luvwanda

[luvwanda]

Only Good Thing : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Reader

Summary: There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

Warnings: angst, some fluff and happy ending, mental illness talk, depression/suicidal thoughts, violence, SPOILERS for Thunderbolts*, female reader description, drug abuse talk (if you're struggling with addiction or know someone who is, please visit drughelpline.org)

Word Count: 3,195 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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Bob had claimed it was the nicest shame room he’d encountered yet in his head, but the second that Yelena heard the distant yelling from beneath the floorboards, she knew it wasn’t all he’d cracked it up to be.

The younger version of Bob stood protectively in front of his mother, standing between her and the raging excuse of a father figure before them as he threw plates and cups off the table. His mother cried out that Bob was doing nothing but “making it worse,” even as his father reared back and landed a blow across his cheek. What surprised Yelena then was the slam of the kitchen door, and the small body that was you that came flying in, hitting back against Bob’s father.

“Leave him alone! Don’t touch him!”

She’d turned to look at Bob, and could see the tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched it all play out before him. Memories he’d relived a thousand times over in his head, even when the emptiness of the void hadn’t consumed him.

“I’m sorry,” Bob didn’t say anything to Yelena at her words, simply hiding his face and furiously wiping at his tears. Carefully, as if not to spook him, Yelena lowered herself to the ground beside him. “The girl…who was she?”

“...my best friend,”

The way his voice cracked, the way it seemed to break even further when he said that, gave Yelena pause. She eyed him for a second, before deciding that it was a topic best left alone for the moment.

“What I told you before was wrong, Bob. You can't stop it,” he still wouldn’t look at her, even as she reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “You can't contain it all by yourself. Nobody can. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. And even if it doesn't make the void go away, I promise you it will feel lighter.”

She watched as Bob’s gaze drifted back to that missing piece in the floor, the scene replaying over and over again below them. You flying in, throwing yourself between Bob and his father time after time.

“She always made it lighter,” Bob finally said, still staring down at the younger version of you and him. “She was the only thing that made it lighter.”

“What happened?”

“I left her…” Bob’s voice broke again, another round of tears furiously wiped from his cheeks, before he looked to Yelena. “I don’t want to be here.”

Yelena was back on her feet, tugging gently on his hand to bring him up with her.

“Then try and leave with me. We can figure out a way out together,”

Leaving the Void wasn’t as easy as that, because it simply fought back. The room felt like it had gotten smaller, constraining them, throwing objects across the room in an effort to keep Yelena and Bob trapped there. The curtains came crashing down, the fabric wrapping at each end around each of their necks, cutting off their airways as both Yelena and Bob fought to breathe.

Bob wanted to fight back, he wanted to help Yelena leave. But the sound of your voice grew louder, the sound of your screaming match with his father, and all he could do was shut his eyes and accept it.

He longed to hear your voice again, and if this is what it took, he’d stay here in his own personal hell.

Air rushed back into both of their lungs as Ava appeared in the room, slicing through the curtain around their necks. John and Bucky weren’t far behind, shielding them from the objects flying around the room, before Alexei brought up the rear, ripping a pillow to shreds in what Yelena could only call ‘dramatic fashion.’

“You came for us,” Yelena breathed out, looking around at the rag-tag team that, against her better judgment, she was coming to care about.

“We’re here together, that’s what matters,” Alexei shot the thrown-together team a grin, before turning his sights on Bob. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

With all eyes on him, Bob nervously shook his head.

“I-I don’t know. As far as I know, it’s just uh, it’s just a bunch of infinite rooms,”

“Wait, you told me this was the nicest room you found,” Yelena cut in, receiving a nod from Bob in agreement. “Well…try showing us the worst.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it’s all the plan they had. He led the team toward the stairs that led out of the attic of his childhood home, rushing down them. Bursting through the door at the bottom of the stairs should have brought him into the kitchen, it always had.

When the team stepped through, they were standing in the middle of the street, the sun having set already. They’d all glanced at one another before turning to Bob, who stood rigid with his eyes focused down the alleyway beside them

No more than 16, and Bob looked like a mess. He’d been propped up against the dingy brick wall of the alley in back of his favorite scoring spot, whether put there by himself or his dealer, he didn’t know, but if there had been anyone else there, they were already long gone.

The ground around him was covered in empty syringes. One of his shoes was missing, long gone somewhere down the alley, most likely. Bob could barely breathe, his chest heaving as he tried to suck in enough air to breathe, simply staring off down the alleyway before him, seeing god knows what in his own head.

His view was interrupted by you, 15, maybe 16, but still a child yourself. You were kneeling down in front of him now, doing everything in your power to avoid the syringes and broken glass littering the ground around Bob’s body. Pain and sadness were written across your face, clear as day.

“Robbie…”

“Is…is that you?” his head lulled to the side, barely being able to focus on you. He laughed through his inability to breathe, something that seemed to break your heart even more. “Thought…thought you had…had practice.”

“I left it when you didn’t answer your phone,” you adjusted your school backpack on your shoulders, reaching out for him as your hands found his arms. “God, Robbie, you’re burning up. Come on, you’re coming home with me-”

“No, I don’t want to go-” Bob struggled back against you, but your grip remained firm on his arms.

“Bob, you can’t stay out here-”

“I said I don’t want to go!”

It was like slow motion, the way Bob had shoved you away, the way you’d gone clattering to the pavement behind you, hissing as you caught yourself on your bare hands. That sound, that hiss of pain, seemed to sober Bob up for even a moment, able to fully look at you in front of him. Tears immediately glistened in his eyes at the scrapes on your hands, the slight bit of blood staining your skin.

“Okay, Bob-”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to!” he was started to panic, shaking his head wildly as his heart beat erratically in his chest. “I-I hurt you, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-”

You’d leaned forward, leaning in front of him still as you grabbed him by the cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothingly over his skin as you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I know. I know you didn’t, Robbie, it’s okay. It’s okay…just come home with me,”

It was John’s hand squeezing Bob’s shoulder that broke him from his stupor, that tore his eyes from the sight of teenage your dragging teenage him down the alley, high off his ass on whatever the hell meth he’d scored that night.

Bob glanced up at John, and saw the flicker of sympathy float through John’s eyes, before Bob’s own mind seemed to attack them again. The wind picked up, throwing the park benches across the street their way as Alexei led the group down the road, busting through the wall of the gas station down the road as everyone fell through.

Yelena groaned, dragging herself to her knees, as she realized there was carpet below them. She heard Bob’s breath catch as she glanced over at him, at the fear in his eyes.

“Bob?”

“No…no, no, no, please. Please, not this…”

“You’re…you’re leaving?”

The crack in your voice had Bob almost backtracking on his words, but he couldn’t. He needed to do this, for himself…for you.

Bob was barely 22, and you were barely 21 in this moment. Bob knew he was holding you back, even if you never said it. You were brilliant, a genius, and could’ve had a scholarship to any college across the country, and finally leave Florida like you always told him you wanted to. Instead, you’d stayed here, attended college right here in the state you despised, all to be with him.

Your apartment was dingy, barely passing just about every single health code the state had, and Bob knew it was killing you to keep it. He couldn’t hold down a job to save his life, his last one being a sign twirling chicken for the summer. On the other hand, you were working yourself to the bone, attending classes and working two part-time jobs just to keep a roof over both of your heads.

You did it because you loved him, because you’d loved him since the moment you’d met on the swingset in Kindergarten. Bob loved you too, more than anything else in this world…that’s why he had to leave.

“It’s not fair to you,” he’d mumbled out, scratching at his arm even though his long-sleeved sweatshirt was keeping him from rubbing the skin underneath raw. It was something that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “You…you’ve done all this for me. It’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair is to be bombarded with this the second I come back from class,” there was an edge to your voice, even as he heard it break when you took a step toward him, barely in the door. Bob stood next to the couch, his backpack beside him, just watching you. “...where would you go?”

“Malaysia,” Bob answered quietly, afraid to look at you. “There, uh, I heard about this medical study. It’s supposed to help…make you better. You…you deserve better.”

Deserve better than him. That’s what he meant, and you both knew it. He didn’t believe he deserved your love, that you deserved more than him.

You stepped up to him, letting your bag drop to the ground haphazardly, as your hands came up to cup his cheeks.

“You don’t have to leave,” your voice cracked as you pleaded with him. “I don’t care what you think I deserve- I want you, Robbie. I’ve always wanted you, no matter what challenges come with it, because I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please…please don’t leave me.”

He didn’t say anything, and you’d taken the chance to bring him in for a kiss. Bob had barely closed his eyes, kissing you back gently, before forcing himself away, having tasted the salty tears on your lips.

“Don’t…don’t wait for me,”

You’d taken in a single shaky breath.

“...I’ll always wait for you,”

It took Bucky and Yelena to pull the sobbing Bob in their hands away from the scene before them, but his eyes stayed locked onto the scene until it was fully gone. The way he’d left, the way you’d fallen to your knees sobbing, and he wanted to yell at his old self to never leave you.

He’d found himself thinking about all those moments as he sat above the Void, the manifestation of his pain and depression, trying to beat the life out of it. He’d ignored everything around him, the shouts of his new friends trying to stop him, your voice and your face the only things at the forefront of his mind.

Bob wasn’t even sure when he’d stopped punching the Void, when he’d fallen back into the arms of his friends and simply cried. The only thing that got through to him was Yelena’s voice in his ear.

“We’re here, it’s okay. She loves you, Bob…she loves you. Come back to her,”

Even in the coming weeks, since being named The New Avengers, the team couldn’t help but look upon Bob with pity. He didn’t remember what had transpired that day in the Void of his mind, but everyone else did. They couldn’t unsee it, even if they tried to, but no one had the heart to ask Bob about it, to make him relieve it all.

Yelena could see it, though, every time someone on the team made a vague mention of something that was even remotely related to you. Florida, college, the team found ways to test the waters, to see if Bob would talk about it. He never did, they could just see the shadow of pain that crossed over his face, the way he slinked away from them all like a puppy who’d just been scolded.

That’s how Yelena found herself, months later, in Tampa, Florida.

“Part of your healing journey is learning that, for every ten steps forward, there will always be another ten steps back,” the ex-Widow was leaning against the doorframe silently across the room, watching the way you addressed those sitting in the circle around you in the most gentle tone. She’d heard that tone before, the same one you’d used on Bob in each of those memories. “I’ve seen it first hand…with the man I love. Every time I believed he was getting better, every time he thought he was, we fell back into the same patterns over and over again.”

“Why do we do that?” an older man across the circle spoke up, his voice wavering. “Why do we fall back into these…these patterns?”

