#mcu confessions

[mcuconfessions]

the loki show was amazing especially loki himself. His character was always great and tom hiddleston was the perfect actor to play him. Loki deserves a happy ending as well

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[blank-potato]

Something Special

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly. Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?” “A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts. The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles. “Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step. Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!” Or You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant. 

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit content, sex plant, sex pollen, p in v, cowgirl/reverse cowgirl, crazy thoughts from horny!reader, Bob's good intentions backfiring

WC: 6.9k

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts earlier this week, and I felt compelled to write something! My Marvel obsession is so back, and I’m so in love with Bob, and consuming so much Thunderbolts fanfiction, I think I’m genuinely going crazy.

Part 2

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Bob teeters on his heels as he looks around the flower shop. He was here to get a gift for you, but he had no idea what you would like. Then, while browsing the camellias, a woman appears, half scaring the life out of him, asking him what he’s looking for, and he tells her as best he knows how.

“I’m looking for something special for someone special.”

“Special, huh?” She replies with a mischievous smile, “I have just the flower for you.”

He watches as she disappears into the recesses of the shop and wonders if he’s making the right decision. 

You were important to him, but maybe flowers were too much; perhaps you would see right through it and see the feelings he was trying (and failing) to hide. The whole team could see it. Alexei kept giving him unsolicited —and mostly unhelpful— advice about it, while John and Ava never missed a chance to tease him whenever they caught him gawking at you. And Yelena and Bucky tried their best to nudge him forward in their own ways; Yelena with blunt encouragement, Bucky with quieter, knowing looks and the occasional grunt that somehow conveyed volumes.

But Bob remained resolute, content with just admiring you from afar.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Ever since you were introduced to the team as their live-in doctor, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. You were a ray of sunshine. Exceptional at your job and had this strange but beautiful quality where you could make anyone feel at ease within seconds of meeting them. 

He felt it firsthand when he walked into the med bay in the Tower. You were sitting there, clipboard in hand, and welcomed him in with a warm smile, motioning for him to sit. He obeyed without a word, nerves already prickling beneath his skin.

“I’m just going to take some blood samples, okay?” you said gently.

His eyes darted around the room—white, sterile walls, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Tests didn’t often lead to good things in his experience, and he felt that this one would be no different. His posture stiffened, and his breath was shallow. But as if sensing his unease, you placed a hand on his arm, steady, reassuring.

“If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m right here. And if you want me to stop, you just go right ahead and tell me.”

Bob nodded slowly, looking into your eyes—your beautiful, beautiful eyes that somehow made the rest of the world fade to background noise.

“I just need you to take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?”

You looked at him with such gentle care, and for a moment, he felt like he’d known you longer than just a minute. It felt crazy how fast he was falling for you, but it was happening all the same.

“Yeah… I can do that,” he replied, voice low.

And he had never been the same.

From that moment on, he’d been falling for you—hard. Making lovey-dovey eyes at you over morning coffee in the communal kitchen, pretending not to watch you when you laughed at someone’s joke, finding excuses to linger a little longer in any room you were in. 

He toys with his watch, waiting for the florist to come back and flinches as he hears crashes and curses. He has half a mind to go and check on her when she suddenly pops out with a crooked smile and her hair askew, presenting the flower to him. 

“Trust me, your girlfriend is going to love this one. Rarest thing in here.”

“She’s…” He stops, watching as the worker flits around the shop, putting the finishing touches on the arrangement. What use was it explaining anyway? How could he put you into words?

It was a strange flower, one he didn’t recognise. Its petals folded into each other. It was unlike any flower he’d ever seen, almost alien. But it was also beautiful, rare and special. Just like you. He buys it in a heartbeat, but the anxiety that follows is sickening. As he goes back to the tower, he thinks about turning around, getting something safer—chocolates, maybe. A coffee voucher. Literally anything else.

‘Maybe it’s not good enough, or what if she hates it?’

He plays with the loose yarn on his sweater as he nervously looks down at the plant. 

‘What if she pretends to like it but actually hates it and, in turn, hates me?’

He overthinks all the way down the street, onto the subway, up the Avengers Tower elevator, until he eventually reaches the door to your office.

Then—three knocks. His heart sinks into his stomach the second his knuckles leave the wood.

The door swings open, with you on the other side of it, a smile blooming on your face as soon as you see him.

“Bob!” You say excitedly. 

You’re clearly happy to see him and hurriedly usher him inside. The rest of the Avengers had been on a mission for the past two days and counting, so it was just you and Bob. It had been quite nice to spend time with him one-on-one. You even had a movie night the night prior, which ended with Bob falling asleep on your shoulder.

“What do you have there?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, catching sight of something he's hiding behind his back.

He hesitates for a beat, then slowly brings it forward, revealing a single, delicate flower—its petals a rich, otherworldly shade of purple, like something from a dream. It’s almost enchanting. You stare at it in awe, momentarily speechless.

“It’s a gift,” he says, placing it on your desk, voice shy but steady. “To celebrate you being here for a year. I… we really appreciate you.”

Your eyes soften at his words. You can see he’s nervous, waiting for your reaction like it might determine the course of his entire week.

But all you feel is warmth. You thought it was so sweet of him to do this for you; it was so thoughtful, so Bob. You’d felt a connection with him from the moment you met, something quiet but persistent that never quite went away.

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. “I love it. Truly.”

You’re probably smiling too much, but when it comes to Bob, you can’t help yourself. You snap out of your loving stare as something flickers in your peripheral vision.

“Is it supposed to glow?” you ask, your eyes narrowing slightly as the petals shimmer faintly, a soft pulse of light running through them like a heartbeat.

“I, uh… I don’t think so?” Bob replies, frowning.

He leans in, squinting at the flower. The glow pulses again. Cautiously, he pokes it with one finger.

The flower twitches.

“It moved,” he says, eyes wide with a mix of fascination and fear.

“What? No way.” You step closer, trying to get a better look, equal parts sceptical and intrigued.

But then it twitches again, its petals bristling at the touch, and both of you freeze.

“…Did you buy this from a normal flower shop?” you ask slowly, eyeing him.

“I thought I did!” Bob says, his voice pitching just a little higher than usual.

You poke it again.

This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly.

Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?”

“A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts.

The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles.

“Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step.

Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!”

In hindsight, the florist did seem a bit sketchy. The shop was tucked away in a dark, back alley, its dim interior lit flickering by lamps that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’70s. The air was thick with a faint smoke that he had to try not to choke on, but in his defence, Bob had just assumed it was part of the shop’s "vintage" aesthetic. 

The flower twitches again, and one of the tendrils gently brushes your desk lamp, knocking it askew.

“We should probably contain that,” you say.

“Or burn it,” Bob offers weakly.

You don’t have enough time to deliberate before they’re coming straight for you. They coordinate a joint attack and grab hold of your shirt. It has a relentless grip on it and tears it apart without a care. In the back of your mind, you have to take a second to mourn one of your favourite work shirts.

The plant, however, is far from done with you. Before you can react, one of its slippery, vine-like tendrils reaches for your wrist, its texture cold and unnervingly smooth. It’s trying to pin you down, the tendril wrapping around your forearm like a slippery snake.

“Bob!” you yell, panic rising in your voice.

Bob springs into action without hesitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you back just in time. But in the chaos, both of you tumble backwards, your feet tangling in each other’s as you fall to the floor.

You land… on top of him.

For a moment, everything stops. Your breath catches, his heart races beneath you, and there’s a stillness, an accidental closeness that makes everything feel like it’s happening in slow motion.

“Well, that was eventful,” you comment, breathless, glancing back over your shoulder at the plant—still twitching, preparing for its next move. The tendrils are growing faster now, more aggressive, and it’s only a matter of time before it tries to grab you again.

“Watch out,” he warns, voice sharp, as he pushes you aside with surprising strength. The moment you’re clear, he rolls to his feet, eyes fixed on the plant.

It lashes out, one of its tendrils reaching for your throat, but Bob is faster, shoving you out of harm’s way just in time.

In the seconds it took you to escape from it, the plant had doubled in size, its tentacles now oozing with a thick, viscous substance. It seemed to pulse, almost alive with an aggressive energy, like it was anticipating its next strike.

The plant gives you no time to catch your breath. Before you can react, it swipes again, this time reaching for Bob’s jeans. With surprising strength, one of the tendrils successfully yanks him to the ground, dragging him closer to its growing mass. The little tendrils begin climbing up the inside of his trousers, slithering toward his legs like they have a mind of their own.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, adrenaline flooding your veins as you rush to grab his hands, pulling with all your strength in a futile attempt to free him. Where are the Avengers when you need them?

Unfortunately, you have no super strength or any useful abilities. Bob’s still being dragged closer, inch by inch. 

But what you do have, is a pretty damn good throwing arm.

You glance around the room, your mind racing for anything you can use. Your eyes land on the lamp on your desk, your favourite one. Bob had always joked about how you wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Without a second thought, you sprint across the room, grab it in one smooth motion, and hurl it toward the plant’s centre of mass.

The lamp flies through the air, and you’re about ready to start celebrating, but just as it’s about to make contact with the plant, the tendrils shift, dodging the attack like it’s alive and aware of what’s coming.

“Crap,” you mutter. "It dodged."

This had to be one of the worst moments of your life. 

Bob tries to crawl away, his muscles screaming in protest as he drags himself across the floor. His mind is a chaotic mess, every thought running a mile a minute. This day wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to give you the gift and see that smile of yours light up your face, not get fondled by a plant monster.

The tendrils continue their relentless pursuit, now reaching the edge of his boxers, squirming and twisting, as if looking for any way to get inside. 

“Hold on, just a second!”

“Please hurry, it’s kind of ticklish,” He blurts out as he writhes on the ground, “And wet.”

They find their way inside his boxers, reaching his dick and starting to wrap their way around it, making him tremble. 

The tentacles continue to secrete that viscous liquid, slick and glistening as they slip up and around his cock, their movements still clumsy, but starting to adapt to what makes him react. Bob struggles beneath its weight, panic flashing in his eyes as the tendrils flick over his sensitive tip, starting to pulse around him.

You’re frozen for a moment, heart racing, watching him fight against the plant’s hold. The air is thick with desperation, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re going to be too late. But then your mind snaps back into focus. This can’t keep going. You need a plan and fast.

You scan the room, eyes darting from the plant to Bob and back again. The papers on your desk, the fire extinguisher near the door, the window—wait. Without wasting another second, you rush over to it, pulling it down with a swift motion. You have no idea if this’ll work, but Bob’s safety is the only thing that matters, and you’d do anything to ensure it.

“Hold on!” you shout, as you aim the nozzle at the base of the plant.

You pull the trigger.

It’s temporarily thwarted, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you see it retreat from Bob’s jeans.

“Come on!” you shout, reaching for Bob and pulling him to his feet. The moment you’ve got a solid grip on him, you both scramble toward safety, adrenaline fuelling your movements.

You rush toward the front door, but just as you reach it, the plant’s vines stretch out, blocking your escape. The thick, twisted tendrils curl around the doorframe, trapping you in. 

You turn on your heels, panic setting in as you dash to the far side of the room. There’s only one other way out, the door that leads to the lab part of your office.

You reach the door, flinging it open just in time, and drag Bob inside with you. As you slam the door shut, you quickly lock it, the sound echoing. The room is dim, but you barely notice the light as you both stand there, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. It’s all you can both hear before you finally break the silence.

“What the fuck?” 

He’s panicking. He’s panicking hard. 

He attempted to do something nice, something to show just how much you mean to him and the rest of the team but instead he got you attacked by a plant that wanted to fuck you. 

“I screwed this up. I’m so sorry. I... I—” He stammers, his voice trembling with regret. He tries to continue, but the words seem to catch in his throat. He’s frustrated, overwhelmed by the situation and the guilt of what just happened.

You immediately notice the signs. The way he's retreating into himself, shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding yours. The guilt and panic are all over his face, and for a moment, you realise how much this is affecting him. He must think you’re mad at him, but you’re not. Not in the slightest. You weren’t even sure if you could be mad at him; he was Bob. 

You take a step forward, placing yourself in his line of sight, standing in front of him. You don’t need to say anything else. You don’t need him to apologise again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” your voice acting as his source of stability, even though you’re both still shaking from the chaos.

But before he can respond, there’s a loud bang against the door. A deep, guttural scraping noise as the plant’s tentacles push against it, trying to force their way inside. They both jump at the sounds, and he tries to curl in on himself, his hands gripping into his hair as he shuts everything out, nothing but his own voice echoing in his head. 

‘Of course, you’d mess this up.’

“Bob, look at me, please.”

‘She probably hates you now.’

He opens his eyes slowly, and you can see it—the fear. The gold in his eyes flickers, a silent reflection of his inner turmoil. He’s been holding it all together for so long, but now, one mistake has him spiralling, and it’s all spilling out in front of you.

He hates that you can see it. The cracks in his composure, the weight of the guilt sinking into his chest. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart in front of you, to let you see just how much he’s struggling with everything.

“I put you in danger,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drops to the floor, shame and regret lacing his words.

You can’t let him carry this alone. You can’t let him drown in his own guilt when you know the truth: it wasn’t his fault. He only wanted to do something nice for you.

You step forward further into his space, cupping his face gently in your hands. His breath catches and you feel his warm skin under your palms, the tension in the air thick but not overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’m alright, aren’t I?”

‘She doesn’t mean it.’

“I try to do one thing, and I just made things worse. I ruined everything—” 

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? I loved the fact that you got me a gift, and we’re going to get out of this.”

You pull him close, and you both embrace each other tightly, the chaos outside fading away for a brief moment as you both seek comfort in the silence of the hug.

But suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, you become acutely aware of every touch, every shift of his body against yours. The warmth of his arms, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, it all feels intensified. It’s like you’re hyper-aware of the sensation of him against you, and it’s overstimulating in a way you weren’t expecting.

You subconsciously nuzzle into his touch, breathing in his scent. He smells so good, you would even describe it as intoxicating. The feeling of him holding you, so close, feels delicious. The feeling of his fingers against your bare skin, mouth-watering.

You lean into him even more, a soft moan slipping out before you catch yourself. The sound barely escapes, but it’s enough to make you freeze. You jerk back from him, heart pounding in your chest.

From the look on his face, he didn’t hear it. Or if he did, he’s pretending not to, but you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your body. The flush spreads down your neck, over your skin, and you can’t stop it.

“We’ll…get through this,” Bob says, agreeing with your earlier words.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter out, still feeling the heat spreading throughout your body. 

Then, as if his panicked brain finally catches up to the situation, Bob’s eyes flick over your form, and his eyes widen just a little when he realises you’re topless, wearing nothing but your bra. His face flushed with embarrassment, and in an instant, he looks away, his cheeks turning a shade of red at the fact that he had just hugged you in this state. Like the gentleman he is, he immediately averts his gaze, trying to give you some privacy.

“Oh. I uh, you should take my sweater.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I–”

Both of you nervously bumble until Bob starts taking off his sweater. The entire thing plays in slow motion.  His hands, a little shaky, reach for the hem. The fabric bunches up in his fingers before he slowly pulls it over his head. 

Bit by bit, his chest and torso are revealed. You can’t help but notice the definition of his muscles and appreciate them greatly. Finally, he hands the sweater to you, his expression nervous but kind. “Here…” he says softly, not looking you directly in the eyes.

Damn it. 

He’s ripped. 

You didn’t know when you woke up this morning that you’d be treated to an impromptu striptease courtesy of Bob Reynolds. You can’t believe all of that was hiding under that knitted sweater. There’s a sudden wave of arousal so strong it almost knocks you clean off your feet. Your eyes wander his sculpted form, and it’s like every part of him was made to drive you crazy. You know you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

“So… how are we planning on taking back my office?” Your words come out breathy, your eyes are still very much fixed on his body, but he seems oblivious to the fact.

“Maybe we can…” He trails off, distracted by the way you were starting to sway, “Hey, are you alright?”

He had now started to become clued into the way you were staring him down like he was a full-course meal. And you’re just happy he couldn’t read your mind because you were thinking the most unhinged things, like how you wanted to lick the sweat off his abs.

“Holy fuck,” You mutter tiredly, shaking the thought away. You were a doctor, damn it, not a degenerate. Or at least not both at the same time. 

“Yeah, I’m just…” You start a sentence that you can’t finish as your body continues to heat up and your desire for him starts to hurt. You just want to be closer to him, and the overwhelming need to touch his abs comes back in full force. You try to focus on something else but just land on his arms and you wondered how’d they feel wrapped around your waist when he’d fuck you. 

“Fuck!” 

You start pacing around the room, trying to get rid of this madness that seemed to be overtaking you. And by pacing it was more of an awkward stumble as bit by bit your limbs turned to rubber and your brain to mush with horny thoughts of Bob. 

