cillianate

[cillianate]

you guys need to STOP with the smut pls bro

You all need to calm down please 🥀

Where is just the fluff,angst,comfort fics

Edit: guy this is a joke I’m not being that serious🥀

Multiple ppl saying “write it yourself” it’s kinda missing the point

[cillianate]

ACHILLES, COME DOWN

robert reynolds x fem!oc

03. ESCAPE.

series masterlist

Nieve Parker is sick of this group already.

word count: 2.3k !

warnings: NOT EDITED, sappy bob and nieve, protective father figure / sassy john, john walker needs a hug, its my birthday!!

please comment, reblog, or dm to join taglist! (specify perm or series)

"Doesn't sound like a shredder," said Yelena.

"Its an incinerator," Ava spoke when she finally recovered from the prior blast.

By now, both Bob and Nieve had recovered from the sound too. He looked at her with plain confusion. Not just because of their current situation, but because of the story Yelena had just told of Nieve's past.

Bob, at 18, lost his best friend with no explanation. He had always imagined that she passed away, or perhaps moved away in a spur of the moment. However, that story was the last thing he expected. Hydra? Experimentation? Was she like him? What kind of powers did she have?

All Nieve could do was give him a pitying look before mouthing 'later'. She then turned back to the group so that they could deduce a plan.

"We don't know that. It could be for when they come to pick me up," said John.

"You feel that? The temperature rising dramatically like heat could be involved?" Spoke Ava sarcastically, looking at Walker like he was the least intelligent man she'd ever met, which was probably true.

There was silence for a moment, before John concluded, "Well, it's an incinerator."

"Oh boy, thats no way to go," Bob said from behind Nieve. The cadence of his voice was so low in that moment that she felt it ripple down her neck and arms, sending her into the same condition of goosebumps she'd been in earlier.

"How would you like to die tonight, Bob?" John questioned, his anger and frustration holding up strongly in his voice.

"Alright, Ghost Lady-" Yelena addressed.

"Ava," the other woman corrected.

"Sure, whatever. We need to help you phase through these walls so you can open the door," the blonde suggested, evidently having a plan which hadn't quite been stated yet.

"She already tried that," said John, ever the smartass.

"I know she did, but we haven't tried shutting down the sound barrier," said Yelena, and suddenly it clicked for Nieve.

"If they built it just for her, there has to be an independent power source," she informed the group.

"Come on, let's go," Yelena muttered.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Bob question after separating from Nieve to try and aid the search.

"Less stupid questions, Bobby," teased Walker.

How dare he, Bob thought. He'd only ever been called that nickname by one person, Nieve, and he'd be damned if he let someone use it to demean him.

Nieve, in her wanderings of the vault, ended up behind a few crates and a filing cabinet, where she was met with a cradle of sorts. It was evident to her, though, that this was where Bob came from.

She didn't have much time to ponder this, though, as Yelena was shouting "I think I found it," from the other side of the room.

Quickly, Nieve was running to where Yelena stood, as was everyone else. Before the bleached blond woman could even think of disarming the system, Nieve was overriding it with her own Hydra-born energy, causing the system to spark and the room to go dark.

"That works," Ava said in astonishment at the power of the young woman.

"I hope," Nieve said.

And just like that, Ava was running out the door. Gone in the blink of an eye.

The four of them stood there. Yelena, John, Nieve, and Bob. They all stared, wide eyed at the door, waiting for the moment Ava would return to save them.

The timer continued to count down

0:07

0:06

0:05

0:04

0:03

Shit, they were screwed.

0:02

No, they weren't.

0:01

Ava was there, the door was almost entirely open, and each of them were running out of it.

Bob was subconsciously pushing Nieve in front of him and John was falling back, being the anchor behind all of them.

Before they knew it, the explosion of the chamber propelled them further and the harsh, jagged concrete of the hallways did nothing to cushion their landing.

Nieve hit her head on the floor, and all of the sudden it was dark outside.

The sky was lit with an orange tint. It was ripped straight down the middle.

A man in the sky. One she remembered as Stephen Strange. She remembered who he was, but she wasn't sure why he was there or what he was doing. Was he . . . closing the rift in the sky?

Nieve began to look around, she saw MJ, and Ned, two kids she knew from . . . well, somewhere.

And then there were three men.

They looked like men.

The only strange thing was, she couldn't quite make out any of their faces.

It was like someone had gone back through her memories and burnt their faces out.

She was not supposed to be here.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around only to be faced with

Bob?

She wasn't sure what this memory was, or who half of these people were, but she did know that Bob was not originally here.

But just like that, before she could even blink, she was back in the concrete hallway, surrounded by dust and rocks.

And Bob was there lying next to her, looking at her, confused.

She felt his finger twitch next to hers, and realized they'd been interlinked the whole time.

Is that why he had been in her dream? Did he cause that dream?

And the cradle.

Was that how he did that? Is that why Nieve could not find a single trace of Bob for nearly 6 years? Even after all of her grievous searches, and even recruiting help on several occasions from Bucky, Sam, and Joaquín.

And the worst realization of all: was he just like her? Had he been experimented on too, no doubt at the hands of Valentina? Had he truly felt so helpless to give himself away?

Why hadn't he looked for her?

All of these thoughts went flooding away as Bob took his finger away from hers, where he then stood up, and then reached his hand out to her.

"You okay?" he said, giving her his signature, worried dog eyes.

Breathlessly, Nieve affirmed Bob that she was alright, then looked him once over. Almost immediately, she took note of a red cut on his forehead, "Oh, Bobby. You've got a cut," she said, reaching forward to brush the surrounding area with her thumb.

"S'alright, I'll be fine," he said, giving a small, breathy chuckle to brush off the subject. Nieve didn't miss the way he reached up to cradle her arm.

With a small blush on her face, she turned around to find the rest of the team, also recovering from the fall.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd come back. Thanks," Walker said with a diplomatic smile, holding his hand up toward Ava in a gesture to help him up.

Ava walked right past him, ignoring his hand and only offering, "I had to. Someone cut the power to the elevator."

Nieve held back a laugh, and John, whose ego was now severelt damaged at the hands of Ava, turned his anger to someone else: Bob. The same Bob who had been muttering to himself for the last minute.

"Hey, Bobby, less talking to yourself and more . . . talking to us. Tell me how you got in here right god damn now," Walker said, his tone getting more angry and assertive as he went on.

Bob himself was wondering how the hell he's gotten in that vault too. Did it have something to do with Malaysia, the trial? It had to, because that was the last place he remembered being.

The only thing that he was sure of was that these people just saved his life, and this Valentina woman was evil.

"I swear, man, I just woke up in this place. One minute I was, you know, getting . . . my blood drawn for this medical study, and the next I'm here in my pajamas. I don't know what's going on," he confessed, sparing occasional glances toward Nieve to gauge her reaction.

"Well if you don't remember that, then tell us how you know Nieve," Walker said, still just as accusatory as earlier. He would get to the bottom of this, no matter what it took. Because, although he hated to admit it, he considered Nieve a friend of his, and ever since he learned her story, he liked to think he'd taken on a protective role in her life. Basically, if there was going to be some boy she hung out with, he was going to know about it.

And Bob . . . well, Bob was an anomaly to Walker. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but the fact that he didn't remember anything about how he got here? Well, that just ticked John off even more.

The fact was, this guy was much too passive for John's taste.

He stayed silent toward John's prior question, just trading a shy glance to Nieve. He'd leave that conversation up to her, if she so wished to have it.

"Okay, then show me where you woke up. Go on," he gestured, inviting Bob to present some reason why he should have John's trust.

"In there," Bob gestured shyly to the room on fire, and Nieve almost winced. She, of course, knew what John was doing in grilling Bob. She did, of course appreciate that John cared for her, she knew that came rare to him. But she wished he'd let up a little in the case of Bob.

"There? Where everything's on fire. That's really convenient!" John said, exasperated. Now, he was at his wits end with this guy.

"You don't remember anything? A bag over your head and a needle in your neck?" Ava said, mostly desiring to just get the situation over with, but also being a bit curious herself

Bob simply replied "no."

"Chokehold, nerve pinch?" Walker added, his frustration showing in his words

"No," Bob tirelessly argued.

"I think he's just a civilian," Yelena deduced. By this point, Nieve knew this was false, as did Bob. However, with what she'd previously figured out about her old friend . . . well, she figured it was probably better to stay quiet. Avoid getting him in further trouble.

"Well, he's not just a civilian if he knows Nieve so well. But if, even if he's a civilian, he knows too much. If he's an agent, he's useless. Either way, I say we throw him back into the fire.

Nieve was just about to but in and defend Bob's honor, but before she could-

"You said you're Captain America," Bob said in a full sentence for the first time that night.

"Why are you laughing?" John questioned, his ego bruised once again. He still held a demeaning and diplomatic smirk on his face, though.

Then, Bob said something that nobody but Nieve would have expected.

"Just because you're an asshole, you know," he joked with that same loopy smile Nieve once loved like it was breathing.

Somewhere mostly separate from the situation, she struggled to hide her laugh, and shared a look with Ava, before realizing that in front of her, John had walked Bob up backwards against the wall. The younger man was now suspended by the collar of his pajama shirt.

"Hey, wait, okay, okay, wait," Nieve said, walking up to John and grabbing the nape of his neck like an angry mother cat.

"We've swung our tiny dicks around, it was fun," Yelena said, walking up to the conflict. "Bob, you go with Nieve. John, come with me."

And so, Nieve led Bob away from the group and Yelena and Ava led John to the opposite end of the hallway, where she was sure they were scolding him like there was no tomorrow.

"Hey," Nieve said, hand still holding Bob's, though now she was facing him, looking right where his eyes would be had he not been staring at his feet.

"Hi," he responded shyly.

"You okay?" Questioned Nieve.

"Yeah, oh yeah no I alright, just, y'know," he said, stuttering more frequently than she ever remembered him having done.

"Look at me," Nieve said with a soft smile.

He did.

When their eyes met, it was like they were teens again.

Back on the bench seat of his truck.

Back in Sarasota for Spring Break.

Back when days smelled like cigarettes and nights smelled like love and warm bodies and soft confessions.

She greeted his soft cheek with her worn hand, her thumb stroking just below his eye.

She took a moment to analyze all the freckles and moles on his face. It'd been a decade now since she'd seen them last.

He did the same, his hand rested on her hip in a way so familiar to both of them.

He gazed at her eyes, they'd darkened since he last saw her, surely due to the endless wars he now knew she'd fought through.

Thanos, the Blip, and everything since then. She'd been there for all of that.

How could he have thought she'd just up and left him behind?

He knew her better than that.

"What do you do," He asked, "when it gets tough?"

"I push it down, like wayyyy down deep. Thats probably not very good for me, but hey," Nieve responded with a slight laugh.

Bob laughed at this too.

"I missed you," she said.

"I know," he affirmed, "I missed you too."

At first, when all these new friends had come to save him, he'd thought about maybe just staying behind.

But now? Now that he knew he lived in a world where Nieve still wanted to be around him, and hadn't left him of her own volition?

Well, that was a world he'd fight to stay in. Now, Bob was damn well sure he'd get himself out of here, and Nieve, too.

"Hey, whenever you two are done playing that whole 'new romantics' act, we found a way out."

happy birthday to me and peter dinklage!

thank you for reading "escape"!

more to come soon,

xoxo, court

taglist : @yallgotkik @foreverchangingmind @sarai-ibn-la-ahad (reply or dm to join)

[cillianate]

little bit of a hiatus on achilles come down until this weekend! im coming up on finals so i gotta study up 🤑 i have the next 1 1/2 chapters written though and im super excited to share them with you guys!

[cillianate]

oh absolutely

Cross my heart

——💥——💥——💥——💥——

Pairing: John Walker x F!Reader

Warning: violence and injury mention, HYDRA mentions, fluff, so much angst bc of course with himmm, swearing, not proofread

A.N: Am I becoming a John Walker apologist?? 🫡

Need that insufferable man

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——💥——💥——💥——💥——

When your name was called with Walker’s for the next mission your eyes rolled and stomach sank at the thought of having to work with him again.

It had been a few months since your last mission and your almost fist fight after it, scrapping over how certain points were executed or in your case with John- wasn’t.

“You’ll be okay?” Yelena asked between you both, just as she separated the two of you last time. “Try your best not to kill him, as tempting as it may be.”

You let out a quiet laugh, a wide smile that didn’t have a hint of happiness in it. “I’ll certainly try.” You watched John from the corner of your eye head to his room to change, you followed suit, changing into tactical gear before grabbing what you both might need from the supply locker.