“Because your addictions have become a part of you,” you leaned back against the table behind you, sending the man a small smile. “Addictions are self-destructive, and because of that, they become part of us. Kicking your habit, leaving it in the past, can feel like losing part of yourself. Subconsciously, you’re afraid of change, so you fall back into patterns because in order to truly enter recovery, you have to change.”

“How’d you help him?” a younger girl, one that Yelena guessed was no older than you’d been in that Florida alley that day, spoke up quietly. “That man you love?”

The room had gone quiet for a moment before you spoke up.

“I loved him. I loved him through it all. Even when he didn’t want my love, when he felt he didn’t deserve it…I just continued to love him. I’ve never stopped,”

It wasn’t long before you ended the session, saying a personal goodbye to each and every person who had attended that day. When everyone else was gone, you were left silently organizing your desk to leave for the night, and that was the moment Yelena decided to speak up.

“What kind of degree do you need to do…stuff like this?”

You’d jumped slightly, thinking everyone had already left for the night. You cocked your head when you looked back at the blonde woman behind you, and kept an eye on her as you leaned back against your desk.

“Psychology, but there are a lot of different options,” you shrugged, and Yelena could tell your guard was up around her. She was happy about this; at least you had good survival instincts around strangers. “I wasn’t sure which field I wanted to go into, but Psychology offered a lot of different options.”

“So what, loving this…’ex’ of yours sent you down the addiction counseling track?”

Yelena saw you bristle at her comment, standing up straighter as you eyed her.

“Maybe…I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Yelena Belova,” the blonde introduced herself finally, with a small smirk. “Part of The New Avengers.”

It could’ve been a lie, but something in your head clicked, having seen a headline days ago about The New Avengers. You believed her, surprisingly.

“Sorry, guess I didn’t recognize you,” your shoulders relaxed at the information, as you shrugged. “I don’t watch the news much anymore, but I thought I saw something about that. Congratulations, I guess.”

“Thanks, it’s…new territory,” Yelena replied.

There was silence for a moment before you spoke.

“And what is it that an Avenger wants with me?”

Yelena paused, trying to find the right way to broach the subject.

“Well, the simple answer would just be…Bob,”

Bob found himself spending a lot of time in the common room of the new tower in New York, the one still slightly under renovation. Most of the floors were done, but Valentina’s construction crews were still working on a lot of other ones. Bob found the common room the quietest, depending on the time of day and where the rest of his new friends were. He enjoyed the view of the city, of watching the cars down below as they moved throughout the city.

There was a knock across the room as Bob turned on his heel, smiling softly as Yelena stood in the doorway across the room. He cocked his head, seeing the grin on her face widen, before she stepped to the side.

“...Robbie?”

His breath caught in his throat the second he’d laid eyes on you. You, the only person he thought of day in and day out. You, the only good thing he’d ever been given in life.

The woman he’d left behind, his biggest regret.

Bob met you halfway across the room, as if on autopilot, and your shaking hands immediately found his face. Bob’s eyes shut for a second, leaning into the touch he’d missed for so long, before looking at you.

“Are you…are you real?”

You nodded, trying to push down the sob threatening to escape from deep inside of you.

“I’m real,” your voice was shaky, as were your hands, he could feel it against his skin. “I’m real, baby, I promise.”

“I left you,” a sob escaped Bob, his own shaky and nervous hands finding your waist as he gripped you, desperately trying to ground himself in that moment with you. “I left you- I-I’m so sorry-”

You shushed him, shaking your head over and over.

“Don’t apologize, Robbie. You never have to apologize to me,” a small laugh of disbelief left you in that moment. “You’re here…you’re okay…you’re okay, right?”

Bob wasn’t sure what the answer to that question really was. Was he okay? No, and he probably wouldn’t be for a while. But in this moment, with the only good thing he’d ever had back in his arms…

“I’m okay…I’m okay,”

You’d pulled him into a kiss without another moment of hesitation, one he gladly reciprocated as you both cried. The second you’d pulled away for even a moment, Bob had buried his head in your neck, sobbing as he held you as tightly as humanly possible, mumbling the same thing over and over.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[luvwanda]

heavy | joaquin torres x reader

summary: you’ve worked with joaquin a lot over the years, from the military to his career as the falcon, as his physical therapist. as easy as joaquin was as a patient, it was hard. hard because he was such a shameless flirt, hard because he was so charming—but you’ve always been friends and nothing more. after the events of the red hulk, joaquin finds himself having a harder time recovering than usual despite having you by his side. a slip of the tongue leads to a fight that leaves the both of you tense, but all is forgiven when you find yourselves in an attack and confessions come to a head. 

warnings: mdni. porn with a LOT of plot however the story could be a stand alone without the smut so i added a cut before the smut happens (on that note, reader is anatomically fem), barely proofread by me (everybody say thank you @sortagaysortahigh for reading and giving feedback), post!cabnw, inappropriate doctor patient relationship, pre-established friendship, angsty joaquin, mention of previous injury (reader’s and joaquin’s), cursing, grumpy x sunshine if you squint, they’re under attack at some point ahh, slowburn…?, this story is in second and third pov cus its whatever i feel in the moment i fear, “say my name” trope, they fucked before confessing any real feelings mb, oral fem!receiving, p in v, spit as lube, missionary, doggy, ass slapping, light choking fem!receiving, dirty talk, kind of loser!joaquin?, slight overstimulation, creampie

word count: 12.6k

-

You’ve worked with Joaquin countless times over the years. His medical rap sheet cost you more in printer paper than you could truly afford and your computer lags every time you try to pull his chart up electronically…but it was never something you could truly complain about. Afterall, it was Joaquin. Sweet, shameless flirt Joaquin. 

Sometimes it was a quick bounce back, a simple video chat where you outlined instructions for him to follow. “Non-strenuous exercise, Torres,” you’d emphasize hopelessly. You practically watch the words go in one ear and out the other. His eyes clearly averted on another screen, his mouth slightly agape in focus. “Uh-huh. ‘Course, no prob, doc,” before your screen went black. 

Other times, it’d take longer than he wanted, weeks before he was out and onto the next wound-awaiting mission. “Slow down, tough guy,” a gentle hand placed atop his, pushing the resistance band back down. All he does is shoot you a lopsided smile, flashing his dimples at you as he asks, “Yeah? You think I’m tough, doc?” 

Working with Joaquin was easy, so maybe you were a bit naive after the events of the Red Hulk for believing that it would be the same as before. 

“I’m getting kind of tired of seeing your face, Torres,” you step into his hospital room, hands in the pockets of your white coat. “You’re looking a little worse than usual.” 

You watch his jaw shift, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. The faint bulge only did so much to hold back his light chuckle. “Hey doc. It’s good to see you.” 

“Yeah, I wish I could say the same.” Your hand comes up to grip his jaw, turning his head to the side so you could take a closer look at the bruising and stitches on his face. Not your area of expertise in the least, but it doesn’t take a medical degree to know it was a rough battle.  

“Ah, come on. This? I’ve never felt better.” His dimples deep as he bore what only could be described as a shit-eating grin. 

“Mm,” you can only let out a hum of disapproval as you pull the computer station in his room closer to you. The keyboard clacks obnoxiously as you put in your credentials, bypassing any security measure that stands between you and his information. That’s what you get for taking on the Falcon as a patient, you suppose. Friendship be damned—Joaquin was a pain in the ass. You try to ignore his gaze, burning into the side of your face as you work. Without even glancing through your peripherals, you already know what he looks like. Eyes wide, gaze attentive, as he focused all of his attention on you. It made your skin tingle and heart beat faster in a way you didn’t want to think about. 

You unconsciously let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when his scans finally popped up. “Alright, let’s see.” You do your best to keep your expression neutral, but you can’t completely stop the small frown that has the corner of your lips turning downward as you scroll through pages and pages of images. 

Leaning towards you from his bed, Joaquin tries to peek at the screen. “That bad, huh?” 

You pull your lips tight, doing your best to eradicate any sign of displeasure on your face. “Not at all.” 

Joaquin casts you a skeptical look. 

You let out a puff of air, eyes closing for a moment before pushing the computer away. Hands on the railing of his hospital bed, you admit, “I heard about what happened, and considering the fall you took, I expected worse.” Your tone is gentle, maintaining eye contact, “But…it’s not great, either.” 

With his best effort, Joaquin straightens up in the bed. Shifting uncomfortably, he asks, “Alright so what’s that mean for me, then?” 

You hesitate, racking your brain for the right words. His look of impatience prompts you to just be honest. 

“It means you’re not going to be The Falon for a long time.” 

-

He starts off optimistic, business as usual for Joaquin, but you start to read through him soon enough.  

“Torres, stop that,” you hiss, slapping his hand away from the buttons on the treadmill. 

“That was lightwork. Come on, ramp up the speed a bit, doc. I can take it,” he insists, clapping his hands together as he tries to exceed the light jog you set for him. 

You let out a sigh before gradually slowing his speed down to zero. 

“What, that’s it?” he turns to you with his arms outstretched in mock disbelief. He continues to goad you into letting him do a more difficult exercise, insisting that he can handle it. His words hold little bark, though, as he forces them out in between heavy breathes. You place your hands on his waist, over the trainer you have tightened around his torso and help guide him off the machinery. 

He doesn’t put up a fight, and the two of you ignore the droplets of sweat lining his forehead. 

“That was good work,” you murmur, scribbling down some notes. Throwing him a bone, you add, “You went a further distance than I thought your body could handle at this point. That's a positive progression.” 

When you’re greeted with nothing but silence, you cast a look over in his direction. He leans against the railing that lines the wall, his hands resting on the bar. His chest continues to heave, slower now, but not quite steady. You can’t help the ache in your chest when you catch his somber expression, eyes lost in deep thought. 

“I know it’s a lot.” 

He doesn’t answer you at first. You start to think that he didn’t hear you, but then you watch as his jaw clenches. 

“I know it’s different from the last times we’ve gone through this. Taking longer than you want—” 

But just when you think you’ve gotten through to him, he shakes his head and wipes the grim expression of his face, blowing out a puff of air. “What? This?” Joaquin lets out a less than convincing laugh. “No. It’s fine.”

“Torres—” 

“No, really.” With a grunt, he pushes himself off the bar and you hold back a grimace, restraining yourself from stepping forward to help him. It would only make things worse right now. “I’m fine,” he continues. He ignores the look on your face as he steps closer, the drawn in eyebrows and your pouting lips that are almost enough for him to forget the dilemmas he’s in. He hates how worried you look. 

“I’ll see you next session, doc.” He heads for the door before you can get another word in, but not before looking back and throwing a wink in your direction. 

