andulina567

[andulina567]

Lucky girl

summary: You got to kiss Sebastian Stan (on his bald era omg), damn, aren’t u a lucky one? xoxo

The red carpet at the premiere of The Thunderbolts is a literal sea of flashing lights, microphones, celebrities, and stunning gowns glittering under the evening sky. Your heels click softly against the rug as you step out of the black SUV, instantly greeted by the familiar screeches of your name and hundreds of shutter sounds echoing like applause.

You’re glowing—draped in deep emerald green satin that hugs your body perfectly, subtle sparkle dusting your shoulders. The press has already gone feral online since the trailer dropped, and now? Now they’re calling you “the lucky girl who gets to kiss Sebastian Stan in 4K.”

And they’re not wrong.

Because your character—Sage, the all-powerful, enchanting witch—is entangled in a slow-burning, electrically charged situationship with none other than Bucky Barnes. And yes, the chemistry? Absolutely criminal. But behind every smoldering stare and whispered line, behind every intense scene with trembling hands and close-up kisses... is Sebastian. Your best friend.

Your very hot, very flirty, very not-dating best friend.

You walk the carpet alone for now, Sebastian arriving separately as part of Marvel’s staggered PR plan. Still, his absence doesn’t stop the questions.

"Y/N! Over here! One quick question!" a blonde interviewer calls out. She’s holding a sleek mic with Entertainment Weekly branded on it. You pause, flashing your signature red carpet smile.

“Of course! Hi,” you chirp.

She smiles wide. “Okay, first off, you look like actual royalty tonight.”

You giggle. “Thank you! Sage would definitely approve.”

“Speaking of Sage,” the interviewer leans in slightly, her voice teasing, “how did it feel filming such... intimate scenes with Sebastian Stan? I mean, come on—you two were giving serious heat. And he's kind of the hottest man alive right now, no pressure.”

You blink. “Honestly, I thought the wigs would distract everyone.”

“They did not.”

You fake pout. “Shame. We had such nice wigs, plus Seb's bald now so...”

“Okay but for real,” she leans in conspiratorially, “what was your real reaction when you found out you had to do all those intense, steamy scenes with Sebastian Stan? Be honest.”

You raise a brow. “They gave me a heads-up, and I was like, ‘Okay, yeah. Acting. Professional. No big deal.’ And then I saw it was Sebastian... and I texted him immediately like, ‘Guess we’re gonna be making out a lot." you smiled .

She laughs. “And what did he say?”

You do your best impression of him, low and casual: “‘Can’t wait. Bring breath mints.’”

You're both laughing when Lewis Pullman appears at your side, handsome in his deep navy tux, his presence warm and familiar. You grin.

“Lewis!”

He swoops in like a rom-com lead, pressing a kiss to your cheek and slipping an arm around your waist. “You’re stealing the show, Y/N,” he says with a mock sigh, “and making the rest of us look like amateurs.”

The interviewer perks up. “Bob and Sage had some pretty intense scenes too! How was it working together?”

You and Lewis exchange a glance and burst into laughter.

“She slapped me five times,” he deadpans.

You gasp. “You deserved it! Bob kept betraying her! Also I was method acting,” you defend yourself.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” he looks at you with an eyebrow raised.

You’re both laughing again, leaning into each other like two chaos twins. Lewis has always been easy to be around. A good friend. A great scene partner.

Then—

“Take your hands off my girl,” a familiar voice cuts through the noise behind you, playful but with a razor-edge undertone. I

You glance to your other side and there he is.

Sebastian Stan.

Sharp jaw, no hair, tailored black suit that fits like sin. He’s smirking, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in his blue eyes as he reaches down and gently pries Lewis’s hand from your waist.

Lewis lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh no. I’ve crossed a line.”

Sebastian steps between you with exaggerated slowness, wrapping his arms around you from behind like he’s claiming you in front of every lens. You laugh as his chin finds its way to your shoulder.

Lewis lifts both hands. “I surrender to the Winter Soldier,” he jokes, retreating backward. “No hard feelings.”

“Love you, Lew!” you call after him, blowing a kiss.

Just as your fingers flick out toward the air, Sebastian catches your wrist mid-motion, tugging it down. “Hell no!” he yells, holding you tighter. “I’m still recovering from the forest kiss scene between you two. Let me have this.”

The interviewer, now fully invested in this dramatic live soap opera, raises an eyebrow. “So… you don’t like sharing, Sebastian?”

He frowns. “I’m an only child. Sharing was never my thing.” He press his lips together and raised a shoulder.

You elbow him gently. “You shared your cereal with me on set.”

“Yeah,” he says, dead serious, “because you were hangry and I feared for my life.”

You lean into him, giggling. Before your heart can fully explode, the interviewer recovers, eyes wide with delight.

“Okay, I have to ask: How did you two manage to have that much chemistry in such emotionally complicated scenes? Like—what was the secret? Because it felt real.”

You and Sebastian exchange a look, and for a moment, everything around you falls away—the cameras, the crowd, the lights. It’s just you and him. Your teasing fades, and something warmer, softer settles between you.

“We trust each other,” you say quietly.

Sebastian nods. “Yeah. We’ve been close for a long time, and we’re super comfortable together. That makes all the difference when you’re filming scenes that intense.”

You glance up at him, and he smiles like he means something more than what he's saying. Like maybe he’s not just talking about acting.

The interviewer grins. “Well, you’re a lucky girl. Not only did you get to kiss Sebastian Stan, but also Lewis Pullman!”

Sebastian's smile drops into a playful scowl. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, throwing his head back, still holding you close, “I’m gonna kill him.”

You snort with laughter, your head falling back against his shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Am I? Or am I just passionate about my craft?” he teases, arms tightening around you.

“Your craft?”

“Making sure no one else kisses you.”

You pretend to gasp. “But what about acting?”

“Oh, I’m method now too,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. “And in my method, Sage ends up with Bucky. No question.”

You flash a mischievous smile. “You know this is being livestreamed, right?”

“Good,” Sebastian says, pulling you close again. “Let the world know: Bucky Barnes doesn’t share. And I don’t either.” his face turns serious to the camera.

The cameras are still clicking. The interviewer is still grinning. But it’s clear—you and Sebastian have created a moment. One that’s blurring the line between script and reality more and more every day.

And maybe, just maybe, the red carpet isn’t the only thing heating up tonight.

---

The afterparty is chaos.

The rooftop is packed with celebrities doing that very specific rich-and-unbothered laugh, cameras flashing under violet lights, drinks in every hand. Someone from Euphoria is dancing on a table. There are seven different conversations happening around you, but all you can focus on is the man at your side: Lewis.

You're tucked into a dimly lit corner lounge, both perched too close on a velvet couch. Your heels are long gone, drink half gone, and Lewis is leaning in just a little too much—like he’s daring you to do something about it.

You laugh at something he says—loud, exaggerated—and lay a hand on his thigh, partly for balance, partly because you know who’s watching from across the room.

Sebastian Stan.

He’s standing near the bar, nursing a whiskey and glaring over the rim of his glass like a man plotting a murder.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Lewis whispers, grinning like the devil.

You blink innocently. “Why? What’d you do?”

He glances at Sebastian and whispers, “That man’s been trying to set me on fire with his eyes for fifteen minutes.”

You snort, then lean into Lewis’s side. “Maybe he’s just mad you made me moan in that cabin scene.”

“Oh, you made the noise,” Lewis says, raising an eyebrow. “I just held your hips and prayed.”

You both laugh, and Lewis tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. It’s soft. Gentle. A move straight out of the rom-com handbook.

You pretend not to notice that Sebastian is now walking directly toward you, murder in his eyes and jaw clenched so hard you swear his molars are screaming for help.

Lewis notices. “He’s coming,” he says under his breath.

You grin and throw your arm around Lewis’s shoulders.

“Y/N,” Sebastian says coolly as he arrives, eyes flicking to Lewis’s hand on your bare thigh. “Having fun?”

“Oh, loads,” you purr. “Lewis was just reminding me of that day we filmed in the lake, remember? When I had to sit in his lap soaked to the bone while he whispered in my ear?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “Oh, I remember.”

Lewis smirks, wiggling his brows. “She kept slipping. Real slippery witch, this one.”

You let out a scandalized laugh and lightly slap his chest. “Don’t call me that.” Sebastian cuts in, reaching down and physically removing Lewis’s hand from your thigh.

“Okay,” he says with a tight smile. “Time for someone to go get another drink.”

Lewis raises both hands. “Hey, man, we’re just talking.” He stands, hands raised in surrender. “I’ll leave you two to your... unresolved tension, again.”

You dissolve into giggles, letting your arms loop around his neck. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re evil,” he growls. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Me?” you say, mock-offended. “I was just talking. Being friendly. Laughing.”

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You touched his thigh.”

You grin. “And?”

“I know that look on your face,” he mutters. “You were trying to kill me.”

You tilt your head. “Did it work?”

He groans under his breath. “You’re insane.”

“You’re possessive.”

“You love it.”

You hum. “Maybe I do.”

This was incredibly incredible. You two had never been so obvious about your flirting and your desire for each other. I mean, everyone could tell, but you were feigning insanity. The extra drinks really gave you the courage you both lacked to be able to confront each other about what you both wanted.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands are still around your waist, but his grip tightens just slightly. His eyes drop to your mouth, then rise again.

“Say it,” he whispers.

You blink. “Say what?”

“That you wanted me jealous.”

You shrug. “Maybe.”

“That you like when I get territorial.”

“Maybe.”

“That you think about kissing me every time we film a scene and I touch your neck.”

Your breath catches. You’re definitely not grinning now. That hit somewhere deep.

“I—” you start.

But then, once again, the universe decides you don’t get to finish that sentence. A reporter—cheerful, bubbly, and so unaware of what she’s interrupting—appears next to you both.

“Hi! So sorry, can I grab you two for a few quick questions?”

Sebastian lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like a growl.

You nod sweetly. “Of course!”

The interviewer smiles, clearly giddy to have both of you in frame.

“So,” she begins. “You and Sebastian have some of the most talked-about chemistry in Marvel history. Like, it’s wild. How did you build that kind of… connection?”

Here we go again. Damn.

You blink slowly, trying not to laugh. Sebastian’s hand is still on your hip, fingers curled with purpose.

You clear your throat. “Well, you know… we’re just really close. Like, disgustingly close. We’ve known each other for years.”

The interviewer beams. “Right! Friends-to-lovers energy.”

Sebastian smirks. “More like friends with tension.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Or friends who pretend not to want to climb each other like trees.”

The reporter gasps, delighted. “So how do you keep it professional."

You and Sebastian both start to talk at the same time. Then pause. Then laugh. You answer first. “Lots of deep breathing. And threatening to punch him if he looked at my boobs again.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Okay, first of all, your boobs were out. Second, the director told me to look.”

You turn back to the camera. “Anyway, it’s been a dream filming with these guys. Real gentlemen. So cuties and very talented lips.” you joked.

The reporter finally thanks them and leaves. Surprisingly for you, Sebastian also leaves. You understood perfectly well that he didn't like you mentioning...well...Bob, again.

You lower your voice. “I wasn’t really flirting with Lewis. You know that, right?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicker over your face, searching.

“I just…” you continue, quietly. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know where the line is anymore.”

He steps closer. “Then let’s cross it.”

Your heart stops.

He leans in again—close enough that his breath hits your cheek. “Let’s cross it and burn it down behind us.”

You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

“Sebastian…”

He dips lower. His mouth brushes your jaw.

“You want filthy?” he whispers. “You have no idea how filthy I could be if I didn’t have to pretend this was a game.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s talk about that".

"Yeah, we’re going to talk about this, at my place...right now" He grins. Sharp. Dangerous.

“Lead the way.” you whispered.

---

The second the door to Sebastian’s apartment clicks shut behind you, the silence is almost deafening. No more cameras. No more lights. Just the low hum of the city beyond the windows and the sound of your heels clicking softly against his hardwood floor as you walk in ahead of him.

You hear the door lock. Then—

“You’re insane,” Sebastian says from behind you, voice low and still laced with the bite of jealousy that’s been simmering since the afterparty.

You turn slowly, one brow raised. “Why?"

He looks at you feral "that mini-dress, fuckying killing me"

“You’re the one who watched all night and didn’t do a thing about it,” you tease, legs crossing, your dress riding just a little higher. “I figured maybe you liked it.”

“Oh, I did.” He stops right in front of you. “Liked it so much I nearly walked across that party and threw you over my shoulder when he touched your thigh.”

You smile slowly. “You should’ve.”

There’s a beat of charged silence. Then he steps between your knees, crowding your space, his fingers trailing up your exposed thigh like he’s daring himself.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice thick with want, “how close you were to starting something we wouldn’t be able to finish.”

Your breath catches as he leans in, his mouth barely brushing yours.

“You really think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me every time we had to film a kiss?” he continues. “Or how you made that noise in the lake scene—the one that wasn’t in the script?”

You tilt your head, your voice breathy but teasing. “We were acting.”

His mouth brushes your jaw, then your ear. “You weren’t acting. Neither was I.”

And that’s it. The thread snaps.

You pull him into a kiss—fast, hungry, weeks of tension exploding all at once. He groans into your mouth, one arm winding around your waist, the other gripping your thigh like he’s never letting go. You don’t know who’s guiding who anymore, but suddenly you’re flat on the couch and he’s over you, lips trailing down your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone in a way that makes you gasp.

“You’re evil,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the corner of your jaw. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” you manage between kisses. “And what am I doing now?”

“Trying to ruin me.” He sits back just enough to strip off his shirt, watching your eyes trail over his chest like you’re starving. “And it’s working.”

You laugh breathlessly, tugging your dress over your head and tossing it somewhere—anywhere. “You’re not exactly resisting.”

He looks down at you—half-naked, flushed, waiting—and groans, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s trying to keep it together.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

You pull him back down by his belt loops. “Then stop wasting time.”

He kisses you again, deeper now, rougher, and you swear the air between you crackles. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your ribs, cupping your jaw as he breathes you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You were killing me with Lewis,” he says hoarsely, pressing hot kisses down your neck. “Touching him, laughing like that, letting him call you ‘slippery.’”

You gasp a laugh. “Jealous?”

“More like homicidal.”

You hum. “Well, you’ve got me now. Do something about it.”

He growls, actually growls, and the next thing you know, your panties are gone, his pants are gone, and the only thing between you is one last shred of self-control—which neither of you has any interest in keeping.

“Tell me you want this,” he says suddenly, voice quiet but intense.

You stare up at him, legs wrapped around his hips, heart racing. “I’ve always wanted this.”

That’s all it takes.

When he finally sinks into you, you both go quiet—like the air’s been punched out of your lungs. His forehead drops to yours, his eyes locked on yours as he begins to move, slow and deep, like he’s trying to memorize every sound you make.

You lose track of time—of how many times he makes you shake, makes you beg, makes you laugh between moans when he says things like “You gonna flirt with Lewis now, sweetheart? Or should I remind you who made you scream tonight?”

And God, the way he holds your face when you come undone is almost worse than everything else. Because it’s soft. Real. Worshipful.

“You’re mine,” he whispers at the end, breath ragged. “You don’t get to do that shit with anyone else anymore.”

You’re too dazed to be smug. But you still whisper, “Possessive much?”

He kisses your temple. “You love it.”

You smile into his skin. “Maybe I do.”

He grins against your cheek, still wrapped around you, and murmurs, “I hope Lewis hears you screaming next time.”

You laugh. “You hope?”

He shrugs. “I might leave the window open.”

---

You wake up tangled in a mess of white sheets and warm skin, the sun sneaking through half-closed blinds. There’s a weight draped across your waist—an arm, heavy and possessive even in sleep—and the unmistakable press of a broad, bare chest at your back.

You try to move.

The arm tightens.

“No,” Sebastian grumbles into your hair, voice raspy and wrecked. “Mine.”

You snort softly, blinking at the sunlight. “You say that like you didn’t absolutely destroy me last night.”

“You’re still breathing. Barely.” He noses your neck lazily, then mutters, “Need to try harder next time.”

You hum, stretching a little under the sheets. “There’s going to be a next time?”

His head lifts just slightly, enough for you to feel the smirk against your skin. “Sweetheart, after what you did to me on that couch, you’re never getting rid of me.”

You laugh, turning to face him. His hair’s a mess, his stubble is rough, and he looks unfairly good for someone who kept you up half the night saying things you’re absolutely never repeating in public.

The phone on the nightstand buzzes. Once. Twice. Then three rapid pings in a row.

Sebastian groans again. “Don’t. Let it die. Don’t ruin this moment.”

You glance over, squinting at the screen. “It’s Lewis.”

Sebastian makes a strangled noise. “Block him.”

You grin. “He sent a selfie. He’s outside. With coffee.”

Sebastian shoots upright like he’s been electrocuted. “WHAT.”

You’re giggling now, absolutely no shame. “He says—and I quote—‘I heard the window sex. I brought peace offerings and noise-canceling earbuds.’”

Sebastian drops back onto the bed with a groan of despair. “I hate him. He’s banned. He’s not allowed near you. Or this apartment. Or air.”

You’re laughing too hard to respond at first. “You did say you hoped he heard.”

“I meant metaphorically! Not literally!”

Another ping. You look again.

“Okay, now he’s saying, ‘You’re welcome, Stan. My flirting finally got your dumbasses to bone. Took you long enough.’”

Sebastian sits up, grabs your phone, and types something furiously. Then pauses. Looks at you.

“Can I send him a picture of the hickeys?”

You grin. “Only if I can be in it.”

He turns to you, eyes flickering with that same heat from last night. “Say that again and we’re not making it to coffee.”

Your hands slide up his chest. “Not a problem. I like my breakfast hot and mouthy.”

His grin is filthy. “That so?”

Before you can answer, he’s kissing you again, dragging you back down into the pillows like he didn’t already spend all night wrecking you, like he’s still starving. You melt into it—laughing against his lips, loving how smug and possessive and still somehow your ridiculous best friend he is.

You break the kiss long enough to whisper, “So… this a thing now?”

He tilts his head, brushes his thumb along your jaw. “Was a thing the second you made that lake scene way too real.”

You smile. “And the possessive streak?”

He kisses your neck. “Only when Lewis is breathing near you.”

You smirk. “Guess we’ll have to invite him over more often.”

Sebastian pulls back, scandalized. “Woman.”

You laugh so hard you almost fall off the bed.

[andulina567]

Yeah…

[andulina567]

Philophobia (Part 8)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Platonic!Reader

Chapter Summary: The four of you follow Sharon to her place and you have a conversation with Joaquin, Nagel meets his end and you are rocked by an explosion.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Slight Fluff, Revisiting Past, Mentions of Depression and Phobias, Isolation, Loneliness, Funeral, Guns/Bullets, Alcohol, Injuries, Concussion, Bruises, Explosion, Joaquin loves Reader so much, Steve Rogers Hate- click off if you’re not interested in that, that’s all I think!

AN: had to change the chronology of the episode to fit the story better, hope you all understand!

Ps: I am NOT a medical expert or a medical student. Apologies for any medical inaccuracies.

Turns out, you had underestimated Sharon’s ‘place’.

She was an exhibitor now and her flat was right above the exhibition hall. Your eyes widened as you took in all the expensive paintings. They were all real.

“Holy shit”, you whispered and Bucky’s mouth fell open slightly.

Sam scoffed and addressed Sharon, “Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.”

Sharon smirked, “I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets”, Sam quipped and you whipped your head to look at him in shock.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet, Van Gogh. Classics”, Bucky informed Sam and he looked surprised, you nodded your head and confirmed that whatever Bucky was saying, is the truth.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this”, you added and Sharon threw a smug smile over her shoulder at you, “Can definitely trust a Stark on that.”

Sam scoffed lightly, “Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam”, while searching it up on his phone.

Bucky stood next to him, peering over his shoulder in his phone, “Yeah. What’s Google say?”

You folded your lips to stop the smile from taking over your face.

Sam looked at his screen and his mouth fell open in disbelief, “No shit”, he murmured. You giggled lowly and nudged Sam.

“You guys need to change. I’m hosting clients in an hour”, Sharon instructed and went upstairs, Zemo following her after finishing his little tour around the exhibit.

“You okay, kid? Didn’t get hurt or anythin’?”, Sam asked you in concern, keeping a close eye on you, understanding that a mission must’ve been daunting for you after a year of not doing any of them. Bucky gave you the same concerned father look.

You pursed your lips and nodded, “Yeah. I’m good. Don’t worry.”

You’re not about to trauma dump on them about how nervous you were, how much you hated that you didn’t have your suit or the necklace that your dad made for you in case of emergency right now.

Sam gave you a one-over before nodding at you, trusting your words and the three of you quietly made your way upstairs.

-

Sharon had given all of you clothes to wear, and you were shocked at her collection. She had all the luxury brands and latest fashion for everyone. She’d picked out a beautiful, classy outfit for you—it was similar to what Zemo had given you but with a maroon turtle neck, black wide-legged pants, black heeled shoes and a deep-maroon leather trench coat, in case you had to step out. You felt sharp and comfortable, exactly how you liked your outfits to feel.

After cleaning up and setting your hair, you just stared at your reflection in the mirror. The last time you had dressed up so well, was for your father’s funeral—the thought leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. It was so fucked up that you had to be presentable during a fucking funeral. All you wanted to do, was wrap yourself in your dad’s jacket and t shirts and sleep the entire day away. The jackets and t shirts that lingered with the smell of his clean cologne and aftershave.

“Honey, please. We have to-”

“I’m not wearing that. Please, leave me alone”, you snapped at Pepper and she sighed, a helpless tear slipping from her eye before Rhodey gently asked her to step away, assuring her that he’d handle this.

You were lying on your bed with your back to the door. The surface of the pillow underneath your cheek was damp and hot from the constant stream of tears falling down your face, arms tightly wrapped around your body and your nose buried in the sweater that he had worn while making the gauntlet. The very gauntlet that cost him his life. There was a wet patch on it, from the tears falling off the bridge of your nose, but all that mattered was that it still smelled like him.

Like Tony Stark. Like your dad.

You felt the bed dip next to you and a heavy, yet caring, hand landed on your shoulder. You recognised it right away. It was your Uncle Rhodey.

“Sweetheart…c’mon. We’re all waiting for you. He’s waiting for you”, his solemn voice rang out in your still room. You looked so small, curled up into a ball and sobbing like a child, that he felt like you were 10 years old again, his heart clenching in pain at the thought.

Your body shuddered as you took in a breath, shaking your head in denial and cuddled deeper into the soft fabric of the sweater, eyes brimming with a fresh wave of tears.

“Kid, c’mon. You can carry the sweater with you, I promise. You- we gotta do this, alright? And we can’t do this without you. He’d curse us if we did that”, Rhodey joked lightly with a wobbly voice, feeling his own eyes burn with tears.

You let out a soft cry, “I-I want him back, Rhodey. I-I’m..I can’t do this.. I can’t… I can’t-”

“(Name)?”

A voiced snapped you out of the memory and you jumped, looking at your damp face in the mirror.

“(Name)?”, Sharon’s voice called out again.

“Uh-”, you attempted to clear your throat and took a deep breath in to calm down, “Y-Yeah?”

“Are you done? We’re leaving in five.”

You shut your eyes tightly and leaned against the sink, your arms supporting your weight, taking a deep breath in to calm your shaky voice, “Uh- Yeah. I’ll be there. Give me a moment.”

You heard her faint ‘alright’ and you looked up, your face a damp and wet mess with all the crying. Letting out a tired sigh, you grab some tissues from underneath the sink and dab your face, getting rid of any evidence that you had cried and shoved back the painful memory into the deep recesses of your mind.

Now, you just prayed that Bucky or Sam’s sneaky and hyper vigilant asses didn’t catch the changes in you.

-

You stepped out of the bathroom and joined the rest in the seating area. Bucky was wearing an all black outfit as usual— black pants, black t shirt and a black blazer, Sam in an olive green turtleneck, brown leather jacket and black pants and Zemo in a black turtleneck and pants with his ridiculous furred-hoodie-coat on top.

This was your first time seeing Bucky in something so fancy and Sam in something so stylish, you threw an appreciative look at them. They looked really good and sharp.

“Look at you guys! Ready to party, huh?”, teasing them lightly, you flashed them a sincere smile.

Bucky lifted the corner of his mouth in a half hearted smile and Sam smugly crossed his arms, flexing his arms in exaggeration.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Stark”, Sam complimented you and you did a little pose to humour him. Sam let out a chuckle and clapped his hand on your shoulder. Bucky, on the other hand, stared at you intensely.

“What took you so long?”, he asked.

You paused and your smile slowly faltered.

“Yeah actually, I was wonderin’ the same”, Sam asked in a curious tone.

You swallowed and let out a nervous chuckle, “Uh-I-I couldn’t find my hairbrush”, and cursed inwardly for stammering through the sentence.

The two of them stared you down suspiciously and exchanged a look with each other. You shuffled on your feet under their scrutiny when Sharon announced that you had to go downstairs now. Letting out a sigh of relief, you gave them a tight lipped smile and told them you’d wait by the bar counter and swiftly exited the room.

“So…it wasn’t just a hairbrush, right?”, Sam asked Bucky and he nodded in agreement.

“Definitely not. Their face was damp and eyes were red.”

Sam hummed thoughtfully, “Just be…gentle and careful if you end up asking them about it, yeah?”

Bucky nodded once again and the two of them headed out.

-

Nursing a glass of coca-cola in your hand, you leaned your weight against the counter and lazily observed the club around you. The loud music was kind of overstimulating but you had managed to zone out, your mind wandering in places it shouldn’t have when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket.

Joaquin was calling you. You nearly choked on your drink before calming down and tucking yourself against a quiet corner. Taking a few breaths in, you finally received the call.

“‘Sup, Midnight”, Joaquin answered coolly.

You straightened up. He had called you by your…superhero name. You cringed at that because you were no superhero or whatever. But you didn’t correct him because…it sounded really good coming from him.

“Hey, Flyboy”, you sighed into the speaker.

“So…I heard you guys are partying right now?”

You scoffed, “Less partying, more keeping an eye out for a certain doctor who remade the serum.”

Joaquin whistled lowly, “Damn. How’s Madripoor treating you?”

“It’s trashy, smelly, shady and boring”, you deadpanned.

Joaquin let out a chuckle. You smiled at that.

“Atleast you don’t have to wear a green, thick, army uniform and go on recon in the heat”, he groaned.

You chuckled and it was quiet for a moment before he spoke up again, “Um..”, he hesitated, letting out a breath, “A-Are you okay?”

Your heart soared. Was that the reason why he called you? He wanted to check in on you?

Your voice softened, “Yeah. I’m okay, Quino. Not even a scratch.”

You heard the way he inhaled deeply, “That’s good. That’s really good. So…are we still on for that date?”, he asked shyly, his voice toned down.

You bit the inside of your cheek in nervousness. The fact that you had agreed to a date was still scary and you could practically feel your brain screaming at you to cancel it right away. But your poor heart was already in Joaquin’s gentle hands.

You cleared your throat before quietly replying, “..Yes. It’s still on, flyboy.”

You heard a small ‘yes!’ on the phone and smiled in disbelief. He was such a silly man.

“Okay! Okay, great, great, great. Uh- just- come back safely, okay? I’ll be waiting for you”, he replied, excitement and fondness bleeding into his voice.

You bit your lower lip to suppress the wide smile threatening to take over your face and that’s when your eyes fell on Sam and Bucky standing by the counter.

“Joaquin, I really have to go. Work calls. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah, of course. Bye, (Nickname).”

You smiled bashfully, “Bye, Quino.”

After ending your call you made your way back to the counter and on your way you saw Zemo dancing in the crowd. You made a face and shivered before approaching the two men.

“Did you guys see Zemo dancing?”, you grimaced.

“Unfortunately”, Bucky quipped and you and Sam let out a snort.

“Hey guys, I found him”, Sharon informed you in the ear piece and the three of you exchanged a look before stepping outside.

“Where were you?”, Sam asked you.

You lied through your teeth, “The music was too loud. Needed some air”, and shrugged casually.

Bucky side eyed you, nudging Sam with his arm.

“Okay…you sure you’re alright?”, Sam asked you with a concerned look on his face.

You gave him a tentative smile. The two of them were worried for you and you understood that. You just didn’t know if you could handle another breakdown without sabotaging the whole mission and that would send you into an even bigger spiral of endless guilt.

“Yeah, I’m okay, guys. I-I promise I’ll tell you if I need some time out”, you reassured them and Sam looped an arm around you in comfort.

You caught Bucky’s eye and he flashed you a small smile, letting you know that both of them had your back and you felt your throat close up again.

Suddenly, a thought crossed your mind—you regarded Sam and Bucky as your family now. You felt taken care of, protected and wanted by them. This is what you’d been missing for the past one year. And you got it back. You got your family back.

You just gave Bucky a wet smile before sniffling and grabbed Sam’s hand that was around your shoulder.

-

“Madripoor could give New York a run for its money. They know how to party”, Sam quipped and you scoffed.

The five of you were in a dockyard, and apparently, Nagel’s lab was inside one of those containers. This whole situation was sketchy and you, for some reason, couldn’t help but feel a sense of impending doom in the bottom of your stomach. And because of that, you had forgone your trench coat, feeling like it was going to suffocate you and hinder your movement.

Sharon separated from the five of you, keeping a watch on any intruders, while the four of you looked out for the container Nagel was in, based on Sharon’s instructions.

“With that bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving. All right. He’s in there. Container four-two-six-one. I’ll watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time”, she instructed in your ear pieces.

Eventually you did end up finding the container. It was empty and after trying to locate any kind of opening to a room that resembles a lab in it, all of you were almost sure, that this was a trap.

“Hey, Sharon. You sure this is the right one? It’s completely empty.”

“Positive. It has be”, Sharon’s voice came in the comm.

You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned closer to a gap in the walls of the container.

“Guys”, you called out for them to observe it.

Bucky pried open the crack with ease and the four of you stepped inside a room that was definitely a lab. Bathed in blue light, several lab apparatus and work tables lined up, high tech machinery, test tubes—it was a proper lab with Mel Tormé’s Comin’ Home Baby bursting through the speakers.

There, in the middle of the room, was a work station with a man sitting by it, his back to the door. He didn’t sense any of you come in so you tip toed your way across the room, Bucky leaning against one of the shelves, you next to him, Zemo, was eerily quiet and chose to lurk behind while Sam was approaching the man.

“Dr. Nagel?”

The man turned around and gasped loudly. He was very shabby-looking. Messy curls, dark eye bags, lanky, his eyes blown wide and a tremor to his hands.

“Who are you? What do you want?”, Nagel asked in alarm.

“We know you created the super-soldier serum”, Bucky stated lazily, his whole stance unbothered, as if he couldn’t believe that all of you were wasting time on this meek, distracted man.

“Get out of my lab”, Nagel spit out and tried to leave when Sam stopped him.

“Hey!”, then he pointed at Zemo, “You know who he is, right? This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him, too, right? You seem like a pretty smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick”, Sam tried to reason, in an attempt to get Nagel to confess.

Nagel sweeped his eyes across your group and you could see the gears turning around in his head.

“How about a counter proposal? Make me a better offer and I’ll talk”, he bargained, a weird look on his face.

You exchanged glances with Bucky when Sharon chimed in through the ear piece.

“Guys, we have company.”

And you heard some grunts before she continued, “Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go!”, her voice rushed and breathless.

Bucky clenched his jaw and cocked his gun. Nagel took notice of it and his eyes widened.

“Okay! Okay..”, he placated and Bucky pulled his gun back. Nagel sat down on his chair and addressed you all.

“I was brought into HYDRA’s Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When HYDRA fell, I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do. But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.”

You furrowed your brows. All this and nobody knew what happened?

“How have we never heard about this?”

Nagel looked at you, a thin smile pulling at his lips, “Because… Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.”

“How many vials did you make?”, Sam asked.

“Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so… I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl”, he admitted in his breathy, nonchalant voice.

“Well, what happened to her?”, Sam asked hurriedly.

Nagel shrugged and replied coolly, “Not my pig. Not my farm.”

You rolled your eyes and put your hands on your hips in irritation, “Well, is there any serum in this lab?”

“No.”

You groaned, “Now what?”

Sharon’s breathless voice chimed in again, multiple grunts and gunshots going off around her. “Guys we’re seriously out of time here!”

Before any of you could react, a gunshot went off and you saw Nagel crash to the floor, a bullet lodged straight into the middle of his forehead.

Your eyes widened and Sam and Bucky whipped around to see Zemo standing there with his gun raised.

“No! What did you do?”, Sam asked Zemo in distress and shock.

You snapped out of your shocked trance when you heard a faint ‘tick tick’.

“Guys. Do you hear that?”, you asked them in alarm, the sound eerily similar to a ticking bomb.

And before any of you had a chance to move, there was a huge blast in the lab, followed by a fire that licked your skin in hot tendrils, and the blast broke down the wall, throwing the four of you outside.

You landed on your back, hitting your head against the concrete harshly and your lungs closing up in suffocation from the smoke and pain from the bruises. There were several cuts on your arms, likely from the glasses that were broken due to the blast.

You gasped, hands supporting your head and breath hitching from the effort to avoid hurting your ribs anymore. Your body curled around yourself in pain, tiny whimpers leaving your mouth and eyes brimming with tears. Somebody was saying something, the sound muffled in your ears because of the ringing in them.

“(Name)! Look at me, hey. Kid, c’mon-”, gentle yet strong hands carefully removed yours from your head and lifted you slightly to rest it on a balled up fabric.

You tried to open your bleary eyes, face scrunched in pain and discomfort. All you saw were stars behind your closed eyelids.

“Anybody see Zemo?”

“Nah. (Name), look at me”, hands patted your cheeks and tried to wake you up.

“Are they okay?”, another concerned voice asked, their hands pushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead.

You whimpered and managed to open your eyes, Sam and Bucky’s blurry figures looming over you.

“I-it hurts”, you whispered and blinked your eyes rapidly to get rid of the fog. Sam placed his fingers below your eyes, trying to peer into your unfocused eyes.

“Shit. I think they’re concussed”, Sam declared in concern, his eyes darting between your face and Bucky.

“Try to keep ‘em awake. I’ll handle the situation outside, yeah?”, Bucky instructed Sam and patted his back, before leaving you and Sam in the container.

“Kid? Hey, open your eyes for me. C’mon…”, Sam kept patting your cheeks lightly and you finally opened them, wincing before squinting them to look at Sam’s distressed face.

“Hey, hey.. you’re okay. Move your eyes along my finger, alright?”, he gently instructed and you let out a low hum.

Sam moved his pointer finger from side to side and your tired eyes followed it, although you kept wincing in pain every now and then.

Satisfied with his examination, Sam lowered his finger, “Alright, it’s not that bad of an injury. Just got your bell rung a lil’ too hard. What else hurts, sweetheart?”, he asked softly, trying not to trigger a headache by talking too loudly.

You groaned, “M-my..my ribs…I think…they’re bruised..”

“Is it okay if I check?”, Sam asked your permission and you nodded. He gently lifted your turtleneck and exposed your torso. Sam let out a sigh and furrowed his brows. Your torso was decorated with black and blue splotches, your stomach heaving harshly because of the pain around the area. He then lightly picked up your arms to take in the various cuts on them, all of them irritated and red.

“Yep, ribs are bruised. I’ll carry you, okay? Just sit up for sometime to get rid of the disorientation, Hm?”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. Sam carefully helped you sit up halfway through, supporting your head in his hands to avoid jostling you around too much. You let out pained whimpers and Sam kept apologising, your eyes squinting in discomfort.

“How’s it goin’?”, Bucky’s voice rang out in the empty container and he crouched next to you, taking in your exhausted body.

“The concussion is mild but…their torso…most likely the ribs are bruised. And the cuts on the arms…”, Sam mumbled.

Bucky let out a breath and ducked his head, face shifting in guilt.

“Let’s go. We’ll treat ‘em in the plane”, he murmured and Sam nodded before moving to pick you up in his arms.

After many cries of pain and Sam struggling to find a proper way to pick you up without hurting you any further, he finally managed to find a way and carried you out of the container, Bucky leading the way. You leaned your head against his shoulder, his jacket thrown around your head to avoid the light agitating you further.

You could faintly hear Sharon asking if you’re okay, but after that everything was a blur.

-

Sam laid you down on the pull-out bed in the plane and put five ice packs on your body— one below your head and four on your torso. He had bandaged your cuts tentatively, promising you that he’ll find some meds once you land. You kept drowsing in and out of an exhausted and restless nap, your body finally relaxing from the cool effect of the ice packs. Everything else around you was a blur, sounds were muffled as you were trapped in a limbo of passing out and stay awake.

Sam and Bucky sat opposite to you, Bucky meticulously cleaning his vibranium arm, a permanent frown etched on his face while Sam was taking to Joaquin on the phone.

“—Donya Madani. She’s a refugee, yeah.”

“Okay, I’m on it”, came Joaquin’s instant reply.

“Okay, call me if you get a hit.”

“Will do”, he reassured Sam.

“Thanks, Torres”, Sam sighed in exhausted and something else that was inching closer to guilt and regret for bringing you along.

“Um-Sam?”, Joaquin asked hesitantly.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, “Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”, he asked in concern.

Sam froze. He just hoped Joaquin wouldn’t ask him about you.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well—I was just..I dunno…I was feelin’ restless ever since you told me that you’re leaving for the dockyard…and-”, Joaquin paused, caught between telling Sam about the growing closeness between you and him and hiding it instead.

Sam’s eyebrow quirked, “And what?”

Joaquin sighed, he couldn’t hide anything from Sam. Especially after he knew everything and guided him in every way.

“….and, I was tryin’ to contact (Name). They’re not picking up my calls or answering my texts…I was just worried”, he admitted sheepishly.

Sam pinched his nose between his fingers and Bucky looked at him in question.

“Uh- well. They’re okay. But—”

Joaquin’s POV

Joaquin froze at Sam’s hesitation. He was already on edge ever since you didn’t pick up his call after the ninth text. He was this close to boarding the next flight to flying down to Madripoor himself.

“Sam, is everything okay?”, he asked quietly, his heart beating out of his chest.

“There was an explosion in the lab. We got thrown out of it and uh- they landed too hard on their head. Mild concussion, some cuts on the arms and bruised ribs, that’s all. Nothin’ serious.”

Joaquin didn’t move or speak for a moment, taking in the information one breath at a time.

“W-what? Are you sure they’re okay? Are they awake? Can I talk to them-”

“Hey, hey, man. ‘s alright, take a deep breath for me. They’re a lil’ out of it right now but they’re okay, I promise. I’ll facetime you once they wake up, okay? Don’t worry.”

Joaquin pressed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat faster, his quickened breaths making him a little dizzy. He closed his eyes in resignation. This was new to him. He knew you from afar, he was more of a fan before, but now? Now he had only spent a week or so with you, you were just becoming friends and yet…yet, he was feeling restless ever since you had left. The constant worry about you and your safety making him sick.

He swallowed thickly before softly replying, “Y-yeah. Okay, that works. Please call me, Sam. T-take care.”

-

Sam let out a deep breath, “Yeah, I will, Joaquin. You take care as well, yeah?”

“Yeah”, he replied shortly before ending the call.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the head rest again, Bucky finally looked up and asked, “You okay?”

Sam pursed his lips, debating on what topic to start with first.

“Yeah. Just thinking about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American test subject like Isaiah wasn’t even a real person. Just makes me wonder how many people have to get steamrolled to make way for this hunk of metal. And now? The kid I promised to look after is lying unconscious next to us”, Sam conceded with an arm extended in your direction, glancing at you for a moment.

Bucky kept cleaning his vibranium fingers, “Well, it depends on who you ask. That hunk of metal saved a lot of lives. And, you’re not the only one with the guilt of dragging them in this. Stop being a martyr.”

Sam scoffed, “Yeah, I get that. All right. Maybe I made a mistake.”

“You did.”

“Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have put it in a museum. I should have destroyed it.”

“Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me. The world is upside down, and we need a new Cap, and it ain’t gonna be Walker. So before you destroy it, I’ll take it from him myself”, Bucky hit back.

Sam opened his mouth before his phone rang, Joaquin informing him about Donya Madani’s death. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Thanks. Good work.”

Sam ended the call and sighed, “They found Madani… Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.”

Bucky pursed his lips and opened his mouth to respond before Zemo interrupted their conversation.

“I have a place we can go. I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli. Little Stark can rest there and get some more treatment. Oeznik, we’re changing the course.”

Part 9

-

AN: Ooooo😛 SamBucky giving each other a lil tough love and Joaquin worried out of his mind oooh yes. Please like and reblog!

taglist: @og-baby-ob14 @littlemsramirez @thejadevvitch @giona45-5

Sorry if someone didn’t get tagged!

[andulina567]

cockwarming w bob. that's it, thats the tweet

COCKWARMING ╱ with BOB REYNOLDS ⠀◟ ୨ blurb !♥︎ minors do not interact⠀⠀⠀ ────⠀⠀⠀ headcanon based

diary notes⠀✴��·⠀i love your brain for thinking of this, i guess this is bob’s blurb that i enjoyed writing the most. touch-starved bob reynolds save me right now, pls ‹/3

he loved having physical contact with you, whether it was just hugging you, intertwining your fingers with his, or leaving loving kisses on your shoulder. bob liked everything that involved the idea of being able to touch you, of feeling your soft skin and being able to appreciate it the way he liked. he’s touch-starved, he needs it.

he took it literally when it came to deeply touching you whenever he could. not only because it was pleasurable, but because you could talk about anything while his cock was buried inside you, being warmed by your tight, comforting heat that he craved daily. you couldn’t deny him when he asked so politely, caressing your waist and giving you little kisses until you were straddling him.

telling him about your day was part of the process as he pulled his hardened length out of his boxers, moving your panties to the side just enough so he could rub himself against your soft folds. “i’m glad you had a good day, princess.” he’d murmur softly, smiling innocently as if he wasn’t trying to slip the tip of his cock inside you little by little. “i missed you, you know?”

cockwarming almost seemed so much more sentimental to him than sex itself, he liked knowing that you felt like he was a part of you, that he had the freedom to be inside you for more than just carnal pleasures. there was pleasure, for sure, but there was also a deeper connection than just what appeared to be on the surface. it made him truly happier, calmer... perhaps, it could even be said that you were, well... helping to take care of his mental health in a way.

“i missed you too.” you whispered, giving him a sweet smile as your fingers gently brushed some of his dark hair away from his face, he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen. “and your day? how was it?”

by this point, he was already completely buried inside you—which made you let out a low moan for a moment, leaving him somewhat agitated beneath you. “the drums you gave me are cool,” bob answered. he snuggled deeper into the pillow behind his head, his large hands gripping your hips, just to make sure you stayed still and comfortable in his lap while warming him the way you both loved. “but, the neighbors will complain about the noise i made all afternoon... i’m not really good at this yet.”

his little giggled warmed your chest, you leaned over him and laid your head in the crook of his neck, leaving a few soft kisses there that sent shivers down his spine. “don’t do that, i get shivers...” he complained, but it was a meaningless complaint. if you never did that again, he’d probably complain that you didn’t love him anymore and that’s why you stopped giving him little kisses on the neck.

“if the neighbors complain, i can just tell them to fuck off.” your kisses rose to the corner of his lips, your eyes staring into his ocean blue ones. “besides, they never complained about the other noises at night... why would they complain about you playing drums in the afternoon?”

his eyebrows raised at your sentence, nodding and processing the words you had said. “other noises at night?” the question was more to himself than to you, so you could almost see the light bulb go off over his head as he really understood what you meant. “oh, yeah... the other noises. you’re probably right, i guess.”

“i’m always right.” you said smugly, pressing your lips against his soft ones for a quick peck—one he didn’t want to stop so quickly. bob’s hand, which was previously caressing your hip, rose to the back of your neck, keeping your lips against his without you being able to move away completely, he didn’t want just a few pecks, not today. he was usually a little more restrained than that, but come on, he was a good boy for you all day like you told him to be when he was home alone, he deserved it.

a low growl tore from his throat, deepening the kiss as his tongue slid across your bottom lip and almost begged for entry. in an intimate dance, your tongues touched and sucked each other while his other hand pressing your hip harder to the point where it slightly hurt as he kept you pressed against him. bob wanted to feel every inch of your body, every point of heat, being buried balls deep inside you still seemed like nothing compared to how much he craved you, not just your body, but everything that means you.

there was no safer place for him than inside you, feeling your body against his, your breathing heavy and your hands against his neck, just how he wanted, the fuel he needed.

when your lips parted, he continued to pepper kisses across your cheek, simply unable to keep his lips away from your soft skin. “you get prettier when you’re flustered by something i did.” he whispered against your ear before placing one last kiss against her earlobe, snuggling into the pillows again. “i like how you widen your eyes...”

these compliments were almost typical of him, always paying attention to every little detail of your expressions, studying your reactions to what he did. bob wanted to please you, in every way, ’cause you also deserved what only he could give you and there was no doubt about that.

“princess,” he called to you when you were silent, enjoying the feeling of being filled by him. “can i sleep inside you tonight, please? your pussy is so warm and it feels good... i don’t wanna pull out. can i?” his eyes almost looked like a puppy’s, staring at you while tenderly stroked your strands of hair. he loved your hair—the color, texture and the smell of your shampoo, every little thing about it—and he knew you liked it when he petted you like that.

“you wanna sleep inside me?” it wasn’t strange, it was just a new request, you had already thought of the idea back then, but it was something new when he was the one asking you for it. “okay, baby, we can do it.” there probably wouldn’t be a day when you’d deny him something, especially when you also wanted to do it.

his smile widened as if you had given him something he had been longing for—well, in a way, that was the case—and he pressed his lips against yours once more. “thank you, sweet pea.” his hand that had remained on your hip the entire time moved, going to your ass and squeezing it, massaging the skin his fingers touched. “i’ll give you your reward in the morning, yeah? pinky promise, love. you deserve all that.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[andulina567]

Bobby

/ Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

ALL CREDITS GO TO THE AUTHORS OF THE PHOTOS

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Summery: You accidentally call him “Bobby” while he is fingering you in front of mirror

Warnings: smut (fingering) nicknames (sweetie), a little bit of angst

Word count: 418

masterlist

ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE

I whine at the reflection in the mirror that's in front of me and Bob. My naked body between his stretched out legs, his right hand at my aching center. I watched as he slid two of his fingers in again, making me squirm in his arms. His other hand was playing with my nipples. Switching between them so neither of them would be neglected.

"Feels good?" He watched me in the mirror, eyes wide with lust and urge to please me, mouth slightly open. I nodded and bit into my bottom lip. Suddenly the pace of his fingers sped up and I moaned out louder. "Use your voice, sweetie."

I looked into his eyes through the mirror. "Feels really good." A proud look fleshed over his face before he looked down to his hand.

The room was filled with nothing but my whines and moans and the sound of his fingers in me. I could feel his dick on my lower back, there was probably a wet spot on his pyjamas pants since he wasn't wearing anything under them.

I looked at his hand, the veins were even more visible than usual, I squeeze his fingers when I saw my juices leaking out of me and onto the wooden floor, there was little puddle under me. He curled his fingers a little more and started hitting the spot. The one that made my breath hitch, I let out the loudest moan and threw my head against his shoulder. He automatically sucked at my neck, undoubtedly trying to leave some marks.

"Fuck, Bobby!" And with that my back arched away from his body and I came.

He stopped everything he was doing, ruining the orgasm. My head shot up as I realised what I said. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words got stuck in my throat.

He watched my face in the mirror. I could see tears in his eyes, my heart paced but this time for different reason. How could that nickname slip out when I knew he hated it? "I'm so-"

He interrupted me by curling his fingers again, pressing his palm against my clit and kissing me. I let out surprised moan and kissed him back.

After a while he pulled back, resting his forehead against mine and continue to move his fingers. I looked at him confused. "I love it when you call me that."

Oh

Oh

I smiled at him and pecked his lips. "I love you, Bobby."

A/N: I can’t stop thinking about Bob since I watch the thunderbolts, should I share more thoughts about him?👀 requests are open

[andulina567]

Ugh I love when the reader is Tony’s child😫 love this

I Wanna Get Lost With You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Stark!Thunderbolt!Reader

Summary: After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Spoilers for Thunderbolts because everyone from Thunderbolts is in this and is involved and there is events from the movie that are mentioned :). Fluff, a hint of angst (because of the reader having a rough night…and a rough couple of years in general), Brief Mentioning of Grief and Loss, Bucky is kind of a reluctant father figure to the reader, Bob is Bob and he’s a softie who’s seen it all, Reader and Bob have an established friendship, Smut.

Smut Warnings: Hot and Heavy Makeout Session, Grinding, Cuddling with Some ✨Spice ✨(ahem…Fingering and handjobs lol), Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all, you know the drill), Bob is a softie, reader knows what she likes (a bit of a soft dominant vibe but not really). This is like a mix of comfort sex, and like purely desperate sex, you’ll see, you’ll see. Lol, Aftercare (because that’s hot too)

Author’s Note: This request was given to me by @xlittlemissydjx and I just had to do it when I read it (I also accidentally deleted the request by accident lol). I really expanded the landscape of it though, but I hope it meets what you were looking for :). Thanks I know I have a lot of pending part 2’s of one-shots, but I really couldn’t resist the opportunity to put a little bit of everything into this story, Angst, Fluff, and Smut. The holy trinity lol. Enjoy :))

Note About Requests!!!: I’m working through them! I have about 14 things I need to do! So be patient! They should all be done at varying times within the next week and a half (I get in the zone enough to get two a day out so hopefully that can help!)

