#so one of his abilities is to make a shield

[from-izzy]

[14:36] | ATEEZ JEONG YUNHO

yun: good girl

pairing » ateez jeong yunho x fem!reader

trope/au » establish relationship au, non-idol au

genre » suggestive, fluff, ceo yunho loves to spoil you, and you're kind of mischevious

word count; estimated reading time » 1210; ~5 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » suggestive!!!, pet names (good girl, darling, baby), suggestive talking, illusions to s*x, reader wears a lingerie

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist

hello hello everyone!!~

...

bye everyone!!-

(i couldn't get a better name for yunho's contact name sorry 😭)

One of the reasons why Yunho loves going to work is that he knows that he'll be able to provide for you. Heck, you're an independent woman, and he knows that you'll be fine on your own. But the fact that he has the ability to spoil you is something that he loves to do.

But today, he's dreading the office and the meeting that he's in. Being the CEO, it's just one of his responsibilities, but he hoped it wasn't a responsibility that he needed to fulfil today, when you're on your day off. Both you and Yunho barely had any days off together, and Yunho made it his goal to make sure any meetings that he needed to go to would align with your days at work. Yet, he couldn't align every single one, like this one.

So, he's left fidgeting with the pen in his hand while the other hand taps on his thighs impatiently. He can't help but shake his legs up and down, stalking the minute clock to see the seconds passing by. In his head, he has a mental countdown of when this meeting will end so that he can snuggle up with you in your shared bed; maybe sneak a finger or two past the waistband of your panties.

The thought has him inhaling sharply, and he props an elbow to the table and shields his red face with his palm. It's then that his watch brightens up with the contact name that he saves you as. Yunho shouldn't be on his devices, but at this point, he couldn't care less. He taps on the screen, a smile overtaking his face at your greetings.

love of my life: bby what time are you home love of my life: i bought so many clothes today and i wanna know what you think of themmm

Yunho chuckles lightly, knowing just how much you love showing him your shopping spree. He couldn't help but to message you back immediately, now clearly breaking obvious rules by going on his personal device during work hours. But before that, he made sure to check his card balance.

yun: ill be back asap darling yun: i see you used my card yun: good girl

The final text has your cheeks heating up, and you're sure that Yunho knows of the effect that he has on you. Your response to him came a beat later, something he couldn't help pointing out.

yun: you're always a good girl aren't you yun: how about you help me pass time by sending pictures of your new clothes now

The suggestion is new. You know how much Yunho loves it whenever he can gush about your outfits in real life. It would give him an adrenaline rush seeing you in all the new beautiful dresses that hug your figure in all the right places. That's why today, when you went shopping, you decided to get something…different. Something that you haven't gotten with his card. Something that you wanted to keep until he's right in front of you, sitting on the edge of the bed, while you kiss every inch of his face as you sit on his lap.

But you decide to help him pass the time a bit to his excitement. You bought new jackets, tops and skirts. They're all enthusiastically received by your husband with endless compliments on your mirror selfies with them, and a few fire and drooling emojis reactions to them. Yunho definitely saved them all on his phone, and between you changing into the next outfit and waiting for the picture to send, he bites his bottom lip harder at how he's not at home.

love of my life: that's all i have baby

An eyebrow raises at that. Usually, you would have bought more than just five outfits, and he can't help but straighten his back against his seat. 

yun: only that :’( yun: could you go and buy more

You couldn't help but squeal at his messages. Your eyes divert to the untouched shopping bag, knowing well that you did buy more than the ones you've shown him. But you didn't want to ruin the surprise. You've already decorated the bedroom with roses, balloons, and printed pictures of you leading from the front door to the bedroom, and telling him now that you have more is going to ruin the excitement. Mustering your will, you texted him a smirk emoji.

yun: not such a good girl are you yun: get ready when i get home yun: i know you're hiding something

A corner of your lip raises into a smirk. “Maybe I can give him a little spoiler.”

You fished out one of the most intimate lingerie from its bag, fitting the material around your chest and bottom perfectly. The fabric hugs your body snugly, tight enough to seemingly support your features upwards. Your stomach does a little flip when you admire your reflection, doing a few twirls before posing for another selfie against the full body mirror. A thumb sneaks itself to hook on the side of your panties’ waistband, pulling the string down past your hipbone.

It's perfect timing for Yunho, who finally finishes his meeting and packs up immediately. He switches his phone for the time being, braving a confident smile and pushing the things he would do with you later when he's home. He wants to have your body against his, connected and together until you're out of air. He'll let you rest for a while before spoiling your skin with his whispers and kisses again, and as much as you haven't been the good girl that he would want you to be, he would make sure you're taken care of well; possibly to the point where you would take a day off tomorrow.

He quickly walks to the lift after locking his office, and it's then his phone buzzes with another notification from you. As soon as he opens the new picture, the grip around his phone tightens. The gulp down his throat is heavy, and he couldn't peel his eyes off the screen that almost walked into a pole. The picture on his phone mesmerises him, and he yanks the tie around his neck loose immediately. With shaking fingers and his back against the wall, he dials your number.

“Hi, baby!” Your voice sounds innocent despite your ministrations from earlier. “I miss you.”

The man chuckles, giving a light scoff. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” You played dumb.

“That you're a good girl,” he huskily compliments you. “I want you on the bed when I get home.”

“Hm,” you elongate the sound of the syllable. “But I don't want to. I want to greet you at the front door.”

“With that outfit you're wearing? Not a chance,” he reprimands. “I don't want the neighbours catching a glimpse of you. You're all mine tonight.”

You cross a leg over your other, thinking of a comeback to excite him when he gets home. From the corner of your eye, you sit on the bed with your skin to the air, almost wearing nothing. So, why not go one step further?

“Who said I was going to be wearing an outfit when I greet you?” 

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist

join the taglist here » @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet @pirateeznet @illusionnet @haneul-and-clouds @svzllts @yerimacoustic

[cerisereids]

Golden Hour- S.R.

Summary- In which Spencer goes to the farmer's market with his favorite girls.

Pairing- dad!Spencer x mom!reader

Contains- just a bunch of dad!Spencer fluff, divider from @kodaswrld !

RSVP

Birthday Event

The sun beats down on Spencer, his bucket hat shielding his scalp from the harsh rays. His left hand pushes the stroller they brought, his right gripping Diana's small hand, all while balancing Francesca in her baby bjorn. They stroll past rows of tents at the farmer’s market, vendors selling anything from fresh vegetables to homemade jewelry.

"Daddy, look!" Diana squeals, running off towards a stand bursting with flowers. She grabs a bouquet of fresh yellow peonies, the pure volume of their bloom nearly covering her face entirely. "Mommy's favorite!" She holds them up, a toothy grin to display her pride.

"Wow, Diana!" Spencer exclaims, taking the flowers from her. “These are perfect, she’ll love them!”

Spencer pays the vendor, placing them gently in the tote bag slung over his shoulder. Having kids has turned him into a one man circus.

Diana smiles proudly, her hand reaching up to find Francesca’s chubby leg sticking out of the baby bjorn. Her small hands fiddle with Chessy’s even smaller toes, eliciting high pitched giggles from the latter as they walk to the next stand.

It’s not long until Diana spots something else, running towards a stand of clay earrings.

“Daaaad, come on!” She drawls out, annoyed at his lack of speed. “These would be perfect for Mommy too!”

She holds a pair of pink rainbow earrings in his face, which, admittedly, would be perfect for Mommy. Spencer pays the vendor.

“Diana,” he says after the transaction. “Do you want anything for yourself? We don’t have to buy stuff for just mommy.”

She just shrugs, toddling along with one hand in his, the other playing with her poised lip. He’s noticed she does that whenever she’s concentrating, making a decision, just like her mom.

“We can get something for Chessy?” Is her first question, and Spencer can’t help but chuckle.

“No, sweet girl. What about you? Do you want anything?” His heart breaks slightly at her natural ability to care about everyone else before herself. It takes him back to his own childhood, the general reality of taking care of her namesake wired him to put others first. He didn’t realize it’d be nearly genetic.

She shrugs again. Spencer peeks down to see her leaning into his forearm, like she does when she’s shy. Seeking protection in his warm, comforting hold. She’s had a lot of change since Francesca has been born, and she’s handling it like a champ.

So, Spencer makes a decision. He rids himself of the bjorn, relegating Chessy to the stroller. She happily snuggles in, clutching her blanket and stuffed bunny while she munches on Goldfish.

His lower back only gets a moment’s reprieve until he’s bending down, scooping Diana up in his arms. She squeals at the surprise, instinctively wrapping her arms around Spencer’s shoulders. He kisses her forehead as she nestles into him, clinging for dear life.

“What does Diana want, hm?” He murmurs against her temple, pressing another small kiss to her head.

“I want…” she trails off, studying her surroundings to ensure she makes the right choice. “That!” She jumps up from his shoulder, pointing at a homemade chocolate stand.

Spencer chuckles, giving his very first baby exactly what she wants, even if it means she gets chocolate stains on his favorite linen button down.

Many hours and a lot of chocolate later, Spencer finally hauls his two girls in the front door of their house. His feet ache, his nose is sunburnt, his heart is so full of love.

“Mommy!” Diana takes off, her tiny feet padding across the wooden floor to you, the love of Spencer’s life.

You sit comfortably on the couch, feet propped up, still in pajamas. Spencer smiles. This is exactly what farmer’s market days are for- to give you a well deserved break.

“Look what we found for you, Mommy!” Diana squeals, placing the flowers, earrings, and multiple other trinkets down on the couch next to you.

“Wow!” You coo, going for the flowers first. “My favorite!” You gush over the peonies, and Spencer’s heart swells.

You kiss Diana’s chubby cheeks and she preens at the attention. Your rested eyes then flit to Spencer’s, and he falls in love all over again. You reach your arms up to grab Chessy, who’s been asleep for the past 20 minutes.

You pucker up to give him a kiss as he leans down to pass her to you, pressing his lips gently to yours.

Spencer joins his family on the couch, still in disbelief that his life could look like this. He is so lucky.

[germesthegenie]

hey what are your favorite builds for the worm rpg?

I'm trying to beat the sleeper superboss and I need some tips on my build

Yeah the Sleeper superboss is tough, still trying to beat it myself actually. It’s tricky since it’s one of those bosses that really needs you to build everyone in your party, similar to the final boss fight with Scion but without the free powerful characters like Glaistig Uaine or Moord Nag to supplement underleveled party members. Here’s what I’m currently running:

Party 1: Weaver, Imp, Foil, Regent

The longest and imo hardest phase since you spend it directly dealing with all of Sleeper’s BS attacks. Since you have 2 more phases to go you’ll want to get through this one fast.

Weaver - I run her as more of a mixed debuffer build, focusing on using Bug Clone and Recluse Swarm to mitigate damage and deal a bit more damage per turn. The nanothron knife does decent damage, but you’re better off using her turns on her swarm abilities

Imp - While her Assassinate skill is really good on minions, I do have someone for that later in this party. Instead, I usually run her as a support. Her Encouraging Whisper ability good for clearing some of the mental status effects Sleeper’s attacks can inflict, and she can use items for any other effects / damage done to the others. Her passive that makes her always targeted last makes her really good for this role as you don’t need to worry about her own HP outside of AOE attacks

Foil - The main DPS of this party. Very straightforward, use the Charged Attack/Dart ability to deal a good chunk of damage, even more if you maxed out her friendship level for the passive increased crit chance on Poisoned targets. Just make sure to stock up on throwables to charge when she runs out of darts

Regent - This is a playthrough on the secret route so I have access to him here. If you also have him, you can actually get access to Shatterbird again by encountering one of her clones during the S9000 arc. Shatterbird is by far his best “summon”, with great AOE for both wiping out Sleeper’s minions and shielding the party from bigger attacks

Party 2: Golem, Grue, Cuff, Parian

This phase is a bit heavier on minions, as Sleeper is invulnerable but recovering. It’s an endurance match against minions as well as a miniboss.

Golem - Built him to be a tank/AOE, sort of a Shatterbird-lite. Hand Wall offers decent defense against enemy AOEs, and Leg Sweep takes out weaker minions with decent chance to stun.

Grue - Admittedly I prefer his original abilities since it offered great bonuses for evasion and keeping specific party members from being targeted. You can technically have those if you use the Fugly Bob punchcard to skip over his second trigger, but that is an exploit so not for everyone. If you’re running him as intended I’d recommend having him copy Golem since it lets you use both offense and defense similtaneously, or double up when needed.

Cuff - Pretty much any party with Golem you want to have Cuff since her Refine passive makes all of his abilities more effective. She’s also good for single target damage which is needed for the miniboss. Keep in mind her material limit, though you can get her Investment skill to let her use up some of your money to replenish material (because hey if you’re already fighting the secret boss what else are you using those 1 dollar coins for?)

Parian - Mostly here for support and additional defense. Patchwork isn’t the best healing but it’s serviceable and removes the Bleed status. If you’re not confident in your 3rd phase you can swap her with someone in Party 3. You can also put her in Party 1 if you don’t have Regent and/or Shatterbird

Party 3: Bitch, Grace, Tecton, Romp

Last phase, and it has a turn limit, so you definitely want to focus on doing as much damage as possible

Bitch - Spend the first few turns as setup to get her dogs up and then use the Kill command (higher damage, lower defense). Gets that damage per turn in, and you can rely on the other party members to make up for their vulnerability

Grace - Really good damage dealer. If you maxed out her friendship, she can use Crane Strike for high damage, though her Flurry in her base kit is also good enough if you didn’t.

Tecton - Use his Wall ability to give some defense for Bitch’s dogs, then focus on Piledriver strike when all walls are still up. Launch is a good teamup ability with Grace for damage, but only outpaces their separate attacks if you don’t have Crane Strike

Romp - Basically a Bitch lite if built correctly. Same strategy, build up some light Attack constructs (don’t be fooled by the Heavy Construct’s higher damage and defense, the lighter ones are faster to set up and deal comparable damage much earlier, which you need given you can’t get that many Heavys in the turn limit)

That about sums up my strategy. Again, still haven’t beaten Sleeper, so there might be something I’m missing to making this strategy more effective. That or its a skill issue lol

[myomie]

Hellow:3

Can I request a magicless reader who switched bodies (or atleast consciousness) with the 3rd years and is just going ham with their magic?

THIRD YEARS 𐙚⭑𓂃────────────────────𓂃���𐙚 "A Magicless Student's First Taste of Magic!" GN! Reader

really loved doing things w the third years, so yayay!! :3 some of these might be shorter than others cause there are more third years than first years :(! i also didn't add Rollo because somehow I've managed to miss that event twice, i think LOL. other than that, hope these turned out how you like them! ^_^ Warnings (∩>؂•)⊃⦆=͟͟͞͞➵ None!! ran through spell check but haven't proof read

Being magicless in a school full of the most extraordinary mages was already trouble enough, but even more so when you're forced to take care of a certain trio. During a joint alchemy class, the third years assisting the first years, someone bumps into a table. Acting immediately, you moved to shield Grim from whatever was in the potion, which came toppling down on you and your third-year partner!

Waking up in the infirmary, you look to the side just to see... yourself? Your head tilts slightly, an awkward sigh leaving the ghost nurse as she lifts a mirror to your face.

Oh man.

This was bad...

Or maybe good?

TREY CLOVER

You glanced down at yourself, and panic immediately filled your stomach, but there was also something else. An odd feeling, something you'd never felt- Akin to nervousness, and excitement. A buzz ran through your body, from your toes to the tip of your head. Magic. The very thought made your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster, as you stared down at your hands.

A grin made its way to your face as you stared down at Trey's uniform pants, noting the magical pen that was hooked to it. Immediately, you began to fiddle with it, amazed by the very premise of you being able to do magic.

A laugh escaped your lips, laced with disbelief and wonder. You had never, especially not when you were living back home, imagined you would be able to wield magic. The feeling was intoxicating.

"Uhh.. what'cha doing?" a voice asked, cutting off your stampede of thoughts. You turned to see Trey... or, well, Trey in your body. He was watching you, his expression a mild mixture of awe and amusement at your excitement, but also a twinge of concern about you messing with his magic. "Seems like you're having fun."

You grinned back, unable to suppress your feelings. "I think I'm magical now!! At least, in this body," You said, waving your hands, causing him to get up and gently grab your wrist- Not wanting you to throw his pen as you moved around. "This is incredible! Treyy!"

Trey just let out a small laugh, mingled with a sigh. "You do know I'm the one with all the experience? You'll have to be careful with this. Magic can be unstable."

"Oh come onnn.." You whined, leaning back. The pouting face caused Trey to stiffen... Seeing himself make such a face was odd.

He just stood up straight, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, I guess I could teach you a few things if we're going to be stuck like this," He suggested, a michevious glint in his eye. (ya yknow what I mean, his little smirk ahhhgj)

"Are you serious??" You exclaimed, standing up, bouncing on your (his) heels. "I'd love that, teach me everything!!"

You spent the next few hours trying to explore the magic you inherited, slightly retaining information from lessons. After all, you had to listen or Grim would be screwed on his tests. After a while, you managed to master the ability of...

Making things float.

Good job.

Soon, however, an idea came to you. "Let's sneak out!! Imagine what I could do- I could mess with Ace and Deuce..hehehh.."

His eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head, although he still smiled. "You are... something. How about we take it easy?"

You stared at him, then sighed. Yeah. He was probably right. Trey always was the sensible one.

..But what he doesn't find out about won't hurt him, right?

CATER DIAMOND

As you woke up, becoming aware of your surroundings, your heart raced at the realization. Your fingers twitched, and as you looked down at your outfit, you noticed the school-mandated magical pen attached to you. It seemed to beckon you, and a mischievous grin spread across your face.

Maybe this wasn't the tragedy you had originally assumed.

"Time to be awesome!!" You declared to the empty infirmary, pumping your fist up, before just pausing. Looking around to make sure nobody noticed that.

You had never truly understood how magic worked, but now that you were in Cater's body, you could feel magic thrumming through you. An exhilarating buzz. With a surprising lack of hesitation, you pulled the pen out, standing up out of your hospital bed, flicking the pen around..

A burst of glittery magic came out, and you laughed as it sparkled in the air.

Reveling in the sensation, you continued to dance around with the pen, magic following you, moving through your fingers-

"..Hey! You good in there?" It was your voice, but clearly, Cater was in your body. Opening the small curtain to peer in on you, he seemed a bit confused, but it soon faded into amusement. You froze mid-movement, clearing your throat. You could feel your face grow warm as you moved your hands behind you, acting casual.

"I'm great!! Just taking a moment to uh... adjust," You quickly responded, trying to avoid any suspicion about what you were doing.

"Why are you in my body, and why does it look like you're dancing? Are you… messing with my magic?" You shot him a cheeky grin. "Maybe! But come on, don't you want to have fun with this? You always talk about the perks of being you!" He hesitated at first, glancing over his shoulder like he was weighing the appropriateness of your offer. But a spark of mischief flickered in his eyes, and you could see he was intrigued. "Alright, but with great power comes great responsibility. I should at least teach you the basics."

Hours passed by, and towards the end of the day, you found yourself even able to duplicate yourself using his special magic.

"Okay, now here's the fun part," Cater said, leaning in towards you. "Let's mess with Ace and Deuce! I'm sure they'll be surprised."

You immediately smiled, "Yes! Let's do it!"

