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just-wrting · 11 months ago

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Feeling Fangs Part 3

Title: Feeling Fangs Part 3

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Wife!Reader 18+

Word Count: 5.2k

Master List Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: You and Katakuri end up saying, and doing, what’s on your minds.

A/N: I thought about not putting smut in this, but since I had originally planned the trilogy with it getting smuttier as it went on, I kept it. I don’t think there will be a part 4 unless people want one, but there might be little add ons of things I wanted to put in but didn’t.

You look at the boxes with suspicion. After opening them, you decided to study what was in the boxes, looking for clues. It took some time taking each box apart, laying each piece in a vertical line on the dresser. There isn't anything else in the box, just the dainty jewelry.

You pick up the necklace and watch as the chain slips through your fingers with ease. The color suits you perfectly, it's something you would buy for yourself if you had the money. It's clearly expensive, the card in the box labels the gemstone as authentic. Whoever bought it must be fine with spending such a large quantity of berries on you.

You place the necklace back in the box. Nothing appears out of place with any of it so maybe you should wear it, but you can't bring yourself to do that without knowing who it's from. Should you try hunting down the jeweler and asking who bought them? It's a terrible idea, though slightly tempting.

Sighing, you put the boxes back together. There's no point in thinking too hard about it since your husband knows who gave these to you. You debate on the idea of it being a gift from him. As unlikely as it seems, part of you wants them to be from him. Even if you'll feel guilty for not realizing sooner.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you think back to what proper conversations you've actually had with him. He's always been polite and attentive when you talk, never really pushing for more than you give. It made sense that you opened up to him. Not to mention he's always been attractive.

The guilt starts to creep in the more you think about it. Was he just being nice since you were forced to get married or was it something more? What about all the times that he checked up on you like the time you went to your father's funeral and got attacked? Did he have feelings for you or was he trying to make the most of the situation?

You fall back into the covers, curling into a ball. Thinking about this makes your chest hurt in ways you didn't think you'd ever feel. It's your fault he's stuck with you and he's been doing his best to deal with it. Meanwhile, you sometimes sit around and feel a bit sorry for yourself that you got caught up in an arranged marriage because of your father. You wouldn't change who you're married to anymore, but that doesn't change the feelings you've had in the past.

Shoving your head into the pile of pillows, you try to stop thinking about it. Nothing's going to get resolved by feeling bad all alone. You need to wait until you can talk to Katakuri about it before you can deal with these feelings. Even if it's confusing and frustrating. Even if you'd rather pretend like these feelings don't exist.

The door clicks as it opens and you groan. It's probably just someone else here to bother you as it has been for the past few days. You wish people would stop bothering you with ridiculous things like asking you to have your husband show up at certain things so they can be happy. Why can't they just leave him alone?

Pulling the pillow from your head, Katakuri looks down at you. You smile softly, reaching out for him.

"Come here," you mumble. "I missed you."

His gaze softens as lays down next to you. Reaching up to touch his face, you gently squish his cheeks making sure he's real. After a few pinches, he grabs your wrist and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"There's no need for that," he scolds. "I am very much real."

You place your head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. "But I missed you. I just want to know that you're really here with me."

"I promised to come back, why would I leave you?"

You close your eyes as he starts to comb his fingers through your hair. "Because you're just stuck with me. I was scared of being hurt so you had to marry me of all people. You never had a choice in the matter, I'm sorry."

"Do you regret it?" His voice is soft, and you know that he might break depending on your answer. "If you weren't forced to marry into my family would you be happier?"

"I don't think so. Being here with you is the happiest I think I've ever been, so why would I want to be somewhere else?" You start to rub your thumb across his cheek. "I think you're perfect."

"Even though I'm not?"

You let out a laugh. "Katakuri, what do you think of me? Just this once, tell me your honest opinion of me."

"I-" he clears his throat. "I think you're perfect as you are."

You poke him. "But I'm not perfect. I'm not strong or capable of things nor do I have a lot of money or agency. I worry about a lot of things, I have terrible habits, not to mention we've barely started acting like we're married."

"That doesn't matter to me. I'm strong enough to protect you." He's earnest, like he's managed to get your point. "You don't need to worry."

"That's not my point, Katakuri," you laugh. "My point is that I'm not perfect, but you don't care. So it works both ways. You may not be truly perfect but you're perfect to me."

His eyebrows furrow for just a moment. "I love you just how you are."

"Huh?" You tilt your head back to look at him.

"I should change, I have blood on my clothes."

He gets up abruptly, making your head spin. Maybe you imagined what he had said, but the change in his demeanor leaves you questioning. What's the rush to get clean when he was just laying in the bed?

"If you say so..." you mumble to the air. "Though I'm not sure what the rush is."

You sit up and stare at the bathroom door. There's nothing better to do than wait for him to get back. Confronting him about it seems unfair, so maybe you should do something to put him at ease. You're not sure what would be best.

Thankfully he doesn’t take long, the door opening to reveal him wearing a fresh pair of leather pants. All of the extra spikey bits have been removed, meaning he won’t tear the sheets this time. It’s nice to see him just a little bit more casual, and you do your best to not stare at him. Not that staring at him would be weird, you are married after all.

“I think it would be nice to see you in other clothes sometime,” you say awkwardly trying to start a conversation. “Not that there’s anything wrong with what you wear now.”

“Like what?” His question seems genuinely curious.

Your face flushes in embarrassment. “I’m not sure, I didn’t think before I said that.”

Katakuri chuckles as he lays back down beside you. He pulls you close as you continue to ramble.

“To be fair, you’re really attractive so you’d probably look good in everything. Maybe you should try something that’s popular? Not that I know what’s popular. And like I said I think you like nice in what you currently wear, it would just be a nice change of pace.”

He starts to play with your hair again, just nodding and humming when he thinks he should respond. You feel more foolish with every word, but you can’t really stop yourself from talking.

“Maybe something formal? I recall that you didn’t wear a suit to our wedding which was unfortunate. I get that it was a bit rushed, but I would’ve like to see that.”

The soft smile doesn’t fade from his lips as he muses. “You sound like you wish to dress me up. Are you unhappy that I wear the same thing?”

“Not at all! I never thought I’d like someone with your type of aesthetic, but I don’t mind it. To be fair I never thought I’d be happily married to a pirate, but here I am. I suppose it helps that Ive fallen in love with you.”

Katakuri goes still. “What did you say?”

You process what you just said and turn away from him. Your body feels like it’s on fire from embarrassment. How could you just spit that out so casually? Was your mind truly not there anymore as you rambled on?

“D-don’t make me repeat it! If you heard me say it once that should be good enough.”

“Even if I want to hear you say it?” he asks, turning your head to face him.

Upon seeing the flush in his cheeks, you get the urge to tease him again. “I love you. Is that what you wanted to hear me say?”

Katakuri looks away and gives a small nod. He’s really flushed for a man who said ‘I love you’ first.

“I love you, Katakuri,” you say with a grin. “I love you a lot. I love a lot about you. Do you want me to tell you what I love about you?”

You watch as he gets even redder. He’s adorable like this, and you really enjoy making him flustered. There’s something so sweet about him getting red and embarrassed when you compliment him or kiss him.

“I love that you’re so cute like this. I love when you-”

He presses his lips to yours, silencing you with a kiss. It’s frantic and warm, leaving you wanting more. You reach up to pull him in for more, when he pulls back.

“Don’t tease me.” His voice is stern, but it doesn’t work on you, not when he’s this flustered.

“Or what? You’ll kiss me again? Maybe I want you to kiss me more.” Your voice is gentle. “I really enjoy kissing you.”

“Then I won’t do that.”

You stroke his cheek. “Then you’ll bite me?”

