#mcu oc x avengers

[ironshieldchild]

a little something i made lmao

[virginburial]

.·:*¨༺    cupid's girl.    ♱   bob reynolds   ༻¨*:·.

SUMMARY: in which a failed assassination attempt turns into something more

SHIP: afab!reader x Robert Reynolds WARNINGS: explicit content (minors stay out), unprotected p n v, and f receiving oral, sub!reader, bob can't pick between being a soft or hard dom, spittingggg??? also you hate bob's guts before he rearranges yours! #enemiestoloversfinalboss. random storytelling/porn with a plot. is this a self insert? i wish I knew. also btw you're from florida now :D!! TW FOR: mentions of murder/violence/self inflicted harm, grief, recovery/healing, ptsd related topics, mass violence mention.

WORD COUNT: 7K

SONG: cupid's girl by MARINA "Don't panic when it hits ╴shoot my arrow right into your back!"

A/N: well well well shawties... I've returned. This plot is a lil crazy but it made sense in my head so i wrote it.  I haven't written smut in so long but i have been treated well since then so maybe this is better than my previous work ;) I'm having such a weird regression into my old fandoms so I might publish more work soon! as always, reblogs, comments, likes, and shares are greatly appreciated!

.·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

Quiet steps lingered down the hall as you got a handle on your bow, you knew your mission was only complete if he was taken down, and the last thing you wanted to do was betray Valentina. You were her favorite…which only started to click for you now. Of course you were. There’s no Valentines without cupid shooting arrows and manipulating the background. You were the baseline for The Sentry Project; a test dummy. And similar to the Sentry, you were the only one to survive. Valentina’s secret weapon. You were agile, quick, and seemingly docile and sweet. 

To quote Valentina, directly; “she’s like if Sabrina Carpenter and Natasha Romanoff had passionate sex and scissored out their love child…that’s you, by the way.” 

Of course, you didn’t harbor the same powers as Sentry, in fact, you were almost sure you were created to be the Eve in this situation. Some sidekick with the cute gift of emotionally manipulating the emotions of others, while also being a ruthless killer. You don’t emotionally manipulate others the way most people think off; sure, you bat your pretty lashes and you talk lightly and yes, occasionally, you play devil's advocate. However, you could feel and change the way others feel just by touching them. You know your hand to hand combat, but what's the point if you can just shake someone’s hand, hunt them, seduce them, and control someone so well that they do the job for you? 

No bruises, busted lips, or bloody noses if you will someone to…well, you know. 

It’s what made you so dangerous, and maybe, just as powerful as Valentina’s trophy. It’s also what made him such a good target for you. No need to take him down if you just shake his hand. You could feel the calmness around the room he stayed in, it was almost too calm. It was expected; Valentina just paraded him around and called him and his ragtime team of circle jerkers the “New Avengers”? New Avengers? The sentiment alone made you gag on envy. You hated that they got their flowers while you stayed put, while you obeyed, while you kept sweet. Sentry was just a glorified military weapon. You were the will of Eros and Sigmund Freud’s worst nightmare. 

It should’ve been you. 

And the fact that Valentina still wanted him gone, despite everything, made this operation all the more vital; promising you his spot, promising you everything you initially signed up for when you decided to go through the test trials for the Venus project; a better life. Not a life of suffering. 

It was easy sneaking into where the Thunderbolts were staying at, in fact, you already ran into two members already; that fat oaf Red Guardian and the family dollar (and slightly closeted) Captain America, John Walker. It was easy to get them out of your way, the same way you got men to move out of your way your entire life. Staring up at them with your big eyes and pretending that you were doing the opposite of what you were actually doing; And maybe you did pat a couple shoulders here and made them less…on guard. 

It didn’t matter, you weren’t here for them, you’re here for the poor man’s Homelander. Or whomever he really is. Despite having the same background, being from the same lab, you never once met him, or knew him beyond his project name. You knocked on the door, laying your weapon against the frame of the door as you straightened up. It was your time to shine. Your time to prove everyone wrong; dressed in a white blouse, a black skirt that was way above your knee, and knee high boots with tights underneath. 

The door slightly opened, a small crack of light entering the room as curious, doe eyes peaked out behind the slab of wood that separated you from your most treasured victim. The plan was simple; fill him with the doubt, the rage, the sadness that he had before, and then some. Let him do the rest. It wouldn’t surprise anyone considering his history. You were a character assassin. However, the awkwardness filled the air with its stiffness. You could smell how anxious he got as it sept through every pore. Once he opened the door, you realized he was a lot more timid than previously mentioned. You almost thought you had the wrong guy.

“Um…can I help you?” He stammered. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you smiled. “Yes.” a soft hum leaves you. “Are you Robert Reynolds? I-I got sent here by Mel to do a room check.” you lied, even dropping a slight stutter to convey just how nervous the idea of this made you; even if it didn’t bug you at all. “I already checked in with the others, you were last on my list.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “...Why couldn’t Mel do it?” he asked earnestly. 

He already had you stumped, but you just shrugged. “She got promoted, so I'm the assistant’s assistant now…funny how life works, right?” you stared up into his eyes, you could practically hear his heart beating faster and faster the longer he made eye contact with you. Anxiety mixing in with curiosity, and a hint of attraction; oh, he was in for a rude awakening. He didn’t need to know that just yet. “So, are you gonna let me in?” you ask kindly. 

He hesitated, you could see his jaw clenching–was that irritation? You didn’t care. The minute he stepped aside, you sauntered in, looking around at the bare room as your eyes went towards the nightstand. You slowly walk over as you open the drawers and rummaged through what was inside with only your eyes. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

You snap over to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I would have recognized you if you worked for Mel.. or Valentina, for that matter.” he leaned against the wall, looking down at the ground until his eyes met yours. You brushed it off with ease. “Was always more of a background actor.” you hummed as your fingers went to the other drawer. “Besides, I was away while everything was happening, just got back from a trip the minute you strolled in. I can't say I'm terribly inconvenienced by the suddenness of everything.” it was a white lie, you were inconvenienced. 

he just nodded. “I mean…you’re a government worker.” 

Yeah, and so are you; 1/4th of the military spending.  

You clenched your jaw, releasing it as you turned your head, flashing a fake smile as you shut the drawers behind you. “You can say that, yeah.” we’ll agree to disagree for now. You sigh softly and look around. There wasn’t much else to check for your fake assignment, it was time to move onto the real one. You approached him. “You should hit up an Ikea or something, and soon, it’s kind of sad in here.” you joke lightly, feeling him slightly relax.

“Eh, I guess…I could fill it up with some things like a bean bag or a nice rug, maybe a couple of posters like a SlowDive one or maybe even an FSU one-”

General disgust hit your face, and you weren’t too keen on hiding it, and he noticed it right away. He furrowed his eyebrows, laughing nervously. “...what?” 

“An FSU poster?” your voice winced softly.

Then it hits him, he takes a step back, and a smug look on his face replaces the timid one. “Are…are you from Florida too?” he questioned, and you shook your head, not to say no, that you’re not from Florida, but to say; “The Gators are so much better-” “-Ew, no.” he combated. “Let me guess, Orlando?” he joked softly. God, we really are in a sassy man apocalypse. 

You scoffed. “Gross, I’m from Tampa.” 

“Should’ve seen that coming.” he smiled softly. “You’re…a lot nicer than Mel and Valentina, despite your bad taste in college sports-” “-I’ll have you know, that the Gators have won multiple national championships, and I also root for the Bulls.” you cut off, then blush slightly. “Sorry…and thank you, Robert.” you stare up at him, and there it is again; Anxiety mixing in with curiosity, and a hint of attraction; a shot of attraction now, there might as well be a pint of it the next go around. The man looked down at her. 

“I’m…Bob, by the way. No one calls me Robert.”  He sticks his hand out. 

The golden opportunity, you practically water at the mouth to get your hand over his. You didn’t want to make yourself look desperate to touch him; that’s always a little awkward. You wanted to give it such a good shake that you were able to send him on that spiral, without having to use that weapon you brought and stashed in his blindspot. So you grin, your manicured fingers slowly slithering over and interconnecting with his fingers, as power surged through you. It felt like a runners high, better than sex, better than taking back what’s yours. “Y/N”

You could see it actively working, the uncertainty that lingered on his face, yet, something else started to swallow you whole. You felt it run through you as everything turned black, and for a second, Bob was gone. He was the Sentry, after all, maybe you were the delusional one for thinking you could be as powerful as him. However, Valentina didn’t mention this. She didn’t mention this unwavering ability he had that made you feel utterly alone.

You felt yourself shift to a new plane of existence, your body now sitting as slight murmuring grew louder and more coherent. The smell of coffee and old books hit your senses like a gut punch, and fluorescent lights peaked through your thin eyelids and lashes. Your clothes were the same, yet everything was different. When your eyes opened, you noticed yourself sitting in a group with people you wouldn't believe you were seeing. Because they were your classmates. Because it’s been years. Because..they’re all dead. The monotone voice was your teacher. She was dead. The clock struck 2:15, and stayed that way after that day. You were strapped to your seat, an adult, seeing your teenage pupils panic to news over the intercom. 

Stuck to your seat, you watched them scramble to barricade doors. Stuck to your seat, you watch them arm themselves with textbooks and chairs. Stuck to your seat, you watched as everything failed, and each life got ripped away from you, the way you couldn’t have seen back then when you played dead. This was what you were escaping. This is the promise Valentina failed at keeping; having to see it play out over and over again; until you realized you could move. You could always move. 

You try to run to the door, swinging it open and seeing yourself and Valentina going over your own project. Before you could run to your salvation, you see Bob on the other side of the classroom, staring at you in horror. 

You snap back to reality, stumbling back as tears reach the rims of your eyes. You were on the verge of hyperventilating as your legs shook, holding onto the edge of the bed frame. Your knees cowering as you look down at the floor. Bob puts his hands up, almost as shocked as you are. As your mind racks with the idea of how your powers failed you here, Bob stares at you. 

“I know what you are…” he says sternly, his jaw tensing up as he keeps his gaze. “Project Venus?” he asked. 

You try to calm down, your breaths slowing down slowly as your eyes finally meet him. You neither confirm or deny. “...Project Sentry.” you grit. You see him slowly put his hands down. “Valentina told me that everyone from Project Venus died…” you watch as he connects the dots as to why you were kept in the dark for so long. Before he had time to process the possible failed assaination by proxy attempt, you ran to hit, backhanding him, distracting him, before kneeing him in the stomach.

He groaned, annoyed, and before you could land another punch, he grabbed your wrist; holding it tightly as you tried to snatch it away. “I’m not gonna fight you-” “-bullshit, if you know me, and what I can do, then you know why I’m here-” “-it doesn’t work, and that’s why you were scrapped, now stop before you sprain something-rob” you didn’t listen, you kicked him and pushed him out of the way, running to the door and grabbing the bow, and aiming it at him. 

“God, what the fuck, Stop!” He holds his hands up. 

“What did you do to me?” you barked. “How did you-” your voice shook as Bob shook his head. “Look, it’s clear that Valentina fucked us both. Okay? You-You have every reason to be upset! She didn’t care about you then and doesn't now either. She probably sent you here to be killed just-just-put the fucking bow down, please!” he pleaded. “Please don’t make me hurt you more than I already have-” 

“Oh shut up!” you raised your voice over his. “I was supposed to be you! I signed over my entire life to be as great as you and you stole that from me, you stole my life…” your tears ran down your cheeks. “You stole my life, and I'm gonna get it back!” 

“I didn’t steal your life.” he snapped. “Valentina did. That man who did that to your friends back in high school did.” he huffed out as he dropped his hands. “God, Y/N, what was the plan here? You ‘infect’ me with depression until I kill myself? Do you know anything about me outside of me being the Sentry?” he stared in bewilderment. “Valentina used just about everyone in this building, you’re not alone.” 

Your hands shake as you hold the bow, and you start to realize that you never shot the bow before, and that you’ve always cruised simply by using your powers. Bob saunters over, his hands reaching towards her bow and lowering it. “There’s…nothing you can do that I haven't already done to myself.” he admits. “Please stop, before you hurt yourself.” 

You’re enraged, and you want to do everything you can to regain control, but there’s no use. You throw your weapon on the ground, drying up your own tears as you sniffle softly. “Did you learn all that after singing kumbaya with Red Room Barbie and her fucking friends?!” you spat. Bob just nods. “I don’t know, have you ever considered that maybe you could use your powers to help people? Instead of hurting them?” he barked back. “You know how much time you could save if you healed people instead of, I don’t know, inducing suicide–Can you stop fighting with me for a second.” 

You hate that he’s right. “If i started with you, we’d be here all night. You have enough personalities to keep me completely occupied.” 

“Now that’s a low blow.” 

You both just stare at each other, staying silent for a second as you sigh. “Why didn’t my powers work on you?” you were dying to know, even if it meant knowing that you were a failure, and you were meant to be scrapped. 

Bob shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you.” he sincerely said. “Maybe instead of filling a…whatever I am with depressive thoughts, have you considered filling me up with happy thoughts? Let me live like that for a bit and then come back to take it from me? Maybe I'll do what you want then.” he muttered that last part under his breath. 

“Are you seriously giving me tips on how to kill you more efficiently?” 

“I don’t know anymore, Y/N. This is awkward–I’m feeling awkward, in case you can’t tell.” he stared into your eyes. “You know why your trial was called Project Venus, Y/N? It’s because Valentina wanted to make a-a seductress who was an assassin. A whole…Killing Eve situation.” he critiqued. “You put the super serum in Steve Rodgers, you get Captain America. You put the super serum in me, you-you get a clusterfuck of problems. But if you give it to a people pleaser? you get an emotional manipulator…” 

You had enough. “You know what? Fuck you, Sentry.” you pick up your bow, not drawing anything, but holding it, just ready to leave this all in the past. “If there’s nothing I can do that you ‘haven’t already done to yourself’ then my work here is done. You’re the ticking time bomb. Not me.” you spat, only to feel what you felt earlier again; the anxiousness, now masked with annoyance and anger, the curiosity, the attraction skipped the pint size, and the pitcher, and the gallon, it jumped two gallons three. Four. Five. You didn’t care, though. He kept pissing you off. 

“You aren’t gonna try?” he asked.

You groaned and turned around. “Jesus christ, Bob. What would make you happy, huh?” you bellowed. “A puppy? A girl? FSU actually winning something?” 

Bob sighed. “All I know is that we came from the same lab, and we’re both the only survivors. It’s not a fluke. If you truly want to know why your powers didn’t work on me, then I'm telling you that you’re using them wrong.” he looked down at your hand. “Put it on my chest, make me think of something good. Valentina sent you here to die…prove her wrong.” he earnestly suggested. “I was able to prove her wrong, so were the Thunderbolts.” 

You hated that this might be the reason why it didn’t work on him. Maybe he was already filled with such darkness, that filling him with more, oversaturating the inevitable, it was never going to work. The public knew about Project Sentry, but not Project Venus. It made sense as to why you’d never be in the picture. It was a losing game. It was always a losing game. Reluctantly, yet, willingly, you dropped your bow and placed your hand on his chest. Oh… there had to be a rock underneath his sweatshirt…was it always this tight? Didn’t matter, you tried to focus on something that would make anyone feel good. Chocolate, a good cry, ten hours of sleep. Something. 

Bob looks at your hand, then down at your face, studying every feature. Your hand glows a soft pink, your eyes moving underneath your eyelids as you try to change his demeanor. You just sigh and pull away. “This is stupid-” “-maybe.” he muttered. Looking up at him, you realized how close you two were to each other. “All I can feel is how much I annoy you and stress you out.” his heart beats faster, the blood rushes to his face, and you felt all of that too, you just didn’t want to entertain that possibility. “Can also feel how bad you want me.” 

Bob’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, he furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, Cupid’s Girl. at least you didn’t force me to feel that.” he looked down. 

Your breath hitches slightly, but you shake your head at the idea of it. “I’m not dealing with this-” 

“I’m just trying to help you see that you don’t have to follow her orders anymore.” He gulped softly, staring into your eyes. “None of us do. Actually, the last thing I want is to see another person like me be under her thumb-” 

“-I’m nothing like you.”

“Bullshit.” he said softly. “Traumatized Floridian escapes pain by signing up for a trial, instead of going to therapy, they become the sole survivor of said trial and, under Valentina De Fontaine’s thumb, they become her own personal weapon…Sounds familiar?” you couldn’t escape from the similarities after he put it into words. You just sigh, opening up your mouth to say something, but Bob cuts you off. “I mean, we own her. Don’t you want that? It doesn’t drain you to do her bidding every now and again?” 

Damn it. You just look down, but feel his hand slowly raise to your cheek. He was right. Part of you hated how something as beautiful as being an empath, emotionally attuned, as turned into some cheap party trick to make top scientists and government officials leave the world behind without a single thought. There was a time you wanted to help others. You figured after you learned what you could do, you could help yourself. It doesn’t work on you, but you wished it did. You felt Bob’s thumb run across your cheek, feeling his anxiety tremble once the both of you locked eyes. “...you’ll never have to force anyone to do anything awful ever again, you won’t even have to force them to love you.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

Bob just gazed into your eyes, trailing along your soft features as his eyes fluttered down to your lips. Oh, because I didn’t have to force you to want to help me. I didn’t have to force you to see me as more than just a potential enemy. His eyes flicker back up to yours. He wants to say more, maybe even show you exactly what he means. He’s too anxious, too awkward, too nice, while also flooding with some sick desire to have his way with you. The air between the two of you gets thick. The same way it did when he first opened the door, except now the playing field has flipped itself on its head. You stare down at your hands, and so does he, before his eyes find yours again. It’s almost like he’s signaling you on what to do. 

Your hand slowly reached his chest, but before you could make him feel anything, he mustered up the courage and grabbed your chin, slowly bringing it over to him as he kissed you softly. Maybe he just wanted you to touch him, not to make him feel anything he doesn’t already feel, but to reassure him that he wanted to feel you and only you. You feel him relax into you, all the anxiety and curiosity quieting down as you gently kiss back, bumping noses and heavy breaths as the kiss deepens. One hand shakily goes to your waist as he uses the other to slowly shut the door behind him. 

You weren’t expecting this, and part of you wasn’t sure if this is something that should happen, but once you both pulled away, your lips chased each other again; like magnets trying to find their polar opposite. You felt his grip on your waist slowly tighten, almost scared he’d break you if he grabbed too roughly too soon. Your arms find themselves around his neck as you feel your body get warm with need, way too soon to be feeling like that until your tongues accidentally brush past each other; then it was game on for the both of you. 

He feverishly kissed you as his grip on you strengthened, a small huff leaving him as you felt yourself gravitate to him. Feeling his knee slowly slip between your thighs, it was all too convenient. His hand grappling to the back of your neck as he pulled you in more; like he was some needy vampire and you were a blood bag with his name written all over it. His hand on your waist slid over to your lower back as he pulled you more into him, as if you could fade into him, as if he wanted you all to himself. And who were you to deny him of that? Especially if you just started to feel yourself dampen, and wanting nothing more than to get rid of the chaste feeling of not knowing what to do, and wanting something more so bad. 

Alchemizing the hate into passion was something you never thought you could do for yourself. Your hate for Sentry turned into wanting nothing more than to show him just how deeply you felt about him, how deeply you felt for him. The kissing picked up more and more, until teeth started clashing and the both of you started running out of breath. You pull away, breathing heavily and almost mumbling against his lips. “Bob-” oh god, you can’t believe you were getting hot and heavy over someone who willingly goes by the name ‘Bob’. 

He whines softly after he stops chasing your lips for more kisses, you can feel the heat radiating off of him like a space heater. His fingers run through your hair, as he huffs gently. “Sweetheart…” he hoarsely said, his voice dripping in desperation as his thumb slowly ran across your bottom lip. He couldn’t believe that you’d let him get this far with you. “You stress me out.” he chuckles softly. And it turns you on. you think to yourself as he leaves soft kisses on the corners of your mouth. “Picking a fight with me just to…” his mind lingers on the idea of having you in his arms the way he has you now. He loves hearing your heartbeat speed up with such a slight or sudden move, and you realize you’re not the only one who can hear hearts too. 

He softly kisses you for a split second, before leaning his forehead against yours. “Please?” he asked tenderly against your lips. You nearly squeeze your thighs around his knee at the idea of him touching you without it whisking you away to some twilight zone. This could be a sweet dream instead of some awful nightmare, one you deprived yourself of since the trial. “Please I wa-want…” he chokes up, before you nod your head and reciprocate the kiss from earlier; short and sweet. You felt him smirk against your lips as he gently pushed you back up against the bed. 

The bed is plush, and soft; it’s a stark contrast compared to the surprising pair of abs underneath Bob’s shirt. He eagerly attaches his lips to your neck, taking a deep breath and smelling the sultry perfume and the vanilla shampoo that you lather your hair in each night. Your skin is the softest thing he’s ever touched, and he misses it more and more each time he pulls away from you. “So..fucking pretty.” he mumbles to himself as his lips trail down to your collarbone, your blouse getting in the way of everything he wants. 

Your breathing speeds up softly as his hands fidget with the buttons of your blouse, you can feel him have some semblance of self control, and how close he was with throwing it out the window just to have you. God, you can feel the self constraint. He was strong enough to rip your clothes off with one tug, but the last thing he wanted was for this to be shorter than he wanted it to be, even if he wanted nothing more than to dive into you. The more buttons he unclasps, and the more skin he sees underneath, the harder you feel him get. It was right up against your thigh, and all you wanted was to feel it break you in. 

He breathes out a soft ‘fuck’ as his eyes wander onto yours, almost pleading for permission to strip you from the rest; please let me undress you, let me tear this off of you, let me have you. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet with each passing second. The way his hands slowly went over to your inner thigh and softly stroke his thumb closer and closer to your core was just the tip of the iceberg. He slowly leans forward, leaving another kiss on your plump and chapped lips. He stares down at you. “I need to taste you…please?” his voice becomes rash, strained, restricting himself so he doesn't go crazy needing you. 

“You wanna taste me?” your voice is tainted with the desire to assume control, because he sounded so pathetic for you. He nods like a puppy, nearly salivating from the mouth like one too. “You wanna taste how fucking sweet I am for you?” you reiterate, feeling his thumb slowly slide between your clothed crotch, feeling how damp your tights were, knowing your panties had been lined with how sweet and wet you are. 

He blushes at your words. “That…mouth of yours.” he raspily voiced, and before you knew it, the self restraint he could have prided himself on melted away. He pulls your hips down, taking your black miniskirt with you and unzipping your boots in the process as well. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Someone’s eager-” you hum before a gasp leaves you, because before you knew it, he had ripped your stockings; tears lining down your leg as he leaned down. God your panties were cute, and you weren't even planning on this happening. Lucky you. 

He leaned down and gently kissed your clothed clit, a shiver went down your spine as tender whines left your parted lips, and the more noise you made, the more Bob kissed and rubbed and sucked on your panties. The friction makes you more and more desperate. You then felt Bob slowly slide that strip of soaked fabric to the side, spitting on your clit before ravenously lapping his tongue over your sensitive, throbbing nub. 