Your backs were facing each other, you could hear John mentally check off his list. Mumbles of “45,” and “Knife,” and “Smoke flare,” filled the room.

“We’ll take my car to the hangar.” You informed him, not even turning to look as you strapped weapons to yourself. He was about to open his mouth, no doubt for some quick jibe he was going to throw your way. “Absolutely not up for discussion, Walker. Get your ass down to the garage.”

“Better watch that attitude or I’ll be handing you your own.” He snapped back and you sharply glared at him. The bane of your existence in the tower walking a few steps in front of you with that larger than life swagger, that obnoxious knockoff star-spangled suit that accentuated his form virtually perfectly, his helmet-mask hybrid that tousled his hair as gorgeously as running his hand through it did, but tragically covered his stunning face.

You mentally slapped yourself and shook yourself internally on the spot.

When you reached the garage your car pulled up to you both after you tapped on your smartwatch, John raised a brow. “What?” You snapped more than you intended to.

“Not a car you’d see out on the field…” he said getting in, the car far too sexy and hi-spec against anything else he had to endure on missions. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”

You got in too, buckling up and putting in the coordinates to the hangar. “Yeah well I try and get the use out of it. Didn’t get the shit beaten out of me courtesy of HYRDA for nothing.”

The car fell silent at your far too casual admission. You don’t know why but words always flowed effortlessly off the tongue around him- one day it would get you into serious trouble.

You just had no idea it would have been today.

“You didn’t tell me you worked for them.” John spoke up, voice tight and looking at you with an expressionless face.

“I didn’t.” You clarified before briefly turning to him. “They captured and tortured me.”

Your words were as thick as syrup. Walker had never had you open up to him like you were doing now before, he noticed how your features fell upon the mention of it.

His fists tightened ready to kill every single person that was responsible for what happened to you. Despite the fact you were always snapping at him over something, or that you hogged the training room as you skilfully threw knives with those hands he pictured holding, or how how your laugh brightened everyone’s mood, how the noise it made his heart skip a beat.

He cleared his throat, slamming himself back into reality.

You decided to cut through the tension with some music, tapping the screen, music flooded the confided space. John humourlessly laughed. “Fucking Pitbull? Seriously?”

You shrugged “What? He’s a liberating man. Gets me hyped for missions.” He attempted to turn it off and you swatted his hand away, sending him a warning pointed finger. “My car my song choices so shut up and enjoy passenger princess.”

“Fuck you.” He grumbled.

“You wish, babe.” You snapped back and turned the music up louder just to wind him up even more.

A gruelling twenty minutes later and god knows how many mentions of ‘Mr Worldwide’, you pulled up to the hangar. John virtually threw himself out the car. You rolled your eyes and called him dramatic.

You both got into the jet and sat in the cockpit, John making a vulgar joke in reference to you in that area that a fifteen year old would laugh at.

You both set the craft to take you to a boat apparently carrying data about to be placed in the wrong hands just to the north of New York and you both had to stop it happening. “T-minus 30 seconds.” John confirmed as you both aligned yourself at the edge of the jet, ready for the drop as the team remotely controlled your guidance from the watchtower, Bucky’s voice in your ears.

“Keep safe, guys.”

“Too late now I’ve been assigned with Walker.” You replied and John’s head snapped to you, looking unimpressed. “Let’s go!” You leaped to the boat and John shortly followed, not quite letting go of that comment.

“I would have been done by now if I wasn’t waiting for someone to pick a wedgie out of her suit…” John said over everyone’s comms in retaliation.

You growled with your lips curled into a snarl “You’re a real piece of sh-“

“Reports are that he’s under the deck, sideboard,” Bucky cut you off. “You two better focus up, Jesus.” He sighed, he too like all the team sick of the bickering between you both.

You landed gracefully. John landed with a thud.

“You wanna just scream as well, Walker? Lord knows they just heard you land from Saturn.” You huffed as you both encroached further forward to the target, guns outstretched as you cleared the halls.

You could practically hear him roll his eyes, but decided not to comment on it as you approached voices. You both pressed back against opposite walls. John looked over to you, your eyes focused forward. Those eyes that would roll back as you laughed at one of Alexei’s terrible jokes. Those gorgeous eyes that allowed a tear to slip from them whenever they watched a sappy movie as a team.

John discreetly shook his head, trying to shake away his thoughts of you. Appearing thick and fast since the minute he met you. He focused as you both started creeping forward.

Both stopping at another wall just before coming to a room, you glanced to John. His eyes like lasers locked at the stream of light pouring from a door ever so slightly open. Those aquamarine eyes that would catch you off guard every single damn time you looked into them. Those stunningly striking eyes that when he smiled it reached them.

Your thoughts were conflicting, it caused butterflies in your stomach and scolding thoughts in your mind, your heart in the centre of a conflict.

Like it had been doing so since the day you met him.

A sudden movement from Johns hand indicated that you could advance forward. You peered in and saw the USB on the table, two figures with their backs to you. “Shit,” you whispered under your breath and he encouraged you to continue with a jolt of his head. “HYDRA, tattoo on back of his neck.” You also spoke into the comms, talking to Bucky more than the others. A past that would always haunt you both.

“Just take your time,” Bucky said “And don’t be-“

John shot first, he and one of the HYDRA agents catching glimpse of the other. You flipped into the room as John shot one of the agents, the other tried to grab the USB but you grabbed his arm and slammed him to the table, holding onto his arm until it snapped and he cried in pain. You grabbed the USB, along with some paperwork just as sirens blared. “Time to go!” You yelped placing the articles safely in your suit.

Three more agents came out of nowhere, shooting at you both, John instinctively and protectively hid you behind him and his shield. You grabbed the smoke flare from his belt from behind, his mind losing itself momentarily feeling your hand roughly grab hold of him.

You tossed it and white smoke filled the corridor, flashes of light from bullets being fired lit the space. The agents fell. “Stairs to the right!” John said and you followed, being greeted by another barrage of bullets.

“Keep moving,” you pushed John forward as you shot and so did he. “No mercy for them. HYDRA shoot to kill. They don’t want survivors.” You said in a raised voice, competing against the gunshots that subsided momentarily as you made your way through another corridor to get to the stairs.

John unintentionally snorted. “Then why did they take you?”

“State secrets. Different if you’re worth something.”

His features scrunched together, not that you saw. “I am worth something?” He said as if it were obvious. “I was Captain America.”

You intentionally snorted. “Pfft, you’ll embarrass both of us. Don’t flatter yourself, pal.” You pressed forward, a HYDRA agent appearing from out the blue, your leg came up to kick him down the stairs. The two of you had laboured breaths as you reached the top of the boat.

Out of no where, you were ambushed, punched in the stomach and a gun was pointed to your head. “Don’t try anything smart.” He warned both you and John, you both kept hold of your weapons but lowered them in surrender. “You’re more valuable than the information we can get.” He spoke into your ear, your eyes meeting with John’s and faltering for the first time, a weakness seeping into your veins. Those eyes of yours filling with tears as you tried your best not to break before him. “A lot prettier too…” he added licking his lips at you, John’s fist as well as his jaw and chest tightened.

He couldn’t bear to stand it.

‘Don’t’ you mouthed to him. A silent plead.

That was ignored.

In a matter of seconds, the piercing sound of gunfire rang through your ears as John attacked your assailant. You fell to the ground as quickly as the weapons in everyone’s hands did as the two men grunted and punched one another, you heard John wince in pain, the other man groaned.

John found himself on his back, the man with a wicked smile and a knife in his hand ready to plunge into his chest.

That was before a gun fired and he fell limp on top of the super soldier with blood seeping from his body. John pushed the man off him with ease, you were stood panting with the gun in your hand still pointed and freckles of the enemies blood on your face.

“What the hell are you playing at?!” You pushed him back with your hand slapping against his chest. “You fucking asshole! You could have died!”

John held his hands out and walked forward to you again. “Wow, be careful it’ll actually sound like you care about me. Also, you’re welcome.”

You growled, screaming your words. “FUCK YOU! Fuck you, you reckless piece of shit!” You walked to the edge of the boat.

“Calm down, I didn’t die!” He snapped.

You stopped and bit down on your lip, whatever feelings you had earlier being replaced by sheer adrenaline. “That’s not the goddamn point.” You bit out.

“Then what is the goddamn point so I can get back and get a fucking shower!” He yelled and you turned to face him.

“The goddamn fucking point is that I could have lost you!”

“Wel- what?”

Your eyes, still glossy, widened. You tried to compose yourself, ensuring you still had a bitter tone in your voice. “Wh-what? I said we could have lost you!” Forcefully ensuring venom remained laced between your words.

“No you didn’t.” John walked closer to you, practically trapping you between his body and the sea with your back against the railing. “You said ‘I could have lost you’.” The words you had said moments earlier repeated back to you caused a ringing in your ears. “Could bet my life on it.”

You scowled. “I wouldn’t bet your life on anything you’re so disgustingly reckless with it.” You scornfully spat and tired to walk away.

John’s strength pulled you back to the same spot. “No, no, no, this conversation isn’t over!”

“It is, John.”

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut at your words that were indeed getting you into bother now, his first name slipping from your lips like it was always meant to fall from there. “Shit, I meant Walker.” You shook your falling head, hand to his chest again as you tried to push him away still. “I meant, Walker.” You tried to convince him, but it was really yourself you were trying to do that to.

“Y/N…” he softly spoke, closing the space even more by placing his hands on your upper arms.

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked, your eyes looking at him almost piercingly as you managed to escape his hold. “You can’t. Don’t touch me.” You practically begged. “Not when…” you inhaled a shaky breath, taking in the extent of his injuries. “Not when you’re all bruised and bloodied and-“

“You guys good for Evac?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the comms. ‘Saved by the bell’ you thought and then looked at John, looking at you full of lorn. ‘Saved too late.’

“Y-yeah! Good to go.” You replied back, you turned just in time to let a tear fall from your eye and down your cheek.

Little did you know that John had done the same.

The ride back was painfully silent. You didn’t know which was the worser outcome- enduring this with John or being taken again by HYDRA. You kept your distance in the jet but when you made it back to the hangar the car felt like a coffin.

There was no chat, tense, locked jaws and certainly no Mr Worldwide to break the tension.

When you both arrived back to the watchtower, John practically stormed away from you, his hands slamming doors shut that were in his path to his room. The team all shot a concerned looked to one another, all aside from Bucky who was looking at you.

“Couldn’t have pulled us outta there any sooner huh?” You forcefully slammed the USB to Bucky’s chest so hard that it almost broke under your fingertips, the papers you picked up earlier were falling to the floor. He grabbed your wrist, wanting to talk it out with you. “If you didn’t owe me before you sure as hell do now.” You gritted out, reminding you both momentarily of your bitter past with him and HYDRA before pulling your limb from his grip and leaving to go to your room.

The second the door shut behind you, you stood in silence, your body frozen in place. You didn’t know whether to cry, scream, lay on your bed and never leave again.

You opted for neither of those options and instead decided for a hot shower to burn the last few hours off you. It didn’t work, it was like it was etched into your skin. You sighed, weakly pulling on a vest, hoodie and pyjama bottoms with every intention of trying to get some rest.

But you found yourself reaching into a cupboard trying to find medical supplies. “Ah shit!” You snapped as things fell and clamoured around you, your hands fumbling with the supplies.

“Hey what’s the matter? Let me help.” Bucky took things from your hands and placed them neatly into the kit. He had a once over glance of you to ensure it wasn’t you that needed medical attention. And then he smiled to himself. “You’ve finally realised.”

“Realised what?” You huffed out with crossed arms, letting him take full charge of the items that you were going to have to use on John because everyone knew he wouldn’t use them and actually take care of his own self.

“That you can’t stop the feelings you have for him. You like him.”

Hearing those words just solidified and confirmed your feelings, those feelings simultaneously excited and terrified you.

“I do not like-“ you tried to downplay it, act as if he was wrong and had misread the signs. But he knew you better than that and you let out a lungful of air at his unconvinced look at the words you were about to lie through your teeth with. “I do.” An admission finally aloud to you and the world. “Shit, I really do. I was only kidding myself.”

Bucky chortled “You really were, we’ve seen it on your face for months.” You groaned and placed your head in your hands, Bucky grabbed your shoulders and shook them playfully. “Just talk to him. Tell him! I mean you almost essentially did earlier…” he widely grinned and you sent him a deadpanned expression as you gathered the medical supplies in your arms.