-

It had been a long day. Someone at work finished the last of your creamer and left the empty carton in the fridge, your patients were especially frustrated and took it out on you, and the bottom of your maxi skirt had gotten caught on some equipment, causing a huge tear. 

You’ve just about had it, so you sit in the silence of your car with your eyes closed. It was dark out; you got out of work so late today. You sigh again at yet another reminder of how terrible your day has gone. On any other day, by now, you would’ve been deeply nestled into your bed already, freshly showered and fed. The whine of frustration bubbles past your lips involuntarily. 

Peace is had for all of two minutes before your phone buzzes. Naturally, it’s ignored, your lip twitching in irritation and your eyes stay closed in determination. But then your phone buzzes again. And again. And again. 

You can’t help but curse as you riffle through your bag, praying it’s just some to-do list reminder.  

Notification Center: 5 new messages from Torres

“What the hell?” you whisper to yourself. 

Torres: Hi 

Torres: Need your help 

Torres: Did something bad

Torres: Bring an arm brace. 

Torres: Please…😀

“Oh, Christ,” you curse, rolling your eyes so hard you feel a headache start to form. You take five seconds to pity yourself before your pathetic excuse of a car roars to life and you’re down the road, following your maps to the location Joaquin shared. 

-

“Hello?” you call out, stepping into the entryway of Joaquin’s apartment. The spare key he told you about hangs from your hand and you drop it into what looks like the designated key bowl. “Torres?” 

Your eyes inadvertently take in the space, curiously peering at his decorations. In front of you sits a blue, worn-in couch that seems to be well-loved, adorned with a bunch of throw blankets that aren’t really cohesive in color. 

Spinning around the living room, you find a large TV mounted across from the couch that warranted a small chuckle. Unsurprisingly, it seems to be the fanciest piece of furniture he owns; he’s the biggest sports fan you know. In between the space sits a cute coffee table, an unfinished coffee mug sits on the table alongside a phone charger. 

A warmth blooms in your chest at how human it all was. Before you can move on to any pictures or any other space in the home, a loud voice yells, “In here!”

You snap out of your daze, the weight of the arm brace suddenly reminding you why you were even there in the first place. Rushing past his kitchen, you continue until you bypass a few doors. Unsure which room he’s in, you call out his name again. 

At the end of the hallway, light spills out as Joaquin opens the door to his bedroom. The look on his face is sheepish, and he gives you a boyish, wide smile. “Thanks for coming by.” 

“House calls aren’t really part of my payroll, you know.” 

“Well,” his brow rises and face scrunches into a look of false calculation. “I figured if there was any patient you’d break the rules for, it’d be me. I heard I’m your most charming one, after all.” 

You greet his wink and tongue click with an eye roll, but before you get the chance to reply, Joaquin finds himself trying to lean against his doorframe. A loud hiss fills the air as his left hand comes up to clutch his right shoulder. An embarrassed look is sent your way. “Maybe, uh, not as charming, um, right now…don’t freak out.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath and opens his door further, a silent invitation for you to come in. 

You glare at him as you pass the threshold of his room, maintaining eye contact as you shake your head. “You’re actually the worst of my patients, you know that?” 

“The worst?” he exclaims in genuine shock. “Wow, okay.” His uninjured arm clutches his heart. “Now I’m wounded in more ways than one—” 

You wish you could say you heard the rest of his ramblings, but his words start to trail off as you step into his room. You’re suddenly engulfed by the smell of him and it’s making you…dizzy. The unmade bed, the hoodie draped over the back of his desk chair, the mess on the nightstand, standing there you suddenly realize how intimate it all was. His musky cologne and the scent of fresh laundry invades your senses and you start feeling nervous.

A lump swells in your throat, so you clear it, letting out what you hoped was a subtle cough to shake the feeling. 

By the time you regain focus, you realize how uncharacteristically quiet Joaquin’s being behind you. You force yourself to turn his way. That was when you took in the state of him. Standing by the door, his right arm is cradled in his left as he carries a nervous expression.

“Oh, what did you do!” you chastise, all other thoughts billowing away as you rush towards him. 

“I was doing some light exercise—” he lets out a yelp of pain when you press against his shoulder and you look up at him with another glare. 

“Just a few pushups,” Joaquin’s voice gets higher, already defending his careless actions. “It wasn’t,” he hisses as you adjust him again, “anything I can’t handle.”

You cast him another disparaging look, causing him to shut his mouth. 

“Torres, are you trying to make my job harder?” you let out a groan. “You’re only supposed to do only light movements on non-PT days. Definitely no exercise involving your arm or back muscles.” 

“No pain, no gain, ‘miright?” his laugh turns into a groan of pain when you harshly press an ice pack onto his shoulder. “Hold this,” you harshly instruct. His hand comes up to grab the cold pack tentatively, all while avoiding eye contact. 

“And it’s not funny,” you scowl. “You’re disregarding my advice and look where it’s gotten you.” You guide his arm into the brace. It’s a bit tactless, the way you’re talking to him, but your patience has completely dissipated this late into the day. Maybe tough love is what he needs to hear. “You have to stop pushing yourself like this and just trust me.” Your own frustrations clearly start to bleed through. 

A long stretch of silence fills the space between the two of you, but you’re too focused on patching Joaquin up to truly notice. It seems to eat at him, though, because after a few minutes of velcro tearing and your manhandling, he speaks up. 

“Could do it before.” It’s so quiet, you almost miss it. 

“What?” you ask in exasperation, not truly hearing what he said. 

“Last week.” 

You pause your movements, waiting for him to continue. 

Joaquin’s face scrunches in hesitation, thoughts running amok through his mind as he debates whether or not to keep going. “After physical therapy last week I did fifty. No pain at all,” his brows raise in feign disbelief alongside a humorless chuckle. He purses his lips, turning his face away from you as he whispers, “Couldn’t even get through ten today.” 

Your eyes close, God, how insensitive could you be? Taking a step back from him, you take in how upset he looks. His shoulders ripple with tension as the nails of his right hand clenched and dug into his palm before unclenching, a grounding technique he told you about from his military days. 

Placing a hand on the bicep on his non-injured side in an action quietly asking him to stop, you try to meet his eyes with a tilted head. “Hey, I mean…progress isn’t always linear, Torres. You can’t always—” 

The way he shrugs you off is sudden, he turns his back to you and merely casts a sullen glance at you over his shoulder. With a shake of his head, he begs, “Please, don’t. Don’t start doing that.” 

“Look, PT is always really hard. And we talked about it, this time, you’re not going to come back as fast as you did before. You need to give your body more time—”

“How much more time?” his voice rises. “I mean, at the very,” Joaquin starts to stutter and his eyes scrunch in anger, “At the very least I shouldn’t be going backwards.” 

“I know…it feels like you’re going backwards,” you carefully place your words, “But you are getting better. It’s only seems hard right now—” 

“Yeah, I get that,” he cuts you off, his tone much harsher than you’re used to. “You don’t have to constantly tell me that, I know.” 

“Alright, fine.” You can’t help that your tone, too, takes a bit of an icy turn, too. “Then I shouldn’t have to explain to you how active recovery works and if you just tried to be a little more patient—” 

“I know that too!” he hisses, “I get that it's supposed to be hard but,” he blows out a breath. “It shouldn’t…it shouldn’t be this damn hard.” Joaquin starts pacing, his right hand running through his unkempt curls. “I’m doing your exercises—”

“But you’re not following the rules,” you defend. “If you actually listened instead of pushing yourself for things you aren’t ready for—” 

“Or maybe you just don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” Joaquin shouts as he buries his face into the palm of his right hand before pinching the space above his nose and between his eyes.  

The words strike you harder than you expect, and you can’t help the way your mouth parts in surprise. “‘I don’t...?” Your sentence starts off as a quiet whisper, merely repeating the words Joaquin threw in your face, but soon changes to anger as the meaning behind what he says truly sinks in. “I ‘don’t know what the hell I’m doing?’” you sneer. 

The sound of your outrage fills the air, and Joaquin snaps his head up. It only takes one look at your face for him to shut his eyes and breathe out through his nose. Wetting his lips, he starts speaking before opening his eyes, “Shit. Wait, I didn’t mean—” 

To your mortification, your eyes start to burn. “You know what I do know, Torres,” you cut him off. “I know that you called me here. I know that you called me here and I showed up for you, like I do every single time. I know that it’s hard,” you can’t help the hint of mockery in your voice. “Believe it or not I do get it. The only one here who doesn’t understand is you, because you’re too damn stubborn to admit that you need more time. You’d rather hurt yourself more, just to prove something.” You huff, turning your back to him, “And I’m not just going to stand here, waiting to watch you crash and burn. You can figure it out your damn self, Torres. I’m done.”  

The sound of his bedroom door slams behind you and his front door follows in a similar fashion soon after. Chest heaving, you lean against the entrance to his apartment as the adrenaline flees from you. It leaves you with your head in your hands. “Fuck,” you murmur to yourself. 

-

“I shouldn’t have let her leave,” Joaquin continues his ramble to a less than interested Sam. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam replies, voice monotone. It was his only contribution to the conversation thus far, his attention more-so occupied on polishing some equipment. 

“I didn’t mean what I said. It was something stupid that just slipped out. Heat of the moment, y’know?” Joaquin pauses mid-scrolling, swiveling in his chair to face Sam. “She knows that…right?” he scratches his chin. 

A loud sigh and the clink of metal hitting the table makes Joaquin’s ears perk up. He takes in Sam’s tense back and the way he throws his head back in obvious annoyance.  

“Man, I don’t know what she knows.” Sam finally puts in his two cents. Chin tilting down, Sam looks up at his friend with a deadpan expression. “You talk. A lot.” 

Joaquin’s face scrunches in protest, head jerking back in offense, “I mean—” 

“You’ve been talking for half an hour, dude.” Sam retaliates before Joaquin can argue, left hand pointing up at the clock on the wall. “At some point, you went on about, like, Messi leaving Barca and how that was the same as her walking out on you? I don’t,” Sam sighs loudly, “I don’t know.” 

“Dude, that was a big deal! And it was a metaphor—” 

“Well, she’s not Messi, is she?” Sam places his hands on his hips, face twisted in annoyed disbelief. “And last I checked, you don’t have a billion-dollar contract.” He turns back to the work at hand whilst murmuring, “God knows the government barely pays us to keep this place running,” his hand waves nonchalantly through the air. 

“I don’t need a billion dollar contract,” Joaquin huffs, the wheels of his chair squeaking as he turns back around to face his array of monitors. The sound of keys clacking ensues as Joaquin returns to work, but his mind continues to stray elsewhere as he murmurs absentmindedly to himself, “I just need to figure out how to get her to talk to me again.” 

