chatter dies instantly, and three pairs of eyes turn to you—wide and full of concern.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, brows drawn tight. “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze.

“You do not look great,” Alexei says flatly.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Alexei. She knows.”

You curl up on the far end of the three-seater lounge, putting as much distance as possible between you and Yelena. Bucky is on the two-seater, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Alexei is perched on one of the dining room chairs with his back to the TV.

It’s on, but the volume is muted.

“So,” your eyes flick toward Yelena, “what’s all this about?”

She sighs, her gaze darting to Bucky before settling back on you. “I came over to ask Barnes if he knew what happened to Bob last night, because he was acting strange—stranger than usual. But instead, I get told a bunch of bullshit about this ridiculous soulmates thing that Alexei has been going on about. And now I’m being forced to entertain the idea that it might be real. So... explain.”

You frown. “Explain what?”

“Whatever happened with you and Bob last night,” she says, waving a hand like the answer should be obvious.

You blink a few times, brows pulling tighter as you glance down. The room thickens with silence, tension rising in the air. The only sound is Alexei’s heavy breathing.

“What do you mean... he was acting strange?” you ask softly.

Yelena sighs again, tipping her head as if searching for the right words. “He was... weirdly calm. And not the kind of quiet, anxiety-ridden, dissociative ‘calm’ he usually is. He was actually peaceful. It was kind of alarming. So Ava stayed up all night to keep watch. We thought it might be the ‘calm before the storm’—you know, before one of his other personalities came out to play—but... nothing. He went to bed and slept. No noise, no darkness. Ava even phased into his room to check he was still there. And he was—sleeping peacefully.” She pauses. “He was... talking, though. Kept saying your name.”

You swallow—hard. “My name?”

She nods.

“Okay,” you mutter. “That doesn’t really mean... anything.” You glance at Alexei, like he might save you. “Right?”

“Doll,” Bucky says softly, voice tight, eyes still locked on the floor. “You were sayin’ his name all night too.”

You choke on nothing. Your chest tightens, lungs aching, heart leaping into an erratic rhythm.

“Alexei,” Yelena says sharply, turning toward her father. “Assuming this ridiculousness is real—how do we know for sure?”

Alexei raises his brows, eyes fixed on you. “She knows. And so does Bob. There is no magical way of asking the universe. They just know.”

Yelena’s head snaps back to you, her eyes wide, expectant. “So?”

A few silent tears slip down your cheeks, and you blink quickly, trying to keep the whole dam from breaking.

“Oh,” she murmurs, rearing back slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You let out a weak, watery laugh. “Why are you sorry?”

She shrugs. “For being harsh, I guess? I don’t know. I’m just... confused. It’s hard to believe any of this is real, but—”

“Why else would it affect them so much?” Alexei cuts in, gesturing toward you. “Whether or not you believe it, you cannot deny something has happened. Look at her. You think this is what happens when she simply meets someone new? Of course not—that would be crazy.”

“Couldn’t it be something else?” Yelena presses, brows knit. “Like, maybe Bob’s powers just—”

“You said it yourself,” Bucky interrupts, “he’s been better lately—especially last night. You really think that’s a coincidence?”

“Did not the crazy lady say it to you?” Alexei asks, eyes locking on you. “That you and your mate were something special?”

You nod slowly, sniffing and wiping the wetness from your cheeks. A beat of silence stretches between the four of you as you try to compose yourself, pressing down the guilt and that strange new sensation pulling you toward your mate.

“So... what do we do?” you ask, your voice hoarse as it slices through the quiet. “How do we stop it?”

“Stop it?” Alexei echoes. “You do not stop it. It’s not possible.”

Your bottom lip quivers. “But Bucky—”

“This isn’t about me,” Bucky says, eyes dark as he finally looks up. “If Bob could control himself after just meeting her, then this could be—this could help him control his powers. He might be able to use them without the other two showing up.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he turns to Yelena. “She could help him. This could help the whole the team.”

Frustration bubbles beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire through your veins and making your heart pound. “This isn’t about the team, Bucky,” you snap. “This is about you and me.”

Nausea swirls low in your gut, your body physically rebelling at your own words—this attempt to reject your mate. Because you don’t want to. Not really. But you know you should. You chose Bucky. And you’re going to stick with that.

Even if it kills you.

“Barnes...” Yelena says softly. “I’m not sure if—”

“This isn’t about me!” he exclaims, turning toward her sharply, his expression stormy. “Not anymore.”

You watch him with wide, watery eyes. “Bucky. Please. I don’t—I don’t want this... I don’t—” Your voice catches, breath halting as you fight for the words. “I don’t want... him.” It burns to say it, but you know it’s what Bucky needs to hear. “I want you. I choose you.”

His face softens, blue eyes turning almost cerulean—the way they do when he’s close to tears.

You turn to Alexei. “Couldn’t I just... help Bob? Be there for him to help control his powers and—and still be with Bucky?”

Alexei chuckles—low and soft, full of quiet contrition. “You could try. But it would be difficult... being so close to him, wanting him in a way you cannot explain, and holding yourself back. Not to mention the physical and emotional pain you would put him through.”

“So,” Yelena pipes up, “this could make Bob worse?”

Alexei shrugs. “Theoretically, yes.”

“Can’t we just try it?” you ask, your voice cracking halfway through as more tears spill down your cheeks.

Yelena scoots closer and gently places her hand on your knee. She’s not entirely sure what to do—your body language is still guarded—but you offer her a soft smile as her thumb begins to trace small, calming circles.

“We can try it,” she says quietly.

Bucky nods, watching you with a heavy expression and the faintest spark of hope behind his eyes. “It’s worth a shot.”

Alexei leans forward, his eyes crinkled and mouth pulling into an awkward grimace. “Well... there is one more thing.”

You all turn toward him, frowning.

“Do you remember what I said last night? About... it being different when you touch?”

You nod slowly.

“If you want to try just being his friend, then you cannot touch him,” he says. “Not at all. And you will want to—badly. But you cannot.”

Yelena lifts a brow. “Why?”

There’s a pause—an awkward silence while Alexei searches for the right words.

“You will not be able to... resist, as you say. When you first see him, it is all spiritual. Like fate. An invisible string pulling you together, but...” he hesitates, brow furrowed. “When you touch, it is more... physical.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “Physical?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Like... sexual. You will not be able to—”

“No, no,” Yelena cuts in, eyes wide as they flick toward Bucky. “We do not need to unpack this. She just won’t touch him.” She looks at you pointedly. “Right?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

Never mind that your fingertips are already burning. That your whole body is buzzing, restless with the ache to be near Bob again. The idea of his skin against yours sparks like a live wire and makes every nerve ending flare to life. You feel lit up—like something dormant inside you has snapped awake. Like a part of you was missing, and now that you’ve found it—felt it—you can’t breathe without it.

Yeah... this is going to be fine.

The day has been long. Maybe the longest you’ve ever lived through.

You tried to read. You tried watching TV. You even went for a run—which turned into a walk, which turned into a slow lap around the block before you forced yourself back inside. Because all you really wanted to do was find Bob. Go to him. Be near him.