You timidly sauntered to John’s room and knocked on the door with your knuckles. “Who is it?” He asked with a voice full of tiredness.

“It’s me, Y/N.”

A moment of nothing but the beating of hearts and the inhale and exhale of breaths passed.

“You can come in.”

You did as instructed and saw him on the bed, he had the same thought process when it came to showering away the last few hours as you did and was currently in his black sweats that lowly rode on his hips. His bare torso like a battleground, his face almost as bad. “Figured you’d be too full of pride and wouldn’t do this yourself.” You said approaching the bed with an arm full of bandages and saline solution wipes. You looked at the empty spot beside him, then to John and back again, silently asking for permission to sit next to him on his bed. He silently replied with a gentle bobbing of his head, allowing you to sit.

You sat with your legs in a basket next to him and unraveled the bandages, tore open the wipes, and cleaned up the fresh crimson cuts between his field of scars. Your fingers desperately trying to trace over every one and take away the pain he once felt from them.

John watched you between his lashes as you delicately took care of him. His heart, heavy and confused on the boat now full of hope and an abundance of feeling cared for.

“I’d like to talk about earlier.” He finally said after around ten minutes of you tending to his injuries.

“No.” You softly, but firmly, replied.

He looked up to you, eyes finally meeting after what felt like decades when in reality it had only been a mere few moments.

“Please.”

His gentle begging tone caused you to cave in. “Fine…” you said placing down the medical supplies and devoting your attention to John.

“I just want to know if you meant it.”

“Meant what?” You kicked yourself for trying to act so blasé.

“What you said.” His voice was firm and you responded in a tone as equal to his.

“Why? To inflate your ego bigger than it is now? This place will be like the house from ‘UP’ if I do.” You shifted, a burst of panic inside John thinking you were moving to leave- that wasn’t the case.

He didn’t know this however and took your wrist with his hand, everything that had build up inside him was rolling off his tongue like an avalanche.

“Because then it shows you actually care about me the same amount I care about you. And I need to know because it’s been fucking months! Months of smelling your perfume in a room after you’ve left and my heart still hoping you’ll be there. Months of wanting to hear you laugh all the time and that’s why I got Alexei that stupid dad joke book as a secret santa gift. Months of antagonising. Months of pinning over you!” His words flowed thick and fast, his free hand flapping around and tears burning his eyes. “If I thought for a second you actually had a piece of me- stupid, reckless, me- in your heart-“

“More than just a piece.” You finally said after the admission of the century, so had to make it fairer with an admission of your own. ”It’s a lot more than just a piece, John.” It was then he realised your other hand was cupped over the one holding onto you, your thumb softly stroking the blooming bruises on his knuckles.

A moment of silence passed. “My ego wants to know how big.” He smirked, you smiled and pushed him playfully.

“You dick.” You mumbled with a lighthearted laugh.

“But in all seriousness. I got a lotta baggage.” He sounded disappointed to admit, his eyes falling to the bed in shame. His personal life was a shambles, everyone knew it and he worried that would be the elephant in the room.

You gently squeezed his hand, capturing his attention again. “I do too. I guess we could help carry each others.” You told him, a mutual understanding of what you would both need to move forward, with your own lives and whatever this was blossoming into. You sighed shaking your head with a dumbfounded smile. “I thought you actually hated me…”

He chuckled “I thought the same.”

“The only thing I hate is the fact I could lose you.” You softly confessed. His eyes gazed into yours, he had looked into them so many times but now seeing something different. Something new. Something that spoke louder than any words.

You saw the same in his.

Then your eyes moved to one another’s lips, the distance between them disappearing when they finally, finally met. John’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, yours got to finally run through his hair, leaving it as tousled as the helmet made it.

The two of you held each other close throughout the night. You were careful not to aggravate any of his -now bandaged- cuts and bruises. John was careful with you as a whole, his arms protectively wrapped around you as you peppered kisses on one another throughout the night.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone.” You warned. “At least not yet.” John softly and tiredly laughed. He crossed his fingers over his chest.

“Cross my heart and hope to not die.”

[cillianate]

ACHILLES, COME DOWN

robert reynolds x fem!oc

02. CONFRONT.

series masterlist

Nieve Parker gets stuck in a bit of a situation

word count: 1k

warnings: NOT EDITED, Bob and Nieve are so corny, arrogant john walker, slight language, thunderbolts spoilers!

please comment, reblog, or dm to join taglist! (specify perm or series)

"Nieve?" John Walker said, breaking the girl out of her loved-up haze.

She broke away from Bob, and then turned to look at everyone else. Nieve hadn't realized she'd been crying until she saw the pitying look on Ava's face.

John looked at the man behind her and said one thing, "Who are you?"

Bob, in all his glory, simply said "I'm Bob."

John asked again, to which he got the same answer, "I told you, I'm uh, yeah I'm Bob."

"Jesus Christ, stop staying Bob," groaned John.

"Who sent you, Bob?" Yelena asked, speaking up for the first time in forever.

"I wasn't sent. Why would I be sent? Were you all sent?"

He replied in his ever-so-nervous tone.

"I'm not sure what's going on here, but you're all exhausting and my job is done," said Ava, who'd barely spoken until now.

"Oh, but you see my job. It's watching you. So no, you're not going anywhere else," Yelena combatted in her thick Russian accent.

In the meantime, Bob's left hand had found purchase on Nieve's arm, soothing it in the way he once had.

"So you're watching her, huh? That's a halfway decent cover for someone stealing Ox's assets," John accused.

"I'm not stealing, she's stealing-" Yelena spoke, before connecting the dots on what had actually happened here.

"Okay. It's clear we've all worked for Valentina in some kind of shadow ops role," she deduced trying to eliminate any conflict and bring the group together so they could think of some solution.

Nieve, having no interest in any of this and already having notified Bucky, stepped her way backward toward Bob, where she then stood by his side, taking his hand in her own and beginning to twist his fingers between hers.

"So what?" John questioned Yelena, as accusatory as Nieve always knew him to be.

"So all of this is Ox's mysteries. But so are we," Yelena concluded.

"Which makes us the unknown liabilities in this," Ava added.

"Speak for yourself," John said. He'd always had difficulty seeing himself as a problem. However, Nieve had a feeling that whatever this experience was would change that about him. She wasn't sure how or why, but she knew it'd happen.

"We're the evidence and this is the shredder. She wants us gone," Yelena argued back, truing to show John that he was not some magical exception.

"Your theory is flawed," John, again retorted.

"Oh, please," Yelena permitted sarcastically, "go on."

John then went on to formulate an entire theory as to why everyone in this vault was flawed, but not him. Nieve almost, almost brought up his divorce, but figured it was probably too fresh, so she kept her mouth shut until someone thought it was right to speak about her.

"Yup, just keep attacking us, John. Didn't you murder an innocent man?" Ava questioned.

"Yeah, and what about her? Why just attack us?" Yelena egged him on.

"Well, I'm sure you already know about her, so it's really not necessary for me to say anything," John said, now resigned like a turtle in it's shell. So what? John had a soft spot for Nieve. This was something she'd discovered long ago. She presumed it was because he knew everything about her past and how she'd been taken.

"Oh I know all about her. The 17 year old girl who was taken and experimented on by Hydra and then got saved by the Winter Solider. How marvelous," Yelena said in her signature sarcastic tone.

Nieve simply hummed.

John, trying to get the attention off of Nieve, simply said "Hey, look. I'm a decorated war veteran, okay? I have a loving wife and a son. Let's be honest. You guys are just cheap mercenaries, alright? So clearly I was supposed to bring you in."

All Nieve could bear to do was give him an eye roll, knowing he's just lied about half of that to place himself in a higher position of power than the girls in front of him.

"That was funny," Yelena said, still laughing

"Thanks," Ava added.

"We needed that," Nieve piggybacked off the two.

"It was getting pretty tense in here for a second," Bob slightly laughed along, trying to place himself in the situation alongside Nieve, who ran her thumb over his hand a little more.

Walker scoffed, then said, "I'm not leaving here without completing my mission. Valentina gave me a clean slate guarantee and I'm not going to blow it. But this weirdo wasn't part of the job, so I need to know: how did you get in?"

Bob, shellshocked with the attention now all on him, said, "I don't remember."

"Excellent answer," the scruffy veteran said. "Alright, tie him up."

"John, no," Nieve finally spoke up.

"Why not, huh? Who even is this guy, anyway! You obviously know him, Nieve. Why don't you explain?" John accused, now taking out his frustration on the first person he could find, who was now Nieve as Ava and Yelena had both switched gears toward examining Bob with their hot eyes as he almost cowered behind his best friend.

"I will tell you when we get out of here."

Just as she said this, Ava walked toward the door, attempting to leave after having been reminded by Nieve's words. However, this attempt proved futile as a loud, shrieking sound handicapped all of their senses, causing Ava to fall to the ground in pain, and Nieve to release Bob's hand.

All of a sudden, the room was illuminated by red and a timer blared through a window that Nieve hadn't noticed before.

1:58

1:57

1:56

Oh God. She had to get out of here.

thank you for reading "confront"!

more to come soon,

xoxo, court

please reblog and comment for reach!

taglist: (reply to join!) @yallgotkik

[cillianate]

Im literally dizzy

𝙻𝙴𝚆𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝚄𝙻𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝚂 𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝚈𝙽𝙾𝙻𝙳𝚂/𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚁𝚈.

Thunderbolts* (2025)

[cillianate]

ACHILLES, COME DOWN

robert reynolds x fem!oc

01. MISSION

series masterlist

Nieve Parker encounters a past lover she never thought she'd see again.

word count: about 1k

warnings: swearing, john walker is a little mean, corny, nostalgia, cigarettes, substance abuse, swearing, use of she/her pronouns

comment, reblog, or dm to join taglist! (specify perm or series!)

As Nieve walked up the steps to the vault, a familiar tingle crawled up the back of her neck, and her hair stood up straight on her arms. Danger, her head screamed at her.

Growing up, she'd always been told to trust her instincts.

And again, when she was 17 and stuck in Hydra, it was always "trust your instincts, and be vigilant, колдунья."

But now, for some reason, her instincts felt wrong. She wasn't entirely sure how to explain it, but something was willing her to go into that vault. At that moment, she needed to be in there. What for, she wasn't quite sure yet, but she guessed she was about to find out.

The face identification pad scanned her face, and suddenly she was more aware than ever. Aware of a slight breeze of air from the vent, and aware of a continuous clicking sound echoing throughout the vault. She made her way into the wide open room, immediately noting that nobody was inside. So, she made her way into a small corner and hid behind a few crates there, waiting for the entrance of her target.

Though, it was less than a moment later that a familiar face walked in. John Walker. A man she'd previously worked with, alongside Sam and Bucky. She didn't especially like him, but she understood his struggle greatly. She'd kept in regular contact with him since they'd last worked together, and checked up on him every once in a while, more frequently now since she'd heard about his divorce.

Most days, it seemed like her calls weren't welcome. But John always picked up, and that was all that mattered. So she kept on calling.

But what could he possibly have been doing there? In the vault? Was he the one Valentina wanted her to kill? She couldn't possibly.

Her thoughts were interrupted as John hid himself. That was strange, she thought. Why would he be hiding if he was here to steal?

Her question was answered as a blond woman strode in just seconds after he'd settled, her gun was pointed out in front of her.

Shit.

She'd been played. They'd all been played.

Somehow, and for some reason, Valentina Allegra DeFontaine had sent a group of some of the world's most powerful forces to eliminate each other.

As John revealed himself to the blond woman, Nieve whipped out her phone and sent her pin to Bucky. And then, she was on her feet, shouting John's name and now halting the altercation beginning in front of her.

"Nieve?" He practically sighed, "what the hell are you doing here?"

But before she could answer, another woman was jumping out from some other location in the room and then another followed.

Suddenly, it was every woman for herself. Plus John.

Gunfire, shank against shield, grunting, groaning, and pumping blood. That was all Nieve could hear.

A woman in a black and white mask had come after her, but all Nieve could feel for her was pity. She was no match for the bizarre, extra terrestrial power she'd been cursed with. Sending out a flash of that power, the woman was sent back, and then an accented exclamation of "Jesus!" joined the slew of sounds.

One thing that Nieve didn't notice, though, was the bright white flash of awakening coming from the corner of the room in the midst of all this chaos.

When the dust settled, only one of them had died.

A voice, one both familiar and unfamiliar to Nieve, spoke from the shadows of the room "Is she actually...."