A moan rips from your throat as you toss your head back, feeling your back start to sweat with anticipation as he buries himself more into your cunt. His arms wrapping around your thighs as he forces you down on his tongue. If there was a heaven, this was it; getting endlessly eaten out by someone you tried fist fighting with earlier. You feel your stomach churn with excitement as he drinks out of you, instantly getting drunk off of you, and muttering helplessly against your clit; “god so sweet–so fuckin’ sweet–sound so pretty” intercutting with a few moans and swear words. You relished in how weak he was for you. “Fuck, Bob!” 

Just the single mention of his name made him speed up, sucking on you as his tongue gently continued to savor every last drop of you. You’d squeeze your thighs around his head, and he forced them back open. If you wanted, he could stay like that for hours; tongue deep into you while prying your shaky legs open. He wanted to stay like that, until your moans became higher in pitch, and more airy in tone. 

His eyes searched for yours, and the way he was looking up at you made it impossible for you to look away or not beg for more. Before you had the chance to, his fingers slowly slid into you, causing your back to arch since there was no sign of him ever slowing down his tongue. Moans spilled out of you as your wetness leaked all over your ripped stockings; dribbling down Bob’s chin and making him even more privy to what you liked, what you wanted, what you needed. 

If he was drunk on your juices, then you were equally as drunk as him on his motions. You became a bumbling mess, and he hasn’t even stuck himself in you just yet. “Ohmygod.” you mumbled as more moans got caught up in your throat. You felt the urge in your stomach, blood rushing more and more to your groin as you whimpered. “Just…breaking…you…in” he muttered against your clit, a low hum escaping him as his fingers rapidly entered you, leaving you, entering again, and feeling it overwhelm you. 

“God-so close!” you whined as he sped up. He huffed out a small laugh, continuing to work on your clit as his fingers curled inside of you, pressing into that soft spot none of your past partners could reach. A small squeal left you as your legs shook with desire. Grabbing a pillow and holding it to your mouth, you came all over his tongue, and you watched as he licked up everything he could get out of you. Your muffled moans were music to his ears, as he pulled himself up, grabbing the pillow from you and engulfing you in another kiss. 

Tasting how sweet you were, how tart it was on his tongue, and how it ran down his neck; you grabbed his face and pulled him away from your lips. He kept on wanting to kiss you, pouting when he couldn’t. You tried to catch your breath before feeling him slide off his sweatpants, exposing his boxers and the giant bulge he was sporting. You could see it throb as he looked into your eyes. “Please Sweetheart…” he begged. “I wanna feel how soft and warm you are for me please.” his voice strained as he looked into your eyes. 

You nod, eagerly pulling off his underwear with him and staring at his cock. Your cheeks, as if they weren’t red already, turned crimson at the idea of him splitting you in half with his member, already dripping in precum. Your hand slowly goes over and wraps around him delicately, seeing a shiver run through him as he grabs a chunk of your hair and pulls you up just to kiss you, then softly letting go and slowly going back down with your lips still attached to each other. A soft moan passes his lips, which are red and plump from the excessive kissing. He teases your entrance. “Sweet thing…” he whispers before placing a soft kiss next to your lips. “Good girl” he hums as he slowly slips himself in you; whimpering the deeper he went

A gasp leaves you as you try to adjust to his length; you weren’t expecting it to make you feel so stuffed already, and it wasn’t even fully in you just yet. “Oh fuck…fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” it all spills out you as Bob chuckles weakly, trying to keep himself together under the amount of pleasure he was feeling. He almost couldn’t think straight with how tight you were around him. How perfectly your cunt sucked him in; like you were both designed for each other. “So-so fuckin’ pretty when you swear-makin’ pretty noises for me.” he musters out before his hips finally react, finally slamming into you in a repeated fashion that’s just…perfect. 

A loud squeal left you, and his hand flies to your mouth as he keeps you quiet; clasping so hard around your jaw that the pain alone makes you cry out for him. Yet, it was overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you the way you were meant to be fucked. Your body jolts with each movement as cries spill out from the crevices of his hands. “My sweet fuckin’ girl…” he nearly growls, loving the way you were getting worked up for him; but also getting worked up over you himself. He moves his hand away from your mouth and kisses you softly; god, he had to be addicted to your lips. 

You took this opportunity to express just how good he was making you feel. You knew others were going to hear you anyway. “God-fuck you fit so well in me i-it-s just perfect for you!” your voice wavered, coated in pleasure, feeling him pick up the pace. “I fucking-love-it when you fuck me like this I deserve to get fucked out-” you cry, looking into his eyes.

He slows down, almost to get back at you for all the trouble you put him through earlier. “Never expected something so nasty to come out of those pretty lips of yours…”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Sentry?” You challenged. 

You could see his eyes bristle with power as he grabs you and flips you over, forcing your head down into a pillow and holding your hips up as he slams into you; not caring about how rough he was being. You scream with pleasure as your arms try to hold you up, but the pressure of taking him in this position forces your face back down on the pillow. You whine and swear and cry out, but it’s muffled underneath all the pillows. His grip on your thighs holds you in place; you could’ve almost collapsed with how bad your legs were shaking. 

“Yeah?” he grunted. “That’s what I'm gonna do.” He murmured hoarsely, trying to keep his control for just a second longer so he could enjoy you, but he’s been close to cuming the minute you put your hands on him. He grabs your hair and pulls your head up; forcing you to take his cock deeper and deeper as he tries to whisper in your ear; “shut you up, sweetheart.” he declared as he let you flop back onto the pillow. He stops thinking about being gentlemanly, and more about how to make you cum for him a second time. He could fuck you for hours until you came if it came down to it. 

Your screams and cries and coherent thoughts turned into a jumbled up pile of words, as you drooled onto the pillow; hair sticking to your face as Bob continued to unapologetically thrust against your cervix. It didn’t matter how nervous he was at the beginning, you had him right where you wanted him; helplessly plunging into you and whimpering with each jab. Feeling him rub against your clit with the speed he was going was sending you into a frenzy, causing your thighs to tremble more and more. “What was that, sweetheart?” he slightly smirked as more and more of your muddled moans sept through the fabric of the pillow. 

“You…yes…fuck…so…good.” you cried out aimlessly. 

Bob’s breath shook as he sped up. “Sweet, dumb, thing.” he groaned with each lunge into your cunt. “Good…handsome…boy…fuck!!” you whimpered out as Bob felt his stomach churn with excitement. He didn’t care to slow down, the last thing he wanted was to ruin the moment just to catch his breath. Why do that, when he can finally release the tension he’s felt since laying eyes on you? He groans at the idea of cuming in you, filling you up and making you his. God, he wanted you to be his so badly. He doubted it, but he wanted you every day of the week. 

Sooner rather than later, he felt his own thighs shake. His hands climbed from your hips to your waist, pulling you deeper and closer as he groaned loudly. “Holy fuck…” you felt his cock seize inside of you, twitching every time you squeeze your walls around his member, and every time you did, he’d suck his breath and try to move. He couldn’t take it anymore, he quickly pulled out and pressed his tip against your raw and sensitive clit. He came on your clit, watching his semen roll down your cunt and veer off onto your inner thighs as your hips finally lower themselves.

Bob flops onto the bed and tries to catch his breath. His eyes still glowing as he huffs out in exhaustion, he looks over at you and smiles weakly. “You look…so cute when you’re tired.” he joked lightly.

You face him, blowing a piece of hair away from your face and blushing at the thought of Bob being one of the only people who’s ever seen you this tired. You kept to yourself up until now, and now knowing that someone has seen you all dazed and fucked out turned from an insecurity to something to be celebrated. You reciprocate the same smile. “Well…it’s not every day I get dicked down by someone I was supposed to…” you cringe at the thought of why you came here earlier. “So..this team you’re a part of…”

“The Thunderbolts?”

You nodded. “They…didn’t judge you? Like, at all?”

Bob stops for a second, then shakes his head. “No…you don’t even have to fight, Y/N, I just…don’t want Valentina to hurt you the way she’s hurt me or the others. No one deserves to feel that alone.” he looks into her eyes. “You have something that can…change the world. You always took care of Valentina’s problems, always took care of her. But..who takes care of you?” he asked with genuine concern. 

He was right. No one did. But maybe here there could be companionship, support, trust, everything you ran away from before Valentina, because you thought it was no help to you; and only got worse with Valentina sending you on pointless missions. Maybe you were done being under her thumb just like how Bob was, and the others were as well. Maybe it was time for you to forge your own path–talk about some serious post-nut clarity, but at least you have it now and not down the line when it eventually gets worse. If you wanted there to finally be someone who cared for you…why not have it be Bob? If he wanted to hurt you, he would have already. 

Your eyes stay on his, as his hand slithered to yours; no ominous black shadows included, or horrible memories that already plagued your mind; just a true alliance, an unadulterated connection (despite how smudged your makeup is and how red Bob was) and all the mess that came with it. “What do you say, Cupid’s girl?” and with a soft breath, you nod, giving him a resounding yes. He nearly leans in to kiss you, but you stop him. He pulls away and raises an eyebrow. “What? We’re team members now so we can’t kiss?” he asked, but you shake your head. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what is it?”

“…Cupid’s girl is not my hero name.”

 .·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

buy me a coffee ૮⸝⸝> ̫ >⸝ ა

[pankowcrumbs]

You never called me back X Sebastian stan

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Words: 9.3K

Plot: You and Seb have a fight and break things off but you find out you're pregnant but Sebastian already blocked you… years later it all comes to light and he wants to be involved.

I don’t remember what the fight was about. Not really.

Funny, isn’t it? How something that ripped through me like a bomb tore everything down, burned every bridge could blur so quickly into fragments. I remember shouting. His face flushed with frustration. My voice breaking. The way we kept cutting each other off, like listening had suddenly become a luxury we couldn’t afford.

But I don’t remember what started it. Not the words. Just the hurt.

It had been two years since that night, and still, sometimes I’d wake up gasping for air, my chest tight with the weight of words I never got to say properly. Maybe that’s why I kept that last voicemail. Or maybe because it was the only proof I had that I’d tried.

That he chose not to.

We were never supposed to get close.

That’s what we told each other from the beginning laid out all the ground rules, like that would somehow protect us. No sleepovers. No public outings. No feelings. It was a laugh, really. As if two people could keep sharing their bodies without ever sharing anything else.

But he was Sebastian. And I was me. And things never really stayed simple for long.

We met through mutual friends in London, during one of his longer stays. He was working on a film, I was freelancing photography mostly, though I dipped in and out of projects like a magpie. One night turned into two. Then three. Then a casual kind of routine: his place, mine, wherever. It wasn’t romantic, we insisted. Just easy. Convenient. Fun.

Until it wasn’t.

Until he started cooking me breakfast.

Until I started waiting for his texts like a schoolgirl.

Until he looked at me, once, with something in his eyes that felt like everything and nothing all at once.

And then, just like that, it all collapsed.

The fight was brutal. Raw. We’d been skirting the edge of something heavier for weeks, pretending we weren’t. He slept with someone else casually, as we were allowed but then lied about it. Said he hadn’t seen anyone in ages. I only found out because someone else let it slip, and when I asked him about it, he brushed it off like I was being dramatic.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said.

And that, I think, was the final crack.

Because it did matter. To me.

I remember standing in his hotel room, half-dressed, mascara smudged from crying and wiping too hard, while he stood there with that maddening calm of his, arms crossed like I was the problem.

“You said no strings,” he reminded me. “You can’t flip the rules just because you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t flip anything,” I snapped. “I just expected you not to lie. There’s a difference.”

He scoffed. “We’re not dating, Y/N.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Thank God, right? Because if this is how you treat someone you don’t care about, I’d hate to see how you screw up with someone you do.”

He flinched barely but it was enough.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he said coldly.

I nodded, trying not to let the tremble in my chin show. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

I left. Slammed the door behind me. Walked home barefoot because I couldn’t be arsed to put my heels back on. And when I got home, I cried until my pillow was soaked.

The nausea started two weeks later.

I brushed it off at first. Blamed it on stress, or a dodgy meal, or maybe the hangover from the wine I drank alone three nights in a row while watching terrible romcoms and pretending I was fine.

But when I missed my period, everything came into sharp, unbearable focus.

I bought the test in a daze didn’t even make eye contact with the woman at the till. Took it home. Stared at the little plastic stick on the bathroom sink like it might morph into something else if I just blinked hard enough.

But no. Two lines. Bold. Unmistakable.

I sank to the floor.

Pregnant.

Pregnant with Sebastian Stan’s child.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, curled against the cold tile, hands shaking. The fear wasn’t loud it was quiet. Hollow. Like standing in a tunnel after a bomb’s gone off and waiting for the dust to settle.

After a while, I called him.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again.

Same thing.

I texted first a simple “Hey, can we talk?” Then, “It’s important.” Then, “Please, Seb.”

Nothing. Just greyed-out ticks and silence.

I told myself he was busy. Maybe out of the country. Maybe his phone was off.

But I knew. Deep down, I knew.

Still, I tried every day for a week. Then two. Then three. I even emailed. No reply. No bounce back. Just a void.

I spiralled. Anger and fear twisted together into something sharp and unrelenting. And eventually, I caved. Left the voicemail. The one that still haunts me.

I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, heart in my throat, voice shaking so badly I had to stop halfway through.

“Seb… I know you’re ignoring me. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I did that was so unforgivable, but”

I swallowed hard. Took a breath.

“ I don’t want anything from you. I just am just begging you to call me back it's really important ”

A pause.

Another breath. Shaky. Shattered.

“Please. Just call me back.”

I hung up.

He never did.

Time passed like a slow drip. Each day a little heavier than the last. At some point, I stopped hoping for a reply. Stopped checking my phone every five minutes. Stopped replaying the voicemail to hear how desperate I’d sounded.

I changed my number. Moved flats. Started seeing a midwife. Told my parents in a tearful phone call. It wasn’t easy God, it wasn’t even close but eventually, I stopped waking up with that ache in my chest. The one shaped like him.

I focused on the baby. On the little life growing inside me. And slowly, I let go of the version of the future that had him in it.

I never told anyone his name. Never gave details. Just said he wasn’t around. People filled in the blanks themselves. Assumed it was a one-night stand or a fling. No one ever imagined it was Sebastian Stan. Not the movie star. Not the charming, funny man I’d once shared takeaways and late-night confessions with. Not the man who once kissed my forehead and whispered he liked the way I laughed when I was half-asleep.

No. That version of him existed only in memories now.

Or dreams.

And even those, I tried not to indulge in.

Now, two years later, my daughter is asleep upstairs.

She has his eyes.

That’s the part that guts me most. Every time she looks at me with that stormy blue gaze, every time she frowns in concentration or bursts into unexpected laughter, it’s like he’s right there etched into her face in ways I could never erase.

I love her more than I ever thought possible. Fiercely. Protectively. She’s my whole world. And she’ll never know she was unwanted.

Not by me.

I tuck her in every night. I hold her when she cries. I make her pancakes in the shape of animals and let her draw all over the walls of the spare room because she says it makes her brain happy. I show up, even when I’m tired, even when I’m scared.

I’m the one who stayed.

And if he ever comes back if he ever dares to walk through the door and ask for a second chance he’ll have to answer for the silence first.

Because I begged.

And he never called.

It was meant to be a quiet lunch. Just a few old friends, a couple of glasses of wine, and hopefully some adult conversation that didn’t involve Bluey or Paw Patrol.

I hadn’t expected to bring Isla with me, but my babysitter rang last minute, her voice hoarse and apologetic. Flu. Couldn’t be helped. And I didn’t want to cancel not again. So I packed a little bag with crayons, her favourite snacks, and the sticker book she was currently obsessed with, and brought her along.

She was happy enough in her little booster seat, colouring away and chatting softly to her unicorn plush while I slipped back into conversations I used to be part of more often. It felt… nice. Like brushing off a coat I hadn’t worn in ages and realising it still fit.

Until he walked in.

Sebastian.

I spotted him the moment he stepped into the restaurant tall, broad-shouldered, that same damn leather jacket he always used to wear like it was armour. My breath caught in my throat before I could even process it. For a moment, everything around me went still. Like the clink of cutlery and low murmur of conversation had faded into the background, and all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.

I didn’t know whether to run or throw up.

He saw me almost instantly. His eyes flicked across the table, scanning faces and then landed on mine. A beat passed. Then another. And I swear something flickered behind his expression. Recognition? Surprise? Confusion?

Then his eyes shifted to Isla.

And he stared.

She was chewing on a grape and humming under her breath, completely unaware of the earthquake that had just walked through the door. Her curls were pulled into two puffy bunches, a tiny daisy clip stuck haphazardly in one side. And those eyes his eyes turned briefly towards him, wide and unbothered.

He blinked. Said nothing.

I cleared my throat and stood up halfway, pasting on a polite smile. “Hi.”

His gaze snapped back to mine. “Hi,” he said softly.

I didn’t hug him. Didn’t offer a seat. I was too stunned, too careful. My friends were already shifting to make room for him at the end of the table, greeting him with easy smiles and enthusiastic hellos. No one noticed how my hands trembled slightly as I reached for Isla’s juice box.

“Didn’t know you were back in London,” said Alice, scooting over. “How long are you here?”

“Just a couple of weeks,” he said, sliding into the chair. “Got in this morning.”

“Ah,” Liam grinned. “Makes sense. You texted me, what, two hours ago? Said it might be nice to catch up. Figured I’d surprise everyone.”

Everyone. Everyone.

My stomach dropped. So he hadn’t come for this lunch. Not deliberately. Not to see me.

He didn’t know.

Not really.

And from the way he kept glancing at Isla subtly, but not subtly enough it was clear something was churning behind those eyes of his. He hadn’t asked anything yet, but I could feel the question dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“This is Isla,” I said quietly, almost before I realised I was speaking. My voice sounded thinner than usual stretched. “My daughter.”

His head turned slowly, fully facing her for the first time. He looked at her like someone trying to solve a riddle they already knew the answer to.

“She’s beautiful,” he said eventually.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Isla, oblivious, offered him a sticker a shiny butterfly. He smiled and took it without hesitation, sticking it to the back of his hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

And my heart twisted.

He used to say that to me.

The rest of the lunch was a blur. I tried to focus on the conversation on the stories, the jokes, the shared laughter that should’ve anchored me but my mind kept floating. Kept returning to the fact that Sebastian was sitting just two seats down, watching Isla with that cautious intensity like he was reading a page from a book he thought he’d already finished.

He barely touched his food. I barely touched mine.

Every now and then, I caught him looking not at Isla, but at me. Like he was trying to piece something together. Like the cogs in his head were turning, slow and deliberate, trying to unearth something he wasn’t ready for.

He still hadn’t said a word about it.

And no one else knew. Not a soul at that table knew that Sebastian Stan was Isla’s father. Not even Alice, who I used to tell everything. I’d never wanted to risk it. Too many questions, too much mess.

But now, sitting across from him, I felt like I was holding a grenade in my lap, just waiting for the pin to fall out.

At one point, Liam leaned towards me with a grin. “Did you know Seb was in town?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

“Yeah,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on a chip. “Texted me this morning out of nowhere. Said he missed us. Thought it’d be nice to invite him. Hope that’s alright.”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “Just… a surprise, that’s all.”

“A good one though?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Across the table, Sebastian’s gaze caught mine again. Held. My breath hitched just slightly before I looked away and wiped Isla’s mouth with a napkin.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

When we all finally rose from the table and paid, the spring air outside felt too cold too sharp for the sun that was supposed to be shining.

The others began saying their goodbyes with hugs and promises to do it again soon. One by one, they peeled off down the high street until only Sebastian and I were left standing awkwardly in the dappled sunlight.

Isla was crouched by the wall, examining a trail of ants with the kind of intensity only a toddler could manage.

I could feel Sebastian beside me, tense and restless. Then...

“I’m going to ask a stupid question,” he said, voice low.

I turned to look at him.

He wasn’t meeting my eyes. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking.

A beat passed.

Then he looked up.

“Is she mine?”

I didn’t speak right away. Just nodded, slowly.

He blinked like the world had just shifted sideways.

A crack formed in his expression something raw and almost unbearable flickered through his eyes. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start.

Then came the quiet, controlled anger. Not loud enough to draw Isla’s attention, but sharp enough to sting.

“You didn’t tell me.”

I stared at him.

“I tried,” I said.

He frowned. “No. I never... You never”

“I called you,” I cut in, my voice firmer now. “I texted. I left voicemails. Long ones. I told you I needed to talk to you. I begged you to call me back.”

He was shaking his head, almost in disbelief.

“I didn’t get any of that”

“Because you blocked me.”

His breath caught. A flash of guilt washed over his face.

“I left you one last message,” I went on, quietly now. “I told you it was important. I didn’t say the words, but I hoped you’d hear it in my voice. And then… I promised myself that if you didn’t have the decency to call me back to even ask what was so urgent then you didn’t deserve to know about our child.”

Sebastian looked like I’d slapped him.

He turned slightly, raking a hand through his hair, pacing one small, frustrated step.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

He looked over at Isla again still crouched, still happy, still blissfully unaware.

“She looks like me,” he said under his breath. “I noticed it straight away.”

I didn’t answer.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he exhaled, barely holding his voice steady. “I’ve missed everything. Her first steps. Her first words. The first time she got sick. I’ve missed all of it.”

“You weren’t there,” I said, more softly this time. “That wasn't my fault”

His eyes snapped back to mine, something close to panic surfacing.

“Can I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “Can I see her again? Another time? Properly?”

I hesitated. The wind caught Isla’s curls just then, and she looked up at us, smiling, waving one sticky hand in the air.

I waved back before answering.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I need to think.”

“I understand.”

“I just… I can’t let you dip in and out,” I added quickly, voice trembling now. “She’s not a surprise cameo. She’s a person. A whole person.”

“I’m not going to disappear again.”

“You did once.”

He flinched. Said nothing.

I took Isla’s hand gently, feeling the tiny warmth of her fingers against mine.

“We should go.”

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

As I turned, I heard him whisper so quiet it was almost carried away by the breeze:

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t sleep much the night after that lunch.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sebastian’s face. The flicker of disbelief. The pain behind his eyes. The way his voice broke when he said he’d missed everything.

And he had.

Isla’s first laugh. Her first wobbly steps across our tiny flat. The first time she said “mummy,” and the second time when she tried to say “banana” but called it “ba-an-ah.”

He wasn’t there for any of it.

And yet, something inside me some maddening, gentle part couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at her. Not with pity or fear. But awe. Like she was the most precious thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

The very next day, he messaged.

Hi. I don’t expect a reply straight away. But I just wanted to say thank you for introducing me to Isla. I would like to see her again, if and when you’re ready. I want to do right by her. And by you. –Seb.

It took me hours to reply. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I had to force myself to believe he meant it.

I finally wrote back:

If you want to be in her life, it has to be consistent. No dipping in and out. No disappearing. If you say you’re coming, you come. Also, I’m there. Always. You don’t get to take her anywhere yet. We meet in a public place. Sunday. 11am. The park by my flat Hampstead Heath. Bring snacks. She likes grapes and cheesy crackers.

He replied almost instantly.

I’ll be there. Thank you.

Sunday came faster than I expected.

I dressed Isla in her little denim dungarees and tied her curls into two tiny buns on top of her head. She giggled as I wiped toast crumbs from her cheeks.

“Mummy, Sparkle?” she asked, holding up her unicorn plush with one floppy, sparkly leg.

“Of course, baby.”

I didn’t tell her who we were meeting. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to confuse her until I was sure.

When we arrived, he was already there sitting on a bench near the swings, clutching a bag and looking like he’d been waiting for years, not minutes.

