delulugirly7

[delulugirly7]

Love Island!Bucky (Pt. 2)

pairing | love!island!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | The next morning, instead of questioning bucky, the girls paint you as the problem — the messy one who blindsided sharon and stirred the pot. the judgment builds. the energy shifts. Then comes the dumping. Three girls vulnerable. One will go.

a/n | guys omg, I did not expect so much love for the love island headcanons lollll, anyway I went hella overboard for this

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist 🩵

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1

divider by @cafekitsune

The Next Morning 🌅

Cue soft acoustic guitar and wide drone shot of the villa bathed in early morning sunlight.

Iain Stirling (voiceover): “It’s a brand new day in the Love Island villa, and after last night’s emotionally devastating, slow-motion, whisper-in-the-dark, Soul Ties-level drama, you’d think things might have calmed down…”

Cut to you and Bucky, asleep and cuddled up in Soul Ties. 

“But no. Because this is Love Island, and peace is just a rumor.”

Cut to the girls’ dressing room, where tension is spreading faster than MJ’s lip gloss.

“Elektra’s getting ready to look flawless while ruining someone’s morning. MJ’s in her usual position — two inches from drama. And Trish? Trish is there because no one wants to be the third wheel and the fourth wall.”

The dressing room is thick with hair spray and tension. Sunlight filters through the windows, casting golden lines across countertops cluttered with makeup bags and hair tools. 

Elektra sits at the center vanity like it's a throne, legs crossed, one brow arched as she slowly runs a brush through her hair. Her voice is soft, almost casual — which makes it sting worse.

“I just think it’s wild,” she says, watching her own reflection with amusement. “Bucky brings Sharon back, and now he’s creeping into bed with her like it’s nothing?”

MJ lets out a gasp that practically echoes off the tile. She's leaned close to Elektra, glossing her lips and pretending she's not dying to be the one spilling the tea. “Wait, they were actually together last night?”

Trish, sitting behind them and stretching like she hadn’t been up for an hour waiting for this conversation to kick off, nods like it pained her to confirm. “I heard he left the bed after lights out. Went straight to her. Didn’t even try to be subtle.”

Elektra gives a low, theatrical laugh. “Please. That girl’s been crying all week — now she’s in Soul Ties with Bucky again? She’s been playing the victim card like it’s her job. It’s giving... manipulative.”

“And Sharon?” MJ adds, voice pitched to sound sincere, but there's that edge in it — the same one she always has when she wants someone to look bad. “She’s literally so sweet. Like, she did nothing wrong.”

“She got blindsided, that’s what happened,” Elektra mutters, tossing her brush onto the counter. “And that one—” she doesn't even say your name, just nods toward the door, “—knew exactly what she was doing.”

“She’s not even subtle about it,” Trish says. “I mean, don’t act like you’re above the mess and then go sneak a boy out of bed.”

Elektra’s lips curl. “Exactly. Some people talk about loyalty like it’s a brand — but clearly she’s only loyal when it benefits her.”

Across the room, Ororo stands by the mirror, arms folded as she slowly applies her moisturizer, not once looking in their direction. Karen sits nearby, silent, eyes fixed on her reflection, jaw tight. Neither of them says a word — but the air around them has changed. They heard every syllable.

“I swear,” Ororo mutters under her breath once the others are too busy giggling to notice, “if she says one more word...”

Karen leans in slightly. “She’s poking for a reaction. They all are. Don’t give it to them.” Then, quieter still, “But we’ve got her back. No matter what.”

You push open the dressing room door with one hand, the other tugging the hood of your sweatshirt further over your head. You don’t say anything — not “morning,” not even a nod. You just walk in with your face mostly hidden, body language tight, and that stiff, quiet air of someone who’s not sure whether they want to cry or scream.

You feel the eyes on you immediately. Not all of them. But enough.

You can practically hear them stop talking.

You know what they’re thinking. You know what you’re thinking — and that’s the worst part.

You're still torn. Still bruised.

He came back with another girl. But then he left her bed, broke the rules, and found you. Held you. Slept beside you like nothing in the world could’ve pulled him away.

So what the fuck does that mean?

You’re still figuring it out when Elektra says, without even turning fully around, “Well. Looks like someone had a wild night.”

You stop in your tracks. You don’t look at her — not yet. But your voice is clear when it comes out.

“Don’t start. Not this early.”

There’s a pause. MJ tries — tries — to stifle a reaction. Trish looks up from her water bottle, waiting.

But Elektra? She’s already smiling. Not wide. Just the kind of smile that says she was hoping you’d bite.

“I’m just making conversation,” she says lightly, flicking her mascara wand up through her lashes. “Didn’t realize that was off-limits now.”

You let out a short laugh through your nose. Dry. Exhausted. “You know what you’re doing.”

Elektra glances at you in the mirror, her tone casual. “What? I can’t ask about the villa’s newest and most confusing love triangle?”

Karen, sitting nearby, shifts slightly — not looking up, but her grip on her brush tightens.

Ororo doesn’t even pretend to ignore it. She turns her head, calm but watching.

Elektra continues, voice cool. “Bucky brings Sharon back from Casa, and not even twenty-four hours later he’s cuddled up with you like it didn’t happen. But sure, I’m the one being messy.”

The way she says it — soft, deliberate — isn’t loud. Isn’t obviously cruel. But it’s sharp. She doesn’t need volume to cut deep.

You lift your head finally, just enough for your eyes to meet hers in the mirror.

“You don’t care about Sharon,” you say flatly. “You just don’t like not being in the middle of the drama.”

Trish stifles a breath. MJ goes quiet.

Elektra doesn’t blink. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be saying anything.”

“You’re not saying anything helpful,” you shoot back. “You’re stirring shit you know nothing about.”

Elektra leans back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, eyes locked on yours through the mirror like she’s bored, but her smile is too precise for that to be true.

She shrugs, slow and cool. “Hey, if you can dish it out, you should be able to take it.”

You squint at her, that dull throb in your temples starting to flare.

“Dish what out?” you ask, voice quieter now, but sharper. “You’ve been talking shit since you walked in this villa.”

“I’ve been asking questions,” Elektra says innocently, setting down her mascara wand like she’s so done with this. “If that gets under your skin, maybe there’s something worth unpacking.”

Ororo makes a sound from across the room — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Karen just tilts her head down, like she’s reading the label on her moisturizer just to keep from rolling her eyes.

You open your mouth to say something else, heat rising up the back of your neck —

And then the door opens.

Sharon steps in quietly, wrapped in her robe, makeup-free, her expression open and uncertain. She looks around the room, her eyes scanning like she’s stepping into something she wasn’t invited to. Her brows knit just slightly, but she keeps her posture calm.

“Hey,” she says gently. “I just need a few minutes to get ready. Is the shower free?”

Elektra is up like clockwork — the switch in her tone almost whiplash-inducing.

“Yeah, of course, babe,” she says, turning to face Sharon with the perfect balance of warm concern and subtle drama. “You okay? You look kind of... off.”

Sharon hesitates, just a second too long. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Elektra gives her a soft, pitying look that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. I would think so. Must be weird trying to sleep while your guy’s out in another bed.”

That lands like a pin drop.

You lift your head immediately, expression tightening.

“Elektra,” you warn, voice low, but she waves it off like you’re being dramatic.

“No, I’m just saying,” she continues, still looking at Sharon, voice all faux-sympathy. “I’d be pretty torn up too. First night in the villa and he’s already moving on. That’s... brutal.”

You step forward, pulse spiking. “Don’t do that. Don’t put this on me.”

Elektra finally looks at you — not angry, not loud — just surgical.

“You went off with him. While she was still sleeping in his bed. After everything. That’s not just messy, it’s fucked.”

Sharon shifts slightly, her face still composed, but there’s something behind her eyes now — not shock, just quiet confirmation that she’s already been thinking everything Elektra’s saying.

You take a breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t like that.”

Elektra lets out a breath of disbelief. “Oh come on. You think that makes it better? You’re not stupid — you knew what it looked like.”

You glance at Sharon — and the worst part is, she’s not glaring. She’s not accusing. She just looks... tired. Like she’s trying not to feel humiliated.

And now, you feel sick.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” you say quickly, eyes still on Sharon. “I didn’t plan any of it. He came to me. I didn’t even know he would.”

Elektra scoffs. “Yeah, but you let him stay.”

Silence.

No one says a word. MJ’s frozen mid-makeup swipe. Trish has stopped pretending she’s not watching.

Ororo stands by the sink, arms crossed now, expression unreadable. Karen meets your eyes from across the room — no judgment, but concern. She knows this isn’t black and white.

But Elektra just tilts her head, all soft venom.

“You can do what you want,” she says sweetly. “Just don’t act like you’re the victim anymore. Not when someone else is standing right there.”

You stare at the floor for a second, jaw clenched, vision hot.

Elektra’s words hang in the air like smoke, still curling around the room, seeping into everyone’s silence. Sharon doesn’t say anything — she’s polite like that — but you can feel the judgment twisting, building, pressing against your chest like a weight.

You laugh once — short, sharp, humorless.

And then it just snaps.

“You know what?” Your voice is low, but it cuts through the room like a blade. “Go ahead. All of you. Dogpile on me. That’s clearly the game today, yeah?”

You look up, eyes bright and full of fire now. “Like I wasn’t the one standing at that firepit yesterday in front of all of you looking like a fucking idiot. Like I wasn’t the one humiliated on national fucking television while he walked in with someone else.”

No one says anything. MJ shifts her weight like she wants to disappear. Trish stares at the floor.

You keep going, voice steady but shaking from the sheer force of everything behind it.

“And now I’m the bad guy because I didn’t shove him off me in the middle of the night? Because for one second I wanted to feel like I didn’t imagine all of it?”

You glance at Sharon again, and your voice softens — not apologetic, but real.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. And I’m sorry that you did. But I’m done pretending like I’m the one who fucked this whole thing up.”

You look back at Elektra, finally meeting her eyes head-on.

“You wanna play girl's girl? Cool. Just don’t rewrite the story like Bucky didn’t make the mess. You all wanna call me messy, but none of you have had the balls to say anything to him.”

But Elektra says nothing now.

Because you’re right. And everyone in that room knows it.

You exhale hard, rubbing your face once, then shake your head. “I’m done with this shit.”

And you walk out — hoodie still up, heart still bruised.

You find the staircase that wraps around the back of the villa — barely used, tucked between two walls where the cameras can’t quite catch a clean angle. You sit on the third step, legs pulled up, arms resting on your knees, trying to fold in on yourself like maybe you could disappear if you got small enough.

It’s quiet. For a few seconds. Then soft footsteps approach.

Ororo and Karen don’t say your name. Don’t announce themselves. They just stop a few steps down, careful not to crowd you.

Karen crouches down beside you, her expression gentle but serious. Ororo leans against the railing, arms crossed lightly, watching you like she’s waiting for you to look up first.

You don’t.

Karen’s voice is soft. “Are you okay?”

You laugh. Not because it’s funny. Just because what else are you supposed to do?

“No,” you say. Quiet, but real. “Seriously—no. I’m not.”

You finally lift your head, and the way your voice cracks a little as you speak again makes Karen reach for your hand instinctively.

“I have no fucking clue what’s going on anymore. I don’t know where I stand with him. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. One second I’m being embarrassed in front of everyone, and the next he’s sneaking out to hold me like—like that didn’t happen.”

Your eyes glass over, and you blink hard.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind. Everyone’s looking at me like I’m the bad guy, and I don’t even know what I’m defending anymore. I’m just… so fucking tired.”

Ororo still hasn’t moved. She’s quiet for a beat, then says softly, “You’re not crazy. You’re in the middle of something real, and people forget that just because it’s on camera.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, well, it feels crazy.”

Karen squeezes your hand gently. “You don’t have to have it figured out right now. You just need space to feel it.”

Ororo steps forward, finally, kneeling on the step just above yours.

“You’re not alone,” she says simply. “You never have to be.”

You exhale slowly, pressing your knuckles to your eyes for a second before letting your hands drop back into your lap. The weight in your chest hasn’t shifted, and your voice is quieter now, like you're already tired of hearing yourself talk — but it needs to come out.

Karen tilts her head gently. “What… actually happened last night?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking between her and Ororo. There’s no pressure in their faces. Just space. Space to be honest.

You finally speak.

“He found out I was sleeping in Soul Ties,” you say, voice low. “And then… after everyone went to sleep, he came out.”

You stare down at your hands. “Didn’t say much. Just got in behind me and held me. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

Karen watches you closely, her brows pulling together just slightly.

“He said he didn’t care if he wasn’t supposed to. That he couldn’t sleep knowing I was out there alone. And then he…” You trail off for a second. The words feel heavier in your mouth than they did in your memory. “He said some things before that. About how he didn’t think I’d pick him. About how he made the wrong choice. And then… we kissed.”

Ororo’s expression shifts subtly — not shock, not judgment. Just concern. Like she knows what’s coming before you even say it.

You let the silence hang for a second longer before your voice comes back, brittle and quiet.

“That was it. That’s all that happened. But—”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek before the rest tumbles out.

“Words are cheap. Anyone can say nice shit when they’re lying next to you at two in the morning. What matters is what they do when the lights are on. And all I’ve seen so far is him choosing someone else and me being the one who looks pathetic.”

You blink again, hard.

“I feel like the biggest piece of shit. Like I let myself be played again. And now Sharon’s hurt, Elektra’s making it her mission to drag me, and I’m just sitting here trying to remember how I even got in the middle of this.”

Karen doesn’t speak. She just lets you sit with it.

Ororo’s voice is calm when it comes, steady and grounding. “You’re not the piece of shit in this story. You’re the one they keep expecting to carry all the guilt while he walks around like he didn’t light the match.”

You press your lips together, shaking your head again, like you can physically will the tears not to fall.

“I just…” your voice is barely there now, hoarse around the tightness in your throat, “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

You stare down at the floor, blinking fast, willing yourself not to fall apart in front of them. Not now. Not again.

“I don’t know if what he said meant anything. I don’t know if he’s just playing a game, or if I am for letting him in. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to fix it, and honestly…”

You stop. Take a deep breath. It shakes on the way out.

“I just wanna go home.”

The words fall out small, tired, and honest in a way that makes the air feel still. You don’t say it for sympathy. 

You say it because you mean it. Because for the first time since you got here, the idea of finishing the show doesn’t feel like a challenge — it feels like punishment.

Karen gently leans into you, resting her head against your shoulder without a word. Ororo doesn’t move, but her presence wraps around you like a second spine.

They don’t say anything right away.

Because they know that sometimes the most important thing someone can do is just be there when you can’t carry it anymore.

Tweet Challenge📱

The islanders are gathered around the firepit, energy nervous and unsettled. A few people try to fake-laugh their way through it, but no one’s really relaxed — not with a card on the table marked “#VillaTalks”.

A text informs Trish to take the first card, who reads it out loud.

“It’s time to find out what the world really thinks. One by one, tweets from viewers will be read out loud. Some are nice. Most… not so much.”

The first few tweets are harmless — jabs at random couples, calling Matt a walking red flag, teasing MJ for always stirring the pot (she takes it in stride, grinning). You’re sitting off to the side, Karen beside you, Ororo on your other side, silent support flanking you like armor.

Then the next tweet is pulled.

Elektra leans forward, plucking the card with dramatic flair. Her eyes flick across the words, and you already know — from the flicker of her smile — it’s about you.

She reads it out loud, tone sweet but loaded.

“Not her crying all week then playing sleepover with Mr. Flip-Flop 🤡#PickASide #MessyQueen”

A few people laugh awkwardly. MJ lets out a “Yikes” under her breath. Sharon’s expression doesn’t move, but her hand tenses slightly on her knee.

You stare straight ahead, jaw locked.

Elektra raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Oof. Wonder who that could be.”

Karen shifts beside you. “We don’t have to pretend.”

The text prompt: “Islanders, who do you think that tweet’s about?”

It’s rhetorical. Everyone knows.

You speak before anyone else can.

“Me,” you say flatly. “Obviously.”

The next card comes, but the tension hasn’t broken. It clings to you, thick and sharp, like you’ve just been handed a version of yourself that the outside world has already judged.

And the worst part?

They don’t know half the story.

Bucky’s across from you, hands clasped between his knees, head lowered slightly. You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the weight of his guilt across the firepit.

And still — no one says anything.

The tweet sits there in the air, sharper than anything Elektra could’ve cooked up.

And you sit in the middle of it, stone-still, trying to hold your head up — even though your chest is caving in.

The cards keep coming.

MJ grabs the next one, eyes widening slightly as she reads. Her tone is more neutral now — less playful.

“Her reaction was raw, real, and heartbreaking. Bucky doesn’t deserve her. #StayStrongQueen #KnowYourWorth”

A few murmurs ripple through the group. Karen nods slightly beside you. Ororo doesn’t react — but you feel the subtle shift in her posture, like she’s quietly validating it.

You don’t smile. You just stare ahead. You can’t smile, not when your heart’s still tangled up in all the parts of this that didn’t happen in front of a camera.

But then Sharon — quiet, careful — picks up the next tweet.

Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge under it.

“Bucky's out here doing everything but picking a lane. One day he’s with Sharon, next he’s in Soul Ties whispering sweet nothings to Y/N. Bro’s a full-time shapeshifter. #CasualKing #CuddleContractRenewed”

Even Bucky lets out a quiet breath — part laugh, part groan.

The villa chuckles, but no one’s really laughing.

You don’t look at him. You just fold your arms across your chest tighter.

Then Trish pulls the next one — and you know from her expression before she even speaks that this one’s going to sting.

“I tried to feel bad for Y/N but girl… you let him embarrass you at the firepit and still kissed him? You’re not a victim. You’re a volunteer. #Embarrassing #HaveSomeSelfRespect”

It hits harder than you expect.

Hard enough that your stomach flips.

You breathe in slowly through your nose, eyes locked on the fire like it’s the only thing grounding you.

Karen reaches out, her hand brushing yours in a way that’s subtle but sure.

Ororo doesn’t speak, but her gaze is locked on Trish — and Trish suddenly looks a little uncomfortable holding the card.

Elektra, of course, can't help herself. “People are just saying what we’re all thinking,” she says lightly.

You turn your head slowly, finally looking at her. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Elektra smiles, tilting her head. “I didn’t write the tweets, babe.”

The air stills again. Even Bucky looks up now, eyes locked on you like he’s finally realizing how much this is costing you.

And the producers? They call it there — challenge over. Maybe it’s too real now. Maybe they got what they wanted.

You stand up slowly, brushing invisible dust off your legs, not looking at anyone as you walk off.

After The Challenge ❤️‍🩹

You find the far edge of the villa near the swing bench — not because it’s hidden, but because it’s just far enough from the cameras and the people and the noise. 

You sit with your hands folded in your lap, staring at nothing, your breath coming in that slow, numb way that only happens when you’ve stopped trying to fight the burn in your throat.

And then you hear his footsteps.

You don’t even have to look. The weight in the air changes when he’s around now.

Bucky doesn’t speak right away. He just stops a few feet away, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s even allowed to stand that close to you anymore.

You can feel his eyes on you — studying the way your shoulders are curled in slightly, how you’re blinking a little too often, trying to keep your face neutral.

He steps forward once.

You look up. Not all the way. Just enough to catch him in your periphery.

Your voice is soft. Frayed.

“Not now. Please.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Maybe he wasn’t expecting you to sound so… tired. Not angry. Not biting. Just done.

But then he speaks — quiet, almost like he’s trying not to scare you off.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

You shake your head once, still not looking directly at him. “Too late for that.”

“I know,” he says. “I know I’ve made all of this worse. I just… I didn’t see it until today. The way they’re coming for you. How it’s all landing on you instead of me.”

You finally look at him then. And it’s not with hate. It’s worse — it’s with that expression of someone who’s still holding onto the last sliver of something soft and hurt and doesn't know if it’s even worth it anymore.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you say. “I didn’t want a storyline or screen time or whatever the hell they think I’m doing. I just—” you stop yourself. The rest sits in your throat, unspoken.

He swallows, eyes searching yours. “I know. I’m not here to defend myself.”

You exhale slowly, like each breath is being pulled from your ribs.

“I can’t do this right now, Bucky.”

A pause. Then quieter:

“Please don’t make me.”

And that’s when it finally hits him — fully, deeply — that this isn’t just some tension to smooth over. This is a wound he’s responsible for. One you’ve bled from in silence while everyone else clapped and laughed and read tweets.

He nods once. Not in defeat. In understanding.

“I’ll give you space,” he says. “But I’m not gonna stop trying to make it right.”

You don’t answer. You just close your eyes for a second. And he walks away.

This time, he looks like the one carrying the weight.

Your Confessional 📹

You sit back in the chair, hoodie still on, strings pulled halfway tight around your face like you’re trying to disappear but couldn’t be bothered to finish the job. Your eyes are red-rimmed — not from sobbing, just worn out. Like sleep hasn’t found you in days.

For a second, you just sit there.

Then you huff a small laugh — not amused, not bitter. Just... tired. You shake your head and drag your hand down your face, pausing to press your fingers over your eyes for a moment, like maybe that’ll hold everything in place.

You drop your hand.

Look straight at the camera.

And smile — just barely.

“Apparently America hates me, which is unfortunate. But also kinda impressive, ‘cause America can’t hate me more than I hate myself right now.”

Your laugh is quiet, almost like it escaped by accident.

“No seriously, I got humiliated on national television, kissed the guy who humiliated me, then woke up to be called a messy queen by a Twitter handle named @/hornyforyourdad. Like. What the actual fuck am I doing.”

There’s no self-pity in your tone — just exhaustion. The kind that comes after feeling too much, too fast, for too long. You glance off camera, shrug once. 

“I should’ve just gone home yesterday. But I stayed. Because some part of me thought maybe…”

You stop. Then shake your head.

“Anyway. That’s on me.”

You exhale hard, sit up straighter, and give the camera one last deadpan look.

“Can I go now? Or do I have to read another tweet from someone who thinks I’m ruining feminism.”

Few Days Later — The Firepit 🌙🔥

Cue slow aerial shot of the villa under moonlight. Fairy lights twinkle across the patio. Wine glasses clink. Someone’s laughing too loud.

Iain Stirling (voiceover): “The moon is shining. The water is warm. And the tension? Well, that’s about to boil over like Karen after three glasses of white wine and a poorly timed truth-or-dare…”

“After a few blissful days of silence — and by blissful I mean emotionally repressed — it’s time for another Love Island classic: America’s vote.”

Cut to a group text alert. Everyone’s phones buzz at once.

“Islanders, please gather around the firepit immediately.”

The islanders file in, uneasy. You’re not even trying to hide the exhaustion on your face anymore.

Ariana walks in, flawless as always, cards in hand and not a single strand of hair out of place.

“Good evening, islanders.”

They respond — quiet, respectful, nervous.

Ariana wastes no time.

“As you know, America has been voting for who they believe are the least compatible couples in the villa.”

She pauses, lets the silence build.

“The three with the fewest votes are…”

She looks at the card.

“…MJ and Peter.”

Peter stiffens. MJ exhales, muttering, “Knew it.”

“…Karen and Frank.”

Karen swallows hard, jaw tense. Frank says nothing.

“And the third… is Y/N.”

A few heads turn your way. You stare straight ahead. Expression flat. Not surprised.

The firepit glows soft and orange against the night, casting shadows across stiff shoulders and tense expressions. 

Everyone’s sitting upright, backs straight like posture might protect them from what’s coming. You stand with Karen and MJ on either side — the only three girls up for elimination.

Your hands rest neatly at your sides. You’re not shaking. You’re not crying. You’re past all that.

Ariana stands in front of you, perfectly lit, her expression calm but unreadably focused — the kind of expression that means this was not the production plan.

She scans the card again, then looks back up.

“As there are three girls standing here — and only one will be leaving tonight — the decision falls to the islanders.”

The villa goes dead silent. You can feel people looking at each other, calculating, already shifting.

You already know.

The moment Ariana says it’s down to the islanders, you know.

And that’s when you step forward.

Not dramatically. Not slowly. Just one clean step, like you’re simply ready to be done.

“Ariana,” you say, clearly.

She pauses — caught off guard. That never happens.

“Yes?”

You exhale, not even blinking. “Can I volunteer to be voted off?”

There’s an audible reaction. Not gasps — just stunned silence. The kind that comes when people don’t know what to say, because no one expected this to come out of your mouth.

Ariana blinks. “You want to… step forward?”

“Yeah,” you say. Still composed, still poised. “I’d rather go on my own than stand here while everyone pretends it’s not already decided.”

It erupts. Quiet gasps, some whispered “what?” s, one “nah, she’s not serious” from the back.

Karen, standing beside you, instantly shakes her head. “No—no. What? No. Don’t—”

You glance at her just once, soft but steady. “Kare. It’s fine.”

She’s already blinking too fast, her lips parted like she wants to argue, but she’s choking on the emotion. Her hand twitches like she wants to grab yours and hold you there.

Ororo, still seated across the firepit, has her hand over her mouth. Wide-eyed. Frozen. Like watching someone walk into oncoming traffic in slow motion.

Ariana, still holding her cue card like it might save her, hesitates. “Are you sure?”

You nod once, then again. “Yeah.”

She takes a half step closer, voice quieter. “You don’t have to do this. You can wait for the vote. You still have people here.”

You let out the smallest breath, and you smile — just barely. Not a performance. Just the kind of smile people give when they’ve already made peace with something.

“Not enough of them.”

The air shifts. You’re not angry. You’re not bitter. You’re just done. And that honesty? It stings more than anything you could’ve shouted.

Ariana’s eyes scan you for a beat longer, like she’s trying to read something off you — trying to confirm you’re not breaking under the surface.

“Last chance to change your mind,” she says softly. “Are you sure?”

You nod again.

“I’m sure.”

The words land like a closing door. No one knows what to say.

Bucky hasn’t moved.

Karen’s face is crumpling now — barely holding it together. You feel her beside you, trembling.

Ororo finally lowers her hand from her mouth, jaw tense, eyes locked on you like she wants to get up and pull you away from this.

You’ve stepped forward. Ariana’s face has softened slightly — professional still, but there’s a flicker of something real in her voice now.

She looks at you one more time, calm, composed. “Well... if that’s your decision—”

“No.”

The word cuts through the night like glass.

Everyone turns.

Bucky’s standing now — two steps out from the bench, his jaw tight, eyes wide, like he can’t believe what’s happening even though he’s been watching it unravel for days.

“No,” he says again, louder now. His voice isn’t angry — it’s broken. “That’s not fair. She didn’t even let us vote. She just—she just stepped forward like it was already done.”

Ariana’s caught off guard again. Her brows lift. “Bucky—”

He keeps going, not hearing her. Not hearing anything.

“You don’t just get to decide that. You don’t get to stand up and walk out like you didn’t matter here. Like we were all gonna pick you without even thinking. You didn’t let us—you can't just leave.”

His voice is cracking, pitching up.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to say—”

He stops himself. But the words are still there, hanging in the silence like smoke.

Karen’s crying now. Not hiding it anymore. Shoulders shaking as she turns away, hand over her mouth.

You still haven’t turned to look at him.

Not yet.

Ariana glances between the two of you, then gently speaks again. “Bucky… she's made her choice.”

But he doesn’t move.

“I didn’t.”

His voice is softer now. Almost to himself.

“I didn’t choose right when I should have. And now she’s leaving before I get the chance to make it right?”

You finally look at him. Eyes rimmed red, but dry. And it’s not anger in your face.

It’s sadness.

Because maybe, just maybe, this is the first time he’s finally saying what you needed — but it’s three days, and a thousand cuts, too late.

You offer him something soft — something you’ve barely had left for yourself these past few days.

“It’s fine,” you say gently.

His head snaps a little, like you just told him the sky isn’t blue.

“No,” he says, voice sharp, shaky. “It’s not.”

He takes a step closer. Not crossing boundaries — just reacting like he physically can’t stand where he is anymore.

“You’re just—what? You’re gonna volunteer to go and act like that’s normal? Like we didn’t all just sit here stunned because no one was gonna pick you. Not a single person.”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going — not at you, for you.

“You think it’s fine because you’re tired. Because you’ve been carrying everything and everyone’s been letting you do it. But that doesn’t mean you deserve to walk out like you don’t belong here.”

His voice drops, quieter now, but tighter. Barely held together.

“You’re still here because people care about you. Because I care about you.”

That hangs in the air. No one moves.

The fire crackles behind you.

You inhale slowly.

The silence stretches long enough that everyone expects you might break.

But you don’t.

You steady your voice — not cold, not distant — just honest. Exhausted. Real.

“I want to go home.”

Bucky’s eyes flash — like he’s about to say something, but you raise your hand slightly, not to silence him, just to finish.

“I don’t want Karen to go,” you say, turning slightly toward her, just enough to feel her body trembling beside you. “She’s been solid since day one. She hasn’t played a single game. She deserves more time here.”

Karen’s hand covers her mouth again, and she shakes her head slightly, trying to stay quiet through it.

“And yeah,” you continue, with the hint of a wry smile, “me and MJ haven’t exactly braided each other’s hair this week. But she has a real connection. Peter has her back.”

You turn back to Ariana.

Your posture straightens — not stiff, just ready.

“This isn’t about who deserves to be punished. It’s about who has something left to do here. And I don’t.”

Your hands are at your sides. Your voice hasn’t cracked once.

Bucky’s chest rises again, and he opens his mouth — but for the first time tonight, he doesn’t speak.

Because what can he say?

You’ve already said it all. And this time, you’re not asking permission. You’re telling them.

You’ve just said your piece.

Your voice is steady. Your decision is clear.

And for a second — just a second — it feels like everyone might finally accept it.

Then Bucky exhales, sharp and short.

And says, “Okay.”

You glance at him — unsure what that means — but then he steps forward.

“I’m going too.”

There’s an audible reaction now. Not just gasps — full-on shock. Heads turning. Elektra's mouth drops. Sam sits forward like he's misheard.

Even Ariana’s expression cracks slightly. “Sorry—what?”

Bucky looks right at her. “I’m going with her.”

You blink — stunned. “Bucky.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not yet. His eyes are locked on Ariana. “I’m not gonna stay here and watch her leave like she’s disposable. I’ve done enough of that already.”

Ariana raises her hand, trying to maintain order. “Bucky, this isn’t—”

“I know it’s not how it works,” he cuts in, voice firm but not aggressive. “But I’ve made up my mind.”

You step closer now, voice low and urgent. “You’re going to walk away from the villa for me? After everything?”

He nods once. No hesitation.

But you’re not moved — you’re panicking now, because you know what comes next if he leaves for you.

“You think this is romantic,” you say, eyes shining now, not with tears — with clarity. “But it’s not. This is adrenaline. This is guilt. You’re gonna step out of here, get one breath of air, and start resenting me for it.”

“I won’t,” he says, voice sharp.

“Yes, you will,” you snap, heart racing. “Because you didn’t finish what you started here. And when it all settles and you’re sitting at home thinking about what could’ve happened — you’ll look at me and wonder if I was worth it.”

His jaw tightens. “You are worth it.”

“Then prove it by staying.”

The firepit is dead silent now. No one dares breathe.

He steps forward again, closer now. Not aggressive — just desperate. Real.

“I don’t want a better connection,” he says, his voice cracking at the edge. “I don’t want to flirt around and see what’s out there. I want you.”

You close your eyes for a second, chest tight, trying to hold the line.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “This isn’t the time to figure that out.”

He swallows hard, shaking his head. “It’s the only time that’s ever mattered.”

The air between you is so charged it almost hurts to stand in it.

Ariana waits for a beat longer, giving you both space to speak — to come down, maybe.

But when neither of you moves, she straightens, the weight of production behind her now.

“I have to ask,” she says carefully, her voice as gentle as it’s ever been. “Y/N, Bucky — is this your final decision?”

She looks at you first, but you glance at Bucky.

He answers before you can.

“I’m going.”

The words come out clear. No hesitation. Just certainty — the kind that makes the rest of the firepit collectively freeze.

Ariana blinks. “Bucky…”

But he’s already stepping forward, standing beside you now. Fully.

“I made my choice too late the first time,” he says, looking at you. “I’m not doing that again.”

It’s real. You can see it in his face.

But then Sam stands up from the bench, shaking his head.

“Buck, man,” he says, voice low, not condescending — worried. “Just think about this. You’ve still got a spot here. Don’t throw it away on impulse.”

Logan joins him. “You guys need space to figure this out — not both get dumped on a firepit and regret it next week.”

Frank speaks up, surprisingly sincere. “This isn’t a movie, bro. It’s your life. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Bucky doesn’t move.

“I know what I’m doing.”

He looks at you again, quieter now.

“And I’m not staying here without her.”

Sharon's hand is over her mouth again. Trish is leaning forward like she’s witnessing history unfold. Even MJ — lips pressed in a hard line — looks shaken.

You?

You’re just standing there, trying to hold it together while the man who let you fall is now trying to catch you, after you already hit the ground.

Ariana clears her throat once, a beat longer before speaking.

“Alright,” she says gently. “If you’re both sure, then you have thirty minutes to pack your things.”

You nod. Bucky nods.

And just like that — it's done.

Girl's Dressing Room 👜

The villa’s quieter now. Thirty minutes.

That’s all you’ve got left.

Your suitcase is already half-packed. The dressing room feels weirdly still — like even the lights are dimmer, like the walls are holding their breath with you. And Karen is sitting cross-legged beside it, absolutely no help, sniffling so hard she’s practically shaking the floor.

And then Ororo walks in.

She stops in the doorway, blinking fast like she meant to hold it together — and then just doesn’t.

“Bitch.”

That’s all she says before the tears start. She walks across the room with fire in her step and heartbreak in her chest.

“We walked into this place together,” she says, voice cracking as she reaches you. “You and me. Day one. First step through the door.”

Her arms wrap around you so tight it’s like she’s trying to anchor you there.

You’ve been stone-faced for hours. Holding it in. Keeping it neat.

But the second you hear her voice crack, your whole chest caves in.

You don’t say anything — just bury your face into her neck and let go. Sobs shake out of you like they’ve been waiting for permission. You nod against her shoulder, helpless, clinging.

“I know,” you whisper. “Rori, I know.”

She tightens her grip. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m not letting you go like this. Not like this.”

Karen’s still on the floor beside your suitcase, full-on crying now, her hands fumbling with a half-folded dress like maybe if she just packs slow enough you won’t really leave.

“I’m so mad at you,” she says through a laugh-sob. “But I love you so much.”

You drop to your knees with her, still holding Ororo, and Karen just throws herself forward into your arms, the three of you wrapped up in one heap of heartbreak and mascara.

In The Bedroom 🏠

The crying from the dressing room is so loud it’s echoing through the villa.

Frank’s lying on his bed, pillow over his face. “Blondie is trying to zip herself into that girl's suitcase.”

Logan’s leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. “And Storm’s gripping her like she’s got a death grip on a limited edition Birkin.”

They all pause for a second as another wave of sobs carries across the villa walls.

“Damn it,” Logan mutters.

At the end of the row, Sam’s still talking to Bucky, voice low but tense. “Man, just think about it. You walk out now, you’re done. You don’t even know what this is yet. You haven’t figured it out.”

Bucky doesn’t look at him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bag already half-packed.

His tone is calm. Clear.

“If my girl’s leaving,” he says, zipping his suitcase, “then I’m leaving.”

By The Docks🌙🏝️

The sky is velvet blue now. The moon hangs low over the water, casting silver light across the still surface. It’s quiet — quiet enough that you can hear your own breathing.

Bucky’s already waiting at the end of the dock.

Shoulders tense. Hands in his pockets. But when he hears your footsteps, he turns.

And the second he sees your face, his softens. You’ve cried too much to pretend now. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes red and shining. You don’t even bother wiping them this time.

You stop in front of him, heart pounding, breath shallow.

“Are you sure?” you ask, voice raw. “Like really sure.”

He steps forward immediately, hands reaching up — one settling on your shoulder, the other rubbing gently at your upper arm.

“I’m sure.”

You shake your head, voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this for me, Buck. I’m not asking you to.”

He nods. “I know.”

You look up at him, hands trembling slightly as you press your palms flat to his chest — not pushing him away, just holding him there.

“This could ruin everything,” you whisper.

He exhales through his nose, then cups the side of your neck, thumb brushing the damp corner of your eye.

“I don’t care,” he says quietly. “You’ve been the only thing in this villa that’s ever felt real. And if I stay, I’m not just losing you — I’m staying in something that never meant shit without you in it.”

You press your forehead into his chest, eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep the emotion from swallowing you whole. His hands stay steady on your shoulders, rubbing soft, grounding circles into your skin like he’s trying to remind your body to breathe.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” you say, voice muffled, trembling. “Staying would mean a real chance for you. New connections. A shot at the money. Everything.”

Bucky exhales — deep, slow — like he’s been holding that thought in too.

“That’s exactly why I’m not staying,” he says.

You look up, confused through the blur in your vision.

“If I stayed,” he continues, “it’d mean I’d have to explore more connections. Get to know more girls. Do the whole thing again.”

He pauses, gaze locked with yours, calm but serious now.

“I don’t want another connection,” he says. “I just want you.”

Your breath catches. It’s not sweet-talk. It’s not a line. It’s just true.

“But what about the money?” you ask, your voice thin, eyes searching his face for something — logic, doubt, anything.

He lets out a small laugh — not dismissive, just almost surprised that it still matters to anyone.

“I don’t care about the 100K,” he says, gently brushing his hand along the back of your neck. “What would I even do with it if I lost the one thing that made being here worth it?”

You shake your head, overwhelmed, tears welling again despite yourself. “You’re gonna ruin your chance.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’d rather leave here broke and with you than win it all and feel empty as hell every time I go to bed.”

You let out a soft sob, clutching at his shirt now, and he just holds you tighter.

“You’ve carried this whole thing alone,” he whispers. “Let me carry the rest with you.”

You’re still wrapped in his arms, hands balled in the fabric of his shirt, tears hot and silent now as they slip down your cheeks.

You’ve fought so hard to be strong, to be rational, to not let this mess define you — and now here he is, undoing every wall you built with one truth after another.

Bucky leans back just slightly, just enough to see your face. His hand comes up to gently brush a tear away from your cheek, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then he says it.

“I didn’t choose you once.”

You freeze.

“And it was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

His voice isn’t trembling anymore. It’s solid. Certain.

“I’m not making that mistake again.”

You look at him — really look at him — and you know this time, he means every word.

This isn’t about guilt. It’s not about saving face.

It’s about finally showing up. And this time… he did choose you. Out loud. In front of everyone. No hesitation.

Your lip trembles as you pull your gaze away from him, turning your face slightly — not because you don’t believe him, but because it’s too much. Too much love, too much regret, too much truth.

You lift a hand quickly, trying to wipe your face, get it together — keep the illusion of being okay just a little longer.

But he notices.

He always notices.

“Don’t do that,” Bucky says softly.

You shake your head, still turned slightly, but he lifts his hand — slow, careful — and gently guides your chin back toward him.

“Don’t hide your face from me,” he says again, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes never leave yours. “Not now. Lemme see you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your defenses crumbling all over again — not from his touch, but from his attention. The way he’s looking at you like you're the only person in the world who matters.

And for once… you let him see all of it.

Even the tears. Even the fear. Even the hope that maybe — just maybe — this isn’t the end.

You’re still holding his gaze, breathing uneven, heart thudding against your ribcage like it’s trying to get to him first.

He brushes his thumb gently over your jaw, voice barely audible over the sound of the waves nearby.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s so quiet — the kind of question that feels like a vow.

You nod, almost instantly, but there’s a hitch in your breath as you do. A soft, shaky little exhale slips out of you, part laugh, part hiccup — like even this feels surreal.

Your hands lift, instinctively, fingers grazing his face — one cupping his cheek, the other resting just under his jaw. His stubble brushes your skin, grounding you. This is real.

He leans in slowly, eyes on your mouth for a breath longer than he should. His hand finds the back of your neck, warm and steady, thumb sliding just beneath your hairline.

And then finally — finally — his lips meet yours.

It starts soft. Delicate.

Like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. Like he’s afraid to ruin it by rushing.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world — like he wants to undo every moment you felt unwanted, like he’s trying to rewrite all the nights you cried.

But then? You kiss him back. And it changes.

You press into him with something that isn’t just relief — it’s heat. Desperate. Your hands move up into his hair, threading through it as you pull him closer. You feel him exhale hard through his nose, his other hand gripping your waist now, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

The kiss deepens — no longer slow, no longer sweet. It’s breathless now. Messy. Full of everything you’ve been holding back.

Your mouth parts and he takes the invitation without hesitation — tongue meeting yours in a rhythm that’s equal parts apology and promise.

He’s kissing you like he can’t get close enough.

And you’re kissing him like you’ve waited too damn long.

You pull back slightly, both of you still breathless, lips tingling. You try to catch your breath, your fingers still lightly curled in his shirt, chest rising and falling as you laugh softly.

“I can’t even think straight,” you murmur, voice barely a whisper.

Bucky just looks at you — eyes flickering down to your mouth again, lips parted like he’s considering whether to let you finish that thought.

And then he makes the decision for both of you.

He leans back in without warning and steals another kiss — not soft this time. Hungry.

His mouth crashes into yours, and this time there’s nothing gentle about it. His tongue slides deep into your mouth like he’s claiming every inch of you, tasting you like he wants to burn this moment into his memory.

His hands find your body again — rougher now, more confident. One grips the back of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. The other drops to your waist, sliding around to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him like he needs you pressed to him.

You let out a soft moan, completely overtaken, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as your back arches instinctively under his touch. He groans low in his throat when you push up against him, like you just knocked the last bit of restraint out of him.

Your fingers claw lightly at the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep your balance, your lips moving with his like you’re starved — like you’ve both been craving this too long and now it’s spilling out of you all at once.

When he finally pulls back — just barely — his mouth lingers near yours, breathing heavy.

You blink at him, dazed, your lips wet and parted, and let out a breathless laugh.