You stop moving and drop to the floor, hugging your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you cannot see the hot man, he cannot haunt you. You decide to take deep breaths because that always helps, and try to calm yourself down. You are, however, wearing Bob’s sweater, which smells like him and therefore smells like heaven. You moan, definitely loud enough for him to hear and bury your face in it. 

“Talk to me,” Bob says as he crouches down by your side, the comforting pats on your back feeling more like kisses on the neck. You just wanted to climb him like he’s a tree and live there forever. 

“Need to take this off.” 

You start kicking off your trousers as they start to stick to you, feeling more like sandpaper on your skin. Next, you peel off his sweater and hold it in your hands, resting it against your cheek, breathing it in every so often. 

“I can’t be near you right now.”

“Why?” He asks and if you had your head on straight, you’d state the obvious. Did he not see the fact that you were seconds away from grinding on him?

But you did have to think about what caused this, and there’s only one theory that makes sense. 

“I think the plant you got is a sex plant.”

Bob blinks at you.

“A what?” 

While falling down an internet rabbit hole, you had heard about plants like these with certain properties that lent themselves quite nicely to certain activities. These properties including sex pollen that seemed to only affect you and not him. At a later date, you’d love to run some tests to see why. Maybe it was something in the serum he was given that made him immune to certain things. But all logical thought was being dropkicked out the window right about now, replaced with the need to fuck yourself silly on his dick.

You explain to him the whole sex plant thing as best as you can without going feral. The need to have his hands all over your body was becoming near next to unbearable.

“Why do you know this?”

“God forbid a woman is informed,” You sigh as you fan yourself with the sleeve of his sweater, more of his scent wafting into your face, making you more hungry for him than ever.

“So, how do we fix this?” He asks, desperate to help you out.

“I can just wait it out,” you suggest, knowing full well you couldn’t “wait it out”.  Each second that passed was a second not spent bouncing on Bob’s cock which was a second wasted in your opinion. But this was Bob, your Bob, you didn’t want sex pollen induced horniness to reduce your friendship to rubble. You could see it now. Things would never be the same. No more book chat over morning coffee or late night milkshake runs and you’d be damned if you lost them. 

“You’re burning up.” He places his hand against your forehead, and you whimper at the contact, shocking you both.

“Tell me, what will fix this?” He repeats.

It’s clear that there’s no avoiding it, so you tell him. 

“...sex.”

There’s a heavy silence in the room, only accompanied by the background noise of the plant going on a rampage in your office. It was obvious, sex plant, therefore sex will alleviate the effects of said plant but saying it out loud didn't make it any easier. 

“But I won’t ask that of you. I won’t,” You say firmly. 

Did you want him? Yes, you wanted him bad. Ever since his floppy-haired, doe-eyed, cute self came in for his first check-up. But you didn’t want it under such dire circumstances, with a sex crazed plant trying to knock the door down. You wanted it to mean something. You wanted to know that he liked you as much as you like him.

You watch as Bob’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as if coming to a decision. There’s something in his gaze, something vulnerable but strong at the same time, like he’s finally deciding to take a step forward.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to see you in pain like this.”

You shake your head, the words he says sinking in, but the effects of the sex pollen make it hard to respond.

“I can’t have sex with you like this. It’s not fair on you,” you finally manage, your voice quiet, almost defeated.

Bob’s face softens, his eyes flickering with understanding and something deeper. He steps closer, his tone gentler but unwavering. “It’s worth it if it helps you. You’re hot and shivering. What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?”

The sincerity in his words hits you hard. You feel your throat tighten, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to spill over. You’ve always known Bob cared about you, but hearing that he was willing to do this for you was something else. 

“Bob…” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it.

He stops himself then, looking away for a moment, his own vulnerability creeping to the surface. "I care about you. I…" He trails off, a deep breath escaping him as if he's preparing himself for what’s to come. “I like you.”

You're struggling to find the words as the one thing you’ve been wanting to hear is finally said.

“You like me?”

Bob looks down, his eyes shifting nervously, afraid that he might be ruining everything.

“I like you too,” You admit. “You have no idea how much.”

Not wanting the moment to pass you by, you cup his face and kiss him like you’ve never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and needy, your hands gliding over his body with such urgency. All that pent-up need and tension came out in this one kiss. You cling onto each other like kissing is the last thing you’ll ever do. 

You pull back, looking at him, his cheeks slightly flushed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, your voice a mix of uncertainty and hope.

Instead of responding, he pulls you back in, his hands gentle but insistent, bringing you closer once more. Then, before you can say anything else, he lays you back down on the floor, his body hovering over yours.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers, before leaning back in, his lips brushing against yours once more.

You smile into the kiss and wrap your legs around his waist from beneath him. 

You shiver as his hands travel up your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. It’s clumsy at first, fumbling with the hooks, the fabric catching between his fingers.

“Oh yeah, this one’s a nightmare to take off,” you comment, remembering the countless times you’d try to undo the clasps before giving up and just pulling it over your head instead. You chuckle lightly at the memory, tension easing for just a second.

“I think I almost got it,” he says, determination in his voice. Finally, after a few more attempts, he gets the clasp undone, tossing it aside with a small sigh of relief.

You feel a warmth spread through you, as look up at him.

“You’re perfect,” he says softly, his lips finding their way to your neck. The way he touches you, the way his hands move, everything feels electric, like every little action is charged with more meaning than you ever expected.

His hands wander down towards your panties next, rubbing at your core through them. He can feel that you’ve already soaked through them, your desperation no laughing matter. 

He knows that because you immediately trap his hand between your thighs and start lifting your hips to rub against it.

His eyes widen as he watches you roll your hips, so completely wrecked, and you’d barely even gotten started. This was a whole new side of you that he could get used to. 

“You need to let go of my hand for me to touch you,” Bob says, and you reluctantly do, only because you know he’s gonna give you something better.

He pulls off your panties and is met with the most beautiful sight. 

“You’re so wet,” he comments spreading open your dripping pussy and flicking at your clit.

He slowly inserts his fingers and smiles at how easily they slip in. “You can take two already,” he says and almost in awe as your walls clench around him. You’re mewling and twitching with every swipe of his fingers, your wetness spilling around them. His fingers are so thick and he stretches you out so good, you wonder how your own fingers ever felt like enough. 

“So good,” You whine out, and he feels encouraged to ever stop making you feel like this. 

He curls them inside of you, brushing against your sensitive spot over and over again, making you squeal. You start to squirm, but he holds you still, his thigh and spare hand keeping you spread open for him. 

He starts reassuring you with soothing circles on your thigh, “Right there?”

You blink away the haze and nod, “Yeah, keep going.”

He repeats his actions, his fingers threatening to bring you to an orgasm so fast that you’re almost embarrassed. 

“Need you so bad,” You whisper as you thrust back against his fingers, desperate to have more of him. You’d take his whole fist if he’d give it to you. 

“I need more than just your fingers.”

He looks up at you. This was a huge step, but one you were both ready to take.

“Condom?”

“I’m on birth control,” You say, and thankfully, you were. It’s not like you had a condom on you; they were in your purse, which was in the room with the raging tentacle monster.

He pulls off his jeans and boxers and he’s left exposed in front of you. He feels vulnerable, but he knows he can trust you.

“Ready?” You ask him and he replies with a breathy, “Yeah,” before laying a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

He lines himself up with your hole, which is actively trying to suck him in as he pushes into you slowly. The relief of feeling him inside of you is so good, the sound of his moans as he bottoms out inside of you is just as good. 

He starts thrusting into you deeply, as you grip his shoulders. It felt better than anything you’ve ever done with anyone else. It was partly the sex pollen, but more than anything, it was because it was him. You were finally with him after months upon months of pining. Finally able to feel his skin beneath your fingertips, to hear his moans vibrate against your skin, to lean his forehead against yours as he ruts into you. It was slow but passionate, as you finally confirmed how you both feel about each other. 

You feel like you were on another planet, but you wanted to experience every part of this man, so you whisper in his ear, “Wanna ride you.”

You’ve never seen him move so fast, in seconds you’re sitting up right, warming his cock as his lips attacking your neck.

You’re about to start moving when he stops you. 

“Just a second.”

You sit there, desperate to feel him moving inside you, but if he says to wait, then you’ll wait. He cups one of your boobs in his hands and his tongue flicking around your areola just enough to tease you.

“Bob…” You whine out, and he smiles up at you, and it’s one of his dopey smiles that makes your heart melt. Then as if you couldn’t feel any more sensitive, he starts sucking on your nipple, his eyes closed in pure focus and concentration. You fully scream, your legs quivering and walls fluttering around his cock. His tongue was working overtime, and you felt like you could come undone with just this. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” You cry out as you pull closer by his hair.

“You’re so dramatic,” He laughs before going back to his ministrations, determined to make you lose your mind. 

“Just like that,” You cry out as you wrap your arms around his neck. You shake and tremble so much that you just have to start riding him. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own.

Bob rests his head in the crook of your neck as you work his cock up and down between your folds.  “You feel so good.” His voice is shaky and needy as he’s unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure you’re giving him. His legs were shaking with how good it felt, and it was an ego boost to say one thing. 

“Wait a second,” he says before he holds your hips up and starts thrusting up into you from below, giving you everything he’s got. 

“Oh Bob…”

The feeling is so overwhelming that you start to cry, tears flowing down your cheeks, each one showing just how good he was giving it to you. But seeing your tears, he stops immediately, wiping them from your eyes. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

His eyebrows are furrowed with a concern plastered on his face, worried that he had hurt you.

You shake your head profusely, “Keep going. I’m crying because it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

With some renewed confidence, he continues thrusting into you, and it’s your turn to rest your head against his neck.

He whispers against your ear, “You feel so good.”

“Wanna turn around for me?”

“O-okay,” You stutter out, your mind half in the clouds as he spins you around and you land back on his dick, reverse cowgirl.

“Holy shit,” he says as he starts pounding into you again. You feel him so deep inside of you, you never want him to leave. 

You feel him gripping onto your ass so you imagine the view must be good. 

“Harder?”

“Yes, fuck please,” You reply immediately. The way he was thrusting up inside of you had you crying out for mercy, and if he wanted to go harder, you’d let him. He picks up the pace, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours is music to your ears. 

“So good, you’re such…” He stops for a moment, and you can hear him hesitate, but you suppose his internal thoughts won out as he finishes his sentence, “Such a good girl.”

And you’d be lying if those words, escaping his lips, in his voice, didn’t make you want to explode.

Then he slows down before pulling out of you, you’re about to whine and complain, but he intercepts that. 

“Can you hold onto me?” He asks, and you do it immediately, desperate to feel him on you again. You suddenly feel yourself being lifted into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He effortlessly lifts you over and lays you down on an examination table.

He lines himself up with your hole again and thrusts right into it, not holding back one bit. Your body is shaking and trembling with each thrust, and you’re screaming his name with each one.

“So good, so good,” he repeats like a mantra, like he can’t think of anything else but you.

He lifts your hips, tilting your pelvis and hitting your G-spot dead on, and you almost choke on your spit.  You’re not even sure what comes out of your mouth; you just know it’s not of this world. You head lolls to the side as you drool for his cock to be fed deeper into you. 

“Right there, right there, right…”, You bluster out before being cut off by your own scream. 

You weren’t going to last much longer; in fact, you’re surprised you lasted this long. You just needed one final thing to put you over the edge. 

“B-bob. Put…put your hand here,” You say guiding his hand above your stomach and bite your lip as he presses down feeling his cock inside of you.

“I’m gonna—” You sob before you’re cumming harder than you ever have, calling out for Bob all the while. Bob holds onto your bucking hips as he watches you squirt on his cock. The orgasm that hits you is blinding, your toes curl, your fists tighten, and tears fall from your eyes. 

You are gone. 

You’re only brought back to your senses by Bob saying your name and soft kisses on your face. When he sees you’re responsive, he smiles and starts brushing your hair off your face. But then you realise, he’s stopped moving and you absolutely can’t have that. You can still feel him pulsing inside of you and you needed him to cum.

“Keep going,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You sit up closer to you, your fingers gripping his back. 

“Keep going until you’re done with me.”

You needed this, you needed him. You wanted him to fuck you so hard that your pussy remembered him, you wanted him to fill you up so much that just the smell of him would bring you to your knees and that wasn’t just the sex pollen talking. 

“I think I can do this day,” Bob says and that he does. He fucks you against the wall, the window, on the floor, if he had control of his Sentry powers he probably would’ve fucked you in the air too. By the time you’re done, the sex pollen has been well and truly pounded out of your system. 

But your troubles aren’t over. 

The plant knocks down the door with an ominous thud. Menacingly slithering over to the two of you, now triple in size, each tentacle bigger that the last, and you’re ready to accept your fate. This is how you would go out. Fucked to death by a plant.

The plant starts prodding at you both a tiny bit before pulling back away from you, much to your surprise. Obviously sensing its job was done, it reverts back to its original form in a matter of seconds and sits innocently in its pot. 

You guess your troubles are over. 

“So…can I be your boyfriend?” He asks and you laugh, “What do you think?”

Bob’s face lights up with a grin, and he kisses your cheek, “I think there’s a mess waiting for us in your office.”

“Well, couples that clean together stay together.”

Snuggling into his embrace, you let out a sigh of contentment. Nothing could ruin this day, not when you’d finally made Bob your man.

But, in the distance, you hear the shuffling of footsteps as the team has arrived back from their mission. You hear a faint, “What the fuck?” seemingly from Walker seeing the havoc the plant made but you’re too content in Bob’s arms to care. You’re exactly where you want to be.

Masterlist

[mischievous-thunder]

Worked so well in Wade's favour

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you open my Super Important Documents and its just pictures of charles xavier

[super-hero-confessions]

[firelilyfox]

In your skin

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: After a mission the two of you have to share a room & at first Bucky gets really mad about it but ... he means well.

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: mention of trauma, weapons, sharing a bed, fluff, heart to heart talk, real sad Bucky

Note: english isn't my mother tongue so sorry in advance :)

____________________________________

It got late real fast after the successful mission in Nairobi. 

The African heat gave way to the cool night, making it way more pleasant to find some sleep soon. Part of the Thunderbolts found shelter in a luxury hotel in the middle of the lively city, but there were almost fully booked so the only two rooms left had to be evenly shared. Yelena, Alexei, Bucky and me. 

„I will not let my daughter sleep in a room with another man“, Alexei barked. „No offense Winter Soldier, I have deeply respect for you. But my daughter will be protected from you manly charme by myself.“ His strong russian accent marking the importance of his protectiveness about Yelena. 

„Alexei I’m a grown woman and can protect myself from stupid men“ Yelena says unimpressed. The four of us were standing in the empty hallway, on each side a closed door and fitting keycards in my hands. I look at them and then up at Bucky. He was easily two heads taller than me with a strong disapproval look on his face, but he kept quiet. He was always the quiet one of the group (besides one or two snarky comments from time to time). „You can sleep with him then if you want“, Yelena adds. 

„Don’t be ridiculous. I will not let you out of my sight with this nasty wound. You are my daughter and I will protect-…“ but Alexei couldn’t finish the sentence because Yelena shut his mouth with her own hand. 

„Got it old man. So its the two of us and the two of you then.“ She pointed at me and at Bucky afterwards. I opened my mouth for approval but got interrupted immediately. 

„No fucking way“, Bucky grumbles.  

Okay. Ouch. That was unnecessary and a bit rude. 

Even the farther-daughter duo frowned in confusion. It was true that Bucky and had a …complicated way of acting around each other for the last couple of months. At first I thought we would be good co-workers. He always kept an eye out for me when I started to train with the Thunderbolts because I didn’t knew my way around and had a tendency to stumble into very unfortunate situations. For example that one time in Norway … ugh I rather not think about that. Nonetheless with time passing by he had become more like … a friend I think. Bucky was always there if I needed him - but never too close. Even a little part of me, that I desperately try to suffocate, wants him to be just … closer sometimes. 

„Do I get to tell my opinion in this?“ I ask a bit annoyed by his sudden rudeness. „I have no problem to stay with you in a room.“ He shoots me a deadly look but that doesn’t scare me off. Not the tiniest bit. No clue what his problem his, but I won’t let him push me away like that. If he has something to say, then he can tell me whilst sharing a god damn room. 

„Great! Its settled then. You two get to - ...“ 

„This isn’t an option“, Bucky interrupts Alexei again and this time he almost exploded. His voice had a much deeper and darker ring to it now. But it didn’t made me flinch. It made me mad. 

„Why does everybody interrupts Alexei all the ti-…“ 

„Well I don’t care. Here.“ I handed Yelena and her father one keycard and kept the other one for Bucky and myself. „I’m done with this conversation. Get in here.“ I tell him and opened the door with a soft clicking sound. 

„Have a pleasant night“, Yelena chuckles and disappeared with Alexei in the room across the hallway. Bucky stands still as a stone without any muscle moving. My rage was overflood by hurt. Was it really that awful to share a room with me?  