He stood as soon as he saw us.

“Hi,” he said, awkward and gentle all at once.

“Hi,” I replied, tightening my grip on Isla’s hand.

She looked up at him curiously. “You’re tall,” she declared.

Sebastian let out a breath of laughter. “I am, yeah. I should warn you, I might bump my head on tree branches sometimes.”

She giggled, and I watched him melt a little right there.

“I brought snacks,” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. “Grapes and those little bear-shaped biscuits?”

“Approved,” I said.

We settled on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree. Isla flopped onto her stomach, unpacking her unicorn and immediately appointing Sebastian as a guest in her imaginary tea party.

He played along like a pro.

“Would Sparkle like one lump of sugar or two?” he asked with great seriousness.

“Three,” Isla whispered conspiratorially. “She’s sweet.”

He nodded solemnly. “I should’ve known.”

I couldn’t help it I smiled. And for a moment, the tension between us eased, just a little.

The visit only lasted an hour. I kept my boundaries clear when Isla grew tired, I stood and said it was time to go. He didn’t argue.

“Can I see her again next weekend?” he asked as I packed up our things.

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Same place. Same time.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath since I first messaged him.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

I didn’t say anything. I just picked Isla up and walked away.

But I let her wave.

He waved back.

It became a pattern.

Every Sunday, 11am.

He showed up every time. On time. With snacks. With stories. With toys. With questions about her favourite songs or how she liked her sandwiches cut.

He never overstepped. Never pressured me. Never tried to rush anything.

He just showed up.

One Sunday, Isla crawled into his lap without asking, holding a book she wanted him to read. He blinked hard, caught off guard, then wrapped an arm around her and read every page with the same dramatic flair she’d come to expect from me.

I didn’t realise I was crying until I felt the tears hit my lips.

one month in, we started having coffees after the park. Just the two of us. Isla would nap in her buggy and we’d sit at the little café on the corner, sipping flat whites and talking really talking for the first time in years.

“I blocked you,” he admitted one afternoon, his voice heavy with shame. “After that fight… I couldn’t handle seeing your name. It made me feel sick.”

I nodded slowly. “I figured.”

“I didn’t expect to feel so much,” he said. “Back then. When you told me it was over. That you didn’t want whatever we were doing anymore.”

“We were toxic,” I said. “It wasn’t healthy. For either of us.”

“But it wasn’t nothing.”

“No,” I agreed. “It wasn’t nothing.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. And I saw it the weight of everything we could’ve been if we’d only known how to love each other properly.

“We can’t rewrite it,” I said, softer now. “But we can give her something steady. Something whole.”

He nodded. “I want that. More than anything.”

The first time he came to my flat, Isla squealed like it was Christmas.

“You can sit here!” she said, dragging him to the couch like a prize. “Mummy makes hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows if you ask really nicely.”

“I shall beg,” he said seriously, making her cackle with delight.

I brought them mugs and stood in the kitchen for a moment, watching them.

He was holding her plush unicorn on his shoulder like a baby. She was giggling so hard she snorted.

My heart hurt.

In a good way.

In a terrifying way.

Later that night, after Isla had fallen asleep and the flat had gone quiet, he lingered in the doorway.

“Thanks for letting me come today,” he said. “For trusting me.”

I nodded. “She loves you, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“She doesn’t even know what that means yet,” I added. “But it’s in her bones already.”

He swallowed hard. “I love her, too.”

And then he looked at me. Really looked.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

My breath caught.

“We can’t” I began.

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… I needed you to hear it. I should’ve said it years ago.”

I didn’t say it back.

But I didn’t close the door, either.

I could hear them from the kitchen.

Isla’s delighted giggle. The thump of toy blocks tumbling. Sebastian’s overly dramatic “oh noooo!” as he pretended to be defeated by her tiny rubber dinosaur.

I stirred the pasta absentmindedly, letting the warm sound of their play fill the flat like music. It had only been a few weeks since I’d started letting him come by more regularly, and already, it was becoming second nature the coat dropped on the hook by the door, his trainers neatly beside mine, the sound of his laugh joining ours.

I peeked into the living room. Isla was balanced on his knee, proudly showing him a sticker book while he listened like she was reading him Shakespeare. Her curls bounced as she babbled on, and he nodded along as though every word made perfect sense.

“Seb?” I called gently.

He looked up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

He followed me back into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard like it was his place. Like he’d always known where things were.

I hesitated, wiping my hands on a tea towel. “What… what are you going to do? I mean about living in New York. Projects. Work. Everything.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said. “I’m not expecting things to be easy or perfect. I’d never ask you to uproot your whole life, or hers, just to make things easier for me.”

He looked out toward the living room, where Isla was now humming to herself.

“I know you’ve built a life here. You’ve got your work, your friends. Her routines. I’d never take that away from her.”

I softened, listening closely.

“I’ll work around you,” he said firmly. “Around her. I’ve already told my agent I only want to take jobs that keep me free to fly back and forth. If I’m not on set, I’m here. Every chance I get. Whatever your schedule is, I’ll match it. I just… I want to be in her life, and yours, in whatever way you’ll let me.”

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

“That sounds… fair,” I said after a beat. “I think we can figure it out, as it happens.”

He smiled, relieved. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the quiet filled with the distant sound of Isla talking to herself about grapes and teddy bears.

“There’s one more thing,” I said, glancing at him.

He straightened.

“I was wondering… if you’d want to tell her.”

“Tell her?” he asked, confused.

“That you’re her dad.”

His face changed slowly the emotion building behind his eyes, guarded but rising. He glanced again toward Isla, who was now crawling under the coffee table, murmuring nonsense to her unicorn.

“She’s only one and a half,” I added gently. “She doesn’t fully understand anything yet. Not really. But she knows who’s kind. Who loves her. Who shows up.”

He looked back at me, eyes glossy.

“I think… I think if you wanted to tell her, you could.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight. “I do want to. God, yeah, I want to.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “Then let’s tell her together.”

After dinner, we all sat in the living room. Isla nestled in my lap, still holding her unicorn, while Sebastian knelt beside us on the rug, nervously fiddling with the zip on her little cardigan.

She looked between us, cheeks rosy, babbling in toddler-speak about some imaginary friend who lived in the kitchen cupboard.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said gently, brushing a curl from her face. “Can Mummy and Sebby tell you something?”

She blinked up at us, mouth sticky with leftover banana.

Sebastian smiled nervously. “Hi, Isla.”

She pointed at his nose. “Boop.”

He chuckled softly. “Boop,” he repeated.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, then composed myself.

“You know how you love Sebby?” I asked.

She nodded. “Sebby fun.”

“Well,” I said slowly, “Sebby’s a very special person. He’s not just Mummy’s friend. He’s something even more special to you.”

Her little brows furrowed in confusion.

Sebastian swallowed thickly and moved in a little closer. “I’m your daddy, Isla.”

She blinked.

I watched her tiny mouth work around the word. “Da…dee?”

He smiled, eyes watering. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m your daddy.”

She looked at me for confirmation. “Mummy?”

“Yes, my love,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “He’s your daddy.”

There was a long beat.

Then Isla broke into the sunniest grin and launched forward into his arms.

“Daddy!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck in a way only toddlers could all elbows and love.

Sebastian held her like she was spun glass, one hand cradling her head, the other wrapped protectively around her back. His shoulders shook slightly, and I realised he was crying.

“Isla,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

She patted his cheek like she was comforting him now. “Daddy sad?”

He laughed wetly. “No, baby. Daddy’s happy.”

She pulled back slightly and, in her most serious tone, said, “No cry. I gots blankie.”

And then she stood, waddled off, and returned moments later with her favourite duck-print blanket, throwing it over his lap like a royal gift.

He laughed again, wiping his cheeks.

“Thank you, my love.”

He looked up at me, and I saw it all in his eyes the joy, the pain, the love, the regret.

I nodded, smiling through my own tears.

“She’s got your eyes,” I said softly.

He took a deep breath, clutching the blanket to his chest.

“And your fire,” he added, gazing back at her. “I don’t deserve either of you.”

“No,” I said honestly. “But you’re here. And that’s a start.”

That night, after he’d gone and Isla was tucked into bed, I sat alone on the sofa, sipping tea and staring at the quiet living room.

The sticker book still sat open. The little pink socks she’d kicked off were on the rug. Her unicorn was slumped over like it, too, had had a long day.

And something about it all made my chest ache with happiness, with hope, with the tiniest flicker of fear.

The first time Sebastian took Isla out on his own, I nearly called him three times in the span of twenty minutes.

I didn’t, of course. But I hovered near my phone like it might cry out for help on its own. I’d kissed Isla’s curls, watched her waddle off toward him with her tiny backpack on, and smiled as she shouted “Bye Mummy!” from the doorway.

And now the flat was still. Too still.

I tried to focus washed the dishes, made the bed, even started replying to some work emails but everything reminded me she wasn’t here. Her sippy cup left near the telly. A sticker of a giraffe stuck to my laptop screen. The scent of her baby shampoo lingering faintly in the hallway.

They were only gone for a few hours.

I still jumped when I heard the key in the lock.

“Mummy!” Isla’s voice rang out like a song.

I met them at the door. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her curls a little frizzier than they’d been when she left. She looked delighted.

“We saw ducks!” she said, waving a half-eaten rice cake. “And Daddy buy juice. He say don’t tell Mummy it has sugar.”

I raised an eyebrow at Sebastian, who held his hands up in mock surrender.

“It was organic. Ish.”

I smirked despite myself. “And how did it go?”

“She’s… perfect,” he said, lowering himself to unbuckle her shoes. “I mean, she’s got energy like a caffeine-fuelled squirrel, but she’s amazing. She made a friend at the café. Shared a biscuit. Talked to a pigeon for ten minutes.”

I laughed.

“She’s got your charm,” he added, glancing up at me. “Everyone in that park was wrapped around her little finger. Including me.”

I softened, brushing Isla’s hair back from her forehead. “She had a good time?”

“I think so,” he said.

“Best day!” Isla chirped, confirming it.

My heart melted.

And just like that we had our first solo day out under our belts.

It became routine, slowly. Some weekends, Sebastian would come by with plans: the zoo, a soft play centre, a toddler art class that ended in a very colourful disaster. Other times, we’d spend time together the three of us curled on the floor with picture books, Sebastian dutifully voicing animals while Isla cackled and corrected him.

I’d never imagined this kind of dynamic with him. A year ago, I couldn’t even look at photos of him without feeling that old, deep hurt.

Now, he was in our lives. Tangibly. Steadily. Bit by bit.

And not just when it was convenient.

One afternoon, a month later, we were sat in the garden while Isla napped the baby monitor beside us, my tea half-drunk on the table.

Sebastian was scrolling through his phone with a pinched look on his face.

“What’s up?” I asked, wiping suncream from my wrist.

He hesitated.

“I got papped yesterday,” he said. “Coming out of your building.”

My stomach tightened. “What?”

He turned the phone to show me. A grainy photo clearly taken from across the street. Him holding Isla in one arm, pushing the door open with the other. Her face was angled slightly away, but not enough to be hidden.

“Oh god,” I whispered. “Her face is in it.”

“I know,” he said, jaw tight.

“Was it posted?”

“Not officially. Not by a real outlet. Yet. A few fan accounts have it already though. I’ve already messaged my team. Asked them to make sure no one runs it. But I wanted to be honest. I didn’t see the camera.”

I sat back, heart hammering.

“She’s just a baby,” I muttered.

“I know,” he repeated, more softly this time. “I’m sorry.”

I swallowed hard. “This was always going to be the hardest part.”

He nodded. “I don’t want her dragged into anything. Not without your say. And hers, when she’s old enough to make that decision.”

I looked at him, properly.

“I never wanted to keep her from you,” I said. “But I did want to keep her safe. From this.”

“You’re right to,” he said. “I get it now. More than ever.”

We sat in silence a beat.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said. “Always. I’ll wear the stupid hat. I’ll do what it takes.”

I smiled faintly. “You in a stupid hat is its own public risk.”

He chuckled, the tension breaking slightly.

“She’s priority,” he said. “Always.”

I nodded, finally allowing myself to believe it.

A few days later, I found a locked folder in my inbox.

Private photos for Y/N and Isla only.

Inside: professional-grade images of Sebastian with Isla. Ones I hadn’t taken.

One of them sitting on a park bench, her tiny fingers tangled in his hair. Another of him kneeling beside her in front of a fountain, both their faces lit up in pure laughter. They weren’t for press. Just for us.

He’d hired someone discreet. Kind. Someone who wouldn’t sell them.

I opened the last one a quiet shot of the two of them under a tree, her asleep on his chest, his head resting lightly against hers.

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.

Not because it hurt.

But because it was healing.

“Can I keep one in my wallet?” he asked the next day. “Or is that… too much?”

“Of course you can,” I said, handing him a small print.

He held it like it was made of gold.

That weekend, he took Isla for an overnight. My first night without her since she’d been born.

I won’t lie I paced the house like a restless cat. But Sebastian texted updates without me having to ask.

-She made me sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ six times before bed. Slightly off-key. She was not impressed.

-Porridge everywhere. Literally. Everywhere. Might burn this hoodie.

-She named a duck “Simon Sebastian Stan” today. Not sure whether to be honoured or worried.

I laughed through my tears.

The next morning, they returned both wearing matching duck-print pyjamas from the gift shop.

“She insisted,” he said, half apologising.

“I love it,” I said truthfully.

She flung herself into my arms like she’d been gone a year. “Mummy I miss you!”

I held her tightly. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

Sebastian watched us, his eyes warm.

“I can’t believe how much she changes week to week,” he said. “Every new word. Every new thing she does. I don’t want to miss any of it.”

“You won’t,” I said softly. “Not anymore.”

We weren’t perfect. There were disagreements. Moments where we both got defensive, or overwhelmed. But every time, we circled back to what mattered. To her.

We never called ourselves anything. Not co-parents. Not friends. Not… more. We were still figuring that out.

But we were present. We were kind. And Isla, clever little sponge that she was, knew she was safe. She was loved.

One night, as I tucked her into bed, she pulled me close and whispered, “I love Mummy. I love Daddy. We all together.”

I kissed her forehead, my throat tight.

“Yes, baby. We’re all together.”

The morning Sebastian left for New York, Isla was still asleep.

He stood in the doorway to her room, his hand resting lightly on the frame, watching her chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. A stuffed dinosaur was tucked beneath her chin. Her curls were everywhere, as usual.

“Want to wake her?” I whispered.

He shook his head slowly. “She looks too peaceful. I’ll FaceTime her when I land.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

It wasn’t like this was permanent. He was only going for two weeks. Filming some last-minute reshoots, meetings, events. All the usual chaos that had once seemed so far removed from my quiet life.

But now it was tangled up in ours.

“You packed her drawings?” I asked, handing him the rolled-up bundle Isla had insisted he take.

He smiled, tucking them carefully into the front of his carry-on. “Front and centre.”

Then he looked at me that soft look he wore lately when he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Thanks,” he said. “For trusting me with all of this. For letting me be in it. Even when I didn’t make it easy.”

I didn’t say anything. Just hugged him tightly and let go a second later than I meant to.

That evening, the FaceTime came right on time.

“ISLA!” he shouted playfully from his hotel room, his face filling the screen. “Hi, monkey!”

“Daddy!” she shrieked, practically launching herself at the phone in my hand. I steadied it with both hands as she clambered into my lap, eyes wide.

“You there?” he asked, tilting the phone to show her a small plushie she’d given him. “Look who came with me.”

“That’s Duck!” she giggled. “Duck go New York!”

“He says he misses you.”

“Where’s New York?” she asked, frowning.

Sebastian chuckled. “Very, very far away.”

“Far like Nanny’s house?”

“Even farther than Nanny’s.”

She blinked. “But why you go?”

My heart squeezed.

He smiled gently. “I had to do some work, baby. But just for a little while.”

She studied his face seriously, then looked at me. “He come back?”

I nodded. “He always comes back, love.”

Sebastian leaned in closer to the screen. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring you something special.”

She gasped. “A horse?”

“Maybe not a real horse.”

“A big horse?”

“A… toy horse,” he offered.

She considered that. “Okay. But pink.”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Each night after that, the calls became routine. She'd hold up her latest drawing, or babble about what she ate for lunch. He’d ask questions. Listen. Pull faces to make her laugh.

On the fourth night, she was quieter. Sleepier.

She leaned against me, cheek resting on my shoulder while the phone sat propped in front of us.

“Long day?” Sebastian asked.

“She ran the entire length of the park three times,” I said, adjusting the camera so he could see her properly.

“She’s training for a toddler marathon,” he joked. “I respect the hustle.”

“Mmm,” she murmured.

“Hi baby,” he said gently. “You tired?”

She nodded without lifting her head. “You come back soon?”

“Very soon.”

“Okay,” she whispered, already half-gone.

And then slowly, right there in my lap, she drifted off.

One chubby hand curled around my sleeve. The other still loosely clutching a toy she hadn't let go of all day.

I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Sebastian watched her from the screen, his face soft, quiet.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered.

“I know,” I murmured, brushing a curl from her eyes.

We sat like that the three of us in our own little stillness for a long moment.

“I hate being away,” he said eventually. His voice cracked just slightly. “Even when I’m doing something I love. It feels like I’m missing real life.”

“She misses you,” I said. “She asks where you are every time she sees your shoes in the hall.”

His expression faltered, and for a second, he didn’t say anything.

“I miss her too. And you.”

I glanced at the screen.

He looked tired. Jet-lagged, sure, but also… something more. That specific ache of absence you only feel for the people who’ve rooted themselves in you.

“She’ll be here when you get back,” I said softly. “So will I.”

He swallowed. “Can I call tomorrow morning too? I want to say good morning before I go to set.”

“Of course.”

We both lingered, neither of us ready to hang up just yet.

Isla snored gently against my shoulder.

“Sleep well, monkey,” he whispered.

I smiled. “Night, Seb.”

“Night,” he said. “Give her an extra cuddle from me.”

“I will.”

The screen went dark.

But the space he’d made for himself in our routines, in Isla’s heart, and maybe in mine too was still very much there.

The flight tracker said he landed at 8:06 a.m.

By 9:00, Isla was in her favourite dress the one with tiny strawberries all over it pacing the hallway with Duck the plushie gripped tight in her arms.

“When Daddy home?” she asked for the fifth time.

“Soon, baby. He’s in a car on the way.”

She looked at the door with suspicion, like she didn’t quite believe me.

Then the knock.

She shrieked. “DADDY!”

I barely managed to unlock the door before she was pulling it open herself.

And there he was. Jet-lagged. Bag slung over his shoulder. A plastic bag in his hand that I could already tell contained something pink and equestrian-themed.

“Horse!” Isla gasped.

“I told you I’d bring one,” he grinned.

She leapt into his arms, and he caught her effortlessly, burying his face in her hair.

I stepped back, letting them have that moment the kind that made my chest ache and swell at the same time.

It wasn’t until later, after breakfast and playgrounds and a nap that ended with Isla drooling on his chest on the couch, that I noticed the quiet between us.

The kind that wasn’t strained. Just... full.

Full of everything we hadn’t said yet.

That night, the flat was calm.

Isla had gone down easier than usual, her little body worn out by the day’s excitement. Duck was tucked under her chin, and Sebastian had read her two bedtime stories in a voice softened by exhaustion and something deeper.

Now we sat in the lounge, two mugs of tea cooling on the coffee table, a film playing quietly in the background that neither of us was really watching.

I was curled into the corner of the sofa. Sebastian sat on the floor, his back against the opposite end, head tilted back, eyes half-closed.

“You alright?” I asked gently.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just coming back to earth a bit.”

“Busy trip?”

“Busy brain.”

I hummed. “Understandable.”

He looked over at me then. Really looked.

“You’re good with her,” he said softly. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“She’s easy to love,” I replied.

A pause. Then...

“I think about it a lot,” he said.

“What?”

“What it would’ve been like if I’d called you back.”

I swallowed, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “Sebastian”

“No, I know. I’m not asking you to make it easier. I was a coward. I shut everything out. I can’t explain it without sounding pathetic.”

He looked down at his hands. “But every time I see her every time she says my name or shows me something she’s proud of I wonder what I missed. I wonder how I could’ve been so stupid.”

“You’re here now,” I said. “That’s what matters.”

“Is it?”

I looked at him. His expression was open, raw. Like he wasn’t asking for forgiveness, just understanding.

“She doesn’t know any different,” I said. “And she loves you. She’s never once questioned whether you belong. Kids are funny that way.”

He nodded, quiet again.

The film ended. The flat fell into silence but for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of traffic outside.

I stretched, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

“You don’t have to stay on the floor, you know,” I said, tilting my head toward the space beside me.

He hesitated, then climbed up beside me, cautious, like he wasn’t sure of the rules.

We sat close not touching, but near enough that the air felt different.

“I missed this,” he said. “Not just Isla. You.”

I looked at him carefully. “Seb...”

“I know. I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly. “I just needed you to know.”

I nodded, heart thudding, unsure what to say.

He shifted, lying back across the sofa, head resting lightly on my thigh.

I froze.

“Okay?” he asked.

I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded.

His breathing evened out slowly, the weight of him warm and real.

I ran my fingers gently through his hair a motion so instinctive it scared me a little.

“Sebastian?”

He hummed sleepily.

“You’re not the only one who thinks about it,” I said quietly.

He didn’t reply. Maybe he was already asleep.

But his hand found mine and held it just tightly enough to answer me.

I woke up to the sound of Isla’s giggles bright, squeaky ones that tumbled through the hallway like a soundtrack to joy itself.

I rubbed my eyes, the warmth of the morning sun pouring across the duvet. My legs were tangled in the sheets, hair sticking up in every direction. But none of that mattered because her laugh that laugh was the kind that made everything feel okay.

Then I heard his voice.

Low. Sleep-rough. Warm in a way that made my chest ache.

“Easy now, chef. We don’t want eggshells in the batter.”

“Eggie shell funny!” Isla squealed.

I sat up and blinked blearily toward the door. My flat felt different with him in it. Lighter somehow. Full.

I padded into the kitchen quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

Sebastian was standing at the counter his hair still messy from sleep. Isla sat on the counter in her little lemon pyjamas, gripping a whisk with both hands, entirely focused on the bowl in front of her.

“Morning,” I said softly.

Two heads turned.

“Mummy!” Isla chirped, bouncing slightly on the counter.

“Morning,” Sebastian echoed, smile crooking as he held up a wooden spoon. “We’re making pancakes. Or attempting to.”

“Only a few casualties so far,” I said, nodding at the flour all over the counter.

“And her,” he grinned, nodding at Isla’s cheeks, which were dusted white.

“I a pancake,” she giggled, beaming.

“You’re a beautiful pancake,” I murmured, crossing the kitchen and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Sebastian handed me a mug of tea black and strong, just how I liked it without needing to ask.

“Thank you,” I said, surprised by the small detail.

“Always.”

Our eyes met for a beat too long.

Then Isla sneezed flour all over his shirt, and we both burst into laughter.

Breakfast was messy and chaotic.

Pancakes were too brown on one side, syrup was everywhere, and Isla somehow got butter in her hair.

But I couldn’t stop smiling.

Once Isla was down for her midday nap, the flat fell quiet again.

I was rinsing dishes at the sink when Sebastian came up beside me, towel in hand.