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

When you regained consciousness, the sterile smell of the infirmary met your senses. Soemthing you usually wouldn't pick up... Everything seemed to smell stronger, your head aching slightly as the loud chattering outside made your ear twitch.

Wait.

Your ear..?

Immediately, your eyes hooked onto a nearby mirror, panic filling your body... Your reflection was most definitely not what you were used to; the lion ears atop your head were proof of that.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you instinctively flexed yours... Or Leona's fingers, somewhat in admiration of the sharp, claw-like nails that sat atop them. A thrill through you as your panic faded away, being replaced by the reminder of how many opportunities arose from this.

"Hey, you alright?" a voice interrupted your thoughts, turning to see your own body- An expression you'd never seen cross your face before. You seemed to be scowling, just the tiniest bit. Your own eyes scanned your face, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah! I'm amazing!!" You explained, your new voice deep. "Look at me!! I can do magic!" You threw your hands up, causing Leonas' eyes to narrow, his brows furrowing.

He stepped forward, "Don't you dare," He grumbled, his arms crossed. "Magic can be tricky. If you go crazy, I'm not covering for ya.."

"Too late!" You told him, immediately standing up and snatching a piece of paper off the bedside table. You fiddled with it, before mustering any thoughts you had, willing the piece to turn to sand...

Nothing happened.

...

"Don't make me repeat myself," He huffed, grabbing your shoulder, pulling you back slightly, and taking the paper from you. "My magic is powerful; you can't just will it out of nothingness."

You pouted slightly, causing him to shudder as such an expression crossed his face. "But Leona..." Hearing his voice come out whiny, slightly amused you, as you leaned in towards him. "Pleassee..? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleas-"

He cut you off, shoving the paper in your face. "Fine." Whether he had a soft spot of you and was giving in, or if he was just tired of hearing you whine, you were unsure of. You just smiled slyly. "But you will only do what I teach you. Nothing more."

...

Giggles of joy left your mouth as you turned things to sand within the courtyard, all the stuff Leona pointed towards you.

"Leona..?" A familiar voice of Ruggie spoke behind you, causing you to turn. Smiling at him, you spun on your heel, letting the sand particles sprinkle around you.

"Look how cool Ruggie!!" You exclaimed, causing him to look genuinely like he was about to have a heart attack.

Leona grabbed your arm, not causing much pain because he was in your body, as he tugged you back. "Ok. Enough of that," he mumbled, dragging you away. "Stop... acting like that in my body..."

"..You're no fun, Leona."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

Waking up in the infirmary, you were relieved to find yourself unharmed, with no pain in your body. Yet, as you raised your hand to rub your eyes, you were met with a slender hand, covered in pristine clothing. You blinked as you stared at it, your eyes slowly wandering to a nearby mirror.

You were none other than Vil. The Vil Schoenheit. Your heart raced as you stared at the pristine blonde locks and the sharp eyes. For a moment, you had believed him to be right in front of you, but after making a few gestures he would never make, the weight of the situation fell on you.

And then, the thought hit you.

Shooting of your bed, gazing down at your hands. "Oh my gosh!! I'm.. I'm like magic now!!" You threw your hands up in the air.

"..Great," Your attention turned to the person behind you- Who now sounded and looked like you. "..This is fantastic," Vil, who was trapped in your (a mere mortal compared to him, he thought) body. "You. You're in my body."

"Right! We switched bodies!" You spun around, his robe following you. "This is insane! Think of all the things I can do, magic... real magic!!"

"Don't get too excited," Vil interjected, his voice cutting through your ecstatic behavior. "You are not trained in magic; it is not a toy, potato."

You sighed softly, putting your hands on your hips as you stared back at him, frowning slightly. Your hand slipped, your fingers wandering to his magical pen clipped to his hip. "Come on.. Don't you ever wanna let loose? Have some fun?"

"Fun???" He replied, leaning in towards you, "Magic is anything but supposed to be fun! It requires discipline and coordination. You will only cause cha-"

"Boop.." You smiled softly as you hit his nose with the pen, a burst of magic surrounding them, his nose now being covered in glitter, causing it to twitch.

He just stood there, in complete shock. "You..." He trailed off, bringing his hand up to brush it off. "You'll ruin my reputation. Put that down."

"Cmonn! Just a little more!!" You insisted, waving the pen again, a flower appearing in your hands. "See! How pretty!!"

He let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head...

This would be a long day.

ROOK HUNT

When you came to, you pushed yourself up off the hospital bed, rubbing your face as you groaned, the sound of your voice much different than usual. You didn't realize you were in the wrong body until you stood up, staring at a nearby reflective surface, silence filling your mind as you stood there.

...

...

"Oh.."

This. Was. Crazy!!

You stepped back, heart thudding in your chest- But instead of fear capturing your mind, you immediately grinned. Feeling the magic running beneath your skin, you spun around, "I'm Rook Hunt! The most stalkerish stalker everrr!-" You explained, trying to mimic his confident manner. "Ahahh.. Oui oui.... uhh something something cherry-"

You cut yourself off as the curtain opened, a shiver running up your spine as you saw yourself standing behind you. A smug smile was on your face, and you immediately recognized it as belonging to Rook. Right. Of course.

If you were in his body... that would mean...

"Ah, no, keep going chère," He teased, and your heart nearly flipped out of your chest as the realization he was watching.

You just stared at him, before mustering all the strength you had, trying to get the curtain to close on his face.

"Ah, no, no," He sighed, just stopping the curtain from closing, "You must be careful with this magic," He hummed, walking towards you, leaning towards him, "The art of magic is certainly not something to be trifled with."

"I can handle it," You huffed, crossing your arms. You could do whatever you wanted!! Your mind is soaring towards messing with the trio.

Rook moved closer, if possible, "The beauty of magic does not just lie in its very existence," He said, a smile creeping onto his face, "It's all about the finesse, the elegance. Let me show you."

Before you could protest, he took your hands, leading you into what seemed to be a strange dance, your feet spinning around as you tried to keep up with him. A chair floated beside you as he directed your hands, willing you to do as he motioned.

"Try making it float more, higher," He suggested, his gaze trained on you, "Oh! And you must sing too-"

Oh. He was messing with you.

"Rook!" You protested, embarrassed by his actions, making you tug your hands away, pulling them to your chest as you glared at him.

Rook's laughter echoed through the nurse's office, willingly letting you go. "I see, you've seen through my lies, mh?" He tucked his hands behind his back, moving away slightly. "..Very well. Perhaps I can try to properly teach you?"

"Stay away from me."

You suddenly preferred your non-magical life.

IDIA SHROUD

Waking up after what seemed like an all too long nap, you sat up. Memories from before filled your mind, and you glanced around... A nurse's office. "..Idia..?" You mumbled before looking to the side, noticing yourself standing there. "What the..."

"Ah! No! No! No!!" Your voice... but you weren't speaking. It echoed around the room, your original body clutching its head, trembling in panic. "This is not good! Not good at alllll! This is like that one anime... yknow, I Tried To Save the Day, but instead I got Transmigrated Into the Villainess' Body and now I-"

You decided to ignore whatever he was talking about, staring at your hands. "I.. can do magic now.." You mumbled, a smile sneaking onto your face, before grabbing his magical pen, waving it in the air. Each flick caused Idia to flinch.

"Stop! You.. You don't know how to control this!" His distress amplified as he watched you ignite a small pile of papers. You blinked, quickly extinguishing the flames, the thrill fueling you.

"Come on, Idia! This is awesome!" You grinned, bursting with energy, shooting up off the bed.

"Are you insane?!?!" Idia cried out, also getting up, keeping a safe distance from you. "You- You're going to blow us up!"

You didn't listen to his warning, reciting a magical spell you had heard of in one of Grim's lessons. You twirled around as levitating objects surrounded you, your giggles filling the room.

"Ohh.. this is too much," He muttered, bringing his hands to his head. The lights flickered in the room, causing him to stiffen, staring at you. "What if I can't control it once you've finally gone crazy..."

"..What are you even talking about?" You deadpanned, before processing his distraught face. You just sighed, putting down his pen, "Okay, okay... Let's work together; we can figure this out." You tried to calm him down, walking over towards him.

...

MALLEUS DRACONIA

It didn't take long for you to notice something was incredibly wrong, as you sat up, realizing you were a foot too tall.

"Oh," You mumbled, staring at the nearby mirror.

Malleus, on the other hand, was confused. He felt different, weak. He stared down at his hands, realizing they were no longer adorned by the familiar claws he was used to. Instead, they were softer, smaller- definitely not something of his. He felt panicked for a moment until he caught sight of you, staring at yourself in the reflection.

"I'm.. You," You mumbled, pointing at the reflection in the mirror.

"Yes. It appears so," He replied, his voice turning to amusement as he watched you examine his form, your fingers running down his elegant robes, and also planting themself on top of your head, where his horns were planted.

"Ah! But look at this!" You explained, bringing your hand up to try to levitate something, just for it to blow up.

....

Despite your mishap, he couldn't stop the warmth from filling his chest, standing up to walk towards you. "Be careful, child of man," He warned, feeling the need to sit beside you. "This magic is... potent."

"I'm fineee!" You laughed it off, a giggle escaping as you continued to try to levitate objects, now using less power. Books and vials floated through the air, and for a moment, both of you were captivated by the sight. "I can't believe how cool this feels..."

"Just remember. Focus," He advised, watching your animated form mess around with his magic, laugh after laugh- More grins...

"Okay, I got this!" You said, determined. You took a deep breath, concentrating. Unfortunately, it didn't go as you planned; instead of a sphere of light, an array of colorful sparks filled the room for a moment.

With wide eyes, you watched... "Did you see that, Tsunotaro?! Well.. I guess you're not really Tsunotaro. I have horns now." You trailed off, bringing a hand to your chin as you thought about it.

"Careful, dear," He grabbed your shoulder, pulling you down, towards him. "Such magic can be... unpredictable." Still, he continued to admire the scene before him, watching as you fearlessly filled the room with colors.

"Don't worry! I'll figure this out!" You promised, sitting up tall, causing his hand to slip from your shoulder, as you moved to try out more.

As much as he enjoyed the sight before him, he wished you would switch bodies soon. He disliked how easily you were able to move past him in his body.

LILIA VANROUGE

I'm gonna take the fattest nap after I finish this

When the world regained its focus, you found yourself staring at a mirror on the wall, your eyes trained on the black and pink hair adorning your head. "..Lilia? Is that you?"

"Nope! It's you!" It was your voice, but certainly his replying. You looked behind you, noticing your figure standing not far from the bed. You and Lilia must have switched bodies after the potion fell...

"This is awesome!" You suddenly exclaimed, pushing the blankets off and standing up. "I can teleport! I can do magic!"

"Wait, carefu-" Lilia tried to caution, but you were already off, quick as a wink. You teleported across the room, landing right on the desk.

"Did you see that? I'm amazing!" You laughed, nearly falling off the desk, catching yourself with your legs, hanging off the furniture.

His eyes widened a fraction, and a glint of concern found its way to his face, "You ought to tone it down a bit; not everything has to be a stunt."

Ignoring him, you've got backup approaching you. "This is so much fun, though! Look at me! I could teleport all over campus and scare everyone!"

His expressions slowly shifted from one of concern to a similar look of mischief. "Hm.. I guess. It could be entertaining," He hummed, knowing he did a similar course of action. "Just promise you won't endanger yourself."

With that, you grinned widely, "I won't! I promise!"

The next few hours, you found yourself teleporting around, surprising everyone you knew- Especially Ace and Deuce, even stealing Grim's tuna right from under his nose, a smug grin on your face as you appeared next to Lilia again.

You were out of breath, wiping your mouth slightly as you leaned over, before pausing.. "Lilia.."

"Yes..?"

..

"Why does my back hurt so much..?"

Safe to say, you never wanted to be as much of an old man as Lilia.

[ndrv3expert1]

The Price of Pretending: Himiko Yumeno and the Magic of Escapism

A mutual asked me to talk about Himiko, and why she acts the way she does and I said sure but then I spiraled and made notes and everything. Turns out, I had a lot to say. So here is my sprial in a condensed form.

Himiko’s magic or more specifically her belief in the fact that it’s real and her status as a mage is not just a quirky or childish trait it’s a shield.

So one of the first things I need to discuss is Himiko’s backstory she first took interest in magic after seeing a local magician perform a show after that she was amazed and this magician took her in as his apprentice she looked up to this magician and even adopted his habits of claiming all her tricks were real magic. (Remember this it's important.)

But she soon began outshining her master who was deeply troubled by this and the pressure caused him to make a mistake on stage Himiko fixes the mistake for him and he becomes so sad and embarrassed he retires Himiko becomes plagued with guilt blaming herself for her master’s retirement but in the midst of all of this and fans asking what happened to her master what does she do she makes up a story about how a dark mage sabotaged her master’s show so she doesn’t have to deal with the guilt and the possibility it’s her fault her master had to go into an early retirement.

(I also found interesting that similarly to Kaede Himiko also performs to see people smile)

And this escapism becomes a very important part of Himiko’s character especially in the killing game she’s one of the most scared people in the games visibly trembling when Monokuma announces the games but of course what does she cling to magic with escapism its common to project onto things and for Himiko that’s clearly magic she uses it as a shield to protect herself from all the dark emotions of the killing game so she comes off as apathetic but in reality she’s just suppressing everything.

Now I want to talk about a lot of things but first how Himiko acts around others she struggles to read the mood disregards others feelings and makes an assumption about someone and sticks to it which also seems to be at fault of her emotional suppression her not engaging emotionally with herself makes it harder for her to emotionally engage with others.

It’s also because her escapism causes her to be blind to the harsh reality which also affects her ability to connect with the group either pushing them away like Tenko or when she does try to connect she's out of touch.

Himiko’s stubborn and persistent belief in her magic being real also puts her at odds with the group.

Let’s take chapter two for example after Ryoma is murdered during Himiko’s magic show the group asks Himiko how she preformed her trick and she clings to the narrative of it being real magic even into to trial causing the others to get frustrated and suspect her as the murderer.

Now the most interesting thing is her relationship with Tenko and Angie and Chapter three.

Both of them recognize Himiko’s struggles and are trying to reach her, but in completely different ways. Angie offers her the cult and Atua. Tenko just wants her to feel something. Express herself. Cry, get angry, anything.

But Himiko latches to Angie more than Tenko and it’s because Angie is more calm and mellow while Tenko is more clingy and loud and hyperactive.

Angie: (“ I understand, Himiko... You're not actually scared. You're just sad, aren't you? You feel frustrated, anxious, and worried, but you have no one to confide in, do you? ...It's okay. You're not alone, Himiko. I know a handsome god who is keeping a watchful eye on you.”)

Tenko: (“Himiko, please get a hold of yourself! You have to face reality!”)

In my opinion Angie represents or parallels might be a better word for it escapism for Himiko she manipulates Himiko into joining her cult giving Himiko another wall she can build up another thing she can cling to in the killing game to suppress and deal with all the bad emotions.

(“Nyeeeh...as long as I pray like this, I don’t need to waste my energy on useless stuff. No matter what happens or what trouble lies ahead, my heart will be calm...”)

While Tenko is confronting everything head on it’s what Himiko is avoiding doing with magic and Atua and her emotional suppression.

("S-Stop it...when you interrupt me, it messes up my calm heart... I-I remembered this nightmare reality I'm in... A-All my insecurities and loneliness...the pain th-that made me want to die..")

(Side note I also think it’s very interesting that both Himiko and Tenko had masters when they were young and both masters led them to develop a belief that hurt them in some way intentionally or not)

And in chapter three we see everything come crumbling down for Himiko Angie dies and Himiko still doesn’t open up even after one of the closest people to her passes and Tenko begs her to do anything and she is just blank.

Then Korekiyo offers up a seance to speak to Angie and Himiko volunteers as maybe some sort of way to redeem herself for not being sad or at least show it but Tenko steps in to be the medium so that Himiko can speak to Angie one last time and so that she doesn’t have to offer herself up as an apology.

And here around this point in chapter three we start to see the spark of Himiko and Tenko’s relationship where Himiko realizes that Tenko is not just a stalker or an annoyance but she actually cares about Himiko.

Then Tenko dies.

Himiko checks out barely participating in the trials even giving up when everyone accuses her but after being reminded that Tenko wanted her to survive and express her emotions everything that was bottled up comes rushing out and Himiko breaks down.

She decides to live life facing forward as now she has the legacy of two people to carry and all she can do is cry and try to become a person who benefits her and the dead the next morning. So she does.

(“Your "good mornings" are too quiet! It's cuz you're so quiet that you feel down! But...being depressed won't help those who died rest in peace... Tenko and Angie, too. If I stay depressed, they won't be able to rest in peace either. So in order to make their deaths have meaning, I've decided to live my live with positivity! S-So anyway... Please...t-take care of the...new me...")

And you may say that Himiko still did this or that after chapter three but Himiko’s arc wasn’t necessarily about becoming a better person it was about healing from her escapism and emotional suppression and if that took the death of her closest friends to happen so be it. In the DR universe death is the perfect catalyst for change

I honestly didn’t think I would have this much to say about Himiko but after I looked in to it the idea intrigued me and you know I can’t pass up an opportunity to talk about chapter three.

But this was fun and I might do some for the other members of the v3 cast. Maybe, no promises.

[thenexusofsouls]

Xenos' energy usually recovered quickly, but he was at such a deficit already, going into this escape. He'd been mistreated here in the form of starvation, electrical restraint, sedation, and sleep deprivation to keep him as docile and safe for experimentation as possible. Coming right from that and having to suddenly conjure up some of his more energy-draining abilities was making his entire body ache as though he'd been beaten black and blue. His breaths were uneven and ragged, his hands noticeably trembled, and he'd broken out into a cold sweat, but he was going to push onward. He wanted his freedom so badly, and he also wanted to help his new friend succeed in that as well.

He nodded at the woman's words, for he knew she was right. The sooner they got out of here, the sooner the noise would stop. She was urging him on, being such a good friend to him. The least he could do was pull his own weight. He followed closely, letting her take the lead on finding a way out while he stayed vigilant, ready to come to her aid should anyone or anything surprise them.

Oh, he barely had the strength to pull off this ability now, having already used it once before, but... Xenos threw everything he had into blasting a hole through the door. While it was similar to how he'd dealt with the smoke, manipulating air molecules, basically, this ability was actually the exact same one he'd used to block the barrage of bullets from soldiers earlier. Having control over molecules in the air, Xenos could change their density by thinning them out or condensing them together at will. The latter could result in an invisible shield through which bullets could not penetrate, as he had done before, or it could create a pocket of ultra-dense air solid enough to break through a door, as he had done now.

His whole body was shaking now, his muscles screaming at him to just lie down and sleep, but his hooded head lifted to the woman when he heard her insist that they were going, not just her. He... he hadn't expected that, quite honestly. What touched him even more was the way she offered her arm to him, knowing how standoffish she was about being touched, having observed a bit of that earlier.

He lifted a trembling hand but hesitated. "Okay...?" he asked breathlessly, even though she was offering her arm. He just wanted to make sure and perhaps to warm her that touch was coming, for he very much understood how uncomfortable it could be. Slowly, he grabbed her arm where it was not bandaged, his cold hand gripping it only as tightly as he needed to balance himself as he pushed onto his feet. Once he was upright, he let go of her arm, panting with his shoulder against the wall for a few seconds before he pushed himself free of that as well. "Thank you..." he said, true gratitude lacing his tone. A nod indicated he was ready to move again, even if his body definitely wasn't. Suffer now, freedom later. It is worth the pain, he told himself.