„I have no idea why its such a problem for you to stay in a room with me. If it’s because I am a woman then I can assure you it’s more than common in this century for a man and a woman to …“ 

„It’s not because of that. I shared a room with a woman before.“ He says and stepped around me into the hotel room. Paying close attention to our arms not touching by accident. 

I closed the door behind me. „Well good for you I guess.“ A little stab of jealousy hit me. „But if it aint that then why -…“ 

„We should get some sleep.“ And just like that there was another sentence that won’t be finished this evening. Great fucking fun. 

We got changed into our nightgowns and by that i mean that Bucky was still wearing his black shirt and boxer. While i got rid of almost every piece of clothing. In my underwear and a simple tanktop I sat down on the bed beside him. His metal arm flexing a few times he looked lost in thoughts. 

„How does it feel?“ I ask before I could stop myself. 

He frowns. „What do you mean?“ 

„I mean do you really feel everything? Like heat when you burn yourself while cooking or the fabric of a blanket?“ No clue why I was bubbling with stupid questions like that out of the blue. Might be the sight of him in boxers that fried my brain a little bit. I’m thankful he isn’t a mindreader. 

A soft smile lays down on his lips. The first since we entered this room. „Yeah. In Wakanda they have some very advanced techniques and great minds who work on stuff like that. I have not the slightest idea how this works.“ He holds his metal hand with the palm up and looks at me. „But it works.“ 

Without any thoughts I lay my hand in his. I expected the metal to be cold and hard. But somehow it felt warm and … real. Like it is more than just a piece of dead materiel. I moved my fingers along the palm and up to his wrist. It was formed exactly like his other arm. Strong and even the muscles were mirrored to the tiniest detail. Something comes over me and out of pure curiosity my other hand finds his real arm to compare the two of them. 

For a moment Bucky stayed completely still. He was not moving at all and I doubt that he was even breathing normal anymore. „Does it feel the same?“ 

He cleared his throat. „No.“ 

„What’s the difference?“ I look up and almost drown in his blue eyes. His face must’ve come closer. Or did I move in his direction? I don’t recall. All I know is that his nose was only inches away from mine, wich means that his lips were… 

„You should get some sleep. Now.“ Bucky rumbles with a husky voice. Within a second he stood up from the bed and moved to the other side of the room. 

There it was. The hurt from before hits me like a truck. 

„You really find me that repulsive?“ 

He opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it and opened it again. All without saying a single word. Understood. „Will you come back?“ I ask instead. 

He has one hand on the doorknob. „Yes. When you are asleep.“ 

And so I did. I cried myself into a dreamless sleep. Drowning in my own self-pity because the guy I like would rather run away in the middle of the night, than share a bed with me. 

A bright crack tore me out of my slumber and I was wide awake in the matter of seconds. But not because of the thunderstorm outside the window. My fingers were curled around something cold and hard. The silhouette of Bucky was calmly sleeping beside me. My senses knew the feeling of this heavy metal and it wasn’t the arm I felt earlier tonight. 

It was a gun. 

A fucking gun in my hand. 

What? 

„Bucky?“, I whisper. „Bucky wake up!“ My voice pitched high, wich made him wake up instantly. 

„What is it? What happened?“ He asks breathlessly, eyes wide in shock, head snapping from side to side to make out any danger. But the only thing what would fall in that category appeared magically in my hand while I was asleep. 

I hold the gun up and waved it slightly. „Hello? Why do i have your gun in my hand?“ 

„Why are you so certain it’s mine, doll?“ His eyes narrow. I try to pull myself together because I didn’t expect him to call me by his pet name for me. He only used it a couple of times before and only when we were alone. 

„Oh please Bucky! I know your guns by heart. So why is it in this god damn bed?“ I shriek. 

He broke the eye contact and shuffled himself into a sitting position. The thin blanket that we both shared shifted down to his lap. Bucky leaned his back against the headboard and let out a deep sigh. „Just in case.“ 

„I beg you pardon?“ 

„Just in case you need it.“ He still has his eyes closed but I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. 

„James Buchanan Barnes you better cut that shitshow and tell me why you put that thing in my hand“, I say as I sit up, not caring that the blanket completely vanished from my body. 

Bucky turned to finally look at me. His expression were serious at first, but then his eyes dart down to my naked legs and at the waistband of my top that slipped up a bit, showing a small gap of my hips and stomach. I could swear to see his throat move as if he had to swallow … hard. And his face transformed from serious to something much more intense. Was it longing or am I now completely loosing my mind? 

„You are the only person I allow to call me like that“, he says with a tight voice. 

„Cut the crap. Now.“ 

Bucky sighs again. „Fuck. Okay fine. The gun is for emergency. In case you have to take me out.“ 

My heart stops beating for a painfully moment. With widened eyes I look at him. He sits there looking so broken, so serious about what he just confessed to me. His sad sad blue eyes studying me, waiting for a response. I know what his reasons are. He has terrible nightmares. Bad ones from his past and even darker ones made from his guilt. 

„The fuck I will.“ With two quick moves I dissemble the gun in its individual parts. Bucky watches me with disbelieve in his eyes. „I refuse to let you think I would ever do that.“ 

„Maybe you will not have a choice when it becomes bad!“ He tries to grab the metal pieces but I throw them away without a second thought. „When the Winter Soldier takes over I can’t guarantee for anything. He could do …“ 

„I don’t give a shit!“ I bark. „You would never hurt me. I know that in my bones.“ 

He lets his hand sink and land on my knee. It needs a lot of self control to not follow it with my eyes. „You’re right. I would never. But he could.“ 

I lean forward, just a little to make my point clear. „I trust you.“ 

„You shouldn’t.“ His voice was nothing more than a whisper. I could feel it brushing over my cheeks. „I’m a threat.“ 

I cock my head to the side. „Is that the reason why you didn’t want to share a room with me? Because you were scared that you might attack me in your sleep?“ 

He nods. And my heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. His hair falls in strains into his face making him look even more exhausted than ever. I've come to thinking about the fact that his mind had to be constantly in stay alert mode. 

„Do you ever let yourself catch a break, Bucky?“ 

At first he stays completely still. Then a deep, tired sigh. And when he finally looks up to answer he da the saddest smile on his face that I’ve ever laid eyes on. „I don’t think so, doll. Can’t remember.“ 

I reach forward to place my palm above his heart. It beats slow but a little uneven - as if my touch had an effect on him too. „You deserve to feel safe for at least one night. You deserve so much more than that.“ I leaned in his direction, let my body sink against his and gave him the chance to slowly get used to so much skin to skin contact. But he didn’t hesitate as I thought he would do. Instead Bucky pulled me so close that I imagined to morph fully into him. Melt together and finally feel complete. 

His metal arm laid wrapped around me and gave me the support I needed. His other hand placed at the back of my head - fingers tangled up into my hair. I feel his body relax beneath me and a little smile appeared on my lips. 

„Nothing I could do would ever made me deserve you, doll.“ His words rushed my system like a big tidal wave and i shook my head up from his chest to look at him. 

„You don’t have to do anything. Bucky you already own my heart. And you truly deserve it.“ 

He smiled softly. I could feel his hand on my head pulling me closer up to him. I obey happily. „I will take good care of it, doll. I promise to be worthy for you.“ 

„I know because you already are.“ 

Bucky kissed me. His lips were touching mine with such softness I almost cried. Hands so tender and carefully holding me while his mouth claiming my whole consciousness. I leaned into him to feel as much of him as I could. He deepened the kiss and I let out a sigh of relief. I swear I could feel him smile against my lips.

I know I will never get tired of this. Ever. 

———————

Thanks for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙(Please don’t copy my work)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist 🦾

[fallen-w1ngs]

[ flower shop of new feelings ]

[ 10 : finally ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : none, other than the fact this is the last part of my series <3

|| wc: 3.0k

Bucky, like the gentleman he is, brought you to the Tower via motorcycle. Instructing you to hold on tight as he drove you both in the short time it took to get there. You did as he said, your arms nicely wrapped around his waist as you hid your face into his back.

Once you reached there, with wobbly knees you stepped off the vehicle. Almost stumbling down to ‘gracefully’ face plant into the cement, Bucky grabbed your shoulders and hugged you close to his chest. “Woah there, doll.”

“Sorry- sorry! I’ve never been on a.. Anything like that before.” You chuckled as you let yourself get held by him as he guided you into the building. His arm squeezes around you protectively. You almost allowed yourself to fantasize. Almost.

“You ready to meet them?” Bucky asked, though it felt more like he was asking himself as you both stepped into the elevator. “It’ll just be Steve, Sam ‘n Natalia.”

“I.. Suppose I have to be ready!”

“I can drive you home if you want,” The words he spoke had no indication of shaming you. “The last thing I want is for y’to get uncomfortable.”

You looked up at him and smiled softly at him. Taking his hand into yours and squeezing it as comfort. “I’ll never be uncomfortable around you. Plus, I’m your friend, they’re your friends, we should probably meet.”

Right. Right! Of course, this was.. A friend's meeting. Not like you’re his partner or anything.

Bucky nodded and pulled his arm away from you. Pushing his hands into his pockets as he muttered. “‘Course, ‘course.”

A small silence fell upon the both of you as you waited for the elevator to get to the floor where the dinner was held. Like Bucky said, it wasn’t fancy, not like those Stark parties you’d seen on the news. No. It’s just a friend get-together.. Where you only knew one person.. And the other three were world renowned heroes. This.. This’ll be fine.

“Stop overthinkin’.” Bucky shot a slight smirk your way, though softened as he nudged you with his shoulder. “They’ll like you.. A lot.”

“I hope so.”

Just like that, the elevator door whirred open and you were subjected to the bright light of the.. Massive area. It was a living room, big TV on the left and a big couch that could probably fit 15 people if you tried hard enough. The walls weren’t actual walls, but windows, giving the best view of NYC, and to the right was the kitchen and dining table.. There, a pot of what smelled like spaghetti sat on the table and Sam, Steve and Natasha (or Natalia as James called her) sat, all engulfed in their own conversations before turning to both you and Bucky.

Steve, the star spangled man himself, stood up first, the brightest smile on his face as he approached you both. “If it isn’t Buck’s secret! It’s nice to meet you, [Name]!”

“Ha.. You’re Captain America..” You muttered to yourself as you put your hand out for the blonde to shake. Which he ended up ignoring and instead went in for a hug. Much to your surprise, you had no complaints though.. He was very warm, and it felt like you were being trapped in a bear hug.

“Let them go, Steve, you’ll scare them.” A woman’s voice cut through the silence of the hug that was very much straining your lungs. Steve hesitated before letting you go, his cheeks pinked from embarrassment as he backed away, meeting his friends. That’s when Bucky put his hand on the small of your back, something that always seemed to make your heart start beating faster.

“[Name],” Your eyes flickered between Bucky and his friends as he introduced you all. “This is Steve, Natalia, and Sam.”

“Just call me Nat.” Natasha opted for the more normal approach of shaking your hand. Her grip was strong, very firm, and she had the softest hands with just the smallest bit of roughness.

“Will do, Nat.”

You were pulled away from the handshake as you heard a small hum from Sam, when you fully looked at him, he had his eyes narrowed to you. Looking you up and down- not in a weird way, no, but as a.. Skeptical way. Maybe just a hint of curiosity.

“.. You’re so.. Normal.” He muttered, earning a light smack on his arm and a glare from Steve. “Ow! Hey- what?”

“Don’t be rude, Sam.” Nat teased.

“It’s true!” He huffed and smiled at you. “I mean, Buck’s so.. Closed off and all. How’d a normal person like you wiggle your way into his heart?”

“Okay! That’s enough, Sam.” Bucky grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him into the dining area. The three of you, you, Steve, and Nat, followed them both. Taking this as a sign to start eating.

“.. Do you have strawberries in there?” Steve asked in a hushed voice, pointing to the bowl covered in saran wrap in one of your arms. Honestly, you forgot you even had them.

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, do you like them?”

“Yeah, they’re good.” He grinned before his eyes flickered over to Bucky. “They’re Buck’s favourite though.”

—

“So, I heard you’re a florist?” Sam asked as he munched down on Wanda’s leftover lasagna, much too nervous to even try a bite out of Bucky’s spaghetti. The same went for Natasha and Steve, though Steve had some untouched noodles on his plate. Bucky even had more lasagna than spaghetti, made you confused. The spaghetti was delicious.

“Yes, I own a shop like.. 15 minutes away from here? I-I think.” You poked the noodles on your plate with your fork as you answered, much too nervous to even make eye contact for more than 5 seconds. Thank god, you were seated besides Bucky. He nudged your foot underneath the table with his, a way to ground you. “I’ve had it for a couple of years now.”

“Yeah? How’d you get into that business?” Nat piped up as she took a bite out of the garlic bread. Perfectly seasoned, nice and crunchy on the outside but soft on the inside.

“Oh, my mom loved to garden when I was a kid and she taught me how to grow my own flowers. I think that’s where my small obsession started.” You chuckled, giving a lazy shrug.

“My mom kept a small garden in our backyard when I was a kid.” Steve said with a grin with those pearly whites. Man, he’s such a golden retriever. “I could barely help, not a green thumb like you.”

“That’s also ‘cause you couldn’t lift a bucket of fertilizer, Steve” Bucky had a smug grin on his face as he recounted the old times. You loved hearing about his life back in the 20s-40s, yes, you knew that man wasn’t your Bucky.. But come on, it’s so interesting to even think about his past. “You had the smallest twig arms.”

“You weren’t any better!” The blonde laughed, throwing his head back as he did. “You had small arms too!”

“Yeah, but I was the fastest runner. You couldn’t even breathe right, punk.”

As if a small kid, Steve stuck his tongue out to the other super soldier with a grin before munching back down on some more lasagna. “Jerk.”

The table fell silent after that, not uncomfortable, not tense.. Nothing like your past family reunion dinners, it just flowed nicely as everyone calmly ate the food. As that happened, under the table, Bucky’s hand found yours. Giving a small squeeze of comfort or encouragement. Quickly, you twisted your hands around, pressing them together in a tight hold. He was so warm. Something that made the warmth in your chest grow hotter.

—

By the time dinner had ended, the four of you all migrated over to the living room where Natasha held a flute filled with, you’re guessing, white wine. Both Sam and Steve held beer cans, despite only one of the duo having the ability to get drunk off of beer alone. No, Steve needed the special stuff from Thor… A small part of you was curious on what the effects were, but you decided not to dig further.

All of you were kinda scattered in the living room, Steve sat on the recliner chair, as if an old grandpa.. God, he’s old enough to be someone’s grandpa, it’s crazy. Natasha sat on one side of the couch as Sam sat on the opposite, while you and Bucky shared a beanbag. As inconspicuous as Bucky could be, his arm was wrapped around your waist, his metal one holding up his own soda can. He.. Didn’t like the taste of beer.

“Wait, wait, wait,” You snorted as you took another sip of the white wine and a munch on one of the fruits you’d broughten. “So you’re telling me, Sam had to go undercover.. As a dancer for one of your missions?”

“I’m a great dancer!” Sam huffed out.

“No denying it, Wilson?”

“Hey, I’m an open house, all my secrets are out in the open.”

“I’m sure you were great, Sam.” You chuckled behind your glass. “What type of dancer did you have to go undercover as? Tap? Hip-hop? Swing?”

“We should go swinging sometime..” You heard Bucky mutter, which.. Made your cheeks flush, but you paid no mind to it.

“You wanna tell them, Wilson?” Steve grinned as Sam groaned, biting the inside of his cheek as he muttered something unintelligible. Steve, in turn, laughed. “Couldn’t quite hear ya, buddy!”

“Ballet.”

To that, the three Avengers started laughing loudly. It confused you, why would they be laughing at this? Ballet dancers were graceful, beautiful. And Sam seemed to match those two categories with what you’ve watched on TV. Bucky leaned close to you, still chuckling as he whispered.

“He had to dance with sixth graders.. And he still looked like a duckling learning to fly!” He snorted, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he laughed. You started to laugh, though small and quiet, still there. Just the idea of an AVENGER having to dance with a bunch of 10 year olds was so comical, especially for a mission.

Once everyone calmed down, Sam sighed loudly and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.. But you could see the small smile on his face.

Conversation flowed like a river between the four of you. Speaking of past memories, good times, families and such. You shared how you had to babysit Peter and how he used to make a mess of everything when you attempted to feed him. Steve shared how he had to babysit Bucky’s sister at one point, and she hid in the tree in the backyard, nearly giving him a heart attack.

In the whole time you all spoke, Bucky had the softest smile on his face, whenever you weren’t looking at him, he was staring at you.. The most love in his eyes as he watched you laugh, speak with your hands and gossip with the rest of his friends.

This.

This was what he’d always dreamt of.

Someone to have by his side, someone who got along with the most important people in his life. Someone who he could go steady with, be soft with. His arm wrapped around your waist as he leaned back in the beanbag. Oh, how he had to fight himself from dragging you outside and kiss you senseless.