Katakuri gives you a pathetic attempt at a scowl. “No, you’d like that too much.”

Pretending to pout, you lean in to try and get a kiss. “So? I just like you, that’s all.”

He pulls you into his chest, and you listen to how fast his heart is beating. If it was beating any faster, you’re sure his heart would burst from his chest. Just from listening, you start to get flustered and wonder if your heart is beating just as fast.

“Is my heart beating as fast as yours?”

Katakuri looks down at you briefly before closing his eyes. “How would I know, do you expect me to check?”

“You could put your head on my chest and listen. Don’t you want to see if I’m embarrassed?”

You don’t need him to tell you that you are. You can already tell that you’re embarrassed. The only reason you can keep saying things like this is because you really just want to see more of the cute flustered side of him. He’s absolutely adorable like this, and it melts your heart each time.

He doesn’t answer but twists until he’s able to rest his head on your chest. The two of you have never cuddled like this, but it’s far more comfortable than you thought it would be. He’s the world’s prettiest weighted blanket, and you feel your worries melt away. You’ll make sure to do this more often, seeing as it’s so comforting. Though to be fair, just sleeping next to him is comforting.

You gently comb his hair, scratching at his scalp. There’s no sound from him, but he buries his head further in your chest. It’s like you’re nothing more than a pillow, and you chuckle at the thought. You realize he’s asleep when you do as he makes no movement to get you to stop.

Wondering what could’ve made him this tired, you softly tell him all the little things you like about him. Very little makes him exert a lot of energy, so he must’ve chosen to skip sleeping. Did he power through without sleep so he could come back sooner?

As you think, you let your eyes shut. You find yourself losing the battle against sleep due to being warm and comfortable. You couldn’t even move if you wanted to.

—-

You wake up to an empty room, the clock reading four in the morning. Whatever he went to go do must’ve been important, as there’s no note. Normally there is one, tucked under a fresh bag of berries. Today, there’s nothing on the nightstand. Maybe it’s a sign he’ll be back sooner than you expect, but that’s not always the case. Sometimes something urgent came up.

You decide to finally go through your clothes. It feels impossible to have accumulated this many clothes, but somehow you have. No matter how hard you think, you can only recall buying two or three things, so how did it pile up this much?

Unable to remember which section you put all the stuff that didn’t fit in, you resign yourself to trying everything on. Anything that doesn’t fit or looks bad on you will get tossed. You faintly remember seeing a secondhand store, so you’ll just put everything to the side and double check. Better for it to go to someone else considering some of it still has the tags on it.

As you struggle getting into a dress, you try to remember how you even got it. It couldn’t have been a gift, you don’t get many of those, but it’s not something you’d willingly pick out and buy. That when it hits you, almost literally. The price tag swings from the sleeve, boasting a hefty price. The shopkeeper must’ve made you try it on after noticing that your husband was buying you everything you tried on. How much money has this man spent on you?

As you toss it into the pile, you think back to the handful of times you’ve gone shopping with Katakuri. He’d pay for everything, buying you almost anything you looked at. Sometimes it was nice to get something you wanted, but clearly most of it just sits around wasting space. You’ll have a talk with him about his spending habits, but maybe you should try to sell some of this instead. Your mind spins at the thought of adding all the tags up.

Both breakfast and lunch come and go without any sign of his return. By now, you’ve tried on most of your clothes and emptied your closet quite a bit. Almost everything you brought with you from three years ago doesn’t fit, but that’s not really a surprise. Dessert is served with every meal including tea time, so it’s hard to stay away from the sweets. Not only that, but it has been three years and a lot changes during that time.

You’re left with the things you wear all the time such as the clothes that have become your style and pajamas, along with a few fancier clothes for important occasions. Nothing more than what you need honestly, and it feels so good to be free from the things you hated seeing in the closet. The only thing left for you to deal with are two elegant cream color boxes that you had shoved in the back. You know what they are, you’ve just never opened them.

The delicate ribbon slides away with a single tug, and you hesitate as you grip the lid. These are from your old friend, one sent for your wedding gift and the other for your two year anniversary. With any luck, she’ll send you another box in about four months. You only know what’s in them from the letter that was attached to each one.

Deciding that you can’t torture yourself with the apprehension, you rip the top of the box off and look inside. For something that’s been sitting in a box for years, it looks perfect. The color matches your eyes, and you hate to admit that you kind of want to try it on. You know it’ll flatter you, it’s something that looks good on all who wear it.

Holding it up to your body in the mirror, you feel your face flush. It may not be the most exposing thing you’ve ever seen, but it would be the most exposing thing you’ve worn. You can’t even remember the last time you wore a swimsuit, let alone lingerie.

The fabric is soft and slips on easily. It stretches, and somehow fits your proportions even after almost two years in the box. It’s surprisingly cute, and you hate that you feel that way. You know that she sent these to make you flustered, actually feeling that way is just letting her win. After all, she did suggest making the most out of being married to a pirate by getting as much money as you could, even telling you that you’re attractive enough to get it through your looks. Not that you ever felt the need to try, you’ve been spoiled without ever asking.

You give it a little spin in the mirror, before you start to feel silly. Why are you even flustered? You’re all alone in the room, and you have no real intention of wearing them for Katakuri. Not that you wouldn’t pay to see how flustered he gets, but you wouldn’t be able to look at him. All you are doing is finally seeing what ridiculous things your friend made and sent you. After you try them on, you’ll put them back in the box and shove them back into the dark where you’ll pretend they don’t exist.

Opening the other box reveals something that is somehow even more risqué than what you’ve currently got on. Most of the material is mesh and lace, with the most covering coming from a short zipper in the back. Just looking at it makes you feel like a pervert, and you hesitate after taking it from the box. Maybe this one should just get thrown into the fireplace and then you’ll be free.

With a sigh, you swap your outfit, struggling with the zipper. After what feels like an eternity that has your arms burning, you finally feel it go all the way up. You clasp the little hook at the very top to keep it together, and a sense of accomplishment flows through you. You managed to put it on and at least you can say you wore it.

Looking in the mirror, you realize that it shows more than you originally thought, and you grab your robe. The closer the robe is to you, the less you’ll have to explain if someone forgets to knock. This is the only time you’ll be grateful that your door is loud when it opens. At least you’ll have a split second to cover up.

You reach behind you, ready to take it off. The clasp takes a lot more finagling than you’d like, but eventually slips loose. You roll your shoulders as they burn with lack of use, waiting for them to stop hurting so you can get the zipper. Unfortunately, luck isn’t on your side, as the zipper refuses to go down.

Struggling to reach it, you try to look in the mirror to see why. The angle doesn’t help, as your hands and arms just block your view. Sweat beads on your forehead as you squirm. After a moment, you give up. You can’t reach the zipper, so you’ll just have to find a pair of scissors and cut it off.

As you pull open a drawer, you hear the click of the door. Scrambling for cover, you crouch behind the bed and peer over. You don’t want anyone to be entering the room, and you squeak when you see that Katakuri has come back. Of all the times to show back up, he picked now?

“Why are you hiding?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

Your face flushes even more than you thought possible. “I’m not hiding! I slipped so I’m resting.”

“Rest on the bed.”

“No. I’m fine on the floor.”

He starts to walk towards you, clearly unhappy. “Can you not get onto the bed? Let me help you.”

“No! Don’t move!” You hold out your hand. “Don’t come closer.”

“So you are hiding something.” His eyes narrow.

You break eye contact. “No, I’m not. The zipper broke.”

“What zipper?”

“The one on my clothes!” You gesture towards the closet. “I just don’t want you to see what I’m wearing.”

Katakuri pauses. “Do you really think it looks that bad?”