“Let me help,” he said, nudging my shoulder gently.

We worked in silence for a moment not heavy silence, but thoughtful.

Then he said, “Last night… was nice.”

I glanced at him. “Yeah. It was.”

“And this morning?”

I smiled. “Even nicer.”

He looked down at the dish in his hands. “You know, when I’m with her and you it feels easy. Like I can breathe.”

I dried my hands on the towel slowly. “It is easy,” I said. “When we’re not overthinking everything.”

“I’m trying not to,” he admitted. “But I keep wondering… is there a version of this where we figure it out? Not just co-parenting. I mean us.”

The air felt still for a moment, like the flat was listening too.

I met his eyes, steady and honest. “Seb, I don’t have the answers yet. We’re still healing. Still learning how to be… this.”

“I know. I’m not rushing it,” he said quickly. “I just want you to know I’m here. For both of you. For real.”

I nodded, heart beating in my throat.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He reached out, his pinkie brushing mine lightly. Not a grab. Just a touch.

It was enough.

Later, while Isla napped curled up like a tiny comma in her cot, I found Sebastian in the lounge, flipping through one of her picture books, eyes distant.

I sat down beside him, close but not touching.

“You okay?” I asked.

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just thinking about how much time I missed.”

“You’re making up for it now.”

He looked at me then really looked. “I don’t want to miss anything else.”

“You won’t,” I said. “As long as you keep showing up.”

“I will,” he said.

When Sebastian first mentioned going out for the day properly out, not just the local park or walking Isla in the pram before sunrise I didn’t say no.

But I didn’t say yes either.

It was a quiet evening, the three of us curled on the sofa, Isla half-asleep on my lap with her bunny clutched tightly to her chest, her curls stuck to her forehead. I watched him watching her eyes soft, protective, still amazed by her.

That look always got to me.

He reached over, gently adjusted her sock so it wouldn’t slip off, then glanced up at me.

“I was thinking,” he said, cautious. “It might be nice to take her out somewhere. Maybe Covent Garden. The street performers, bubble guys she’d love it.”

I felt my stomach twist. “You mean, in public? Like… properly public?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know it’s a risk, but I’ve spoken to my publicist.”

Of course he had.

“She’s already drafted a statement,” he continued, voice low. “Said we can pre-empt the press interest. Make it clear we’re not hiding anything but also set a hard line.”

“And that line is?” I asked, not unkindly.

“No publishing Isla’s face. Full stop. Anyone who does gets hit with legal.”

I swallowed. “Will that actually work?”

“It’s been done before. She said if we post something ourselves a photo that shows we’re a family, without exposing too much most of the reputable outlets will follow suit. Anyone who doesn’t… well, that’s where the lawyers step in.”

I didn’t answer right away. I looked down at Isla. At her tiny hand curled around my hoodie string. She looked so peaceful, so safe.

“We can keep it lowkey,” he said gently. “We’ll take the buggy. Stay in busy areas. No big gestures, no hand-holding if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I said quietly. “I just… I never wanted her in this world.”

“I know,” he said. “But she’s my world. And I don’t want to hide that.”

I looked up at him, and for once, I didn’t see the actor. I didn’t see the tabloid fixture, the Marvel star. I saw him the man who read bedtime stories in funny voices and cried when Isla called him Daddy for the first time.

“Okay,” I said. “But we do it our way. On our terms.”

He nodded, eyes filled with something heavy and grateful. “Always.”

The next morning, the post went up.

A candid black-and-white photo of Sebastian’s hand in mine, and Isla’s tiny hand in both of ours just our fingers, nothing more. His caption read:

Family means everything to me. Please respect the privacy of our daughter. She’s not part of this industry, and she deserves to grow up without flashbulbs in her face. Thank you for your kindness and understanding.

It was short. It was heartfelt. And it worked mostly.

His publicist followed up with media contacts, reinforcing the boundaries. Within hours, our names were trending. The comments were a chaotic mix of shock, support, and inevitable speculation. But no one knew her name. No one had a clear image of her face.

And for now, that was enough.

We stepped out just before noon.

Isla was bouncing in her buggy, chattering to her toy bunny as I clipped her hat beneath her chin. Sebastian wore a hoodie pulled low and sunglasses, and I had a cap on, hair tucked behind my ears.

It wasn’t exactly a disguise. But it helped.

As soon as we reached the heart of Covent Garden, the world buzzed around us music, smells from food stalls, children laughing, buskers drawing crowds.

Sebastian wheeled the buggy while I held Isla’s snack pouch, and for a brief stretch of time, it felt normal. Ordinary.

Until I heard it the faint click of a shutter.

Then another.

He caught my eye.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… don’t leave my side.”

“Never,” he said without hesitation.

We sat at a little outdoor café, tucked behind a flower stall. Sebastian ordered coffee, I got tea and a fruit salad to share. Isla sat on his lap, pointing at pigeons and mimicking their noises, which made us both laugh more than we should’ve.

I saw a phone aimed at us from across the square. Not a pap, just someone who recognised him.

“Here it starts,” I murmured.

Sebastian didn’t flinch. He just leaned in, kissed Isla’s forehead, and whispered something to make her giggle.

“I can’t pretend this won’t happen,” he said quietly. “But I promise you I’ll handle it. You and Isla, you come first.”

I looked at him, at the little crinkle by his eyes, the way he held her like it was instinct.

“You already are,” I said, barely louder than the wind.

Later that afternoon, we wandered through the quieter side streets, stopping by a toy shop where Isla picked out a fabric book with animals and squeaky buttons. The clerk gave us a knowing smile but said nothing.

Just as we were heading home, I felt Isla tug on my wrist.

“More Daddy time?” she asked sleepily, blinking up at him from the buggy.

His expression melted.

“I’ll be around a lot more, sweet pea,” he promised. “As much as I can.”

She reached for him, and he scooped her up without hesitation.

I watched them, hand over my heart, unsure when this became our life.

By the time we got back home, Isla was already nodding off in her car seat, her little bunny clutched tight to her chest like it had been through battle with her.

Sebastian carried her up the stairs without a word, holding her with a gentleness that never failed to gut me a little. I trailed behind, carrying her bag and the folded buggy, trying to breathe out the tension I hadn’t realised I’d been holding all day.

The moment the front door shut behind us, the outside world slipped away like fog clearing from glass.

Seb gently laid Isla down in her cot, brushing her curls back with the edge of his finger. She stirred, mumbled something about “bubble man”, and rolled over, thumb making its way to her mouth.

I watched from the doorway, my arms crossed, still trying to settle the thrum beneath my ribs.

He looked up at me. “She’s okay.”

“Yeah,” I said, softer than I meant to. “She’s more than okay.”

He followed me back into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa with a sigh and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Well,” he muttered, “we survived.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Barely.”

There was a moment of quiet. Not awkward just… full. Charged.

I sat next to him, close enough to share a cushion but not quite touching. He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling.

“How are you doing?” he asked, voice gentle.

I hesitated. “I think I expected it to be worse. More invasive. But it wasn’t.”

“That’s the bar now?” he asked with a wry smile. “Not completely soul-crushing?”

I gave him a look. “It’s better than her face on a tabloid tomorrow morning.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

A beat.

“I meant what I said,” he added, quieter now. “About putting you two first. This wasn’t just a PR decision. I want her to grow up feeling normal, even if nothing about this setup is.”

I bit my bottom lip, chewing on it a little. “You’re doing a good job so far. She adores you.”

His eyes warmed at that, softened in a way that made my chest ache.

“She’s… she’s everything,” he murmured.

And then he turned to me.

“And so are you, you know. I know we’ve not really talked about… whatever this is. But I notice the way you look out for her. The way you still look out for me. Even after everything.”

I swallowed, feeling the tension rise again not the anxious kind, but something else. A quiet, invisible tether tightening.

“It’s not easy,” I admitted. “Letting you back in.”

“I know.”

“I’m scared,” I said, almost in a whisper. “Not just of the press. Of us. Of opening the door again when I spent so long forcing myself to close it.”

His face fell a little, but he nodded slowly. “I get that.”

“I’m not saying never,” I added, hurriedly. “Just… not yet.”

He turned fully to face me, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said simply. “Whatever pace you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his voice made my eyes sting.

I blinked, then cleared my throat. “Come on. Let’s have something to eat. We didn’t finish lunch, thanks to the pigeon incident.”

He laughed, that real laugh, low and breathy. “She tried to share her breadstick with it. That was pretty generous.”

I stood, walking to the kitchen, and called over my shoulder, “She gets that from me.”

Dinner was leftovers reheated pasta, garlic bread, and some roasted veg that had seen better days. But we ate at the kitchen island, still in our coats, talking about nothing and everything.

He told me about a script he was reading. I told him about Isla’s obsession with the alphabet song. We laughed when he tried to mimic her little voice and failed miserably.

And after we put the dishes in the sink and dimmed the lights, we just sat there, side by side, listening to the rain tap against the windows.

“Do you think she’ll remember today?” he asked after a while.

“Maybe not the details,” I said, resting my chin in my hand. “But she’ll remember the feeling. Of being loved. Of being safe.”

He nodded, eyes distant but full.

“I’m glad it was with you,” he murmured.

I didn’t respond not with words. But I reached out, resting my hand gently on top of his.

He looked down at the touch, then up at me, and smiled. Not the movie star smile. The real one. Quiet, a little sad, a little hopeful.

[cece693]

Hii could i request top m reader overstimulating tony stark? Like, to the point he's crying shaking mess and just melts into reader:3 with sweet aftercare pretty please?

So I tried with this because nothing but the best for my man, but mistakes are forewarned.

tags: sex, duh, dom reader, overstimulation, smut isn't the greatest, but I'm trying, crying, aftercare

You have Tony pinned beneath you, body trembling against the soft sheets, face glistening with sweat and tears. He’s already come more times than he can count—his dick twitching, overstimulated and slick with his own release. Every brush of your fingers, every grind of your hips against him, sends him spiraling further into a haze of raw sensation.

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, voice cracking as another jolt hits him. His usually sharp brown eyes, now clouded with need, roll back. “I can’t— I can’t take—”

You see the plea there, but you also see the spark of desire that hasn’t faded. He asked for this—begged, really—wanting you to take him past the point of no return, to show him that brilliant mind of his can slip away into nothing but overwhelming bliss. And you deliver, pressing him into the bed, thrusting with a deliberate rhythm.

His cock is rock hard again despite everything. You stroke him in time with your thrusts, watching as the friction makes his breath hitch. His walls grip you tight, and you can’t help but groan at the hot, desperate clutch around your own dick.

Tony’s tears spill over when he comes yet again, sobbing out your name as his release splatters across his stomach. The hot, wet pulse of his orgasm makes him seize up and tremble. You ride out every wave with him, letting him whimper and cry against your shoulder.

The slick slide of his cum across your fingers and the messy warmth of him has you on the edge, too. When you finally let go, your hips stutter, and you bury yourself inside him with a deep groan. Tony’s a sobbing, shaking mess, but still breathlessly beautiful. His fingers twitch, reaching for yours. You let him cling to you, pressing your chest against his. One arm slides around him, and your free hand drifts down, smoothing over the curve of his hip and then gliding back up again—gentle, grounding caresses that keep him tethered to the moment.

Tears glisten at the corners of Tony’s eyes, his breath hitching as he tries to calm the tremors running through his overstimulated body. You can’t help but marvel at the sight: Tony Stark, usually so composed and confident, now undone by your touch. He tenses slightly, a gasp escaping his lips, and you pause to brush a thumb across his cheek, catching a stray tear. His breathing stutters as he tries to speak, but only broken sounds escape. You gently hush him, leaning in to press your forehead to his, skin warm against warm.

“Shhh,” you whisper. “You’re alright. You did so good.”

His eyes flutter shut; for a moment, he just focuses on the sound of your voice, on the feeling of your body shielding him from everything else. Slowly, his trembling fingers find yours, lacing together. When he tugs, you move closer, letting him bury his face against the hollow of your throat.

The sticky remnants of your combined cum cling to both of you, and Tony’s body flinches when you shift. Sensing his oversensitivity, you move carefully, groping for the tissues on the bedside table. With as light a touch as you can manage, you start cleaning him up, wiping away the slick mess from his stomach and thighs. Each time he lets out a shaky breath or a quiet whimper, you pause, murmuring soft reassurances. “Stay with me,” you say, voice tender. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Tony nods against your collarbone. His eyes flicker open, glassy with the last remnants of tears. “That was…that was…” His voice cracks, too overwhelmed to string the words together.

You press a gentle kiss to his temple. “I know.”

Eventually, you tug the covers up, cocooning him in warmth. You nestle beside him, one arm sliding beneath his shoulders to cradle him closer. With the other, you stroke the damp hair back from his forehead. His chest still quivers with each uneven breath, but little by little, he relaxes into you. He attempts a shaky grin, eyes fluttering open. “That was incredible,” he manages, voice still ragged.

“Yeah?” You smile softly, leaning in so your noses brush. “You’re incredible.”

His cheeks flush, and he breathes out a stuttering laugh. “Wish I had the energy to… y’know, banter back,” he teases. “But I’m too far gone.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you say, lips curving in amusement. “Right now, let’s just take care of you.” His hand, still linked with yours, tightens for a moment. Then he eases his grip, letting you rearrange the pillows so he can lie more comfortably. Once you’re sure he’s settled, you curl into his side, offering your body heat and a steady heartbeat.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his damp cheek. “Get some rest.” He nods, lashes fluttering shut. The tension in his brow smooths out, though you can still feel the occasional tremor in his limbs. You keep rubbing slow circles into his back, reminding him with every pass of your palm that you’re there, you’re safe, and he’s safe too.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

The Beach

A/N: Shirtless Bucky? Shameless fondling? I think so Relationship: Bucky Barnes | Winter Soldier x Reader (implied/established relationship) Tags: bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x y/n, The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier!Bucky, fluff WARNINGS: consensual petting, FLUFF Summary: Post CATWS, you and Bucky have found temporary refuge somewhere warm and tropical. Now, you both enjoy an early morning on the beach.

Word Count: 1.1k+

You’ve decided you like the beach. 

Ten months after escaping HYDRA, you find the warmth of the sand and the sound of the ocean therapeutic. Your worries ebb and flow with the tide, peaking at night in your dreams and subsiding as the sun rises. Skin, previously pale and dry from captivity, is now sun-kissed and glowing. You even changed your hair, allowing it to grow in a way HYDRA never would. The little shop down the street sells hair dye, and you might purchase some when it feels right. 

Even Bucky, impenetrably serious and ever-vigilant, seems to share your sentiment. 

You wake in a haze of orange light, sun creeping over the mountainous horizon. Rays of light slink into your tiny bungalow from the sliding door, and the smell of coffee rouses you from your sleep. The bed- one you shared to keep each other from waking up screaming - is empty, second pillow cool to the touch. It’s been strange, waking up without a name or past in a place so beautiful, but you’ve kept each other motivated with shreds of memories. The bond you shared was deep, hardened by the torture you’d been subjected to together and solidified by blood. 

In the kitchenette you find a mug of coffee on the tiny counter, a note placed underneath that simply says ‘beach’ in sloped cursive. You try to sip the coffee, only to find it cool and bitter. It ends up running down the drain while you rinse the mug, deciding instead to follow the note outside. You change into a light blue sundress, stepping out of the sliding door to make your way to the water with journal in hand.

It’s warm already despite the early hour, and you trail your fingers across bright green trees and fauna on your way to the sandy beach. Crystal clear water greets you, a lone figure bobbing in and out of the waves. You sit cross-legged in the sand, content to watch him get his morning exercise in. A practiced hand makes note of the date and time, recording everything from the cold coffee to the creamy smell of ripe coconuts on the wind. You lose yourself in the words, adding tens more to the journal already bent from furious scribbling. 

Bucky either decides to keep up his laps or doesn’t notice you, paddling back and forth through rolling waves. You’ve close the journal and set it to the side, purposely slapping the cover shut to catch his attention. He must have been oblivious to your arrival, as he changes his course to immediately swim towards shore. You pad across the sand to meet the Winter Soldier- Bucky- soft hands coming to rest on his mismatched shoulders. He’s shirtless, wearing a teal and gray pair of boardshorts. 

A mischievous look crosses his face for a brief moment, and you just barely choke out a protest before he tries to tug you into his sopping wet body. 

“No!” You backpedal playfully, stepping out of his reach. “My clothes are dry.”

Bucky steps closer, coy smirk turning the corners of his lips. “Clothes can be changed.”

You scowl with no heart, growling his name in warning. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s to no avail.You’ve spent countless hours sparring with Bucky - with The Winter Soldier- and predict his pounce before he leaves the ground. Leaping out of his way is easy, but you forget the speed his titanium arm possesses. It strikes like a cobra, wrapping around your ankle and pulling you down into the sand. You catch yourself with your hands and roll, using your other foot to send a jab to his abdomen. It’s not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to release his grip on you. 

“That was good.” Bucky compliments, climbing to his feet and dusting sand away from his damp torso. He stands with his back to the water, casting a shadow where you’re still sitting in the sand. A hand reaches down to you, offering help up. 

You reach up to meet him, realizing too late that he had you beat in the wits category this morning. As soon as your fingers wrap around cold metal digits his hand pulls back and lifts. You’re scooped into his arms, and he takes off at a run into the waves. 

“Bucky, don’t you-” You’re cut off when both of you plunge into the drink, your clothes soaked beyond help. 

The water is shallow enough to stand, and you find your footing while soft waves rock your body about. Bucky is laughing when you surface, hair wild and plastered to your face. Your dress is in a similar state, every curve and contour of your body highlighted. You do your best to put on a serious face even though nothing but affection is moving through your brain. 

“You are in trouble.” You poke a finger into his chest, and he uses it to draw you into the embrace he searched for just a minute earlier. 

This time, you allow it. Sunshine warms the surface of his prosthesis, glinting into your face and twinkling through drops of water. His body is a familiar comfort, slotting into your arms with the ease of a final puzzle piece. A flesh and bone hand combs through the ends of your wet hair where it brushes the surface of the water. Bucky nuzzles his way down from your crown, nose nudging sweetly against your forehead before plush lips press against yours. 

He tastes like salt and fruit, the sweet tang of pineapple nipping at your tongue when his own traces your bottom lip. A moan escapes you, lost in his mouth as he pulls you in with an iron grip. Your hands creep up his chest, one sliding up to tug not-so-gently on the hair at his nape. His teeth nip at your bottom lip in response, hard enough to draw a whine. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” He murmurs to you, lips leaving yours to trail down the side of your neck. A series of love bites are engraved into your skin, the pain morphing into pleasure as he soothes each spot with his tongue. 

“I could say the same to you.” You purred, nails scraping along his good shoulder. 

A fistful of his hair is locked in your grip when his teeth tweak a pert nipple through the fabric of your dress. 

“Buck…” You turn to look for any stray people walking down the beach, unwilling to be found by any government due to getting carried away with each other in public. 

He chuffs his displeasure with your warning, hot air dancing across the already sensitive skin on your neck. Bucky’s teeth graze by each of the love bites again, and his prosthetic hand squeezes the round of your ass. 

“Let me take you back inside, then.” He kisses your lips in between words. “Show you how beautiful I think you are.” 

Strong hands glide down your curves and squeeze, brushing by the most sensitive parts of your body. 

So, yeah. 

You’ve decided you like the beach. 

-

Thank you for reading, much love ❤

Masterlist

[thinkinonsense]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO✿

old!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: pure fluff, sad lonely old man, brief mention of possible sa, soft logan

wc: 500+

a/n: this is part two to my 'work song' one-shot. thinkin' about making a hozier mini-series for old logan. if anyone is interested...

part one here

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Your old apartment building was close to the club downtown where Logan would drop customers off every weekend. Some nights on your walk home from work, you would pass him in the parking lot where he sat alone with a lit cigar in his mouth and waited until he needed to take people back home.

The handsome stranger always managed to catch your eye but the two of you never spoke; till the night in the alley.

It was later than usual, almost three am when a group of men approached you. They called after you, harassing you until they caged you in against the brick wall of the club. You couldn't even hear your cries for help over the loud music. When one of the men placed his hand on your hip, the sound of metal rang in your ears, and blood splattered across your upper body and abdomen.

The blood belonged to the man who touched you. His friends scattered and that's when you saw Logan standing there. His claws hid back into his hands as you ran into his arms.

"Are you alright?" He bent down to ask.

"Y-Yes, Thank you." Your voice trembled as you cried into his suit. Believe it or not, you had seen crazier things than a man with claws.

Logan was confused by your kindness. He has just killed a man in front of you; both of you are still covered in blood. You didn't even ask where he came from or how he knew you were in trouble. None of that mattered though, when you offered him into your apartment to clean him up.

"I um, I shouldn't" Logan hesitated in your doorway.

"Please, allow me to help." You begged with pouty lips and wide eyes that he couldn't say no. He waited on your couch while you grabbed a wet towel and bandages.

"You first." He said, taking the rag from your hands.

You nod then give him room to run the towel down your neck and collarbones. His huge hand lifts the bottom of your shirt to get the blood underneath. All you could do was watch him take care of you.

When he finished, you sat closer to him than he expected. The scars around his knuckles weren't pretty but you took your time cleaning off any dried blood, kissing each knuckle softly before wrapping them up.

"You're good at this," Logan muttered.

"My mother was a nurse." You smile at him.

Logan already thought you were beautiful but now he stared at you like you had just hung the moon with your own two hands.

You spoke the same secret language to each other, and neither of you questioned how he managed to pull you from the earth. Logan thought you deserved a real explanation though.

"I heard you behind the-"

"Shh..." You cut him off. "Doesn't matter."

In the close proximity, he could see the longing in your eyes and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward to kiss you. It was quick and innocent, more of a thank you Logan thought; but the second you tasted him, you couldn't stop.

He knew not to get attached. After tomorrow, you wouldn't want some old pathetic man like him. Logan had to savor this moment though.

"Stay." You whispered.

"I appreciate everything but I should get-"

"Please, I want you to stay."

And so he did.

The two of you lay on the couch and talked for hours. Logan kept telling himself that when you fell asleep, he would quietly leave. That was before you crawled on top of him and decided to rest there for the evening. You felt safe here with Logan. He looked down at you as you slept on top of him then down at his bandaged hands. For the first time in a long time, he felt cared for.

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Bickering (John Walker x Reader)

word count: 1k

masterlist

Okay, so in my opinion, y’all wouldn’t be friends at first. You hop on the bandwagon of kind of making fun of him, which is fair. He’s a rather easy target. Plus, it’s not like he’s nice.

So while y’all don’t say anything rude about each other behind the other one’s back, you’re mean as hell while you’re talking to each other. 

Unfortunately, it’s funny. 

Yelena has an absolute ball listening to the two of you. She’s even started writing down her favorite quotes that she’s heard from you two.

From you: “Shut up, easy bake oven.” “You’re like an expired coupon: useless.” “If you ran like you run your mouth, maybe you’d be in better shape.”

From John: “I’ve heard enough from you, unnecessary movie sequel. You’re like the third Matrix.” “The trash gets picked up tomorrow. Might wanna get ready.” “I will pour yogurt into your ears if you interrupt me again.”  

It’s better entertainment than reality TV, and even Bob, who is often bothered by bickering, is amused. Because no one’s really getting hurt.