Word Count: 18,416 (…Wow)

You had been tossing and turning all night, and it showed the second you stepped into the kitchen that morning. It was written in the heaviness of your steps, the way you continuously readjusted your sweater as if it was too tight–even though it was two sizes too big–, and it was painted across your eyes with the faint smudge of exhaustion that clung to the corners of them.

You had your tells–the little things that gave it away, and the team knew all of them. They knew when you didn’t get enough sleep, or when you didn’t get any sleep at all. You didn’t even have to say a word to them, they could just gauge it from your facial expressions. If you weren’t your usual chirpy self–the version of you that compensated your sadness with jokes and filled the room with noise–they knew what they were in for.

And today? You hadn’t said a word.

The moment you walked into the kitchen though you were pulled into the chaotic scene unfolding in front of you, as the scent of scorched butter hit your nose.

“I told you to spray the pan, Bob. Did you spray it or not?” Walker’s voice rang out, sharp with his distinct signature brand of early-morning frustration. He stood by the oven, hunched over it with a spatula in his hand wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a “Grill Sergeant” apron. Bob stood a few feet away, sheepish and visibly wilting by the tone that Walker was taking with him. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his fingers were busy wringing the hem of his flour-streaked sweater–the nervous habit he hadn’t kicked.

Over the past few weeks, Bob had started volunteering for kitchen duty more and more–not because he was good at it, because unfortunately he wasn’t and everyone had learned it the hard way–but because he liked the idea of it. Of helping. Of contributing back to the compound as he was in his recovery process from his incident in New York. He had also mentioned to you in passing that it helped him feel like he was normal again, and it reminded him of the simpler times.

But now, with flour scattered everywhere, batter dripping down the front of the counter, and Walker looming over him with the interrogating questions, he was clearly second-guessing his life choices.

”I…I thought I did.” He mumbled, looking around the kitchen, “I could’ve sworn I had the can in my hand.” He whispered, confused.

”Then what happened, hm?” Walker questioned, “Did the damn thing disappear out of your hand or something?” You reached up to rub the tiredness out of your eyes, letting out a sigh, which got the room's attention almost instantly–like you sucked the air out of it.

“Walker, what have I said about taking it easy on Bob, for the love of God.” Your voice wasn’t loud, because it didn’t need to be. Even with being the youngest in the group, you were seasoned enough to be feared, especially by Walker–which was always surprising for the ones who would see the both of you interact.

Bob looked over at you immediately the moment your voice broke through the room–firm and quiet, how you always were–and just like that, his posture shifted. Not completely–he was still wringing the hem of his sweater and looking sheepish–but something in him softened.

You always did that to him. You walked into a room, and it was like the gravity in the room shifted. You were never loud with him, your energy was controlled, but even if you were the loud person that you were around the others, Bob still lit up, in the same way a quiet house lights up when someone finally opens the blinds. His breathing got a little easier. His shoulders dropped just a little lower. Like he knew–even without words–that if anything ever went wrong, you’d be there to shield him from the worst of it.

And you always were, since the day you met in the O.X.E Vault, the day things changed for you–for the better of course.

You defended him the way no one else really did. The way nobody else really could replicate. You caught every nervous tick he had, you knew when to pull him out of situations he couldn’t handle, and you filled in his silences when he got overwhelmed and went quiet, answering hard questions for him with that calm, dry tone that let everyone know there were lines that were crossed.

You didn’t baby him, but you stood with him.

And Bob–who had spent so much of his life being pushed to the side, forgotten, or abused–had never really known what it was like to be protected like that, and he paid you back in the only way he knew how; by being your constant. A little planet in your very tight orbit, always trying, always showing up, always offering whatever soft, steady care he could muster.

You would say you took care of him in public, and he took care of you in private.

You’d never talked about it–not in direct words–but the arrangement was understood. He knew when to slip a cup of tea into your hand on the nights when your hands shook too hard to make one yourself. You knew when to plant yourself between him and a room full of sharp voices. He knew when to knock gently on your door and ask if you’d eaten. You knew when to tug him by the sleeve and get him out of conversations that made his breath short and his voice crack.

‘Hey, there’s only so many ruined breakfasts a man can take before he snaps.” Walker replied, holding up the pan that had what looked to be a burnt pancake glued onto it, “Look at what he did. This is literally my last one.” You didn’t even flinch. You gave the pancake a passing glance, then turned your attention back to Walker, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

”And yet somehow the world keeps spinning, Walker. Why didn’t you take the harder stuff if you knew there was a possibility of Bob ruining your prized pan?” There was a long pause, until Walker held his hands up in mock surrender.

”Fine…Fine…You’re right. I’m sorry.” You raised an eyebrow.

”And apologize to Bob.” You added, watching Walker glance sideways at him.

”Sorry, Bob.” Bob gave a quick, awkward nod.

”It’s okay…” He whispered under his breath.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the interaction to be done, as you walked from the entrance of the kitchen and made your way toward the fridge, cracking the door open to grab a chilled bottle of water. The cold bit into your palm–and you lingered there for a moment, letting the cool air brush over your skin before closing the door again.

You stepped towards Bob then.

”You good?” You asked, voice low now, like it was just meant for him. He nodded, hesitating for only a breath.

”Yeah…I-I didn’t mean to screw things up so badly…I was just trying to help.” You let out a quiet sigh. The kind that carried the tail-end of exhaustion and affection at the same time, in equal measures, giving Walker a death stare, before reaching out to Bob, patting the side of his arm. It wasn’t too soft, nor too hard–it was just right to comfort him.

“Well,” You murmured, letting a touch of warmth back into your voice, “Go help by setting up the table, okay? I’ll order some food for everyone, and if you hear Walker screaming for his life, just ignore it.” This drew out a laugh from Bob–small and unguarded, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected it to break free from his mouth in the way it did. It wasn’t loud, but it was full-bodied and real, the kind that deepened the flush that was always on his cheeks. Walker furrowed his brow from where he stood.

”What was that?” You didn’t answer him, you were already pulling your phone from the front pocket of your father’s hoodie, tapping through the food delivery app with the kind of speed that only came from someone who routinely cleaned up the emotional aftermath of other people’s messes.

”Nothing, I was just telling Bob I’m ordering breakfast for everyone, hope you like hash browns.” You said flatly, your tone disinterested as your thumb hovered over your usual go-to breakfast place, the one that you used to go to on your birthday.

Bob, still smiling faintly to himself, took this as his cue to duck out of the kitchen without another word, moving towards the dining area with a new sense of purpose. Walker watched him for a second as he left the room, leaving the two of you alone together, before shaking his head.

”You’re too soft on him.” You didn’t look up from your phone as you added seven orders of bacon to the cart.

”I’m just going to give you a friendly reminder that he helped us out of the Void and bought us time to save him, and another reminder that he saved our lives at the vault too. We owe him the softness, and the stability.” Walker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to physically scratch the tension out of his spine.

”Still. The guy’s not made of glass. I think you forget that he beat the shit out of us in this very tower.” He shot back, which made you look up from your phone.

”That was the Sentry. You know that. And you only bring that up because you’re still butthurt that your shield hasn’t been fixed.” Walker grunted, caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant defeat. He shook his head again, slower this time, then dropped his spatula into the sink.

”Fine…You win.” He muttered.

”I always do,” You replied, looking back down at your phone to add three extra croissants to the order just in case someone got picky, going to check out.

”You gonna be in the training room later, thought we could spar together.” You paused for a second, glancing up at him for a moment, before processing your order and locking your phone, sliding it back into the hoodie pocket.

”No,” You said simply, turning the cap off your water, taking a quick sip, letting the coolness spread across your chest, “It’s my day off.” You added, which caught his attention immediately.

”Off? You don’t take days off.”

“I do today, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to see me take a day off anyways…So why is this such a surprise?”Walker furrowed his brow a bit.

”It’s just a bit weird, taking a random Tuesday off, what’s the occasion?” You met his eyes, almost annoyed by the line of questioning.

“It’s just for me, that’s all.”

——————-

After cleaning up everyone’s plates after breakfast, you collected your keys from the dish on the counter and slipped them into your pocket. No one questioned you. No one stopped you.

Bob had been in the middle of rinsing out the orange juice glasses, sleeves damp with his concentration fixed on the smallest marks, like he was trying not to think too hard. You gave him a soft pat on the back as you passed. He didn’t turn, but you felt the way he leaned into it, a silent acknowledgement.

You didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t that kind of day.

Instead, you made your way down the corridor, past the glass-paneled lounge where Yelena and Ava were arguing over something that sounded like movie night logistics, and past the half-lit training room where the mats were still scuffed from the week before.

The elevator greeted you with a soft ding, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the main lobby, knowing you had to make a stop before travelling into the heart of the city. The doors slid shut in front of you, sealing off the noise of the compound, and the silence that followed settled in your chest. The elevator hummed quietly beneath your feet, the numbers ticking down slower than usual, like it knew what kind of day it was for you.

When the doors finally opened, the lobby was quiet. You stepped out quickly, turning on your heel to go down the hallway that was right beside the elevator. It was silent, cleaner than the rest of the compound, and dimmer–there was less foot traffic so that’s why it was normally lit like a mortuary. The air down this hall always felt heavier, because it was the lead up to something you visited frequently.

Your boots echoed against the polished tile, until the corridor opened into the memorial wing. A long, curved hall with framed photos and holographic projections lining both sides–names etched into the glass like ghosts.

The “Hall of the Fallen,” they called it. A name you hated to say out loud, because to you they were your people.

The entire wing had only come to be because you forced it into existence. During the final round of renovations, when Valentina wanted the east wing reserved for press briefings and high-tech sparring simulations, you had walked into her office, dropped a folder full of lawsuit drafts onto her desk, and told her plainly that if your father didn’t have a place in this building, neither would you. You knew you sounded out of line, but because the tower used to be his, you thought the leverage would be something to hold over her head.

“I will sue you into the sun,” You had said calmly, “And I’ll have Pepper on the line within the hour to back me.”

So she relented.

And now… Here it was.

Each section of the wall was backlit in soft amber light. Not cold and sterile, but warm–like candlelight. Like the kind of lighting your dad always insisted on in the Tower because he said it was more comforting and less lab-like.

Your eyes tracked instinctively toward the far right. You never had to look for it, because you knew exactly where he was, call it a daughterly instinct.

The large framed photograph of Tony Stark stood in front of you. No helmet, no Iron Man suit. Just him, in a slightly crooked tie and a hand resting on your shoulder. The image had been cropped, but you remembered where this was taken. He’d been giving a press conference and you snuck up beside him mid-speech. He had rolled his eyes and laughed, pulling you into the shot like it was nothing.

You slowly stepped forward, putting out your hand to reach for him, but before you could, you noticed someone already standing near the center of the hallway, facing a different frame.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, hair slicked back like he was going for a meeting…Bucky.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your steps. He didn’t have to. He knew you would be here. It was the anniversary of your fathers death after all.

He was standing in front of Steve’s photo–head slightly bowed, jaw clenched, like the weight of all the memories he had with him had curled itself around his spine and wouldn’t let go.

You approached him slowly, your boots muffled now by the soft carpet that lined the central arc of the memorial wing. Bucky hadn’t moved, his eyes were locked on the image of Steve–clean-cut, square-jawed, with his warm smile forever frozen in time. You stopped beside him to stand shoulder to shoulder.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, you just stared at the photo, breathing deeply, in reflection of the moments you all got together. After a minute you cleared your throat, pushing the lump to the side so you could speak.

”You missed breakfast.” Bucky let out a slow breath through his nose.

”Didn’t really feel like having pancakes today.” You cracked a small smile.

”Wasn’t pancakes…Bob ruined Walker's last pan by burning them.” His lip twitched just a little.

“Sounds like I didn’t miss much then.” He said, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth before fading again. The silence between you returned, but it wasn’t empty–it was heavy. Full of everything neither of you had ever needed to say out loud.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of Steve for a moment, before shifting sideways to study Bucky instead. He looked older in this light. Not tired–just…Quieter. Softer around the edges in a way that only grief can carve into a man.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked.

”About thirty minutes, I had a meeting today actually so that’s also why I missed breakfast.” Bucky shifted his weight slightly, eyes still trained on the photo, “Didn’t think I’d end up staying this long, but you know…Memories make you lose track of time.” You nodded slowly, getting a bit closer to him, slipping your arm into his, feeling the coolness of his vibranium radiating through his jacket. He let out a slow, steady exhale, letting your hand rest there, and in that small gesture, you felt the quiet return of the role he’d carved out between the both of you–it was reluctant at first, but unshakable now.

”You know…” You murmured after a beat, “He would’ve been really proud of you.” Bucky didn’t speak right away, but you could see his jaw clench at your words, before nodding.

”Tony would’ve been proud of you too.” That made you scoff, but softly. You looked down at your boots, your fingers curling slightly around the curve of his arm.

”Definitely not,” You said with a dry laugh, “I don’t think he ever intended on me being on a team like this…Or carrying on his legacy at all, really. Especially not with how I started this…With Val and everything.” You added.

”We all do stupid things sometimes, but now you’re a part of something bigger than yourself. I’m telling you…He would’ve been very happy to see you in action.” You looked down at your feet, with a soft smile coming up on your face before nodding.

It hit you again–like it always did this time of year–that Bucky had become the closest thing you had left to family. Apart from Pepper and Morgan, he was the only one that truly stood by you. This year was different of course, especially with your new teammates, but it made you think back to how far the both of you truly came.

Because it never started that way. In fact, you didn’t think Bucky would’ve offered you the protection he did. He was quiet and watchful, always keeping people at arm’s length. But something changed at your father’s funeral.

He found you that day–after the speeches and the silence, after Pepper had walked Morgan inside of the house to make her some food and Rhodes offered his condolences. You were standing by the water, not crying, just looking out onto the way the sun was setting, wearing one of Tony’s old jackets because it still smelled like his aftershave.

You didn’t even hear Bucky approach until he was beside you, and when he spoke, it was the only thing that had cut through the fog in your brain that day.

“If you ever need anything…” He said, quietly, like it wasn’t a promise he had been planning to make, “Anything at all…I’m one phone call away. No questions asked.” You had looked up at him, surprised that he was even talking to you, especially after everything that had happened between him and your father, but all you did was give him a nod, and a thank you.

Then, four years later, when you found yourself stuck in the desert with Walker, Ava, and Yelena, after escaping the death trap that was the O.X.E. Vault, and witnessing Bob turn into a human asteroid, you had pulled out your phone and dialed his number.

You remembered the look on Walker’s face as you pulled out your phone and started dialing.

”Who the hell are you calling in the middle of the desert?” You looked up at him, shielding your phone away from him.

”My emergency contact…Someone who’s not going to let us die out here.” You muttered, putting the phone to your ear. It only had to ring once, before he picked it up.

”Y/N, hey, you think I can call you back in a few minutes.” He said, like he was in a rush, like he was packing.

”Bucky, I’m in trouble.” Walker’s face had immediately dropped, his mouth opening slightly. Yelena had seen the look, and she had whispered something to him, not understanding the visceral reaction.

“Bucky!?” Walker exclaimed, you looked over at him confused, pressing your finger to your lips–afraid that his voice would echo through the open space and gain some sort of attention possibly.

”…Y/N…Was that John Walker's voice that I just heard?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“Y-Yeah. Listen, we don’t have time to go into details because I need to conserve my battery, but we are in a desert in Utah, and we’re lost. I need you to help me…Will you please help me?” He had already been packing his motorcycle to start making his way over after receiving a call from Mel with her coordinates, and immediately he started connecting the dots that you were somehow involved. Before the line of questioning even left his lips, he remembered what he told you at the funeral and reluctantly spoke.

”Okay. I’ll track your coordinates and be there as fast as I can, just…For the love of God stay safe.” You nodded.

”I will, I’ll see you soon…Thank you Bucky.” Then you hung up the phone.

”How the fuck do you know Bucky Barnes?!” Was the first question out of Walker's mouth.

Then all the details were out in the open for everyone to know; how you knew him, how you were Tony’s daughter, how you joined Val’s list of operatives because you felt like you wanted to do something and she offered it to keep you busy. You were surprised that your identity wasn’t known to the group, so it was a relief when they quietly gave a nod to you almost as if to say they were sorry for even asking. Then the unplanned limo pickup from Alexei had happened, which intruded on the plans a little bit and ended with you having to reset your own shoulder, but to be reunited with Bucky Barnes was a heaven sent.

“Been watching you on TV at those congress hearings, congratulations by the way.” He let out a soft laugh at that comment, adjusting your shoulder into the proper position.

”Yeah well…I guess a lot of unexpected things have happened over the past couple of years.” He said, still a bit concerned with the details on how you somehow got wrapped up in all of this. But once again, he said no questions asked and he stuck to it.

Now as you stood side by side today though, it was easy to say that he was like a father figure you never thought you would have again, and you were grateful for all of it, regardless of how it fell into place.

”…I sometimes wish he got to see me with you guys too…” You whispered, breaking the silence. Bucky glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

”I’m telling you, he would’ve liked it. Sometimes when I see you at briefings you have the same mannerisms he had, same attitude and stuff. I was never really around him but I heard stories from Steve. It’s like you’re a carbon copy of him in female form.” That drew a soft laugh out of you.

“While I do appreciate being compared to him, I can never be as good.” There was a pause, and he sighed.

”There’s no ‘good’ kid…You’re doing the best you can with the cards you’ve been dealt. And I’m proud of you, we all are, even though none of us really say it often enough.” Bucky’s words settled into your chest like something warm and grounding, something heavy in the best possible way. You blinked a few times, swallowing the knot in your throat before it could turn into something embarrassing, and that’s when an idea popped into your mind.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment longer, just breathing. Just being.

Then, slowly–almost uncertain–Bucky shifted, and his arm moved around your shoulders. He didn’t pull you in abruptly. He didn’t force the moment. It was gentle. Intentional. Like he was offering the hug, not giving it. It was something Bucky rarely did, but in a moment where comfort was needed he would push the discomfort off for you.

You leaned into it immediately.

Your arms came around his middle, anchoring yourself to the familiar weight of him. You didn’t close your eyes, but you let your cheek rest against his chest and took a breath. He smelled like leather and clean soap, and the faint trace of a piney cologne he always insisted he didn’t wear. You both stayed like that for a few beats–just enough to feel steady again.

“Thanks Buck,” You mumbled, your voice quiet.

“Anytime,” He replied, equally soft.

You pulled back, brushing your sleeve against your face subtly wiping a small tear that was forming in the corner of your eye as you stepped away.

“Alright…Enough with the sappiness…” You sighed, your tone turning a bit lighter now, “I’m heading into the city to do a bit of shopping therapy…” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

”Shopping therapy huh? Guess it’s better than drinking. And you’re going without your second shadow?” You looked at him confused.

”Who?” Bucky gave you a look, one of those deadpan, all-knowing stares.

”Bob,” He responded, “You think he’s not going to notice that you’re gone for the whole day?” A guilty grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. Everyone knew how close you were to him, but Bucky was the one person to know how deep it truly went, how much Bob actually knew about you, down to the little details, and the darkest parts.

”I slipped out while he was rinsing the glasses, I figure I’ll have about an hour of radio silence until someone calls to tell me he’s looking for me.” Bucky huffed a dry laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I’ll shoot let him know of my whereabouts in a bit…Don’t worry.” You promised, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Just wanted a little time to myself. Got an idea I need to run with, and I think it’ll help.”

He didn’t press for more. He never did. That was the good thing about Bucky–he could read you like a book, but he only turned the pages when you were ready.

“Well,” he said after a moment, adjusting the collar of his jacket, “Don’t get lost in any candle shops.”

“No promises.”

You turned to go, but paused halfway down the hall and glanced back. He was still standing there in front of Steve’s photo, hands back in his pockets, eyes distant. You softened.

“I’ll be back later tonight. Might be close to dinner, maybe after. But tell the others not to start movie night without me.”

Bucky nodded, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll wait,” He said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You offered him a small smile–one of the rare, real ones–and gave a little wave as you turned and headed out.

The elevator doors closed behind you with a soft ding, and for the first time that day, you felt the flicker of excitement hum through your chest. You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for yet–but you were going to find something for each of them. Something thoughtful. Something that said thank you for being here, for staying, for putting up with me.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

———————

You had returned that night thirty minutes after dinner was wrapping up. Everyone was still mingling in the kitchen, the remnants of takeout cartons and half-eaten desserts scattered across the island, but when the elevator dinged, every head instinctively turned toward the hallway.

When the doors slid open and you stepped out–flanked by two interns struggling with your overflow of tissue-paper-filled bags–you didn’t even get a full step before you called out.

“Everyone stay in the kitchen! No peeking!” You warned, your voice commanding but playful. “I’m serious, if I catch one head in that hallway, I’m throwing dessert in the trash.”

That got a ripple of muffled laughter from the group.

“You act like we don’t eat dessert before dinner,” Yelena shouted back.

Despite your warning though, Bob didn’t get the memo.

You barely made it halfway to the living room, with the interns trailing behind you, when the sound of socked feet came pattering rapidly around the corner.

Bob appeared, cheeks flushed, his light brown hair a little mussed, his eyes wide and brimming with unfiltered concern. He wore a pair of black sweat pants and an oversized dark grey sweater that covered his broad frame, it made him look fragile and small–even though beneath his clothes it was far from the image he was trying to portray. You had caught glimpses of his body in little increments, sometimes by accident you would walk in as he was pulling on his shirt and you’d catch the lean muscles on his back flexing, once you saw his abs when he reached up to grab something, and once in a while you’d catch him with his sleeves rolled up, and you’d see the cool blue veins that rose from the planes of his forearms. Sometimes you wished you’d see more of him, but you were fine with what you had the privilege of seeing. He looked like he’d been waiting by the kitchen threshold all evening, just listening for the elevator.

“Hey—are you okay?” He asked, his voice already rushing. “I—I remembered what day it was, and I didn’t know if you wanted space or if you wanted company, but then you left without saying anything and I didn’t wanna crowd you but—”

“Bob!” You cut in quickly, spinning around to shield the bags with your body. “Close your eyes!” He startled like someone had set off a firecracker behind him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He blurted, immediately slapping his hands over his face. “I didn’t see anything! I swear…I only saw you, not the-uh-the stuff-whatever the stuff is…”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head as one of the interns behind you adjusted their grip on a delicate gift bag.

“Here,” You whispered to them, handing off what you were holding. “Take these into the living room...And thank you again for the help, oh and make sure the box is put in my room okay? First on the right.”

“No problem.” The intern nodded, already moving with the caution of someone who had been thoroughly briefed with the other intern trailing behind.

Once your hands were free, you turned back to Bob. He stood perfectly still with his palms mashed over his face like a kid in a surprise party gone wrong–lips pressed into a worried line, shoulders a little too rigid. You let out a soft sigh, stepping towards him–knowing you scared him a bit– and reached up for his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face slowly.

”You can open your eyes now…I didn’t mean to scare you…I just have a surprise for everyone. Sorry…” You said gently, watching as his lashes fluttered open, his eyes instantly meeting yours, with that all too familiar look–soft and worried and wired, like he had been on the edge of his seat waiting for your return.

”I-It’s okay…I was just…I was w-worried about y-you. I remembered what today was after Walker mentioned to me that you took the day off…And I felt like such an idiot f-for not che-.” Bob’s words halted immediately when your fingers touched his lips–just two of them, soft but still–to quietly tell him to stop talking. His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the way his shoulders tensed under your touch, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes went wide, and then slowly his cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red, blooming from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

It was the kind of color that told you everything without a word.

You didn’t tease him for it. You didn’t move your hand right away either.

You just held his gaze, steady and gentle, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant murmur of the others in the kitchen. “Really.”

His brows drew together just slightly, like he didn’t believe you entirely, like he was still cataloguing every detail of your expression for proof. But your hand stayed right there between you, steadying the weight that always seemed to pile up in his chest when he couldn’t fix things, or make you feel better.

You felt him breathe in–and that tiny shift, that barely-there exhale through his nose, was the signal that he heard you. That he believed you…Even if just for now.

You slowly dropped your hand, the warmth of your fingers leaving his skin with the ghost of your touch. He blinked, like coming out of a daze, and looked like he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Okay,” He said quietly. He was still flushed, avoiding your eyes, knowing that he just had to take your word for it, even though he knew how much this day was a dark reminder of what you were most ashamed of.

He only knew this because he had seen it.

In the O.X.E vault, after you, Walker, Ava, Yelena, and Bob had barely escaped the incinerator, you had all collapsed into a breathless heap in one of the elevator areas., sweaty, and rattling with adrenaline. No one celebrated. It was too soon for that. Tension still clung to the air like smoke, and the five of you were still strangers.

You had sat against a wall, jaw clenched, blinking through the pain that was radiating from your ribs. The quietness was deafening.

Yelena hadn’t moved much. She sat cross-legged on the far end of the room, her elbows on her knees, and her sharp eyes trained on Bob–who was pacing a few feet away, muttering under his breath. His hands trembled slightly, and his voice barely registered above a whisper, like he was listing something he didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but just watching him pace in that mint green scrub set, made you tense up, there was just a feeling in those moments that something was wrong.

That’s when you noticed Yelena’s expression. Not skeptical. Not calculating. Just…off.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing as your ribs protested, and made your way toward her. She didn’t look up until you crouched beside her.

“What’s going on?” You asked, voice low, “You hurt or something?” Her eyes didn’t leave Bob, when she shook her head at your question.

“I need you to touch him.” She whispered under her breath.

“Touch who?” You asked, shifting on your feet a bit, confused at what she was saying to you.

“Bob.” Her voice was even, but her brows furrowed. “I saw something…But I need to know if I’m just going crazy or if it was real.” You could feel yourself grow more and more concerned just by how shaken up she looked.

”Yelena…What did you see?” She shook her head at you.

”Can you just go do it? Please.” You stared at her for a second longer, then nodded. You didn’t understand it, but something in her voice had pulled up, like she was scared of something. You stood up and dusted your palms off, turning around to approach Bob, who was still pacing back and forth, taking four steps before turning and doing the same towards the other side, whispering to himself still.

Walker and Ava were still talking, strategizing how you were all going to get out, and neither of them noticed when you moved past them. Bob didn’t hear you coming either, he was too wrapped up in his own storm to even see your slow approach.

”Hey,” You said gently. He startled almost immediately, his eyes snapping to you like you had dropped him in a pot of ice cold water, “Do you mind coming with me for a second?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” He replied quickly, a reflexive panic in his voice, like he had done something bad, and he was afraid of being punished. You gave him a soft smile though, almost like you knew you needed to make yourself a little less aggressive, especially after he had seen you go head to head with Walker over something so minor you couldn’t even remember..

”I know, I just want to check something, okay?” He looked down at you with such hesitation that you honestly thought he was going to say no, but even back then he had a distinct soft spot reserved for you. His eyes were an odd shade of blue that day, and you had seen distinct little flecks of what seemed to be an off yellow peering through. Back then you chalked it up to being the lighting.

”…Okay.” He whispered. You gave him a little smile, and took hold of the sleeve of his scrub top, leading him towards the side of one of the concrete pillars, just far enough to shield you both from the rest of the group. The tension in Bob’s shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, being pulled away from the others made him more rigid, as if you were going to reprimand him.

“You hurt anywhere?” You asked, nodding toward his chest, his ribs, his shoulders.

“No…No…I mean, not really j-just some scratches and stuff b-but I’m okay, r-really.” You squinted at him, and you could see the way his breath hitched in his throat a little, like he was nervous or trying to hide something. Your eyes scanned over his dust covered face, watching him shift uncomfortably, as if being under your gaze felt like he was being smothered.

“Mind if I check?” He looked like he wanted to say no, like he wanted to tell you he was fine again so he could go back to his pacing, but instead, after a beat of hesitation, lifted his arm up slowly to you, with his palm up.

You reached forward slowly, and grabbed his hand.

Then everything slipped.

The world around you–the gritty concrete, the stale air, the faint hum of the vault’s broken systems–all vanished in an instant, replaced by heat, light, and the faint crackle of fire.

Your body didn’t move, but your heart slammed like it was being punched. You knew this place. The ruined battlefield. The shattered husk of the Avengers compound after the snap had been reversed. Twilight bleeding across rubble. Smoke curling in the air. The air was so thick it clung to your skin like regret.

You saw them–Peter, Pepper, Rhodey. All of them gathered around the figure on the ground.

And there he was.

Your father.

Collapsed. Barely breathing. The right side of his face blistered from the energy surge of the Infinity Stones. His arc reactor flickering like the dying heartbeat it had become. His mouth was slack, his breathing shallow.

He was dying.

And you were nowhere near him.

But you had been. You remembered it clearly now, clearer than ever–how you had stepped forward when they pulled him from the wreckage. How you’d seen him, gasping for air. How you’d started walking toward him and then–froze. Stopped in your tracks.

You had walked away.

The grief you’d locked down in the deepest corners of yourself–boxed and buried for years–rushed back to the surface with the brutal weight of tidal force. Your knees hit the ground in the memory, even though your body in the vault hadn’t moved.

Your chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t a memory.

This was your shame.

The moment you’d never told anyone about. The moment even Pepper didn’t know. The moment you abandoned him because you couldn’t watch the man who raised you die.

And now Bob—Bob, who you barely knew at the time—was seeing it too. Sucked into the deepest darkest secret you had. You tried to pull away, but the memory gripped you like a vice.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was crying.

Pepper leaned in and whispered something too quiet to hear.

And you–you were nowhere near him. You had your hands over your mouth, hiding behind a crumbled slab of wall, like a coward. Crying silently, too ashamed to show your face.

The memory ended like a door slamming shut.

The vault came crashing back into view. Cold. Harsh. Fluorescent.

And you stumbled backward, your hand jerking away from Bob’s as if it had burned you. Your back hit the pillar, hard, and you bent over, one hand gripping your ribs like they were splitting open. You were breathing heavily, but holding back the tears, because you needed to remain strong, you had to or else you weren’t going to get out of the vault alive.

Bob didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, his hand still half-raised like he hadn’t realized you’d let go. His chest rose and fell unevenly, not with fear, but with something more fragile—remorse, maybe. Guilt. A kind of stunned softness that only existed in people who had never been given permission to hold something that delicate, and now had to live with the knowledge that they did.

He didn’t look at you right away. He was staring at the spot where your hand had touched his, like it still lingered there.

“I-I’m sorry…” He whispered, which caused your head to snap up at him. You had been expecting confusion. Denial. Questions, maybe. But not an apology.

“I-I don’t know how to c-control it. I didn’t mean to do it.” He said under his breath, kind of like he was muttering it to himself. The strangest thing about it all though was that you didn’t feel angry. You should have. You should’ve been furious that he’d been pulled into something so private. But there was something in the way he looked at you now–like he understood you in a way–that made your breath catch.

“Just…Don’t tell anybody about this.” You said hoarsely, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, as you pushed yourself up off the pillar to recover.

”I-I won’t,” He said immediately, “I’d n-never do t-that, I-I promise.” He added, and you believed him.

Even though the moment passed, even though Walker barked something from across the room and Ava told everyone to regroup, even though Bob turned to leave first to give you space–you knew in your gut that it had shifted something.

And now, standing in the present day, in the quiet hallway outside the kitchen, you realized that he really did keep that promise he made all those months ago…But that just spoke to who Bob was, and who he had always been.

——————

The lights in the compound’s living room had been dimmed for movie night, the projector humming softly behind the couch as the team shuffled in with snacks in hand.

You stood in the middle of the chaotic scene of bags and boxes, arms crossed, eyeing them as they made their way over to their designated spots that they typically claimed during movie nights. Yelena kicked her feet up onto the coffee table like it was her birthright. Walker was already grumbling at Ava for stealing the corner seat he liked to stretch out in. Alexei lumbered over with a bowl of popcorn that definitely wasn’t for sharing, and Bucky, as always, took the spot by the far armrest, the one with the clearest view of the exit. Bob lingered near the back of the couch, waiting–always waiting–until he was sure everyone else was settled before choosing a spot closest to you.

You cleared your throat, but it barely registered above the chatter that was happening around you.

”Hey!” You exclaimed, and that’s when heads turned. Walker paused mid-bite. Yelena glanced over her shoulder. Bob straightened immediately like someone had called his full name in school. Even Bucky looked up, one brow arching in curiosity. The projector hadn’t started yet, but the anticipation for the movie had everyone on autopilot. Until now.

“I, uh…” You started, then immediately hated the sound of your own voice. Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, and tried again, “Before we start the movie, I need to say something.” They sat in anticipation, thinking that you were going to announce something either tragic, or shockingly happy. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you took a breath, the hush in the room now bordering on tense.

“Today’s always been a shitty day for me,” you said simply, and the honesty of it settled over them like dust. “Most of you probably figured that out. Some of you knew… or saw more than you were supposed to.” Your eyes flicked briefly toward Bob, and then back.

“But this year felt different. I didn’t want to sit with it by myself. I didn’t want to spend the day pretending it wasn’t happening just to make it easier to breathe.”

You exhaled.

“And I didn’t want to feel alone. So instead… I went shopping.”

There were a few scattered smiles at that. Ava smirked. Yelena tilted her head. Alexei made a noise that sounded like a chuckle and a snore at once.

“I got you all something. Nothing huge. Just things that made me think of you. Things I thought might make you smile. Because whether you like it or not, you’re my team now. You’re my people–my family. And I wanted to say thank you. For being here. For staying.”

You paused, blinking away the weight behind your eyes.

“For putting up with me.”

There was silence. But the kind that meant something. The kind you didn’t want to break too fast.

Then, you turned to the bags behind you and grabbed the first one.

“Ava,” you said, walking it over. “Noise-cancelling headphones and a pass to a rage room. Because, let’s be honest, we annoy the shit out of you.”

Ava cracked a genuine smile. “They better let me bring my own bat.”

“No promises.”

Next: “Yelena.” You passed her a smaller black box. “New utility belt. And some custom knives and batons I had made. Not saying you need them. But I also didn’t want to find out what would happen if you didn’t have them.”

Yelena grinned, flipping the latch open immediately. “You do love me.”

“Very much.” You replied with a smile.

“Walker,” You said, tossing him a medium-sized box that thunked heavily into his lap. “New pans, and a mini travel sized grill.”

“Thank God,” He muttered, already tearing the paper. “And they’re even better quality than the last ones.”

“Alexei.” You handed off two heavy bottles wrapped in tissue paper. “Vodka. The expensive kind.”

“Oh…Oh this is not going to survive night,” He replied, already cracking the top open.

“I figured.”

Then, you looked at Bucky.

“For you,” You said more quietly, stepping over and handing him a neatly wrapped parcel, “A metal polishing and cleaning kit, so you can stop using the dishwasher on your arm. And I got you an appointment for a bike detailing. Full job. New coat of black, too.”

He blinked slowly, surprised. “You remembered that?”

“You yelled about it for thirty minutes. I’d have to be concussed not to remember.”

He smiled. It was the small kind, but it stayed on his face longer than you expected.

You turned to Bob last, and something in your chest fluttered a little harder than you were ready for.

He was sitting upright, hands folded in his lap, trying not to look too eager, but his eyes flicked up to yours like he was bracing for impact. You walked over slowly, cradling the last item with more care than the others, and stopped just in front of him.

“This one’s for you,” You said gently, and handed him the book.

It wasn’t wrapped. No fancy paper, no ribbon–just a hardcover in a matte finish, with The Creative Act by Rick Rubin printed across the front in clean black letters.

Bob’s eyes flicked down to it. His hands moved slowly, reverent almost, as he turned the book over, like he wanted to feel the weight of it first before opening it. He ran his thumb along the edge before he finally slipped the front cover open–and there it was, tucked just inside the front page.

A handwritten note on a small square of folded paper that you had taken from Bob’s desk when you snuck in just before the movie.

Written in your slanted, slightly chaotic handwriting.

’The real gift is in your bedroom.’ Just the words alone affected him immediately.

His ears flushed red at first, before blooming down to his cheeks, and over his neck like a fire that couldn’t be put out. His eyes darted up to you, then back to the page, like he was checking to make sure if he’d read it right.

Then, with a bit too much urgency, he shut the book. Yelena was already leaning over from her seat to look at him.

”What’d you get?” She asked, her voice laced with amusement, seeing the deep blush that continued to burn on his cheeks.

”Yeah, let’s see,” Walker added, craning his neck, “It didn’t even have wrapping. What is it?” Bob shook his head quickly, holding the book close to his chest like it might be pried from him if he held it out too far from him.

”It’s…It’s j-just a book.” Everyone exchanged glances at one another, then looked over at you, then Bob.

”You’re turning that red over a book?” Ava raised an eyebrow. You watched as Bob sank slightly into himself, clutching the book like it was something far more scandalous than a hardcover on creative philosophy.

“You didn’t even open it all the way, you just opened the cover.” Yelena added.

”I-I don’t have to,” He stammered, adjusting the book in his arms, “It’s o-one Y/N and I saw at the b-bookstore a while ago that’s all.” Now all eyes turned to you. You gave a small, innocent smile.

“It really is just a book guys,” You said simply, meeting their suspicious looks with a calm ease, “Like Bob said…We saw it at the bookstore a while ago and he didn’t buy it. So I just got it for him now. No big deal.” Then you went to the couch to take up your space, looking back at Bob who was already coming to sit in the space that was available beside you. “Now…We can commence movie night.” You added, feeling Bob adjust beside you slightly, bumping his knee against yours almost like he was giving you a nudge, before settling in completely.

——————-

Eventually, everyone fell asleep in their spots apart from you and Bob.

The projector had long since gone dark, the soft white glow replaced by the quiet hush of breath and shifting limbs. The living room had become a patchwork of tangled limbs, half-eaten snacks, and drooping blankets. You and Bob sat in the warm silence at the edge of it all, knees still brushing where they’d been for the past hour.

He hadn’t opened the book again–not since that first flustered glance. But his fingers never stopped grazing the edges of the cover. He was still holding onto it carefully, like it might slip through his hands if he blinked too fast. You leaned toward him slightly, just enough so that your shoulder nudged him to get his attention.

”Hey,” You whispered. He glanced over at you, like he’s been waiting for you to say something because he was too scared to do it himself, “Wanna see your real gift now?” You asked, a small smile appearing on your lips. Bob could feel his heart pumping out of his chest as he began to overheat like a furnace.

“Y-Yeah…I mean…Y-yeah if you’re ready to s-show me.” You rose slowly, careful not to kick over a stray popcorn bowl or stir anyone from their half-snoring sprawl. Your eyes flicked briefly over the room to make sure no one was stirring—Yelena had curled into a blanket cocoon, Walker was snoring like a truck engine, and Alexei’s head had slumped against the back of the couch, drool threatening the upholstery. Bucky’s eyes were shut, but you could tell by the slight twitch in his jaw he was only pretending to sleep, which was typical for him. Turning back to Bob, you extended your hand toward him, palm open, wrist loose.

“Come on,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Just make sure to be quiet cause if they wake up we’ll never hear the end of it.” He nodded–one firm, terrified little nod–and slid his fingers into yours. His hand was warm and clammy, but you didn’t mind the feeling. Quite honestly, you wished he did this more often, because it gave you this ease, the kind that only he truly provided. You squeezed his hand gently before tugging him up onto his feet, and he followed like you’d cast a spell over him.

You led him carefully through the living room, toes skimming across the floor like a cat, weaving between bodies and blankets until you reached the edge of the wing that led to your rooms.

The hallway was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the soft golden hue of the floor runners and the faint spill of moonlight through the high windows. You padded down the hardwood floor hand in hand, every step muffled, every breath shared. Bob stayed impossibly close to you, so close in fact that you could practically feel his breath on your neck, as if putting too much space between the both of you might make the whole moment disappear.

When you reached his door, you stopped just short of the frame and turned to him with a look that was half excitement, half warning.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to cover your eyes.” You whispered, looking up at him with one of the soft smiles you always gave him when you needed him to do something for you.

“W-What? Why?” He asked quietly under his breath, still holding onto your hand, only it was a little tighter now, probably from the nerves that were clawing away in the pit of his stomach.

“Just trust me…You won’t regret it.” Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh–more like a whimper, really–and gave you the softest, most defeated sigh, like his heart had already left his chest and he was just trying to keep his limbs from shaking.

“A-Alright…” He whispered, leaning just a little closer to you, close enough that you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks, “Just…Just don’t let m-me trip or walk into something…Please.” You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Hasn’t happened before, and I’m not planning on letting that happen now.” You teased, before softly adding “Now…Close your eyes.” Bob obeyed, raising his free hand over his face with careful fingers, blocking his vision as if you were leading him into a sacred place rather than his own bedroom. You nudged the door open with your foot and gave his hand a gentle tug, leading him across the threshold.

You didn’t need to turn on a light.

His room always felt a little like stepping into a different plane of calm. The kind of space that knew quiet in its bones. Moonlight fell in soft silver lines across the floor through his half-open blinds, slicing the darkness into gentle pieces. The windows of his room were quite large, which was the reason why everyone assigned it to him, because if he ever had an episode and didn’t want to come out of his room, he would at least get some sunlight.

His bed was unmade, but it was clean, it always was–Bob didn’t like messes too much, and the comforter was crumpled in a way that suggested he hadn’t been able to stay still for more than a minute. His nightstand had a glass of water and a half-melted candle that still smelled faintly like lavender, which was something that he had learned calmed him through you. There were books stacked under the window. T-shirts folded too neatly on the open shelves. A jacket draped on the chair in the corner.

His room was basically a manifestation of things he picked up from you and bits and pieces of himself that he couldn’t shake. It was a perfect balance, especially when he was too scared to go to your room when you were out on missions–when he was missing you terribly.

And then–right there in the center of the room, illuminated perfectly by the soft glow spilling through the curtains–was the record player.

Matte black, sleek, minimalist. Quiet in its confidence. It sat on a low wooden console table that you had bought pre-assembled. Beside it, propped open just slightly, was a padded carrying case–and inside there were three of your records that he had constantly put on whenever he would end up in your room: Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, Last Splash by The Breeders, and Elton John’s Self Titled.

On nights like these–when you had nothing to do–Bob would come and listen to a record with you while lying on your bed. The both of you would stare at the ceiling and talk, usually it was about anything and nothing at all, that’s just how it had always been. Sometimes you guys would touch, hold hands just as a source of comfort, but it never went further than that, because neither of you wanted to possibly put the friendship in jeopardy.

Tonight would be one of those nights that you would be able to lie with him thankfully.

You looked up at Bob who was still shielding his eyes even though he was clearly trembling with anticipation. You gave the hand that was intertwined with yours one last squeeze and leaned close enough that your arms brushed.

”Alright,” You whispered, “You can open them now.” Bob’s hand dropped from his eyes like he was lifting the lid on something sacred.

And the second his gaze landed on the record player, his entire face changed.

His shoulders softened, his chest lifted like he’d just taken the first real breath in hours–and then came the smile. Wide, radiant, boyish. One that reached all the way up to his eyes and cracked something open in you.

He stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching something precious. His fingers hovered above the turntable for a moment before he crouched down in front of it, knees tucked in, head tilted with something like awe. The soft light haloed around him, catching on the strands of his hair and the curve of his jaw. You saw his lips part slightly, saw the way he swallowed thickly.

Then his sleeve came up–quick and almost sheepish–and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the back of his wrist. He thought you wouldn’t notice if he did it quickly but you knew his tells, and you knew when something was wrong with him. When he let out a small sniffle, you were at his side in an instant.

“Bob?” You whispered, dropping to your knees beside him, voice soft, uncertain. “Hey…What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on the player.

“Nothing–Nothing’s wrong,” He said quickly, but his voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just–God–this is…It’s too much.”He whispered to himself, pressing a trembling hand to his eyes again to wipe off another set of tears.

Your brows knit together, and you lifted a hand instinctively, hovering just above his shoulder but not quite touching.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I just–”

“I love it,” He interrupted gently, finally turning to face you. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed, and there was that dazed smile again, wide and aching. “I love it so much.”

You let out a soft, quiet exhale, the kind you didn’t even know you were holding, relieved that you didn’t do anything wrong.

And then–without warning–he leaned into you.

Not cautiously. Not halfway.

Fully.

Bob wrapped his arms around you with all the care and all the weight of someone who had wanted to do it for a very long time. One arm slid around your lower back while the other curled protectively around your shoulders, tucking you against him like you were the only thing he could hold onto. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch against your neck.

You froze for just a second–stunned by the sheer intensity of it–before you melted into him. Your arms wound around his back, your hands gripping at the soft fabric of his sweater. You closed your eyes and held him, not just because you were trying to comfort him, but also because you needed it just as much as he did.

Bob breathed in deeply, inhaling your warmth, and your sweet scent–a mixture of iris and clementines. He said you smelled like summer to him once, and he stuck by that even to this day, because it was intoxicating to him, and it was you…That’s what he liked most.

Your hand drifted up slowly to the back of his neck, letting your fingers brush through his hair with a tenderness so natural it almost startled you. He didn’t flinch, or shy away, instead you felt him melt into you just a little more, like your touch was untying the knots that were within him.

“I-I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “I-I didn’t mean to cry…No one’s ever gotten me something t-this nice before.” You let out a soft huff against him, pulling back just enough so you could look at him, your fingers curling gently so you were cradling the back of his head.

”Bob…” You whispered, then smiled with a soft ache, “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m glad it means something to you…” He looked up at you with wide, glassy blue eyes, still watering slightly at the corners.

”It really…It really does…It-It means everything to me Y/N…” He replied.

A silence settled between the both of you in that moment, not awkward but charged–thick with feelings that were just cresting on the horizon. You brought your other hand up to his face, letting your thumb brush along the curve of his jaw before you dropped it to rest over his chest, right where you could feel his heartbeat drumming just under the fabric of his sweater. When you pressed a little harder you could feel the muscle flex against your touch,–a reflex from Bob.

“So…Uh…Does this mean I c-can’t come to your r-room anymore to listen to vinyls?” You raised an eyebrow at that comment, leaning in just a little so your noses were almost touching, as you allowed the edge of your voice to dip playfully.

”Actually…It’s an excuse for me to come in here once in a while.” He was taken aback by your comment, but it had hit him like a lightning bolt.

His mouth parted slightly, eyes locking with yours as if you just upended gravity. You could see when it fully clicked for him–what it meant, what you wanted it to mean. The warmth in his face scattered deeper now, but this time, he didn’t look away.

”W-Well then…I-I think you should use that e-excuse…A-All the time then.” You tilted your head a bit, a smirk coming up on your lips, realizing what he was giving back now.

”All the time hm?” He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to yours, his pupils dilating slightly to adjust more to the darkness, and to take more of you in.

”A-As much as you want Y/N...Every n-night even i-if you want.” Your heart fluttered–too loud, too strong–but you didn’t let it show except for the little smile that cracked wide across your face. You slid your hand up to the collar of his sweater, your thumb running along the thin skin on his neck.

“Well,” You said, leaning in, “Why don’t we start now then…” Bob didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the second those words left your lips–why don’t we start now then–the air between you changed. Like it folded in on itself. Like the gravity in the room evaporated completely and every ounce of tension that had lived in stolen glances and almost-touches finally snapped tight, pulling the two of you together like you’d never really meant to be apart in the first place.

Your lips found his.

Soft. Certain. Slow at first–just a press. Just a whisper of something that had been waiting so long to be real. Bob shuddered under you, like every nerve in his body had lit up at once. His hands came up instinctively, almost blindly—one settling on your waist, the other cradling the curve of your back like he was afraid you’d vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Breathing into each other between the spaces. Your mouths never fully parted–they just shifted, adjusted, and learned. His lips moved with yours like he was starved for the taste, like he had imagined it so many times but never dared to believe he’d ever actually feel it. You felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, felt the way he tensed, and then eased, melting into it like he finally believed it was happening.

When you moved closer to him Bob let out the softest gasp into your mouth, it was barely a sound, but it still hit you like an electric current. You deepened the kiss, tilting your head as your hands slid higher into his hair. You gripped at the soft strands and gave them a gentle tug, just enough to guide his head back just a little–earning a low, breathless sound, stealing it straight out of his chest.

With trembling strength, Bob shifted, pulling you with him slowly until you were in his lap, your knees sliding on either side of his thighs, straddling him. His hands gripped at your hips, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your shirt like you were something holy to him. When your weight settled over him completely it made Bob feel like the world had gone totally quiet–like he could live in this moment and never need anything else for survival.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his as your fingers brushed his flushed cheeks. Bob’s lips were still parted, his breath coming in soft, stuttered exhales that fanned across your mouth. His hands had stilled on your hips, still holding you like he was scared to grip too tightly, like if he held too hard you might vanish again.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, voice low and weighted with something deeper than just desire. Bob nodded immediately, so fast it was almost a flinch.

“Y-Yeah,” He breathed, “Y-Yeah, anything you want–just–God, I want you to take whatever y-you want.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his briefly, before leaning back enough to sit upright on his lap. Bob’s hands stayed where they were, unmoving, as if he was afraid to go any further unless you guided him. And you would. Because this was yours to take if you wanted it–and he had already given it so freely.

Your hands slipped to the hem of your shirt, and you pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric whispered over your skin as it came off, and you dropped it onto the floor beside you without looking away from him.