“Okay,” you whisper, dazed. “Now I really can’t think straight.”

He smiles, breath still ragged. “Good.”

Your Confessional 📹

You’re sitting alone on the velvet bench, the light soft and warm on your skin. For the first time in days, your shoulders aren’t slumped. There’s no hoodie. No deep sigh. No tears.

You look like you again.

And even though you try — really try — not to smile… you fail miserably.

A small grin tugs at the corner of your mouth, and you bite your lip, cheeks lifting as your eyes flicker off-camera, bashful but glowing. You shake your head slightly.

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

You look right at the camera now, eyes bright.

“I’m getting dumped from Love Island…”

You shrug, smile growing.

“…and I’ve never felt lighter in my life.”

There’s something warm behind your eyes now — not fire, not anger — just peace. Peace that only comes after surviving the storm and finding something real in the wreckage.

You pause, playing with the hem of your dress as you lean forward, elbows on your knees.

“For days, it felt like I was trying to hold the world up on my own. Carrying the silence. The judgment. Even trying to protect him.”

You glance down, your smile softening into something deeper now.

“And then… he chose me.”

You say it quietly. Like it still doesn’t feel real.

“But not like ‘I pick you in the next recoupling’ kinda way. I mean, actually chose me.”

Your voice thickens slightly, in the best way.

“Walked away from the game. The connections. The hundred grand. For me.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“This was the ultimate choice. And he didn’t flinch.”

You lean back now, more relaxed than you’ve been the entire season. A sparkle in your eye.

“I’m leaving broke. Dumped. Probably roasted on Twitter.”

You purse your lips trying to contain your smile.

“But I’m also walking out with Bucky Barnes’ hand in mine.”

You glance sideways, that cheeky grin sneaking back in full force.

“And I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a win to me.”

Villa – Main Walkway 🌴

You and Bucky stand just at the top of the stairs.

His fingers lace with yours, firm, warm. You give him one last glance — that kind of look that says are we really doing this? — and he just squeezes your hand tighter.

Yeah. You are.

And then the two of you start walking.

The lights lining the path glow soft gold, like the villa itself is quietly watching you go. The islanders are still gathered at the firepit — Karen’s sniffling again, Ororo’s got her arms crossed like she’s proud and pissed, and the boys are quiet, even Frank, for the first time ever.

But you don’t look back.

Not once.

Because this exit? It’s about moving forward.

With him.

Iain Stirling (voiceover): “Ah yes, there they go… Bucky and Y/N. The emotional damage duo.”

The camera cuts to a slow-mo of you both walking in sync, fingers tightly interlocked, the music swelling underneath like something off a season finale soundtrack.

“Dumped by America, walked out by choice, left the hundred grand behind — but gained a man who finally learned how to use his heart instead of his… well, other assets.”

Cut to Bucky opening the gate for you — a tiny, stupidly sweet gesture — and you walking through first, glancing at him with a smirk.

“They say love is a battlefield. But in this villa? Apparently, it’s a firepit, a daybed, one tweet challenge, and emotional devastation wrapped in lip gloss and jawlines.”

The final shot catches your intertwined hands, backs to camera, walking into the night — away from the lights, the drama, the game.

Together.

“Will they make it on the outside? Who knows. But one thing’s for sure: they’ve just delivered the most dramatic exit since Natasha tried to storm out in 9-inch heels”

The gate closes behind you.

Cue black screen.

The Girliesss (in case people didnt understand my love island multiverse): Ororo Munroe (X-Men), you, Karen Page (Daredevil). Trish Walker (Jessica Jones), Elektra Natchios (Daredevil), MJ Watson (Spiderman)

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@ruexj283 @muchwita @fayeatheart @Leathynn @thealloveru2 @person-005 @princeescalus @lilac13 @solana-jpeg @jeongiegram @winchestert101 @s-sh-ne @n3ptoonz @avgdestitute @xamapolax @Finnickodairslut @honeyhera29 @macbaetwo @rafespeach @bythecloset @ashpeace888 @buckmybarnes @c-grace56 @ozwriterchick @slutforsr @novaslov @xamapolax @theoraekenslover @user911224 @Tafuller @luminousvenomvagrant @byhuenii @rollsonrollss @shookethslut @a9053 @jasontoddswhitestreak @iah1606 @timelylovergirl @doperebelgoopland @fatlin-23 @500daysofhannah @grovelingmen

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

[delulugirly7]

Challengers (Avengers edition) Masterlist

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader (Established Relationship); Bob Reynolds x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Coming back from a mission, you discover that Bucky has joined a whole new team, lead by a freak like Valentina. In order to get information and protect Sam, you and Joaquin decide to visit Bucky and his new team before taking the next step. But a certain golden boy laid his eyes on you and is instantly head over heels. How will everyone navigate this, especially when you have a boyfriend?

Warnings: Fuff, Banter, Angst, Cameos, Joaquin loves Reader a LOT, Joaquin being a cutie, SamBucky being angsty husbands and protective dads, Poor Bob suffers, Graphic Mentions of Bob’s Addiction, Past and Mental Illnesses, Yearning and Longing from Bob, Jealous!Joaquin, Jealous!Bob, Reader is a littleeee short tempered, Reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to be let down loose, chapter specific warnings will be mentioned respectively.

DISCLAIMER: i have not seen challengers yet, this is just my imagination and i have shifted some events from thunderbolts to fit the time frame better for the fic.

(divider by @strangergraphics ; collage by me)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

taglist: @hearts4barnes @msfirth @spideybrie @parkersjoy @joaquinsgf @wolflikesstuff @frvv @99buttowski @eggyboyoart @superchatnoir07 @wierdlyinlike @peachyrue-777 @makinurbed @abc1234y @ba-space-geek @elyi-o @ph-1isagod @missbrekker @patheticgirl127 @lookitsgrim @spinstertheuncommon @bcystar @yelenaseyeliner @dormammuiivecometo @justeveeeee @lilajoy-ily @spvctor @magikdarkholme @babyreads @paintballkid711 @urfavestan @wyvernthekriger @monselxo @hoe-in-theory-not-practice @sunflower-0180 @marispunk @sadslasher13 @melaninqueen04

Sorry if I forgot anyone or reply if u wanna be removed from the taglist!

[delulugirly7]

THE BACHELOR | Masterlist

After years of building his real estate empire from the ground up, 27 year old Rafe Cameron is finally ready to build something just as meaningful. A life with someone by his side. As the newest Bachelor, he steps in for a chance at something real — lasting love, a true partner and a future that means more than numbers or net worth.

Among 32 women from across the country, one stands out —you. A 25 year old marketing manager from Staten Island, confident in your career and clear about what you want. Somewhere between the camera, chaos and that first stolen glance — you begin to believe this might actually lead to something true.

As the weeks unfold, connections spark and rivalries ignite — but while others fight for his attention, something quieter, deeper builds between you and Rafe. Something that can't be scripted.

In a villa full of love stories trying to be written, this one just might be the one.

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, cuss words, verbal arguments, drama, sexual innuendos, jealousy, breakdowns, insecurity

content: fluff, angst, smut (barely)

episodes:

ep 1

ep 2

ep 3

ep 4

ep 5

ep 6

ep 7

ep 8

ep 9

ep 10

extras:

prologue

social media profiles: rafe & y/n

other contestants - part 1

other contestants - part 2

[ lay-out inspired by @drewsephrry ]

© 2025 all rights reserved starkeyslibrary. unnauthorized modification, reposting, plagiarism is strictly prohibited without prior permission.

[delulugirly7]

I Noticed

Bucky x reader

Summary: You and Bucky are good friends, but you didn't realize he knew practically everything about you...

Word Count: 4,779

The conference room was unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon meeting. Everyone was already seated – Steve flipping through a tablet, Natasha sipping coffee, Sam looking like he was seconds away from falling asleep with his head propped on one hand.

You were seated toward the middle, elbow on the table, cheek in your palm, staring at the clock.

"Ugh," you groaned softly. "I'm already thirsty. I should've brought water."

Sam cracked one eye open. "Rookie mistake."

You gave him a half-hearted glare. "Thanks, Sam. So helpful."

Then your stomach growled and you sighed again. "I should've brought snacks, too. I have a bag of those garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in my room – they’re my favorite. I was gonna bring 'em but I forgot. They would've been perfect right now."

"Garlic pretzels in a closed room? Bold choice," Natasha quipped, smirking over her mug.

"They’re elite. You wouldn’t understand."

Just as you finished your sentence, the door opened and in walked Bucky, casual as ever, looking like he hadn’t rushed at all despite being a solid five minutes late.

"Hey," he said to the room before walking over to your seat.

Without saying anything else, he placed a bottle of water and a Ziploc bag full of garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in front of you, then sat down beside you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the items.

So did everyone else.

Steve’s mouth parted. Natasha looked genuinely surprised. Sam sat up straighter, eyebrows raised. Even Tony, who’d just entered behind Bucky, paused mid-step.

You looked at the bag. Then the water. Then at Bucky.

"...You literally just brought me exactly what I said I wanted like ten seconds ago."

Bucky blinked at you. "Yeah? I figured you’d be thirsty – you never bring water to meetings. And you usually get hungry around this time, so I brought snacks."

There was a beat of silence.

And then it hit.

"Oh my God," Sam laughed, pointing dramatically. "They’re not even dating and he knows her snack schedule."

Steve covered a smile with his hand. "That’s...actually kind of impressive."

Natasha leaned forward. "You even brought her favorite flavor?"

Bucky frowned slightly, confused. "Well, yeah. She likes the garlic parmesan ones."

"HE KNOWS THE FLAVOR, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," Tony declared like a ring announcer. "WE’VE GOT A SOFTIE IN THE WILD."

You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. "Oh my God, you guys–"

Bucky just shrugged, annoyingly unbothered. "What? She gets grumpy when she’s hungry."

And somehow that only made it worse.

Or better.

Depending on who you asked.

You hadn’t even opened the bag of pretzels yet. They just sat there in front of you, taunting you while your face turned redder by the second.

And Bucky? Completely calm. Like being a walking encyclopedia on your habits was not wildly incriminating.

That is, until Sam leaned forward with a grin.

"Okay, Barnes. Pop quiz."

Bucky gave him a suspicious side-eye. "Why?"

"Because," Tony chimed in, "you just demonstrated an alarming level of girlfriend knowledge for someone who's allegedly not dating her."

"We're not–!" you started, but Natasha held up a finger to silence you.

"This is more fun."

She turned to Bucky. "Favorite coffee order. Go."

"Caramel iced latte, extra ice."

Your jaw dropped slightly. "That’s–"

"Correct," Sam cut in, smirking. "Alright, alright – shampoo and conditioner brand?"

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. "Pantene – the coconut scent."

You whipped around to stare at him. "How the hell do you know that?!"

He looked at you like it was obvious. "Because your bathroom always smells like coconut. And that one time you stayed at my place after a mission, you complained that I only had 2-in-1."

Natasha bit back a laugh. "We’re logging that for future teasing."

"Okay, okay," Tony leaned on the table like he was hosting a game show. "Let’s make this harder. Favorite snack that's not garlic parmesan pretzels?"

"Peanut M&M’s. But she picks out the brown ones and eats them last because she says they taste the most ‘chocolatey.’"

You slapped a hand over your mouth. "Are you keeping notes somewhere?!"

Bucky just shrugged like it was no big deal. “You talk a lot when we hang out.”

"My heart can’t take this," Steve said, dramatically clutching his chest.

"Mine either," Sam added. "This is some Hallmark level slow burn stuff and I didn’t even know I wanted it."

"Do you know her favorite hoodie too?" Natasha asked.

He glanced at you, then pointed without looking. "That light grey one she stole from me? Wears it three times a week, minimum."

You gaped at him. "...You let me steal that."

"You think I didn’t notice?" he said, and you caught the tiniest curve of a smirk on his lips.

The room collectively lost it.

"Okay, this is criminal," Tony declared. "I’ve seen actual married couples who know less about each other."

"You’re clearly in love with her," Sam added helpfully.

Bucky’s smirk dropped slightly, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his expression as he glanced at you – soft, unsure, and maybe a little too earnest.

You froze.

So did he.

And then Natasha cleared her throat. "Well, this meeting is officially a disaster, but I’m emotionally invested now."

Steve gave you both a look. "Anything either of you wanna share with the class?"

You made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, covering your face with your hands again.

Beside you, Bucky just leaned back in his chair and said, “Can we please talk about the mission now? Before they start planning our wedding?”

But even as he said it, you felt his knee brush against yours under the table.

--

The meeting finally wrapped up after an hour of mission briefings, supply checklists, and Tony trying to convince Steve to let him name the next Quinjet The Iron Bus. Everyone stood, gathering their things, but the tension in the room wasn’t about the mission at all – it was about you and Bucky.

You had barely pushed your chair back before Sam clapped his hands once and turned to Bucky with renewed mischief in his eyes.

"Alright, now that the boring stuff’s out of the way – round two."

Bucky blinked. "Seriously?"

"You thought we forgot? That whole time I was pretending to care about drone placements, I was building a list."

"I was also building a list," Natasha added, already pulling out her phone.

Steve sighed but didn’t stop them. “I mean…I am kind of curious now.”

Tony grinned. “This is the best part of my day.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, guys–”

“Nope,” Sam said. “Too late. Barnes, what’s her favorite candle scent?”

“Vanilla,” Bucky said without pause.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Okay, but how do you know that?”

“You lit one in my kitchen once. Said it was ‘elite cozy vibes.’”

Tony choked on a laugh. “He even quoted her. This is so real.”

Natasha stepped in next. “Alright – what color does she always pick for her nails?”

“Soft pink. Unless she’s in a mood, then it’s that dark reddish-purple color…what’s it called? ‘Black Cherry?’”

You squinted. “Okay, that’s either creepy or impressive–”

“Impressive,” Sam decided. “Definitely impressive.”

Steve raised a brow. “What about her go-to song when she’s in a bad mood?”

Bucky smiled a little. “idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish.”

You blinked. “Wait, how do you even know that?”

“You played it on repeat for like four days after that one mission with the HYDRA facility. I asked you if you were okay and you said, ‘I’m fine, I just need to cry and hydrate.’”

Natasha was actually laughing now. “He’s got quotes, too.”

Tony raised a finger like he was conducting an interview. “Okay, Bucky – final round. What’s her go-to breakfast when she’s had a rough night?”

Bucky leaned back casually. “Scrambled eggs with pepperjack cheese, hot sauce, two slices of toast, and coffee with oat milk and a tiny bit of cinnamon.”

Everyone turned to you like you’d just been caught in 4K.

You stared at him. “You remembered all of that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve made it for you before.”

Sam fake-fainted onto the conference table.

“I can’t take this,” Steve said, rubbing his temples. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s domestic,” Natasha corrected. “And I love it.”

You groaned again and dropped your head onto your crossed arms. “Can the floor swallow me now?”

Bucky leaned over and murmured, “I think they’re just jealous.”

You peeked up at him. “Of what?”

He gave you that tiny smirk again. “That I pay attention.”

You sat up and shoved the bag of pretzels toward Bucky with a flustered laugh. “Here. Take these back. You’ve earned them.”

Bucky just grinned and tossed one in his mouth. “They taste better when I’m right.”

--

Eventually, the room emptied out. Steve wrangled Tony into actually submitting a mission report, Nat headed to the gym, and Sam left muttering about needing a nap.

You lingered, still sitting in your chair, picking at the label on your water bottle while Bucky packed up his notes. The teasing had died down, but your heart hadn’t quite stopped doing somersaults.

He was halfway to the door when you said, softly, “Hey, Buck?”

He paused, looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

You motioned for him to come back. “Can I ask you something?”

His brows rose, but he came back over, folding his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table beside you. “You wanna quiz me now?”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head, watching him. “I just wanna see how far this weird…psychic Barnes ability goes.”

He gave a lazy grin. “Alright. Hit me.”

You took a breath. “Okay. Pads or tampons?”

He blinked once. “Both.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Details?”

He scratched his jaw, not missing a beat. “You use the regular tampons most days, but you always keep a pack of those thin pads with the wings in your bathroom drawer – orange wrapper, right? You said the combo makes you feel less paranoid about leaks when you’re out on missions.”

Your jaw dropped a little.

Bucky’s smirk faded, growing a little more serious when he saw your expression. “I wasn’t, like, digging through your stuff or anything. You asked me to grab painkillers once while you were curled up on the couch, and I saw the pack when I opened the drawer. And you mentioned the tampon thing that one time when we got stuck waiting in that safe house for hours and you were grumpy.”

You swallowed. “Okay…uh. Chocolate preference?”

“Milk chocolate when you’re just craving sugar, milk chocolate with caramel when you’re on your period.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t stop. “When I cry, what do I want someone to do?”

“Sit with you. Don’t talk unless you ask. You like quiet comfort.”

You were fully staring at him now, unable to find any words, so he filled the silence gently.

“I know you get really overwhelmed when you feel like someone’s watching too closely while you’re upset. You hate feeling...exposed. So I don’t stare. I just stay close.”

You blinked fast, chest tightening with something way bigger than embarrassment now.

“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Why do you pay attention like that?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, not meeting your eyes at first. “Because you matter to me. And…when someone matters, you notice things. The important stuff. The things that make them feel seen.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, overwhelmed. “No one’s ever paid attention like that. No one’s ever noticed.”

Finally, he looked at you again. And this time, there was no smirk, no teasing grin – just something quiet and sure in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

After a moment, you smiled faintly. “What’s my favorite place to be when I’m sad?”

“Anywhere I am,” he said without missing a beat.

And this time, you didn’t even try to hide the way your heart skipped.

--

Later that evening, the compound was quieter – mission prep done, sparring sessions wrapped up, and the post-meeting teasing finally done.

You’d snuck off for a hot shower, hoping to wash away the lingering flush in your cheeks from earlier. The Avengers had been relentless, and even though Bucky hadn’t said anything else since the conference room, his words still echoed in your head.

I noticed.

You exhaled under the spray and tried not to think about it too hard.

Meanwhile, in the common room, the chaos was still quietly unfolding.

Tony strolled in with a tablet in hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, children, it’s that magical time – takeout vote. We've got Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and that weird little vegan place Bruce likes.”

“I swear to God, if you put seaweed bowls on the menu again–” Sam started.

“Focus,” Tony cut him off, tapping the screen. “We’ll tally up votes. Bucky, where’s your girl?”

Bucky, sprawled comfortably on the couch with one leg slung over the side, didn’t even flinch at the phrasing. “Showering.”

“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Didn’t even blink at that.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And you’re voting for her too, I assume?”

Bucky nodded, nonchalant. “Two for Indian.”

Steve looked up from his book. “Did she say that?”

“Nope.”

Sam smirked immediately. “So we’re guessing now?”

“I’m not guessing,” Bucky replied evenly. “She’s not in a pizza mood today.”

Tony looked at him like he was a contestant on a game show. “So you're locking in Indian for the both of you. No communication. No signals. No magic powers?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yep.”

“I’m starting a betting pool,” Sam announced, pulling out his phone.

“I want in,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“She loves pizza,” Steve reminded. “Are we sure about this?”

“She does love pizza,” Bucky agreed, arms folded behind his head. “But not tonight.”

Sam grinned wide. “Alright, let’s take some bets. Five says she picks pizza. Anyone else?”

Money and pride were quickly thrown around – half the team convinced Bucky’s luck had to run out eventually, the other half wary because…well. It was Bucky. And somehow he just knew things about you.

Five minutes later, you wandered into the common room in fresh clothes, hair damp and rubbing moisturizer into your face with zero awareness of the quiet, expectant tension in the air.

“Hey,” you said casually, “what’s going on?”

Tony cleared his throat, playing it cool. “Just figuring out dinner. Got a few options – Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and Bruce’s vegan sadness bowls. What sounds good?”

You made a face, thinking. “Hmm, not really in the mood for pizza today. Indian.”

The room exploded.

“NO WAY,” Nat yelled.

“Unbelievable,” Steve said.

Sam stood and threw his arms in the air. “THIS IS RIGGED.”

Tony shouted over the chaos, “I CALL WITCHCRAFT.”

You froze, blinking at everyone, confused.

“Did I miss something?” you asked slowly.

Bucky just sat there calmly, like he hadn’t just won the mind-reader Olympics. “Told them you’d want Indian.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you spy on me in the shower or something?”

“Nope,” he said, looking smug. “Just know you.”

The team descended into chaos again – some demanding their money back, others insisting on a rematch next week.

You just grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s chest.

He caught it, laughed, and tossed it back. “I’m undefeated.”

--

The food arrived about twenty minutes later, the smell of warm spices and garlic naan instantly filling the common area. Tony called out a triumphant “Dinner’s here!” like he’d made it himself, and everyone swarmed the table to claim their orders.

You padded over a little slower, then Bucky turned from the table and held up a hand.

“I got your plate,” he said casually, already balancing two in his hands.

You paused. “Wait, I didn’t even tell you–”

“I know.” He handed it over without fanfare.

You looked down.

Your favorite combo – chicken tikka masala, a scoop of basmati rice (but not too much), a piece of garlic naan torn in half, some cucumber raita on the side, and a few spoonfuls of that tangy chickpea salad you always liked when you weren’t in the mood for something too heavy.

You stared at the plate like it had been conjured by sorcery.

He turned and headed for the couch like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just read your mind again. And behind you, the rest of the team was once more staring – some with mouths open, others quietly shaking their heads.

Sam muttered, “Alright, I’m starting to believe he’s just a very hot, brooding psychic.”

Natasha leaned toward Tony. “We should run a brain scan.”

Tony looked vaguely offended. “Trust me, I already tried. He’s just…annoying.”

You followed Bucky to the couch and sat beside him, setting your plate on the coffee table before sinking into the cushions.

“You keep doing that,” you said after a second, still looking at your dinner.

“Doing what?” he replied, tearing off a piece of naan without looking at you.

“Knowing what I want. Before I even know what I want.”

That made him glance over. His voice was quiet now, just between the two of you. “Is it weird?”

You thought about it. “It’s…not. I mean, it should be. But it’s not. It’s actually kinda–”

Your voice caught, the word sitting there, unsaid.

Comforting.

Bucky nodded like he already knew.

Then, like he wanted to shift the moment before it got too close to something you couldn’t take back, he leaned in a little with a smirk. “Don’t act too impressed. I just paid attention. And you’re kinda predictable.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He bumped his knee gently against yours. “Still right, though.”

The rest of dinner passed in a cozy haze – soft laughter, shared food, everyone gradually settling into their usual spots. But the way Bucky’s knee stayed resting against yours, neither of you moving – it felt like something new.

--

A while later, plates were cleaned, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, and stomachs full enough that no one was in the mood to move much – perfect conditions for the sacred Avengers tradition: movie night.

“Alright,” Tony called out from where he was already draped dramatically over the recliner. “What are our options tonight?”

Okay, we got The Godfather, Jaws, Tangled, Mission Impossible, 21 Jump Street, and John Wick,” Sam read off the screen.

You stood, stretching. “I’ll be right back. Don’t vote without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said, even though everyone absolutely would.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Tony sat up like a meerkat. “Alright. Let’s go. What’s your pick, Barnes?”

“John Wick,” Bucky said, without even looking up from where he was idly spinning the empty naan container on the table.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Nat whipped her head around. “You’re not choosing Tangled?”

“Nope.”

“She just said the other day that she wanted to watch it,” Nat reminded him, pointing dramatically. “Like, word for word, ‘I wanna rewatch Tangled soon.’ You’re telling me you’re going against that?”

Bucky just shrugged, totally unbothered. “I know what she wants tonight.”

Tony looked at Sam, eyes narrowed. “This is the beginning of the fall of House Barnes. The man’s gotten cocky.”

“I give him one more round,” Sam muttered, already pulling out his wallet. “Five bucks says she picks Tangled.”

“Ten says 21 Jump Street,” Clint called from the kitchen. “I say she’s in a comedy mood.”

“I’m going full chaos,” Nat added, grinning. “Twenty on Jaws.”

Steve, ever neutral, just raised his eyebrows. “You really think she wants an action movie right now?”

Bucky finally looked up. “She’s tired. Mentally wiped. Tangled is comfort, yeah, but she wants to zone out, not cry over animated lanterns.”

Tony blinked. “You’re playing 4D chess.”

“She’s playing checkers,” Bucky replied calmly. “I just know the board.”

The room was a barely contained mess of betting and bickering by the time you reappeared.

You sat back down, cozying up with the blanket you’d left on the couch. “We vote yet?”

“We were just about to,” Steve said, way too quickly.

They went around the room, collecting votes with forced casualness.

Then, all eyes turned to you.

You paused, lips pursed in thought. “Hmm…”

The silence was deafening.

You tapped your chin. “Not really in the mood for Disney right now, actually…”

Someone gasped.

“…Let’s do John Wick.”

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!”

“No way – NO WAY–”

“Check her room for bugs!”

“ARE YOU TWO SECRETLY DATING?!”

Tony was pacing, Sam collapsed dramatically onto the rug, and Nat looked like she was genuinely questioning reality.

Meanwhile, Bucky just leaned back, arms crossed, as calm as ever.

You blinked at the chaos. “Did I…do something?”

“Oh, you did something,” Sam groaned, flopping backward.

“You broke them,” Bucky muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, his voice full of quiet amusement.

You looked over at him, fighting back a smile. “You knew I’d pick it.”

He met your gaze, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Course I did.”

And somehow, in the middle of popcorn-throwing accusations and Tony trying to demand a federal investigation, your heart started beating just a little faster.

--

The next morning started like any other: coffee, early training, then hitting the showers.

You stretched your arms behind your head, grimacing. “I’m starving. I want eggs. Like, five eggs.”

“Go shower, Egg Queen,” Sam called. “We’ll save you a spot.”

You flipped him off over your shoulder, already headed toward your room.

Once you disappeared around the corner, the rest of the group started trickling toward the kitchen. Bucky walked in with Steve, Nat, and Sam, still towel-drying his hair, when the teasing immediately resumed.

“So,” Nat said, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “you gonna make her eggs now, Barnes? Scrambled? Sunny side up? Whole omelet situation?”

Bucky gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Would. But she’s not gonna want eggs anymore.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “She literally said the word ‘eggs’ like two minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” Sam added. “Plural. With intention.”

“She’s gonna change her mind,” Bucky said calmly, reaching for the pancake mix.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You’re kidding,” Clint said, appearing behind them and already suspicious.

“Nope.”

Nat crossed her arms. “Alright. What is she gonna want?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Bucky said, pulling ingredients from the cabinet. “Light layer of peanut butter on top. Not spread thick. Just enough.”

“And syrup?” Steve asked, deadpan.

“Just a little. Thin drizzle over the top, not drowning.”

“Drink?” Sam challenged, narrowing his eyes.

“Chocolate milk.”

At that, no one said anything for a second. They just stared. Nat was already pulling out her phone.

“I’m documenting this. If you’re wrong, I’m sending the video to every group chat we have.”

“Do it,” Bucky said, already whisking batter like a man with zero fear of failure.

Ten minutes passed. Pancakes were golden, peanut butter spread lightly, and the chocolate milk was already poured in your favorite mug.

And then, you walked in, hair damp and pulled back, hoodie sleeves half covering your hands. You opened the fridge, still blinking from the heat of the shower.

“Hey,” Bucky said without turning around. “Want me to make your eggs?”

You stared into the fridge for a beat. “Mm…no, actually. I think I want pancakes.”

The room went dead silent.

You didn’t notice. “Do we have chocolate chips?”

Still silence.

“Oh, and chocolate milk,” you added, pulling the fridge door closed. “You know, that sounds really good actually.”

You turned.

The plate was already sitting on the counter.

Your chocolate milk was already in your mug.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you–”

“Yeah.” Bucky slid the plate toward you with a casual smile. “Figured you’d want pancakes.”

You looked down at it, then back up. “Okay, that’s…insane.”

“I’m used to you changing your mind,” he said with a little shrug. “I listen.”

And then, the room exploded.

“NOPE – NOPE, I’M OUT!” Sam stormed out of the kitchen.

Nat was filming again. “I hate how calm he is. Like he didn’t just perform witchcraft again.”

“I’m convinced,” Clint muttered. “They’re telepathically bonded.”

Steve just looked vaguely disturbed. “I don’t even know my own favorite pancake setup that well.”

You blinked at Bucky again, who was completely unfazed, like this wasn’t the millionth time in twenty-four hours he’d rearranged reality by knowing you a little too well.

You took a bite of the pancake, still warm and soft and perfect.

“…Okay,” you mumbled with your mouth full. “This is actually kinda amazing.”

He leaned against the counter, smug as ever. “Told you.”

--

The others slowly trickled out of the kitchen after breakfast, muttering in stunned tones, still trying to recover. Nat was rewatching her own footage like it was evidence in a conspiracy theory. Tony was threatening to install surveillance.

But eventually, it was just you and Bucky, the clink of your fork on the plate and the hum of the fridge the only sounds left behind.

You took another bite, slower this time. It was still warm.

You glanced at him, leaning back on the counter across from you, arms crossed, looking completely at ease – like this wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world, like he hadn’t just predicted your entire breakfast down to the drizzle of syrup.

“…How do you do that?” you asked, finally, voice soft in the quiet.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

You gave him a look, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Bucky.”

He smirked a little, then pushed off the counter and walked over to you, grabbing a clean mug and pouring himself some coffee. He didn’t answer right away.

“I just pay attention,” he said eventually, voice quieter now. “That’s all.”

You swallowed the last bite and leaned forward on your elbows. “Yeah, but…it’s more than that. You don’t just notice, like, big stuff. You know all these little things about me. Things most people don’t even think to remember.”

He looked over at you, gaze steady but warm. “Well, most people don’t really look at you the way I do.”

You blinked.

“Not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, a hint of a smile breaking through. “Just…I notice things.”

He sat across from you, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug. “You start craving chocolate when you're stressed. You say you want eggs, but if you’ve just showered, you usually go for something sweet instead. You hum when you’re thinking. And when you’re overwhelmed, you get really quiet – not annoyed, just kind of…floaty. Like your brain’s stuck buffering.”

Your breath caught a little, something fluttering deep in your chest.

“And you always drink chocolate milk when you feel safe,” he added, softer this time. “Not just when you’re hungry.”

You looked down at your mug. You hadn’t even realized that.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it felt heavier – comfortable, but with something unspoken stretched between you.

“…Why?” you asked, finally.

He looked up.

You met his eyes. “Why do you notice all that?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you for a moment, like he was deciding how honest to be.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Because you make it easy to care.”

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

He took a breath, eyes flicking down to the table, then back up.

“I’ve had to watch my back for a long time. I notice things – it’s how I survive. But you…” He gave a quiet laugh, like it surprised even him. “You’re the first person who made me want to notice the good stuff. The small stuff. Just so I could take care of it.”

That flutter in your chest turned into a full-blown ache.

You stared at him, unsure what to say, heart pounding.

But before either of you could say another word, Sam’s voice yelled from the other room:

“Hey, Barnes! If you’re done being a walking love song, can you bring the remote?!”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Every time.”

You were still looking at him, a soft smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “You’re kind of a sap.”

He grinned at that, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark. ��Only for you.”

And then he got up, grabbed the remote, and tossed a wink over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Leaving you alone in the kitchen.

With your perfect pancakes.

And a heart that wouldn’t stop racing.

--

Masterlist

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd

[delulugirly7]

The Bachelor - Episode 3 | Week 3

the bachelor masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x female!reader

words: 11.4k

The house was quiet in that early morning way. Somewhere, a kettle clicked off. A few girls had gathered in the kitchen, bare-faced and wrapped in hoodies, passing around a fruit bowl and trading theories about this week’s date cards. In the living room, someone had already claimed the coziest corner of the couch, knees tucked under a throw blanket, eyes flicking to the front door every few minutes – just in case.

Daniella sat cross-legged on the main couch, wrapped in cardigan and drinking her coffee. She flipped through a magazine, not really reading it. Next to her was Alyssa, she had her knees pulled to her chest, hair up in a claw and a hoodie.

Kayla was perched on the windowsill with her legs stretched out. She was watching the driveaway like something exciting might roll in it if she stared long enough.

Y/N leaned against the arm of the couch between Daniella and Alyssa, one leg over the other, a soft oversized sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder. She held a mug of tea.

“Okay,” Daniella said suddenly, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, “someone tell me he has a flaw. Just one. Anything. I’ll take crooked teeth. Weird laugh. Something.”

“Please,” Y/N muttered. “The man walked out of a painting. He’s probably good with animals and children too. Just to spite us.”

“He probably supports local shops,” Alyssa added.

“I bet he’s a bad texter,” Kayla offered. ”Hot people are usually terrible at texting.”

“He probably types full sentences and uses punctuation,” Daniella said, voice light. A ripple of laughter.

“I can’t lie” Daniella said after a beat, tucking her feet beneath her. “That group date felt like it was weeks ago.”

“It was five days,” Y/N deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

The girls chuckled. From the kitchen, footsteps padded across the hardwood, and a few girls more trickled in. Sierra, Naomi, Zara and Lana wandered through.

“Is this like the unofficial group therapy circle?” Sierra asked, eyebrow raised.

“More like group denial,” Alyssa replied, gesturing at the couch. “Take a seat.”

Selene and Kelsey appeared next. “There is a weird energy today,” Kelsey said as she flopped into a nearby chair. “Like we’re all waiting for something.”

“Because we are,” Zara muttered. “There’s a date card coming, you just know it.”

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flicking toward the hallway, then back to the group. There was a kind of comfort in this, the shared waiting, the lowkey panic woven between the jokes.

“Okay, real question,” Alyssa said, glancing around from her seat on the couch. “Is anyone actually feeling good about where they stand with him?”

Selene exhaled, stretching her legs out. “I mean… I think? We talked at the last cocktail party, and it felt easy. But also, like, he is talking to everyone. So who even knows.”

“I get that,” Lana said. “I had a good moment with him on the group date, but I haven’t had anything since. I keep thinking… what if that was it?”

Kelsey shook her head. “It is weird, right? One second you feel confident, the next you’re spiralling because he laughed at someone else’s joke.”

“That’s because we’re all trapped in a romantic Hunger Games,” Alyssa muttered.

They all laughed.

Confessional – Y/N

“I am really hoping to see him today.” She said, her voice softer, thoughtful. “Last week.. it just felt easy. There is something about him, this calm, like I can actually breath when I am around him.”

“I miss my pillow,” Vanessa said suddenly. “My actually memory-foam, perfectly broken-in pillow. Not this polyester nonsense they gave us.”

Brianna groaned in solidarity. “Yes. I swear the one in my room feels like it was stuffed with peanuts.”

Daisy spoke up. “I miss my dog. Like.. my whole chest kind of aches for her.”

Madina nodded sympathetically, “What kind?”

“She is a rescue golden retriever. She does this thing where she presses her face against mine when I’m sad. I don’t even know if she remembers me right now.”

“She does. They always do.”

“I left one of my sweatshirts with her,” Daisy murmured. “For the scent. It was either that or cry into her fur for six hours before I left.”

A laugh bubbled up between them.

“God,” Vanessa said, “We are officially the most unhinged girl group in Bachelor history. Missing dogs and foam pillows like we’re stranded in the woods.”

“You mean we’re not?” Brianna said dryly.

“Feels like it.” Madina murmured, making them all laugh.

Confessional – Madina

“Being here... you miss a lot of things. Your bed, your people, your routines. But you also start realizing how much energy you’re spending trying to be seen.”

“And yeah, last week at the cocktail party.. I got interrupted mid-sentence.” She gave a short breath of a laugh, no heat behind it. “I get it. Everyone wants time. Everyone’s trying to make something happen.”

“But there is a difference between showing up for yourself and stepping over someone else to get ahead. And I think, at some point, that difference matters.”

Across the room, Zoe and Britt had tucked themselves into a quiet corner where the low hum of the other girls voices faded into background noise.

Zoe curled her legs beneath her, glancing over at the group by the kitchen. “Do you ever feel like we’re extras in someone else’s love story?”

Britt lets out a dry laugh. “You’re definitely not.”

“You think some are playing a game?” Zoe tilted her head.

“I think everyone is, in their own way,” Britt said. “Some of us just haven’t figured out our strategy yet.”

They fell quiet for a beat as laughter bubbled up from across the room. The mood in the corner didn’t shift dramatically, but there was something unspoken sitting between them.

Zoe let out a small sigh. “Honestly I’d rake one real conversation at this point. Just enough time to feel like I exist in his world.”

Britt didn’t say anything right away. Then, with a quiet shrug: “Yeah. Same.”

The front door opened like a cue and every head turned. Jesse Palmer walked in, relaxed and polished in a blazer and dark jeans, holding a crisp white envelope.

“Good morning, ladies.”

The room chorused back: “Morning, Jesse.”

“Everybody feeling good?”

A wave of yeahs, mhmms and polite smiles passed through.

He nodded, stepping closer to the center of the room. “Well, congrats, you’re the nineteen women who made it through last week. Which means you’re the women, Rafe really sees something with. A future. So let’s keep things moving, shall we?”

He held up the envelope. “This week there are going to be two fun group dates.. and one very romantic one-on-one.”

Jesse smiled and set the envelope down on the coffee table. “Here’s your first group date card.”

He looked around the room. “Best of luck, and I hope to see you all, later this week. Have fun.”

He waved once and disappeared just as quickly as he arrived. And the room? Instantly on fire.

Silence lingered for half a beat. Then Daniella nudged Lana with her foot. “You’re the closest. Go.”

Lana raised an eyebrow but reached for the envelope, flipping it open with a small smirk. Her voice dipped low for the drama.

“Madina, Maya, Alyssa…”

A pause.

“Zoe, Daisy, Brianna ...”

Y/N felt her breath catch.

“Vanessa, Kayla..”

Another pause.

“And me.”

A moment of silence stretched in the air like static before it all dissolved into a chorus of oh my gods and scattered claps.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. That flicker of disappointment that rolled through her before she could stop it. That subtle, sinking feeling of being left out, edged in doubt she didn’t want to give voice to. Across the room, Daniella’s eyes met hers, the same shared sting of being left out but she didn’t need to say anything. They both knew. But they didn’t let it linger.

Still, Y/N reached across and squeezed Alyssa’s hand with a quiet smile. “You’re gonna crush it.”

Daniella bumped Kayla’s shoulder gently. “Okay, okay. Try not to outshine the whole planet, please.”

Kayla grinned. “No promises.”

Lana turned the card over. “There’s a quote,” she said, then read aloud:

“Looking for my Mrs. Right. – Love Rafe”

Daniella bumped Kayla with her elbow. “No pressure or anything.”

Kayla smirked. “Just casually planning my wedding with a man I’ve spoken to for maybe forty minutes total.”

The room buzzed with nervous laughter and a growing swirl of speculation. A few of the girls exchanged glances excited, maybe a little terrified as they realized this wasn’t going to be just another group hang. It was going to be something bigger.

As the girls began drifting off to get ready, voices lifting with questions and guesses about the date, a producer’s voice called from the hallway, “Ladies, please head to the styling room!”

Back in the living room, those who remained sat quieter now, each retreating to their thoughts,  some hopeful, some restless.

And Y/N, stared at the closed door a second longer. Soft smile, but quieter now. Because in the silence after the laughter, the doubt crept in. She thought things had gone well with Rafe. Thought the group date rose, their conversation, that kiss, all of it, had meant something.

But now her name hadn’t been on the card. And maybe that was fine. Maybe it was just how the show worked. Still, it was hard not to feel the little sting of being overlooked. Even harder to stop the spiral of wondering why.  

The SUV with nine girls all dressed in white rolled to a stop in front of a coastal estate, where white roses lined the walkaway and a string quartet played softly in the distance. The girls stepped out one by one, their white dresses catching the sun.

Laughter bubbled from a nearby tent, where a faux reception had already been staged up. White linens draped long tables, champagne flutes sparkled and strangers, dressed as wedding guests, turned in their seats, ready to welcome the nine brides.

“Okay, this is crazy,” Maya whispered, wide-eyed as she took in the scene. “Like… are we actually fake marrying him?”

Rafe stood near the center of the setup in a crisp navy suit, boutonnière pinned, a grin tugging at his mouth as each woman approached.

“Ladies,” he called, voice warm and playful, “you ready to get married?”

A mix of nervous laughter and dramatic gasps followed, heels clicking against stone as the women made their way toward the fantasy waiting for them.

“I wonder if they’ve started already,” Naomi murmured, arms crossed over her chest.

“They left like an hour ago.” Kelsey replied from the kitchen barstool. “So yeah, probably mid-chaos by now.”

Sierra, curled up in the chair across from Y/N, gave a soft sigh. “Honestly? I kind of wish I was there. Even if it’s awkward. At least then you’re part of the storyline.”

Across the room, Zara was picking at the cuff of her sweater. Her expression was tight. Too still.

“Z?” Leila said gently, her voice soft from the armchair beside her.

Zara didn’t answer right away. Then, suddenly, she stood up. “I need air,” she muttered, already heading for the back door.

“Zara-” Naomi started, half-rising.

“I’m fine,” Zara insisted, though her voice wobbled just slightly. “Just… give me a sec.”

The door clicked closed behind her.

Silence hung thick in her absence.

“She’s been off all morning,” Kelsey said quietly.

Britt crossed one leg over the other, her voice cool. “Maybe this just isn’t for her. If watching other girls play pretend bride is enough to break you, that’s kind of telling.”

Selene looked over. “Bit harsh.”

Britt shrugged. “It’s the truth. No one’s entitled to a rose  or a breakdown.”

Y/N looked up from her mug. “You know there’s a way to be honest without being an asshole.”

“I’m not being an asshole,” Britt said flatly. “Just realistic.”

“Realistic doesn’t mean cruel.”

“Oh, come on,” Britt scoffed. “She walked out like someone died. We’ve all been overlooked by now, it’s part of the deal.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, voice sharper now, “and we don’t all turn around and use that to drag someone else down. There’s a difference.”

Britt’s brows lifted. “Why are you even pressed? This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“It does when you talk like you get to decide how people are allowed to feel.”