It’s strange. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You know him—somehow. Like he already belongs to you, and you to him, even though you’ve only met once. Barely exchanged a handful of words.

Your whole body aches for him in a way you don’t understand. You feel like you’re fading without him, like staying away too long might cause you to unravel entirely. The idea of never seeing him again makes your stomach churn.

But you can’t let it show. You have to remember you chose Bucky. He’s your person—not this stranger with eyes that feel like home. You gave your word. You said yes.

So you’re going to marry Bucky.

Even if it’s not what you want anymore.

Even if he’s not what you want anymore.

“You sure you’re feeling better?” Bucky asks, stopping at the door to the bathroom.

You’ve been standing in a towel, staring at your reflection for at least five minutes now, trying to will yourself into being stronger. To shake this feeling. To silence the strange, restless hum beneath your skin—like stardust catching fire. Like gravity itself has shifted, bending around you, pulling your soul toward Bob’s with a force so fierce it almost hurts.

You clear your throat. “Much better, I promise.”

He gives you a small smile—weak, but still there.

There’s a beat of silence. A stretch of unfamiliar energy between you, tense and fraying at the edges. As if the universe itself is rejecting the bond you once believed was written in the stars.

But the stars had nothing to do with you and Bucky. Not really.

Now you know what it truly feels like when the stars choose. When they bind one soul to another.

“I love you,” he says softly, his voice hoarse. “Regardless of everything. Whatever you choose—I love you. I always will.”

Your eyes fill with tears—easily, instantly.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I wish I could—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, nearly choking on the word. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“But—”

“Doll, I’m serious.” He steps forward, hesitating before reaching out with his flesh hand. You take it, and he gently pulls you a step closer.

“I know what I said before—about the team. That shouldn’t have been what I was worried about. But it was easier, you know? Easier to focus on something practical than to face the truth. Which is… I think I’m going to lose you.”

You shake your head, tears already spilling. “No, you’re not—”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, forcing a tight, sad smile. “Maybe it’s meant to happen. Like… literally written in the stars, right? And if being away from him is hurting you, I won’t be the one who makes you stay. That’s the last thing I want.”

He looks away, jaw working, before he meets your eyes again. “So just… forgive me. If I shut down. If I don’t know how to deal with this. If I can’t always stick around when—if—you choose him.” His voice trembles. “Because it’s going to hurt, doll. More than I probably know how to handle. But I meant what I said—I’ll let you go.”

He blinks fast, but a few tears escape anyway, carving slow trails across his cheeks. “If that’s what’s right—for you, for him, for fate or the universe or whatever this is—then I won’t fight it.”

He pauses, breathing deep.

“But you have to promise me something.” His voice steadies, just a little. “Don’t hurt yourself for me. Don’t hold back. Don’t settle. Don’t lie to yourself just because you made a promise before everything changed. Before you knew what this really was. Can you promise me that?”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in short, shallow gasps as you try not to scream. All you can do is nod.

“Good,” he whispers, his fingers brushing the ring on your left hand.

Then he leans in, eyes fluttering shut as he presses a soft kiss to your damp cheek.

A sob breaks free from your chest, more tears falling fast as he slowly turns and walks away—leaving you standing there, crying for what feels like the thousandth time today.

Not because you don’t love him.

But because you don’t want him.

And you hate yourself for that. Hate that you’re doing this to him.

But there’s nothing in you strong enough to stop it. So all you can do now is try not to hurt him more than you already have. Try to make it work.

Which is exactly why you’re going to the tower tonight.

To see Bob. To talk to Bob.

Because this thing—whatever it is—it involves him too.

And that’s something everyone else seems to have forgotten.

After drying your eyes—and then your body—you change into a fresh pair of sweats and another old hoodie. You pull on a pair of sneakers, run a brush through your hair, and head out the door. You don’t care about looking good right now. You don’t even care about looking decent. You just want to see Bob.

The walk to the tower is quiet. Bucky doesn’t try to hold your hand, and you don’t notice until you’re standing outside the looming building—when nerves start to creep in and you suddenly wish you had something to hold on to.

You glance his way, mouth parting—to ask for his hand, for comfort—but then you feel it.

That pull.

It threads through you like a live current, drawing you forward, calling to you like a heartbeat echoing in someone else’s chest. Like the ache of a memory you’ve never lived.

“You ready?” Bucky asks softly.

But his voice barely reaches you. It sounds distant, like he’s speaking from another room—or underwater. Muffled beneath the steady thrum of your pulse.

You nod, eyes fixed ahead as you step through the doors. Into the elevator.

You wait—still, silent—breath caught in your chest.

Then the doors open.

The moment you step into the common room, the air changes.

Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and John are gathered near the TV, the low hum of a movie playing as they speak in hushed tones—careful, like they’re trying not to break something fragile. But none of them are the first thing you see.

It’s Bob.

He’s sitting alone on the far couch, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced loosely as he stares at nothing in particular. Like he’s been waiting in stillness. Like he knew.

His head lifts before you even take a full step into the room.

The moment your eyes meet, the rest of the world exhales. Or maybe it holds its breath—you can’t tell. All you know is that everything inside you goes quiet. The noise, the ache, the confusion—it all stills beneath the gravity of him. The pull.

You don’t move at first. Neither does he. It’s like your souls got there before your bodies could catch up. Like the space between you is still catching fire.

And then, gently, you walk toward him. Just a few steps. He rises slowly, hands by his sides, eyes locked on yours with a look so open, so raw, it nearly undoes you.

No one speaks.

Not until Ava lets out a soft, wide-eyed breath from the couch. “Holy shit.”

The others glance between you and Bob, exchanging looks, but no one interrupts. No jokes. No commentary. Just the quiet understanding of people who have just witnessed something that feels... bigger.

You stop in front of him. Close, but not touching. His breath hitches. Yours does too.

Still, neither of you says a word.

You don’t need to.

Because whatever this is—this ancient, aching thing that lives between your ribs and beneath your skin—it’s speaking loud enough for both of you.

Yelena clears her throat, gaze lingering on Bucky. “Okay… yeah. I get it now.”

You blink rapidly, like you’ve just slammed back into your body after falling out of it. Slowly, you step back, eyes flicking toward the rest of the team—but refusing to snap straight back to Bob.

“This is crazy,” Alexei says, his grin so wide and his eyes so bright it looks like he might actually combust.

John pulls a face, nose wrinkled, confusion and mild disgust written all over him. “I can, like… feel it too.” He looks at you, alarmed. “Why?”

You shrug, breath caught in your throat, your voice nowhere to be found.

There’s a beat of silence, thick and humming with the weight of unspoken words and the flood of questions swirling through everyone’s minds.

Then John claps his hands together, loud and abrupt. “Okay, so… how do we figure out if she can control him?”

That snaps the room back into motion.

“I don’t think it works like that,” Ava mutters, folding her arms.

“How the hell would you know?” John fires back.

Alexei lifts a brow. “She is not here to control Bob.”