Bucky kind of loves it. He’ll intentionally get you two going and then just kick back and watch it. 

Yelena occasionally slips you lists of ideas for insults and then cheers when you use them. 

Ava tries her best to ignore it but she gets wound up in it, too. It’s sort of like when your mother watches something you have to pretend you have no interest in, even though you wanna know what happens. 

Alexei believes that it’s a weird form of flirting. And ever since he found out what shipping is, he definitely ships you two together. 

You catch a flu, and Alexei has you on the couch, compress on your forehead, and the TV on. Until you fall asleep, and the TV shuts off. When you wake up, sweaty and exhausted, you can’t get it back on. Miserable, you shove your face into your pillow.

“Oh, God, what now?” John asks you. “You need medicine or some shit?”

“Probably,” you groan. “I don’t know what time I had any, though.”

“Why is the TV off?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want it on?”

“...yeah.”

“Fine,” John picks up the remote and tries for a minute or two to get the TV on and working. “It’s not working.”

“I can see that,” you reply, sounding congested. 

John hits the same button he’s been hitting five times rapidly. 

“Well, there’s no cure for stupid,” you say. 

John groans. He tosses the remote to you on the couch. “Here you go. You want the TV on, you can get it on yourself like a normal person.” 

You toss a pillow at his head.

You eventually give up on the TV, take your medicine an hour later, and fall asleep again on the couch. John sees you there, face flushed from the warm blankets piled on top of you and from being sick, late that night. So he gently pulls the blankets off of you and brings you to your bed, turns the fan on to keep you cool, and pulls a light quilt over you, making sure your head rests on a comfortable pillow so that you won’t get a neck cramp. 

It is unbearably nice, and Alexei sees it. And Alexei cannot keep secrets, so he runs and tells Yelena and Bob immediately, and the story quickly ends up at the feet of Bucky and Ava. Soon, everyone but you knows. 

You are asleep, as comfortable as you can be while you’re sick, in your room. 

Once you’re better, you get right back to arguing with John over iced coffee, figuring that it had been Alexei, who had been taking care of you while you were sick, that had brought you upstairs. John never brought it up. 

Eventually, Ava kind of corners him and says, “I think you should flirt with her.”

John looks confused. “Who? What are you talking about?”

Ava rolls her eyes. “C’mon. Y/N. I think you should flirt with her.”

“Wha-what the hell? Why?” John stutters out. 

“Because you like her!! C’mon, John, you’re an idiot!”

John sees you that night, sitting on the couch on your computer. “Hey, broken toaster,” you greet, not looking up. 

“Spam email,” he replies casually, sitting down next to you with his book. The two of you sit in silence, doing your separate things side by side. 

“That does not count as flirting,” Ava tells John later. 

“Well, what am I supposed to say?” John asks. “I don’t want her thinking I’m a complete weirdo.”

“You called her spam email.”

“And apparently I’m a broken toaster. What do you want from me?”

“Some romance. Flirty energy. See if she plays into it! You like her, and I think she might like you,” Ava argues.

“Fine, how about we end this song and dance and I just ask her out?” John argues back.

“Fine! Great!” Ava yells.

“Great!” John yells in return.

John power walks into the kitchen, Ava hot on his heels. You look up from your phone confused. 

“Do you wanna go out?” John asks, almost sounding frustrated. 

“Uh, sure?” you reply. 

John throws his hands up in the air like he won something. “Excellent. Seven. We’ll do dinner. You like Italian?”

“Sure,” you shrug.

“Great,” John gives you a thumbs up and turns to Ava. “Voila, I’m done. We’re gonna go out. Next time you want me to try to flirt, maybe start by giving me some actual pointers.” And with that, he points at you and says, “Seven, I’ll see you,” and leaves. 

Ava turns to you, trying to hold back a laugh. The smile on your face indicates you’re trying to hold one back too. Then the two of you burst into happy laughter. “Oh my God, what did you even do to the poor man?” you ask.

“Just gave him a push in the right direction.” 

taglist

@spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

just thunderbolts

@papitas-con-sal

[fandomnerd9602]

If Y/N-Pool was sent instead of Taskmaster…

Y/N-Pool lands guns drawn…

Y/N: Lena? How ya doing hot stuff?

Yelena: о нет, не ты (oh no, not you)

Y/N: so how come you never called me after our night? Wink!

Ava: you two had a “night”?

Yelena: it was-

Y/N: hot. sweaty. Furniture was broken. Names were called. All the while Lionel Richie played on the—

Yelena: we fought. I was sent to kill him and this idiot won’t die!

Y/N: I gave her my number

Yelena: you threw your phone at me

[tinyinkblots]

My Sweet, Sweet Boy

In honour of plotting a BobxOC fic, I went ahead and wrote, well, the smut first, sort of like an avant-première. No Thunderbolts* spoilers! (I LOVE BOB) Tags: mdni, unprotected sex, p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, virgin!Bob, fluff (if you squint), overstimulation (Bob), praise kink (Bob/if you squint) & cockwarming at the end (lightly mentioned), fem!OC Word count: 4.4k (of pure smut)

How innocent could a man in his thirties really be?

When Rae blindfolded Bob and told him to wait on the bed, that she had a second gift for him—he didn’t overthink it. Not at first. He just smiled that soft, self-effacing smile, the one that never quite reached his eyes, and did what she asked.

Because he never expected much for his birthday. It had been years since anyone remembered, let alone celebrated his birthday. What was there to celebrate, when all he saw in the mirror was a failure, a man who had wasted countless second chances, breathing the air he didn’t deserve?

But Rae didn’t see him that way.

She looked at him like he was a blessing. Like loving him wasn’t a curse. Like he was the miracle, not her.

And for once, all the noise in his head—the guilt, the fear, the ever-present echo of you don’t deserve this—went quiet when the blindfold slipped off. As his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was her: on her knees, lips painted in that vivid, sinful red that always made his pulse spike.

His breath hitched. “Rae—what are you—” 

She tilted her chin down, playfully gesturing to herself as she smiled. “Happy Birthday,” she said.

She sounded confident, looked and acted like some grand seductress, but her heart was racing. Everything she planned—every move she was about to make—came from research. A lot of research. And porn. Too much porn. But none of it could fully prepare her for the way he was looking at her now.

Rae got the idea after a conversation following a heated kiss that left them tangled in the sheets, panting and buzzing. She'd asked, voice a little shy:

“Have you ever… had someone go down on you?”

“No,” he stammered, voice cracking a little. “I don’t—I mean. No.”

And Rae always remembered what Bob told her, even the littlest details. 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That stopped him. His lips parted like he might argue again, but she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh. He flinched, shocked by the contact, and groaned softly, the sound involuntary and hoarse.

“I want this,” she said again, voice lower now. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

Bob swallowed hard. “I’ve never… I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispered, trailing her fingers up his hardening bulge. “I’ll take care of you.”

He let out a broken breath. “Rae…”

Her fingers curled around the waistband of his sweatpants, and Rae hesitated for half a second, not because she was unsure, but because she wanted to savor this. The look on his face. The way his chest rose and fell, tight with anticipation.

Then she tugged gently. “Lift your hips for me?”

Bob obeyed, cheeks flushed, arms tense at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. 

She eased his sweatpants and boxers down together, slow and careful, dragging them past his hips and thighs before throwing the bundle over her shoulders. His cock bobbed free—already half-hard, flushed and thick—resting against the soft line of his stomach. His size almost made her gasp but she bit down on her bottom lip to keep quiet, not wanting to scare Bob, who was clearly feeling more nervous than she was.

Instead, kissed the mole on his left hip and then, with the lightest flick of her tongue, she licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

Bob gasped like he’d been shocked.

“Oh,” he choked out. “Oh god—”

Rae grinned wickedly around the head of his cock, her lips wrapping around it just long enough to swirl her tongue. He was already leaking—salty, hot, the taste sparking a nameless hunger inside her. She pulled back with a wet pop and looked up at him through her lashes, breathless and whiny as her tongue flicked against her bottom lip.

“You taste so good,” she moaned as she dragged her thumb over the slit of his cock, watching him shudder.

She pressed her palm firmly to his thigh, grounding him. “Easy,” she whispered, her voice low and coaxing. “I can show you how good this’ll feel, but you need to behave, baby.”

Bob let out a groan, and Rae could feel how hard he was trying—his thigh tensed beneath her hand, fists curled in the sheets as his chest rose and fell like he was running.

And then she leaned in again, lips just brushing the head of his cock, her breath warm and sweet where he was most sensitive. She didn’t rush—didn’t take him into her mouth yet, just hovered.

Close enough to drive him crazy.

“Good boy,” she said before taking him back in her mouth, down her throat.

His entire body shuddered—a full-body, helpless tremble that ran down his spine and bled into his thighs. Like the praise short-circuited something inside him.

He fisted the sheets hard enough to threaten a tear, forearms trembling with restraint, and his back arched slightly, hips twitching like he was trying so hard to stay still. His jaw slackened and his lips parted. 

A soft, broken sound slipped out—half gasp, half moan—his eyes fluttering shut for a moment like he couldn’t bear how good it felt, how intoxicating it was to be praised like this. 

And then he looked down at her.

God help him.

Rae was staring up at him with half-lidded eyes, dark and glossy and fixed entirely on him. Her mouth was wet, slick with spit and the shine of his precum smeared across her lips—a sight that made his stomach clench violently with arousal.

“You’re doing so good for me… my sweet, sweet boy.”

The praise dripped from her lips like honey, slow and thick, curling around his mind until it drowned out everything else. His cock twitched at the pet name, the last thread of rationality snapping as her words buried deep into his chest. All he could think about was being good for her, pleasing her, hearing her say it again, and again, and again.

My sweet boy.

His thoughts were a mess, heat and want tangled together, as her mouth worked him over. Every glide of her lips, every flutter of her throat had him gasping, panting, his eyes clenched shut as if the pleasure was too much to bear.

He was thick and heavy on her tongue, and she had to breathe through her nose as she took him deeper. Bob let out a strangled moan as he looked at her and felt like the world had stopped. His chest caved inward, breath caught somewhere between worship and horror.

“Rae—Rae, I can’t—”

She didn’t stop. She kept going, even when her eyes watered, even when her throat fluttered and her jaw ached. She gagged once, just barely, and the way he shuddered at that—

He didn’t mean to thrust.

But he did—once, but too deep.

She choked violently around him, and the sudden tight clench of her throat sent him straight over the edge.

Stars exploded behind his eyes.

Bob made a sound unlike anything he’d ever made—a half-shouted groan, strangled and raw. His body bowed forward, hands gripping her shoulders like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality as his cock throbbed violently in her mouth, spilling down her throat. 

Rae’s body hummed with arousal and she could feel it gathering between her thighs. She wanted to touch herself, the taste of him overwhelming her senses—too sweet, too salty, too hot—and he made her feel like one of those actresses she saw while researching. Glamorous women writhing under perfect lighting as they pleasured their partners, all sighs and desperation; she thought it was simple exaggeration to fulfill male fantasy but here she was, pussy clenching around air, drunk on the taste of his cum.

After swallowing all she could, she finally pulled away, lips swollen and the lipstick long gone, a thin string of spit and cum clinging between her mouth and the head of his cock. Her eyes were glassy and cheeks streaked with tears.

And yet, she smiled.

A proud little smile that made his stomach and his cock twitch, already too sensitive but still caught in her spell.

Bob looked at her and forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t know whether to feel guilty for hurting her, or aroused beyond belief that she looked so willing for him.

She didn’t wait—didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath. Her hand found him again, fingers curling around his still-swollen length. He wasn’t fully hard, not yet, but he twitched under her touch, already stiffening as she stroked over the flushed, oversensitive skin. Saliva slipped from her lips, warm and wet, beading at the head of his cock before gliding down his length, mixing with the slick already coating him.

“Rae—wait—” he gasped, hips jerking back instinctively.

Rae wrapped her pretty lips around his cock again, slurping loudly as she cleaned the mess she made, swallowing every single drop of his cum that she had missed.

“Oh God—Rae, no—I can’t—” Bob whimpered. “I just came—Rae, please—I can’t—oh God—”

But she was already moaning around him. Already sucking greedily, hollowing her cheeks as her tongue teased along the slit. And that sound—that sinful hum that made her throat vibrate around him—made him feel like a madman.

Bob’s body went rigid as she took him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat.

And he saw stars again.

“Rae—I’m—too sensitive, you’re gonna—oh God—”

His thighs clenched, groaning and panting, his hands clutching the sheets like lifelines. But he didn't stop her—couldn't. The way her throat fluttered around him, gagging just a little as she pressed forward again?

He felt his vision go white at the edges.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he gasped, voice cracking, tears in his own eyes now.

She pulled back just long enough to catch her breath, lips glistening and drooling. She didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t need to.

If he hadn’t promised to behave, he would’ve hauled her up and kissed her right then, just to taste himself on her tongue, to feel her skin pressed against his, her heartbeat thudding against his chest, her scent flooding his lungs like oxygen.

She flashed him a crooked, knowing smile, wicked with purpose, and then she went back to work—slow and deliberate, the suction just enough to unravel him completely. It pulled broken sounds from his throat, noises he didn’t recognize as his own, so pathetic, so helpless. His body trembled beneath her touch, and when he came again—too fast, too hard—she took it all, swallowed every drop.

This time, before she could reach for him again, before her hand could touch his twitching, too-sensitive cock, Bob pulled her up.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice still shaky.

Rae let out a surprised squeak as he tugged her upward, wrapping his arms tight around her waist and pulling her against his chest. He fell back into the pillows with her on top of him, completely spent, like gravity had finally reclaimed him.

She blinked. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just held her, one hand spread wide between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. His heart was still pounding under her cheek, wild and uneven.

“I think my soul left my body,” he mumbled.

Rae laughed, the sound muffled against his collarbone. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re dangerous,” he shot back, still breathless. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“You wanted me to stop?”

“No,” he said too quickly, squeezing her a little tighter. “Definitely not.”

There was a beat of silence, warm and sweet and humming with leftover adrenaline. Then Bob asked, a little too carefully, “Where… where did you learn how to do that?”

Rae pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, still pink from exertion, and there was something boyish about the way his brows were knit—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

She tilted her head, smiling gently. “I didn’t.”

“You—you definitely did,” he said, eyes wide. “That was—like—you’re telling me that was …”

“Research,” she explained. “A lot of late-night Googling.”

He stared at her.

“And maybe some videos,” she added with a shrug.

Bob’s lips parted. “You did all that… for me?”

“Of course.” Rae smiled, brushing a thumb along the slope of his cheek. “I’d do anything for you.

Bob’s breath hitched. He blinked, like the weight of her words hit him somewhere deep.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

There was something raw in the way he looked at her now. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with that kind of devotion—like no one had ever offered it to him so freely before.

They lay like that for a while—Bob half-dazed, Rae tucked against his side, fingers tracing idle patterns along the line of his abs. 

She felt the shift before he spoke—how his hand that had been resting harmlessly on her waist twitched slightly, like he was thinking about something and trying to decide if he had permission.

Then, carefully, his voice, low and hesitant, he asked, “Are you… not wearing underwear?”

Rae smiled into his shoulder. “I was,” she murmured. “Took them off when I changed into this.”

She leaned back just enough to look at him, letting the silk of her nightgown shift slightly, thin straps slipping along her shoulder, the hem riding high on her thighs. 

Bob blinked. His gaze flicked down, salivating at the sight of her milky skin.

“Can I… touch you?” he asked after a moment of hesitation.

Her heart skipped���was it anxiety or excitement? “Yeah,” she answered, trying to mask her eagerness. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it, and his hand—warm, calloused but unbelievably tender—slid down, moving from the curve of her hip to the dip of her thigh. He hesitated there, fingers splayed wide.

She guided him, gently pressing her hand over his and shifting it higher. “Here,” she coaxed him. “A little more.”

Bob followed her lead, his fingers brushing against the bare heat between her thighs, and he gasped—like he hadn’t been expecting her to be this warm, this… wet. And he felt dizzy, knowing that she got this wet just from sucking him. 

“Feels… incredible,” he breathed out.

She pressed her hand lightly over his again, guiding his middle finger to her clit. “There. That’s the spot.”

He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her face, and started to move—small, tentative circles, gentle at first like he wasn’t sure how much pressure to use.

But then his fingers adjusted, finding a rhythm that made her breath catch, squeeze her eyes shut, the movement smooth and just right, like instinct was taking over. Like he’d been born knowing how to touch her.

“Just like that,” Rae moaned, breath hitching. “You’re doing so good, Bob.”

Bob’s eyes flicked up to hers again, wide and reverent, as if he couldn’t believe the noises he was pulling from her. Like this moment was sacred—and to him, it was.

His touch grew more confident, more exploratory, and when she rolled her hips just slightly into his hand, his mouth fell open with awe.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. “And warm. I… I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

She bit her lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was hard—the gentle swirl of his fingers, the way he watched her reactions like they were a map he was trying to burn into his mind, it was all too much.

“You’re a fast learner,” she breathed out.

He smiled, bashful and amazed. “Guess I just needed the right teacher.”

Rae laughed softly, hips twitching as he grazed her clit just right again. Her thighs trembled a little. “You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

His gaze darkened just a little—was it purely lust or something darker? More desperate? He craved to see her come undone in his hands, to hear her scream out his name.

And with the way he was touching her now, she was close to doing so.

His eyes never left her face. He looked like he was trying to memorize her—every twitch of her brows, every gasp, the way her lips parted when he circled just right.

Rae whined, hips shifting restlessly as she guided his hand lower, her own fingers wrapped gently around his wrist. She trusted him to follow.

And he did.

His fingers slid in slowly—two of them—careful and deliberate, and her body welcomed the stretch, the heat, the intimacy of it. She gasped loudly, feeling full.

A guttural sound tore free from his throat as he felt how warm, how soft she felt around him. He stilled for a moment, just to feel the way she pulsed, the quiet clench of her body drawing him in further.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice soft with care.

Rae could barely nod. “Yes. Please—don’t stop.”

He kissed her shoulder, then her cheek, his thumb finding its rhythm again just above where his fingers moved inside her—gentle, steady, so achingly tender. His eyes stayed locked on hers, watching every reaction like she was something holy.

Her thighs trembled around his hand, her hands gripping at his shoulders now, her body caught between wanting to move and needing to hold still.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

She nearly cried at how sincere he sounded, his words tugging at her heart.

Unbeknownst to Rae, Bob also had a trick or two up his sleeve—something he read somewhere a lifetime ago. He curled his fingers just right, and her body seized around him, a strangled scream ripping from her throat.

The squelches got louder and louder as he continued on, and she would’ve felt embarrassed for being so needy, so wanton if he wasn’t fucking her so good with his fingers. So, she tugged his bottom lip with her lips before kissing him to hide the sounds that she was making.

When she broke the kiss, her head fell back, a scream tearing from her throat as her cunt clamped down hard around his fingers. Her voice trembled, fraying at the edges as she moaned his name again and again like a broken prayer.

“…You okay?” he asked quietly, blinking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

Rae exhaled a laugh against his neck before pressing a tender kiss. “You’re not allowed to be this good on your first try.”

Bob flushed. “I just… paid attention.”

She leaned up just enough to kiss his cheek. “Remind me to make you ‘pay attention’ more often.”

“I can do that,” he said, perking up enthusiastically.

Bob gently pulled Rae on top of him, cradling her against his chest. The moment was tender, still and raw—the taste of intimacy dizzying, like drinking on an empty stomach. And desire stirred low in his stomach, curling tighter with every breath she took—her cunt was leaking over his cock, and he felt himself hardening again.

Bob swallowed thickly. “Rae?”

“Mhm?”

He lifted his fingers to his mouth, and he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I…?”

Rae knew what he meant. Her breath hitched, chest fluttering. She nodded, unable to speak, watching as he slid his fingers past his lips, moaning softly as he sucked them clean.

“Oh god,” he groaned. “You taste so sweet.”

Her sweet, innocent Bob.

She felt like the Devil for corrupting such a pure, innocent soul, but she found herself moving, slave to desire and lust, swinging a leg over his hips, and straddling him. 

He let out a laboured breath. She looked radiant like this: bare thighs framing his hips, nightgown rumpled around her waist, lips swollen and red from sucking his cock.

His fingers brushed along the outside of her thigh. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She rocked her hips and his breath stuttered, the hard length of him slipping against her soaked folds, her slick coating him inch by inch. It pulled yet another broken sound from his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a plea.

Rae flushed, not knowing where she found the courage to be so daring and controlling, but she didn’t look away.

Her hand curled around his cock again, and she sighed, guiding him to her entrance. Slowly, she sank down, inch by inch, moaning openly at the stretch. Her walls burned around him, fluttering and pulsing with every inch she took.

Bob gasped, his hands flying to her thighs, back arching off the bed. Every muscle in him went taut, trembling. “You’re so—god, Rae—you’re so tight. So soft—”

She leaned down to kiss him, to soothe him, her breath still trembling. “Look at me,” she whispered, cupping his jaw gently.

And he did—wide-eyed and awestruck.

“You okay?”

He nodded vigorously, unable to speak. There were no words that could describe the emotions brewing inside him. It was more than love, wilder than lust—it gripped him like madness. He was given a taste of heaven—he had offered his innocence to his goddess, who then showed him what it meant to be wanted. To be loved.

And not for the parts of him he hid, but for all of it. For his quiet, hesitant heart. For the way he trembled under her touch. For the way he gave himself over so completely, so vulnerably, with nothing but trust in his eyes.

Rae smoothed his hair back gently, her fingers combing through the strands as he tried—and failed—to breathe evenly. And when she started to move, a slow roll of her hips, testing the rhythm, his head tipped back into the pillows with a low, wrecked groan.

Endless moans spilled from her lips, mixed with whimpers whenever his cock brushed past the soft, spongy spot inside her.

His hands slid up from her thighs to her waist, breath catching as he felt her clench around him. Rae's rhythm faltered—just slightly as her hips stuttered in their slow, steady roll. Her breath hitched. 

She gasped. “Oh—” eyes fluttering shut, her thighs trembling where they pressed against his sides.

As she lifted herself again, ready to sink back down, Bob’s grip tightened on her waist. She stilled above him, blinking in surprise.

“Bob?”

He didn’t answer, just looked up at her and then, suddenly, his hips snapped upward, catching her off guard. Her breath hitched, a sharp cry escaping her lips as he hit deeper than before; the pressure was sudden, toeing the edge of too much and not enough all at once.

She tried to move—instinctively—but his grip tightened yet again, anchoring her to him, holding her in place as he thrust up again and again and again, relentlessly, in a way that made her head spin. 

The sensation maddened her as he kept brushing that spot inside her, the one that made her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. Her hands scrambled against his chest, nails digging deep into his skin. He didn’t flinch. He welcomed the sting, relished it—like her pleasure was something he wanted to etch onto his flesh.

“Bob—” she gasped. “I—what are you—”

“You looked like you needed help,” he murmured, voice thick with heat, rough around the edges. A little breathless. A little smug. Like he couldn’t believe he was the one doing this to her.

As he drove into her with a ruthless rhythm, making her moan in pleasure and in pain, the knot coiled deep in her belly finally snapped. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through her in crashing, unstoppable waves. Every muscle locked, every nerve alight—her release all-consuming.