Britt opened her mouth, but Daniella cut in quietly, “Maybe dial it back before you sound even more heartless.”

No one laughed. Even the background music had stopped or maybe it just felt that way?

Y/N stood up. “I’ll be back.”

No one stopped her.

Y/N found Zara in the far corner of the backyard. “Mind if I sit?” Y/N asked, voice low.

Zara nodded her head. Y/N sat beside her. For a while, they just sat like that.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Zara finally said, voice low. “Everyone else seems to be floating through this. I’m… stuck in my own head.”

Y/N didn’t push, just waited.

“I keep overthinking everything. What I said, how I looked, whether I’m doing too much or not enough. And every time I think I’ve found my footing, I lose it again.” She let out a shaky breath. “It’s exhausting.”

Y/N glanced over. “That sounds… really hard.”

Zara gave a small laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I keep wondering what Rafe sees when he looks at me. Or if he sees me at all. Like, what if I’m just background noise in someone else’s love story?”

Y/N’s heart pulled. She reached over, gently brushing Zara’s arm. “Hey. You’re not background to anyone.”

Zara looked down at her hands. “It just feels like I’m falling behind. Like I should be more confident, more open, more sure. But I’m not. And then I wonder if that means I’m not cut out for this.”

“You’re human,” Y/N said softly. “And you’re allowed to have doubts. You’re allowed to feel all of this.”

Zara’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked quickly. “I just hate how small I’ve started to feel. Like I’m shrinking inside myself.”

Y/N leaned her shoulder gently into hers. “You’re not small, Zara. You’re brave. Brave enough to admit you’re struggling instead of pretending you’re not.”

Zara gave a quiet exhale, like something inside her had loosened just a little. “Thanks,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N offered a soft smile. “Anytime.”

And they sat there, not trying to fix anything just letting the quiet stretch out around them, holding space for whatever came next.

Back at the group date there had been equal parts surreal and theatrical. Each woman had walked down an aisle. Toasts were made, mock guests were charmed and champagne glasses were raised in pretend celebration. Rafe moved through it all with warmth and ease, lifting veils and playing the part of groom more convincingly than some had expected.

The final moment came with the “first dance” reserved for just one. Daisy.

She made the fake wedding feel, somehow, honest. When her name was called, she looked stunned, cheeks flushing pink as soft music cued up and Rafe offered his hand.

The rest of the girls watched from the sidelines, as the bride and groom swayed slowly under the fairy lights.

Confessional – Rafe

“Today was really fun. Kind of surreal. Watching them give speeches, laugh with the guests. I saw different sides of them today.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Everyone was piled into the living room, scattered across the couches.

“They’re taking so long on the group date,” Sierra muttered, pulling a blanket tighter around her. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

“Probably fake-cutting a wedding cake,” Selene said dryly, earning a few half-smiles.

Leila yawned, “Feels like they’ve been gone forever.”

Daniella sat on the floor with her back to the couch, hair piled on top of her head in a lopsided bun. She didn’t say anything, just tapped her fingers against her knee, like she was waiting for something.

Confessional — Daniella

“It’s getting pretty late and we’ve been sitting around all day, and as much fun as I’ve had, like in the back of my mind I’m thinking, when’s the next date card coming?” She shrugged, smiling faintly. “So I’m hoping it’s tonight.”

Knock. Knock

Half the room jumped.

“Oh my God,” Leila said, clutching her chest. “That scared me.”

Naomi walked to the door and cracked it open, glanced outside then turned back, holding a single white envelope.

Confessional – Britt

“There’s a one-on-one and a group date. We don’t know what order they’re coming in,” she said, arms crossed, tone light but clipped. “But I hope it’s a one-on-one with my name on it.”

“Let’s see,” Naomi said, sliding a finger under the seal of the envelope.

She cleared her throat, reading aloud:

“Let’s chase the rush – together, love Rafe” 

A beat. Just long enough for every girl in the room to brace.

Then: “Y/N”

Silence cracked wide open.

Y/N blinked, lips parting slightly, as if the words took a second longer to land. Her heart stuttered. She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours. “Oh my god…”

The room shifted around, soft claps, a few cheers, Daniella was already turning toward her with a grin, grabbing her hand, Selene giving an encouraging nod, Naomi reaching out to squeeze her knee and Zara giving her a warm, quiet smile.

She laughed small, breathy and almost shaky. “I’m really happy,” she admitted, half-laughing again. “Also maybe slightly spiralling, but like… the good kind?”

Confessional – Y/N

She was glowing.

“I’m excited. I really am. But also nervous in, like… a full body kind of way?” She laughed again, covering her face for a second. “First date nerves. You know?”

Back on the group date,  all nine women were gathered around him on a couch, fire pit flickering softly in the middle. The atmosphere had settled into something quieter now, something more expectant.

Rafe looked around at each of them, hands resting loosely in his lap.

“So… how’s everyone feeling?” he asked, voice warm.

There were murmurs “Good”, “Really good”, “Amazing” followed by a round of soft laughs and nods.

He smiled, letting the energy breathe for a moment before continuing.

“Well, I feel like all of you leaned into what today was. You had fun with it, and it meant a lot to see that. And the conversations tonight too I felt the same way. I just think you’re all doing such an amazing job being here and opening up.”

As he leaned forward slightly, his hand reached for the rose resting beside him. The movement alone shifted the air, subtle but felt.

A soft swell of suspenseful music built underneath.

“I really wanted to be intentional tonight,” he said, voice lower now, more grounded. “Let each of you know how much I appreciated today, the energy, the effort, the honesty. And I know there’s only one rose, but what this really means to me is someone being real. Showing their heart through all this craziness. Trusting the process… and me.”

He looked up, eyes scanning the circle.

“With that being said…”

A beat.

“Maya.”

Her name landed gently, but firmly.

Maya’s breath caught as she looked up, eyes wide.

Rafe smiled. “Will you accept this rose?”

She blinked once, then nodded, her voice soft: “Yes.”

As he handed it to her, a few of the women clapped lightly.

Maya took her seat again, rose resting delicately in her lap.

Rafe stood then, brushing his hands along his jeans.

“Thank you all again. For today and for tonight. I’ll see you soon.”

He moved slowly, giving each woman a quick hug on his way out, a quiet word or a small smile, something personal.

THE NEXT MORNING

In the quiet vanity space just off the bedrooms, soft golden light filtered through the curtains, warming the cool tile floor.

Y/N slipped into a soft white two-piece set. Light, summery and just the right amount of flirty. The top had an open back that showed just enough skin to feel romantic. The matching skirt sat perfectly around her waist, flowing gently with every step.

Behind her, Daniella appeared in the mirror’s reflection. “You look like an angel. He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Y/N turned toward the mirror again, pressing her lips together, then swiping on a warm-toned gloss. “I just want it to feel like… me. Not like I’m trying too hard. Not like I’m pretending.”

Daniella smiled. “Then it will.”

She opened the front door slowly. Rafe was already halfway up the path.

He wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of charcoal gray shorts, sunglasses hooked at his collar, his hair slightly tousled. It was simple, effortless. But there was something in the way he moved, the relaxed confidence, the quiet steadiness in his eyes that made her breath catch before she even stepped outside.

Y/N stepped out into the morning sun, her eyes finding his like muscle memory. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, voice low and easy, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Wow,” he murmured near her ear, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You look incredible.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks, but her smile didn’t falter. “Thanks.”

He nodded toward the sleek black car behind him, “You ready?”.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, trying to sound steady, even as her pulse ticked faster. He walked her to the car, opening the passenger door like it was second nature. Not showy, just thoughtful. His hand hovered at the small of her back as she climbed in, warm through the fabric of her skirt.

Once he was in on the driver’s side, he glanced over at her again slower this time. Like he was just now letting himself take her in.

“You look..” he started again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was teasing himself more than her. “Wow.”

She gave him a look. “You already said that.”

“I know,” he said, smirking a little. “Couldn’t help it.”

Y/N laughed under her breath and turned toward the window, smiling like an idiot. Then she turned back. “You know, you’re not supposed to be this charming this early in the morning.”

He grinned, one hand already on the wheel. “You haven’t even seen my real moves yet.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow.

“You’ll know when you see them,” he said, pulling out onto the road. “But fair warning, I play dirty. Especially when I want someone to like me.”

Y/N gave him a long look, then rolled her eyes with a smile. “Mission accomplished.”

That made him glance at her and something flickered behind his eyes. Like he wanted to say more. Maybe he would.

As the road curved along the coast and the first hints of the ocean glinted between the trees, Y/N squinted toward the horizon, then glanced back at Rafe.

“So… this date,” she said, dragging out the words as she glanced at him. “The card said ‘Let’s chase the rush together.’ That’s either really exciting… or really terrifying.”

Rafe smiled, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Little mystery never hurt anyone.”

She turned toward him a bit more. “Should I be scared?”

He glanced at her, serious for just a beat. “Do you trust me?”

Her gaze lingered on his, steady. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.”

That smile returned, softer this time. “Then you’ve got nothing to be scared of.”

They didn’t say anything else for a second,the moment stretching just enough to feel real. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Then she smirked. “But if I end up clinging to you screaming, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“No promises,” he said, but the warmth in his voice made it clear, he wouldn’t mind at all

She laughed, shaking her head. “Seriously though, ‘chase the rush’? That could mean anything. Are we zip-lining into the ocean? Jet skiing into a whirlpool?”

Rafe glanced at her, sunglasses still hooked at his collar, eyes glinting. “You’ll see.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admitted. “But also? I think you’ll love it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was real. “You better not be bluffing.”

He tilted his head, gaze flicking to her and lingering for half a second longer than necessary. “You don’t strike me as someone who scares easy.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But I do like to know if I’m about to be flung off a cliff.”

“No cliffs,” he promised. “Just… trust.”

Y/N shifted slightly in her seat, fingers brushing her skirt. “Can I tell you something kind of... embarrassing?”

Rafe glanced over at her, brows raised just a little, but his voice was steady. “Always.”

She hesitated. “When I didn’t see my name on that first group date card? I don’t know. I felt stupid for how much it got to me. I knew not everyone would get picked, obviously. But I guess I just— I don’t know..” she let out a breathy laugh, “I felt disappointed. Like maybe I wasn’t on your radar the way I thought I was.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just let her keep going.

“I guess I just wanted some kind of sign that you… saw me. And when I didn’t get it, I started second-guessing everything.”

Rafe’s fingers tapped once on the wheel before he looked over, eyes softer than before.

“I did see you,” he said quietly. “That’s exactly why you weren’t on that group date.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He smirked a little, eyes flicking back to the road. “Because I didn’t want to share you. Not in a group setting. I wanted this, us, today. Real time. Without distractions.”

She went quiet, warmth blooming under her skin. “Okay… stop. You’re gonna make me blush.”

He grinned, glancing sideways. “Mission very much accomplished.”

The car dipped lower, winding down toward a hidden stretch of coastline. As the trees thinned and the beach came into view, soft sand, open sea, and a small setup of boards and towels tucked near the dunes, Y/N’s breath caught slightly.

“Wow,” she murmured.

Rafe pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine, glancing over at her with a grin.

“You told me you loved the water,” he said, nodding toward the waves. “So I figured... why not start where I feel at home?”

Her brow lifted, curious. “You surf?”

“Charleston, remember?” he said, flashing a quick smile. “Grew up chasing waves before I ever thought about chasing roses.”

She let out a soft laugh. “So this is your way of showing off?”

He shrugged, playful. “Not showing off just trying to impress you in the most low-key, kind of way.”

She grinned. “Well... consider me curious.”

“Then let’s hit the water.”

The wetsuits were half-zipped, boards propped upright in the sand. Y/N sat on a wooden bench just outside the beach shack, fingers twisting her damp hair into a bun before it slipped again.

Behind her, Rafe strolled over, slowing when he noticed her struggling.

“You want a hand?” he asked.

She glanced back, giving him a sceptical look. “You know how to do this?”

He crouched beside her, easy smile in place. “I’ve got two little sisters. Hair emergencies used to be a regular thing in our house.”

That earned a small laugh from her. “So you’re telling me you’re qualified?”

“I mean, I survived middle school mornings with a brush and a hair tie. I’ve got decent odds.”

She gave a mock sigh and tilted her head toward him. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

He carefully took the hair tie from her wrist and gathered her hair, fingers moving with a quiet sort of ease.

“Wow,” she murmured. “You actually know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

She shrugged, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You don’t give off strong hair-braiding energy.”

“Well, I try to keep people guessing.”

A pause settled between them, comfortable. His knuckles brushed the back of her neck as he worked, and she sat a little straighter without meaning to.

“There,” he said after a moment, tying it off neatly. “Should hold up at least until the wipeouts start.”

She turned to face him, their eyes meeting at close range. “Thanks.”

He nodded, lingering just a second longer than he needed to. “Anytime.”

Then she stood, smoothing her wetsuit. “Okay, braid boy. Let’s see how you are on a board.”

He grinned. “Alright, show-off. Let’s go.”

The water was cooler than expected, but not shocking. Y/N shrieked as the first wave lapped over her knees, the hem of her wetsuit darkening instantly.

Rafe was already ankle-deep, board tucked under one arm, turning to grin at her over his shoulder. “Come on! This is the easy part.”

Y/N raised a brow, lifting her board like it weighed twice as much. “Right, because balance has always been my strong suit.”

“Balance takes focus,” he said with a grin. “And maybe a little bit of pretending you know what you’re doing.”

She gave him a look. “You’re full of something, that’s for sure.”

He laughed, slowing as she caught up. “Alright, surf school 101. Start on the sand. I want to see your form first before we take on baby waves.”

“You mean humiliating warm-ups in front of you? Sounds dreamy.”

But she followed, dropping her board and mimicking his movements as he demonstrated. Palms flat. Chest up. Feet staggered.

“Like this?” she asked, squinting down at herself.

“Almost,” he said, stepping behind her.

She felt him before she saw him, the shift in the air, the quiet heat of him close behind her. His voice dipped low, the edge of teasing gone, replaced with something slower, warmer. “Try keeping your weight here,” he murmured, gently nudging her elbow into place.

Y/N swallowed. Her pulse jumped. Not from nerves, exactly, but from the way his hand lingered, the warmth of him just at her back.

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding his just over her shoulder.

His gaze held hers for a beat too long. “You’re tense.”

“You’re close,” she said, breathier than intended.

His smile tugged higher, amused but not mocking. “Can’t help it,” he said softly. “You’re kind of distracting.”

She glanced up at him over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “So what happens now, coach?”

He met her eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Now?” he said, his voice just a little softer. “Now I give you some luck.”

And before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her. Soft, certain. Just long enough to make her forget her footing, just short enough to leave her chasing it.

When he pulled back, his forehead nearly brushed hers.

“For luck,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Her cheeks flushed. “That’s cheating.”

He grinned as he stepped back. “Not if it works.”

She turned away, heart thudding, trying to reset her stance but her balance wasn’t the only thing off anymore. Not even close.

“Okay,” she managed, focusing back on the board. “I think I got it.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching her. “I think you do.”

Ten minutes later, they were in the water, boards bobbing beside them, the steady pulse of the waves rolling in around their ankles. Rafe moved with calm ease, like he belonged there. Y/N.. less so.

“Alright, when the wave starts to lift you, that’s your moment,” he called gently from a few feet away. “Paddle, then pop up.”

She nodded, bracing herself. The next wave came. She paddled, tried to stand -

And wiped out instantly.

The ocean flipped her like a coin, water rushing up her nose. She surfaced with a gasp, blinking against the sun, hair stuck to her face.

Rafe was already beside her. “Hey, hey,” he said, laughing softly but checking her face. “You good?”

“Think I swallowed half the ocean,” she said, breathless.

“You’ll build immunity,” he grinned. Then, without thinking, he reached out and gently pushed a few damp strands of hair away from her cheek.

Y/N stilled slightly at the touch, and their eyes met, a pause in the middle of all the motion. Quiet, but full.

“You’re fine,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re doing great.”

She gave a half-smile, still catching her breath. “Not sure that counts as standing.”

“You got up,” he said simply. “That’s the hard part.”

She let out a shaky laugh and pushed her hair back again. “Alright. Again?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

They paddled out side by side. A new wave rolled in, smaller this time. She caught it, stood, and managed to stay upright just long enough to feel the wind cut across her skin before she dropped back into the water.

When she popped back up, laughing, he was already next to her again.

“That felt almost real!” she said.

“It was real,” he said, grinning. “You’re getting there.”

They floated for a second, shoulder to shoulder, boards drifting closer. She looked at him again, wet hair, sun on his skin, that steady kind of warmth in his eyes and the words came out without thinking.

“Thanks for doing this.”

He met her gaze. “You told me you love the water.”

Y/N smiled. “I didn’t mean nearly drowning in it, but... yeah. This means a lot.”

A beat passed. He looked like he was about to say something else but then another wave started rolling in.

The water was calmer now, waves mellowing into a soft rhythm that pulsed around their legs. Y/N had waded in up to her hips, her braid damp from earlier wipeouts, her wetsuit unzipped halfway to reveal the edge of her bikini top. The ocean breeze played with the loose strands of hair that had slipped free, and her eyes never left Rafe as he rode the last wave in.

He cut cleanly across the water, graceful and sure, before stepping off his board and catching sight of her.

“Still watching me?” he asked, breathless as he approached, board trailing behind him.

“Someone’s gotta judge your form,” she said, the corner of her mouth curving.

“Oh yeah?” He slowed as he reached her, water swirling around their waists. “And?”

Her eyes flicked down his chest, still dripping, then back up. “You pass.”

“Barely?” he teased.

She shrugged, like she wasn’t already smiling. “You might need to prove it again.”

Rafe didn’t answer not with words. He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair off her cheek with a touch that lingered. Then his hand slid to her waist, warm even in the cool water, drawing her in.

Their bodies bumped gently in the current, salt clinging to skin.

And then he kissed her.

Soft at first, slow and exploratory. Her hands slid up over his shoulders, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. He tasted like sea and adrenaline, sun-warmed skin and the quiet tension of something that had been building all day.

Her breath caught when his thumb brushed under the edge of her bikini top, not possessive, just familiar, like he already knew her shape.

The waves rocked gently around them, water lifting and falling at their sides, and it felt like they were suspended in it — this little pocket of ocean and heat and want.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless.

“I thought this was supposed to be a surf lesson,” she said, lips still grazing his.

He smiled, hand still on her waist. “Call it... extra credit.”

The tide had eased into a slower rhythm, each wave rolling in with a hush like it had nowhere else to be. Y/N stood barefoot at the edge of the shoreline, toes sinking into damp sand, her wetsuit unzipped halfway down her stomach to reveal the edge of her bikini top. Her braid clung damply to her back, salt still on her skin.

Out in the water, Rafe paddled hard, then popped up, smooth and effortless, catching the swell just before it broke. He rode it clean, low and controlled, the board tilting beneath him with practiced confidence.

Y/N watched, shading her eyes with one hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. When he hit the final stretch of the wave and hopped off with a neat, easy dive, she gave a single clap, shaking her head with a quiet laugh under her breath.

“Alright, I’m impressed,” she murmured to no one.

He came up grinning, pushing his hair back, scanning until his eyes found hers. From the water, he raised a brow like he’d caught the tail end of her reaction. She didn’t say anything, just tilted her head and shrugged like, yeah, okay — you’re good.

He grinned wider, already moving back toward shore.

And from where she stood, the sea in front of her, him swimming back, that look still on his face, something about it felt good. Easy. Like maybe she’d been waiting for a moment like this without realizing it.

The afternoon light stretched long across the beach, still warm but softening, the kind of light that made the ocean sparkle like it was holding onto summer. Y/N walked beside Rafe, hand in his, the sand cool and powdery under their feet, the rhythmic hush of the waves a steady backdrop to their quiet moment.

Just ahead, nestled in a shallow dip between two dunes, was the kind of setup that felt too pretty to be real, a low wooden table surrounded by striped pillows and folded blankets, a woven basket off to one side. Candles flickered inside hurricane glass jars, and a small bottle of champagne sweated in an ice bucket.

Y/N let out a quiet breath. “Oh my.. this is adorable.”

Rafe glanced over at her, their fingers still loosely intertwined. “Yeah?”

She nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s enjoy it.”

They sank down onto the cushions, still a little salt-kissed from the ocean. Rafe reached for the bottle and popped the cork with a clean twist, the sound light and easy. He poured two glasses and handed her one, their fingers brushing.

Rafe poured carefully, handing her a glass before lifting his own.

“To us.” he said, voice a little softer now.

Y/N’s gaze met his, steady.

“To us,” she repeated, tapping her glass gently against his.

They clinked glasses, they sipped and the silence that followed was the comfortable kind. Rafe reached into the basket and pulled out the containers, spreading them between them.

“Tacos, fruit, little bit of everything,” he said.

Y/N peeked inside, lips already curving. “Okay, you just won major points.”

He laughed softly. “I figured it was safer than trying to impress you with my cooking.”

She took a bite, nodding with clear approval. “This is exactly what I needed.”

They ate slowly, passing the fruit between them, brushing fingers now and then small grazes that lingered longer each time. The stories turned quieter, less about the past and more about the now. He watched her laugh over a piece of mango, eyes crinkled, sunlight catching the curve of her lips.

When she leaned back on her hands, eyes on him, something shifted.

Rafe mirrored her without thinking, elbow brushing hers as he settled beside her. He turned toward her slightly, gaze dragging from her mouth to her eyes and back again.

She caught it. Didn’t look away.

“What?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, just above a murmur, but there was no joking in it.

Her smile curved slow. “I think I’m starting to.”

Their knees touched. Then his fingers reached, brushing a piece of hair from her shoulder, fingertips skating lightly along the exposed skin at her collarbone. The kind of touch that wasn’t about fixing anything, just feeling.

Her breath hitched.

Without a word, Rafe reached for her waist and gently tugged, guiding her up then shifting her into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands settled on her hips, steady, warm.

Y/N’s arms looped around his neck, knees bracketing his thighs now. She looked down at him, playful, flushed, and just a little breathless.

Rafe leaned in like he couldn’t help it anymore. Their mouths didn’t meet at first, just hovered. Close enough to taste the possibility.

“Are you gonna kiss me again,” she asked, “or just keep looking at me like that?”

His lips brushed hers, not quite a kiss more like a dare.

“Depends,” he whispered. “You want slow… or do you want me to forget the cameras are even here?”

That made her laugh, soft and low before closing the gap with a kiss that wasn’t slow at all.

It was heat and salt and want. His hand slid up her back, drawing her closer until her chest was flush to his, her fingers curling in his shirt like she needed something to hold onto. He kissed her like they were alone on the planet like the moment had been waiting for them to catch up.

When they finally broke apart, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, they didn’t say anything right away. Just breathed, still tangled in each other, like neither of them was ready to pull back.

Rafe smiled against her temple. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Y/N grinned, curling a little closer. “Only the good kind.”

And he kissed her again just because he could.

The sun hovered just above the horizon, casting everything in that soft golden wash that made the world feel quieter – slower. The ocean glinted with ribbons of orange and rose gold, each wave reflecting the sky.

Y/N and Rafe sat nestled on a blanket near the edge of the dunes, a little distance from their now-empty picnic setup. She leaned back into him, her body relaxed against his chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was second nature. He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, his breath warm near her ear.

They didn’t talk. Not yet. The quiet was full, but not heavy just comfortable.

Y/N tilted her head slightly toward his. “We’re gonna blame the champagne if I get emotional, right?”

Rafe let out a soft laugh, brushing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “Deal. Champagne… and sunsets. Dangerous combo.”

She smiled, fingers threading with his over her stomach where his arms held her close. “It’s just… nice, you know? To not feel like I have to talk or impress or perform.”

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “You never have to do anything but just… be here.”

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, letting that settle in her chest.

She shifted slightly, turning in his arms until they were almost face to face, her legs drawn up between them. Her fingers moved up, slowly combing through the back of his hair, soft gentle strokes that made him close his eyes for half a second.

When he opened them again, she was watching him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.

“I really like you,” he said, voice low, not shy just honest.

She smiled, soft and slow. “Do you?”

He leaned in, pressing a small, lingering kiss to her lips. “Mm-hmm. I do.”

Her thumb brushed along the side of his neck as she whispered, “I think I like you a little bit.”

He raised a brow, playful. “Just a little bit?”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased.

“Yeah?” His voice was warm, a quiet smile spreading across his lips.

And then he kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hand stayed tangled in his hair, his arms tightening gently around her like he didn’t want to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, they were still nose to nose, foreheads nearly touching, breath mingling in the last golden light of the day.

After the make-out session, Y/N rested against Rafe’s side. One hand in his lap, gently tracing the veins along his forearm. Her fingertips moved slowly, following each line with quiet curiosity, like she was memorizing him by touch, the warmth of his skin, the strength beneath it, the way he didn’t flinch or pull away, just let her.

Rafe glanced down at her hand on his, then back at her face. She was focused, soft in the way she always was when she thought no one was watching.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low.

She smiled without looking up. “Very.”

The silence between them wasn’t really silent it held the sound of waves, a gull overhead, and that hush that happens when two people know they’re not in a rush to leave.

Then Rafe shifted slightly, reaching behind him to grab something from under the edge of the blanket. When he turned back, the familiar red rose was in his hand — bright against the soft dusk tones.

Y/N sat up just enough to meet his eyes, her hand falling to rest lightly on his knee.

Rafe’s gaze didn’t waver. “Today felt... easy. But also kind of electric? You were open, fun, honest and I think I saw more of you than I have of most people in a month.”

He paused, thumb brushing the edge of her knee as he held out the rose between them.

“I want more of that. Of you. So…” He smiled. “Y/N, will you accept this rose?”

A beat. Then her mouth curved gently, eyes never leaving his. “Yeah. I will.”

Rafe leaned in, meaning to kiss her cheek but she turned just enough to meet him, lips catching lips, soft and easy.

She tucked the rose carefully beside her on the blanket and leaned back into him, his arm curling around her waist. Her head found its place on his shoulder again, and they stayed that way, limbs tangled, breath synced, skin still buzzing from everything and nothing.

The sky above stretched into early violet, fading toward something darker.

Confessional  – Rafe

“This might’ve been my favorite date so far. And not just because of the surfing.”  He pauses like he’s about to say more, then smirks, smile deepening.

“She’s got this way of looking at you, like she already knows what you’re thinking. And then laughs like she doesn’t take any of it too seriously. I don’t know... I think I’m already a little wrapped around her finger.”

“And the craziest part? I don’t even mind.”

He exhales, sitting back slightly, eyes still soft. “I could’ve stayed on that beach with her all night.”

Confessional — Y/N

 “I can’t stop smiling. Which is ridiculous, I know, but… it felt like real life today. It didn’t feel like a first date. It felt like something I’ve done before. Or something I want to keep doing.” She let out a soft laugh.

THE NEXT DAY

Sunlight filtered through the lemon trees, casting soft shadows across the stone patio. The girls had sprawled across lounge chairs and picnic blankets with oversized mugs of coffee and half-eaten bowls of fruit and granola in front of them. A low speaker played something mellow and easy. Someone had lit a citronella candle that flickered lazily in the breeze.

Y/N sat cross-legged on a cushion, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug, looking entirely too content not to be interrogated.

Alyssa was the first to break. “Are you gonna make us beg, or?”

Y/N smirked behind her mug. “Beg for what?”

“You’re glowing. You’ve been glowing since you walked back in,” Kayla said, laughing.

Daniella, lying on her stomach with her chin propped on her arms, glanced up. “She’s not even trying to hide it.”

Y/N gave them a mock innocent look. “Hide what?”

“Oh my god,” Kayla groaned, flipping onto her side dramatically. “You had your date. With Rafe. On the beach. Alone. Start talking.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, a little too pleased. “It was… really good. Better than good even.”

The girls collectively lost it. Laughter. Pillow nudges. A chorus of “We knew it!”

Alyssa sat up. “Details, please.”

“It was…” Y/N’s voice softened, eyes drifting for a second. “Real. Just…  us. Surfing, talking, messing around in the water.”

“Wait,” Alyssa said, sitting up straighter. “You surf?”

“Absolutely not,” Y/N said with a laugh. “Mostly I swallowed saltwater and embarrassed myself. But he tried to teach me.”

“He totally loved that,” Kayla said knowingly.

Y/N shrugged, cheeks warm. “He said he did.”

A beat passed.

Daniella raised a brow. “And?”

Y/N tilted her head. “And what?”

Alyssa leaned in. “Did you kiss him?”

Y/N just smiled into her coffee.

Kayla gasped. “YOU DID.”

Y/N gave a small, helpless laugh. “In the water.”

Daniella collapsed backward. “And the chemistry?”

Y/N’s cheeks went a little pink. “Let’s just say… the ocean wasn’t the only thing heating up.”

Alyssa tossed a strawberry at her. “Shut. Up.”

They all laughed again, the kind of easy, morning-after laughter that felt like friendship and sunscreen and too much sun. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed lazily past.

Daniella eventually glanced sideways. “Did he give you the rose?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “He did.”

The girls beamed.

“Well,” Kayla said, stealing a grape. “Let’s just say... if I were him, I would’ve too.”

“We officially have a frontrunner.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Not even a little.

Then she glanced down at her hands, fingers brushing the side of her mug. “I know I’m smiling like an idiot, but... I really don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to rub it in or make anyone feel bad. I know how much all of us want this, and you guys deserve it too. Honestly.”

Daniella leaned over and squeezed her hand. “We know that.”

“Seriously,” Y/N added, voice softer now. “I just... really hope you all get moments like that. You deserve to feel seen.”

“I’m just glad it’s with someone who actually gets it,” Alyssa said.

Kayla nodded. “And we’re rooting for you. No weird energy, just love.”

Y/N smiled, heart swelling. “I love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Daniella murmured.

Alyssa lifted her mug. “To good dates and even better friends.”

They clinked coffee mugs, bursting into laughter again. For a second, it didn’t matter who had a rose or not.

The second group date came and went, a whirlwind of cowboy boots, line dancing, and unexpected rhythm from girls who swore they’d never two-step. Laughter echoed through a converted barn lit with string lights, where boots scuffed the floor and hands found their way to hips between spins.

By the end of the night, the energy had settled into something quieter, sweeter.

The group date rose went to Daniella.

THE DAY OF THE ROSE CEREMONY

The heat clung to the afternoon like it had no plans to leave. Most of the girls were scattered around the back patio, sunglasses on, legs stretched out, half-lounging with iced drinks in hand when a voice called from inside:

“Jesse’s here!”

Chairs scraped. Flip-flops slapped against tile. In a matter of seconds, the living room buzzed.

Jesse stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable grin on his face.

“Hey ladies,” he said. “I know it’s been a big week. Two group dates, one-on-one, lots of emotions…”

Some nods. Some wary looks.

He smiled. “So Rafe thought, instead of waiting for the cocktail party to get more time with all of you, why not do something a little more fun?”

“He’s throwing a pool party.”

The room broke into surprised laughter. “Get your swimsuits ready,” Jesse added with a smirk. “He’ll be here soon.”

The music had already been turned up. Girls darted in and out of the bedrooms and bathrooms in a blur of bikini straps, cover-ups and lip gloss. The backyard sparkled, turquoise pool, pitchers of mocktails sweating on the table, beach balls drifting lazily in the water.

And then the sliding door opened.

Rafe stepped outside and the volume of every conversation dipped almost immediately.

He wore a short-sleeved linen shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal just enough of his chest to be noticeable. Sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” he said, grinning.

That’s all it took, a rush of footsteps and laughter. A few girls surged toward him with excited greetings, arms thrown around his shoulders.

Zoe, predictably dramatic, didn’t stop at a hug, she leapt up and wrapped both arms and legs around him like a koala, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Missed me?”

Rafe caught her with a quick, surprised laugh, hands steady at her waist. He offered Zoe a grin that was light, then gently lowering her back to the ground, the looked up at the rest with a soft shake of his head, “Glad to see the energy’s high already.”

The rest of the girls exchanged a few amused, and not-so-amused looks.

Y/N stood a little behind the front row of girls, shoulder to shoulder with Daniella. She wasn’t pushing forward, just watching. From behind his sunglasses, Rafe’s gaze swept the group until it landed on her.

He didn’t say anything. Just let the corner of his mouth lift and sent her a quick, subtle wink.

Her breath hitched, barely. No one else noticed. Just her. Just him.

Someone cranked the music a little louder. Drinks were passed around. Naomi started pouring something fizzy into plastic glasses.

“Okay!” Kayla called. “We need a toast before anyone starts pushing anyone in.”

Rafe raised his glass, the sunlight catching the rim. “To a day off with the best company I could ask for.”

The girls cheered, a happy clink of plastic cups echoing over the pool.

And just like that, the party officially began.

Rafe barely had time to finish his drink before Zoe pulled him toward one of the loungers near the pool, already launching into a conversation with a laugh and a flip of her hair.

A few feet away, Y/N had drifted toward a shaded corner with Alyssa, Daniella, Kayla and Zara, each of them holding onto drinks and dripping in SPF.

“So..” Daniella said “How are we feeling about today?”

“Besides slightly sunburned?” Y/N smirked, then hesitated, eyes flicking briefly toward the far side of the patio. “There’s just been... a bit of tension.”

“Still with Britt?” Alyssa asked.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, tracing the edge of her glass with her fingertip. “It’s not like we’re throwing drinks at each other or anything. It’s just.. weird. Off.”

Zara frowned slightly. “Did something happen?”

Y/N hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sort of. The morning after the first group date… she made this comment about you being too sensitive after you went outside, like in a really dismissive way. I called her out on it.”

Zara blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said gently. “She said if someone can’t handle the pressure of this, they shouldn’t be here. I just.. couldn’t let that slide. I’m sorry I should’ve said something to you.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want it to turn into drama, but it’s been tense since. I’ve been thinking maybe I should talk to her. Just clear the air.”

Zara gave a small, appreciative smile. “I might talk to her too. Not to confront her, I just... I don’t want to leave here with any loose threads either.”

“Thanks for standing up for me,” she added a beat later.

“Of course,” Y/N said. “I just hate the feeling of something lingering like that. I don’t need us to be best friends, but I don’t want it to get ugly either.”

Y/N spotted Britt by the cabana. Y/N took a breath, adjusted her sunglasses and walked over.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her tone neutral but not cold.

Britt glanced up. “Hey.”

“Can we talk for a sec?” Y/N asked, nodding toward a quieter corner of the patio.

Britt hesitated, then nodded her head and stood. “Sure.”

They stepped away from the buzz of the group, stopping near a shaded patch beneath the pergola where the breeze softened the heat.

Y/N folded her arms lightly across her chest. “I don’t want to make a big thing out of this, but… it’s been a little tense between us.”

Britt raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

Y/N exhaled through her nose, holding back the urge to snap. “I’m not here to argue. I just wanted to clear the air.”

Britt didn’t say anything at first. Just waited.

“That morning of the first group date,” Y/N continued, “what you said about Zara... it didn’t sit right with me. It felt harsh. She was hurting, and I just couldn’t pretend it was fine.”

Britt’s jaw ticked. “She was having a moment. I made a comment. That’s all.”

“And I get that,” Y/N said. “But it felt like more than that. Like you were minimizing what she was going through. You don’t have to agree with how she feels, but dismissing it like that? It wasn’t cool.”

Silence settled for a moment.

Britt looked away, eyes narrowing slightly. “I wasn’t trying to be cold. I just don’t have time for people falling apart every five minutes. This is hard for everyone.”

“I’m not saying it’s not,” Y/N said, her voice calm but firm. “But you don’t get to decide how someone else handles it.”

There was a long pause. The wind moved between them.

Finally, Britt exhaled. “Alright. You’ve said your piece.”

Y/N nodded once. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to pretend like nothing happened.”

Britt met her eyes, unreadable. “Noted.”

A beat.

“I don’t expect us to be friends,” Y/N added. “But I don’t want this to get uglier.”

Britt’s tone was cool. “Then don’t make it uglier.”

That one stung, not sharp, but firm. Final.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just nodded again, more to herself this time.

“Okay,” she said softly. “That’s all.”

She turned and walked away, her chest feeling heavier than before.

Y/N stood near the far end of the pool with Rafe, her drink balanced in her hand, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes scanning her face.

She gave him a half-smile, brushing her thumb over the condensation on her glass. “Yeah. Just – I don’t know. One of those days.”

Rafe studied her a moment longer, then tipped his heads toward the back gate. “Come on. Let’s walk for a sec.”

They slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the edge of the garden until the noise faded into a low hum. He found a shaded spot near the trees, just quiet enough to feel like a separate world and stopped there.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly, “but I can tell something’s on your mind.”

Y/N exhaled and leaned against the trunk of a lemon tree, fingers fidgeting with her necklace. “It’s nothing major, just... girl stuff, I guess. There’s been some tension with Britt. I don’t really want to get into it because I’m not the type to badmouth someone –“ she paused, eyes flicking to his, “but it got under my skin today.”

Rafe didn’t interrupt, just watched her quiet, present.

“She said something that didn’t sit right with me,” Y/N added “And I stood up for someone else, but now things between us are just... weird. I don’t like the energy.”

His brows drew slightly, concern soft but real. “You don’t need to apologize for having a backbone.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “I know. I just.. I didn’t come here to fight with other girls. That is not who I am.”

Rafe stepped closer, hand brushing her waist in a slow, grounding touch. “You’re not. You’re the kind of person who stands up when it matters, and still worries about doing it kindly. That’s rare.”

She blinked at him, her voice smaller now. “Why are you so good at this?”

He grinned, warm and a little crooked. “I’ve got a thing for girls who lead with their heart.”

She laughed softly, the tension beginning to ease, and when his hand came to rest along her back, she leaned into it. He dipped his head slightly, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.

“Still trouble,” she murmured, teasing, but her voice was quieter this time, vulnerable.

“And still wrapped around your finger,” he said, thumb brushing the hem of her cover-up.

She looked up at him, gaze soft, and for a moment they just stood there, close and still.

Then he kissed her slow and quiet, a reassurance more than anything else.

And when they returned to the party a few minutes later, the weight she’d been carrying felt a little lighter.

The patio had thinned out as some girls slipped inside to freshen up or grab another drink. Zara took a breath, “Can we talk?” she asked, voice steady but quiet.

Britt didn’t look up. “Didn’t realize we had anything left to say.”

Zara didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to like me. But you don’t get to treat me like I’m a weak just because I process things differently than you.”

That got Britt’s attention. She looked up slowly, brows arching. “Wow. Okay.”

“No—listen,” Zara said, voice tightening. “What you said the other day? About me not being cut out for this? That’s just you being a mean girl and for a second I was thinking maybe you were right.”

Britt rolled her eyes, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t say you weren’t cut out for it. I said if you can’t handle the pressure, maybe this isn’t the place.”

“Which is basically the same thing,” Zara said, her tone sharper now. “You don’t get to decide how someone should handle their emotions. I’ve been trying. I’ve shown up. I’ve been honest. That doesn’t make me fragile—it makes me human.”

A few heads were turning now, quiet glances from nearby girls, uncertain but watching.

Britt stood up, arms crossed. “You’re twisting my words. Everyone’s going through it. You don’t see the rest of us falling apart.”

Zara’s jaw clenched, and she blinked hard once. “You don’t know what people are going through. Just because someone isn’t falling apart in front of you doesn’t mean they’re fine.”

Britt scoffed, like it wasn’t worth her time.

Zara took a half-step back, eyes glassy but not breaking. “You act like you don’t care, but honestly? That’s arrogance and you being a mean person.”

And then, without turning, Zara muttered, “I’m done,” and walked off, shoulders stiff.

That’s when Rafe stepped out from the hallway, catching the tail end, Zara walking away, visibly shaken, Britt standing there with her jaw tight and unmoved.

Rafe didn’t say anything to Britt.

Instead, he followed the direction Zara had gone, leaving the noise behind.

Rafe found Zara near the garden, away from the noise. She didn’t see him at first, but when she did, she didn’t hide the tears welling in her eyes. He didn’t ask anything, just stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She held on tight.

They talked in low voices, her words barely audible over the music drifting from the patio. Whatever was said between them, it ended with another hug. His hand rubbed gently along her back. She nodded once as he pulled away, and he gave her a quiet look before turning and walking back toward the house.

Britt hadn’t moved from the lounger.

When Rafe stepped into view, she straightened subtly, slipping her sunglasses to the top of her head and giving him a small smile too quick, too smooth.

“Hey,” she said lightly, like nothing had happened. “Didn’t expect you over here.”

He didn’t return the smile. “Can we talk?”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. “Of course.”

He didn’t sit.

“I just spoke to Zara,” he said, voice even. “And I overheard enough before that to understand what’s been going on.”

Britt’s expression froze for half a second before she recovered, reaching for composure. “Look, if this is about—”

He held up a hand, stopping her.

“No spin. No explanation. I’ve seen the way you talk to people when you think they’re vulnerable. How quick you are to pull away when someone’s struggling.”

She looked off to the side, jaw tight.

“I didn’t expect that from you,” he said. “I thought there was more kindness in you. More awareness of how hard this experience can be. But the way you handled that? That’s not what I’m looking for.”

Her voice was lower now. “So that’s it?”

He nodded, steady. “This journey deserves people who lift each other up. And right now, I need to follow what I know is right. I’m walking you out.”

She stared for a beat, mouth parted like she might say something but she didn’t. Just set her drink down with a soft clink and stood.

“Guess that’s that,” she muttered.

He walked beside her, quiet, out through the open doors.

The evening air had cooled by the time the girls lined up on the rose ceremony platform, heels clicking softly on the stone. The tension was undeniable, the kind that quieted even the usual whispers.

Y/N stood near Daniella and Maya, the three of them already safe with roses from their dates, watching as Rafe stepped forward with the remaining flowers.

His eyes moved across the group, lingering in places just long enough to make hearts race.