“Hope you can figure it out soon ‘cause you got about thirty seconds.” Sam’s response surprises Joaquin, not realizing his mentor had even heard him. 

Once the initial shock wears off, Joaquin finds his voice. “Wait, what?” 

“Hello?” The sound of someone so sweetly familiar greets him.

Joaquin’s chair swivels again, but the source of his attention is directed not to Sam this time, but to you. “Hey,” Joaquin laughs breathlessly, “Hi. Uh, what are you doing here?” 

“We fought, Torres. I didn’t die,” you respond sarcastically. 

“Right,” Joaquin laughs obnoxiously. You and Sam share a look. “No, I just, uh, didn’t expect you to see you here…so soon…” 

“Well, despite what you might think of my skills, you’re still my patient.” 

Joaquin winces. 

“You might have been able to skip PT and ghost me for a week, but I can’t let you off the hook for your reassessment.” Your knuckles rap against the iPad you’re holding. “Government orders.” 

“That’s today?” Joaquin squirms in his seat, face going pale. 

“One every month.” You avert your gaze from his, shuffling on your feet as the interaction grows awkward. “I’ll be in the med bay,” your tone softens. “See you in a bit.” 

Joaquin takes a bit too long to respond, shouting after you a beat after you’ve already set to leave. “Yeah, I’ll meet you there!” 

You slowly cast a glance over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before exiting without another word. 

“Smooth.” Sam inserts. 

“Shut up.” 

“Real smooth.” 

-

Joaquin sits quietly on the exam table with his hands clasped between his knees. The crinkly paper tore the second he tried to take a seat and is only now pinned down under the weight of his thighs. Other than the chuckle and head shake from you, the two of you have yet to exchange any real words since he’s walked into the cold, sterile room. 

He’s nervous for more reasons than one, and Joaquin can’t tell what’s killing him more: the reassessment or the unknown between the two of you. 

Hands rubbing against his thigh, Joaquin lets out a big breath before blurting, “I’m sorry about the last week.” 

You look up from the tablet you’ve been scrolling through, but before you can respond, he continues in a rambling tone. “I didn’t mean what I said. It was stupid,” he murmurs. 

The sound of your shoes squeak against the linoleum as you approach him, stopping just before his bed. Looking up at you, his eyes are wide, irises swimming with remorse as he admits, “I was just frustrated, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re angry,” you sigh, your tone carrying a tone that indicates you’re admitting this more for Joaquin’s sake than yours—he needs to hear it more than you do. “I get it.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay.” 

“No.” You admit, but at the sight of his absolute guilt, his top teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as he stares up at you, you can’t help but give him a playful eye roll and smile. “No it doesn’t.” 

At the sight of your cold facade cracking, Joaquin’s face slowly emerges into a smile of his own. It’s hopeful on his end, but you don’t shut it down, and that’s all he needs right now. 

“Now let’s just see if your shoulder is as apologetic as you are.” 

The reminder of what they’re doing there sends a swarm of butterflies through Joaquin’s stomach, but he bears his smile all the same. “Haven’t done anything I’m not ‘spose to.” It’s a lame attempt at appeasing you, but Joaquin considers it a win either way when he catches the tiniest grin slip through on your face. 

You remove his brace, humming in approval as you guide Joaquin through simple shoulder exercises to test his healing process. 

Joaquin catches your gaze through your lashes. “What?” he asks quietly. 

“I’m almost impressed, Torres.” 

Before he can respond, a bright red light begins flashing throughout the room. A shrill alarm blaring makes the both of you jump, and Joaquin instinctively stands at the sound, grabbing your arms as the two of you begin looking around. 

“What the hell is that?” you question, shouting over the alarm. 

The sound of footsteps pound down the hallway, shouts and yells causing a commotion that leaves your head spinning. 

“Come on, we gotta go,” is all Joaquin can offer as he drags you out of the med bay. You have no choice but to follow as his grip remains firm. You don’t question his authority as he pushes you in the opposite direction of the stream of people running for the exits. 

“Cap!” Joaquin draws Sam’s attention from down the hallway. “What’s going on?” 

“Compounds under attack,” Sam barely gets the words out, his speed remaining consistent as he sprints toward the exit. “Stay put, get to the lower levels,” the last of his words fade, barely audible over the sirens. 

“Let’s go.” Joaquin urges, though he doesn’t give you much of a choice. Pushing you ahead of him, he cradles your head as he strongarms the crowd. The two of you force your way through, though you’re not quite sure where you’re going. “Turn here,” you hear him shout over the alarm.

You have only a second to adjust to the new setting before Joaquin shouts, “Keep moving!” 

The corridor hits a deadend and Joaquin reaches past you to shove the stairwell. The two of you rush downward, the dim, flickering lights making your heart beat faster in your chest. You can’t help the scream that escapes when a loud explosion occurs overhead, the ground shaking below you. For a moment, you lose your balance and you close your eyes to brace for impact. Stumbling, you expect to take a turn for the worse when a steady arm wraps around your waist. 

“You okay?” Joaquin’s voice is hushed against your ear, and it grounds you for a moment. 

“Yeah.” You quickly nod, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “You?” 

Joaquin doesn’t answer, instead, he pushes you forward again. “We’re almost there,” he reassures as you two round the last set of stairs. 

-

The alarm sounds distant now, almost acting like background noise in the cold, concrete basement. The sound of some mysterious liquid dripping in the background is much more prominent. It seems only the two of you are down here, and you made a joke about how everyone’s probably bunkered down in some fancy, state of the art basement and not the humid atrocity the two of you are in, and Joaquin just laughed. “There’s only one basement, mi corazón.”

Now, the two of you share a random wooden crate, leaning on each other in silence. 

“It’s been so long.” You break through the silence. “Do you think everything’s okay?” 

You can hear the sound of Joaquin’s rhythmic tapping against the wood, and you sit in contemplation as you await his answer. 

“I don’t know.” He’s honest. A brief pause later and he continues, “But if Sam’s out there, then it’ll be alright. He always figures it out.” 

You let his words settle over you for a bit before the gears in your mind start to turn, leading you down a different pathway. If your lack of response perturbs Joaquin, he doesn’t show it, the tapping continuing in an obscure pattern.

“You…didn’t run out there,” you state, voice laced with hesitation as the words fall through pursed lips. Joaquin’s tapping stops. Again, silence stretches between the two of you and you can hear your blood rushing in your ears. You can’t help but sneak a glance at him through your peripherals, and at the sight of a sharp, clenched jaw and a tense side profile, your lips turn downward into a frown. 

He finally exhales through his nose. “No, I didn’t.” 

Biting your lip, you tread lightly as you continue. “You always run toward the fight.” Throughout physical therapy, during missions, as the Falcon—all the years you and Joaquin have known each other run through your mind. He’s never been one to walk away. 

Joaquin breathes through his nose again, a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Not this time.” 

The two of you fall quiet again, only the sound of breathing fills the space. So much time had passed, you were sure that was all Joaquin had to say. It startles you when he starts again. 

“Before…” he trails off. Now it was his turn to bite his lower lip in hesitation. Joaquin looks down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, “You said something about, um, ‘getting it’?”

It takes your brain a second to register what he means, but once you realize he’s referring to your words during the fight, you lag. The question he’s trying to ask leaves you feeling uncomfortable. Deflecting, you joke, “Oh, are you referring to when I was putting you in place?” 

Joaquin hangs his head, laughing. “Yeah,” he nods. “When you were putting me in my place.” He turns to look at you, wetting his lips before giving you a close-mouthed, dimple-full smile. God, he’s so pretty, it was intoxicating. 

His eyes flicker to your lips for a brief moment and you involuntarily part them. Joaquin’s smile slowly drops, along with his voice as he continues. “It just sounded like you meant something more than just being on the job.” 

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, thumping so loud you can hear it in your ears and you’re scared he can, too. He’s unraveling you, bit by bit, and you don’t have the strength to stop him.  

“Yeah,” you whisper. You shift away from Joaquin, and for a second he panics, thinking that he’s crossed a line. But then the sound of shuffling fabric fills the room, and Joaquin leans back, giving you space as you pull up the sleeve of your pants. 

A soft finger points at your knee. Leaning close again, his eyes close in on a scar—faded, but long and jagged. His eyes lock with yours, and he takes in the way you’ve been watching him. 

“Played soccer when I was a kid,” your confession is quiet. “I loved it. And I was good, too.” Your emphasis on the word ‘good’ cracks a hole in Joaquin’s chest. Even though you’re looking at him, he recognizes that somewhere in your eyes, you’re far away, reminiscing on this past version of yourself. “Got a full ride to my dream school to play on their team. Then boom.”  You pop your lips. “ Tore my ACL two weeks before graduation.”

Joaquin just watches you, hanging on to every word. 

“I tried going to rehab.” You start rolling your pants down again.  “But…I was impatient. Stubborn. Wouldn’t listen to anyone.” Joaquin can’t help but wince at how awfully similar your story was starting to sound. You snap out of your dissociative gaze, locking eyes with Joaquin before earnestly confessing, “I never played again.” 

He can’t even begin to think of what to say, but even if he did, Joaquin never would have been able to get them past the lump in his throat. 

You nod alongside your next statement. “So, yeah. I get it.” There is no malice in your voice, only sincerity. 

Joaquin lets your words sit there for a moment. Eventually, all he can do is let out a groan. “I’m such an ass.” 

It earns a hearty laugh from you, and the sound was sweet enough that it even manages to grace a smile on his face too. It only lasts a second, though, before Joaquin grows somber again. 

“You know, I’ve wanted this for so long.” Joaquin’s hands come up, dragging down his face. “And then I got it. I was The Falcon…for all of five minutes before I screwed it up.” He shakes his head, disappointment in his own actions and failures radiating between the small space between the two of you. “I just thought that if I just pushed harder, worked through it I could…” Joaquin pauses, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know…get back out there and prove that Sam didn’t make a mistake choosing me. That I am The Falcon.” He lets out a breath and when Joaquin looks at you again, his eyes are misty. “But I guess I still have a long way to go, huh?” 

Your brows lower in sympathy, hand resting on Joaquin’s bicep. You offer a comforting smile. “Not that long,” you reassure. “You got me here. Last week’s Torres would’ve gone running after Sam in that hallway.” 

There’s a pause, and you feel the way it's charged with something heavy and unsaid, like something had just shifted.

“Yeah, well,” Joaquin’s eyes fall to your lips again. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking about Sam at that moment.” Slowly, the two of you inch towards each other. You’re not sure what came over you; it was like a gravitational pull that had the two of you falling into each other. His forehead pressed against yours, Joaquin blinks slowly as he confesses, “In that moment I just… wanted to make sure you were safe.” The words are breathless against your lips. 