“Oh. Okay. Did you read that in one of your magic manuals?” John scoffs.

“Walker, please,” Yelena sighs. “Now is not the time to argue.”

They start talking over one another, voices rising and overlapping like a wave about to crash.

And then—

“Wait.”

The single word is soft. Barely audible.

Bob.

Everyone turns, and the room falls back into a heavy silence.

He shifts slightly on his feet, shoulders drawn tight, eyes fixed on the floor for a beat before flickering up to you. His voice is uncertain, but steady enough. “I… I’m confused.”

There’s a pause.

“What do you mean?” Yelena asks gently.

Bob swallows, glancing around the room before his gaze returns to you.

“Well… whatever this is, I feel it. I know it. I know—” His voice falters as he looks at you again, softer now, “I know you. You’re… mine.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.

He blinks, grounding himself.

“But… I don’t understand what’s happening. Why it’s happening. Or… what you’re all talking about.”

You open your mouth, but Bucky speaks first, stepping forward.

“She’s not staying,” he says quietly, almost scared to say it out loud. “Not really. She’s… choosing me.”

Bob’s brows pull together, dark blue eyes widening.

“I mean… she’s here to help,” Yelena jumps in, a little too quickly. “Just to help. While we figure things out.”

“Help,” Bob repeats, like he’s trying to fit the word into a sentence that doesn’t quite work.

You finally speak, voice low. “I’m not leaving you. Not completely. But I also… I made a promise. And right now, I’m trying to keep it.”

Bob’s eyes search yours—not angry. Not desperate. Just… aching with the effort of holding something too big for his hands.

And somehow, that’s what hurts the most.

Because those words taste like acid in your mouth. Burning your tongue like white-hot lies.

You don’t want to keep your promise—not now. Not when he is standing there, looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. You don’t want to walk away to protect someone else, even if that someone else has your heart in his hands too.

All you want is this. Him. The man in front of you.

You want to hold him. To reach across the impossible space between you and wrap your fingers around his and never let go. To tell him that whatever force carved your souls from the same star had it right. That you don’t care about the plan or the past or the path you promised to walk.

You just want to stay.

You want to lace your soul into words and place them in his hands.

To tell him that you’ll keep him safe.

That you’ll be the light when his world goes dark.

That you’ll be steady when everything else shakes apart.

That he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

That you’re his.

Because you are. You always were. Even before you knew.

And walking away from that feels like trying to cut the sky in half and pretend the stars won’t notice.

“I—I don’t understand,” Bob says, his voice firmer now, edged with something darker. Something dangerous. “She doesn’t want this.”

You exhale sharply, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Bob, please.”

His eyes snap to you, wide and shining with everything he can’t bring himself to say. But you don’t need words. You don’t need promises. You just need him.

“You don’t want this,” he repeats, softer now. Almost broken.

You swallow hard. “I do. This is what I’m… choosing.”

His brow pulls tight. “Why?”

“I made a promise,” you say again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. “And I want to keep it.”

You don’t.

“But I’ll still be here when you need me. We can still… be together. Just… not completely.”

Bob’s eyes shift to Bucky, dark blue bleeding into molten silver. “She’s choosing you?”

The energy in the room changes again.

The air goes still. No static hum. No crackle of power. Just… silence.

Heavy and unnatural—like being buried underwater. A crushing pressure that squeezes your lungs until you forget how to breathe.

Bob’s jaw tightens. You can see it—feel it—in the tension radiating off him. In the flicker of silver that sharpens, flares, then fades again in his eyes.

“You’re lying,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches.

“I can feel you,” he continues, voice raw, trembling just beneath the surface. “That’s what this is, right? This connection? I feel you, and you feel me. So I know you don’t want this.”

“Bob—”

His hands clench into fists at his sides. “No. Don’t say it again. Don’t say it’s your choice. Don’t say it’s a promise. Because that’s not what you’re feeling.” His voice cracks, then drops into something lower. Rougher. “You want me. I know you do.”

A faint pulse of cold slips through the room—sharp and unnatural, like a draft from somewhere that shouldn’t exist. It kisses your skin, raises every hair on your arms, and sinks deeper, like ice threading through bone.

Ava shifts her weight uneasily. John glances toward Bucky, tense.

“I don’t understand,” Bob says again, and this time his voice is breaking. “Why are you lying to me? Why are you choosing something that hurts you? That hurts us?”

You open your mouth, but the words aren’t there. They’ve drowned somewhere in your throat, tangled in the ache behind your ribs.

“I can feel your heart,” he whispers, silver light blooming behind his irises again. “And it’s breaking.”

There’s a pause. A beat where no one dares to speak. No one breathes.

Then Yelena steps forward, her voice steady. “Bob, please. You need to—”

But he cuts her off, eyes flashing silver as his anger sharpens, gaze snapping to Bucky. “Why won’t you let her go?”

Bucky swallows and takes a step back, his blue eyes wide and watery, flicking between you and Bob. “I—”

“She’s not yours,” Bob says, his voice so deep it echoes through the room—through your mind. “You can’t keep her.”

The room tenses. Silence coils thick around you, something ethereal seeping into the air like gasoline waiting for a spark.

“Bob,” Yelena tries again, louder now, more urgent. “You need to calm down. Now.”

You glance at the floor—at Bob’s feet. Shadows crawl across them, creeping upward, inch by inch, slowly consuming him.

Panic flickers across his face. He knows he’s slipping. The power inside him swells—cold, fierce, pressing outward.

His breath comes faster, fists trembling. “I’m… I’m sorry—”

The air snaps, taut like a wire pulled too tight. His power spirals, wild and uncontained, slicing through the room in jagged bursts like shards of ice.

The darkness creeps higher with every breath, swallowing him slow—leaving nothing in its wake but shadow, nothing but void.

“This was supposed to help,” John snaps. “She was supposed to help him, not make it worse!”

Alexei steps forward, eyes locked on you. “You need to go to him.”

You shake your head, slow and small, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I—I can’t.”

Ava backs away, her body flickering as she prepares to phase.

“Bob, look at me,” Yelena says, steady but firm. “Breathe. You are not alone.”

But his eyes stay on you. That look—raw heartbreak etched into every line of his face, love twisted with fear and confusion—

It fractures something inside of you.

“We need to get out of here,” Ava calls from a few feet away.

John starts backing up, his eyes wide and locked on Bob—as if waiting for a sign to turn and run.

“We cannot leave him,” Alexei says. “We go in, if we have to.”

“Bob,” Yelena pleads. “You’ve got this. Please. You can control this.”

Everything starts to blur.

The shouting becomes a wall of noise, voices crashing over each other, words slurring until they’re nothing but static—a low, violent hum in your ears. The blood rushes louder. Your head throbs, a sickening, rhythmic pounding like your skull is splitting apart from the inside out.

You want to scream.

You want to tear at your skin just to feel something real, to make the pain physical—tangible—because at least that would make sense. You want to tell them all to shut up. To stop talking. To just let you breathe.

You want to drop to your knees and scream into the void until it spits him back out.