Bob’s breath hitched.

You were wearing a thin, slate-colored bra–and barely anything between your body and the chill in the air. The moonlight caught on the curve of your breasts and the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, but it also revealed more than just your skin.

Faint, jagged lines kissed across your ribs and shoulders. Scars from old missions, burns, nicks, remnants of the life you’d led before this–before the Thunderbolts. Each one a story you rarely told. Some puckered. Some silver. A few newer, still healing. They caught the light and glimmered in ways they never had before–because now, someone was really looking at them. You saw Bob’s eyes flicker down over them like he was cataloging each one with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that made your throat tighten.

And then there was the necklace.

Stark tech. Thin chain. Sleek design. The pendant was small, flat, shaped like a coin and glowing faintly from within–pulse blue, soft as breath. It had been a gift from Tony. A prototype for a fail-safe, disguised as a keepsake. Only a few people in the compound even knew it wasn’t just jewelry. You never explained it, never offered context. But you didn’t move to hide it now

His eyes lifted again–tentative, trembling–and met yours. You saw the way he swallowed hard, saw the way he tried to stop himself from looking lower, like he didn’t want to disrespect the moment. But his gaze dropped again anyway, helpless against the gravity of you. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He looked stunned.

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, like you were trying to soothe the bashful panic behind his wide-eyed stare. “It’s a lot.”

“No–n-no, it’s not–” Bob’s voice cracked as he tried to sit up straighter, his hands tightening a little on your hips. “You’re–God, you’re beautiful, and it’s e-everything I imagined.” You tilted your head to the side, a teasing glint blooming behind your eyes as you traced your fingers slowly up his arms.

”You’ve imagined this?” You asked, voice light but thick with hea, watching Bob’s entire face turn a deeper shade of red in the moonlight, like he was caught committing a crime. His lips parted as he scrambled for a respectful response, but you didn’t give him a chance. You leaned in, lips hovering just above his, your breath slipping into his mouth as you whispered, “What else have you imagined?” Bob exhaled shakily, the sound brushing your mouth. His hands flexed unconsciously on your hips as though trying to ground himself–like if he didn’t hold onto you, he might drift right out of the moment.

“I’ve…” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the heavy breathing the both of you were doing, “T-Thought about touching you…Like t-this.” He began to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving a trail of heat and wetness from his lips all the way down to your neck, before he opened his mouth against you, right below your ear, placing a lingering kiss that made you push your chest against his with the heat that curled around you.

“I’ve t-though about what your s-skin would feel against m-mine,” He murmured, trembling as his lips traced the column of your throat, “And how you would sound i-if I kissed you h-here…” He added, placing a kiss against your pulse point, listening to the small sigh that escaped your mouth.

His breath was shaky against your neck as his lips lingered at the little patch of skin that thumped against his touch, his nose brushing against the soft dip of your throat while his hands remained firmly planted on your hips–too still, too solid, like he didn’t trust himself to move without falling apart.

But then, as if pulled by some gravitational force he could no longer fight, one of his hands slid upward. Slowly. Tentatively. Fingertips brushing over the hem of your bra, skimming your ribs, following the curve of your waist until they reached the delicate strap resting on your shoulder. His knuckles trembled, but his touch was impossibly gentle, as if even the fabric you wore deserved to be worshipped.

He kissed your jaw again–open-mouthed, soft–and then you felt the light tug at your shoulder as he slipped the strap down. The fabric eased across your skin with a quiet drag, and you shivered beneath it, watching the way his eyes followed the path like it was sacred scripture.

His lips returned to your skin, grazing over the hollow of your collarbone before whispering into it–so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

”C-Can I look?” You nodded.

”Yes…Of course.” You whispered. His hand twitched where it rested at the curve of your spine, and then, with a sort of hesitance that nearly broke you, he slid his hand up to the clasp of your bra, his fingertips brushing clumsily along them, missing the latch twice. You couldn’t help but smile at the fumbling, as he let out a breathy, nervous laugh against your skin, while his forehead dropped to your shoulder in a sheepish show of surrender.

”I-I swear I’m trying,” He murmured, the corners of his lips curling up. You laughed with him, soft and unhurried, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I’ve got it,” You said, reaching one arm behind yourself with practiced ease. The clasp gave one tiny click and you slid the loose straps down your arms, letting it join your t-shirt that was beside you. When you straightened back up, bare now in the soft glow of the moonlight, Bob didn’t move at first, he just stared.

Not in a greedy way, not in the way you were used to being looked at, it was with such desire and want it made your stomach turn. Like he was trying to memorize the details of your body so when he closed his eyes he’d be able to picture it.

His hands slid up slowly from your waist, palms wide, cautious, and trembling just slightly as they moved to trace along your ribs. His thumbs brushed upward–barely skimming the outer swell of your breasts–before he let out a long, shaky breath and leaned in. His lips pressed to the curve of your breast, just above your heart, and you felt the sigh leave him as he held you like you were something holy.

You curled your fingers into his hair, watching him.

“Bob…” You whispered, but it was barely a sound.

He lifted his head just long enough to meet your gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips already kiss-bitten and pink.

“I-I’ve imagined this so many times,” He said softly, almost apologetically. “But it never felt like this. I-It never felt this real.”

And then his mouth returned to your skin–this time lower.

He kissed across the top of your breast, then the underside, open-mouthed, so gentle you almost whimpered. His tongue barely grazed, only enough to tease, to taste. You felt the warmth of him, the way he held one breast up in his hand with delicate fingers while he mouthed softly at the other. You gasped when his lips closed over your nipple, sucking gently, and your back arched toward him without meaning to.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of his sweater, then under his shirt, fingers meeting hot, bare skin. He jumped slightly at the sudden contact, pulling back from your chest just enough to pant softly against it.

“C-Cold hands,” He whispered breathlessly, grinning faintly against your skin even though his whole body was burning with heat. “Or maybe I’m j-just really warm…” You laughed again, low and soft.

“You are, I think I can even feel your blood boiling.” You joked, keeping your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing across his back and up over the planes of his stomach and chest. You could feel how solid he was beneath you–not just strong, but sensitive, pliant, like he wanted to give all of himself over to your hands, your mouth, your gaze.

And he did.

Bob went back to your breasts, now kissing them between worshipful sighs and breathless, choked words.

“You’re so…So soft,” He murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your sternum. “So warm… I didn’t know it could feel like this. I-I didn’t know it could feel this good just…Just to be close to you...”

You felt a swell of something tender and aching crash into your chest.

You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he’d look at you. And he did with red-cheeks, wide-eyes, and lips that were still shining faintly from the saliva that coated them. And then you leaned in again and kissed him—deeper this time. Slower. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting him, letting him taste you.

His arms wrapped tighter around your waist again and this time, he moved.

“C-Can I…” He panted into the kiss, “Can I bring you to t-the bed?”You nodded against his lips.

“Yes, Bob. Please.” He stood slowly, hands steadying you as he rose, and then–without any real effort at all–he lifted you into his arms. You clutched at his shirt as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, a soft gasp leaving your lips.

”Jesus, sometimes I forget you’re a superhuman basically…” He laughed–nervous but proud that he surprised you with his strength.

”I d-don’t really show it off, so I don’t b-blame you for forgetting.” He murmured, as his skin continued to heat up against you. He walked the two of you the short distance to the unmade bed and lowered you gently onto the cold sheets.

But instead of climbing on top of you, he slid in beside you, curling close–not out of hesitation, but intimacy.

You turned onto your side, your body instinctively seeking him, and hooked one leg over his hip, bringing your thigh around him and pulling him in. The moment he was close enough, you kissed him again–your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers threading through the soft brown strands at the back of his head.

Immediately, he melted into the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth–barely audible, but it vibrated through your chest, and curled low in your stomach– where the tension began to build. Your lips moved against each other in a rhythm that felt like it had been written in the marrow of your bones, like the both of you belonged there together in that moment.

And then Bob pulled back–just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, eating away at the lush blue, his lips were wet and parted as he breathed shallowly, trembling slightly.

”I-I wanna feel everything,” He whispered.

Then with a move that felt bolder than anything he’d ever done, he pulled at the collar of his sweater, pulling it off. The hem dragged over his head, catching slightly on his hair before he tossed it aside, his t-shirt following soon after–slightly rumpled and damp from how hot he was getting.

The moonlight etched the shape of him–slender but strong, pale skin kissed splashed with little drops of freckles and barely-there scars. You saw the muscles move under the skin of his stomach when he breathed in, saw the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying to stay steady in a storm of want.

He slid his arm under your neck and around your shoulders, pulling you close, gathering you into the crook of his body like he needed every inch of contact. Your leg stayed hooked over his waist, your hips now pressed firmly together, heat and need blooming where your bodies touched.

His hand slid slowly down your spine, palm wide, curling gently around the dip of your lower back.

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed. It was molten. Deep. Slow and desperate.

You could feel the way his lips moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t want to consume you–it wanted to worship every inch of you.

As your tongues brushed, you shifted your hips, rolling gently against the line of his thigh. His breath hitched, a surprised little gasp breaking the kiss.

And then his knee shifted.

He tilted his leg slightly between yours, giving you the perfect angle to move against him–and you did. Slowly at first. Just the press of your body rocking into his. You moaned softly against his lips as you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself along him with just the right amount of pressure. It wasn’t loud, but it vibrated between your mouths, slipping into him like a secret you wanted him to feel in his bones.

His lips barely touched yours now–just ghosting–warm and open and trembling, like he was terrified to break the moment. You breathed in at the same time he exhaled, your lips parting in tandem, and it felt like you were drinking each other in. Breath passed between you in small, shared gasps, heat curling where mouths nearly met, where words became vapor.

“Bob…” You whispered into him, and his name felt like silk on your tongue.

The air between your mouths wasn’t even air anymore. It was communion. Heat. Exchange. Like you were tethered by the sheer force of needing each other. His nose brushed yours. Your foreheads pressed together. His breath hit your tongue before it hit his own lungs.

And still–you craved Bob’s touch even more.

You reached between your bodies, your fingers skimming over his wrist before curling around it gently. His pulse jumped under your touch.

You guided his hand down until his knuckles met the waistband of your sweatpants. His breath faltered.

“I need more…” You whispered, voice raw and low–on the brink of begging, “Please…”

Bob didn’t speak at first. He just nodded, quickly like that word please had been carved into him. Then, with trembling fingers, he tugged at the tie of your sweatpants, undoing the bow with care, like he was unwrapping something sacred.

As he did, your fingers slipped down to the tie of his–mirroring him. Equal.

He froze just a little.

“W-What…What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking like a matchstick in the dark.

Your hand kept working the knot, lips hovering over his, your nose brushing his as you breathed:

“I don’t want to be the only one being touched like this.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tightening, chest rising as he tried to hold himself together. But your voice–your need–had undone him completely. He nodded again, slower this time, gaze trailing down to where your hands were now at each other’s waistbands.

And then you both moved.

It wasn’t graceful–no art to it. Just need. Just fumbling, frantic hands pushing sweatpants down over hips, wriggling out of the fabric together in a tangle of half-laughs and sharp breaths and grazes of skin.

Your legs kicked the soft fabric off the edge of the bed and his did the same.

And then you were back–wrapped around each other again. The arm beneath your head pulled you in slowly, as his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, fingers curling slightly like he needed to grab onto something to keep him in the moment. Your thigh returned to his hip, locking yourself into him, and the kiss you shared was now pure fire. It was teeth and tongue and breath and a low, desperate sound torn straight from his throat.

You kissed him like you couldn’t get deep enough. Like you’d climb inside his chest if he let you. And he would. He would.

His hand slid up the back of your neck and into your hair as your mouth’s finally slowed, pulling back slightly to breathe. Your lips stayed apart for him, letting a whisper of space between you.

Your noses touched. His forehead pressed to yours. And when you opened your eyes, he was already staring–flushed and wide and wrecked in the most beautiful way.

Then Bob’s hand moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

He brought it to your mouth, two fingers extended–not tentative, but gently.

“Let me,” He whispered.

You nodded, opening your mouth just a little more for him. You took his fingers in without hesitation, wrapping your tongue around them, wetting them with slow, deliberate passes. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath shaking as you sucked softly–just enough to coat them in warmth.

When he withdrew, he immediately slid his hand down. Beneath your underwear.

And when his fingers found you–hot, wet, already aching for him–he moaned into your cheek.

“Oh, God…” Was all he could choke out, as he slid through your arousal, slow and careful, dragging every drop of slickness to your clit in gentle circles. You gasped–your whole body arching forward into him, closing your eyes at the sensation of his fingers against you.

Your hand moved too now–down his chest, over the soft lines of his abdomen–until your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He hissed at the contact, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You found him hard and hot in your hand, thick and twitching under your fingers as you wrapped around him, stroking slow. Just once. Just enough to feel him jump in your palm.

Bob groaned, low and guttural against your skin.

You both moved together, hands working in tandem–your touch on him firm and steady, his fingers stroking you in slow circles until he dipped one inside. Then another. Stretching you gently, curling just enough to make your breath catch, your thighs tremble.

The bed creaked softly beneath you as the both of you writhed beneath each others hands

Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. You moved together like a tide pull–rocking, gasping, fingers slipping and sliding against one another.

Bob adjusted himself slightly, pressing closer to you, before moving his fingers quicker now–they were still gentle, but there was more purpose to his movements. Like he couldn’t help it. Like your body had hypnotized him into doing exactly what you needed him to do, and his only job was to listen. The pads of his fingers pressed and curled inside you, while his thumb circled your clit with more pressure than before, and the sensation that came from this change bloomed in sharp and immediate trembles.

You gasped–high and sudden–your head tilting back into the solidness of his arm that was wrapped around the back of your neck. Your hand that was wrapped around him, stilled. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

It was too much.

Your free hand flew to his shoulder, fingers digging in, nails curling against the slope of muscle. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, to the moment, to yourself.

Bob’s breath caught as he felt you seize around him, as he watched your eyes flutter and your mouth part in a soundless moan that finally broke into a quiet, desperate whimper. His name left your lips like a secret you’d never told anyone else–torn from the center of you. He could feel it, the way your body trembled against him, the way your muscles clenched around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses.

And he watched.

He watched you come undone with a look of sheer awe painted across his face. His lips parted slightly, eyes fixed on yours, and then on your mouth, like he couldn’t decide what was more beautiful: the way you looked when you fell apart, or the sound of his name when you did.

Your brows furrowed with the force of it, your thighs tightening around his hips, your breath breaking apart like waves crashing on rock.

Bob didn’t stop—not until he felt you ride the last crest of it, your body softening again beneath him. And when you finally blinked, eyes unfocused and lips still parted, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek. Reverent. Almost trembling.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to startle you after such a fragile, shattering moment. You shivered at the loss, and he whispered something into your skin—too soft to make out. But his breath was warm. His lips were warm.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

His hand hovered between you, the slick still glistening faintly in the low light. But he didn’t wipe it away. He just looked at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen.

“C-Can I take these off?” He asked, his voice thick with longing, with excitement, with the weight of everything he was holding back.

His hand ghosted over the band of your underwear, waiting.

You nodded slowly, still breathless, still catching your bearings.

”Yes…Yes please…Please just do what you want to me Bob…I’m already yours.” The moment those words left your lips, one thing inside Bob snapped like a wire that had been wrapped too tight. It wasn’t in a wild, unruly way though. No–this was quiet, controlled, but powerful.

His breath shuddered in his chest as he surged forward to kiss you harder this time, deepening it almost instantly. It was desperate but gently, like he needed to pour all the feelings he couldn’t say into your mouth, into the space between your teeth and tongue and breath.

As he kissed you, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the last barrier down slowly, reverently. His knuckles skimmed your thighs, your hips, the swell of your backside. The fabric clung slightly, then surrendered, pooling around your knees before you helped kick it away.

Bob’s hand dipped next to his own waistband, and you could feel the moment he slid his briefs off. The subtle lift of his hips. The faint brush of heat and bare skin against yours. He was pressed close now–every inch of him.

And when you looked down between your bodies, when your eyes caught the sight of him fully bared–his length flushed light red and thick, curving slightly, the tip glistening with need–you felt heat flood every nerve in your body. The moment was more than just physical. It was overwhelming. He was ready, so ready, not just in body but in soul, in the way he looked at you like you were gravity and breath and sky all at once.

Bob swallowed hard, as if he could feel you seeing all of him, as if the intimacy of being witnessed so completely was almost too much to bear.

But he didn’t look away.

Instead, he shifted–slowly, carefully–until he was over you. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of your body, muscles tense as though he were anchoring himself to the world. You welcomed him with a soft sigh, parting your legs wider to cradle his hips, letting him settle into the space that had always been meant for him–since the day you realized you wanted him like this.

He leaned down first–pressing a kiss to your chest. Right between your breasts. Then another to the slope of one, then the other. Then higher. His lips grazed your sternum, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was warm, slow, and sacred.

By the time his mouth found yours again, you were breathless from just the journey of it.

He kissed you with everything. Not just hunger, but reverence. Like your lips were a language he’d studied for years but only just learned how to speak.

And then–without a word–he reached for your hand.

You let him take it easily, watching the way his long fingers wrapped around yours. He brought it up gently, pressing it down into the mattress beside your head, his grip secure but soft–like he wanted to hold you in place but never trap you.

That one motion nearly undid you.

It wasn’t restraint.

It was his way of closeness. The kind that made you feel tethered to him, like your bodies weren’t just aligned–they were entwined, they were marking. Like they were made to be this close. Built for this level of intimacy for only each other.

His forehead rested against yours again. You could feel every exhale fan across your lips.

“I wanna go slow,” He whimpered, voice breaking like dusk light through the curtains. “I wanna…Wanna feel all of you…Every second of you…”

You reached your free hand up to his face, and your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, slow and tender, like you were tracing the edge of a secret only you were allowed to know. His skin was warm beneath your touch–warmer than it had ever been–and you could feel the tremble in his breath as he waited, eyes searching yours like they were the only compass he had left.

“And I want you to lose yourself in me.” You replied. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment he just breathed like your words had cracked something open in his chest. When he looked at you again, there was something new behind his expression–like awe and fear had melted into devotion.

“If anything becomes too much, you have to tell me…” He said, voice almost broken with the weight of care. You nodded, but your hand tightened in his.

”It won’t…But I promise if it does I will tell you.” He dipped his head lower again, as if he couldn't bear the space between your mouths any longer, and pressed a kiss to your lips again absorbing the softness of them, the warmth. Your hand threaded through his hair, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him so he was pressed right against you.

And then–his hand moved down between your bodies. You felt the slow drag of his palm against the outside of your thigh, then the careful slide of his fingers as he reached down and guided himself to you. He breathed out when he felt you coat him, your wetness catching on every ridge of him as he slid himself against your entrance–once, twice, gathering all of you onto him. His body twitched with restraint. His jaw clenched. He pressed his forehead harder against yours as if the contact was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

The moment he pushed in, your bodies stopped breathing.

Your mouth parted with a gasp–sharp and soft–as he sank into you slowly, inch by inch, until you felt your body stretch and adjust to every curve of him. Bob choked on a breath the second he felt your warmth take him in, his face screwing up in something between a sob and a moan. His forehead pressed harder against yours, like if he moved any other way he’d fall apart.

“God–oh, God…” He whispered, voice ragged and frayed at the edges. “Holy…You’re…You’re so” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too overwhelmed by the feel of you wrapped around him, every pulse and tremble drawing him deeper into the haze of you.

Your hand clenched tighter in his, and you felt the way his fingers locked with yours, grounding himself with your grip as he bottomed out. A low, aching sound slipped from your throat and caught in the space between your lips, and you felt it shake against his mouth as he kissed you again–slow, reverent, his tongue barely brushing yours as he tried to breathe.

“You’re doing so good,” You whispered into him, your voice like silk over fire. “Just stay right there. Just let me feel you…”

He whimpered at that, a broken noise into your mouth, like the praise undid him. He didn’t move–couldn’t, not yet at least. He was just holding himself there, buried inside you, feeling the way your body fluttered around him.

“I-It’s like…Like you’re pulling me apart,” He said, breathless. “And putting me back together all at once…”

His hand left yours slowly, reluctantly, fingers sliding down your wrist with a feather-light touch as he reached for your thigh. You felt it happen in stages–the way his hand cradled the back of your knee, the way he gently guided your leg up higher on his waist, opening you up further, angling himself deeper.

The shift made your breath catch. He slid in even further, the new position sending a wave of pressure right through your core, and you gasped into his mouth. Bob groaned–breathlessly low, lost—and his hips jolted forward once, like he couldn’t help himself.

You could feel him trembling above you, his hand still gripping your thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“I need…” he murmured into your neck, voice barely coherent, “Need to be closer—need to feel all of you.”

“You are,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “You’re already in every part of me.”

He rocked into you, slow at first–agonizing in its care–like he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made when he moved. Your bodies stayed pressed together, chest to chest, lips to jaw, gasps shared like breathless secrets.

And then you reached up.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, until your fingers slid gently into his mouth. Bob’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and stunned–and then he groaned, low in his chest, as he closed his lips around them.

You watched him–watched his lashes flutter, his breath hitch, the way his hips stuttered forward harder now, more desperate, like the taste of you on his tongue had undone something deep and buried inside him.

You moaned at the sight of it–at the way he sucked your thumbs, not rough, but with such reverence you almost passed out, on the brink of obedience.

You slipped your thumbs from his mouth slowly, watching the glossy string of saliva stretch and catch in the moonlight like silk spun from reverence. Bob’s lips stayed parted, his breath hot against your fingers, his tongue brushing the edge of one thumb as you pulled it away. And then, without breaking the contact, you trailed the damp touch down his jaw–soft, deliberate, leaving a glistening line in its wake.

His whole body stilled.

You felt him twitch inside you, felt the sharp inhale he tried and failed to control. And then your fingers tilted his chin up.

“Look at me,” You whispered, your voice low and rich with everything you couldn’t say with words alone. His eyes lifted to yours like he was coming up for air, like your gaze was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the moment completely. He looked wrecked–beautifully so. Lips kiss-bruised, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears, pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes completely now. You could see every flicker of awe in his expression, every ounce of need, of surrender. You brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, then swept them up into his hair, pushing the sweat-dampened strands from his forehead with aching tenderness. His breath caught when you did it, like your touch alone unraveled something buried too deep for him to reach.

“You’re doing so good…You feel so good inside me, Bob.” You whispered, voice like velvet as your thumbs stroked the sides of his face. His hips stuttered forward—once, then again. A trembling gasp slipped from his throat as he sank in deeper, the pace no longer slow but no less careful. It was desperate now. Steady and aching. Each thrust felt like it was pulled from the center of him, like he was trying to carve himself into your body—leaving a part of his soul there.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room in soft, rhythmic slaps. Your breathing hitched with each one, your legs tightening around his hips to pull him in, to keep him close. You could feel how badly he was trying to keep control, how every movement was threaded with reverence and restraint. But his body–his need–was beginning to override his fear.

And you wanted that.

“Don’t hold back,” You said between soft gasps, brushing his hair back again, curling your fingers against his neck. “I want you to give it to me. Everything.”

His face twisted like he was going to cry. He dipped down and kissed you hard, and sloppily, like he was already too far gone to keep it clean. His tongue slipped into your mouth, searching for yours, and when he found it, he moaned into the kiss like he’d been starving for it. He fucked you through it–deeper now, faster–his hips rolling in a way that had your head falling back onto the pillows.

“Oh God…Oh–fuck–Bob,” You whined, your nails raking lightly down his back. He gasped at the sharp drag, chasing the friction because he liked the burn it brought him.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” He choked, voice breaking as his thrusts grew uneven. “I can’t—I can’t slow down—I n-need—”

”No…Fuck. Don’t apologize you feel so fucking good. Please––Please don’t fucking stop.” You interrupted, desperate now, feeling your stomach twisting into knots. He dropped his forehead against yours again, lips brushing yours with every breath, and drove into you harder. Deeper. Each movement was more desperate, more pleading, as if his body was trying to reach some part of you his words couldn’t. The bed shifted beneath you, the frame creaking, but neither of you noticed. Not when it felt like your souls were colliding.

You felt everything building again, fast–hot and coiled and pulsing at the center of you.

“Bob…” You whimpered, your voice cracking with need, “I-I’m close, I’m so close…” His eyes met yours again–blown wide, glassy, nodding.

“I-I’m gonna come too,” He panted, and then the question tumbled out of him, desperate and ragged–“Where—Where do you want me to…?”

Your body trembled.

“In me,” You breathed, cupping his cheek again, pulling him close, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Inside me, Bob. I want to feel it dripping out of me all day tomorrow.”

And that was it.

Bob cried out–barely a sound, more of a broken whimper–and buried himself to the hilt inside you. His hips stilled with a violent shudder, and then he came. You felt the heat of it, the way his body jerked as he pulsed inside you, moaning your name like it was the only prayer he knew. His arms locked around you, trembling as he held you through it.

And then–seconds later–you followed.

You clenched around him as your body went tight, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting in a soundless cry that turned into a whimper of his name. He felt you come around him, fluttering, pulsing, your legs tightening around his waist as your body shook with the force of it.

He kissed you through the aftershocks–soft and slow now. Like a thank you. Like an apology. Like he was still trying to give you more even after he’d already given you everything. Then he collapsed into your arms, chest heaving, lips brushing against your throat with such tenderness you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much he truly cared about you.

And then–out of nowhere–you laughed. It wasn’t loud or mocking. It was soft, breathy, and stunned.

“W-What? What did I––Did I do something?” He asked, lifting his head quickly, eyes wide and flushed with concern. You reached up, still giggling as your fingers gently swept the hair off his forehead.

”No,” You said with a smile so wide your cheeks ached, “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just…I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” You could see the relief in Bob’s eyes when you said it, as he let out the softest laugh. A breathless, giddy kind of noise.

”I-I was so scared to mess the friendship up…” He admitted, his nose brushing yours again, voice low and shy, “But I’ve wanted you for so long…” You nodded.

”I know,” You whispered, kissing his cheek, “Me too Bob.” He let the moment linger for a heartbeat longer, then shifted slightly, wincing as he carefully pulled back. You gasped quietly at the sensation of him slipping out, a hot flutter leaving your core in the wake of it. You tightened your thighs reflexively as you sighed, and Bob caught the look on your face instantly.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned now, pushing your hair back from your forehead.

”Just a bit sore,” You admitted, cheeks flushed, “It’s been a while since I…Y’know.” Bob nodded, slowly getting up from the bed, pulling on the boxers he had on before.

”I’ll be right back–I’m gonna grab a warm washcloth, okay?” He said gently, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips, “Don’t move.” You smiled at him.

”Okay.” You whispered, watching his silhouette pad across the room and disappear into the bathroom, as he turned on the pale white light. You could hear the gentle rush of water, the sound of the towel drawer sliding open, and the rustle of cloth.

He returned a minute later, stopping at his dresser to pull a pair of boxer shorts and one of his old, soft t-shirts, before making his way back to you.

“A-Alright,” He whispered, setting the clothes beside you as he kneeled back onto the bed, “You tell me if anything hurts…Okay?” You nodded, watching as he eased your thighs open. You winced slightly at the sting, but bit back a gasp. He brought the cloth between your legs and cleaned you carefully, delicately, like every part of you was sacred. The warmth helped a bit with the soreness thankfully, so now all you felt was the euphoria of the come down.

Once he finished, he set the cloth on the bedside table, then helped ease the boxers up your legs. They were soft and loose around your thighs, a simple comfort, as you lifted your hips slightly to help. He then tugged the shirt gently over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with a kind of tender concentration like he was worried he might do it wrong.

When it was all done he let out a soft sigh, one full of warmth and the heavy pull of contentment. You were blissed out, sore in a way that felt good. And he was still looking at you with such admiration it made your heart race.

You lifted your arms in front of you.

The motion was simple–gentle, slow, but deliberate. An offering. A request. And Bob’s entire body reacted to it like it was instinct. He didn’t say anything–didn’t need to. His shoulders dipped forward as he crawled up into your arms, letting himself be folded against your chest, nuzzling in like he was coming home. He was careful, even now–making sure his weight didn’t press too much into your legs, tugging the thin top sheet off the corner of the bed before wrapping it loosely around both of your bodies.

He laid his head on your chest, just over your heart, and you felt him exhale fully for what might’ve been the first time all night. His arm slipped around your waist, his other hand curling loosely over your ribs as he pressed his cheek to the center of you, listening.

You held him close, your arms winding around his shoulders, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing slowly along his scalp in lazy, thoughtful strokes. He hummed–barely a sound, more of a breath–but it vibrated softly into the shirt you wore.

The sheet was thin, barely a whisper of fabric between you and the cooling air, but you didn’t need more than that. Not when you had this. The weight of him. The heat of him. Bob tilted his face slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the fabric at the underside of your breast, where your heartbeat fluttered near the surface. You smiled at him, your hand stroking down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melted into you even further.

“Y-You’re amazing Y/N…” He whispered, “And I’m so…So in love with you.”

[andulina567]

I love Bob

When Bob realizes he's in love with you, and it sucks even more.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 3/?

Part 1 // Part 2

It took you a while before you figured out your true feelings for Bob. Unfortunately for him, he knew from the beginning.

Seriously. From the moment he laid eyes on you in that death trap where you all almost suffered a violent, fiery end, he was gone.

And, let's be honest, terrified.

You were beautiful, formidable, and watched him with this calculating stare that looked like a scowl if he caught it at the right moment. And he understood why. You were keeping your guard up until you were sure who he was and whether you could trust him.

Whatever this feeling brewing was, he knew it was unusual. He knew it was precious. And he knew it was dangerous. How did he know? Well, it was the only thing that hadn't made him feel like utter shit in years.

And, despite everything, he knew that things like happiness and hope were only tools that The Void could use against him. And maybe Void was right — he didn't deserve anything. At least, not anything good.

And you were good. You had a laugh that danced across the room, a sharp wit, and a bravery that he could only dare to dream about possessing one day. He watched you for months, carefully. And then you started talking to him.

It freaked him out. He didn't want it. He didn't want to get closer to you, because he didn't trust himself to handle it right. He couldn't handle anything right. So he withdrew into himself, trying not to give you any reason to want to talk to him more.

But damn it, you kept trying. And then, that one day, he had to give you a reason. He said he was scared. Of you. Which is only half true, because he knew all you really wanted to do was help people. And you quickly proved yourself by helping him, shaking hands and cementing a friendship.

And suddenly, his new family became something more. The others cared about him, looked after him, helped him learn how to live again. But you soon became the thing he lived for. He looked for you every time he walked into a room. He listened to your radio updates on the comms, and he stayed up on nights when you were out on missions. He never said anything to you when you returned — he just wanted to hear the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut, signalling that you were back. (And alive, more importantly.)

You snuck him out to the movies that one time, and he hated it. He couldn't stop thinking of it as a date, which it definitely wasn't, but it gave him this horrific feeling of not knowing how to act. He looked around the room to see if he could get cues on what other couples were doing around them. But then you'd squeezed his arm, and he didn't feel so stressed. (Actually, maybe he didn't hate it at all.)

The nightmares and tiptoeing around his own emotions eased up around you. There was an ease he hadn't felt in...well, ever. And when those old horrors did bubble up, you were always there. Soon, he couldn't imagine how it could have ever been any different.

So yeah, he loved you quickly. But he didn't even know that's what it was until one night, when you'd fallen asleep on the couch. He knew you hated sleeping like that — it made your neck stiff — so he nudged you awake.

You woke up, looked towards him, and smiled. Your eyes were still lidded with sleep, you brushed your hair from your face, and you said, voice throaty, "Hmm. Hey, Bob."

And, honestly, that was it. Nothing profound or anything. He just watched you wake up, like he'd done before. But that was it. He was yours.

Or at least, he would have been. The next day, he walked you to the jet and took your hand in his, because for the first time, he was worried that there was a slight chance you wouldn't come back. You were more than capable, he knew that. But bad things happened to people he cared about — he didn't dare think about what could happen to someone he loved.

But he didn't need to think about it. His nightmares did that for him. That night, his spinning mind was quickly invaded by him. And he brought out the big guns: visions of you, bruised, beaten, brutal fantasies that dripped in blood.

And, for good measure, he even made sure Bob remembered what he'd already done to you during his brief life as Sentry, when he's easily toppled each Thunderbolt, including you, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you away like you were made of nothing.

He woke up yelling, covered in sweat and the sheets torn beneath his hands. There was no way he was sleeping after that. He waited until the sun rose and he heard the first clangs of life in the kitchen. The others were up, but you weren't. You weren't sleeping — you were hiding out in your room, consumed by your new revelation.

You didn't want to lose Bob. Let's face it, you needed him. Just because he told you to be careful, that doesn't mean he loved you too. So then what? You profess your new feelings to someone who's emotionally delicate, they freak out, and the most important connection in your life is gone, just like that?

You decided you would go find him. You could both read each other easily, and if you could just look at his face, you'd know if you were crazy or if there was something there.

Bob, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, listening to Bucky recap the night's antics, but not really listening at all. He was waiting for you to walk through the door, to see your face. If he could see your face, he would know what to do.

Then, you walked into the room. You were tired, wired, and weren't feeling like yourself at all. You looked at Bob. He looked at you. For a second, you thought he was going to cross the room and come to you. If he'd done that, you would have thrown yourself at him, asking him what it all means. But he didn't. He looked at you, then looked away. He ignored you completely, walking towards his spot at the window, and picking up his book.

You must be crazy.

Bob sat in his chair, the book trembling between his hands. He could have torn it in two right then if he wanted to. You'd stood there, so beautiful and brilliant, and he loved you. He loved you, and he couldn't. He wouldn’t let himself. He’d lost his family, his future, his sanity, and himself. He’d just about managed to forgive himself for all that, but this would be the end of him if it ended badly.

He's crazy for even thinking he deserved any part of you.

Next: When you and Bob tried to stay away from each other and failed miserably.

[andulina567]

This is the first Bob fanfic I read and I LOVE IT

When The Sun Hits

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are starting to test the waters among rampant growing suspicions from the rest of the team (This is a continuation of “Carry The Zero”)

Warnings: AHEM! 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts just because of Bob’s involvement (there’s no mentioning of the plot from Thunderbolts or anything just character involvement ex. Bucky, Yelena, Alexei, Walker etc.), Fluff, References to Sex and/or Sexual Acts, Bob…Is a warning lol. There’s a little bit of self-depreciation in this, talking bad about oneself, but nothing too extreme on that front.

Smut Warnings: Grinding, Teasing (kind of on the brink of edging?) Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap it up y’all…Or Y’know…Take precautions at least lol), Oral Sex (fem receiving), Fingering, Spit Swallowing, Handjob, Praise/Worship Kink. Soft/Submissive Bob (if you squint) (Hopefully I didn’t miss anything),

Author’s Note: I got this out as soon as I possibly could, thank you so much for the activity on the last post :) y’all are frickin awesome. I hope you enjoy this new part of this story, because I’m going straight to horny jail *boink boink* lol (also whoever made this gif you deserve all the fucking flowers <3)

Word Count: 16,150

Two weeks later you found yourself on the training mat, slicked with sweat, and out of breath.

You wiped your forearms across your forehead, chest rising and falling as you rolled your shoulders to relieve some tension that seized up your back, steadying your stance again, angling yourself carefully so your sight was trained on both Yelena and Bucky.

“Ready?” Yelena asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, her curtain bangs bobbing with each movement, preparing herself to pounce.

“As I’ll ever be,” You muttered, exhaling hard through your nose, tasting the remnants of blood that you had spit out two rounds ago after taking a pretty hard slap to the face. You kept your mind clear though, because if you focused on anything else in that moment, you’d lose miserably, or get hurt again, which was something that you didn’t want at all, especially after you were benched for a week after you injured your shoulder.

It was two against one today, which was entirely unfair, but also part of the challenge. Bucky called it ‘awareness training.’ Yelena called it ‘fun.’

They flanked you like wolves attacking a wounded animal. Yelena moved first, sharp and precise, going for a low sweep with her leg. You jumped and dodged it easily, pivoting to avoid Bucky’s right hook. He was heavier on his feet, but that didn’t mean he was slower in any sense. You ducked beneath his next swing and caught Yelena’s wrist before she could even capitalize on your evasion, using her own momentum to send her stumbling back, giving you some space to breathe.

”Not bad,” She huffed.

”Not done yet,” Bucky growled, before charging at you again. You anticipated him this time, moving back just enough to throw him off rhythm. He came at you with a series of jabs, but you blocked them all, even the ones that were enhanced by his vibranium arm, which surprised you even. You parried with a side kick that landed square against his hip, catching him off balance. This granted you a window to turn back towards Yelena, who had just regained her footing.

She came in full force and you barely had time to register her moves. You raised your arm to shield your face from her fist, feeling the impact ripple along the muscle just below your biceps, before striking in the open space she left, right at her ribs, which made her take in a sharp gasp of air.

You didn’t mean to, but a little satisfied smirk played on your lips, like you had the upper hand, like you were finally going to win…Then Bucky swept your legs out from under you with a move so clean you barely noticed the impact.

You hit the mat with a hard exhale, the wind knocking out of your lungs as your back hit the floor. The fluorescent light shined down into your eyes, almost blinding you, and in a blink, Bucky was standing over you, looking down with his hands on his hip.

”You got cocky…And let your guard down for the third time.” He muttered, with a small grin plastered on his face.

”That…” You breathed, trying to recoup the air you lost from slamming into the mat, “Was a cheap shot,” You added, blinking up at him, seeing the way his hair framed his face as he shook his head at you. Without another word, he extended his hand out to you, and you took it, fingers gripping his forearm as he hoisted you to your feet in one swift movement. You staggered slightly when the room tilted for a split second, your balance thrown from the impact you took that still surged through you with little aftershocks. Bucky steadied you instantly with a firm hand on your elbow, eyes scanning over your face.

”You alright?” He asked, with concern lacing his voice, trying to determine whether or not you needed another med bay visit. You gave him a nod.

”Yeah, yeah, just a bit dizzy from that slam, but I’ll live.” Right before Bucky was going to respond, Yelena cut in.

”Alright you two. Water. Now. Before I pass out from sweating so much.” She didn’t wait for either of you to agree, she just turned toward the bench on the far side of the room, and snatched up three water bottles from the crate nearby, which were already chilled. She tossed one to you and to Bucky, beckoning the both of you to join her in a nice break.

The three of you dropped down onto the bench with soft grunts and groans harmonizing the air, as you dragged the back of your arm across your forehead to wipe the beads of sweat off it. You were beat, that was for certain. You could already feel a new set of bruises forming on your body, especially where you had landed on your ass just moments ago, and that was just another thing you were going to have to tend to for the next few days.

You twisted the cap off your bottle and took three large gulps from it, feeling your chest go cold from how quick you chugged. Your sweat-slicked shirt clung to your spine, but the introduction of the drink was finally managing your body temperature, as your pulse began to slow down, easing the rhythmic thumping that echoed through your ears. You put the cap back on, and placed the bottle against your forehead with a sigh, watching your teammates settle down–Yelena beside you, Bucky on the bench across the way. That’s when you felt it…The subtle tension in the air, the silence that lingered just long enough that it made you suspicious.

Bucky lifted his brows sharply at Yelena, like he was daring her to speak first, like they had been planning on asking you questions all day but didn’t know how to approach the subject. She shook her head just once, staring at him with pointed daggers, almost like she was saying that it was his idea so he should be the one to say it. He let out a defeated sigh.

“So…Uh…” He started, scrunching his nose like the words that were on the tip of his tongue tasted weird in his mouth, “How’s it going with Bob? Y’know…Rooming with him and all.” The question caught you off guard, but the awkwardness from Bucky gave off the sense that he was asking this more because everyone else around him was talking and making up their own theories, and he just wanted to get the answers once and for all.

That didn’t mean the question didn’t spike your heart rate again though. Just the mentioning of Bob made you immediately go on defence mode, not just because of what was going on between the both of you, but because you both wanted this to be private until further notice. Neither of you were prepared for the team to know about your late night rendezvous, or how deep the connection really went. It was your little secret and you preferred to keep it that way.

“It’s okay…” You answered, trying to cover up the stutter in your words, “He’s definitely one of the easier roommates I’ve had to be honest. Super quiet, keeps to himself. It’s great.” You avoided Bucky’s gaze, your eyes focusing on the water bottle in your hands before glancing over at Yelena, who was already squinting at you.

”Super quiet, huh?” She repeated, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards, like she didn’t quite buy what you were putting down. You looked over at Bucky too, now seeing that he was watching you as well with one elbow propped up on his knee so he could rest his chin on his fist.

“Yeah, super quiet, he just reads and sleeps basically, nothing more, nothing less. What’s with this line of questioning? You two roleplaying as detectives or something?” Bucky huffed through his nose, a mix between a laugh and a sigh.

”We wouldn’t have to be detectives if you weren’t so secretive…” You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, attempting to hold onto your fake innocence, trying to make it seem like they weren’t somehow onto you, even though there was no possible way they could know anything that was going on in your shared room…Not unless there were cameras, but that was definitely not the case…Because you looked for them.

“Me? Secretive? I don’t understand how I’m being secretive, I’m answering your questions, aren’t I?” Yelena made a small humming sound beside you, sipping from her water bottle, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

”Okay then, Miss Transparency…” She started, setting the bottle on the bench gently, “What about the window?” You froze, and instantly your brain spiraled with questions on how the hell she found out about the window. You kept your cool on the outside, while the rest of your internal organs were twisting and malfunctioning on the inside trying to figure out how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

”What window?” You asked.

”The one in your room,” Yelena responded, leaning forward just a little bit to crowd your space, “Maintenance said you put in a request to fix it three days ago because there was a crack in the glass. He said it looked like someone took a sledge hammer to it. Kinda weird, yeah?” You blinked at Yelena, keeping your expression blank, like you were thinking.

“Ohhhh…That window.” You said, as if you had just remembered what she was talking about. You waved your hand vaguely, letting out a shaky laugh, which did absolutely nothing to cover the tension that began to seep through your muscles, “Yeah, no, it’s not that weird. I, uh…Accidently pushed my dresser drawer closed a little too hard and the wood slammed into the glass, kind of a freak accident if you ask me.” Yelena stared at you flatly, watching you flail while trying to come up with something believable off the top of your head. If you had time to actually prepare for the grilling you would’ve at least thought of something as back up, but this was just totally unexpected.

It’s not like you could’ve told them the truth anyways, because it just wouldn’t have sounded good, and it would’ve just put Bob under the spotlight once again, and he didn’t deserve that at all. Not when he was trying so hard to get along with everyone, which he was doing very well at until this point at least.

So you just laughed it off again, muttering something about needing to be more careful, before tipping the bottle of water to your lips to shut yourself up.

But your mind was already drifting back to that night, and you couldn’t stop it.

——————

Four nights ago was movie night.

Alexei had insisted on it—insisted being the operative word, because no one had really agreed to it in the first place.

He said movie nights were a “sacred ritual” from his youth, a tradition that brought people together, made them stronger, and unified the soul. And when someone offhandedly mentioned that Bucky had never seen Rocky IV, that sealed everyone’s fate.

“It is masterpiece,” Alexei declared, standing in the center of the living room with the case held high like a relic. You were surprised that he even had a DVD of it, but then again he had mentioned in passing it was one of his favourite movies.

“American propaganda, yes, but still…Very good representation.” He exclaimed, moving around the living room to locate the video player, as you all watched him.

So Rocky IV became the night’s reluctant feature, and any protests were quickly steamrolled under his booming enthusiasm.

The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and the only glow in the room came from the TV screen—icy blue and gunmetal gray as the film’s opening credits began to roll. Everyone had found their spots. Yelena curled into one corner of the sectional while Walker was on the other, Bucky sat low in a beanbag chair with his arms crossed, Alexei sat right in front of the television with the reverence of a man watching live theatre…

And then there was you.

You tucked yourself into the corner of the couch with a blanket draped on top of you, leaning against a pillow for support because your shoulder was still giving you a little bit of trouble. Bob was beside you, but he was not close enough to raise suspicion as the both of you had separate blankets and weren’t really touching at all…Not yet, at least.

Somewhere near the halfway point of the movie–just after Rocky’s training montage–Bob shifted slightly beside you, adjusting himself with a slight turn of his hips. It wasn’t a big move, but it was noticeable enough to draw your eyes to him, then you saw his hand sliding beneath his blanket ever so slowly, paying attention to the others in the room, hoping that none of them would turn around.

Even through the terrible lighting you could see him beginning to flush, his pale skin becoming a gentle hue of pink which spread all the way down to the collar of pale green sweater, and below it. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, seeing how he tried to keep his profile composed, as he moved his hand with quiet purpose, sliding beneath your blanket in one quick movement, knowing that once he was under there nobody would know any better what was happening.

His fingers found your thigh beneath the covering, completely bare for him because of the flannel shorts you were wearing. The first touch was delicate, almost like it wasn’t even there, though you could feel the heat radiating off his skin as the pads of his fingers ghosted over the wide plane of your flesh. He was waiting for you to pull away, to signal to him you didn’t want him to do this here, but when that moment didn’t come, his hand finally settled against you.

He took everything slow, and moved with such care and purpose that you felt like you were going to melt into the sofa . His palm molded gently to the outside of your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, drawing goosebumps up to the surface of your skin. The touch wasn’t lewd, nor needy…It was intimate in one of the simplest ways possible. Just the grounding press of his hand against you, soaking up the heat of your body, letting it mingle with his own.

You felt your pulse begin to hammer in your ears, and your eyes flickered to the rest of the team, checking if they were still transfixed by whatever was happening in the movie, which they were. Nobody was looking. So you took this as an opportunity for yourself to make a move now too.

It was a gentle shift, just enough to let your blanket drape a little farther over the space between the both of you, until it overlapped with his. You ripped a page out of Bob’s book and slipped your hand beneath the threshold of the covering, before moving it towards him with the same stealthy patience he had just moments ago.

You found his thigh easily, resting your hand against the soft checker-patterned sleep pants he wore. The fabric was light and thin enough to allow you to feel every flex and shift of muscle beneath your touch, the way it twitched at first contact and relaxed when you dragged your palm against it. He cleared his throat gently, trying to mask the noise that was about to slip out of his throat unwillingly.

His thumb on your thigh had stilled completely in those moments, like you had pulled the plug on all his motor functions by just settling your hand on him in the most gentle way possible. Over the past week of being holed up together during your Bucky mandated break from training, you had learned that gentleness was the key thing that unraveled Bob faster than anything else ever could.

Your fingers slowly dragged upward with the lightest graze over the thin fabric, tracing the line of muscle you could feel there. You didn’t press hard, there was no need to, because you could already feel that he was burning under your palm, coming undone, shifting in his seat, like he wanted to get closer to you but couldn’t.

He was trying so hard not to breathe loudly, or to draw attention to himself by making an unnatural noise. His hand tightened on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze, like he was pleading for you to continue, but for you to also take it easy on him because he didn’t know how much he was going to be able to handle. He felt like he was going to turn into a puddle on the sofa, and the sweating and flushing that he was doing was only a prelude to that. You could feel the tension in his body, the way it practically vibrated through him, and it only made you want to touch him more.

You smoothed your thumb over the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, where he flinched. He sucked in a breath and immediately turned it into a cough, low and forced, like he was trying to dislodge something that was stuck in his throat–even though you knew it was just him trying to stifle a sound that he didn’t dare let out–squeezing your thigh again like it was anchoring him to whatever stability he had left.

You didn’t need more than this. You just enjoyed every morsel of connection you got from him, and revelled in the excitement that coursed through your veins from the small things you learned about him, like how easy he was to read, or how flustered he got from such little contact. Or how touch-starved he was despite all the late nights and quiet mornings you two were sharing up until this point. He was learning how to let himself go, but that didn’t mean he was used to it just yet.

By the time the end credits rolled and Alexei stood to stretch with a complaint about how Americans don’t know when to end a movie, Bob was already clawing at the opportunity to make his grand escape. His hand left your thigh, and reached for his blanket–not to fold it, not to hold it when he stood–but to clutch it, to replicate the grip he had on your skin moments before. You slowly removed your hand from him as well, making sure you discreetly brought it back into your area without anyone noticing.

Every motion he did was methodical, almost exaggerated in its effort to present itself as casual, like the both of you weren’t just touching each other's thighs beneath your communal blankets. You watched from the corner of your eye as Bob adjusted the covering over his lip, gripping the hem carefully as he shifted on the couch, leaning slightly forward.

He was shielding himself.

You could tell by the blush that began to deepen around his neck, and the way he couldn’t seem to look at anyone in the room–not even you–that he was trying very hard not to be obvious about the problem that was currently occurring below his waist. The one you had caused with just the gentle stroking of his thigh.

The realization made you heat up, but also smirk.

”I’m gonna…Uh…” Bob cleared his throat, attempting to cover up the way his words buckled under his voice “Head to my room…Start getting ready for bed and stuff, I had a good book I was getting into before…C-Coming to watch the movie.” He added, standing from the couch, keeping the blanket bunched in front of him with a practiced sort of shuffle that only he could execute with pure awkwardness. He said a vague goodnight and everyone responded in their own little way, as he moved towards the corridor that led to the makeshift bedrooms.

Your eyes followed his movements, watching when he made it out of everyone’s line of sight. He turned around, knowing that your eyes were already on him and mouthed a very light “please hurry,” before rushing down the hallway to seek refuge in the privacy of your room.