And Bob felt it: every pulse, every flutter of her cunt gripping his cock like a vice. The intensity stole the breath from his lungs, forced a strangled moan from his throat. She clenched around him again and again, and he swore he could feel her heartbeat inside her walls, dragging him closer to the edge with each desperate squeeze.

His control shattered.

A low, broken moan tore from his throat as he sloppily thrust into her a couple more times, driven purely by instinct and need, chasing the high that tore through him with raw, blinding force, as he spilled deep inside her.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—”

Rae’s back arched as he continued to fill her, thick pulses of cum spilling deep inside her, making her gasp as her body trembled around him, greedy and grateful all at once. She was still convulsing, her walls fluttering in the aftershocks of their shared release, when she collapsed onto his chest. His arms came around her, strong and grounding, holding her close.

For a long, blissful moment, Rae and Bob just stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, breath still uneven, skin warm with the afterglow. He hadn’t moved—still deep inside her, still holding her like he didn’t want to let go—and she was content to stay just like that, her cheek resting against his chest.

Then she shifted slightly, just enough to poke his cheek with one finger.

“Where did you learn how to do that,” Rae asked, cocking a brow..

The confident Bob—the one who’d taken control, driven her to the edge and right over it—was gone. In his place was the flustered, sweet man she adored, cheeks turning red.

“It just felt like the right thing to do,” he muttered, lips twitching as he fought off a bashful smile. “This might be the best birthday present ever.”

“Glad you think so,” Rae murmured, eyes fluttering shut again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”

It was painfully clear that Bob had no idea just how… big he was. While Rae didn’t have much experience herself, courtesy of a hypocritical father who preached purity while practicing none of it, she still knew enough to recognize he was well above average. The lingering ache between her thighs was proof enough.

And yet, even through the soreness, even though her hips were aching from his iron grip, all she could think about was how good he’d felt in her mouth—heavy, warm, filling her like he was made for it. She found herself already looking forward to the next time she could taste him, to watch him fall apart for her all over again.

“I’ll carry you,” he offered without hesitation.

“Yeah, and let the others find out what we did?” she snorted. “Absolutely not.”

As if on cue, a muffled shout came through the wall: “WE HEARD EVERYTHING!”

Rae groaned and buried her face in Bob’s chest. He blinked, looking absolutely horrified.

“Oh no.”

[imthebadguyyy]

Iron Hearts

With the same fire and charm that runs in the Stark bloodline, you’ve never been one to fade into the background.

pairing : steve rogers x reader fandom : mcu synopsis : As Tony Stark’s younger sister, you’ve always shared his brilliance and bold personality. Outgoing, witty, and never afraid to speak your mind, you’re just as comfortable stealing the spotlight as your brother is. But when Tony ropes you into joining the Avengers' operations after the Chitauri invasion, the last thing you expect is to clash with Captain America, Steve Rogers—a man so different from the fast-paced world you’re used to. Steve’s stoic, old-fashioned values collide with your free-spirited nature, sparking a connection that’s as electric as it is infuriating. As the Avengers face new threats, you and Steve find yourselves drawn together in unexpected ways, each challenge bringing you closer. The world is always in need of saving—but will the Iron legacy and a shielded heart leave room for something more?

EPISODE 1 : COLLIDE

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The low hum of machinery filled your private lab, a familiar and soothing backdrop to the glow of various monitors and the holographic interface suspended above your desk. You were in your element here—surrounded by sleek gadgets, circuits, and blueprints only you understood. The soft, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs bathed everything in a cool hue, making the outside world feel distant, almost irrelevant. Your hands moved with practiced precision, making the final tweaks to your latest invention—something sleek, cutting-edge, and powerful. It was not for public eyes, least of all Tony’s. Let him bask in the glory of his Iron Man suits and his public heroism. You preferred working in the shadows, away from the spotlight. After all, the real power came from the things people didn’t see.

Just as you were about to run another test, FRIDAY’s calm, computerized voice broke the silence. “Incoming call—Tony Stark.”

You let out a small, exasperated sigh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Of course Tony would interrupt now, just when you were getting into the groove. Without breaking your stride, you gestured toward the nearest screen, signaling FRIDAY to patch the call through.

Tony’s face flickered to life on the screen, his usual cocky grin already plastered across his face. He looked annoyingly well-rested for someone who constantly threw himself into world-saving chaos.

“Hey, sis. Got a minute?” His tone was casual, but you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Tony always had an ulterior motive.

“Not for you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched with a slight smile. You’d perfected the art of giving Tony a hard time over the years. “What do you need, Tony?”

“Can’t a brother call to check on his favorite sibling?” He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “We both know I’m your only sibling.”

“Touché,” he admitted, chuckling softly. "But seriously, I need you."

You froze momentarily, your hand hovering over the interface. Tony rarely outright asked for help, and when he did, you knew it was big. Slowly, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you gave him your full attention.

“I need my secret weapon,” Tony added, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he really wanted something.

You blinked at him, skeptical. “Secret weapon? Tony, I’m not about to be your backup tech support.”

Tony grinned, undeterred by your resistance. "This isn’t just tech support. It’s big. New team, new mission, bigger stakes. And who better to help me keep this bunch in line than you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the half-finished prototype on your desk. For years, you’d operated under the radar, happy to let Tony soak up the limelight. Being his sister came with a certain level of scrutiny you’d avoided like the plague. You preferred the quiet. The idea of stepping into the Avengers' world—especially now—seemed chaotic at best.

“I’m not suiting up, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you finally said, narrowing your eyes at him. The last thing you needed was to get dragged into one of his world-saving escapades in some shiny new armor.

“Of course not,” Tony grinned, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that told you he wasn’t ruling anything out entirely. “Just come to the Tower, meet the team. If you hate it, you can go back to hiding in your lab and pretending you’re not a genius like me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the thought lingered. A new team? A new mission? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If things went south, you could always disappear back into the shadows. But something in Tony’s tone hinted at urgency, something serious brewing on the horizon. He wasn’t just calling for fun. He needed you.

With a resigned sigh, you pushed off from the desk. “Fine. But this better not be some ploy to get me into an Iron suit.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “No promises.”

The call ended with a flicker of the screen, and you were left standing in the soft hum of your lab, the weight of Tony’s request hanging in the air. You glanced at your half-finished prototype one last time before grabbing your jacket, muttering under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

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Later, at Avengers Tower, you stepped into the grand lobby, the space sprawling before you like something out of a futuristic movie. Towering glass walls reflected the sunlight, creating a dazzling effect that made the entire room shimmer. High-tech displays blinked with data and notifications, while sleek metallic accents added to the modernity. It was a world apart from your cozy lab, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Tony had truly outdone himself with this place. The grandeur was impressive, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, a sense of unease settling in as you stepped further inside.

Just as you took another step, a voice sliced through the air behind you, cool and assessing. “So you’re the sister Tony doesn’t like to talk about.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding slightly at the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his muscular frame radiating authority. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it—a mix of skepticism and something akin to wariness. He looked you up and down, his gaze critical, and you could already sense the judgment simmering beneath the surface. He thought you were just another Stark, another piece in Tony’s ego-driven game.

“And you’re the soldier out of time,” you replied, matching his coolness with your own. The words felt sharper than you intended, a defensive instinct kicking in. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve offered a tight nod, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t smile. “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” you shot back, a hint of a smirk dancing on your lips. But Steve’s expression remained unyielding, the weight of his gaze unwavering.

“I’m not here to judge,” he stated, but his eyes bore into you, steady and measuring, as if he were trying to peel back layers of your identity with sheer will alone. “Just here to see if you’re serious.”

“Serious?” You scoffed, your heart racing with indignation. “About what?”

“About helping, about doing what’s right. We’ve got enough egos on this team.”

Your smirk faded, replaced by a flash of frustration. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Tony,” you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension between you crackled in the air, palpable and thick. You hated the feeling of being judged before someone even bothered to know you, and clearly, Steve didn’t like the idea of another Stark stepping into the fold.

For a moment, silence engulfed you, and you could almost hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. The intensity of Steve’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and you wondered if he could see through your facade, exposing the vulnerabilities you kept hidden. You could sense his protective instincts flaring, the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, and somehow, you felt like an outsider even though you were family.

Just as the tension threatened to spiral further, Tony strolled into the room, an air of nonchalance enveloping him. “Hey, you two! Getting along already?” His grin was impossibly wide, brightening the atmosphere even as it made the air around you feel heavier with unresolved tension.

You shot Tony a glare that could’ve cut through steel. This was not the time for his usual bravado. Steve merely shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in an attempt to contain a smile. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on you, as if he were weighing the likelihood of your success in this new venture. Then, with a final, assessing glance, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Great. This is off to a fantastic start,” you muttered under your breath, a mixture of annoyance and apprehension churning inside you. The day had barely begun, and already you could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on you. As the lobby buzzed with the energy of heroes and high-tech innovation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a tightrope, teetering between proving yourself and succumbing to the shadows that felt all too familiar.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, reminding yourself that you were here to help. No matter what Steve Rogers thought, you had your own strengths, your own path to carve in this world. You just had to figure out how to make them see that.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The air in the war room was thick with tension as Tony briefed you on the mission, his voice crisp and urgent. “So here’s the deal: leftover Chitauri tech has been activated by HYDRA operatives in the city. It’s supposed to be a routine clean-up mission, but we know better than to underestimate anything HYDRA gets their hands on.” His brow furrowed, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that made your stomach knot.

You listened intently, nodding as he laid out the plan. But as he insisted you tag along—even if just to observe and assess—you felt a mix of excitement and dread. You weren’t officially part of the team, yet here you were, being dragged into the chaos by your brother’s unwavering belief in your abilities.

When you arrived at the scene, the streets were already in chaos. The sounds of sirens blared, drowning out the shouts of frantic civilians being evacuated. Smoke billowed into the air, curling around toppled cars and shattered glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as you surveyed the destruction.

Amid the chaos, Steve barked orders at the rest of the team, his authoritative voice cutting through the noise like a beacon of hope. You hung back, monitoring the situation from a mobile unit that Tony had rigged up for you—a lifeline of information in a storm of uncertainty.

“Stay behind the lines!” Steve called out to you over his shoulder, his tone firm as he and Natasha led the charge into the fray.

You rolled your eyes, a mixture of annoyance and determination bubbling inside you. "I know what I’m doing, Captain," you shot back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. The last thing you wanted was to be coddled like a helpless child.

Just as the fight erupted, the atmosphere shifted. A crackling energy surged through the air, and before you could process the threat, one of the HYDRA operatives unleashed a pulse from the Chitauri device. The wave of electricity shot toward you, a blinding flash of danger that sent adrenaline coursing through your veins.

In that split second, everything shifted. Time seemed to slow as you braced for impact, your instincts screaming at you to move, to do something—anything. But before you could react, Steve surged forward like a force of nature. He slammed his shield into the ground with a resounding thud, creating a barrier that absorbed the surge of energy before it could reach you.

You stumbled back, wide-eyed, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you like a tidal wave. Steve turned to you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. “I said stay behind,” he said, his voice clipped, but there was a hint of protectiveness that made your heart race.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, though deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. You felt a surge of embarrassment rising within you, the remnants of the adrenaline making you defensive.

Steve didn’t argue further, but his gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to gauge the depths of your resolve. The moment stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, and you could sense a silent acknowledgment between you—this was new territory for both of you, a fragile thread connecting your destinies.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment shattered. With a final look that communicated both concern and determination, Steve charged back into the fray, his shield raised high as he fought against the chaos. You stood there, heart racing, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions—frustration, admiration, and a flicker of fear for what lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you refocused on the task at hand. You weren’t going to let this moment define you. You had to prove to yourself, and to Steve, that you belonged here—among heroes and legends. The fight was just beginning, and you were ready to carve your place in it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The mission concluded in a flurry of activity and relief, but the tension between you and Steve lingered in the air like an unresolved chord. Back at the Tower, you settled in front of the computer, the glow of the screen casting an almost ethereal light across your face as you replayed footage of the battle. Each frame brought back the chaos—the electricity crackling, the screams of civilians, and Steve’s shield slamming into the ground just in time to save you. The rush of adrenaline from earlier mixed with a more unsettling feeling as you examined the moment you almost lost everything.

As you scrolled through the footage, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Steve; the weight of his gaze felt palpable, a steady warmth that contrasted sharply with the intensity of the battle you had just fought. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the soft light of the hallway, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere, cutting through the silence that surrounded you.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, momentarily meeting his gaze. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice a mix of pride and humility.

“But next time,” he continued, the firmness returning to his tone, “don’t make me have to save you.”

A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips, a spark of your trademark confidence flaring up in response. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t,” you shot back, your tone light, though beneath it was a current of seriousness.

Steve didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting as he studied you. In his blue eyes, you caught a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a grudging respect, maybe even a hint of admiration. It made your heart flutter unexpectedly, a rush of warmth that was both thrilling and confusing. The Captain of America saw you, and for a moment, the weight of expectations from being Tony Stark's sister lifted, replaced by a connection that felt genuine.

He nodded once, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment shared between you, before turning to leave. As he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another fleeting exchange. You were carving out your own space in this team, proving that you were more than just Tony’s sister—you were a force to be reckoned with in your own right.

Left alone in the dim light of the lab, you turned back to the screen, but your thoughts were no longer on the footage. Instead, your mind lingered on Steve’s quiet strength, his unwavering resolve. You were beginning to understand that there was more to him than just the Captain—the man behind the shield had his own battles, his own vulnerabilities.

And you felt an undeniable pull towards him, a sense of camaraderie that was slowly transforming into something deeper. The mission had ended, but the journey was just beginning, and you were more determined than ever to prove yourself—not just to Steve, but to the entire team.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The mission had been a success, but the moment Steve saw you—Tony’s sister—standing there, he felt the weight of responsibility tugging at his heart. He knew you had potential; he’d seen you handle yourself with surprising skill, but he wasn’t prepared for how much the little spark in your eyes got under his skin.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched you replay the footage of the battle. You were focused, your brow furrowed in concentration, and it captivated him. You radiated a unique blend of confidence and determination, much like your brother, yet with a warmth that was distinctly your own.

When he finally spoke, telling you that you handled yourself well out there, he truly meant it. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a mix of admiration and wariness wash over him. You were Tony’s sister—his little sister. He recalled the stories Tony had told him about your childhood, the sibling rivalry, and how fiercely protective Tony had always been of you. That instinct felt like a wall between them, even as he felt drawn to you.

“Don’t make me have to save you,” he warned, hoping to impress upon you the importance of caution. He had seen too many people underestimate their enemies, and he didn’t want you to be another victim of that recklessness.

Your response—light and teasing—pulled a small smile from him, but it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t.” It was infuriating how effortlessly you seemed to deflect his concern. You had a spark that reminded him of Tony, but there was something more disarming about you. Something that made it hard for him to maintain his composure.

He nodded, more to himself than to you, before he turned to leave. He didn’t want to admit how much your presence affected him, how he found you attractive in a way that made him question everything he knew about focusing on the mission. But he also understood that getting involved with Tony’s sister could complicate things—complicate his already tangled life.

*:･ﾟ✧*:��ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As the days turned into weeks, you became a more permanent fixture in the Tower, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly you blended into their chaotic team dynamic. Watching you interact with the others was eye-opening. You had Tony’s quick wit, but there was a warmth in your approach that brought out the best in everyone.

He remembered a moment during a team meeting when Clint made a joke at your expense. Without missing a beat, you shot back, “If you’re going to insult me, at least make it clever.” The room erupted in laughter, and Steve found himself chuckling along, secretly impressed by your tenacity.

But the more time he spent with you, the more he struggled with his feelings. You were intelligent, fiercely capable, and incredibly brave—qualities he admired. Yet every time he looked at you, he felt the ghost of Tony’s protective nature hovering over them. He could practically hear Tony warning him to keep his distance, reminding him that you were off-limits. It was a mental tug-of-war, and every glance between them only heightened his awareness of how close they were getting.

One evening, you both worked late in the lab. He caught you watching him as he threw punches at a training dummy, a curious smile dancing on your lips. It was a moment of connection, but it also made his heart race in a way that both thrilled and terrified him. He knew you were trouble, yet there was something about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : so this is new series im experimenting with!! not proofread. any comments tips suggestions you have would be highly appreciated. happy reading!!

TAGS

all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove@bluesongbird-blog

marvel -

to be added to the taglist send me an ask or a dm specifying which fandom 🩷

[moonlightsolo]

Heyhey :) could i request john x reader where john gets jealous and confesses?

jealousy, jealousy | john walker x reader

pairing: john walker x fem!reader (post thunderbolts movie)

warnings: pining, angst, slightly suggestive, kissing, cursing, fighting/sparring, jealous boi walker

word count: 2k

note: hehehe here’s another request. this was so fun to write!! i’m getting to all of them soon i promise <3

“Come on! We both know you can hit harder than that!” John Walker barks out at you, a cocky wide grin on his face. He's just trying to rile you up, and it's unfortunately working.

You can feel the sweat pooling on your temples, hair sticking to your clammy skin. You’ve been training with John for over an hour now, and he doesn’t relent. His superhuman strength just gives him unlimited stamina. 

Which could be useful for other things…

Your already flushed face turns up into a sly smile from your thoughts, but you push it back down until your face is stone cold again.

“What are you all smiley about?” John quips as he throws a punch your way, which you quickly dodge by ducking under his muscular arm. 

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” You hiss as you twirl to the side onto the floor to evade another jab (and an illegal kick) coming from him.

Swiftly, you roll on your back over to him on the rubber floor. Wrapping your own legs around one of his, attempting to disarm him by bringing him down to the floor with you. 

From your position, your legs extend up his thigh and your ankles lock around his knee. His piercing blue eyes make contact with yours, a brief flicker of alarm crossing his features then replaced with another smug smirk. 

You can’t help but stare at him for a millisecond. Admiring his tousled blonde locks, his pretty blues staring into yours, the rough beard to match his terribly arrogant personality. 

In a blink of an eye, you tighten your ankles to buckle his stance. 

John loses footing, his broad body falling next to you onto the foam mat with a loud grunt. The sound makes your stomach erupt with little butterflies. It’s just something about knowing that you were the one to take down this arrogant, yet handsome, man. 

You take a moment to rest on the cool surface of the mat, laughing breathlessly as you try and catch your breath. John pushes himself up slightly to roll over on his back, staring at the side of your face as he starts to laugh along with you. 

“Nice job.” Someone else’s deep voice cuts through your laughter. Your eyes flutter open to see Bucky Barnes himself standing over you with a proud smile on his face. His metal arm outstretches, fingers motioning for you to grab his hand. 

You can’t help but oblige as you reach up, sliding your hand against the contrasting temperature of the metal. 

He pulls you up with ease, his other hand coming up to steady you when you stumble. “It’s really nice to see someone with no super soldier serum actually take him down.” 

Your hand drops from Bucky’s with a playful scoff, putting your hands on your hips as you stare up at him. You go to answer, but you can feel John stand up to move behind you, his tall height looming. 

“Yeah, yeah. I let her win.” His arm goes to rest on top of your head, elbow digging into your scalp. You go to bat him off, but he doesn’t budge. 

Bucky’s eyes flicker to John, a smug grin still playing on his face. “Just admit it, John! You got your ass beat by an ex-hydra assassin.” Bucky laughs as he takes a step back to grab some weights to start his own workout. 

John can’t help but grow a little heated, not because you beat him—which he will never admit to. But the way that Bucky keeps looking back at you, his dark eyes raking over your body in those tight training clothes of yours. 

Jesus. You’re not even John’s girlfriend, you're just his teammate, but he has some primal instinct that takes over when he is around you. You’re your own person, yeah, whatever. But he likes you… too much. Way too much. 

His arm drops from your head, straightening his spine as he glances down at you then back to Barnes. “You need some help with those? Maybe a spotter?” John makes a dig as Bucky is working out as if the Winter Soldier is weak.  

Bucky chuckles, a little too quietly. “Nah, man. I’m good. I’ll ask her if I need one.” He motions towards you with his head, eyes on you again and that damn smirk on his stupid face. 

You can’t help but glance between the two men, obviously peacocking in front of you. “Okay, I’m done with both of you. I’m going to shower.” You throw your hands up in exasperation as you storm out, both of them calling your name as the gym door slams behind you. 

Rubbing over your face with your hands, sneakers slightly squeaking as you walk to the kitchen through the sleek hallways. Yelena is standing in front of the open refrigerator, rummaging through the food. 

“Hey.” She mumbles simply, which you reply with a hum. Her blonde head peeks up from behind the door, watching you intensely as you grab some water. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She questions as the door shuts to the fridge. 

“Barnes and Walker. That’s what’s wrong with me.” You sigh before bringing the water to your lips to gulp down some of the cool liquid. 

Yelena starts laughing, her infamous raspy laugh which makes you side-eye her. 

“What?” 

“You’re sooo dumb.” She continues to laugh, which just pisses you off more. 

“Lena, just spit it out!” Your voice dripping with annoyance. 

“He likes you, dummy!” She blurts out. 

“Who?” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s no way either of them do.”

“Walkerrrr. We can all see it. Everyone except for you,” She starts to open up cabinets still searching for a snack, “and Bucky is just trying to get under his skin, ya know. Make him jealous so he finally admits his feelings.” She points at you with a shit-eating grin. 

“Wait— John… likes me?” You point at yourself, flabbergasted. 

“I thought we were just friends. I didn’t think he liked me like that too.” 

“Yes.” She curtly nods and cheers slightly when she finds what she’s looking for. She cracks open the bag, digging her hand inside to grab the contents and shove them in her mouth. “Friends don’t look at friends like that.” 

“I just— really?” You breathe out as if you were holding air in your chest. 

“Yes, now go back and get your man! Go be disgusting, suck each other's faces!” Her hands shoo you away, following you out of the kitchen. “Go, go, go!” 

You jog down the hallway back towards the training room, the only thought running through your head right now is John Walker. 

Just as you round the corner, your body collides with something hard and broad. “Oof.” You stumble backward, but two strong hands grip you by your upper arms. 

“You alright? Whatcha runnin’ from?” A deep, familiar voice asks. 

Your eyes rapidly blink as they focus on the sturdy wall in front of you. It’s Bucky. Fuck. 

“I’m looking for John. Where is he?” You blurt out. Bucky grins ear to ear at those words, already knowing why. 

“Yelena got to you?” He says smugly, crossing his arms in front of him. With an eye roll and a scoff you reply, “Come on, dude. Just tell me where he went.” 

Bucky laughs, “Don’t dude me… Dude. He went to go shower.” As soon as those words left his mouth, your legs are already moving toward his room. “You should knock before you go barging in!” He shouts back out at you. 

“No promises!” You call back as you take another turn down a hallway, landing right in front of his door. You take a deep breath before your hand raises to knock, but just as your knuckles graze the surface, it opens. 

A waft of clean soap lingers in the air, and there stands John. Hair damp, a towel in his hand, and dressed in fresh clothes. Specifically, grey sweatpants and a band tee. Damn. 

“Oh hey.” He breathes out nervously, his eyes flitting over your frame before back up to your face. “I was actually coming to look for you.” He almost chuckles, his hand running through his hair to push it off his forehead. 

“Can I come in?” You ask softly, taking a small step forward. The toe of your shoe steps past his doorway by just a hair. You notice him visibly gulp— are you making him nervous? 

He steps aside, one of his arms coming out to gesture for you to precede him. 