Bob.

Bob, whose body is almost completely swallowed by shadow.

Bob, whose eyes—silver and scared—are locked on yours, pleading. Begging.

Bob, who holds your heart in his shaking hands. Who owns your soul, even now. Even as you’re walking away from him.

The one thing you need… and the one thing you’re denying yourself.

And for what?

For the heart of someone else? For a promise that was never meant to cost this much?

You would burn the whole damn world to save him.

You’d tear the universe apart just to keep from breaking that heart.

But this? This is breaking yours too.

Bucky’s voice cuts through the chaos—barely louder than a whisper, but somehow it reaches you. Steady, but breaking.

“It’s okay,” he says, eyes locked on yours even as his own brim with tears. “Go to him. I’ll be okay.”

You shake your head, lips trembling, a silent protest caught in your throat. But deep down, you know he means it. You feel it—the weight of his acceptance, the way he's choosing love over possession. Choosing you, even if it breaks him.

“I don’t want to let you go. God, I don’t. But I can’t be the reason he breaks.”

Your chest aches so deeply it nearly folds you in half. But there’s something else there too—something small and warm and unspeakably grateful. You don’t deserve this kind of kindness. But he’s giving it anyway.

“You still have a part of me. Always will.” His voice falters, but his eyes stay soft. “But he needs all of you right now. And I… I just want you to be safe.”

A sound escapes your throat, half a sob, half his name. You take a shaky breath, tears sliding down your cheeks as you step toward him—not to stay, but to say thank you without words.

His smile is soft. Cracked around the edges. Brave in the way only someone who’s breaking can be.

“It’s okay. I promise.”

You nod once. Swallow hard. Squeeze your eyes shut—steadying yourself. Then turn back toward him.

Bob, who’s almost gone—his form nearly swallowed by the creeping dark, his features carved in flickers of silver and shadow. He stands there like a man on the edge of oblivion, barely tethered to this world. Just a silhouette of the boy you love, wrapped in light and ruin.

His eyes find yours, and for a second, everything stills.

Even now, almost lost to the void, he sees you. Only you.

You take a step forward, your body trembling with the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the unbearable ache of loving something you might be too late to save.

“Bob,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, like a lifeline.

The darkness claws higher, curling up his neck like smoke. But his eyes—those bright, breaking eyes—shine through it all. The fear in them cuts through you like a blade. Not fear of what’s happening to him.

Fear that you won’t come.

That you’ll leave.

That he’ll lose you, too.

“It’s okay,” you say—to him or yourself, you’re not sure.

You lift your hand and move forward, closing the space with slow and careful steps—like one wrong move could shatter the world.

One step, then another—until you’re standing toe to toe with him. The shadow writhes beneath your feet, hungry and alive, but the moment you enter his space, it curls back. Like it knows you. Like it fears you.

Or maybe it just recognises what he loves.

The air is ice. He’s trembling. His face—barely visible now—flickers in and out of shadow like a dying flame. You reach for him, slow and sure, your fingers brushing the centre of his chest.

Right over his heart.

And the darkness parts.

Just slightly—splitting like oil pulled from water, leaving a sliver of fabric beneath your touch. His heart stutters. Yours lurches.

Then you press your palm flat.

And a soft light blooms.

Not blinding, not loud—just a soft, golden glow that seeps from beneath your hand like a memory. Gentle and warm. It spreads slow, steady. The shadow recoils, peeling back inch by inch, retreating from the light, from you.

Everything stops.

The void is gone.

Your ears are filled with the sound of your own pulse as you stare into those dark blue eyes—like the ocean kissed the sky and gave birth to this colour just for him.

He looks so fragile now. So tired. Wrecked not just by the strain of his powers, but by the weight of you. Of your touch. Your choice.

You, choosing him.

For a moment, you just stare at each other—memorising every line, every flicker of emotion—though you already know his face by heart. You’ve always known him. In dreams. In shadows. In the quiet corners of your mind. Drifting through memories and half-sleep, like your souls were stitched together before time ever started.

Always there. Always waiting.

“You okay?” you whisper, your voice faint, barely real.

He nods.

Then you collapse into him, arms winding around his waist, clinging like you’ll never let go.

And you won’t.

Not ever.

There’s still guilt. A lingering ache for the hurt you’ve caused. A hollow echo of someone else’s heart breaking.

But right now, all you feel is Bob. His arms around you, pulling you in like a lifeline. His face tucked into your neck, curls brushing your skin like a secret only he gets to know.

All you want is Bob.

All you need is Bob.

You can’t believe you ever thought you could live without this.

Without him.

Trying to choose someone else would’ve destroyed you. You see that now.

You feel it.

At some point, you shift to the couch. The others are gone—when exactly, you’re not sure—but you’re grateful. You need space. Time. And Bob needs rest.

Which he finally gets. For a few hours.

You settle at one end, sinking into the soft cushions, with Bob’s head resting in your lap. His arms wrap around your thigh like a vice—steady strength even in sleep. You play with his curls, trace the line of his jaw, and rub gentle circles along his back as he drifts.

You’re exhausted, but sleep eludes you. You don’t want to waste a single second with him. Never before have you wanted someone so fiercely. All you need is to feel him here—safe, alive, with you.

So you stay awake. Occasionally you shift, easing pins and needles or aching muscles, but Bob barely stirs. He nuzzles into your lap, your lower belly, holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him from unravelling.

It should feel strange, wrong even. But nothing has ever felt more right.

You know this man better than you know yourself—of that, you are certain—and no part of you hesitates or doubts. This is real. The most real thing you’ve ever known.

You know it’ll be complicated. Awkward with the team, even more so with Bucky. You’ll have to hide it from the world for a while. But none of it matters—not one bit—when the boy in your lap breathes softly against your skin. His lashes dark on flushed cheeks, lips parted with a stray drop of drool on your thigh, and that aching, desperate pull in your chest growing stronger with every breath.

He sleeps until the sun starts to set, and you stay with him. At one point, you turn on the TV and pick a random movie, but your eyes rarely leave Bob. You don’t need him to wake—you’re perfectly content just being near him—but when his lashes finally flutter open, your breath still catches.

He stretches slowly, shifting against you like a cat basking in the sun all day. Then he rubs his eyes and sits up, blinking blearily, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“You stayed,” he murmurs.

You nod.

Without him, your body feels cold, but you resist the urge to cling to him. He needs space to wake fully, to stretch his limbs and shake off the last vestiges of sleep.

“Where are the others?” he asks.

You shrug. “Not sure. They’ve been gone all day.”

He nods slowly. “Did you—Did you leave at all?”

“No,” you say softly. “Stayed right here.”

He shifts closer, one hand finding yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world—as if his hands have known yours for years.

His brow creases. “You must be starving.”

You bite your bottom lip, weighing up your next response. Because yes, you’re hungry—but there’s something else you’re craving. Something more urgent, more raw than anything you’ve ever known. Something you need more than you want. Something Alexei warned you about, and you didn’t quite believe—until now. Now it claws at your chest, primal and fierce, relentless and aching.