Climbing through the hole took a bit of doing for him, but he made it, actually sitting in said hole and panting for a few more seconds before continuing on into the parking area. He braced himself against the cars and trucks while he walked as they moved between them, making their way toward the second door, which... oh, he was hoping would lead to the outside. There was a good chance it did, given what he saw peeking through around it. "Light..." he said, pointing. Xenos really hated light. It hurt his eyes, it gave him headaches, but... right now... it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen if it meant his freedom. "T-try... a-gain?" he asked her, lifting his hands, asking if she wanted him to try to get through this door as well. He wasn't sure what that would do to him, but they were so close...

She’d been so close.

Rockland… Your name is-it’s… Her thoughts were like sludge. They pulled her from the van, weighed down by heavy gauntlets which dug into her arms. Dread was coursing through her. She had to fight but she could hardly move. Her shoes dragged along the floor as the agents by her sides practically carried her. Her injured hand and collarbone throbbed. Dale was good with a knife. She’d gotten him back, though. He walked behind them with a hand pressed to his shoulder.

"Get it ready. The asset's been compromised." He grumbled into a walkie. He usually called her Second.

Sadie… She was Sadie. Not Second. Or the Asset. Sadie. For the first time in memory she was being dragged in with some recollection of herself. She had to hold onto who she was. It was agonizing to know they could rip it from her again. That she'd been so close. Dale had gotten her pinned. He’d tased her, and she'd... she couldn't remember, but the next thing she could remember she'd been sedated in the back of the van. She didn’t know what had happened to Mike and his partner-

Her eyes widened as they approached a familiar room. As doors were slammed open, and-

No. No. No no no- Fight! They dragged her towards the chair. She could see the notebook set on the desk. Fight! They strapped her in, an IV set up. Fight! But her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. One of the scientists approached, mouth guard in hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks, chest heaving. She clenched her jaw.

Rockland. She had to hold onto his name. She had to.

[purpleponder]

Magical boy abilities are rotating in my head

[randomness-is-my-order]

since weak hero class 2 is gonna come out very soon (finally!), i had to do some navel gazing with regards to season one and even after multiple watches of the show, i’ll always find the relationship between beomseok and sieun the most tragic fucking bond ever because amidst the massive fallout and very much foreground animosity that rose between beomseok and suho, sieun was the figure providing the most grace to beomseok, till the very end. sieun was the one who was sensitive and empathetic towards beomseok when his bullies targetted him again, when beomseok was undergoing a change of character, when beomseok revealed his home situation. as much as i love suho, the show made it a point to show his callousness towards beomseok’s bullying situation—in part because suho has never been at the bottom of the barrel due his strength and general personality; he does not understand because he has never been the weakest in the chain, but sieun knows, he understands. he’s aware of how bullies work, how they target any perceived weakness, how sometimes the one being bullied can’t do anything short of sacrificing their entire dignity and value system to make it stop (which isn’t always a guarantee anyway). how the one being bullied did not do anything “wrong” to provoke a reaction from the bullies, aside from existing.

the tragedy of season one is just how avoidable the final conflict was, if beomseok just tried to accept the concerned voice that was trying to help him, if he allowed himself to accept sieun’s care to soothe his insecurities over suho. it’s not that suho didn’t reach out—it’s that beomseok and suho were not speaking the same language. what beomseok did is inexcusable and i hope we never see him again and he gains no forgiveness or redemption but it fucking sucks that beomseok blamed suho for not understanding him but then ignored the one who was going the extra mile to meet him halfway, to offer help and empathy. till the last moment, sieun couldn’t bring himself to be violent towards beomseok (which was honestly the biggest metaphorical slap in the face the guy could receive) because how could he ever outdo and avenge the kind of rotten, sickening violence beomseok chose to employ towards his own friend? (and also because hitting him then would mean scores were being settled but what suho suffered through was in suspension and it did not deserve to have a definite resolution and also, beomseok’s too used to being hit for any mistakes/faults/flaws of his, when it is both deserved and underserved and sieun was, once again, being graceful in a painfully ironic manner by leaving beomseok unscathed but with a lesson that should rightfully scar his soul. he held back).

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: violence mention / death mention / ]

Will never stop thinking about how Leo, all alone in an endless void and being beaten again and again and again by the only other living thing around, still finds comfort in that space. The situation he was in was completely hopeless, and in any other circumstances he would not have escaped, at least not fast enough to save him from permanent (or even fatal) damage, be it physical or mental.

And yet, despite the bleakness of his situation, despite the agony and helplessness, all he needs is one glance at a crumbled photograph, one glance to remember his family, and that’s enough of a reason for him to smile.

Maybe that’s why his powers center around manipulating space - because no matter how much space is between them, no matter how dire his own situation may be, just the thought of his family, alive and okay, is enough to give Leo hope.

[frostythewritingcat]

The best part about currently being obsessed with a weird little dude that i made up is I get to throw him into different situations

Like. Especially because of the whole prince's special knight thing. I can either slap Cameron into a situation all on his own and see where that goes or put him And henrick into situations and rate them both around

If cam is out on his own, it means he doesn't have a hen to keep him balanced so he will either spiral or find someone to fill that position of endless devotion. If they are both there then hen will gently guide him into being a presentable human person rather than rhe anger and spite fuelled weapon he will be otherwise. If hen isn't there but he finds someone for counter-balance, how do they handle it? Are they good natured and patient enough to convince him of his worth as a person? Will they fail in either of those things? How would that go down? Or would they encourage him and go on a spree together?

[desertsportshipping]

"What if I’m only good at pretending to be good?"

@cipher-legal-and-ethics-dept💜

Sometimes, Leon wonders if he is fit to be Champion.

Sure, he is fully confident in his ability to battle. He is undeniably the strongest trainer in Galar (aside from Wes, although his beloved denies it). But the rest? The press conferences, the talking to people, the interviews, the sponsorships, the photoshoots, the negotiations and diplomacy-

No, he is not going to work himself into another anxiety attack worrying about everything he has to do.

Leon and Champion Leon are two different people at this point. Champion Leon always knows exactly what to say, what to do, can handle the pressures of being both a Champion and a celebrity. Champion Leon can show up to everything press conference and interview with his best smile, can show up to every problem that needs his skills with his best foot forward.

Leon sucks at everything that isn't battling. He can't talk to anyone who isn't Wes or one of his friends (the few that he has). He can't cook. The only reason his apartment is spotless is because he's barely in it. He has no skills. He's been trying to sew so he can make a new jacket for his beloved, but all that has gotten him so far is bloody fingers and piles of ruined fabric.

While all of the skills Wes is good at relate to crime and sex, he knows he's good at it. He doesn't doubt in his ability like Leon does. And for everything else, Wes doesn't lie about the fact that he's bad at those things. He'll sheepishly tell Leon that he doesn't know what he's doing when he puts together a little picnic date for the two of them. He'll admit that he's bad at cooking when he burns the berries he's roasting over the fire. He'll tell people he's shit at sewing when they see the messy stitches on his coat.

Wes is even better with Pokemon that Leon is. He lives among the wild Pokemon, and the bond he has with them and the Pokemon that were once bound to him is unlike anything Leon has ever seen. If a Pokemon is stuck in a tree, or needs to be coaxed out of a dangerous spot, or needs to be calmed out, Wes can do so effortlessly. Leon can try, but he isn't as good at it as his beloved.

Sometimes, Leon wonders if Wes should be Champion instead of him. Sometimes, Leon wonders if one day, he'll be brave enough to abandon Champion Leon and just be Leon.

Prompt list in question - Ko-Fi

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

how did it go again? the end is never the end?

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (sorry!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), teammates to lovers, angst, talk of insecurities, john is an asshole who’s emotionally constipated, mention of violence, wound tending trope, heavy kissing, groping, teasing, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, mild body worship, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, missionary position, john has a huge praise kink, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen ,,, I know he’s a bad person & he’s flawed but he’s so well-written and hot … and it’s wyatt russell !! first time writing for john and I loved this, I hope you guys love it too! thank you so much for your support! 🫶

Ash floats through smoke-laden air in the aftermath of an explosion, chunks of a building blown into the streets, screams of civilians pounding within your ears. Time stills, as if it’s come to a crawl, and everything slows around you.

Missions still paralyze you from time to time, fear and doubt creeping in, keeping you frozen in-place. It’s gotten somewhat easier, adapting to chaotic situations, attempting to fit in with your new teammates.

A clammy perspiration clings to your flesh beneath your suit, the design nondescript. Valentina had pushed for something flashy, more in-line with your abilities, but you refused. The less that you stuck out, the better.

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the rest of the team, healing powers at the expense of your own energy, but you were designated as the ‘medic’, for obvious reasons. Whenever someone was injured or too roughed-up, you were there to help.

“You still with us over there?”

John Walker’s snide quip emanates from the communication link sitting in your ear, and it’s enough to effectively shatter your stupor. It wasn’t a malicious remark — just a little annoying, likely furthered by his tone of voice.

Steve Rogers was someone you knew, years ago — an acquaintance, really, but he’d helped get you out of a bind with undercover H.Y.D.R.A operatives. When he wore the shield, when Sam wore the shield, it stood for something greater than themselves.

Walker had been thrown into enough turmoil already; losing the role of Captain America, murdering an innocent, losing his family. It was all his fault, he knew this — it didn’t make the pain any less, knowing he was at the root of it all.

The both of you butted heads more often than not, two differing personalities that clashed in verbal sparring matches or thinly-veiled hostility. You’d tried to empathize with him, but he made it difficult with his condescending attitude.

Bucky had played mediator more times than you could count — you didn’t enjoy getting angry, the feeling never benefited you. Nevertheless, you were trying to get along with Walker and learn to work better as teammates.

Things were progressing, albeit slowly. Even after extending the olive branch and being kind to him, maybe too nice, he still held some lingering indifference towards you.

“I copy.” In the aftermath of thwarting enemies of the state, you prefer to help the civilians, ensuring that they were out of harm’s way, healed. Jogging toward a group of people attempting to move rubble aside, you’re quick to assist.

“There’s still one more, if someone wants to take care of it,” Ava’s voice comes over the communicator, muddled by background noise of emergency vehicles. “Unless you need help.”

“I got it.” Quick to volunteer, Walker’s voice cuts in before dissipating. You’re busy helping move wreckage aside, freeing any trapped citizens and making way for ambulances. Wailing sirens fill the air, and things move swiftly.

The air smells of burning, intermingled with a twinge of copper, a streak of crimson splashed upon your cheek. It’s a shallow cut, something trivial and minor, muscles aching with a dull throb after the dust begins to settle.

Helicopters begin to circle overhead, the media soon to follow. It was some rogue section of former H.Y.D.R.A operatives that had caused this mess, and with the formation of the New Avengers, these threats seem to appear more often.

The public is torn — one side openly celebrating that there’s protection again, the other side scornful of a ragtag group of government rejects. You aren’t one to pay attention to the discourse, focusing on finding your own footing, building relationships and making amends.

Despite having the team to lean on, you had a complicated relationship with your own family. After your powers manifested, you became isolated, kept at a distance, prompting you to run away and find S.H.I.E.L.D, when it still existed.

Still, you felt alone sometimes, but the pain had lessened with the passage of time. Alexei, of all people, treated you like a daughter, and Ava proved to be a reliable friend, despite her constant grimace. The more you assimilated with them, the more the bitter sting dissipated.

The team was a conglomerate of fragmented pasts — scars, veiled wounds, regrets; but they had become your family, or something close, and that meant the world to you.

As first responders began to flood the scene, you regrouped with the rest of the team, scraped and battered from the fighting, but all intact. Bucky and Yelena typically helmed any media events following a battle, but this time, everyone wanted to go home.

“Look at us,” Alexei laughs, placing a hand on John’s shoulder, and Yelena’s. “We are good team! The best team that the world has ever seen!” He cheers, and you find his enthusiasm endearing. John winces, stepping away from the Russian’s hold.

“You say that after every mission.” Yelena points out, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The jet is somewhere down the street, and you all begin the arduous process of walking back.

“It is to remind of the truth, of our strength.” Alexei boasts, gleeful as ever as he jogs to keep up with Bucky. Bucky’s taken to letting him pretend that he’s the “co-captain”, just to keep his spirits high.

Morale is Alexei’s specialty — there is never a dull moment when he’s around, and his enthusiasm evokes a small smile from you, curling at the corners of your mouth. Dull, throbbing pangs of sore muscle ebbs through your body.

Straggling along at the tail end of the group, you step through some of the smaller pieces of rubble, a majority of what remains to be disposed of by a clean-up crew. Your mind is elsewhere, and the idea of sleeping once you’re back to the Watchtower is very appealing.

John is there too, uncharacteristically quiet as he walks a pace or two ahead of you, and you notice the slight stutter in his gait. There’s crimson blooming from a gash on the back of his suit, a deep wound, and your brows furrow together.

He didn’t say anything about it, which is typical, but you can’t help but be concerned. You didn’t dislike John, simply abhorred his attitude and the way he sometimes believed that he wasn’t at-fault.

Closing the distance, you come up on his flank, softly clearing your throat. “You’re hurt,” You murmur, low enough for only him to hear. He has an issue with getting injured, as if his pride is simultaneously bruised, so you keep it cordial. “I can take care of it.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept your help, allowing himself to fester within the pain, as if it’s some sort of penance for all the wrong he’s done. His muscles ache, and the gash, bruises, and cuts don’t make anything easier.

“I’m fine,” Dismissive, John brushes your concern aside, focusing on getting back to the jet without collapsing. The serum does its part, easier to manage the pain, but it doesn’t take away the sting. “It’s not that bad.” He utters, hoping you’ll drop it.

It’s his tone again; bitter, indifferent, swatting your offer aside as if you’re more bothersome than helpful. For reasons you can’t explain, it makes you angry, as if he’s too good for your help. Your jaw clenches, and you try again.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, John. When we get back to the Watchtower, I can —”

“I said I’m fine.” Walker retorts, snapping at you without hesitation. It’s born from an amalgamation of agony and his own innermost demons that he’s wrestling with. He stares ahead, not wanting to look at your expression.

Bewildered, you fight against getting frustrated with him, wondering if there’s something that extends beyond his surface-level condescension.

Though, you wonder what you did to make him hate you so much — you sparred about the past, sure, but you were trying to bury the hatchet.

As if pierced by something sharp, you scoff, attempting to smother the flicker of fury that burned within your chest. It overrides your judgment, mouth moving before you can tell yourself to stop. “What’s your problem with me? Jesus, Walker, I just want to help you.”

The both of you are far away enough for the rest to remain oblivious to your sudden squabbling, and John grits his teeth, a sharp inhale splitting his lungs. “I can handle this on my own.” His tone is edged, but there’s something more beneath the surface.

Cerulean hues issue a warning for you to drop the subject, and you do, albeit reluctantly. Anger diminishes into confusion, uncertainty; you didn’t understand. Despite your efforts, he continued to swat you away as if you were a pest.

The splinter of desperation in your cadence turns his stomach, verbal sparring settling into a tenuous silence. John steals a glance despite himself, noticing the forlorn look that is etched into your brow, as if you’ve done something wrong.

He knows it’s not you — never has been, it’s him. John’s agitation dwindles into guilt, knowing that your intentions were wholly good, selfless. It’s something that he wishes he could have, and he’s working on it, but the process is emotionally heavy.

Scorned, you keep pace with him, even if he’s pushed you aside, ensuring that he makes it to the jet intact. The rest of the team regards you with perplexity, though you’re dismissive of it, settling into the webbing of your flight-seat.

The aftermath is often hushed — bodies catching their breath, a wordless recuperation, senses beginning to climb down from heightened adrenaline. Bucky’s piloting you out, heading back to the Watchtower.

Exhaustion settles in, replacing the exhilaration that comes with missions, the surge of vigor in your bloodstream. Tilting backwards, your head meets the cool interior of the jet, engine’s idle buzz thrumming beneath your boots.

John sits beside you, unexpectedly, his strenuous sigh rattling your body, passing from the bulk of his bicep to you. His visage is contorted into a look of thinly-veiled wistfulness, glancing sideways at you, a faint grimace of apology.

Quiet, you don’t relocate, simmering in the silence without so much as a murmur. Copper stings your nostrils, the scent of his blood, and you pretend that it doesn’t phase you; it does.

Your arms loosely fold over your chest, listening to the drone of the quinjet. The ride home is short, shorter than expected, and you’re eager to crawl beneath scalding water and let it burn the rush away.

As Bucky prepares for landing on the helipad outside, your gaze flutters toward John, whose stare is attempting to sear through the metal walls of the jet’s interior. He seems gone, as if his mind is a thousand miles away.

It was the same look he had when you were in the Void with him; loathing, conflicted, ripping himself apart for you to see.

The jet tremors violently as it descends onto the helipad, the noise scraping against your ears, a sound that’s still jarring to you. John remains unphased — he’s done it hundreds of times, terse as the hull begins to open.

Saying something now seems meaningless, words fading to ash within your throat, raw from thirst. Your fingers idly curl into the sleeves of your suit, tension relinquished as the team begins to file out of the jet, bearing the bruises and scrapes from the mission.

When you enter the Tower, a sense of relief finds you, the comfort of home, shoulders slouched as you make for your room. Bob is lingering beside the window, a book in his hand, headphones dangling from his ears.

“Good work today,” Bucky calls, attempting to boost morale. He’s at the helm, trying to steer this ship in the right direction, but it’s harder than it looks. “Get some rest.” He moves toward the lounge, hoping to get a status update on the cleanup.

Alexei chimes in with an echoed remark about how everyone did a good job, mirroring Bucky’s own statement. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth despite yourself, feet dragging as you sluggishly stumble toward your room.

Through the light clamor, you don’t see John, disappearing through the tinted pane of your door, feeling it hiss and click behind you. Your room is warm, cozy; it’s a sanctuary you’ve created, making something within the ruins of your old life.

A hush falls throughout the Tower, typically a quiet evening after returning from a mission. Outside, the skies turn to a swirling ink, veiled by heavier clouds that signal the onset of rain.

Peeling away your suit, your flesh is exposed to the coolness of your quarters, glittering with a layer of perspiration, body speckled in light cuts and fresh bruises. The shower calls your name, inviting, and you marinate beneath the water for half an hour.

Bruises pulse with a dull ache, remnants of crimson swept away by the water, leaving you renewed as you change into loungewear. Perched along the edge of your bed, you towel-dry your hair, gaze flickering toward your door.

You shouldn’t be the one to apologize.

The thought of checking on John crosses your mind, and then it stays, leaving you frustrated and torn. You didn’t hate him, you never have; if anything, you were left wondering why the strange hostility still lingered, after everything.

Even then, your desire to help overrode the brief spat that you had. He was your teammate, and leaving him to lick his grievous wounds without ensuring his safety felt cruel.

A tremulous inhale invades your lungs, steeling yourself as you cross into the corridor, leaving your room behind. His quarters are down the hallway, towards the very end, marked by blanched lights on either side.

No one sees you, and you creep over the cold tile as if you might be apprehended in the process. The walk there feels as if it’s stretched on for an eternity, taunting you with each step as you make it to the tinted panel.

His lock is off, you realize, and you try to knock, the sound eerily soft. There’s nothing, only an awkward stretch of silence that makes you shift uncomfortably, the chill of the floor sending a shiver down your spine.