She flipped around, and all of a sudden she was 15, back in Midtown and back in high school.

Somewhere else, at a different point in time, she was sitting in the passenger seat of an old, red car. A song from before she was born blasted through the speakers, and the smell of cigarette smoke blasted through her nose.

A strong, calloused hand rested toward the top of her thigh, and the wind blew through her hair on the hottest day of the summer.

She had flipped through a digital camera, which was long gone by now, and mindlessly sang along to the song soundtracking this moment.

And there he was right beside her.

He was so young, but this was the oldest he'd ever looked. A layer of stubble fell over his chin, but it wasn't enough to be considered a beard. He wore jeans and a belt, and a navy hat facing forward, but just for the drive.

She was in jean shorts and a bikini top. Her hair was working through drying itself in the wind and her face was covered in new freckles and a pair of sunglasses.

This was the most happy she'd ever been.

In the background of all this, she heard the shouting voice of John and noted the names of the two other women, Ava and Yelena. But she was still trapped there in this memory as she stared at the boy she had loved.

And then, she snapped back into it, and all she saw was him.

Bob.

Bobby.

There he was, staring right back at her, same shellshocked look on his face that she was sure she held, too.

God, she hadn't seen him in years.

Not since she was taken at 17. For her, it'd been eight years, but for him, it'd been much longer, exceeding a decade by now.

She wasn't sure what compelled her to do so, or when she started doing it, but she'd started walking toward him.

In all the chaos, and in all the yelling, all Nieve could see was Bob. All of a sudden, she was a teenager again. Hydra had never happened, she hadn't worked with the Avengers yet, the Blip hadn't happened.

Bob was coming toward her too, and then they were hugging.

And again she was back in that car, the beachy breeze flowing through her hair and the warmth of the sun and the warmth of Bob was on her skin.

Now, everything was just quiet. For once, there was complete and utter silence, and all that Nieve could hear was Bob's thumping heartbeat, more regular than she'd ever heard it.

thank you for reading "mission"!

more to come soon,

xoxo, court

taglist: @yallgotkik (reply, reblog, or dm to join!)

[cillianate]

and jennifer connelly is there too

Look.

If I had a nickel for every time that Lewis Pullman starred in a summer blockbuster as a socially awkward character named Bob, who exists in the same universe as a fighter pilot character played by Danny Ramirez, then I’d have two nickels.

Which isn’t a lot, but it’s really fucking weird that it’s happened twice.

[cillianate]

ACHILLES, COME DOWN

robert reynolds x fem!oc

00. ASSIGNMENT.

series masterlist

Nieve Parker is given an assignment

word count: 400 ish (i know its short sorry! just trying to get the story kicked off!)

warnings: none

please comment, reblog, or dm to join taglist! (specify perm or series!

"Okay, Valentina. Where next?" The girl questioned as she walked out of her flat, covered head-to-toe in a uniform built for stealth. She opened the door to her beaten up 2017 Subaru before her employer answered.

"Theres a warehouse facility, a vault, built a mile down, into a mountain. It stores all of Ox's most important assets. A dishonest operative is... well... intending to rob me. So, I need you to follow the target. Find out what he intends to steal. Your data will be in the system, you'll have complete access. Once you know what he's trying to steal, you have the great light to terminate."

"Who is 'He'?"

"Always such a curious one, Nievey. Don't worry about it, you'll find out soon enough," said the older woman, her tone teasing and deceptive as always. Nieve, with her years of extensive training at the hands of Hydra, and later Tony Stark, could not quite fathom just what- or rather, who Valentina was alluding to. But she knew it was bad, and she knew she better start preparing now.

And even though Nieve held that same skepticism she always had for Valentina, she ignored it and put her car into drive.

After all, what else was she supposed to do?

"You know the drill, then, Nieve. Call me first if you need anything. Sam is in D.C. still, so he'll be harder to reach," said the 100 year old super soldier over Nieve's car radio, his tone tired and overworked.

"I know, Buck. I'll call you if anything goes awry-" Nieve started, though she was quickly cut off.

"Or if-," she cut him off in return.

"Or if I get a sense, I know. Everything's gonna be fine, Buck. I've done this so many times by now. Nothing has changed," she said, mostly to soothe him, but also to soothe herself in a way. That lingering suspicion of Valentina never quite went away, and it was only heightened by her powers.

Bucky, on the other end of the line, had to fight the urge to tell his counterpart everything he'd found out in the last 24 hours. Everything that Valentina had done that the girl he considered his daughter didn't know about.

But, nevertheless, he didn't.

And so she walked right into Valentina's trap.

more to come soon,

xoxo, court

[cillianate]

ACHILLES, COME DOWN

robert reynolds x fem!oc

SERIES MASTERLIST

please comment, reblog, or dm to join taglist! (specify perm or series!

IN WHICH Nieve Parker is confronted with her past while on a death mission, and she isn't sure if she still possesses the same strength she once did...

NIEVE PARKER ROBERT REYNOLDS

twenty - five ('97) thirty - one ('96)

blip status - ✔️ blip status - ✖️

* playlist *

i. me - the 1975

ii. devil i know - suki waterhouse

iii. sexy to someone - clairo

iv. it ain't me babe - joan baez

v. potion - djo

vi. ends of the earth - lord huron

vii. candles - daughter

viii. michiant - bon iver

ix. there, there - radio head

x. fallingforyou - the 1975

xi. achilles come down - gang of youths

xii. call your mom - noah kahan

CHAPTERS . . . 🖨️

00. assignment - published 1 June 2025

01. mission - published 2 June 2025

02. confront - published 3 June 2025

03. escape - published 11 June 2025

04. it's bucky!

05. quick chat

06. tower

07. the sentry

08. the void

09. shame room - I

10. shame room - II

11. shame room - III

12. the new avengers

13. what comes next?

thank you for giving my story a chance!

more to come soon,

xoxo, court 💋

[cillianate]

Winner Takes All

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd/Reader

Summary: Reader is at the base to write an article, everyone's betting if Bob would get a kiss. The squad doesn't know they're already married.

Author's Note: This is part of the Brain Itch Series. Where the fics are very broken and have no start or end but stories that I just wanted out of my system.

Bob didn’t wear his ring on his finger. He always worried that he might lose it. But it was always on a chain around his neck. It was long enough that no one could see it and he didn’t like sharing about it either. Because all things considered, Bob was a possessive motherfucker who didn’t like telling anyone about you. Because what if someone got nosy and wanted to know you more? He couldn't blame them, though. You were simply that amazing.

However, when the conversation came up that there was a possibility that the current Top Gun crew was to be interviewed and their very curated achievements were to be shared with the general public, he couldn’t help but mention you. The war correspondent who had won prizes and was in the running for a Pulitzer. 

Of course, he didn’t tell how he knew you. Just that he thought you would do a good job. 

And now here you were.

Sitting in The Hard Deck, scribbling notes, watching officers around. 

The place was packed. It was bodies against bodies but no one was complaining. Everyone was dancing to a different rhythm but they all seemed to be enjoying it. You were taking in the atmosphere and writing it down in small bullets on your notepad. 

. Continue Reading. . . . Fic Masterlist.

[cillianate]

obsessed with this image

Alexandra and Lily clearly making eye contact and smiling at each other, Charles and Oscar doing whatever it is they’re doing, and the random way Charles and Alex are holding hands. Brilliant. No notes.

[cillianate]

Cake and Candles

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel never forgets your birthday.

Warnings: fluff, reader is implied younger than joel through one piece of dialogue, Joel's love language being acts of service/gift giving, reader had a mom, dad and little brother

ITS MY BIRTHDAYYYY!!!! ellie birthday episode and my birthday being in the same week was too much fate for me not to write this.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It had rained the night before, which meant the alleys smelled worse than usual — sour and metallic, like the city was rotting from the inside out. The puddles on the concrete looked more like oil than water and the sky hung low and mean.

The drop was supposed to be quick. A supply run from an abandoned ration depot near the North Wall to a safehouse two zones over. Painkillers, batteries, something with an industrial chemical label that Joel warned you not to breathe near.

You were three hours in, already soaked through, and the mood had turned to shit.

Joel barely said a word the whole time. Tess did most of the talking, leading the three of you through narrow side streets and broken corridors like she’d lived in the bones of this place for decades. You kept your eyes up, finger close to the trigger. Your boots were too loud, your nerves too exposed.

“Two more blocks,” Tess muttered, crouched beside a rusted-out vending machine. “Then we sit tight.”

You nodded, Joel only grunted.

And you told yourself not to think about it. About what day it was. About what it used to mean.

But you did. Of course you did.

The thought kept coming back like a compulsion: If things were normal, I'd be home right now.

Your mom would’ve been waking you up early — warm kitchen light, the smell of sugar and cinnamon, her telling you not to peek while she decorated. Your little brother would’ve made some half-glued card with stick figures and misspelled words, and your dad would’ve tried to act cool while holding out whatever he'd managed to barter for that year. Cheap jewellery. A book. A cassette tape. Whatever felt like something.

Now the idea of cake and candles made your stomach hurt.

But still. You remembered. You kept track.

You weren’t even sure why anymore.

Tess glanced over her shoulder as you cleared the alley and stepped into the shadow of a half-collapsed parking garage.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, voice low.

You tried to shrug it off. “Just tired.”

But her eyes narrowed, suspicious in that way she got when she knew you were lying but didn’t feel like calling you on it yet.

“Alright,” she said slowly. “But don’t lose your edge. We’re not safe yet.”

Joel gave you a sidelong glance, like he’d caught the lie too.

The handoff went fine. Quick, quiet, almost clean. You met the contact in an old laundromat with half the ceiling caved in. Joel stood near the back, one hand resting casually on his pistol, eyes cold and distant.

You did your job. Took the crate. Loaded the bags. Moved through the checkpoint tunnels without drawing attention.

You didn’t say a word the whole way back.

By nightfall, you were holed up in the safehouse near the old subway tracks. It wasn’t much — one small room, a gas lamp, sleeping bags, and a metal table with one leg shorter than the others. But the door locked, and now that was enough.

Tess peeled off her jacket, wrung out the rainwater, and looked between you and Joel like she was trying to decide which of you would implode first.

“Alright,” she said, grabbing her pack. “I’ve got another deal to check on. You two hold down the fort. Try not to brood each other to death.”

Before she left, she paused in the doorway and shot you a look. Her voice softened.

“You doing okay?”

You hesitated.

You could lie. But something about the way she looked at you — not pitying, not prying, just… knowing — made your throat go tight.

“It’s just a day,” you said finally.

Tess nodded slowly, her gaze flicking briefly to Joel. “Yeah. That’s what we all tell ourselves.”

Then she was gone.

You sat on the edge of the sleeping bag, staring at your hands.

Joel was already at the table, stripping and cleaning his gun with mechanical precision. Every movement deliberate. Detached.

You listened to the sound of metal clicking, cloth brushing steel.

Finally, he spoke.

“You gonna tell me what the hell’s eatin’ at you, or am I supposed to guess?”

Your jaw clenched. “It’s nothing.”

He snorted. “You’ve said less than ten words all day. Even Tess noticed. And she’s usually too busy talking to hear herself breathe.”

You huffed, reluctant, but the words were already pushing forward.

“It’s stupid.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just waited.

You looked down at your hands again.

“It’s my birthday.”

That made him pause. He set the cloth down slowly and looked up. Something flickered in his expression, gone too fast to catch.

You laughed, but it was hollow. “I know. Dumb thing to care about now. I just— I always used to. My family made a big deal out of it. Even when we didn’t have anything. And now… I don’t know. I guess part of me keeps expecting someone to remember. Even though they can’t.”

Joel’s mouth twitched. Not quite a frown. Not quite anything. He looked away. “Birthdays don’t mean much anymore.”

“I know. That’s what I keep telling myself.”

You stood, pacing now, energy suddenly too restless to hold.

“But it’s like… this twisted kind of hope, right? You spend all year just trying to survive, and then one day rolls around and you remember you used to feel important. Used to feel seen. And now it’s just another reminder that you’re alone.”

Joel’s jaw worked.

You didn’t see him move at first — just the rustle of his coat, the sound of the door unlatching.

You turned. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled on his jacket and stepped outside.

You sat in the dark, listening to the wind rattle the window boards. The minutes stretched. You tried not to think about him. Tried not to wonder if he’d come back, or if maybe you’d said too much, crossed a line he didn’t want crossed.