“There’s… something else,” you say slowly. “I don’t know if you—”

“I do,” he cuts in.

Your lips part, breath catching in quick, uneven gasps as you hold his gaze—captivated, utterly pinned by the raw hunger burning in his eyes.

His brows lift ever so slightly, a subtle twitch—a silent question hanging in the air. You nod.

Then he moves forward, hands cupping your jaw—careful but urgent, as if he can’t quite believe you’re real.

The world fractures—time fractures—and everything narrows to a single, blazing point where your lips slam together with the force of a thousand storms.

It’s raw. Fierce. Like the universe just exploded inside your chest.

His mouth devours yours—claiming, desperate—fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You burn and tremble, caught in a tidal wave of need and relief that steals your breath.

The air hums with electricity, silence shattered by ragged gasps and the wild pounding of your hearts—syncing, breaking, snapping together like a sacred, unspoken vow breaking free.

Every nerve screams alive, every touch sending sparks crashing like fireworks. It’s hot, heavy, frantic—a beautiful chaos that feels like coming home after being lost forever.

You taste everything—fire, desperation, the sharp tang of longing—and drown in it, surrendering to the moment where nothing else exists but this.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads collide, breaths mingling in ragged gasps. His eyes are dark, wild, shattered open, and in that look, you know this bond has broken through every barrier, every shadow, every doubt.

You’re his.

And he’s yours.

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough, cracking, as his hands slip beneath your shirt.

“I know,” you breathe, arching into him, trembling. “I need you too.”

“Do we have to?” Bob sighs, face buried in the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your bare skin.

You giggle, placing a kiss to his shoulder, perfectly content beneath the weight of his body—his completely naked body.

“I mean,” you murmur, fingers trailing down the dip of his spine, “you’re already late. Is there really any point in going at all?”

He lifts his head, deep blue eyes shining with adoration as he looks at you. “Exactly,” he says, soft lips twitching. “Besides, I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do.”

He shifts, and you feel it—hard and heavy, pressing insistently against your lower belly.

Your lips curl into a smirk, heat blooming low and hot between your thighs. “And what exactly might these other things entail?”

He chuckles, sliding down slightly, tracing his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

“So many things,” he murmurs against your skin, “all of them involving me inside of you… in one way or another.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth wraps around your nipple, drawing a breathy sigh from your lips. “That sounds…” you gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive bud, “very good.”

He looks up again, lips parting from your skin as he gives you a soft, boyish smile. His eyes are bright—almost pale blue in the morning light spilling through the windows—and he looks so damn pretty. His curls are mussed, his cheeks are pink, and his skin is pressed flush against yours in the most delicious way. Even after weeks of having him—weeks of giving yourself to him in every possible way—you still can’t get enough.

“Does that mean we’re staying?” he asks, hands gliding up your ribs toward your breasts.

You giggle, flinching at the ticklish drag of his fingertips across your bare skin. There’s nothing you want more than to stay right here with him—forever. You don’t care if his teammates are waiting. You don’t even care if they blame you for holding him hostage. All you want is to stay tangled up with Bob until something human forces you to stop devouring each other—either sleep or hunger, the usual culprits.

“Yeah,” you whisper, a dopey, lovesick smile curling your lips, “we’re staying… but on one condition.”

His brow furrows, and he sits up a little further, his hard cock grinding against you in the most distracting way.

“Bob,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, hands flying to his shoulders to hold him still.

He laughs softly, low and cheeky. “Yes?”

“I need you to fuck me,” you say, cheeks flushing pink—despite the fact that he literally just did, not five minutes ago. “Again,” you add. “And again, until I can’t walk.”

When your eyes open, you find his—dark and hungry, a stark contrast to the sweet, boyish softness from just seconds ago.

“And then I want pancakes,” you say with a small smirk.

His lips curve before he surges up and crushes his mouth to yours. Your chest aches. Your stomach swirls. Every coherent thought in your head vanishes. You’ve kissed Bob hundreds—maybe thousands—of times by now, and still, every kiss is earth-shattering. Every kiss steals your breath, stops your heart, and reminds you that this man was made for you.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

You let out a breathless sigh as he trails kisses down your jaw, his mouth sucking a bruise into the soft skin of your neck. “I love you too.”

Mates are rare. They're not just lovers or partners—they’re soul-deep bonds that tilt the earth, shatter reality, and leave everything else dull by comparison. They’re not easy. They break hearts just as easily as they heal them. But when you find yours, there’s no doubt. No fear. No force on earth strong enough to pull you away.

Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the heartache, and the chaos—you know with absolute certainty that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

With Bob.

END.

#y'all don't hate me!!!#i'm so sorry #bob x reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#lewis pullman x reader #new avengers #new avengerz #marvel #imagine #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #the void #sentry

779 notes · View notes

titaniasfairy · 22 days ago

Text

heard you, saw you, felt you

summary: you hate working closing shifts, but when a strange man stops by for a drink, you have no choice but to say yes.

a/n: hi y'all! here's what i wrote for the waitress!reader prompt i posted a few days ago, this is the longest and filthiest thing i've written period. thank you so much @spikedfearn for beta reading this for me! mwah enjoy <3

18+ MDNI

pairing: remmick x female!reader

wc: 5.2k

cw: dub-con!! reader hates her job lowkey, remmick is a FREAK, obsession, manipulation, vampire stuff y'know, biting, blood sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, creampie, reader blacks out.

closing shifts were the worst. you loved opening shift, spending your shift with the early birds who had fresh smiles and always greeted you with a grinning “good morning” was always your favorite way to start the day. you’d get out around 4:00 pm, leaving the diner to be handled by whatever poor soul was working the dinner shift. on a good day, you’d leave with a couple of dimes jingling in your apron and plenty of guest receipts that had little notes like “have a good day!” or “thank you for breakfast” written on them. you could still stop into town if you needed anything at home, the sun still shining high in the sky beaming down on the townsfolk in the streets. you’d get home at a reasonable hour, just in time to make supper for yourself. at most nice of all, you’d be in bed at a decent hour with plenty of time to sleep before the morning comes.

you didn’t have those luxuries when you worked closing shifts.

when you’d seen the weekly diner schedule shortly after it’d been posted, your lips had shifted from a upward grin to a complete scowl. despite having begged your manager to keep you on opening shifts, you had still been assigned a closing shift, on a saturday night, even better. closing shifts always began while the diner was jam-packed full of patrons. people slumped on barstools, people huddled around tables, people shoved in booths like sardines, and people loitering around outside with lit cigarettes hanging from their mouths. the smell was abhorrent and always made your clothes smell like burnt tobacco before you even punched the clock. when you’d arrive, someone would always greet you with a “thank god you’re here” or “where the hell have you been?” despite you being on time. your feet would end up aching around the second hour of your shift from the constant back and forth from the kitchen to the diner, your wrist would be throbbing from writing countless orders, and your ears would be ringing just from how loud everything was.