Ah, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever, god, he’d never want to do anything you didn’t like. That’s what he’s scared of, disappointing you, making you uncomfortable.. Making you scared of him. That’s the last thing he’d ever want.

“How’d you guys meet?” Natasha pointed between both you and Bucky, snapping him out of his own head.

“He came into my shop and needed a gift for his friend uh.. Clint, right?” You turned to him and he nodded in confirmation. “After that we just.. Couldn’t stop running into each other!”

“More like he couldn’t keep himself from them.” Natasha whispered over to Steve, only loud enough for both the super soldiers to hear. You and Sam on the other hand were oblivious to this and started your own conversation, talking about the best places to visit for vacation. Something neither you, nor him, had the privilege of having since.. Well, for a long time.

—

The rest of the night went without a hitch, and once it hit 11:00 PM, everyone decided.. Yeah, okay, it’s late enough and everyone was tired, so you’d head home. Of course, only being dropped off by Bucky, ever the gentleman.

You made your goodbyes, exchanged numbers with everyone and spared a hug for all of them before you and Bucky headed for the elevator. His hand was still holding yours as you watched the light go down each floor. You leaned against him, you didn’t drink enough wine to be all drunk or even tipsy. Just enough to feel tired though. He didn’t mind, nor did he say anything. He just let you lean on him, hold his arm tightly as you let your eyes close for a moment.

When you both reached the car, he helped you in. Muttering “There you go, sweetheart.” as he buckled you up into the passenger seat. God, if your cheeks weren’t already flushed, that would’ve done it.

Instead of the motorbike he drove you in, he opted to use one of Starks cars. Grumbling something along the lines of cars being safer or something. Apparently, all the Avengers were allowed to use one of his cars. Man, this is one of the times you wished you were an Avenger, just to have the ability to use one of Starks’ cars.

The drive back was quiet, the low hum of the radio only filling the silence. With how late it was, there weren’t many people out, traffic was low. You swore you heard him hum along to a slow song. Maybe it was a modern song Sam showed him, maybe it was a throwback song to the 40s. You didn’t know.

What you did know was that his voice was so calming. Calming enough for you to drift to sleep, even on this quick drive.

In a blink of an eye, you were parked in front of your apartment complex. Bucky had the back of his head resting on his headrest, his eyes still awake and watching you. “Hey, sweetheart.” He said in a hushed tone as he saw you wake up. “Y’have a good nap?”

“Sorry, James,” You ran a hand through your hair, pushing the strands out of your face. “Guess I’m more tired than I realized.”

“Y’want me to walk you up? Make sure you don’t fall asleep on the stairs?”

You let out a quiet snort as your nose scrunched up. “My hero.”

“You know it.” He said with a smug grin before climbing out of the car and walking around the front to open your door. “A gentleman too.”

“I’m swooning.” You giggled and held onto his hand as he lead you into the building. Using his keycard to get in, the spare one you insisted he keep.

As you both walked to the elevator to go up to your floor, your mind raced. Just realizing how Bucky had intigrated into your life.. How seamless it was. He had a spare outfit in your apartment, spare toothbrush, you kept some snacks you knew he loved, and he made sure to leave a henley or hoodie for you to keep, since he knew how you loved them.

“James..” You said in a hushed tone, looking up to him as you both listened to the shitty elevator music. He hummed in response, and you continued. “Y’know.. I dunno if this is the wine making me emotional, but.. I just wanted to say I’m happy you’re in my life.”

Bucky smiled at you, rubbing the top of your hand with his thumb. “Yeah? The same goes with me, doll.”

The elevator opened with a ding and Bucky lead you down the hallway as you kept rambling, your voice hushed as you both reached your apartment door. “You.. You’re like.. My best friend. You’re everywhere in my life, I always think of you, I wonder about you a lot.”

“Is.. That a good thing?” He grinned down at you as he opened your door, the both of you standing in front of it.

“Very good thing.. But I’m scared.” You whispered, looking down at your interlocked hands. He stayed silent, hanging on your words. “.. I had a really good night today.. Like, crazy good. Not just ‘cause I met your friends, but because I was with you. I’m always happy around you.. I..”

You paused, looking up at him.. Your heart was beating quicker by the second as you realized what you were doing. Something you’ve thought of so much, but never expected to do. A possibility, no a fantasy, never expecting it to be a reality.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

That’s when Bucky’s brain short-circuited. He knew he’s been flirty, that you’ve been flirty at times too.. But god, he never realized he’d hear those words leave your lips.

“Really?” He mumbled in disbelief. His hands squeezing around yours.

“Y.. Yeah.” You said with a small smile, lettinh out a small chuckle as you nodded quickly. “Yeah.. I am.”

Before either you or him could say anything, his lips were on top of yours. Warmth flooding your body as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. The kiss wasn’t quick or sensual, no.. It was slow, steady, something new but something not unwelcomed. You only pulled away to take a breath, but not far, his forehead was pressed against yours as you both took a second.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” He said with a grin, his voice soft and teasing as you kept yourself pressed against him.

And that’s all you needed. Just those small words to make your world feel full again. Your issues, your outside problems felt so small at this moment. Because now?

Finally, finally, you could give your flowers to a man you love instead of a customer.

– the end.

|| MARK THE DAY BOYS, FLOWER SHOP OF NEW FEELINGS IS OFFICIALLY FINISHED!!

|| i just wanna say, thank you to everyone who was invested in this story and supported this :)! im glad to have brought some fluff into this world, and don't expect this is the last you see of me!!!! with summer, i'll be writing a bunch of fics, oneshots, new series, im working on 'escapism' right now too! anyways. Thank you for reading <3

taglist : @iyskgd , @highhopes1008 , @purplefluffycows , @averagetmblrusser , @herejustforbuckybarnes , @turbulentwreck

[ultranumb-mask]

Collateral // Final

Pairing: John "U.S. Agent" Walker x You Summary: The pressure that’s been building too long is finally breaking loose. You turn into collateral in each other’s war. There’s no room left for mercy. Warning: you both are immatures, language, a fight (?), someone's getting all touchy touchy, mentions of blood, Bob is a sweetheart Word Count: 1,709

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Final

The medbay is quiet in the antiseptic way only military installations can be — fluorescent lights hum like old tension, the air is too still, every surface wiped clean of anything resembling comfort. You sit on the edge of the gurney, stripped down to your undershirt, blood-stiffened fabric cut away from your shoulder where the plasma burn sears a line through skin and pride. The gauze stings. The antiseptic is worse. You don’t flinch. Across from you, John sits on another gurney — ribs taped, lip stitched, shirt off, bruises blooming like smoke across his ribs and collarbone. A medic just leaves, muttering something about rehydration and self-destructive behavior. Neither of you replies. The silence is heavier here than it is behind those lockdown doors. Because now there is no excuse. You watch him as he reaches for a fresh bandage, but his fingers stall halfway — a slight tremor in the motion, too subtle for most, but not for you. You know that kind of exhaustion. The kind that isn’t just physical.

“You still bleed like the rest of us,” you say softly, gaze fixed on the dark line of stitches across his side.

He doesn’t look up.

“Slower than I used to.”

“Stubbornness keeps you alive longer than skill.”

“Then I should be immortal by now.”

Your teeth click together at the bitterness in John’s voice. It isn’t a quip. It’s a warning. And for a second, you almost let it slide.

Almost.

“You know what?” you say, standing abruptly. The pain in your shoulder flares, but you don’t care. “You’re so fucking good at pretending you don’t care. You should teach a class.”

His head lifts, slow. Something flickers across his face — maybe guilt, maybe challenge.

“And you’re so good at pretending you never needed anyone. Maybe we should co-host.”

You bark out a bitter laugh. “Cute.”

“You started this,” he mutters.

“No,” you shoot back. “You did. When you walked out like you’d done your part.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding breath since before the mission. “Because sticking around after that night would’ve made things better?”

“It would’ve been something!”

His voice rises — not loud, just frayed. “You said nothing. Just stared at me like I’d lit the wrong fuse.”

“Because I didn’t know what the hell to say!” you snap, stepping forward.

“You still don’t,” he growls. “But sure — let’s blame me for everything. That’s easier, right?”

Your hand flies out — not to hit, not really. More like a lash of grief — and it connects with the tray at your side. The metal crashes to the floor. Bandages, sealed vials, a pack of gauze explode across the tile in a mess of motion. A small glass bottle shatters. The sound is louder than it should be. It echoes.

John flinches, jaw clenching, but doesn’t move.

“Great,” he mutters. “Now we’re breaking shit.”

“Oh really?” you hiss. “Thought you started it when you broke us.”

He laughs — bitter, ragged — and steps forward. “Don’t flatter yourself. There was no ‘us.’”

Wrong thing to say.

You shove him — flat palm to bare chest — hard. Hard enough to make the pain in your shoulder spike white, but not hard enough to move him. He’s solid, tense. He doesn’t budge.

But the contact breaks something.

In you.

In him.

He lunges forward, grabbing at your arms. You twist, slam your forearm against his ribs — a blind strike. He grunts, grabs for your side, tries to hold you back, but you’re already pushing again, chest to chest, both of you off balance now.

Your boot kicks the metal leg of a stool. It topples, crashes to the tile with a hollow clang.

You barely notice.

“You done?” he snarls.

You laugh — bitter, breathless. “Not even close.”

You don’t wait. You slam into him again, shoulder-first, a reckless shove that knocks him back a step. He meets it — and matches. Slams forward. Bodies collide, stumble, scramble for footing. Your back hits the edge of the gurney — hard enough to jar your breath — and then you’re clawing at him, trying to push him off.

“You act like I’m the only one who fucked this up,” you growl, struggling against his grip. “Like everything just happened to you.”

“You’re rewriting it!” he shouts. “You think I vanished because it was easy? I left because I didn’t know what version of me I’d become if I stayed!”

“Oh, poor fucking you,” you spit. “Self-control too fragile to survive a little honesty?”

“No,” he bites out. “Too dangerous. For you.”

“You’re not a bomb, John. You’re a coward—with too much fucking muscle!”

That hits.

He surges forward — not to punch, but to overpower. He grabs your arms, pushes you back, trying to wrestle control. But you twist out again, grab his shoulder, dig your nails into the bruises already blooming there. He hisses, pain and fury sparking in his eyes.

“You want the real version of me?” His hands twitch — not hesitation anymore, just the last flicker before the fuse burns out. “Fine.”

He lunges. You meet him halfway.

Your bodies crash together with bruising force, no finesse, no thought — all heat and muscle and pain. He grabs your arms, and you twist free; your shoulder howls but you don’t stop. You drive forward, slam him into the edge of the gurney. It rattles.

He grunts, pushes back, shoves you sideways — you lose footing on something slick underfoot, a packet of torn gauze maybe — and suddenly you’re going down, locked together in motion too fast to stop.

The floor slams up into your spine.

Air punches from your lungs.

“You son of a—!”

“You drive me insane!” he roars, his voice scraping the edge of control. His breath is hot against your face, lips close enough to taste the fury still clinging to them.

“Good!” you shout, and you’re not even sure if it’s a triumph or a dare.

You're wild beneath him, furious and broken open, and you know he’s the same. Your fingers tremble with the need to hit him, hold him, hurt him, heal him—anything that will make the storm inside stop.

“Do you even understand what you do to people?” you hiss, your voice shaking with fury and something worse. “You waltz in, set everything on fire, and then vanish like your absence is some kind of favor! You left and I hated for it!”

His jaw tightens. “Good,” he says, voice low and ragged. “Maybe now we’re even.”

But there’s no space between you anymore. His hand moves, not with clarity, but compulsion — cupping the back of your neck like he’s not sure whether he’s about to shake you or kiss you. Maybe both.

His forehead presses to yours, sweaty, bruised, furious.

“You fucking ruined me,” he mutters — not accusing. Confessing.

You’re breathing like you’ve been running for days, even though neither of you’s moved an inch. His fingers tighten, then slip and drop to the floor beside your head. You arch up just enough to press your chest into his, matching his tension with your own, a collision of equal force and fracture.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls, voice breaking now, not with weakness — but restraint. “Say it — and I’m gone”

But you don’t.

Because everything inside you is screaming, don’t you dare.

Your eyes lock — not like lovers, not yet. Like rivals. Like soldiers who’ve met on too many battlefields, and this is just one more with fewer bullets and more breat and whatever comes next isn't a decision — it’s an instinct.

He kisses you — hard, rough, no hesitation. You grab his face, fingers digging into stubble and bone, and kiss him back like you want to tear the silence out of his throat. Like it’s punishment. Like it’s forgiveness. Like it’s both and neither.

His hands find your back, pull you forward like he needs more — more skin, more breath, more you — and he brushes the edge of your burned shoulder in the chaos.

You hiss in pain, break the kiss with a sharp intake of breath.

He jerks back, horror and hunger both breaking in his eyes. “Shit.”

“I’m fine,” you pant.

“You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.”

You pull him back in — because fuck the pain. This hurts less than not touching him.

He obeys, collides with you again, like maybe kissing is the only language either of you still knows. And neither of you has the strength left for translation.It’s messy now — teeth, tongue, breath. No rhythm. No grace. Just raw, stupid need.

“You should’ve said something,” you growl against his lips.

“I did!”

“Not then! Before! When I still had a chance to— to not care this much!”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to!” His voice cracks, still pressed against your mouth.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

You bite his lip.

He groans, a guttural thing, hands gripping your hips now like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again. Like you’re some dream he doesn’t trust not to disappear with the next blink.

And you are kissing again, impossibly close, like rage has folded into desperation, into grief, into everything.

Until—

CRASH.

The medbay doors slam open with an explosion of boots and voices.

“What the hell—?”

Yelena’s voice cuts through the steam of the room. She stops dead at the threshold, Ava right behind her, both frozen mid-step.

There’s a pause — a long one — as they take in the state of the room: the overturned stool, the dropped bandage tray, shattered glass on the floor, the monitors blinking error codes from ripped-out cables.

And in the center — you and John, pressed chest to chest, blood and bruises and adrenaline. Caught mid-motion. Mid-everything.

No one speaks.

Except Bob.

He steps in last, late and unhurried, chewing on a protein bar like this is just another Tuesday. His gaze slides across the chaos, lands on John, then on you, then back again. He chews. Swallows.

Then, with the calm of a man who’s seen a thousand worse things, he shrugs.

“Well. Guess we don’t have to worry about Walker anymore.”

˙·٠•●Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ●•٠·˙˙·٠•●Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ●•٠·˙˙·٠•●Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ●•٠·˙˙·٠•●Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ●•٠·˙˙·٠•●Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ●•٠·˙

a/n: thank you all for staying so long 'till the end. it was never meant to be something full since it's all started with a dream but here we are. i'm sorry for any mistakes, haven't been writing for so many years and now I owe it to Walker and you!

[crazypanbookworm]

Hey there, I was wondering if you could do a Pietro x Reader where the reader is more shy and introverted and Pietro struggles with asking her out/getting to know her but they eventually confess their feelings after the heat goes out at the Avengers compound? I hope this is a good request and not too specific or not specific enough!

Confession in the dark - Pietro Maximoff

Pairing : Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Warning : none just fluff, swearing

PS : I hope I understood your request correctly (english is not my first language). You said heat so it's light and heating devices in the tower right?

Btw I tried to make this work with any ethnicity, hope I didn't miss anything lmk if you find something bad.

"Wanda, please."

"It is the third time you've asked that today Pietro, and for the last time : I will not look through Y/n's mind to see if she likes you !"

"But-"

"No buts ! If you want her, you have to figure out her feelings by yourself. Plus, she is one of my closest friend, and I will not invade her privacy unless it's a life or death matter."

It was thursday afternoon in the Avengers tower, and the Maximoff siblings were in the kitchen of the fifth floor. Per usual, Wanda was cooking dinner for the team while Pietro followed her around, begging her once again to look in your mind and find the nature of your feelings for him. He had been dropping hints for quite a time now and you didn't seem to catch them. Every time he gave you a compliment or teased you a little you would smile and keep doing what you were doing. To be honest, he was starting to lose hope that you would ever see him as more than a friend. But his sister was right : if he never tried, he would never know. At that moment, he decided that he would tell you as soon as he got the occasion.

------------- Your POV ---------------------------------------

You were reading in your room on the sixth floor, relaxing after diner and the long training session you had done this afternoon. Although you loved your friends dearly, a bit of alone time was much needed for the introvert you were. But as much as you tried to focus on the words in front of you, your mind kept wandering back to a certain speedster, thinking about the interactions you'd had with him. You had already analyzed every scene and conversation, but you kept coming back to those memories, mentally cursing yourself for everything embarassing you had said to Pietro. You recalled a time when he'd called you pretty and you had started to stutter, mumbling a "Thank you" before fleeing as fast as you could. The idea that he might like you crossed your mind but you pushed it away : Pietro was flirty, outgoing and impatient, he couldn't possibly like you. Suddenly, the lights went off. Confused, you went to check the heater : off as well. As you walked out of your room with the intention of finding Tony, Jarvis spoke to you :

"Miss L/n, Mr Stark wanted me to inform everybody that the power went off and that he is working on it. As for now, the elevator is unusable, therefore all the residents of this floor are requested to go in room 5 since it's the only one equipped with an emergency heating device."