“John?” Abandoning the use of ‘Walker’, you idly pace before the door, weaving in idle circles as you wait for him to answer. Still, nothing — you wonder if it’s intentional, if he’s purposefully ignoring you to prove a point.

Intending to ask for forgiveness later, you slide the door open, stepping into his room with a twinge of anxiety. You shouldn’t be skulking around in here, but his lack of answer had you worried — more than you should’ve been, really.

“So much for knocking,” His voice cuts through your scrambled thoughts like a serrated knife, though lacking the sardonic poise. “Could’ve waited a minute.” John utters, and you spot him in his bathroom.

Startled, your gaze draws to him, attempting to patch himself up with bloodsoaked fingertips and a disgruntled countenance. His back is facing the mirror, head craned over his shoulder, blonde brows creased together, throat stirring with a noise of agitation.

“You didn’t answer.” With a weak protest, you hover in the doorway, shuffling forward to let it close with a subtle click. Everything seems devoid of personal decorum in his room, as if he’s still deciphering what goes where, some belongings still in boxes.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” John retorts, lips parted to make room for a strained sigh. He’s been harsh enough today — he recollects, composes himself, and lets his guard waver.

“I was worried about you.” The weight of your confession brings him pause, hand poised against his back, attempting to apply gauze. He’s failing miserably, cerulean hues darting toward you, arms folded over your chest.

John stops, jaw tense as he huffs with frustration, discarding the roll of gauze onto the bathroom countertop. The low glow of the light glitters against his skin, pleasantly sunkissed, muscles taut and broad, speckled in violet bruises.

There’s a rawness to him, sinewy yet firm, the honed strength of a trained soldier. He’s visceral, nothing grossly herculean, but he’s worked for his physicality, sacrificed plenty for it.

You realize you’ve been ogling him, gaze carefully tracing over the blonde hair smattered over his chest, trailing along his abdomen before it disappeared beneath his tactical pants.

Tendrils of heat snake across the back of your neck, a twinge of something desirous stirring within your stomach. You aren’t used to it, and you feel yourself attempt to rip your gaze away to something else; and you can’t.

He’s a man beneath it all, beneath the shield, the armor, the facade of an inflated swagger, all of the peacocking — he’s vulnerable, now. John’s countenance softens, startled by the sincerity that permeates your voice.

It’s unusual for him to be this quiet, as if you ripped the bravado and smugness right from his throat. Pacing forward, you decide to extend the offer again, hoping that he’ll accept your help and throw away the pride.

“I can help,” Your tone is disarmingly tender, something that John knows he’s undeserving of, given his behavior towards you. You vex him, but not because of your demeanor — he’s falling, and he’s trying to stop himself; he can’t. “Please.”

John concedes, head bobbing in a brief nod as he turns to face the mirror, lukewarm water ridding the crimson that stained his fingers. Coiled muscle cuts across his back, flesh littered in old scars and a colorful variety of bruises.

With a soft exhale, you awkwardly move into the doorway of the bathroom, blanketed by the pale orange of the lights, the distant buzz something of a comfort to you. The gash stretches from his left rib to spine, an ugly wound, oozing red that trickles over his back.

Scraped, calloused hands grip the edge of the counter as he props himself up, gaze flickering toward your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, still damp, tousled and disheveled, a cut on your cheek, mannerisms somewhat shrewd.

It’s quiet — too quiet for your liking, but you don’t want to be the one to break the ice. Wordlessly, you reach out, palm beginning to mist with wisps of a faint green, your powers manifesting.

“I’m sorry for today,” John murmurs, stopping you in your tracks. The mist wavers, concentration effectively shattered by his apology, which happened to be entirely unexpected. “About not letting you help me.”

“Is it something I did?” Your inquiry evokes a pang of melancholy, as if his heart is bleeding, still halfway stitched together. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m trying to move past it.”

John sighs, exiting through his nostrils; measured, restrained. “You didn’t do anything,” He’s learning to admit when he’s the problem, digits tightening against the dark granite; it groans beneath his grasp. “I don’t hate you.”

Relief blossoms within your chest, as if some weight is lifted from your shoulders. Still, you wonder what exactly is wrong with him, festering below the surface, something he’s trying to bury. “Be honest with me — what’s wrong?” You question, brows furrowing together.

He’s reluctant to tell you why he’s comfortable with sitting in the pain — why he feels he deserves it. John knows that you mean well, always looking out for everyone else, showing kindness when you didn’t have to.

“This is what I deserve,” John utters, cadence embittered, withholding a wave of emotion. Tears swim, unshed within his eyes, and he actively fights against it. “The pain — for what I did, for what happened.”

For Lemar, for Olivia, for the blood on his hands, for the son who’ll only know his father as a deadbeat. He hates himself, deep down — he’s learning to be a better man, if that were even possible.

His transparency startles you, attempting to process this information in a way that evokes empathy. No one on the team is truly, wholly good — there’s amends that need to be made, most of them in the healing process, including you.

It’s a bleak contrast from the man constantly barraging you with snarky remarks, constantly engaging in banter with you. You don’t remember him opening up like this with anyone else.

Still, your hand drops, fingers twisting together as you scramble to come up with some encouragement. You’re so accustomed to his general smugness and cocksure attitude that this blindsides you.

“Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean that you deserve to suffer, or rake yourself over the coals again,” It’s gentle, sound advice — John’s eyes screw shut. “Everyone deserves to heal, including you.”

The blood on his hands feels heavy, like some anchor dragging him down. After being stripped of the role of Captain America, spiraling, losing his family, he briefly considered it — a way out. He was glad that he never went through with it.

In the Void, when you found your way into his room, it was the moment Lemar had been killed. Replayed, over and over again, unable to be prevented — but his reaction could’ve been.

He could’ve been a better man.

In the beginning, he tried to justify it, rationalizing killing someone in cold blood. After time passed, he knew how wrong he was, how he desecrated the shield, the mantle; all for something else, to sate his rage. No matter how much healing he did, that would haunt him forever.

“Thanks.” He grits, as if he doesn’t fully believe your words. John understands your intentions, that you’re being empathetic and kind despite the abrasive way he’s acted towards you. It makes him feel worse. “I am trying.”

“I know,” Placating, your digits begin to shimmer with wisps of emerald energy, your power manifesting. “I know you are, John.” Oozing with a tender amiability, you can hear the tremor in his exhale.

When you called him John, it startled him; he’d gotten so accustomed to ‘Walker’, but he didn’t mind this in the slightest. Despite the rough beginning the both of you had with one another, he was warming up to you.

Admittedly, he thought it was the right thing to do, not fully letting you in to protect himself. When you had cordial conversations, he felt your kindness shroud him like a warm blanket; you’d moved on from the past.

Quiet, your hand finally lifts to his wound, brows creased in concentration, energy expelled into healing mist as it curls around the flesh. It feels like cold water, albeit soothing, pluming over torn skin and blood until it sinks inward.

A low grunt rips through his throat, somewhat startled at the sensation of your powers; simple, but wildly effective. It’s as if he’d never been slashed to begin with; the bruises and scrapes don’t go away, but the rest of it does.

Strained, your arm quivers, resolve slipping as you step away, using the doorway as a form of support. You’re always a little weak after you’ve healed someone, almost as if it’s an exchange of life.

“Better?” With a tender smile, you watch as he nods, inspecting himself in the mirror; nothing left behind. “Next time this happens, I hope you’ll let me help you.” You prompt, and he chuckles; it isn’t the typical condescending chide he gives you, either.

“I can’t make any promises.” John’s tone loses that bite, the indifference; it’s disarmingly soft. “Thanks again, for that. I’ve been an asshole to you — wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help.” He murmured, tone lacking mirth.

“You have, but that can change,” Lips remain poised into a smile, one that makes his heart lurch within his chest. “You don’t have to keep being an asshole.” Your remark makes him scoff, though it’s more of a bemused sound, than anything else.

“I’ll lose my charm,” John counters, but he’s being sarcastic — somewhat, at least. You suspect he’ll still remain sharp-tongued and smug, but lose the indifference with you. “I know it’s something I need to work on.”

Grateful for his acknowledgment, you finally feel your energy return, a slow ebb that spreads throughout your body. Leaning off of the doorframe, you awkwardly step aside, figuring that this was your queue to leave.

“For the record, I never disliked you,” He utters, jaw clenched as he carefully navigates on what to say next. “Never had a problem with you, either. Your problem with me was justified.” John shrugs, his stare even-keel.

Bewildered, you let the pang of surprise fester, head cocking to one side. “I never really had a problem with you, or disliked you,” After this, you were beginning to understand why he was an asshole sometimes. “It’s all in the past, now. I want us to move forward.”

John’s halfhearted smile oozed with sincerity, a genuineness rarely seen by others. “I can do that.” Even still, he wouldn’t blame you if you had some sort of gripe against him, but you were kind — you were good, even if you didn’t think so.

His gaze hasn’t left you, cerulean hues fluttering over your countenance; you’re beautiful, eyes beset by kindness, half-dried tresses strung over your crown. The shirt you’re wearing is a size too big, sweatpants baggy, too.

He’s acutely aware of how obvious he’s being, ogling you; he always thought you were pretty, but in the bathroom’s faint glow, you’re stunning. You weren’t subtle either, he knows this, catching your shrewd gaze as it lingers on his arms.

John’s hands reach for his shirt, black spandex all wrinkled, balled up, stained with dried blood. The tension becomes unusually thick, mere embers kindled to life, now a fire that he doesn’t know if he can extinguish.

“Can I ask you something?” Your inquiry pierces through the tenuous silence, and there’s some momentary relief you gain from it.

“Yeah.” John’s tone is barely above a whisper, warm; as if he’s trying to calm himself down, ease the tension. With his shirt still clenched in one hand, he’s offering you his undivided attention.

With arms loosely folded over your chest, your fingers idly pluck at frayed stitching on your sleeves, a fleeting distraction. “Why were you always indifferent towards me, if you didn’t hate me?” You’re not accusatory, just curious.

Shit — John’s mind is scrambling for an answer that doesn’t make him seem strange. He’s got feelings for you, and you’re slowly drawing them out into the open; he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Sometimes it’s easier for me to not let somebody in,” He shrugs, gaze wavering, flickering toward the ground. The vulnerability is something he’s still growing accustomed to — rawness of pain, feeling his emotions, choosing the right way to cope. “Because of what’s happened.”

Even then, his explanation still feels like he’s covering up for something else. Nevertheless, you let it rest, offering him a threadbare smile. “We don’t judge here, if you haven’t learned that already,” You sigh. “I’ll be here for you, if you choose to let me in.”

He already has — he’s appreciative, nodding as a display of gratitude before he finds your gaze again. “Thanks.” John smiles despite himself, swallowing down the words that want to escape him.

Silence settles between, the same tension simmering like before, causing you to shift your weight. He’s staring again, but you’re oblivious to it this time, angled away, trying to figure out what to do next.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, your shoulders begin to slouch with relaxation. “I should probably go — you need rest.” You blurt, fumbling over your words, maintaining a sheepish smile as you shuffle toward the door.

John doesn’t really want you to leave; and he knows it’s selfish of him. His lips part, as if to ask you to stay, but he’s frozen, rooted in-place. Still, he nods, quietly resigning to letting you go back to your room.

His feet feel anchored to the floor, each step a drag as he trails after you, following you to the doorway. He’s quiet, still deliberating, turning over every word, every action within his mind. John comes up short, watching as you stop to say something else.

The closeness is sudden, wracked with tension; you’re nearly brushing arms with him, gooseflesh crawling along your spine. You’re both reaching for the door panel simultaneously, fumbling, fingers ghosting over one another; you recoil like you’ve been burned.

In the slim proximity, he catches a whiff of your shampoo — vanilla and peach, something sweeter, causing his jaw to tick. He’s looking again, unable to stop himself, gaze wandering over your body, appreciative; he grips the door frame as a distraction.

When you catch his stare, it burns you, something incendiary, as if he’s searing you into his mind. A subtle hitch forms within your throat, and you’re prepared to tell him goodnight, end it there — but you won’t move.

Silence stretches on, the sort of contemplative quiet before the onset of a storm, the deep breath before the plunge. Bodies linger within arm’s reach, screaming, and you have the audacity to stare at him, doe-eyed.

Then, you say his name, a feather-light whisper, gentle and placating. It barely registers, but he hears it, notices the parting of your lips, the way you haven’t recoiled from the closeness.

John’s mouth is suddenly pressed against yours in a heated frenzy.

A sharp inhale splits your diaphragm, lungs quaking, filled with a sudden surge of ecstasy when he kisses you. There’s a gasp stuck in the back of your throat, swallowed by the snare of his mouth.

His lips are unexpectedly soft, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his smart mouth. There’s a charged passion that echoes beyond the kiss, as if he’s walking the fine line of restraint.

Bewildered, your head is spinning, brain foggy, as if someone knocked you out. Left reeling, you don’t know what to say, what to do. Though, you’re receptive, mouth shyly moving against his, hands frozen at your sides.

When he pulls away, gauging your reaction, you appear as shocked as he does.

Each breath is labored, wrought with the sudden sting of exhilaration, butterflies beginning to pool within your belly. “I’m sorry.” John’s voice is low, a pleasant hum within your ear, but you don’t seem upset by what he did.

“Don’t be.” Without pause, your lips fly to meet him again, reciprocating the kiss, one that seems sluggish and passionate instead of frantic.

He’s kissing you back, hand dropping from the door to your hip, calloused digits caressing you through your shirt. The gesture ignites a fire within your bones, unable to stifle your mounting excitement.

Shyly, your hands move toward his chest, soft like velvet, smoothing over his pectorals as he presses you up against the door. A low groan vibrates through his chest, reveling in the feeling of your skin touching his.

There’s a poised strength coiled within his body, firm, flesh and blood, chest rising and falling underneath your hands.

His kiss is disarmingly gentle, something unexpected, but not unwelcome. You feel his body nudge against yours, distance now nonexistent.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for contact.

He tastes metallic, an amalgamation of copper and a natural musk. Digits idly smooth over the coarse, blonde hair that covers his chest, descending toward his groin. The thought alone makes your knees weak.

Each kiss sends you spiraling, clawing for his mouth, leaving you ragged, desperate for his touch. You can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like this — even then, your experience is thin.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

Recoiling from the kiss, your fingers tremble, deftly tracing over his collarbone, over scar-kissed skin, over faint clutches of freckles. “John, I — Are you sure?” You whisper, hoarse, afraid that he might regret it all in the morning.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t sure.” John murmurs, voice low, curling thickly as his hands rub circles into your hips. He’s strong, secure — you didn’t expect to feel so comfortable with him. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

His lips make contact with your jaw, mouth clamoring over your skin, kissing the spot beneath your ear. Flush to you, his confession makes your bones lurch, and you wonder what else he’s thought about, too.

Flustered, you’re quick to melt into him, visibly smitten, as if you’ve wound yourself into a tight knot. John notices, mouth twitching into a smirk as he places a string of kisses beneath your jawline.

“John …” A soft mumble rolls from your tongue, hands beginning to trail from chest to shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. His beard burns against your flesh, a pleasant scratch, reminding you that he’s real, this is real.

Warm breath feathers over your throat, your jaw, your cheek — he’s still smirking, too. “You’re getting shy on me.” He mumbles, able to taste the heat that bristles from your flesh. A hitch forms within your throat, his remark making you burn.

“No,” Posturing a weak defense, your body succumbs, lips parted to make room for a dizzying sigh. “I’m not.” It’s pathetic, your retort, but he’s still grinning as if he’s caught you in a trap, attempting to reign in the smug attitude.

“Right.” John’s cadence is dangerously low, little more than a pleasant husk that scratches the back of your brain. He’s teasing you still, cerulean hues alight with mirth, fingertips barely skirting underneath your shirt.

He’s charming — too charming, and it makes your flesh burn with an embarrassed heat. His lips plume over your throat, hips brushing against yours, and that’s when you feel it. Something firm through his kevlar pants, briefly grinding against your pelvis.

A noise echoes from John’s throat, somewhere between a grunt and groan, causing you to smile, as if you’ve discovered his secret. “Already?” It’s playful, sure, but you’re simultaneously flattered that it didn’t take much work.

It’s his turn to blush, scarlet crawling over handsome features, red spreading towards his neck. “Can’t help it,” John mumbled, gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’re beautiful.” His low timbre made you shiver.

Unable to smother your smile, you urge him closer for another kiss, digits clamoring for the nape of his neck, toying with the blonde hair there. Each entanglement of lips seems to grow in fervor, charged with mutual excitement, passion.

His hands are fisted in your shirt against, giving it a soft tug, as if silently asking you for your permission. Mouths continue to clash, a mess of lips and teeth, tongue when John initiates it, eliciting a moan from your maw.

With a brief nod, he breaks from you, only to assist in removing your shirt, tossing it elsewhere in his room. You aren’t wearing a brassiere, which catches his attention, stopping in his tracks as he admires your physique.

“Jesus,” John sighs, rapturous, noticing the doe-eyed look you’re giving him again. Lips part, jaw unclenched as he not-so-subtly ogles your collarbone, letting it drift toward your chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Swallowing your anxiety, you feel yourself melt beneath his stare, incendiary enough to turn you to cinders where you stand. “The thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Barely above a whisper, your gentle teasing evokes a half-smile from him.

A huff leaves him, hand steady as he kneads into your hip, dipping lower, grasping at your haunch as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. You’re still kissing him, held aloft by John’s arms, bearing your weight without effort.

He carries you to his bed, gray sheets already disheveled, laying you down as he crawls on top of you. A soft exhale whistles through your nose, arousal beginning to coalesce between your thighs, warmth pooling in your belly.

“You sure?” John murmurs, wanting to ensure that you’re certain about this. He is, but he wants to make sure that all cards are on the table. He’s not used to this, to showing vulnerability, but it feels comfortable with you.

“Yeah, I am,” Gazes twine together, the only illumination being the glow from the bathroom, blanketing you in swirls of orange and shadow. “I want you, John.” Your admission is saccharine, steeped in a warmth that he clings to, savors.

Christ, he wants you, too — craves you more than air, cerulean hues glistening with a thinly-veiled ardor. It’s a sudden shift from how things were before, but the tension had finally come to a boiling point, and he was glad that it had.

Mouths connect instantaneously, eliciting a pleading moan from your throat, swallowed by his kiss. Your legs drop, spread apart to accommodate for his frame, lean muscle wedged between your thighs.

His palm kneads into your calf, dragging to the crook of your knee, caressing you over your baggy bottoms. Your hands thread against the nape of his neck, taking handfuls of his blonde tresses, ensuring that you weren’t rough with him.

Chests brush against one another, firm muscle exuding warmth, peaks of your breasts ghosting over his pectorals. Each kiss rips the air from your lungs, leaving you reeling, gasping as you feel his tongue prod against yours.

A whine bubbles from your throat, smitten, tongue shyly mingling with his as the kiss turns into a mess of passion. Your fingers are carding over the back of his skull, slipping over his hair as his teeth catch upon your bottom lip.

John grunts, the tent in his pants grinding recklessly against your core, friction causing both of you to writhe. As if to torment him, you roll your hips forward, evoking a groan from him, his gaze pleading with you to stop.

“Don’t,” He warns, strained, attempting to hold himself together. Your mouth quirks into a smile, one that he feels even as he kisses you again, your palm splaying over his shoulder. “Can I take these off?”