You waited exactly thirty seconds, which was long enough for the heat in your limbs to settle so when you stood up you didn’t have shaky legs, or draw attention to any of your actions, even though nobody was really paying attention in general.

Yelena was half-sleep, eyes barely open while she nursed what was left of her electrolytes. Walker had his head tilted back, and was snoring loudly. Bucky was sprawled out in the beanbag chair, and Alexei was still rambling, only now it was about how Ivan Drago’s story in Rocky is just misunderstood. So you took the opportunity to stand, and let out an exaggerated yawn, rubbing your eyes for added effect.

”Think I’m also going to head to bed too. I’m exhausted.” You murmured, which earned a small wave from Yelena, a grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky, and a pause from Alexei.

”Did you not like the movie?” He asked, and you smirked.

”Yes of course I liked it, I’ve just seen it a few too many times, but tomorrow you can give me the footnotes on how misunderstood Drago’s story is, for now though I’m off to bed.” He gave you a wide smile, and as you moved away from the living room you could hear him mumble something about you actually being interested in what he had to say.

You quickly made your way down the hall, feeling your heart racing as you made your way towards the room. You tried your best to not make yourself look suspicious but the anticipation was eating you up on the inside.

The second you entered your shared quarters and closed the door behind you, you felt it–that shift in the air, like the moment right before lightning strikes a tree, the static that ebbs and flows through the atmosphere, like a warning to those who are around. The only light that glowed in the space was the desk lamp, which casted golden shapes across the walls, and once you locked the door and turned around, your eyes fell on him.

Bob stood by his bed, the blanket was long discarded, and his sweater was removed, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. His hands were fidgeting uselessly with the tie of his sleep pants, and when his eyes fell on you it was like he lost all the thoughts that were running through his head. The flush of pink on his cheeks hadn’t faded, if anything it had gotten worse between the time he left the couch and now, like the warmth had fully rooted inside him.

He didn’t say anything right away, he just opened his arms slightly, silently offering himself to you.

In a few quick steps, you crossed the room, taking up the space between his arms, pressing your hands gently to his chest, feeling the way his heart galloped beneath your palm. He cupped your elbows first, tentative and shy, looking down at you with those shimmering blue eyes that you had come to fawn over in secret, before letting his hands slide down to your wrists. You gave him a soft smile, tilting your head back a bit so he could lean forward to kiss you.

His mouth brushed yours once–tentative and silent, like he was asking a question–then again, with more confidence when you didn’t pull away, before fully pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you like he thought he would never get the chance to do it again. Like he was memorizing the shape of your lips, or the way you sighed into him like you’d been holding your breath for hours while waiting for this moment to come. His hands left your wrists, you slid up to your jaw, the tips of his thumbs barely grazing the corners of your mouth

And you melted into him.

You’d been doing this dance for the past few nights now–experiencing these careful, burning moments together that never quite tipped over the edge–and neither of you seemed to mind. You didn’t need the act of sex to feel intimate with him, even though you still had those thoughts that raced through you from time to time.

Every night you got to learn something new about him–how his breathing changed when you kissed his throat, how the muscles in his stomach twitched when you trailed your fingers ever so slowly under the hem of his shirt, and how he arched subtly into your touch like he was too afraid to vocalize that he wanted more.

It was explorative, patient, and gentle, and that’s all the both of you needed to have a good time.

The kiss continued to deepen, as his lips parted for you, letting your tongue through the threshold. He tasted like fresh breath mints, like he had swallowed a few before you came into the room, which wasn’t an out of place thought at all–he typically did small things like that.

His hands skimmed down your neck, and over your shoulders, travelling down to your hips to anchor himself against you. He put a little more pressure into the kiss, feeling your body press flush into his, causing a small gasp to escape and vibrate against your lips from him. He pulled back for a moment, as your arms slid around his neck, guiding him down even more so he could bury his face briefly into your shoulder. He breathed in deeply, letting his lungs fill with the various scents that radiated off of you– the vanilla from your shampoo, the lavender from your perfume, and the sage that constantly stayed on all of your clothes in general–before exhaling shakily, tugging you closer to him.

He guided you backward with a quiet sort of urgency.

”Come here,” He whispered, the words came out so softly it barely made it past his lips.

He led you to his bed, with his hand pressed low at your back, fingers splayed out like it was steadying the both of you. When the backs of your legs met the edge of the mattress you let yourself sit, eyes still locked on his. He was still watching you closely, like you were ethereal, something that shouldn’t exist for him.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling how swollen it was just from the one kiss that you got, and brought your fingers to the hem of your shirt, slipping them under. Bob felt his chest heave for a moment, the beating of his heart only becoming more frantic, as he hung on your movements like it was a sacred text.

You peeled the top off slowly, revealing the curve of your waist, your chest, your shoulders in small increments–it was more than he’d ever seen at once from you. Once you riddled yourself of the article of clothing you threw it to the side, which left you in just a plain white, cotton bra.

Bob’s gaze swept over you modestly, almost like he was too shy to linger on one part of you for too long, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. You saw the way he struggled to swallow for a moment, gulping loudly from the way his throat closed from all the tension that was building up in the room, then you saw his hands move down to the hem of his own shirt.

He awkwardly shimmied out of the fabric, tugging it over his head, messing up his light brown mane of hair in the proces. You could feel your chest tighten, and your mouth dry up, seeing the expanse of skin that was exposed to you.

It was the first time he’d allow you to see him like this.

And god–he was beautiful.

His chest was broad and lean. He was dusted with freckles that went across his shoulders and collarbones, like they were constellations begging to be traced. There were a few scars too–old and pale, stretched and softened with time, because they certainly weren’t fresh. You wondered about each of them. Not necessarily the stories, but how they shaped him as the person you were falling for more and more every day.

He was flushed from neck to navel, the pink hue blossoming over his ribs and all the way up to his ears. His arms hung at his sides for a moment, allowing you to drink in the image, even though he was visibly curling in on himself a bit. You reached out for him, beckoning for him to come closer to you, watching as he sheepishly moved into your space now. Your fingers skimmed gently over his ribs, dragging slowly up the plane of his stomach and across the center of his chest. You looked up at him with a smile plastered on your lips

“You’re breathtaking Bob…” You whispered, seeing the way his eyes softened, hearing the sincerity that laced your voice when the compliment fell from you. He felt lightheaded from it, as you leaned in to kiss the skin just above his navel, your smile shadowing against the flesh.

“I think I’m gonna die.” He responded, choking on his own breaths.

”Now, now…Don’t die yet…You haven’t kissed me again.” That is what unraveled him, seeing you pull away from his stomach, looking up at him with those lust filled eyes that he had seen night after night.

He leaned down slowly this time, and when your lips met, it was warmer than before, like a supernova had exploded between the both of you. It started soft, like the last one, but it built. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence that made your toes curl into the carpet beneath you. His hands skimmed down your sides, thumbs brushing along the soft slope of your waist as he kissed you deeper.

Then one hand drifted lower, tracing over your outer thigh. He paused just for a second to look at you, and when you gave the smallest nod, he gently urged you backward.

You let him guide you down until you back pressed into the mattress as he hovered above you, bracing himself on one elbow beside your head while the other stayed on your thigh, as you bracketed his hips with your legs. You could feel how hard he was trying to rein himself in, watching his shoulders tense when you brought him closer to you.

”A-Are you sure this is okay?” He whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the thin space between you.

”Bob,” You murmured, tracing your fingers along the freckles on his collarbone, “If I wasn’t sure, I would tell you.” His eyes fluttered shut for a beat, the words sinking into him like a weighted blanket, before he leaned forward to kiss you again, savouring the contact.

You felt the way he trembled just slightly above you, the way he braced so carefully against his arm, like he was scared of putting too much weight on you, or doing something wrong. His lips dragged over yours, warm and open, letting you taste the cool mint again as his tongue flicked out to meet yours when you deepened the kiss.

His breath stuttered as he exhaled sharply through his nose, attempting to keep up, but you could feel how overwhelmed he was already. Your hands slid over his back, fingers tracing along the soft lines of his muscles beneath skin that practically burned beneath your touch. You felt every ripple, every twitch of control that he tried to maintain, and the thought of it–of him holding himself back for you–made you want to pull him even closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, almost like it was bordering on a whimper.

“Jesus…You feel so good,” He whispered suddenly, like he couldn’t keep it in, like it was something he had been wanting to say all week and it finally burst free. His voice cracked slightly with the confession, and his cheeks burned as he buried his face against your jaw to hide the heat crawling up his neck, realizing how stupid it must’ve sounded.

”S-Sorry, I just…I just-“ You hushed him for a moment, slipping your hand up his back slowly before curling your fingers into his hair.

”Bob…Don’t apologize. You feel good against me too.” You had barely let the words settle between the both of you, when you hooked your legs a little tighter around his waist and gently guided his hips closer to yours.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat.

His jaw slackening and his lips parting in tandem with one another, as his eyes locked onto yours like he was trying to decipher something written across your irises. You could see it in his face–the unraveling, the awe, the absolute vulnerability of someone who wasn’t used to being wanted like this. And yet, he was burning from the inside out.

“What…What are you doing?” He asked, his voice thin and shaky.

Instead of answering, you ground your hips up against him in one slow, aching press.

The noise he made was soft and strangled, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then snapped open again, and you were able to see the dazed glassiness that shimmered over them. You could see the way the new sensation tore through him, as a full-body tremor made his shoulders tense and his thighs flinch.

He didn’t move at first–he couldn’t. But when you tugged gently on the back of his hair and pressed your lips to his neck, he let go.

His hips rocked forward, not with force but with aching, desperate need, mirroring the movement you’d given him. Your bodies slotted together in a slow, tender rhythm, each motion sending a wave of heat in your abdomen. It wasn’t frenzied or rough—it was exploratory, intoxicating, and so deeply charged you felt like your bones were shaking.

You kissed your way up his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. His hand was trembling against your thigh, while the other one gripped the duvet beside your head. You felt the shudder in his breath again, and the way his hips pressed a little harder this time, a little more urgently. You could feel the outline of him pushing against the thin fabric of your cotton shorts, and it left you breathless, just the thought of being so close almost made your heart stop.

The moment swelled around you–timeless, heavy, and sacred.

Then your fingers trailed down, slow as molasses, brushing over his abdomen and dipping lower, finding the waistband of his sleep pants.

The reaction was instantaneous.

His entire body went rigid, and his eyes snapped open, bright and wide—and in that split second, you saw it. That flicker of gold in his irises. It glinted like sunlit honey, like lightning flashing beneath the surface of a lake.

Then–CRACK.

A sharp, unnatural noise split into the room, and both your heads jerked toward the window, seeing the fracture that had webbed across the glass. It kind of looked similar to when a rock hits a windshield at full speed, only there was a larger impact point. You both blinked at the damage, before your eyes returned to his, seeing that the gold was gone, and he was back to his normal shimmering blue irises that you were enamoured by.

His mouth moved to speak, but no sound came out, then he looked down at himself, and froze. You followed his gaze, seeing a wet spot blooming across the front of his pants.

Then everything happened all at once.

He scrambled off of you, nearly toppling sideways off the bed in the process, and you sat up immediately, reaching for him.

”Bob…Hey…” You said, trying to get him to calm down a bit, but he was already moving.

”Crap…I’m-I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, as he grabbed his shirt off the floor, pulling it on with frantic hands like he needed to shield himself from you, from the world, from his own embarrassment that floated up into his chest, causing him to shake a bit. He tried to cover up the wet patch as his skin turned a cherry red, spreading all the way over his face and neck. He opened his drawer so fast that it nearly flew off the track as he collected the first pair of boxers and sleep pants that he could find.

“Bob, it’s alright.” You murmured, watching him rush towards the door,

”I-I just…I need…I just need a second.” He whispered before bolting out the door so he could tend to himself in the privacy of the bathroom.

You sat on his bed, still breathless from the closeness, from the way his body had moved against yours, and from the crack in the damn window. But mostly, from the way he looked when he realized what had happened—like the sky had fallen on him. Your heart was aching in the way he reacted, and now that you were sitting alone everything felt amplified.

Your eyes drifted to the window again, staring at the crack that shimmered faintly beneath the golden wash of the lamp–splintering like lightning. Curiosity pulled you from the bed, as you shuffled closer to it, wanting to get a better look.

The fracture was intricate, jagged at the center with spider web veins splitting outward like a slow explosion. You reached up, hovering your hand in front of it.

No air came through, no whistling of wind, and no change in temperature.

You furrowed your brow and pressed your palm against the surface, feeling the cool solidity of the glass. It didn’t flex, nor did it crack even more with the pressure you placed on it, which made you even more perplexed.

You stepped back slightly, squinting at the window. It definitely wasn’t a regular one, it was industrial, reinforced, maybe even bulletproof. The thought made your lips part a little, as you tried to reconcile the softness of Bob–the sweet, awkward, blushing man who mouthed please hurry to you because he wanted to be so close–with the person who had just cracked fortified glass because he was so overwhelmed by your touch.

You huffed out a breath that was caught between awe and amusement, as you continued to stare at the jagged impact, until you saw movement in the glass, noticing Bob trying to sneak in, like you wouldn’t see him. You turned on your heels.

He stood against the door, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as you looked him over. He had changed into navy blue sleep pants, and his hair was clinging to his forehead–you assumed it was from him splashing water on his face to freshen up. He was holding onto a bundle of clothes–the ones he had changed out of–as his eyes scanned over you before dating away. You glanced down at yourself, suddenly remembering that you were shirtless, standing in your bra still.

His face flushed again, but this time it was threaded with much more than just embarrassment. There was remorse in there, maybe even a little bit of fear, like he was worried that you wouldn’t look at him the same because of what happened.

“I…” He started, voice hoarse, “…I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to just…Leave like that, I just–” He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. Or, I mean–you did, I guess, but–God.” He laughed breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut for a second. “I’m making this worse.” You shook your head gently, cutting him off before he spiraled any further.

“It’s okay Bob…Trust me you don’t have to apologize.” You said quietly, stretched out a hand towards him, “Now, come over here please.” Bob glanced down at the gesture, returning his gaze back up at you, hesitating for only a second before stepping forward, dropping the bundle of clothes on the floor. His movements were so timid, like a wounded animal coming over to look at the mess it made.

When he was close enough you leaned forward and wrapped your hand around his wrist. His eyes were wide and glistening as you tugged him toward you even more, his lashes trembling with the weight of remorse. Not just for bolting from the room or leaving you half-dressed and flushed on his bed, but for losing control…For being too much.

“I see those cogs turning in your head. Your brows are furrowing. Stop thinking for a second, and just look at me Bob.” You said, breaking through the thoughts that kept racing through his head, wrapping your arms around his waist. Bob let out a soft sigh, bringing his gaze down to yours. His hands hovered over your back for a moment before slowly coming to rest against your skin, holding onto you like he was afraid you were going to crack.

“…I truly didn’t mean to do that…” He murmured, motioning to the window, “I didn’t even think about it...It just happened.” You turned slightly in his arms, glancing back at the window for a split second, then returning your gaze back to him. You tilted your head up, brushing your lips softly against the underside of his jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble.

”Pretty sure it’s bulletproof glass too, by the way.” He blinked down at you, his cheeks flushing a deeper red, confused at the statement, and at the way you were smirking up at him, “I must’ve really gotten you going.” You added, trying to lighten the mood. A groan caught in his throat.

”Please…Don’t say that.” He whispered under his breath.

”Why not? It’s kind of hot.” Bob’s eyebrows raised at your comment, letting out a quiet laugh–embarrassed, and flustered, but undeniably touched by the way you were trying to make light of the situation.

”You know…I think you should actually be a little freaked out by this at least,” He stated gently, pulling back just a little bit so the both of you could comfortably look at each other, “I mean…We didn’t even…Do anything and I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, as he ran his hands along your back, “I’m just saying if I lost that much control just f-from grinding against you, what’s going to happen when we have sex?” He added, his voice laced with worry. You traced your fingers along his spine as you listened, feeling his chest rising and falling against you, the panic simmering underneath all the tension in his muscles. You leaned into him a bit more.

”Well…You don’t really use your powers all that much, Bob.” He raised his eyebrows at you, surprised by what you were possibly suggesting. You continued, gently brushing your thumbs along the hem of his shirt.

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. You’ve been bottling all that energy up without giving yourself a way to release it. Maybe you need to exhaust your powers a little–practice, push yourself in a safe space so you can figure out where the edges are. Then maybe…” You paused mid-sentence, reaching up to him to push his hair off his forehead, “You won’t have to worry about breaking any more windows.” He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling your fingertips trailing down the side of his face to hold his jaw.

“Or…” You added thoughtfully, “We could try some small exercises together. I know there are grounding techniques for people with telekinesis or energy-based mutations–things to help hone it and redirect it before it builds up too much.”

Bob was staring at you now like you were the only stable piece of land in a world that kept shaking under his feet. You ran your thumb along the slight roughness of his jaw, taking in the warmth of his skin.

“Either way,” You said, “We can figure it out together.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Together,” He repeated, almost like he was testing the weight of the suggestion in his mouth, making sure it was real. His hands gripped you just a little tighter, like he didn’t want to let go, admiring the fact that you were even sticking it out with him.

“And maybe next time,” You whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You’ll crack something a little less expensive.”

That made him laugh for real this time–a breathy, bashful sound as he rested his forehead against yours. “No more windows,” He whispered. “I promise.” You swayed in your spot for a moment relishing in the silence, as your hearts thudded against each other like it shared the same rhythm.

“…Maybe just the bedframe,” He mumbled a second later–so quietly you almost missed it.

There was a pause.

Then his eyes went wide, his entire face lighting up scarlet as the implication hit him a split second too late. “Oh my god,” He breathed, “I didn’t mean—shit—I mean I did but I—”

You broke into laughter, the sound bursting out of you like sunlight, catching yourself against his chest as your shoulders shook. “Robert Reynolds,” You gasped through your giggles, “I didn’t take you as a person to make a sex joke like that…I like it.”

——————

Yelena snapped her fingers in front of your face.

”Helloooo? Earth to Y/N…You’ve been zoned out for like ten minutes, are you concussed or something?” You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your trance, noticing your palms were sweaty, and your pulse was pounding in your head.

”Sorry…I’m fine, I was just thinking about that last round in my head. Trying to figure out how I let my ass hit the mat again.” You lied, grabbing your water bottle, attempting to cool yourself down.

”Uh-huh…” Yelena muttered, clearly not buying it.

Bucky was watching you as well, his expression unreadable as usual, his elbow still propped on his knee. His eyes were sharper now, completely focused.

”Maybe we should wrap it up for the day, I’ve got to go pick up a few things from my old apartment anyways, the renters are getting mad that I haven’t swung by yet.” You looked over at Yelena, who stretched her legs out with a low groan.

“Alright, that sounds fine to me.” She responded, getting up from the bench, cracking her neck before walking to the lockers, leaving you and Bucky alone. You let out a soft exhale, grateful that the plug had been pulled. You were too distracted to go for another round anyways.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You glanced up at Bucky, your eyes meeting his gaze. There was no judgement in his face, just quiet concern. You nodded.

”Yeah, I promise, I just spaced out.” He watched you for just a moment longer, like he was trying to see if you had any tells of a lie.

”Alright,” He said, turning to grab his towel from the bench, “But if you ever want to talk, you know where I am.” You gave him a soft smile.

”Thanks, Buck.” He lingered for a second longer, then gave a quick salute and headed off after Yelena, leaving you alone. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, gathering your thoughts and swatting around the brain fog that clouded your mind, before finally standing, feeling your muscles groan in protest.

You collected your things and caught a quick shower before making your way back to your room, expecting to divulge the line of questioning that Yelena had for you to Bob, but when you opened the door he wasn’t there. Your brows furrowed in disappointment as you stepped into the room, noticing a little note on his bed. You dropped your bag on the floor, picking up the scrap piece of paper that had his messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“Meet me on the roof, wear a sweater.” You were confused about the sweater part, but you still dug around for one, slipping it over your head once you found one that wasn’t already worn.

———

The rooftop greeted you with silence, except for the low hum of wind and the muffled buzz of distant traffic below. You stepped out slowly, your sweater wrapped tight around your arms, the door clicking shut behind you.

Bob was already there, standing near the edge, hunched slightly, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders curled in like he was bracing against the cold—or maybe against himself. The soft yellow glow from the rooftop security lights carved gentle shadows across his back, catching in his wind blown hair.

“You okay?” You called out, walking towards him, gaining his attention instantly. A small smile came up on his lips, as he wrung his hands together, like he was excited about something.

“I am now,” He responded, meeting you halfway. There was something different about him tonight, he still had that shy uncertainty about him, but it was like he was pushing it off a bit, replacing it with something more…Confident, “I wanted to show you something, if that’s alright of course.” He added stepping into your space, now close enough that his breath was fanning over your face. You tilted your head at him, squinting playfully.

”Are you going to crack all the windows from up here?” Bob let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head as a pink flush creeped up the sides of his neck.

”I promised you I wouldn’t break any more windows, and I will keep my word.” Before you could press further, he stepped closer, closing the last inch of space between you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back. It wasn’t hurried or anything, just grounding, and it was done with intention. You inhaled against his chest, the scent of cold air and warm cotton surrounding you as he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your lips–soft, and gentle, yet brimming with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He pulled back for one moment, before adding one more peck against your lips, a smile draped across his mouth.

His arms hadn’t loosened around you, and you could feel the steady thumping of his heart under your hands where they rested against his chest.

”Okay…” You murmured, brows lifting at him, feeling your cheeks growing hot under his stare, and from the gentle kiss he had given you, “Now you really need to tell me what’s got you in such a chipper mood. You’re smiling like you’ve got a secret, and it’s starting to freak me out.” Bob’s grin widened–shy, crooked, but deeply earnest. You squinted at him a bit, catching little flecks of gold sparkling in the blues of his eyes.

”Just hold still,” He whispered, voice hushed and warm, “And I’ll show you.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he tightened his arms around you, like he was locking you into place against his chest.

Then you felt it.

A strange, delicate lift in your stomach, similar to how it feels when you’re descending on a roller coaster, only just a little more tolerable. The pressure in your knees disappeared, your weight lessened…And your boots weren’t on the rooftop anymore.

”Bob…?” You said, your voice filling with panic.

”Shh, I’ve got you,” He murmured, eyes fixating on yours, “Just trust me.” He whispered. You took in a sharp breath, and nodded. The movement wasn’t fast or jarring. It felt like being exhaled by the Earth–like rising through a warm, invisible current. The wind tugged gently at your sweater, and your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively brought yourself even closer to him, not daring to look down to see how high up you were.

“Holy shit Bob, we’re flying…” You said, your voice shaking, caught between fear and awe.

”Well technically I’m flying, and you’re just one of my lucky passengers. My first and only to be exact.” He corrected jokingly, you smirked at him, continuing to look over his face. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, as the air around you thickened, warming against your cheeks despite the altitude change. You felt like you were suspended in a dream–held against him, hundreds of feet off the ground, with only starlight above you, and a glittering city below.

“How does it feel?” You asked softly, seeing Bob blink down at you, eyes soft and uncertain, “To have all this power…” You added, your hand slowly unraveling from holding onto his hoodie, splaying it across his chest instead, rubbing along the warmth with a soft smile draped on your lips, “To be able to do this–to lift me off the ground, to break windows without touching them, to float above the world like it’s nothing…�� The way you looked up at him–half curious, half lust driven–made something buzz in his bloodstream, something golden and chaotic, and desperate for attention as he felt your fingers trailing up the side of his neck.

Bob swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around your waist even more, his breath hitching as he let out a faint nervous laugh before glancing down at you, seeing your face glowing softly from the city lights that reflected in your eyes.

”It’s…Intense. I constantly have this noise in my head, like it’s trying to break out, and I’m always on edge trying to suppress it…But when you’re around, and you’re able to block it…I have those moments of peace, and I love it…So much Y/N.” He emphasized, as your fingers curled gently into the collar of his hoodie, while your other hand cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

”You know…I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” You whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the night, “The way you handle everything, the way you care about being gentle, the way you hold back even when you could easily just let go…” You went on, looking up at him with such admiration it made him gulp down the lump that was forming in his throat, “You’re just incredible Bob…And I wish you believed that more often.” Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he needed to steady himself from the weight of your words, and when he opened them again, they shimmered with something so raw and fragile it made your heart ache.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just disbelief. “It feels like…You’re seeing someone I want to be. Someone I wish I was.” You reached up with your other hand now, pressing it against his cheek.

”You already are.” You whispered, a soft smile coming up onto your lips, as your eyes trailed over his face.

Bob leaned forward, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warming your skin as it mingled with the air that kissed your face. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, he just held you close, taking in the night for what it was giving him so far. His fingers twitched against your lower back, like he was trying to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Can I ask you something…Kind of dumb?” Your lips quirked at his words, blinking up at him.

”There’s no dumb questions…Go ahead and ask.” He let out a nervous breath of a laugh, pulling his forehead off yours so he could get a better look at you, shaking his head a bit as if he was trying to psych himself up.

”I’ve been…Thinking for the past couple of days…And if it’s too soon or too much just–just tell me okay? I can handle it, I promise.” He started, stuttering through his words.

”Okay, “ You whispered, already feeling your heart climbing into your throat, seeing the way he looked at you with such hope, terror, and utter sincerity. He glanced away for a second, feeling his cheeks flushing hot.

“I was wondering if maybe–if it’s something you’d want–if I could, um…” He cleared his throat, then bit the inside of his cheek, finally whispering, “If I could make love to you tonight.” When the words fell from his mouth it felt like the sky was going to split open and swallow him whole, but he meant every word he said, and you could tell it was something that he wanted to make sure you wanted as well.

”I’ve been wanting to ask that for a while now, but I didn’t want to ruin anything or scare you off, or…” His voice faded, as he stopped himself from embarrassing himself any further, “God, I sound like an idiot.” He whispered. You shook your head, cradling his face in your hands, gently tilting his head down so you could look into those soft blue eyes.

”Bob…” You whispered, “You don’t sound like an idiot at all…You sound like someone who cares about me. A lot.” His lips parted like he wanted to protest, but the words never came. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, “And that’s never something to be ashamed of.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he trembled from the gust of wind that blew by the both of you, and from the nerves that prickled throughout his body.

”I just…” He started, swallowing another lump that began to form in his throat, feeling like he was on the brink of tears, “I’ve never done it like this before…Where it actually means something…Where I feel…So much that it scares the crap out of me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, removing one of your hands from his face.

”Hold me with one arm, I want you to give me one of your hands.” You instructed, and he obliged immediately, keeping you flush against him and giving you his other hand like you requested. You took it and brought it to your chest, laying it gently over your heart.

”Do you feel that?” You whispered, watching him nod slowly, his palm splaying flat over the pounding rhythm the shook the cavity of your chest, “That’s how I feel when I look at you…When you smile at me, when you hold me…When you ask me things like this, with all these nerves going through you…And that’s also how I’m going to feel when we make love tonight.” You added, feeling Bob’s breath hitch in his throat, and for a second he didn’t move. You thought you put him into shock, but then his fingers curled ever so slightly against your skin, like he was tethering himself to you.

”I wanna be good for you.” He replied, his voice breaking around the edges, “I want to be everything you deserve…I want to take my time…I want to see what you look like when you fall apart because of me, and I want to memorize every sound you make and every place you like to be touched and–and I want to hold you through all of it.” Your eyes softened at his words, feeling your heart folding at the edges from the way he said it with such trembling devotion, like he was offering you everything he had without knowing if it would be enough for you.

”I wouldn’t want it any other way Bob…” He breathed out slowly like he’d been holding it for minutes, like your answer reached someplace deep inside him he didn’t know was waiting to be filled. A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

“Okay,” He whispered. “Okay.”

You felt his arms shift, the weight of the wind returning to your skin, and together—slow and gentle—you began to drift back down. The city lights rose to meet you, the rooftop coming back into focus beneath your boots. He didn’t let go. Not even once. His hand stayed tucked between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, like he didn’t trust gravity alone to carry you safely.

The moment your feet touched solid ground again, you didn’t speak. You just stood there for a second, forehead still brushing his, eyes locked and dazed with something fragile and full and beautiful. And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed–it wasn’t even desperate…It was just full. Full of promise. Of understanding. Of anticipation humming low in both your bellies. His hand cupped the side of your face so delicately it made your knees weaken, and when he pulled back, you didn’t have to say a word. You just reached for his fingers and laced yours through them.

“Come inside with me,” You said quietly.

And he followed instantly.

————

You left the light on before you went up to the roof, so when the both of you stepped into your shared quarters, the soft yellow hue of the lamp greeted you with open arms and warmed your skin almost instantly.

Bob closed the door behind him with a soft click, the quiet thud echoing between your beds like a held breath. You stepped into the space between them, turning to face him slowly, your hands sliding up to push your hair from your face. His eyes followed the motion, catching every shift of your body like he didn’t want to miss a second, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his hoodie.

“H-How do you want to start?” He asked quietly, his voice threadbare with nerves. All confidence from the roof had dwindled pretty quickly once the reality of the situation really settled in, and now he could feel his chest tightening from the thought of what was going to come next. You could see it in the way he fumbled with whatever he could get his fingers on, it was the most obvious tell of his. You stepped toward him carefully, and held your hand out like you normally did with him.

”Come here,” You whispered. Bob didn’t hesitate this time around, taking a few steps towards you until you could curl your fingers around the hem of his hoodie, slipping your hands under the soft fabric so you could touch his burning skin. His jaw clenched for a moment at first contact, his lashes fluttering at the featherlight touch you always used with him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky breath against your mouth.

”We don’t have to start any particular way,” You murmured, “Just be here with me…” Bob gave a slow, trembling nod, bringing his hands to your waist. You leaned forward a bit, pressing your lips against his, taking his breath away in one quick moment of time. You could feel his shoulders loosen a little, as he sighed into you, his fingers squeezing your clothed flesh gently, pulling your body closer to his. You broke the kiss first, removing your sweater quickly because you were growing warm extremely quickly, just like Bob you ran hot, but only when you were anticipating something, and this was definitely something you were looking forward to.

You threw the sweater to the side with a sigh, pushing your hair out of your face again as you adjusted yourself, seeing Bob’s eyes following your movements, and tracing over the skin that was revealed to him. The light camisole you wore hugged your figure just enough that he could make out the subtle shape of your breasts beneath it, and in the dimmed hue of the room he could see the way your nipples pebbled against the fabric. Before he could even stop himself, his fingers curled under the hem of the covering.

”Can I…?” His voice trailed off, looking down at you with dazed eyes. You nodded immediately, raising your arms up slightly, feeling the way he peeled the fabric up gently, wanting to drink in every inch of newly exposed skin. He slipped the camisole off you, throwing it to the side to join your sweater now, as his eyes returned to your bare chest.

For a second, it was like he didn’t breathe. His mouth parted slightly, and a stunned silence stretched between you before he managed to snap himself out of the trance your breasts had put him in, clearing his throat.

”You’re so…Beautiful. I mean–I already told you that, but seeing you like this–“ He cut himself off, looking down at himself, flustered, “Makes me feel overdressed.” You let out a small giggle, seeing the blush that crowded his face turn an even deeper red.

”Definitely overdressed.” You agreed, keeping your tone light, coaxing a nervous laugh from him. He ducked his head with a shy huff of breath, his hair falling into his eyes.

”S-Sorry. Didn’t mean to get ahead of myself, I just–“

“Hey,” You interrupted, reaching up to cup his face with both hands, forcing his gaze to stay on yours–his pupils already blown out from seeing your bare chest– as you ran your thumbs along his cheeks, “It’s okay…I like when you know what you want and ask for it. I also don’t mind being underdressed in front of you anyways. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” His lashes fluttered at you, as the tension in his shoulders melted just a little.

“Okay…” He whispered back, giving you a small nod, glancing down at himself. He pulled away from your touch, and with shaky hands, he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, tugging it down before peeling the garment off his arms and shoulders, letting it land in the soft pile of clothes that began to grow at your feet. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he hesitated for only a second more before pulling his plain grey t-shirt off as well, letting it join the abyss below.

The second the fabric cleared his torso, your hands were on him–warm palms pressing against bare skin, tracing up along his ribs and over the planes of his chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch, before bringing them up to rest at his neck. You pulled him down to you, fingers curling into his hair gently, as his lips met yours. The kiss this time was deeper–hungrier and desperate. He opened his mouth to you, feeling your tongue slip in, as your bodies aligned with each other again.

His hand slid up along your side, tracing over your ribs, until it found the curve of your breast, cupping it gently within his large palm. You let out a small moan of approval, your hips shifting slightly at the sensation and shivers that twinged up your spine. His thumb dragged over your nipple, circling it slowly before giving the flesh a soft and careful squeeze, not wanting to be too rough at first, drawing out a hum from you, and another gentle pull of his hair.

Bob pulled away from the kiss with a shaky smile, before peppering kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, carving out a wet path all the way to your chest, going to the breast that he wasn’t kneading with his hand still. His lips brushed over your nipple, testing, and teasing, waiting until you leaned toward him to close his mouth around it. A soft moan escaped the both of you, his breath warm and uneven against your skin as he sucked gently, his tongue moving in slow circles before fluttering along the peak. His other hand continued to palm and knead the other one, fingers teasing until both nipples were stiff beneath his attention. He switched sides, not wanting to neglect the other one, which earned another shocked gasp, feeling how more needy he was growing as he greedily sucked and nibbled. Your fingers laced deeper into his hair, trying to ground yourself when you felt your stomach somersaulting from the sensation of his tongue and mouth working in tandem together. Your words spilled out before you could really think–

“Jesus, Bob…” The moment you spoke he froze, pulling off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, lips shiny and slightly parted as he looked up at you. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes–God, his eyes–were wide and hazy, like he was drunk on you and the taste of your skin.

“Are…Are you okay?” You nodded immediately.

”More than okay.” You replied, as your fingers slid out from his hair to trail down his chest, moving with slow precision as you found the tie at the waistband of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze locked on his. You made quick work of it, undoing the knot in one swift pull before pushing at the fabric so it shifted down his hips, exposing more and more skin to you. He straightened up a little, taking his hand off your breast to push them off his legs completely, kicking them off to the side before mirroring your actions–going for your sweatpants too.

He bent down slightly to push them down your legs, and you took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from him, catching him off guard. The both of you broke into soft laughter, easing your nerves a bit. Once the sweatpants hit the ground you kicked them off your feet, letting them be banished with the rest of your clothes.

Now in just your underwear, the air between the both of you was thick with anticipation. Your breathing slowed, and deepend, syncing with his as he took you in–really absorbing every inch of skin he could see, battle wounds and all–his gaze lingering everywhere. You let your gaze fall for a moment, catching the shape of him beneath the soft cotton of his boxers. His erection was unmistakable, full and straining against the fabric, the outline was thick and defined, which made you nervous, but also excited. The image alone sent a pulse through your belly, and made your toes curl.

When you looked back up at him, he wasn’t staring at your body anymore, he was watching your face. His expression was so open, so filled with awe and admiration that it nearly made your breath catch in your chest. He reached out, his fingers gently cupping your jaw, his thumb running over the skin, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips, savouring the moment with a sigh.

Then, without saying a word his hand slipped from your face and slid around your back, while his other arm slid under your thighs, lifting you to him with ease. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carried you the short distance to his bed, throwing the duvet down to the foot of the bed, before lowering you down onto the cool sheets, letting the mattress form around your figure, pushing you up a bit so he could get on top of you.

Bob settled between your thighs with the softest exhale, like he was afraid to ruin the moment by moving too quickly. His knees sank into the mattress, feeling the way your legs guided him closer to you. His hands remained gentle–one braced beside your head, the other holding the side of your hip, absentmindedly tracing circles along it with his thumb.

You tilted your face up to him, and he dipped his head to meet your lips once again. The kiss was slower this time, deep with care and tenderness. You kissed him back with the heat of a thousand suns, your fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him a little closer as your body arched up into his. His hand on your hip drifted up your side, tickling your ribs with the ghosts of his fingertips, letting the intimacy of the moment wrap around you like a second skin.

Then, he pulled back slightly, just far enough to look at you–eyes searching, lips still parted, breath uneven against your mouth. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing idly over your ribs before he finally spoke.

”I-I want to go down on you,” He said quietly, as if the words were sacred to him. His voice was shaky, but you could tell it was just from the nerves that were pulsing through him in those moments, “I want to…Take care of you first…Want to show you how much I’ve been thinking about this…How much I’ve been thinking about you…If that’s okay?” Your heart thudded so loudly in your chest you swore he could hear it. The look on his face–open, vulnerable–was enough to make your breath catch. His words wrapped around you with such warmth that it rooted deep in your body.

You reached up, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as you whispered.

”That’s more than okay.” He swallowed hard, and then nodded, giving you a small kiss, before drifting down your skin, his lips reaching every inch of you, peppering wet little marks across you, committing every detail to memory. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, brushing across the solid muscles of his back. He kissed your chest, then your ribs, all the way until he reached the edge of your underwear. He paused, lifting his gaze to yours again, just to be sure.

You gave him a small nod, watching his fingers hook under the fabric. He pulled the fabric down your hips, and thighs, as you helped him by pulling each leg out for him. He let out a sigh, looking at your completely bare figure beneath him now, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth for a brief moment before returning to where he was moments ago, putting your legs over his shoulders.

Bob leaned forward, brushing his mouth along your inner thigh, peppering kisses along the skin, memorizing the taste of your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him the most. By the time he reached your core, you could feel your whole body pulsing against him, thrumming with anticipation and desperation.

When he finally brought his mouth to your core, he slowly licked upwards, wanting to savour the first time he got to actually taste you. The feeling of it caught you off guard, which drew a soft moan from your lips–broken and boarding on a whimper. His hands tightened at your thighs, holding you closer to him as he licked you again–more firmly this time–his tongue parting you gently, working up to circle around your clit without touching it quite yet. You closed your eyes tightly, reaching down to lace into his soft brown strands of hair. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every reaction that he coaxed out of you. When his mouth finally closed around your clit, your fingers in his hair tightened, hips rolling into him with a gasp.

“F-Fuck…Bob.” You choked out, and that was all he needed.

He groaned softly in response–just hearing your voice sounding so wrecked like that almost destroyed him–and he settled deeper between your thighs. He dragged his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, curling it just right at the tip, then flicking it softly against you until your legs trembled around him. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue with practiced rhythm, giving you just enough then pulling back slightly to tease again, letting you chase the pressure.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

”You…Holy fuck Bob…” You whined, not being able to find the words in your vocabulary because your brain was melting from the intense pressure that was building in your stomach. The way you said his name had him clutching at your thighs tighter, grounding himself as he buried his face against you more, like a man starved. He moaned softly, sending another wave of heat through your core, the vibration making you gasp. His tongue flicked, circled, and flattened, lavishing you with such deliberate devotions which drew you closer and closer to the edge.

He shifted slightly, and took one of his hands off your hip, bringing it between your thighs as he adjusted his other hand so it was splayed out along your belly. He traced his fingers through your wetness, dragging two of them along your entrance, teasing for just a second before gently slipping them inside. You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you looked down at him, seeing how focused he was on pleasing you, his eyes glistening with such intensity that you felt like you were going to die.

His fingers moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the slight stretch they provided, before curling them slightly, finding the spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed, crying out as your legs tightened around his head. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, he just groaned again, like your pleasure was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Oh my god–Bob–Bob please don’t stop…Don’t stop.” You begged, your voice breathless, and trembling on every syllable. Your fingers gripped his hair even tighter, as you felt the orgasm cresting with a pressure so intense it stole the air from your lungs. Your body was unraveling, and your muscles were tightening like a wire drawn taut. He felt it–he felt the way your walls began to pulse around his fingers, the way your hips started to jerk–and he doubled down, curling his fingers harder, sucking your clit in time with your shattering moans.

“Come for me,” He whispered against you, voice wrecked, barely audible but so sure. “Please. I want to feel it.” You broke apart beneath him with a cry, your thighs clamping around his head as your body seized, pleasure rocketing through you in waves so intense they left your limbs shaking. Your core pulsed around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out the release, breath stuttering through sobs of ecstasy.

Bob held you through it, fingers still moving slowly inside you as his mouth gently eased off, switching to open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, grounding you, kissing you through the aftershocks. He watched your body tremble beneath him, his own breath ragged with awe.

Finally, when you dropped back onto the mattress with a long, shaky sigh, he pulled his fingers from you slowly, kissing your hip one more time before crawling up over your body. His skin was flushed, his mouth was wet and glistening with your arousal, and his eyes were glazed and dark with want–but there was so much tenderness in his face that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before pulling back to caress your cheek, his thumb running just below your eye.

”Are you okay? Did I–“ You cupped his face, and pulled him back down to you, kissing him again, interrupting the words that were about to fall out of his mouth. He let a soft moan against your lips, before you slowly pulled back.

”You did…Absolutely amazing Bob. So fucking amazing.” Bob’s breath hitched the moment you said it, and you watched the praise ripple through him like a tide, flooding his expression with something raw and deeply earnest. He looked almost overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of affirmation, but he was appreciative of it regardless.

You gave him a second to breathe, brushing his hair back gently from his flushed forehead as he hovered over you, gaze still fixed on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then you tilted your head toward his ear, your voice soft and steady.

“My turn.”

Bob blinked, his lips parting slightly. “Y-You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” You cut him off gently, placing your palms on his chest and guiding him down onto his back. “I really want to.”

He let you maneuver him without resistance, collapsing onto the pillows as you crawled over him, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate movements that kept his eyes trained on you. Your fingers trailed down his torso, grazing the firm lines of his chest and stomach, watching as his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

When you shifted lower, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, he let out a sharp breath.

“Wait—” He said quickly, sitting up on one elbow, using his other hand to catch your wrist. “I–shit–I want you to just–just use your hands, okay?” You blinked at him, a little surprised by the request and the sudden interruption.

“Why?” You asked gently. His face flushed harder, eyes dropping to the sheets for a second before he met your gaze again, voice low and a little sheepish.

”Because I’m gonna end up finishing too fast if you use your mouth..And I don’t want to finish unless it’s inside you.” He admitted, his breath unsteady. Your thighs flinched at his words, leaving you staggered. You weren’t expecting it, not from him. Not from soft-spoken, anxious, stammering Bob…But then again he had just given you the best orgasm in the world…So he did have a bit more of a wilder side to him that evidently he only reserved for you at this point.

”…Okay.” You whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more, before easing down his body again. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers, and you eased them down his hips, eyes never leaving his as you exposed him to the cool air. His cock was thick and flushed, twitching slightly with need, already glistening at the tip with precum. The sight of him made your mouth go dry, and your stomach turn. You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, watching the way his jaw tightened at your touch, his head falling back against the pillow with a soft moan. Your hand moved in slow, steady strokes, twisting gently at the tip, your palm slick from how worked up he already was.

“Oh…Oh god you’re going to ruin me.” He rasped, breathlessly. You leaned over him, your free hand braced against his chest as you shifted to straddle his thighs properly. The weight of you over him made his eyes flutter open again. His hands went to your hips, as if just having you there made him feel steadier. Then without warning, he looked up at you with glassy eyes and spoke.

“C-Can I sit up against the headboard?” His voice was rough with need, but still gentle—like he didn’t want to disrupt the closeness, only deepen it.

You nodded immediately, helping guide him as he adjusted, both of you moving slowly so nothing between you was rushed. You cradled his shoulders as he shifted upward, his back settling against the cold wood of the headboard with a relieved exhale. The lamp’s soft glow painted his chest in gold, and his hair was a little messy from where your fingers had run through it, his mouth still parted as he looked at you with awe.

You straddled his lap again, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of him as he pulled you closer again. His head tilted forward and he pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, lips finding your breast again like he needed it, sucking gently over the flesh, making sure to leave a mark before pausing to let his breath fan across your skin. All the while, your hand kept moving—slow, slick, steady. You felt him throb in your palm, the heat of him pulsing like a second heartbeat. You could hear him panting, but he didn’t tell you to stop, so you continued until he pulled back from your chest completely, his pupils blown wide with something molten in his expression.

”Y/N, spit in my mouth…” He whispered, “I want all of you…I want everything. I want you in every part of me…Please.” He added, his voice on the edge of a whimper. Your breath caught at his words, not from surprise or shock but from the vulnerability the words had to them. His need wasn’t crude…It was devotional, like it was the only way he knew how to show you how dedicated he was.

You nodded once, slowly, with your eyes locked on his. Your free hand came up to cradle his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye before gently tilting his head back, exposing his throat to you. He kept his gaze on you, wide-eyed and trembling as you leaned over him, still stroking his cock while doing so.

With your lips parted and breath warm, you let a slow, steady thread of saliva slip from your mouth–down past his lips and onto his waiting tongue. He didn’t flinch, he just accepted it with a shuddering breath, swallowing it right when it made contact. A flush bloomed even more across his neck and chest. You smiled down at him, seeing how satisfied he looked. He took a deep breath, then surged forward, one arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you, open and warm, with his lips parting against yours like he wanted to thank you with his whole body.

You deepened the kiss, your chest pressing flush to his as he held you in his lap, the heat of his body radiating against yours like a shell. His hands roamed over your back, your waist, everywhere he could reach, but it wasn’t frantic—it was gentle and slow, like he was memorizing you by feeling alone. And then you pulled back, just enough to speak, your lips barely brushing his.

“I need you inside me.”

The words left you in a whisper, but they hit him like a lightning strike. Bob’s breath stuttered, and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours—glazed, dazed, and swimming in something so deep it made your spine curl. He nodded, a little frantic, the motion jerky as he grasped at your hips again, steadying you, grounding himself.

“You sure?” He asked, drawing his brows together, his voice hoarse, wanting to be sure you were on board with this completely. You nodded, kissing him one more time.

”Never been more sure.” You adjusted your hips with care, steadying yourself as you guided him to your entrance, the tip of him hot and slick against you. Bob’s breath hitched, his fingers flexing hard at your waist as he tried to hold himself still, trying not to rush you. You watched his jaw tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you slowly began to sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

The stretch made your thighs tremble and your breath catch, and Bob let out a strangled groan that vibrated through his whole chest. His head fell back against the headboard with a soft thump, eyes fluttering closed as he murmured something that sounded like your name paired with the words oh my God. You sat there a moment, your hands planted on his chest, letting your bodies adjust, feeling the twitch of him inside you, the way he was already pulsing with restraint.

And then you began to move.

It was slow at first, just the tiniest grind of your hips forward and back, your slick heat stroking along his length. His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brought his hands to your hips, guiding you gently, letting you take what you needed at your own pace, and in your own way.

You moved together like a heartbeat–slow, steady, with increasing intensity.

Bob’s hands slid up your back, then down again to cup your ass, helping you ride him deeper, pushing you just enough to make your breath hitch with every descent. His moans became more frequent, low and helpless against your skin, and he whispered your name like a prayer, again and again, until it bled into the rhythm of your bodies.

“God–you feel so good–so so good,” he rasped against your neck. “I don’t think I can–oh shit–”

Your hips were moving faster now, desperation threading into every motion. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your quiet moans, and his ragged breathing. You felt like you were both on fire—burning, blindingly alive.

And then, suddenly, Bob shifted.

Without warning, he gripped your thighs and flipped you, your back hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before you could say anything, he was there—above you—sliding back into you in one fluid, aching thrust. You cried out, your hands gripping his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, pulling him in closer.

Bob moaned softly, burying his face into your neck as his hips snapped forward with more force now, losing the gentle rhythm he had from before, exchanging it for something deeper, and more primal. One of his hands found yours and squeezed it tight, pressing it against the pillow beside your head, while the other shot out grip the headboard so he could brace himself.

And then the sound hit.

CRACK.

You barely registered it at first–you were too lost in the crescendo building inside your body, the way he filled you so perfectly, the way your name fell from his lips like he was worshiping you with every thrust. But his body shuddered on top of you, his hips jerking erratically now, the pace stuttering as he reached the edge.

“Oh God–God–Y/N–”

He moaned loudly, something close to a gasp punched from his lungs as his hips slammed into you one final time, and his whole body locked up. His hand crushed the top of the headboard–literally splintering the wood under his palm as he came inside you with a broken, breathless cry. You felt the wave of it, the way he pulsed deep inside, the warmth of him spilling into you, and it sent you hurtling over the edge too, your climax crashing through your limbs like a wave snapping every nerve awake. You cried out beneath him, your nails dragging down his back, your body seizing around him.

Bob collapsed, trembling, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot and wild against your collarbone. His hair was a complete mess, damp and tangled and wild across your skin. He was heavy and shaking, still buried inside you, both of you locked in the aftermath–too breathless to speak. You could feel his heart pounding against you–where his chest was pressed against yours.

Then slowly, you felt him lift his head from your shoulder, his cheeks a complete crimson now, lips parted as he gazed down at you with those shimmering blue eyes again, like he was trying to comprehend what just happened.

In those moments he leaned forward and kissed you, like he was saying thank you, or maybe he was trying to determine if this really was happening. You kissed him back with the same softness he gave you, your fingers pushing his hair back from his face. He sighed, and pulled back from your lips, his gaze raising slightly. You could see his mouth drop open slightly, and his eyes went wide.