Curse Tony and his love for technology, there wasn't a single normal staircase in this tower

"Thank you Jarvis"

For a few second, you stood there trying to understand how Jarvis could still be working, but quickly remembered that the AI was supplied by a separate and secret network since someone tried to hack it a few month ago.

You were heading toward room 5 when it hit you that the only one living on the sixth floor except you was Pietro since Wanda moved to the third with Vision. "Shit" was the only word that came to your mind, but you couldn't stay in the hallway. Because of the huge windows, the temperature in the tower was going down quickly and you were rapidly going to be very cold wearing a t-shirt. Reluctantly, you made your way to room 5 and opened the door.

------------- Pietro's POV ---------------------------------------

He was sitting in room 5, trying to start the heater when the door opened. Startled by the noise, he turned his head to see your figure in the doorframe. Without light, he could only make out the reflection of the moonlight in your eyes and the outline of your body, but that was more than enough for him to recognize you. For a second, nothing could be heard in the little sitting room : both of you were frozen, looking at eachother. When he realized this, he cleared his throat and greeted you :

" Hi "

" Hey, you answered, how are you ? "

" Pretty good, except the heater is not working much"

" What ?!"

"No, I mean, it's working but it's still kinda cold in there"

He was fumbling with his words, trying to come up with something to say while also remembering the decision he had taken this afternoon. You were alone in a room, this was his chance. "How am I even going to admit that ?" he thought. Returning his attention to the heating system, he finally set it to the right temperature (or at least the best he could get) before turning back to you. In the meantime, you had sat on the sofa, visbly freezing as goosebumps appeared on your arms.

"You don't have a jacket ?" he asked

You turned your gaze to him : "No I didn't have the presence of mind to do so, maybe I should go back and get one"

"You can't, the temperature dropped very low in the hall. If you get out you'll catch a cold."

Unfortunately, he himself couldn't go either, wearing only his usual t-shirt. You shivered, and a protective impulse took him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you but was too scared to do anything. You wrapped your arms around yourself but another shiver shook your frame. "Oh fuck it" crossed his mind : he got up and sat next to you on the sofa, opening his arms

"Maybe we should share some warmth"

He was mentally praying that the atmosphere wouldn't become weird because of him. To his relief, you simply smiled at him :

"I suppose we could use some additional heat"

------------- Your POV ---------------------------------------

You never thought you would ever end up in Pietro Maximoff's arms but here you were, curled up into his side on the sofa of the room 5. Your cheeks were burning and you were praying that the position wasn't uncomfortable for him. Self-conscious in every way, you thought about your hair, your weight, the way you were seated and every little insecurity you had. Finally, the heat and the comfort the blonde was radiating got the better of your embarrassment and you let yourself relax a little.

"Hum hum"

Breaking the silence, Pietro cleared his throat :

"Can I ask you a question ?"

You tensed once again, scared of what he was about to say.

"Um, sure, go ahead"

The sokovian shifted in his seat to look at you, before asking

"Do you have someone ?"

"Excuse me ?" you nearly choked on your breath

"I'm sorry, forget it, that was stupid"

"Pietro why are you asking this ?"

Looking at him, you saw his face turn bright red while he stuttered

"I-I don't know, I'm sorry"

Your felt a wave of affection wash over you upon seeing this man in such state. The idea that he might like you came back to you, and you realized that if you let this opportunity pass, you woud never get it back. Breathing deeply, you tried to ignore the pressure on your heart and before being able to change your mind, you blurted out

"Do you like me ?"

"What ? No I just- it's - ugh okay yes I do, I'm sorry I can leave if you want I don't want to make this awkward-"

You cut off his rambling before he went on

"Hey Pietro it's ok nothing's awkward"

The young man stopped dead in his track, looking at you with a confused expression. You let out a giggle, amused at the look on his face. All the stress you usually lived with seemed to have disappeared as a wide smile took over your features.

"I like you too"

Bewildered, Pietro started again :

"But I thought you didn't, he said, frowning. I mean, everytime I complimented or teased you, you didn't answer or just thanked me"

"That doesn't mean I didn't like you, I simply thought you were being nice and that you had a flirty personality"

This conversation felt like you had switched places : usually so confident, Pietro was blushing and you became teasy, your habitual shyness going out of the window.

"Really ? You really like me ?" Pietro said, still suspicious

"I do, genuinely, and I have for a long time now"

A huge smile crept onto Pietro's face, a sweet expression appearing in his eyes. The both of you were now face to face, close enough to feel eachother's breath. Boldly, you took his hand in yours

"Can I kiss you ?"

Pietro didn't even bother to answer. Gently taking your face in his hands, he locked eyes with you and slowly, he approached his face until your lips brushed against eachother's. At the contact, you both lost restraint and kissed until you ran out of breath, butterflies wild in your stomach, forgetting about everything else.

Finally, you felt at peace.

[sesamestreep]

13 (Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions) for Matt/Foggy

(from this list of prompts)

Matt wakes up with a violent start, feeling hazy and slow and just wrong somehow. He knows instantly that he’s not in his apartment, because the bed feels different—it smells different, clean in a dull, itchy, cloying way that he doesn’t associate with his usual detergent—and there’s a bunch of sounds that he can’t identify, but they’re not the city sounds he’s accustomed to or the shuffling, mundane sounds of his neighbors going about their lives. There’s people about, certainly, but a lot of them, he thinks, and they sound urgent, even though when they speak, it’s at a whisper and when they move, it’s never at a run. But if he tries to sense much more than that, he just…can’t. It’s like there’s a wall inside his brain and it’s made out of cotton balls. It’s almost nice.

“Did you just say ‘balls…nice…’ to yourself?” Foggy asks, groggily, from his left. Matt realizes belatedly that the heartbeat he’d heard up close was Foggy’s and he’s just so used to it that his mind unconsciously filtered it out as background noise. God help him if Foggy ever goes rogue and tries to smother him (or just comes to his senses and tries it finally), he’ll have an exceptionally easy time getting past Matt’s defenses.

“Cotton balls,” Matt replies, even though that doesn’t really explain anything. Trying to string words together is exceptionally hard at the moment; it’s like the right ones are floating above his head but reaching for them only knocks them further out of his grasp.

Foggy yawns. “Oh, sure,” he says. “You’re in the hospital, by the way. And on massive amounts of painkillers, in case that wasn’t immediately obvious already.”

That explained a lot, including why the world felt so small to him suddenly. Any medication stronger than aspirin dulled the edges of the world for him significantly. His senses just didn’t reach as far and his reflexes were much slower. This is why he avoided painkillers normally. He didn’t enjoy this feeling.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to sit up. His body doesn’t feel terribly sore—thanks to the medication, probably—but it does feel stiff and misused. He’s got a bandage on his forehead and a few on his torso that he can feel and when he shifts—yep, that pulling sensation is stitches. Great.

“I don’t know,” Foggy answers, sharply. “I was really hoping you might be able to shed some light on the matter for me, considering you were there.”

“There was a…trade being made. Down at the docks, a warehouse by the river,” Matt explains, even as the details seem hesitant to rise to the surface. “It was that weapons dealer I’ve been following. Maya tipped me off—Oh, God! Maya!”

“Maya’s fine,” Foggy interrupts. “She’s the one who brought you to me.”

“What? Did she say—?”

“My ASL is trash, Matthew, I don’t know! She texted me from your phone, I came and got you, she disappeared into the night. And looked much cooler doing it than you ever did, can I just say?”

“Is this your way of telling me to get a motorcycle?” Matt quips, holding his ribs.

“God, just what I need!” Foggy grumbles. Even with his dulled senses, Matt can hear the crunch of the bones in Foggy’s neck when he attempts to stretch and wonders how long Foggy’s been sitting there waiting for him to wake up. He feels suddenly very sorry, on top of everything else he’s currently feeling.

“What time is it?” Matt asks, sheepishly.

“Just past four. In the morning, that is.”

It’s not as bad as Matt was expecting, but it’s still not great. “You should go home, Foggy.”

Foggy snorts sarcastically. “Yeah, sure, that’s what I’ll do, buddy. You read my mind.”

“Well, what exactly is the point of you sitting here and watching me sleep? You’ve got—We’ve got clients coming in to—today and you haven’t slept at all, I imagine, and—”

“Karen will handle things at the office,” Foggy cuts in, “and the point of watching you sleep is watching you sleep.”

“That doesn’t…make any sense.”

Foggy doesn’t immediately try to explain himself. Instead, he sits in silence for a long moment, before he laughs. “Do you know, if I had to pick a superpower—any superpower in the world—I’d want to be able to put people to sleep. Instantly.”

“That’s pretty specific,” Matt says, carefully. “And a little silly.”

“Not really,” Foggy says. “I’d knock you out cold every single night. Hell, I’d put you down for afternoon naps here and there too, just to make up for the years you’ve neglected your sleep cycle. And then you wouldn’t be able to go out fighting bad guys every night and cracking your ribs and bruising that pretty face of yours. And I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“But I wouldn’t help anyone anymore, either.”

“Is that how you see it?” Foggy asks, pained. “Is what you do all day with me and Karen that meaningless to you? You think we don’t help anybody?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I think I’d do the world twice as much good knocking you out every night as you’ve ever done as Daredevil,” Foggy spits, as his heart hammers away in his chest.

Matt winces, feeling his shoulders tighten and his blood rush in his ears. It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t hurt Foggy, not for the world. Not physically that is. And he’s not exactly in the right shape to even try it right now, anyway. Still, he doesn’t like that anyone in the world has the cheat codes to make him this angry this quickly. It’s too dangerous.

“Foggy,” he says, breathing through his nose to calm himself down, “I’m the one on drugs right now. I’m the one who’s supposed to be saying shit I can’t take back. Not you.”

“Sorry, Matt, but you wouldn’t even be here, getting proper medical attention, if you had it your way. If you hadn’t been fucking unconscious, you’d have dragged yourself home and treated your fractured ribs and busted skull with baby aspirin! So don’t talk to me about—!”

“Hey, how are we doing in here?” a soothing voice cuts in. A nurse, Matt imagines, based on the unfazed energy and the sound her shoes make on the ground as she crosses to his bed. Foggy’s voice must have started to carry. “Good to see you awake, Mr. Murdock.”

“Thank you,” he replies, mostly to cover Foggy’s scoff.

The nurse proceeds to ask him a bunch of questions about his pain level (which he lies about as naturally as breathing), his symptoms (looking for a concussion that Matt can tell from experience he doesn’t have), and whether there’s anything he needs (to leave right now, but he knows he hasn’t engendered enough goodwill to broach that topic yet). She then looks at his chart and fiddles with his I.V. before urging him to sleep again if he can, which Matt suspects won’t be up to him at all if she, as he imagines, increased his drip.

“Can I speak to you in the hallway for a moment?” she asks, sweetly but with a hidden edge. Matt’s baffled by this for a second before he realizes she’s speaking to Foggy and not him.

Foggy clearly hesitates over whether to indulge her, given what he knows of Matt’s hearing, but clears his throat and eventually responds, “Of course.”

The hallways offers them no privacy from Matt, but it clearly affords the nurse some confidence, because she says, the moment they step out, in an urgent tone: “You know, I should kick you out of here for all that!”

Foggy sighs. “I’m sorry. I know. You made an exception…”

“And I’m regretting it now,” the nurse mutters. “That’s how you talk to your partner after he’s been mugged?!”

“He—this happens a lot more than you’d think…”

“I don’t care if it happens every night! He could have died!”

“I know,” Foggy replies, solemnly, and his tone clearly catches the nurse as unaware as it catches Matt.

“Is there something going on?” she asks, sincerely concerned now. “Are you…hurting him somehow? Do you need help for…something? Anything?”

“No. Nothing like that, I promise. But thank you.”

“Is he hurting himself?” the nurse asks, after a long pause. “Because we can find help for that too.”

“Not…exactly,” Foggy says, and Matt can hear him shifting uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “He’s just not as careful as he should be. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more and put your mind at ease, really, but I can’t.”

The nurse pauses, clearly making sure the coast is clear, because her voice is lower and more conspiratorial when she speaks again. It’s also shaking, for that matter. “Are you in danger?”

Foggy laughs, and then evidently regrets it. “Maybe, but I’ve got…a guardian angel of sorts.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Not to you, no,” Foggy says, and Matt feels himself flush. “I appreciate the concern, but if you make Matt rest for a few more hours and resist his charms when he asks to be allowed to leave, you’ll be helping me more than you can ever imagine.”

“Okay, then. We can make a deal there,” she replies. “You know, I usually have a good sense when it comes to people and I was going to be really mad if I misread you when you came in.”

“How did you read me?”

“Really good boyfriend,” she says, and Matt doesn’t detect the slightest hint of flirtation in her voice, which…doesn’t make any sense, given her words.

“Thank you,” Foggy replies, sincerely. “I’ll keep it down, I promise. I’m sorry for the outburst.”

“You’re worried. It happens.”

“Thanks.”

They part ways, then, with the nurse going off down the hallway and Foggy turning back to linger in the doorway. Matt flops his head back onto the pillows and waits. Foggy comes back in after a moment’s hesitation.

“What was that about?”

“Your dumb ass got me in trouble with the teacher.”

“Typical me,” Matt says, with a weak smile. “Always leading you away from the bright future you deserve.”

Foggy comes to stand by the bed, his fingers tracing anxiously over the starchy hospital sheets. “Matt…”

“You were such a nice boy before I came along.”

“I’m still a nice boy,” Foggy says, sadly.

Matt takes his hand because it’s slid close enough to capture and he can blame the drugs for it later if he needs to. Foggy squeezes his hand in reassurance before Matt can think twice about it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“But…?”

“What does being sorry mean if nothing ever changes?”

“The law was never going to touch the guys I went after tonight, Foggy. You know that as well as I do.”

Foggy sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“There’s got to be some recourse for where the law leaves off, I’m just—”

“How are you having this argument with me when you’re on a truckload of painkillers? I saw the nurse give you more…”

“Years of practice,” Matt says, even though it is getting difficult to keep his eyes open. “You and that nurse are in cahoots against me.”

“I need all the help I can get,” Foggy replies, and Matt feels the mattress dip beneath him as Foggy sits down on the edge of it. “She wasn’t supposed to let me stay. No overnight visitation, normally.”

“But she let you anyway, because she thinks you’re cute…”

“What? No, I don’t think—”

“She called you a good boyfriend just now.”

Foggy laughs so hard and so suddenly that it makes him cough. “She meant I’m a good boyfriend to you, Matt,” he says, when he’s caught his breath. “You fucking moron.”

“Why would she think you’re my boyfriend?”

“Emergency contact. Different connotations of the word ‘partner,’ which I have shamelessly exploited before and I have no doubt I will again. The look of blatant horror on my face when I brought you in. Take your pick.”

“Huh.”

“If that bothers you,” Foggy begins hesitantly, like he’s about to apologize, “too fucking bad.”

Matt smiles, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh. I did something to my ribs, I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, Murdock.”

“Yeah, I assume that’s the only reason you’ve stuck around this long.”

Matt doesn’t hear what Foggy says to that, but whatever it is, he drifts off to sleep to the sound of his familiar voice, still holding onto his familiar hand.

[versusvirtuous]

[mcuconfessions]

Daredevil gives off major Batman vibes he’s like a slightly better less rich Batman

—

[blank-potato]

Loving You Is Easy

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds. You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold. “Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?” “Bob.” “Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.” Or You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, no smut, amnesia/memory loss, abandonment issues, pancakes may as well be a main character, hurt and some comfort?, acquaintances to lovers?

WC: 9.6K

A/N: Title from Easy by Mac Ayers. Also, the response to my last Bob fic was absolutely insane, thank you! Hope you enjoy this one, might write a part 2 later (I did, link below)

Part 2

***

Bob doesn’t particularly like you. 

It’s not like he hated you or anything; the two of you just didn’t connect. 

Conversations were always awkward and stilted, full of long silences and forced small talk. You’d crack a joke, and he’d give you a tight smile. He’d ask a question, and you’d give a clipped answer, unsure of his tone or where you stood.

It wasn’t animosity. It was worse: indifference with a touch of tension. Or maybe it was just that sometimes people don’t mesh, no matter how hard they try. So both of you stopped trying. You’d walk into the gym and see him already there, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat dampening his shirt.

He’d glance up. “No, no, you can stay. I was just leaving.” Even if he wasn’t actually done with his workout.

“Okay…” you’d reply, pretending not to feel the sting.

Or one time, you both ended up in the kitchen at 2 a.m., bleary-eyed and looking for snacks.

You froze. So did he.

“I’ll just—”

“No, it’s fine. I just needed water,” You interrupted.