His hands curl into your sweatpants, fingers teasing the waistband as he waits for you to consent. As soon as you nod, accompanied by a breathy ‘yes’, he’s tearing into them, the stitching splitting apart beneath his inhuman strength.

A gasp slipped from your mouth, writhing beneath him to free yourself from the fabric, kicking them to the floor. John marvels at the sight of you, your body something perfect, malleable within his grasp, mouth planting a kiss against your jaw.

Cool air plumes over your heated flesh, offering some alleviation, a reprieve from the fever-pitch of your body. John’s hand smooths over your leg, squeezing into your thigh, digits flicking over the hem of your panties.

The brief gesture makes your head spin, desperate for him to touch you. He’s already got an idea in his head, calloused fingers rough like leather as he drags his hand between your legs.

Knuckles ghost over your clothed cunt, feeling the tangle of damp cotton, the way your throat sputters with a subtle gasp. Your thighs twitch, knees trembling on either side of him as your nails trace over the back of his neck.

“Christ,” He huffs, forehead nearly flush against yours, watching as you squirm from the brief caress. John repeats the motion, feeling your nails dig harder into his skin, mouth screwed open. “You like that?” His murmur makes you feel weak.

With a nod, you want more, hips urging into the friction of his hand. To your delight, he doesn’t torment you, doesn’t make you work for it as his fingers slip beneath your panties.

Two fingers stroke along your cunt, gathering the warm slick there with one sluggish swipe. To your utter bewilderment, he lifts his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean before he lavishes your throat in a myriad of kisses.

“John, please.” Moaning his name, the sight he just treated you to is sure to be burned in your mind forever, causing your thighs to rub together. Kissing a trail down your neck, he finds your sternum, mouth voracious, ceaseless.

A boyish grin settles onto his features, deriving enjoyment from your reaction, continuing to worship your flesh in rapturous kisses. No inch of skin is safe as he descends, lips pluming over your breasts, your ribs, navel; lower, and lower again.

You taste sweet, as if your skin oozed with sugar, and he’s savoring every piece of you, kisses steeped in a disarming reverence. His beard tickles your flesh, goosebumps cascading down your spine as he makes it to your waist.

His muscles flex, pulled taut as he crawls lower, face hovering beside your hip as he eases your panties down, letting them creep over your thighs. Everything feels hot, body set ablaze, arousal coalescing against your cunt.

Lips press to your thigh, shoulders creating space, bullying your legs apart. Digits flex, trembling as they lower to card through his tresses, gaze ensnaring with his own, causing you to shiver.

John kisses a trail over your inner thighs, toward the glistening heat at your apex, listening to your breath hitch. It’s labored, wrought with exhilaration as your back begins to arch.

That ghost of a cocksure grin feels like a hot brand against your thigh, softening when you make a strangled, pleading noise. Nearly prone against the sheets, he lets your legs recline against his shoulders, hands gripping your hips.

The first rake of his tongue over your cunt is agonizing, hot embers, scorching against your flesh as he laps traces the length of your slit. It’s sluggish, exploratory — he’s keen to know what makes you writhe.

With parted lips and eyes wrenched shut, a needy moan splits past your throat, unable to keep quiet. John’s chest stirs with a low grunt, greedy tongue deftly splitting past your folds, tasting you with a sudden fervor.

Still, he’s gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms massaging into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant.

John eases you into it, committing every detail of your body to memory; hoping there’s a next time, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. Lapping against your core, his ministrations slowly gather haste, nose grazing your clit.

A myriad of moans leave you, attempting to keep the sound hushed, as to not alert any unwanted attention. Your legs tense, flex on either side of his head before his shoulders nudge you apart again, mouth dragging over your cunt.

He maintains something of a rhythm, attempting to walk the line of restraint, as to not overwhelm you. Your body rattles beneath him, spasmodic tremors of delight rolling down your spine, waves of bliss felt all over, ebbing through your veins.

One hand haplessly fists at the sheets, fingers curled so tightly that you want to rip it apart. He’s too good at this, which surprises you — he doesn’t give that impression, initially.

The room feels like a furnace, bodies bleeding heat, each breath hoarse, tight with rapture. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

John’s gaze flutters from the task at-hand to your countenance, contorted into an expression of ecstasy, effortlessly pretty. His heart skips a beat; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

You’re wound up, coiled over and over again, into a tangle of heat, furled desire that’s begging to be released. Carding through his tresses, you gingerly scratch at his crown, briefly tugging on his hair, hips wantonly urging into his mouth.

“G—God, John,” A sheepish moan falls from your mouth, coupled with a sharp inhale that rips through your diaphragm. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, back arched from the mattress. “So good at this.”

It’s an inkling of praise, but it’s enough, evoking some hunger from John, who's eager to please. The tent in his tactical pants is borderline painful, erection grinding against the bed in a pitiful attempt to alleviate some of the friction.

Driven to the brink, you feel as if you’re beginning to toe the line of some steep plunge, his lips urging you closer to a release. Everything feels hot, as if you might combust, arousal coalescing between your thighs.

John has you pinned down, nose ghosting over your folds, tongue still ceaselessly lapping at your core until there’s a shift in rhythm. He presses a kiss to your clit, listening to the tremor in your exhale, feeling your legs tense.

Teeth catch across your bottom lip, biting down with an absent pressure, digits beginning to lightly curl against his scalp. His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm.

“You’re easy to rile up.” John murmurs from between your legs, a breathy chuckle floating from his chest when your fingers pull on his hair. He plants a reverent kiss to your thigh, teasing, but the break doesn’t last for long.

If it weren’t for his lips pursing around your clit, you might’ve clawed for a retort, but he rips any remark from your throat. The sudden ripple of bliss sends you reeling, choking on a simpering whine as you shift beneath him again.

His mouth gingerly laps at that sensitive clutch of nerves, shockwaves shattering through your body, tingles of ecstasy following suit. A strangled moan snares in your throat, slipping through when he drags his tongue along your cunt.

He’s right, though — you are easy to vex, and he’s mapping you out as if you’re intimately familiar to him already. John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You’re getting close, body being pushed to a blissful oblivion, the white-hot heat that threatens to consume you. His hand drifts from your thigh to the slick warmth between, thumb seeking your clit like a missile, slowly circling around it.

“Fuck,” You moan, the expletive uncharacteristic of you, but he finds plenty of enjoyment in you saying it. His name is soon to follow, a bedroom hymnal, repetitive as it spills from your tongue, crying out his name to the ceiling. “J—John!”

It’s pathetic how easily he’s got you squirming, tension beginning to unfurl, the knot within your belly stretched to the brink. He’s careful, tender, intimate in a way that makes your features surge with warmth.

“That’s it.” John murmurs, timbre little more than a drawl as he coaxes an orgasm from you, thumb continuing to toy with your clit until you burst. He’s mesmerized, a super-soldier reduced to a lovesick boy, watching you with a thinly-veiled rapture.

With one simple circle of your pearl, you’re gone, ecstasy bleeding from you in one wave, nearly overwhelming. You’re blinded by euphoria, white-hot stars crossing your vision until you’ve melted into the sheets.

Nerves are frayed from bliss, tossed into the throes of pleasure, one that you may not fully recover from. Stars linger still, head foggy, dizzy from a desirous haze as you try to find a scrap of composure.

He tastes you again, one last time, committing it all to memory as he kisses your leg, kneeling in-between your thighs. You’re shaking, chest tight with drawn-out sighs, gazes ensnared, burning with adoration.

“You’re really good at that.” A soft whisper rolls from your lips, appreciative, but John looks like you’ve just called him perfect. He’s starved for praise, reduced to a mere beast, laying at your feet, preening for more.

John’s up on his knees, staring a hole through you, hands reaching for his belt. Driven by both excitement and instinct, you sit up, fingers clamoring with his own as you’re helping to wrestle his belt off, unzipping the front of his tactical pants.

“You drive me crazy,” John groaned, feeling you grow smitten in the wake of his admission, desperate to be inside of you. “Can’t think straight.” He utters, and you know it’s an intentional compliment.

He repositions himself, hunched in, blanketing you with his bulky physique, lean muscle glued to your frame. He’s much larger than you, you realize, listening to the shuffling of fabric, feeling his cock press incessantly against your navel.

You’re intimidated, bewildered by his size, startlingly large, unabashedly so. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, your hands come to hook around the back of his neck, no space remaining.

As if to ignite the tension further, your mouth catches his, lips locking together in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself, an added layer of debauchery, but he’s groaning into your lips, fisting the pillow near the side of your head.

John’s other hand finds your thigh, kneading into your haunch as he steadies himself, cock heatedly grinding against you. Mouths tangle, clash — it’s a war of teeth and tongue, thirst instead of hunger, as if he needs you more than anything.

Wanton, exhilarated breaths drag between bodies, the warmth of his sigh pluming over your features, his beard ragged against your cheek. His blonde tresses are tousled, disheveled — he’s painfully handsome, kissing all over your mouth.

He withdraws, heads flush together, mere centimeters apart as he adjusts himself, cock nudging against your folds. You’re clinging to him, a twinge of anticipation churning in your belly.

“You alright?” He utters, low and husky beside your ear, actively restraining himself from being too spirited. There’s something intoxicating about the way you’re staring at him; it’s tender, more than he deserves, he thinks.

Slowly, you plant a kiss against the scruff of his jaw, and then beneath, where a yellowing bruise sits. Hands wander to the firm muscle of his shoulders, kneading over freckled skin.

John exhales; a drawn-out, contented sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled groan.

“Go slow,” You squeak, body already sore from the mission — he might add to it, if he isn’t careful. His lips seal themselves to your throat, peppering your flesh in a myriad of sweet kisses, nose brushing over your jugular. “I need you.”

Serum-infused blood pumps through his veins, oozing raw strength, but he knows to rein himself in, head bobbing in a brief nod. “Say that again.” John grunts, cock prodding against the warmth of your cunt, preparing to push past.

His head is partially buried into the hollow between throat and shoulder, beard prickling your flesh, a satisfying sensation. An excitable buzz wracks your body, sending tingles all over, a throbbing pulsing from between your legs.

“I need you,” Wantonly, your palm splays over his shoulder-blade, nails digging into his skin, eliciting a low groan from your paramour. “J—John, please!” It’s a plea, a desperate one, spoken through a beguiling cadence, one that winds him into tight knots.

With a shudder, John is thirsty for your embrace, a man lost within a desert, finding his oasis. His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly.

His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance. Disarmingly gentle, John doesn’t move quickly or rough, heeding your words as he fists at the pillow, body kissed by perspiration.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, fighting against baser, lesser instincts. Clinging to him as if he might fade through your fingers, he moves at an agonizing pace, not wanting to hurt you.

He doesn’t, a husky groan ripping through his diaphragm when your hips accidentally roll, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. “Jesus,” John grits out, feeling your nails dig crescents into his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

A moan tumbles from your parted lips, his cock filling you completely, nearly bottoming out as he sinks forward. Intermingled groans and hot sighs tangle in the thin space between, heat against heat.

Your knees squeeze near his waist, legs kept spread apart by his musculature, bodies clawing for one another, ardor thinly-veiled. John’s countenance is contorted into a look of concentration coupled with bliss.

“S’good,” You moan, having adjusted enough, allowing yourself a moment of composure; it won’t last, and you know it. “Move.” Breathy and wrought with exhilaration, you give him the signal to take things further.

John’s resolve is crumbling, foundation swept away in the wake of your affections, and your wanton moan doesn’t make anything easier. Propping himself up on one arm, the other holds steadfastly to your thigh, an anchor.

Foreheads knock together, noses ghosting over one another as he begins to thrust into you, bicep flexing with exertion. The first drag of his hips sends you reeling, and you know that you won’t last long — and neither will he.

A string of hoarse expletives flutter from his mouth, barely above a whisper, setting your bones ablaze as he pulls back and pushes forward.

The fit of him is tight, cock oozing with heat as he draws back again, following through as he jolts forward.

Beneath you, the bed frame creaks — faint, as if it shows some give with the super-soldier on top of you. Your digits coax him in for a kiss, mouths colliding in a messy clash of tongue and needy lips, fire feeding fire.

John groans into your mouth, pushing and pulling, hips urging into yours, cock filling you with each thrust. Between fervent kisses and pleading moans, your head is foggy, dizzy with desire.

He develops a rhythm, the pace steady, each drag of his hips ripping a moan from your mouth, and he earned it. His hand kneads into your thigh, squeezing on occasion when the pleasure mounts, muscles coiled within his stomach.

“Y—You’re perfect,” The praise leaves your tongue as a hoarse whine, a noise that leaves goosebumps trailing over John’s spine. It’s the validation he desperately craves, the veneration, knowing he’s doing something right. “Don’t stop.”

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

It’s unintentional, his shifting pace; it begins to climb, from drawn-out and steady to needy, rutting into you as if each stroke would be his very last. John is trying to keep himself controlled, but you make it so difficult.

He slows again, the pleasure mounting, a knot that is becoming frayed at either end, prepared to be pulled apart. His cock throbs incessantly, pulsing inside of you, feeling your cunt clench around him.

Perspiration glitters along his brow, glistening along his hairline as he hunches in over you, and you feel all of him, viscerally.

The bed frame rattles in protest, as if bowing to his strength, and he’s already tearing the stitching in the pillowcase beside your head. A soft gasp slips from your lips, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Grunts of ecstasy leave him in droves, cock easing in and out of your cunt as if you’re made for him. John’s countenance is one of bliss and concentration, frustration now dissipated.

Each snap of his hips drags you further into the throes of ecstasy, and he’s nearly there, cock spearing into you. His breathing is growing ragged, raspy as it curls beside your ear, hot breath pluming over your face.

Noises surge in volume, filling his room with the sounds of vigorous lovemaking; he doesn’t care if the team hears anymore. John’s rapturous groans make you shiver in delight, head flush to yours again, the closeness addicting.

Another grunt ripples through his chest, the sound stretched, the rest tapering off as his hips begin to stutter, pace erratic and desperate. He’s close, weighing the odds of finishing inside of you, nearly whimpering when your legs hitch around his hips.

His name spills from your lips like a confessional, sobbing to the heavens, feeling your body begin to unfurl with tension. Bodies move within one another, his cock buried deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust.

From the tension in his muscles alone, you can tell that he’s about to burst, combust like fireworks in your hands. You’re on the pill, and so you urge him closer, wanting him inside of you even still.

When your name emerges from John’s mouth, you’re awestruck, flustered by the way in which he says it so tenderly. “I’m on the pill.” It’s all you’re able to say before he’s swallowing your words, covering your mouth with his.

The kiss is voracious, needy — John is unable to mask how he feels about you, letting it all bleed into tangled lips as he cums. He releases inside of you with a groan, followed by a rush of warmth that blankets your insides.

Tingles of delight wrack your body, a subdued release that seems to twine with his, a muted buzz surging through your bones. John’s hips crawl to a sluggish rhythm, agonizingly slow, as if to absorb the last few traces of friction.

Each breath heaves for composure, shallow and taut with exhilaration in the aftermath, sweat-slick skin melded together. His forehead nestles against yours, labored breathing evening out quicker than yours as he stills.

His spend and your arousal feel slick between your legs, making a mess of his sheets, joined bodies bleeding heat. You’re reeling, slower to recuperate as he pulls out of you with a soft grunt, rolling over to lay beside you.

John doesn’t leave, cerulean hues glued to your countenance, as if his whole sense of gravity has been shifted, changed. It’s hushed, save for your labored sighs, in-tandem with one another.

Wordlessly, he coaxes you closer, muscled arm hooking around your middle, inviting you to lay against his chest. One palm remains splayed, flat against your ribs, soothing you with easy caresses.

“Are you still with me?” John’s wisecrack makes you blunder, a soft laugh escaping you, hand playfully bumping against his chest.

“Yeah,” Unable to smother your smile, you’re delighted to sink into his embrace, keeping your hand on his chest. The hair beneath is something you trace through, over muscle, over old scars and greenish bruises. “I …”

As you trail off, John’s head cranes down enough to brush his lips against yours, the kiss sweet, bristling with a thinly-veiled affection. He lets you finish your thought, watching as you sit up enough to see him fully, perched on your stomach.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” You utter, agonizingly soft, cadence wrought with an amalgamation of sentiments. John’s trying to be better, and it’s something you want to be a part of, if he’ll let you.

Neither did he, admittedly; it’s something John’s willing to admit to. “The thought never crossed my mind,” He murmured, blonde lashes fluttering as his hand cupped your jaw, calloused and careworn over satin skin. “But I’m not perfect.”

“I know, that’s why I like you.” With a dazzling smile, he’s caught right in the crosshairs, lips parting with a placating huff. It turns into a hum of a chuckle, his hand still firm against your side.

In a gentle clamor, his lips find yours, beard tickling your skin again, the sensation wholly pleasant. The kiss lingers, something that feels closer to home, a newfound warmth that the both of you desperately crave.

John’s mouth twitches into a half-smile, a peculiar mirth beginning to touch his eyes. He feels you plant a kiss against his shoulder, and he knows he’s completely screwed — you’re falling, but he’s falling harder.

[sl-ut]

i like it better

was gonna wait to post this but i decided to go ahead with it in honour of me graduating with my bachelor’s degree (first gen. university grad!!!) yesterday and starting my new job today!!! i watched thunderbolts* last week and i loved it and i love bob even more.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x fem!enhanced!reader

description: every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* but not crazy so read at your own risk, reader DOES have a backstory but it’s not detailed in this (i’m considering making this a non-chronological or plot-based series about this pairing i love them smmmm pls lmk if i would be wasting my time or not lol), golden retriever x black cat vibes, slight age gap (r is early-mid 20s, i assume bob is supposed to be late 20s maybe early 30s?), reader has similar powers to wanda–lightly detailed in this fic, swearing, mentions of past addictions and substance use, reader has BEEF w john walker and everyone loves it, READER REFERRED TO BY CODENAME PANDORA

words: 6.4K

date posted: 16/5/25

Despite all of their differences, the Avengers had been able to establish a certain level of respect and friendliness amongst one another–Bucky wasn’t sure of how they had been able to do it. From what he’d heard and experienced, Steve and Tony had butt heads with one another more times than they could count, and that’s saying a lot considering that one of them was a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Clint seemed to be a wild card, not often around enough to be on anyone’s permanent bad side, while Natasha was notoriously good at playing both sides with every member of the team. Bucky Barnes was certain that he would not have lasted more than a week with that crew before they were tearing each other apart, which was quite evident in the way that the team quite literally tore themselves apart when he came into the picture, but somehow, some way, a group of assassins, super soldiers, and gods were able to find some sort of commonality for the sake of team morale, so why couldn’t he do the same with this team?

He inarguably had more in common with this group than Steve had with the others. He, Yelena, and Alexei were highly trained assassins; he and John both super soldiers who, at one point, worked for the U.S. government; he and Ava were both the results of some lab experiments thanks to SHIELD aka HYDRA and both had a tendency to stick to themselves; he and Bob–well, he wasn’t sure that he had anything in common with Bob aside from the crippling mental illness that accompanied a not entirely consensual superhero lifestyle. However, there was one final member of the team that he had more in common with than any of the rest, and she was the one he found the most difficult to break through to. 