Finally giving up, you stand. “I don’t know!”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to not curl into a ball and disappear. How dare he come back and see you like this? It’s mortifying! Even if you’re married, it’s still something new to both of you.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he chokes out, reaching for the door.

You cover yourself with your arms. “That just makes it weird! What are you going to say when someone asks why you aren’t in here? ‘Oh I saw my wife changing, I can’t see that.’ It’s weird.”

He refuses to look at you as you gesture around in confusion. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. We’re supposed to married, it’d be weird if you haven’t see me naked. Help me with the zipper.”

“What if I can’t get it? Then what?” He looks at you, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

You rub your arm, feeling self conscious. “I guess I can just cut it off. That probably easier than having you rip it.”

The two of you stand there, not meeting each other’s eyes. The tension in the room is thick, and you really wish you could disappear. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, and for once it’s bothering you. You wish he’d say or do something, anything. All you feel is embarrassed and foolish.

You slowly make your way around the bed, hugging yourself like you’re cold. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t thought of him seeing stuff like this, you just hadn’t imagined he’d just stand there like he was startled. Though you aren’t entirely sure what you had imagined happening in a situation similar to this.

Suddenly, you feel your feet leave the floor. Your back hits Katakuri’s chest as he sits you in his lap. The contact of his skin makes you burn up, and each breath you take is shallow. You feel like you might pass out from how nervous you are, and the way he’s holding you doesn’t help.

“So I can rip this off you?” His voice is low. “You won’t mind that?”

“I-I,” you stammer, unable to get any thought to form. “No? I mean, yes. I mean-”

The kisses on your neck are gentle as you string together random thoughts. You’ve lost all ability to think properly, your mind following instinct instead. Covering your mouth, you try not to whine as he touches your bare skin.

“You’re so pretty,” he says through kisses. “My pretty little wife.”

Katakuri’s fingers grip tightly onto your thighs, as he holds himself back. Each kiss brushes your skin softly, barely applying any pressure. Not that he needs to apply any pressure to set your skin on fire.

“P-please,” you whine. “Please help me. I need you, Katakuri.”

His fingers slide up to your cunt and slowly start to rub through your clothes. The thin mesh doesn’t dampen any of the sensation, and you let out a groan at the feeling. It doesn’t take long for you start subconsciously rolling your hips. You never realized just how badly you wanted him, but it shows now.

Despite your muffled please for more, his touch remains slow. It feels like he’s exploring your body, his other hand reaching up and squeezing your breasts. It’s an agonizing pace, slow and steady. If you weren’t so desperate, you wouldn’t mind, but right now you need him.

You gasp as gently nips the pulse point on your neck, his fangs not breaking the skin but leaving goosebumps across it. Refusing to move your hands from your mouth, you let every little sound tumble into your palm and hope he doesn’t hear. This clearly frustrates him, as after a few moments, he pins your wrists behind your back.

“Don’t hide from me,” Katakuri pleads. “I need to hear you.”

You hear the sound of mesh ripping as he pulls it to the side, stroking a finger through your folds. Each time he circles your clit, you let out a whimper. It’s a dizzying combination as he gently fondles your breasts and kisses all over your neck all while playing with your cunt. You know he’s watching you intently, studying every reaction to see what makes you feel best.

Unable to control your breathing, you lean your head back as your chest heaves. You can’t even focus on trying to steady it as he pushes a finger inside. The thought of ruining his gloves makes you feel dirty, but if he knows that he’s ruining them, he doesn’t care. Even the sound of him fingering you is lewd, but you’ve practically lost the ability to feel ashamed

You should’ve realized sooner just how large he actually is. Just the feeling of his finger is more than you’ve ever thought to try, each time he pushes it in, you feel fuller than ever before. Within seconds, you feel the tension in your core grow and threaten to snap.

“So pretty, such a pretty wife,” Katakuri praises. “So perfect.”

At the sound of his praise, you feel yourself come undone. Your body tenses and shakes as you cum, uncontrollably moaning as you do. There’s no stop to his pace as you climax, leading you to squirm and whine.

You watch as he makes another arm to hold your hips in place, continuing to finger you. At some point, you loose track of how long you’re like this, sitting in his lap while he explores every part of you. It’s almost relentless as he touches every single sensitive spot. You can’t even keep track of how many times you reach climax, just knowing that you’re absolutely soaked now.

“Katakuri, please,” you moan. “Too much, just please…”

He kisses you jaw. “Please what? What do you want me to do?”

“Please be gentle. You’re so big.” You look at him through half lidded eyes. “I want you to try.”

Something inside him snaps, and his eyes darken. With one swift motion, your face is buried in the sheets, and you can feel him grind against your ass. You whine as he grips your hair tightly, your body protesting the change in position. It’s only for a split second, before he loosens his grip trying to have some control over himself.

It no longer matters as you feel him line his tip up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, stopping every time you grip the sheets tightly and whine. You already know it’s not all going to fit, but that’s not stopping him from trying. Grateful for the warm up, you’re surprised that it doesn’t hurt as much as you were worried about.

Once you can’t take anymore, the two of you stay still. You pant for air, desperate to regain some sense of control over your mind. Even though you know it’s futile and as soon as he starts moving your brain will go back to mush. It doesn’t really matter, you feel so good you couldn’t care less how lewd you’re being.

Katakuri waits for some sort of signal that you can keep going, so as soon as you do your best to look back at him with pleading eyes, he starts to move. It’s the same slow pace as before, but this time you don’t mind. Every time he pulls out, you feel so empty before he pushes right back in. You feel warm and tingly, each thrust going deeper than you even realized it could.

You close your eyes and relax, letting him have full control over how you move. It doesn’t take long for him to pick up the pace thrusting into you at a speed you’d never be able to do on your own. Moaning and panting, you grip the sheets tightly as your over sensitivity brings you to an orgasm faster than you expected.

His pace is unrelenting, not giving you a second to recover. By now, you’re drooling into the sheets, unable to close your mouth and stop moaning. There hasn’t been a time that you’ve felt this good, unable to reach or do some of the things he’s been doing.

Your walls ache from the amount of times you’ve cum, and it’s almost getting painful. Despite the amount of fluid dripping from you, you can still feel everything. Each thrust hits your cervix, and causes you to moan louder.

After a few more thrusts, you feel his hand grip your hair tighter. You whine from the sensation, not fully realizing what’s happening or why he’s stopped. It’s not until he lets you go and pulls out that you realize that he finished. You don’t move, too sore to even attempt to. There’s a moment of nothing, before he scoops you up and takes you to the bathroom.

You lean against the cabinet, your eyes constantly falling shut as he draws a bath. Attempting to protest a bath, you mumble something but can’t even catch what you’re saying. That doesn’t faze him as he frowns slightly at you.

“I’ll bathe you, so you don’t have to worry,” Katakuri reassures you. “You’re sticky.”

You give a weak scowl and grumble. He doesn’t budge, but gives you a soft kiss.

“You can sleep after, I’ll even change the sheets if you’d like.”

You pout, but he ignores it. He’s gentle as he tears off the sweat soaked lingerie and pulls you into the tub. Steam billows from the surface and you protest against the heat. It feels like you might be boiling, but no amount of squirming gets you out of his arms.

The soap lathers easily and smells faintly floral, a nice change from all the sweet smelling things. You wince every time you’re moved, but it doesn’t get you out of the bath sooner. You wish it did, all you want is to fall asleep.

“Almost done. It goes faster if you don’t squirm.”

You put your head on his chest. “Tired.”

Katakuri traces your jaw before gently rubbing soap on your face. “Just a few more minutes.”