You both moved around each other like magnets flipped the wrong way, close but never touching, repelling, retreating.

It was easier this way.

One day, you're on a mission and get injured after a strange encounter with an absurdly eccentric villain. He hit you with some mysterious ray that blasted you through a wall and left you unconscious. The whole team was worried about you… including Bob.

Sure, the two of you were awkward, distant, neither of you quite knowing how to be around the other anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that he still cared. 

So they brought you back to the Tower and did everything they could. Monitors, scans, and even a few calls to some old contacts who specialised in the weird and unexplainable.

As you lay still, unmoving, they waited. They took shifts, refusing to let you wake up alone, just in case.

Bob stayed longer than anyone. Even when it wasn’t his shift, he lingered outside your room. Because no matter how weird or strained things had become, he wanted you to wake up.

It takes a few days, but you wake up, your eyes blinking rapidly as you adjust to the light. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers faintly in the air, and your body feels achy, like you’ve been asleep for a century.

And then you see him.

A random, handsome man is slumped over in the chair next to your bed. His head is tilted forward slightly, chin tucked, a book loose in one hand as he dozes. 

His lips part slightly in sleep, brows twitching like he’s dreaming. Something about the sight is comforting. 

You don’t recognise him.

But something in you wants to.

“Hello?”

You slip out of bed, groaning as you do so. You step close to the man until you’re but a few feet away, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper stirring inside.

You’re right next to him now, and suddenly your heart races uncontrollably. He’s beautiful — if there’s such a thing as love at first sight, this had to be it. You can’t think about anything else except his sharp jawline and that messy, adorable hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes snap open. A piercing blue that somehow feels like a shock and a spark all at once. He screams. You scream back, startled, your breath catching in your throat.

You stumble backwards, about to fall, when suddenly he reaches out and grabs your hand. Firm but gentle, steadying you.

“Thanks, guy.”

“You’re welcome,” Bob replies quietly.

“Where am I? What happened? Who are you?” you ask, panic threading through your voice.

Suddenly, a fog rolls over your mind, and you try your hardest to think, but everything’s blank except for your name.

“You don’t… remember me?” Bob asks hesitantly.

“No, are you…”You search for the right words, trying to piece things together. He was in your hospital room, probably stayed overnight, worrying about you. You’re not sure what your type used to be, but if you had one, this had to be it. Then the question slips out, “Are you my boyfriend?”

Bob’s eyes widen as if they might pop out of his head. He stammers, “Oh, no, we’re not… that’s not…” His words trip over themselves, betraying the panic and confusion inside him.

“We’re teammates,” he finally manages to say, and you take a step back, giving him space to breathe.

“We’re on a team? Like what? A swim team?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, like a superhero team.”

You blink, confused. “I’m a superhero?”

“An Avenger, to be exact.”

“What the hell is that?”

***

Bob was pale and quiet, still reeling from what had happened to you. The medics were running tests, whispering terms he didn’t fully understand, frowns etched deep into their brows.

Bucky came out of the room a few minutes later, expression unreadable as he approached Bob, pulling him aside.

“What did they say?” Bob asked, his voice hoarse, almost afraid of the answer.

From the look on Bucky’s face, it wasn’t good. “She has amnesia,” he said softly. “Doesn’t remember much of anything right now.”

Bob felt the air leave his lungs. He looked toward the room, the edge of the hospital bed just visible through the cracked door. You, in there, not knowing him.

“Can you take care of her?” Bucky asked gently. “We won’t all be around all the time, and she’s going to need someone who won’t push. Someone who’ll be patient.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

All day, he deliberates on how he can help you out. They were going to let you out of the medbay the next morning, so he wanted to make sure you’d have something comforting waiting for you. After some thought, he lands on pancakes. 

Good food had always been his go-to to shake off a bad mood, maybe it would work the same for amnesia.

After helping you into the kitchen, he serves you the pancakes he prepared, sliding the plate toward you a little sheepishly.

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds.

You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold.

“Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?”

“Bob.”

“Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.”

You start digging into the pancakes and let out a squeal of happiness. “This thing is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, well technically one of the only things I remember tasting, but still.”

Bob feels a small rush of happiness that he was able to do something for you, no matter how simple.

“So, Bob, you and I are superheroes, correct?” you say between mouthfuls of delicious pancakes.

Bob hesitates; he didn’t quite have full control over his powers yet, but he was sure he’d get there one day.

“Well, yes…”

“Do you have powers?”

“I can fly, and I’m kinda invincible, and a couple of other things,” he says, looking away sheepishly. He didn’t want to sound like he was bragging.

But then he looks back and sees you beaming at him, the same way you had been since he gave you those pancakes.

“That’s awesome, can you show me?”

He hesitates, “It’s complicated. I can be…dangerous.”

“Oh, I get it, no pressure.”

He's surprised at how quickly you drop it, but appreciates it nonetheless. You take another bite of the pancakes before asking with a little smile, “Do I have powers?”

You were already thinking of the possibilities, maybe you could fly too, or teleport or even turn into a giant frog. The sky’s the limit.

“No…” he says,  and the wind is taken right out of your sails. So much for being a frog woman. But seeing the disappointed look on your face, he quickly adds, “You’re a really talented fighter, though, great shot too.”

“Really?”

Bob nods, giving you an encouraging smile. You twiddle your fingers, trying to ask more questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Florida.”

“What’s Florida like?”

He strains to think of what to tell you. Flashes of sticky summer air, thunderstorms rolling in over flat suburban streets, and the hum of cicadas come into his mind.

“It’s… hot.”

You giggle softly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Good to know.”

“So let me summarise. You are Bob, Florida is hot, I can shoot stuff.”

“That’s about right.”

He watches you devour the whole plate of pancakes, and he's still having a hard time reconciling the you he knows and the you sitting in front of him. For one, you were actually talking to him and talking to everyone a lot more. Your dynamic with the rest of the team wasn't nearly as bad as yours with Bob's, but now you seemed a lot more open.

It’s a trend that continues as you ask him and the rest of the Avengers questions incessantly the rest of the day, your curiosity never seeming to run out. Every new answer only sparks ten more questions, and somehow, they never seem to mind your enthusiasm.

“You can go through walls?!” You gasp, eyes wide with amazement, and you nearly pass out when you see Ava do it, your hand reaching out as if trying to touch the air she just phased through.

Or when you sat cross-legged on the floor, chin resting on your hands, listening to one of Alexei’s stories with such intent. It was nice seeing you so bubbly, laughing at his exaggerated tales and rolling your eyes when he insisted every mission ended with him saving the day. “There’s no way you took them all down yourself!”

“Red Guardian defeated them all single-handedly, I tell you,” Alexei says, enjoying your reactions, insisting no one listens the way you do.

But there was a little downside. Now you were more eager to do things, and since you were also restricted to the tower, all that restless energy had to go somewhere. 

This morning, it was the kitchen.

The truth is, if he knew that his making pancakes would cause the mess that you unleashed, maybe he would’ve chosen something easier to make.

He walks into the kitchen to see you surrounded by chaos, flour on the counter, batter on the ceiling, and a pan smoking in the sink. It looks like a warzone.

“What is all of this?” he asks, blinking at the sight.

You glance up at him, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild, looking like you’d just gone ten rounds with your own breakfast.

“Pancakes,” you say with exaggerated confidence, like it was obvious.

“If you wanted pancakes, you could’ve asked,” he says, stepping closer with a shake of his head.

He would’ve made them in a heartbeat. He didn’t always know how to fix things, but it made him happy to be useful, even if it was hard to get the energy sometimes. 

Bob says, rolling up his sleeves, “I happen to make pretty good pancakes.”

“I know. The ones you made for me the other day were really good.”

“One of the few things I can do,” he mutters, the self-deprecation slipping out like muscle memory, automatic, unfiltered. He's been working on it, but old habits die hard.

You nudge him gently with your elbow. “I’m sure you’re good at a lot of stuff. And if not, at least you’re good-looking.”

Bob blinks at you, looking at you incredulously, like you’d just said the sky was green. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to argue, but then doesn’t.

A beat passes, and he gives a soft huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “You really are different,” he says, eyes full of something like wonder.

“But… in a good way.”

“Thanks…” You say. “So, about these pancakes, how about we make them together?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He’s about to start making more batter when he notices you didn’t even bother to put on an apron. He grabs one off the hook and makes his way back over to you.

“But I’m already messy,” you say, looking down at your shirt, now covered in flour.

“Better late than never?” he says with a grin.

Agreeing with him, you duck your head down as he slips the apron over you. Accidentally ruffling your hair in the process, and you let out a small noise of protest.

Then, gently, almost instinctively, he smooths your hair down with both hands, his fingers brushing along your scalp.

It makes you shiver and shake a little against your will. Your body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo on playing it cool around hot men who are weirdly good at domestic affection.

Great. Just great.

He steps closer and delicately wraps the apron ties behind you, moving with such care. You can only imagine what his hands must feel like, strong but soft, you thought.

All you can focus on is the little sensations you do get. The brief, accidental caresses against your back as he tries to tie the apron. His fingers brush your spine, light as a whisper, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Let me do yours,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart’s trying to break out of your chest.

He turns, and you tie the apron behind him. You can't help but notice how solid he feels, how broad his shoulders are. You feel that same flutter in your stomach you had when you first saw him in the med bay, those damn butterflies that show up uninvited whenever he’s near.

You step back and smooth out the fabric on his chest, trying to act casual.

“How do I look?” he asks playfully.

“Very chefy,” you reply with a grin.

You step aside, and he turns to see what you’ve done.

“First of all, what did you put in here?” He asks, looking at the strange concoction you had made up. It looked like a science experiment gone wrong, the way it was bubbling like it was about to come to life.

“Pancake stuff.”

“Why is it blue?”

“To complement your eyes.”

He blinks, fully expecting to see you grinning or laughing, but you’re dead serious.

As he chuckles and starts remaking the pancake batter, shaking his head with the tiniest smile, he says, “Why didn’t you just ask me to make them for you?”

“I, uh… was trying to return the favour.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head. “You made them for me when I needed them. Thought it’d be nice to do the same.”

He pauses mid-stir, glancing over at you. “That’s really sweet.” 

Bob is about to go back to stirring when he sees something.

“Oh, wait a second, you have a…” He says before trailing off, his expression shifting slightly. He reaches out without hesitation, fingers gentle as they brush your cheek. Your breath catches, heart thudding like it’s trying to escape your ribcage, as he plucks an eyelash off your face.

“Make a wish,” he says softly, holding it out to you.

You close your eyes for a moment, your mind blank except for the thought of him. You blow it away, your breath catching just a little as the lash flutters and disappears.

And a tiny part of you wonders if wishes like that ever come true.

“What did you wish for?”

Your eyes scan his, you know exactly what you want, what you need.

“It’s a secret.”

***

“You need to eat more than just pancakes,” John says with a sigh, arms crossed like a disapproving dad.

You shrug from your spot on the couch, hugging your knees and avoiding eye contact. “They’re comforting. And Bob makes them really well.”

“That’s not the point,” he replies, “You need nutrients. Vegetables. Something green.”

You’re finally saved when you see Bob come into the room.

“Bob!”

You scramble out of your seat the moment you spot him, excitement bubbling up as you point at the TV screen. An ad for a local pizza place flashes by, and it somehow sends you into a state of near awe.

“I know what pizza is, but I don’t remember what it tastes like.”

“Can we…?” you begin, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too eager—if you asked, would he eat it with you?

“I’ll order,” he says without hesitation.

“Pizza isn’t good for you either,” John points out, and you roll your eyes at him before throwing your arms around Bob, hugging him tightly. 

He stiffens for a second, caught off guard, he still wasn’t used to how openly affectionate you'd become since the memory loss.

“Sorry, got a little excited,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

Bob just smiles.

“We can eat it on the roof if you want,” he offers. “It’s a really nice view.”

“I’d like that,” you say softly, already picturing it.

When the pizza arrives, the two of you head up to the roof, scarfing it down like you hadn’t eaten in days. Bob watches you in quiet amusement, the city of New York sprawling beneath and around you. Lives moving, horns blaring, people rushing through the streets, but up here, it feels peaceful. Safe.

“This is so good, I could die right now and be happy,” you declare dramatically, a slice still in hand.

You flop back into Bob’s lap without warning, gazing up at him with a lazy, contented smile. He freezes slightly, his leg twitching with nerves. You’re too busy chewing to notice the way his eyes widen, or how he swallows hard and looks away for a second.

He’s glad you can’t hear how loud his heart is pounding.

“Hey,” you say after swallowing a particularly big bite of cheesy goodness.

“Yeah?” Bob answers, turning to you.

You don’t respond right away, just stare at him again, like you’re trying to memorise every detail. There’s something about being near him that makes everything else fade out. Being in love with him, even without remembering it, feels like breathing.

“I wish I could take a picture.”

“Of… the pizza?” Bob asks, confused. 

“No. Of you. You just… have one of those faces.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?” There’s a note of genuine concern. Was this your weird, roundabout way of calling him ugly?

“You have a face I wanna… immortalise. Is that super dramatic?” you ask, gesticulating with your slice of pizza. Cheese flopping to the side with every word.

Bob lets out a stunned laugh. He honestly can’t believe half the things you’ve said since the memory loss, but this might be the most unexpected yet. His ears turn a little pink.

You’re both quiet for a beat before you break the silence with a chuckle. “What is it? Have I grown another head?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “I just… you’re so different.”

But he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing.

“How so?” you ask, muffled slightly by the mouthful of pizza you just shoved in. Even that, being messy and unfiltered, was a pretty big shift. Before the accident, you would’ve never let Bob see you like this. You were all sharp edges, always composed around him. Never vulnerable. Never soft.

“You didn’t… we didn’t really get along before you lost your memories,” Bob says carefully, like he’s stepping over landmines.

“Did we hate each other?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just… awkward,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Huh…” You glance past him, up at the stars overhead. The sky looks endless. “I know I don’t remember anything, but something in me tells me I liked you more than I let on.”

You turn your gaze back to him, sincere now. “It’s just a feeling,” you say, lightly tapping your chest. “In here.”

There’s a loud bang in the distance that interrupts the two of you, and it jolts you upright from your place on his lap.

You and Bob are instantly alert, eyes scanning the skyline. 

“Fireworks?” you ask, squinting toward the horizon as bursts of colour light up the sky.

The distant booms echo softly through the air, and for a second, the world seems to pause. The sky is painted in shimmering golds, purples, and reds. You shuffle closer to the edge, your mouth slightly open in awe, your eyes reflecting the vibrant display.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah…” Bob’s voice is quiet as he looks over at you. His eyes don’t linger on the fireworks, instead, they find you. The glow of the explosions dances across your face, illuminating your smile. “It is,” he says, but he’s not talking about the sky.

You don’t notice his stare, too entranced by the spectacle. “I mean, I don’t remember what pretty things I’ve seen before,” you say with a soft laugh, “but there’s no way anything beats this.”

The two of you stay there for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder as the last of the fireworks fade. You forgot about the pizza. It goes cold beside you, untouched. But neither of you cares. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed despite the crackling fireworks and the hum of New York City below. Somehow, in the middle of all that noise and chaos, you find peace. A kind of quiet you didn’t know you needed. And before long, you’re completely asleep, your breathing soft and even, your body relaxed against his.

Bob glances down at you, frozen for a second, not from discomfort, but from something more tender. He doesn't want to move, not really. But the night is getting cold, and you shouldn't sleep on a rooftop. Gently, he shifts, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. You barely stir as he lifts you.

He walks quietly down the stairs, careful with each step, your head nestled into his chest.

Then—

“What’s this?” comes a voice that makes him jump nearly out of his skin.

Yelena is standing in the hallway outside her room, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, clearly in the middle of getting ready for bed.

“She fell asleep,” Bob says, adjusting his grip on you slightly, trying to look casual. “So I thought I’d help her to bed…”

Yelena arches a brow. “That’s very gentlemanly of you, Bob.”

“She’s had a long day,” he mumbles, eyes avoiding hers as he starts to move past.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, still grinning. 

He walks into your room, carefully sidestepping anything that might creak or clatter. The last thing he wants is to wake you. But when he leans down to gently lay you onto the bed, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt like talons.

He freezes. “Seriously?” he mutters under his breath, glancing down at your sleeping form. You’re completely out cold, but your grip says otherwise.

He tries again, delicately prying your fingers away one by one, but you’re like a koala in REM sleep. “Yelena?” he whisper-shouts, trying not to jostle you too much.

After a few seconds, Yelena pokes her head around the corner, toothbrush in hand, completely unbothered. “What?”

“She won’t let go,” he says, exasperated.

Yelena steps into the room, takes one look at the situation, and her face breaks into a slow grin. “Of course she won’t.”

“What do I do?” Bob hisses.

Yelena shrugs. “Get comfortable?”