“Tonight wasn’t easy,” he began. “You’ve all shown me different sides of yourselves, and I’m grateful for every conversation, every laugh even the hard moments. But I have to follow what feels real. So… here we go.”

He called the names one by one.

Leila. Naomi. Kayla. Alyssa. Sierra. Zara. Kelsey.

Each rose handed with a hug or a quiet “thank you,” leaving three women standing at the end.

Selene. Brianna. And the now-empty space where Britt once stood.

Jesse returned quietly to deliver the final rose.

Rafe took a breath, then looked up.

“Zoe.”

Zoe stepped forward slowly, visibly relieved.

That was it.

Selene’s smile was small but gracious, while Brianna looked stunned, like she hadn’t expected to be on the edge of goodbye. Hugs were exchanged, some tighter than others.

From the sidelines, Y/N glanced toward Daniella. Neither said anything, but the shift in the air was real.

The circle had grown smaller again. And everything ahead? Only more real.

To be continued...

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[delulugirly7]

Challengers (Avengers edition)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader (Established Relationship); Bob Reynolds x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Coming back from a mission, you discover that Bucky has joined a whole new team, lead by a freak like Valentina. In order to get information and protect Sam, you and Joaquin decide to visit Bucky and his new team before taking the next step. But a certain golden boy laid his eyes on you and is instantly head over heels. How will everyone navigate this, especially when you have a boyfriend?

Warnings: Fuff, Banter, Angst, Cameos, Joaquin loves Reader a LOT, Joaquin being a cutie, SamBucky being angsty husbands and protective dads, Poor Bob suffers :(, Mentions of Bob’s Addiction and Mental Illnesses, Yearning and Longing from Bob, Jealous!Joaquin, Jealous!Bob, Reader is a littleeee short tempered, Reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to be let down loose, thats all i think! Let me know if i should add something else!

DISCLAIMER: i have not seen challengers yet, this is just my imagination and i have shifted some events from thunderbolts to fit the time frame better for the fic.

AN: this was so juicy to cook……I love the concept of both of these men loving me and yearning over me. HEHE. 😛 Enjoy!

If someone would've told you a few years ago, that you'd be in the same team as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, you would've laughed in their face.

And if someone would’ve told you that you’d start dating Sam Wilson’s protégé, you’d maybe chuckle.

But if someone would've told you that Bucky Barnes would join a government controlled Avengers team, you'd have laughed hysterically because there's no way, that the man who fought against your father about letting the government handle the Avengers would do this, right?

Wrong.

Here you were, fuming on the couch at Sam’s base, with Joaquin, your boyfriend, sitting on your right, with his usually composed face hardened with anger.

And poor Sam, he was simply leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, face set into an upset frown, eyes slightly glossy.

You see, the news channels were flashing with the hottest news of the hour: 'CIA Director, Valentina Allegra De Fontaine forms her own Avengers team: The New Avengers.'

The members?

Yelena Belova: Ex-Widow and Natasha Romanoff’s sister.

Alexei Shostakov: Russian Super Soldier, Yelena and Natasha’s ‘father’.

Ava Starr: Most Wanted Assassin in 15 countries.

John Fucking Walker: Grade A Asshole, your personal enemy.

Some guy named Bob: who wasn’t even visible in the footage?

And the sixth member? None other than James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes.

The same James Barnes, that had visited you three a few months ago, after Joaquin’s accident and had hugged you while you cried into his suit.

The same James Barnes, that had hugged Sam and said that he loved him, his first ever admittance to another human, since he went under the ice.

The same James Barnes, that had told Sam that he believed in him to reestablish the Avengers and lead them, and that he’d be the first one to join his team.

And now all this. Him in the same team as John Walker? In a team that was formed by Valentina? Evil and corrupt Valentina, who was also the CIA director? He didn’t even think once about consulting Sam?

Boy, were you pissed.

You see, the three of you were off completing an assignment in Belgium for the past week. Which means, that you had completely missed out on the whole blackout stuff that happened.

The team was a proper mess, and you had just entered the base when Sam received a call from Sarah, asking him turn on the TV immediately.

You dropped your bags and settled down in front of the TV, watching the atrocious press conference with Bucky standing there in the background.

“Has he—is he serious right now?!”, you glowered, looking at the TV screen and then Sam, incredulously.

“Dude. This should be considered treason like, I don’t care”, Joaquin added, looking at Sam with his face awash in irritation.

Sam let out a weary sigh, “Guys, just…leave it”, he lifted the remote and turned the TV off, sinking into the couch with a hand dragging down his face.

You exchanged a worried look with Joaquin, who noticed your clenched fists and gently held them in his hands, thumbs caressing the back of them to soothe your anger.

As if it wasn't bad already, your phones went off, notifications pinging one after the other. Joaquin opened his phone and sighed, showing the texts from the group chat you'd made for Sam's Avengers.

The Avengers

Ant-man: Did you guys check the news?

Kate: @/Sam Wilson what are we going to do about this😵‍💫

Carol Danvers: What's going on?

Princess Shuri: is that Bucky??? and is that Ross’s ex wife??? has white boy lost it?? im sending this shit to ayo

Shang-Chi: @/Carol Danvers Bucky joined a new team 🤐 Turn on NBC

Kamala: Umm...@/Scott Lang isn't that Ghost...😦

Ant-man: @/Kamala Khan Yes, she is...I didn't know she was allowed to roam around in public..

Kate: @/you where are you girl

Kamala: omgggg yessss @/you the audience needs you here

Carol Danvers: @/Sam Wilson Should I come over? What is our next plan of action?

Shang-Chi: @/Joaquin Torres Don't leave us on seen bro tf

You groaned and Sam looked up at the noise, his eyes narrowing at you two.

"What is it?", he mumbled.

"The team is going crazy, Sam. Princess Shuri is talkin' about sending this news to the Dora", Joaquin replied, his fingers still scrolling through the endless chats. He put up a text in the chat that he was with Sam and you right now and that's why none of you were answering the texts.

"Sam, we need to do something. At least sue them, or whatever. They can't just take up the name like that", you argued, fingers fidgeting with each other restlessly.

You were never known for your patience, much like your dad. Always bouncing off the walls with stress and your short temper. And now that he wasn't around to keep you grounded, you just got worse. Your grief bleeding into your frustration. And right now, Bucky was not helping you by abandoning you, Sam and Joaquin like that. Just when you thought that it was all falling into line, Valentina had to fuck it up and break your family apart, again.

"Can we even do that?", Joaquin asked in confusion.

Sam beat you to it, "Yes, but it'll be messy. We need a good lawyer for that. And besides, I don't wanna hurt him.."

“Nobody wants to hurt Bucky. But you can’t possibly excuse this…this stupidity, yeah? And we’ll get the best lawyers in the entire country. You’re Captain America, don’t forget that”, you urged earnestly.

Sam exhaled deeply, closing his eyes before continuing, “I need some time to think about it. I’ve gotta meet Riri Williams and this Spider-Man after that. We’re doing nothin’ for now.”

He sat up and grabbed his phone, about to get ready to leave for New York to meet up with Riri Williams, the team’s possible new member.

“And both of you aren’t going anywhere, you hear me? I swear, if I see y’all’s faces on the TV or in the papers, you’re benched. For months, this time. We’ll do this legally. And we need to be as careful as we can be, to make our case stronger”, he chided gently, his face stern as if he was saying there would be no arguments about this.

He was referring to the time you’d confronted Walker outside the police station, after Bucky was bailed. Walker being a piece of shit, gave an interview about it and trash talked you in public, basically. All that PR training that Pepper had taught you, had gone out of the window when you saw Walker’s arrogant face.

You swore that you’d punch him atleast once, then.

You grumbled at Sam’s words, Joaquin immediately responded in defense.

“Dude, come on. We gotta give it back to them! Bucky will understand, he probably even hates being there. None of them look like they wanna be there, if I’m gonna be honest”, he shrugged and smiled in disbelief.

Sam chuckled and messed your hair, patting Joaquin’s back after.

“Don’t let her do somethin’ dumb”, he teased, making you grumble once again.

Sharing a smile with Joaquin, he promptly left the room and prepared to leave.

-

After Sam left, you absentmindedly made your way back to the living area, plopping down on the couch with your teeth stressing your lips.

In your daze, you didn’t notice Joaquin sit down next to you, his eyes trained on the lost look on your face.

He could see the gears turning around in your head. He knew exactly what you were thinking. Knew it right after he saw you gasp at the news. Nudging you slightly, he brought you out of your trance, you jumped before looking at him with furrowed brows.

“You’re gonna meet Bucky anyways”, he simply stated, brown eyes shimmering knowingly. He knew you too well.

You paused, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and kissed your cheek, standing up to bring his laptop to the couch. You watched him go in amusement.

“Well, we gotta see where they’re headquartered first, Miss Stark. Then, we ride at dawn!”, he quipped as he sat back down next to you.

“Wait. Really? You’ll help?”, you asked in disbelief. Him breaking Sam’s rules wasn’t shocking, but he was protective of you. You thought he’d listen to Sam and make you stay back.

His hands jumped across the keyboard, him replying to you without taking his eyes off from the screen, “Of course, baby. I’m not letting our cyborg hurt our old man like that. And, I’d love to punch Walker as well, so...”, he trailed off and flashed you a dopey smile, one that made his cheeks look squishable.

You shook your head, pinching his cheek gently. He leaned into it before going back to his research. The sunlight coming in from the large window behind you made his golden skin look like he was the sun himself, his flannel making him look cozy.

A few beats passed and he suddenly froze, hands gripping the laptop tightly and lips pursed, eyebrows scrunched in distress. You instantly straightened up, your hand falling from his cheek and resting on his shoulder instead.

“What is it?”, you asked in urgency, your mind already conjuring unrealistic scenarios.

He looked at you nervously, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Joaquin, just say it, I’m freaking out”, you pleaded, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“They…Do you know what happened to the Tower?”, he murmured hesitantly.

You made a face, “The tower? You mean, the Avengers Tower?”

Joaquin nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah, Dad sold it to Valentina- or rather, OXE, after the Sokovia shit”, you informed.

“Uh—what are the chances of you guys-like, the Starks- having any control over it?”, he asked hesitantly.

You frowned, “Well, none, because she owns it now. If she suddenly decided to auction it, then it’s possible. Stark Industries can buy it back. Why?”

Joaquin pursed his lips and shifted the laptop so that it faced you, “Baby, she’s made the Tower the official HQ of their team.”

“What?”, you blurted out, a deep ache settling into your chest, your hands moving on their own accord and grabbing the laptop, reading the headline displayed on the screen.

‘“As they say: History repeats itself!”’—CIA Director Valentina De Fontaine speaks out about turning the iconic landmark, 'Stark-turned-Avengers' Tower into her new team’s HQ!’

You gritted your teeth so hard, your gums hurt. Joaquin could feel the anger radiating off you, the emotion mixed with a high bout of grief and sadness. The kind that came after going through too much shit for too long. The kind that came from bone deep exhaustion and a weird mixture of emotions.

He knew that. And he knew you.

He knew you weren’t taking this easy. This was personal. That tower was your home, made by your father, a place where you’d spent a good chunk of your childhood, a place where your family spent most of their time together.

Now? Now it belonged to that manipulative leech who was trying to pull you all down. And she was parading it around like it was some fucking trophy. Like the legacy was a joke to her.

“We’re going. Now. I don’t—”, you choked on the lump your throat, Joaquin extending an arm to tuck his hand behind your ear, thumb gently caressing under your eye.

“I know, I know. We’ll be going. But not now, okay?”

You opened your mouth to disagree when he stopped you, the other hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear.

“Listen to me, angel. We’ll go tomorrow, yeah? Let Sam settle in New York. He’s gonna introduce Riri and Kate, will have a meeting with them tomorrow, so he’ll be busy. Till then, we’ll also get some time to think and plan before marching there. I understand how you’re feeling. But we need to be careful, okay?”, he soothed you, hands cradling your face like you were made of glass, eyes oozing with concern and love.

Your bottom lip trembled, unable to hold your tears back after his gentle words. What did you do to deserve him?

He set the laptop aside, bringing you in his arms and letting you bury your head in his chest. A hand came behind your head to keep you there, the other hand smoothing over your back and his lips pressed into your hair.

You fisted his flannel tightly in your hands, tears dampening the soft fabric of the t-shirt he wore inside the flannel, sniffling constantly as more tears fell.

“It’ll be okay. I promise”, he murmured, lips brushing against your hair.

Although, you weren’t sure it’d be as easy as it sounds.

-

“We’re not entering from the main entrance.”

Joaquin looked up in confusion at your words, “What?”, his hands halting on the cursor as he scoured through Valentina’s files to get some more information on her.

It was the next day, Sam had been busy in meeting with Kate and Riri, as Joaquin had said. The two of you were planning to visit Bucky today, in the Tower, but it needed to be done discreetly. Without the media finding out.

You came up with the only option you knew: using your suits to get in.

You pursed your lips before smirking, “You know, there’s a launch pad in the Tower for a reason, right?”

Joaquin’s eyebrows creased before his face lit up with realisation.

“You mean, the suits? Angel, at least you can hide yours but Sam will take away my privileges to fly, for sure”, he quipped nervously, hating the fact that he’d lie to Sam but also thrilled at the thought of entering the Tower with his wings. He loved his wings like he’d birthed them.

You walked over to his chair and hugged him from behind, leaning down to press your cheek against his. His hands came up to hold your forearms, nuzzling his face back against yours.

“I know. I’ll help you, don’t worry. And you’re literally his son, when has he ever been strict with you?”, you teased lightly and he chuckled. He definitely took advantage of the fact that Sam had a soft spot for him.

It reminded you of someone, but you blanked out, your mind restarting mid-thought. As if you weren’t supposed to think of that.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. But—”, he turned his face to look at you in the eye, “You’re gonna stay calm and protect your peace, hm? I don’t want you to stress about those dollar store Avengers more than it’s necessary”, he proposed, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes, admiring your side profile. How did he manage to get distracted every time he looked at you, was beyond him, but it was always a welcome distraction.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought. You both knew that was going to be a task, because you’re not qualified to be a Stark if you don’t have the drama and flair in you. It was natural.

“We’ll tackle that problem when it arises. For now, let’s move before we lose our window”, you murmured, nuzzling your nose against his lightly.

Joaquin hummed and brought you closer with a hand on your cheek and pressed a loving kiss to your lips.

-

Bob’s POV

Bob was having a relatively normal day.

Well, as normal as it got for being a new avenger, moving into the Tower with a bunch of assassins, and battling with his own powers and demons, then yes, it was a normal day.

He woke up, had waffles and his iced coffee and lounged on the sofa in the living room, with a book in his hands. They had another press conference today, the rest of the team buzzing around the area, minus him, because he was not cleared for any activity for the next few months, at least.

He was fine with it, honestly, having no energy to put up with the other guys and the memory loss that followed. He had promised Yelena and Bucky that he’d go to therapy, Bucky even suggested his own therapist, saying that she’s a bit tough, but she gets the work done. Bob agreed to taking a trial session with her and proceed further.

“Where the hell is Ava?!”, Yelena cried out in irritation, stomping into the room.

Bob looked up from the page he was reading, Yelena panicking around the room, John sauntering in like he owns the place, Bucky looked perpetually tired and Alexei was missing. Ava too, apparently.

“She might be inside the walls, knock on ‘em, maybe”, John quipped.

“Shut up, John, I don’t need your lame jokes right now. Bob, have you seen Ava?”, she asked heatedly, hands resting on her hips.

That’s when he noticed—all of them were wearing nice clothes. Like, tailored suits for the guys and a formal dress for Yelena, their hair set perfectly and faint scent of perfume wafting in the air.

Bob was surprised. All of them looked really good. He stood out like a sore thumb in front of them, his oversized blue sweatshirt and black joggers making him look smaller and homely.

“I’m not sure, she’s not been here since I came in…”, he trailed off, his blue eyes looking at Yelena sheepishly.

She huffed, pressing a hand to her forehead, “Valentina is already on our ass and now Ava decides to disappear, I’m—”

“Wowww. That was an oscar worthy performance. Although you could relax, I’m here.”

Ava suddenly appeared behind John, who jumped at her voice next to him.

“Fuck—what is wrong with you?!”, he scowled.

Ava quirked an eyebrow, “Seriously? Whatever happened to being in the military and being a decorated soldier—”

“Don’t go there—”

“And being in several war zones, like oh, look at me! I’m John Walker! I’m fearless—”

“Oh, shut up—”

“QUIET.”

The entire room was quiet after Yelena’s shout.

“Both of you, shut the fuck up! Valentina has dressed us in these super tight, uncomfortable, fancy clothes and is going to show us off like we’re some trophies, so you better get your shit together and move”, she ordered. Furiously.

Bob was watching the whole scene with his mouth open, Bucky couldn’t be anymore bothered, and Ava and John had to decency to look ashamed.

Bob was having a normal day.

But then they heard some noises coming from the launch pad and all of them stiffened up. Bob was the closest to the window, so he slowly stood up, resting his book face down on the couch.

Bucky slowly raised his head in confusion, Ava and John exchanged a look and Yelena walked a little closer to Bob to protect him.

“What the hell is that?”, John grumbled from above the sofa pit, his face scrunched up as he tried to decipher what or who was there.

Bob’s curiosity peaked. He shuffled closer to Yelena so that he could get a clearer look at the pad and then—

He saw a flash of red and silver. A pair of thrusters. And a flash of green and silver behind.

The green and silver belonged to a guy, that much was clear. But the red and silver suited person had their face covered. There was something distinctly familiar about the red suit.

They found out soon enough, when Bucky finally spoke up behind them.

"Oh, fuck", he groaned lowly.

And the two figures finally stepped in.

The guy with the green and silver wings had curly, dark hair. His jaw was clenched tightly, eyes trained on the entire team as if they had personally hurt him by simply existing.

And that's when John spoke up, "Hold on. Torres?", he exclaimed and looked at Bucky, who was looking at his shoes instead.

"So, that's-", John didn't get a chance to finish that sentence because the red and silver suit dissolved and revealed you.

Bob almost fainted.

Because not only were you The Tony Stark's eldest daughter, who was an all rounder and a literal hero, but you were also drop dead gorgeous.

Clad in a simple emerald green cardigan and dark blue, high waisted jeans with shoes, your soft and luscious hair was let down loose, not a single strand out of place, a dainty silver necklace rested just below your collarbones, weighted down by a red pendant, which is where the suit disappeared in.

And your eyes. Oh, your eyes. Bob could just feel the power radiating off them, your body held in such elegance and poise that he was feeling intimidated to even stand in front of you.

It felt like time had slowed down for him, and while he was busy fawning over you, he didn't take notice of the fury inside your eyes and how they were piercing through Bucky.

"Whoa, whoa. Who are you, and what is going on here, huh?", Yelena protested, looking at you, John and then Bucky.

Your sharp gaze shifted to Yelena, "I'm gonna excuse that, only because you're Nat's sister. But this is my house, as my father literally built this place and also because your team has kept my family member hostage. So, please, don't interrupt."

Yelena blinked in shock. Bob stared at you in awe.

"Barnes, what the hell?", you called him out, your face tugged into a sneer.

Bob managed to turn his head around and saw Bucky wince. The Winter Soldier just winced at the words of someone. The same Bucky who didn't even smile around them. If he was being honest, Bob found you incredibly hot at that moment.

"Hold on, what are you doing here, (Name)? And Torres? Really? We weren't gonna hurt her or anything", John scoffed.

"Oh god", Bucky murmured lowly and shook his head in disagreement at John's words.

Bob suddenly turned around, his breath hitching when his eyes passed you, before they landed on the guy next to you- someone whom Walker kept calling 'Torres.'

This...Torres guy was attractive, sure. But he was standing way too close to you and that caused Bob's jaw to tick in irritation.

Torres chuckled, "Actually, be glad that she didn't come alone, Walker. Now that I'm here, she might think of carrying this forward peacefully", he shrugged casually.

Bob didn't miss the way Torres’ eyes shone with pride when he talked about you. He felt an ache in his chest, again.

"I'd listen to him", Bucky rasped and the entire room looked at him in shock.

Bob almost laughed as he thought: did you beat Bucky in combat?

"I need to talk to you. Alone", you admitted, arms crossed around your chest, face set tightly as you looked at Bucky.

He pursed his lips and nodded grimly, "Let's go-"

"No, no, hold on. You can't just come here and take him away. We have a press conference to attend-", Ava protested and was cut off with your scoff.

"You know damn well, you don't give a fuck about that. And I can take him away, because he’ll join me willingly, isn't that right, James?", you quipped.

Bucky swallowed and met Ava's piercing gray eyes, Yelena and John observing him closely.

Bob's eyes darted from you and Bucky, lingering on you for longer.

"Guys, I'll...I'll be back. Come on, there's a room-"

"I know", you cut Bucky off and gestured Torres to join you.

And Bob wished he hadn't looked at you then, because Torres had his hand on your lower back and he looked at you with so much concern, that it made Bob clench his hands tightly, his blue irises surrounding themselves with a golden ring.

Bob watched the two of you go, Torres’ hand touching you so gently, as if you were something precious (you were.)

The worst part of it though? You didn’t stop him. It looked like the world was mocking him for even thinking about falling for someone as out of reach as you.

And soon enough, he felt that demeaning, cocky voice echo in his mind: ‘You’re out of your depth, Bob. She’d never look at someone as broken as you.’

And he slowly felt himself slip, the lights flickering around him when Yelena put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise.

“Bob? What’s up? You’re doing the…thing”, Yelena asked in concern, her eyebrows creased tightly.

Bob swallowed thickly, a trembling hand coming up to rub his eyes.

“Uh- nothing. I’m-I’m okay. I’m alright. Don’t worry”, he replied nervously, voice pitched high because of the lump stuck in his throat.

How was he going to tell her that he had just fallen in love with somebody he was meeting for the first time?

-

“Bucky, why’d you do this?”, you almost whined, your glossy eyes looking up at him in disbelief and hurt, the front that you had put up out there, had completely disappeared. There was just a deep betrayal shining in your eyes, your body coiled tight with tension.

Joaquin was torn between glaring at Bucky and pulling you in his arms, your teary eyes and the ache rolling off your body hitting him in waves.

Bucky stood there helplessly, his own tearful eyes were trained at his shoes, hands clenched tightly which caused his vibranium arm to whirr softly.

“Sam has been working so hard”, your voice cracking at ‘hard’.

“He’s been going to one end of the world to the other, just to recruit people. Half of them are either dead or off world. The pressure is on him. You know he gets scrutinised for everything he does. All this time, we held out hope that you’d join, just like you’d promised. And now you’re going against him? You guys wanna make history repeat itself and become Tony Stark and Steve Rogers? You promised!”, you jabbed a finger in his chest.

Bucky stumbled back and looked up at you, hurt flashing over his face like a splash of water.

“No, don’t cry, kid, please”, he almost begged, his hands held up in a placating gesture.

You sniffled, vision blurry from the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Man, do you have any excuse for this? We get back from a mission to find out that New York was in a backout, and you were standing there, behind the devil herself, with a whole new team, with the same name!”, Joaquin said incredulously.

“I know, I know. I didn’t do this on purpose. I swear, (Name)”, he pleaded.

You frowned, “What does that mean, Bucky? You can’t be possibly saying that someone forced you.”

“Not forced. Valentina has threatened to release the files and documents related to us in the public if we don’t cooperate”, he clarified.

“But, it’s not like they don’t know about you?”, Joaquin asked in confusion.

“True. But she’ll put back the parts that were omitted. And she’ll get us acquitted of all the crimes we were pardoned for.”

You furrowed your brows, “What? Maybe she should look into the mirror once, because I know shit about her that she wishes I didn’t.”

And then he told you about everything that lead to this. The vault, the mission, the Sentry project, the Void, Bob's profile—everything.

“You mean, that blackout thing, that was because of one, singular guy?”, Joaquin sputtered, his face frozen with an incredulous look.

“Yeah. And…he’s here. He’ll live with us now”, Bucky replied tentatively, watching you closely.

You frowned as you realised Valentina’s intentions, “You said he struggled with addiction and mental illnesses. So, Valentina is manipulating him to become the Sentry and the blackout thing?"

"Yep. All that happened because she provoked him to hurt everyone", Bucky sighed before continuing, “He’s not dangerous when he’s not being…the other guy. The guy who was standing next to Yelena? That’s him. Bob. He’s actually not allowed to leave the tower for a while, so…”

Joaquin froze, “Wait, Bob. We saw his name in the news but….we couldn’t see him?”

Bucky scoffed, “When he’s not being an all powerful god, he hates social interactions. Very awkward and shy. Think me, but from a few years ago.”

You made a surprised voice, “Huh. He’s the guy in the blue sweatshirt?”

Bucky nodded. You sighed, mulling the fact over. Joaquin chewed on his lips.

“Anyways…we need to send her ass to jail, Bucky. What are you gonna do next?”, you asked. Waiting for him to propose something before you could spoil Sam’s plans.

Bucky let out a bone deep sigh. The exhaustion clearly written across his face, “I don’t know. They’re all just as hopeless as me, if not worse.”

“Hold on. That reminds me, Walker?”, Joaquin quipped, his arms tightly crossed around his chest.

You perk up, “Oh, yeah. What, you’re buddies with him suddenly? Is this an enemies to lovers thing?”, your eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Bucky sputtered, “No, no. It’s not like that. You—”, he let out a breath before continuing, “Okay, there’s no friendship or anythin’ between me and Walker. I just have to put up with him. I don’t even talk to them much, apart from Yelena and Bob. But, getting back to the topic at hand, no, we can’t do anything against Valentina right now. My hands are under rocks. I’m sorry, kid.”

His face had melted into a sad puppy look, one that made him look older and exhausted. Like he just needed a nap.

And you felt your anger melt away. You could never stay mad at him and his puppy dog eyes for long, anyways.

“Sam…is he…how is he?”, he asked softly, his voice getting caught at Sam’s name. You and Joaquin exchanged a look.

The two men were practically each other’s soulmates. This was killing them more than any one else.

“Oh, he’s proper mad at you. Blocked you and everythin'”, Joaquin decided to tease. You elbowed him gently, coaxing a small chuckle out of him, his shoulder bumping against yours.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, “Not surprised”, he said dryly.

You clicked your tongue, “Shut up, Jay”, chiding Joaquin gently. He pressed a kiss to your temple as an apology.

“He’s naturally upset, Buck. Just…try talking to him. It’s better if the two of you converse with each other, rather than us being the mediators, yeah? You guys will figure something out. He’s broken the law for you, twice. What’s one more time?”, you reminded him gently, a hand resting on his arm.

Bucky looked at you and gave you a nervous smile, vibranium hand coming up to cover yours on his arm.

“See? We’ll get the band back together just fine, angel”, Joaquin smiled, tapping Bucky’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Bucky looked at it and stared at Joaquin blankly.

“Tell your boyfriend to tone it down with me, doll”, he deadpanned.

Joaquin gasped dramatically. You giggled.

“C’mon. I’ll introduce you to them”, he urged, pulling you and Joaquin with him to the main area.

-

The team was now seated around the sofa pit, mindless chatter and bickering being passed back and forth. They stopped when you entered, looking at you warily instead.

The sight almost gave you a very real flashback.

Instead of Yelena, you saw Natasha. Instead of John, it was Steve. You could hear their laughs, your dad and Steve’s useless arguments, Pepper fussing over your dad, Rhodey and Thor annoying Bruce. It felt real.

You almost smiled, your eyes teary and lips twitching, when Joaquin pulled you out of it.

“Baby? You okay?”, he murmured into your ear, hand smoothing over your back.

You snapped back to the present, suddenly feeling everyone’s eyes on you and you shrunk back, Joaquin’s arm coming around your waist to ground you.

“Alright, stop staring at her, you’re putting her on the spot”, Bucky announced and all of them coughed, shifting their attention to Bucky instead.

You looked around the room skeptically and that’s when you saw him.

Bob. Clad in a blue sweatshirt, black joggers. His hair was curly and shabby, brown in colour and it fell around his face in waves. Are we sure this was the same man who was deemed as a weapon?, you thought.

Joaquin seemed to have been observing him too. But he noticed his nervous and jittery body language. The way he made himself small, even though he was 6 foot tall, at least. How could this man be capable of ending the world with just a flick of his hand?

Another thing that Joaquin’s sharp eyes noticed: Bob’s eyes kept nervously darting around the room, lingering on you every now and then. Except, Bob’s eyes lingered on you for too long. A dazed look on his face whenever they landed on you.

Joaquin made note of that and kept a close eye on him, just to test something. His hand brought you closer to his side, finding comfort in your warm body pressed against his.

“I’m sure you all know who she is. She’s (Name) Stark, Tony Stark’s daughter, philanthropist and genius. You might also know her as Iron-Lady, her alter ego”, Bucky introduced you to the others.

Of course, John had to speak up first.

“I’d introduce myself, but you know me already, so”, he smiled like a dumbass.

“Unfortunately”, you deadpanned and everyone snickered.

Except Alexei, who chortled like a bear. John grimaced and covered his ears, as the man began talking in that thick Russian accent of his.

“You very funny, Miss Stark. I like that. I like funny people. Welcome to the team. I will give you a customised track suit as well. Just—”

“Dad, stop it, she's not joining the team”, Yelena groaned.

“Why’d you say unfortunately, I—”

“Why wouldn’t she join, Lena? This merch so soft. I bet she’s never felt anything like this before—”

“She’s literally royalty, you idiot-”

“All of you, shut up”, Bucky ordered and suddenly the room fell quiet. You and Joaquin looked at him impressively.

The role of a leader suited him quite a lot. You felt your heart bloom in pride, to be very honest. And you were sure, that Sam would be very proud as well. More reason for Bucky to be a part of Sam's team, instead of this mess.

Suddenly a voice spoke up from next to Yelena, “And who’s that?”

All eyes snapped to look at Bob, who’d asked the question. He’d not said a word until now, his eyes intently focused on Joaquin and you.

Joaquin narrowed his eyes in challenge, the team exchanging confused glances, Bucky observing the situation closely.

“Uh…That’s Captain Joaquin Torres. He’s in the Air Force and he’s Sam’s protégé. The new Falcon”, Bucky gestured towards Joaquin.

Joaquin gave everyone a two fingered salute, his eyes lingering on Bob, who clenched his jaw.

Alexei’s eyes widened again, “Air force?! Oh, you do great work, Captain Torres. And you’re the falcon, you’re literally a a bird yourself. That is so cool. Thank you for protecting the country, from the skies, like a free bird. We salute you—”

“Oh my god”, John grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“You guys are so irritating”, Ava groaned.

“What—I was just comp-”

“Okay! Okay. Hi. Um. Nice to meet you all”, you cut their banter off, nudging Joaquin lightly to return the greeting back.

But Joaquin’s gaze was fixed elsewhere.

His brown eyes were staring intently at Yelena and Bob, Yelena’s face twisted in worry as she kept checking Bob’s eyes, whereas Bob kept staring at Joaquin and darting his gaze away.

“Quino?”, you asked him softly, worriedly looking up at him.

He saw your worried face in his peripheral and brought his attention back to you, immediately, “Yeah?”

You gestured at the team.

“Oh. Yeah. Hey, guys”, he awkwardly smiled. They returned a half hearted ‘Hey’ back, the inevitable tension clouding the room again.

“Are we going to talk about it, or not?”, Ava finally asked, ripping the bandaid off at once.

You hesitated, looking at Bucky for answers.

“Uh-not now. Later. We need to go for that conference thing before Valentina sends somebody up here. And (Name)”, he turned towards you, “You should go back. I don’t want you two getting into trouble, okay?”

You and Joaquin simply nodded your heads.

“I’ll see them off”, Bucky announced to the team and they absentmindedly chorused a ‘Yes’, waving you and Joaquin ‘Bye’.

-

Bob’s POV

If you would’ve stood there any longer, Bob would’ve set this whole thing on fire. Like the damn incinerator back at the vault.

He was feeling particularly charged up, right now. And watching you and Joaquin together, standing so close, had just triggered him more. The way you instantly leaned into Joaquin. The way his hands were around you all the time. Protective. Loving. He knew he was in denial, but he prayed that Joaquin was just a friend to you.

Bob was jealous. Which was, ridiculous, because he just met you. And he wasn’t hiding it from Yelena or Bucky's observant eyes. Like, at all.

All he wanted to do, was walk over to you and introduce himself. But the crippling self doubt rooted him to his place. Because why would someone like you, want someone like him.

He was doing it again. His eyes were turning golden. His hands trembled. The lamp behind him flickered. Yelena sat up in alarm.

“Bob. What’s going on. Do we need to call help? Should I stay back?”, she asked rapidly, her head blocking his eyes from others.

Bob scoffed, his sass dialed up to a hundred. Yelena quirked an eyebrow in interest.

“You can’t fix this”, he stated cryptically and got up, sauntering over to the launch pad. Yelena followed closely, the other three engaged in some useless discussion.

Part 2

-

AN: at this point yall should know im incapable of writing one parters LOL! but also, this concept is too scrumptious and ill be including this in another fic w joaquin and bob hehehehe.

Fun fact: the reader’s outfit was inspire by kaia gerber LMAO.

Please like and reblog!

taglist: @hearts4barnes @msfirth @spideybrie @parkersjoy @joaquinsgf @wolflikesstuff @frvv @99buttowski @eggyboyoart @superchatnoir07 @wierdlyinlike @peachyrue-777 @makinurbed @abc1234y @ba-space-geek @elyi-o @ph-1isagod @missbrekker @patheticgirl127 @lookitsgrim @spinstertheuncommon @bcystar @yelenaseyeliner @dormammuiivecometo @justeveeeee @lilajoy-ily @spvctor

Sorry if I forgot anyone or reply if u wanna be removed from the taglist!

[delulugirly7]

soulmate ; bob reynolds

fandom: marvel

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé (soulmate au)

notes: okay, listen, this was never supposed to see the light of day... this was what i would write between other fics when i felt blocked or wanted to be dramatic and wax lyrical about loving lewis pullman... so basically, this is me not-so-subtly saying i would abandon everything i know and love for him... please be kind! this one feels weirdly personal because it's so emo??? but regardless, i hope you enjoy and would love, love, love to hear what you think! (p.s. happy birthday to me!)

warnings: swearing, angst, mention of slight age gap (with bucky), heartbreak (lots), crying, fainting, the void (almost), alcohol consumption, acotar reference (if you squint), so many metaphors, nudity, and horniness very slightly bordering on smut (yes, i still managed to make it horny) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!

word count: 14951

Mates. 

It’s not something you hear about often—and it happens even less. 

Centuries ago, it was something creatures hungered for. Something that drove them. Compelled them to find their one true mate and, well… mate. 

But that was long ago. Now, it’s rare. Fabled. Forgotten by most. Even fewer still are lucky enough to have one. 

There are other words for it now—soulmate, twin flame, kindred spirit, true love. Softened, romanticised. Colloquial terms thrown around like confetti at a wedding. Used to describe someone you choose to love. Not someone you’re bound to by something older than time. 

Because mates? Real mates? They aren’t chosen. They’re fated. Selected by some ancient magic. A gift from the gods—or whatever existed before gods. Two souls born within the same lifetime, tethered by something invisible and unbreakable. And if they meet? 

Well... no one really knows what happens then. 

You see, with a world this big, teetering on the edge of collapse, stuffed to the brim with people all trying to survive—who has time to go chasing destiny? Who’s got the energy to scour the globe in hopes of locking eyes with some cosmic stranger? 

Sure, the sex would probably be mind-blowing. But sex can be plenty good without a soul-deep connection plucking the strings of your orgasm. 

Which is exactly why no one really cares about mates anymore. Most people don’t even believe they exist. And those who do? They’re usually just lonely—reaching for hope, not magic. 

And you? Well, you’re more than happy in the arms of your sex god super soldier fiancé. 

Or at least… you were. 

- 

“Do we have to?” Bucky sighs, his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin. 

You giggle and squirm beneath the weight of his body—his very naked body. 

“Come on,” you say, half-heartedly shoving at his chest. “We’re already going to be late. Besides, you can’t possibly be ready to go again.” 

He lifts his head, blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Sure about that, doll?” 

He shifts, and you feel it—thick and heavy, pressing insistently against your hipbone. 

Your eyes go wide, heat pooling between your thighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be like... over a hundred?” 

He chuckles, sliding down a little, clearly aiming for your breasts. 

“Technically, yes. Biologically, no.” 

You hum, enjoying the rasp of his beard as it brushes against your skin. “Still,” you tease, “even biologically, you’re almost an old man.” 

His head snaps up, eyes wide in mock offense. “Excuse me?” 

You giggle again, trying to wriggle free. As much as you’d love to stay tangled up with him all morning, you really don’t want to be late—again—and keep his teammates waiting. They’re not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type, but not in a bad way. More like the sarcastic, sharp-eyed, chaos crew who’d never let you live it down if you showed up looking freshly ravished. And honestly? You’re not in the mood to be roasted before coffee. 

“For that little comment,” Bucky says, shifting to straddle you as the blankets fall away, “I’m cutting you off.” 

You try to look up at his face, but your attention is… elsewhere. More specifically, the part of him that obviously doesn’t agree with this whole cutting you off plan. It’s hard—painfully hard—and staring right at you, begging to be touched. 

You lick your lips, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Cutting me off?” 

He nods, sliding off the bed and taking his gorgeous body with him. “Mhm. You’re cut off. For at least twenty-four hours.” 

You scramble after him, following him into the ensuite like a woman on a mission. “Twenty-four hours?!” 

His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but he keeps it together. “Yep.” He turns to you, leveling you with a mock-stern look. “You called me old.” 

You jut your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “It was just a joke.” 

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. “Well,” he murmurs, “maybe next time you’ll think twice.” 

Then he turns to the shower and cranks on the hot water, leaving you standing there like a sulking child who’s just been denied dessert. 

As the two of you shower and dress in companionable silence, a twinge of guilt starts to settle in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have made that crack about his age. 

He didn’t seem offended—but still. The age gap is real. It’s not something either of you acknowledges often, but maybe you should be a little more mindful. He is the older one. The one in the public eye. The one who constantly fields backlash from idiot reporters and politicians, all desperate to dig up something to use against him. 

And now that you’re engaged—engaged—right as he’s stepping into this whole New Avengers thing? The spotlight on him is brighter than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pick your playful jabs a little more carefully. Just for a while. 

“Hey,” you murmur, lacing your fingers through his as you step into the tower elevator. “Sorry about before.” 

He hits the button for the main floor, then glances at you with a puzzled little frown. “For what, doll?” 

You shrug. “Calling you old.” 

He chuckles—low, rough, and unfairly attractive. “Don’t be sorry. I’m a big boy. I can take a joke.” 

There’s a beat of quiet as the elevator hums around you. Then, he leans in, lips near your ear, breath warm on your skin. 

“I’ll just have to punish you for it later.” 

Anticipation sizzles beneath your skin, adrenaline zipping down your spine before settling between your legs—a place Bucky’s words have a habit of landing. 

Before you can fire back something smart—or filthy—the doors slide open, and you're greeted by the wide, sunlit expanse of the New Avengers common room. 

“Finally!” Yelena calls, her head popping up over the back of the couch. “You’re like… twenty minutes late.” 

“It’s not my fault,” you say quickly, slipping away from Bucky toward the kitchen. “All Barnes.” 

He shoots you a look, lips twitching, then turns back to his teammates, moving toward where most of them are crowded around the living room setup in the centre of the huge space. Everyone is here except their newest specially-abled member—Bob. 

You haven’t met him yet, and honestly, you’re not exactly eager. You know he’s got… issues, to say the least. And with all the other complications this group brings, you’re already close enough to being overwhelmed. How they came to be Earth’s Mightiest Heroes 2.0? You’ll never understand. 

You busy yourself in the kitchen, fixing coffee and some breakfast while Bucky and his team dive into their meeting. You don’t live at the tower—you and Bucky have a small apartment a few blocks away—but you’re more than comfortable here. At first, coming along to all the meetings and mission briefings felt like a drag, but eventually you got to know everyone, and now, it doesn’t bother you so much. 

An hour later, the meeting slips into something more casual. Bucky excuses himself to take a phone call, and Ava disappears—literally—so you take the opportunity to settle onto the couch, half-listening as John and Alexei bicker over what to watch on TV. 

John wins, and you’re stuck watching college sports. 

“I read your book,” Alexei announces, turning to you with a proud smile—his back now to John. 

You tilt your head, frowning. “My book?” 

“Yes, yes.” He slings an arm over the back of the lounge, turning fully toward you. “The one you told me to read.” 

You stare at him, confused, for a beat longer than you’d like—until realisation dawns, followed swiftly by mortification. 

“Oh my God, no,” you mutter, face burning. “No, Alexei, you didn’t—” 

“The one about the faeries,” he says proudly. “It is a little naughty, but it is good.” 

“You!” Yelena gasps from across the room. “You’re the one who told him to read those books!” 

You sink deeper into the plush couch, hands flying up in surrender. “No, I swear—I didn’t tell him to! He asked what I was reading, and I... I told him. That’s it. I never told him to read them!” 

John groans. “He hasn’t shut up about those porn books all week.” 

From the kitchen, Bucky turns sharply, halfway through his phone call. His eyes land on you—wide with amusement, brows lifted in mock surprise, the phone still pressed to his ear. 

“They’re not all naughty,” Alexei says with a small frown—and you’re not sure if he’s defending himself or you. “There is fighting and magic too. They are good books.” 

You can’t help but let a quiet giggle slip past your lips. “Which one are you up to?” 

His eyes sparkle with excitement. “I just finished the second book.” 

You sit up and lean toward him, ignoring the dirty looks from Yelena and John. “Oh my God, did you love it? The second one is my favourite.” 

Alexei nods eagerly. “I loved it. They are perfect together. Much better than the blond man.” 

“Much better,” you agree with another soft laugh. 

“I have question, though,” he says, his smile faltering into a curious frown. “How can they be mates if they are born hundreds of years apart?” 

Yelena scoffs. “The book has soulmates too?” 