You stay still as he rises the soap from your body and pulls you out of the tub. The past twenty minutes passed in a haze, so you can’t recall if he even washed up, but you can tell he did since he’s still got soap on him. Every touch is gentle, like he’s worried about you breaking.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you mumble as you try to hold his hand. “I’m fine.”

Katakuri gives up on making sure you’re dry and picks you back up. You don’t even make it to the bed, passing out in his arms. Every part of you is exhausted, and there’s no where you’d rather be.

#reader insert #x reader #one piece x reader #charlotte katakuri x reader #katakuri x reader #one piece katakuri #katakuri one piece #one piece smut #smut

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motherroam-rs · 5 days ago

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Lover, You Should’ve Come Over (3/7)

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Chapter 3 - The time you needed to not be alone

previous chapter | next chapter (coming 29th June) | masterlist

Read on AO3

Series Rating 18+

Chapter summary: You think back to your old life in Madripoor when isolation begins to drive you apart from the team. You try not to let it get the best of you, but it always does.

Chapter 3 word count: 8,236 words (another long one)

A/N: Firstly, this chapter hasn’t been beta read, there may be mistakes and please let me know if you spot any!

Spending my weekend on the sofa writing this after crying all week at my work. As we have no confirmed dates, only a general guideline, I’ve decided to make up my own for when things happen!

Anyways here is the start of the angst chapters where reader begins to push the team away. I’m sorry in advance, I’m currently on my period and feeling angsty. A little less Bob in this chapter, but there will be more in the next one!

If you’re on any of marveltwt/lewtwt or even starwarstwt and you're reading this lets be mutuals there cause I just need more people to yap about bob reynolds with

Madripoor - July 1st 2026 - 11:16 pm local time (12:16 New York)

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

You slam down your half-full glass of coke, simultaneously tossing your bag to Zara who’s half-aware of what’s just happened from where she stands behind the bar, and you take off through the crowd.

The air inside the club is thickened with sweat tainted perfume and your nose cringes as you push through the waves of glitter coated bodies, shimmering like sinful disco balls under the colourful lights. You only had one person in mind right now.

This was the last thing you needed tonight, some pickpocket stealing your purse from your bag when you were distracted.

Maybe that was your own fault - you shouldn’t have been distracted by yet another supernatural or alien event in New York hundreds of miles away, lighting up the screen on Zara’s phone behind the counter. But you were. Now you were gaining speed across a sticky club floor and your heels bit into you with every single step to chase down the man fifteen feet ahead of you, who still had your purse in hand.

Because you were distracted.

A man to your right with luminescent eyes accented with a cat-like mask hisses at you when you push past him to reach the door. Most nights here were themed, last week you had entered to find the club transformed into a rather good replication of a palace, with everyone decorated in beautifully intricate dresses and suits, likely authentic crowns and tiaras on a few heads.

If you had enough money, you could buy anything in Madripoor.

Tonight's theme was a zoo, you guessed, with the main room of the club dressed up to be some sort of jungle or rainforest, but when you pass one of the private rooms you catch a glimpse of sand seeping out of the door, the walls decorated in muted yellow tones. It’s brief, but you catch the eyes of a woman covered in nothing more than zebra body paint, and ignore her inviting smile.

You didn’t want to ask Zara what kind of drugs were fuelling tonight's party, you weren’t interested in that, nor were you dressed for the occasion.

“Thanks for doing your job.” You curse sarcastically at the doorman dressed as a tiger as you pass him, finally escaping the lust thickened air. It’s just as humid outside, heavy clouds threatening rain block out any stars you might be able to see on a night like this.

“Hey!” Your eyes land on the man, your new target, running with poor form. Under the streetlights you can make out that his hair is silver, clearly not a very experienced pickpocket to have such identifiable features.

One plus of the club being so private was there was nowhere to lose him, it was situated directly on the waterfront, nestled amongst either empty warehouses, or ones used for the weapons and drugs trade. A glimmering gemstone in a pile of broken glass.

You knew how to run in heels, but these expensive ones had little give in comparison to the cheap ones you had gotten used to training and completing missions in over the years. You should be faster than this, should have caught him before he even left the club, but you quickly close the distance between you both regardless.

He’s thin, more bone than muscle, so it takes far less effort than you’re used to for you to grip onto his leather jacket and push him against the closest wall with enough force for a loud metallic echo as he slams against the warehouse.

A clatter at your feet signals that he’s smart enough to drop your purse, trembling hands raising in surrender. How weak, not even putting up a fight was pathetic, he was-

He was just… a kid. Wide brown eyes were weighed down by heavy dark circles beneath them, flaky animal makeup tells you he clearly didn’t belong in that club.

You have no proof behind it, but lately you’re beginning to suspect one of the doormen was letting pickpockets in in order for a cut of the taking. You make a mental note to tell Zara your suspicions.

Pushing down everything you’ve ever learned, you drop your hands from his jacket, lip curling in a restrained snarl.

“Go home.”

He had to be no older than eighteen at a guess, shrinking back against the wall even after you let him go. You’re not even threatened enough to put you off bending down to collect your purse, open, but at least containing all the money from your job earlier tonight. A routine bounty, a cheating husband tied up in a hotel room a few streets away, polaroids of him and his mistress on the bed and a room number texted to the wife who hired you.

It was easy work compared to what you had spent years doing. At least you were the one directly being paid for it too.

“Don’t have one.”

His quiet admission makes your jaw tense, but you don’t look up at him, continuing to count the money you already knew was there.

It would be ignorant of you to tell him to not turn to crime, to not get in trouble, you know this. You know what it's like to be an animal caged up, to be hungry around others who dripped wealth and threw back glasses of champagne without a care in the world.

Madripoor is a big legal grey area, it’ll be hypocritical to tell him otherwise… that’s why everyone who was here, is here.

You dig your heel into the ground, thunder echoing somewhere in the distance. It will start raining soon.

He’s still staring at you when you pull your eyes away from the purse. Your face remains unchanged but there’s a bitter taste in your mouth, some stale sense of recognition at the look in his eyes. You spent enough years seeing it in your own.

Maybe there was some part of you that was honestly good, that made you pull the notes from your purse, but you doubted it. No part of you was ever willing to do the right thing without motivation. Maybe you just wanted to feel less guilty.

You offer two notes to him, high numbers printed on the corner of them and his eyes widen, not with greed, but surprise. Gratitude.

“Take this, there’s a hotel two streets over, you know the one with a french name with the creepy statues on the top?”

The boy nods, brown eyes flicking between you and the money, a scarred hand reaching up to take the notes. It goes against your selfish instincts to let it go.

“Ask for Lena, she should be working at the front desk but if she isn’t, tell them you need to speak with her, and that Amy sent you.”

The boy stares at the notes in his hand as you rezip your purse and grip it with newfound possessiveness, like a dog with a bone.

“And you’re Amy?”

“Sure.” You shrug. There’s one of many ID’s in your wallet and a duffle bag currently stuffed under your floorboards which has the name Amy on. All of them are skins that you could slip into and pretend is your own for as long as needed. Amy is nice, and kind, and has helped the owner of the hotel on plenty of occasions that favours are owed.

Amy was the type to cash them in on some troubled youth in a dangerous city.

He doesn’t say thank you, just stuffs the cash into his jacket, keeps his silver head down, and walks away. You don’t care enough to watch him go.

It’s barely a two minute walk back to the club, lingering at the door are two women painted to look like serpents who regard you with curious, narrowed eyes over their cigarettes. They know you don’t belong here with them, not cut from the same golden cloth, but you earned your spot in these walls, the owners know who you are, and that is enough in a place like this.

You stuff your purse into your jacket as a car pulls up, more people dressed as an array of animals spilling out of its doors. You trail in behind them, making sure you shoot the dirtiest look at the bouncers possible on your way back inside.