”…What?” You asked, your brows drawing together in confusion. He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently reached up and tilted your chin, guiding your gaze upward–and that’s when you saw it.

A clean, jagged split ran right down the center of the wooden headboard. Splintered and cracked like lightning had struck it from above. Your mouth parted in shock, and for a beat neither of you said anything.

Then you laughed.

It started soft–with disbelief and surprise–but quickly turned into full, breathless giggles that made your body shake. Bob buried his face in your neck again, groaning quietly.

“At least we still have my bed to move to,” You teased, stroking his hair to calm him down from the embarrassment he was probably feeling. “But maybe we should…I don’t know…Get things that don’t break so easily?”

Bob groaned again into your skin, and you could hear the shy smile behind it. “Y-Yeah…Yeah, maybe,” He mumbled, barely audible.

You could feel the heat creeping back into his cheeks.

“Though…” He added after a pause, voice muffled and sheepish, “If sex is always gonna be like that… I-I don’t think it’ll matter what it’s made of…” You smirked, pushing him off his shoulder so you could look at him–and the adorable way he immediately avoided your gaze. Your heart swelled.

“Sounds like a good time to me,” You whispered, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

Eventually, you cleaned yourselves up, and shifted to your bed, sliding in under the fresh sheets, tucking yourselves into each other. Bob curled around you protectively, your bodies bare and warm together, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, nose buried into your hair. You fell asleep like that–saturated in the safety of each other, breath syncing, hearts still fluttering.

——————

The morning sunlight slipped gently into the room, illuminating the soft gold glow of the lamp you’d forgotten to turn off.

You were the first to stir.

Bob’s arms were still locked around you, holding you like he thought you might disappear. You turned in his embrace, resting your palm against his chest, letting your fingers trace lazy circles along his sternum, and the little scars that he had around that area that were barely noticeable. His eyes fluttered open not long after, blinking slowly until they found yours.

“Morning,” You whispered.

“Hi…” He whispered back, his voice gravelly from, as one hand moved to push your hair out of your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “Of course I am.”

He returned a smile back to you, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in to kiss you–sleepy and sweet, his soft lips barely moving, while his nose brushed against yours. He pulled back slowly, letting his thumb trace your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it, with a sweet smirk.

”I could stay like this forever,” He murmured, trailing his touch down to the side of your neck, taking in the image of you in front of him, making sure he would remember this moment. You tilted your head into his hand, staring up at him with your heart pounding against your chest.

”Me too.” He grinned, just a little. The kind of grin that was half love-drunk and half processing the events that happened last night, then you remembered what you were going to talk to him about yesterday when you came back to the room, before you found his note.

”Hey I was actually going to tell you something when I came back to the room,” You began, already laughing at the story, seeing the way his attention was on you, hanging off of every word “During training yesterday evening, Yelena and Bucky gave me the third degree abo-“ Just as you were about to tell him you heard Yelena’s voice coming from an already opening door.

”Y/N, missed tra-OH MY GOD! HOLY CRAP!” You jolted, the covers pulling up to your chest as Bob yelped and scrambled to sit up behind you, wide-eyed and clutching the sheets. In the doorway, Yelena stood with her hands over her eyes, then immediately turned and bolted out again.

”I KNEW IT! BUCKY I TOLD YOU!” She yelled. The both of you glanced over at each other.

”…I’m assuming they gave you…The third degree about us?” Bob asked, finishing the sentence you were about to say before the interruption.

“Yeah…” You whispered under your breath, trying to suppress a laugh.

[andulina567]

Philophobia (Part 6)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Stark!GN!Reader

Chapter Summary: You finally talk to Happy and ask him about the two people that you miss more than you want to admit. Sam and Bucky reluctantly take you to Berlin with them, Joaquin keeps you company again and you and Joaquin get closer.

Warnings: Mentions of Death and Depression/Depressive episodes, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Isolating, Bad coping mechanisms, Some cursing, FLUFF!!, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow burn(?), Yearning, A lil suggestive, Reader is stubborn, We slowly learn about readers past and their connection to #them, Reader’s Iron Suit/Superhero name is Midnight, Reader has some phobias, Found family, Reader is slowly becoming fonder of Joaquin, that’s it I think!

AN: ooooh I love this one a lot actually ☺️

After that…interesting conversation with Walker and Bucky, the four of you made your way back to the car. Sam and Bucky were in the front, Sam driving and Joaquin was sitting in the backseat with you. The car was silent, tense after Bucky’s announcement of wanting to get Zemo’s help. A phone ringing broke the silence. You brought your phone up to read Happy’s name on the screen. Thankfully since it was dark, nobody noticed the way you froze. Or at least, you thought so, because Joaquin’s full attention was on you.

You took a few calming breaths before picking up the call, praying that it wasn’t May this time.

“Kiddo?” It was Happy, thank god.

“Hey, Haps”, you sighed in relief.

“I’m so sorry for not telling you about May. It completely slipped my mind”, he replied, his voice heavy with guilt and apology.

You swallowed before answering, “It’s- it’s alright. How is she?”, you asked hesitantly.

“She’s alright, yeah. She started her own charity, I’m sure you know by now.”

“Yep. I do”, you still followed her on socials, not having the heart to completely sever the relationship. “And...how’s everything going with you two?”

"It's going good, great even. She said you cut the call when she picked it up?"

"Happy..", you sighed and bit the inside of your cheek.

"C'mon, (Name), it's been months. What's the harm in a simple phone call?", Happy tried to convince you. Ever since him and May started dating, he wanted you to get along with her, saying that your approval meant the world to him. But you were so happy for them. They were adorable together. Happy just wanted you to talk to her normally again.

"I..I don't know. Maybe some other day. How's...", you trailed off hesitantly, picking a random thread on your jeans.

"Peter?", Happy offered and you hummed.

"He's-you know how he gets. Took everything upon him. He's been looking more and more exhausted every day. Doesn't rest, says he needs to patrol. He's become paranoid, sorta", Happy sighed in concern.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern. Peter would always blame himself for everything that went wrong and that's why you worried about him, even now. You knew he was just as bad as you were after your dad passed away. He was inconsolable, Rhodey told you so, and that he had to physically separate Peter from Tony's body. You were so out of it, that you didn't notice all of this happening right next to you. Ever since you found out about it, you've felt guilty and worried for Peter excessively.

"Happy, please, look after him", you whispered desperately into the speaker. Joaquin looked at you with his face twisted in confusion.

"Yeah, I will. Anyways, May has sent her well wishes and love to you", Happy changed the topic, knowing how much you stressed about Peter.

You smiled sadly. May was always like a second mom to you. "Tell her I said thanks."

Happy hummed. "Why did you call me, by the way?"

You sighed and shook your head, "Oh boy, I'll tell you all about that later. I'm...working right now."

"Okay...you better not be getting into any trouble. And, does Pepper know about this work?"

You paused. "Umm...I guess? Okay, Happy, I gotta go, Bye!"

"Wait-", and you abruptly cut the call, shutting your eyes in regret. He was going rat you out to Pepper and she was going to panic about you going on a mission in a completely different country and not just helping Sam with his tech. You quickly shot a text to Rhodey, explaining the situation to him and telling him to handle Pepper and Happy and thankfully, he said he will do it.

Joaquin observed you for a while, wondering about your relationship with this woman and this guy. He decided to shove it back into his mind and tried to clear the awkward tension in the car.

"Uh- where are we going now?", Joaquin looked between Sam and Bucky. Sam scoffed and looked out of the window before glancing at Bucky.

"We’re going to a prison in Germany, to talk to the most dangerous criminal in the whole world", he announced in a fake-happy tone.

Bucky licked his lips and turned to look outside the window, a sarcastic smile on his face. You looked at Joaquin and shook your head.

"We're also coming with you, right?", you asked curiously.

"No", both Sam and Bucky replied at the same time.

"You're kidding. I don't know about flyboy, but I'm coming with you two", You asked them heatedly. First, they make you leave your house, then they convince you to join them, then they make you face an idiot like Walker and now they're telling you to go home right when they want to meet up with Zemo? Like you're supposed to be normal about this?

Joaquin speaks up then, "Hold on, yo, I'm coming with you as well. Who's gonna fly you there?", he asked with an eyebrow raised.

"You're coming with us, Torres. They are not", Sam conceded. Now, you were positively angry.

"And why is that, Samuel? Weren't you the one who asked me to join you? You think I can't handle it?", you accused him, never backing down from a challenge.

Sam took a deep breath in, "It's not that, (Name)-" "Then what is it?", you questioned him.

"It's too...personal for you", Sam tried to reason. You let out a scoff.

"Personal? Just say that you're afraid of my reaction to when I come face to face with Zemo, because you two actually wanna work with him and I'll fuck up your mission, Sam", you spit out and folded your arms across your chest.

Sam shook his head and Bucky let out a sigh, "It's not that, kid, we just wanna protect you. It's been a long time since you did this."

Your mouth fell open in offense, "Just because I was depressed for the last few months, doesn't mean I'm useless, Barnes", you responded in a hurt tone, your eyes shining with tears.

Bucky's face flashed with realization and his eyes widened, he turned around with a pained look on his face, clearly not meaning to sound like that.

"Wait, no, I didn't-" "I'll stay with them, guys. It's okay. (Name), you're coming with us", Joaquin surprised the three of you with his response. You stared at him in shock. He gave you a tentative smile before turning to look at Sam through the rearview mirror, "That's okay, right, Sam?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line before hesitantly nodding his head. "But, no stupid business, no doing shit solo or disappearin’ without informing us. You're gonna follow whatever Bucky and I say, that clear?", Sam asked you and you nodded tersely.

"Thank you", you addressed Sam before turning to Bucky, "and I'm sorry, Buck. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I just…", you murmured lowly. Whenever someone would treat you were some fragile thing, it made you defensive. Because your brain would convince you that you were useless and that others thought the same. Depression and you were best friends, after all.

Bucky shook his head and patted your knee, "No, I'm sorry. I should’ve known better", he replied in a soft voice.

You gave him a weak smile and turned your attention back to Joaquin, "Thank you, Joaquin", you muttered softly. Joaquin looked at you with that beautiful smile stretching on his lips and patted your hand unknowingly.

Your hand was warm from where he had kept his on top. He took it away way too soon and you were left craving for his warmth, your hand tingling. You looked at his sharp side profile longingly before turning back to look outside the window, your chest heavy with something that you didn't want to name.

-

After a long flight to Berlin, the four of you finally landed and Sam and Bucky asked you to stay back at the hotel with Joaquin. They were going to the prison to meet up with Zemo and you understood the gravity of the situation so you chose to stay back.

After they left, you and Joaquin retreated to your respective rooms to freshen up. Once you had showered and finished changing into comfortable clothes, you walked out of the room and your attention went to Joaquin's room. The door to his room was ajar and you noticed the way his desk was already littered with his things- his laptop, headphones and a few pieces of paper. You could hear the shower running from the bathroom in the hallway and decided to approach his desk out of curiosity.

Your eyes first fell on a graphic on the screen, it was a design of a jet pack, the colors being green and beige, mainly. Then you looked at the papers laying on the desk- they were drawings of mechanical wings and a suit. Your raised your eyebrows, impressed at his drawing skills and at the fact that Joaquin Torres wanted to be the Falcon and he had already designed his own suit? How sweet, you thought. He really was, Sam's number 1 fan.

"Oh—Hi, (Name)."

You jumped at his voice and turned around and regretted it immediately because he was shirtless. Your mouth fell open and your face warmed up as you raked your eyes across his body. His curls were still damp and they sat atop his head in a perfect mess, he was wearing black shorts and oh my god, he was ripped. You knew his arms were muscular but he was always dressed in either his army uniform or jackets so you couldn't really tell. He was lean, his arms toned and his physique looked nothing less than an athlete's. You stared at him in shock and snapped out of your daze when he started walking towards you.

"Hi! Sorry, I—Ididn't mean to intrude, I saw the sketches and I just-", you stuttered and halted when he stood next to you, the scent of the vanilla body wash hitting your nose, his warmth practically beckoning you closer.

"Don't apologise, it's alright. You'd give me an honest review, at least", he murmured sheepishly, his cheeks reddening because he definitely noticed you checking him out. Joaquin wanted to scream and giggle at the same time.

"Yeah! Right-uh, these are pretty cool, actually. Didn't know you were an artist, as well", you replied nervously and let out a breathy laugh, focusing on the sketches in front of you. He finally moved away from you and you closed your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief when he came back wearing a tank top (which wasn't any better because you still wanted to bite his arms. Wait, what?)

Joaquin rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and chuckled, "Yeah...since I saw Sam for the first time on the TV, I started sketching him excessively. And it slowly became a hobby. Then I turned to graphic designing and digital art.”

You made an impressed face and picked up one of the papers, observing the details.

“You didn’t tell me you wanted to be the Falcon”, you teased him lightly.

He let out a sheepish chuckle and you noticed that his lower teeth were adorably crooked.

“I mean-is that bad? Flying makes me feel free. Can you imagine how invincible those wings must make Sam feel? He looks like- like an angel when he’s up there with those”, Joaquin replied, his voice taking on a dreamy and fond tone.

You raised your eyes to look at him and gave him a sweet yet pained smile, your chest constricting as you remembered the way Peter would talk about your dad.

“Yeah, he really does look amazing when he’s wearing the wings”, you agreed with Joaquin, your eyes welling up. You cleared your throat before asking Joaquin, “You told Sam about this?”

He pursed his lips, “Yeah…he’s testing me or somethin’. Says I’m not ready yet.”

He looked like a child who didn’t get his candy and you giggled at the look on his face. His eyebrows furrowed even further.

“Why is that funny…”, he grumbled.

“You remind me of someone, that’s all”, you admitted in between giggles.

Joaquin’s face relaxed, admiring your smile with a dopey look on his face and dared to ask, “Of who?”

Your giggles receded and a fond and nostalgic look passed your face, “His name is Peter. I think you’d get along well.”

“Peter���is he your friend or..”, Joaquin tried to ask casually, like it wouldn’t crush him if you said you were dating Peter.

Your face warmed and you sputtered, “He’s- yeah, I’m- I was friends with him.”

Joaquin tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, “Was? You guys don’t talk anymore?”

You scoffed in sarcasm, “Something like that. I had an episode a few months ago so I cut everyone off.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, (Nickname)”, Joaquin expressed sadly, not realising that he called you by your nickname.

You let out a small chuckle, “It’s alright, Jay.”

The look on Joaquin’s face was comical. He looked like he was buffering, face completely blank and eyes wide. You soon realised what you said and your eyes widened as well, your face heating up.

“I- uh”, you coughed lightly to get rid of the awkwardness, “we should order lunch”, you murmured and walked out of the room, your eyes shutting in embarrassment.

Joaquin stood there, his brain short circuiting at the fact that you just gave him a nickname and he loved it. And he wanted to hear you say it all the time.

-

“Should I tweak the green a bit or this one’s fine?”

You hummed. “Make it a lil’ darker. And go for the silver, looks good with the green.”

“Why not beige? Ooh or gold?”

“Do you wanna look like a certain God of Mischief?”

Joaquin made a face. “Yeah, nope. Silver it is.”

You smiled and took a bite from your sandwich.

“Soo…can I ask you somethin’?”, Joaquin asked, distracted, while working on his laptop.

You swallowed the bite and shrugged, “Sure.”

“So like, you can totally tell me to shut up-”

“Spit it out, flyboy.”

"Well- I've been thinking about it since Walker called you Midnight at the police station...Why'd you stop going out as that?"

You paused and swallowed nervously. Joaquin was about to back pedal when you responded, "Didn't see the point in going out to do that after...dad. Thought I'd stay alive for him and the life he fought so hard to give us, at least", you scoffed in a self-deprecating way before continuing, "Jokes on me because I was dead inside anyways. Didn't leave my room for weeks, didn't eat properly or sleep...cut off contact from everyone...Couldn't look at the suit without breaking down because it was the same thing I was wearing when he took his last breath", you sniffled and fiddled with your sandwich.

Joaquin looked at you with empathy and frowned.

"It's been lying around in my lab since then. Haven't bothered to repair it because-", your voice quieted down, "because if I change anything, then...then dad's touch will be gone."

Joaquin has experienced grief, not the kind where someone dies but the kind you experience when someone leaves your life. He doesn't know what it's like to be to be alive when the person you love the most has died- has ceased to exist. Yet, he felt his eyes well with tears and his heart break into a million pieces for you. Here you were, experiencing insurmountable amount of grief ever since you were a child and yet, you chose to be kind to people. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and protect you from everyone but for now, he settled with his shaky hand gently squeezing yours in support. You paused at the touch, electricity shooting up your arm.

"I could never imagine how you feel like. But, I just want you to know that I'm here for you. And so are Sam, Bucky and your family. You mean so much to so many people, (Name). You should be a little easy on yourself, this is your first time living life as well", he consoled you in a sweet voice and went to retract his hand before squeezing it once more, but you slowly turned yours to grasp his hand and squeezed it back, your gaze fixed on them.

Joaquin was so sure he'd stopped breathing. He subtly pressed his hand to his chest to check if his heart was still beating. You then looked up and gave him a shy smile, which he reciprocated, and both of you looked away, your faces warming up.

"Thank you, Joaquin", you whispered before slowly retracting your hand and cradling it on your lap. Joaquin flexed his hand in front him before closing it in a loose fist and rubbing his chest, "Anytime, (Name)", he responded in a quiet voice.

You cleared your throat and made an attempt to clear the tense atmosphere, "Don't think that just because I've been out of service for 6 months, means that I won’t body you during sparring."

Joaquin scoffed lightly, "Oh yeah, I'm sure you will."

You snapped your head to look at him, "What?"

"You were trained by a black widow, an archer, a god, a super soldier, a-" "Okay! Okay!", you laughed and slapped his hands. He laughed gleefully.

"You're an idiot, Jay", you jested. Joaquin just smiled dreamily and responded, "Sure", with a shrug.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling at him.

-

After you and Joaquin were finished with your lunch, Joaquin received a call from Sam saying that they were going to Madripoor with Zemo. You sucked in a breath at that name because you knew how bad things are in Madripoor. You had heard all about it from Steve and Natasha and had done your own research on it. Now that they were going to be accompanied by Zemo? There’s no way you’re going to let them go on this mission without any backup.

Joaquin was supposed to stay back because of his duties and before Sam could say anything you announced, "I'm coming with you two."

Joaquin snapped his head to look at you in worry and Sam immediately interjected, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna follow our instructions. Don’t be like that. That place is-” “Dangerous. I know, Sam. I know very well how bad things are in Madripoor. That’s why, I’m joining you guys. I can be of help. And, also, are you forgetting that the most wanted criminal in the world is with you guys?!", you argued.

Joaquin put a hand on your arm and tried to reason with you, "Hey, listen to Sam. Maybe there's-" "Joaquin, I know what I'm doing. Please", you cut him off in an agitated manner. Joaquin's face flashed with hurt before he straightened up and removed his hand from your arm. He stepped to the side to let you talk to Sam and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in stomach.

"(Name)--look, we know Zemo is probably not the best person to be trusted-" "No shit" "-but he knows what he's doing. This is right in his bag", Sam tried to make you understand.

"Sam, I'm telling you, if you don't let me join you guys, I'm gonna reach there in any way. You know that", you replied seriously. Sam knew you were stubborn enough to be reckless and follow them across the world if you wanted to. Sam groaned loudly and you could just see the way he was pinching the bridge of nose between his fingers.

"Alright! Okay, you're coming. But you're staying with me and Bucky, at all times", he instructed in his soldier voice, as if you were his subordinate. You smirked in triumph, "Yes, sir."

Sam cut the call with a request to Joaquin to drop you off at this airport that was just a few miles away from the city and to make sure your gear was functioning and had trackers in them, incase something went wrong.

Ever since the call ended, Joaquin had become too quiet, not engaging in his usual chatter. He moved around the room silently, only speaking up if you asked him anything or if he wanted you to pass him something. It made you miss his idle talks so you finally broke and asked him, "Alright, what is it?"

"What is what?", he mumbled distractedly and focused on installing a tracker on your laptop.

"You've been way too quiet, flyboy. Thought you'd stopped breathing for a second", you chuckled. You saw his shoulders go up and down with the deep breath he took in, admiring the planes and muscles on his back.

"Don't worry about it", he replied shortly in a distant and clipped tone.

The smile wiped off your face so quick at his tone, you stood there staring at his back with a grimace. "Whoa, what happened there?"

He scoffed and went back to his room to retrieve some tools. You followed him, your steps rushed, "Dude, I asked you something. You're not going to ignore me like that", your tone offended.

He turned around abruptly and you stumbled against him, your chests almost touching. It would take a single step for you to reach his lips.

"Why are you going?", brown eyes stared intently at your face, trying to grasp your reaction, his jaw muscles twitching.

You furrowed your brows and looked up at him, almost losing your balance at how close he was and how you could see every single mole on his face from this angle. "What do you mean 'Why', Joaquin? They need help. I thought I made it very clear that I'd be going with them."

Joaquin scoffed in disbelief and folded his arms across his chest, his biceps straining, "You also said that you'd listen to them. You-- you basically blackmailed Sam that you'd follow them any way if they refuse!"

Your mouth fell open, "I'm not a child. Just because I said I'd listen to them, doesn't mean I'm gonna listen to how they're willingly going to enter the lion's den. I know Madripoor. It makes sense for me to join them-" "And what about you? If something happens to you there? You don't even have your suit, (Name)", Joaquin stressed.

You grimaced, "I can still fight without the suit, Torres. And why do you care so much?", questioning him sternly.

That shut him up real quick. He clenched his hands into tight fists and looked away from your narrowed eyes, clenching his jaw to stop himself from speaking further.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. If you don't wanna drop me, that's fine. I'll go alone", you announced with finality in your tone.

As you were about to call a cab, he spoke up again, "There's no need for that. Let's go", in a low tone and made his way out of the room to help carry your bags downstairs.

You watched him leave the room, your chest hurting with something that was dangerously inching closer to longing, once again. The way he was so close to you, the way your hands fit against each other, the way he worried about you, the way he was so curious of you and your life...it was too much. You didn't deserve it. The pressure against your chest and throat wouldn't go away, so you tried clearing your throat a few times and took a couple of deep breaths in, before heading out.

-

The cab ride was silent, Joaquin and you choosing to keep your distance. The tension was so thick, that you were sure even the driver was feeling it. You finally reached the port and saw a single private jet parked on it. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, you approached it, knowing damn well it wasn't one of your dad's. The look of confusion on Joaquin's face was an indicator that he was just as confused. "What the hell..", he muttered before the two of you noticed three figures approach the jet.

"Oh my god", you mumbled in disbelief.

Zemo was wearing an expensive fur collared coat with expensive sunglasses and Sam and Bucky were following him closely. You stared at Zemo behind your glasses in shock. You always forgot that he was a Baron, a fucking royalty himself. He greeted the aged butler with the classic European kisses before turning to look at you.

"Ah. The little Stark. It is an honor to meet you again", Zemo extended his hand and greeted you politely. Your mouth fell open and you looked at Sam and Bucky in exasperation, Joaquin pressing himself closer to you in protection, Sam and Bucky lowered their gazes in embarrassment.

"Dude, seriously?", you asked him with a shocked chuckle leaving your mouth. Zemo looked at everyone with a confused and oblivious look on his face, “What happened?”, he asked in that thick accent of his.

“Zemo, just—get inside. We’ll join you”, Bucky told Zemo in a bored manner. After Zemo boarded the plane, you turned to address Sam and Bucky.

“Wow. Hopping on our favourite criminal’s private jet like we’re going on a lovely vacation! Amazing!”, you sassed them and clapped your hands together.

Bucky let out a sigh, “Look. We don’t have any other option. His whole shtick is that he hates super soldiers. He has all these…contacts that can get to the lowest level and help us find out about the flagsmashers. We gotta do this if we don’t want to get caught up by Walker.”

“And why didn’t you ask me for help? Steve and Natasha were the ones who told me everything about madripoor, you know. Trust me, I know how bad it is. You guys will need backup”, you told them convincingly, Joaquin shifting in discomfort next to you.

Sam looked at you before letting out a sigh, “Okay. But if anything goes bad you pull back immediately, got it?”, his brown eyes staring at you in concern.

“Yes, Sam. I promise”, you reassured him sincerely. Sam nodded.

“Joaquin, you gotta report back to base and keep a track of us alongside the others. I’ll keep you updated”, Sam instructed Joaquin and patted his shoulder before boarding the jet. Bucky lingered around and smirked at you before joining Sam inside. You rolled your eyes and turned to face Joaquin, removing your sunglasses at the same time.

“See you in a minute?”, you squinted your eyes and gave him a tentative smile.

Joaquin let out a breathy chuckle and nodded his head. The way the sun was hitting his smooth skin, the chilly wind making his cheeks turn rosy, his radiant smile directed at you— all of it made your heart soar with joy and you couldn’t resist stepping closer and hugging him.

Your arms went around his back, you were slightly on your tippy toes and you settled your chin on his shoulder. You felt his body freeze, afraid that you’d pushed his boundaries you tried to pull back but his arms came around your waist and he hugged you close to him, his head leaning against your temple—you could smell the clean scent of his shampoo. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh of content, him mirroring you and you felt yourself blush.

“Take care, Quino. And don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine”, you whispered against his ear.

Joaquin was sure he was going to faint. Not only were you hugging him willingly, but you had called him Quino—so softly, at that. He was so content to just stand here and feel your warm and soft body against him. He hugged you tighter and murmured close to your ear, “Please come back safely.”

You smiled and nodded against him before pulling back slowly, none of you wanting to separate from the other. You approached the stairs and waved at Joaquin for the last time, him waving back and giving you his best smile while watching you go in.

Joaquin’s chest felt hollow now that you were away from him and he wished he could go with you and give you as many hugs as you wanted. But he left with hope blooming in his heart, because you had finally started to open up to him.

As soon as you boarded, Sam and Bucky looked at you with a knowing look in their eyes, communicating that they had witnessed the entire scene with Joaquin and your face warmed up. You averted your gaze from them and chose to sit on the seat behind Sam, choosing to keep your distance from those two (+ Zemo) and decided to put on your headphones to listen to your playlist.

As the plane took off, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest, hating the fact that you had to leave Joaquin behind and hating the fact that you craved his touch and presence more than you liked to admit.

Part 7

-

AN: i promised more Joaquin and reader content and u shall get it! Pls like and reblog! ☺️

taglist: @og-baby-ob14 @parkersjoy @littlemsramirez

[andulina567]

Getaway Car (Part 2)

Pairing: Manny Alvarez x GN!Reader, Joel Miller x Platonic!reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Summary: After a tough escape to Jackson, you end up getting taken in by none other than Joel Miller. Still hurt by Manny's actions and the heartbreak, you discover for the first time what it means to be surrounded by family since you were 14 years old. And you'd do anything to save this family, but you were still holding out hope for your love to come back home.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort from Joel, Joel is a father to Reader, Reader misses Manny so much, Mentions of Depression and Panic Attacks, Death, Blood, Gore, Starvation, Joel Miller Is Saved, Reader hates Abby and the group, Manny begs for forgiveness, reunions, that’s all i think!

AN: this part includes: how did Reader build relationships with joel, Ellie and the others. And ofcourse the incident and how Reader saves joel. I’m deciding to split this into three parts now because this is just inspiring me sm. (Sorry if this isnt good I’m editing this at 4 am help)

PS: I don't know anything about the game, my characterisation is based off the wiki information, the show and my own imagination. Plus, I headcanoned the QZ where they first met as Miami because that's Danny's hometown.

Somewhere near Jackson, 2023

You don’t know where you are or what day it was- all you knew that you had to keep going—you had to keep moving and stay vigilant. Max, your beloved horse, was a strong and supportive companion in your lonely journey. You thought he might’ve sensed your heart ache somehow as he would nuzzle closer to you every time you touched foreheads. In return, you made sure to find food and shelter for him, if not for you, as you were too depressed and tired to think about your own health.

Travelling solo across the country was triggering, as you were reminded of the time that you were on the run with your parents. And since then, you were always accompanied by Manny or the others. When you camped down at night, you kept yourself awake by revisiting all the happy moments with your Manny or by crying over him. The way he caressed your head when you were sleeping, the way he held your hands, the way he would crack jokes to cheer you up, his stories from back home—everything. You missed his scent, you missed that he wasn’t here to warm you up in the biting cold at night. You knew he must be losing his mind right now, the inability to protect you and not being able to see you making him insane. But you also knew you had to do this. For you, and as a human being.

The journey wasn't easy. You had some encounters with clickers and managed to roughly escape some raiders with minimal injuries. You tried your best not to stay at one place for a long time and even if you did, you would either hide out in high rise buildings or abandoned homes. Somewhere that had four walls to protect you and Max. Camping out in the open sent your mind went into overdrive as even the smallest of sounds sent you over the edge. So you tried your best to avoid open spaces. All of this was taking a toll on you mentally as you grew more and more paranoid, Manny’s smiling face in the back of your mind was the only thing that kept you alive.

According to the map, you were closer to Jackson now, the thought keeping you motivated to keep pushing. You hadn’t had a proper meal in days. You felt dehydrated and hungry, the feeling of exhaustion taking you back to when you were 14. You tried focusing your eyes in front of you, lazily guiding Max, but you could feel that fuzzy feeling in your head, your eyes slipping shut and your hands constantly dropping the reins, the crisp and cold air making it harder to focus. Max nodded his head and tried to get your attention with a grunt, but you were too far gone and you eventually passed out against his mane, leaving him grunting and neighing, standing still on the spot until he heard someone approach.

Jackson, 2023

“Joel! I see a horse!”, Ellie yelled out to get Joel’s attention. Joel rushed over to Ellie’s side. “You see someone on it?” “I don’t think so, can’t see properly from here.”

Joel nodded and slowly made his way over to the horse, his gun raised and a hand asking Ellie to stay behind the bushes. As he approached the horse, he noticed how the horse kept nodding his head and tried to turn his head behind, as if asking Joel to look over there. Joel held out a hand to soothe the horse and that’s when he noticed someone passed out on the horse’s back.

“Hey, easy, easy. That’s it, that’s a good boy”, he cooed to the horse to calm him down and walked over to check on you. You looked…bad, to put it simply. Your skin was pale, clothes dirtied and you looked sickly because of the lack of food and water. Joel furrowed his eyebrows- he could tell you had come alone, all the way to Jackson, from somewhere far and he understood that the moment he took a look at you. You carried a single backpack, probably filled with essentials only, no visible weapons on you or anything suspicious. You looked young, Joel noted- must be in your late 20s.

Joel stuffed his gun back into the holster and shook you by the shoulders, “Hey- hey, kid? You okay?” You stirred a little at his voice but you were so weak that you slipped from the saddle. Joel immediately caught you in his arms and carefully got you down from the horse. “Fuck- hey-Ellie!”, Joel grunted out. Ellie rushed out from her hiding place and came over to support your legs and helped Joel lift you in his arms.

“Shit, are they okay?”, Ellie asked in concern, taking in your pale and fragile form. Your head lolled into Joel’s chest and he let out a sigh.

“No idea. Likely dehydrated and passed out from exhaustion. Don’t see any injuries or nothin’”, eyebrows furrowed in concern, Joel looked you over once again. You stirred lightly against him, your eyes blearily opened and tried to focus on the person holding you. “Manny…”, you slurred out, Joel strained his good ear to hear you clearly, but to no avail as you were delirious and your speech unclear.

“They’re out of it. We need to take ‘em to the clinic right away. You take the horse to the stables, have him checked, okay?”, Joel instructed Ellie and she nodded her head before carefully taking away Max with her. Joel hoisted you up in his arms and made his way over to the clinic.

-

You woke up to a persistent beeping. The first things you noticed were that your head was pounding, your body aching all over, mouth feeling like someone had stuffed cotton in it and you felt a soft surface under your body. Opening your heavy eyes took a lot of effort, your vision blurry and your mind confused about your whereabouts. When you finally managed to focus your eyes, you noticed the room you were in, it looked like a hospital room and you were lying on a bed. Your initial reaction was to panic, thinking the Fireflies or FEDRA managed to capture you somehow. Your heart rate shot up on the monitor and the nurse came over to soothe you, “it’s okay, relax. You’re safe, I promise.”

You opened your mouth and winced at how dry it was, licking your dry lips to get some moisture back. The nurse seemed to notice this and offered you a glass of water, which you drank gratefully. “Where….am I?”, you managed to croak out in a scratchy voice. The nurse gave you a sympathetic smile, “You’re in Jackson, sweetheart. You were out for a full day.”

You paused. You reached Jackson? You actually managed to reach Jackson? Your eyes immediately filled up with tears out of relief. And then you remembered Max. “M-my, my horse? Where is he? Is he okay-” “Yes, he’s alright! We got him checked, he’s healthy. Joel and Ellie saved you, honey. You looked very weak, they found you passed out on your horse. Thank god Joel decided to bring you here right away”, the nurse struck an idle conversation while she checked your vitals.

You froze. Joel saved you? The person whose arms you felt was him?

“W-where is he?”, you whispered. “Ah, must be home right now. He was here to check on you this morning. He’s said he will come back before dinner. And what’s your name, honey?”

You swallowed, your throat swelling up with emotion and gratitude. “Okay, thank you. I’m (Name)”, you replied to the nurse in a soft voice. She flashed you a smile and went back to writing something on her writing pad. You promptly fell asleep after that conversation, your body too exhausted to stay up.

-

The next time you opened your eyes, they fell on a shadow of a man next to you. For a moment, your foolish heart jumped, thinking it’s Manny but once you focused clearly on the man, you realised he wasn’t. Tall even when sitting, broad shoulders covered by a flannel, hair cropped yet messy, his face was handsome- aquiline nose looked like it was made especially for him, lines of age and gray hair marked his hair and stubble. He suddenly snapped his head up to look at you and your eyes were captivated by the brown pools of his eyes, their colour as rich as coffee and the way they shined with warmth and sadness at the same time.

“Oh, you’re up. How you feelin’ now?”, his low baritone echoed in the empty room. Your face must’ve expressed confusion and he cleared his throat to introduce himself, “Sorry, ‘m Joel. Found you by the perimeter fencing. And don’t worry, your horse is safe in the stable”, he reassured you in his smooth voice. Your eyes widened in realisation, “Joel?”, you breathed out, “T-thank you for saving my life. I’m sorry for coming into your town like that but I had no other option. I just- thank you, Joel.”

Joel’s face flashed with surprise. For someone who was probably traumatised from the journey, you were a very courteous person. Joel was kind of impressed and suspicious of your attitude. He’s had enough experience to know the cheap tactics of enemies, acting kind at first and striking later was a classic move. But he didn’t get that vibe from you. Here you were, exhausted and grateful with tears in your eyes, miles away from home and yet you looked like you wanted to be here.

Joel nodded his head, a look passing over his eyes, “Yeah. You rest now. The doctor said you’ll be discharged by today evening. You can ask the nurse if you wanna get somethin’ to eat, she’ll tell you the directions. And uh, you’ll have to debrief with Maria, the council head. Nothin’ serious, just normal stuff like where’d you come from n’ all that. Okay?”

Your face twisted in stress, the thought of going out in a community and facing people while knowing that you’re an Ex-Firefly was enough to send you into a panic attack. You weren’t sure how to proceed with this information and how would you talk to Joel about it. They’d shoot you then and there, you’re sure of that. Joel seemed to have sensed this, “Hey, kid, relax. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. I’ll come with you, if you want. I’ll send Ellie to keep you company till then, okay?”, Joel tried to soothe you. You swallowed painfully, your throat still scratchy, and offered him a short nod.

-

Joel left your room and Ellie took over his place. You liked her right away, she was a really lovely and funny girl and so helpful, you thought you’d already made a friend in her. She helped you get discharged and kept you distracted with her idle chatter. “You wanna get something to eat? We can go to the canteen to have something, it’s dinner time anyway. Or you can come over to our-Joel’s house and eat there? He’s asked me to keep an eye on you, so”, she asked casually while helping you walk out of the room.

“Um-I don’t really want to…eat in front of everyone”, you replied hesitantly with a hoarse voice. You haven’t talked much since you got here. Ellie looked at you with sympathy, she understood that you felt uncomfortable to be around so many people after being alone for days. “Yeah, of course. I’ll drop you off at his house and get a plate for you, that okay?”. You nodded your head tersely.

The two of you made your way out of the clinic and a shadow appeared next to you. “How’re you feeling, kid?” Joel.

You looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. “I’m okay.”

“You goin’ somewhere?”, he asked Ellie and she explained that you weren't comfortable with eating in the canteen and wanted to be somewhere away from judging eyes. He seemed to contemplate for a moment before offering, “If ya want, you can come to my house. You'd give company to Ellie as well”, he mumbled that last part and looked at Ellie with hope in his eyes. Ellie side eyed him and shifted her gaze away, focusing on the street in front of her. Your eyebrows quirked in interest and you paused, is Ellie the same girl..?

You looked at him solemnly. “Is that okay with you? I can totally just eat in the canteen, I don’t mind”, you rushed to add, not wanting to impose in anyway. Ellie looked you and shot you a shocked smile, not expecting the formality, they didn’t see that often. Joel gave you a small nod. “Yeah, that’s okay. C’mon.”

Ellie left you with Joel and walked away to get you a plate of food. Joel watched her go in worry for a moment, and you two began walking towards his house. They had finally given you some layers to put on, the autumn breeze was crisp, making your face cold in a pleasant way. Joel didn’t talk much, only speaking when spoken to or when he had to lay out any information, and you were glad for it. Your mind was too noisy to make any conversation right now and your eyes were too busy taking in Jackson. This was an actual town. You still couldn’t believe it. The people, the laughter of children, smoke coming out of chimneys, wires overhead, a constant mumble of chatter around you- your ears were ringing. You haven’t heard or seen such a normal and mundane scene in years.

The wonder and overwhelm must’ve been clearly visible on your face because it got a chuckle out of Joel. You turned your head to look at him. “Swear Ellie had that exact same look on her face when we walked through the gates.” You froze at his words. If Ellie was with him when he came here, then- oh god. She was the girl who Jerry was operating on. You felt bile rise up your throat. She was so young. The gravity of the situation hit you harder and you felt your insides curl with anger at the Fireflies, at the WLF, at Abby and at...Manny.

You forced yourself to let out a chuckle, your cheeks warming up from embarrassment. “Haven’t seen so much…life around me before. I swear I might even hear the electricity buzzing through the wires”, you joked lightly. Joel gave you a half smile, “Yeah, I get that. We jus' got here as well, few weeks ago.” You swallowed in guilt at that but also grateful that him and Ellie could escape Salt Lake and settle down here. “Yeah? That’s-that’s great. I’m glad you found a place to settle down”, you replied in a quiet voice and Joel stared at you in question, sensing a slight change in your mood. He decided to let it go and chalked it up to you still recovering.

You two finally reached his house and you took a moment to just stand on the driveway to stare at it. This was a whole, functioning house. An actual house that wasn’t just a hideout or a shelter or some dilapidated building. A house that looked like someone lived in it and that sent a pang through your heart, wishing you had Manny next to you. This should’ve been you and Manny entering your own house, him cracking jokes and flirting with you while your giggles echoed through the garden. You don’t even know where he is right now or if he was even alive. That thought made your eyes well up with tears and your chest hurt.

Joel turned around to see that you had stood still on the driveway, seemingly in a trance. Eyes shining with tears, you couldn’t avert your gaze from the house. Joel furrowed his eyebrows. You were so out of it since you got here, not even speaking a word to anyone or complaining about anything, Joel thought that you must’ve experienced something so numbing that you had lost all your energy and spark—he could relate to that. The way you kept making them comfortable as if you weren’t the one who was new to their town and as if you didn’t need care, almost made him laugh, in a good way. You were a good kid, he thought, feeling his fatherly instincts take over. He made his way over to you to shake you out of your trance.

“(Name)?”, he lightly shook you by the shoulders and you jumped. He raised his hands up and stepped back from you. “It’s okay, we’re here. This is my house. You wanna come in?”. You blinked your eyes rapidly to get rid of the tears and curtly nodded your head, making your way towards his living room.

You got hit by a comforting warmth and a smell of coffee as soon as you stepped foot into his house. The dark interior making it look cosy, like a library. There were several paintings hung around the house and it was decorated in little knick knacks, the dining table and coffee table having two forgotten cups each and a blanket thrown over the couch. It was home. And you didn’t know him, but it somehow screamed Joel.

You took a deep breath in, inhaling the comforting scent of coffee and wood and closed your eyes in contentment. After living an unstable and rough life since you were 14, you finally had a place where you could be you. The apocalypse was still out there, but here? Here, you could pretend that everything was okay and here, you could wait for your love to come back home. Joel noticed your reaction and his eyes shined with sympathy, tossing a small smile towards your way.

"Uh-after you have your dinner, we'll have to drop you off at the courthouse right away. That okay?", Joel asked you, breaking you out of your trance. You nodded and he spoke up again. "I didn't ask before but, where'd you come from?"

You stiffened up. You weren't going to drop a bomb on him right away so you decided to lie, you knew you would regret this later because Joel was too sharp to miss it. "I-I’m from the Miami QZ. Before coming to Jackson, I was at the Denver QZ", you confessed shakily.

Joel furrowed his eyebrows in shock. "You came all the way from Miami and Denver alone? That's halfway across the country", he questioned you gruffly. You swallowed thickly, this was a mistake. Joel was way too wise and experienced to catch your lie, you knew that. "Uh-yeah. I mean- I was alone from Denver. Left behind the group I was travelling with…we had left Miami a few months ago for Denver."

Joel narrowed his eyes at you, "A group? Why would you leave your group behind?"

You cleared your throat before answering, "Well, I wanted something else. Didn't agree with their ways, so I decided to move on", you shrugged, your hands clenched in tight fists. Joel stared you down with that steely gaze of his and you almost faltered before he nodded his head. “Alright, well, Settle down.”

-

After Ellie came back, you had your food and you ate it in silence, minus the chatter and questions from Ellie. You noticed some tension between her and Joel but kept quiet because you had just met them. She asked you your name, where you were from, how did you find Jackson, and so on and you answered her questions sincerely, hiding some of the facts for now. She was such a curious kid, it made you sad to even think that if it wasn’t for Joel, she wouldn’t have been here. Her infectious energy even made someone as stoic as Joel let out some chuckles. You felt a clear bond between the two- Joel always looked at her with so much care and love that it made you jealous. You haven’t had a parental figure to look over you since you were 14. You missed them. You blinked away the tears and focused on your food before they walked you to the town courthouse.

There were 6-7 people sitting on the panel. And you assumed that the two people sitting in the middle were the heads of the council. “(Name)?”, the dark-skinned woman sitting in the middle addressed you. You squeezed your fingers together, shifted nervously in the chair. Clearing your throat, you finally spoke up, “Yes.”

“I’m Maria, Head Counselor of Jackson. This is Tommy and the rest of the council. We just want to ask you a few questions about you and how you came across Jackson, is that okay?” Your eyebrows raised in recognition, so this was Maria. You nodded and Maria begun, “Can you state your full name and age?”, you gave her your full name and age and observed as she wrote it down.

“Okay, do you mind telling us where are you from?”

“Yes, I-I was originally from the Miami QZ. But, had to move to Denver a few months ago due to overpopulation in the zone”, you confessed as if you had practiced this lie. Maria nodded her head but her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Wait, you traveled across the country alone?”

“No, I had a group with me from Miami to Denver. But I left them behind in Denver because I didn’t agree with their ways and I had learned about Jackson. Was tired of being on the run so…thought I might as well move on.”

The man next to her, Tommy, leaned forward and stared at you in question. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked a lot like Joel and Manny. “You sure you came here just to settle? No people following you or any other motives?”, his gruff voice echoed in the room.

You shook your head vehemently, “No! I came here alone and in peace. I just want a place to stay, lost my parents when I was 14 so I haven’t had a proper home or stable life since then. I totally understand if you don’t trust me but, I promise, I came here in peace”, you confessed truthfully. While yes, you had omitted certain parts of your life but you did want to escape to Jackson to live a peaceful life, hopefully with Manny, but you weren’t sure when would that wish come true. You didn’t tell them about the situation with Abby yet because you needed to talk to Joel, directly first. Involving the council meant you had to go through ‘legal’ processes and you didn’t need all that, nor did you have the energy for it.

Tommy looked at you for a moment before nodding his head in agreement and Maria let out a sigh. “Okay, we’ll have to check your pack before we hand it back to you. I’ll help you pick out a house after we’re done renovating. Till then, you can stay with Joel, if you want”, Maria offered. You simply nodded your head and they excused you. You couldn’t believe it- you were a member of this community now, you were torn between crying in happiness and sorrow. Ellie dropped you off at the house before promptly leaving to hang out with her friends.

There was a pit in your stomach because of the lies that you told in the court but you had decided that you would speak to Joel right away. You stepped into the living room and called out for him, “Joel?”, you walked over to the hallway and called out once more, “Joel? Are you home?”, you noticed a door that was ajar and peeped through it to see Joel sitting a desk, head lowered and hands working on something.

You knocked at the door twice, but didn’t get any response. You furrowed your brows and decided to approach him instead, “Joel?”, he flinched and reached for a tool before he noticed you and put the tool down before letting out a sigh. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, I-i called you out twice and knocked on the door but you didn’t hear me I-” “s’okay, kid. Sat with the bad ear facing the door, not your fault.”

You grimaced. “Bad ear?”

“Yeah, apparently using a gun too many times can do that to your ears”, Joel scoffed and reached for the sanding paper to sand the sculpture in his hands. Your eyes widened in realisation, he was deaf in an ear- no wonder why he didn’t hear you.

Your attention spanned to his work bench. It was littered with wood, tools for woodwork, and a few sketches splayed across the table. “You’re a sculptor?”, you asked in interest, leaning closer to watch his skilled hands work.

Joel let out a breathy chuckle. “Somethin’ like that. Was a contractor back in the day. Noticed some wood lyin' around here and thought I might as well make somethin' out of it. Works as a distraction too."

Your mouth took an 'o' shape as you watched him sand down the sculpture. You smiled to yourself, finding it endearing that someone as gruff as Joel made sculptures in his free time to keep himself busy.

"Why'd you ask for me?", his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You straightened up and cleared your throat. "Joel, there's something you should know. I needed to tell it to you first", you confessed in a quiet voice, your face twisted in pain like you were dreading this conversation. You noticed how Joel's body visibly stiffened and he turned his attention back to you, his sharp gaze judging you. "What is it?"

You swallowed thickly and shut your eyes. "You can kick me out if you want to but I—I used to be a Firefly. I was stationed at St. Mary's", your voice slipping into a whisper by the end of the sentence, not needing to elaborate further as Joel's eyes widened and his heart pounded against his chest. He knew what you were referencing. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into a fist.

"What the fuck are you doin' here? You came here to take her away? To leak whatever information they want? Get out of my house before I-" "No! No, please. Joel, listen to me. I promise, I didn't come here to harm you or Ellie, I swear. Just- hear me out, please", you begged him, your hands stretched out in a placating gesture. Joel clenched his jaw and observed you closely. You weren't carrying any weapons or anything, might as well give you a chance to explain yourself. He nodded at you to continue, and you let out a sigh of relief, your eyes burning with tears.

"Joel, I admit I was a Firefly. But, I don't do that anymore. Not after I found out what they were gonna do to Ellie. It's why I left them and came here, alone. I swear, they abandoned me the moment I disagreed with their plan I-"

"What plan?", Joel asked sharply.

You took a deep breath in and told him the truth, "Joel, they want to kill you. They will come for you. That doctor you killed? He was the father of one of my group members. She's- Joel, she's gone insane. Blinded by rage and vengeance. She's manipulated the whole group into seeking you out and killing you. I couldn't sit and watch so I took out information from the nurses you spared and I left overnight", your voice wavering because of the lump in your throat.

Joel stared at you in disbelief, "Why would they not follow you? Why are you doing this for us? We ain't even know you", he questioned you, unable to understand your motive.

Your face scrunched up in pain, "Because, The Fireflies killed my parents!", you cried out and Joel froze. "Because they keep hurting innocent people and I've been trying to bring them down since I was 14, Joel. They manipulated me into joining them after they killed my parents in front of me. I-I've saved countless of their victims before but if i had stayed back anymore, I would've been killed or abandoned for disagreeing with them or disobeying protocol. When I heard what they did to Ellie...i felt sick and disgusted with myself", you confessed before running a hand across your face to calm yourself down, "And no, they wouldn't follow me because...because someone close to me will cover up for me. But, that doesn't mean they won't find you. The nurses already told them some information on you. Their only aim is to hurt you, to kill you", you let out in a breath.

Joel was standing so still, that you thought he'd stopped breathing. He knew his luck would run out someday, his demons coming back to hurt him but hearing it from you, a stranger, made it very real. He thought of that day in the hospital and he thought about your story. You were nothing less than a guardian angel for him, he was in awe of your perseverance and the humanity that you possessed, to try and bring an evil organisation to an end since you were Ellie's age. Then, he thought of all the nasty work he's done in the past and thought- he doesn't deserve your kindness. That maybe, he's had it coming for a long time and he should just accept it.

He swallowed thickly and responded in a hoarse voice, "Don't tell any of this to Ellie. I'll figure somethin' out. Thank you for telling me the truth, you didn't have to."