You turn to her with a playful smile. “They’re mates, not soulmates. Like, fated mates. It’s not as lame as it sounds.” 

“It sounds very lame,” she deadpans. 

“It is not lame,” Alexei argues. “It is beautiful.” 

Yelena rolls her eyes and John lets out a disbelieving laugh, still focused on the TV. 

“You know,” you say slowly, leaning forward to catch John’s eye on the other side of Alexei, “some people actually believe in mates. Like real soulmates.” 

“Yeah—desperate people,” John quips. 

You roll your eyes. “No—I mean, yeah, but not just lonely people. Some still think fated mates are real. Rare, but real. Like some kind of ancient, sleeping magic. Most people won’t find theirs, because the world is too crowded now. But centuries ago, it used to matter. In some cultures, it still does.” 

Yelena snorts. “Still sounds lame.” 

You’re just about to respond when Ava phases in beside you, startling you. 

“It’s true,” she says plainly. “I’ve heard stories.” 

You ignore your spiked pulse and tilt your head. “You have?” 

She nods. “Yeah. You know, when I was stuck in a lab for most of my childhood. I read a lot. Learned a lot. There are a few different versions, but some cultures still believe in real mates.” 

Yelena frowns, but leans in—clearly intrigued. “This is ridiculous. There is no way every person has someone they are destined to be with. If that were true, we’d know more about it.” 

“Not everyone has one,” you say. “It’s actually pretty rare.” 

Ava raises a sceptical brow. “So, you believe in mates?” 

You shrug, your cheeks warming with a touch of embarrassment. “I don’t know.” 

“How do you know so much about it?” Yelena asks, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

You press your lips together, buying a moment to decide whether or not to tell them your story. But really—why not? It’s not like you have anything to hide. Mate or not, you’re happy with Bucky. And you know you will be for the rest of your life. 

“Okay,” you begin, leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. “A few years ago, I was at this gala—something for work—and this woman approached me…” 

- Five Years Ago - 

You tip the champagne flute to your lips, emptying it in one gulp. 

“Wow,” you mutter to yourself. “These fancy events are stingy with the refreshments.” 

An older couple nearby gives you a dirty look, but you ignore it and wander off in search of another waiter with another tray of tiny, unsatisfying champagne flutes. 

“Excuse me?” 

A woman steps into your path before you can reach the next tray. She’s older, with a lined face and silver-grey hair that falls almost to her hips. Her floral dress flows a little too gracefully for a ballroom with no breeze, and the many pieces of jewellery adorning her neck and arms clink softly as she moves. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says with a small, serene smile. “But I had to speak to you.” 

You tear your eyes away from the waiter retreating with your drink. 

“That’s okay,” you reply, turning to meet her gaze—only to falter when you notice her eyes. They’re not hazel or green or brown. They’re gold. Entirely gold. 

“Sorry, I—uh, I don’t think we’ve met?” 

You offer your hand, which she takes gently, though her eyes never leave your face. They scan your features like she’s searching for something—something buried. Something you’re not sure is even there. 

“No, we haven’t,” she says, stepping a little closer. It’s invasive, but her strange energy keeps you frozen in place. “I don’t normally do this. I usually keep my… visions to myself.” 

Oh, God. She’s a fucking loon. 

You let out a soft, awkward laugh. “Visions?” 

She nods. “I’m not crazy.” 

Sure, lady. 

“My family is gifted—well, some of us are,” she continues. “I prefer to keep to myself, but when I saw you, I had to say something.” 

You frown. “Say what?” 

“You have the mark.” 

“The… mark?” 

“Yes,” she says, and you realize she’s still holding your hand as she gently places her other over it. “In your fate lines.” 

Your eyes dart around the room. Why is no one noticing this weird little encounter? 

You glance back at her—into those strange gold eyes. “My what, now?” 

Her brows pull together slightly. “You don’t believe in fate?” 

“I believe in free will.” 

She smiles. “The two aren’t so different. Fate offers the door. Free will decides whether you open it.” 

“Okay...” you murmur. “So I’m marked?” 

“You have the mark,” she corrects. “The mark of a mate. Your other half. The dark to your light. You’ll know him when you feel the pull. It won’t be gentle—it never is, for ones like you.” 

Your brow creases. “Ones like me?” 

She studies you again—longer this time. Her smile is faint, but her eyes are deep, unblinking. She’s not looking at you. She’s looking through you. Still searching for something beneath your skin. 

“You’re not ordinary,” she says softly. “Neither is he—at least, he won’t be when you meet. That’s why it matters. You two were made for something bigger. Together, you’ll either shift the course of something… or break it entirely.” 

Okay. Definitely time to find that waiter. And take the whole damn tray. 

She leans closer, her voice a whisper now—but somehow heavier. “This isn’t about belief. It’s about design. You can walk away—fate gives the door, not the hand that turns the knob. But when the moment comes, it won’t feel like a choice. Not to you. Not to him. Because something in the marrow of your bones will know.” 

You swallow hard, the hairs on your neck standing straight. 

She glances around once, then leans in—like she’s sharing a secret. “There will come a time when everything depends on whether you hold onto each other. Or let go. And if you let go…” Her lips press together, almost regretful. “Well. I suppose the universe will just have to adjust. Somehow.” 

And then, like smoke in a breeze, she slips into the crowd—leaving your pulse racing and the taste of stardust on the back of your tongue. 

- Present - 

“Were you on drugs?” Yelena asks—not accusing, just curious. 

You shoot her an unimpressed glare. “No.” 

Of all the faces in the room, Alexei’s is the most excited—his eyes practically sparkling. 

“Did you go after the mysterious woman?” he asks, leaning in. 

You shake your head. “No. I went after the waiter and took his tray.” 

Yelena snorts. “So you were drunk.” 

“I wasn’t drunk,” you argue. “Yet, at least.” 

Ava tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Did you believe her?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know. It sounds far-fetched, but… look at the last ten years. Super-people, aliens, sorcerers, magic. It’s not that hard to believe in the grand scheme of things.” 

Alexei leans closer, dropping his voice. “Do you believe Barnes is your mate?” 

No—but you’re not saying that out loud. 

“Sure,” you say, your voice just a little too high. “I mean, assuming I believe the woman—which I never said I did—” 

“You do,” Yelena cuts in. “I can see it in your eyes.” 

You shoot her a look. “Whether or not I believe her... I love Bucky. He’s my person. I don’t care if he’s my cosmically assigned soul partner or not. I want him. Only him. End of story.” 

Yelena breaks into a cheesy smile. “Aw, you are so cute. Sappy, and a little gross, but cute.” 

You roll your eyes as she pushes off the lounge and heads toward the kitchen, where Bucky is still muttering into the phone. John’s attention is glued to the TV—you’re not even sure he heard your story. And Ava phases out again, disappearing somewhere into the tower. 

After a moment, Alexei turns to you, voice lowered. “Are you scared?” 

You frown. “Scared of what?” 

“If you meet your mate.” 

You laugh—softly, uneasily—ignoring the sharp twist of anxiety in your chest. “I don’t even know if I believe in that. So why would I be scared?” 

“Because,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, “you’ll either have to break his heart, or break your own by refusing fate.” 

His words hit harder than they should. For a moment, it’s like your lungs forget how to work—air punched right out of your chest, heart pounding hard and fast against your ribs. 

You’ve never thought about it like that—because you’ve never truly believed the strange woman’s prophecy. You met Bucky nearly a year later, and the thought never crossed your mind. 

Not until now. Not until you had to retell that bizarre encounter out loud. 

And sure, you could keep telling yourself you don’t believe in it. But there’s always that one question that lingers. 

What if? 

What if what she said was real? 

What if Bucky isn’t your mate? 

What if you find him? 

What if she was right—and you can’t stay away? 

What if the choice comes down to breaking Bucky’s heart… or your own? 

- 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, his fingers laced with yours as you walk down the corridor toward the elevator. 

You’d spent the last few hours watching TV with Alexei and John—mostly talking about books—while Bucky worked. You tried to push all the weird questions and swirling doubts out of your mind, but it wasn’t easy with Alexei’s constant interrogation. 

“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “Just tired.” 

He squeezes your hand. “You sure?” 

You glance up and meet his baby blues—so sincere it makes guilt creep up your spine. You can’t just tell him you’re scared he’s not your person... That would break his heart. And for what? Some cryptic message from a strange woman about a mark you’ve never even seen? Or believed in. 

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, his eyes snapping away from yours. 

You frown and follow his gaze, eyes widening when you see the end of the hallway swallowed in black. 

“Um,” you lean into him, “what the fuck?” 

“It’s Bob,” he says, slowly backing away. “He’s having a nightmare.” 

You glance up at your fiancé. “He’s still sleeping?” 

“Yeah, he has trouble actually sleeping,” Bucky replies. “That’s why he’s in his room all the time. He’s trying to sleep, and then whenever he does... it’s this shit. I thought I had nightmares, but this kid…” 

Your heart thuds heavy in your chest—but not fast. Not panicked. You should be panicked. But you feel calm. Strangely calm. Even as the darkness creeps across the floor and walls, inching toward you as you back away. 

“What happens if we touch it?” you ask, hesitating mid-step. 

Bucky tugs your hand, urging you to keep moving. “Nothing good.” 

Your head tilts as you watch the inky mass crawl, swallowing everything in its path. Your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—but you know better. 

“Is it cold?” you ask, eyes still fixed on the darkness. 

Bucky frowns. “What?” 

“The darkness,” you say, glancing up at him. “Is it cold? It doesn’t seem cold.” 

He stares at you like you’ve just asked if it tastes like chicken. “It doesn’t really... feel like anything,” he says, eyes darting between you and the growing shadow. “Now, come on. We’ll take the stairs and warn the others.” 

You stop short, frowning. “You’re just going to leave him?” 

He looks at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “Well, no. We’ll go in if we have to, but it’s usually better to wait it out. He’s getting better at managing it. It usually stops before it spreads too far. So, we try not to interfere unless we need to.” 

“He shouldn’t have to deal with it by himself,” you argue. 

“I know that,” Bucky says, tipping his head slightly as he studies you. “We all know that. And he knows we’re here for him. But we can’t sleep beside him every night—if we do, we get pulled in the second he starts dreaming. He knows we’ll help him if he needs it, but he’s trying to learn how to control it on his own.” 

You feel an ache to run in after him—a man you barely know—to dive into that abyss. But you know it’d be stupid. You’re not like Bucky or the others. Not enhanced. Not particularly special. You probably wouldn’t last a second inside whatever hellscape awaits you in that darkness. 

“Okay,” you mutter, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go.” 

You backtrack through the tower to the common area and give the others a heads-up. Then, taking the route furthest from Bob’s room, the group filters out. Yelena and Ava decide to hang back and keep watch, while Alexei and John head off in search of lunch. 

You and Bucky say your goodbyes—for the second time today—before heading down the street toward your shared apartment. 

“What was all that, hm?” Bucky asks gently, his voice soft but his eyes sharp with concern. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still want to go back. The darkness hadn’t scared you—it hadn’t even really deterred you. All you could think about was the man trapped inside it—scared and alone. Gifted with powers like a god, but still powerless against his own demons. 

“Nothing,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just feeling a little extra empathetic today.” 

He studies you a beat longer, but you keep your eyes fixed ahead. After a minute or two, he sighs, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring something too quiet for you to catch—but you’re pretty sure it’s an I love you. 

Once back at your apartment, you curl up on the couch together and start watching a movie—one you insist Bucky has to see, since he missed out on so many years of excellent pop culture. About an hour in, the pressure in your chest finally starts to lift—the weird heaviness that had been stopping you from telling Bucky what was really wrong. But instead of relief, guilt settles in, and you quickly turn to him. 

“Buck,” you say softly. 

His eyes are on his phone. “Bob’s fine now. Yelena said he woke up and wasn’t even rattled. Said the nightmare was bad, but he found it easier to stop.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s good. I’m glad.” 

He locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch beside him, giving you his full attention. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah—um, about before. I’m sorry for not listening to you. For arguing. It was weird, and I was kind of lost in my own head.” 

He leans forward, takes both of your hands in his, and doesn’t speak—just laces your fingers together and watches how his hands swallow yours. 

You clear your throat, hesitating. “Do you remember when I told you about that strange woman who came up to me at The Vantage Summer Gala a few years ago?” 

His gaze lifts to yours, steady. “Of course. The lady who told you about your soulmate.” 

“Well,” you begin, “I was telling the others about it—Alexei brought up those books I supposedly told him to read, and... I don’t know, we ended up talking about soulmates, or whatever. And after I told them the story, Alexei started asking weird questions. Like if I believed her. If I think you’re my soulmate. And then... what if you’re not? And—and—” Your voice catches, throat thickening. “And w-what if—” 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You’re not about to cry over something dumb Alexei said, are you?” 

You let out a watery laugh, your eyes welling as you press your cheek to his shoulder. 

“I knew something was eating at you, doll,” he whispers into your hair, breath warm against your skin. 

You sniffle, blinking fast. “It just feels so stupid.” 

“Nothing’s stupid if it hurts you,” he says firmly. “And you don’t ever have to keep things from me. I don’t care how small it feels—if it’s bothering you, I want to know.” 

“Okay,” you mumble into his shirt. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you, still holding you close. “Don’t ever be sorry for being upset.” 

You swipe the back of your hand beneath your nose. 

“Now listen, okay?” He takes your hands again, holding them tight. “This might not help, but I need to say it.” 

You frown but stay quiet, holding your breath like it might help hold back the tears. 

“I know you’re unsure about what that woman told you,” he starts, “and I don’t know if soulmates are real or if fate really gives a damn about people like us. But I know what I feel when I look at you, and when you look at me.” He pauses, just for a beat. “I love you. And not because the universe says I should. I love you because you’re kind, and sharp, and stubborn as hell. I love the way you get quiet when you’re overthinking, and the way you look at me like I’m someone worth staying for.” 

A few tears slip down your cheeks as he takes a shaky breath. 

“But if one day, you find out there is someone else—if that soulmate thing is real, and you meet him and your whole world shifts—then I won’t hold you back. Even if it kills me, I won’t be the reason you’re not happy.” 

The tears start falling faster. 

“Do I want that? Hell no. I want you. Here. With me. Always. But loving someone means putting them first, even when it hurts. So if it ever comes to that… I’ll let you go. But until then… I’m all in. Every part of me is yours. No marks. No fate. Just choice. And I choose you.” 

His voice wobbles as he finishes, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 

You swallow a sob and take a deep breath, willing your voice to work. 

“I love you too,” you whisper, a little pitiful after his brilliant speech. 

He grins—and you barely get a second to appreciate it before he’s on you. His lips crash into yours, his hands gripping your body as he presses you back on the couch. The movie is long forgotten as he kisses you like you're the only place he’s ever felt at home. 

You start fumbling with his shirt, trying to undress him, but barely make it far before his phone starts buzzing. 

He groans and pushes up, and you let him go—his line of work is literally life or death. 

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

He nods, tapping out a quick reply before locking his phone again. “Yeah. Just John asking about tomorrow night.” 

“The foundation ball thing?” 

“Yep,” he sighs. “Can’t wait.” 

You lean in until your lips are just inches from his. “Can I come?” 

He frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to?” 

“I didn’t,” you say. “But now I do. I think I need to be there.” 

His expression softens as he leans in to kiss you again, murmuring, “Of course you can come.” 

- 

You feel strange under the glowing lights of the lavishly decorated ballroom. You haven’t even stepped foot in a place like this since your encounter with the fate lady—which isn’t helping that nagging anxiety that hasn’t let up since yesterday. But you’re still here, dressed to the nines and sipping champagne, because you knew you had to be. You just felt it. In your bones. 

“Wow, you clean up nice,” Yelena says, her eyes sparkling as she approaches. 

You’re at a high table near the back of the room, conveniently close to the bar. 

“And excellent choice in location,” she adds with a wink. 

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of these kinds of functions unless there’s copious amounts of alcohol involved.” 

“I’m not a fan of much without copious amounts of alcohol,” she says dryly. “But I imagine you’ve got a little PTSD from this kind of thing. Especially after the voodoo lady read your palms.” 

Her tone is teasing, but her words still prick your chest like tiny needles full of panic. 

“Very funny,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a crazy woman tonight who can tell you all about your future.” 

She scoffs. “No thank you. I am perfectly happy keeping that a mystery.” 

You snort softly into your glass and take a generous sip of champagne. 

“I’m pretty sure the only reason Alexei came tonight was in hopes of getting his fortune told,” she says, glancing across the room to where he’s talking to Bucky. “You know he hasn’t shut up about it for the past twenty-four hours? He even asked me to help him use a computer so he could research.” 

“Oh my God,” you giggle. “I’m so sorry.” 

Before either of you can say anything else, Alexei catches your eye and his face splits into a grin. He waves enthusiastically, then quickly excuses himself and begins weaving through the crowd. 

“Oh, great,” Yelena sighs. “He’s coming over here.” 

“You are here!” he exclaims, earning a few curious glances from nearby guests. “I am so excited to see you. We have much to talk about.” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. “Hey, Alexei. Yelena was just telling me you’ve been doing some research.” 

“Lots of research,” he confirms, setting his beer down on the table. “I know everything about mates. Ask me anything.” 

Ignoring the sting of nerves rushing through your veins, you start to search for a safe question—something that won’t set your anxiety on fire. 

“How do you know if you’ve met them?” Yelena cuts in before you can speak. 

Alexei’s eyes light up. “Ah, good question. It is obvious. You cannot deny it once you meet them. It feels like gravity is gone, and they become your only tether to the earth. You don’t need oxygen. You don’t need water. You just need them.” He smiles proudly and nods at both of you. “Now ask me what happens when you touch them.” 

You frown, curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the difference? Between simply meeting them and touching them?” 

“There is all the difference,” he says, frowning like you’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “You see them, and yes, you know—but you still have choice. When you touch them, you cannot change mind. You can try, but it is too painful.” 

You tilt your head. “Like... it actually hurts? Or it’s just emotionally difficult?” 

“It physically hurts,” Yelena answers, and your gaze snaps to her. “You’ve acknowledged the connection, so you can’t go back to being without them. It feels like you’re being torn apart the further you try to get away.” 

You raise your brows, surprised by her sudden expertise. 

“What?” she snaps. “I was helping him use the computer, okay?” 

You press your lips together to stifle a laugh and turn back to Alexei. “Okay, so what happens if you don’t like your mate?” 

He scoffs, throwing his head back dramatically. “It is not possible. These two people are designed to be together, from birth. It is deeper than souls or magic. You cannot even describe it. There is no way two beings created for each other could possibly dislike one another.” 

“Okay...” you say softly, “but what if you deny it?” 

“Deny it?” he echoes. “You cannot—because you will not want to. The second you find them, you will ache for them in ways you cannot explain. No one else will ever fit. No one else will ever satisfy. You will crave them in your blood, in your breath. Denying it would be like trying to unmake the sky.” 

His words knock the breath out of you for the second time in twenty-four hours. You nearly stumble back at their weight—at the way they land straight in your chest. 

“This part is interesting too,” Alexei continues, ignoring the way your face has paled. “Before you meet them, you feel it.” 

John appears beside you, setting his drink down on the table and eyeing Alexei with a frown. “What do you mean, feel it?” 

“When you are close to meeting them, everything shifts,” he says. “Just a little. Sometimes it feels like anxiety. Sometimes it feels like peace. But always, it feels like something is happening—something inevitable. You start going places without knowing why, saying yes to things you would normally refuse. There is a pull in your gut, something telling you where to go. Like the universe is nudging you to where you are supposed to be.” 

The words hang in the air, humming like static before a storm—until Yelena’s voice slices through the tension. 

“Walker,” she snaps, frowning. “Where the hell is Bob?” 

John blinks, taken aback. “I don’t know. I thought Ava was with him.” 

You glance between the two blondes, blinking slowly. “Wait—Bob is here?” 

“Yes,” Yelena says, clearly irritated. “He asked to come. Said he needed to be here—I don’t know. I felt bad saying no, he never leaves the tower.” 

John exhales sharply. “I’ll go find him.” 

Yelena turns to Alexei. “Can you go track down Ava? Let us know if she’s with him.” 

“I’ll tell Bucky,” you say quickly, already moving as you slip away from the table and into the crowd. 

You move through the crowd with steady purpose, weaving between glittering gowns and polished tuxedos, eyes scanning for that familiar face. 

Bucky. You’re looking for Bucky. 

The ballroom thrums behind you—laughter, clinking glasses, the low swell of music—but it all begins to blur. Your heartbeat picks up, not with panic, but with something else. Something you can’t name. A shift beneath your skin. 

You slip through a side door, into a wide corridor draped in golden light. The hush is immediate, swallowing the noise of the party like a dream closing over waking thought. The silence buzzes in your ears, and the air feels... heavier. Thicker. Like the world had been holding its breath, and you just stepped into the exhale. 

You walk slowly, drawn forward without thought. Each step echoes, like it belongs to someone else. 

And then—you see him. 

At the far end of the hallway, half-turned as if he wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, stands a man. Tall. Tousled brown curls. Shoulders hunched just slightly in a way that says he doesn’t quite know how to fit inside his own skin. His head lifts as if sensing you, like a string inside him just snapped taut. 

His eyes meet yours. 

It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not an explosion. It’s worse—or better. It’s everything. The moment stretches, distorts. A pressure builds in your chest, like gravity has decided to anchor you only to him. 

You can’t breathe. 

The world doesn’t blur—it sharpens. Every detail. The rise of his chest as he inhales, the exact shade of his deep blue eyes, the way his fingers twitch like they know something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, like a long-lost note finally striking true. 

Your mouth parts, but there’s nothing to say. 

He takes a step forward, unsure. Almost afraid. 

And you realise—you weren’t searching for Bucky. Not really. 

You were being led to him. 

“D-Do I know you?” His voice carries down the corridor—low, deep, wrapping around you like silk and smoke. 

“No,” you whisper, even as every part of you screams yes. 

He’s still a few feet away, and you’re not even sure he heard you—but his head tilts, just slightly, like he did. Then he takes a step. And another. 

Drawn forward like the tide answering the moon. 

His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s caught in the pull of something he doesn’t understand, only knows he has to follow. Eyes locked to yours, wide and dark, shimmering with a quiet awe you can’t name. 

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough to forget how to breathe. But you don’t need to breathe. Not now. Not when he’s here. 

He is your oxygen. Your gravity. 

He is everything you will ever need. 

Everything you want. 

He is everything. 

“Hey—there you are.” The voice crashes into you like a wave shattering glass. 

You jolt, snapping your head toward Bucky as he rounds the corner, a sheepish grin on his face, completely unaware of the world he’s just torn apart. 

“Bucky,” you mutter, as if reminding yourself of his name. 

Bucky frowns, curiosity sharpening his gaze as it flicks between you and the man beside you. “Bob?” 

You whip back to Bob, eyes widening at his outstretched hand—fingertips hovering just a breath from your arm. 

You flinch as if burned, stepping back before he can touch you—and his eyes snap up, darkening with something raw and wounded. The crack in your chest widens, because you feel it too. The sting of refusal. The ache of distance. The desperate, inexplicable need to feel his skin against yours—a need neither of you understands, but both feel deep in your bones. 

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice is tight as his eyes settle on you. 

You meet his gaze, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through your chest—because the face you love isn’t the one your heart seeks anymore. Your eyes? They’re drawn only to Bob. To memorise every line, to trace every curve. To know him more intimately than your own reflection, more deeply than the shadows behind your closed eyelids. 

“I was—I, uh—looking for you,” you say, forcing your gaze to stay with him. 

His posture stiffens, guarded—something you know all too well after years together. His brow furrows as his sharp eyes dart between you and Bob. He can sense it—whatever it is. The shift in gravity, the subtle movement beneath the earth. He knows there’s something more, but he doesn’t know what. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. 

He fixes his gaze on you. “Are you okay?” 

You nod slowly, then glance at Bob—you can’t help yourself—and it feels like surfacing from deep underwater, finally able to breathe. “Bob,” you whisper. 

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Of course. You two haven’t met yet.” 

He wraps an arm around your waist and Bob’s eyes flare with heat—anger. He moves as if to shove Bucky away, but you find his gaze and silently plead for restraint. 

You swear his eyes darken a shade, but he holds back. Jaw clenched, shoulders rigid—tense—but no longer coiled to strike.  

“Bob,” Bucky says, eyes flickering between the two of you—clearly not missing the silent exchange or the way Bob’s body tensed. “This is my fiancé.” 

Time stops—or at least, it feels that way. Bob’s eyes don’t leave yours, that same wounded look returning—only now, it’s splintered into something far more devastating. Like he’d caught a glimpse of heaven—just for a moment—before being ripped from the sky and cast down. Down through the clouds, through the earth, all the way into fire. 

He was so close. So close to having everything. To having you. 

Now all that’s left is ash in his mouth, and a slow, burning fury aimed at the man standing beside you. A man he calls a friend. A teammate. 

“I need to go,” you whisper. “I—I feel sick.” 

Bucky’s arm tightens protectively around you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “I need to leave. Can we go—” your voice breaks as you glance up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, “—please.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take you home, doll.” Then he turns to Bob. “Yelena’s looking for you. Come on.” 

Bucky guides you back through the same door you’d slipped through earlier, back into the chaos of the ballroom. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all feels like it’s coming from underwater. The world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware that your axis has tilted. 

A few guests nod or greet Bucky as he passes, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel the way you’re swaying beside him, the way your weight leans harder against him with every step. He’s moving fast now. He knows something’s wrong. 

So do you. 

Your vision swims. The lights blur into streaks of gold and silver, voices folding into one another like crashing waves. 

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Yelena. Then Alexei. Then—Bob. 

Bob. 

You spot him behind Yelena, eyes wide and wounded, standing like a ghost at the edge of your unravelling world. 

He’s the only thing that makes sense in the chaos. 

The only thing that’s clear. 

And all you want to do is reach for him. 

But you can’t. 

Not here. Not now. 

Not ever. 

Because you love Bucky. 

Because you chose Bucky. 

“Bucky,” you murmur, barely audible, “Need t’ go…” 

His arm tightens again. “I’ve got you.” 

“Is she okay?” Yelena’s voice cuts through the noise. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers, urgency creeping into his tone. “I need to get her out of here—now.” 

You try to blink, but your eyes don’t open again. 

The music and chatter twist into a storm—deafening, chaotic, pounding against your skull. 

You try to move, to breathe, to see—but nothing works. 

Your eyelids are too heavy. 

Your lungs feel like they’re filling with water. 

Your chest is caving in under the weight of it. 

Everything is too heavy. Too loud. Too much. 

Then— 

The world cuts out. 

Everything stops. 

- 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yelena’s voice is muffled, but still clear. 

“Keep it down,” Bucky hisses, his voice low—laced with urgency and… grief.  

“I came here to ask if you knew what happened to Bob last night, because he’s been acting weirder than usual,” Yelena snaps, no softer than before. “But I did not come here for bullshit—I get enough of that from Alexei.” 

Bucky exhales a long, tired breath. “Maybe we need to talk to Alexei.” 

“Why the hell would we do that?” Yelena demands. “Whatever he’s been on about these past few days isn’t real. He’s off with the fairies—literally. Do not tell me you actually believe in all that stupid soulmate crap.” 

There’s a pause. A thick, heavy silence as you try to peel your eyelids open. But you can’t. They’re too heavy. 

“You didn’t see what I saw, Yelena,” Bucky says, voice strained. “The way they looked at each other... it felt—I don’t know. Like something cracked open. They were just standing there, but it was like all the air got sucked out of the room. I could feel it—the whole world shifting.” 

“You sound like Alexei,” Yelena replies, deadpan. “So you’re either on drugs, hit your head, or you’re trying to be funny.” 

“Why would I joke about the woman I love being inextricably bound to another man?” 

Your eyes snap open. Heat licks up your spine and burns behind your eyes as your vision adjusts to the harsh morning sun. 

“Okay. So, drugs. Or you bumped your head,” Yelena says, voice carrying through your bedroom door. 

“Yelena,” Bucky pleads, voice cracking. “Please. I don’t know what happened, but I know something did. I need your help.” 

She sighs. “Okay, fine. But you asked for this.” There’s a pause before she adds, “I’ll call Alexei.” 

Your mouth is dry and your whole body aches with stiffness as you sit up, rubbing at your burning eyes. The sun through the window is too low and too bright for it to be your usual wake-up time—so you know you’ve overslept. 

You throw back the duvet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, curling your toes into the plush carpet you and Bucky picked out together. You’d chosen it the second you stepped into the flooring store. The saleswoman warned you off it—something about loose threads and visible tread marks—but it was just so unbelievably soft, you couldn’t imagine choosing anything else. 

The day it was installed, you and Bucky spent the first fifteen minutes making carpet angels, laughing like idiots, and revelling in the feel of it beneath your skin. Then you spent the next hour defiling the brand-new flooring. There’s still a stain you never managed to get out—thankfully hidden beneath the bed. 

Your stomach twists with nausea, bile climbing your throat until you gag. You scramble to your feet and rush into the ensuite, gripping the basin for dear life as you cough up nothing but stomach acid. 

Tears well up, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks before your mind can even catch up. 

You feel wrecked. Totally and utterly ruined. Chewed up and spat out by the universe. 

You don’t understand anything. It’s like you’ve been dropped into the centre of the labyrinth without a torch. But there’s a rope inside your gut—tugging, steady and sure—pulling you in a direction that promises escape. Only, it’s not leading you toward where you should be going. Not to Bucky. 

No, the rope is dragging you toward someone else. Your mate. The man from last night. Bob. The only thing your body seems to crave. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut as you slowly straighten. 

You avoid your reflection in the mirror as you strip off and step into the shower. You can’t look at yourself right now. You’re not just confused—you’re scared. Something inside you has changed, irrevocably. And you know that the moment you admit it, you’ll lose the power to stop it. 

Once you’re showered and slightly less of a wreck, you wrap yourself in a comfortable pair of sweats and an old hoodie—one you haven’t worn in a while, since you usually prefer to steal Bucky’s. But not today. You tried to put on one of his sweaters, but the smell made you gag. And then you started crying again. Because yesterday, his scent was one of the most comforting things in the world to you. But not anymore. 

Now, all you can think about is Bob—where he is, what he’s doing. And you know he’s thinking about you too. You can feel it. 

After another few minutes of tears, you dry your cheeks and take a deep breath before stepping out of the bedroom and padding down the hall. When you reach the lounge room, the low chatter dies instantly, and three pairs of eyes turn to you—wide and full of concern. 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, brows drawn tight. “How are you feeling?” 

“Great,” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze. 

“You do not look great,” Alexei says flatly. 

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Alexei. She knows.” 

You curl up on the far end of the three-seater lounge, putting as much distance as possible between you and Yelena. Bucky is on the two-seater, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Alexei is perched on one of the dining room chairs with his back to the TV. 

It’s on, but the volume is muted. 

“So,” your eyes flick toward Yelena, “what’s all this about?” 

She sighs, her gaze darting to Bucky before settling back on you. “I came over to ask Barnes if he knew what happened to Bob last night, because he was acting strange—stranger than usual. But instead, I get told a bunch of bullshit about this ridiculous soulmates thing that Alexei has been going on about. And now I’m being forced to entertain the idea that it might be real. So... explain.” 

You frown. “Explain what?” 

“Whatever happened with you and Bob last night,” she says, waving a hand like the answer should be obvious. 

You blink a few times, brows pulling tighter as you glance down. The room thickens with silence, tension rising in the air. The only sound is Alexei’s heavy breathing. 

“What do you mean... he was acting strange?” you ask softly. 

Yelena sighs again, tipping her head as if searching for the right words. “He was... weirdly calm. And not the kind of quiet, anxiety-ridden, dissociative ‘calm’ he usually is. He was actually peaceful. It was kind of alarming. So Ava stayed up all night to keep watch. We thought it might be the ‘calm before the storm’—you know, before one of his other personalities came out to play—but... nothing. He went to bed and slept. No noise, no darkness. Ava even phased into his room to check he was still there. And he was—sleeping peacefully.” She pauses. “He was... talking, though. Kept saying your name.” 

You swallow—hard. “My name?” 

She nods. 

“Okay,” you mutter. “That doesn’t really mean... anything.” You glance at Alexei, like he might save you. “Right?” 

“Doll,” Bucky says softly, voice tight, eyes still locked on the floor. “You were sayin’ his name all night too.” 

You choke on nothing. Your chest tightens, lungs aching, heart leaping into an erratic rhythm. 

“Alexei,” Yelena says sharply, turning toward her father. “Assuming this ridiculousness is real—how do we know for sure?” 

Alexei raises his brows, eyes fixed on you. “She knows. And so does Bob. There is no magical way of asking the universe. They just know.” 

Yelena’s head snaps back to you, her eyes wide, expectant. “So?” 

A few silent tears slip down your cheeks, and you blink quickly, trying to keep the whole dam from breaking. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, rearing back slightly. “I’m sorry.” 

You let out a weak, watery laugh. “Why are you sorry?” 

She shrugs. “For being harsh, I guess? I don’t know. I’m just... confused. It’s hard to believe any of this is real, but—” 

“Why else would it affect them so much?” Alexei cuts in, gesturing toward you. “Whether or not you believe it, you cannot deny something has happened. Look at her. You think this is what happens when she simply meets someone new? Of course not—that would be crazy.” 

“Couldn’t it be something else?” Yelena presses, brows knit. “Like, maybe Bob’s powers just—” 

“You said it yourself,” Bucky interrupts, “he’s been better lately—especially last night. You really think that’s a coincidence?” 

“Did not the crazy lady say it to you?” Alexei asks, eyes locking on you. “That you and your mate were something special?” 

You nod slowly, sniffing and wiping the wetness from your cheeks. A beat of silence stretches between the four of you as you try to compose yourself, pressing down the guilt and that strange new sensation pulling you toward your mate. 

“So... what do we do?” you ask, your voice hoarse as it slices through the quiet. “How do we stop it?” 

“Stop it?” Alexei echoes. “You do not stop it. It’s not possible.” 

Your bottom lip quivers. “But Bucky—” 

“This isn’t about me,” Bucky says, eyes dark as he finally looks up. “If Bob could control himself after just meeting her, then this could be—this could help him control his powers. He might be able to use them without the other two showing up.” 

You frown, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he turns to Yelena. “She could help him. This could help the whole the team.” 

Frustration bubbles beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire through your veins and making your heart pound. “This isn’t about the team, Bucky,” you snap. “This is about you and me.” 

Nausea swirls low in your gut, your body physically rebelling at your own words—this attempt to reject your mate. Because you don’t want to. Not really. But you know you should. You chose Bucky. And you’re going to stick with that. 

Even if it kills you. 

“Barnes...” Yelena says softly. “I’m not sure if—” 

“This isn’t about me!” he exclaims, turning toward her sharply, his expression stormy. “Not anymore.” 

You watch him with wide, watery eyes. “Bucky. Please. I don’t—I don’t want this... I don’t—” Your voice catches, breath halting as you fight for the words. “I don’t want... him.” It burns to say it, but you know it’s what Bucky needs to hear. “I want you. I choose you.” 

His face softens, blue eyes turning almost cerulean—the way they do when he’s close to tears. 

You turn to Alexei. “Couldn’t I just... help Bob? Be there for him to help control his powers and—and still be with Bucky?” 

Alexei chuckles—low and soft, full of quiet contrition. “You could try. But it would be difficult... being so close to him, wanting him in a way you cannot explain, and holding yourself back. Not to mention the physical and emotional pain you would put him through.” 

“So,” Yelena pipes up, “this could make Bob worse?” 

Alexei shrugs. “Theoretically, yes.” 

“Can’t we just try it?” you ask, your voice cracking halfway through as more tears spill down your cheeks. 

Yelena scoots closer and gently places her hand on your knee. She’s not entirely sure what to do—your body language is still guarded—but you offer her a soft smile as her thumb begins to trace small, calming circles. 

“We can try it,” she says quietly. 

Bucky nods, watching you with a heavy expression and the faintest spark of hope behind his eyes. “It’s worth a shot.” 

Alexei leans forward, his eyes crinkled and mouth pulling into an awkward grimace. “Well... there is one more thing.” 

You all turn toward him, frowning. 

“Do you remember what I said last night? About... it being different when you touch?” 

You nod slowly. 

“If you want to try just being his friend, then you cannot touch him,” he says. “Not at all. And you will want to—badly. But you cannot.” 

Yelena lifts a brow. “Why?” 

There’s a pause—an awkward silence while Alexei searches for the right words. 

“You will not be able to... resist, as you say. When you first see him, it is all spiritual. Like fate. An invisible string pulling you together, but...” he hesitates, brow furrowed. “When you touch, it is more... physical.” 

You suck in a sharp breath. “Physical?” 

“Yes.” He nods. “Like... sexual. You will not be able to—” 

“No, no,” Yelena cuts in, eyes wide as they flick toward Bucky. “We do not need to unpack this. She just won’t touch him.” She looks at you pointedly. “Right?” 

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Never mind that your fingertips are already burning. That your whole body is buzzing, restless with the ache to be near Bob again. The idea of his skin against yours sparks like a live wire and makes every nerve ending flare to life. You feel lit up—like something dormant inside you has snapped awake. Like a part of you was missing, and now that you’ve found it—felt it—you can’t breathe without it. 

Yeah... this is going to be fine. 

- 

The day has been long. Maybe the longest you’ve ever lived through. 

You tried to read. You tried watching TV. You even went for a run—which turned into a walk, which turned into a slow lap around the block before you forced yourself back inside. Because all you really wanted to do was find Bob. Go to him. Be near him. 

It’s strange. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You know him—somehow. Like he already belongs to you, and you to him, even though you’ve only met once. Barely exchanged a handful of words. 

Your whole body aches for him in a way you don’t understand. You feel like you’re fading without him, like staying away too long might cause you to unravel entirely. The idea of never seeing him again makes your stomach churn. 

But you can’t let it show. You have to remember you chose Bucky. He’s your person—not this stranger with eyes that feel like home. You gave your word. You said yes. 

So you’re going to marry Bucky. 

Even if it’s not what you want anymore. 

Even if he’s not what you want anymore. 

“You sure you’re feeling better?” Bucky asks, stopping at the door to the bathroom. 

You’ve been standing in a towel, staring at your reflection for at least five minutes now, trying to will yourself into being stronger. To shake this feeling. To silence the strange, restless hum beneath your skin—like stardust catching fire. Like gravity itself has shifted, bending around you, pulling your soul toward Bob’s with a force so fierce it almost hurts. 

You clear your throat. “Much better, I promise.” 

He gives you a small smile—weak, but still there. 

There’s a beat of silence. A stretch of unfamiliar energy between you, tense and fraying at the edges. As if the universe itself is rejecting the bond you once believed was written in the stars. 

But the stars had nothing to do with you and Bucky. Not really. 

Now you know what it truly feels like when the stars choose. When they bind one soul to another. 

“I love you,” he says softly, his voice hoarse. “Regardless of everything. Whatever you choose—I love you. I always will.” 

Your eyes fill with tears—easily, instantly. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I wish I could—” 

“Don’t,” he cuts in, nearly choking on the word. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

“But—” 

“Doll, I’m serious.” He steps forward, hesitating before reaching out with his flesh hand. You take it, and he gently pulls you a step closer. 

“I know what I said before—about the team. That shouldn’t have been what I was worried about. But it was easier, you know? Easier to focus on something practical than to face the truth. Which is… I think I’m going to lose you.” 

You shake your head, tears already spilling. “No, you’re not—” 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, forcing a tight, sad smile. “Maybe it’s meant to happen. Like… literally written in the stars, right? And if being away from him is hurting you, I won’t be the one who makes you stay. That’s the last thing I want.” 

He looks away, jaw working, before he meets your eyes again. “So just… forgive me. If I shut down. If I don’t know how to deal with this. If I can’t always stick around when—if—you choose him.” His voice trembles. “Because it’s going to hurt, doll. More than I probably know how to handle. But I meant what I said—I’ll let you go.” 

He blinks fast, but a few tears escape anyway, carving slow trails across his cheeks. “If that’s what’s right—for you, for him, for fate or the universe or whatever this is—then I won’t fight it.” 

He pauses, breathing deep.  

“But you have to promise me something.” His voice steadies, just a little. “Don’t hurt yourself for me. Don’t hold back. Don’t settle. Don’t lie to yourself just because you made a promise before everything changed. Before you knew what this really was. Can you promise me that?” 

You swallow hard, your breath catching in short, shallow gasps as you try not to scream. All you can do is nod. 

“Good,” he whispers, his fingers brushing the ring on your left hand. 

Then he leans in, eyes fluttering shut as he presses a soft kiss to your damp cheek. 

A sob breaks free from your chest, more tears falling fast as he slowly turns and walks away—leaving you standing there, crying for what feels like the thousandth time today. 

Not because you don’t love him. 

But because you don’t want him. 

And you hate yourself for that. Hate that you’re doing this to him.  

But there’s nothing in you strong enough to stop it. So all you can do now is try not to hurt him more than you already have. Try to make it work. 

Which is exactly why you’re going to the tower tonight. 

To see Bob. To talk to Bob. 

Because this thing—whatever it is—it involves him too. 

And that’s something everyone else seems to have forgotten. 

After drying your eyes—and then your body—you change into a fresh pair of sweats and another old hoodie. You pull on a pair of sneakers, run a brush through your hair, and head out the door. You don’t care about looking good right now. You don’t even care about looking decent. You just want to see Bob. 

The walk to the tower is quiet. Bucky doesn’t try to hold your hand, and you don’t notice until you’re standing outside the looming building—when nerves start to creep in and you suddenly wish you had something to hold on to. 

You glance his way, mouth parting—to ask for his hand, for comfort—but then you feel it. 

That pull. 

It threads through you like a live current, drawing you forward, calling to you like a heartbeat echoing in someone else’s chest. Like the ache of a memory you’ve never lived. 

“You ready?” Bucky asks softly. 