Under the multicoloured glow of neon lights and writhing bodies, you don’t need animal makeup to feel like one amongst the rest of them.

Zara’s eyes are already on you before you reach the bar, wavy golden wig and eagle mask making her look fierce, like a true bird of prey, but you know too much of her personality by now to consider her as little more than a blackbird.

“Everyone else is lucky they don’t have enough clothes on to carry a purse, otherwise they’d be getting pickpocketed too.” You grumble as you take a seat to the corner of the bar, somewhere the lights won't flash on you and you could half shield yourself behind a fake palm tree.

“Did you hand his ass to him?” Zara asks, retrieving your bag from beneath the counter and passing it back to you, along with your half drank glass of coke, the ice now melted. You don’t care enough to ask her for another one.

The look you give her is self explanatory, confident, and it earns you a smirk. Zara didn’t need to know that you let him go, you can keep that secret to yourself.

You trace along the newly formed condensation on the outside of the glass, relishing in the cold droplets that cling to your skin, the heat is beginning to get to you during these summer months, even the rain is warm and suffocating.

“I’m starting to think the doormen are letting them in, that some of them are splitting whatever these pickpockets are taking, maybe it's…”

Zara’s face has fallen at your theory, her grip on the glass she was polishing turns shaky, only slightly. But it's enough.

She’s in on it.

“Seriously, Zara?!” You don’t need to lower your voice due to the loud music, but you do it anyway to avoid drawing any potential attention. Most of the time you didn’t care if people got themselves hurt breaking whatever rules there were in this city - only those cut out for the punishment would take the risk, but you knew Zara was not one of them.

Maybe she isn’t a blackbird, more of a magpie stealing away shiny things. You couldn't, and wouldn’t, judge her for it. You’d done far worse, but you could handle yourself, you didn’t have the same confidence in your feathered bartender.

Zara pouts at you, glossy red lips perfectly downturned beneath the beak of her mask.

“Hey, I didn’t know he was gonna go for you, promise!” She pleads, the wings on her costume curling around her arms as she reaches out to grab your clenched fish in assurance.

The closest thing you had to a friend in this city was going to get herself killed if the owners of the club found out. You’d met them only once, on your first week here when some group had refused to pay the club for a shipment of some trendy new party drug, likely synthesised in the underbelly of the city.

You had been the fifth person they had sent after the group but the first to get results, you’ve never failed at any task given to you before, and you’re sure you’d die before you ever will.

A wad of cash and pills were waiting for you at the tiny apartment you were staying in that night, the latter of the payment had been quickly discarded, and the money went into finding a safer place in the city to live. Any cash after that ended up stuffed into the duffle bag, some false idea you could eventually leave here willingly, or that you might have enough if you ever needed to run - like before.

Zara clearly didn’t have those same self-preservation skills.

“Let me buy you a real drink to make up for it? It can be one of the top shelf cocktails, won’t even taste like alcohol - promise!”

“No.” You pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to fight against the promise of an oncoming headache. She knew you didn’t drink, not in places like this at least.

“Just… give me your phone so I can watch the news again.” You unfold your hand, and she places her phone back into it.

You have to blink three times to make sure you're not hallucinating.

“What happened to New York?” The city had been black barely ten minutes ago, shaky camera footage had played tiny specks of people trying to run for their lives. “It looks… normal again?”

On the news there’s no sign of whatever attack had been happening before, no one screaming in terror, only what looks to be some broken concrete and construction damage before it switches to non-live playback. The screen was no longer playing shaky footage of strangers, but instead it now focused on someone in fitted, professional clothing. Someone you knew.

Valentina Allegra De Fontaine.

It had been a few months since she last reached out to you with work, some of which you turned down, most of it you didn’t. She’s clearly nervous, but unlike most people she hides it well through practiced smiles and crowd pleasing jokes.

Zara’s next words are so casual that she could be giving you a weather update.

“Oh, that, yeah… you were gone for ten minutes and they announced a new Avengers team.”

The phone clatters on the marble bar top, your grip turning loose.

“What? What are you talking about? The avengers have been gone for like-” You do the mental math in your head, recalling the day the world crumbled to dust around you and rebuilt itself before your very eyes. The many weeks of tributes to Iron Man you had watched on the news with an empty chest. “Three years now.”

You never believed in much in this world, but a small part of you believed in them. People who weren’t like you. Heroes, ones who were truly good.

“I’m not kidding, look.”

Zara types something into the search bar before thrusting her phone back to you, a bright screen flooded with articles providing live updates on the new Avengers lineup, people already digging into each of their backgrounds within minutes.

You couldn’t even focus on the screen to read past two names - Congressman Barnes and John Walker. A pop up stops you from seeing the other names, asking for a subscription to the newspaper so you can read the rest, you try to click backwards, but a buzzing sound from your bag makes you freeze.

The only phone you owned, and only one person had the number to it.

Zara, who has momentarily stepped away to serve someone, calls over to you without breaking her focus on the champagne she’s pouring.

“Oh yeah, by the way, that brick you call a phone kept ringing when you were gone, you might want to answer it.”

You fish the item from your bag, where it had been zipped in a side pocket since its last use, half surprised the battery hadn’t died.

“I need to go take this, but hey,” You pause to face her, pulling your bag onto your shoulder. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, you know me, always am.” She shoots you a cheery wink, a playful smile on her mouth, confident. You didn’t want to be the one to tell her what would happen if the owners found out what she was turning a blind eye to.

Breaking away from the hiding spot in the corner of the bar, you make your way through the crowd once more, couples kissing, some of them doing much more than kissing. You pass the same private room with the zebra painted woman, who was now straddling a man painted grey in an elephant mask, and quickly avert your eyes.

You weren’t averse to the act of sex, but you couldn’t fathom enjoying it so… hungrily. Not like the people here could.

In a last second decision, you pause before the doors, phone buzzing in hand when your eyes land on Zara, time slowing for a few seconds.

You didn’t know at that moment, it would be the last time you would see her. Half leaning over the bar to flirt with a woman resembling a wolf.

And then, you walk out, leaving the thick air, glaring lights and booming music behind.

Pushing through a crowd of new arrivals you grip the phone in your hand and catch a glimpse of the moon peeking down at you through the crowds. Your thumb presses the key with the flaked off green call symbol, and you raise it to your ear.

“Why haven’t you picked up your phone?!” A tense voice greets you, not sounding as happy as you would expect for the woman responsible for bringing the Avengers back.

“Kinda busy, Valentina, and it seems you are too.”

Your heels echo as you walk along the waterfront, passing the spot you had pinned the boy against one of the warehouses, only stopping once you were far enough that the doormen couldn’t hear you.

“Get your things.”

The image of your duffle bag flashes in your mind and your mouth dries up.

“Is someone looking for me?”

You knew she had promised to keep people off your back, anyone who might come looking, and as far as you were aware that wasn’t something that had happened so far. Muscles are tensing beneath your skin, ready to run, to flee another city you hadn’t even attempted to make a home in after three years.

“No. You’re moving.” You could almost hear Valentina rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“Moving? If I’m safe, why am I-”

“There’s a plane waiting for you, it leaves in thirty-three minutes from the far airstrip outside the city. I've sent a car to get you there. Be on it.” Valentina gives you no chance to argue before hanging up. This isn’t one of her choice missions, it’s an order. Money could buy you a lot of things in Madripoor… but apparently freedom isn’t really one of them.

You know where she wants you to go, the same place she had flown you in after the blip. Somewhere you wouldn’t be tracked - but why? If you aren’t being hunted down by anyone on her radar, why does she want you out of here?