You stared at him dumbfounded, "What? Joel-" "She'll lose her damn mind and stop talking to me altogether, I know. But still, don't tell this to anybody, y'hear me? This'll stay between you and me. I won't tell about your past to anyone else either", Joel pleaded in a soft voice.

You stared at him in confusion, your eyes shining with unshed tears and you reluctantly agreed to his conditions. What Joel didn't know, was that you were going to save him from Abby, no matter how much he refused to be saved.

-

Jackson, 2025

It's been 2 years since you were officially a Jackson resident. There were days where you still couldn't believe that this was your life now. You slept on an actual bed, had proper meals, had good clothes to wear, you woke up every morning and met with people, with families, around you, attended community dinners and events- it was surreal. You had a family of your own now-Joel, Ellie, Tommy, Maria, Dina, Jesse and the newest addition to the family- little Benji Miller.

You spent your days either looking after Benji, helping around town or going on patrols with the others. Joel even taught you some wood carving and it helped to bring you and him closer. Soon enough, you looked up to him as a father figure, the way he would fuss over Ellie making you crave that parental affection. He was a natural at that, being a father, his caring and doting side slipping through that cold and gruff exterior naturally. He'd bring you coffee, you'd accompany him on patrols where you jeered with each other, he'd teach you the guitar, you'd go on walks with him- like a normal father and child would.

After that confession, you were sure that you Joel would stop talking to you. But instead, he asked you to move into his house and Ellie was over the moon. She'd spend most of her time with you or her other friends, chatting away or helping with tasks around the town. Very soon, you had found out that her and Joel weren't on good terms ever since Salt Lake and it made you feel guilty that you were somehow connected to that. Joel never brought up that fateful day, trying to bury it ten feet under and asking you to do the same.

As days passed, you found out that Tommy was actually Joel's younger brother and him and Maria were married with a baby on the way. It made you tear up, happy that Joel and Ellie had a family of their own and made your chest hurt in heart break. Joel also shared that he had a daughter that he lost on the day of the outbreak. It made your heart break for him even more and made you understand why he was so protective of Ellie.

It's been two years since you left Manny and you still broke down in his memory. You would never get over it, you were sure of that, for he was such a huge part of your life that it was impossible to forget him and he always left an impact on people with his charm. You often found yourself zoning out and refusing to leave your room, your body numb with the pain in your heart. Joel managed to coax you out most days, Ellie dragging you out the others, but you'd be functioning like a robot. They didn't know why you acted the way you did, assuming it was just because you missed home, but still, they tried to keep you alive. Today was another day like that—you were standing on the porch, holding a hot mug of coffee in hand, staring blankly at the trees lining Joel's fence.

"Good mornin', Kiddo", Joel's quiet yet gruff voice mumbled next to you. You jumped and snapped out of your trance turning to face Joel. "Morning, old man", you threw a smirk at his way, him rolling his eyes in return.

"Ellie..?", he trailed off and looked at the garage longingly. Oh yeah, Ellie recently moved all of her stuff in the garage and has been avoiding Joel like the plague now. You saw the way his heart broke at that, everyday he looked at the garage door with sadness and disappointment lining his features and it broke your heart to see him like that. You had asked him if he wanted you to talk to Ellie but he'd politely shut you down.

"No, Joel. She's gone with Jesse and the others already", you let out an apologetic sigh. He blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears and bit the inside of his cheek. Your heart twisted in empathy for him. "I see...well, how're you? Feelin' alright?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line and turned your attention back to the trees, "I guess." Joel stared at you for a moment before letting out a sigh and sipping his coffee. "Have you ever been in love, Joel?", you asked him quietly.

He froze before inhaling deeply. "Well, there was Sarah's mom. Then, there was Sarah. She was my everything, my whole world revolved around her", he chuckled softly. "I...there was someone but...lost her when we were on our way to Jackson", he admitted quietly. You looked at him with sadness coating your tone, "How did you get over the pain? How did you forget them and move on?"

Joel's eyebrows furrowed. "You don't forget them. They're always in your heart, even if you can't see them. It's their memory that keeps you going", he replied carefully.

"It hurts to remember, Joel", you whimpered. Joel straightened up, alarmed at your sudden display of emotions, and laid a strong hand on your shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong? You wanna talk about it?"

You looked up at him with your tears in your eyes and sniffled. "I- i loved- love someone. But he betrayed me and I left him behind to come to Jackson. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives here. I don't even know if he's alive now", you broke down in a sob towards the end of that sentence.

Joel's eyes flashed with empathy and he brought you close in a hug, caging you in his safe arms, your head pressed to his chest and whispered a simple reassurance, "Don’t jump to conclusions, Kid. It's okay, let it out.” You hugged him tighter and let out all the bottled up emotions that were choking you for the last 2 years.

Jackson, 2029

Joel was your surrogate father, at this point. Comforting you every time you burst into tears after missing Manny or patching you up after a bad patrol. At first you thought he was just filling up the space that Ellie left in his heart by taking care of you. But one night, he confessed to you that if Sarah was around, she’d be exactly like you and that made you cry like a baby, your arms thrown around Joel and him comforting you like your father would. You had started to jokingly call him ‘Pops’, enjoying the annoyed grunt he would give in return.

You had gotten closer to Tommy and Maria as well, Benji taking a special liking to you since you basically babysat him ever since he was a year old. You were basically a Miller now, Ellie was too, just a little distant and you tried to reassure Joel about it everytime. He thought you didn’t see his sad little face around her, but you did and you subtly tried to distract him by poking fun at him.

It had been tense at the Miller house since last night. Joel and Ellie got into a little disagreement at the New Years Party to which, you had a little disagreement with Ellie because you didn’t like her reaction. Joel was just trying to help her, you’d never forget that look of embarrassment and hurt on his face after she yelled at him, which lead to you telling her to get it to together (do not put a teenager and a 30 year old in a room together). After that altercation, you left the party to follow Joel to the house and gave him company, him strumming the guitar while you read your book and chatted to him idly.

Come morning, you knew something was wrong the moment you woke up. You were supposed to patrol with Jesse but Ellie would be joining you because Joel let her sleep in and went on patrol with Dina instead. It would be awkward with Ellie joining you but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was going to happen today.

-

And something did happen today.

Actually, what didn’t happen today would be a better question. Jackson was hit with the worst blizzard it had ever experienced in the last 5 years. And you, Jesse and Ellie were stuck in the middle of it, your radio signals complete busted. Jesse managed to find a rundown 7/11 and you three took shelter in it. You holed your horses into a nearby stable and hid away in the 7/11 for god knows how long. It was then that your radios were suddenly firing away, Amy shouting into it.

“Joel—Dina—-seen them?”

You and Ellie exchanged a look and rushed to stand close to the radio. Jesse picked up the radio and yelled in it for someone to reply before Ellie snatched it from his hands. Ellie asked what happened and you caught Amy’s broken words- Joel and Dina were both missing. You and Ellie were panicking, rushing out of the store to grab your horses. Jesse tried to ask about the directions but Ellie simply told him to go Southwest while you and her would be going Northwest.

Ellie and you rode your horses like your life depended on it. The blizzard was getting worse, harsh winds whipping against your face, ice crystals freezing on your eyelashes and making your vision blurry. Your poor horses- Shimmer and Max- doing their best to run in the knee deep snow. Your breathing was laboured from the amount of effort you had to put in riding your horse, the cold air entering your lungs and making it harder to breathe.

Just as you were feeling like you were running in circles, you came across a lodge and two horses tied to the fence. Joel and Dina’s horses. You looked at Ellie and booked it for the lodge, getting off your horses as quickly as possible and entered into the lodge. The basement was full of wrapped and broken furniture, you and Ellie scanned the area with your guns raised. Just as you were about to take the stairs, you heard noises. Several of them. Some in pain and the two of you rushed up the stairs, you watching Ellie’s six.

Ellie broke open the door from where the noises came from and you saw your nightmare playing out in front of you. Joel was lying down on his stomach, his face bloody, a pool of blood surrounding his knee and he was barely conscious. There was a blonde girl repeatedly punching him when someone tackled Ellie to the ground and that’s when you noticed that it was Abby who stood over Joel.

Your eyes widened and you screamed, “Abby!” The entire room stilled. Every single person in the room turned to look at you and in your panic, you didn’t notice the one person you were dying to see for the past 5 years- “(Name)?”, Manny whispered in disbelief.

But you couldn’t hear him, your ears ringing with anger at the psychotic look on Abby’s face and Joel’s helpless face. Your entire body shook in tremors, you grabbed your gun and fired a shot directly into Abby’s kneecaps. Abby howled in pain, falling next to Joel and Owen rushed to stop you but Manny pushed him away, “Don’t fucking touch them”, pointing a finger at him and coming over to stand in front of you. “Hey, angel? You’re okay? Oh my god, I-”, Manny’s voice cracked and he tried to hold you but you pushed past him to get to Ellie.

“Get your fucking hands off her, Nora”, you threatened Nora with your gun to her head. She looked at Manny and he seemed to have nodded his head and released Ellie, who rushed into your arms. You held her by her shoulders and approached Joel, who was now shakily reaching for you and Ellie.

“Joel…oh my god. Joel. Get up, I’m here now. It’s okay, you got us, Pops”, you offered him a weak smile and he simply whimpered in response. Your lips quivered and Ellie let out a cry before holding Joel’s hand in hers, trying to comfort him. Your eyes then fell on Abby, writhing next to Joel in pain and you clenched your jaw shut before crouching in front of her. You stared at her in disgust. “A coward and a fraud, just like your father, aren’t you?”, you snarled and she stared you down with her bloodshot eyes.

You waved her off and stood up, facing the rest of them and that’s when you finally noticed him- standing next to Owen, his eyes shining with tears and his cheeks splotched with red, his curls were longer now, yet he still looked handsome as ever. He still looked like your Manny and then you remembered the way he had tackled Ellie.

You made your way over to him and harshly fisted the collar of his jacket, your eyes bloodshot with tears and hands shaking in anger. “You…asshole. How dare you touch my sister like that? How could you betray me like this? Why?”, you cried out and released his collar forcefully.

“(Name), please-” “I cried for you. Every single day for the last five years. And he”, you pointed at Joel, “he was the one who reassured me that you’d come back. He was the one who took me in like his own. He was the one who gave my a family. And you…you cowards were cornering an old man to kill him off in a secluded lodge? For whom? For Abby’s fraud of a father?”, you growled, your voice hoarse from the tears you were shedding. “Some fucking friendship you have that you can’t even hold your friend accountable”, you turned around to address them all. Manny averted his gaze in shame, Mel was crying her eyes out, Owen and Nora had the decency to lower their gaze.

“You’ve always been the odd one in the group-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up before I put another bullet in you”, you roared at Abby, shutting her up effectively. And then your eyes fell on another body lying on the ground- Dina. “What the hell did you do to her?!”, you cried out before making your way to Dina and placed her head in your lap. “She’s- she’s just unconscious, I promise. It’s just a sedative”, Mel explained to you in between sobs. You trusted Mel so you nodded your head and removed your jacket before folding it and placing it under Dina’s head, running a hand over her beanie covered head.

You made your way back to Joel, sitting next to his head, rubbing a soothing hand over his shoulder. You couldn’t look at his mangled face without bursting in tears so you chose to look at Abby and channelled your anger and pain towards her. “I’m giving you a choice. You’re either gonna leave with the rest of them peacefully or you’re gonna make it difficult and get a bullet in your heads, each”, you threatened her and looked straight into her eyes before diverting your gaze to look at Manny, who looked like he was fighting with himself.

Abby looked at you in agitation and spoke up, “I’m not leaving before I end this-”, you cut her off and fired another shot, this time on the same arm that was punching Joel. She screamed in pain once again. Owen rushed over to support her and you noticed Manny clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from joining Owen, knowing it’d make you more upset.

You smirked at that, “I warned you, didn’t I? Yet, you chose to do this. And yet, I was waiting for you to come to me, had a whole house picked out for us and everything. I was stupid and I still am, stupid”, you let out a maniacal chuckle which made Manny and Ellie look at you in worry.

“(Name), hey, that’s enough. We- we’ll leave. Please. Stop this”, Owen placated. You turned to look at him, a crazed look in your eyes. “You better leave, because god forbid she is in front of me any longer…I don’t think any of you will be walking out of this room, alive.” Owen swallowed thickly and ordered the others to start packing their stuff.

He picked up Abby in his arms and she struggled against him, hurling loose threats towards you, Joel and Ellie. “I’ll fucking find you, and end the three of you. All at once. Slowly, just like I did to him-”

“I’d like to see you try, Abby. I’ll be waiting for you”, you replied nonchalantly, her threats mere words for you and shifted your focus towards Joel and Ellie. Owen shook his head and carried Abby out of the room, Mel and Nora quickly following him.

Manny was frozen to his spot. “Manny?”, Nora asked him, breaking him out of his trance. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his cheeks were shaking, wet from tears that he didn’t know he shed. He swallowed thickly, all of your memories together rushing through his mind and your agonised face haunting him. He had barely survived these 5 years, believing you to be dead after the first. He decided to push forward like a robot, his face and body devoid of any emotions. Your scarf had lost your scent after the first month apart and he had a breakdown because of that. The more he thought of it, the more he knew that he wanted to stay back with you. He’d do what he had promised himself 5 years ago- beg on his knees for your forgiveness.

Part 3

-

AN: sooo originally it was supposed to end here, but I’ve got too many ideas for their patch up. So strap in! 👀

tag list: @taylorsroxy @parkersjoy @aomi-recs @serendipity-29 @lucycarlisleswife @laurenjbb @onmyknees4kai @groovycass @spideybrie @yvonne-dump @monselxo @this-girl-is-tired

(sorry if some of y’all didn’t get tagged!)

[andulina567]

Philophobia (Part 5)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader

Chapter Summary: After a mini panic attack, you and Joaquin leave for Maryland and you talk to an old friend. You come face to face with Walker and every one has to pull you back before you attack him. You and Joaquin are almost friends now and Bucky informs you about 2 shocking things.

Warnings: Mentions of wanting to kill a person, panic attacks, We have a major cameo(s) in this one 👀, Reader is mentioned to have hair, Joaquin and Reader are slowly becoming friends, Reader is slowly becoming comfortable around Joaquin, Talks of vandalizing a property, Jealous!Joaquin, John Walker Hatred, John Walker is an asshole, I don’t know anything about the American law,that’s all i think!

AN: sooo sorry for the delay! hope u enjoy this and the cameo ☺️

“(Name)? Honey?”

You haven’t heard that voice since the following week after the funeral. Since the day you distanced yourself from them.

You swallowed thickly and stumbled back. Joaquin rushed over to steady you with his hands on your elbows.

“(Name)? Are you okay?”, Joaquin asked, concerned.

You whispered only one word.

“M-May..?”

“Oh honey, how are you? It’s been so long since I heard your voice…”

You were trying so hard to focus on her voice but all you heard were old conversations and the laughter of a certain someone. The conversations and the laughter that you didn’t want to hear again but deep down, you knew you missed them.

“Hey, do you wanna sit down? Your hands are shaking, (Name)”, Joaquin asked you quietly. He was worried for you and felt his insides simmer with anger because whoever the person was on the other end of the phone was the reason for your current state. He touched your hands lightly and you jerked back. You shook him off and clenched your jaw before ending the call.

Joaquin maintained a safe distance from you to give you your space. He saw the way you had clenched your jaw so tightly and how you were gripping your phone like your life depended on it.

“Call a cab. I’ll pack my stuff”, you replied shortly and rushed back to the guest room.

Joaquin stood there dumbfounded, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. But he decided not to bother you anymore and made quick work of calling a cab.

Meanwhile, in the room, you were trying your best to not freak out. You ran a hand through your hair and grabbed them before taking deep breaths.

You had asked Happy to warn you any time he was with May so you could avoid moments like these. You knew they were dating. And you were happy for them. But you just couldn’t go back to being normal with May and…Peter. Just thinking about them made your chest hurt with all the memories but you compartmentalised it and began packing your bags hurriedly. You knew you had put Joaquin on the spot. You saw and felt how panicked he was. You needed to apologise to him. Once again.

-

You and Joaquin finally settled into the cab and drove off for Maryland. It was way too quiet in the car and you felt like it was your fault.

“Hey, Joaquin?”

He turned his head to look at you. “Yes?”

You hesitated. “Uh- look, I’m sorry. I keep putting you on the spot like this. I’m sorry.”

He observed you carefully before speaking up. “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay, though? You looked pretty shaken up.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m fine. That phone call just..took me by surprise.”

He seemed to weigh his options and decided to ask anyway.

“Do you…wanna talk about it? Only if you’re comfortable. No pressure”, he asked nervously.

You pressed your lips into a thin line. “Maybe some other day.”

Joaquin was shocked. This means you were willing to share your problems with him in the future? This was progress.

He nodded quickly and gave you a soft smile.

He had such a radiant smile, you thought.

You cleared your throat and decided to distract yourself by calling up a contact to help with Bucky’s case.

The phone rang twice before someone picked it up.

“Nelson and Murdock, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Matthew.”

“(Name)? Did you get a new phone number?”

You sighed. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. How are you?”

“I’m good. I haven’t heard from you since…”, he paused and let out a breath. “Shit. I’m sorry, (Name)”, he responded softly.

You gulped harshly in order to keep your tears from flowing. “It’s okay. Um- I wanted your help regarding a case.”

“Why? Did you break another car?”, he teased you lightly.

You gasped. “That was one time. It was an emergency!”

Joaquin turned his head to look at you in confusion.

“If by ‘emergency’ you mean purposely vandalising a private property of a big shot lawyer because you wanted to teach him a lesson for denying your father’s case then, sure”, he responded smugly. That asshole.

You rolled your eyes and groaned.

Yes, you vandalised a big shot lawyer’s car 10 years ago because he had refused to take up your father’s case against Aldrich Killian back in 2013 and yes, you sneaked out with Happy who was extremely stressed the whole time. Your dad found out about it immediately and he was confused between getting angry at you out of concern and laughing his ass off. He hugged you tightly and made you promise him not to do this again and asked Matt to handle the situation, which he did, with the classic Murdock ease and charm. Since then, Matt Murdock has been a close acquaintance, a friend even, and your favorite lawyer because he was just the perfect amount of chill and batshit insane (reckless) to get along with you (you’re never telling him that. That man is cocky enough.) “Shut up, smartass."

Matt chuckled.

"Listen to me now. You know James Barnes, right?”

He hummed. “Of course.”

“You gotta find a solution to release him from his pardon conditions. At least, temporarily.”

“Well, what are the conditions?”

“That he has to attend therapy sessions every week.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Sure, but not when he’s getting arrested for missing them while he’s on a mission. I’m on my way to Maryland to bail him out with Sam Wilson.”

Matt sighed. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. It can be a little tricky given who he is…but I’ll manage. Text me the details. And call me immediately once you get to the police station, okay? Don't talk to any of the cops or counselors on your own.”

"Yep, noted. Thanks, Matthew."

"Why do you use my full name?"

"D'you prefer I call you Matty? Or Red? Or Dev-"

"Okay! okay, shut up. Forget I asked, Stark", he mumbled in fake annoyance.

You chuckled. "Bye, Murdock."

You ended the call and texted Matt all the details right away.

Joaquin couldn't help but feel that irritating green monster in the pit of his stomach. Who was this Matt? How were you so close to him? Why did you talk so easily to him? Wh-

"Are you okay?", you asked, your eyebrows furrowed in concern. His eyebrows were drawn so close that it made a dent in between them. He was frowning and almost pouting while clenching his hand into a fist. He looked really cute but you pushed that thought far away into the corner of your mind.

Joaquin hadn't noticed how he had curled his hand into a fist. He immediately relaxed his hand and shifted in his seat under your sharp gaze. He gave you a tight smile.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

You scanned his face to understand what was happening and decided to leave it for now.

“Okay. Well, I’ve texted my lawyer about Bucky’s case. We’ll reach in about half an hour. Could you call Sam to inform him about all this while I finish sending the documents?”

Joaquin gave you a terse nod and chose to call Sam right away to avoid embarrassing himself any further.

-

After half an hour, you finally reached in Maryland and made your way into the police station. You could see Sam sitting in the waiting area and the two of you approached him.

"Sam?"

He pulled up his head from where he was cradling it between his hands and looked at you. He stood up and made his way over.

"Hey man, you good?", Joaquin asked him in concern.

Sam let out a big sigh. "I guess. I'll tell you the rest later. Hope ya'll didn't face any problems to get here."

You shifted in unease as you remembered your...situation before departing.

Joaquin noticed this and immediately covered for you. "Nope, we got here smoothly. We even got ourselves a lawyer, right, (Name)?"

You snapped out of your daze and nodded at him. "Yeah, Sam, he's really good. I've sent him all the necessarily details about Bucky's case and he said he'd help. What are we doing now? He's asked me to call him as soon as I get here."

Sam gave you a nod and asked you to follow him to the reception where you signed certain papers and called up Matt.

After holding a meeting with the deputy and counselors, Matt managed to convince them to let off Bucky from attending the sessions temporarily for a few months. They had agreed on a single condition, Bucky would have to go to an extra session before leaving today. You all agreed to it and let out a sigh of relief.

"Seriously, Matt, Thank you."

"I'm a really good lawyer, you know that", he responded cheekily. He was one more instance away from trademarking that line.

You cringed. "You're so corny, you know that?".

Matt chuckled heartily and you could just see the way his dimples must've popped out perfectly and the way his eyes must've crinkled at the corners. What? You're not about to deny that he's ridiculously attractive. That would be the lie of the century.

"Eh, so I've been told. Anyways, please take out time to meet us someday. Foggy and Karen miss you loads", he requested gently in that smooth voice of his.

You frowned and let out a short breath. Foggy was the sweetest and funniest person you have met in a while and Karen immediately took a liking to you, offering her support like she was your elder sister. The last time you hung out with them was after the Sokovia Accords were dissolved. And then, everything went downhill while you turned into a recluse.

"I miss them, too. I'll try my best, Matt. Thank you again."

"Take care, sweetheart", and he ended the call. You took a deep breath in and exhaled it. You went over to stand next to Joaquin and your attention was caught by a group of people surrounding someone. You moved closer to find out that it was John Walker.

"What the fuck is he doing here?", you murmured lowly. Joaquin grimaced next to you. "Oh, I'd love to punch him in the face", you growled, Joaquin huffed out a chuckle. He observed the way your sharp gaze cut into Walker. He was so sure you'd beat up Walker if they left you alone with him. Before he could stop you, you made your way over to stand next to Sam, protectively.

It was funny, yet endearing to Joaquin, to watch you protect a grown man twice your size and who was a literal Avenger. But this is why Joaquin loved you-you'd do anything for the people that you considered your family.

“-Yeah we did some field ops back in the day.”

“I heard you were working with Bucky, so I thought I’d step in.”

“That’s Barnes for you, Walker”, you spoke up in a sharp tone.

“Kid…”, Sam murmured and grabbed your arm gently to stop you.

Walker’s blank blue eyes shifted to look at you in interest. “(Name) Stark? The Golden Child? Midnight?”

You stiffened at his use of your alter-ego. You haven’t heard that name in a while.

He flashed that fake, TV-star smile at you and extended a hand to shake. “Wow. It’s an honour. I’m John Walker, Captain America.”

You folded your arms across your chest and stared at him in boredom.

Walker’s face flickered with a look of surprise but he quickly covered it up with his media training and let out a weak chuckle.

“Well…that’s fine. We’ll make up some other day”, and that bastard winked at you. Like it was a fucking joke and you were buddies. You gaped at him in shock and moved your arm to strike but Sam squeezed your arm carefully and pushed you behind him. You clenched your jaw and glared daggers at him from over Sam’s shoulders. You noticed a group of people taking pictures and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“Bucky's not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer", Walker announced casually as if it wasn't Matt who helped clear Bucky's schedule, you quirked an eyebrow in boredom.

"We haven't finished our work, who authorized this?", Raynor questioned.

"Um..", Walker smiled smugly and pointed at himself. You scrunched your face in disgust, what a fucking liar.

You turned just in time to see Bucky being escorted out. He sauntered over to the reception and leaned against it with a bored expression. You went over to him and Joaquin followed you.

He raised his head up and his eyes widened as soon as they fell on you. "Kid? What are you two doing here?"

"Sam called. They've excused you from attending the sessions temporarily."

"How'd you do that?", Bucky asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

"I know a really good lawyer", you smirked and Joaquin clenched his fists again. Seriously, who the fuck was this guy?

"Thanks, kid-", Bucky snapping his head up cut you off. You and Joaquin turned your heads at the same time to see Walker standing there.

Bucky let out a humorless scoff behind you. "Of course he knows my therapist."

Joaquin turned his attention to Bucky. "That's your therapist?", he asked him incredulously.

Bucky nodded. Your eyes widened. "Fuck that. I don't like her either", you muttered.

Bucky let out a small chuckle. "That makes the two of us."

"-I"ll be outside!", Walker announced loudly and retreated with a peace sign. You and Joaquin cringed. "What a loser...", Joaquin mumbled and you let out a small scoff.

"James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam", Raynor informed and walked over to a room, Bucky ducked his head and put his hand on his hip. Sam interjected, "That's okay, I'll be out here with-" "That wasn't a request", Raynor cut him off firmly. Bucky sighed and reluctantly followed Raynor. Sam let out a frustrated huff and gave you and Joaquin a look, to which you responded with a sympathetic smile, before following Bucky. You let out a sigh and turned to face Joaquin, "Well, let's get out of here, I can't stand this...atmosphere anymore."

You and Joaquin stepped out of the station, a silence hanging in between you two. You could see how Joaquin was on edge, wanting to ask you something but bailing out on the last moment. "Do you wanna say something, flyboy?", you asked him with your eyebrows raised in interest. Joaquin stiffened up before clearing his throat. "Uh- who's this lawyer you contacted? Is he really that good?"

"Oh, Matt? Yeah, he's one of the best. I know him since I was a stupid teenager", you let out a chuckle before continuing, "He's a...peculiar man, but that's why we get along so well. He supported me a lot when I was uh- depressed, during the Blip", you confessed off-handedly. Joaquin straightened up again, hating the fact that he was feeling jealous over another guy supporting you during a rough time, but you talked so fondly about this Matt guy that he wished it would've been him.

"Oh, I see. You seem....close", Joaquin murmured, his eyes set in front of him on the road. You turned to observe him closely, his cheeks with tinged with a shade of pink. A treacherous smile spread against your face and you bit your cheek to stop it. Was he blushing? Or embarrassed? Or-

"I feel awful", Bucky's voice cut through your thoughts, him and Sam joining you. Before any of you could make a comment, the loud blaring of a siren cut you off. You jumped, your heart pounding because of the sudden sound and Joaquin quickly put a hand on your back, gently moving it in circles to calm you down. You froze at the contact before eventually relaxing against it. Taking a notice of this, Joaquin confidently pressed his hand against your back and rubbed it with his thumb. You felt your face heat up.

"Gentlemen", he addressed Sam and Bucky with his hand raised in the air, "Good to see you again", he flashed that stupid smile again. You rolled your eyes and huffed before folding your arms across your chest. Bucky kept walking before Walker stopped him, "Look if we divide ourselves, we don't stand a chance, you guys know that."

"Listen up, Blondie, you just came onto the scene. Both of them are avengers and soldiers at the same time. They know what they're doing", you scoffed bitterly, facing Walker.

He gave you a disbelieving smile. "Damn...just like your father, aren't you. Bet you get that a lot, huh?", he finished with a sarcastic chuckle. You clenched your fists before Joaquin put a hand on your arm to soothe you. "And you try to be Steve, don't you? Bet you get that a lot", you bit back. That wiped the smile off of Walker's face and he clenched his jaw. Sam assessed the situation and tried to break the tension, "So, what do you got?"

Walker laid out all the information they had on the girl, Karli, and how they targeted the civilians who helped her move from place to place, how they were geotagging the location and scrambled the signal. The government satellites found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe and that she was taking stolen medicines to these camps.

"But, there's hundreds of those all across the planet since the Blip", Joaquin spoke up for the first time, his eyebrows furrowed. Walker looked at him with a bored expression. "So, I guess you'll have to look real hard", Bucky quipped.

"Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?", Walker sassed back.

"Then use that 20/20 vision and get back to work, John", you squinted your eyes at him. Bucky looked at you and smirked, Walker fixed you with a glare.

"Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?", Bucky challenged him.

Walker raised his voice, "No, we don't know, Bucky. But it's only a matter of time before we find out."

Bucky raised his eyebrows in fake concern, "Things are really intense for you, aren't they, Walker?"

Walker looked at Bucky with a lost expression on his face. Sam walked over to Bucky and placated him. "Take it easy. Look, Walker's right", you opened your mouth to argue and he stopped you, "It is imperative that we find them and stop them", Sam turned to address Walker and Lemar, "But you guys have rules of engagement, and all kinds of authorizations that you have to get. We're free agents. We're more flexible. So, it wouldn't make sense for us to work with you", Sam conceded.

You and Joaquin exchanged a look of pride before starting to walk away when that agitating voice spoke up again, "A word of advice, then", the four of you turned around lazily, "Stay the hell out of my way", Walker threatened.

You raised your eyebrows in shock. "Or? What are you gonna do?", you spit at him. Walker stared you down before smirking at you, challenging. Joaquin stepped closer to you and held your arm, gently pulling you along.

"Sam, if you don't let me blow his head off, I swear to god", you mumbled in annoyance.

The three of them let out chuckles and Sam slung an arm around your shoulders. "Imma start calling you terminator now", Sam joked and you shot him a glare. He just gave you a cheesy smile and you rolled your eyes fondly at him. “By the way, what were you two doing in Maryland?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably at the question. “Go ahead, why don’t you explain to them, Bucky?”, Sam asked him in a sarcastic manner. You turned to look at Bucky with your eyebrows raised.

“We…well, I introduced Sam to a super soldier that I had skirmish with in the Korean War. His name is Isaiah Bradley”, Bucky confessed.

“What?!”, you and Joaquin exclaimed in unison. “And you’re saying this now? Buck-” “I know, I know. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to invade his privacy. He was finally living a peaceful life after a long time. He lives with his grandson, Elijah, here”, Bucky’s voice dripping with apology.

You let out a sorrowful sigh. Joaquin spoke up, curiosity lacing his tone, “What happened with him? How does nobody speak of him?”

Bucky sucked in a breath, “The government experimented on him and put him in jail for 30 years. He was hurt seeing me in front of him after...everything. He didn’t wanna see us. Rightfully resents me and the Avengers for getting to live a normal life instead of him.”

“And because he was black”, Sam says as a matter of fact.

Joaquin frowned and you closed your eyes in sadness, nodding your head in understanding. You would love to meet him someday but you get his view point. He deserved better. You promised yourself that you'd get his name cleared after all this is over.

You grimaced as you remembered the conversation with Walker, “What do we do now? Walker is going to be a pain in the ass. We need to get to Karli before him or Lemar.”

“I can track them, keep an eye out on their moments”, Joaquin offered.

“Yeah, keep up with that, Joaquin. I’ll need frequent updates. Can’t trust those two at all”, Sam agreed. The four of you made your way away from the station and Sam acknowledged Bucky, "So, what are you thinking?"

"Well, I know what we have to do. When Isaiah said 'my people'.."

"Oh, don't take that to heart, that's not what he meant", Sam tried to explain to Bucky.

"No, he meant Hydra. Hydra used to be 'my people'", Bucky conceded. Sam looked at Bucky and scoffed, "Not a chance."

You and Joaquin followed them silently, listening to their conversation with rapt attention.

"Walker doesn't have any leads...", something about Bucky's tone alarmed you and you understood why Sam reacted in the way he did. You squinted your eyes at Bucky's back. Joaquin, bless him, had no idea about what was going on so he just looked back and forth between you and Bucky with a confused look plastered on his face.

"I know where you're going with this, no", Sam shook his head in disagreement.

"He knows all of Hydra's secrets. Don't you remember Siberia?"

And that's when it clicked you. "There's no fucking way", you chuckled in disbelief. Sam shared a look with you and turned his attention back to Bucky. "So you're just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?"

Bucky hesitated before getting out a light, "Yes", with a nod of his head.

You and Sam shook your heads in disbelief.

Joaquin looked at you in confusion, "What is happening?"

You let out a sarcastic chuckle. Sam let out a weary sigh and responded with a simple, "Okay, then. We're gonna go see Zemo."

"Okay? Sam! He's- oh my god you guys are, once again, way too nonchalant about all this. He's talking about meeting up with fucking Zemo!", you glowered with a hand gesturing towards Bucky.

Joaquin's eyes widened. "The same Zemo who-" "Who broke my family apart? Yeah. Because of whom my dad, Bucky and Steve almost killed each other? Yes!", you answered his question with fake excitement.

"Holy shit. Are you okay, man?", Joaquin asked Bucky in a distressed tone. Bucky shot Joaquin a glare and averted his gaze with a guilty look on his face.

Sam let out an agitated sigh and made his way over to the car. You stood there with an incredulous look on your face and stared Bucky down. He turned around and winced at the look on your face.

"Barnes, you better have an explanation for this."

Bucky let out an exhausted sigh, "Kid, I promise I'm doing this after considering a lotta things. I swear, if he does anything stupid, I'm killing him myself. Please, trust me one more time."

Your anger melted away at his sincere request. You trusted him, you were just spooked out at how he was the one to suggest working with Zemo. You were worried especially for Bucky.

"Buck, I trust you. It's him that I don't trust. I'm worried about you, because if he tries some shit this time around...", you trailed off and furrowed your eyebrows. Bucky nodded, "Yeah, I understand. Thanks for trusting me again", he patted your shoulder. Bucky turned to face Joaquin and quipped, "Tell your boyfriend to keep his comments to himself."

You and Joaquin widened your eyes. His face was a bright shade of red, eyes lowered and his hand massaging his neck. You were sure you were sweating.

"My WHO?!", you sputtered at Bucky who was already walking away from you two. You Joaquin were left standing awkwardly before you you two fast-walked to follow Sam and Bucky, maintaining a safe distance between each other.

You were about to have an interesting few weeks.

-

AN: i am soooo sorry for the delay! I was on a vacation and didn't get time to write. I know this one didn't have many moments between out favorite duo but it was kind of a story-filled chapter anyway. And i'm sorry if Matt is ooc!

Also, based on the little interaction with Walker, we are slowly getting into Reader's life before she joined Sam and I can finally project my hatred for Walker through Reader, hehe. Please like and reblog!

[andulina567]

Super Soldier Support Group | Session Eleven

This is Chapter Eleven of Eleven | Click Here for Masterlist

Summary : Sam Wilson starts a Support Group for Super Soldiers. You and Bucky sit next to each other during the sessions.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings/tags : Slow Burn. Trauma. Mentions of death and violence. Just a bunch of Super Soldiers who really wanna get better :)

Word Count : 1.6k

Notes : After a long wait, I’ve finally finished this. Enjoy!

Today was not a normal session. 

The folding chairs were folded up at the community center, the smell of potluck dishes filling the air, and familiar faces filled the room—but today wasn’t about talking your heart out, or survival, or coping. 

Today was about celebration.

It was the anniversary of the day Sam Wilson officially became Captain America.

He didn’t want a big fuss. Which is exactly why the entire group decided to make it a big fuss.

The Super Soldier Support Group he had run for ten weeks had started with snide remarks and reluctant confessions. Veterans of different wars, different causes, all trying to remember how to live like people again in a body that was no longer completely human.

Sam led every session. He never pretended to have the answers— but he did have space to offer and an ear to listen.

And today, that same group showed up as a family.

You stood near the refreshment table, watching everyone pour in. Bucky stood by your side, his hand brushing against yours now and then. You’d gotten used to him being close, just as gravity pulled you closer to each other.

“You nervous?” you asked, nudging him.

“About Sam’s reaction? No.” Bucky glanced around the room, his lips curving up into a smile.  “About Alexei giving a speech again? Little bit.”

You laughed softly. “Fair.”

The room was full. Isaiah Bradley stood with Eli near the windows, the two deep in discussion. John Walker leaned against the wall with Olivia, their kid perched on his shoulders, playing with his hair. Yelena and Alexei were at the snack table, loudly debating over who brought the better dish—spoiler: it wasn’t Alexei.

Pepper Potts chatted with Shuri in the corner, while Morgan Stark darted around the chairs like a tiny whirlwind. Cassie Lang scrolled on her phone like a bored teenager while Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne tried to lecture her about the dangers of being chronically online. Clint Barton was helping Rhodey adjust the projector, arguing about which playlist was more “vibe-appropriate.” Even Everett Ross, your boss, looked slightly less out of place than usual. Sarah and her boys were busy setting up the table, while Joaquin was stuffing his face full of beignets.

Now… you just needed to wait.

—

Sam jogged up the steps of the community center, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, worn and scuffed from years of service. He was running a little late—not enough to cause concern, but just enough to make him scold himself.

“Damn traffic,” he muttered, reaching for the door.

He paused there for a second, hand hovering over the handle, catching a glimpse of himself in the glass. 

Captain America. 

That still hit different, even now. Some days it felt like he was still borrowing the title— other days, like he was claiming it as his own.

Today was just supposed to be another support session. It was week eleven. Same chairs, same room. 

He’d been running this for longer than he thought it would ever last—ever since he told himself he’d try to do this right.

Not the superhero stuff. The people part. The legacy part.

He took a deep breath, turned the handle, and walked inside.

Then stopped cold in his steps.

No circle of folding chairs. No coffee machine sputtering in the corner. No tired super soldier jokes to open the floor.

Instead, there were streamers, balloons, tables filled with food.

There were… people. His people. The whole room was buzzing with life and laughter, a mosaic of faces he’d come to trust.

The banner caught his eye first. Big, hand-painted, uneven letters:

"Happy One Year Anniversary, Cap."

He blinked, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. He looked around, catching faces he hadn’t expected to see today.

Alexei raised a solo cup. “There he is! The man of hour!”

Sam stared. “I… What the hell is going on?”

Bucky appeared by his side. “You’re late.”

“You gonna tell me why my support group looks like a block party?”

“It’s not a support group today,” you said, walking up beside Bucky, “Today’s a celebration.”

Sam gave you a skeptical look. “Of what?”

John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, grin crooked. “Of you, Cap.”

Sam’s mouth opened, then shut. He scanned the room again, and it hit him—this wasn’t just some thrown-together thank you. This was a planned event, and what's more impressive was that six super-busy, super-unorganised supersoldiers managed to sit down and talk long enough to plan this. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said with a proud smile.

“No,” Isaiah replied, handing him a small box. “but you earned it.”

He opened it, and his breath hitched.

A perfect replica of the shield—scaled down, beautifully crafted, gleaming under the overhead lights. On the back, five names etched into the metal: John, Alexei, Bucky, Isaiah, and yours.

And beneath that:

"Thank you for reminding us we’re more than what we were made to be.”

He stared at it for a moment, thumb brushing over the engraving, over your names. His breath hitched.

Then he looked up, eyes sweeping the room again—at all the chaos and color, all the people he’d pulled together without ever really trying to. Not with orders. Not with demands, but just by being there, by showing up, again and again, with strength and compassion most people didn’t expect to come in red, white, and blue.

—

Hours later, a Nina Simone classic boomed through the speakers. Sam stood near the snack table, sipping on a cup of overly sweet punch, still half-expecting someone to jump out and yell "just kidding." But no one did. 

This was real.

He watched the room again, soaking it in — and that’s when he saw you.

You were in the corner near the windows, half-shadowed by the afternoon light pouring in. Bucky was with you, of course, always a little closer than necessary, always orbiting like the world didn’t quite spin right unless you were near each other.

You were saying something with a grin, and Bucky chuckled. Then, in one smooth motion, he caught your hand and twirled you to the music, making you laugh as he pulled you back in and kissed you.

It wasn’t flashy or showy, but it was as if you both forgot to hide for the world, as you usually did. As if you thought you didn't need to hide anymore.

Sam smiled.

For a long time, he worried about Bucky— worried if he’d ever feel grounded, worried that he’d never see more than a man made of a million broken pieces in himself. But now, watching the two of you, Sam could see it.

The peace in his eyes, as if you were the first thing in decades that made sense.

Before Sam could even smile fully, Everett Ross sidled up beside you, all business and no fun— probably a light mission briefing. You sighed, gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze, and let Ross lead you to the far side of the room for what looked like a work talk. 

Sam shook his head with a grin—figures, the world never really stopped, not even today.

Bucky drifted over to Sam, a solo cup in hand. He leaned beside him against the snack table.

For a moment, they didn’t speak—just watched the drift of conversations and laughter around the room.

“You know,” Bucky broke the silence with a chuckle. “I really thought I’d stop showing up after session two.”

Sam turned his head, raising a brow. He was about to ask him why when his eyes flicked across the room, landing briefly on you, taking notes on whatever intel Ross was sharing with you.

“You stayed ‘cause of her,” he said, convinced, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bucky shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I stayed because of you.”

Sam blinked.

“But,” Bucky added, glancing your way with a small smile, “you did bring us together. So… thank you for that.”

Sam looked at him, the noise of the room faded a little, like the world was letting them have this moment.

“Y’know,” Sam said, “even after I officially picked up the shield… I didn’t think I could be him.”

Bucky turned toward him fully. “You think you’re supposed to be like Steve?” His voice was low now, more serious. “Fuck, Sam—have you ever heard what he was doing during those five years after the blip?”

Sam looked curiously.

“He started a support group,” Bucky said. “Like you did at the VA. Sat in those circles and listened. He helped people. You know why?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, and Bucky answered for him.

“Because he wanted to be like you.”

Sam’s lips parted, eyes wide for a second, as if the words had knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Bucky shrugged. “You think you’re chasing his achievements, but the truth is… he was trying to live up to yours. So this?” He gestured around the room, at all the people he had brought together. “This isn’t Steve’s legacy. It’s yours.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“He’d be proud, you know,” Bucky added, a small smile curling his lips. “I know I am.”

Sam looked away, his eyes glassy. “I’m just trying to do it right.”

“You are,” Bucky said. “In every damn way that matters.”

There was a small pause before Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I ever tell you you’re not as heartless as you used to be?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Bucky chuckled, “Ruins my reputation.”

“Too late,” Sam said, grinning. “You’re soft now. Can’t take it back.”

Bucky laughed, and for a second, Sam just looked at him—this man who had been through hell, who had clawed his way back, and who, despite it all, kept showing up in his life.

The two of them stood there, shoulder to shoulder, not as soldiers or symbols, but as people.

And in that moment, Sam didn’t feel like he was borrowing the title anymore.

He felt like he earned it.

-end.

Super Soldier Support Group Taglist :

@onlyforyuto @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @sakuracyberhex @sxnshinebxcky

@crdgn @jvanilly @isnow-0r-never @stillhere197 @cupids-mf-arrow

@mgchaser @imawreck @hiphip-horray @chronicallybubbly @mrsbarnes-avenger

@allthatisbuck1917 @alexawhatstheweathertoday @ajanauia @r-i-p-tomyouth 

@mcueveryday @currentfacination @eah-marvel-trolls @nottherealslimshady @juniperskye

@bealynlin @dilfsaresohot @sarapolare @urfavfakeblonde @l3thal-l0lita

@failed-botanist @undf-stuff @goldengubs @wintercrows

@stars4birdie @henryspersonalver @svtbpbts  @itsmadamehydra @athenabarnes 

@stars4birdie @lailac13 @magic-mint

[andulina567]

Kindred Spirits

Summary : Bucky starts courting you, a woman out of time

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x regency era!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Fluff, angst, sex references, trauma, abusive families and a failed suicide attempt. Modern Bucky wearing his 40s uniform (yes this is a warning). Let me know if I missed anything!

Requested by : anon (based on this request)

Word count : 8.7k

Note : The reader has ice-based powers, though it is not the central point of the story. Loved doing this one. Enjoy!

1801

You refused his hand in marriage.

The German prince had cunning eyes and a smile that never reached them. His hands were cold when they kissed yours, and colder still when they pressed possessively against your back at your mother’s ball. He spoke of legacy, of bloodlines, of duty. 

He did not speak of love.

You would have been his fourth wife, since all three of his deceased spouses died of mysterious circumstances the second they turned 25.

Your father called your refusal foolish. 

“Romantic nonsense,” he spat, voice echoing through the corridors of your family estate. “You’ll disgrace our name!"

“I would rather disgrace our name than share a bed with that man!” you shouted, voice shaking.

He didn’t listen. The deal was done, the marriage contract was sealed.

You were a daughter, a pawn. A currency to be exchanged with an alliance to a man whose wealth exceeded his years and whose titles drowned out your voice.

Three weeks later, you were wrapped in velvet and pearls, not for a celebration, but for a transaction.

The ship waiting in the harbor was massive, carved in lacquered wood and gold trim. You stood on the gangway, surrounded by trunks of clothes you hadn’t packed yourself, escorted by men who never looked you in the eye.

Your father only came to see you off to make sure you didn’t run.

So you boarded because you had to. 

The salt of the seas burned your throat. The wind was harsh against your cheeks. But it was not as cold as the heart inside your chest.

You stared out at the black waves, imagining the life ahead: a silk-lined prison. A wedding where you’d be bartered like grain. A short life lived not for you, but for appearances, for alliances, for legacy.

Sometime during the voyage, you stopped eating.

Stopped speaking.

No one noticed.

On the fifth night, a storm clawed at the horizon, wind howling like wolves through the sails.

You crept to the upper deck in silence, barefoot, wind tearing your nightgown. 

You jumped when lightning cracked across the sky, waves when endless and hungry.

You climbed the rail.

You didn’t want to die—but you did not want to live like that. Not in a cage of diamonds. 

Not beneath a crown that came with shackles.

You closed your eyes and jumped.

The sea rose up to meet you, mouth wide and cold and deep. It swallowed your scream.

You plunged into darkness.

But in that near-death stillness, something inside you woke. Perhaps a dormant genetic code, 

The water did not crush you. The cold did not claim you.

Instead—your skin hardened. Your heart slowed. Your blood chilled and crystallized.

You did not die.

You froze.

And the sea, perhaps recognizing one of its own, held you close.

—

21st Century — North Atlantic Ocean

A S.W.O.R.D. submersible team had been combing the ocean floor, tracking a signal from a downed satellite when the sonar returned something strange.

A human body. 

But the body wasn’t drifting, nor decaying. It was... suspended. Floating upright in deep sea, arms at the sides, hair drifting like seaweed, face serene, eyes closed.

A woman.

You looked untouched by time.

You wore remnants of what must have once been a regency-era gown—lace torn and fluttering, corset seams unraveling like threads from a dream. And yet... you were glowing— a cold luminescence radiating from your skin.

The moment one of the divers reached out to touch you, the temperature around them plummeted.

They quickly realised your skin was the texture of ice, transforming as if to protect itself.

36 Hours Later — Classified S.W.O.R.D. Facility

Your eyelids fluttered open beneath sterile white lights. An unfamiliar ceiling hummed overhead. The air smelled of metal, antiseptic, and unfamiliarity. You heard a mechanical beeping in rhythm with your pulse. You flinched as you registered the restraints at your wrists, the needles in your veins, the murmured voices speaking in a clipped version of English that made your head ache.

A man in a lab coat leaned over you.

“Vitals stable. Genetic markers are being sent to level two— they were right— she’s not from this century.”

“Her cells are self-cooling,” another said. “Her entire system kept itself below freezing and still functioning. That’s incredible.”

You didn’t understand the words.

Suddenly, you yanked your arms, but they didn’t move. You tried to speak, but your throat burned from disuse. The ice was building beneath your skin—thin fissures of frost crawling up the bed’s frame. The walls started freezing.

“She’s awake!” Someone exclaimed.

“Sedate her,” another voice said urgently. 

“No—“ you managed to croak out, “wait—”

And then the door opened.

You heard boots on tile stomping in, “Alright,” you heard a voice say, “She doesn’t need a dozen needles in her, she needs someone to talk to. You all are dismissed.”

You turned your head.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired and blue-eyed. He didn’t wear a white pristine coat. He wasn’t holding a clipboard.

“Sergeant Barnes,” a scientist said. “She—“

“Fury sent me in here to help,” he insisted, “you got a problem with that?”

Clearly, this Fury person meant something to these people because without a word, one by one, they filtered out.

Then he turned to look at you, and his eyebrows relaxed. 

He didn’t look at you like you were a specimen. He didn’t look at you like you were dangerous.

He looked at you like you were human.

And when he spoke, the words were familiar—not just the language, but the rhythm. The cadence.

“I take it the voyage didn’t go well, my lady?” He asked. 

Your lips parted.

“No,” you rasped. “It… did not.”

It was the first proper thing you had said since waking.

You watched him, unsure if he were a doctor or a soldier or something else entirely. He stepped closer, cautiously respectful. His voice was lowered, as though trying not to scare you.

“Do you remember where you were bound?”

You hesitated. “Germany. To be wed.”

He nodded solemnly. “I regret to inform you… the man you were to marry is most likely long dead.”

You blinked before letting out a small breath. “Good.”

He tilted his head curiously, barely.

He pulled a chair closer, sat beside the bed. You watched him curiously. His arm—his left one—gleamed faintly where his sleeve pushed up. It was metal.

“You’re not like them,” you said, your voice hoarse but starting to take root in this new reality.

“Neither are you,” he replied. “We… have that in common.”

—

It was later that you heard the conversation between two men outside.