But his voice barely reaches you. It sounds distant, like he’s speaking from another room—or underwater. Muffled beneath the steady thrum of your pulse. 

You nod, eyes fixed ahead as you step through the doors. Into the elevator. 

You wait—still, silent—breath caught in your chest. 

Then the doors open. 

The moment you step into the common room, the air changes. 

Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and John are gathered near the TV, the low hum of a movie playing as they speak in hushed tones—careful, like they’re trying not to break something fragile. But none of them are the first thing you see. 

It’s Bob. 

He’s sitting alone on the far couch, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced loosely as he stares at nothing in particular. Like he’s been waiting in stillness. Like he knew. 

His head lifts before you even take a full step into the room. 

The moment your eyes meet, the rest of the world exhales. Or maybe it holds its breath—you can’t tell. All you know is that everything inside you goes quiet. The noise, the ache, the confusion—it all stills beneath the gravity of him. The pull. 

You don’t move at first. Neither does he. It’s like your souls got there before your bodies could catch up. Like the space between you is still catching fire. 

And then, gently, you walk toward him. Just a few steps. He rises slowly, hands by his sides, eyes locked on yours with a look so open, so raw, it nearly undoes you. 

No one speaks. 

Not until Ava lets out a soft, wide-eyed breath from the couch. “Holy shit.” 

The others glance between you and Bob, exchanging looks, but no one interrupts. No jokes. No commentary. Just the quiet understanding of people who have just witnessed something that feels... bigger. 

You stop in front of him. Close, but not touching. His breath hitches. Yours does too. 

Still, neither of you says a word. 

You don’t need to. 

Because whatever this is—this ancient, aching thing that lives between your ribs and beneath your skin—it’s speaking loud enough for both of you. 

Yelena clears her throat, gaze lingering on Bucky. “Okay… yeah. I get it now.” 

You blink rapidly, like you’ve just slammed back into your body after falling out of it. Slowly, you step back, eyes flicking toward the rest of the team—but refusing to snap straight back to Bob. 

“This is crazy,” Alexei says, his grin so wide and his eyes so bright it looks like he might actually combust. 

John pulls a face, nose wrinkled, confusion and mild disgust written all over him. “I can, like… feel it too.” He looks at you, alarmed. “Why?” 

You shrug, breath caught in your throat, your voice nowhere to be found. 

There’s a beat of silence, thick and humming with the weight of unspoken words and the flood of questions swirling through everyone’s minds. 

Then John claps his hands together, loud and abrupt. “Okay, so… how do we figure out if she can control him?” 

That snaps the room back into motion. 

“I don’t think it works like that,” Ava mutters, folding her arms. 

“How the hell would you know?” John fires back. 

Alexei lifts a brow. “She is not here to control Bob.” 

“Oh. Okay. Did you read that in one of your magic manuals?” John scoffs. 

“Walker, please,” Yelena sighs. “Now is not the time to argue.” 

They start talking over one another, voices rising and overlapping like a wave about to crash. 

And then— 

“Wait.” 

The single word is soft. Barely audible. 

Bob. 

Everyone turns, and the room falls back into a heavy silence. 

He shifts slightly on his feet, shoulders drawn tight, eyes fixed on the floor for a beat before flickering up to you. His voice is uncertain, but steady enough. “I… I’m confused.” 

There’s a pause. 

“What do you mean?” Yelena asks gently. 

Bob swallows, glancing around the room before his gaze returns to you. 

“Well… whatever this is, I feel it. I know it. I know—” His voice falters as he looks at you again, softer now, “I know you. You’re… mine.” 

You don’t flinch. You don’t look away. 

He blinks, grounding himself. 

“But… I don’t understand what’s happening. Why it’s happening. Or… what you’re all talking about.” 

You open your mouth, but Bucky speaks first, stepping forward. 

“She’s not staying,” he says quietly, almost scared to say it out loud. “Not really. She’s… choosing me.” 

Bob’s brows pull together, dark blue eyes widening. 

“I mean… she’s here to help,” Yelena jumps in, a little too quickly. “Just to help. While we figure things out.” 

“Help,” Bob repeats, like he’s trying to fit the word into a sentence that doesn’t quite work. 

You finally speak, voice low. “I’m not leaving you. Not completely. But I also… I made a promise. And right now, I’m trying to keep it.” 

Bob’s eyes search yours—not angry. Not desperate. Just… aching with the effort of holding something too big for his hands. 

And somehow, that’s what hurts the most. 

Because those words taste like acid in your mouth. Burning your tongue like white-hot lies. 

You don’t want to keep your promise—not now. Not when he is standing there, looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. You don’t want to walk away to protect someone else, even if that someone else has your heart in his hands too. 

All you want is this. Him. The man in front of you. 

You want to hold him. To reach across the impossible space between you and wrap your fingers around his and never let go. To tell him that whatever force carved your souls from the same star had it right. That you don’t care about the plan or the past or the path you promised to walk. 

You just want to stay. 

You want to lace your soul into words and place them in his hands. 

To tell him that you’ll keep him safe. 

That you’ll be the light when his world goes dark. 

That you’ll be steady when everything else shakes apart. 

That he doesn’t have to be alone anymore. 

That you’re his. 

Because you are. You always were. Even before you knew. 

And walking away from that feels like trying to cut the sky in half and pretend the stars won’t notice. 

“I—I don’t understand,” Bob says, his voice firmer now, edged with something darker. Something dangerous. “She doesn’t want this.” 

You exhale sharply, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Bob, please.” 

His eyes snap to you, wide and shining with everything he can’t bring himself to say. But you don’t need words. You don’t need promises. You just need him. 

“You don’t want this,” he repeats, softer now. Almost broken. 

You swallow hard. “I do. This is what I’m… choosing.” 

His brow pulls tight. “Why?” 

“I made a promise,” you say again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. “And I want to keep it.” 

You don’t. 

“But I’ll still be here when you need me. We can still… be together. Just… not completely.” 

Bob’s eyes shift to Bucky, dark blue bleeding into molten silver. “She’s choosing you?” 

The energy in the room changes again. 

The air goes still. No static hum. No crackle of power. Just… silence. 

Heavy and unnatural—like being buried underwater. A crushing pressure that squeezes your lungs until you forget how to breathe. 

Bob’s jaw tightens. You can see it—feel it—in the tension radiating off him. In the flicker of silver that sharpens, flares, then fades again in his eyes. 

“You’re lying,” he says quietly. 

Your breath catches. 

“I can feel you,” he continues, voice raw, trembling just beneath the surface. “That’s what this is, right? This connection? I feel you, and you feel me. So I know you don’t want this.” 

“Bob—” 

His hands clench into fists at his sides. “No. Don’t say it again. Don’t say it’s your choice. Don’t say it’s a promise. Because that’s not what you’re feeling.” His voice cracks, then drops into something lower. Rougher. “You want me. I know you do.” 

A faint pulse of cold slips through the room—sharp and unnatural, like a draft from somewhere that shouldn’t exist. It kisses your skin, raises every hair on your arms, and sinks deeper, like ice threading through bone. 

Ava shifts her weight uneasily. John glances toward Bucky, tense. 

“I don’t understand,” Bob says again, and this time his voice is breaking. “Why are you lying to me? Why are you choosing something that hurts you? That hurts us?” 

You open your mouth, but the words aren’t there. They’ve drowned somewhere in your throat, tangled in the ache behind your ribs. 

“I can feel your heart,” he whispers, silver light blooming behind his irises again. “And it’s breaking.” 

There’s a pause. A beat where no one dares to speak. No one breathes. 

Then Yelena steps forward, her voice steady. “Bob, please. You need to—” 

But he cuts her off, eyes flashing silver as his anger sharpens, gaze snapping to Bucky. “Why won’t you let her go?” 

Bucky swallows and takes a step back, his blue eyes wide and watery, flicking between you and Bob. “I—” 

“She’s not yours,” Bob says, his voice so deep it echoes through the room—through your mind. “You can’t keep her.” 

The room tenses. Silence coils thick around you, something ethereal seeping into the air like gasoline waiting for a spark. 

“Bob,” Yelena tries again, louder now, more urgent. “You need to calm down. Now.” 

You glance at the floor—at Bob’s feet. Shadows crawl across them, creeping upward, inch by inch, slowly consuming him. 

Panic flickers across his face. He knows he’s slipping. The power inside him swells—cold, fierce, pressing outward. 

His breath comes faster, fists trembling. “I’m… I’m sorry—” 

The air snaps, taut like a wire pulled too tight. His power spirals, wild and uncontained, slicing through the room in jagged bursts like shards of ice. 

The darkness creeps higher with every breath, swallowing him slow—leaving nothing in its wake but shadow, nothing but void.  

“This was supposed to help,” John snaps. “She was supposed to help him, not make it worse!” 

Alexei steps forward, eyes locked on you. “You need to go to him.” 

You shake your head, slow and small, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I—I can’t.” 

Ava backs away, her body flickering as she prepares to phase. 

“Bob, look at me,” Yelena says, steady but firm. “Breathe. You are not alone.” 

But his eyes stay on you. That look—raw heartbreak etched into every line of his face, love twisted with fear and confusion— 

It fractures something inside of you. 

“We need to get out of here,” Ava calls from a few feet away. 

John starts backing up, his eyes wide and locked on Bob—as if waiting for a sign to turn and run. 

“We cannot leave him,” Alexei says. “We go in, if we have to.” 

“Bob,” Yelena pleads. “You’ve got this. Please. You can control this.” 

Everything starts to blur. 

The shouting becomes a wall of noise, voices crashing over each other, words slurring until they’re nothing but static—a low, violent hum in your ears. The blood rushes louder. Your head throbs, a sickening, rhythmic pounding like your skull is splitting apart from the inside out. 

You want to scream. 

You want to tear at your skin just to feel something real, to make the pain physical—tangible—because at least that would make sense. You want to tell them all to shut up. To stop talking. To just let you breathe. 

You want to drop to your knees and scream into the void until it spits him back out. 

Bob. 

Bob, whose body is almost completely swallowed by shadow. 

Bob, whose eyes—silver and scared—are locked on yours, pleading. Begging. 

Bob, who holds your heart in his shaking hands. Who owns your soul, even now. Even as you’re walking away from him. 

The one thing you need… and the one thing you’re denying yourself. 

And for what? 

For the heart of someone else? For a promise that was never meant to cost this much? 

You would burn the whole damn world to save him. 

You’d tear the universe apart just to keep from breaking that heart. 

But this? This is breaking yours too. 

Bucky’s voice cuts through the chaos—barely louder than a whisper, but somehow it reaches you. Steady, but breaking. 

“It’s okay,” he says, eyes locked on yours even as his own brim with tears. “Go to him. I’ll be okay.” 

You shake your head, lips trembling, a silent protest caught in your throat. But deep down, you know he means it. You feel it—the weight of his acceptance, the way he's choosing love over possession. Choosing you, even if it breaks him. 

“I don’t want to let you go. God, I don’t. But I can’t be the reason he breaks.” 

Your chest aches so deeply it nearly folds you in half. But there’s something else there too—something small and warm and unspeakably grateful. You don’t deserve this kind of kindness. But he’s giving it anyway. 

“You still have a part of me. Always will.” His voice falters, but his eyes stay soft. “But he needs all of you right now. And I… I just want you to be safe.” 

A sound escapes your throat, half a sob, half his name. You take a shaky breath, tears sliding down your cheeks as you step toward him—not to stay, but to say thank you without words. 

His smile is soft. Cracked around the edges. Brave in the way only someone who’s breaking can be. 

“It’s okay. I promise.” 

You nod once. Swallow hard. Squeeze your eyes shut—steadying yourself. Then turn back toward him. 

Bob, who’s almost gone—his form nearly swallowed by the creeping dark, his features carved in flickers of silver and shadow. He stands there like a man on the edge of oblivion, barely tethered to this world. Just a silhouette of the boy you love, wrapped in light and ruin. 

His eyes find yours, and for a second, everything stills. 

Even now, almost lost to the void, he sees you. Only you. 

You take a step forward, your body trembling with the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the unbearable ache of loving something you might be too late to save. 

“Bob,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, like a lifeline. 

The darkness claws higher, curling up his neck like smoke. But his eyes—those bright, breaking eyes—shine through it all. The fear in them cuts through you like a blade. Not fear of what’s happening to him. 

Fear that you won’t come. 

That you’ll leave. 

That he’ll lose you, too. 

“It’s okay,” you say—to him or yourself, you’re not sure. 

You lift your hand and move forward, closing the space with slow and careful steps—like one wrong move could shatter the world. 

One step, then another—until you’re standing toe to toe with him. The shadow writhes beneath your feet, hungry and alive, but the moment you enter his space, it curls back. Like it knows you. Like it fears you. 

Or maybe it just recognises what he loves. 

The air is ice. He’s trembling. His face—barely visible now—flickers in and out of shadow like a dying flame. You reach for him, slow and sure, your fingers brushing the centre of his chest. 

Right over his heart. 

And the darkness parts. 

Just slightly—splitting like oil pulled from water, leaving a sliver of fabric beneath your touch. His heart stutters. Yours lurches. 

Then you press your palm flat. 

And a soft light blooms. 

Not blinding, not loud—just a soft, golden glow that seeps from beneath your hand like a memory. Gentle and warm. It spreads slow, steady. The shadow recoils, peeling back inch by inch, retreating from the light, from you. 

Everything stops. 

The void is gone. 

Your ears are filled with the sound of your own pulse as you stare into those dark blue eyes—like the ocean kissed the sky and gave birth to this colour just for him. 

He looks so fragile now. So tired. Wrecked not just by the strain of his powers, but by the weight of you. Of your touch. Your choice. 

You, choosing him. 

For a moment, you just stare at each other—memorising every line, every flicker of emotion—though you already know his face by heart. You’ve always known him. In dreams. In shadows. In the quiet corners of your mind. Drifting through memories and half-sleep, like your souls were stitched together before time ever started. 

Always there. Always waiting. 

“You okay?” you whisper, your voice faint, barely real. 

He nods. 

Then you collapse into him, arms winding around his waist, clinging like you’ll never let go. 

And you won’t. 

Not ever. 

There’s still guilt. A lingering ache for the hurt you’ve caused. A hollow echo of someone else’s heart breaking. 

But right now, all you feel is Bob. His arms around you, pulling you in like a lifeline. His face tucked into your neck, curls brushing your skin like a secret only he gets to know. 

All you want is Bob. 

All you need is Bob. 

You can’t believe you ever thought you could live without this. 

Without him. 

Trying to choose someone else would’ve destroyed you. You see that now. 

You feel it. 

At some point, you shift to the couch. The others are gone—when exactly, you’re not sure—but you’re grateful. You need space. Time. And Bob needs rest. 

Which he finally gets. For a few hours. 

You settle at one end, sinking into the soft cushions, with Bob’s head resting in your lap. His arms wrap around your thigh like a vice—steady strength even in sleep. You play with his curls, trace the line of his jaw, and rub gentle circles along his back as he drifts. 

You’re exhausted, but sleep eludes you. You don’t want to waste a single second with him. Never before have you wanted someone so fiercely. All you need is to feel him here—safe, alive, with you. 

So you stay awake. Occasionally you shift, easing pins and needles or aching muscles, but Bob barely stirs. He nuzzles into your lap, your lower belly, holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him from unravelling. 

It should feel strange, wrong even. But nothing has ever felt more right. 

You know this man better than you know yourself—of that, you are certain—and no part of you hesitates or doubts. This is real. The most real thing you’ve ever known. 

You know it’ll be complicated. Awkward with the team, even more so with Bucky. You’ll have to hide it from the world for a while. But none of it matters—not one bit—when the boy in your lap breathes softly against your skin. His lashes dark on flushed cheeks, lips parted with a stray drop of drool on your thigh, and that aching, desperate pull in your chest growing stronger with every breath. 

He sleeps until the sun starts to set, and you stay with him. At one point, you turn on the TV and pick a random movie, but your eyes rarely leave Bob. You don’t need him to wake—you’re perfectly content just being near him—but when his lashes finally flutter open, your breath still catches. 

He stretches slowly, shifting against you like a cat basking in the sun all day. Then he rubs his eyes and sits up, blinking blearily, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips. 

“You stayed,” he murmurs. 

You nod. 

Without him, your body feels cold, but you resist the urge to cling to him. He needs space to wake fully, to stretch his limbs and shake off the last vestiges of sleep. 

“Where are the others?” he asks. 

You shrug. “Not sure. They’ve been gone all day.” 

He nods slowly. “Did you—Did you leave at all?” 

“No,” you say softly. “Stayed right here.” 

He shifts closer, one hand finding yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world—as if his hands have known yours for years. 

His brow creases. “You must be starving.” 

You bite your bottom lip, weighing up your next response. Because yes, you’re hungry—but there’s something else you’re craving. Something more urgent, more raw than anything you’ve ever known. Something you need more than you want. Something Alexei warned you about, and you didn’t quite believe—until now. Now it claws at your chest, primal and fierce, relentless and aching. 

“There’s… something else,” you say slowly. “I don’t know if you—” 

“I do,” he cuts in. 

Your lips part, breath catching in quick, uneven gasps as you hold his gaze—captivated, utterly pinned by the raw hunger burning in his eyes. 

His brows lift ever so slightly, a subtle twitch—a silent question hanging in the air. You nod. 

Then he moves forward, hands cupping your jaw—careful but urgent, as if he can’t quite believe you’re real. 

The world fractures—time fractures—and everything narrows to a single, blazing point where your lips slam together with the force of a thousand storms. 

It’s raw. Fierce. Like the universe just exploded inside your chest. 

His mouth devours yours—claiming, desperate—fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You burn and tremble, caught in a tidal wave of need and relief that steals your breath. 

The air hums with electricity, silence shattered by ragged gasps and the wild pounding of your hearts—syncing, breaking, snapping together like a sacred, unspoken vow breaking free. 

Every nerve screams alive, every touch sending sparks crashing like fireworks. It’s hot, heavy, frantic—a beautiful chaos that feels like coming home after being lost forever. 

You taste everything—fire, desperation, the sharp tang of longing—and drown in it, surrendering to the moment where nothing else exists but this. 

When you finally pull back, your foreheads collide, breaths mingling in ragged gasps. His eyes are dark, wild, shattered open, and in that look, you know this bond has broken through every barrier, every shadow, every doubt. 

You’re his. 

And he’s yours. 

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough, cracking, as his hands slip beneath your shirt. 

“I know,” you breathe, arching into him, trembling. “I need you too.” 

- 

“Do we have to?” Bob sighs, face buried in the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your bare skin. 

You giggle, placing a kiss to his shoulder, perfectly content beneath the weight of his body—his completely naked body. 

“I mean,” you murmur, fingers trailing down the dip of his spine, “you’re already late. Is there really any point in going at all?” 

He lifts his head, deep blue eyes shining with adoration as he looks at you. “Exactly,” he says, soft lips twitching. “Besides, I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do.” 

He shifts, and you feel it—hard and heavy, pressing insistently against your lower belly. 

Your lips curl into a smirk, heat blooming low and hot between your thighs. “And what exactly might these other things entail?” 

He chuckles, sliding down slightly, tracing his tongue between the valley of your breasts. 

“So many things,” he murmurs against your skin, “all of them involving me inside of you… in one way or another.” 

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth wraps around your nipple, drawing a breathy sigh from your lips. “That sounds…” you gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive bud, “very good.” 

He looks up again, lips parting from your skin as he gives you a soft, boyish smile. His eyes are bright—almost pale blue in the morning light spilling through the windows—and he looks so damn pretty. His curls are mussed, his cheeks are pink, and his skin is pressed flush against yours in the most delicious way. Even after weeks of having him—weeks of giving yourself to him in every possible way—you still can’t get enough. 

“Does that mean we’re staying?” he asks, hands gliding up your ribs toward your breasts. 

You giggle, flinching at the ticklish drag of his fingertips across your bare skin. There’s nothing you want more than to stay right here with him—forever. You don’t care if his teammates are waiting. You don’t even care if they blame you for holding him hostage. All you want is to stay tangled up with Bob until something human forces you to stop devouring each other—either sleep or hunger, the usual culprits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, a dopey, lovesick smile curling your lips, “we’re staying… but on one condition.” 

His brow furrows, and he sits up a little further, his hard cock grinding against you in the most distracting way. 

“Bob,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, hands flying to his shoulders to hold him still. 

He laughs softly, low and cheeky. “Yes?” 

“I need you to fuck me,” you say, cheeks flushing pink—despite the fact that he literally just did, not five minutes ago. “Again,” you add. “And again, until I can’t walk.” 

When your eyes open, you find his—dark and hungry, a stark contrast to the sweet, boyish softness from just seconds ago. 

“And then I want pancakes,” you say with a small smirk. 

His lips curve before he surges up and crushes his mouth to yours. Your chest aches. Your stomach swirls. Every coherent thought in your head vanishes. You’ve kissed Bob hundreds—maybe thousands—of times by now, and still, every kiss is earth-shattering. Every kiss steals your breath, stops your heart, and reminds you that this man was made for you. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

You let out a breathless sigh as he trails kisses down your jaw, his mouth sucking a bruise into the soft skin of your neck. “I love you too.” 

- 

Mates are rare. They're not just lovers or partners—they’re soul-deep bonds that tilt the earth, shatter reality, and leave everything else dull by comparison. They’re not easy. They break hearts just as easily as they heal them. But when you find yours, there’s no doubt. No fear. No force on earth strong enough to pull you away. 

Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the heartache, and the chaos—you know with absolute certainty that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. 

With Bob. 

END.

[delulugirly7]

The Lighthouse Vol. 2

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: Howdy. Finally finished it. I really love how this one turned out. Very domestic fluff, forced proximity type stuff. Bob is so very dear to me, so I hope you enjoy it. I will also be posting this to my Ao3 for easier navigation; right here.

Summary: After the battle with Thanos, getting dusted for five years followed directly by another battle with Thanos, you were more than content living in your small, small town on the coast of Maine, overlooked by a beautiful lighthouse. Your life was perfect, you thought. Quiet, sure, but perfect. Until Bucky Barnes showed up on your doorstep with Bob Reynolds in tow.

Warnings: canon-typical drug mention (Bob’s former drug use), mental health discussion (but nothing super super serious; Bob has depression and Bipolar), little bit of canon-typical violence as a treat, some swearing.

Word Count: 29k (Split into Two Volumes, Vol. 1 here)

Reader Is: Female (only mentioned a few times, I think, I tried to be vague-ish), late-twenties

The Reject Bin

Several thoughts rolled through your head the next morning as you ate your oatmeal. You watched Bob from across the table, shielded somewhat behind your laptop, your active WIP open on it. You’d scanned over your most recent words, but they felt like alphabet soup. It was clear you were both a little frazzled from the night before. Him moreso than you. And you had work in a few hours, so your mind was already planted behind that counter, more or less.

He was an adult. He’d be fine on his own.

But it was a long shift, and you didn’t want to leave him alone if he wasn’t. The last time he wasn’t, it had ended up on the news.

He yawned, rubbing his face. He looked pitiful. Deep, dark bags under his eyes. That usual kind spark absent as he stared at a bubble in the wallpaper. He blinked a few times. “You say something?”

You repeated your previous suggestion. “I said you should come to work with me.”

“Ha. Funny.” 

“No, I’m serious. It’ll be so dead today. We have a big, comfy couch in the lobby. I can send you into a movie if you want to sleep, and I can pour you free slushees all day.” You pitched. “You don’t look like you’re in the mood to be here all by yourself and it’s too late for me to call in.”

“You don’t have to rearrange your day for me. I’m okay.”

You knew he wasn’t, but you didn’t press. “Really, I…think it would be nice to have you there. But it’s your choice. I’m not going to force you. I can give you the tour, if you want. Show you the projector room and stuff.”

That hooked him a little. He gave himself a sniff. “Yeah, I’ll bite. Let me shower and stuff. You leave soon?”

“Nope, like an hour from now.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” He gave a tired grin and padded up the stairs.

You felt a little better, but you could tell he was struggling. You hoped you could turn it around, or at the very least, make it a little easier for him. You may be a healer, but there was no easy fix for the things he was carrying. Maybe you could make them a little lighter, though.

***

You straightened your nametag, leading Bob into the theater through the back entrance. He looked around at the boxes and boxes of soda syrup, the stack of kernel bags and so on. You hung your jacket on one of the hooks, and when you turned, he was standing over a tub full of poster tubes, the triangular boxes that the movie posters were shipped in.

“That’s the reject bin. You can take anything you want. No one called dibs on those.”

He nodded, giving them a gander, but coming to the realization very quickly that they were rejects for a reason. He perked up a bit, pulling one of the posters out of the bin. “I know this guy.”

You laughed, nodding. Bold red letters were etched across the bottom of it that read Vindicating John. “Yeah, John Walker? It’s one of those stupid conservative documentary movies defending him. Funded by people who are, um… mad about Sam being Cap now.”

“Ah. Racists.” He nodded, putting it back. He did end up taking a poster from a nature documentary about sea turtles, though, leaning it against the wall under your jacket.

You led him out behind the counter, motioning him to pass through the little swinging half-door at the edge of it, which he did, wandering further into the lobby. He walked out towards the marquee, eyes scanning along the showtimes.

Your manager, a college kid named Kennedy, perked up at the sight of him. “Oh, hey. Is this the houseguest?”

“Yeah, this is Bob. Bob, this is Kennedy. He’s gonna hang out here today. I figured that would be fine.”

“Oh yeah. Come on in. We’ve got fuck-all going on around here.”

Bob chuckled at that, giving a polite nod and a wave. “Thanks. I won’t be much trouble.”

Kennedy looked him over, eyes narrowing. “I recognize you from somewhere.”

Bob shrugged, Adam’s apple bobbing. He played with his hands, a little more nervous at the prospect of being recognized. You could see it in his eyes. “One of those faces, I guess.”

She chuckled and blew it off, settling behind the manager’s desk while you made sure everything was in order behind the counter. The tubs all stocked, lids and cups and so on. Bob sat on the couch, pulling a paperback out from his back pocket. A little one, Frankenstein. He must have gotten it from the bookstore after all.

With all that handled, you wandered over to the manager’s desk, leaning against it as you so often did when the lobby was devoid of customers.

“He’s cute.” Kennedy murmured, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear it over the sound of the popcorn machine making the first batch of popcorn of the day and the steady hum of the slushee machine.

You giggled, nodding. “He’s nice, too. Quiet, but really funny.”

“And you just met this guy?”

“Yeah, he’s a friend of a friend.” You explained, glancing over at him as he quietly read, turning the page every so often.

He looked exhausted. There were only a handful of customers for the first few hours, so he sat there unbothered for the most part, watching half-interested as people came in to buy gift cards and ask about showtimes. Bob closed his book and sat there, hands folded neatly in his lap, as he nodded off a little. You pouted, watching him doze. There was something so innocent about it. His sleepy little face, the frown that pulled at his lips. It made it very hard to believe he was the shadow man from the news. Almost everything about him did.

And yet, that glimpse you’d gotten last night…maybe it wasn’t completely…out of the question…

You walked over to the concession stand and printed off a ticket for one of the movies in the newer theater, the one with the big recliners, picking a seat for him in the back corner. You plucked the sample blanket from the sale display and poured him a slushee, pushing in the straw with care.

“Hey.” You put a hand on his shoulder, voice soft. The tiniest bit of light and warmth swirled between your palm and the fabric of his sweater, lending him just a morsel of your power.

He blinked awake, giving a bleary smile. “Hmm?”

“Come on. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” You nudged carefully, motioning for him to get up.

He stood, stretching his long limbs. He was always taller than you remembered him to be, the illusion of his smallness held together by the way he hunched when he stood, like his body had grown too fast and he was bigger than he was supposed to be.

Bob trailed behind you, up the hall to Theater 4. It was empty so far, the house lights still up. Maria Menounos welcomed you to Noovie, as she had so many times before. You guided him to the chair in the corner of the room and he plopped down, hands squishing the sizable armrests, measuring their cushiness. You slid the slushee into the cupholder and draped the blanket across his lap, tucking him in.

He frowned, tilting his head up at you. “I’m not a kid.”

“I know. But this is a bad day, huh?” You asked gently, expression empathetic, but not pitying.

He shrugged. Thought about it. Nodded. Frowned.  “Y-Yeah, it’s a bad one. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You shook your head, meeting his eyes.

“That’s why you didn’t want to leave me home today? You were afraid I would…”

“No.” You cut him off before he could spiral. “I wasn’t afraid of anything. I just didn’t want you to be alone all day, feeling like this. I know being lonely makes it worse.”

He stared at you for a long time, seeing something there that he hadn’t before. That you knew. That you’d felt the things he was feeling. Had been inside.

He softened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be back in two and a half.”

***

You went back, as you’d promised, once the movie was over, broom and dustpan in hand. There had only been a grand total of five people in there, including Bob, so it didn’t take long to sweep up the smattering of popcorn on the floor.

He was snoring, leaned back in the chair, feet kicked up, mouth open. And if there wasn’t a horror movie queued up to play next, you would have left him there. You could tell he needed it. 

It was like he could feel you standing there, and woke with a shake, blinking up at you. Bob smiled a little, stretching like a cat. “Oh, hey. Good movie. What I saw, anyway.”

“Better?”

“Much better.” He agreed, fingers dug into the recliner button, sitting the seat back up.

You studied him, eyes scanning his form out of habit. A doctor’s eyes and a healer’s touch, Bucky used to say, usually followed by a quip of some kind to salve the vulnerability of it. He was bad with that. The sappy stuff. Especially without Steve around.

“I, uh…haven’t been sleeping super well lately, to be honest.” His eyes flitted across your features, measuring your reaction, and cutting it with a, “I’m fine, though, really. I…didn’t want to bother you.”

“Buddy, I have sleep powers.” You said. “I can knock you out, if you need me to. Put you out and go back to my room for the night.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess I didn’t realize the extent of it…I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked down at your broom and dustpan. “Well, where to next?”

“You don’t have to come with me. You’re not on the clock.”

“No, but you’re letting me stay with you rent-free.” He shrugged, standing up and gathering the blanket you’d left with him into a clump of blue fleece. “Least I could do is keep you company.”

***

After work, you and Bob hit a drive-thru. He seemed to be in better spirits, singing along to the songs on the radio, the window down, breeze flowing through his hair. You ate dinner together on the couch, watching sitcoms.

Idly, you worked on an embroidered hankie, adding the last few details you’d been putting off before finally adding it to your finished projects pile. You still had a lot of work to do before you’d be ready to move out, but you were getting there. Slowly but surely. Little by little.

Bob sat close to you on the couch that night. Not that you mentioned it, or were sure he was even conscious of doing it. His thigh pressed against yours, warmth seeping through his clothes onto you.

“It’s cute. Looks really good.” He complimented, watching your careful fingers tie the final knots. “More bees.”

“More bees.” You agreed, folding it up and handing it to him. “For your trinkets.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “Hey, uh, would you mind, um…doing your magic trick for me tonight? I could really use it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

He wanted to say something more. Wanted to rebuttal that you were good for so much more than knocking him out. But he didn’t know how to articulate it without spilling his soul all over your nice clean carpet, so he didn’t. Instead, he went upstairs, changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and then came back down to get you, ignoring the little voice on his shoulder, reminding him just how pathetic he was for needing your help for something as mundane as sleep.

***

You sat at the edge of the bed as Bob laid on his stomach, watching you as you glowed, your aura like the northern lights, stretched across the wall and ceiling. His eyes were soft and sparkling, lips parted as he gazed at you, sharp thoughts dulling slowly as your energy overpowered him.

His breaths slowed. Eyes drooped. Voice gave one last, weary protest before his head lolled onto the pillow, one careful, gentle hand playing with his hair.

And then he was out. Chest rumbling like thunder almost immediately as he crashlanded into what you hoped was a long and restful sleep.

You retreated to your own, walking through your night routine. Pajamas, cleanser, moisturizer, toothpaste, hair care. You pulled the cover aside, laid down, closed your eyes.

When you opened them you were flat on your back, ground hard beneath your head, snow fluttering down onto your face. You groaned, sitting up, pulling at the blanket that was now absent.

Headlights streamed through the trees. You shielded your face with a hand, lighting your palm, but not making more than a spark.

“(Y/N), please! He…He’s losing so much blood…”

You took a sharp breath and opened your eyes, heart pounding. The ground was a mattress again. The trees were gone. You were home, safe, in bed. And it was just a dream.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Dealbreaker

Waves crashed in the distance as you and Bob stood in your small, fenced-in yard. Birds chirped. Sparrows, mostly, but there was one little gray bird you couldn’t quite place, perched at the edge of your bird bath.

You carefully guided the clippers, trimming a branch of your lilac bush, shaking a few dead leaves out of it before handing it to Bob, adding it to the growing purple bouquet in his hands. The bush had been there long before you came to town. Towering, lush, and this time of year, very, very vibrant. You loved taking a little piece of it inside with you, inviting the smell into your home.

Bob watched a bumblebee buzz around the tulips, attention only pulled away when a pair of little girls on bikes rode by, their mother not far behind them.

“Hi, (Y/N)!”

You grinned, waving. “Hi, Sadie! Sydney! Careful around that corner!” You looked at Bob once they were out of earshot. “It’s uneven over there. I’ve healed a lot of scraped knees, living here.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “You just heal people out in the open here?”

“Yeah, they all know who I am. I’m just lucky they don’t make a big deal about it. They’re more likely to ask me for a cup of sugar here than they are to beg me for a miracle. But I help out when I can.”

He nodded, glancing down at the flowers. “Lavender?”

“Lilacs. I like the smell more. Little more subtle.”

“Lilacs.” He repeated. “Cool. Are these the ones you put on my hankie?”

“Yep. Those and the bees.”

He laughed, following you up the steps and back into the house. “Who could forget the bees?”

The task at hand today was your odds and ends. Board games, trinkets, toys, collectibles, all of it. Boxes and boxes of junk from your attic.

For obvious reasons, you’d been given a lot of Avengers action figures. You put most of them in the junk box, but Bob dug one out, a figure of you, made shortly after what had been dubbed the Infinity War, in your old uniform. Mostly black with light blue accents, a few rays of what was supposed to be light stretched across your little plastic chest. It was a confused design, to be sure. Shuri had wanted to make a new one for you, but hadn’t found time with all of her other projects.

“Why are you getting rid of this?”

“Because I have like two dozen of them.” You replied, pointing to the stack of figures. Falcon, Cap, Beacon, Beacon, Beacon, Falcon, Cap. The occasional Black Widow. Hulk. You didn’t have a figure of Sam in his Cap suit, but you were sure one would find you eventually. You never bought them; they always came to you.

“Can I have it?”

You laughed. “Yes.”

Bob slipped a few other things into his box. A deck of Uno cards, a Rubik’s cube, a tiny metal lighthouse statuette. He was very selective today, hands careful, eyes moreso, but he seemed to be in decent spirits. You hoped the sleep you’d given him had helped. Even then, you knew it was a Band-Aid on something that ran deeper. You were a healer, but not a therapist. You had a feeling Bob needed both.

You sorted things for a good few hours and offloaded a lot of it. The two of you loaded it into a wagon. The thrift shop was close enough that it would be stupid to haul it all over in the car, so you walked it over, up a block and down the street. It didn’t take long. The guys running the place thanked you, printed you a little slip for your tax write-off, and sent you on your way.

The day was young, so you took Bob to your favorite ice cream place in town for a little afternoon treat, walking home the long way with soft serve cones in hand.

“Nice little shop.” Bob commented, grinning, a dot of vanilla on the tip of his nose as he finished off his cone. Yours was following suit, whittled down to just the nub.

“Oh yeah. I love that place. I’ve been on so many shitty first dates there.”

He looked puzzled by that. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating around and no one’s scooped you up yet? Uhhhh, no pun intended,” he tacked on with an awkward laugh.

“I was on the apps for a while. Joined a few clubs. Bowling league, bar trivia and whatnot. Nothing stuck. The glowing thing is a dealbreaker for most normal people. It’s fine and well and good when I’m doing that stuff on the news, but when I get a little too excited and glow in a bowling alley parking lot…suddenly it loses its charm, I guess.”

“Mmm. Speaking from experience, I’m guessing.”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

“They don’t get it, then. They…want the idea of you, but not the rest of it. You shouldn’t be afraid to shine. And they shouldn’t be afraid of you.” Bob’s words were deliberate. Clear-cut. Like he’d thought about this before.

You shouldn’t be afraid to shine.

It was good advice in general, but he meant it literally, in your case. You were a girl who glowed sometimes. Not always on purpose. Not always in a good and healthy way. More than anything, you needed someone who wasn’t going to dim your light; ideally, someone who didn’t make you feel bad for having it in the first place.

“What about you?” You asked softly. “You…on the dating scene? Before all this, I guess? The New York stuff.”

He huffed, shrugging. That ‘it’s fine’ look settled on his features again, so you braced for impact, ready to catch whatever it was he threw at you. “Actually, uh…I was on meth before all this. And then the…medical trial, then the Vault and now I’m here, so…no, pretty single.”

“Oh.” You nodded. Welp, there it was. That was why he’d had the shakes the week before, the sleep difficulties…he hadn’t been particularly agitated. He had his ups and downs, sure, but you were pretty sure they were from…something else. Again, healer, not therapist. “The Vault?”

“Long story.” He said with a chuckle, eyes scanning you, waiting for something else, some other question or flicker of anything across your face, but it never came. So instead, he asked, “You knew? About the meth?”

“Yeah. Well, no, not specifically. Bucky didn’t tell me anything. He’s got a real communication problem, but that is neither here nor there. That first night, you were shaking. I figured that was why. Didn’t know from what, exactly, but I could tell you were in withdrawal. Healer’s eyes and all that.”

He was quiet for a long moment, letting it sit. Quieter, “The whole time?”

You shrugged, eyes honest. “Yeah.”

You watched it settle in his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded, thinking it over. The whole time you’d known, and it hadn’t made a difference. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You rebuttaled.

“For…not looking at me like I’m a time bomb. For…” He shook his head. “All of it. So much. More than I can…” His eyes got glassy. “Y-Yeah, just for all of it. I…”

You stepped closer, arms wrapping around his frame with ease. Like you’d done it a hundred times. A million. You rested your ear against his heart, forehead anchored against his warm, warm skin. He faltered, standing there stiff, until he finally processed what was happening.

He held on tight, long arms wrapped around your shoulders as he trembled. You felt tears, but you didn’t say anything. Just held him. Traced circles on his back. You knew he’d needed it for far longer than he’d care to admit.

His lips pressed against your hairline. Not a kiss, just…there, as if the feeling would keep him from floating off into the Seaberg sunset. 

***

When you got back to the house, Bob went upstairs to put himself back together. Wipe his tears and change his clothes. The shower kicked on upstairs. Meanwhile, you went through the kitchen cabinets, picking a few things to bring with you. A few cups, your favorite fork. The rest of it could stay at the house, in case you and whatever team Bucky was scraping together needed a place to lay low.

You pulled down a few mugs you’d painted at the pottery place in town. You’d gone with Earlene and the tarot ladies on a handful of occasions. It was always a fun time, even if you never felt like the things you made there were masterpieces.

But the one in your hands was nice. A decently big mug, painted sky blue, big puffy clouds left in the middle, where the glaze had been absent. It was streaky at best. But the showstopper was the lighthouse you’d painted near the handle. White tower with a black top, like the one in town. There was a sailboat on the water, and on the bottom, a secret, hidden crab.

Bob wandered down later, hair damp. He looked around at the glasses you were wrapping for travel. Once he got close to the counter, you slid him the lighthouse mug.

“You want this one?”

“You don’t?”

“You mentioned you like tea, so…We can share custody of it, if you want. At the Tower.” You said, fingers brushing his as he reached for it. “Remember our time here.”

He breathed, eyes as soft as could be, peering down at you through his thick, dark lashes. His stormy blue irises caught in the light of the sun. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He shook his head, staring at his fingertips. “I-I don’t think I could forget if I wanted to.”

You were both being pulled in. You could feel it. Like gravity. But just before you could collide, you heard the visitor at the door.

“Meow.”

You chuckled, cheeks flushed, heart racing. Crossed the kitchen in quick steps and ducked behind the counter, scooping out some feed for him.

He meowed again, more insistent this time.

“I’m coming, old man! Hold your horses!”

“Rrow!”

Bob exhaled in what should have been relief, the loss of that feeling building, building, building in his gut. Instead, he just felt empty. Well, emptier. It was getting harder for him to feel empty when you were around.

It’s cute, you know. That voice rolled in like smoke. Icewater down his spine. That you think she’d ever feel the same. You’re the stray kitten that waits at the door. She’s never going to let you in…

sentry.mp4

Thunder boomed the next morning, loud and abrupt, cutting any plans you had of going back to sleep with a sharp and swift crack of lightning. And another boom, of course. It was about an hour before your alarm. You sighed, groaned, and then sat up, wandering downstairs in your pajamas, laptop tucked under your arm.

You got some cereal and sat down on the couch, opened your word processor and scrolled back down to the end of the document, reading over your last few paragraphs.

Bzzz-Bzzz.

You glanced down at your phone, skimming the text that flashed across the screen. It was Bucky. Three simple little words: Check your email.

Well, who were you to defy those orders?

You opened your email and scrolled through the typical spam, looking for the one from Bucky. You plugged in your headphones, seeing that it was a video file he’d sent you.

<sentry.mp4>

You clicked.

A large, modern space stretched across the screen. A room, you assumed must be in the tower. A clump of people walked out of the elevator, Bucky among them; you couldn’t place the rest. They talked with a woman you recognized as Valentina Allegra DeFontaine, a very annoying and evil-looking congresswoman. You did not like her vibe, never had.

You didn’t actually hear much. The audio was muffled. The video quality left something to be desired as well, the occasional visual glitch obscuring the footage.