it would only start to improve by the time the sun had long gone down, around 9 or 10 o’clock. by then, the kitchen would be closed and the only diners left would be just about finished with their meals. all the other waitresses would head home, leaving you to finish the closing tasks. you’d spend the rest of your shift wiping down tables, polishing silverware, and mopping the floors before you left and locked all the doors. though you originally hated cleaning the restaurant, you found it calming to end the night with such a silent task. sometimes you’d hum or sing to yourself just to pass the time while you swept the floors. the walk home was the worst part, your legs ached and your eyes struggling to stay open while you hobbled home. you’d rely on streetlights to illuminate your way until you made your way to the dirt roads where you’d use the fireflies as guidance. eventually, you’d finally get in your door just to pass out as soon as your back hit the mattress. god forbid you had an opening shift the next day.

tonight’s closing shift was no different than your expectations.

you arrived around 6:00 pm after walking through the dense clouds of gray cigarette smoke, staining your clothes with the stench. you couldn’t even set your things down before another server approached you with the usual “finally, we’re swamped out there.” conversation. you punched your time card in and smoothed out your apron with your hands, making sure to get out any creases or wrinkles that anyone would notice. you checked inside the apron for your pencil and writing pad before going out into the dining room. and like always, you were swamped. diners lined the bar with their hunched over frames, chowing down on whatever special was available that night. people were stuffed in booths, their shoulders rubbing together each time they moved their fork. the section assigned to you was already filled with patrons eager to get their order taken, they’d already resorted to snapping at you to get your attention. during morning shifts, you were always called by a “excuse me miss” or “pardon me”, but when the sun went down it seemed people had forgotten about pleasantries. your night continued with you taking orders and running food, refilling drinks, handing out checks, and cleaning up the messes people left when they got their receipt and change back. your table’s must’ve been stingy, because you were only left with a nickel or two once everyone had staggered out.

after what seemed like a never-ending rush, the diner was finally empty. your co-workers had left as soon as they could, abandoning any opportunity to help you with the side-work that needed to be done. you were completely worn out from the dinner rush. your hair, which was neatly tied up when you came in, had now fallen out of place and stuck out in places where it shouldn’t have. your uniform was colored in a myriad of stains ranging from food, drinks, and grease. sweat had dried on the back of your neck, your forehead, and various other places, leaving you to feel just plain gross. your feet felt as if you had just ran a marathon, aching from holding yourself up all shift. you didn’t even give yourself the blessing of a break since it was so busy throughout the diner, leaving for 15 minutes would have only made things worse.

the sun had been replaced with a bright full moon, illuminating the outside and shining through the windows of the diner. you had finished polishing the silverware and sorting them in the back, leaving you with only sweeping and mopping to do. like usual, you broke the eerie silence throughout the restaurant by singing to yourself. you never sang too loud, just enough so you could hear yourself sing along to a familiar tune. you drowned out the sound of the mop squelching on the floor with a melody you learned from your mother long ago, back when she’d sing to herself when hanging up the laundry. those songs would always find a way to cheer you up, no matter how exhausting the night was. the crickets outside acted as your back-up singers, chirping along to a rhythm you couldn’t pick up on.

before you knew it, the entire floor had been mopped. you put the mop back in the closet, then grabbed the bucket of dirty water to dump into the sink in the back. after ensuring that everything else was put in its right place and cleaned up properly in the kitchen, you grabbed your things and locked the back door before punching the clock. you made sure to shut the kitchen light off as you walked out into the diner. but as you scanned the restaurant one last time, something was off. the crickets had stopped chirping and the silence left in the room wasn’t something that could be remedied with a song. it wasn’t until you looked out the window that you saw him.

a man, standing outside the diner with his back to the glass window that spanned across the dining room. his hands were tucked in his pockets with his head turned down to the ground, like he was praying for something. his clothes weren’t pristine and spotless, but they weren’t tattered and soiled either, they just looked worn. a set of suspenders crossed against his bag and held up a pair of dark trousers. the shirt on his back looked to be just a bit too large for him, definitely not tailored for the man. the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows on arms that looked to be a smidge too pale for the month of june, especially in the mississippi delta. you shrugged it off and told yourself it was just the moonlight playing tricks on you. you felt as if he was waiting on the door to open, his frame was leaning on the window and he kept looking to his side to see if anyone was there. you figured he was waiting on you, so you made your way across the diner to open the door, making the bells on it ring out. the man immediately turned to look at you, like it was reflex. a smile was spread across his face, revealing his not-so-perfect teeth.

“can i help you, sir?” your voice was just low enough to hear. the man’s eyes flickered up and down, looking at the state of your stained apron and dress. he inhaled what sounded like a chuckled before replying, “that was a beautiful song you were singing in there.”. your brows furrowed in confusion. how could he hear you in there? perhaps you were louder than you thought. still, you were flattered, you could feel heat rising up to your cheeks.

you weren’t able to get a good look at his face until you opened the door, you were delighted to find the man quite handsome. he looked to be about your age, if not older. his eyes were soft but his face looked like it’d seen years of hard labor, his features littered with small scars and marks from god knows what. shadows fell across his brow bone, leaving his eyes dark with no distinguishable color to his irises. his smile felt human, his teeth not aligned like someone wealthy, with a few overlapping each other. you were too busy admiring him to notice that you didn’t respond, making your entire face warm, now.

“t-thank you! my mama used to sing it all the time.” you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear like a enamored schoolgirl would, embarrassing yourself even more. the man turned his head to side, cocking it while he looked at you, making you stumble on your words. “can i help you with anything? it’s awfully late.” you looked up at him while you spoke, he wasn’t much taller than you. “well..” he looked at your name tag safety pinned to your uniform, the back up to you. his accent was thick but sweet like honey, it didn’t sound like he was from the delta, but he was certainly from somewhere down south. your name fell from his lips, hanging from them like vines. the air was stagnant until he opened his mouth again. “i just finished my shift at the construction site and i am mighty thirsty, sugar.” he licked his lips while he awaited a response from you.

you looked back into the diner, still lit by the overhead lights hanging from the ceiling. technically you were closed, and you’d have to charge him for something like a sweet tea or lemonade, but you doubted he’d turn down water. you looked back outside to discover the man had moved closer, you gave him another look. “i ain’t ever seen you before.” you weren’t suspicious, just curious. you were used to the people who came around at night, the same people who carry flasks in their pockets and don’t tip unless you flirt. he didn’t seem like them, though. “i don’t come around much. i just want to sit down for a bit, is that too much to ask?” you considered saying no, that your manager would throw you through the ringer if you let someone in after hours, let alone a stranger. but he did look thirsty, you couldn’t count the amount of times his tongue ran across his lips. he stared at the diner like it was an oasis in the desert, like if he closed his eyes too long he’d find it gone when he opened them. “i don’t suppose why not. c'mon in, i’ll get you something.” his face was beaming before you could finish your sentence. he held the door for you as you walked in, you wondered to yourself if he was always such a gentleman. he found his way to the bar and sat down on one of the stools as you walked behind the bar. “i don’t usually do this, y’know.” you said while looking at him across from you. he had his elbows resting on the wood, his body leaning in towards you. on his neck sat an iron chain, slightly rusted from age. it caught the light when he moved, shining in one place then another when his neck turned. he kept that toothy grin of his as he responded, “well i’m certainly grateful,” he said your name again like he’d known you for awhile, not just for a few moments. “you know my name but i don’t know your’s.” his eyebrows were raised as you spoke, intently listening to whatever you had to say.