“Joaquin, I—” 

A loud slam echoes through the basement, making the two of you gasp and jolt apart in panic. Shooting up from where you were sitting, Joaquin stands protectively in front of you. 

“Torres!” a familiar voice shouts out before calling your name as well. “You guys in here?” 

“Oh, my God, Sam,” you let out a sigh of relief, hand clutching your heart. 

Joaquin’s back muscles are tense. It takes him clearing his throat and smoothing his hand over his shirt to gain composure, but once it’s found, Joaquin’s face grows serious, taking Sam in. He helps you off the crate before stepping away, as though putting some distance between the two of you would make him think more rationally. 

The sound of boots hit the concrete floor as Sam makes his way over. “You guys alright?” he calls out. 

“Yeah,” you answer for the both of you, watching as Joaquin steps forward. 

“What happened?” his voice is urgent, shrouded with concern. 

“Everything’s clear for now,” Sam answers, eyes flickering back to you. “We should get back up there, though. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Silently, you step forward, following Sam’s lead, but not before looking back at Joaquin who can’t quite make eye contact with you right now. 

-

You tie your robe hastily, feet struggling to put on your fluffy slippers as you rush towards the door. The incessant knocking was throwing off your nighttime routine, and you tried not to get grumpy about the fact that you were just about ready to slip into bed to begin your British Bake Off binge but were sorely interrupted. 

Peering out of your peephole, you find your annoyance shriveling in your chest. The sight of a disheveled, heavy-breathing Joaquin throws you way more off than the knocking. 

Swinging the door open, you hastily question him, “Torres, are you okay?” You reach out, examining for any cuts or blood. He lets you spin him around to check his backside. “Is it your arm again? Your back?” 

When you spin him back and look up, you’re greeted with nothing but a barely-contained smirk, his enjoyment clear as day. Rolling your eyes, you let him go with a slight shove. 

“No, please,” he raises his hands in surrender. “By all means, please continue.” 

You put one arm up against the doorframe, the other landing on your hip. “What do you want?” 

Joaquin’s eyes flicker down momentarily, and he tries his hardest not to let the sight of your slightly open robe get to him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he tries his best to regain concentration. Clearing his throat, he states, “I didn’t get to see you after the attack on the compound.” 

Once your trio was able to get back up to ground level, you and Sam agreed it would be best if you went to the med bay to help where you can. You assumed Joaquin would be busy debriefing with Sam afterwards, and not knowing the threat level they were facing, you haven't reached out for fear he was working. 

“Came by to check on me?” Something like insulation slips between the lines. 

“Something like that,” he hums. Joaquin raises his brows, quietly asking to be let in. Reluctantly, you open the door wider, but you don’t exactly move from your doorway. 

Stepping towards you, Joaquin leaves you face to face with his chest, his classic scent of cologne and fresh laundry invading your senses. You try not to think about how broad he is as you step aside. His shoulder brushes yours as he passes, and you swear you see a slight mischievous upturn of his lips when you make contact with each other. 

He pauses a few steps in. You close the door. Standing behind him, you just watch him. The way he’s surveying your place makes you nervous; his gaze is so intentional, almost as if he’s taking in every detail. Maybe this is how he felt when you were at his place. 

There was a dim glow in your apartment, a few lamps here and there that you intentionally turned on to create a quiet ambiance after the afternoon’s rattling events. The candle you lit just mere moments before Joaquin came knocking created dancing shadows along the wall, and though you had no idea he was coming, you couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed at how intimate the setting you had created was. 

Joaquin was taking too long to say something, but you refuse to be the first to break the silence, so you continue your observation, watching the rippled chords of his back muscles rise and fall as he takes in slow breaths. The quiet and vanilla scent wafting through the air made your mind start wandering, and you couldn’t help but recall the past times you’ve laid hands on those same muscles—strong and taut under your fingertips. The memory of his skin, sometimes slick with sweat from working out, sends electricity through your body in a way that was inappropriate. 

You’ve admired him previously, sure, but you’ve never been so outright perverted in the way you oggle hm. You’re a professional, you remind yourself, only for the thought to be cut short by the reminder of what almost happened hours before. 

Skin tingling, you pull your robe tighter around your body, but the friction of the silk makes your breath catch in your throat. The sound was loud in your ears, and you pray he didn’t hear you.

Finally, Joaquin moves. His steps are slow as he moves further into your apartment. You’re not sure why he’s being so quiet, you’ve never known him to be such a way. Stopping at your kitchen counter, he turns to look at you as he runs his curls through his hair. Whether it was nerves or habit, you weren’t sure. Either way, it was distracting. 

“I noticed something…earlier,” the last word tacts on to his sentence as though it was an afterthought. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning into your kitchen counter before he crosses his ankles too. The look on his face makes your chest tighten, his jaw clenched as he eyes stay locked with yours. You feel like a fish out of water because this isn’t the Joaquin you’re so used to—shameless, flirty, sweet—all things you could handle, but this? Smoldering, cocky, and all of it so intensively directed at you; you could hardly stand on your own two feet. 

You feel stuck in your place for a second, and it takes every fiber of will in your body to push you forward. The sound of your fluffy slippers slide across the wooden floors, and you try not to focus too much on them for fear of the embarrassment drowning you. Joaquin watches you every step of the way, eyes trained on your body in a way that makes you burn. 

At first, you make your way to stand before him, but then decide to change course at the last second and place yourself on the back of your couch. Making yourself comfortable on the plush furniture, one leg crosses over the other, and you use your left hand to support your body weight. It might be your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear you can feel Joaquin’s eyes trail up your leg, up to your exposed thigh. Instinctively, your thighs squeeze together.

“What did you notice?” you finally ask, voice sounding awfully loud in the dark room. 

His stance is unchanged, only his shift as he averts from your body back to your eyes. Voice considerably lower than before, Joaquin says, “You said my name.” 

Confusion washes over you. “What?” 

Joaquin pushes himself away from the marble countertop. He takes one calculated step towards you, hands still crossed tight across his pecs. Looking at the floor, Joaquin claims, “I’ve known you for five years.” 

Swallowing, you meekly contribute, “That’s a long time.” 

Dimples pressing into his cheek as he smirks, looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Oh, for sure,” his voice is raspy and you hate the effect it has on you. Even more mortifying, his tone is mocking. “Back in Kirtland, post-op in Kandahar, even on that trial mission in White Sand,” for every location he takes a step closer to you. “It’s always been just Torres to you.” His voice cracks, and it almost feels like he’s coming undone by the realization. “You’ve never said my real name once.” He sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, as if he was debating the predicament. 

Standing in front of you, his hands drop from their previously defensive position and instead land on either side of you, trapping you on the couch. Without thought, the hand you were previously using to support your weight finds itself on his right bicep, gripping for both support and a reckless anticipation. Leaning down, he forces you to look him in the eye as he whispers, “Until today.”  

It’s inevitable, the way you shrink under his gaze; you can’t help it, he’s just being so damn intense. But he doesn’t let you. His left index and thumb cups your chin, forcing your gaze back to him. “Why?” he questions. 

Words are fleeting and your brain short circuits. You don’t know that you have an answer to his question. Why did you always call him by his last name? Lips agape in thought, you recall the first time you met Joaquin. 

The suffocatingly hot base in Kirtland could never leave you even if you tried, the dry air and burning concrete haunted your dreams. It wasn’t a pretty place to be. 

You had just finished doing your fourth intake in a row. Rolling through physicals for every soldier on base was going to be the biggest pain in your ass. Sweat was dripping down your temple and you had wiped it away with an angry sigh, internally cursing for subjecting yourself to this role. That was when he walked in. Laughing. 

You remembered being so annoyed when you first heard it ring through the air. ‘Who the hell can laugh in these conditions?’ you bitterly thought to yourself. 

Then you turned around. 

His laughter filled the space and you watched as he threw his head back, shoulders loose with an aura of confidence and carefreeness that you’ve yet to see on the bleak base. Your head roared with the sound of his voice and it felt like the room belonged to just him. 

That’s when he turned to face you, his dimples deep and eyes shining, radiating a sort of charm and charisma that had you swallowing for reasons other than your dry mouth from the weather. 

“Hey, doc. Heard I’m up next.” There was a remnant of laughter still remaining in his voice. He pulled his helmet off, sweaty curls sticking to his sun kissed skin, and you knew you were fucked. 

“Yup. Torres.” Your hand had caught the pen that had started to slip. “Right up here.” 

You drew the line then, between you and him, because you knew he would have drowned you otherwise. 

But he didn’t need to know that. 

- smut warning - 

“I never thought about it.” To others, your sutter would’ve given you away, but Joaquin was watching you so closely you’re sure he didn’t even hear you complete your sentence before interjecting. 

“You’re lying.” All hints of teasing from his voice are gone as he leans in closer to you. 

Your fingers tighten around his bicep, feeling the way it flexes as you dig your nails into his skin. “This is wrong,” you whisper. It’s the last line of defense that you have, and even you can hear how weak your resolve sounds. 

“Say my name,” Joaquin demands, but you hear the hidden plea lying within. 

“Torres—” 

“My actual name.” 

You can feel yourself trembling, thighs clenched in suspense. Your nails dig deeper. His hold on your face tightens, but you don’t feel trapped. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you know that once you cross this line with him, there is no going back. 

“Joaquin—” 

You hear his breath hitch in his throat before his lips slide over yours. Your hand drops from his bicep, instead curling up to the nape of his neck to tug onto his curls. Joaquin’s own hands wrap around you, one circled tightly around your waist, the other curling up your back to hold the nape of your neck. 

The kiss is heated, raw passion from both sides as the two of you push back and forth between one another, trying to assert dominance. 

Joaquin wins in the end, his canines coming down to bite your lower lip, inadvertently making you gasp. He easily slips his tongue into your mouth and you can feel his cocky smirk. It makes you pull his hair, and he lets out a groan followed by a breathless laugh that goes straight to your core. 

His hips press against you and your legs part instinctively. Joaquin wastes no time taking advantage of the access, pulling you closer to him. He’s everywhere. His hands are trailing along your sides, getting knotted in your hair, brushing against your back. Joaquin’s signature scent clings on to you and it makes you unbearably hot, your thin robe suddenly not providing enough ventilation. 

Breaking away, you gasp, the burning in your lungs a strong reminder of the necessities of oxygen. Joaquin doesn’t seem to have the same needs though, as his lips begin trailing downward without hesitation. A pause against your neck and a not-so-gentle bite against the puncture of your shoulder causes you to let out a moan, arching into him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters against your neck, the word drawn. A silent apology is offered in the way he kisses the wound, tongue poking out to soothe the skin, before continuing on his downward path. One large palm grips at your thigh, massaging the tissue. Each press of his mouth, his touch leaves you aching. 