Then the door creaked open and Joel stepped back in, face cold, holding something wrapped in a rag. You blinked as he walked past you, set it down on the table, and unwrapped it slowly.

A dented metal can.

You stepped closer.

Peaches.

The label was torn, but you could still make out the picture — bright orange slices swimming in syrup. It looked like something out of a dream.

You stared.

Joel didn’t meet your eyes.

“Found it near the East checkpoint. Took it off some jackass who was trying to trade it for antibiotics. Almost got himself shot.”

You swallowed hard.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said. “It’s a one-time thing.”

You sat slowly.

He cracked the can open with his knife. The scent hit instantly — sweet and sharp, syrupy and thick. It brought tears to your eyes before you could stop them.

Joel handed you a spoon.

“Happy birthday,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

You looked up. “Thank you.”

You didn’t talk much after that. Just sat and shared the can between you, passing the spoon back and forth in silence. It was too sweet, too sticky, but it tasted like something close to memory.

You should’ve left it there—quiet and safe, something unspoken you could both pretend didn’t matter tomorrow.

But the sugar and the warmth of it, the bitter nostalgia curling behind your ribs, made your guard slip. You stared down at the last peach in the can, barely more than syrup and pulp now, and said it before you could stop yourself.

“Do you remember yours?”

Joel didn’t look up. “My what?”

“Your birthday.”

He stilled. Spoon halfway to the can, hand clenched just a little too tight.

“You don’t have to answer,” you added quickly. “I just— I don’t know. You did this for me. Made me feel like I mattered today. Thought maybe that meant birthdays meant something to you, too.”

Joel exhaled through his nose. The sound was flat. Dry. Almost a laugh, but not.

“They don’t.”

You looked at him carefully. “But they used to?”

He stared ahead like he wasn’t really seeing the room. His fingers drummed once against the table, then stopped.

“Long time ago,” he said. “When things were… different.”

“Family?”

His jaw tightened. You regretted asking, wanted to take it back.

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. The lines at the corners of his eyes looked deeper in the lamplight, carved in by time and grief and things he’d never said out loud.

“Had a daughter,” he said finally. Voice low, rough-edged. “She used to make me pancakes. Every year. Even when she burned ‘em.”

Your breath caught.

Joel didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on some point far away, like the past was something he could still see if he squinted hard enough.

“After… everything,” he said, “I stopped keeping track. Seemed easier that way.”

You were quiet for a long time.

Then he said it. Quiet. Flat. Like something he’d rehearsed in his head a thousand times but never let pass his lips.

“September 26th.”

You felt the air shift. The weight of it settle between you.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Joel didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry.”

He just gave a small shake of his head, like he didn’t know what to do with your sympathy. Like he didn’t think he deserved it.

“I was at work,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “Didn't mean to be that late. My daughter wanted to bake something, asked me to bring a cake home. She was real excited. Kept asking me to stay home that night.”

You didn’t breathe.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, then let it drop.

“Anyway. It was that night."

You nodded, throat tight.

Joel reached out and pushed the last piece of peach toward you with the spoon.

You took it.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For this.”

“Won’t make a habit of it,” he muttered.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You woke before the sun, the cold biting at your nose through the cracked window. The room was dark, quiet — just the soft hum of wind threading through boarded slats. Another day. Another job. You told yourself it was just that.

You sat up slowly, pulling your jacket closer, and tried not to think about the date. But of course you did. The date. It nestled in your jaw like a bad tooth, aching every time your mind circled back.

It was your birthday.

You hadn't told anyone. Not this year. Not after how last year had gone, with Joel’s voice going flat when you asked about his own birthday, the air going still when he’d muttered September 26th, and your stomach flipping when you realised why that date mattered. You hadn’t meant to open a wound — you’d just wanted to share something.

So this year, you didn’t bring it up. You told yourself it was fine. That birthdays didn’t mean anything anymore.

Still, you hoped — foolishly, silently — that someone might remember. That Joel might remember.

“Pack light. We’re headin’ to Bill’s.”

You glanced up from where you were tightening the strap on your boot, heart giving a soft lurch. “Supply run?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt — not exactly a yes, but not a no either — and turned back into the hallway without another word. Typical.

You exhaled slowly. Today of all days. You couldn’t decide if it was a relief that he didn’t remember or if it stung more because you’d spent the last few days nervously rehearsing whether or not to bring it up. Your birthday had crept up again like it always did now — not with excitement, but with that same sharp pang of twisted anticipation that you couldn’t fully shake.

The truck ride was long and uneventful. Joel didn’t say much beyond the occasional grunt when a pothole jostled the tires or a flick of his hand to indicate a change in route. The countryside passed in blur — dead trees, skeletal remains of billboards, rusted-out signs and roads that had long since stopped leading anywhere. He’d said they needed extras. Ammo from Bill, spare wires, maybe some of Frank’s dried herbs.

You kept your face turned toward the window and tried not to count how many birthdays you’d had since the world ended. It didn’t matter.

Bill and Frank’s compound came into view as the sun was dipping into its late-afternoon golden hour, the light casting long shadows across the fence line and orchard. The gate creaked open automatically — someone had been watching. Of course they had.

Bill met you at the entrance like he always did: with a gun over his shoulder and a permanent scowl on his face.

Joel nodded at him. “Need to pick up some things.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bill muttered, but his eyes flicked to you briefly. Something unreadable passed across his face.

Frank, ever the gracious one, stepped out onto the porch and beamed at the sight of you. “Oh, good! You made it.”

You were still pulling your pack off your shoulders when you noticed something strange: the smell. Not just smoke or stew — something sweet. Spiced.

“What's that smell?” you asked.

Frank smiled wider. “Dinner. You’re just in time.”

Joel clapped a hand on your back — that rare kind of Joel-touch that said move along without words — and steered you toward the house.

You turned to him, brow furrowed. “I thought we were here for supplies?”

He didn’t answer. Just opened the front door and motioned you inside.

And then… you saw it.

The table was already set. Not with mismatched tin and rusted forks like you were used to, but with real plates and silverware. Frank had pulled out linens — actual cloth napkins, even candles in old mason jars. There were roasted vegetables, a stew simmering, warm bread, and at the centre of the table — a cake. Small, imperfect, decorated with little wildflowers and what looked like foraged berries.

It took a moment to register. You stared, heart pounding in your ears.

Tess was already inside, leaning back in one of the chairs with a glass of wine, smirking.

Joel brushed past you with a low, almost dismissive grunt. “Figured we’d eat while we’re here. Been a while.”

You stood there frozen for a second too long. You didn’t know what to say. The warmth in your chest warred with the confusion, and just behind it, that flicker of shame — for hoping. For thinking it might mean something.

“Frank,” you said slowly. “What… is this?”

He beamed. “A proper meal. For a proper occasion.”

“What occasion?”

Frank glanced at Joel, then at Tess. Neither of them said anything. Tess just raised her glass.

And you knew.

You swallowed hard. Your throat felt suddenly tight. “Tess,” you said quietly, “Did you—?”

But she cut you off. “You hungry or not?”

The meal passed in a haze of laughter. Frank filled everyone’s glasses with the wine he’d been saving for a “special occasion,” and even Bill joined in with a dry story about nearly electrocuting himself fixing the generator.

You smiled and laughed where appropriate, but your mind kept wandering — back to the cake, to Joel’s deflection, to Tess’s knowing glances.

You still thought Tess had orchestrated it. It was the kind of thing she’d do, drag Joel into playing along.

It wasn’t until later, after the plates had been cleared and Frank had started a record in the other room, something jazzy and low, that you found yourself alone with Tess in the hallway. The candlelight from the kitchen cast her in soft gold, and she was sipping from a chipped cup, arms crossed, watching you with that same half-lidded look she always had when she knew something you didn’t.

“So,” she said. “Nice night.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It is. Sorry I'm just overwhelmed— Thank you, honestly.”

“You think I planned all this, don’t you?” she asked.

You blinked. “Didn’t you?”

She scoffed lightly and shook her head. “Hell no. I just helped Frank make dinner.”

Your stomach dipped.

She tilted her head, her voice quiet now. “This was all Joel. Every bit. He’s the one who remembered,” she said. “He’s the one who asked Frank to make the cake. Told Bill to keep his mouth shut. Hell, he even insisted we make it look casual so you wouldn’t freak out.”

Your heart stopped.

“He said he didn’t wanna make a thing out of it,” Tess added, “But he’s been planning this for weeks.”

You were quiet for a long beat.

“But… he didn’t say anything,” you said, the words a whisper.

Tess’s smile turned a little sad. “He’s not good at saying things, but he remembers.”

Later that night, when the others had drifted off and the music had faded into the background hum of insects and wind in the orchard, you found Joel on the porch. He was leaning against the railing, watching the dark. You stepped beside him, your heart thudding hard enough to drown out the world.

He didn’t look at you when you approached. Just spoke low.

“You enjoy dinner?”

You nodded. “It was perfect.”

A pause.

“You remembered,” you said.

He didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t hard.”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t want to make it weird again, like last year.”

His voice was low. “Wasn’t your fault.”

You turned to him. “Thank you.”

You reached for his hand. You didn’t expect him to take it — but he did.

And then you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, slow, uncertain — but it wasn’t one-sided. Joel met you there, warm and still, his hand brushing lightly against your back like he’d been waiting, too.

When you pulled back, he kept his eyes on yours.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

This time, the words didn’t hurt.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It rained for three days straight.

The kind of cold, spitting drizzle that soaked through your coat no matter how tightly you cinched it, that made your boots squelch with every step. The wind howled through broken barns and trees stripped bare, and every shelter you found smelled like old rot and abandonment.

You trudged through it with your shoulders hunched and your hood pulled low, your boots squelching with each step. Every now and then, Ellie would grumble something under her breath, mostly complaints about the cold, or how the rain made her hair look like a wet mop, or how she was going to die of trench foot.

Joel, as always, didn’t say much. He just led.

You were somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, miles from anything even remotely familiar. The landscape blurred — trees, collapsed fences, skeletal houses too picked over to be worth stopping for. You’d passed a rusted water tower around midday and Joel had muttered that there was a town not far off.

No one said it, but you were all tired. Supplies were low. Joel had slept in fits, always with one hand on his rifle, and you could see the lines at the corners of his eyes deepen by the hour.

Your back ached. Your ribs still twinged from a bad fall two weeks back. You could feel the day’s date sitting heavy on your tongue.

You weren’t sure if he’d forgotten this time. Or if he remembered, and just decided this year, there wasn’t room for sentiment. It was stupid to care. It always was. Especially now. Anyway, it wasn’t like you could blame him. You hadn’t seen anything resembling a candle in months.

Still, it sat in your chest, heavy and hollow and echoing.

You didn’t say anything about it. Not this year. Not with Ellie around, and Joel already stretched taut with exhaustion and responsibility. You hadn't said anything last year either, but back then it had been different — the ghost of a good night with Bill and Frank, a flicker of something soft in Joel’s eyes, a secret truth Tess had given you like a gift.

This year you felt like a burden for even remembering.

By late afternoon, you reached the outskirts of the town Joel had mentioned.

It was nothing more than a collection of crumbling buildings, storefronts with glass long shattered, faded signs swinging in the breeze. A gas station sat caved in at the edge of town. A church steeple leaned crooked over a few blocks like a snapped spine.

Joel’s eyes swept the horizon. “We’ll hole up here tonight. Find shelter, stay outta the open.”

You nodded, too tired to argue. Ellie sighed and muttered something about praying for a haunted mansion.

What you got was a busted-up diner with broken windows, a torn-up vinyl booth, and a kitchen that smelled like grease and mildew. But it was dry, and it had a back room with a door that locked. That was enough.

Joel checked the place with his usual precision — every room, every corner, even the roof. You stood in the center of the kitchen, dripping water, hands shaking with cold, watching the ghosts of an old world flicker in your memory.

You remembered diners.

Birthday pancakes. The sound of your mom singing off-key while stirring coffee. The way candles flickered when the waitress brought out cake with sparklers on top.

You shook your head. That was gone.

You shrugged off your pack and sat on an overturned crate while Ellie stretched out on a dusty counter, flipping through one of the comics she’d scavenged.

Joel stood by the window, arms crossed, scanning the street.

Ellie rolled out her sleeping bag and plopped down onto it with a theatrical groan. “So glamorous. When do the spa treatments start?”

You laughed, sitting beside her and rubbing warmth into your frozen fingers. Joel didn’t smile, but his eyes flicked to you for a half-second.