“remmick”

he spoke it like he wasn’t proud of it. his eyes shifted down to the wood, averting his gaze from your eyes. you titled your head a bit, you’d never heard that name before. it sounded almost ancient, foreign to you in a way. “i ain’t ever heard that name before, you from around here?” he chuckled at your confusion and looked back up at you, his blue eyes now clear as day in the diner’s bright lighting. “you sure do ask a lot of questions, darlin’” remmick’s hands were clasped in front of him, his interlaced fingers were thick and his nails were short and worn down. your cheeks warmed up again, making you smile in embarrassment. “well i don’t want to serve a stranger, you could be dangerous.” you grabbed a glass from behind the bar and polished it with a nearby rag. remmick licked his lips again, smirking at you. you couldn’t fight the butterflies flying in your stomach as his eyes raked over you once more, like he was eyeing a meal. “but you let one in?”

he ran the back of his hand over his mouth after he said it, wiping a string of drool off his lips that you didn’t see. “there’s a first time for everything.” you looked around, then remembered the icebox was off. you’d have to wait at least 10 minutes if he wanted ice. “i don’t have any ice…” the sentence hung from your lips as your mind wandered off. “i don’t need it sweetheart, i’d just about drink anything right now.” you gave him a nod before walking to the nearby sink and turning on the tap. you filled the glass up before turning the handle and pouring out the excess water from the class.

“i can’t thank you enough, sugar.” he told you as you made your way around the bar. you set the glass down on the wood before sitting yourself at the barstool next to remmick. his hand wrapped around the glass and raised it to his lips, taking one short sip. for someone who just said they were near death from dehydration, he wasn’t very eager to drink the water. you shrugged it off and took a closer look at his clothes. his dress shirt was opened up a few buttons, revealing a white wife-beater underneath. they looked aged, but not quite as worn down as you’d expect.

“you never did tell me where you were from.” his eyes were trained on you, almost locked on your lips as you spoke. his other hand sat resting on his knee, his fingers tapping against it every now and then. “i’m from around.” he said, seemingly avoiding the question. his eye’s moved from your lips to somewhere below them, staring at what you assumed to be your necklace. you held the pearl hanging on your neck between two fingers, fiddling it in nervousness. the back of his hand wiped over his mouth again.

your facial expression changed from curiosity to confusion, brows furrowed and eyes squinted. you looked back to the counter, where the water sat. remmick hadn’t touched the glass you gave him since he took the first sip. you wondered if the well had something to do with it. “that water no good or something?” you looked back at him and saw a new man, one who didn’t look like a man at all. his once blue irises were now a dark crimson, hiding beneath his black lashes. he gave you that toothy grin you’d noticed when opened the door, but his teeth had been replaced with jagged daggers, his canines now sharp like fangs.

“i think we both know that’s not what i wanted.”

your breath hitched, the air from your lungs suddenly disappeared and left you speechless. you tried to respond but were only able to let out a squeak. remmick rose from the barstool and stepped towards you, almost towering over you now. he brought a long clawed finger up to your mouth, shushing you. “aw, it’ll be alright, sweetheart. don’t cry.” his voice was rasped and low, the frequency vibrating through you. your vision began to blur with tears, making you squeeze your eyes shut in fear. he brought another finger to your cheeks to wipe the salty streams that had begun to fall from your eyes.

“i knew i had to have you. from the moment i heard that pretty voice i knew what i had to do.” his lips were on your ear, his voice paralyzing you in place. he kept one hand cupping your cheek and one holding your waist, gripping the apron you’d had on all night along with your plump flesh. you found the courage to speak again, your voice only a weak whisper, “what are you?” remmick let out a low chuckle and you could feel his smile on your face.

“your savior.”

you gasped when his lips began to kiss your jaw, making their way down to your exposed neck. “i know just how miserable you are, sugar. you don’t do nothing but work all day and night just for a couple of dimes and nickels. nobody ever thanks you, either. you practically run this place yourself but you don’t have anything to show for it. isn’t that right, darlin’?” his breathing sent shivers down your spine, his words festering in your head.

he was right. you work your ass off nearly everyday to keep the diner afloat but you hadn’t received a promotion in years. your co-workers rely on you to keep things steady but don’t have the decency to offer any help.

“you go home miserable and lonely, no husband at home and no kids to feed. all the other girls your age are married off by now and got litters of young-ins, don’t they?”

more tears fell from your eyes, you’d always dreamed of having a family just like you did growing up. but no man was ever willing to give you the time of day, not when you came home smelling like grease and coffee. your heart panged in your chest, still pumping fast from sheer adrenaline. you shook your head, but you knew there was no point in denying him.

“i can take you away from all this pain. give you a life you always wanted, doesn’t that sound sweet, sugar?”

you sobbed in remmick’s arms as he continued to kiss down your neck. you tried to ignore the way your thighs clenched each time his tongue touched your flesh, but it wasn’t worth trying. you leaned into his touch, back arching into each kiss and lick he laid on your skin.

“i chose you to be mine, and i met you there, and you invited me in.”

a small moan left your lips before you felt it. his lips enclosed on your neck and kissed the flesh before remmick widened his mouth and bit into you like a ripe georgia peach. you felt the pressure of it first, your head lolling back and screaming out in pain. after a few seconds you felt the fangs retract, allowing him to take from you what he wanted all along. he sucked in your gushing blood like a man starved, tongue flicking over the bite wound and making you squirm in his hold. you felt the rush of blood loss run through you, making your vision flood with black spots. you squeezed your eyes shut and anticipated the worst, but once remmick’s lips left your neck, you experienced euphoria.

an invisible weight lifted from your aching shoulders, your lungs let out an exhale you didn’t know you were holding or how long you were keeping it in. after a few moments you opened your eyes and laid eyes on the monster you’d devoted yourself to. the lower half of his face was smeared with your blood, his nectar. you couldn’t deny the sudden pull he had on you, his gaze making your cunt quiver.

remmick’s bloodied lips were on yours before you knew it, his kiss almost bruising. his hands cupped your face while yours tangled in his locks. your tongues slid over each other’s, interwoven in a soul binding kiss that felt like heaven on earth. your blood had smeared onto your face, marking you as forever his. as you leaned into the kiss, you could feel remmick’s hands slip behind your back and untie the apron you’d been wearing, discarding it to the floor once it fell into his grasp. his hands fell to you hips and pushed lightly, causing your back to hit the wood of the barstool, pinning you there. your chest heaved like a panting dog as his sharp claws played with the hem of your dress, his forehead pressed up against yours as he breathed life into your mouth. after a few moments, remmick’s fingers pushed your dress back to bunch it at your hips, revealing your plump thighs to him.