The girl had been saved from a HYDRA base not too long after the Battle of Sokovia, where she’d been held hostage and used as a lab experiment for the vast majority of her life. She was only a kid then, barely old enough to have a valid driver's license, but Steve had taken her under his protection just as he had done with Bucky. Her powers had been unstable, a failed attempt to recreate the exact abilities of Wanda Maximoff without the use of the mind stone, but when Steve, Nat, and Bucky had been forced to go on the run, Shuri was able to create some sort of blockers for her mind, to isolate her abilities from use so she no longer had to fear losing control. Now, here he was over five years later, compact onto a superhero team with her, though she no longer the tortured child he had once promised his best friend that he would protect, and he wasn’t entirely certain as to how she had regained her powers, but she had grown to have a steely wall between herself and the other New Avengers, as they had been deemed, especially with him.

On one hand, he could understand that the girl had been traumatized, much like he had, but instead having no fond childhood memories to look back on except for the few months that she had been able to stay at the Avengers Compound with Steve. But on the other hand, he was growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude that she had developed–snarky, bratty, and bold; the teenage phase that she’d been denied of now surfacing during her twenties. She could be unpredictable, either making her presence known through witty comments or ignoring any of their existences, which made it especially stange to Bucky when he began to pick up on certain tendencies she had when it came to Bob. 

If Bucky were asked to describe Bob in three words, they would be um, uh, and nice. Bob was the nicest of the group, though that was no great feat when you considered exactly what sort of people had been assembled into the team, but Bucky knew relatively little about him. He was the most dangerous of them all without question, but still for whatever reason had settled into the role as a walking punching bag with little fight. He was awkward, easily embarrassed, an easy target for the others to pick at when he did something wrong. When they had all initially moved into the tower, he was the only one who had made much of an effort to befriend anyone, but he could never seem to hold eye contact with the fiery young woman in fear of taking a verbal lashing, like the others often did, and yet he never did. 

In fact, while he made an effort to avoid being in her path, she more often than not diverted it so that he was her final destination. On an empty floor of the tower where she could isolate herself just about anywhere, as she normally would choose to do, she would seek out wherever he was and silently join him in whatever he was doing.

The first time Bucky noticed it, he was returning from the gym. He’d sent a nod in Bob’s direction as he stepped out of the elevator, then halted in his tracks as his gaze shot back to the scene before him; she was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her as her eyes scanned the pages of the novel in her lap, meanwhile Bob had taken up the space at the other end of the couch, sitting so stiff that Bucky wondered if the girl had held him at gunpoint just before Bucky entered the room. She didn’t even spare the super soldier a glance, only turning the page as he sent a questioning look to the shaggy-haired man, whose eyes widened even further in an effort to convey his own uncertainty with her presence.

Bucky moved on, stepping into the kitchen just across the room to find himself something to snack on, making sure to keep a close eye on the girl–he wasn’t sure whether or not he should start planning Bob’s funeral.

Bob finally broke the awkward silence, stunning the man in the kitchen. Bob had relatively stuck to the practice of speaking when spoken to, but Bucky was certain that he’d never seen Bob speak to her since moving into the tower. 

“I can put something else on, if you want,” he smiled awkwardly at her, eyes flickering between her and the screen, “I’m not really watching it anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bob,” she said as she glanced up at him, and Bucky was certain he saw the slightest curve of her lips as she met Bob’s gaze, “you’re like halfway through. I like this one, anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes moved to the flatscreen on the wall, across from where they were seated, brow furrowing in confusion as his thoughts tumbled through his lips before he could truly process them, “You told me you hated this movie when I watched it last week.”

Her gaze turned to him, sharpening as she narrowed her eyes, “Maybe I just hate when you watch it.”

Bob’s face flushed red as she turned back to her book without another word, awkwardly sipping on his glass of pop as Bucky frowned. He shook his head at the young woman, having learned to let her words roll off his back rather than letting them fester, snatching the first thing he found in the fridge and fleeing the scene, praying that Bob did not ruin whatever sort of good mood he’d put her in so that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw him. 

***

Alexei was the kind of guy that people either loved or hated. He could be loud, obnoxious, sometimes even straight up belligerent, and had possibly the worst ability to read the room that anyone had ever seen. However, he was the most outwardly friendly member of the team, oftentimes being the leading force behind any group activities. He was still a target of the young woman, of course, but rather than taking it as a personal offense, as he mocked Bucky and John for doing, he found some enjoyment in the girl’s taunting. Any time one of her digs was sent his way, she was met with boisterous laughter and usually some sort of unnecessary physical contact. 

He understood very little when it came to the lives of young women, but he was a girl dad at heart. She somewhat reminded him of his Natasha when she was a young girl–which made more sense to him when he discovered that she had been taken in by the late Black Widow and her teammates before the blip. He found himself flocking to her more than any of the others–save for Yelena, of course, claiming that he had no interest in training with anyone but the strongest of the New Avengers.

He came to understand the regular routines of the others who lived in the tower, especially when it came to who was going to be in the training facility and when. He liked that she tended to go later in the morning, allowing him to sleep in later than if he were looking to spar with any of the others, usually sauntering in with a loud greeting, jokingly challenging her to a spar that he would inevitably lose. The Red Guardian was a force to be reckoned with, but no amount of serum could fight off this sort of power. Truthfully, he would have hoped to take on Sentry again, but Bob and the others had been very adamant that Sentry was not to be brought back until they found a way for Bob to better control his abilities, and the young woman was the next best thing. 

Sparring usually ended with the large Russian knocked on his ass, barely having landed a single swing at his opponent as she stood on the opposite end of the mat, barely a drop of sweat on her brow and the only sign of fatigue having been a result of using her powers. Though, as they returned to the main common area afterwards, Alexei would always announce to the others that he had been bested, but it had been a well-fought match. 

“I almost had her,” He grinned as he took a long drink out of the liquor bottle he’d conjured up out of seemingly nowhere, “next time I win, you will see.”

“I’m sure,” the girl droned, turning to where Ava sat at the dining table, “where’s Bob?”

Ava shrugged, raising a brow curiously, “Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“I told him we would go get bagels.”

“I would love to get bagels,” Alexei rose back up to his feet, “I will join.”

“No you won’t,” The girl turned sharply on her heel, “I think you could have better things to do than bother me all day.”

The Guardian, undeterred by her words, chuckled joyously, “Of course, of course. Bring me blueberry.”

As if he had sensed that she had been looking for him, Bob appeared in the doorway of the common area, eyes flickering between Alexei and Ava with a breathy hi before he turned his attention to the woman standing with her arms crossed. His face flushed under her intimidating stare as he began to wring his fingers in front of him nervously.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she echoed back to him, “I was just looking for you.”

If possible, he blushed even more, the pink tint of his cheeks deepening into a burnt shade of red, “Oh, uh, you were?”

Ava tilted her head curiously at his reaction, not entirely sure if Bob was nervous or petrified at her words, though she wouldn’t blame him for either.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “You still want a bagel or what?”

Relief streaked across his face as he realized why the girl had been looking for him, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, pushing past his figure in the doorway, “Good, I’m starving. Let me grab my coat.”

The moment she was out of earshot, or so he assumed, Alexei called out to Bob to grab his attention, “Psst, Bob. Bring me bagel. Blueberry.”

Bob smiled awkwardly before he nodded, jumping as the girl appeared beside him once more, now bundled in a soft brown coat, taking his hand in her own as she all but dragged him towards the elevator without another glance to the others. Bob turned quickly to offer a bashful wave to his teammates before they disappeared around the corner. 

Ava huffed as they left her sight, “Now what was that about?”

Alexei looked at her with his brow furrowed, crossing his thick arms over his chest, “What? I wanted bagel.”

***

Contrary to Bucky’s belief, the young woman actually did consider some of her teammates to be her friends. While her words were often interpreted as nasty insults that were better left ignored, something that she was more apt to respect was the way that Yelena and Ava were able to give it back to her. It was a respect that they earned from her, and she them, leading to a friendship based on past traumatic experiences and forced proximity. When she wasn’t revelling in her loneliness, she was usually in the company of one of the two older women–or her most recent choice of companion, but even then, it did not mean she had given up her frequent enjoyment of alone time. 

Yelena was an early riser, often having slept barely two hours the night before. The three women had spent the last week on an assignment, only returning an hour earlier. The plane made for a rough sleep, though the black eye that Yelena was sporting certainly didn’t help.

She entered the kitchen, finding Ava already seated at the dining table as she dug into a plate heaped with an assortment of breakfast foods. The counter was decorated with a few larger plates piled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast served up buffet-style. Behind the counter, Bob was muttering to himself as he messed with the new espresso machine that Bucky had ordered.

“Morning,” the Russian sighed, wasting no time in piling her own plate with food. She’d survived on granola bars and beef jerky for the last week, so a hot, home-cooked breakfast was a vision akin to heaven in her eyes, even if it had been made by Bob–he was getting better, but he was no Gordon Ramsay. 

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of the blonde, “Oh, hi Yelena. How was the mission?”

 “It was okay, boring. Way too easy,” she eyed him curiously as he turned back to the machine, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee, Bob.”

Ava smirked as she spoke through a mouthful of eggs, “It’s for his girlfriend.”

He whirled around at this, eyes wide as a familiar red flush crept up his neck and crawled across his cheeks. His mouth gaped at the two women, seemingly unable to string together the words to defend himself from their taunting stares.

“She’s not–I’m–We–”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, “I had no idea you had it in you, Bob.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No, but you want her to be,” Ava added. “You love her.”

“Who loves who?” Alexei appeared in the kitchen as well, eyes lighting up at the sight of the prepared spread of food, clapping Bob on the shoulder before loading up his own plate, “Bob, I could kiss you.”

“No one loves no one,” Bob frowned, stammering over his words, “I mean, we–”

“Bob loves Pandora,” Ava said again to Alexei, who made a noise of approval through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, this?” Alexei asked, “This I already know.” 

The other third all turned to him in bewilderment, exclamations of surprise leaving their mouths.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Yelena asked, a look of betrayal on her face as she launched a piece of toast at her father.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Bob demanded, looking like he could faint at any moment, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, finally tucking into her food with the exact excitement of someone who hadn’t eaten a hot meal in a week. 

Then came the woman in question, floating in through the kitchen like a spirit with her hair wet from the long, hot bath she’d taken upon their return. The others froze, unsure of whether she had heard what they had been talking about prior to her entry. She wore a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of long wool socks beneath her favourite pair of slippers, torso hidden beneath a worn grey sweatshirt–one that Bob was able to recognize all too well. 

“Morning,” he beamed at her, her presence seemingly soothing the embarrassment he’d been faced with as a result of their acknowledgment of his feelings for her, “I, uh, I made breakfast. And coffee, how you like it.”

The girl peered up at him before reaching for the mug that he had offered in her direction, taking a slow sip before a small smile crawled onto her lips as she thanked him. The others watched as she turned to put together her own breakfast, but their eyes were all trained on the shaggy-haired man, following his own gaze as he observed her silently, mulling over her wet hair, down the slopes of her cheeks while they glistened in the soft morning light from her hydrating skin care routine. Her shoulders, covered in the heavy sweatshirt that he wasn’t even sure of how or when she had taken it out of his closet. 

To Bob, she was always the most gorgeous woman on earth, whether she wore her fitted suit or bundled up to combat the bitter nature of New York City, but he always found her the most beautiful when she was home, dressed comfortably and considerably less guarded, where he got to really know her for more than her own trust issues. When she made herself malleable to love, where she allowed him past her guarded walls. Everything that they’d each experienced in the past, all of the trauma that they’d been forced to endure–it was all out in the open and safe, both learning to rely on one another’s presence to feel fully at ease. The only bit his team members were wrong about was about her being his girlfriend–they’d never gotten quite that far, so they had never even made their feelings clear to one another. He wanted more, but he was happy to take things as slow as she needed. 

Ava and Yelena exchanged a glance across the table, flickering between the pair as they joined them at the table, Bob finally picking at his own breakfast as he settled into the seat next to her. He seemed content as they both tucked into their food, silently sharing a few glances as the others finally changed the topic of conversation. 

Though none of them were ready to let Bob away with this for much longer. 

***

John Walker was inarguably the least liked member of the New Avengers, not that he did very much to help with that. He was rude to his teammates, often quite selfish, and quite possibly the most arrogant man in New York City. For someone who boasted about his achievements in the military and as team captain of his high school football team, you might think that he might put some more effort behind his ability to work as a team. After taking on the role of Captain America, however, John quickly learned that he didn’t tend to play well with others. 

When he’d first moved into the tower, he had assumed that, having once already housed the former team of Avengers, there would be ample space for the entire team without encroaching on his personal space. While that was generally true, one thing that John couldn’t help but notice was that, particularly at night, his enhanced hearing often picked up any sounds on his floor, mainly from the neighbouring bedroom, which belonged to Bob. This meant that he was subjected to Bob’s insistent pacing, humming, and occasional snoring when he finally fell asleep, but more recently he had noticed a particular increase in talking. He wasn’t able to make out any words or phrases being said, but the muffled sound of his voice was enough to keep him up at night. He had even brought it up to Bob with a lingering concern of him speaking to Sentry at night, as he’d been known to do before, only to be met with a sputtering, blushing mess, claiming to just be sleeptalking. 

One night, though, John had had enough. The talking, the giggling, John could not figure out what the hell Bob could possibly have going on to sound so happy at two in the morning, but he was going to put an end to it. 

His fist met the door with force, not caring about whether or not he might be waking up any of the others as he impatiently waited for Bob to answer the door, though his anger quickly dissipated into utter confusion as the door swung open to reveal the one person in the world who he actively avoided interacting with. 

“Can I help you, Walker?”

He squinted his eyes at her, taking in her appearance as she stood before him in her pyjamas, hair pushed out of her face by a fluffy leopard print headband and her face coated in some slimy green substance, “Uh, yeah. Where’s Bob?”

The door creaked open a little further to reveal the man in question, appearing at her side with a matching green sludge on his face with his own shaggy brown hair pushed away with a similar fluffy blue headband. 

He smiled bashfully at the supersoldier at the door, “Oh, hi John. What’s up?”

Walker’s eyes flickered between the pair, brow furrowed in surprise, “If I cared a little more I might ask the same thing. It’s two a.m., can this not wait?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, “It can’t actually.”

Bob’s eyes widened in shock at her defiance, “I mean, we’re almost done–”

“No we’re not,” she interrupted him, “we’ve still got five steps left in our skincare routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, his patience wearing impossibly thin, “Could you two just finish braiding each other’s hair and shut up already?”

“And why don’t you go take a nap on the freeway?”

“Woah–hey,” Bob bit back his own laugh at the girl’s words, wanting to both deescalate the building tension and stay on her good side; altercations between these two usually only ended one way, which was John a beating without the young woman having to so much as lift a finger. “We’re almost done, Walker. Hell, we’d probably be done by now if it weren’t for this conversation.”

John looked at Bob in surprise as the girl let out a sharp laugh, equally shocked at his words. Bob could be quite snarky when he wanted to be, but he was also somewhat of a peacemaker among his teammates; these weren’t the type of people where fighting would result in bad blood and arguments, it could end in the destruction of the building and a funeral or two. But, that didn’t mean he was unable to have his own issues with his teammates, and one thing he was truly tired of was taking so much shit from the man who was Captain America for all of two minutes.

“You heard him, Walker,” she smirked up at him victoriously, “beat it. We’ll keep it down, wouldn’t want you to miss out on your precious beauty sleep. Lord knows you need it.”

The door slammed shut, rattling with the force of it as it narrowly missed the tip of his nose. The trek back down the hall felt fuzzy to John as he pondered the interaction he’d just had with the pair, even as he laid in the darkness of his room. 

What was she doing in his room at this hour? Since when are they so close? Was Bob wearing a face mask? Why–

What in God’s name are those noises?

***

Valentina had always been a nuisance to the members of the New Avengers, even long before the team even existed. Sure, her involvement in their lives was what had brought them together and helped form a certain bond between them, and had she not done so then there would not have been anyone there to defend New York City from Sentry–though there also wouldn’t be a Sentry if it weren’t for Valentina either. But now that she wasn’t even truly in control of the New Avengers, she still seemed to be keeping one hand on the wheel at all times. 

The personalities of the team didn’t match up very well. Most of them were explosive, manipulative, and deeply traumatized, but one thing that Valentina seemed to put extra importance behind was the idea of team bonding time to promote better unity. In truth, she didn’t really care whether the team got along or not, she just wanted to ensure that they were perceived as unified by the public and by potential threats.

Thus brought the team to be sitting in the living room, arranged in a circle around the wooden coffee table with a deck of cards arrayed across the surface. Nothing brought a group of individuals together like a game of Uno, right? Well, when the individuals were specially trained to conspire and betray one another, perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Bucky groaned as the young woman dropped yet another plus four into the centre pile, “there’s no way you’re not cheating. Where are you getting all of these cards?”

“Magic,” she said, shrugging as she took the last swig from her can of Diet Coke. 

The Winter Soldier let out a sharp exhale through his nose before reaching out to pluck four more cards from the quickly dwindling deck. Next to him, Yelena barely paid attention to the game as she tossed her own card down, eyes trained on the man across from her as he shifted nervously under her stare. Bob wasn’t entirely sure of why Yelena and Ava had been so aggressively staring him down all evening, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his feelings for the younger woman sitting next to him, he was only hoping that they wouldn’t be bold enough to bring it up in front of the rest of the team–especially her.

Pandora pushed herself back onto her haunches, fingers curling around the empty can as she glanced over at him, nodding at his nearly empty glass of water, “Want another?”

A small, bashful smile curved onto his lips, nodding graciously as she grabbed his glass and stood to her full height, turning to head towards the kitchen. 

“I could use another beer,” John called after her, shaking his empty bottle in her direction.

“Great, the fridge is full of them whenever you’re ready,” she didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Without missing a beat, Yelena leaned forward. For a moment, Bob thought she was about to reach across the table to peek at the missing girl’s abandoned cards that she had set on the table, so he quickly reached out and pressed his hand against the cards to keep them firmly in their place. 

Yelena looked at him in confusion for a moment, which quickly developed into an expression of betrayal, “Bob! You thought I was going to cheat? Who do you think I am?”

His eyes widened as he registered the offense in her voice, quickly moving his hand away, “Oh, sorry. It just, I don’t know, looked like you were.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“You told me not to,” he stared blankly at her. 

She scowled at him, but waved it off, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Done what?” John inserts himself.

“None of your business,” Ava scolded him before turning back to Bob, “well?”

A bloom of red pinched at Bob’s cheeks as he shook his head, “N-no I haven’t. There’s nothing to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two women and Bob. 

Bob watched Bucky nervously as Yelena vaguely described the investigation that she and Ava had taken upon themselves to conduct. Regardless of the current state of their relationship, Bucky had known the girl since she was a teenager, and had promised his “late” best friend that he would watch out for her, so he was still considerably protective over her (though anytime he tried to show any sign of this he would have a near encounter with the nearest and heaviest object she could hurl his way). 

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he turned his gaze to Bob, “You and her? No way.”

Bob furrowed his brow in concern, “I mean, is–I don’t think it’s that outrageous.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been hearing them in his room at all hours of the night,” John chimed in, resting his chin on his closed fist as he portrayed his sudden interest in the topic. 

“What?” The others all exclaimed in unison, turning frantically from John to Bob, who’s entire face and neck were now burning. 

“We were just doing skincare!”

Yelena barked out a laugh while Bucky furrowed his brow impossibly further, lips curling in confusion. 