You watched as a gilded, golden superhero walked down the stairs, posture stiff and confident, blond hair slicked back. You couldn’t see his face, but you watched as he fought the others. They launched attacks against him and he stood unflinching, throwing them around with ease. People you assumed were literal supersoldiers, assassins, and he threw them around like ragdolls. Telekinesis. Super-speed. Flight.

Your stomach sank as you watched him bend a vibranium shield like it was made of tinfoil, eyes widening as he tore Bucky’s metal arm off, using it to smack Bucky across the room. He got air time. Air time. The two-hundred-something pound supersoldier, swatted away like a toy. Your fingers shook, heart pounding as you watched them all scramble back into the elevator away from the guy in the cape.

The figure turned and you finally got a glimpse at his face. You paused. Zoomed, enhanced, stared. Stared some more. Blinked, even.

It was fucking Bob.

He looked so…so different. His posture, his expressions, his powers, his attitude as he approached Valentina. You watched as he grabbed her by the neck, pinning her against the wall, squeezing. You felt sick.

Finally, it stopped. He went limp. Collapsed on the floor in a heap of gold and blue. Valentina and a young woman you assumed was her assistant, left. Not long after, a deep, impossibly dark shadow bled like ink across his body. And as the darkness spread, the footage corrupted, video stopping.

You’d seen the rest on the news, you were sure.

You sat there for a long time, breaths short but impossibly heavy, ears ringing. That was Bob. Your Bob. Your houseguest. Your…friend. That blond, stoic thing was Bob.

You couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed, and when the light faded, there was a figure at the top of the stairs. You yelped, slamming the laptop shut.

Your fist shot up out of habit, lit with Level 6 light. Bright. On a scale of household flashlight to LED headlights on a pickup truck driving behind you at night…pretty close to the second one.

“Woah! Woah, hey, it’s just…j-just me.” Bob stammered, hand shielding his face.

You lowered your hand, studying him. The glow faded gradually, the warmth dispersing into the chilly living room.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Y-you never have your headphones on.” He murmured, frowning as he studied you. “Everything…okay?”

“Fine!” You replied too quickly, flinching at your own volume. “Sorry. Fine. My…college friend sent me one of those stupid video game jumpscares. I’m fine.” You set your laptop on the table, getting up to get a glass of water. Or something. You just had to get away from it. “Don’t open that.”

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, soft brown curls waving like a flag of surrender, hands clasped in front of him, sleeves draped down to cover the skin.

Your eyes lingered, but not in the way they usually did. There was some horror there now. You were sure he could feel it, and you felt bad about it, but you couldn’t help it. He was hiding a weapon under that unassuming sweater.

“Morning,” he said softly, head ducked down as though that would help catch your eyes easier.

You gave a labored smile. “Morning.”

***

Bob went upstairs for a bit to get away from the tension. You took a cold shower to cool off.

It’s just Bob. He doesn’t remember any of that. Bob is…Bob, he’s not gonna hurt you.

It only helped a little.

You pulled out your basket of crochet projects, stared at your stack of granny squares and gave a resigned sigh. Yeah, that would probably help. Focusing on something.

You grabbed the basket and went back down to the living room, settled on the couch again, organizing your yarn balls before setting to work. It was mindless after a while. Three double-crochets. Three double-crochets. Chain one. Three more double-crochets. The movement helped you calm down. Process. You hadn’t even realized you’d been stress-glowing until it dimmed, the storm having passed, thunder rumbling further in the distance.

Bob padded back down the stairs, lips pursed in a tiny, curious little :o

“Woah, you’ve got a whole pile of them! What are you making now?”

You smiled softly, looking him over. The hurricane in your stomach had calmed. He was just Bob again. The blond menace was pushed to the corner of your mind for the moment. This was Bob. Your friend. He would never hurt you. He would barely even touch you. 

“It’s gonna be a cardigan. Granny squares are great, because you just make a bunch and then sew them together when you’re done.”

He nodded, tentatively sitting on the couch, further than he usually did, legs crossed to make himself smaller. “It’s a cool hobby. Crochet. I feel like you can make so much with it.”

“You could make sweaters.” You suggested. “Since you seem to like wearing them so much, I mean.”

He hazarded a smile at that. “Would you teach me?”

You glanced at the clock. The day was shockingly young. You’d gotten up so early that it still wasn’t even noon yet. “Yeah, sure. Come over here.” You motioned him closer, smashing through the glass barrier between you.

Bob softened, looking relieved. You pulled an extra hook from your kit, showing him how to make a slip knot, chain, and then crochet into the chain. He was…very bad at it. But it was endearing. He sat directly beside you, still trying to get a read on you, on what had gone wrong that morning, on the thoughts that were still obviously swirling through your mind.

But as you laughed at his pathetic little noodle-looking crochet attempt, hands brushing against his as you showed him the motions again, those thoughts began to fade. It would be okay. You’d just had a weird morning. It was fine.

It was fine, right?

***

You sat on the floor in the living room that night in your pajamas, knees curled up towards your chest. You were glowing, but just a little. Contemplating everything while Bob took a shower. 

You weren’t afraid of the Winter Soldier. Even when Bucky had looked at you with no sliver of an idea who you were. Even while his vibranium hand was latched around your neck, holding you just far away enough that you couldn’t touch his skin to put him to sleep.

It had been scary. But you weren’t afraid of Bucky. Never had been.

You watched the Sentry video again. It seemed like Bob was talking to the others before the fight. There wasn’t audio, but his mouth was moving. And for a moment there, he still had those soft eyes. Like he was trying to talk them down before violence broke out. That insecure look on his face, like he was waiting for them to be proud of him. He wasn’t just a Bob-shaped shell. Some part of him was Bob. His ego, maybe. Well, not quite. You’d taken Intro to Psychology.

Bob was the Ego, the “true self”. Sentry was the Persona, the mask. And that left Void. Obviously, the Shadow. Not three separate people or three separate personalities, but Bob’s highs and lows magnified to the highest degree.

That made sense. That was what the super soldier serum did. It magnified. People were under the impression it turned people into perfect heroes, but…it had only done that because Steve Rogers was the best humanity had to offer. With someone like Bob—who was by no means bad, but…by no means perfect—well, it did what it did best. Put every problem he had under a microscope and tossed a pile of superpowers on top.

You lit a vanilla candle, got out some self care stuff. Bob padded back down the stairs, hair damp. He was standing small again, trying to shrink into himself, but you patted the floor in front of you and he walked over, plopping right down without hesitation. You pulled your hair our of the way with one of those skincare headbands and he did the same, copying your movements.

You handed him a small, foil package containing a skin mask. It was for hydration, to combat all the salty air. You also felt like he deserved to be pampered. You didn’t need the rest of the details to know things had been rough for him. People didn’t just turn towards the kind of drugs he had done for no reason.

You smoothed the mask across his face with gentle hands, molding it across his forehead, nose, cheeks, chin. After you put on your own, he gazed at you, tilting his head.

“My turn to ask the age-old question,” Bob said, dark blue eyes searching your features as best he could with the hydrated cotton layers between you now. Maybe he’d done it on purpose. A shield of sorts, in case this conversation didn’t unfold the way he expected it to. “Is today a bad one?”

“For me?” You asked.

He nodded, lips pressed together. “You’ve been…glowing a lot today. Does that happen when you’re stressed?”

Ah, so now it was time for him to therapize you. You couldn’t blame him. It was only fair, you supposed, that the healer finally got a taste of her own medicine. “Mmhmm. It, uh…yeah. Strong emotions. Happiness, anger, fear…stress.”

“Did I…do something wrong?” He wondered, so quiet it was like he was asking himself.

“No.” You shook your head quickly, voice certain. “No, you didn’t do anything. We’re good.”

He seemed unconvinced. “Alright.”

You took a breath, letting down a portion of your wall. “I’m serious. I get these…waves of…well, I don’t know what to call it other than anxiety, really. Today is not bad, but sometimes…It gets really bright. Really bright. Like, blinding people bright. Which is why…” You pointed out the window, towards the lighthouse, the guiding ray spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Have you ever had to…go up there?”

“Few times. When I first moved out here. Tony, uh…apparently during the blip, he had it retrofitted for me. Just in case. Barely spoke to the guy, but…he loved a project. I’m sure he got bored during those five years.” You sighed. “Didn’t even get to thank him for it.”

Bob peeled the facemask off so you could get a better look at his face. You took yours off too, rubbing the extra moisture in with your hands.

“That surprises me, I guess. I thought you had a really good handle on it.”

You shrugged. “We all have our flare-ups, you know. Nobody is perfect.”

He seemed comforted by that. Your imperfection. You hoped it made him feel less bad about leaning on you for help. And it must have, because he let you massage some energy into his muscles. Not that he was shaking this time; it seemed his seaside detox had been successful at least that much. But you could tell your energy helped him in other ways. Quieted that wicked little voice in the back of his head.

You could almost see it happen, that sharp edge in his gaze beginning to soften, sitting face to face on the floor, your glow bouncing off his features, a gentle breeze rustling his soft brown curls.

But maybe it wasn’t so much the energy you were loaning him as it was…this was just the way Bob looked at you now…

***

There was someone in the kitchen.

Your eyes opened. The ceiling fan spun idly, shadows swooping across the moonlit expanse.

You listened for a while, letting your eyes drift shut again until you heard a loud thud. Alright, that did it.

Exhausted, you hauled your legs over the side of the bed, sliding until your feet touched the hardwood. You padded down the hall, then down the stairs in your houseslippers, robe hugged around your shivering frame.

The rustling got louder. There was the very distinct sound of shattering glass.

“Bob?”

No answer. You lit your hand, casting shadows of the railing into the living room. One time, a raccoon had gotten in through your screen door when you’d left the back door open. And you were sure you’d closed it—you only make that mistake once—but maybe Bob had forgotten.

You got to the kitchen, and Bob was indeed standing there, hand shaking, outstretched towards the counter, where the shattered glass sat. The force of it…the distance between shards. It hadn’t been dropped. It had exploded. That put a little more urgency in your voice.

“Bob, are you okay?”

Eerily, he stood, unmoving, murmuring something to himself. You stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder, a little energy wafting from your palm to tug him back down.

He whipped around to look at you, gaze softening once he realized who you were. But you didn’t miss the clean, bright ring of gold around his iris before it faded. It sent a chill down your spine. He snapped out of it with a jolt, giving an earnest, if not somewhat frightened smile, looking down at the glass.

“Sorry, I…I just came down for some water and…”

“It’s okay.” You replied, shaking your head.

His eyes widened in something akin to horror when he saw the wreckage. The shards of glass blown across the counter, the floor. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You reassured, voice steady. “It’s from the dollar store. I wasn’t attached to it. I’ve broken three just like that. We’ll sweep up the glass. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, taking stock of himself. You looked him over, too, those healer’s eyes of yours doing one final sweep before deeming him uninjured. But knowing what you did now, he was probably bulletproof anyway. It was why he hadn’t had a mark when he’d burned himself making breakfast.

“I’ll sweep it up. You go back to bed.” He said, resigned. He was definitely coming back now, slipping into himself again the way you’d slid into your slippers upstairs. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t be sorry. I just wanted to make sure a raccoon hadn’t broken in here again.”

He gave a slow, tired smile. “Again?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” You promised, touching his sleeve for a moment before turning. “Let me know if you need me to put you to sleep, alright? Goodnight, Bob.”

He took a shaking breath, Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you retreat up the stairs again. Bob waited until you were out of sight to let his face fall, that darkness settling onto his shoulder again like an old friend. “Night.”

Alec

The next morning, when you went down for breakfast, there was a note there that Bob had gone for a walk. You’d kinda felt that coming. He needed space and fresh air. You waited for him to come back before you left for work, but you knew he wouldn’t. That was the point. For one reason or another, he needed a break from you. And he was allowed to do that.

You left him a note in reply, short and sweet.

Text me if you need anything. <3

But the heart felt too…well, it didn’t feel right. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, especially when he was already feeling weird. You crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, trying again.

Text me if you need anything! :)

And you put a 20 dollar bill beside it, so he could get lunch or something.

Work was short, at the very least. Mercifully so. That didn’t save you an interaction with what you were sure must be the dumbest old woman on earth. That lead poisoning was no joke.

“I want half of a small.”

“Oh, so the value-size?”

“Yes, that one.”

You scooped the popcorn and handed it to her.

She frowned. “No, in the small bucket.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Oh. Okay.” You poured it into the small container and handed it over. Half of a small bucket of popcorn, just as she’d asked.

“What, are you not going to fill it up the rest of the way?!”

Obviously something had been lost in translation. But with that aside, you drove back home. Pulled into the parking lot. You were relieved to find Bob’s shoes in the doorway. Even more relieved to find him on the couch, playing Minecraft.

“Hey!” He smiled. “How was work?”

“I have to tell you about the dumbest lady on earth.” You said, kicking your shoes off. There was a little white paper bag sitting beside him on the couch. You recognized it. It was from the candy shop down the street. Well, good, he’d treated himself to something. It was so hard to get him to do that.

“And you have to tell me about that raccoon.”

“Right. That, too.” You chuckled, walking into the room and sitting on the other end of the couch, giving him your attention.

He pushed the bag towards you. “I didn’t know what flavors you liked, so I guessed.”

You reached into the bag, pulling out a sea salt and vanilla flavored one, swirled a rich teal color. “You guessed right.”

Bob gazed at you for a long moment, tilted his head, took a breath. He was standing at the ledge of something, hesitation etched deep into his stormy blue eyes. He paused the game, setting the controller aside.

“I’m sorry. For yesterday. I was in a weird mood and…I don’t want you to think…” He shook his head, swallowing something down. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

You sighed, shaking your head. Guilt tugged at your chest. An anchor. He still didn’t know about the video on your laptop. The one you’d watched half a dozen times now, analyzing, trying to get a handle on this…supposed most dangerous man in the world. With the evidence presented…you were finally starting to believe it.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I was freaked out yesterday because…” There was no way around it. You had to come clean. “Bucky…sent me the footage from the Tower. The Sentry footage. I…was a little freaked out. But I’m over it now. I just…It kinda blindsided me and I needed some time to process it. I shouldn’t have let you see me like that.”

“Oh.” Bob nodded. Swallowed again. “I, uh…don’t really remember that. That day is all kinda…fuzzy still.”

“I know.”

“I just…I know I did it and…I can do that stuff, but…” His gaze fixed on his hands, examining them. Every knuckle, every nailbed, every vein. 

There was something in him that hadn’t been there months prior. Weeks prior, even. OXE had pumped him full of drugs—albeit different drugs than the ones he was already on—deemed him a failure, declared him dead, and left him in a box to rot. Worse, actually. They’d left him in a box to be incinerated. That much, he did remember. Everything after that got a little iffy.

He didn’t know what he was now, most of the time. And it was clear when you looked at him that you didn’t either.

“Bob?” You prodded gently.

“I don’t really have an excuse for it. Or an explanation. They wouldn’t show me the video.”

“You were blond.” You provided unhelpfully.

He chuckled. “I heard.”

“I’ve watched it back a few times. The bits at the beginning, before the fight. You seem like…you, in there. If it helps. Valentina was clearly manipulating you. She’s good at doing that. It…looked like you were just…trying to…” You shook your head. “It’s not my place to diagnose you.”

“No, say it.”

“You were just trying to prove yourself. As a hero.” You said, certain of it. “I’ve been hanging out with superheroes long enough to know that look. I’ve worn it myself. Shoulders straight, chest puffed out. Like it will distract people from how afraid I am. Sometimes it does, to be fair.”

He softened a little at that, like he’d been bracing for you to say worse. Looked down at his hands again. “Still feel like a stranger in my skin sometimes. I’m…clumsy. I used to get hurt a lot. I don’t even bruise anymore. And I…don’t know my strength. And I blew up a glass last night.”

You nodded at the confirmation. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Before all this, I had no one. Which sucked, but…now, I…I guess I’m worried the people I do have are gonna get hurt.” A breath rolled out of him. Like a long, lazy wave, crashing on the shore. “I don’t blame you for being scared of me. I am, too.”

You shook your head. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not.” Your heart pounded. Veins throbbed. Chest ached. But it wasn’t from fear, you were pretty sure.

“The other guy is worse. That, I did see videos of. It’s…all over the internet.” Bob’s eyes began to wander. “My hair, my body, but just…darkness. Hopelessness. Emptiness.”

The way Bob spoke about Void, you knew he was a little more familiar with him. “I get the feeling you’ve been fighting him for a while.”

Bob heaved a sigh, finger absently poking the joystick of his controller.

“It’s not your fault they gave your depression superpowers.” You murmured, words threaded with more understanding than you could tell him. “I know it’s…heavy. Even with superstrength. I’m not a miracle worker. But I am your friend. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

A bitter chuckle. “People keep telling me that.”

“They mean it.” You were quick with the reply. Firm. You knew he could do this dance with you all day, but you needed him to know you were serious about this. You were serious about helping him.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He cracked a reluctant grin. “You’re wrong, though. You literally are a miracle worker. I’ve seen the edits.”

“There are edits of me???”

“Oh yeah. I’ll send you some later,” He promised with a smirk.

You could tell he was diffusing the tension with humor. Could clock it from a mile away. But you let him. You knew he was taking your words to heart, could see them swirling there behind those ocean eyes, churning like the waters just beyond your back deck.

***

A branch snapped under your foot. Another. You tripped into the snow, palms pressed into the hard, hard dirt. You weren’t sure how you got there. Or when. Or how long you’d been there. But you heard them screaming in the distance. Calling for you. Yelling your name.

You could help them now. You could control it.

You scraped yourself up, kept running, through the trees, toward the crash.

The hazards flashed like a beacon, drawing you in, right back to the scene of it. You’d been there so many times. So many times and none at all. And as soon as you planted your feet, knelt down at the site, you were right back in the woods again, running. Always running. Never getting there in time.

“(Y/N), please! He…he’s losing so much blood!”

You stopped running, arms hugged around the tree at the edge of the crash, breathing heavy. You watched the scene unfold from the outside, as opposed to the nightmare you’d been reliving since you were sixteen.

“I…I can’t! I’m trying, I…” She held out her hand, the younger you, a wisp of something crackling around her palm. It wouldn’t heal a papercut let alone the deep gash in Alec’s side.

Alec.

He was right there. Breathing shallow. Eyes closed. Fluttering, but…no, closed now. He slipped away and all you could do was watch, just like the first time. Powerless, despite the power in your veins.

And it looped. Over and over and over again.

You breathed, shook like the few remaining leaves on the trees. This wasn’t real. Wasn’t real. It had all happened before. It was over. Alec was gone. He…he’d been gone for years. You’d unpacked it over and over with half a dozen therapists. What had happened to Alec was awful…but it wasn’t your fault.

It was an accident. You’d had a panic attack. There was nothing you could have done to save him when you were losing blood, too.

A chill ran down your spine. Vision tracking forward like you were a camera on a dolly. And in the new depth, you spotted him. The Void.

You frowned. Pointed. “We are not doing this. Not tonight.”

And then you woke with a start, sucking in a greedy breath like you had been underwater. You sat up, walking down the hall. You knocked on Bob’s door, but there was no answer. You already knew why. Because Void was driving that ship right now, straight through Bob’s nightmares.

You opened the door, stepping inside. Footsteps impossibly slow and careful. Bob writhed in bed. Muttering softly, tossing over. It wasn’t gentle, so you had to be.

“Bob…”

You sat at the edge of his bed, reaching a hand out. You manifested your glow easily now, despite your racing heart. Gingerly, you rested your hand on his shoulder, using your power to give his subconscious a nudge.

He woke with a start, blinking up at you, a soft, knowing look in his eyes. Guilt laced deep, right to his bones.

“H-Hey.”

“You okay?”

He melted immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I…I…”

“Hey, no.” You shook your head, keeping your voice reassuring. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Bob argued, shaking his head. “My…Void broke into your subconscious. That’s not okay. I…I wasn’t supposed to see that.”

A sigh fell from your lips and you hung your head for a moment. Bob straightened up, pushing himself into a more upright position, back flat against the headboard, knees curling up. He wasn’t curled up all the way, but his arms crested his legs, big hands smoothing the fabric on his shins.

“What…happened? Um…with your friend?” Bob asked softly, pulling his sleeves down. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from you. Your anxious glow. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too private, it just seems like…”

“No, it’s fine. We can talk about it.” You said, shaking your head. “When I, uh…when I was in high school, my friends and I got into a car crash. Bad one. It was winter. There was a deer. I hadn’t had my powers very long. I was having a panic attack and I was bleeding a lot. My friend Alec…I couldn’t heal him, and…” You lit your hand. Effortless. A flickering white flame, iridescent at the edges, like sunlight through glass, even at midnight. Just to prove to yourself that you could.

He stared at the light with the same awe of someone looking at a fishtank.

“If I’d practiced a little more, if I…had gotten to him a little faster, maybe I could have…”

Bob shook his head, reaching out to touch your hand. Just the edge of it, fingers curling around the base of your thumb. He was careful, like one wrong move would shatter you. And with the strength that hid beneath his skin, you could tell why. But you didn’t move. Frozen, like a butterfly had perched on your hand.

“No. That’s not your fault. You…you were just a kid.” He murmured, hand getting a little more comfortable against your own. You let the energy fall away, leaving just the two of you, soaked in moonlight. His hand slid further into yours, palm against palm. He was warm. A lot warmer than you’d expected, due to his choice of clothing. You figured he must be cold. But now that you knew he wasn’t…it would be hard to not just…bury yourself in it. His warmth. “You’re a healer, but you can’t save everyone.”

The words sat for a long moment. Heavy. Your therapist had said the same thing. You knew it was true, and yet, that didn’t quiet the voice on your shoulder. Not entirely. It never had. But it helped. He helped.

“You saved me, though.” He confessed, voice quiet. “I…really needed this trip. I…” He blushed, you were pretty sure, but…it was hard to tell in the dark. “I needed you, I think.”

And you could tell it was real. To him, it was real. A breath floated out of your mouth. “Bob…”

“I didn’t mean to get all deep, but…I meant it. I mean it. I think Void is so desperate to crack you open because he…he’s afraid of you. You’re…you’re the only one that gets him to shut the fuck up.”

You squeezed his hand, slid a little closer, wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His knees dropped, letting you in, arms curling gently around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You let one hand settle on the back of his head, and maybe it was the late hour, but you turned your head and pressed the tiniest kiss to his temple. Pretended not to hear him gasp in your ear when you did.

“I wish I had some explanation for you. I don’t know the exact science of it, but…”

“Doesn’t matter how it works. Just does.” Bob murmured, holding you tighter. His arms slotted easily under yours. Like he’d done it a hundred times. A million. “I don’t really think it’s science. I think it’s just you.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, pulling away to look at him. “You gonna be okay?”

His curls waved as he confirmed that he was, in fact, okay. “Fine. Sorry, again. Goodnight.”

“Night.” You repeated softly, giving his hand one last squeeze. Part of you ached, that last lingering moment, to stay. You wanted to stay, where it was warm. He was so warm. You could count the hugs you’d shared on one hand, but already, they were beginning to feel like home. Maybe more than this old house and its old, old bones. “No more apologies, though.”

Bob gave a shrug, a reluctant chuckle. “No promises.”

Right Here, With You

The main drag of town wasn’t terribly busy early in the morning. It felt lazy. The sun too golden. The air too sweet. Even the birds were in a good mood. Bob took you down the route he’d taken the day before, walking down the sidewalks like it was his town and not yours. Apparently this had been what he’d been up to while you were at work. Exploring. The smile on his face made you feel almost guilty that you’d have to leave in a few days.

There was that, too.

It felt at the same time like Bob had just gotten there, but also that he had been there forever. A staple in your life, and, apparently, the town now, as well. People waved at him as the two of you passed, and he waved back, smiling, asking how people were. One of your neighbors was taking their dog on a walk and Bob stooped down to pet it, the adorable little schnauzer wagging its tail.

It sniffed his hand thoroughly, licking it a few times. Bob smiled, petting it behind the ears, seeming to find the exact right spot. He seemed to be really good with animals. You wondered if having one would help him when you got back to the big city, give him something to take care of. Maybe you’d start with a goldfish or something, though.

You kept walking, pushed open the door of the antique store and guided him inside. Immediately, you were greeted with that beautiful musk of old things. Probably mold, if you were being honest. But there was something so nostalgic about it that you never cared. You weren’t even looking for anything in particular. Just looking. One last time.

It was a big store. Booths and booths of things from decades long gone. Records, porcelain dishes, doilies someone’s grandmother had made, DVDs, VHS tapes, board games that were undoubtedly missing a few pieces. Bob dug through a few tubs of old action figures. You lingered by a glass case of vintage games. In the big city, they would have been marked up as high as it goes, value inflated by the rarity of the cartriges inside. Here, it was fifty dollars for the lot. A blue Gameboy SP, Frogger, and a handful of Pokemon games.

Bob was behind you now, gazing down at it. “Man. I used to have one of those. It looked just like that. That color and everything.”

“Me too. A silver one. Think I still do, somewhere. In my room, maybe. In a drawer.” One of the areas of the house you’d been procrastinating packing up. You knew time with Bob was precious. You didn’t want to waste any of it.

“Sold mine.” He gave a bitter chuckle. A shrug. He was wearing that look on your face that told you exactly why he had sold it. You didn’t press further.

You brought the vendor over, pointed to the case. He got out his key, cut you a deal for $40, since it had been sitting there for a while and no one seemed to want it. Bob watched in something between gratefulness and horror as the transaction happened. Didn’t seem to know what to do with himself when you handed it to him outside the front door of the shop. Just like that. Hadn’t even hesitated.

He kept staring at it. The innocent little blue square. The plastic baggie full of games.

“You can borrow my charger. I’m sure we could order you another one. Or get one at a game store in the city.”

For once, he didn’t stiffen when you mentioned it. Leaving. Instead, he smiled, heart overfilled. You put a hand on his arm, but he decided very quickly that that wasn’t enough, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You reciprocated immediately, head tucked against his sweater. He did kiss your forehead this time, cheek resting there after the fact.

He didn’t protest. Didn’t say he didn’t deserve the affection or you or the Gameboy in the paper bag. He just let it happen. Just let you love him.

***

There were six bags of unused cookie mix in your cupboard. Six. And they expired in two months. Not that that stuff wasn’t good after the fact; it was mostly a dry mix, but still.

Bob was laying on the couch, playing his Gameboy. Pokemon Sapphire. You couldn’t help but smile. He pretty much hadn’t left that spot since you’d gotten home. Eventually, it would need to be charged, but for now, he just played in bliss.

You snatched two bags of chocolate chip, pulling a bowl out of the cupboard. The rest of it, you had. Eggs, butter, water. Bob wandered out to the kitchen not long after you set to work, your hair tied back, your sleeves rolled up. He rubbed at his eyes, looking over the sight curiously.

“Cookies?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“Can I help?” He asked.

You nodded, motioning to the bowl, all the ingredients set beside it. “If you wanna stir that all together, sure.” You pulled the melted butter out of the microwave, pouring it in. He carefully cracked the eggs, and added water, mixing it together. The parts of the mixing where you would struggle a bit, Bob powered through easily. That superstrength at work in the most mundane way.

With that done, you two started balling up the cookies, rolling them between your palms and setting them on the greased pan. Elbow to elbow, side by side. He kept glancing over at you, shoulders hunched a little, but his posture was much straighter than it had been the entire time he’d been there.

“What starter did you pick?”

“Mudkip. Thought about Torchic, but…I like the water types.”

“That’s fair.” You chuckled. “It depends, for me. Bulbasaur in Leaf Green, Chimchar in Diamond, Totodile in Soul Silver…”

“Little bit of everything. Pretty well-rounded.” Bob said with a chuckle, plopping another raw cookie onto the tray. “I like Turtwig a lot, though. Cute little guy. Turtles are cool.”

You remembered the poster he’d snagged from the reject bin. The sea turtles. You wondered if he felt like that. A turtle. Like he could just hide in his shell. The shell in question being those big sweaters that swallowed him whole.

“Turtles are cool.” You repeated. You were getting towards the end of the dough now. You gathered what was left onto two spoons, scraping the edges of the bowl. You handed one to him and then lowered the pans into the warm oven.

Bob nibbled on it curiously. “The dough is the best part. I know you’re not supposed to eat it, but…”

“No, I get it. In college, I used to buy packages of pre-made dough just to eat it. You do have to limit yourself, though. Every time I ate more than three of those little chunks, I’d get sick as hell.”

He laughed at that, holding up his spoon. “This is a safe amount, I take it?”

“Should be.” You grinned, hopping up onto the counter. You cleaned off your spoon before setting it in the sink. Bob grabbed the empty bowl, setting it there as well. He filled it with warm water and soap, setting his spoon right next to yours.

That left him close, aided by the boost the counter gave you. Daylight streamed through the kitchen blinds, making him look so gentle. He looked tired. Always did. But there was something else there, now. Something swirled deep in his gut, or maybe it was yours. His eyes flicked over to you and your heart jumped.

You could see it in your mind’s eye. Bob leaning closer, resting a hand on the counter beside your thigh. His body so warm you’d feel the heat through your clothes. He’d dip his head down, hair falling in his face. You’d reach up, brush it out of the way with the gentlest fingers. The gentlest touch. He was a streetlight and you were a moth. And you were sure he felt the exact opposite way. He looked at you like you were made of starlight and dreams. Something he wasn’t worthy of.

You’d prove it to him somehow. Over and over again, like a wave on the shore outside. Steadfast and unrelenting.

He stood there at the sink, gazing out the window at the lilac bush. Huffed a breath. Looked down at you. Smiled. His gaze flicked away, Adam’s apple bobbing. And for a moment there, you really did think he would lean in and kiss you, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

You could practically see the little voice in the back of his head, harping on him for the feelings swirling around his heart.

He stepped away. That crackling static dissipated. You let out a slow, silent breath as he crossed the room to the calendar, eyes falling on that day, circled in pen. The day Bucky was supposed to come back for the two of you and whatever things you’d packed for the journey.

He stiffened a bit, shoulders falling. It was true, what they said. Nothing lasts forever. But Bob still felt greedy for wanting just a little more time.

***

That night, you slept soundly. No nightmares. For you, anyway. Just the sound of the waves in the distance, the hum of the air conditioner, the occasional buzz of the sump pump in the basement.

Knock-knock-knock.

It wasn’t a downstairs knock, it was an upstairs knock. You opened your eyes, inhaling a long breath, as though the air itself would wake you enough to get up. You pushed the blanket aside, walked over to the door, pulled it open.

Bob was already halfway back down the hall to his room when the hinges creaked. He turned, posture small and sheepish, hands fiddling with each other.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Y-Yeah, I just…” His voice buckled, betraying him. Reconsidered. “No. I…sorry.”

“Hey, come on.” You opened your door a little wider, tilting your head back towards your bed.

He took a shaky breath, thinking about it for a moment before his feet began to move, one in front of the other, carrying him over the threshold of your room. He hadn’t been in there, you were pretty sure, which explained the long sweep he did of the space, eyes exploring every poster, trinket, book.

“It’s kind of a mess in here, sorry.”

He chuckled, shook his head, stood there until you sat, patting the mattress beside you. He sat lightly, like he was afraid of breaking it. He took another breath, letting it roll out. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

You laughed softly, waving it off. “Nonsense. What’s up?”

Another shrug, that ‘it’s fine’ face resurfacing. You braced for impact. “Just can’t…sleep. I…was wondering if I could…sleep in here. With you. But then I realized that was stupid, so I walked back up the hall.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t so bad. “You can stay in here. That’s fine.”

He relaxed. “Okay. I’ll uh, go grab a blanket. I can sleep on the floor.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

It took a moment for the realization to bloom on his features, but once they did, he couldn’t keep that shy little smile off of his face. You pulled the covers back, climbing in first. He slipped one leg in, then the other, pulling the blanket back across the two of you.

You took in a breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you focused, leaning into that inner warmth, your guiding light. Your beacon. You glowed ever so softly, though it was mostly muffled beneath the blanket, motioned him closer, but he was one step ahead of you, climbing right on top, like he’d been waiting for it. Like since he’d gotten a taste of your energy, he’d been aching to feel it all over, all at once.

Bob sighed into your chest, his weight heavy and real and grounding on top of you. And warm. Oh, so warm.

You reached up and played with his hair, your other arm crossing his back, soothing circles into his tired muscles. He melted like a cat, just totally boneless on top of you.

A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips, eyes half-lidded. “I hoped it would feel like this.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded as much as he could manage. “Yeah. You’re like a heating pad.”

You chuckled. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah I…run warm. Sorry.”

“No, it’s nice. This is nice.”

He didn’t reply to that, just thought for a long moment. You stared at the ceiling, your light dancing across the white expanse, casting shadows through the cobweb in the corner. “I, uh…had a nightmare. That’s why…”

You nodded, fingers working his scalp. “I figured. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Well…kind of.” He sighed, feeling heavier suddenly. You cradled him more, pressing a kiss to his temple. That seemed to help, just a little bit. “Sometimes…I feel like the others…sent me here so they could figure out how to get rid of me. Get me out of the way for a while until they could figure it out. Telling me to look at the literal flowers until…”

Your heart sank like a rock. It sank further when he pulled away to look at you, your soft glow glistening in his glassy eyes. “Oh, Bob…”

“I’m indestructible. I know that.” A heavy sigh. “Believe me, I know that. But…”

“They didn’t. I know Bucky. He wouldn’t do that.” You reasoned, but it didn’t seem to help. You tried a different approach. “They…sent you here because I needed you.”

He scoffed.

“I mean it. I’ve…been tucked out here so long, away from it all. I hated it. The city, all the people, the knowing looks, grabbing hands, people who wanted the idea of me. I wanted the quiet. But after a while, that quiet just starts to eat at you from the inside. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until he dropped you off at my doorstep. There are still people I can help; but there are also still people who can help me. I think I lost sight of that.”

His eyebrows furrowed, a tear slipping down his cheek. You reached up and wiped it away with a gentle thumb. His lip trembled as he asked, “You think I’ve helped you?”

Your heart broke. “Of course you have. We’re going back to New York in a few days, but…I think some part of me will always live right here, with you.”

He choked on a sob. You pulled him closer, back down on top of you, combing through his hair with the utmost care and gentleness. Your glow got a little stronger. Not on purpose. Not enough to hurt. It just did that sometimes when you were feeling big feelings.

He buried his face in your neck, tears rolling down between your skin and his. You let him get it all out until he calmed, breathing slowing to normal again. And then slower than normal. He was out. Your invincible boy and his big, giant heart. You wished the world had been kinder to him. Gentler. You wished he wasn’t carrying such sadness behind those ocean eyes. 

Someday, his shadows would shrink and he’d learn to be at home in his skin again, but until then, you’d just have to continue to be his beacon in the storm, guiding him back to shore.

Radiant

It felt like a dream, waking up in his arms. But maybe it was because you had woken up there so many times in yours. This time, it was real. His breaths wafted across your skin, hair falling against the skin of your neck, nose pressed to your collarbone. One strong arm was coiled around your waist, the other was tucked somewhere beneath his broad frame. He took in a long breath, as though he could sense you waking beneath him, gorgeous blue eyes fluttering open in the daylight, framed by those irritatingly thick eyelashes.

His lips curled into a sleepy grin as he looked at you, not moving a muscle. “You glow in your sleep.”

You laughed, giving his side a loving pinch. “And did that impede your rest, Mr. Reynolds?”

“On the contrary, you make kind of a good nightlight.” He punctuated it with a long, impossibly soft kiss to your cheek. “But, uh…if we’re going to do this again, I might need to order a sleep mask.”

The way he said it was so simple. So obvious. Something that had caused you so much grief in your previous dating life was…an Amazon click for him. It put everything into a new perspective. If he wanted to, he would, as they said. Well, Bob absolutely wanted to. It gave the butterflies in your stomach something to gossip about, at the very least.

You cuddled for a while, getting accustomed to the feel of each other. It was clear now, that it very much was not just a healing arrangement anymore. What you were, exactly, hadn’t been articulated, but you couldn’t wait to find out.

He studied you, laid on his side, face to face on the pillows, his legs tangled with yours. “Were you and Bucky ever…uh…you know…?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. Bucky is great, but he’s way too old for me. I don’t think he’s ever seen me as anything but his kid sister. I was pretty young when Sam roped me into all of this. Early twenties, but still.”

“Hmm.”

“Why? Did you think we were?”

“Not exactly. I just…I mean…” He chuckled, cheeks flushing. He reached a hand out, brushing your hair back with the utmost care, thumb warm as it skimmed your face. “You’re starlight. If I was the Winter Soldier, I would have melted. Especially if you quiet his shadows the way you quiet mine.”

Starlight. That one felt different. But you’d have to unpack that later. Probably when you were unpacking all of the literal boxes piling up around this place.

Eventually, Bob straightened up, lifted his sweatshirt a bit to scratch his stomach, just enough to give you a look at…what lie beneath.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Bob was ripped. This entire time, he’d been hiding the body of a Greek god with those oversized sweaters. He had an eight pack, easy. Granted, that was all you could see from the angle, but you could imagine the rest. You knew he hadn’t been working out since he’d been staying with you. It had been a lot of mac and cheese and fast food and laying on the couch watching movies, sprinkled with the occasional walk or home-cooked pasta dish. That damn supersoldier serum…

Bob’s eyes widened a hair, noticing the look on your face. He smoothed the shirt back down, snapping you back to reality, gave a shy little smile. Blushed. “Oh, uh, those, yeah. They’re new to me, too. I forget they’re there, sometimes.”

“Must be the, uh..supersoldier serum. Gives you killer, um…metabolism, I’ve heard…” You murmured, averting your eyes. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Sentry suit had been tight, from the footage you’d seen, but…you had managed to separate that Bob from the one in front of you so effectively that it was almost like a jumpscare. “Anywaysssss, um, I’m gonna go get breakfast started. Pancakes?”

He grinned, tilting his head as he admired your pajamas in the light of day, a cute little two-piece set with seagulls on the pants. “Pancakes sound good. With blueberries?”

“Yeah, I think the ones from the farmer’s market are still good.” You agreed, stretching out your tired limbs. Despite the supersoldier sleeping on top of you, you were…surprisingly well-rested. In fact, you were pretty sure it was the best sleep you’d gotten since Bob had showed up.

You padded down the stairs first, setting to work. Well, after you buried your face in the fridge and let out a strangled groan, directly at the orange juice container. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Bob’s muscles. Even if you weren’t already head over heels for the guy, that surely would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Pancakes. Pancakes. Think about the pancakes. You repeated, a stupid little mantra. That voice in the back of your head quipped that it was a good thing they weren’t waffles.

Once there was a stack of them sitting on the table, a few glasses of orange juice poured, Bob came downstairs, sitting opposite you at the table. He cut into his pancakes, taking a bite. You looked up to see if he liked them, and instead caught him staring at you, eyes sparkling, that shy smile firmly in place. His eyes flicked down to the table, but the smile didn’t go away.

He swallowed, cleared his throat. Smiled again.

You smiled too, which led to him giggling. Just a little. Shoulders shaking with the effort.

He licked the syrup from his lip. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” You replied, something akin to an inside joke bubbling up between you. Bucky would clock it immediately, you were sure, the thick string of affection tying the two of you together now. But maybe that had been part of his plan after all. Or maybe he really had just been truly desperate and deemed you a decent enough babysitter for the most dangerous man in the world.

“I, uh…” He thought for a moment. “I wanna take you to dinner tonight. There’s a little diner in town. It’s…It’s on me. Don’t bring your wallet.”

You smiled bigger, curious how he would make it work, but excited nonetheless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I…I’ve kind of never done this before.” He admitted, fork stabbing into the top pancake in the stack, right into a gooey blueberry. “I mean…whatever this is. I just kind of assumed, ’cause we were…kissing eachother…and stuff, so…”

You reached across the table, taking his hand. “I would love to go on a date with you, Bob.”

His fingers curled around yours, squeezing. Warm, warm thumb crested over your knuckles. He repeated the words you’d said last week like he’d been waiting to all along. “It’s a date.”

***

You spent most of the day packing up your clothes, something you’d been putting off since you still needed to wear them. Bob went out for a bit, leaving instructions to be ready by six. You dug out something nice, a suitable pair of shoes, accessorized and did your makeup for probably the first time since he’d gotten there. Maybe the first time in months, if you were being honest.

And when six o’clock rolled around, there was a knock on the door.

You grinned despite yourself, walking over to answer it. Bob was standing there in a blue blazer covered in lighthouses, a periwinkle buttondown, black tie, and slacks. The jacket, you recognized. It had been Earlene’s husband’s before he died. Now, this was starting to make more sense.

In his hand, he gripped a clumsy little bouquet of lilacs and white roses. Perched inside them, an iridescent tarot card. The Knight of Cups. Alright, message received.

“W-wow…you look incredible.” He murmured, those curious eyes taking in every detail before him, committing it all to memory.

“So do you. The blue brings out your eyes.” You breathed, taking him in.

His hair was still done in floofy brown curls, tie knotted carefully at his throat. He peered out from behind them, fidgeting with the flowers. He was nervous.

“Hey, it’s just me.” You murmured softly, taking a step closer, reaching for his other hand.

He chuckled, gazing down at you. “I know, that’s…why I’m nervous. You’re like, the girl of my dreams.”

Your heart did a fucking backflip. You brought his hand to your lips, grazing his knuckles. “Let me get those in water, okay? You all ready?”

“I’m ready.” He nodded, stepping into the doorway while you put the flowers in a tall glass of water. When you turned back, he was reaching for your hand, a giddy look in his eyes. He looked even giddier when you slipped your hand into his.

Once you were in the parking lot of the diner, he ran around the front of the car to open your door for you, offering his hand, which you took immediately, letting him lead you inside one of your favorite spots in town, Marceline’s.

It was an old-fashioned place. Jukebox against the wall, checkered tile floor, hot rod red booths. The menu was all classic: burgers, fries and milkshakes, soda in glass bottles with swirly-striped straws. It was a little busier than you’d expected, all things considered, a good handful of regulars littered around. The hostess led you to a booth by the windows and Bob sat across from you, stars in his eyes.