You remember the boy's eyes when you gave him the money… like you handed him a life jacket in a storm. Perhaps this was your own lifejacket, and you didn’t need to fight to stay afloat anymore. You didn’t trust Valentina’s intentions entirely, but you trusted her to keep you alive.

Raindrops are beginning to fall from the sky by the time a car pulls up behind you, the driver calling your real name. The one only Valentina knew.

The tainted water washes you clean.

The Watchtower - April 20th 2027

You don’t know how to accept being vulnerable apparently, relying on machines and nurses and medication stronger than the jumbo bottles of ibuprofen.

If you refuse to take the medication by mouth, a syringe is injected into the IV line in your hand anyways, rendering your attempts at fighting the medical team useless. Three days have passed in a blur since your strange nightmare sequence after the nurses restrained you. By the time you had woken up fully, you were free to move.

‘She’s too weak to do any damage anyway.’ That’s what the nurse had said on your last evening in the medical bay of the tower, as if you weren’t there, dazed but still awake just inches to her right.

It’s not like you would have been able to get out of that bed with the tube in your side during that time anyway. According to the surgeon who operated on you, the bullet had embedded itself in your shattered ribs and caused your lung to collapse from the pressure, so they needed to drain the air from your chest.

He only tells you this after you threaten to pull it out for a third time and make weak attempts to push away the nurses checking the bandages so that two more are called to hold your hands down.

Now though, you were alone.

There’s no Yelena here cupping your face, no phantom ghosts with weapons beating you into submission, but also no imaginary Bob to hold your hand.

It was a shame that was the only dream he had visited you in the three - technically, four - days since you got shot. Part of you wishes your brain was willing to allow you that comfort of fake Bob’s touch again, now that you were effectively isolated.

Not that you would admit this.

Visitors have been deemed too ‘distressing’ by the doctor in charge of your care during those first few days, but that doesn’t stop Valentina from overriding that particular medical order this evening.

“You’re a walking PR nightmare, do you even care about that?” You almost died and her biggest concern was the magazines, of course.

She’s pacing a hole at the foot of your bed as you watch her with disinterested eyes, her face red with evident pent up stress that’s been building from days of not being able to tear into you over getting injured.

“You’ve made this team look weak - how do you think every other criminal organisation will look at you guys now if any barely trained guy with a gun can take down an Avenger!”

“‘This team’?” If you had the energy to, you would throw up some air quotations right now. Her words burn you, having the effect of a red flag being waved in front of a bull.

“Didn’t realise you were on the team Val, since when does illegal human experimentation and attempted murder make you qualified to be an Avenger.”

You don’t even sound like yourself, too bitter, too hurt, and you nearly choke on the words.

They don’t seem to have the effect you even intended, because Valentina smiles and it’s sickly sweet. You could snarl and bite and bare your teeth all you liked, and it would only prove her point further.

“Clearly you aren’t ready to be back in the team briefings if you can’t play nice,” Valentina glares, arms folding like a stern not-so-motherly mother. She couldn’t technically stop you herself… but a whisper in the ear of the doctor would be enough to force you into a longer bedrest.

Valentina takes slow steps over to the side of the bed you’re laying in, and bends down to your height, reminding you of a snake, or a lioness staring at injured prey.

“You know that all I brought you on this team for was a little balance to soften the lineup, just a pretty face I plucked out from an already employed stack of many options.”

A pretty face… just like you were before.

The worst part is that it’s the truth, and that’s an all too-bitter pill than you can manage to swallow right now. You aren’t special. There isn’t anything that made you deserving to wear the avengers symbol on your uniform.

You keep your chin up, eyes narrow and steady, like the cuts from her words were a mere inconvenience, that’s all they are.

“So if you can’t be that, I will find a replacement, and I’m sure the rest of this team won't mind.”

It was no secret that every person on the team was prone to self destructive behaviour, no person of their sound mind would run into gunfire like you did, but it was gunfire that now landed you into this exact situation.

It was your fault… were the rest of the team just as angry as her for your impulsivity?

Valentina leaves after that, ushered out by the arrival of the nurse coming to take your nighttime observations of your blood pressure and pain levels. Her words are still playing on a feedback loop for the next day, and somehow you feel worse. The wound in your side aches more, the failure of the mission makes the nausea intensify, and the pain medication suspends you in empty limbo. If it weren’t for the alarm going off every few hours as a reminder to take the damned pills, you would be sure that no time was passing at all.

“Good morning!”

Your eyes open robotically, adjusting to the room as you blink, momentarily forgetting where you are as the room spins around you. The painkillers must have thrown you into another dreamless sleep because sunlight is threatening to seep through the blind and one of the nameless nurses who had been in charge of you was making her way to them.

“No- Leave them closed.” The words leave your mouth a bit more panicked than you intend for them to.

“Right… light sensitive still?” You can pick up the sound of her tapping on a tablet, presumably updating the care notes.

Even the action of nodding makes you want to vomit. The pain from the bullet wound and collapsed lung was bad, sure, but this was the concussion from hell. Unlike the ones you had before, this one lingered even five days later now, barely kept at bay by the nausea suppressants and laying in a dark room.

“Hm, not unusual, sometimes concussion effects can last for several weeks.” Her chipper tone doesn’t help the delivery of this news to you.

“Great.” Your jaw tenses, sending a spike of pain through your temple.

You don’t fight her when she takes your arm to measure your blood pressure, clenching your fist quietly when the cuff squeezes on bruises.

“Sorry sweetie.” The nurse mumbles an apology when she removes the cuff and passes you two of your pills, one for pain and one for nausea. You take them without complaint, swallowing them down with a bitter electrolyte solution.

This is your chance to ask her, tapping away on her screen to update your care notes. You knew you only had about twenty seconds before she would leave to retrieve your breakfast from the cafeteria.

“Are there… any updates on when I’m allowed visitors yet?” You bite down once more and ignore the pain, praying you didn’t sound as needy as you did in your head.

Out of the corner of your eye, her fingers stop moving and she looks up at you with a frown.

“Oh, well, from what I can see here that order was lifted two days ago when we moved you out of the medical bay.”

Oh.

“Maybe they’re just… giving you space?”

Or distancing themselves.

Valentina was right. The team were probably still angry at you for fucking up the easiest hostage recovery ever, disobeying orders, and causing the whole team to look like a laughing stock to the public.

The only people you had seen since leaving the medical bay - aside from Val if she even counted as a person since she was practically half shark or viper - were the nurses who helped you shower and practice your physical therapy exercises when you weren’t silently glaring at them, untrusting after they had restrained you to a bed.

Being alone was better than letting the others see just how weak you really were.

After a few beats of silence on your end, the nurse speaks up again, a false cheery tone returning. “I’ll go get your Oatmeal, your notes say you didn’t eat your dinner last night, I’m sure you must be starving!”

When the door closes, confirming her departure, you feel sicker than ever.

You never had a problem with loneliness before joining this team. You were content to be on your own with a half friendly bartender who didn’t even know your real name after three years.

Has anyone you know from Madripoor seen your face on the news? Laughed at a screen showing you in a team outfit knowing you didn’t belong in the lineup?

You try not to think of those times much anymore, the isolation in a crowded city, the work you put yourself through just to stay alive. It was easy to not think about all of it when you were surrounded by your team members, joking together on missions, fighting for a purpose and not your own selfish needs.

Today though, the blinds remained closed, blocking out the rest of the world to leave your room in this perpetual state of darkness that wasn’t too harsh on your eyes, and you have no choice but to think about all of it.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner go half eaten, collected by a different member of your care team each time with a robotic ‘How did you like it?’, which you never reply to. You’re too busy making plans to return to Madripoor once the inevitable happens and you’re removed from the team. If the new owner of your old apartment hadn’t redone the flooring, you might be able to sneak back in to retrieve your duffle bag and your backup identities inside of it. Sure, it will be harder to go under the radar now when you’ve been a public identity for so long, but you have enough savings, legitimate ones, to buy yourself a remote life. You can deal with being alone if it were your choice… you can handle leaving-

You flinch when the tablet beside your bed buzzes.