“After you, madam.” He says with a little twang, which makes you grin. You walk into his room, looking around. It’s so him. 

It’s dark and a little too cold. His bed looks cozy yet unmade, and his comforter is dark blue. His taco shield sits on top of his cluttered dresser, full of papers and maybe a bottle or two of… is that cologne?

“Actually, since you’re here… Uuh… I wanted to talk to you.” John murmurs as he closes the door behind him, walking up to you as he throws his wet towel on back of his desk chair. 

Your ears perk up at that, turning to face him with a little grin, “Oh yeah?”  

“Yeah. I wanted to say sorry about what happened in training today. You know how I can get. Bucky just got under my skin." He laughs nervously and scratches the back of his head. 

You go to respond, but he cuts you off, “And I also just need to be a man and just say it. But for some reason, I’m really fucking nervous right now.” 

You take a step forward to stop his rambling, hand reaching out to rest on his forearm. His skin is warm under your palm, your fingertips tingling with desire for more. Your breath catches when you make eye contact with him, neck bent back to look up at him.  

“Me too.” You whisper into the air between your bodies, “just kiss me.” 

His eyes slightly widen, gazing into your own and then flickering down to your lips. It takes him all but two seconds to think it over before he swoops down, large hands cupping your face as he presses his lips to yours. Fucking finally. 

Your arms snake around his waist, gripping the fabric of his cotton shirt.

He’s warm, and sweet, and surprisingly a soft kisser. His scruff rubs against your skin as his lips move expertly against yours. 

You pull back when you run out of air, taking a deep breath as you both stare at each other. He’s quiet; it’s weird not to hear a sarcastic comeback maybe he’s in shock. 

The second his brain catches up with his body, his mouth smashes back on yours. He’s needier this time, rougher. His tongue slips past your lips as he backs you up toward his bed. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He mumbles into the kiss before nipping at your bottom lip. 

The feeling of his teeth makes a whimper bubble up your throat, your nails digging into his side which causes him to groan. The kiss quickly turns desperate as months of sexual tension and repressed feelings are acted upon. 

The back of your knees hits the edge of his bed, causing you to tumble backwards onto the plush mattress. You squeal, which makes him chuckle as he falls on top of you. 

One of his legs hooks under yours to pull it over his side, one hand cups your cheek, and his thumb rubs across your cheekbone. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He whispers as he moves forward to softly peck your lips, savoring the feeling of your lips against his.

“If you couldn’t tell yet, I really like you, Walker.”

“The feelings mutual, babe.” He hums before pressing your lips together once again.

You still really need to take a shower...

[mywritesaremylove]

Terms & Conditions

Loki Odinson x Stark's Daughter Smut Warning 18+

The sound of her stilettos was a warning.

A threat wrapped in red soles and patent leather. Every step down the hallway of Avengers Tower was deliberate, measured, and entirely for show. She wasn’t just Tony Stark’s daughter. She was a legal powerhouse in her own right. Stark Industries' corporate counsel. Avengers' in-house attorney. And the only woman in the building who made Loki Odinson feel utterly human when she pinned him in place with a look.

Her office door closed behind her with a soft hiss, locking automatically.

“I told you to wait until after five,” she said, not looking up.

“And I told you I don’t follow rules.” Loki’s voice was dark velvet, already behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, smirking. He was leaning against her desk like he owned it, that familiar arrogance in every line of his tall frame. Dark slacks, black button-down rolled to the elbows. The god of mischief made it all look criminally good.

“You’ll get us caught,” she murmured, setting her files down. “Pepper’s two offices down.”

Loki moved like smoke—silent, dangerous. Suddenly he was behind her, warm breath teasing her ear. “Then keep your voice down.”

His hand slid up her thigh, under the hem of her skirt, palm rough against her stockings. She closed her eyes for a beat, exhaled through her nose. He always started slow, teasing, until she was grinding against his palm like she had no pride.

“Loki,” she warned.

“Yes?” That amused tone. That deadly smirk in his voice. “Should I stop?”

She didn’t answer. Just tilted her hips into his hand.

His fingers brushed the thin lace of her thong. “Already wet,” he murmured, pleased.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, Starkling. You love it when I talk.”

He pushed the thin fabric aside and ran his fingers through her slick folds, slow and deliberate. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk. She bit her bottom lip hard.

“If you get slick on my briefs again,” she said through her teeth, “you’re buying me new ones.”

He chuckled. “Gladly. I’ll pick red. Like those perfect little heels you click across the floor like a war drum.”

He dipped one finger inside her, then two, curling them just right. Her legs buckled slightly, and he caught her with an arm around her waist, fingers never stopping. Her soft gasp made him grin against her neck.

“You’re always so professional,” he growled. “All polished and untouchable. But in here…”

He thrust deeper, twisting his wrist, and her knees gave out. He held her up easily, lips grazing her ear.

“In here, you’re mine.”

She turned her head, lips finding his in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and hunger. His free hand gripped her jaw, holding her still as he kissed her like a punishment. She bit his lip and he moaned low in his throat.

Then she shoved him back, turned, and climbed onto the desk.

“Pants off,” she commanded, crossing her legs slowly. “Now.”

Loki arched a brow, eyes devouring her from her tousled hair to the flash of red sole she deliberately showed. “So bossy,” he said, already unbuckling his belt. “Just how I like you.”

She slid her blazer off, revealing the silk camisole beneath. Her nipples were already hard through the fabric. No bra. He groaned when he realized it.

“Desperate today, are we?”

She didn’t answer. Just spread her legs.

He stepped between them, hard and ready, the head of his cock already leaking. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand to her mouth, licking her arousal off his fingers while holding his gaze.

Loki swore in Old Norse.

“Need to be quiet,” she whispered as he lined up. “You make me loud.”

He thrust in with one hard stroke.

Her head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry. Loki’s hands gripped her hips, bruising. She was tight and wet and perfect, and the desk creaked beneath them.

“I’ll make you scream anyway,” he muttered, starting to move.

He fucked her like he didn’t care who was outside that door. Like he owned her office, her body, her moans. She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, heels locked behind his back as he pounded into her again and again.

Papers scattered. A framed photo tipped. Her phone buzzed on the desk and she slapped it away.

“Faster,” she begged, voice hoarse. “Please.”

He growled, hand slipping between them to rub her clit in hard circles.

“Come for me,” he hissed. “Now.”

She shattered.

Her whole body shook, a cry catching in her throat as her climax tore through her. He followed a moment later, hips stuttering, holding her tight as he spilled inside her.

The room went silent but for the sound of their breathing.

After a moment, she pushed him back with a weak hand to the chest.

“Get cleaned up. We have a team meeting in ten.”

Loki smirked, still catching his breath. “You’re adorable when you pretend I didn’t just fuck you stupid.”

She fixed her hair in the reflection of her office window. Found her blazer. Reapplied lipstick.

Loki was pulling his shirt back on, utterly unfazed.

As he walked to the door, she said without turning around: “Lock it behind you.”

He did. Of course he did.

Because they had rules.

And even gods knew not to cross a Stark on her turf.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Golden Hour

bob reynolds x fem!reader

The sun was melting down behind the horizon, spilling honey-gold light across the clouds like someone had taken a paintbrush to the sky. The rooftop of the Thunderbolts base was quiet—surprisingly so, considering Yelena had threatened to start a rooftop chicken fight with Ava earlier that week.

But tonight, it was theirs. Just Bob and Y/N. Sitting side by side on a blanket he’d snuck up earlier. There was a half-eaten box of chocolate-covered strawberries between them, a playlist of quiet instrumentals playing from his phone, and his hand brushing against hers every few seconds like he couldn’t not be touching her.

She was leaned back on her elbows, face tilted to the dying light. Bob wasn’t looking at the sunset. He was looking at her.

“I always thought the sunsets back home in Texas were the best,” he said quietly, voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place. “But then I met you.”

Y/N turned her head slowly, eyebrow raised. “You comparing me to sky colors now?”

Bob let out a soft laugh—nervous, real. “No, I’m saying that every sunset I’ve seen since I met you just reminds me that nothing’s ever gonna be as good as being next to you.”

She blinked.

Then sat up a little straighter. “Okay. That was either really sweet or you’re about to ask me something life-changing.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then reached into his jacket pocket.

Her heart stopped.

“Bob.”

“I was gonna wait a little longer,” he said, swallowing hard. “Maybe after the next mission. Maybe after one more date. But then I realized… I’ve been waiting my whole damn life to feel this sure about something, and I’m not about to waste another second of it.”

He knelt in front of her, one knee on the blanket. The sun cast a soft glow behind him, framing his shoulders in light like he was part of it—like he belonged in golden hours and quiet moments and everything soft.

“I know this team’s a mess. And we live in a world where the next mission could be the last. But when I think about the future… I don’t see medals or missions or some perfect plan. I just see you.”

He opened the box.

The ring caught the light, but she only saw him—blue eyes shimmering, lip trembling just slightly, like the weight of this moment was almost too much.

“Y/N… will you marry me?”

———

For one perfect, breathless second, Y/N just stared. Eyes wide. Lips parted. As if her brain needed a second to catch up with her heart.

And then—

“Oh my god—YES!!”

She launched to her feet with a squeal, bouncing up and down on the blanket like her joy couldn’t be contained in her body. “Yes, yes, yes!! Are you serious?! Are you kidding me right now?! YES, BOB!”

He barely had time to laugh—barely had time to breathe—before she practically tackled him to the ground, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him like it was the first time and the last time all rolled into one.

The ring box tumbled somewhere into the grass, forgotten for now. Because her lips were on his—finally, completely—and her hands were cupping his jaw like he was the most precious thing she’d ever held.

He was still kneeling, but she dropped to her knees too, nose brushing his, laughing through the kiss as her tears started to fall. “You’re such an idiot,” she whispered against his mouth, breathless. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Bob was stunned and glowing and so in love he could barely speak. His hands held her waist like she might float away if he let go.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice shaking as he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “You’re really—”

She kissed him again, harder this time, smiling into it like it was the easiest answer she’d ever given.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And up above them, the sun finished its descent, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges—as if the whole world had stopped to celebrate with them.

———

Y/N walked into the kitchen in Bob’s oversized T-shirt, barefoot, mug of coffee in one hand, and a diamond ring flashing on her left. She was trying to act normal. Chill. Casual. But Bob kept bumping her shoulder and looking like he was two seconds from bursting into a grin that’d ruin the whole act.

He failed first.

Yelena looked up from where she was aggressively stabbing a fork into her eggs and squinted. “Why do you two look like you committed a felony and liked it?”

Ava was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, already suspicious. “Something’s off. You’re both smiling and it’s… unsettling.”

Bob shrugged, trying way too hard to look innocent. “Nothing happened.”

Yelena’s gaze dropped to Y/N’s hand—and then she froze. “No.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Yelena pointed. “She’s wearing a ring.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “No.”

At that exact moment, John Walker strolled in holding a protein shake, ready to start his usual overly patriotic rant about morning discipline. “What’s going on in here? You all look like someone just—”

He spotted the ring. Paused. “Oh. Shit.”

“Language,” Bucky muttered from the corner without looking up from his knife maintenance.

“You’re engaged?!” John said loudly, pointing between Y/N and Bob like they were some kind of freak experiment. “You weren’t even officially—wait, were you dating?”

“We were… emotionally aligned,” Bob offered weakly.

Bucky scoffed. “You kissed once in the medbay and then pretended it never happened.”

“That was months ago,” Ava added. “We all took bets. I lost fifteen bucks.”

John looked wounded. “You took bets?! Without me?!”

At that moment, Alexei thundered in, shirtless and loud, holding two dumbbells and zero context. “Who’s fighting? Is it Walker? I hope it’s Walker.”

“They’re getting married,” Yelena announced flatly.

Alexei dropped the weights. “I demand to walk someone down the aisle.”

“You can walk me,” Y/N said, not missing a beat.

“Oh, sweet girl, I am going to cry,” he whispered, pressing a hand to his heart.

Melina wandered in behind him, caught sight of the ring, and just muttered, “This is going to be a nightmare for mission scheduling,” before pouring herself a cup of coffee like it wasn’t a life-changing moment.

Bob leaned down to whisper near Y/N’s ear, voice soft. “Maybe we should’ve waited a little longer.”

She smiled up at him, hand brushing his. “No way. This is perfect.”

John, meanwhile, was still talking to himself. “There should be cake. And fireworks. I mean, this is the kind of thing you do with fireworks, right?”

“Only if you’re not invited,” Bucky deadpanned.

Val’s voice suddenly piped in from down the hallway. “What’s this about fireworks? Don’t make me pull rank—if there’s cake, I’m getting a slice.”

Everyone groaned at once.

———

The world was finally quiet.

The bunk lights were dim. The sheets were warm. The rest of the team had either passed out or disappeared into their own corners of the base. Bob and Y/N were curled up in her bed, limbs tangled, her head on his chest and her fingers tracing lazy circles over the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

For once, he wasn’t nervous. Not rambling. Not second-guessing himself. Just… still. Steady.

Y/N tilted her head to glance up at him, chin resting near his sternum.

“You still smiling?”

Bob blinked down at her. Then grinned. “I think my face is stuck like this.”

“Good. You look hot when you’re happy.”

That earned her a chuckle. Low. Rough. The kind that made her stomach flip even now.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some messed up dream and I’m gonna roll over and be alone and you’ll be down the hall, teasing me over breakfast like always.”

Y/N shifted closer, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. “If this is a dream, then we’re dreaming together.”

He kissed the top of her head. Slow. Reverent. Like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to.

After a moment, she asked, quieter now, “You scared?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. Just let his hand smooth over her back. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But not of you. Never of you.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated. “Messing it up. Not being enough. That one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m not the guy you want beside you in this.”

Y/N lifted herself on one elbow and looked him dead in the eyes. “Bob. You’ve always been the guy.”

His throat bobbed. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You sure?”

She leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Lingering. No hurry. No pressure. Just a quiet, perfect yes sealed with her lips on his.

And when she pulled back, she smiled.

“I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t sure.”

They stayed like that for a while. Quiet breaths. Fingers brushing. His hand slipping under the hem of her shirt just to feel her skin. Her thumb stroking over the curve of his jaw.

Eventually, her voice broke the silence again. Drowsy. Sweet. Curious.

“What do you think they’ll say when we tell them we want kids someday?”

Bob’s heart stopped.

Then stuttered.

Then bloomed in his chest.

He looked at her with wide, soft eyes. “You… you want kids?”

She shrugged against him, cheek pressing back to his chest. “Not tomorrow. But yeah. Someday. With you.”

He wrapped his arms around her tighter. Held her like the whole world could fall apart but he’d still be okay as long as she was in his arms.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me with how much I love you.”

———

They had one rule.

“No mission talk tonight,” Ava had said, poking Bob square in the chest before shoving a ridiculous white sash across his torso that read “GROOM TO BE” in glitter.

It was 80% threat. 20% promise. 100% ineffective.

Because five minutes later, Alexei had started bragging about the time he ripped a man’s spine out mid-battle while drunk off half a bottle of vodka. Bob nearly choked on his beer.

—

THE GUYS: John, Bucky, Alexei, and Bob

Bob’s bachelor night started at a quiet dive bar.

It ended in a karaoke bar, a failed arm wrestling competition (Alexei was banned), and Bob being peer pressured into singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” while John shouted “This is AMERICA’S SWEETHEART” over the mic and Bucky filmed the whole thing without blinking.

At one point, Bob disappeared for ten minutes and came back visibly shaken.

John clapped him on the back. “What happened?”

“I… got recognized,” Bob mumbled.

“By who?” Bucky asked, still stone-faced.

Bob blinked. “The bartender. She asked if I was the guy who proposed during a rooftop sunset. With strawberries.”

Alexei beamed. “I told you. You’re romantic. It’s pathetic and beautiful.”

—

THE GIRLS: Y/N, Yelena, Ava, Melina (yes, they dragged her out)

Y/N’s bachelorette night was supposed to be chill. Drinks. Maybe a little dancing. Some teasing.

It turned into shots, matching glitter eyeliner, Yelena declaring war on the concept of marriage, and Ava somehow convincing three people that Y/N was a celebrity in hiding.

“She’s marrying a superhero,” Ava slurred at one point. “That makes her a superhero. That’s math.”

Melina just sipped her wine in silence while watching Yelena challenge someone to a dance-off. “I raised none of you. You are feral.”

“I’m your favorite though,” Y/N whispered, arm looped through hers. “Right?”

Melina didn’t answer. But she did order her another drink.

—

THE MORNING AFTER

Val showed up to the mess hall with a clipboard and zero patience.

“Walker, you owe me $40 for the bar damage. Yelena, you’re banned from three clubs in the city. Bob, I saw the karaoke footage. You’re a menace. And Y/N—”

Y/N smiled, sipping her coffee with sunglasses on indoors. “Morning, Val.”

Val narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky he proposed already, because if he saw the security footage from your night first, you’d be engaged to solitary confinement.”

Y/N just grinned wider. “That bad, huh?”

Bucky wandered in, holding up his phone. “Correction. That good.”

He pressed play.

Bob’s voice, from the karaoke mic, wavered through the speaker:

“Take my hand… take my whole life tooooo…”

A chorus of drunk men howled in the background.

Bob groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Y/N kissed his temple without even flinching. “Still gonna marry you.”

“God help you,” Val muttered.

———

The ceremony was small.

No press. No guests of honor. No string quartet or sweeping ballroom.

Just a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean, a circle of folding chairs, and the only people who mattered standing beside them.

Alexei in a too-tight suit jacket.

Yelena trying not to cry—and failing.

Ava grinning like she knew every secret.

John whispering jokes to Bucky, who rolled his eyes but stayed respectfully quiet.

Melina in the second row, arms folded, expression soft in a way no one ever got to see.

And Val, somehow officiating the damn thing in a crisp blazer and sunglasses like she was marrying off her favorite pair of chaos gremlins.

Bob stood at the altar, breath shallow in his chest.

His hands shook. Not from nerves. But from awe.

Because when Y/N appeared—framed by sunlight, wind in her hair, dress catching the golden hour like it was made of the same light—he actually forgot how to breathe.

She walked down the aisle alone, head high, smile unwavering.

Like she’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

And when she reached him, she didn’t wait for Val to speak.

She whispered, just for him:

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

—

The vows were short. Honest. Off-the-cuff.

Bob’s voice cracked halfway through his.

“I used to think the sun was the most powerful thing in the universe,” he said, eyes locked on her. “But then you smiled at me. And I swear, nothing’s ever come close.”

Y/N barely made it through hers without tearing up.

“I didn’t know love could feel this safe. This steady. This soft. You’re everything I didn’t know I deserved.”

Yelena let out a choked sob. John passed her a tissue. Ava fist-bumped Bucky when no one was looking.

—

“You may kiss the bride,” Val said dryly. “And for the record, if either of you miss a mission because of honeymoon leave, I will shoot you.”

But Bob didn’t even hear her.

Because Y/N threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like she’d been waiting forever. Like every stolen moment, every slow dance, every rooftop confession had led them right here.

And the second their lips touched, the whole team erupted.

Cheering. Clapping. Whistling.

Alexei lifted his chair above his head. John screamed, “THAT’S MY MAN!” Yelena nearly fell over.

Bob and Y/N didn’t notice any of it.

They were too busy holding each other. Laughing through tears. Whispering I love you, I love you, I love you over and over.

The sun dipped lower. The sky blushed pink and gold.

And somewhere between the cheers and the waves and the taste of champagne still on her lips, Y/N leaned close and whispered in Bob’s ear:

“So… you wanna make a honeymoon baby?”

Bob just smiled.

“You read my mind.”

———

The honeymoon suite was dim and quiet, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains and the soft flicker of candles lining the windowsill. The sea crashed gently beyond the balcony, but neither of them heard it.

Bob had her underneath him, bare and glowing, lips kiss-swollen, hair wild against the pillow. His hands were everywhere—tracing the line of her waist, gripping her thighs, cupping her face like she was something breakable and holy.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked as he pressed a kiss to her jaw. “Every part of you. Forever.”

Y/N arched beneath him, already breathless from how slow he was taking his time with her. How he looked at her like she was everything. “You’ve always had me,” she whispered back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I want all of you.”

Bob kissed her again—slower this time, deeper—his body heavy over hers. “Yeah? Want me to show you just how much I love you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, tilting her chin up for more. “Please.”

The sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

“You want me to make it impossible to forget tonight?” he murmured against her skin. “Want me to make sure you remember who you belong to, sweetheart?”

Y/N whimpered at the words, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter. “I belong to you. I always have.”

His mouth brushed her ear. “Then let me claim you. Let me ruin you for anyone else.”

She could barely breathe. “Do it.”

That was all he needed. Bob’s restraint shattered as he kissed down her throat, whispering things into her skin—things that made her shake and cling to him like her life depended on it.

“I want to see you glowing, full of me,” he rasped. “Wanna leave you so soft and satisfied you won’t be able to think about anything but what I gave you.”

“Then give it to me,” she begged, eyes wide and wet. “All of it.”

He groaned like it physically hurt to hold back. “God, you’re perfect. My perfect wife.”

The room turned into a blur of tangled limbs, hushed moans, and desperate confessions. He worshipped every inch of her, telling her in broken, reverent whispers that he wanted her to carry a part of him—wanted her to feel his love so deeply it left something permanent behind.

Later, when the candles had burned low and she was curled into his side, Bob pulled the sheet over them and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You meant it?” he asked softly. “You really want that with me?”

She smiled against his chest, barely able to speak from how worn out and full she felt.

“I want everything with you, Bob.”

And he held her tighter, burying his face in her hair like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like he couldn’t believe she was his now—forever.

———

It had been a month since the wedding. A month of sleepy mornings wrapped in Bob’s arms. A month of sneaking kisses in quiet hallways. A month of soft smiles, shared glances across briefing rooms, and stolen moments between missions that made it hard for anyone on the team not to notice how stupidly in love they were.

Y/N felt good. Happy. Glowing, even.

Except…

She also felt off.

It started a week ago. She thought it was just a flu bug or maybe the stress of planning future missions with Val breathing down their necks. But when she skipped her period, her stomach flipped in a different kind of way.

Still, she said nothing.

Until now.

“Yelena, be honest with me.” Y/N was pacing the tiny med bay bathroom, a wrapped pregnancy test in her hand. “Am I crazy for thinking this could actually be… something?”

Yelena, sitting cross-legged on the counter like she owned the place, blinked slowly. “You had sex on your honeymoon, yes?”

Y/N paused. “…A lot of it.”

“Then it’s not crazy.” She popped a piece of gum in her mouth. “It’s called science. Go pee on the stick.”

Y/N made a choked noise. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Would you prefer I call Bob and have him coach you through this?”

Y/N pointed a sharp finger. “Do not call my husband right now.”

Yelena smirked. “Then shut up and go pee.”

—

Three minutes later, Y/N was sitting on the cold tile floor, the test face-down beside her, her knee bouncing like it was powered by a jet engine.

Yelena crouched next to her. “Okay. It’s been long enough. You want me to check?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” She flipped the test.

There was a pause.

Then—

“Oh my god.”

Y/N’s eyes flew wide. “What? What does it say?!”

Yelena turned the test around slowly, a rare softness blooming in her expression.

Two pink lines.

Clear as day.

“Y/N,” she whispered. “You’re pregnant.”