“Come on now, Bobby,” John grinned condescendingly, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” Bob demanded, “look, I don’t know what you want me to say but–”

“What’re you guys talking about?” the girl in question asked as she rounded the corner again, resuming her seat on the floor as she placed two fresh glasses of water on the table, one in front of Bob and one for herself. 

The New Avengers all shared an uncertain glance. Sure, they could out Bob right then and there, and the deed would be done. They would become a couple and the team could be spared the next however many weeks before Bob finally explodes from infatuation. Or, of course, they could out him and then have to deal with the aftermath of the young woman not reciprocating his feelings, destroying the strongest relationship that both of them had been able to make since joining the team, and taking away the only calming factor that either of them were able to find to subdue their powers. It was a gamble, and for most of them, it probably wasn’t worth–

“We’re talking about Bob’s love for you, of course!” Alexei roared, joining the conversation for the first time since she’d left–he, of course, had chosen straight vodka for his drink of choice, and while it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk off of it, he’d been able to get his hands on just enough to make him tipsy.

The entire team stared at the large Russian man in disbelief. He’d been half asleep for the last hour, having spent a large majority of the afternoon convincing every member of the team to come spar with him. A cobalt blue shimmer surrounded the young woman for only a second, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared–a reaction of her shock and slight embarrassment, akin to Bob’s beet red cheeks. 

“Dad!” Yelena hissed, “you weren’t supposed to tell her.”

Bob stuttered a slow response, a few jumbled words that truly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The others sat quietly, soaking in the suddenly chokingly awkward air in the room while Alexei argued to defend himself. 

“What?” he asked, then turned back to the girl, “I tell truth, he talks about you all the time.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning her teammates so closely that they were a little concerned that she was about to snap on them.

“Well, I would hope so. We’ve been together for months.”

“What?” Bucky barked.

Yelena scoffed out a weak, “Since when?”

“You have?” Ava jolted forward in shock, while John choked on his last swig of beer. 

“We have?”

She turned to meet the wide, teary eyes of Bob. Her expression softened as she took in his appearance, lips appearing dry from his insistent chewing, the colour of his cheeks softening into a dark pink shade rather than the red that had formed out of embarrassment. She reached across, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

“You didn’t know?” She tilted her head in amusement, “Bob, I’ve been sleeping in your bed every night for months.”

Bucky lurched forward, “Okay, a little less info please, some of us don’t need to know the details.”

She squinted at him, “Cram it, Tin-Tin. I’m not talking to you.” 

“I mean,” Bob coughed, lowering his voice to feign some privacy as if he weren’t in a room with highly trained and enhanced individuals, “I never asked–not that I don’t want to–it’s just, I never got to ask you.”

She raised her brows at him, “Yes you did.”

“He did?” John gasped, finding himself much more intrigued by the situation than he ever could have expected. 

She ignored him, “Yeah, right after the fourth of July, remember? You told me you liked being with me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant–” Bob stammered, blood draining from his face as he noticed the slight recoil of rejection in her body language, her grip on his hand loosening as if she meant to pull away. He tightened his own hold, “I do like being with you, I just didn’t know that’s how you took that. But I would like to. Be with you, I mean.”

A small smile curved onto her lips, and perhaps if she wasn’t sitting in front of an audience, she may have granted him a full grin as she squeezed his hand, “Good. In that case, I’m telling people that I’m the one who asked you.”

Bob nodded, turning to glance at his teammates bashfully, all of whom seemed to be in utter disbelief of what they were witnessing, “Yeah, me too.”

“Ahh, young love,” Alexei sighed, settling into the couch cushions as he slung an arm over Yelena and John’s shoulders on either side of him, “go on, Bob, kiss her.”

“Alright,” Bucky stood up, tossing his cards onto the table, “that’s enough of all the mushy-gushy. I’m going to bed.” he paused hesitantly as he turned to head down the hall, glancing down at the young woman, “I’m happy for you, kid. But let’s keep it PG, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, “You better hurry up, wouldn’t want the geriatric unit putting out a search party.”

BONUS

This was, without a doubt, the most comfortable Bob had felt since he’d first moved into the tower. Laying in his bed, freshly showered, ceiling fan on, and the woman he hadn’t even known he was dating curled into his side with her head on his chest and wearing clothes entirely from his closet. She wasn’t asleep yet, he knew by the way that her fingertips were slightly twitching against the fabric of his shirt. She liked to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; she'd told him many times that she found it soothing and helped her drift off to a slumber that wasn’t entirely plagued by nightmares. In turn, her weight on his chest seemed to help with his anxiety, like a weighted blanket that was suspiciously girlfriend-shaped. 

He spoke her name into the darkness of the room, waiting to hear her soft hum of recognition to continue, “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

She let out a quiet giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t know we were dating this whole time. I literally sleep on top of you every night.”

He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, well…”

“And I let you make out with me all the time.”

“I know–wait, you let me? You haven’t been enjoying it?”

She turned her head to stare up at him, chin settling into the groove of his pec comfortably as she smirked at him, “Well I did at the time, when I thought you were making out with your girlfriend, but now that I know you were actually just making out with some random chick?”

“It wasn’t just some random chick,” he argued, “it was some neighbour chick. I’d seen her around.”

She pinched his side through his t-shirt, causing him to squirm underneath her, “Oh really? I guess that means I was just making out with some nerd I’ve seen around then, huh?”

He smirked, glad for the darkness of the room and it’s ability to conceal his blush from her, “I think I like it better when you call me your boyfriend.”

She turned her head again, returning to her original position as her cheek nestled against his chest, lips gently pressing against the white cotton.

“Yeah, I like it better, too.”

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume seven — forwards beckon rebound

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, mental health and depression struggles, suicide, blood and violence, mentions of war—pls remember that this is a fictional work inspired by a comic and i am not using this to rewrite history or treat any tragedies unseriously! tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: listened to sooo much adrianne lenker writing this entire fic and was especially excited to write a reunion volume with this exact song. also—happy one month :’). check out the playlist for the curated mood and for a forehead kiss. mwah, enjoy!

✦ ── word count: 6.1k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous interlude - interlude two

art by outdmilk on twt

“…THE WOLVERINE.”

Your heart lodged in your throat like a pebble trying to make its way down a narrow straw opening, the sight of metal tearing through Sukuna’s knuckles enough to make your breaths shallow.

Shiu watched you carefully from his seat upon his stool, feeding into your reaction as it spurred his excitement further, just like he did every time they’d get a new addition on the team and would bring them down here.

You were just the lucky pick of the month.

Your fingers curled into the hem of your dress, digits trembling as you couldn’t even get yourself to blink, much less look away. 

“Now, don’t worry here ladies n’ gents. The claws? ‘S all for show. Sukuna here,” the announcer reassured, slapping a hand against the burly man’s shoulder that was well over his head. “Won’t use ‘em… unless he has to.”

The crowd erupted at that, holding their beer bottles in the air by the necks and clashing them against each other, a rowdy sea of revelers you felt jarringly out of place in. The ringing vibrations of glass sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps littering your cold skin.

The announcer sounded a few whoops into his microphone to rile them up even further, stagehands thrashing the cage with curled fingers to bounce the sound of metal against metal off of the walls.

Sukuna retracted his claws, the glint disappearing beneath his tan skin, huffing as he turned away and dug a hand into his jean pocket. Unlike the familiar box of Marlboro Reds’ he’d normally pull out, he dragged a cigar out and placed it between his teeth in a scowl. He flicked the cap of his lighter case open, swiping the sparkwheel with the pad of his thumb and holding the flame up against the butt.

He laid a forearm against the cage, taking a few puffs from the massive joint, his expression shielded from you.

You didn’t even notice the way you were hyperventilating, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Who the hell had you been staying with? And what the fuck was coming from his hands?

“Apparently he’s from some freak experiment gone wrong,” Shiu shouted over the audience, practically reading your mind from your expression, taking a swig of his whiskey. 

You shivered, peering back at him with wide eyes, blood roaring in your ears and your lips slightly parted as you tried to come up with words that were actively failing you.

As inebriated as the man was, Shiu couldn’t decipher your obvious distress, only assuming it was confusion. “Remember those uh… aliens or whatnot? Freakish rumors of awakened abilities or things sneaking onto Earth?”

You remember what he’s talking about, though he’s describing it poorly. They were coined ‘Mutants.’ Over two centuries ago, there had been a sudden influx of humans with some sort of additional gene mutation, something called the X-gene. People managed to get the story wrong so much that most just chalked it up to rumors as modern civilization was completely unfamiliar with it.

But, as any bored teenager, you’d gone on deep dives online.

In total, there had been around ten thousand humans with this gene, give or take, spanning all over the globe. There had been tales of some with telekinesis, abilities to manipulate the weather, shapeshifting, you name it.

Yet with the fear of humans holding such a capability, they’d been eradicated with bounties placed on their heads.

It was a silent genocide.

And of course, the governments did what they could to keep it quiet. 

But to think of the possibility that those tales were not only true… but there was still one of them to have survived?

And one with sheers from fingers? God, he was like Edward Scissorhands if the guy ditched the melancholy for abrasiveness and dyed his hair pink.

Your thoughts were pulled from you as you heard the sound of wood smashing and splintering. You spun your head back to see Sukuna still turned around, the bald man beside him holding the broken legs of a chair, which looks to have been slammed off of the former's back.

“Oh, it appears that someone is ready to go. Let the fight commence,” the announcer drawled out into his microphone, slipping from the cage door as a stagehand locked it.

Sukuna took another drag of his cigar before flicking it to the mat and crushing it with his foot. Turning around with slow deliberation, he shook his arms and head in one go, like a dog releasing water from their mane.

And on his face was a scowl so deep, so full of disdain and irritation, it made your skin crawl. He balled his fists, no sign of his metal claws bared except the scars that’d been left behind.

The dog tag against his sharp collarbones jingled, a lump settling deep in the pit of your gut as the two men stared each other down with a glare so fierce it made your blood curdle. Their anger could be set ablaze with just the spark of a lighter.

“Shouldn’t have done that, brat,” he growled, voice low and husky and practically vibrating from the recesses of his chest, enough to make the audience feel the hairs on their napes stand on end.

The bald man only stepped closer to Sukuna, seething with rage, his audacity making you taste bile on the back of your throat, sour and nauseating. And then he spat on the ground before him, a toothy grin before he released a few chuckles. “Yer’ kind shoulda’ died long ago.”

Your gaze flickered back to Sukuna, his rage practically emanating off of him in white-hot incandescent ripples and knocking you right off your stool from the impact. His knuckles were white with how hard he was clenching them, jaw twitching beneath the stress of his molars grinding against each other.

Sukuna didn’t respond this time, only lifting his right clenched fist and sending it straight towards the bald man’s jaw, the sound of flesh tearing and bone cracking beneath metal, sending the man flying towards the ground with just one hit.

You hopped from your seat, eyes wide and heart beating rapidly in your chest, on instinct shouting. “Sukuna!”

You thought your voice would be drowned out by the audience, by the boisterous cheers and hoots and hollers alone.

But Sukuna stilled for a moment, eyes scanning the audience slowly, pupils blown before landing on you.

The two of you held eye contact for a moment, your breaths simultaneously hitching and hearts soaring from your chests. His face paled and stunned, your hands trembling and eyes wide.

“City girl…” he whispered, mostly to himself, feet rooted in the ground beneath him as he shuddered.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Sukuna wasn’t necessarily a man ashamed of what he does, riling up an audience with his abilities for money like some circus freak. He didn‘t even need the money, he was just exhausted from living a life with nothing to pump his adrenaline.

Not to mention, it was an excuse to punch his impish coworkers when they’d finally get the balls to face him.

But seeing you, wide eyes swimming with he wished wasn’t fear and disgust, had his stomach lurching, wanting to cave in on himself.

He doesn’t know how long he stood there, watching as you shivered in place, where you weren’t supposed to be. He thought he’d seen the last of you—he hoped he did.

You shouldn’t see him like this.

A balled fist dug into Sukuna’s core, powered behind a weak thrust but enough to have Sukuna doubling over.

He peered back up, his anger resurfacing again, focused on his coworker that’d only tried to make his life a living hell at each and every turn. Swearing that Sukuna hadn’t met his quota to the boss, whispering with the other lumberjacks like some fuckin’ schoolboy, pestering about why he opted to shut himself out in the outbacks.

Truthfully, the guy had it fuckin’ coming.

He brought his fist up again, this time aiming to cave his nose in, slamming his face and watching blood spray onto his wife beater.

And he just fucking cleaned it.

The bald man wasn’t quite strong or memorable, not enough for Sukuna to even remember his name. He made nicknames up for the guy in his head—beer gut being his favorite as it seemed to protrude each time he came across the asshole downing more alcohol than even Sukuna consumed, which was a lot.

He bruised both of his eyes, broke a finger so he wouldn’t be able to work anytime soon, and was aiming for one of his toes next before the ringer called it.

“Alright, alright, I think we’ve seen enough, huh?” The announcer chuckled nervously, sliding his way back onto the ring as two burly men began to pry Sukuna from the half-conscious man rolled up on the floor.

The audience wasn’t as excited as they had been before, some whispering to each other, some displaying their expressions of utter shock and disgust at watching the last two minutes unfold, some even making their way out through the archway and up the stairs after they'd paid their tab.

Sukuna grunted, brushing it off as the announcer came to his side, curling his fingers around Sukuna’s wrist and holding it up as high as he possibly could. “And we definitely have our winner! Undefeated once again, The Wolverine takes home another victory!”

This is the part that Sukuna usually drowns out—the audience erupting in roars one final time for the evening as the announcer slaps the prize money into his hand, fat wads that he’d just end up stuffing away somewhere mindlessly, and stomping out towards the locker room while everyone made sure to step out of his way.

But he shivered again, eyes locking to where you previously stood, and you were nowhere to be seen.

Sukuna inhaled sharply, forgetting the money entirely, and throwing himself out of the cage. The remaining audience was stunned at the action, stilling to watch his next move unfold as they held their breaths.

He sprinted up the steps, skipping every third and making his way up to the pawn storefront. To any regular customer, he looked downright insane. Covered in specks of blood as his chest heaved with a wild look in his eyes.

He peered down towards the store owner, the same guy he saw every time he’d come in for a fight. “You see a girl leave here? ‘Bout this high, wearing a sundress?” He pressed, eyes wide with desperation.

“Uhhhh… she just left. With some guy,” he replied, pointing to the store doors.

Sukuna brushed off how that made his world tilt, grunting and storming out of the doors.

His head spun on a swivel on the empty night streets, feeling sprinkles of rain come down and cool his heated skin. He spotted you instantly, standing on some sidewalk a few paces away and waving your arms around to some swaying raven-haired man that looked vaguely familiar.

Adrenaline clouded Sukuna’s judgement as you pushed a hand against the guy's shoulder who only chuckled in response.

Sukuna stomped over, locking eyes with the man and stopping right before him. “Who the fuck are you?” He barked, staring the guy down with a fire swirling in his eyes.

The guy, obviously drunk, simply laughed and took a few steps back. “My bad, man. She’s all yours,” he smirked in your direction, lifting a glass he seemed to have snagged and began making his way down the sidewalk while practically tripping over his own feet.

Sukuna’s frown only deepened at his retreating figure for a few moments, before turning to peer down at you.

He could feel his world come to a halt, eyes dancing across your dolled-up and stunned figure.

You watched his gaze immediately soften, the harsh lines across his blood-speckled face ease up as the fire ablaze in his irises were snuffed out. 

“You know him?” He grunted.

You shook your head.

He sighed, exasperated. “The fuck are you doing here?” He pressed, and though he wished it were sharper, his edges around you seemed to round out as it came out as a whisper. He sounded genuinely concerned.

You opened your mouth, hands tightening around the little purse you’d brought with you. “I-I wanted to see you,” you replied softly in the night air, the rain only slowly picking up as it splattered against your bare skin.

It sounded stupid now. To show up to his work and bring him lunch, as if you were life-long friends that went way back when in actuality you barely knew each other. 

But you couldn’t give it much thought as you recalled what you’d just seen downstairs before hurrying out. What you could barely wrap your head around.

You had evidence that it was real enough, those sheers protruding from his hands and Shiu making far too many jokes about Sukuna that only made you jab your finger into his chest. 

“Can’t imagine living with those marks either. A walking freakshow.”

“Hope a pretty girl like you won’t waste time with him.”

“Nobody knows squat about the guy. You really think you know him?”

You knew you didn’t know much about him. But what you did know was that he had a heart—even underneath all of his aggressive gestures and spiky thorns. 

He was someone you’d grown to know quite well in a short time, someone you were quite fond of.

But now it felt tainted. You didn’t want to see Sukuna like that. No—you felt like you shouldn’t see him like that, intruding on a part of his left he’d obviously kept secret from you.

With a secret like that, you couldn’t blame him. He had no one but a pet dog by his side since they couldn’t get past his rough edges to see the tender parts of him you’d managed to witness momentarily.

Sukuna inhaled deeply, running a hand through his pink tresses and sighing. “Listen, I can explain just—.”

“Shiu already did,” You interrupted, jutting a thumb behind you to what Sukuna assumes was the guy who’d accompanied you, swallowing the thick lump lodged in your throat. You didn’t want to make him have to explain himself.

Yet you’d only made it more awkward, making it seem like you were actively trying to get away from Sukuna.

He eyed you, the creases near his eyes deepening as he squinted. “Uh, okay. Whatever. You drive here?” He suddenly changed the subject, obviously not comfortable with talking about the elephant in the room either.

You nodded.

He hummed. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s right—.” You turned around and pointed to where it was parked, only to see that it was gone. “Oh my god.”

You paled, pacing towards where it was supposed to be with Sukuna on your heel and feeling your stomach reel. “It was right here I… I parked it right here,” you admitted, voice laced with panic.

“Uh…” Sukuna pointed a finger towards the ‘no-parking’ sign just a few feet away.

You shivered at that, feeling your waterline prickle with tears. If you thought you couldn’t be even more shocked this evening, you just had to go and be a dumbass and get your car towed.

You shook your hands in front of you, mind spinning with a solution. “I’ll just call a cab and head back… yeah, that sounds fine…” you spoke to yourself under your breath, doing your best to reassure yourself.

Sukuna cocked his head at your little meltdown. “My trucks parked ‘round the back. You live in the city, right? Can give you a lift—.”

“No!” You interrupted suddenly.

Sukuna paused at that, watching as the shoe he’d been waiting to finally drop hit the floor. You were afraid of him. It made sense, what else did he expect? You’d just seen him not only broadcasted in a ring as a freak of nature, but watched metal tear through his fists.

You two didn’t live remotely in the same world.

He swallowed the steadily rising bile. “Got it. Need anything from me?” He asked, throat gravelly, wanting the Earth to swallow him whole as he donned a nonchalant front.

You smiled weakly, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry, Sukuna. It’s not—that’s not it,” you sighed, worrying your lip between your teeth.

Oh.

Then what is it?

“I may have exponentially fucked up,” you whispered, sourly laughing to yourself as you waved your hands dramatically.

“Alright. What’s up?” He pressed on, his tongue feeling thick in his maw.

“You’re gonna think I’m insane,” you revealed, pursing your lips as you peered up at him, orbs darting between his left and right ones.

“Might be kinda hard given my circumstances,” he dryly teased, the humor unlike him but somewhat settling your worries.

You only stared up at him, your foot tapping against the ground as you mulled over something he couldn’t quite puzzle together, before you spoke.

“I sold my apartment and quit my job.”