‘Evening pain medication x 2’

Was it that time already?

You glance towards the blinds, seeing no light glow around the edges, the sun must have set already. You shuffle up the pillow and reach for the buzzing tablet, knocking something to the floor in the process.

“Fuck.”

The object makes a soft rattle when it hits the carpet, and you watch in annoyance as the small pill bottle rolls away, taunting you.

Come and get me.

You would have to ask the doctors if personifying judgemental pill bottles was a side effect of the medication inside.

Right - you can do this. Just remember your PT exercises, ignore the blinding pain in your ribs that almost makes you pass out every time you need to move, stand up without passing out, get the pills. Easy peasy.

“Don’t, I’ll get it-”

You were about to brace yourself for the pain of sitting up when someone else is scooping the bottle up off the carpet. You had been so focused on doing it yourself, you didn’t even notice the sound of your bedroom door opening and a nurse coming in.

Only, it wasn’t a nurse.

John, dressed in sweatpants and branded ‘New Avengers’ t-shirt, squints at the bottle, flicking on your night lamp despite his enhanced vision. Within seconds, it already makes your head hurt. Too much. Too bright. His voice only adds to it.

If it were yesterday, before Valentina, before you were told any of them could have visited and didn't, you might have reacted differently. But now? You need to be alone.

“Pain meds suck, I hurt my leg once playing football, it’s kind of a funny story,” John huffs a laugh, a practiced charming smile showing off dazzling teeth, “You see, there was this guy-“

It’s all too much, too grating on your senses, riling up your concussion. You just wanted it to stop.

“Just give me the fucking pills John.”

The conversation with your teammate was dead just five seconds in. John’s smile falls, and he blinks in surprise at your unexpected tone. You didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but you still said it.

You open your mouth to apologise, but nothing comes out, words dying before they even hit your tongue, and you grit your teeth instead.

“Jesus.” John mutters, placing the bottle in your hand, and you don’t miss the way his eye twitches at the shake in it. Weak. You were the weakest team member, maybe the rest of them were coming to their senses now in line with Valentina, nothing personal, you were just a liability.

You’re quick to twist off the loosened cap, dumping two into your hand, and reaching for your half empty glass of water, flicking off the lamp first.

“We were gonna watch a movie, it’s Bob's turn to choose, he’s been wanting to watch Star Wars for weeks, but he said he thought you might like-“

“I’m tired.” You bring the glass to your lips, the bitter taste of the pills tainting the water as you swallow them down and place the glass back on your nightstand with more force than necessary.

You’re probably capable of getting to the main living area, it would take a little help in case you got dizzy, but you could do it. You just don’t want to. You can’t want to. Can’t be around a team of heroes that you had failed at being a part of.

“Okay,” John's jaw tenses and he nods, turning his back to you. “I uh, I guess I’ll tell them maybe next week.”

Would you still be living here next week? Or would Val have you sent away.

You’re gone to the world before he even closes the door, leaving you in the dark void of your room, surrendering to dreams of years in lonely apartments in neon cities, quarter-full closets and empty picture frames.

You don’t even wake to the sound of the gentle knock on your door, a low and concerned voice calling your name through the wood.

You’re staring at the time on your phone before you realise that you’re fully awake, far away from the places you dreamed of.

There was a sound in the room that wasn’t the background noise of your TV. There’s something… gnawing?

You squint at the darkness, waiting for it to come to life as you pinpoint where the noise is coming from. Nighttime paints your room in cool, blue tones, so the orange hallway light is a giveaway that your door must have been opened, and you already know what the noise must be.

Slowly, you put weight on your good side to lean across the unused side of your bed, peering over the edge.

“How did you get in here?” Alpine blinks slowly up at you, caught in the act of chewing on the edge of one of your books she had knocked from your desk.

She meows up at you, beginning to purr when she spots you, and it’s hard to stay mad at her for more than a few seconds.

On the floor next to her, with its corner chewed at is a book. ‘Origami for Kids.’ The pages of it were warped by rain, stuck together and useless, but you still kept it.

Christmas music and ice cold rain threaten your memories, and you blink them away quickly.

Alpine provides a distraction and jumps up to the edge of your bed, nuzzling her head against your arm as her claws begin to dig into your bedding.

“No, c’mon, your dad will be looking for you.” You groan at her, like she could possibly understand your reasoning that she’s supposed to be in Bucky’s room.

As far as you were aware, she couldn’t open doors, although you wouldn’t put it past Bucky to train her to do so. You could swear you remember John closing your door fully, but maybe the pain medication was making you misremember.

She plants herself on your legs, and you sigh. Carefully you return to your half elevated sleeping position, pointing sternly in her face and she sniffs at your fingertip.

“Fine. Just one night, and that’s it.”

You fall asleep like that, hands buried in her fur, at least feeling a little bit less lonely.

The Watchtower - 11th December 2026 - 10:49pm

“You okay?”

Bucky, the man who seemed to have a permanent worry line between his brows, turns his face at your approach. His broad frame is leaning against the metal and glass railing at the edge of the balcony, phone clutched tightly in his metal grip you almost worry the screen might break.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Which in Bucky language, meant that something was very wrong, and lately it was often the same thing.

“...Is it Sam?”

You know he’s trying to sort things out with his friend, the new Captain America (much to John’s bitterness about Sam not needing the serum to hold the title), and if Bucky’s face right now was anything to go off, things weren’t going well.

“He’s setting up his own Avengers team, he uh… doesn’t exactly approve of this one.”

You rest your forearms against the chilly metal, fixing your eyes on the sparkling lights that were set up especially for the tower Christmas party that was ongoing in the penthouse behind you. Tonight, your stylist had settled on a simple black dress with a low cut, sparkling neckline, the skirt was flowy, stopping just above your knees, and was crafted from rich silk. One of a kind, and also terrible at keeping you warm the moment you stepped outside to make your escape from the party, as you often did.

Alexei was all too happy to dress as Santa and throw back endless vodka shots with the office workers from the other levels that rarely came into contact with the team. Professionals that wore stiff suits throughout the week had tried to buy you drinks and coax you into flirtatious conversation you were desperate to avoid.

Unfortunately, your usual companion, Bob, had texted to let you know he’d be late and that he was out braving the overcrowded stores for some mid-december gift shopping. Bucky's tense jaw when he excused himself to take a call offered you an out from the party you were forced into staying for an hour, as per the team's agreement with Valentina to smile for cameras and sell the image of the new Avengers to a public who weren’t entirely buying into it five months down the line.

“That’s… not good.” You puff your cheeks out, releasing a cloud of air into the cold night. “Does Valentina know?”

“No.” Bucky pockets his phone with a huff, muscles straining against the velvet suit jacket he’d been dressed in by his own stylist.

You wouldn’t be the one to tell Valentina, trusting Bucky to handle it. A small, selfish, part of you fears for the future of the team, for the home you were beginning to settle into.

“Look, it’s Christmas time, my first one actually, and that means you don’t get to be sad at Christmas.” Bucky turns towards you, more confused than angry about Sam now.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s making his own team,” You place your hands on his shoulders, brushing off some lone pieces of christmas confetti that had settled there from a popped balloon. “What matters is that we still have a team, okay? You guys can still fix things.”

You aren’t good at comforting people, it’s not something that comes naturally to you, the words don’t flow easy or inspirationally. Bucky smiles all the same, understanding the sentiment you were clumsily trying to spell out, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he pulls you into his chest.