Sam Wilson leaned against the corridor wall, arms crossed. “Didn’t know you could talk like that,” he chuckled.

“Jane Austen. I read lots of Austen.” Bucky shrugged, deadpan. “Helps me sleep. Pride & Prejudice is my favourite.”

Sam blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Bucky can’t help the smile making its way up his lips. “Darcy’s got game.”

—

No one asked Bucky to be your guide—not officially. There was no mission briefing assigning him to you, no direct order passed down from above. 

There had only been talk about the strange woman they’d pulled from the icy waters. About how your clothes didn’t belong to this century. How the air around you turned sub-zero faintly when you were scared. How you talked in a cadence long buried by time, and how your fingers left frost behind when you touched the metal of the examination table.

To most, you were a curiosity. A threat, maybe.

But not to Bucky.

He saw you and saw himself. He knew what it was like to fall asleep in one world and wake up in another— to feel like a ghost in a place used to be home. You weren’t a puzzle to solve. You were someone who needed an anchor.

And so, without anyone asking, he became yours.

Perhaps, he could learn a thing or two with you, too.

He was the one who sat at your bedside when you opened your eyes after a long night of sedation, confused as you tried to make sense of the blinking lights and the white room on the second try.

He didn’t bombard you with questions or poke and prod at your strangeness. Instead, he just offered to talk about your newfound powers in the way few people knew he could be.

“You’re not alone,” he said when your eyes brimmed with tears and your breath fogged the windowpane. “I’m here to help.”

Then, the rain started pouring, and you flinched when lightning struck nearby.

You suddenly remembered the night you jumped, the night you should have died. 

“I suppose... a thunderstorm is fitting,” you sighed, more to yourself than to him.

Bucky didn’t really understand what you meant by it. “You’d have seen them where you’re from too, right?”

“I never liked them,” you whispered. “I always felt like the world was trying to shake itself apart.”

He was quiet for a long time, staring at the rain trailing down the glass and noticing they froze before they could hit the bottom.

“There’s something I should tell you,” he said finally.

You turned to him, sensing the shift in his tone. “What is it?”

He rubbed his hands together, then clasped them between his knees. “Do you know how much time has passed since you were last awake?”

You shook your head. “It surely can’t be more than a couple of days.”

Bucky swallowed hard. 

“It’s been almost two hundred years,” he said softly, giving you the rough estimate that the scientists had given him. “The world you knew… it’s gone.”

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t speak, you didn’t cry. You just looked away, eyes distant and unfocused.

“I—” Bucky’s voice broke. “I know what it feels like. When I came back, everything was different too.”

You blinked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone I’ve ever known… ”

He reached for your hand. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Your fingers were like ice, but he didn’t pull away.

Strangely, you felt relieved. Confused and lost and utterly out of place on an earth that no longer cared for your existence, but relieved that your duties were off your chest.

— 

In those first few days, you clung to his presence like driftwood in the storm. And he let you.

One day, he showed up to the facility with a small leather-bound notebook in his hands, already dog-eared and full of scribbles.

“I thought this might help,” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Inside, you found words—modern words, strange ones, with little sketches beside them. Internet. Streaming. Selfie. Siri not a person, apparently).

There were doodles in the margins: a tiny coffee cup, a confused-looking cat, a stick figure with frost trailing from its fingers. You laughed softly.

“I don’t understand half of this,” you said, smiling up at him.

“Good,” he grinned, relaxing into the chair across from you. “Gives me something to teach you.”

That evening, you sat together, heads bent close, his metal fingers tracing pages while you repeated words slowly, carefully.

Sometimes you get frustrated. Sometimes you get lost in your thoughts. But he was always there—offering encouragement in the nicest ways.

You tilted your head that night, before he left. “You are Mr. Barnes, yes?”

He blinked, surprised by the formality. “Just Bucky,” he said. Then, hesitated, “Or... James, if you want.”

A smile broke across your face. “Then I shall call you James.”

He didn’t correct you. It had been a long time since someone had said his name like that—with so much… care.

Later, Sam caught the two of you curled up on the couch in the makeshift living room that S.W.O.R.D sat up until the end of your quarantine, blanket over your knees, your head resting lightly against Bucky’s shoulder as he guided your hand with the television remote.

“You let her call you James?” Sam asked when you were out of earshot, eyebrows raised and grinning like a cat who caught a canary. “You don’t even let me call you that.”

“She’s different,” Bucky muttered, trying not to look Sam in the eyes. 

“Mm-hmm. She got a little snowstorm going on in your chest, doesn’t she?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

He couldn’t deny it.

—

After your quarantine, they moved you into a S.W.O.R.D. safehouse tucked just outside of New York—a modest place wrapped in tall trees and silence, built years ago under Nick Fury’s “just in case” protocol. It was strange, modern, and boxy, but not unkind.

There was always sunlight through the wide glass windows, looking over the little porch out back with a creaking swing. At night, you could hear crickets. Not the same as what you remembered from home, but not so different either.

It wasn’t home. Not at first.

But it became home because of the people.

People came. People stayed.

People who understood what it was like to fall through time and land hard on the other side. People who understood what it was to be… associated… with people like you. 

Anomalies.

–

Sam Wilson offered to help you with control of your abilities.

He possessed no powers of his own, least of all the kind that bent elements or broke the laws of nature, but there was strength in him all the same—and you could tell he had other people under his wing before you. 

He taught you how to breathe through fear, how to move with intention rather than impulse. Meditation, mindfulness, combat techniques—strange words for a strange time, but he explained them well. 

The first time you attempted to channel your power, you’d shattered a glass from across the room. The air had grown brittle and sharp, frost curling across the floorboards, creeping up the walls. You had stumbled back, heart pounding like a war drum, 

But Sam didn’t look nearly as scared as you.

Instead, he crouched and offered you his hand.

“You’re not dangerous,” he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “You’re just scared.”

You so desperately wanted to believe him. “You’ve got people now,” Sam told you with a half-smile. “We’ll catch you if you fall… or freeze. You know.”

A laugh escaped you—small and surprised, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

—

James Rhodes—Rhodey, as he insisted you call him—took it upon himself to help you understand technology, a task he approached with the same methodical precision he might have used to dismantle a bomb or teach a cadet to fire a weapon. 

Or, as you thought of it: like a fencing lesson. 

Every concept was broken down into steps, often accompanied by elaborate metaphors that only occasionally made sense to you.

“Alright,” he said one afternoon, holding up a small cylindrical object as though it might explode. “This… is a smart speaker.”

You squinted at it, arms crossed. “It hums.”

“It plays music,” he clarified, setting it down on the table. “It also tells the weather, sets reminders, controls lights—”

“Is it a spirit of some kind?” you asked, cautiously circling the device as if it might scurry away.

Rhodey chuckled, “Think of it like… a servant trapped inside a music box.”

You stared at him. Then at the speaker. Then back at him.

“Is the servant… happy in there?”

He blinked once, lips parting, a frown tugging at his brow as he looked back at the speaker. “Uh… well….”

“Because if they aren't,” you added, lowering your voice to a whisper, “we ought to let them out.”

He stifled a laugh, shaking his head. “No one’s trapped, I promise. It’s just code. Algorithms. Not a person.”

You looked skeptical but nodded.

Despite the confusion (and your frequent questions about whether ‘the internet’ was a place one could visit in person), he never mocked your questions.

When he showed you how to use a touchscreen, he compared it to swordplay ("light pressure, not brute force”) and when you accidentally voice-commanded the television to play thirty consecutive hours of animal documentaries, he smiled and said, “At least it’s not reality TV.”

He taught you how to send a text, how to turn off notifications (“Think of it like telling a messenger to shut up”), and how to use video calls—though you still had a habit of bowing slightly when someone appeared on screen.

And over time, you began to see the magic in all of it—how these strange, blinking things helped people connect and communicate. It wasn’t so different, you realised, from the letters you used to write by candlelight.

—

Pepper Potts arrived in the safehouse one sunny afternoon, a tablet loaded with entire fashion catalogues under her arm.

“A lady deserves a wardrobe,” she declared, leaving no room for argument as her eyes swept over you with the precision of a royal seamstress. 

She even booked a private session for you in a boutique— it had more garments than you’d seen in a single place since your first Season in the marriage market. There were jeans, jumpsuits, structured jackets, loose flowing fabrics in delightful textures. 

“There are… trousers,” you gasped, scandalised.

Pepper’s eyes twinkled and nodded.

“But what of modesty?” you whispered, glancing around as if your mother might overhear and faint.

Pepper only laughed. “Modesty is overrated. Confidence is better. Wear whatever makes you feel good.”

She coaxed you into trying things on.

The first pair of jeans felt like armour—snug but not entirely pleasant, but Pepper showed you how to sit in them, how to move. You tried a blouse with sleeves that billowed like your old gowns, but tucked neatly into fitted pants that made you feel—oddly— stronger.

Over hours (and two cups of tea), she helped you find pieces that made you feel elegant and capable, that bridged the wide chasm between the world you knew and the one you’d woken into. You stood before the mirror at last in a coat over a dark knit dress, boots laced up to your calves, your hair swept back. 

You were still yourself. Just… more modern.

—

Darcy Lewis was the first to introduce you to the wonderful concept of takeout—and the miracle of microwave meals.

When she visited, she said she had experience with people that talked like old-timey-books. You didn't know what that meant. But when she mentioned a feast during dinnertime, you blinked, clutching the wooden spoon like a weapon. “But I… don’t have a cook.”

Darcy grinned. “Exactly. Welcome to the 21st century. We are the servants. But good news: our masters are frozen pizzas and pad thai.”

That evening, she ordered in an armful of plastic bags. She plopped herself onto your couch, and spread out three steaming boxes.

“Okay, this is Thai food,” she said, opening one to reveal a mess of noodles, sauce, and vegetables. “It’s spicy, though. Is that okay?”

You hesitated at first— eating from a box felt borderline barbaric—but the moment the flavors hit your tongue, you were hooked.

From there, Darcy took it upon herself to modernise your culinary education.

She taught you how to microwave leftovers—how to poke holes in plastic, how not to use metal, and the importance of watching the time. There was an unfortunate incident with a burrito and a small flame, but she only laughed, waving the smoke away like it was all part of the learning experience.

Darcy even taught you how to look up recipes online. You were fascinated by the endless scroll of options, though overwhelmed by the choices.

You decided fairly early on that she was very odd. She wore mismatched socks, swore like a sailor, and talked to her coffee mug as if it were a person. But you also knew she was wonderful.

—

Kamala Khan, bless her youthful soul, began visiting regularly—usually when she came to the city for her monthly check-in with Fury. She always made time for you, arriving in your safehouse with a tote bag full of snacks and enough enthusiasm to light the entire building.

“Hi! I brought samosas—and gummy worms. I’m not sure if you’ve had either of them.”

Her visits became something you looked forward to more than you would admit. 

Kamala appointed herself your official guide to “everything you’ve missed,” and took the job very seriously. Each visit became a pop culture adventure: one week it was superhero fan fiction ("No, you can’t be mad—it’s technically flattering!"), the next, karaoke. She introduced you to memes, slang, and social media with such child-like excitement, you found yourself nodding along even when you understood absolutely none of it.

“Wait,” Kamala said one afternoon, her head popping up from the couch cushions where she’d been scrolling on her phone. “Have you ever seen Frozen?”

You frowned, thinking she meant a state of being. “I have… been frozen, yes.”

“No, no,” Kamala laughed, clutching her heart. “The movie, Frozen!”

You were skeptical. Animation seemed childish, and your grasp on modern storytelling was tenuous at best. But Kamala was already putting the film up on the television.

The parallels were... uncanny. Uncomfortable. You stiffened when she fled her kingdom in fear, gasped when the ice spiraled up the mountainside.

“She’s like you,” she whispered.

“I think,” you said softly, voice a little cracked, “I would like to watch more of these… animated stories.”

“Oh my god,” Kamala beamed with joy. “We’re starting with Tangled next. You’re gonna love Pascal.”

—

At first, Bruce Banner frightened you.

Because he was, well, green.

You had seen monsters before. In your own time, they wore uniforms and crowns. They raised cities and called it conquest.

But Bruce was none of the sort. 

He began to explain things. He talked you through your check-ups introducing you to modern medicine. He explained each procedure before performing it, every vaccine and its purpose, every sterile tool and how it differed from the leeches and tinctures you remembered.

And when he had to touch your wrist to take your pulse, or draw a small vial of blood for testing, he always asked first. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he said once, catching your anxious glance at the tray of vials. “This isn’t a lab. You’re not an experiment. We just need to know you’re adjusting well.”

One day, while examining your hand—checking circulation after a brief, accidental frost—you asked quietly, “Does it ever scare you? Knowing what’s inside you?”

Bruce paused, then gave a faint smile. “Sometimes.”

You thought of your own power. Of ice creeping along your skin when your heart raced.

And in that moment, for the first time, that part of you felt understood.

—

But Bucky… Bucky was different.

He was your anchor in a world that often felt like ice underfoot.

He took you to the market (or mall, as he called it), hand resting lightly on your back as you marveled at the endless colors and unfamiliar packaging. He taught you how escalators worked (and caught you,when you gasped and stumbled backward in surprise).

He introduced you to vinyl records—your fingers trailing reverently over the grooved discs as he played Ella Fitzgerald for the first time.

Still, modern wonders caught you off-guard. You couldn’t get over the shampoo that smelled like cherries. “Why fruit?” you asked, nose scrunched, as he grinned, watching you step out of the bathroom in a sundress that Pepper  had helped you pick out. 

“Smells nice,” he said. “And because you like it.”

He brought you cotton blankets when the cold in your bones turned to frost at your fingertips. He gave you books to read from his collection. 

You once spent an afternoon at the museum together. That day, you found yourself staring at pieces of your own era behind glass. You saw a pair of gloves almost identical to the ones you once owned. A fan with delicate lace, yellowed at the edges. A portrait of someone you swore you’d met at a ball.

He stood beside you, close enough that the heat of his presence kept your fingers from frosting over the display.

Bucky never rushed you. Not once.

He explained things patiently—what traffic lights meant, why the city never slept, how to look both ways before crossing.

And when you passed a couple kissing in the park, their arms entwined, you slowed to a halt.

You watched, curiosity downing across your face like snowfall.

“Is that common now?” you asked softly. “To show such affection in public?”

“Yeah,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You tilted your head. “And no one’s punished… or disgraced? Even if they are not  married?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

You let out an awed breath. “Amazing,” you whispered. Then, quieter, you asked him, “Do they choose their partners out of love?”

He was quiet for a moment, caught off-guard. “Mostly,” he said at last.

You smiled, the kind of smile you’d once only allowed yourself in candlelight, when no one was watching.

“Good,” you said.

—

Some nights, he stayed late.

Not out of duty, and not because he had nowhere else to be. But because sitting beside you on the porch, felt like peace.

You always made the tea too strong, still learning the balance of leaves and steeping time, but he drank it anyway. He never complained, only added a little more sugar when you weren’t looking.

The two of you would sit shoulder to shoulder, legs tucked under wool blankets, eyes tilted toward the stars. You told him stories about the constellations— how your governess used to teach them to you. Orion the Hunter. Cassiopeia the Queen.

He listened like every word mattered.

In turn, he spoke of his own time.

“I missed so many things,” he said one night, as though not to disturb the stars above. “So many people.”

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you reached across the space between you and gently laid your hand over his metal one. It was cool to the touch, but comforting nonetheless.

“I know the feeling,” you said.

One evening, as the sky turned dusky lavender, you confessed a truth— something that you had not known how to address.

“I never learned how to braid my hair,” you said, almost shyly. “I used to have ladies for that. They’d do it every morning, sometimes with ribbons, sometimes with pearls.”

You smiled a little, wistfully. “And then… suddenly there were no ladies. And no pearls.”

Without a word, Bucky moved to sit behind you on the couch.

“I had a sister,” he said in clarification. “She’d ask me to do hers when our ma was too busy. Said I was better at it anyway.”

You felt him softly tugging as he began to part your hair.

You closed your eyes.

And there—woven between strands of hair—was care. 

When he finished, you turned to face him.

“You’re good at this,” you said with a smile, warm and bright and a little surprised.

He gave you a boyish grin. “Don’t tell Sam. He’ll never let me live it down.”

—

Sometimes, when everything became too much—when old ghosts stirred in the corners of his mind—Bucky stayed in the second bedroom of the safehouse.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The silence inside felt vast and hollow. This was the kind of silence that echoed too loudly against the walls and made your footsteps sound intrusive. You moved through the rooms, unsure whether you were haunting the house or it was haunting you.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, stirring the leaves like restless memories. You curled yourself in a blanket and sat near the wide front window, barefoot, legs tucked beneath you. The glass was cold, and the world beyond it was even colder. You stared out at the dark as if it might offer answers—or at least an escape, like you once looked into ice waters below.

That’s how Bucky found you.

Barefoot, shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring about to snap. Fingers clenching the edges of the throw blanket with white-knuckled intensity. Your eyes were distant, half-lit by moonlight.

He didn’t speak or ask what was wrong. He just walked across the room and lowered himself to the floor beside you. Close, but not crowding.

“I know that look,” he said softly, voice barely above whisper.

You didn’t answer. 

“You’re reliving something,” he said. 

He was right.

Still, you kept your mouth shut and eyes forward. You’d spent a lifetime burying pain beneath poise—behind the rigid etiquette of your era, the careful layers of composure. You weren’t going to fall apart now

“You know,” Bucky said after a pause, “when I first got my mind back… I didn’t talk much.”

Your eyes darted toward him, the smallest movement, but he caught it.

“Didn’t even know who I was for a long time. I knew my name, kinda. Remembered flashes of the war. Then… nothing. Just waking up with blood on my hands and no idea why. Over and over again.”

You swallowed hard, throat tightening.

“I lost everyone I knew. Steve was all that was left, and even he sometimes looked at me like I wasn’t really there.” He exhaled slowly. “I was… am… a man out of time. Just like you.”

You hesitated, then when you finally spoke—your voice was quiet, cracked like thin ice.

“Do you remember much about your family?” You whispered.

He nodded. “My ma made the best apple pie in the neighborhood. Burned it half the time, but we always ate it anyway. My little sister Becca used to chase me with a broom when I teased her. I thought fighting in the war was the right thing to do.”

There was a reverence to the way he spoke. Not just sorrow— but love, too. A kind of longing that felt impossible to lose to time.

“I guess,” he added gently, “I thought… maybe if I told you all this, it’d be a little easier for you to tell me what’s on your mind.”

Your breath hitched. You stared down at your hands, shaking now, clutched in your lap like you were holding yourself together by sheer force.

“I was supposed to marry a prince,” you finally admitted for the first time in this lifetime. The words felt like ash on your tongue. “My father arranged it. Said it was my duty.”

Bucky’s head lifted. His eyes, storm-grey and steady, found yours.

“I was… an alliance. I was a contract.”

The air dropped around you. The temperature fell gradually, frost lacing the corners of the windowsill, spiderwebbing outward. You didn’t notice at first, but Bucky did. His breath fogged, and the wooden floor beneath you shimmered with a thin, unnatural layer of ice.

“I tried to kill myself,” you choked out. “I jumped off the ship. Into the sea. I don’t remember what happened after that. Not until the lab. And then… I….”

Unable to finish your sentence, the frost spread. Crystals glinted on your lashes like delicate diamonds. The tears came fast, but froze to your cheeks before they could fall.

“I woke up in a world of glass towers and glowing screens. I don’t belong here, James. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

And just like that, you suddenly don't feel cold anymore, Bucky’s arms wrapping around you.

He tucked your head beneath his chin, his flesh hand moving in comforting circles across your back while his other arm drew you closer, anchoring you in the now.

You were stiff at first, and shocked by the contact.

But then, you melted into him like spring snow under the touch of sunlight. You pressed your face into his shoulder and let yourself fall apart.

“I might not be able to fix it,” Bucky muttered into your hair, “but maybe… I can help you find some kind of closure.”

You trembled in his hold, sobs quieting into soft, stuttered breaths. The ice on the floor started fading.

—

Bucky didn’t really tell you where you were going at first.

The journey was long and quiet. It was a landscape of  muted skies, the kind of journey that made the world feel smaller and older. You sat beside him in the jet, watching the clouds shift like time unraveling in reverse— it took your breath away. 

Flying… was something you never imagined man capable of doing. 

His hand never left the control panel, but his eyes darted to you often—as if checking to see whether you were ready. 

You weren’t. 

But he took you anyway, because he promised closure. 

You landed in a familiar garden. 

The gates were rusted through, half-bent and snarled with ivy. The once-grand house beyond them loomed like a ruin, its stone face cracked and worn by time, windows empty, roof bowed with decay. Weeds swallowed the gravel drive you remembered walking as a child. The trees you once climbed were bare-boned and brittle now, clawing up at a gray sky that didn’t care you had come home.

This was your family’s estate. 

You froze as you set foot on the grass.

“It’s still here,” you whispered.

“I did some digging,” Bucky said shyly, his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat. “Historical archives. Property records, y’know? Your family estate—what’s left of it—was absorbed into state land after the war. No heirs. No claims.”

“The line died,” you said, your voice hollow.

He looked at you gently. “Until now.”

You walked through what remained.

The drawing room where you once read Gulliver’s Travels by candlelight was open to the elements, the ceiling collapsed. A garden wall you’d hid behind during games with your cousins now lay scattered in mossy stone. The ballroom—your mother’s pride and joy—was nothing but fractured floorboards and a rusted chandelier dangling like a broken crown.

And still, you remembered.

You remembered the scent of lavender oil on your mother’s gloves. The clink of silverware at dinners where you’d been taught not to speak unless spoken to. The way your father's boots echoed through the hall when he came to find you.

You remembered his study, where he signed the letter that sealed your fate, sent by a servant who wouldn't meet your eyes.

He had no heirs… because you decided drowning was better than living a lie.

This… the ruin of your family home was your fault. Or at least your father would say so. 

You hated him.

But when Bucky led you to the far edge of the overgrown gardens—to the private family cemetery hidden beneath ancient trees—you cried anyway.

Your father’s name was etched into a crumbling headstone.

Your mother’s was beside it. Your siblings—two who died young and you never really knew—lined up in stone and sorrow.

And there, at the end of the row, was a space. An empty grave without a marker. 

Where you would have gone, had the sea taken you. Had they found your body. 

You dropped to your knees.

You didn’t make a sound at first. You just reached out and touched the cold stone of your father’s grave, as if expecting it to speak. To explain. To answer for what he’d done. To apologise.

But he didn’t.

Then the air around you shifted.

The ground beneath your hands iced over in a sudden bloom. Frost swept across the cemetery like a wind-chime hush. 

Bucky, once again, was beside you in an instant. He didn’t try to stop the frost this time. He just knelt in the snow-laced grass, and placed his hand over yours.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” he said softly. “You don’t even have to understand him.”

“I don’t,” you said. “I despise him.”

“I know.”

You were trembling, biting back a shameful confession. “But I’m… grieving…  him.”

“Grief’s a complicated thing,” Bucky said. “It’s okay not to know what to do with it.”

Your hands shook harder. The frost turned to thin crystals climbing the edges of the gravestones.

“I’m scared,” you said, your voice a whisper. “I don’t know how to live again. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Bucky reached out and pulled you into him. Held you like you mattered. Like you weren’t alone.

“You’ve got a second chance.” he murmured. “And this time, your choices are yours.”

You let the words sink in.

You let the grief happen.

The snow began to fall gently, not quite forgiveness, but not quite anger, either.

You stayed there with Bucky for a long time—sitting between the broken past and the uncertain future.

And for the first time since you emerged from the sea, you felt the burden of your old life begin to melt.

Not gone. Not erased.

But finally, finally…

The beginning of closure.

—

Still, closure didn’t erase the past—but it gave you room to breathe.

The grief remained, as grief often does, but it no longer held you hostage. You smiled more. Spoke more freely.

Sam noticed first, naturally.

One afternoon, as you finished training with Sam, he leaned back on his bench. “You’ve been suspiciously… sunshine-y,” he pointed out with a grinning.

You blinked, caught off-guard. “I—pardon?”

“I think,” He leaned in conspiratorially. “You have a crush on good ol’ Sergeant Barnes.”

You flushed. “I most certainly—”

“Don’t worry,” he said, waving a hand as Bucky walked into the room behind you. “Your secret’s safe with me. But just so you know… he does that little smile thing every time you walk in.”

You turned, wide-eyed, just in time to catch Bucky pretending he hadn’t heard a word of it. He gave you a polite nod and stepped into the ring. 

Sam, meanwhile, grinned like a man who knew exactly what he’d done.

You and Bucky had grown closer. In ways neither of you had expected.

Not all at once, and not in a sweeping, cinematic rush. It was more like two vines reaching for the same patch of sunlight and finding each other along the way.

There were more nights spent talking until the stars faded. Mornings where he waited for you to wake before making tea—always too strong, still, but he’d grown fond of it. He stopped putting so much sugar in it.

He touched you more now, in the simplest, most respectful ways. He would place a hand to your back when guiding you through a crowd. His finger would touch yours when passing you a mug.

Then, one afternoon, Bucky asked, almost shyly, “Can I steal you for a little outing?”

“What for?”

“Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Dress shopping.”

You assumed it was another lesson in modern fashion. Pepper had taken you more than once before—sleek black dresses, expensive fabrics, silhouettes you didn’t know what to do with. Truthfully. You preferred comfy joggers and graphic T-shirts. They were beautiful, yes, but something felt… missing. 

They made you feel like a guest in someone else’s body.

But this was different.

Bucky took you to a small, tucked-away shop in the historic district, full of antique mannequins and carefully preserved garments. Lace parasols, ribboned bonnets, corseted gowns—genuine pieces alongside wonderful recreations. When you entered the shop, the smell of old fabric and beeswax polish made your chest thump with a familiarity.

Bucky said something about regency era clothing to the shopkeeper. 

“You’ve come to the right place,” she smiled. 

Bucky gave a sheepish shrug and looked at you. “Figured you deserve to feel at home in your own clothes.”

Hours passed like moments as you tried on gowns—soft silks, delicate embroidery, flowing sleeves that fluttered with your every breath. 

One dress in particular made time stand still.

It was pale blue, the color of dawn before the world began to stir.

The sleeves floated when you moved, as delicate as fairy wings. The fabric shimmered just slightly when the light touched it. Your hair had been gathered at the nape of your neck.

You stepped out.

And Bucky… stopped breathing.

His lips were parted like he’d forgotten how to speak. “You look…” he tried, voice rough, “I—I mean, wow.”

You smiled and turned to the mirror.

And for the first time in what felt like centuries, you didn’t see a survivor or a subject or a woman out of place in time.

You saw her.

The girl you used to be.

The woman you could’ve become.

You stood a little taller.

And Bucky—who had seen you at your lowest, at your most broken—pulled out his wallet without a second thought and bought the dress. Then two more. He insisted.

You didn’t argue.

The skies opened the moment you stepped outside the shop, welcoming sudden rain of a summer storm.

Most people ran for cover. But not you. Not Bucky.

You held out your hands, laughing as the raindrops kissed your skin. Your hair clung to your cheeks in damp tendrils. The blue gown stuck to your legs, heavier now, but you didn’t care.

“You’ll ruin the gown,” Bucky warned, but he smiled— he had absolutely no real concern.

“I’ll survive,” you answered, laughing as you spun in a joy-drunk twirl. 

He didn’t argue.

By the time you reached his apartment, both of you were soaked to the bone and laughing, shoes squelched against the floor. He offered you shelter without hesitation.

After you towel off in the bathroom, you stepped back out in the gown. Still damp and stunning. You’d refused to change.

But you had a condition.

“If I must live in your world,” you said with a half-smile, tilting your chin toward him, “then you must give me a piece of yours in return.”

Bucky looked intrigued. “What do you mean?”

You snuck into his bedroom and opened his closet, rifling through until—aha! This must be it! 

You spotted a neatly kept garment bag, preserved in time. You held it up with a sparkle in your eye. “Wear something from your time. Just for me.”

He hesitated, but only for a moment.

A few minutes later, he stepped out of the bedroom…

And it was as if the past came to life.

He wore brown wool and polished boots. A matching belt snug at his waist, and his hair combed back in that classic, clean sweep you’d only ever seen in old black-and-white photographs of his time. 

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

This time, you forgot how to breathe.

“James,” you whispered, like saying his name too loud might shatter reality.

He shifted on his feet, a little sheepish. “What?” he asked, fingers nervously twitching at his sides. “Too much?”

“No,” you whispered, lifting your hand to the front of his jacket, letting your fingertips brush the fabric carefully. “You look like every dream I buried. Like every poem I was never brave enough to write.”

His mouth parted, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. So instead, he reached up—gently, reverently—and tucked a damp curl behind your ear.

You leaned into the touch.

Then, without a word, Bucky moved to the record player in the corner of the room.

The soft click of the needle dropping was followed by a gentle crackle. And then, the smooth, honey-rich voice of Marvin Gaye filled the air.

He turned to you, held out his hand, and bowed playfully, “May I have this dance?”

You nodded, barely finding your voice. “You may.”

He pulled you into him gently, your hands finding their place with natural ease. One nestled into his, the other resting lightly on his shoulder. His hand settled at your waist before you began to move.

He guided you through the steps he'd once known in smoky dance halls and swing bars back in the '40s. There had been carefree laughter then, shared between soldiers who didn’t know if they’d live to dance again.

“You’re light on your feet,” he mentioned, smiling.

“You’re not bad yourself,” you teased. “But this—” You shifted, guiding his steps into a slower, more regal rhythm. “This is how we danced in my time.”

He followed your lead, eyes wide with amusement as he attempted your elegant glide, stumbling once or twice as you adjusted his posture.

He laughed when you corrected him, and you giggled as he attempted a dramatic dip, catching you with a hand at your back like a perfect gentleman. 

And then… the movements started slowing down.

You leaned in, resting your cheek against his chest. His arms found itself wrapping around you like he was made to fit there— like the space between you had never really existed. You both barely moved at all.

It was peaceful.

And then… Bucky saw… snowflakes?

Not outside on the windowsill, falling from the clouds. But inside.

Tiny, crystalline flecks of frost drifted around you both, floating like suspended stars. 

He held his breath.

He knew your powers only manifested when your emotions grew too intense, past the point of control.

What emotion could you have possibly… oh. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips near your temple. “Hey,” he whispered.

You turned your face slightly toward his.

“What if…” he said carefully, “What if I courted you?”

Oh?

You lifted your head to look at him fully, almost breathless. “You mean like… properly?”

“Well,” he laughed nervously, “maybe not with calling cards… unless you want those,” he said with a small smile.

You blinked once, then twice— and cleared your throat. “Only if we do not require a chaperone.”

His eyes twinkled. “No chaperones,” he promised. “Just me and you.”

You nodded, leaning into him again. “Then… yes. Court me, James.”

His arms tightened around you just a little. 

—

Bucky Barnes, when he courted you, was the picture of old-world charm. He walked you to dinners with your hands entwined over his arm, like escorting you was not a favour or a duty, but a privilege. He opened every door, pulled out every chair, helped you step carefully down curbs like you were walking off the edge of a ballroom floor.

He offered you his coat when the wind bit through your shawl. 

He never rushed or assumed. He was always waiting for your invitation.

But the tension was there.

The slow-burning warmth that grew brighter with each day. He watched you like a man finally seeing daylight after years in darkness—not ravenous, but grateful. And you… you had never been looked at like that before.

Not as a daughter traded for alliance.

Not as a noblewoman trained to smile and curtsy before disappearing.

But as a person.

One warm evening, after dinner at a quiet rooftop place that looked over the city skyline—he’d called it “the best damn view in Brooklyn,” but you suspected he meant you—he walked you back to your safehouse

Your heels clicked softly beside his boots as you spoke about poetry and modern music, the strangeness of this era and the wonder in it.

When you reached your door, you turned to him with a soft smile. 

“Come in?” you asked. You had seen the woman offer this to the man in some of the movies Kamala showed you.

His throat bobbed when he swallowed. He nodded, following you into the softly lit apartment. Everything smelled like flowers and books and your favorite candle.

“This might be a bit forward,” he said nervously, “but… can I— may I kiss you?”

You tilted your head just slightly, letting your eyes drop to his mouth while your heart thundered behind your ribs.

“Yes,” you said, with all the courage of someone who'd been quiet too long and was done hiding.

And when he did kiss you— god.

It wasn’t shy.

His lips were home, tasting faintly of whiskey and cinnamon, and his hand came up to cradle your jaw, as if he could shelter you from everything that had ever hurt you.

You kissed him back like his mouth was the answer to every question your heart had ever dared whisper.

And when you finally pulled away—just enough to breathe—he blinked at you, stunned, his blue eyes dark with wonder.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re… you’re a great kisser.”

You laughed, breathless and a little flushed, tucking a curl behind your ear. “I’ve had… some experience.”

He tilted his head, brows lifting with genuine surprise. “Have you?”

Your smile faltered in horror for a second. 

You took a step back, “Would… would you still want me? Knowing I’m not… untouched?”

His eyes widened instantly. “Hey,” he said, stepping forward, catching your hands. “Of course I still want you. God, yes. I just—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t aware, that’s all. A lady like you…”

“James,” you cut him off softly, “I might look like a lady, but I assure you—I’ve found ways to get satisfaction without the proper crowd knowing.”

His lips parted slightly. 

Huh.

He wasn’t expecting that.

“That so?” he asked, rough around the edges.

“Indeed,” you replied, eyes glittering.

He took one step closer.

“Would you… consider letting me be one of those ways?”

You arched eyebrows. “If you ask nicely.”

His hands slipped to your waist, his grin bright like the photos from the 40s. “Darlin’, I can be very polite.”

And then you kissed him again.

Harder this time, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you.

Bucky responded in kind.

He returned in open-mouthed kisses. I want you. I trust you. I choose you.

You didn’t make it far.

Only to the couch—stumbling in the haze of want —before he was over you. His hands were greedy, unfastening your gown like he was peeling away the centuries. And you let him. Happily. 

Your fingers slid beneath his shirt, finding heat and muscle and the silver lines of scars he never hid from you.

His hands moved with care, not caution. His mouth followed, kissing trails down your neck, pausing to savour every gasp, every groan.

But when you whispered “Yes,”—when you moaned his name into the hollow of his throat—his restraint vanished.

“Tell me what you like,” he demanded, his tongue hot against your collarbone, nipping and biting all the same.

You could barely form words. “Everything you’re doing,” you gasped.

That earned you a wicked smile. “Yeah?” he whispered.

And then he made it his mission to ruin you— in the sweetest, most thorough way imaginable. He wanted to make sure no gentleman would ever compare.

You came apart slowly, then all at once– your powers responding to the intensity of your heat. Before you knew it, Frost painted the ceiling in delicate patterns and snowflakes spiraled lazily through the air like falling stars.

Bucky groaned against your neck, still buried deep inside you, his breath ragged. “Fuck,” he muttered, a dazed kind of wonder in his voice, looking at how much of your powers manifested in the living room. “That good, huh?”

You laughed—almost giddy. “The best I’ve ever had.”

His grin widened, and he would’ve been pure sin if not for the adorable wonder in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed. "And I would know.”

He lifted his head, raising a teasing brow. “Anyone I should be worried about?”

You chuckled through the haze of afterglow. “Well… there was a stable boy. When I was young and stupid.”

Bucky groaned, jokingly exasperated as he flopped beside you, one arm thrown dramatically across his eyes. “Of course there was a stable boy. There’s always a stable boy.”

“And one of my guards,” you added with faux innocence, resting your head on his chest. “After my father arranged the engagement. He was kind.”

He looked down at you, eyes sparkling. “You were scandalous.”

“Perhaps.” You giggled, bare skin shamelessly pressed to bare skin, “But you… you’re the only one I’ve ever loved, James.”

That stopped everything.

He couldn’t quite believe it.

“What?” he said, voice quiet.

You leaned in, lips brushing his. “I love you,” you repeated, carefully, tilting your head against his skin. “Is that okay, James?”

He looked at you like the war had never happened. Like time had never stolen decades from him. Like he’d been waiting across a hundred lifetimes just to hear that.

And then he smiled.

“I love you, too,” he said and pulled you close, one hand threading gently into your hair as he kissed you again.

Outside, in the middle of June, snow began to fall across New York.

Not heavy— a light, gentle dusting—like powdered sugar on gingerbread rooftops and blossoms.

Street lamps caught it in golden halos. Children ran to their windows. Dogs barked. People stared in confusion.

And in a hotel a few blocks away, Sam Wilson blinked at the frost collecting on his windowsill and smiled. 

“She must be with Bucky.”

—end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada

[andulina567]

The Catch

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Platonic!Yelena

Summary: Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: attempted abduction. Mentions of alcohol. Bucky on a motorbike!

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“So what’s the catch?”

“What catch? There’s no catch.”

You raise an eyebrow at the blonde’s suspiciously nonchalant reply. “This apartment is huge. You’re only looking for one roommate, I haven’t seen a single rat or cockroach and the rent is way, way lower than anything else in the city. There has to be a catch.”

Yelena shrugs, “No catch. It’s not huge, and I’m only looking for one roommate because there are only two bedrooms.”

“And the rent is so low because…” you prompt.

She gives you a sly smile, “I can ask you for more if you like.”

“Come on, Yelena. Roommates should be honest with each other, right?”

The Russian rolls her eyes. “The rent is low because I pay most of it. I just need someone to cover the extra. And I want to make friends.”

You narrow your eyes. “No one wants friends that badly.”

“Okaaay,” she responds, before admitting in a rush, “I may be sort of an ex-spy-slash-assassin and some people are weird about that, but it’s totally safe, I’m a good guy, no bad guys will come here or anything, I’m just a normal person living a normal life.”

Your mouth drops open, “I’m sorry, what?!”

Yelena sighs, “It’s not a big deal. And I was brainwashed to do it, but that’s all gone now, it was chemicals, they’re neutralised, no problem.”

You stare at her in astonishment, blinking rapidly. “And - what do you do now?”

She mumbles something inaudible.

“Uhh…?” you hesitate.

“I sort of - work for the government,” Yelena admits.

“You know that sounds like you’re a spy, right?”

She frowns at you, “I’m not a spy.”

“But you couldn’t tell me if you were, right?”

She flings her arms up in frustration, “I don’t know the spy rules! I’m not a spy.”

“Any more,” you point out.

“Any more,” she confirms, “So do you want the room or not?”

You look around at by far the nicest apartment you’ve seen since in your weeks of searching. The thought of living somewhere that would easily pass a health code inspection, without dozens of roommates to fight over the bathroom with, and that wouldn’t mean a multi-hour commute to work is tempting enough to overlook almost anything.

Glancing at Yelena as you weigh up your options, you notice a shimmer of something beneath her defensive exterior. Maybe she really is lonely.

“You promise you won’t be, uh, bringing your work home with you?” You ask.

She brightens, nodding, “Yes, definitely not. All fun here.”

Sucking your teeth, and hoping you won’t regret this, you take a big breath before answering, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll take the room.”

Yelena squeals in delight and wraps you in an excited hug, “I’ll be the best roommate ever, you’ll see.”

—

Six months later and Yelena has more than lived up to her promise. Your shared apartment has become a serene respite from the busy chaos of work and city life, and she’s clearly delighted to have a new friend. Your own friends have warmly welcomed her into the group, and she’s often with you for nights out bar-hopping, or happily joins you in hosting movie nights for everyone.

Yelena’s also frequently away for days or weeks at a time on work trips that you’ve learnt not to ask about, and you enjoy having the time and space to yourself. Right now, she’s been away for four days, and you’re not expecting her back until early next week, so you decide to reward yourself for making it through to another Friday with take-out and wine. Pouring yourself a glass after ordering a pizza, you’re just about to take the first sip when there’s a knock at the door. Confused - the food couldn’t possibly have come that fast - you set down your drink and move to squint through the peephole.

Standing outside your front door is possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A mess of dark hair hangs above shadowed eyes that give way to high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, soft cupid’s bow lips and a razor-sharp jawline covered in thick stubble. His broad shoulders and clearly muscular arms are straining the leather of his jacket, and you’re momentarily hypnotised by the way the shirt underneath clings to his chest.

Taking a breath and letting your brain remind your body that this Adonis is a complete stranger, you slip the chain onto the door before opening it enough to peer through at him.

“Hi,” you say, wondering if he’s got the wrong door, and if so, what you can do to make it the right one.

His eyes flicker over what he can see of you before they meet yours, the blue shock of his searching gaze almost making you miss his low voice speaking your name like a question. You blink in confusion, “Do I know you? I think I’d remember if we’d met.”

“You don’t know me,” he confirms, trying to look past you into the apartment. “Are you alone?”

A finger of suspicion chills the playful heat inside you. “That’s a pretty creepy question to open with,” you tell him with a nervous laugh, hoping there’s an explanation that ends with him being completely non-threatening and asking you on a date.

His eyes meet yours again. “I work with Yelena. Someone got hold of her address, found out she lives with someone and is highly likely to be sending a team over to abduct you. You need to come with me. Now.”

“Ah - what?” You’re still more suspicious than panicked, “If that’s even true, how do I know you’re not the guy coming to abduct me?”

Can you blame the wine you almost drunk for the thought that you wouldn’t mind being abducted by this guy?

“Because if I was abducting you,” he growls, “this door would be in pieces and you would already be tied up in my car.”

You swallow, hard.

The man takes a deep breath as he glances around the corridor, trying to be patient. “Look, I’m Bucky. Yelena must have mentioned me?”

You shake your head, “No. She doesn’t really talk about work.”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath, “We might not have much time. Can you at least grab what you’ll need for an overnight while you decide if you’re going to trust me?”

If you’d met this guy in a bar you’d be more than happy to spend the night with him, but under these circumstances, you’re still suspicious. You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”

You actually have a go-bag prepared already - you weren’t going to be too cavalier about living with an ex-assassin/current probable spy - but as you shut the door on Bucky, you decide now’s a good time to call Yelena.

Ignoring his voice through the door saying that you could at least leave it open, you tug your bag out of the hall closet while you find her number. Yelena’s asked you to avoid calling her when she’s at work, but you can’t think of any other way to verify what Bucky’s telling you.

As it rings, you sling the bag over your shoulder and let your eyes drift to the floor of your open bedroom, where the glow of the city through the large window falls on the floor. Frowning, you notice a shadow blocking the lower corner and let out an exasperated sigh. Your neighbour seems to think the fire escape outside your apartment is a great place for him to store his overflowing junk, but Yelena seemed to have scared him off doing it for a while. As you're making a mental note to speak to him about it, the shadow moves. You freeze. Pigeons maybe? On top of the junk? You slowly step backwards, raking your mind to remember if you’d seen anything there earlier.

Just as the phone rings out, switching to Yelena’s generic voicemail message, there’s the unmistakable smash of breaking glass, followed by alarmingly fast, heavy footsteps. You spin around, but before you can even take a step, whoever’s come through the window grabs you from behind. You open your mouth, sucking in air to scream at the top of your lungs, but the attacker clamps a hand over your mouth and nose. You’re instantly choked as you try to breathe around a sweet-smelling piece of fabric, and as you struggle, you feel a sharp scratch on the side of your neck. Your thoughts go fuzzy, and even as you try to squirm out of the tight grasp, your body slackens. The violent cracking and splintering sounds coming from your doorway echo into the background, and darkness consumes you.

—

You surface slowly back to consciousness. There’s a roaring in your ears, and your body is heavy, unable to move, or even to open your eyes. You’re aware of a constant cold wind at your back and running through your fingers, hands buffeted by the air. Your face is pressed into something warm and firm, and something hard as metal is wrapped around you, holding you in place.

You remember being at your apartment. The window smashing, the footsteps, being grabbed - you force your body to move, eyes flying open, limbs flailing haphazardly and snapping your head up, only to bash into something hard.

“Shit!” Bucky’s expletive is audible over the engine noise as your sudden movement throws him off balance, making the bike he’s controlling with one hand swerve on the road. You realise all at once that the roaring sound was the motorbike, currently speeding down a dark highway. You’re facing backwards, basically in Bucky’s lap, both your legs thrown over his, his left arm holding you close to him.

The shock makes you cry out, but all that emerges through your still waking mouth is an addled groan, although your arms instinctively reach up to cling onto Bucky’s solid form.

His gravelly voice is close in your ear, “Hang on.”

The bike slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Bucky leans back to assess you.

“You okay?” He asks. The road is too shadowed for you to make out whether his frown is of concern or irritation.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, vocal chords just about working as you scramble to get off him. Your legs are still half asleep, and Bucky’s strong hand on your side is the only thing that stops you falling to the ground. He follows you off the bike much more gracefully, and helps you stand, one hand still on your waist, the other on your hip.

Your limbs are still shaky, and you feel like you have the beginnings of a hangover. “What happened?” You ask.

Bucky lets go of you. “The people who came to abduct you turned up. They drugged you, but I heard them breaking in and managed to stop them taking you. Now I’m bringing you to a safe house.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say to this, other than, “thank you.”

Bucky shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. There’s another hour before we get there, so we should get going.”

You nod. Despite still feeling too weak and dizzy to competently ride a bike even as a passenger, you’d rather recover inside in the warm than out by the side of the road.

Bucky’s eyes lingers on you, assessing, then he pulls out a bottle of water stored under the seat and wordlessly hands it over. You take it with another thanks and gratefully drink half in one go, suddenly thirsty. He simply nods when you hand it back, then straddles the bike.

After groggily admiring the flex of his leg muscles as he does so, you move to climb on behind him.

“No,” he says gently, stopping you and indicating that you should sit in front of him. “You might not be alert enough to keep hold of me, and I don’t want you falling off.”

You hesitate. “Can I at least face forward this time?”

A quick teasing grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he gestures to the space he’s left for you between his legs, “Lady’s choice.”

Rolling your eyes to hide the warmth blooming in you despite the strangeness of the situation, you climb in front of him as elegantly as possible. Although you try to keep some space between you, you can feel his warmth at your back as he leans forward, arms caging you as he grasps the handlebars.

His beard grazes your ear, his voice soothing it, “Just grab onto me if you need to,” he tells you.

You get no other warning before the bike takes off, his thick thighs pressing into yours as he raises his legs to the footrests.

—

An hour later, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as the bike finally slows to a stop beside a wood cabin. The dense trees surrounding it would cast it in darkness even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and the winding dirt track you’ve been following for the last 20 minutes makes it even more thoroughly hidden.

The stress of the day, lingering effects of the drug and gentle turns of the bike have lulled you into a half sleep, and you’d given up on staying alert long ago, leaning comfortably into Bucky’s solid chest, his strong arms keeping you in place. As you joltingly step off the bike, the absence of his warmth makes the chill breeze feel even colder.

His hand brushes your lower back as he passes you to the entrance of the safe house. Beside the clatter of him unlocking the door and the ticking of his motorbike cooling down, there’s no sound other than the breeze in the trees. You must be miles from anywhere.

Bucky disappears into the darkness of the cabin, and you follow, lingering at the door. The place is small - you’re standing in a living room-kitchen space that spans the width of the building, the door opposite revealing a shaded corridor that Bucky heads into, leading to what can’t be much more than a small bathroom and bedroom. After checking each room - which doesn’t take long - Bucky returns to the main space.

“It’s clear,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “Hasn’t been used in a while by the look of things, and I wouldn’t trust the bed in there, it’s more woodworm than wood.”

You nod and mumble a small, “Okay.” Now that you’re here, everything feels real and scary again. You were attacked, and drugged, and are now hiding out in a creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere, no one but Bucky and, you suppose, Yelena, knowing where you are. You don’t even have your phone with you.

While you’re thinking this, Bucky turns back into the corridor, leaving you in the main room again. Feeling even more awkward, you head to the kitchen area, trying to figure out how to make the best of things. You pull open wonkily attached cupboard doors, finding a few cans of soup and placing the least rusty ones on the counter top - you never did get that pizza. You’re contemplating the wisdom of even checking the use by dates when Bucky passes, his arms full of blankets and pillows which he drops on the couch.

“Bedding’s fine,” he gestures to it, not even looking at you before turning to kneel in front of the fireplace. Sooner than you expect, he stands again, a fire crackling into life in the grate.

“I’d keep the fire burning,” he tells you as he moves to the front door, “It’s the only heat in this place, and you don’t need to worry about the smoke, we weren’t followed and there’s no one else around for miles.”

Your heart sinks. You hadn’t even realised you’d hoped he’d stay until it’s clear he’s about to leave, but the thought of being left alone, here, after everything - it’s daunting.

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” You reply, before holding up a couple of the soup cans, “You don’t want to stay to eat something? It’s a long way back to the city, right?”

Bucky’s stare is carefully neutral as he takes in your questionable finds. He opens his mouth, but as his gaze slides to your face, he pauses. “Sure,” he says uncertainly, “Looks delicious.”

“You must be hungry then,” you joke, trying to hide your relief as you hunt for a can opener.

—

A little while later, the cabin’s feeling a bit more friendly. The smell of the surprisingly decent soup and warmth of the fire have spread through the space, and with your and Bucky’s bowls washed and left to dry by the sink, the place looks almost homey. Even so, apprehension pulses through you when you see him preparing to leave; his warm, steady presence is more of a comfort to you than it should be.

“You shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Bucky reassures you. “Two at most. Yelena will come get you when she’s back in the country.”