Then, abruptly, he muttered, “I’m gonna check for propane. Maybe see if there’s any storage behind the hardware store. Stay in here. Lock the door behind me.”

You perked up. “I can come.”

He shook his head. “No. Stay here. Get warm. Lock the door behind me.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You already said that.”

Joel shot her a look and was out the door before either of you could respond.

The rain slowed around dusk. The wind picked up, scraping against the glass and groaning in the walls. He was gone longer than you expected.

The minutes crawled. You tried to help Ellie pass time with a round of card games using a half-destroyed deck she found in a laundromat weeks ago. Her jokes got weaker. Her eyes drooped. Eventually, she curled into her bag, comic book in hand, and let sleep claim her.

But the silence in the room settled heavy. And with every passing minute, you grew more convinced Joel had forgotten.

The funny thing was, you weren’t even angry. You didn’t expect anything — not really. What could anyone do? You were in the middle of nowhere with a teenager, a man whose burdens you could feel like a shadow following him, and enough food for maybe two more meals if you stretched it.

But it still hurt — that tiny, stupid ache under your ribs.

You told yourself you were being childish. That birthdays didn’t matter anymore. That survival was the only thing worth counting.

But then the door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, soaked from the knees down, his coat dripping. He was carrying something wrapped in a tarp and a small dented tin. He didn’t speak right away. Just crossed the room, dropped the bundle near the fire, and lowered himself with a quiet grunt.

Ellie stirred but didn’t wake. The fire crackled. Joel adjusted the tarp and looked over at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

Then he pushed the tin toward you across the floor.

You looked down. “What’s this?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave a nod — go on.

You opened it slowly. Inside, nestled in worn paper, was a chocolate bar. Slightly melted, slightly warped, but real.

You blinked at it.

You blinked at it.

“I—what?” You looked up at him, heart stuttering. “Joel…”

“Found it in an old vending machine. Back by the rail yard.” He cleared his throat. “Still sealed. Figured it might be okay.”

“Joel… I haven’t had chocolate in—”

“I know.”

You stared at him, dumbstruck. Then he reached for the tarp and unwrapped it with deliberate care.

A book. Its spine was cracked but intact, the cover a faded storm-blue cloth with the title in gold: Wuthering Heights.

You gasped. Your hand went to your chest.

“Are you serious?”

He nodded, glancing down. “You told me once. That your mom used to read it to you. I saw it a few weeks ago in some house. Had to double back. Took a while to get to it.”

“You… you went back for this?”

He rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. “I wanted to get you somethin’. I know it don’t fix anything. But…”

His voice trailed off.

You stared down at the book and the chocolate, your throat thick with emotion.

Joel shifted again. Looked at you, then quickly away.

“I know you didn’t wanna bring it up,” he said, voice low, “and maybe you thought I forgot.”

You felt your chest cave inward.

“I don’t know what this day means to you now. But I know it ain’t right that someone your age has to spend it freezing in some busted-up diner with nothin’. You should’ve had… more.”

“I had this,” you whispered. “This is more.”

He gave a dry, almost-bitter smile. “Maybe I just… I’m glad you’re still here. That we’re still here.”

Silence.

Then, hesitantly, like it hurt to say: “I look out for you. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, heart in your throat. “I know.”

“And it ain’t just… ‘cause of Tess. Or the job.”

Your eyes lifted to his. The firelight flickered across his face, deepening every line of sorrow carved there.

Your hand moved to his — fingers wrapping over his, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to say anything else. I know what you mean.”

He swallowed, jaw tight.

You shifted closer and leaned in. Your lips brushed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. A test. A promise. When he didn’t pull away, you kissed him softly — long, tender, and steady.

His hand came to rest on your back, warm and protective, holding you there for just a moment longer.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

You smiled, tears glistening. “It is now.”

Later, after the fire burned low and the storm outside quieted, you curled beside him on your sleeping bag, the book tucked between you, the warmth of his body pressed into yours.

And for the first time in a long time, you fell asleep not with a rifle in your hands — but with his arm around you, your head tucked beneath his chin, the steady thrum of his heart keeping time with yours.

You didn't even care about the jokes Ellie would make.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You knew what day it was.

You didn’t need to mark it on a calendar. It lived in your chest like something raw and coiled, like a bruise you’d pressed your thumb into just to see if it still hurt.

Even in the early years after the world ended, you'd tried to mark the day — a scavenged piece of candy, a lucky pair of socks from a trading post. Something. A way to remember who you were, who you used to be, before the world fell apart and took your family with it.

And then you'd met Joel. And Tess. And Ellie. And for the first time in years, someone had remembered. Joel had remembered.

Although, Joel had said nothing last night. He’d eaten dinner with you like he always did and kissed your forehead on the porch before heading to his own cabin across the way. No words. Just warmth, familiarity.

You didn’t know what that kiss meant anymore. If he kissed you because he loved you, or because it had become habit — part of the quiet routine you’d built together.

Routine had settled into your bones. You worked supply runs twice a week. Helped repair fencing. On Sundays, you took guard shifts with Maria. You had a room in one of the old lodges — warm blankets, real soap, even a bookshelf that you slowly filled with whatever Joel found for you.

You and Joel hadn’t put a name on what you were.

You’d shared nights. Touched hands in quiet kitchens. Kissed, softly, like it might break something inside you both. But life moved differently now — slower, more careful. Sometimes he looked at you like he wanted to say something and couldn’t. Sometimes, you did the same.

It was two weeks before your birthday when you first noticed Joel acting strange. He was quieter than usual — and for Joel, that was saying something. He didn’t meet your eyes as often. His hands lingered on tools longer than needed when you passed them over. He volunteered to help with fence repairs even though Tommy had told him to rest his knee.

And then he did the one thing that gave it away: he started asking questions.

“What kinda food d’you miss the most?” he’d asked one night, seemingly out of nowhere, while you washed dishes in the lodge kitchen.

You shrugged. “Pasta, probably. Like… real pasta. With too much cheese.”

He grunted. “Noted.”

Two days later, he wandered into the rec center where Ellie and a few others were playing cards, and asked what kind of music you liked.

She later told you — with a devilish grin — that he pretended it was about planning a patrol route and needed to know how to boost your morale. Ellie lived to embarrass him now.

But you didn’t say anything.

You didn’t bring up the date.

Last year on the road had meant more than you could put into words — the chocolate, the book, the warmth of his body beside yours. And the year before that, Bill and Frank’s. But this time felt… heavier. Safer, sure, but somehow harder.

Because now you were stable. And that meant facing things you used to avoid — feelings, fears, memories that hadn’t knocked for years.

You let the covers fall off your shoulders and sat up slowly, stretching the stiffness from your arms. You dressed in silence, pulled on your boots and stepped outside.

It was still early. The sky was the color of ash, the town wrapped in the hush of morning. Smoke curled from chimneys in slow spirals. Your breath fogged in the air as you crossed the quiet streets, your boots crunching softly beneath you. A few neighbors nodded as you passed. One of the children in the community handed you a tiny knitted bracelet without a word and ran off. You stared at it for a second before tucking it into your pocket.

You slipped into the warmth of the dining hall, nodding to a few early risers. Maria stood behind the serving counter, already ladling out bowls of oatmeal and pouring coffee.

She spotted you and smiled. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said with a shrug. “Habit.”

Her smile widened just slightly, as if she knew something you didn’t. “Big plans today?”

You blinked. “Uh… no. Just patrol, I think.”

“Mm. Right.” She slid a mug of coffee toward you.

You sat at the corner table, your usual spot, and picked at your breakfast. The oatmeal was warm, sweetened with something, but you barely tasted it.

Then the door opened, and there he was.

Heavy boots. That worn flannel you liked. His hair still damp, his jaw clenched in that familiar Joel way. He walked over to you, slow and purposeful.

“Morning,” he said, voice low.

“Morning,” you returned, wary.

He looked around, then leaned down a little. “Got a job. Maria wants us to check the old supply cabin. South side of the river.”

You furrowed your brow. “That hasn’t been used in months.”

He gave you a blank look. “Still gotta check it.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “On foot?”

“Nah, horses. Not far. But we gotta leave now.”

You stared at him, heartbeat skipping.

“Is this about today?”

His brow furrowed. “What d’you mean?”

“Nothing.” You stood slowly, collecting your tray. “Let me get my gear.”

He nodded, mouth pressed in a firm line. But his eyes lingered on you as you turned away.

It was just the two of you on horseback. The trees lining the trail were coated in snow, branches low and heavy. Joel rode ahead a few paces, occasionally glancing over his shoulder.

It felt normal, and that made it worse. You didn’t know if you were mad at him for pretending today didn’t matter — or mad at yourself for still hoping he’d remember.

But then Joel turned off the main trail.

You frowned. “Joel? This isn’t toward the storage cabin.”

He didn’t look back. “Shortcut.”

“Uh-huh.”

You followed him another five minutes until the trees thinned out and you saw it — a small cabin tucked between two birch trees. Smoke rose from the chimney.

You halted your horse. “Joel, what is this?”

He dismounted. “C’mon.”

You followed, suspicious.

Inside, the cabin was warm. The table was set and steam rose from a pot in the center. The scent of tomato, herbs, something rich and warm hit your nose.

He walked in behind you, rubbing his hands together. “Figured if I tried to do this in Jackson, or if I told you, you'd find some excuse not to come.”

You swallowed hard. “You cooked?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Kinda. Got help from Maria. Ellie made fun of me the whole time.”

He stepped closer, slower now. “I know we don’t always say things the right way. I don’t. But you’re…” He looked down, jaw working. “You’re important to me. And this day’s important. Not ‘cause of cake or candles or whatever. But because you made it. You’re here.”

“Joel…”

He finally met your eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. Still.”

You took a shaky breath. “You remembered my book last year. The chocolate.”

His voice was low. “That wasn’t enough. Wanted to do somethin’. For you.”

“I told you I didn’t need anything.”

“I know. That’s why it matters.”

You blinked back sudden tears.

He stepped closer, voice softer now. “I remember everything about you.”

He took a deep breath, as if deciding something. You looked at him, eyes wet.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small box — old, metal, a little rusted. You opened it carefully. Inside was a ring. Simple, silver, with a faint scratch on the band. It was beautiful.

“It’s not for anythin’ fancy,” he said quickly. “Just… wanted you to have somethin’."

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I love you,” he said, low, like he’d been holding it in for years. “And I’m not good at this. But I want more. With you. Here. However you want it.”

You stepped forward and kissed him, fiercely, your hands curling into his jacket. He held you like he was afraid you’d disappear, his mouth slow and reverent on yours. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He stilled — just for a second — before his arms came up and folded around you.

You stood like that in the cabin’s quiet warmth, holding on.

“I don’t need big things,” you whispered into his chest. “Just this. Just you.”

He didn’t respond right away. But his grip tightened. His lips brushed your hair.

“Then you got me,” he said. “Today. Tomorrow. Long as I’ve got breath.”

Later, after dinner, after laughter and a glass of something Joel had insisted was aged but clearly wasn’t, you sat beside the fire with a blanket draped across both your legs. He rested his hand on your thigh.

And when the fire burned low, and your eyelids drooped, you leaned into his shoulder and let yourself fall asleep there — warm, safe, remembered.

[cillianate]

need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept coming out at some point. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares. 

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly. 

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. 

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything. 

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I’m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body. 

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room. 

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it. 

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing. 

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it. 

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word. 

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good. But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body. 

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible. 

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie. 

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

You groan into your hands, face burning. Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles. 

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

[cillianate]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Title: Take On Me

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x f!reader

Summary: bagels or toast? 4.7k word count

Tags: fluff, anxiety, depression, jealousy, no beta we die like taskmaster.

“Bagels or toast?”

“Uh, it kind of depends on the day and the bagel. I really like toast with butter though, I don’t want to choose. Seems rude.”

“It seems rude to choose between bagels and toast?” you turn your head to the side to face Bob who was lying beside you in your bed. He shrugged without even looking at you with his hands folded and resting on his chest, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. It was roughly some time before 4 a.m and between the faint moonlight and the salt lamp, you had just enough light to see each other.

“Well, how would you pick?” He posed the question back to you and you stared back at the ceiling. He had a point.

“Okay, fine.” you concede. “It is a very hard choice because now they both sound good.”

“We could make toast, you know.” Bob tells you. “Unless you don’t have bread or butter, toast dry with nothing feels like it should be illegal.”

“You’re right, that does sound illegal.” You agree with him and then a thought pops into your head. “Illegal in like, you only get jail time or illegal like federal prison crime?”