An upbeat, muffled christmas song plays over the rare moment of vulnerability between you. You’ve grown close with Bucky, it made perfect sense. The pair of you shared similar experiences of the world, it was only natural that a strong friendship formed out of thin air, similar to the ones you saw on TV and in the movies you could watch now that you could afford to have free time.

But if this was what friendship was like… why did it feel different when Bob hugged you?

“Thanks, Doll.” Bucky grumbles, still half frustrated, but less of a grinch than before.

“Doll now?” You laugh, pulling away from his warmth.

Bucky's cheeks warm and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance at your teasing.

“God you’re so old.” You laugh, shaking your head at him. It was something you noticed, he’d slip into old terms on occasion, when he was less guarded.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He laughs, and although you didn’t share that attraction to him, you could understand why women must have flocked to him in the forties, and why they still do now.

The music from inside gets clearer for a few moments, a sign someone else must have joined the pair of you on the balcony, reinforced when Bucky straightens beside you.

He doesn’t look irritated though, in fact that half formed smile only grows and he nudges you with his elbow and gives you a nod.

“Think someone’s here to see you, I’ll see you later.”

You spin, turning to face the doors as Bucky leaves you standing there.

Standing, red in the face like he’s been running, and in an expensive suit hastily put on and misbuttoned, is Bob. For the briefest moment, he’s frowning, and maybe it’s because he’s not under the intricate ceiling of string lights, but his eyes appear darker, unreadable.

Bucky passes him, and you watch Bob’s face in real time as it corrects itself into a polite smile before he approaches you, his hands folded behind his back.

“You’re late.” You stare at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, but you fight back a smile at his evident nervousness.

“I know- Sorry-” He clasps a hand over the back of his neck, sheepishly fixing his hair into place.

“You left me to the wolves.” You sigh dramatically as more people spill outside, but thankfully spread out in groups along the outdoor space, too preoccupied with their own conversations to notice you and Bob.

“Well… let me make it up to you?”

There's the smallest shake of his hand when he pulls something flat and shiny from behind his back, a silver bow on the centre of it.

“Is that a present?” You walk forward to meet him halfway, a smile brightening up your face.

“You’re supposed to save the presents for Christmas, Bob.”

“I know, I know- But it’s not anything big, I swear.” He hands it to you, clearing his throat when you take it in your hands.

The gift wrapping is messy, a sign he’s done it himself and you laugh at the sheer amount of tape on the back you have to tear at to open it.

Turning the item over in your hands, you read the title a few times and half notice him gripping the smooth metal edge of the balcony, knuckles turning white.

“Origami for kids?”

“I remember you saying you weren’t good at crocheting, or uh, drawing, and I was a bad teacher last time, so…” Bob trails off, unsure of your reaction and you clutch the book to your chest with one hand, your other finding his on the metal bar, warm against your own.

“I love it, thank you.”

You really did.

“Your hands are freezing…” Bob frowns, and he takes both of your hands in his own, larger ones, covering them easily. “Maybe I should have got you gloves instead.”

Bob, as he does with most things, does it without thinking. He’s so focused on warming you up that he’s pulling your hands to his mouth and blowing warm air on them whilst he rubs his hands along yours. It’s so casual, the way his lips brush against your fingertips accidentally, and he only catches on when the book drops to the floor from where it had been tucked beneath your arm.

“No, sorry I lost my grip-” You try to think of something else to excuse it when he drops down to collect the book for you and balances it on the thick edge of a plant pot behind him instead.

“Sorry- I… Here, let me give you-” Bob’s quick to unfasten the mismatched buttons of his suit jacket, already pulling it off.

“No, don’t take your jacket off-”

“I’m warm anyways, it’s fine.” Bob’s draping it over your shoulders, and you’re inhaling his cologne. It’s a new one, you notice. How on earth can you notice something like that? It’s not like you pay attention to what he smells like, no, not at all.

“Yeah but you’re gonna get cold and-”

“Can you stop being stubborn?” The slight laugh that follows his question reassures you that it’s safe to look up at him now, that it won’t be awkward that he just accidentally kissed the skin on your hand, but oh you couldn't be more wrong.

That’s it. Your brain has defied all laws of physics. It’s obviously grown legs and has run away because you’re just staring at him.

But it’s not just at him in general, but at his mouth.

You’ve never thought about it before, not until his lips brushed against your fingertips just fifteen seconds ago. But now it’s all you’re thinking about. And now, some drunk asshole who works on floor fifteen was about to make it worse.

“Hey - lovebirds!”

A whistle from one of the groups that have blended into the background catches your attention.

The man tilts his chin at you with a smirk, his party hat sliding off the back of his head, and your brows knit together in confusion. Slowly, you crane your head up, and see exactly what the man was talking about as he’s pulled back inside by his wife.

No - there was no way. How didn’t you notice?

Directly above you, woven into the Christmas lights over the pair of you like a guillotine threatening to fall on your head, was mistletoe.

“Oh- Shit, sorry, I didn’t see that there-” Bob’s floundering, eyes wide but he doesn't step back, face tilted up towards the offending object like if he stared at it hard enough, it might disappear.

Jumping off the balcony might be more merciful than living through this moment.

He’s still stumbling over hurdles in his sentences when he looks back down to you, buzzing with nervous energy.

In contrast, you’re oddly calm on the surface. You refuse to let it get to you, because the moment you do… then it means something.

You can do it… it doesn’t mean anything. Just grow up, you can do it.

You’re glad you agreed with your stylist on wearing heels, because you don’t think you can manage this without them.

Unlike a few minutes ago, it’s your lips that find his skin now. Nowhere scandalous, just the smooth skin of his cheek. It lasts barely a second, only long enough for you to hear him stop halfway into taking a breath, a curl of his hair falling out of place to tickle your nose, and then you’re pulling back.

You make the mistake of inhaling because his cologne hits you like a bullet, stronger than it was on his jacket, because now it’s mixed directly with how he smells and it’s stealing the air from your lungs, making you dizzy.

Bob knows. He has to, because one of his hands grip your waist and even though you're in a dress and his suit jacket is draped over your shoulders, you can feel the warmth of it through the fabric as he steadies you.

Sometime along the months since the void taking over and the formation of the New Avengers, Bob’s convinced himself that he’s some loaded gun, a black hole that sucks in the light around him. He’s more like the sun to you right now, warm and soft against your skin when his fingers rest against your own.

It’s childish, like you're both school kids on a playground, it’s something innocent even though you’re both far, far, from it.

Your eyes linger on his throat when it swallows, thick and flushed red with heat, matching his face.

Bob licks his lips, the tip of his wet tongue sliding out to wet the skin, shining in the light in contrast to the shadow he casts over you with his height.

“I…”

But then he’s leaning in, and maybe it's the orange glow of the lights above, but you swear for the briefest second there's something gold in his eyes. Molten, and warm, and you don’t deserve it.

No amount of riches could buy you that.

It was in your head, you decide. So you break the glass around you, and take a small step back, looking down at your perfectly warm hands.

“We should go back inside, it’s getting colder out here.”

It has to be some questionable food that makes your stomach turn when his face drops, nothing else. The sick feeling that rises up has to be the result of that, it has nothing to do with the way he had looked at you moments ago compared to now.

“Y-Yeah… wouldn't want you catching a cold.”

Bob gives you a tight lipped smile before leading you back inside, but it does nothing to warm the icy feeling in your chest when you return his jacket back to him without a second glance, your perfume clinging to it like a tiny part of you that didn’t want to let go.

Taglist for series/Bob Reynolds works (please let me know if you would like to be added):

@superrslut

#bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #angst #marvel

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