Y/N didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might punch through her ribs.

“I—oh my god.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I’m pregnant?”

Yelena nodded slowly. “I mean… unless the stick is lying.”

The silence lasted half a beat.

Then Y/N burst into full-on, shaky laughter. Her whole body trembled with it. “I’m pregnant. I’m actually—I’m gonna have a baby.”

“Bob is going to pass out.”

That only made her laugh harder. “He’s gonna cry.”

“Oh, like a baby. Very full circle.” Yelena nudged her with a smile.

And Y/N—still trembling, still teary, still clutching the test like it might disappear—smiled right back.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “I’m gonna be a mom.”

——

Y/N found him in the hangar. His jacket was tied around his waist, hair a mess from his helmet, grease on his hands as he leaned over a panel, humming quietly to himself. No one else was around.

She watched him for a second. Just… took him in.

Her husband.

The love of her life.

The future father of her child.

She still couldn’t believe it.

“Bob.”

He looked up with a smile the second he heard her voice. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were coming down here.”

“Got some news.”

He straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. “Everything okay?”

She nodded slowly. Then stepped closer, placing his hand gently over her stomach.

It took him half a second.

Then his brows lifted. His mouth opened. “Wait—”

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

His lips parted. No sound came out. He stared at her, stunned, like his brain had short-circuited.

Then—

“You’re pregnant?” His voice cracked.

“I am.”

“With our baby?”

Y/N laughed softly, tears already welling up. “Yes, Bob.”

And then she was in his arms, lifted off her feet as he hugged her tighter than he ever had in his life. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh my god, I’m gonna be a dad?”

“You’re gonna be an amazing dad.”

He was glowing. Wiping tears off her cheeks with shaking hands, whispering “I love you” into her hair over and over again.

They didn’t move for a long time.

———

Two Weeks Later

Bob held her hand so tightly in the ultrasound room, Y/N was sure her fingers were turning purple. She didn’t say anything though. She was squeezing his just as hard.

The tech smiled as she moved the wand across her belly. “Alright, everything’s looking great so far…”

Y/N held her breath.

Bob was already staring at the screen like he could will himself to understand what it meant.

“Oh.”

The tech paused.

Bob’s eyes flew to her. “Oh?”

The tech smiled wide. “Looks like we’ve got two heartbeats here.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. ���Two?!”

“You’re having twins,” the woman said calmly, clicking across the screen. “A boy and a girl.”

Silence.

And then—

“WHAT?” Bob half-shouted, half-laughed, hand flying to his hair. “Wait, what? Are you sure?”

Y/N blinked at the screen. “We’re… having two babies?”

The tech nodded. “One of each.”

Bob looked like he was going to pass out.

“Okay,” he breathed, letting out a stunned laugh. “Okay. Cool. That’s… amazing. I’m fine. Totally fine. I’m just—twins? Oh my god.”

Y/N reached for his hand and he gripped it like a lifeline. “You’re okay,” she whispered.

“I’m great. I’m—” He turned and looked at her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. “We’re gonna have a son and a daughter.”

She burst into tears right there.

And Bob wiped every single one away, kissing her like the luckiest man alive.

———

Bob held her hand so tightly in the ultrasound room, Y/N was sure her fingers were turning purple. She didn’t say anything though. She was squeezing his just as hard.

The tech smiled as she moved the wand across her belly. “Alright, everything’s looking great so far…”

Y/N held her breath.

Bob was already staring at the screen like he could will himself to understand what it meant.

“Oh.”

The tech paused.

Bob’s eyes flew to her. “Oh?”

The tech smiled wide. “Looks like we’ve got two heartbeats here.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Two?!”

“You’re having twins,” the woman said calmly, clicking across the screen. “A boy and a girl.”

Silence.

And then—

“WHAT?” Bob half-shouted, half-laughed, hand flying to his hair. “Wait, what? Are you sure?”

Y/N blinked at the screen. “We’re… having two babies?”

The tech nodded. “One of each.”

Bob looked like he was going to pass out.

“Okay,” he breathed, letting out a stunned laugh. “Okay. Cool. That’s… amazing. I’m fine. Totally fine. I’m just—twins? Oh my god.”

Y/N reached for his hand and he gripped it like a lifeline. “You’re okay,” she whispered.

“I’m great. I’m—” He turned and looked at her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. “We’re gonna have a son and a daughter.”

She burst into tears right there.

And Bob wiped every single one away, kissing her like the luckiest man alive.

———

Incredibly long time skip (y/n’s 8 months now) 

The apartment looked like it had been ransacked by a tiny, stylish tornado. There were baby books on the coffee table, a half-eaten sandwich on the armrest, and a pile of laundry that Bob swore he was going to fold but hadn’t yet.

In the middle of it all sat Y/N — legs propped up on a pillow, hair in a bun, wearing one of Bob’s old shirts because nothing else fit anymore. Her belly looked like it was trying to defy gravity. Eight months pregnant with twins wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Bob shuffled in with a bowl of ice cream and two spoons. “Alright, I bring peace offerings.”

“I’ll accept them,” she said, grabbing a spoon. “But only if you finally help me pick a name for our daughter.”

Bob flopped beside her with a groan. “I told you, I like the name Emmeline.”

“And I told you it sounds like a Jane Austen character.”

“She is gonna be classy.”

“She’s gonna be a menace,” Y/N said, grinning. “Have you met me?”

Bob raised a brow. “Have you met me?”

They laughed — soft, sleepy, in love.

“Okay,” Y/N said, stirring the ice cream absentmindedly. “What about Dasia?”

Bob tilted his head. “Dasia?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where I heard it… but it feels right. Like… strong. A little wild. Definitely not boring.”

He said it under his breath. “Dasia.”

Then smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I love that.”

She beamed. “Really?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “She’s gonna be our little Dasia. And the boy…”

He hesitated.

She looked at him. “What?”

“I was thinking Nikolai.”

She blinked. “Nikolai?”

“Strong. Classic. Has a little edge to it. Plus… you know, if he ends up becoming a space ranger or something.”

She laughed. “That is… so much cooler than Bob Jr.”

He snorted. “Agreed.”

They sat there for a second in content silence.

Then—

POP.

A sharp, startling splash of warmth hit the couch.

Y/N froze.

Bob blinked.

“Was that…?”

She looked down.

Then up at him.

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“My water just broke.”

He stared. “Right now?”

“RIGHT. NOW.”

Bob launched off the couch so fast he nearly tripped over the coffee table. “OKAY. OKAY. HOSPITAL BAG. KEYS. SHOES. DO WE NEED A MAP? WHY DON’T I HAVE A MAP?!”

Y/N was laughing and groaning at the same time. “You don’t need a map, Bob!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT.”

—

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were racing down the highway, her hand in his, the car smelling like hospital sanitizer and panic.

But all she could think was:

Dasia and Nikolai.

They were finally coming.

And they were so, so loved already.

———

The labor was… surprisingly easy.

Suspiciously easy.

Like, suspicious in the “surely something is about to go wrong” kind of way.

But nothing did.

One hour. That’s all it took. One single, breathless, beautiful hour — and then the room was filled with the sound of new life.

A cry. Then another.

And just like that… they were here.

“Two perfect little babies,” the nurse had whispered with a smile. “Congratulations, mom and dad.”

Y/N was crying before the words even registered. Bob was already doing the thing where he tried to be stoic but completely failed — blinking furiously, lip wobbling, holding onto her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

They handed her the babies one at a time — Dasia first, fierce and red-faced and loud, then Nikolai, calmer, blinking slowly like he was already sizing the world up.

Y/N looked down at them, nestled against her chest, and something in her cracked wide open.

“Hi,” she whispered to them both. “I’m your mom.”

Bob leaned in, kissing her forehead, then gently brushing a finger across each tiny forehead.

“I’m your dad,” he said, eyes glassy. “And I’m gonna love you forever.”

—

The door burst open an hour later.

“WHERE ARE THEY,” Yelena shouted, already halfway into the room before a nurse could stop her. “WHERE ARE THE TINY GREMLINS.”

“Yelena!” Val snapped from behind her. “Have some decorum—”

“Oh shut up, you cried when Bucky brought donuts to the last meeting.”

“I was hormonal.”

“We’re all hormonal,” Ava muttered, slipping past them with a gift bag and three packs of diapers under one arm.

Bob and Y/N blinked, now surrounded.

John gave a low whistle. “Well, well. Look at you two. Fully evolved parents.”

Alexei sniffled loudly. “My god, look at them! They are glorious! They are fighters! They have my strength!”

Bucky grunted. “They look like potatoes.”

“Beautiful potatoes,” Ava added.

Y/N was still laughing when Bucky came over to brush a knuckle against Dasia’s cheek. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was rare — soft, almost reverent.

Val snapped a quick picture on her phone, muttering something about blackmail material.

Yelena plopped down beside the bed and narrowed her eyes at the babies. “Which one’s gonna be the menace?”

“Nikolai,” Y/N and Bob said at the same time.

Everyone cracked up.

—

Later that night, when the chaos had died down and the team had finally been wrangled out of the room, Bob sat beside the bed, holding both twins carefully in his arms.

Dasia was fussy. Nikolai was drooling. And Bob? He was glowing.

“They’re perfect,” he whispered.

Y/N looked over at him, exhausted but happy. “We made perfect babies.”

“We really did.”

A beat passed.

Then he added, “Wanna do it again in like… five years?”

“Ask me again after I sleep for more than twenty minutes.”

They both laughed.

And somewhere just outside the window, the sky turned that familiar honey-gold again—soft, glowing, eternal.

Just like this moment.

Just like them.

[pankowcrumbs]

Pissed off X Bucky Barnes

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Bucky POV-

The chair creaked beneath me, the ropes around my wrists digging in tight. Blood had dried on my cheek, crusted along a split lip. My head pounded, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth that wasn't just blood it was rage.

They'd caught me off guard. Sloppy. I'd been walking back from the damn bakery a baguette in one hand and my phone in the other, texting Y/N about whether she wanted red or white with dinner. I never saw them coming.

Now I was in some rusted-out warehouse that stank of oil and mould. My captor a man with slicked-back hair and a scar running across his jaw like a lightning bolt paced in front of me with a swagger that grated on every last nerve.

"James Barnes," he drawled, tapping the butt of his pistol against his palm. "The Winter Soldier himself. Never thought you'd be this easy."

I let out a dry chuckle, ignoring the way my ribs ached. "You're not the first to think that. Most of them are dead now."

He grinned like he thought I was bluffing. Poor bastard.

"Here's how this is going to go," he said. "You're going to tell me the access codes to the Stark safehouse files. Or I start removing fingers."

I leaned back as best I could, giving him a slow once-over. "Yeah, see... that's where you cocked up."

His smirk faltered.

"You think I'm the dangerous one," I said calmly, eyes locked on his. "But you just pissed off my wife."

He snorted. "And what? She's going to call the police?"

"Worse," I said, letting a ghost of a smirk curl my lip. "She's a sniper."

The guy chuckled. "You're bluffing."

I shrugged as much as the ropes allowed. "Not many people cross Y/N and live to tell the tale. But go on, keep waving that gun. Maybe she'll make it quick."

He laughed again, louder this time, turning away from me.

And that's when the bullet ripped through the window.

The glass shattered with a high-pitched whine, and the man dropped like a puppet with cut strings, blood blooming across his chest. I didn't flinch. I just exhaled.

The silence that followed was deafening. My eyes flicked to the broken window, a neat, clean hole left in its wake.

A minute later, boots crunched over broken glass.

And there she was.

Y/N stepped through the warehouse entrance like a damn movie star rifle slung across her back, holstered sidearm at her hip, hair pulled back in that no-nonsense way that made my heart stutter even now. Eyes sharp. Confident. Lethal.

"Took you long enough," I said, grinning through the pain.

She gave me a once-over, lips quirking. "You look like shit."

"Still prettier than the guy you just shot."

"Debatable." She crouched beside me, pulling a knife from her boot and slicing through the ropes in one smooth motion. "You good to walk or do I need to carry your dramatic arse?"

"I'll manage," I muttered, rubbing my wrists. "Though, if you're offering a piggyback..."

She rolled her eyes but helped me to my feet anyway, one arm steady around my waist.

"You let them catch you with a baguette in your hand?" she asked, raising a brow.

"I was trying to surprise you with dinner."

"Next time surprise me by not getting kidnapped."

Despite everything, I laughed.

We moved quickly through the warehouse, her eyes scanning for more threats. I'd seen her in action before, but something about knowing she came for me stirred something deep in my chest.

Once we were outside and the cool night air hit my face, I paused. "You really shot him through a window?"

She smirked. "Two hundred metres. Crosswind."

"Marry me."

"We already did, genius."

I grinned, limping toward the SUV she'd clearly boosted. "Still. Would again."

She opened the door for me. "Next time someone nabs you, can you try not to flirt with the kidnapper?"

"Jealous?"

"No," she said, pulling the door shut once I was inside. "Just bored of cleaning blood off my boots."

As she climbed into the driver seat, I watched her profile in the glow of the dashboard lights. Strong. Unshakable. Mine.

I reached over and took her hand. "Thanks for coming for me."

She squeezed it. "Always, Buck. Always."

And as we drove off into the night, leaving the mess behind, I knew one thing for certain:

No one in their right mind would ever dare come between me and Y/N Barnes.

Not if they wanted to live.

[juiles]

Horror Movie Queen

Requested: yes

Summary: a teen reader whos done a bunch of horror movies is filming a scene where she has to scream, freaks everyone out in the cast. Italics is the filmed scene.

Tags: really just fluff except one mention of torture and hitting

Masterlist here.

Request form here.

Taglist here:

A/N: Its short but its something new. i think im getting back to writing again so thats exciting!!

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Y/n sat staring at the star studded cast in front of her at the reading table. Scarlett Johansson, Robert Downey Jr., Tom Holland, Elizabeth Olsen. It was wild all the people she had spent her whole life looking up to, and here she was, about to film a whole Marvel movie with them.

This was new territory for her too. A whole new genre of movie, different from the horror movies she was known for. The rest of the cast didn’t watch her movies so they didn’t know how she worked.

“Y/n? You okay?” Chris Evans asked waving his hand around in front of her face. “You zoned out there.” He added softly to the teen who flushed slightly and nodded looking down at her hands. “Have you done enough reading now? Are you ready to get into costume and makeup?”

Y/n paused for a moment picking at her fingers before she looked up and nodded. “Yeah. Ill go get ready. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” She took a quick glance around at everyone who shot her small nods before she disappeared. When she finally came to set, fully ready for her scene, her manager waved her over.

“Okay… lets get this over with guys.” She said, her manager chuckling at the bored look on the teenagers face that was currently covered in bruises and blood, her clothes hanging off of the girls frail body, a gash across her face where a scar usually sat on her characters face.

She was filming her background scene, how her character, Maddison, got where she was, fighting with the Avengers. The torture and pain the character had gone through obvious with the way she was dressed. “Alright you, are you ready to scream?” Thomas asked the girl with a grimace, knowing what he had to pretend to do to the girl. She nodded and stepped on to the set, a cold damp cell that had red splatter all over one wall, showing what she was supposed to have gone through. Thomas stepped forward, the director getting ready for filming, unknown to the teen, the rest of her cast mates stepped in to the studio, hiding in the shadows.

Scarlett elbowed a nervous looking Lizzie who motioned to the makeup on the girls face, the blonde shook her head slightly motioning to be quiet with a finger to her lips. Evans eyes widened as he studied the gash on the girls face. They all knew it was makeup, but as they had grown protective of the young girl, it scared them all. The all focused in on the girl when the director called action.

--Filming scene--

Maddison, a 13 year old girl who had been kidnapped by Baron Strucker at the age of 5, sat huddled against the bloody wall, her whole body shaking as she slowly lifted her head, a giant gash across her face, towards the man standing in front of her. The man merely raised his hand that held a ragged, rusty dagger and slashed down at the girl, her face getting slashed.

The girl let out a blood curdling scream, a scream so loud it even made Strucker take a step back out of shock. The man then turned on his heel and slammed the cell door closed whispering to the girl. “No one will ever want someone as disgusting as you.”

--Scene over--

The director called cut and y/n stood up and with a lack of emotion on her face and grabbed her water bottle. She had barely gotten a sip of it when she was collided with, a pair of arms wrapping around her, gripping her tightly. The teen squeaked as she tried to move the blonde hair to see the horrified look of all her adult castmates standing around her. She patted the back of what she assumed to be Scarlett with a look of confusion running across her face.

“What was that?” Mark asked as he nervously twisted his hands. “How did you bring that up? That was so real…”

“What do you mean?” Y/n asked as Scarlett finally pulled back. “I’m confused?”

“It was very convincing sounding darling.” The actress said, one hand not leaving the teens arm. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. I’m fine?” She responded. “I did- have you guys never seen any of my movies?”

RDJ looked at the girl sheepishly. “Your movies are intense kid… theyre a little scary for most of us.” The teen barked out a laugh shaking her head.

“My whole career I’ve only done horror movies, that scream just is what it is at this point. Nothing behind it, just 5 years of perfecting it.” She said with a small shrug and a small smirk on her face.

“Jesus kid, you gave us a heart attack as a whole.” Hemsworth chuckled as he ruffled the girls hair making the teen roll her eyes with a small smile as she was called back to the set.

Taglist: @mythixmagic @boredandneedfanfics @natashamaximoff-69 @asiangmrchk13

[cece693]

A Burden of Imagination

pairing: steve rogers x gender neutral reader tags: reader was a playboy/playgirl, Steve (on the other hand) grew up with the 'no sex before marriage' ideals, conflict arise from this, insecure Steve, resolved argument, something short I had in mind

You first notice the shift in Steve’s posture when you arrive at the gym for a late-night workout. Usually, he greets you with a nod and a small smile—something that says I’m happy you’re here. But tonight, his eyes flick over you briefly before dropping to the floor. His shoulders are rigid, and there’s no warmth in his voice when he quietly says, “Hey.”

It’s like every gentle, welcoming aspect of him has been replaced by a defensive tension. As the two of you spar, you sense that he isn’t entirely focused on the match. His jaw keeps tightening, and his movements become stiff, mechanical. Finally, you lower your fists and step away.

“Steve,” you say in a gentle tone, panting a bit from the exertion. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Can we talk about it?”

He hesitates, still avoiding your gaze. “Maybe later,” he says tersely, grabbing a towel and swiping it over his sweat-damp face. Before you can respond, he mumbles a quick apology and heads for the locker room, leaving you with a weight of uncertainty pressing on your chest.

That evening, after a tense dinner in the Tower’s communal kitchen, you convince Steve to come back to your room, hoping for a chance to sort through whatever’s on his mind. The atmosphere is charged from the moment the door closes behind him. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. You sit on the edge of your bed, motioning for him to join you in a space that’s always been comforting—until now.

He stands a foot away, gaze restless. You speak first. “Steve, please. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

He exhales sharply, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding awful,” he murmurs. But then the dam breaks. “I look at you, and I keep—God—I keep picturing you with…with other people.”

Your stomach twists painfully. “Steve—”

“It’s not fair,” he says, voice wavering between frustration and shame. “I have no right to feel this way. I know it’s your past, and it’s none of my damn business how many people you dated or slept with before. But…” He forces himself to look at you, and you catch a flicker of hurt mixed with something akin to disgust. “I can’t stop imagining all the times you—” He cuts off, swallowing hard, as if even finishing the sentence is too much.

A flare of anger stirs in your chest, mingled with deep hurt. “So what? The thought of me with my exes disgusts you? Is that it?”

He scrubs a hand over his face and drops his gaze again. “I’m not proud of it,” he whispers. “I don’t want to feel this way. But it’s in my head all the time lately. When I look at you, sometimes I just…I see them. I see all the people you were with. And it makes my stomach turn.”

You stand up, heart pounding. “You’ve never said it like that before.”

“I know,” he says miserably. “And I’m sorry. It’s just that I—I can’t get over how I was raised. ‘One person for life.’ No sex until marriage. All those things drilled into my head. I know it’s outdated, I know the world has changed, but I keep feeling cheapened somehow by the idea that I’m not your first.”

It’s a harsh statement—one that shocks you to the core. You didn’t realize just how deep this ran for him. A moment of silence stretches tight between you, and Steve’s eyes remain fixed on a spot near your feet.

Suddenly, a rush of fury and pain bubbles up. “And what if I told you you disgust me for being so backward?” you snap, voice trembling. “I don’t mean it,” you add quickly, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “but that’s how I feel right now—judged by you. How can you love me if you’re disgusted by what I did before we met?”

He grimaces as if you’ve physically struck him. “I do love you. I swear, I do. But I can’t shut off these images in my head.” The tension chokes the air in your room. You stand there, arms wrapped around yourself protectively, while Steve looks one step away from bolting. Then, in a voice laced with desperation, he speaks. “Please, just help me understand how to move past this.”

Your anger subsides a fraction, replaced by weariness. “Steve, my past experiences are mine. They helped shape me. They helped me learn what I want in a partner, in love, in intimacy. And you know what? They led me to you.” You hold his gaze despite the tears threatening to spill. “I’m not some used-up thing, and my experiences don’t make me less worthy of love. If you really think I’m dirty or disgusting because of who I’ve been with, then—then you’re not the man I thought you were.”

He recoils, pain etched in every feature. “That’s not it,” he says, voice cracking. “I don’t think you’re dirty. I don’t think you’re any less. It’s just this…” He struggles to articulate, eyes pooling with guilt. “I feel inadequate. I feel like I’m behind the curve. Like you’ll compare me to them.”

The question hovers in the silence: Is that the real root? The insecurity of not measuring up. Suddenly, the wave of hurt from moments ago becomes tinged with sympathy.

You inhale, steadying yourself, then step toward him. “Steve,” you begin gently, “I don’t compare you to anyone. The only person I see when I look at you is you. The man who showed me it’s possible to be patient, brave, and caring all at once. The man who gives so much of himself to the world.” You swallow, voice growing thick. “You’re the one I chose.”

A tear slips down his cheek, and you lift a hand to brush it away. Your voice wavers. “But you have to accept that I had a life before you. If you can’t, this will destroy us. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. And I won’t let you turn me into something less in your mind because of it.”

His breath shudders as he places a hand over yours, pressing it against his face. “I don’t want to lose you. And I hate that I’m feeling this twisted mix of jealousy, disgust, and shame. Because I don’t want to judge you, or your decisions. You’re right—your past made you who you are, and I love that person. I truly do.”

Slowly, tentatively, you guide him to sit on the edge of the bed with you. You take his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm against your own. “I think,” you say carefully, “that you might need time—and maybe even help—dealing with these feelings. I understand you were taught a certain way, but we can’t keep running into this wall. Can you talk to me every time it creeps into your head? Even if it’s uncomfortable?”

He nods, blinking back tears. “I can try.”

“And can you believe me when I say that you’re enough?” you ask, voice quiet, but firm. “That there’s no ghost from my past who could replace who you are to me?”

He laces his fingers with yours, inhaling unsteadily. “I want to believe it. I do.” His gaze finally meets yours, earnest and desperate for reassurance. “I’m so sorry. I know I said...awful things.”

You shake your head. “We both said things. Let’s…let’s figure out how to move forward.” He lifts your entwined hands to his lips and rests a trembling kiss across your knuckles. There’s a moment of fragile calm as you lean into him, your foreheads almost touching.