“Two nights?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, determined to come off as confident and unafraid in front of him, “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”

You shoot him a quick smile. But he can’t ignore the tension in your body language, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself despite the warmth. He’d intended to leave. The second he set foot in the cold, musty cabin it had reminded him of places he’d hidden out in on missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d meant to drop you off and leave as soon as he’d checked it was safe.

Then you’d turned to him with an old tin of soup and a shaky smile, and something tugged at him to stay. Probably he just felt sorry for you. And that urge to look after you, make you comfortable, that was just him wanting to do what was asked of him - nothing to do with the attraction he’d felt to the bold, suspicious person who’d opened the door to him earlier this evening. And if this basic cabin out in the forest was starting to feel more like home than his apartment back in Brooklyn, it was just because he still hadn’t decorated or got used to the modern city - not because sharing dinner with you had warmed him more than any fire ever could.

Jacket and boots on, Bucky hesitates. “Are you alright?”

You flash him another small smile that comes out halfway between the ease you’d intended and a grimace. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out squeaky and you try again. “I’m fine.” You say, a bit more confidently.

Bucky’s eyes don’t move from you, but his raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe you.

Sighing, you admit more quietly, “I think I’m maybe in shock. All this is…a lot. I’ll be alright in a bit.”

Bucky nods and stomps out the door without another word.

You blink rapidly, jarred by his sudden departure, but instead of hearing the roar of his bike starting up, there’s a slam as he returns and shuts the door behind him.

“Here,” he holds out a candy bar to you.

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Sugar helps with shock,” he explains with a shrug. “And it counts as dessert. Since you made dinner.”

You can’t help the laugh that spills out as you thank him. “I didn’t expect this from you.” You add as you take the candy, looking up in time to see his throat bob as he swallows.

Sinking into the couch as you unwrap the chocolate, you hope Bucky will join you, and are startled when instead he squats down in front of you and places a hand either side of your legs, gripping the couch with both hands and tugging the whole thing – heavy old furniture and you – so you slide across the floor, closer to the fire. His smug grin is the only sign he’s noticed your mouth falling open in astonishment, as he drops down next to you. Right next you; his arm and leg brushing against yours.

“It’s better to stay warm,” is all he says by way of explanation, watching the dancing flames in front of you both.

“Thank you,” you repeat. After a moment you lean into him slightly, curious to see how he’ll react. As if by instinct, he lifts his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you firmly into his side.

You smile to yourself, and snap off a square of chocolate to pass to him. Your eyes meet as he takes it from you, and you let your gaze linger on his face, so close to yours. Bucky doesn’t turn away - watching you with an intensity that mirrors your own. A loud crackle from the fire is the only thing to snap your attention away, and you sit together in comfortable silence, your face warm as you let the candy melt in your mouth.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

“Much,” you answer. His solid warmth has calmed you, and you’re pretty sure it’s his proximity, rather than the fire’s, that’s making your blood pump hot through you. Your suspicion is confirmed when he removes his arm from around you and stands up, taking the candy wrapper from you and leaving a cold gust of absence.

“Lie down,” he instructs softly, gesturing to the blankets and pillows around you on the couch, “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

He moves to the kitchen before you can reply, so you do as you’re told and lie down, burrowing into the blankets in the hopes of capturing his lingering warmth. You desperately want to ask him to stay, but you’re not sure how.

Eyes closed, you’re unaware of Bucky’s silent return. He watches you, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders at the soft sounds of your breath and the fire. He wants to stay - to comfort you, he tells himself, and make sure you’re safe. Nothing else, of course. But do you want that?

“Are you still cold?” he asks, his voice low.

You open your eyes to the sight of him looking down at you from the foot of the couch, his creased brow casting his eyes into shadow.

“I could be warmer,” you tell him.

The next sound you hear is the soft thud of Bucky’s boots hitting the floor as he toes them off, simultaneously shrugging out of his jacket. Leaning over you, his knee tucks into the space behind yours.

“Budge up,” he mutters, a gentle teasing edge dancing through his voice.

Slightly stunned - and delighted - you shuffle forward to the edge of the couch, letting him slot in behind you against the back cushions. Lifting the blankets, he presses against you, his right arm snaking around your body, holding you to him.

Realising you’ve been holding your breath as his body adjusts to yours, you let out a contented sigh. Sandwiched between the flickering heat of the fire and the warmth and security of Bucky’s firm body, you feel yourself finally relax. As the last remnants of tension and shock are eased out of you, you drift off to sleep, comfortable and safe in Bucky’s arms.

He’s slower to fall asleep. Bucky wants to hold still so you won’t wake, but your closeness is making him more aware of every part of his body.

He looks down at you fondly as you twist over mid-dream, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pressing your face to his chest, inhaling deeply as you continue your steady sleep. Taking a long breath, Bucky tries to ignore it as the spark of a feeling he hasn’t felt for a very, very long time catches in his chest, the glowing ember of it warming him deeply as he relaxes into sleep.

—

The first fingers of dawn creeping through the flimsy curtains wakes Bucky the next morning. There’s a smile on his face and a gentle glow in his chest – he’s slept soundly through the night, and has the unfamiliar feeling of having woken from a good dream. Keeping his eyes closed to try and recapture the thoughts that were just now floating through his sleeping mind, he’s suddenly brought back to reality by movement in his arms – you, shifting as you wake up.

You awake with the same warm glow as Bucky, breathing deeply as consciousness trickles in, and inhaling a delicious scent – clean, woodsy and warmly spiced, something that smells both comforting and exciting. There’s soft fabric under your hand and you sigh contentedly as you nuzzle closer. It’s only when Bucky politely clears his throat, the sound reverberating through the chest you now realise you’re lying on, that the realisation of where you are comes back to you.

Jerking back as far as you can – which isn’t much, given the size of the couch and that Bucky’s arms are still encircling you – your eyes fly open and you freeze as you meet the supersoldier’s amused gaze.

“Morning,” he greets you with just a hint of a smirk, his gravelly voice making your stomach somersault.

“Morning,” you squeak back, inwardly cursing yourself for not being anything like as cool as he is. Knowing your normal morning state, your hair is probably a bird’s nest and you don’t want to think about the likelihood of there being drool on your face - or his chest.

But Bucky simply smiles back at you, his eyes dancing over your face. Half-stunned, you gaze back at him - his strong nose, his smooth cupid’s bow lips, his ice blue eyes - and a hot longing spreads through you. You know you’re currently in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere, hiding out from mysterious enemies who want to hurt you - but right now that all feels very far away; much less important than the warm, muscular body pressed against yours.

A darkness in Bucky’s gaze makes you shiver in delight as you realise his thoughts are mirroring your own.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice gruff but with the ghost of a smile, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into him and angling your face up to his, “Very,” You answer softly, “You?”

“Very,” Bucky echoes, staring deep into your eyes for a moment before pulling you close, erasing the last space between you. His soft lips brush against yours, sending tingles racing through your body, and you press into him eagerly. His response is immediate, his mouth firm and giving, and you fist his shirt in your hands as you move closer, opening your mouth to his, and-

A loud, shrill alarm pierces the air and you yelp, both of you startled apart. You nearly fall off the couch at the noise, and Bucky bolts upright.

“It’s the proximity alarm,” he explains, jumping up and heading for his jacket where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. After pulling his phone from the pocket, his shoulders loosen as he visibly relaxes. “It’s friendly,” he says, turning back to where you’re half-lying, still tangled in blankets.

“Good,” you manage to respond, unconvincingly. You’re obviously glad there’s no threat, but the timing of this arrival could have been better.

A lopsided smile spreads across Bucky’s face, “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he teases, voice still rough.

You fail to hide a smile, wrinkling your nose, “I’m just…no good with guests before I’ve had coffee.”

His smile widening into a grin, Bucky nods. “I’ll put some on.”

You extricate yourself from the bedding as he heads to the kitchen area, and try pointlessly to brush the wrinkles from your clothes, hoping whoever’s coming to meet you can’t tell that your heart is still pounding, heat pulsing through you from the kiss. It might have been short, and unpleasantly interrupted, but it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very long time.

As you neatly fold the blankets, still warm from your and Bucky’s combined body heat, his clattering in the kitchen is drowned out by the sound of an engine outside, before the front door bursts open and Yelena strides into the cabin.

Before you can even open your mouth to greet her, she runs to you and wraps you in a fierce hug, “I’m so sorry!” She says into your shoulder before pulling back to look you over, checking for injuries. “I never thought you would get hurt because of me, you’re my best friend and I love you and I nearly got you kidnapped!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, returning the hug, “I’m fine, Bucky looked after me.”

Yelena glances over at Bucky who nods at you both before returning his attention to the coffee. Yelena slowly turns her head to look back at you, her eyes narrowing and a cat-like smile spreading across her face, “He looked after you, huh?” She drawls.

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling your face warm, “not like that. Well, not - no, not like that.”

“Okay,” she answers with a grin, “What’s that saying about silver livings again?”

“Yelena,” you warn her, aware Bucky can hear you both.

She laughs again before the smile slides from her face. “I am really sorry though,”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure her.

“But I put you in danger,” she insists with a pout, “and I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Bucky calls from the kitchen.

“Look, we can talk about it later,” you tell Yelena, moving to where Bucky’s pouring you a mug.

“Fine,” Yelena grumbles good-naturedly as she follows you, “But can we talk about whatever it is you did to get Barnes to make you coffee?”

You roll your eyes as she laughingly bumps your shoulder, neither of you noticing the openly affectionate look on Bucky’s face that he quickly moves to hide.

------------

Part 2 coming soon

Tags: @yesshewrites1

[andulina567]

Super Soldier Support Group | Session Ten

This is Chapter Ten of Eleven | Click Here for Masterlist

Summary : Sam Wilson starts a Support Group for Super Soldiers. You and Bucky sit next to each other during the sessions.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings/tags : Slow Burn. Trauma. Mentions of death and violence. Just a bunch of Super Soldiers who really wanna get better :)

Word Count : 1.9k

Notes : I’m sad that there’s only one chapter left after this, and it will be an epilogue more than anything, but enjoy!

Keeping your relationship a secret for a week sounded simple in theory. In practice? Not so much.

Because Bucky Barnes was impossible to resist.

It had only been a day since the last support group session, and yet, you found yourself doing the exact opposite of keeping things low-key. You were holding hands in public, even kissing in public.

And Bucky wasn’t making it easy.

“You do realise we’re supposed to be keeping this quiet, right?” you muttered as Bucky kissed the corner of your mouth in the middle of an escalator. Bucky smiled. tilting his head. “Mmm,” he hummed, “Just can't help myself, baby.”

Oh, this man.

—

On Monday, you went to the gym.

Bucky had convinced you to spar with him— “C’mon, baby, it’ll be fun,” he said, which was ridiculous because nothing about getting your ass handed to you by a former winter soldier.

Still, you agreed.

And you were having fun… until John Walker strolled in.

You caught sight of him right as Bucky had you pinned against the mat, his face way too close to yours, a smug grin on his lips.

You panicked.

John was walking in your direction. He hadn’t seen you yet, but he had seen Bucky.

So naturally, you did the only logical thing.

You shoved Bucky off of you, grabbed a nearby towel, and threw it over your head.

Bucky barely had time to react before John called out, “Hey, Barnes! You actually train now? Thought you just brooded your way through fights.”

Bucky immediately stepped into his line of sight, blocking you from view.

“Uh—yeah,” Bucky said, blinking at you still hiding under the towel. “Just… working out.”

You panicked, looking around for a hiding place.

The women’s locker room.

Without thinking, you bolted inside.

And you were stuck there for thirty whole minutes because John fucking Walker had asked Bucky to spot his lifts.

You sat on the bench, arms crossed, muttering curses under your breath. At one point, another woman walked in, raising an eyebrow as she saw you just sitting there.

“You good?”

“Oh yeah,” you sighed, exasperated. “Just waiting for my dumb boyfriend to stop spotting my dumb friend.”

—

That afternoon, you both went for a casual stroll in the park. Maybe there were a few quick kisses here and there. No big deal.

Until Alexei appeared.

You spotted him first. He was standing ten feet away, hands on his hips, scanning the area like a dad who just found out his kid snuck out past curfew.

“Alexei’s here,” you hissed to Bucky.

Bucky blinked. “Oh?”

“Oh?” your eyes widened at how casual he was being. “He can’t see us together!”

Bucky gave you a flat look. “You sound unhinged.”

“I am unhinged. Hide.”

“I’m not hiding—”

Before he could argue, Alexei’s eyes locked on you.

You panicked.

Without thinking, you did the only reasonable thing: you shoved Bucky into the nearest bush.

Bucky barely made a sound, except for a quiet oof as he disappeared into the leaves.

Alexei approached, oblivious. “Ah! Did not expect to see you here!”  he greeted, then paused. “You are looking… suspiciously flushed.”

“I was, um—jogging?”

Alexei squinted at you. “In jeans?”

“Yes?”

Alexei shrugged but didn’t seem too concerned.

From the bush, Bucky’s metal hand slowly emerged, giving you an unimpressed thumbs-up.

—

That weekend, you and Bucky went on a lunch date. Just a casual meal, nothing crazy. You were sitting across from Bucky, sharing a plate of fries, and a glass of milkshake with two straws (because Bucky was just a hopeless romantic at the end of the day), when he leaned in.

“You’ve got ketchup—” He tapped his own lips.

You chuckled, grabbing a napkin, but Bucky shook his head. “No, no, let me.”

You barely had a second to register what he meant before he kissed you, licking the ketchup off in the process.

It was sweet. Absolutely perfect.

And then you heard a voice say, “I knew it.”

You froze.

Slowly, you both turned your head.

There stood Elijah Bradley, arms crossed, grinning from ear to ear like he had just uncovered a scandal.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in horror.

Bucky, to his credit, immediately started playing defense. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Elijah snorted. “It looks like you two are dating.”

“Okay, so it is what it looks like,” Bucky admitted.

You crossed your arm and pointed at the kid. “Listen to me, Elijah,” you said slowly, “You cannot tell your grandfather.”

Elijah smirked. “Oh, I’m telling him.”

“No, you can’t,” you pleaded. “Because if you tell Isaiah, he’ll tell Sam, and then everyone will know.”

“Exactly.” Elijah grinned. “Unless…”

There it was.

Bucky sighed. “What do you want, kid?”

Elijah’s eyes lit up with pure teenage mischief and pointed at the menu board of the diner. And that’s how you and Bucky found yourselves funding the most expensive meal of Elijah’s life.

You rolled your eyes as the teenager demolished his third milkshake on your table, happily hijacking your date.

By the time he was finishing his plate of fries, you shot him a glare. “Is that good enough to keep your mouth shut?”

Elijah, completely unfazed, leaned back in his seat. “One more thing.” He pushed his phone across the table. “Please proofread my school paper.”

You stared at him.

Then at Bucky.

Then back at the kid, who was now demolishing another plate of wings.

You let out a deep breath and grabbed the phone, scrolling through his paper. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, fixing his grammar and correcting sentences here and there. Sure, you were a bit pissed about it— but you couldn’t help but respect the kid.

He had just blackmailed two super-soldiers. And won.

—

Sam leaned back in his chair, with that easy smile. “All right, folks. Let’s talk about accomplishments. Big or small—what’s something that made you feel good this week?”

The room was quiet for a second. Then Alexei, never one to hesitate, cleared his throat.

“Yelena finally asked to train with me again.” His usual booming voice was… more vulnerable, more measured. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his hands. “It’s been a long time. After everything… I wasn’t sure she ever would. But she wanted my advice, my help. It felt—” His voice faltered for a moment, then he shook his head. “I felt like a dad again.”

A murmur of approval settled throughout the group. Sam nodded, “That’s huge, man. Sounds like a win to me.”

Alexei gave a small, proud nod, and Sam turned to Isaiah.

Isaiah leaned forward, stretching out his legs. “My grandson, Eli, wrote a paper on me. Didn’t tell me until after he got an A.” He paused, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a subtle smile. “It… was about resilience.”

You kept your face neutral. You knew it was a damn good paper —you’d helped him, after all.

“Bet that felt good,” John said, impressed. 

Isaiah nodded. “Made me feel like all the things I’ve been through… mattered.”

The room quieted for a moment, then Sam glanced at Bucky.

“What about you, Buck? What’s something you’re proud of this week?”

Bucky hesitated. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, and you could tell he was debating whether to say anything at all. Then, after a deep breath, he said, “The girl I kissed last week… she has a drawer in my apartment now.”

Oh?

John raised a brow. “You’re… actually dating dating?”

Bucky shrugged, but there was a small, barely-there smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Alexei squinted at him, then smacked the armrest of his chair. “Barnes! This is good! Very good!”

Isaiah just smiled. “About time.”

Bucky’s smile grew just a fraction as his eyes flickered, just for a second, toward you. You fought to keep your face neutral, but your heart was pounding just a little harder.

John cleared his throat, straightening up. “Well, since we’re all sharing, I guess I’ll go,” he started, “I planned this huge anniversary dinner for Olivia two days ago. It was just at home, but I did the whole thing. Candles, her favourite food, good wine. She loved it.”

“Sounds great, man,” Sam said.

John hesitated, his usual cocky demeanor breaking down. “It made me feel…” He trailed off, glancing down at his hands before exhaling. “It made me feel like more than a good soldier. It made me feel like… a good husband.”

Alexei patted his back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “You are a good husband! Olivia is lucky woman.”

John coughed but laughed, shaking his head.

The air in the room was lighter now. It felt… safe.

“What about you?” Sam turned to you. “Any wins this week?”

You opened your mouth, not entirely sure what you were going to say until the words just… slipped out. “I, uh… I stayed at a guy’s place last night,” You stammered,  “And I even moved a couple of clothes there.”

The room went dead silent.

Fuck.

“Wait,” Alexei’s brows furrowed. “You… and Barnes just said his girl—” His voice trailed off as  his eyes widened.

Isaiah frowned, glancing between you and Bucky. “Hold up—”

“N-no way,” John’s jaw dropped, and he pointed between the two of you. “You and you?”

Bucky let out a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face. Meanwhile, your cheeks burned as you tried to form a coherent explanation. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

You did plan on telling them today. But not like this.

Sam let out a low whistle. “I knew it,” he whispered under his breath.

Alexei clapped his hands together. “This is why you’ve been smiling so much lately!”

Isaiah chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve seen a lot in my day, but I didn’t see this coming.”

John just leaned back in his chair, still pointing at you. “I feel like I should’ve known. I should’ve known. I am so mad at myself right now.”

Bucky let out a deep breath and looked around the room. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to the group. “Yeah. Fine. We’re dating.”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Well. There it is.”

The room erupted in cheers.

The teasing would never end. But… sitting next to Bucky, feeling his knee press lightly against yours, seeing the small, almost shy look on his face, like he was still getting used to the idea of being yours—

It was worth it.

—

After the chaos of the session, Sam caught up with you and Bucky as everyone was heading out. “All right, lovebirds,” he said, all too pleased with himself. “We’re going to dinner.”

You blinked. “We?”

“Yeah, we.” Sam gestured between the three of you. “I know we’ve been on missions together, and we’ve got this whole support group thing… but I need to properly meet the woman crazy enough to date this cyborg."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though you could tell he was secretly happy that Sam approved. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it is.” Sam gave him a pointed look. “You, choosing to be around someone on purpose?” He turned to you jokingly. “Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “No hostage situation here.”

“Okay, then.” Sam clapped his hands. “Dinner. My treat.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Since when do you pay for anything?”

“Since my best friend finally stopped being emotionally constipated and got himself a girlfriend,” Sam shot back. “I gotta see this up close. Make sure Everett Ross didn’t set her up to steal your information or somethin’.”

You chuckled and joked. “Damn. My cover is blown already?”

“Oh,” Sam grinned. “I like her.”

-to be continued…

Super Soldier Support Group Taglist :

@onlyforyuto @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @sakuracyberhex @sxnshinebxcky

@crdgn @jvanilly @isnow-0r-never @stillhere197 @cupids-mf-arrow

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@allthatisbuck1917 @alexawhatstheweathertoday @ajanauia @r-i-p-tomyouth 

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@failed-botanist @undf-stuff @goldengubs @wintercrows

@stars4birdie @henryspersonalver @svtbpbts 

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

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@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

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@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings

[andulina567]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑

joaquin torres x fem!military!reader

synposis: y/n and joaquin are reunited years after breaking off their engagement for a mission requiring her set of skills.

request: yes

warnings: brief descriptions of gore, angst (happy ending, dw), use of the word s*icide once

wc: 3k

a/n: was gonna make this into two parts but after editing i decided not to! i apologize if things feel rushed i honestly was fighting for my life trying to come up with a plot 😃 i hope you enjoy jen <3

“What do you got for me, kid?”

“We’re gonna need backup,” Joaquin sighed, pushing the end of his pen into his temple until it clicked.

“What do you mean ‘we’re gonna need backup’?”

Joaquin sat back in his swivel chair, adjusting his phone against his ear. “The base’s security systems are too advanced. I haven’t seen anything like this before. Look, I know someone from high school who could crack this sort of thing.”

“Oh, no,” Sam laughed incredulously. “No, no. We’re not letting any of your buddies in on a top-secret mission,”

“She’s not a buddy!” Joaquin hesitated, eyeing the multitude of screens before him. “She’s, uh…”

“She’s your ex, isn’t she?”

Joaquin shot forward, nearly banging his elbow on the desk, “Maybe, but that’s beside the point.” He heard Sam’s loud laugh on the other end and cringed inwardly. “Look, she’s military. She’s DIA—”

“You’re talking about enemy territory here, Joaquin.”

“I know, I know, just… just trust me, okay? She might work for the government but she’s never really ‘worked for the government’.”

“Yeah, I know those kinds,” said Sam. “So why’d you break up?”

Joaquin searched the small room for some sort of way out.

“She broke up with you, didn’t she?”

“Hey, why do you just assume she broke up with me? Am I not capable of breaking up with someone?”

“You’re getting defensive, Joaquin,” Sam’s loud laugh echoed across the line. “And what makes you think she’d wanna talk to your ass?”

“Well, she won’t but she’d like to talk to Captain America’s.”

“Oh, no, don’t you go dragging me in the middle of whatever happened between you two—”

“I’m not! I’m not. I swear,” he defended. “She always liked Black Widow and—and Anonymous. Natasha Romanoff was basically her idol. She’s likely seen that you have your own agenda despite the shield so she’d listen to you more than me.”

Joaquin bit into his pen as he listened to the silence from Sam’s end.

“Fine. We’re to meet her in person, though. Keep it light.”

“You got it, Cap.”

Joaquin ended the call and pulled up his contacts. He typed in her name and stared at the profile, his thumb hovering over the phone button as anxiety roiled his gut. It had been years since they’d last spoken and the thought of breaking their no-contact felt like breaking a sanctioned rule. If he called her and she picked up, what did that mean?

It meant nothing.

“Hi.”

Y/N said it like a question, but he could hear that she also had an inkling as to who it could be. She deleted his number from her phone, he guessed, or maybe changed his contact name. Joaquin realized he hadn’t said anything when she said his name, this time without assumption in her tone.

“Hi,” he said like the word was beaten out of him. “Uh, hi. Y/N. Um…”

“Are you drunk again?”

“Uh, no,” he scratched the back of his head a little too hard. “No, I am not drunk this time. Uh…”

He heard a creak from her end of the line that he recognized a little too well. She still had her old office chair. Joaquin imagined her sitting back in it, the chair leaning back from her weight.

“I need to ask a favour—”

“Right,” she chuckled incredulously.

He was losing her again.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Look, I’m sorry. God,” he dropped his forehead to the desk with a thump. “Uh, Captain America needs a favour.”

“Captain America?” she said, feigning excitement. “I didn’t know you were a superhero.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, the new falcon,” he said proudly to the underside of his desk.

“I know, Joaquin.”

“Yes, you do. Right,” he dropped his head against the wood again.

“If Captain America needs my help, why isn’t he contacting me directly?”

“Because,” he drawled, fighting to think of an explanation. “Because I am his guy in the chair and I recommended you to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question—”

“Look, Y/N, I know things are… weird between us but I wouldn’t be bothering you if it wasn’t important. Please.”

The chair creaked again and he heard footsteps. She was pacing.

“I can’t talk about it while we’re on record so please, just… whatever works for you, Cap and I will meet you in person.”

He could hear her breathing. He could see her pacing in her room, fingernail between her teeth as she thought. He heard tapping, then his phone vibrated.

“Check your messages.”

The line went quiet and he pulled his phone from his ear to see she’d ended the call.

From a random number, he read: Benjamin Grenup Monument. Tomorrow, 10am.

The next morning, Joaquin and Sam made their way through a cemetery.

“Judging by the fact that we’re fifteen minutes early,” said Sam, “I’d assume you’re a little excited.”

“I’m not excited.”

He was a little excited.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to jump out of your pants?”

Joaquin’s head whipped to him, his eyes narrowed. “Why would you word it like that?”

They stopped before the monument, the graveyard empty save for a young man at a grave a couple yards away.

“Well how else am I meant to word it?” Sam asked, raising his chin. “You look like you have ants in your pants.”

“See, you could have just said that. Instead you had to make it weird—”

“You’re early.”

Y/N walked up to them with her hands in her vest pockets, zipper up to her chin to ward off the cool wind. She exposed a bare hand to rid the hair from her eyes.

“You must be Y/N,” Sam stepped forward.

“And you’re Captain America,” she shook his hand, a small smile on her lips.

Should he shake her hand? No, that’s too formal. Should he wave? No, that’s weird.

“Hi,” he croaked.

Sam’s head slowly spun around, the word “dude” stamped across his expression.

“Is someone gonna tell me why I’m here?” she asked.

It had been almost six years since he last saw her and yet she still looked the same. His heart ached at the sight of her.

“Uh…” he fumbled.

“First,” Sam saved him, “I want to know why this kid thinks so highly of you.”

Y/N glanced at Joaquin, “I’d like to know that, too.”

Joaquin cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N was top of our class in high school. Joined the army right out of graduation, became a sergeant, was then recruited by INSCOM.”

“Why INSCOM?” Sam asked curiously.

“I’m really good at coding,” she answered with a nod, eyes wide in emphasis. “I also solved a couple of cold cases. Turns out recruiters turn a blind eye to legality when it comes to uncovering terrorists.”

“That’s not all,” Joaquin interjected, closing the distance between them.

Y/N stared at him. To Sam, her gaze was blank, but to Joaquin it was a warning.

“What’s…” Sam looked between them, “I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

Y/N’s leg bounced and her eyes narrowed. Joaquin nodded in reassurance.

“When the Blip happened,” she began, “life insurance skyrocketed, payments wouldn’t go out. They said because there was no body, no evidence, they wouldn’t pay. Suicide reached a record-breaking peak around the world in all of recorded history; homelessness, violence, and crime included.”

“So you lended a hand,” said Sam.

Y/N smiled, but there was no joy behind it. “I did.”

“I’m assuming your employers don’t know.”

“No,” she shook her head. “It wasn’t just me, anyway. I know some who made millions, but I didn’t want a pay off. It wasn’t fair that I sat back with my talents and didn’t use them in a time of need. I helped families off the streets, paid for spots in retirement homes…”

“So what have you been doing since everyone came back?”

Y/N looked around, her tongue darting out to her bottom lip. The young man from earlier had left, leaving just them.

“Iron Man did more harm than good when he brought everyone back,” she said. “My parents were on a plane to Hawaii when they were snapped.”

Joaquin’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. He hadn’t known. How could he? Maybe he should’ve reached out when the Blip happened. Another regret to add to the list.

“I went through it all over again,” she continued. “What was left of us were doing triple the work, if not more, for less pay. I lost my apartment; I had to get roommates again. But the insurance companies saved a buck so it really wasn’t all that bad, right?”

“I didn’t know,” Joaquin said.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” said Sam.

She shook her watch out from under her sleeve. “Now that I’ve told you my life story, it’s your turn. You’re running out of time here.”

“There’s this terrorist organization we’ve been tasked of uncovering,” Joaquin explained. “We found their base but it’s protected by some sort of electromagnetic field connected to a coded security system. We need you to come with us to the facility. If you get close enough, you’ll be able to hook up to the servers and find your way through. We’ll provide you with a weapon in case it gets messy.”

Y/N looked back and forth between them. “What do you think I am, some kind of Avenger? I haven’t been out in the field in years. I do everything at a desk.”

Joaquin glanced to Sam. “No?”

“That’s right. Good luck, guys. Bye, Joa—”

“I fucked up.” Joaquin’s words made her freeze. He stared at her back in desperation. “I—I’m aware of that. I don’t deserve your help, but Sam does. Don’t say no just because I’m involved. You do this for Sam and I’ll block your number. I’ll move states, if you want me to. You’ll never have to hear from me again.”

“Damn, Joaquin, what’d you do, man?” Sam whispered.

Y/N turned on her heel. “He wouldn’t stop doing stupid shit,” she answered. “I was tired of fearing for my fiancé’s life.”

Sam stared down Joaquin with wide, shocked eyes.

Joaquin prayed to every god known to man that Y/N would hear him out. She was thinking hard—he could tell by the way she tucked her mouth behind the neck of her vest. Her eyes roved the ground a moment before she looked up again.

“Fine,” she said to Sam. Her eyes caught Joaquin’s, the first time in years she properly looked him in the eye. “You owe me. Big time.”

***

A couple days later, Joaquin, Sam, and Y/N met in the tree line surrounding an abandoned warehouse.

“You should see an energy shield around the building,” Sam said through the coms, circling the perimeter of the tree line in the sky.

“Roger,” Y/N typed away on her computer.

Joaquin watched the warehouse beside her, hands on his hips as he observed any signs of activity.

“They have an alarm system attached to it,” she informed. “You’ll have thirty seconds to get in before it guards all entry again.”

“All right, it’s just a quick in and out, Joaquin,” said Sam. “Incapacitate the soldiers, the authorities will do the rest.”

“Got it,” Joaquin replied. “Go ahead,” he nodded to Y/N.

He watched as she continued working on the computer. It felt like they were back in high school. Whenever he couldn’t find her, he’d go to the library. She was always sat at a table surrounded by books or before a computer, chin in her hand as she focused on the screen.

“Y/N,” he found himself saying.

“What?” she didn’t take her eyes off the device.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head cocked, “I’m sure you are.”

“I mean it, Y/N. I really am sorry.” She glanced at him and he took it as an invitation to continue. “I wish I could have been there for you during the Blip. It wasn’t fair you had to go through that alone. It isn’t fair you’re still going through it alone.”

Y/N looked him up and down, eyeing his Falcon suit. “If you make it out of this alive, there’s this new food truck near my old apartment. We can talk about it all, then.”

A smile brightened Joaquin’s face. “That sounds good.”

“But no stupid shit, Joaquin,” she pointed at him warningly like she had so many times before. “No showing off. I know you’re a superhero now but I will make you move countries if you act like you’re invincible.”

“Yep. Got it. No stupid shit,” he said quickly, clapping his hands together once.

“All right, boys, you’ve got thirty seconds in five… fo—”

Joaquin darted from the trees, staying low as he approached.

Three… two… one.

“Grid is down,” said Y/N.

Silence, then a crash as Sam shattered through the skylight. Joaquin kicked the door in, stepping into the chaos of the armed men inside. Within a couple of minutes, they had them restrained and disarmed. As Joaquin was checking pulses, sirens signalling the arrival of authorities rang out.

“Oh, shit—” From Y/N’s end of the line, two gunshots went off, echoing up the slight slope to the warehouse.

“Y/N, you all right?” Joaquin asked.

A wave of heat came over his limbs as pure adrenaline took over him.

“Sergeant Y/LN, come in,” Sam pressed his finger to his com.

Another round of shots went off and Joaquin booked it. He shoved past men in full armour as they made their way into the building. The grass, still slippery from the morning dew, caused him to slide and he tripped into the trees. A man in a ghillie suit lay dead, half his face blown off and his suit soaked with blood around his throat.

Heavy breathing and a whine of pain caught Joaquin’s attention. Y/N lay beside her dropped laptop, the screen shattered with a bullet hole through the middle. Dark, red blood spilled from her stomach.

“Shit,” Joaquin dropped to his knees hard on the sticks and leaves. He shouted and screamed for help, putting enough pressure on the wound to possibly break a rib.

“I don’t wanna die,” Y/N cried, gripping his suit like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth. “I don’t wanna die. Don’t let me die, Joaquin.”

“I’ve got you, Y/N, you’re going to be fine,” he said as tears sprung to his eyes.

“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.”

For the first time, Joaquin realized exactly how Y/N felt anytime he came home with bruises or scrapes. He used to only be able to imagine what she felt when she got a call he’d been injured on the field. He knew, now, how horrible it felt. It was like ice weaving through his veins yet it made his heart feel on fire. He was sure there was a fire starting in his lungs.

Medics rushed toward them, convincing him to move aside so they could start their work.

“Don’t let me go,” she panicked, gripping his hand.

“I won’t,” he trembled, squeezing her back. “I won’t, I promise.”

The only time Joaquin let go of her hand was so they could put her on the stretcher. In the ambulance, she fought for consciousness. Despite his pleading and coaxing, she closed her eyes. It was hours in the uncomfortable waiting room chair before the surgeon spoke to him. He’d handed over his information and when the receptionist declined his request to cover her expenses because he was merely considered intelligence, not an active-duty Captain, Sam talked his way into covering it.

Joaquin remained by her side in the hospital room until she woke up.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching for her hand.

Joaquin instinctively reached for her face with his free one. He’d brushed hair out of her eyes so many times that it’d become a habit to just caress the skin at her temple. Years later and it was still with him.

“What happened?” she croaked.

“Um, you had some internal bleeding,” he explained, clearing his throat as tears burned the back of his eyes. “They got the bullet out but you’ve been out a little while. You should be discharged tomorrow.”

“I can’t afford this, Joaquin,” she tried to push herself up. “I can’t pay—”

“No, Y/N—” Joaquin pushed her gently back down. He squeezed her hand, running the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s all right. You don’t have to pay for anything.”

Her eyes bounced back and forth between his. “Don’t tell me you paid.”

“Sam handled it. As you said,” he sniffed, “I owed you.”

She sighed, gazing down at their hands.

“Y/N, you could’ve died,” Joaquin breathed.

“Well, now you know how it felt.”

It was like a knife to the chest.

“I did—I do.” He shook his head, a tear trailing down his cheek. “I can’t say how sorry I am. I… I never wanted to hurt you. I loved you… so much. I still love you.”

Y/N sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand under her eyes.

“I understand if you don’t,” he continued, “but if you’re willing to try again, I’ll put down the wings. I’ll stop. I’ll find a different career. Anything you want.”

“Joaquin.” Y/N lifted her free hand to place it on top of his. “I would never ask you to give up your dreams. I’ve only ever wanted you to remember that I needed you, too. I need you. Do you understand that?”

Joaquin nodded stiffly, bringing her fingers to his lips. She cupped his cheek and his eyes closed as he leaned into her touch. He entwined his fingers with hers over the back of her hand and kissed her palm.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he mumbled against her skin.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she replied through silent tears.

“I’m assuming this means we’re still on for the food truck?”

Y/N laughed and it brought a smile to Joaquin’s face. The air between them felt lighter and it almost made him want to cry more.

“Yes, we’re still on for the food truck.”

[andulina567]

Oh my god this is so adorable!

⠀

⠀ ⠀ PARTY 4 U ⠀ ⠀ CH . 01 ⠀ ⠀ JOAQUIN TORRES A . K . A FALCON / F ! READER⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

SUMMARY ⋆ joaquin finds love on a dating app && does anything he can to get her closer . WARNINGS ⋆ fluffy for now / next chapters will def have smut / not - a - superhero ! au / wealthy , lowkey sugar daddy ! joaquin / mutual pining / they r in luvvvv lowk / awkward convos / banter / joaquin has some dirty thoughts / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 2 . 8 k NOTES ⋆ i made a tiny lil playlist to go with this , u can listen to it here !! all my love for danny ramirez came flooding back n i couldn't stop thinking of him as lover boy mcgee ... dreamy sigh ... enjoy !!

A swipe of her thumb changed the trajectory of the summer for the better. What was meant to be a slothful three months of taking it day by day, hoping, praying for any excitement to befall the lazy crawl of time became late nights tapping away at her phone, and endless conversations with a boy in another timezone: Joaquin. The dating app had been a distraction, uninstalled as soon as his number made its way into her contacts, texts traded for images. Innocent, as it always starts, he sent himself, in the gym, muscular arms flexed, pretty pearly whites flashing in a charming smile. Tan skin, overgrown curls slanting into playful eyes, she’d found herself intimidated, yet enthralled all the same.

He was treating her. It was only right she rewarded him in return.

Joaquin’s recompense took the form of a mirror selfie in a dressing room; a baby pink dress, made to be taken off, kissing, clinging to every curve — mouth watering. To add to his torture, she’d followed the vision up with: so cute, so expensive. Exposed by the exchange, their definitions of expensive were worlds apart. 

$3000 received from Joaquin Torres: ‘Wear it for our first date.’

“Joaquin, that’s too much, you have to take it back,” she’d whined over the phone minutes later, a deep chuckle coming from his end of the line. 

“You said it was expensive—”

“Yeah, eighty bucks!” Too loud, catching glares from other shoppers, she sighed and lowered her voice. “It was only eighty bucks. I can afford that, I’m sending it back.” She was still shaken from the notification, fingers trembling, intending to do as she said, brought to an end by his answer.

“No.” Joaquin’s tone was firm, his grin audible, his mind made up. “Keep it, buy yourself other pretty things to wear for me. You need more, you let me know.” 

Men in the real world can’t be trusted, men online ought to be monsters, but there are always outliers; a man too good to be true that happens to be true after all. With money in her account, and shopping bags littering her bedroom, she’d convinced herself that Joaquin was her Prince Charming, sent to her by Aphrodite herself to save her from the lonely, boyfriend-less, love-empty, paycheck-to-paycheck life, that his interest reflected hers identically. He was respectful, kind, patient, and had yet to bring up the topic of sex, whereas any other man in his seat would’ve begun posing with his cock in his hand. The bar was low, and Joaquin was in his home gym, using it to make those strong arms of his all the more delicious, raising it with ease.

A month and a half into being matchmade, one night on FaceTime, after almost an hour of blissful silence, Joaquin asked, “You wanna come to my party next weekend?” The question was posed as though there weren’t thousands of miles between them, met with hesitation on her end, causing him to continue: “I’ll fly you out Thursday, we can hang on Friday… I’ll take you shopping. Party’s Friday night. It’ll be fun.” He sounded nervous, fumbling for words to convince her. Those brown puppy dog eyes twinkling below furrowed brows, gazing at her lips, waiting for them to part, only to cut her off when they did, trying his very best to stave off what he thought was oncoming rejection, the rumble of his chest audible in his words as he murmured, “I really want to see you. I want to touch you and kiss you good morning and good night. The texts aren’t enough anymore…” His hands clamping over his face, he fell back onto his bed, out of frame. “Your lips look so soft — you look so soft. Please.” 

How could she say no? 

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Joaquin traces the shield shape of the Porsche logo with his fingertips, his knee bouncing as he watches the automatic sliding doors of the airport gate like a hawk. He’s seen her silhouette a thousand times in pictures, stalking her Instagram, scrolling through their texts, imprinting every line of her figure behind his eyelids. Every moment of downtime is consumed by her, thoughts notching themselves into a spectrum of museum dates and ice cream to her pressed into his mattress, chanting his name like a mantra. Ice cream was easy to discuss, a two-hour conversation about favorite flavors and other sweet treats — a mutual sweet tooth — had distracted him from his work only days prior. He’d called her sweet, she’d giggled, and he’d forced his next set of words to die on his tongue: Can I have a taste?

The doors open, and angels sing. Heavenly beams of light dance over delicate features as she finally appears. A gust of wind blows past, tousles beautiful, beautiful hair, sending her into a bout of struggle as she rushes to fix it, not catching him approaching her in the midst. He calls her name, softly at first, then a bit louder. 

“Joaquin!” She chirps back, sheepish simper on glossy lips. “Hi!” Her arms open, inviting him in; he swoops down, drawing her into his embrace without missing a beat. Pressed to his front, her heels lift off the ground, and when he steps back, his hands remain on her waist. Joaquin’s gaze travels down, down, down, absorbing everything from the stitched flowers on her jeans to the ribbon ties of her shoelaces. Then, up, up, up, waist, chest, a swan-like neck— a face that broke the mold. Their eyes meet, and it dawns on him that she’s doing the same, opening her mouth, but he steals the words before she can speak. 

“You’re real,” he breathes out, his thumbs pressing into her shirt, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric. Her smaller hands find his chest, her smile bashful. 

“I am…” 

He doesn’t kiss her just yet, too shaky, too nervous — afraid he’ll lay it on too thick and chase her off. His nerves contradict the romantic perfectionist in him, the one that wants their first kiss to be memorable, not just a formality in front of the airport; a lazy, no-effort thank you for humoring him and taking a flight across the country. The gentlemanly things are in order overall — carrying her bags to the trunk, opening the passenger side door, holding her hand as she climbs into the seat… feigning confidence as her gentle gaze follows his movements, beholding him with a fondness he doesn’t allow himself to translate. He fears if he does, he won’t make it to their destination without spilling all over her. 

“My place first — got all your favorite stuff made for dinner, you gotta eat real food after that bullshit they try to feed you on the plane,” he says with his signature smile, buckling himself in. She adjusts her seatbelt, and shrugs, his brightness contagious; her cheeks already feel warm from grinning so much. 

“I dunno…  I like the snacks they give you! They gave me complimentary champagne, that was nice! I didn’t know rich people got to be drunk for free on flights.” Arguing her case is useless because Joaquin shakes his head as he drives off the sideroad, onto the lane heading towards the freeway. He opens his mouth to declare an equally playful rebuttal when she continues, “But let me guess, it’s cheap, wack champagne. Right? Right, Joaquin?”

He gasps, chokes out a laugh, and then nods, “It’s fucking terrible!”

Banter is more common than not between them — Joaquin’s personality thrives off it, his goal in any conversation is to make the other laugh. With her, it’s especially important — special. If he can work his way to one of her mellifluous giggles, his day is made, and the rest of the world can go to hell for all he cares. Over the phone, it’s a piece of cake. When she’s less than arm’s width away, it’s natural, as though the space between them has always been minimal. He tells a joke, she laughs, presses a dainty little hand to his bicep, and he decides he’ll never let that space grow again.

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The GPS blanks out shortly past them turning off the main road, much to her confusion, as the street they’re on is very much paved. Joaquin notes the knit in her brow, and offers a grin with an explanation, “This is the driveway. All this belongs to me— my family, they wanted their house at the center of it all. These are all orchards.”

After all this time, she’s become acutely aware of Joaquin’s financial status. If it weren’t for the downpour of gifts, the stacks of paperwork that occupied his attention during their calls and FaceTimes had made it transparently obvious. However, seeing it before her eyes couldn’t be more jarring. His car takes them from a dark asphalt path to one of sandy, beige stone, leading up to a mansion that’s nothing short of a palace. It’s perfect for California, with a white stone exterior. Rounded tuscan-style tiles of an earthy red shade decorate the roof. Gardeners take delicate care of the flowers surrounding the entrance, and Joaquin greets them with a smile as he drives up to the front door, circling the statue of a headless angel at the center of the roundabout. 

“This is all so beautiful,” she muses, beaming, her orbs and her simper twinkling just alike. “I really appreciate you bringing me here, this is the coolest house I think I’ve ever seen.” Joaquin hums, and tells her it’s not a big deal as he removes his shoes near the entryway, feet sliding into a pair of navy green slippers. Hopping up the stairs leading to the set of wooden double doors, a step and a half behind him, she spins a full circle, ogling at the masterpiece of a lawn from a proper point of view, filling her chest with a deep breath. Her compliment isn’t empty politeness, it truly is the grandest place she’s ever visited. To say she’s out of her depths is an understatement, and she glues her palms to her jeans. She thought she was scared of heights, snakes, or bugs, yet the mere thought of bumping a table and shattering one of the beautiful, priceless glass motifs climbs her list of fears at the speed of light. 

Not only would it drive Joaquin away, and upset him, but in no universe would she be able to financially recover — that is, if she could cover the cost in the first place. 

Joaquin sets a pair of slippers before her, looking almost as skittish as she feels. “You c-could stay here,” he stammers without thinking, eyes widening upon realization, hurriedly attempting to apologize, “Sorry. Not like with me— I know you booked at a hotel, but we have a lot of rooms— I wouldn’t ask you to have sex with me on our first day of—” Cutting himself off mid-sentence, he glances up. She’s staring at him, amused, with that same fondness from earlier. “Stop. Don’t laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to laugh!” 

A chuckle slips past her lips, betraying her. “You’re laughing!” Joaquin grunts, rubbing a hand over his face, shamefaced. It isn’t fair to take her time removing her sneakers and shoving her feet into the provided pearly white slippers, to make him wait. It isn’t fair at all, but what is she to do when he looks so cute standing there, blushing? “Say something… please.”

“I don’t think… that…  and I wouldn’t mind staying over…” she replies, trailing off, looking anywhere but his eyes, teasing him. 

“But? Is there a but in there?” His frown deepens, high cheekbones glowing pink. “You’re still fucking with me!” A sigh, and her countenance softens. 

“You already did so much for me, I owe you so much money, I don’t wanna impose and—”

“I don’t care about that. I’d really — really like it if you spent the night — if you’re comfy enough with me to do that — I know it’s probably weird, though, so I’m probably scaring you — Christ.” This time, he runs both hands down his red hot face, and blurts out, “I really like you! I’m so excited that you’re here and I don’t wanna look like a fuckin’ virgin and give you the ick — you can say no, I won’t be mad, but just know I’ll keep a safe distance and—”

“Don’t want you to keep a safe distance,” she cuts in. It sucks all the air out of his lungs; he waits with bated breath. Her voice subsides, quietens to say, “I’ll stay. I would love to stay… I mean, came all this way to see you, right? I should spend as much time with you as I can, no?” 

“Yeah,  yeah… I think so, too…” Soothed by her answer, Joaquin pads closer, she has to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. His curls curtain his gaze; longing, locked in on her parted lips — it flicks up, he wordlessly asks for permission, and she lifts her chin in response. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, teeth digging into her lower lip as one large hand snakes around her hip, two fingers in her belt loop. He’s so close, close enough to breathe in his expensive cologne, the one made in 2007 that he always complains about not finding — the mint on his lips, the gum he chews to help him quit smoking. Surreal doesn’t cover it, he’s a materialization of every fun fact he’s ever told her, and sure, that’s how life works, but how could the years craft someone so desirable? Someone she gets the privilege of feeling, her palms against his torso. He’s warm — strong under her touch, and his heart… it threatens to beat out of his chest, right into her hand as he kisses her. He’s all soft lips and careful tugs to her hips, his other hand finds the opposite loop, the pads of his thumbs glide under the hem of her cotton shirt — he kisses her like he’s trying to slow down time; gentle, patient. 

It’s romantic, liplocking in the arched doorway of a mansion surrounded by orchards, the sun setting in front of them, silhouetting them in pinks and purples. She pulls back only once she’s breathless, bunching his shirt into her fists, and Joaquin chases one last peck, followed by a bright white grin that crinkles his eyes. He’s about to speak when an older woman emerges from around the corner, and squeals, picking up speed until she’s standing before them, either oblivious to their closeness or indifferent to it. 

“This is the girl you were telling me about!” She sings the words, smiling from ear to ear. Joaquin, slightly miffed, looks at her and sighs, dragging his hand across the belt of the younger girl’s jeans, over the small of her back to wrap his arm around her waist.

“Yes, mom, this is her,” he groans, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue once more, out of embarrassment this time. A type of embarrassment that only a mother can invoke in her child. He goes about introducing them, gesturing his hand from one to the other, “  —and this is my mom, Esperanza.” 

“I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so good to finally meet you!” Esperanza shakes her hand with both of hers, glowing with joy. 

“He talks about me?” 

The grunt Joaquin lets out is answer enough, though Esperanza is more than happy to elaborate: “Oh, yes! At this point, there isn’t much else he talks about. He was so excited about you coming here, he had his outfit set on his bed like picture day was coming up—”

“Mama!” 

“Ah… right. You weren’t supposed to know about that.” Esperanza reaches out and pets his curls dotingly, her laughter mixing with that of their visitor’s. “I’m sorry, cariño, it was an accident!” It’s an endearing sight, the masculine, self-sufficient, all-capable presence that is Joaquin Torres defeated by his adoring mother in front of the girl he’s utterly enamored by. “Shall we eat? I’m very excited for tonight’s dinner, I have so many questions for you!” Then, she boops the younger girl’s nose — boops it, leaving her stunned as she all but dances away. 

“I am so sorry,” Joaquin groans out, covering his eyes with his free hand. Even still, his fingers are wrapped around her waist. “That was so—”

“Cute. That was so cute.” Interrupted for the umpteenth time, he’s once again led away from his anxiety by her sweet voice. “I love your outfit, too…  Very impressed.” A playful scowl tugs at his upper lip and she giggles, pushing up onto her tiptoes to kiss it away. 

“Thank god for that,” he murmurs against her mouth, kissing her once more just as his mother’s voice bellows from the opposite end of the hallway, and he rolls his eyes, tugging the girl along towards the dining room. “C’mon.”

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