Eventually, after a few more whispered pleas and another failed attempt to detach you, she sighs and calls for backup. “Ava, we need another pair of hands.”

It takes a combination of Bob and Yelena pulling while Ava gently works your grip free one finger at a time, to finally get you into bed without dragging Bob in after you.

By the time they’re done, Bob is sweating, slightly rumpled, and staring at you with a look that’s somewhere between exasperation and complete emotional defeat.

“She’s gonna be the end of me,” he sighs.

Ava pats his shoulder. “Not a bad way to go.”

***

Weekend rolls around, Bob had offered to help you go through your stuff, maybe handling familiar items, seeing old things, would help jog something loose in your memory.

You had found an old teddy bear, a digital camera with very few pictures, and throwing knives. You think it’s nice to know you’re very versatile. 

You’re in your room, standing on your tiptoes trying to reach another box on the highest shelf. You stretch a little too far, fingers just grazing the edge of it, when suddenly, Bob's reaching for it too.

“Oh, don’t worry, I can—”

You’re in a memory.

Your hands slip under Bob’s, and in a sudden pulse of light and warmth, the room falls away.

You’re no longer in the safety of your space. It’s a hazy afternoon, the golden sunlight casting long, sleepy shadows across cracked pavement. The distant sound of a train horn echoes through the air, and there’s a soft breeze drifting in from somewhere, maybe the coast, maybe the open countryside. It smells faintly of dust and old paper.

A small train station. Quiet. Still. You see a little child, no older than four, and a woman beside them. The child is you.

The woman bends down, brushing your hair back with tender fingers. She’s beautiful in the way only memories can be, edges blurred, features softened by time. Her lips move, whispering something you can’t hear. Words drowned out by the roaring silence in your ears.

She kisses your forehead.

“Mom?”

Then she straightens, turns, and walks away. Her hand slips from yours like sand, and you’re left standing alone.

You come to with a sharp gasp, the memory still clutching at your chest like cold fingers. Bob is in front of you, eyes wide, his hand gently on your shoulder as he steadies you.

You call out for her, a small voice barely rising above the bustling noise of the trains, but no one comes. Watching the little kid, watching yourself, sit there and cry until your voice is hoarse, tears streaking down chubby cheeks. People pass. Some glance, others don’t. Looks are given, but no one stops to help.

“Was that my memory?” you ask, your voice faint. You’re still there, in that memory, like part of your mind is dragging its feet back to the present.

“I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to do that,” Bob says, his expression crumpling with guilt.

You blink at him, really seeing the way his hands are trembling slightly, his face pale. He looks visibly shaken. Like he’s taken away your clean slate. And now the only memory that’s surfaced from your past is that of being left behind.

“That’s the first thing I remember,” you whisper. “That’s the only thing.”

Bob’s throat bobs, and he steps back slightly, like he’s not sure if you want him near anymore.

“I—” he tries, but the words falter.

There’s a thick tension in the air as you try to come to terms with what just happened.  You’re uncertain, scared, and hurting in a way you don’t fully understand. But through it all, the only anchor you have is Bob.

You reach for him instinctively, like your heart knows the way before your mind catches up, but he flinches. It’s a small movement, but it cuts deep. Not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s terrified for you. Of what he might do, what you might see again, what memories might bleed through just from a touch.

“Please?” you whisper, voice trembling. “I just… I need you.”

You hold your hand out, palm open and steady despite the way your insides shake. Like you’re telling him: It’s okay. I trust you. I’m not afraid of you.

He hesitates for a beat, long enough that you can see the storm behind his eyes. Then slowly, cautiously, he reaches out. His fingers curl around yours, and the moment they connect, you don’t wait. You step into him, into his arms, burying your face against his chest. His arms come around you like instinct, and you finally feel like you belong again. Like his arms are exactly where you’re meant to be.

He thought you wouldn’t want him anymore. Thought whatever pain you’d seen in that memory would make you run.

“I feel safe with you,” you murmur, your breath warm against his neck. It was like you could read his mind.

You sit there until you feel normal again, breathing in sync with Bob as you toy with his shirt and he pets your hair.

“Why were you so scared?” You ask suddenly.

“The last time I used my powers, things got out of control.” Flashes of what happened appear in his mind— the darkness, the destruction. 

“I read about it. What happened that day…”

Bob looks down, jaw tight, the guilt still weighing on him.

 “Where’d you hear it from?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve been trying to get my memories back,” you say. “So I’ve been reading my diary.”

Bob’s eyebrows lift, surprised. You didn’t seem like the type to keep a diary.

“I write about you quite a bit,” you add, offering a small smile.

His breath catches slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I don’t seem to understand you. Every other entry is me trying to figure you out, analysing the interactions we have. One minute I think you hate me, the next I think you’re just… scared.”

He doesn't answer right away, just looks at you like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

“I think I was scared too,” you admit. 

“The way I write about our relationship in my diary seems sad. Like there’s so much I wanted to say to you, but couldn’t for some reason.”

You twiddle with your fingers for a moment before finally saying what's on your mind.

“I think you should read it.”

“Your diary? That's crossing a boundary. When you get your memories back, I don’t think you’ll appreciate it.” 

The tone of his voice told you he was resolute in his decision, but you wanted to leave the door open.  “If you want to read it, it’s in the top drawer by my bed, in the very back. I think it’d clear a lot of things up between you and her, or I guess me. I don’t know how to address myself.”

He looks at the drawer and thinks of what might be inside your diary, which you wanted him to read so badly. A few moments later, you get up off the floor and offer him your hand again, “Let’s go, I think Yelena’s making dinner.”

***

Waking up to you was disorientating as fuck.

Since you lost your memory, you’d been clinging onto him like a lifeline. Sure, you followed the rest of the Avengers around like a lost duck, trailing behind their conversations and mimicking routines, but with him… with Bob, it was different.

You didn’t just follow him, you stuck to him like glue. Something about him made you feel safe.

“Sorry! I wasn’t watching you while you slept,” you blurt suddenly, catching yourself as he looks over at you from his bed. “I mean—well, technically yes, I was, but not for a long time... just like a minute because I didn’t want to wake you, but—”

Bob doesn’t respond, just blinking at you.

“I really didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—I came in to see if you wanted to make breakfast together, and you were asleep and you looked so…”

You stop yourself as the words threaten to spill out. If you didn’t stop, there was a solid 90% chance you’d end up professing your undying love for him, and maybe even proposing marriage right there.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says gently, cutting in before you can spiral any further with embarrassment. “Let’s just go make breakfast.”

You exhale a laugh, relieved, your nerves settling just a bit.

You both go to make breakfast and settle on grilled cheese sandwiches. You watch as he takes a bite and melts, visibly softening.  He looks so cute, and all he was doing was chewing. You loved all the little mannerisms no one would notice unless they looked closely. The way his nose would scrunch up when he laughs, how he'd caress his hands to soothe himself, or how he makes eye contact when people are talking so intently to make sure that they know he was listening. You take out your digital camera that you had found in the box in your room, angling it just right.

Click.

When he realises you’re taking a picture, he freezes mid-bite, eyes wide.

“I’m making memories,” you say simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m just eating a sandwich,” he replies, baffled.

You shrug, grinning. “Exactly.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright…”

He tries to look unaffected, but you can see it. His shoulders relax, and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. All of a sudden, you have this unexplainable power over him. He wasn’t used to someone looking at him like that, like they wanted to remember him.

“I’m sure you could find more interesting things to shoot,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “There’s something special about you. You look so real when you think no one is watching. I can’t help but want to capture that.”

“You mean that?” Bob says, traces of doubt leaking in.

“From the bottom of my heart.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and a little surprised. “Still… I think you should explore other things if you want new memories. Let’s go somewhere today.”

You grab his hand gently, excitement bubbling up inside you.

He takes you to a park, but all you can seem to focus on is him, how he moves, how he laughs. So you keep sneaking pictures (not so sneakily), desperate not to forget a single moment. 

“There’s a whole park to take pictures of, you know?” he says, grinning as he lowers the camera.

You glance around, finally noticing the trees, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the vibrant colours all around. But you quickly look back at him, your smile soft.

“Yeah, but you’re the best part of the view,” you admit quietly, making him blush just a little.

Bob clears his throat, cheeks warming as he tries to shift the attention away from himself.

“Okay, okay…but you should let me turn the favour. Give me your camera, I’ll take some pictures of you,” Bob states, holding out his hand with an easy smile.

“Oh no, that’s fine. I doubt I’m that photogenic,” you say, laughing nervously. “You don’t really want pictures of me.”

Then with a sudden surge of confidence, he says, “I don’t think you realise how beautiful you are.” 

Bob doesn't know where it comes from; he wasn’t one to say something so bold like that, but he couldn't stand hearing you downplay yourself. 

He says it so softly and genuinely, you swear you heard your heart skip a beat. Your eyes meet in the silent pause, but it isn’t uncomfortable like awkward silences tend to be. It’s warm and cosy like one of Bob’s many sweaters. 

Feeling like he was staring for too long, he clears his throat before adding, “Plus, all your memories can’t be pictures of me.”

“R-right,” you stutter as you hand over the camera, your fingers brushing his. The touch is brief, but it leaves a spark, a lingering warmth that settles somewhere deep inside.

“Say cheese.”

“Cheese!” you grin, striking a playful pose.

The rest of the day is spent taking pictures as you wander around New York, basking in the warm sun, laughing at everything you see, carefree and lighthearted.

“We should get ice cream!” you declare suddenly.

He buys it for you without hesitation and snaps a candid photo as you dig into it with delight.

“This is heaven,” you sigh dramatically. “Second only to your pancakes.”

He takes another picture, catching you mid-bite, and you catch him smiling to himself.

You notice and nudge him, “How do I look?”

He looks at the screen. Your eyes are closed in pure bliss, a little smear of vanilla ice cream on your lip, with the brightest smile on your face.

“Perfect,” he says, and for a second, you’re not sure he’s talking about the photo at all.

Eventually, after your long day of wandering around, the two of you get on the subway to head back home. It's packed, shoulder to shoulder, a blur of strangers and noise. You manage to find two seats side by side, squeezed tight among the crowd.

Sitting next to each other, you're pushed up close, legs touching, shoulders brushing with every lurch of the train. The warmth of him seeps through your clothes, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you are.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Bob says, leaning in so you can hear him over the rattle of the subway.

“So did I,” you reply, smiling. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Bob Reynolds.”

The train jerks to a stop as it pulls into the next station. The doors slide open with a hiss, and a few people step off, thinning the crowd a little. You glance up and notice an older couple standing nearby, gently swaying with the movement of the train.

You and Bob exchange a look, then both rise at the same time.

“Please, take our seats,” you offer warmly.

They smile gratefully as they settle down, and you both step back to stand nearby, holding the pole for balance. It’s quiet for a moment, and you watch as the elderly man gently brushes something off his wife’s shoulder, then takes her hand in his. The tenderness in his gesture makes your chest ache. It was simple and sweet, watching him dote on her like she was still the only girl in the room.

“You two make such a cute couple,” the old lady says suddenly, looking up at you both with a knowing smile.

You both blink, completely caught off guard. 

“Oh, we’re not…” You start to say, but your voice trails off when Bob nudges your arm gently.

“Thank you,” he says to her, still smiling, then glances at you.

“How long have you been together?” The two of you weren’t anticipating any follow-up questions, so you had to think on your feet. It was time to put your non-existent acting skills to the test.

“A yea–” You start, but seeing the look on Bob’s face, you morph it until you say, “Month. A month.”

They both smile, clearly loving young love because old people do that. 

“And how did you two start dating?” She asks, and you’re starting to see why the Avengers get annoyed with you.

“I was at the…” You start looking for Bob to save you, and he does. “Hospital.”

That wasn't where you were heading, but technically it was true. “Yes, I was hit by a… bike.”

Their eyes go wide with shock. “Yup, it was an awful affair. Bike messenger gone rogue.”

“When I heard what happened, I rushed over to see her and I slept by her side,” Bob adds, which was very close to what happened when you got hit with the ray.

“When I woke up and saw him there waiting for me to wake up, I fell in love with him on the spot.”

They both swoon at your story, and when it was said like that, it did sound quite romantic, Bob realised. 

“You take care of her,” the old man interjects, his voice gravelly but kind. “Girls like that, with that light in their eyes… they don’t come around often, trust me, I’d know.”

Bob swallows hard, his gaze softening as he looks at you. You had a light—a spark about you—that he’d be crazy to deny. But the two of you were just becoming friends, finally finding solid ground; how could he risk messing that up?

Still, for the old man’s sake and maybe a little for himself, he says quietly but with conviction, “I will.”

Even if he didn’t mean it in the way the old man intended, he would take care of you.

“And keep her away from bikes. They’re trouble,” the man added, and Bob gave him an affirmative, “Of course.”

He’d protect you from bikes too.

You both watch as the couple get off at the next stop, but what they said sticks with you for much longer.  

As you walk away, you whisper, “That was… something.”

Bob glances sideways at you, amused. “You didn’t correct them.”

“You didn’t either,” you shoot back, cheeks flushing.

“I didn’t want to.”

The train buckles a little, making you lose balance and stumble, but he catches you instantly, his hand wrapping securely around your waist.

“Trying to sweep me off my feet?” you joke, but if you’re being honest, you’re just trying to hide how breathless you feel. His strong arms are around you, keeping you upright without effort. It’s enough to make your pulse stutter.

He smirks faintly, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “If I were, would it be working?”

You look away, flustered but smiling. “Shut up.”

But you don’t pull away. And neither does he.

“The next stop is ours.”

The two of you break away almost reluctantly. By the time you get back to the tower, you feel like your heart has been racing nonstop.

Once inside, you both go your separate ways, he finds his comfy spot by the window while you wander around, looking for an Avenger to follow around and maybe learn from.

A few hours later, he hears you come back into the room. You’re following behind Bucky, asking questions, and he wonders how, in the two or so weeks you’ve been like this, you hadn’t run out of questions. 

“Is it wrong of me to want to know how many pushups you can do?”

Bucky sighs, running out of words to give you. Fortunately, he’s let off the hook when you catch Bob’s eye and bound over to him.

“Meet me on the roof in 10?” you ask, leaning in close.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, smiling.

You stand looking out at the sunset, waiting for Bob to show up.

A moment later, he appears, turning toward you and noticing you’re still holding the camera.

“I just realised we didn’t get any pictures together, so I figured…”

You stand at the edge of the roof as you sidle up next to each other, sharing the warm glow of the setting sun.

“Ready?” you ask, lifting the camera.

You snap a picture of the two of you. The flash flickers briefly.

The two of you turn toward each other, the space between you suddenly feeling electric and full of possibility.

You glance down, checking the picture on the camera. A small smile tugs at your lips, and Bob watches you with quiet intensity.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend, and he was. He was your friend now. But being this close to you, when you looked like a daydream, it was hard to think of anything else. He liked seeing you happy. He liked being the reason you were happy. So this just felt like the natural step; he wouldn’t be afraid anymore. 

“Can I kiss you?” He utters so softly that you might not have heard it if you weren’t so dialled in to him.

“Yes.”

It was the easiest question you’d ever had to answer. 

The moment is instantly electric. It was love at first sight for you, like fate had placed him in that chair just for you. His hands gently cup your face, drawing you closer as he leans in to kiss you.

The moment your lips meet, you melt into it.

It’s easy, it’s natural. But it also feels like you’re walking on air.

Your lips melt together as the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like you’ve both been holding your breath for days and finally found air in each other.

Then, suddenly, you feel the ground vanish beneath your feet. It takes a few moments to realise what’s happening. You're both slowly lifting into the air, weightless, like the kiss has broken gravity’s hold.

You pull back, breathless, eyes wide. “We’re flying.”

Bob’s eyes are glowing, soft gold, like sunlight through clouds. And to make it that much more perfect, he’s staring at you like you hung the stars.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “we are.”

***

The world feels light. You feel like you could do anything. Bob kissed you, and somehow, that made everything else fall into place, like that one moment was enough to ground you and lift you all at once. You kissed him so good, he fucking flew! That was something to be proud of. 

“Morning!” you greet cheerfully, practically floating into the room.

“Well, aren’t you in a good mood?” John comments, raising an eyebrow at your brightness.

“I am. Quite literally nothing could ruin my day.”

You look over at John’s plate filled with all things healthy and not a pancake in sight, and sneer, “Not even whatever is going on over there.”

“You’re going to die if you keep eating the way you do.”

“At least I’ll die happy.” 

And probably in Bob’s arms, but you’d keep that to yourself. You keep flitting around the kitchen, flashes of Bob popping up like you had a gallery in your head dedicated to him.

Then, of course, that’s when Bucky and Yelena appear, both standing stiffly in the doorway. Their faces are unreadable, but it’s clear they’re not here to chat.

“Can we talk to you?” Yelena asks, her voice calm but firm.

Your smile falters. The tone in her voice doesn’t match your mood. You glance between them, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. They lead you to another room, and your heart pounds with each step. Once you're face to face with them, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“Just tell me,” you say, steeling yourself.