“Federal prison.” He answers almost instantly. “Maybe even the death penatly.”

“Electric chair so you can be burnt and dry just like the toast.” You murmur and Bob chuckles besides you quietly, but then it turns into full on laughing.

“Did you just compare someone getting the electric chair to toast?”

“I said what I said.” You say, slowly starting to get the giggle yourself. The two of you had only slept a couple hours before you both became restless. You felt too hot with Bob’s added body heat to the bed and once you started tossing and turning, well Bob woke up too. Neither of you could fall back asleep and so began the game of ‘this or that’ as you stared up at the ceiling. “Should I get those glow in the dark stars and put them on my ceiling?”

“Oh, that would actually be super cool.” Bob gasped. “Like, we could just lie here and point out constellations.”

“You think I’m going to take the time to map out constellations?” You snort. “Plus, I’m scared of heights and get vertigo. So maybe no to the stars.”

“I’ll put them up for you.” He says quickly. “And I’ll even map out some constellations for you.”

“You would do that for me?” You turn your head to look at him again and this time he turns his as well.

“Give you the stars? Of course I would.” he smiles at you in that boyish way that makes you giddy. You roll over to snuggle up to him and he wraps his arm around you and you do the same.

“That would be the coolest thing ever.” you say into his chest. “But can I tell you a secret?”

“Hmm?”

“I couldn’t tell you what a single constellation looks like.” You admit. Bob tilts his chin down, and you feel his mouth against the top of your hair.

“Can I also tell you a secret?” you hum a yes in return. “I don’t know any constellations either.” You sit up, propping yourself up on your arm as you look down at him, barely able to hide your amusement.

“You don’t know any constellations but were going to decorate my ceiling with them?” You giggle and you see him start to join you.

“Yeah, I just thought I would maybe look them up or something and hope you thought I was just that smart.” He shrugged, tracing the arm that was still draped over his stomach with his fingers and sending goosebumps through you. You got that feeling in your chest again, the one you got whenever you thought about how sweet of a guy Bob is. Bending your head down towards him, you capture his lips in a chaste kiss, or what was supposed to be a chaste kiss until Bob pulled you ontop of him. Holding you in place with one arm, he pushed your hair back while deepening the kiss. You can’t help but notice how well your bodies mold to each other, fitting together like two puzzle pieces that can only work next to each other.

“We agreed to slow,” you say against his mouth, but resume kissing him.

“Y-yeah, but I really like kissing you.” he says while squeezing you tighter to him. “It’s nice.”

You laugh against his lips and all too soon you pull yourself away, not wanting to go back on taking things slow. By the way you could feel the growing bulge beneath you, if you didn’t pull away soon slow was not how this was going to stay.

“Come on,” You sit up on your knees and try to pull him up to a sitting position but he groans and you aren’t strong enough to pull him up. “Let’s go see if I get the electric chair or not, I’m hungry.”

“Let me grab my shirt,” He says and begins to look around for the missing clothing.

“If you put the shirt on I put pants on.”

“No shirt, got it.”

******

You make the coffee while Bob makes the toast, you had bagels too so you decide to take him making toast as an answer to your previous conversation. It feels easy existing in the same space as Bob. He butters and stacks the slices of toast, you can tell he is waiting for you to say how much is enough, but you find it amusing and let him get through half the loaf while you pour your coffees and pour the creamer in. When he sees you trying to stifle a laugh he catches on and finally stops toasting the slices of bread.

You once again find yourselves on the couch, eating toast from the stack on the plate in front of you, sipping your coffees, and listening to the music you put on. Instead of sitting apart like last night, you sit close together and your head is resting on his bare shoulders as you both prop your legs out on the coffee table.

“I just want to go on record,” you begin, “that while the toast is good, I also appreciate a good bagel as well.”

“See? That’s my problem.” Bob sips his coffee and rests his head on top of yours. “Like, maybe it's just a bread thing?”

“A bread thing indeed.” You chuckle. “Speaking of, for someone who enjoys bread so much, how are you in such shape? Like you are by far the hottest person I have ever seen undressed.”

“Oh, uh well you know I just exercise.” Bob says, a little nervous but you assume it’s because he can’t take a compliment.

“Like, do you live in the gym?”

“Well I uh, I'm going with my roommates.” He tells you, but he doesn’t sound as relaxed and you can feel him tensing beside you. “My roommate John is really into working out so he makes me go with him, and I guess it’s paid off.”

“I’ll say,” you snort, taking a drink of your coffee. “Next time I have to move I’m calling you and your roommates. If any of them are as fit as you I think we could get it done quickly.”

“M-move?” He asks suddenly. “Are you planning on moving?”

You shake your head. “Well, not right now. But as much as I like this apartment, I miss a house. Or maybe I could be happier with a balcony. Put some plants or some shit out there, you know?”

Bob nods, but stays quiet.

“Like, what if I want a dog? Or a pool? I might want a family one day and this one bedroom apartment won’t cut it.”

“Would you still live in New York?” He asks lowly.

“I like it here, but I don’t know.” You sigh. “I like my home state, but that comes with my family who I guess I will need help from. But that’s complicated. I guess I just want a safe place to call home, to have a family and a dog, and to come home to someone. A better life than I had where they don’t see parents fighting and things getting broken or destroyed. A house where people feel welcomed.”

“That sounds nice.” Bob whispers.

“Do you ever think about that stuff?” You tilt your head up to talk to him. “A family or future where you do better than your parents?”

He chews his lip, deciding on his answer. “I mean, yeah I guess. I just have a hard time telling myself I deserve it.” You take his hand in yours and squeeze it. “I did a lot of shitty things to people because of my addiction. I lost friends, lost trust.”

“You deserve good things though, Bob.” You tell him. “You’re a good person and our past doesn’t always define us.”

“But you barely know me. If you only knew some of the things-”

“Stop.” You tell him firmly. “I’ve been there too. I haven’t always been my best self, but I am better now and make that effort every day. And while I may not know the old you, I know you now.”

“And what do you see now?” He asks hesitantly.

“I see a guy who was nice enough to pretend to be some random girl’s boyfriend so she didn’t have to deal with her ex alone. I see someone who listens and wants to be heard, whether he admits or not. I see a guy willing to make me happy with glow in the dark stars and will toast a whole loaf of bread if I so wanted.”

He laughs dryly.

“I mean it, it seems like little things but those little things make the biggest difference.” You squeeze his hand again. “I don’t know you outside what you’ve shown me, but I’m pretty sure what you’ve shown me is the real you. I can feel it.”

“It is…it is the real me.” He squeezes your hand back.

“Good.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Because I don’t think I can afford another round of therapy.”

******

As Bob walked home from your place he couldn’t turn his thoughts off. Everything felt right with you and it scared him. Waking up with you on the couch after falling asleep again only fed the fantasy in his head of what it would be like to wake up every day with you or greeting you at the door after a long night at work. But was it even possible to have that with you?

You wanted to take things slow, and if he was being honest he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Yeah, he had relationships in the past but they never lasted long enough to have conversations of a future so he felt out his depth when you talked about what you wanted. He wanted the same, but how could he even voice that when you’re supposed to be taking it slow? What if you didn’t want that with him?

Thinking of you finally realizing he might not be what you want has those dark thoughts creeping back in. You were so out of his league and it felt like only a matter of time until you saw that. He didn’t even really have a job, not really. He wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to live anywhere but the tower. Would you be open to living with him there one day? No, what if some danger came to you because of the things the Avengers got caught up in. He couldn’t risk your life. What if you decided you wanted him and a family with him, would they even be safe there? What if-

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

He’s been doing so good, he couldn’t let the other guy seep back in now. He tried to think about all the good things the team would tell him. Alexei telling him he was the best cook when it came to breakfast, and his french toast was the best he’s ever had. Ava playing video games with him and telling him he’s the only one she can play with because the others lose their tempers too quickly or try to cheat. John encouraged him in the gym and hyped him up when he reached a goal. Bucky talking to him about books that he found helpful when he was struggling and saying how he’s glad there’s someone besides himself who likes to read. And Yelena. Yelena was always checking in on him and asking him how he was. She never allowed him to wallow in his thoughts and feelings and would show himm there is more to him than his mistakes.

As he got in the elevator, he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could be worthy of your affection. He is worthy of your affection. Or at least he would try to be, he wasn’t sure if anyone was actually worthy of your affection. But he wanted to be.

“Bob!” Alexei’s booming voice startled him from his thoughts as the elevator doors opened to the floor where all their rooms were. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, uh, hi Alexei.” He blinked a few times, centering himself as the gruff man patted him on the back. “I was at my uh, friend’s last night.”

“Oh, a friend?” Alexei grinned. “Does this friend happen to a girl? Has our little Bob found himself a nice girl?”

“Well, she is a girl.” He tells him, unsure how much he should actually say in case it comes back to bite him in the end. “We’re not exactly dating, but we aren’t…well we aren’t exactly not dating.”

“What?” Alexei exclaimed. “How could she not want to be the girlfriend of the Sentry? Of Bob, the best french toast maker and the only one to wash dishes when the dishwasher is broken.”

Bob winced. “Well, uh, I haven’t told her about the whole Sentry thing.”

“What?” Alexei threw up his arms in disbelief. “How could you withhold such cool information? You should tell her, she’ll wantt to be more than friends after that.”

“I-I don’t want to tell her, n-not yet.” Bob can feel the panic start setting in. “If…if I tell her about Sentry then I have to tell her about the other guy. I can’t.”

“Bob,” Alexei rests a hand on his shoulder. “Do you like this girl?”

Bob nods.

“Do you want to be with her?”

Bob chews his bottom lip before hesitantly nodding his head, avoiding looking at Alexei.

“Then you should tell her, lay all the cards out on the table and let her decide.” Alexei shrugs.

“What if she decides she doesn’t want me?” Bob asks, chest and throat feeling unbearable tight at the thought of you not wanting him.

“Then she’d be a fool to let you go.” Alexei pats his shoulder, unaware this is the closest to a fatherly moment Bob has ever received.

“Thanks Alexei. I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he says and turns to walk away, before turning back around. “Lena was looking for you by the way.”

******

You were lying in your bed and scrolling the internet. The promise you made to yourself after Bob left to be an actual person today was instantly broken when you got out of the shower and realized you didn’t feel like doing anything. So now here you are, becoming an online expert on some subject you weren’t even aware of thirty minutes ago.

A text notification popped up, breaking you from whatever spell the internet had you under. Seeing that the text was from Bob you couldn’t help but smile and opened it instantly.

‘Hey, I know you said slow and we just saw eachother but would you be interested in going out this saturday with me and my roommates?’

His roommates. He wanted you to meet his roommates. You weren’t sure if you were excited or scared, but you did feel flattered that he wanted his roommates to know about you. There wasn’t anyone in your life outside of your coworkers who you talked about your dating life with.

‘I may be free.’ You text back and await his reply.

‘I can come by before and we can head over together. Would that be okay?’

‘Tell me what time and I will be ready :)’

******

Nervous wasn’t a big enough word to describe how you were feeling. Somehow the two of you had had breakfast twice together, kissed multiple times, cuddled on the couch and your bed, have had sex on your couch, and have showered together and fucked in the shower but never had an actualy date. Did the park count as a date? You weren’t sure. Regardless, no official date and here you were meeting the people he lived with.

You had a couple days to process this and even think about what you might do with your hair, your makeup, and what to wear. Yet, here you were changing your outfit for what felt like the fifth time now. You decided this was the last outfit change and whatever you put on next would have to be what you walked out the door in.

Rummaging through your clothes on your bed in only your underwear that you may or may not have picked out hoping it would get seen by Bob tonight, you find your black mini skirt and decide to slip it on. Cool, now a shirt was next. Checking the time on your phone you knew he would be here soon. Rushing, you grab a Bruce Sprinsteen t-shirt you forgot you had and throw it on. You adjust the outfit and tuck the shirt into your skirt and decide you like the look but realize tights might be needed as it was still a little chilly tonight. Undoing your outfit to add tights and then re-assembling it all together again, you clear the clothes from your bed and find your black boots all before the knocking comes at your door.

You definitely don’t almost trip and sprain your ankle to answer the door to a shy Bob who looks especially handsome. His hair is tucked behind his ears and you know he tends to do that when he is stressing over something, but it doesn’t take away from how good looking he is black jeans and gray sweatshirt. A combination that is now a favorite in your head.

“Hi,” you greet with a little too much volume.