before you knew it, he was on his knees below you. he took his time admiring your legs, holding one with both hands, leaving a trail of kisses starting from your calf and ending at the tops of your thighs, then switching to the other. it was hauntingly romantic. your mouth couldn’t stop the small whimpers that left you each time his lips found the places that left goosebumps on you when kissed, his eyes would shoot up to meet your’s with each sound that left you in a desperate need of approval. his lips left the top of your thigh and his hands landed under the backs of your knees, holding them to your chest. he gasped when he saw them, your cotton panties that had stuck to your heat and the darkened wet patch that sat just where your opening was. remmick’s nose pressed against the cloth, breathing you in and surrounding himself in nothing but you. it made your stomach flip and your cunt clench. in what could only be impatience, a razor sharp claw sawed its way through your panties, cutting them from your body and finding themselves somewhere on the floor along with your apron. you gasped in a strange mixture of arousal and fear, the sound coming out of you like a wanton moan. once your cunt had been revealed, his eyes were glued to watching it react to its new surroundings. he even blew a stream of air on it to watch you jump. he let out a dark chuckle, grinning to himself.

“i heard you, i saw you, felt you. and now, i’m going to give you the gift of belonging.”

you batted your lashes down at him, now holding your legs apart for him. remmick’s dark eyes stared back up at you, two dark voids filled with only god knows what, but you didn’t care anymore. god be damned if he’s a monster, he’s the most beautiful one you’d ever seen in your life. you nodded your head to tell him you were ready, even though remmick knew he didn’t need your permission anymore. he left a small kiss to the top of your clit before devouring you. his tongue ran its way over the seam of your cunt, then his lips began to suck. it was bliss you couldn’t have even imagined, your back arching off the seat and the butterflies in your stomach beginning to swarm. his tongue lapped up your arousal like it was his god-given right to, slurping up each drop you could possibly give to him. remmick moaned into your folds, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout your body. his lips moved to suck your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves with his tongue every so often. while his mouth was occupied with the top of your heat, two fingers made their way to your opening, pressing into your entrance.

“taste like heaven, sugar. i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

the quiet diner on the downtown street was suddenly filled with the most sinful of sounds, a filthy combination of moans and whimpers. remmick’s fingers had made their way inside you, thrusting at a slow, but moderate, pace. your own fingers were interlaced in the dark strands of his hair that had begun to mat from his own sweat. you ground your hips into his open mouth, making him groan out in satisfaction. you felt his fingers hitting the sweet spot you’d only felt with your own, the feeling even more intense along with his lips lapping over your folds.

your cunt clenched tight, and remmick knew your orgasm with approaching, making him more ravenous than before. his movements became calculated, he was laser-focused on making you reach your climax. your breathing became labored, chest moving up and down with each breath. the coil in your stomach tightened, your body tensed up and awaited his approval.

“now give me what i need, sweet girl.”

a flood of emotions washed over you, a wave of euphoria hit you like a strike of lightning and your cunt was gushing before you knew it. remmick discarded his fingers from your hole and used his tongue over your entrance as you rode out your orgasm. underneath the blissful wailing from your mouth, you could hear him moaning against your heat, breathing you in his lungs. when the flood had subsided, he came up for air and rose from his knees. remmick’s mouth that was previously covered in your blood was now wiped clean, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. your chest throbbed with adoration, your head only filled with thoughts of him. his hands cupped your face again, noses touching and foreheads pressed against each other. you closed your eyes and brought yourself down to earth, his thumbs caressing the underside of your job. remmick kissed you softly, the kiss passionate but not hungry. his lips lingered over your’s for a moment before he spoke, “you’re so beautiful” your name leaving his mouth as your eyes closed. never in your life did you feel so wanted.

you raised your lips to his as a thank you, hands clutching his face. your tongue ran over his lips, eliciting a moan from the man. your tongue slid into his mouth and explored, running it over the backs of his fangs and the roof of his mouth. he groaned into the kiss, hands sliding down to hold your waist. as the kiss began to heat up, remmick pulled away and flipped you around, bending you over the barstool.

“fuck, babydoll.” his hands ran down the sides of your waist and across the mound of your ass, squeezing the flesh just for a moment. his claws ran over the sides of your hips, scratching lightly and sending goosebumps down your spine. you let out a sigh of relief when you felt his groin press against you, the hard bulge placed on your entrance. you pressed your hips against him, meeting him in the middle. you whined at the sudden loss of feeling, but your thighs clenched when you heard the clinking of a belt buckle from behind you. “i’m gonna make you really sing now, sugar. make sure the whole world knows my name, baby.” remmick slapped your ass light before pressing the tip of his cock to your opening. he gave you a few moments to adjust before sliding his whole length inside you, filling you until it felt like you were overflowing.

his cock was thick, most certainly thicker than the two fingers he’d given you earlier. the sheer length of him was enough to make your eyes pop, head snug against your cervix once he bottomed out. you tried to let out a whine, but you were shushed before you could protest. “none of that now, sweetheart. this is what you wanted. i could smell it on you as soon as you opened that door.” when you tried squirming your hips, one large hand pushed them down while another gathered both your wrists and pulled hard, forcing your back to arch to the point where you were almost standing. remmick’s lips pressed against your ear, whispering low in a voice that shook your soul,

“we are going to make beautiful music together, sugar.”

his hips pulled back and slammed into you, pushing you forward and causing you to wail. his cock bullied itself inside you, the tip hitting your sweet spot with each rough thrust. the angle remmick had you in allowed him to sink himself as deep as he could, sending shocks throughout you and making your head throw back in bliss. your head was empty, only filled with want and obsession. “there we go, use that pretty voice for me.” the hand pressing down on your hips wrapped around your neck, exposing the unbitten side to him. his hips continued to thrust into you with deep and rough strokes. each whimper and moan you let out was awarded with remmick’s own groans, his cock twitching inside you. his lips began to lick and suck on your neck, preparing you for the inevitable. his nose breathed your scent in once more, making your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure.

“i can’t wait to spend eternity with you.” you could only remember the pressure of his fangs puncturing your flesh and the excruciating pain that came afterwards. it wasn’t pulling and intimate like the first bite, it was ravenous and animalistic. you felt remmick’s thrusts stop suddenly and felt warmth begin to fill your cunt before your vision went black.

the next morning, the owner came in to collect the time cards only to find the door wide open and the fresh pool of blood on the floor. it was smeared from the barstool down to the tile, no footprints or handprints to be found. he yelled out in horror and alerted the whole block of a murderer. the cops thought it was a robbery gone wrong, but the cash register was left untouched. once they found out who was closing that night, they came to your doorstep and searched for any sign of you, but you were nowhere to be found. days turned into weeks, and you were put on the “missing, presumed to be dead” list that had gotten longer with each week that passed. but you wouldn’t be dead for a long long time.

#bear rambles #this is rancid please enjoy #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #remmick x y/n #jack o'connell #i'm so sorry #y'all come on and eat

712 notes · View notes