When his kisses move from your shoulder to the center of your chest, you feel Joaquin begin to get down on one knee. 

“Wait,” you grasp at his shoulders. Joaquin stops, all movement halting, and he looks up with you with eyes blown wide. His pupils nearly swallow his honey brown irises. “If we do this, everything changes,” your words are airy, carrying a truth that you’ve been too scared to admit. 

“Baby, we’re long past that.” You see him pause. “But if you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to do this.” And you know he’s telling the truth. If you say the word now, this all stops.

A beat passes. 

The pressure of your palm hands on Joaquin’s shoulder, pushing him towards the ground. He does a shit job at hiding the enthusiastic smile that breaks out on his face, and he wastes no time in pulling you back into him. His broad, large form forces your legs further apart as he leaves a sequence of kisses from your sternum down to your navel. They’re sloppy, and rushed, as if he couldn’t get enough. You can’t help but throw your head backwards, eyes closing in pleasure. 

Your robe falls open with no resistance, and Joaquin kneels before you. His hands rub both of your thighs, a slight grip to them as he sucks in a breath of admiration. Palms round from the side of your thighs to the plump of your ass, where Joaquin greedily squeezes before pulling you forward in one swift motion. You nearly fall off the back of the couch, but he makes sure it doesn’t happen, strong arms bracketing you in. 

Meeting you halfway, his face is already buried in the junction where your thigh and cunt meet. He’s so bitey you realize, hissing when he sucks yet another mark on your left inner thigh. No apology to be found from him this time though, as he switches his focus to your right thigh, placing sweet kisses along your skin. You’re so aware of his hands, now placed tightly on your waist, clenching and unclenching as he explores you. 

You can’t help but squirm impatiently. He was so close to where you wanted him, you could feel his breath and God if that didn’t make you wet. Oblivious to your predicament, Joaquin just continues to leave marks all over your legs. Your clit begins to throb at the neglect, and you grow frustrated, nails digging into your couch.

“Joaquin…” His name comes out in a sort of a whine. 

“Shh,” he blows into your left thigh, “Ten paciéncia, princesa.” (Be patient, princess). 

You’re about to complain again when you feel him. His tongue, flat and warm, licking a wide strip from your entrance all the way to your clit. The touch is overwhelming, and you let out a gasp, hand coming forward to grip the curls on the crown of Joaquin’s head. It seems that only motivates him though, as after that initial touch, something snaps. 

Joaquin doesn’t hold back, his mouth gently latching onto your clit, tongue flicking the sensitive bud rhythmically. He alternates his attention between there and your hole, his hands moving from your waist to circle around your thighs, palms clenching the inner flesh unyielding, actively preventing you from squirming. 

Your legs dangle helplessly over his shoulders, robe sliding down both your arms. The piece of fabric was merely decorative at this point, sprawled out on either side of you, barely held on by your elbows. But, still, the feel of the silk was such a stark contrast to your burning skin that it sent volts of arousal through you. The hand not gripping Joaquin’s hair moves up to grab your right breast, and the fabric dragging along your skin only makes your nipples tighten more. 

Hungry in a way that was driving you insane, Joaquin’s lapping at any drop of arousal coming out of you, his head buried so deep in your lap you’re confident that his lungs have to be burning. The bridge of his nose nudges against your bundle of nerves with every lick, providing the slightest bit of pressure but not quite enough. It’s driving you insane. 

“Fucking hell, you taste so good, baby.” It’s the only time he’s separated from your cunt since getting on his knees. When he looks up at you, you can’t help the way your hole clenches around nothing. Absolutely debauched, the lower half of his face is covered in your slick, eyes hooded as though he were drunk. They start at your face before dragging down to your chest, where they pin themselves to your hand on your chest. Joaquin can only groan again. 

It’s all he offers before delving back in, his tongue exploring you almost expertly, as if he was trying to memorize your anatomy. Suddenly, you feel the rough pads of his thumb circle your clit, and the added sensation has you panting, your own fingers giving your nipples a pinch. 

He spreads your leg impossibly wider, arranging himself so that his hand can comfortably fit between your thigh and his head. You feel a thick finger press against your hole before sliding in with ease. It was both of you moaning—you in satisfaction and him in appreciation. 

One finger turns to two, Joaquin pushing them in and out, fingers curling inside you. He moves with precision, intention, watching the way you react. Suddenly, your breathing changes, hitching when he hits that spot. Joaquin recognizes it immediately, focusing his fingers on swirling that soft center inside you. Your moans get higher in pitch and your pulsing around his hand. 

You’re getting close, your grip on his hair releasing and instead moving back to grip the couch. He can feel it, the way you’re fluttering around him and he watches as you throw your head back. 

Just when you’re about to cum, all touch is lost. 

“What—” you start, the word tumbling out before you truly even process the loss of sensation. 

You whine his name but are instantly silenced by the feeling of his lip on yours as he whispers, “I know, baby, I know.” Too overstimulated to recognize what’s going on, you focus all of your attention on returning his kiss instead of the emptiness inside you. 

Joaquin’s hands find themselves on your ass again, but this time, instead of groping the flesh, he tucks them underneath to lift you effortlessly off the couch. His lips never leave yours. Instinctively, your hand comes up and wraps themselves around his neck, a finger twirling the hair at the back of his neck. 

Clumsily, he navigates your clashing bodies through your apartment. Your back slams into your photo wall in the hallway leading to your bedroom, but neither of you pay mind to the sound of clattering frames hitting the floor. 

“Joaquin,” you break away from the kiss. He hums in response, landing kisses on the corner of your lips and cheeks. “Your shoulder,” you continue, though your eyes close at the feeling of him finding your neck again. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he rushes out, desperation lacing his tone. “Doesn’t hurt,” he insists. 

It’s all the reassurance you need. You know you should care more, but you simply don’t. You find each other again, his plush lips slotting over yours. The kisses were more teeth than lips now as the two of you pant urgently, barely breathing. 

“Which one’s your room,” Joaquin’s words come out in a slur and you quickly answer, “Left, go left.” He pushes you against the wall beside your bedroom, hastily ripping off your robe before lifting you again. 

Your back is pressed against the door for a split second before it slams against your bedroom wall. For a split second, you worry about the damage, but then Joaquin’s whimpering and all thoughts leave your head. 

The plush comforter is a welcome contrast from the scratchy couch and solid walls as Joaquin lays you down with haste. Climbing over you, you can finally fully appreciate how burly he is, his entire body pressing against yours. But it’s not enough. 

It’s unfair, your hazy mind protests. He has too much on. “Take it off,” you fuss, hands pawing at his fitted Air Force tee. Joaquin can’t help but snicker at how bratty you’re being, but compiles wordlessly. Leaning back on his haunches, Joaquin pulls off the material in one swift movement. You chase after him, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch. 

Chiseled with moonlight gleaming across his chest from your open curtain, your mouth salivates. You’ve seen him shirtless before, plenty of times, but that was different. All those times before, he wasn’t so available for your perusing and he especially wasn’t looking at you like that.

It wasn’t enough, though. 

Your eyes cast themselves downward, growing irate at the sight of the secured belt around his waist, but the sight of the sizable tent in his jeans provided some consolation. Hands latching themselves onto his buckle, you use his steadiness to pull yourself up to him. With your chin tilted upwards, he meets your wordless request halfway, and it distracts him well enough that he can’t feel you unfastening the leather with eager hands. 

Pulling back, the belt comes with you with a smooth whoosh, but the two of you hardly care as you toss it onto the ground with a loud thump. 

Joaquin isn’t off the hook that easily, though, as your hand refinds purchase on the denim of his jeans, palming him through the material. The slight damp patch at the front makes your head spin. He’s big you realize, even though the thick fabric, and it has you clenching again. Your stomach burns at the thought of him inside you. 

Gracelessly, Joaquin settles you back down on the bed and goes to shimmy off the rest of his clothes. He almost faceplants into your tits, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles. He’s still him despite it all and it spreads a sense of reassurance through you. 

Any sense of amusement dissipates once he pulls his briefs off, though. His cock stands tall and is practically weeping, the tip leaking beads of precum in a way that makes you bite your lip. Even in the dark, he’s impressive to look at. 

Still on his haunches, Joaquin’s right hand gives his length a few pumps and the sight has you entranced. 

“Spit on my hand,” he demands. He moves to hunch his body over yours, his skin practically buzzing with energy. Eyes locked with his, you lift up your head. Turning your head to the side, you nuzzle your cheek against the comforting heat of his awaiting palm before parting your mouth, letting it fall, slow and deliberate. 

“Fuck, you’re g’nna ruin me,” he pants, voice ragged. Your saliva pools in his palm and Joaquin watches, transfixed at the thin strand of spit between the corner of your mouth and his hand. Unable to help himself, his thumb finds itself wiping it away, but not without dipping itself into the warmth of your mouth along the way. When you bite down on the appendage before giving it a gentle suck, Joaquin hisses, his jaw clenching. 

It’s your turn to watch him as he takes the liquid and spreads it all along the stretch of his achingly hard cock. Eyes closed, Joaquin moans in your ear and you spread your legs in response. Still stroking himself, Joaquin leans down to capture your lips in another kiss. His forearm rests besides your head, and your own hand comes up to grab it, holding it as an anchor. 

You feel him slip his dick between your legs. The lubrication allows him to easily slide between the folds of pussy, grinding himself against you in a way that has his tip nudging your clit. The friction was enough to make you go delirious and all you can do is moan, lifting your hips up to meet his movements in greed. His other hand goes to constrain you, pushing you back down into the mattress. 

The exasperation you feel is short-lived, your complaint turning into a moan as Joaquin pushes his thick head past your hole. It’s a tight fit, the initial breach, despite the amplitude of preparation. Inch by inch, you feel Joaquin press into you slowly. His fist is clenched beside your head and you feel the muscle of his forearm flex as he restrains himself. 

Buried to the hilt, Joaquin drops his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your face. Your legs burn, the way they’re stretched so wide to accommodate his figure. 

“Give me a sec, baby,” he heaves before rasping, “‘Try’na not to make a fool of myself right now.” 

The confession has you pulsing around him, unable to provide any real response when all you could feel was his thick, hard cock embedded deep inside you. But you needed him to move, it was too much, just feeling him pulse inside of you. Despite his hand on your hip, you roll your waist and pleadingly mewl. 