Bucky steps forward, voice gentle. “There’s a way you might be able to get your memories back.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“They’ve made a device,” Bucky says carefully, “to counteract the effects of the ray you were hit with.”

You swallow hard, your lungs suddenly tight, like the air has turned to cement.

“Will I remember what happened these past few weeks?” you ask, already bracing for the answer.

“They’re not sure,” Yelena replies gently. “There’s a chance you won’t.”

The rest of the day blurs. You wear that carefully constructed smile while inside, everything feels like it’s unravelling. You laugh at jokes, eat meals, and talk to the team, but every time you look at Bob, it’s like looking at a sunset you might never see again.

Because what if you disappear?

What if the version of you that exists now—the one who fell in love, who made pancakes, who learned to laugh again—vanishes?

What if all of it was just borrowed time?

You’re curled up on the couch later, trying not to let the weight of it crush you, when Yelena finds you. She pauses, studying you quietly.

“You okay?” she asks, snapping you out of your spiral.

You glance up at her with a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m… I’m great.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Yelena presses gently. She sits beside you, eyes focused and unwavering. She sees right through you.

You hesitate, then finally let it slip out like a confession you’d been clutching too tightly.

“What if, when I get my memories back… things are different? What if you guys don’t like me anymore?”

Your voice cracks on the last word. It’s not just about them, and you both know it. It’s about him.

Bob liked you now. The person you’d become. The version of you without all the baggage, the walls, the defence mechanisms. What if the old you came back and pushed him away again?

“We’ll like you regardless,” Yelena says, firm but kind, leaning forward, her words meant to stick. “All of us.” She emphasises that last part, not missing the real question behind your fear. You and Bob haven’t exactly been subtle, floating around the Tower like someone told you the world was ending and you decided to fall in love anyway.

“You think?” you ask quietly, hating how small your voice sounds.

“I know,” she replies without hesitation. “Bob isn’t the type to run. He’s not just here for this version of you. He’s here for you, full stop.”

The thought of him leaving still prickles, sharp and cold. But there’s something warm in her certainty that you cling to. You want to believe her.

“Thank you,” You whisper with a small smile. But there’s still that little piece of doubt lingering in the back of your head. 

***

You spend all night worrying, your mind running in circles while your body stays perfectly still, tucked into Bob’s arms. His breath tickles the back of your neck in soft, steady waves. You can feel the quiet thud of his heartbeat against your spine, a rhythm that grounds you more than anything else ever has. This feels like happiness. This feels more right than anything you’ve ever known.

And nights like this… how could you give it up, when you had just begun to have it?

The thought won’t let you go. So, when you’re sure Bob is fully asleep, you carefully slip out of his arms. You sneak out of bed, heart pounding with every silent step, padding your way barefoot down the hall to the lab.

The room is dim and still. On the central table sits the device. The thing that could give you everything back and take everything away.

You stare at it. Your reflection glints back at you in its smooth surface. What would you really be giving up? The person you were before. Aloof, guarded, and apparently barely connected to anyone. No warmth, no laughter, no Bob.

Your fingers close around it. Maybe this was the price of keeping what mattered. Maybe this version of you was the better one. Maybe memories weren’t worth more than love.

You raise the device in the air, prepared to end it all before it can change you back—

Then the door creaks open behind you.

“Hey,” Bob’s voice is low, thick with sleep but steady. He stands in the doorway, his eyes not on the device, but on you. “What are you doing?”

His eyes widen in alarm. “You need to put that down. Without it, you can’t get your memories back.”

You stare at the small device in your hand, the one meant to unlock everything you've forgotten. Everything that’s been haunting your dreams and slipping through your fingers like mist.

You’re so close to throwing it on the ground, your grip tightening as your voice shakes. “Maybe I don’t want them back.”

He goes still. You can see the panic in his face, but it’s laced with something else too. Pain.

You’re biting back the heat behind your eyes, the pressure building in your chest, like red-hot guilt piercing through you. Because it’s not just about your memories, it’s about him. The fear that if you remember everything…you might lose this. Lose him.

“I don’t want to remember a world where you’re not in it,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “What if I get it all back and I’m not me anymore? What if I’m someone who doesn't love you?”

Bob takes a careful step closer, like you’re on the edge of something fragile. “Then I’ll help you fall in love with me all over again,” he says quietly. “No matter how many times it takes.”

What if you don’t love me anymore? What if getting these memories back means you lose me…?” Your voice is shaking now. “What if who I am is just… broken? I mean, my own mother didn’t—”

You stop yourself, the words dying in your throat.

Bob takes a step closer. He feels that pang again, deep and aching, like something in his chest is being pulled taut. Not just because of what you said, but because he’s watching you unravel in front of him, and he never wants you to feel like this, like love is conditional. 

“The person I am now… I want to be that person. I don’t want to be the girl you think of as a stranger. I want to be the girl you love.”

Bob’s eyes are soft, full of a sadness he tries to hide, and a depth of affection he doesn’t bother to. “I’m telling this to you because I love you. If you don't get your memories back, you'll always be left wondering who you were.”

Your hands are trembling when you finally set the device down on the table. You throw your arms around him and hug him so tightly he thinks he might break apart, and he doesn't mind it especially if it meant being held like this by you.

“I love you too,” you murmur, burying your face in his shoulder.

You both freeze for half a second, the realisation hitting you at the same time, how easy it was. How natural.

You pull back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You said it.”

“So did you.”

And then you’re laughing softly into each other, that weight between you gone, just you, him, and the now. “I love you. No matter what version of you I get.”

He kisses you lightly, your lips moving in sync with one another. It’s more than a kiss, it’s a promise that no matter what, you’d fall in love over and over again, no matter how long it took. 

You pull him flush against you, the feeling of his shirt beneath your fingers keeping you in the moment. Like you were scared it would slip right through your fingers. You pull back and look at him; his eyes are full of desire, and so are yours.

You jump and he catches you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your lips reconnect as if they were magnets. The kiss is more fast paced, filled with passion as you who each other just how much you need one another. He places you on a counter, his hands roaming your body as the need to explore every part of you becomes too much to bear. 

Both of you stop suddenly, your foreheads against each other as you breathe heavily. Your chests rise and fall in sync, hearts thudding loudly in your ears. You wanted to go further, God, you both did, but you knew you had to stop. 

“When you get your memory back,” he whispers.

You nod. As much as you both wanted this…you couldn't yet. Not while you weren't whole.

“When I get my memory back.”

***

“So this is it?” you whisper, voice barely steady.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, the sterile smell of the room thick in the air. You can feel your heart pounding harder than it should.

Bob is standing beside you, his hand tightly wrapped around yours, thumb running slow, comforting circles over your knuckles. 

You glance up at him, eyes searching. “What if everything changes?”

Bob is the first thing you see when you wake up. You’re sleepy and groggy, and he’s sitting there, book in hand.

“You’re awake,” he says softly. You nod, your eyes slowly adjusting as you take in your surroundings. “Maybe I could make you some pancakes,” Bob says, trying to see if you remembered. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask, letting out a confused laugh.

His face falls, hands tightening around the book. “You don’t… remember?”

“No, sorry. Did I miss something?” you say, blinking at him, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m sorry, I… I was just—” He stammers, trying to backtrack. “It’s nothing.”

“I should let you rest,” he adds, sensing your discomfort.

Bob gets up and walks to the door, and he’s about to leave when you stop him, your voice softer now.

“Thanks for being here when I woke up. It’s very kind of you.”

He musters a small, genuine smile and replies, “Anytime.”

In the days that passed, it was hard mourning someone who’s still alive and technically shouldn’t have existed. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be the end. The person he fell in love with was gone, but maybe he could fall in love again, with the person you are now.

One morning, you’re sitting by the table, scrolling through your phone, when Bob quietly walks in and slides a plate of pancakes to you.

“What are these for?” you ask.

“Just felt like it,” he replies, watching your eyes light up when you bite into them despite your best efforts to hide it.

You’ll fall for each other again; it’s only a matter of time.

Masterlist

[mischievous-thunder]

You can't escape Wade's love, Howlett!

[super-hero-confessions]

[firelilyfox]

Not your personal assistant

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Having a secret relationship with Bucky, but not all secrets meant to last.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing. fluffy fluff. sfw. secret relationship. indicated nsfw content. couple kissing. found family vibe. mocking & teasing. tears.

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His lips left traces of hot kisses on the side of your neck while he laid on top of you. 

This wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. You buried your hands in his dark hair, pulling him closer to you. Bucky moaned against your skin and sent pleasant shivers through your body. 

„I could do this all night“, he mumbled against your lips. His hands cupping your waist. Your bare chest was pressed against his and he moved his hips with a steady rhythm, sending your mind to the edge of satisfaction. 

„Good thing that we have all night for ourself.“ You smiled and Bucky hooked one bionic finger under your chin to raise it. 

„Let’s make it last.“ 

*The Next Morning*

„You are late … again“, John grunted as you entered the conference room. The rest of the Team was already there. Bob greeting you with a smile and an awkward little wave. Alexei and Ava were discussing something and didn’t even notice your appearance. 

And Yelena frowned over Johns comment and throws a pen at him. He failed to catch it and the pen hit him at the back of his head. „Don’t be a dick, Walker. If i were working for you, then I wouldn’t show up at all.“ 

„I would never have you as my personal assistant“, he snorted. „You can’t even make a cup of coffee.“ 

That’s when Ava snapped her head around in indignation. „Excuse me? She is not your personal assistant. She is our assistant. And without her we would’ve been hunted with torches and pitchforks by now.“ 

Walker rolled is eyes. „Yeah yeah whatever. But she is late!“ 

„Well, so is Bucky. Will you also hold this against him?“ Bob asked shrugging. 

The urge to defend you made you smile a bit. It really felt like a family arguing about some minor disagreement, mocking each other at every chance they get. You could see in Walkers face, that he wanted to counter with something clever, but the words died in his throat when Bucky entered the room. 

„Yeah Walker, would you?“ He asked with a cocky grin on his handsome face. Bucky stood behind you and even though you weren’t touching, you could feel him with every fiber of your being. 

John narrowed his eyes, defeated but pissed. „Fuck off. Whatever. Can we get started now? I have places to be.“ 

„And where would that be? Getting a spine transplantation?“ Ava mocked him. 

That made everyone laugh. Well except for Walker obviously. He just rolled his eyes and flipped them off, before he sat down at the large table. You clenched your fingers tighter around the documents pressed against your chest, when you felt a reassuring touch on the small of your back. Just for a second. Then Bucky stepped around you and sat down next to Yelena. 

Her eyes narrowed and she studied your face a little to extensively. When you sat down next to Bob and across from her and Bucky, she smirked. Something tells you that she suspects something. You tried your hardest to keep a cool and collected expression on your face. Even when the way Bucky flexed his bionic hand a few times made your lower stomach ache, craving for his touch. 

The meeting with the Ministry of Defense went surprisingly well. Never you’d been so lucky with a contract before. Especially when you think back to the past couple weeks. Instead of diving into work, you’d been very distracted by a certain super soldier. 

You’ve tried to deny it. For months you ignored all of your thoughts about him and the feelings that had been attached to it. But on one fateful night all of your walls, that you build around your heart, were torn down by Bucky. 

He just grabbed and kissed you. You were defenseless against the overwhelming passion and attraction you felt for him. Nothing could stop you now. From that moment on, the two of you weren’t able to keep your hands off of each other. Every night Bucky sneaked in your room and stayed until the sun almost rises over the skyline. 

So understandably slowed down a bit. But the others didn’t noticed anything that had been going on between the two of you. 

Not until today apparently. 

„So“, Yelena exclaimed when you stepped into the kitchen. „You and Barnes, huh?“ 

You almost dropped the full coffeecup. „What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ 

You tried to smoothen your dress a bit, to hide the sudden shake in your hands. Yelena grinned and lifted herself on the kitchen counter. 

„You can’t fool me! I totally saw you getting all flustered back in there.“ 

„What is flooded?“ Alexei asked alarmed when he joined the conversation. 

Yelena sighted dramatically. „Not flooded, Dad. Flustered. Bucky makes her nervous.“ 

„Why? Is he mean to you?“ Now Alexei sounded even more alarmed. „I will teach him manners! You don’t scare a woman!“ He stormed out of the kitchen, still cursing in russian before you even said a word. 

„Ohh shit. I should stop him before he gets himself hurt.“ Yelena jumped off the counter, but turned back to you before she left. „I won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.“ 

Well that was … unfortunate. Suddenly you wished you stayed in bed this morning. Not just because you could still feel Bucky hugging you tightly, with a arm wrapped around you and how his face was buried in your neck. But because of what a mess this day already had become. 

And you couldn’t catch a break. 

„Bucky are you kidding me?“ Walkers voice was thundering against the walls of the hallway. You peek around the corner and saw the two men having a stare off. 

„I don’t know what you want me to say, Walker.“ 

John threw his hands in the air. „That you’re fucking my personal assistant!“ 

The accusation in his tone felt like a knife twisting inside your guts. Bucky got alarmingly silent. His whole body was tense and from where you stand, his eyes narrowed with a unspoken warning. „She is not your personal anything, Walker! And I’m not fucking her.“ 

The knife just got twisted again. You were well aware, that you said something similar to Yelena, but hearing it from him hurts. You never discussed what that thing was between you and him. And you weren’t interested in finding out while eavesdropping on Bucky and John. 

So you left before you could hear another word. 

„Oh c’mon! Don’t try to lie to me. You are such a bad liar!“ 

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. „I’m not lying. Because I don’t fuck her. I …“ He hesitated because he realized, that he never said those words out loud. Those three very important words. And he didn’t wanted to say them to someone other than you first. „I have feelings for her.“ 

Walkers mouth dropped open. „Oh you can’t be serious! You fell for my…“ 

Bucky grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. „If you ever call her your personal assistant again, I will break your face, John. I fucking mean it.“ 

Walker raised his hands submissively. „Fine! Fine. It’s your funeral if this shit goes down and end in a huge mess.“ 

„It won’t. Ever.“ 

When the night dawned Bucky found you in your room, still wearing this damn dress that had him in a chokehold since the second he saw you in it. How it highlighted your curves and flattered your stunning frame. Even though it fit you phenomenal, he couldn’t stop imagining ripping it off your body. 

„I’ve missed you, doll.“ He mumbled while hugging you from behind. You felt so right in his arms. So perfectly made for him to hold you. 

You shoulders tensed, slightly, but Bucky noticed anyway. „Oh. Yeah, busy day.“ 

„You seem upset, love. What’s wrong?“ 

Bucky loosened his hug, only to be able to turn you around to face him. To his surprise, he found you crying. Dried tears traced on your cheeks and your nose was red. 

„I’m sorry, it’s stupid. I just got caught up overthinking.“ You avoided his gaze, but Bucky cupped your face gently to make you look him in the eyes. 

„About what? What is going on in that pretty head of yours?“ More tears filled your eyes and Bucky almost regretted asking. The last thing he wanted was for you to cry.  

„I just … I heard you.“ 

„You have to be more specific, doll. I talk a lot when the day is long.“ 

You snorted. „No you don’t.“ 

„Okay, maybe I don’t talk that much. But something I said made you upset. And I want to know why.“ 

You sniffled and blinked the tears away. „I heard you talking to Walker about … us. And he accused you of fucking me. I know we haven’t talked about this much and I don’t want to make things weird or awkward!“ The words just burst out of you like a waterfall, and now there was no stopping in sight. 

„But I …“ Bucky started. 

You overheard him. „It’s okay as it is really! I have no idea why I reacted that way, because we never said it would be something serious. We never said it was more. I just …“ 

Bucky stopped you from talking more nonsense by pressing his lips on yours. He smiled during the kiss, because he couldn’t believe how much you’ve misread the situation. 

„You’re cute when you overthink“, he mumbled against your lips. 

Your fingers clawed into his jacket, holding on to Bucky as if he were the anchor to your floating self. „W-What?“ 

„I told Walker I wasn’t just fucking you. I told him that I fell for you, love.“ He brushed a loose strand of hair out of your face. „Didn’t you hear that part?“ 

You shook your head. „I left before that.“ 

Bucky smiled and kissed your forehead and then the tip of your nose. „Maybe it’s better this way. That way I can tell you without anyone hearing it.“ 

You tilt your head, looking at him with widened eyes. Bucky wiped the fresh tears away with his thumb. 

„I am in love with you, doll.“ He whispered with a soft smile. „I never thought I would say those words or even feel this way for someone. But you proved me wrong. I am so madly in love with you, that it scares the shit out of me.“ 

A little clumsy you got up on your tiptoes, crushing your lips on his and digging your hands into his hair. The relieved sigh hanging between you two. 

„I feel the same. I love you, Bucky.“ You beamed. 

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and sweeps you off your feet in more ways than one. 

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Bucky Barnes Masterlist