There was a guy a few booths down in a ballcap, wearing his sunglasses inside. Odd, you thought. But you wrote it off.

You browsed the menu for a bit before placing the order with the waitress when she came around, wearing a vintage pink uniform with an apron and a big, angular collar. She had a cherry embroidered into the corner of it. 

The two of you ordered your entrees, a plate of fries to share, and some milkshakes. And when she left, Bob could not stop grinning at you.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that.” You said with a smirk, watching as his cheeks flushed red.

He huffed, mock defensive. “I know, I just…I can’t remember the last time I was this…happy. In a good way and not…in a manic way, you know? I’m gonna wake up any second now, I’m sure.”

You shook your head, meeting his eyes. “We’re wide awake. But trust me, I can’t believe it, either.”

“I thought about…taking you to that ice cream place again. You know, after this. But you said you’d been on so many shitty dates there…seemed like bad vibes.”

You scrunched your nose. “Good call. Besides, the milkshakes are really good here anyway.”

“Maybe we could go stargazing? On the beach? I didn’t really check the weather, but I threw a blanket in the backseat earlier.”

“I like that idea.”

Dinner was good. Simple, but good. Classic, in a way. Your fingers brushed his when you reached into the fry basket. He savored his milkshake, really cherishing every moment. The two of you talked all the while, like old friends. Like he was your lifelong neighbor boy, not the stray Bucky had dropped off two weeks before.

You remembered the way Earlene talked about her husband, Roy. The man whose jacket Bob was wearing. He’d passed before you ever met her, but you could tell not a moment went by that she didn’t think of him.

“Oh, honey, I made Roy chase me for weeks before I let him take me out. But he was mine the moment I saw him. I think he knew that.”

You tried to pinpoint it. The moment Bob had become yours. But you knew it was when Bucky had stepped out of the way and Bob was standing there on your sidewalk, knuckles white around the handle of his suitcase, like a nervous kid at sleepaway camp.

“You still with me, (Y/N)?” Bob waved a hand in front of your face.

“Hmm? Sorry. Lost in thought.” You murmured, guiding your eyes right back to his. “You say something?”

He shook his head and let out a long sigh, floored. “God, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart raced, cheeks warm. And in the reflection of the window, in the corner of your eye, you watched yourself begin to glow a little. Almost imperceptibly. But you knew Bob picked up on it.

His smile stretched wider. “Love when you do that.”

You quirked an eyebrow, trying to neutralize it to no avail. “It’s a fun party trick, huh?”

He nodded in agreement immediately. “I’ll trade you, if you want. You can have all the strength and stuff and I’ll glow and make people sleepy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, offering your hand, which he playfully shook. “Deal.”

***

The air was crisp when you left the restaurant, joint hands swinging between you on the way back to the car, lovesick smiles on your faces. Bob walked to the driver’s side door with you, reaching to open it, but stopping halfway there, heart both in his throat and on his sleeve.

He was going to kiss you.

Bob wiped his palm on the fabric of his borrowed blazer, taking a step closer. Another. His foot landing between the two of yours. He swallowed, leaning closer, mouth hanging open while he thought, strategizing an approach. One large, warm hand settled on your waist.

“I, uh…I guess this is the part of the night where…” He exhaled nervously.

The guy in the ballcap crossed the parking lot. You paid him a little more attention this time. The way he circled like a shark, muttering into his phone.

“It’s okay if…you don’t want to, I just…” Bob mumbled, losing steam.

“It’s not that.” You shushed him, hands resting on his firm chest, your back up against the car. His arms crested your form out of what he could only describe as instinct. You glanced over Bob’s shoulder to where the guy had been, but he was gone now.

“What? What is it?”

“There was a guy in a baseball cap. I think he was following us.” You uttered, voice quiet and urgent, slipping into Undercover Avenger mode.

“A w-what? What guy?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

You were cut off by a quick and vengeful taser to the neck, debilitating you instantly.

“Get off of her!” Bob yelled. The guy tried to tase him as well, but it didn’t work. Bob stood there, staring at the guy, face twisted in confusion. On instinct, he reached up, using telekinesis to yoink the taser out of the guy’s hand, chucking it halfway across town.

You straightened up, body aglow. You shined a brilliant light directly into the guy’s face. Another one rounded the side of the car, with some powered-up weapon, emiting waves not unlike your own. It felt familiar, in a fucked-up way, sweeping rushes of artificial drowsiness washing over your body. Your knees buckled, and you gritted your teeth as your light was stripped away.

Obviously they were HYDRA and obviously they were there for Bob, but you were sure they’d take you as a consolation prize. Use you as leverage against Bucky or Sam or whoever was left.

Bob waded the space with a little trouble, the waves clearly affecting him, but eventually reached the gun and tore the thing right in half, to the horror of the agent holding it. He knocked him out of the way like he was an action figure.

You got to your feet, breathing heavy. You took stock of Bob, reaching up to touch his hot, hot skin, tilting his face down to get a better look. That gold ring around his irises glowed as he stared down at you, the look on his face somehow soft and threatening. Jaw clenched, muscles strung tight. He looked at you like he was trying to place you, but once he met your eyes, familiarity spread behind his gaze.

A dark van pulled into the lot and more agents filed out of it.

“I need you to stay with me, okay? I need you to control it.” You murmured, voice serious.

Bob nodded, the ring vanishing. He took off the jacket, chucking it into a bush for safety, since it was borrowed. Your light reflected off of his periwinkle buttondown as your glow returned, feet almost involuntarily rising off the pavement, poised like a dancer’s. He couldn’t help but smile. Catlike and enamored as he watched you lock in.

For their credit, the HYDRA agents tried. But they had severely underestimated the two of you. You blinded a guy in nightvision goggles, but that was just due to his own stupidity, really. You hovered, blasting them with bolts of burning energy. Bob stayed grounded, feet planted firmly in the parking lot, but the superstrength and telekinesis were more than enough to fight off any attacker that came his way. He had some natural fighting instincts. Obviously he did, if the Sentry videofile was to be believed. But you hadn’t been sure how much of that was Bob. Now you knew.

A helicopter chopped through the air over the ocean, the octopus-like hate symbol emblazoned on the side of it, shooting a hail of bullets that you blocked in an iridescent forcefield, shielding whatever onlookers hadn’t taken cover yet. Bob caught the strays, dropping them harmlessly to the parking lot with little metal clinks. The locals, bless their hearts, were too curious for their own good. Especially when something otherworldly started unfolding in their tiny little town.

The sight of the helicopter set you off, rage brewing in your belly as you rose higher into the air, trailing light like a comet. You were raising power levels. 8, 9, 10…if you were hooked up to the sensors the Wakandans had monitored you under, you were sure you would have wrecked the scale. The streetlight sparked, then exploded. Bob shielded the onlookers from the glass as he took out the few remaining ground attackers, popping their tires with his telekinesis. The air let out with a vicious hiss.

That’d show those snakes.

You balled your fist, letting the energy around it charge before you punched forward, blasting the helicopter. The tail spun as it fell out of control, crashing down into the ocean with a ginormous splash. An explosion, then silence.

You took a sharp breath, surfacing. You looked down at the parking lot, where the townsfolk that had gathered cheered. Slowly, you sank back down, one foot touching the cement, then the other. Immediately, Bob was there, a hand on your elbow, looking over you with care.

He exhaled a long, shaking breath, stars in his eyes. “You are radiant. That, wow…I’ve never seen anything so…I…you’re amazing. You’re amazing and I think I…well, I really…”

You planted a hand on his cheek, effectively hushing his stammering, the other steadying on his shirt. “This is the part of the night where I kiss you.”

“O-Okay.” He nodded enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut, lips pursing in preparation. You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He melted against you, letting you lead him through a sweet, soft, sentimental kiss. When it was over, he kept chasing it, kissing you again, and again, and then, really, one last time, giggling to himself.

You hugged him tight, arms wound around his broad shoulders, holding him close. 

His cheek moved beneath your lips as he grinned, hugging you back, arms strong and stable. He murmured into your ear, tone carrying a joke right to you, like a leaf on the river. “This isn’t just because of the abs, right?”

You laughed loudly, shaking your head. You pulled back an inch, to meet his eyes. Noses brushed as you went in for one last kiss that he eagerly returned, humming into your mouth, lips a little more confident, albeit still clumsy. But he’d learn. You had all the time in the world for that.

He made sure to grab the lighthouse jacket from the bushes before you left, carefully dusting it off and folding it in his lap on the drive home. Suddenly, he wasn’t so afraid to go back to the city anymore. 

No matter what happened, he’d have you.

The Lighthouse

Your alarm was shrill the next morning, rousing you quickly and directly. You slapped the nightstand blindly before Bob reached over and used his telekinesis to turn it off. You took a breath, turning to face him. He was already looking at you, eyes soft with admiration.

“Morning, starlight.” He murmured, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Morning, Bob.” You replied, crawling closer to him.

He tugged you to his chest easily, chin resting against your head. He pressed a long, soft kiss there, at the edge of your face, strong arms winding tight around you. “Big day today.”

You gave a wry snort. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

You cuddled for a while longer, bargaining for time, kissing between whispered words before you managed to pry yourself not only from your mattress, but from him. Threw on some clothes, went down the stairs, and whipped together a quick breakfast before there was a knock on the door.

Bob pulled it open, wearing the same sweater he’d been wearing the day he arrived. The blue one that made him look so soft and small. He was standing a little straighter now, eyes a little brighter. His shadows hadn’t been banished completely, but he was shades lighter than you’d found him. The ocean air was good for that.

“Hey, guys!” You could hear the smile in his voice, even with your back turned as you plated up some eggs and panfried hashbrowns. “Come on in! (Y/N)’s just finishing up breakfast.”

Bucky led the group inside, giving a wave, vibranium hand glinting in the sunlight. Behind him was a short young woman with smoky eyes and short blonde hair and a mountain of a guy with a long gray beard. You’d seen them on the news, you were sure. Probably in the same newscast you’d seen Bob’s alter ego. So this was it. This was the team.

“(Y/N), this is Yelena and Alexei. They’re…Nat’s family.”

Your gaze softened immediately, looking them over. You’d heard a bit about Yelena. Not much, just pieces here and there. Natasha had kept her cards pretty close to her chest. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is ours! Beacon! I have seen you on the TV, doing the glowing and the shooting and the flying, it’s great!” Alexei greeted, offering a strong handshake and a hearty pat on the back.

Yelena was cradling Reginald in her arms, bouncing him like a baby, his orange tail flicking with content. She looked up at Bob, smiled softly. “You look good, Bob. How have you been, out here?”

Bob smiled back, eyes flicking to you and then back to her, cheeks flushing. “Great, yeah. I’m doing good. Bucky was right. She’s an expert.”

She looked at you, grinning. “I am keeping this cat, by the way.”

Bob shook his head, mouth falling open in protest, “Oh, that’s not…”

Bucky put a hand on your shoulder, looking proud. “Listen, thirteen days is not bad. I’m surprised you two lasted this long before winding up on the news. So, congrats. You almost made it two weeks.”

“Ha ha. Thank you very much, Congressman. First of all, not our fault HYDRA had boots on the ground out here. Second, no appearances of the other guy whatsoever.”

“Well…” Bob cut in, grimacing.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two of you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Right, so…technically, he showed up a little, but it seems like he’s kinda…relegated to Bob’s subconscious at the moment.”

Bucky waved a hand. “In English, please.”

“He only shows up in my dreams. And…other people’s dreams, also…”

“Huh. Makes…sense, I guess. We’ll have to look into that.” Bucky looked around at all the boxes you had piled up in the living room. “Anywho, you all packed up? We can start moving stuff while you two eat breakfast.”

“Yep. Everything in here is coming. Everything else is staying. Figured it would be a good safehouse, down the line.” You said, poking your eggs with a fork.

Bucky grinned, nodding. One of those slow grins that hit his eyes first, crinkling them at the edges. Maybe some part of him had expected you to back out. To decide to stay in this little sea town you called home. Maybe some part of you had, too. But every glance you threw Bob’s way just cemented it more. You needed him. Maybe more than he needed you. And that was worth chasing across the country let alone a few hundred miles to New York.

***

You cleaned and dried the dishes, putting them away. You closed the kitchen curtains, turned and walked back towards the living room. You could hear Yelena and Alexei bickering in the front yard, beyond the open door. All the boxes had been taken aside from Bob’s, filled with his odds and ends. The poster from the reject bin, the records he’d taken, a stack of books and a few DVDs, a Rubik’s Cube, and a little metal lighthouse.

Bob picked it up, holding it on his hip. He caught you reminiscing, soft gray cardigan pulled around yourself as you looked around the living room one last time. It was time.

He offered his hand and you took it, fingers slotting between his easily. He raised it to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, giving a soft, reassuring smile. You’d been coaxing him out of his comfort zone this whole time, now it was his turn.

“You ready?”

You nodded, eyes honest. Your heart ached, but…you were beginning to think it was in a good way. “Ready.”

“Cool.” He looked around the living room one last time, eyes sticking on the painting over the couch. “We’ll be back.”

He sounded so sure of it. You knew he was right. Part of your heart would always live in your sleepy little sea town. And now, part of it would always live with Bob.

“You’re right.”

“We better go quick, before Yelena changes her mind. It took me forever to talk her out of taking Reginald. But that little guy belongs here, exploring.”

The two of you walked outside, set Bob’s box in the back of your car, next to your laptop and other fragile bits.

“I am riding with you two.” Yelena announced, sliding into one of the back seats.

You glanced over to where Bucky and Alexei were climbing into the van they’d brought. Bucky saluted, gave an annoyed-looking expression, and pulled out of the driveway first.

In your own car, you adjusted the air conditioning, let Bob pick the music, and got the navigation going. Yelena poked around the stuff in the back seat, finding the snacks easily.

“Bob, do you want some? She’s got Doritos and stuff in here.” She murmured, the bags crinkling as she ruffled through them.

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good. Maybe in a bit.”

“Suit yourself.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the familiarity, the bond you could already feel there. You hoped you’d be able to slip into the team as well. But all you needed to do to get confirmation of that was glance at the passenger seat, where despite your lack of obvious glow, Bob was still looking at you like you were made of starlight.

And as you rolled down the driveway, past the familiar streets and smalltown faces, getting farther and farther from familiarity, the last thing in view of this place you’d called home for so long…was the lighthouse.

Starlight

It had been two months since you’d arrived at what was now called the Watchtower. A pretentious name for Valentina’s New Avengers lineup, but that was the least of your concern. Her big thing was optics, so she hadn’t even balked when Bucky had presented you as an option for what she dubbed the “Bob Problem.”

You learned very quickly that you didn’t like her and just as quickly that you didn’t trust her, but you were quick to put her in her place when she first uttered that phrase around you.

“He’s not a problem. He needs support. And therapy. And meds. And quite possibly a cat. But you will treat him with respect or he and I are both gone and I know you need us more than we need you.”

She’d been impressed by that. “Well, Beacon, in that case, I’m glad to have you aboard, since you seem to have him all figured out.”

“Actually, let me stop you right there. I…was considering a new codename maybe.”

“A rebrand, I like it. What are you thinking?”

Your eyes wandered to Bob in his reading chair by the window before returning back to her. “How about Starlight?”

She grinned, the wheels turning behind her eyes. She could see the headlines now, you were sure. “How about it…”

The rest of the lineup was just Ava, who went by Ghost, a woman that could walk through walls, which was very cool, and…John Fucking Walker. You’d stared at him for a long time when you first encountered him, frozen in your tracks, frowning while Bucky chuckled across the kitchen.

“No. Are you serious?” You glanced back at him and then up at John again. “Ewww.”

John scoffed, offended immediately. “Hey!”

“No, that’s a valid ‘ew,’ John. She gets at least one of those.” Bucky muttered over his mug of black coffee. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

In your free time, you wrote again, inspiration more than sparked by your time with Bob. Every time you got stuck, all you had to do was let him read what you had so far, and he’d make suggestions. Even if they didn’t always work necessarily, they got the ball rolling again. And the Tower had ample space to do it. There were lots of quiet spots to tuck away in. Today you’d opted to work in one of the common areas, though, Bob sitting at the high-top table with you, fingers fiddling with yours.

Ava opened the dishwasher and groaned loudly before yelling, “Bucky! How many times do we have to tell you not to put it in there with dishes?!” She yanked his vibranium arm out, holding it aloft in the air.

You couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, shaking your head. Bob grinned too, eyes locked on you fondly. He was clumsily crocheting something next to you, stopping and holding it out to you.

“No, so how did this even happen?” He asked, pointing to a very messed-up loop.

“You stuck the hook through the strands of yarn. Just undo that one and try again. It’s tricky to not do that with that kind.” You advised, gently taking his hands in yours and unraveling the previous loop, helping him get back on track. “That’s what’s so nice about crochet. You can just undo it all and start over.”

He smiled, the words striking a bit deeper than he knew you meant to. But that was this whole thing, wasn’t it? You were his fresh start.

Bucky sauntered into the room, grabbing his arm and sticking it back on, rotating it back into place with force. “It just works, alright? It gets clean.”

“Not with the dishes! Run it by itself! Or better yet, buy yourself a dishwasher and put it in your room.”

“Now, now, everybody, I think we all need to take a deep breath.” Alexei said, trying to keep the peace. “Isn’t that nice? Big, deep breath. Ava, I see you are not taking the breath, just breathe in…”

Your phone rang, a goofy picture of Sam flashing across the lockscreen. Your eyebrows furrowed and you picked it up. “Hey, buddy. How have you been? It’s been a while?”

He chuckled, exhaling a sigh. “Yeah, I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch, I’ve just been so busy with…well, all kinds of stuff. But actually, speaking of that, I was wondering if you wanted to come get some coffee? Maybe meet up? I…well, maybe I shouldn’t lead with this, but I’m trying to get the Avengers off of the ground again. I’ve got this great new guy, Joaquin. I think you’d really like him. And we found this guy who has these alien rings, he’s super cool.”

“Sam—” 

“Listen, I know you’ve been out of the loop of all of this for a while. And if you wanna keep it that way, I understand. But my team could really use a healer, so…what do you say?”

You took a breath, pretending to mull it over, but your mind was made up. “Thank you for thinking of me, but…Bucky called me first, and…” You looked at Bob, who was absorbed in his yarn loops again, an earbud stuck in his ear. “They need me here. It’s not personal. I’m sorry. If there’s ever…an emergency, give me a call, but I’m planted here.”

A bitter chuckle. A resigned sigh. “No, I get it. Take care of yourself.”

And then he hung up.

“Who was that?” Bob asked, curious blue eyes peering over at you.

“Sam.” You replied, reaching for his hand, which he gladly turned over, fingers curling around yours.

The worry was imminent on his features already, just a little, in his eyes. Insecurity that you’d slip away as easily as he’d gotten you. “He wants you, huh?”

“I’m staying right here.” You reassured, squeezing his hand again. “I’m not here for Valentina. I’m not even really here for Bucky anymore. I’m here for you. Where you go, I go. Simple as that.”

He smiled softly at that, nodding. “Okay. Cool.”

“Package for Bob?” John walked into the room, chucking the thin little package onto the table in front of the two of you, where it landed with a thwop. “What even is that thing?”

Bob tore it open easily, pulling out what appeared to be a pretty high-quality sleep mask. “Oh, sweet. I was wondering when this would come in.”

“What, you got insomnia or something?” John asked.

“My girlfriend glows,” came his simple explanation, shrugging his shoulders. He had a giddy look on his face. All proud and lovesick in a way that made your heart churn.

You tried to fight the grin that broke out on your features, shaking your head with a flustered laugh.

“I sleep really well now, though. She knocks me right out.”

“Ew, Bob, we don’t need all the details of…whatever this is you two have going on.” John groaned, waving a jealous hand in your direction.

“Oh, shut up, Walker. Bob and (Y/N) are surprisingly tame in the PDA department. They could be like, way worse.” Yelena defended. “And it is very cute by the way, you two.”

“Yelena is right. There is something so…romantic about the boy with the shadow and the girl who glows.” Alexei gushed, very passionate. You’d never seen it that way, but…he wasn’t wrong.

Bob had his Void. Always would, you were sure. And you were the glowing girl. The Beacon, and now…his Starlight.

No matter what form he took, no matter what kind of day he was having, you would always be right there to remind him that there were people who loved him. People who valued him and wanted him around. 

He was the warmth in a cold room. Your Knight of Cups. You’d choose him every time, and you knew in a heartbeat, that he’d choose you, too, like a moth fluttering towards a streetlight. Doomed, maybe, but inevitable nonetheless. In every timeline, it would always be him.

You gave him a tender look, gave his side a loving pinch and settled up against him. A low chuckle floated out of his mouth and he kissed your forehead, large, warm hand smoothing down your back.

The rest of the team devolved into bickering about something else. Like siblings, truly. But you and Bob were just quiet, watching it all from the fringes, soaking in eachother’s warmth.

“I’m so glad you said yes. Still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. That I get to have something as nice as you, but…I’m not complaining.” Bob murmured, hands mapping you out, grounding himself.

“I’m all yours, Bob.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, eyes glimmering with a million words, but settling on just two, “Believe it.”

The End.

[delulugirly7]

Paying for Joaquin's food

Based on this tiktok

You saw a trend on tiktok where girlfriends pay for their boyfriend's food before they could. Since you and Joaquin were going out today, you decided this would be the perfect opportunity to do so.

After parking the car, you walk hand in hand up to the restaurant. Joaquin, being the gentleman he is, opens the door for you. He orders first. "Will that be all today?" The cashier asks him. Joaquin looks to you and you decline, telling him that you're full from breakfast and you'll get something later.

Joaquin is hesitant but he accepts your excuse and tells the cashier that's it. After the cashier tells him the total, Joaquin is about to tap his card but you beat him to it. You fight the laugh trying to escape when he looks at you in bewilderment.

"Don't do that again," he tells you.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh as you grab the receipt. You thank the cashier before walking away to find an available table. Joaquin stands back a few seconds before following you. The look on his face when he sits down across from you is a mix of shock, confusion, and displeasure. "What was that? Why would you do that?" He finally asks.

"You always pay for my food, I just wanted to return the favor," you shrug. "I thought it'd be fair since you always spend your money on me."

"Angel, you're my girlfriend! I don't care if you use my money! It's mine and I can do whatever I want with it and what I want is for you to get whatever you want and spoil yourself."

"I figured I should pay for you too."

"You should be able to spend my money. I have a job mi amor, I wouldn't be dating you if I was stingy." He holds your hand, squeezing it tight to further his point.

You smile with teary eyes and lean forward to kiss him, "I love you so much."

"I love you too my sweet angel." He happily leans into your kiss. "But I'm serious, don't ever do that again." He points a stern finger at you, causing you to laugh.

[delulugirly7]

「 take her under your wing AU 」

warnings: innocent!reader x various, stepbro!steve rogers, bucky barnes, professor!peter parker, professor!reed richards, ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, dark content, essentially everyone is soft!dark, college au, polyamory, idk what to tell you this is just porn

polls for this au

asks about the au

101, an intro to the au | pinterest board

masterlist | join my taglist 

FICS:

the many firsts

something in return

locked out

i dare you

what i say goes

too big (coming soon)

REQUESTS:

gaming + intox kink (headcanons)

billy & frank catch you discovering billy’s toy collection (headcanons)

desperate to help (headcanons)

curtis helps you fall asleep (headcanons)

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[delulugirly7]

Love Island

This season of Love Island is set to be full of surprises. With stunning new pairings and explosive confrontations, the villa is sure to be filled with tension and drama. The chemistry between the islanders is electric, leading to passionate moments and unexpected connections. As friendships are tested and alliances shift, no one can predict how things will unfold. Every twist and turn will challenge the contestants, and the pressure will mount as they try to navigate the complicated dynamics. Only time will reveal who will rise to the top and who will find themselves caught in the chaos. Are you ready for it...?

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

content: fluff, angst, smut (a bit of everything lol)

warnings: sexual innuendos, cuss words, 18+ content, smut, drinking, verbal arguments, breakdowns, drama

episodes:

episode 1

episode 2

episode 3

episode 4

extras:

meet the islanders (girls edition)

meet the islanders (boys edition)

meet the islanders (y/n & rafe edition)

meet the islanders (bombshells edition)

introductions: rafe edition

introductions: y/n edition

𖹭 if you wanna be added on the taglist for this series comment/reblog or click here!! 𖹭

inspo for this series: @finelinevogue @rafecameronssl4t

A/N: this is my favorite thing i have ever created, i am so excited for all of you to see this project. it is something i have dreamed of for so long, that i put off for too long as well and now...it's here!! hope you love these characters and this crazy, very drama filled, steamy love story as much as i do!! love you all<3

[delulugirly7]

drew starkey x actress!reader masterlist

blurbs

drew starkey x actress!reader thoughts !!! drew starkey x actress!reader timeline [UPDATED] actress!reader camera roll

drew and actress!reader being the best couple for 10 minutes drew and actress!reader do the “we listen and we don’t judge” challenge drew and actress!reader do the suspects challenge actress!reader’s reaction to drew’s new hair (+ eyebrows) drew being obsessed with actress!reader for 10 minutes drew and actress!reader having crushes on each other for 10 minutes

full fics

drew and actress!reader’s first premiere as a couple drew and actress!reader in their new house drew and actress!reader at the venice film festival drew and actress!reader talk about the future drew and actress!reader attend a fashion show drew and actress!reader feel the distance drew tells actress!reader how he feels actress!reader and “big, bad boyfriend” drew actress!reader visits drew on the obx set actress!reader and drew go public actress!reader is worried about drew drew and actress!reader shoot an intense scene actress!reader supports drew at his premiere drew’s lockscreen of actress!reader drew saves actress!reader from the paparazzi drew’s live gets interrupted by actress!reader drew and actress!reader argue about their next steps drew helps actress!reader with a wardrobe malfunction paparazzi interrupts drew and actress!reader's walk drew visits actress!reader (+ jealousy ensues) actress!reader attends the golden globes (with a special accessory) drew and actress!reader babysit drew and actress!reader do a q and a paparazzi catches actress!reader’s baby bump actress!reader helps drew rehearse a scene drew and actress!reader take on the snow drew and actress!reader attend their first event following their pregnancy announcement drew and actress!reader’s first valentine’s day drew and actress!reader attend poguelandia drew stands up for actress!reader actress!reader and drew attend the oscars

interview fics

drew and actress!reader read thirst tweets drew and actress!readers on hot ones drew and actress!reader on the kitten interview drew and actress!reader test how well they know each other drew and actress!reader play the vanity fair game show drew tells a story about actress!reader actress!reader calls drew on phoning it in drew and actress!reader take the “rizz quiz” actress!reader reveals what’s on her phone drew and actress!reader do the wired autocomplete interview

moodboards + social media aus

[drew starkey x actress!reader tag] [actress!reader tag] actress!reader's obx character, caroline, masterlist [tag]

[delulugirly7]

Camping Trip

Warnings: Somno, non-con, unprotected sex, creampie, JJ stealing Rafe’s girl, Rafe claiming her anyway 😮‍💨

I didn't want to come on this camping trip but my girlfriend insisted. The idea behind it was appealing; kayaking through the marsh, partying, then camping for the night, then going back to civilization. The cops left us alone as long as we cleaned up our mess before we left. All the way out here, there was no need to worry about disturbing anyone else or getting a noise complaint. I think this was their way of letting us get everything out of our system. The drugs, alcohol, and sex never stopped flowing at these events. Out here we weren't Kooks or Pogues. We were all alike and just trying to forget for a weekend. Everyone was out in the open, naked and fucking. Or drinking. Or smoking. It was the wildest weekend of the year. But it was torture for me now.

I couldn't relax knowing that the one person plaguing my mind was here and she was here with Rafe fucking Cameron. We were supposed to have some sort of truce with Rafe for Sarah. She didn't want the drama and the retaliation that always followed. And sense one of the rules for coming out here was no fighting, my hands were tied. For the most part.

When we'd been loading the kayaks on the water, I'd seen Rafe's tent lying on the sand waiting to be packed so I nonchalantly bent down to grab something and sliced the side with my knife before he came back. He was more pissed off over manual labor than to notice the giant hole. It wasn't until a few hours ago that he finally noticed and threw a fit. Of course he didn't suspect me because I was the one helping them set up camp. Rafe wasn't made for the outdoors like I was so he didn't have a clue. And when I offered to let them share our four person tent, he was hesitant but he agreed. Especially after I mentioned the risk of sand fleas from sleeping outside.

Y/N saw through my bullshit though. I could tell with the way her eyes tracked my every move, narrowing slightly when we'd lock eyes. My girl isn't stupid so why is she hanging out with this moron?

It was getting late by the time Rafe was drunk enough to be tolerable. My girlfriend was currently passed out in the tent, her buzz keeping her that way as I crawled in next to her. Rafe's one stipulation about sharing the tent was that the girls slept in the middle. That was fine but I couldn't bear to wake my girlfriend so I left her on the side, maneuvering myself between her and Y/N. Both girls were in their bikinis since the night air was still pretty hot and humid while I had nothing on but a pair of basketball shorts. Y/N had laid down a while ago but Rafe was passed out by the fire, where he'd stay for now.

I let my eyes descend her body, marking every detail to memory from the scar on her hip to the freckle on her chest. I want to lick every inch of her the cum on her face. She was exquisite and fucking mine.

I moved closer so her side was pressed to my chest, her hand next to the raging hardon in my shorts. I lost myself in watching the way her tits rose and fell with every breath before I finally pulled each scrap of material to the side to reveal her perfect nipples. They were already hard as I gently blew air across them. She didn't stir so I began to circle one with my point finger, willing it to get as hard as possible. I move to the next one, training my eyes on her face while making sure to listen for movements outside. Her thighs clenched together before falling open, welcoming me as I finally flicked her nipple with my tongue.

God, she tasted good.

I was so hard it hurt and her hand was against my dick, the ultimate form of torture. I didn't stop licking and sucking her peaked little bud until her head fell to the side, exposing her throat to me.

I felt like such a fucking creep but I couldn't help it. This girl made me crazy. I needed her in all the worst ways. Everytime I fucked my girlfriend I had to imagine it was this girl just so I could get off. It was wrong but I was only with her to make Y/N jealous.

I leaned into her neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her skin and the shampoo in her hair. I resisted the urge to mark her pretty throat. Rafe would lose his fucking shit and the truce would be over if I left a hickey on her. It was tempting but I pulled back just as she stirred again and her hand brushed against my cock. I sucked in a breath through my nose before reaching down to free myself from my shorts. My cock rested against her hand and I watched as precum wept from the tip, onto her delicate fingers.

I grit my teeth before reaching down to wrap her hand around my cock and slowly use her hand to jerk myself off. I was on the verge of moaning and cumming from this alone so I took her nipple into my mouth again to try and distract myself from the best handsy I'd ever gotten.

Finally, I pulled away and let her hand drop before I moved to the foot of the tent. There was still no movement from outside so I carefully widened her legs further to get a look at her plump, wet pussy, the fabric of her bikini bottoms were damp with her arousal. I positioned myself on my stomach between her thighs and pressed my nose to the fabric, savoring the way she fucking smelled. I needed to get it together or I was going to run out of time.

I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning when I slowly pulled the fabric to the side and found her slick with arousal, just like I knew she would be. She was waxed and so goddamn smooth. I used my hands to open her up and present myself with her clit. The swollen nub was already darkening in color, ready to be sucked.

I stuck my tongue out flat and swiped it from her entrance to her clit, her taste making me almost blow my load right then. I watched her face for signs of movement as I did it again and again. I tried to take my time while I tasted her when really all I wanted to do was feast like a starved man. I needed to die in this pussy.

When I sucked her clit into my mouth and her legs tightened, I stopped, my eyes trained on her unmoving face. I moved lower, teasing her entrance with my tongue and her brows finally pulled together, the first sign of consciousness I'd seen on her.

I thrust my tongue inside her sweet, wet pussy and her toes immediately curled. I couldn't stop fucking her with my tongue. She was so wet that it was running down my chin, onto my chest while it absolutely just poured out of her like a fountain. Finally a soft hum left her lips and I froze for a moment before carefully moving to my knees as I tried to listen for Rafe outside.

"R-Rafe--." She moaned softly, sliding her legs together and turning on her side. Fire blazed through my blood, my hands balling into fists as I grit my teeth so hard, I feared they might shatter. She's dreaming about fucking Rafe.

I didn't think as I rolled her the rest of the way to her stomach and tucked her thong bikini to the side after shoving her legs together. I straddled her body, freeing my cock again and watching it drip all over her nice ass before I guided it through her slick. Pissed off didn't even begin to describe how I was feeling now. It took every ounce of strength I had left to resist the urge to bury my cock in her in one hard thrust but I didn't.

I eased the tip in as I leaned over her back, blood filling my mouth where I've bit my lip. The tight, wet heat of her pussy washed over me, her walls already pulsing as she pulled me in deeper. I leaned down next to her face, moving her hair out of the way as my pelvis became flush with her ass, and kissed the shell of her ear.

"Who's cock is inside you right now?" I can't help but growl, as I start to roll my hips back and forth. Her breathing picks up, her body reacting to mine as I fuck her with short thrusts, attempting to avoid the slapping sound of skin on skin. Her hands fist the sleeping bag next to her head and I grin before looking between our bodies to watch my cock pull out covered in her white, creamy substance before driving back inside her. I lower myself to her back and drag my tongue up her spine, leaving goosebumps all over her skin as I find her ear again.

"Who's fucking you right now?" I growl, her pussy walls quiver hard as she nears her release. Fuck, I'm right there too. I need to pull out. Rafe can't know I was here or I risk throwing away the truce between the Pogues and Kooks but fuck, I don't think the devil himself could stop me right now. A darker part of me wants to mark her insides with my cum just to claim her then watch it drip. Fuck what Rafe thinks.

I cover her hands with my own, her fingers immediately locking with mine in a tight grip. Every inch of her is drawn tight as she approaches her release, her brows pulled together as she fights to maintain the ruse of being asleep. I want to fuck her harder, faster, but I know we’ll get caught if I lose control.

"I should roll you on your back and make you watch as I fuck my cum into you. Sluts like you deserve to be filled up and left." I keep my voice low in her ear and a small gasp leaves her lips, her eyes finally fluttering open to gaze up at me. I'm not sure if she's afraid or pleading. Afraid I'll stop or pleading for me to continue. She looks hot regardless.

"I--." Her whisper is cut off as she cums hard, practically soaking us both as her eyes roll into the back of her head and she trembles beneath me. I growl, driving myself into her harder as cum shoots deep inside her whether I want it to or not. I grab a fistful of her hair, my mouth at her ear as I cum and cum and cum. It's so much that I can't stop.

"Look at me. Look at who's fucking you, who's cum is inside you." I snap in a low voice but she shakes her head, refusing to look at me.

"Look at me or I'll stop. I know you're gonna cum again. Open your fucking eyes and say my name." Her lips tremble just as her eyes snap open and another orgasm washes over her. The fire in her eyes morphs to one of raw desire just as her lips part on a breathless moan and I hear what I've been dying to hear all night.

"J--." Her mouth clamps closed again as she shakes hard beneath me. I fuck her through it until my own body is shaking from overstimulation and I have no choice but slow to a stop.

Her eyes are heavy for a few moments before they narrow on me, that fire back. I lean in to kiss her, wanting to feel her lips just once but she turns her head, jutting out her chin.

“My cum is leaking out of you and you won’t kiss me?” I rasp in her ear, feeling her body tighten and my cock jerks inside her.

“I hate you.” She bites out, watching as I slowly pull out. I can feel we’ve made a mess and for a few seconds I can’t find it in me to give a fuck. I don’t want to pull out. I’m not ready for this to be over. If anything I want to keep going until the sun comes up and we have no choice but to face Rafe.

“You can hate me all you want but you loved every second of it.” I grab Rafe’s towel and clean her up the best I can before she slaps my hand away and does it herself.

“You’re a piece of shit. I thought you were Rafe.” She hisses, grabbing one of Rafe’s shirts and yanking it over her head, her eyes glancing at my sleeping girlfriend that I’d forgotten about.

I open my mouth to argue when I hear steps shuffling in the sand right outside the tent. There’s the distinct sound of vomiting and gagging as we both scramble to right ourselves and appear to be sleeping. I give her my back and quickly throw my arm over my sleeping girlfriend just as the zipper is pulled back.

“Fuck.” I hear Rafe grumble as he drops down on the sleeping bag next to me. There’s shuffling and I hear her gasp. My teeth grind together at the sound of their heavy breathing. He’s so drunk that he’s gonna fuck her with me in here, not even realizing she’s already full of me.

“Rafe..” I hear her whisper then she gasps as he no doubt buries himself inside her.

“God, you’re so wet. Miss me, baby?”

[delulugirly7]

(12/31/24) — dc masterlist

ft. platonic/romantic! yandere characters x gn! reader

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— TRIGGER WARNINGS !

- this is a yandere-centric blog which focuses primarily on soft yanderes. i write nsfw, platonic yandere, angst tropes, and occasionally dark fics. these are all self-indulgent, so i'd rather no criticism nor hate as all my fanfics published are free to read. english is not my first language.

- for further inquiries, such as wanting to be tagged, or any questions regarding my series', please comment below.

✮ — SERIES' MASTERLIST ! ; #series:(series name)

01. — again &. again

(platonic! yandere batfam x gn! neglected reader x romantic! yandere conner kent)

02. — brutus

(again &. again villain au! inspired by arcane) (under construction)

03. — a loving family, an unpalatable desire

(romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic yan! batfam x gn! spouse reader x romantic! yan clark kent w/ platonic yan! superfam)

04. — like him

(platonic! yan al-ghuls x gn! reader x platonic! yan batfam) (uc/discontinued; to be rewritten)

✮ — ONESHOTS, DRABBLES, &. ASKS !

01. — platonic! yan batfam x gn! chronically ill reader

02. — romantic! yan jason

03. — lovefool ; the cardigans ; (yandere! dc characters x gn! reader) ; #series: lovefool

01. — main fic.

02. — socialite! reader.

04. — to you, my greatest passion ; (platonic! yan batfam x gn! traumatized reader)

01. — main fic.

02. — family in every universe.

03. — willing victim trope.

05. — planned fanfics for the future

01. — main link.

02. — poll one.

03. — poll two.

06. — operation dominion ; (yandere! dc characters x gn! isekai'd reader)

01. — concept.

07. — no pain, no gain, right?

01. — main fic.

02. — more concept ideas.

[delulugirly7]

(01/05/25) — a loving family, an unpalatable desire masterlist

ft. romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic yan! batfam x gn! spouse reader x romantic! yan clark kent w/ platonic yan! superfam

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✮ MAIN MASTERLIST ✮

— TRIGGER WARNINGS !

- lowercase writing, nsfw themes, emotional neglect, adultery/cheating, eventual voyeurism, mentions of divorce, other warnings would be added soon.

— SYNOPSIS !

bruce wayne, he's a special man with a special reputation. day in, the crowd sees him as a billionaire, a charitable philanthropist, a playboy, and a father to multiple kids, adopted or not. day out, he's the city's guarded vigilante who spends his night fighting crime for the sake of its protection.

in all his roles, he was damn good at it.

but never at being a husband.

always absent, always busy, never turning his back on his poor spouse, you, whilst his children take it in themselves to never appreciate the effort you've exhausted caring for them.

it shouldn't have been such a surprise that you fell into the arms of a different man after the years of constantly vying for an actual family that loves you.

one day, you're saved by your very own personal hero from the crummy claws of the paparazzi, clark kent, a widowed reporter who have taken it upon himself to shield you from their invasive questions.

from there on out, you became his. and his little family became yours, too.

but not for long, because suddenly, the family you left behind wants you back in their grasp once more. this time, their hold on you won't be so loose anymore.

— CHAPTERS ! ; 00k+ words

00. — new beginnings.

— DRABBLES ! ; #series: loving family, unpalatable desire

before the bell rings (romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic! yan batfam x gn! reader spinoff)

tell your baby, that i'm your baby (platonic! yandere damian wayne x gn! reader x yandere superfam)

planned fanfics

more planned fics

— ASKS ! ; #series: loving family, unpalatable desire

is it an infidelity situation?

how does damian react to jon showing the picture?

— INCORRECT QUOTES !

unorganized fake tweets pt. 1

— FANART !

jon showing damian a photo of reader

a picture of the reader in clark's wallet

before the bell rings fanar ft. feral bruce

— TAGLIST ! ; taglist is under construction!

none so far.

[delulugirly7]

Don't Call Me Kid - Rafe Cameron x Reader series masterlist

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

table of contents:

Prologue (3k words)

Chapter 1 (3.9k words)

Chapter 2 (4.9k words)

Chapter 3 (5.7k words)

Chapter 4 (6.6k words)

Chapter 5: part one (4.8k words) & part two (3.8k words)

Chapter 6: part one (5.3k words) & part two (4.1k words)

Chapter 7 (6.7k words)

Chapter 8: part one (4.1k words) and part two (6.2k words)

Chapter 9: part one (7k words) and part two (coming soon!)

Chapter 10: (coming soon!)

Chapter 11 and Epilogue: (Coming soon!)

bonus content

moodboards and hc's ✨

asks 💭

ramblings and teasers 🦜

Polls 🗣️

(Note: the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, please follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifications 💕)

[delulugirly7]

Someone please help me find this Rafe fic😩

I remember it’s a multi part/chapter fic where the reader goes on this trip/vacation with her sister, topper, rafe, and some other characters and the entire time is really struggling with rafe being there bc back in high school she had this obvious crush on rafe but he had hugely and deeply hurt her so this trip was the first time she’s seen him in years. Reader is trying to avoid him while rafe is groveling and trying to get reader to notice him again. Reader had a slight thing with one of the side characters at the beginning and the reader’s sister has something with topper.

I can remember so many details of this fic but not the name or author 😭😭😭 so if anyone knows, please let me know!!