“Mierda,” Joaquin hisses, you feel his hand beside your head grip the pillow you lay your head on as he snaps. Any restraint he was holding onto slips away as he hikes your leg over his shoulder and begins pounding into you relentlessly. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I can’t,” Joaquin is just rambling, his words all rushing out garbled as his hips snaps against yours again and again and again. You’re not much better, a puddle of whimpers below him, just holding on as his cock hits your pleasure center over and over and over. You feel tears brimming your eyes and you turn your face into his forearm, a babbling mess. 

Joaquin rounds his back as he leans down, but it’s not your face he searches for this time. Instead, his wet lips attach to an achingly hard nipple. If you were a mess before, there were no words to describe you now as your hand fists his curls. You arch into him, forcing more if your tits into his face, to which Joaquin has no complaints. 

Salacious sounds fill your room and the air starts to grow humid, not that you or Joaquin notice. 

His tongue swirls around your sensitive bud, teeth grazing over it before soothing over it with a flat lick. Joaquin can barely contain himself, saliva slipping past his lips, spreading over your chest. Once he’s satisfied with one side, Joaquin effortlessly slips over to your other nipple. His treatment is the same, but you’re growing more sensitive with each touch. With his cock splitting you open and the intense attention on your chest, you were getting close again. 

It was overwhelming, and you can’t help the whine, but Joaquin only shushes you.

“’S okay,” he says in between licks. “Know you can take it,” pinning you down to the mattress. 

Detaching, Joaquin begins to bite marks onto your chest, nips here and there, before he unsheathes himself from you completely. A rough slap against your thigh from one of his calloused hands is all the signal you need. Without a word exchanged, you flip onto your front. Your forearms are flat against the pillow, head face down, as you arch your back for him, his hands guiding you the whole way.

You hear Joaquin mutter something behind you, but it’s too quiet for you to hear. Suddenly, a resounding smack fills the air and the force pushes you forward, moaning his name. You feel a hand on each one of your ass cheeks, Joaquin massaging the skin, before they slide up your back. He asserts pressure on your lower back, all the way up to the side of your breasts, and it feels good. 

Joaquin’s body follows his hands and you feel his broad, firm body press against his back once he’s done. Both his forearms find themselves bracing either side of your head this time, but before settling Joaquin takes the time to move your hair away from your face. Delicately, he places it over your right shoulder, and you turn your head to look at him. A kiss is placed upon your shoulder, then your jaw, before he places a soft one against your lips. 

At the same time, his tip is penetrating you again, and you moan into each others’ mouths. Hips slapping against your ass, your hands grip the pillow below you to brace yourself. His strokes are a stark contrast to his tender acts earlier, persistent in his pursuit of your pleasure, rocking firmly into you. 

In this position, your moans are unrestricted, spilling out of you with no control. 

Joaquin bites your shoulder, gritting and breathless when he admits, “Needed this.” He slaps your ass. Groaning, “Needed you.” 

The words ignite something in you, his words traveling up your spine in a burn. Moaning Joaquin’s name, you interlace your fingers with his beside your head. You needed him just as badly. With his hand in yours, you’re grounded, and it’s all you need to start matching Joaquin halfway. Back arched, you begin to push yourself back onto Joaquin’s cock. You feel his hand clench around your digits. 

The two of you work together, finding a fast and messy pace. Every push of his hips forces a gasp from your lips. Your bodies start to grow slick with sweat, but it only motivates you further. 

Suddenly, Joaquin releases his grip from your hand, sliding his palm over to the base of your neck. 

He doesn’t quite grasp your throat, but the pressure is there, and you swear you couldn’t have gotten any wetter than you already were but somehow you do.he thrusts into you. 

Effortlessly, Joaquin lifts the two of you up. With your back to his chest, arched in the air, you have nothing to ground you, so your hand grips Joaquin’s forearm where his hand is choking you. Your other hand reaches back towards him and grip the tense muscle of his thigh. Joaquin continues thrusting into you, pace unwavering despite the change of position. 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and he can feel your moans reverberating against the palm of his hand. The other grips your waist as he continues to slam into you. The new arrangement has the head of his cock pressing into you just right and you feel a familiar fiery sensation start to build. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg. “Right there, Joaquin, please.” You’re not sure exactly what you’re begging for, but you hardly have any thoughts right now other than how pleasure absolutely consumes you. 

“You g’nna cum for me?” You don’t answer instantly, only focused on the way his dick absolutely stuffs you. 

Moments later, you’re teetering on the edge. “Yes, yes, yes,” you chant over and over again, mind blankly. Pressure continues to build as Joaquin keeps himself consistent, a lewd noises only spurring you on further. 

When Joaquin’s hand squeezes your throat just right, the coil snaps. Bouncing faster on Joaquin, you chase after your high. 

“Yeah, just like that baby, cream all over my cock,” Joaquin encourages and it only makes you moan louder. Thighs trembling, your fingers dig into his skin and hold on for dear life. Hot, blooming pleasure travels from your core to the rest of your body and you bite down on your lip to hold back a cry. Waves of pleasure roll through you, muscles tightening in the aftermath. 

The way you were clenching so tightly around Joaquin has him whimpering. He was trying, he really, really was, but you were squeezing so damn warm. So damn tight. His brows furrow, mouth parting as he helps you through your orgasm.  

“I’m close. Baby, I’m so close,” he groans. 

“I’m on birth control,” you rush out hastily. You’re not sure what came over you, cock-drunk, surely, but you just needed him so bad. Every part of him. If he pulled out now, you’d die, you were sure of it. 

Joaquin says something in Spanish that you can’t quite hear or understand and before you know it, he has you flipped back around. In the midst of the movement, he’d pull his cock out, but once you were on your back, he thrust himself hip deep into you with no second to spare. 

He’s driving his dick into you, your pussy fluttering over him after your orgasm. Joaquin gives you no time to recover as he finds an impalpably quick speed. As if he can’t get enough, Joaquin desperately ruts himself into you, barely able to hold back his cries of pleasure. With your growing overstimulation, you know your voice is matching his all the same. 

When you clench around him again, he comes undone. Letting out a string of curses, Joaquin throws his head back as he slams into you, hips snapping into yours so strongly you’re sure you’ll ache tomorrow. 

The feeling of his hot, thick cum spurting into you has you clenching again. He fills you so completely and it’s so electrifying, you feel a familiar pressure build in your lower stomach again. 

Steadily, Joaquin begins to slow his thrusts, and you feel the way he pushes his cum further into you with each push. When Joaquin finally pulls out, both of you groan at the loss of sensation. Without looking, you can feel your slick mixed with his starting to spill out of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, hand coming up to push sweaty curls away from his eyes. Letting out a chuckle, Joaquin leans down and gives you a long kiss. 

-

A wet rag, a cup of cold water, and one Air Force t-shirt hanging over your shoulder later, you and Joaquin are tucked cozily under a blanket that you had him pull out from your closet. Your usual comforter is now on a heap on the floor of your bedroom, and you try not to think about the way it might be permanently stained with unspeakable fluids. 

Joaquin’s fingers gently scratch your back, up and down, in a rhythmic fashion as you rest your head on his pecs—your own fingers tracing a pattern on his chest. It’s quiet and dark, save for the glow of the moon and your small TV from across the room. 

“I’ve had a crush on you since the first day we met.” Joaquin’s voice cracks at first as he whispers, breaking the silence. 

The confession makes your fingers halt. Palm flat against his chest, you use the leverage to push yourself up to look at him. 

Blinking lazily, Joaquin’s face is earnest, brows raised as though he’s waiting for you. 

“You did?” 

“Pft,” Joaquin’s head rolls to the side, “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

Stuttering, you look at him with wide eyes, “I didn’t. I had no idea.” 

Joaquin places his own hand over the one you have over his chest before sitting up straighter. “Mami, I flirted with you every chance I got.” 

“You’re Joaquin,” you insist. “You flirt with everyone.” 

He looks at you with his lower lip jutted outward, shaking his head. “No…not everyone. Just you.” 

You pause. “Huh…” is all you offer before you place your head back down, the two of you settling once more. All Joaquin can do is chuckle as he moves to rub your back. Sleep almost has you in its clutch when Joaquin’s voice breaks you out of your trance. 

“Were you watching British Bake Off?”

-

The smell of coffee is the first thing that greets you before anything else does the next morning. The ache in your body is the second. 

Groaning, you make your way towards your kitchen to what you believe to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever witnessed. 

Shirtless and tan, hair tousled from sleep and…other activities, Joaquin stands so proudly in your kitchen, it was as though he belonged. 

“Good morning, princesa,” a familiar dimpled face turns to you, holding your favorite mug. You take in the marks on his neck when he passes you the cup, and you're grateful for the steam as it provides enough of a cover for your heating face. 

You sip your coffee quietly, watching Joaquin from the rim of your mug. He appreciates the attention, which is a surprise to none. 

After picking up his own cup, he takes a sip before turning to you with raised brow. “Like what you see?” he asks before flexing his muscles. 

“Oh, gag.” You wipe your smile on his face, but it doesn’t deter Joaquin, who can sense your amusement lying beneath. 

“Come on, I put in some serious work last night so I know these bad boys have never looked better.” 

You just walk past him with a head shake and a slap to the shoulder. “It’s nice to know that even after losing a nightful of sleep in favor of sex, you still have enough energy to outrun a golden retriever.” You slide into your breakfast nook, placing the half empty coffee cup on the table with both hands wrapped around it. 

Joaquin slides in next to you, effortlessly. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Your humor fades as you turn to Joaquin. “Okay, what is it?” You try to not let your mind race. 

“Remember our fight?” he asks. You only hum in acknowledgement. “You said something that’s kind of been on my mind.” A pit forms in your stomach at his confrontation. 

“When you said you couldn’t watch me ‘crash and burn’...” Joaquin pauses, and your heart squeezes in your chest. He holds up his pointer and thumb, the space between them miniscule as he asks, “You were being a little on the nose don’t you think?” 

It takes a second for you to process. Once you realize he was only messing with you, you couldn’t stop yourself from slapping his hand away. “Oh my God, you asshole! You scared me!” 

Joaquin’s loud laugh fills your kitchen, and his bubbly demeanor makes your armor crack, unable to stop the smile that forms on your face, too. 

Continuing to joke, Joaquin states, “I mean, come on. That part was a little cruel, even for you.”

You let out a laugh of disbelief. “You were being a dick to me, I had to say something.” You defend yourself. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He nods, face serious. “But you’re still going to have to make it up to me.” His hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

“Well, jeez,” you concede. “I don’t know what I could possibly do to make up for such a big offense.” Your palm rests on his chest, face leaning towards his. 

“Oh, I could think of a few things.” 

end. 