“Hi,” he smiles before looking at your outfit. “I uh, I like your t-shirt.”

“Oh thanks,” you say back suddenly feeling shy and awkward. “Let me just grab my purse and jacket and we can go.”

“Sure thing,” he steps inside, closing the door as you track down your jean jacket and purse and nearly forget your phone before walking out the door. The two of you don’t say anything as you walk out of your building, except for Bob informing you it isn’t that far of a walk, but you can tell he feels just as nervous as you.

You make it nearly a block before you break the silence.

“So, your roommates.” you say, not elaborating more than that as you didn’t know where you were going with it.

“Yeah, they’re excited to meet you.” he says, hands in his jean pockets. “They uh, are pretty interested in the only other person I talk to besides them.”

“Oh yeah? What have you told them exactly?” You ask him, mostly because you want to know if he says you’re a friend or more than that. Evening with the sun just having gone down, you can see his cheeks turn red.

“I, well I did tell them we were friends.” He says quickly. “I didn’t want to say anything more than that in case, you know, they decide to be overbearing about it and plus I uh, I didn’t know what else to call you.”

You nod, not saying back as you think about what he chose to tell his roommmates. You aren’t sure if you wanted me to tell them the two of you were more than friends or not. You were friends, but you weren’t exactly dating. But you were more than friends.

“Was…oh shit was that okay?” He stops walking and so do you when you realize. He looks panicked, running a hand through his hair and you can hear him mumbling to himself. You feel bad instantly, you weren’t trying to make him feel guilty.

“Hey,” you try to get his attention, taking his hands in yours but he is looking everywhere but you. “I know I said I wanted to take things slow, and I do. You can tell them what you feel is right.” His eyes finally meet yours and you offer him a smile. “Just so you know though,” you step further into his space, close enough that you can smell a hint of cologne which is new, “I wouldn’t have been upset if you said we were more than friends.”

“Really?” His eyes gleam and you smile brighter at the sight.

“Really.” You say before rising to your tip toes and pressing a kiss to cheek where light stubble has started to grow since the last time you saw him. You hold his hand as you begin to walk again and though he seems a little more relaxed, you can tell there is something that is still on his mind.

When you're a little more than two blocks away, Bob finally broaches the subject that's been bothering him this whole walk. Slowing your pace, you feel him squeeze your hand a little harder as he finally speaks.

“So, uh, my roommates. I never really told you much about them.” He begins. “It’s not because I don't want to, it was just that…well…”

“Just what?” You ask, using your thumb to gently stroke the back of his hand. You hear him let out a deep breath.

“The reason I haven't talked about them is because they aren't just any roommates. They're uh, they're the Avengers.” He finally says and you stop in your steps, pulling Bob back by surprise due to your joined hands.

He eyes you carefully and he looks like a kid who just told his parents he has a project due tomorrow and needs to go to the store for supplies. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in before you speak. “When you say the Avengers…”

“Uh, well I guess the proper title would be the New Avengers?” He says it as if it was a question. “But yeah, I live with them. We all live together.”

“But you're a civilian,” you say in disbelief as you try to wrap your head around this. “You said you were their assistant. Are you their assistant?”

“Yes, in a sense. It's, uh, more complicated than that?” He winced, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I swear I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. I just didn't know how to bring it up.”

“Wait, what exactly do you do?” You weren't upset, not really. You just wanted to know what you were getting into. “I just want to know what exactly I'm walking into. Are you like a secret superhero?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” He shakes his head quickly.

“Are you a spy? Do you go off on top secret missions?”

“No. I don't go on any missions.”

You raise a brow, chewing your lip as you try to figure out what is going on. “Will you go on missions? Are you training? Are you like a super soldier like Captain America?” your eyes grow wide at the other possibility. “Oh my god, are you even from Earth?!”

Bob pulls you off the sidewalk and in front of a storefront where not so many people can hear you talk. He puts both hands on either side of your arms and he looks desperate when he looks at you.

“Please, please believe me when I tell you I was never trying to keep this from you because I was trying to trick you or anything.” His eyes are pleading as he swallows harshly before continuing. “I'm not a hero, I'm not from outer space, and I was part of some experiment that was supposed to make me better, but I don't think it did.”

“What does that even mean? Do you have powers?” If anyone else was telling you this, and if you weren't personally affected by the snap, you wouldn’t believe any of this. “Bobby, just tell me something.”

“I want to, I really do but I don't know how.” He says exhausted. You take a step forward and wrap your arms around his middle.

“Just give me what you can.” You say just loud enough for him to hear.

Bob wraps his arms around you, clutching you like you might run away if he doesn't. He nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck and you try to ignore the goosebumps it gives you.

“It changed me, but I haven't been able to do what it did more than once.” What he tells you is vague, but you come to terms this might be harder than you realize for him. “I could do things that a normal person couldn't, but I haven't been able to since we discovered it. I'm not harmful to you, I could never harm you. I promise.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead as he pulls away, looking not much better than before he told you all of this. You reach up to stroke his cheek and he leans into your palm with closed eyes.

“Promise you'll tell me more when you can?”

“I promise.” He nods, and you give him a small smile before taking his hand back and the two of you continue walking.

The rest of the walk over you replay every interaction you have ever had with Bob over in your head. Did he have some kind of power you weren’t aware of? Was there something different about him you didn’t clock that you should’ve? He seems so normal, well outside his anxiety and low self-esteem. Nothing was standing out to you and you hated how you couldn’t just let it go.

When you crossed the street to the bar, you shook all thoughts of superpowers from your head. You were about to meet his friends and you wanted this to go well for Bob’s sake and a little bit for you too. Bob held the door open for you like a perfect gentleman. The bar had a decent amount of people, it was a typical dive in every sense but over in the corner had a setup for karaoke. There was a high top near the corner and you instantly recognized Bucky Barnes.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hitting Bob on the arm with the back of your hand. “It is totally just hitting me that you know Bucky Barnes.”

“You, uh, know Bucky?” He asks and you swear you could hear him deflate slightly.

“I voted for him, of course I know him.” You informed him. “Also, who doesn’t know Bucky Barnes?”

“Yeah, he’s got a lot of fans,” he muttered. You shot him a side glance as the two of you got closer to the table. He looked as if he was in his head, telling himself the worst things about your excitement towards Bucky. You reached for his hand, squeezing it tight and giving him a wink when he looked down at you.

“While that may be true, I’m your number one fan.” you smile up at him through your lashes. “So whenever you gain a following, no one will ever be as big a fan as me, got it?”

The way his eyes brightened at your words made your heart stutter a beat. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on top of your head.

“Got it.”

“Good. Now let's get over there. I think that big guy just spotted you.”

[cillianate]

guys... theyre so in love

Isn't it romantic to kiss in mid-air? You might fall but Sentry can catch you again or use telekinesis

[cillianate]

style - john walker

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

summary: on the car ride home following a mission-induced fight, john and his mission partner find themselves embraced by chance and taylor swift!

tags: fem!reader, use of she/her, implied no olivia, john is working on himself, taylor swift, corny, song fic, two idiots in love, john walker needs a hug, fluff, fight with happy ending

word count: 1.2k

authors note: this is entirely self service. i love this man so bad. goodnight. also if theres a mistake in the tense im sorry i originally wrote this in second person

“Just cut it out, John! I’m not a child and you’re not the boss of me!” She shouted to the man trailing the pavement behind her.

“I’m not trying to control you, I just want to keep you safe,” said the man, his eyes pleading, unknown to her, practically stomping toward his beaten up pick-up truck.

"Whatever, I can keep myself safe," she said, as she stepped onto the wedge of the truck, opening the door and pulling herself in. The several occasions on which she'd reassured John of her well-trained skills came to mind, and she couldn't help but be frustrated with his lack of understanding for her desire of individuality.

Dejectedly, John walked around to the drivers side of the truck, climbed in, and turned the key in the ignition before he stole another glance at her. Now settled into her seat, her eyes blazed forward. More than ever, John wished he hadn't blown up at her, or undermined what he knew she was capable of.

Through a break in the hair hanging over her face, she saw him steal a desperate glance her way, but in this moment, she wasn't ready to talk.

Nevertheless, there she sat side by side on the bench seat of his car, the faint hum of some 2000s song playing from the radio, still on the same station she'd left it on earlier. She knew he wouldn't change it, but god, did she wish he would. She wished he'd give her something to hate him for.

John looked as though he'd say something, maybe apologize. It was clear that he didn't think it was the proper time, though, because he hastily buckled his seatbelt and shifted the pickup into drive.

This was going to be an awkward ride. That was all John could think as he was exceeding the assumed limit of 65 on the freeway. In that moment all he wanted to do was pull his truck onto the shoulder, step into the street, and just stand there.

He figured anything could be better than the look she was giving him and the abundance of disappointment rolling out of her in waves and seeping into his pores.

He knew he was wrong for doubting her. Its something he caught himself doing often. Sure, he was working on it. Ever since Lemar died, and ever since he'd found his family in the Thunderbolts, he knew something had to change. His attitude before had been too sharp, and too trying. But her, sweet, beautiful, gracious her, had seen something in him that even he hadn't. She saw the kind and gentle man he was now seeing himself become.

To waste the chance she'd taken on him would be the biggest regret of his life.

John was rudely awakened from his thoughts as the radio sputtered to a commercial break in between its rampant frequency of 2010's white girl pop. It was all he found himself listening to nowadays. It was her favorite.

The broadcasters voice faded out as an all too familiar one faded in. Taylor Swift, he realized early on, was her tried-and-true. On countless nights he had caught her swirling about the kitchen with the singer's earlier albums soundtracking her activities.

And every once in a while, he'd join her, twirling her in his grasp and laughing alongside her, shackling the memories tightly to the front of his brain, sure to stay there for a lifetime and longer.

He noted the familiar tune, the chorus playing in his mind in place of the title, which he wasn't sure of.

But as he replayed this tune in his head, with nothing better to do, he noticed a faint humming. A humming that wasn't in the aspects of the song that he remembered after listening to it with her on so many late nights.

Slyly, he glanced out of the corner of his eye toward her.

No, her mouth wasn't moving, but there was a secondly present hum of the melody. One that John thought was beautiful.

Before he could process what the hell he was doing, John was reaching forward for the volume level with a smile on his face.

The way to a girl's heart is Taylor Swift. That was something she'd had told him on several occasions. And while her music wasn't exactly his thing (him much preferring the smooth tone of Springsteen), he'd listen to an eternity of Taylor Swift if it meant cheering her up and weaseling his way back into her heart. Hell, he'd even sing what half he knew of the lyrics and make up the others just to hear that laugh of hers.

And thats exactly what he did.

As the pre-chorus came, John sang as confidently as he could, louder than he intended, but sang, to say the least.

"You got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt, and I got that— I dont know any of the words—" he sang-spoke.

And finally, a laugh of sorts emerged from between her lips, her eyes holding the weight of both shock and love.

"What are you doing?!" She shouted over the music, which rested at three-fourths of the way to its max. A giggle still intertwined itself with her voice.

Any anger from earlier was completely forgotten, stored away for a later conversation. For now, she was just side by side with the man she found herself growing to love, who just didn't know it yet.

"I'm singing! Come on, you love this song. You know you want to," He said, his eyes on nothing but her. Probably not a wise choice, but he wasn't sure he cared. All he could focus on was the smile that finally reached her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, and the joy now seeping out of her and into him.

She sent a cheeky smile his way for the final time, before screaming along to the ever-repeating lyrics of the chorus alongside him.

"Just take me home

Yeah, just take me home

Cause we never go out of style,"

Her window, which had been rolled down prior, now casted her in the scene of some rom-com. The orangey lights of the highway tunnel fixed themselves perfectly across her face and across John's, too.

As they screamed the lyrics together, she felt inclined to stare at him.

He stared back, with what seemed like love.

She didn't want to think about what would happen when they got back to the tower.

She didn't want to think of the way she'd been mad at him just moments before now.

All she was content to do was sit and scream here with him.

So, no, he wasn't hers.

No, she wasn't sure if he ever would be. She'd yet to work up the nerve for that.

Maybe a red light would wreck this moment and bring them back to reality.

But maybe it wouldn't. Maybe the lights would make themselves green and open up the world for them.

But if all she could get from him was a few late nights like this, blanketed in bliss and hoping for more, then fuck all the fights and fuck anyone who had anything to say about it.

In that moment, John was hers, and she couldn't help but think that he always would be.

okay hope y'all enjoyed bai!

@hiddlestuns on twitter