Sukuna’s eyes widened at the admission, choking on his saliva and faltering. “You… what?” He huffed out, bewildered at your words.

You laughed insanely to yourself, enough to make Sukuna worry about your well-being. “Do you think you could drive me to my motel?” You quiered, rocking on the backs of your heels.

Sukuna doesn’t know exactly what fluttered in his stomach as he watched you plead to him, a look he’d seen multiple times on you when you’d beg for nearly anything when you stayed with him.

Putting up the clothesline, playing another one of his vinyls while he tried to make himself food, complaining about the lack of options with his cable.

Oh, you were audacious. But he gave in nearly every time to your demands. Though not without huffing and puffing.

“Uh. Yeah,” he spoke, not wanting to press about your obvious mania and turning on his heel.

 You squealed and followed suit, feet tapping against the pavement as it finally began to rain cats and dogs.

You yelped, peering up as the tempestuous storm clouds you’d seen when you first walked into the pawn store began to unleash their fury.

“Keep up if you can,” Sukuna huffed, pulling his arms to his sides and jogging around a corner as water began to pelt the concrete sidewalk.

You gasped at his audacity, feeling your sandals come down in wet puddles as Sukuna grinned to himself and hurried away from you, leaving you to effectively be drenched.

You rushed around the tight corner, quickly spotting Sukuna pulling himself into the driver's seat of a rusted red truck. You followed quickly, skin cold and littered with goosebumps, hair matting to your cheeks despite how you swatted the strands from your face.

You wrenched the door open with a creaky groan, having to practically climb into the elevated vehicle, the wet part of your skirt plastering to your seat. You pulled the door shut with a thunderous slam, catching your breath as you glanced over at Sukuna who was eyeing you, before letting out a snort.

You slapped your hand over your mouth, heat rising from your wet nape, as you began to giggle into your hand. You weren’t even quite sure what you were laughing at, simply giggling at the insane turn of the events that left your mind spinning.

Sukuna bit the inside of his cheek as you tossed your head back against the headrest, your dress sticking to your curves and giving it a see-through sheen.

He tore his gaze away with warm cheeks, reaching forward to your side to access the dashboard and pulling the spacious compartment open. You quieted, feeling Sukuna’s corded forearm graze your bare knee and stilling. He was incredibly warm, but it sent a chill shooting up your spine and making you stiffen.

He tugged a flannel out, probably one he kept as a spare, and tossed it to you. “‘S cold,” he muttered, adjusting in his seat as he peered out the windshield, watching as the rain only continued to patter against the glass continuously, not looking like it’d be letting up anytime soon.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t put it on for himself since he was only wearing a wife beater, but kept your mouth shut.

He cranked the heat, the windshield swiftly fogging up.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart clench again, before making a joke to scissor through the wired tight tension. “Borrowing your clothes again,” you chuckled weakly, pulling it around your shoulders and buttoning it up. Just like the other articles you’d worn, this one hung off of you as you couldn’t fill it in like Sukuna managed to.

He grunted in response.

You shifted in your seat, going quiet and watching a hand of his lift to the steering wheel. You made note of the scars you’d seen before, the same ones still there and wound shut despite him just tearing through them minutes ago.

He frowned deeply once he caught wind of your gawking. “Quit starin’.”

You didn’t falter, his usual grumpy antics picking up. “How are you not bleeding?” You asked in a hushed and observant tone, eyes still dialed in on his hand.

Forget the rule of thumb of not touching Sukuna—you reached out without hesitation, a finger brushing against the calloused and marked skin, but Sukuna pulled away as if you’d burned him and scowled.

Still, you weren’t deterred, peering up at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes.

He could only stare at you in confusion, hands flexing like he couldn’t control his movements. “Uh. I can heal. Skin regenerates,” he coughed out.

You sat up at that, eyes widening like an owl. “Wait… wait! So in the forest when you hurt your hand…?”

He nodded curtly, jaw tensing at the remembrance.

You gasped. “Oh my goodness…” you trailed off, melting into your seat as the realization itself sunk in. That must’ve been why he didn’t want to show you where his hand had torn as it would’ve healed itself within moments.

Sukuna bleakly laughed. “That cool to you?”

You shrugged. “I guess. Yeah. Do you not find it cool?”

He didn’t answer that, though you could tell from his expression just what he thought of it. His eyebrows drew in as he leaned against the window, turning his body towards you. “…You’re not scared of me?” He asked, feeling as if he’d been walking on eggshells around you, nervous he’d slip up and scare you away.

You tilted your head in genuine wonder. “Scared?”

Huh.

“I mean… yeah. I’ve got knives for hands,” he admitted grimly.

“I know. But why should I be scared?”

He cleared his throat, shuffling in his seat nervously at the sudden spotlight casted on him. “Ya know, the claws and all. The fightin’. Didn’t think a girl like you would stick around for the aftermath,” he admitted.

You cocked your head with a smirk. “A girl like me? What’s that ‘spose to mean?”

He puffed air through his nose, his silence making you giggle.

It was quiet for a few short moments, just the rain to keep the both of your ears company. But you were still brimming with excitement, a kettle ready to whistle and burst.

You flattened out the lower half of your skirt, damp and sticking to your thighs. “So…. ‘The Wolverine…’” You spoke, stifling a giggle at how flashy it sounded. “What? You trade your Reds for Backwoods ‘n you’re a changed man?”

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, holding back a smile as best as he possibly could, casting his gaze to his lap. “You mean you ain’t recognize me no more?” He whispered softly, leaning in just a bit as his arm laid against the center console.

The close proximity made you freeze up like ice despite the heat blasting, plastering yourself to the passenger door. His eyes narrowed for a moment, taking in the sight of you in his shirt once again, before pulling back and twisting a hand against the leather steering wheel. He ignored the lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in quite some time, recentering himself in reality. “Really, though. Why’re you back here?”

You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, nose wrinkling as you thought about the last couple of days.

If Sukuna knew what you were planning, he’d have your head on a spit.

So your best idea was to ensure he’d at least drive you to your motel before sending you back into the city.

“Don’t know what you did for work in the city, but I can’t see why you’d ditch that life behind,” he grumbled, eyebrows drawn in confusion, trying to puzzle together the small pieces of information you were giving him to see the bigger picture.

“Take me to the motel first. Then I’ll tell you.”

He tilted his head at that, pausing for a moment, unsure at your crypticness, but Sukuna was not one to question too much.

“Buckle up, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

The ride back was nothing short of stressful.

He didn’t wait for the rain to clear, putting the gear shift into reverse and pulling out of the back lot.

There was hail now—pelting against the rusted metal of the car as he flicked on the radio and tuned into the local station. They were playing some Neil Young, the pedal steel woven into the instrumental making you sway softly.

As much as Sukuna wanted to eye you from his peripherals, he had to hone his focus as most cars’ lights on the main road were dull, narrowly avoiding multiple fallen trunks and stopped vehicles.

But the guy was adamant on getting back, ignoring the flashing lightning that filled the sky followed by sharp cracks of thunder that shook the Earth’s core. You took the time to eye him, to notice the heavier bags beneath his eyes as if he wasn’t sleeping. Maybe he hadn’t been these days. But you weren’t about to get on this grown and grumpy man’s ass about his bedtime.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered under his breath, finally spotting the dim neon lights of some shady motel, flickering on and off every few moments.

He pulled into the lot, putting the car into the park and turning towards you. “Spill.”

You bit your lip. “I’ve got a question for you first.”

He sighed at that, laced with nothing short of indignation. “What?”

“How exactly are you going to get back up to your place this late, and with this weather?”

He narrowed his eyes, shuffling in his seat. “Gonna camp out right here,” he muttered.

“Huh?” You pushed, tilting your head. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” he shrugged, raking a hand through his damp tresses.

You didn’t even know how to bring up how he was still drenched from the rain, but now he was planning on sleeping in his car of all places?

“Oh like hell you are,” you scoffed loudly and somewhat beside your usual tone, enough to make the large man flinch.

You pushed your passenger door open, hopping out and trying not to slip as you paced towards the motel lobby, hands covering your hair as you hurried in.

There was an older woman at the front desk with tight lines on her crinkled paper-like skin, glasses perched on her nose as she scanned through some large book.

But the issue was the group that filled up the lobby, multiple families soaking wet, practically begging for a room.

“Sorry everybody,” she drawled out, peeking up from her desk. “Last room was jus’ booked!”

Everyone in the lobby sighed, worries and trepidation written into their expressions as they filed out.

You felt your shoulders droop, dragging your feet back out of the lobby but hurrying back to the stark red truck awaiting you.

You hopped back in, tugging the door shut and staring up at Sukuna with wide, sad eyes. “They’re fully booked!”

He shrugged, adjusting in his seat and tossing his head back to shut his eyes. “Not like it matters. Was plannin’ on knockin’ out right here.”

You scrunched your nose up as if you smelled something foul, poking your finger against his bicep, making him groan. “What, woman?”

“You can’t sleep out here!”

“Like hell I can’t, brat.”

You scoffed. “Fine. At least use my shower, then.”

He peeked an eye open skeptically. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes. “‘Cause you reek.”

He chuckled at that for a moment, recalling how he’d used that same line on you when he’d first met you, leaning towards you to flick your forehead. “Nah. Mutants can’t expel odor.”

You tilted your head in awe. “Wait. Really?”

Huh. Cute.

He flared his nostrils, pausing for a moment at your naivety. “You really ain’t the brightest,” he mumbled, pushing out of the car.

You straightened out, quickly scrambling out of the passenger side, sandals splashing in the murky lot water, hurrying after him as he made his way towards the sidewalk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Where’s your room?” He grumbled, already over teasing you.

You pointed in the direction of it, the two of you pacing over as quickly as you could.

You shuffled through your clutch, tugging your room key out and shoving it into the keyhole before pushing it open. You made your way inside, Sukuna following and shutting the room behind him.

Once the lock turned, only then did you feel the air still, your breaths stalling for a moment in the newfound silence coupled with the gentle patter of rain just outside.

He had to duck quite a bit—the small room obviously not accommodating to his height, making you hold back a giggle.

You headed over to your plethora of bags on your bed, shuffling through them and grabbing out a change of clothes. Thank god you’d brought everything in—God forbid instead of leaving your suitcase and bags in your car and having them towed away too. “Mind if I shower first?” You posed, glancing over your shoulder.

Sukuna was pacing around the room, as if he didn’t know which corner to sink into, before humming in approval.

You smiled, grabbing the last of your essentials and hurrying in.

Your shower wasn’t long, just enough to scrub away the rain and makeup. You noticed how your makeup was ruined, just like the day of your hike, mascara running watery and clumpy trails down the rounds of your cheeks akin to mud.

Once you’d finished, you wrapped a towel around your hair, and dried yourself off before slathering some lotion on and getting changed.

You padded out of the restroom, seeing Sukuna hunched over the small desk that he managed to dwarf—like nearly every other furniture he’d come across. You felt the corners of your lips tug upwards, stepping towards him and whispering his name like it were some secret. “Sukuna…?”

He didn’t respond, chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Your eyes narrowed, bringing a hand down to his shoulder to poke him. Once your hand made contact with the bare skin of his shoulders, he flinched and jumped up quickly, massive hands to wrap around your biceps on instinct.

His body moved before had even fully awoken, fingers curled around you. Not tight, not painful. Just firm. Enough to cage you in his grasp.

You stilled, eyes wide at his distress.

It took him a moment to realize where he was, blinking the sleep from his eyes before he inhaled sharply, releasing you and standing immediately.

His head bumped the ceiling with an awkward thunk! that made you gasp. “Oh my god. Are you o—.”

He bristled, shoving past you with a throaty grunt and hurrying into the restroom to slam the door.

You paused, blood roaring in your ears, the places where he’d once held you practically on fire from the contact, warmth lingering in his absence.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was attempting to catch his breath in the bathroom. He shouldn’t be around you, not anymore than he has to be. You’d simply been waking him up, most likely to shower, and his hands came flying to manhandle you despite your pure intentions.

Who knows what would have happened if he’d unsheathed his metallic claws, tearing into your delicate and unmarked skin?

He tossed his head back against the wood, jaw tensing with frustration.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

Sukuna hadn’t been in the shower for too long either, just enough time for you to settle into your sheets and prop open a book before you’d lull off.

He pulled the door open, nearly tearing it off of its hinges with his brutish strength.

“Careful, there. I don’t have insurance,” you sleepily chuckled from your focus on your novel.

Sukuna’s eye twitched, irritated at your nonchalance and casual demeanor when he’d nearly just hurt you.

Why were you so kind to him?

“I’m headin’ out,” he gruffed under his breath, pacing towards the door in the same clothes he’d come in.

You nodded slowly, not even glancing up before a lightbulb went off in your head. “Wait!”

There was a stumble in his gait, fixing you with that same vexed stare.

“I didn’t tell you why I’m here,” you grinned lopsidedly, setting your book to the side.

You were all tucked into the motel sheets, feet wiggling beneath the duvet, enough to force Sukuna to keep his gaze trained on your eyes. “Alright, then. Spit it out, brat.”

You nibbled on your lip, adjusting from where you sat to sit on the backs of your heels, laying your hands on your thighs.

“I’m moving in with you!”

Sukuna continued to stare at you, nothing but absolute gall in his eyes. “…What?”

“Mhm! But just until you help me build a place of my own,” you nodded, head turned in thought. 

Slow your fucking roll. You wanted to move where?

“So where on earth was my fuckin’ input when you came to this conclusion?”

You inhaled deeply, as if you knew this was going to happen and it made Sukuna falter. “Had a feeling you’d react like this…” you woefully trailed off, nodding to yourself as you stared at your lap.

God, you were nothing without your dramatic flair.

“Which is why,” you added, pulling your bag up from the floor onto the duvet and sifting through it. “I brought this.”

You slapped down a few bundles of far too much cash, enough to shoot Sukuna’s eyes to his hairline. “Fuck am I lookin’ at?”

“I pay you. You let me move in and build a house in the sticks. A win-win situation.”

Sukuna opened his mouth, ready to spew a slew of curses at you at the fact that you’d come to some verdict with absolutely no care for Sukuna, before he backed down and took a deep breath. “I’m doing… what?”

“Plus, you said it’s lonely up there. Wouldn’t you love it if you had me as a next door neighbor?”

He cringed, slowly shaking his head. “You’re out of your mind if you think—.”

“Think about it! Before you say no,” you interrupted, leaning up to rest your shins against the duvet and shuffle your way towards him. “Please.”

He narrowed his eyes, that familiar pleading stare in your eyes, running his tongue over his teeth. “Fine. But don’t count on nothin’.”

You beamed, getting up to your feet and hopping around on your bed, cheering loudly enough to get a noise complaint. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“Enough of that,” he huffed, making his way to the door and tugging it open.

He shut the door behind him, leaving you in your ecstatic reverie, thankful that the rain had stopped. It smelled of damp earth and clean linen, most likely from the active laundry room he could hear in the distance, a muffled dryer at work.

He paced over to his truck, throwing himself inside with a light sway of the vehicle and placing his hands over the steering wheel with a sigh.

He’s not quite sure what to make of your sudden and wildly impulsive decisions, and the fact that his revealed identity isn’t scaring you.

But to think that someone would impulsively quit their job and sell their place in the city to live in the outback’s of all fucking places? Something ain’t adding up.

Was it your ex-husband? Had he said something to you? 

Not that it mattered to him.

From day one, he was never quite sure what to make of you, but he’s too far fucking exhausted to rattle his brain with it right now.

[tizeline]

TSAU!Donnie's Ninpō Explained!

The first ability Donnie unlocks is the ability to see mystic energy! Objects or people with with mystic energy has this colourful glowing aura you could call it, the more mystic energy the more brightly is glows. For example - Mikey already has a very bright aura naturally, which becomes even brighter when he is actively using magic! ..... All of this is to say, Donnie found that out the hard way when he used his mystic sight on Mikey when he was using magic and Donnie as a result got a little bit fucking blinded!

All yōkai and mutants are naturally mystic in nature, they always have a visable aura because of that. Humans are not mystic, so they don't have that aura. HOWEVER! Humans can learn how to use magic through certain means like, y'know, Ninpō for example! When a human uses magic, they do have mystic aura, but only while actively using mystic powers.

(Also Donnie totally accidentally discovered that the "teapot" had bad vibes because his mystic sight lol)

After a while Donnie is able to start making constructs out of his Ninpō. Initially however, he can't really form complex designs, it's mostly just blocks and walls, very simplistic shapes. But it turns out he can use these simpler constructs as effective shields! Which is good considering his soft shell as well as the fact that his battle shell in the AU wasn't built to be used as armour. Both he and April gets a lot of use out of the extra defense.

With quite a bit of practice Donnie is able to actually generate specific and more complex designs! Which means that yes, to the horror of friend and foe alike, Donnie can and will summon an entire arsenal of firepower, yikes. He's not limited to firearms though, he's able to generate all kinds of technology and machinery (drill!!!!)

To create these mystic contructs, it does require Donnie to have a good understanding of what it looks like, how it functions, etc. His imagination and his knowledge of technology are what sets a lot of the limits on what he is able to create, if he can build it in his lab then he can build it with his Ninpō. This particular ability requires a lot complex thought, if Donnie wasn't so smart he wouldn't be able to pull it off as well as he does.

Another limitation is that maintaining the contsructs is very energy-consuming, he'll quickly exhaust himself if he keeps them around. He'll usually only summon constructs very briefly for an attack and then immedietly dismiss them.

The way that Donnnie's Ninpō manifests itself is already very technology-oriented, because of that he can interact with ordinary technology through his Ninpō. Personally I haven't figured out the details of what exactly that can look like, but there's definitely a lot of possibilities to explore here.

One thing though, as Donnie's Ninpō grows more and more powerful overtime, a side-effect of that is that if he gets really pissed off or otherwise very emotional, he'll accidentally make the technology in his near viscinity go haywire lmao. (This has the risk of making him even more angry, which just worsens the problem, and so on haha)

I really like the idea of Donnie being the second most powerful mystic user out of his brothers, after Mikey of course. And because he's mostly self-trained, he doesn't have the best understanding of how to properly control his powers, which evidently can become a bit of a problem. Donnie eventually agrees to let Draxum help him get a better grasp on his mystic abilities after the Hamatos and the Draxums become more friendly with each other.

So uh. About how Donnie kinda accidentally infused Shelldon with mystic energy while creating him which caused the robot to develop a kind of soul? Yeah so because of that Shelldon's mystic energy if linked to Donnie's, which means that Shelldon more or less gains access to the same abilities as Donnie does! He's not quite as powerful as Donnie, and he still needs to practice to fully get a grasp on these powers as well. But point is, that's how Shelldon gains acess to Ninpō in the AU! (He also notices their fucked up "teapot")

----------

Anyway that basically summarizes it! A lot of these ideas are headcanons I have for canon!Donnie as well honestly, the AU is just an excuse to explore these concepts. Donnie's ability to summon fucking firearms and military equipment is also something I've thought about, I wanted to try to think how it would work for him while also putting some limitations on it. ANOTHER THING I like the idea of Donnie's tech constructs basically being the same ability as when Raph creates constructs of himself. The difference lies with that Donnie is a massive nerd so his first instinct is to recreate his own tech with the Ninpō. While Raph being someone who is already so physically strong would naturally use his Ninpō to recreate his own greatest weapon, which is himself. (Donnie uses his brain, Raph uses his brawn, who would've guessed)