-

a/n: this is my first ever smut so meep, thank u for reading. lmk what u think! comments and rb's appreciated, mwah mwah mwah

[luvwanda]

giggling and kicking my feet while reading this

Knight in Shining Glasses : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: All you wanted to do was enjoy your first night in San Diego at the bar recommended to you by your father, but a hot-shot new to the Top Gun program was intent on bringing you home with him, or at least couldn't take a hint. Lucky for you, there's a knight in shining glasses ready to save you.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), fluff, language, kind of a pushy douchebag guy is in this, female reader, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol but I did do a ton of research so hopefully it's accurate-ish), suggestive and steamy but no smut (but boy did we get real close), like a TINY maybe hint of angst for 0.2 seconds

Word Count: 11,044 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Another beer?”

You nodded your head at the gorgeous woman behind the bar, who was already sliding a beer your way before you’d even answered, as if she could read your mind. You gave her a smile in thanks, sighing the second your hand touched the cool glass of the bottle.

San Diego was hot, too hot for your liking. Every piece of fabric on your body felt as if it was clinging to your body right now in a way that had you begging the world just to make it legal to walk around naked. You much preferred the weather back in New England, on the complete opposite side of the country, but you had promised to come to town for a bit. It had been years since you’d seen your father, not since his promotion and subsequent move to San Diego, your conflicting work schedules making it impossible to make the cross-country trip, even if you missed him.

You were here now, though, seated in the bar that had come highly recommended to you straight from him: The Hard Deck, located right on Coronado Beach, just minutes from the Naval Air Station of North Island.

“Local beer?” you questioned the woman as yet another group of rowdy, young Naval aviators came bursting through the doors of the bar, disturbing some of the other guests in the packed bar. The woman, whose nametag you could now see said Penny, just laughed at the antics of her new guests before nodding at you.

“Yeah, local company. They’re pretty popular around here, so I always have to keep them in stock,” you hummed, taking another sip of the drink in your hands. Rich in flavor, maybe with a hint of sweetness that complemented the bitterness it left behind. You could see why it was popular around here. Penny wiped the bar directly in front of you, flashing you a smile. “Now, I know most of my regulars here, and you certainly aren’t one. Where’d you blow into town from?”

“Watertown, New York,” you told her as another group of Naval aviators passed by you in their service khakis, older than the group that had just come in. Your eyes followed them for just a moment, lingering as they moved to the back of the room to the pool tables as if they were there every night, before looking back at Penny. “My father is in the Navy, stationed here in San Diego. Thought it was finally time I visited him.”

“Good, means you know how to deal with the rowdy bunch I have here,” you both laughed as she gestured toward the group of young pilots that had just come through. Someone called to her from further down the bar, and she paid you one final smile. “Holler if you need anything, or if anyone’s giving you trouble.”

“Will do,”

With the jukebox playing off in the corner, Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams filling the air, it gave you a chance to really take in the atmosphere. Given the proximity to the Naval Air Station, you weren’t surprised by the amount of Navy paraphernalia that decorated the entire bar. Mugs hung from the ceiling with F18s on them, plenty of pictures of those monster jets hung up around the tables as well. And with the clientele that Penny seemed to attract here, judging by the number of young pilots scattered around, you weren’t surprised that this seemed to have turned into a place many in the Navy flocked to after a long day on base.

The young group of aviators, who seemed to have met up with another group of friends, were loud and rambunctious over by the dart board as they took bets on who could make a bullseye first. You rolled your eyes at their antics with a slight smile, reminded of the stories your father had told of his days, and looked over your shoulder toward that older group by the pool tables.

Easily your age, or at least older and more experienced than the group by the dart board. There was one woman among the groups of men with darker hair, already kicking their asses at the pool game they were playing. That alone quirked your lips up just slightly as you watched Penny deliver a tray of drinks to the group that seemed very personally friendly with her. Ah, so they must be stationed here at North Island and be regulars of the Hard Deck.

They were quite the bunch, from what you observed from the bartop. There was the young man playing alongside the woman, and what seemed like his best friend pestering him after another missed shot. There was a taller, tan blonde who you could tell from here exuded confidence in an over-the-top way, and a friend beside him who also seemed to have that arrogant confidence about him. The man taking the tray from Penny and passing out the drinks had that same confidence and charm, but it almost seemed to roll off of him naturally as if he wasn’t even trying to charm those around him.

It was the one sitting off to the side, silently observing his friends, that caught your eye.

He didn’t exude confidence in the same way that his friends did. He wasn’t walking sex on legs like many would think the tall, overconfident friends of his were…but he was to you. Quiet, simply observing his friends with a tiny smile that stirred something in your chest. One hand holding onto the neck of his beer bottle, the same one you were drinking, and the other casually snacking on a cup of peanuts. You tried, and failed, to keep your eyes from lingering on those long, slender fingers of his, or the fact that, even from here, you could tell his hands were large in a delicious way that had your mind imagining what they’d feel like settled on your bare-

Okay, yeah, maybe it was time to say ‘fuck it’ to your no hook-up rule and get laid on this vacation. You couldn’t be thinking like this over a man you’d been looking at for less than a minute, didn’t even know his name, or had yet to make eye contact with.

But then, when your eyes finally left those slender hands, you were making eye contact with him.

There was an adorable flush crawling across his cheeks, and god were you a sucker for a cute man in some glasses. His lips quirked up in a shy smile as he met your gaze, giving you a tiny nod. A similar flush crept up your neck at being caught staring, giving him a small wink before turning back around to not seem like a creep watching him.

With Penny off taking orders as the bar only seemed to get busier by the minute, and no one around you seemed like good options for a conversation, you found yourself spun around to lean against the bar and observe the room. No time like a crowded bar to people watch.

With a few work emails checked to ensure you weren’t missing anything pressing on your vacation, and a text sent to your father to thank him for the bar recommendation, you found your eyes drifting back to that same Naval aviator once more.

The woman had dragged him from his seat, his beer and peanuts left behind as a pool cue was shoved into his hands as his friends cheered, bringing a grin to your face. Your eyes tracked him as he bent over the table to line up his shot, his friends engrossed in a conversation together, but then his eyes flicked up and met yours again. Your eyebrow shot up as you raised a beer to him, a simultaneous encouragement for him to sink his shot and also a challenge to see if he could. His lips quirked up at that as, without even glancing down to his cue, he took his shot: directly in the pocket without interference. His friends clapped for him, patting him on the back, but his eyes stayed on you. Even with another flush crawling up his neck and nerves practically stitched into his smile, he shot you a wink this time, and you couldn’t stop the giddy grin on your lips.

“Well, never seen girl as pretty you before,”

You didn’t want to stop looking at that gorgeous man in glasses across the bar, but you were intrigued to know who was speaking to you.

He wasn’t the worst-looking man, he was attractive. Dark hair that matched the mustache and the beard that was growing in, which was definitely against grooming standards for the Navy. Pretty brown eyes…but he wasn’t your shy, glasses-sporting boy across the room. Plus, you recognized him from that rowdy bunch of pilots that had walked in beforehand. The smile you’d given the man across the bar dropped into the smallest, friendliest one you could muster as you looked at the name on his badge: Jackson.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to open up a conversation,” you shot back. The man only laughed, leaning against the bar next to you with a charming, over-confident grin on his lips.

“Warrant Officer Daniel Jackson,” he held out his hand to shake yours, and you reluctantly gave it to him. You regretted it the moment he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you quickly took your hand back and slyly wiped it along the side of your jeans. “Friends call me Caveman.”

“Interesting callsign,” you shot back with a fake laugh, tilting your head. “You get that from the unkempt beard that’s clearly not within grooming protocols?

He laughed again, but it did nothing to lift your smile from where it was frozen to be polite. He took a swig from his own beer that he’d brought over with him before leaning closer.

“Funny, and you know the Navy,” you laughed uncomfortably again, taking a subconscious scoot backward on your chair to get away from him. “Brand new to Top Gun, friends and I got in earlier. About to become the best of the best…”

He continued talking, droning on and on about Top Gun and the ‘prestige’ that came with being one of the best of the best (if he could actually get through the vigorous training). In the interest of being polite and not pissing off a man your first night in town, you laughed politely when appropriate and pretended to be listening.

When your eyes glanced back at that man in the glasses, though, he was already looking at you. Back to standing near the seat he’d occupied before, peanuts in his hands and the pool game abandoned as he seemed to be watching you. You gave him a dramatic roll of your eyes, pitching your head toward the pilot still talking your ear off as if to say ‘get a load of this guy,’ and you could see him laugh from across the bar. That simple action sent a flutter through your chest, and god, what you wouldn’t give to actually hear that laugh.

“...I could show you base sometime,” your attention was, sadly, brought back to Caveman beside you, who was still smiling at you as if you were a prize he’d won and wanted to flaunt around the entire bar to each and every patron. “Could sponsor ya for the day, give ya a private tour.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m sure if I wanted to visit the base, my father would happily sponsor me,” you shot back, trying to turn him down as politely as you possibly could. Your comment only seemed to brighten his mood even more.

“Navy dad, you say?” he’d leaned in closer once more, and you were running out of room on the little stool to lean away from him. “Guess that means you know a lot. Dad have rules about…dating pilots?”

Yeah, no, now you were uncomfortable. There was no being polite now, he’d made his intentions clear and could clearly not read your body language. Your body instantly tensed as your eyes avoided his, still trying to keep the most polite smile you could on your lips. Penny was nowhere in sight to help, so your eyes immediately found your pilot across the room.

He was already watching you, it seemed, but when you locked eyes again, he stood up a little straighter, the smile he had on his face dropping slightly. It was as if he could see the way your demeanor had suddenly changed, and god, you hoped he could see it.

“I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for anything like that,” you’d awkwardly laughed out as you looked back at him finally. “I’m just here on vacation.”

That was when his hand settled on top of your knee, and your heart leapt into your throat. The heat of his hand felt like it was burning a hole in your jeans as he squeezed just so.

“Don’t got to be anything serious, I’m down for some fun,”

That polite smile was gone off your face in an instant as you tried to yank your leg from him, but he squeezed it just slightly tighter.

“Okay, Caveman, sounds like you must’ve got your nickname from how you treat women,” that snide comment seemed to drop his confident demeanor immediately. “I’ve turned you down, I’ve made it clear I’m not interested. So I suggest you let me go.”

“Come on, I think you just need to-”

“I’m pretty sure she said let her go, Caveman,”

There was an edge to the voice that cut in, but not one that made you feel on edge yourself. A hand clamped down on your shoulder from behind, firm but not uncomfortable in the way that the hand on your knee was. Grounding, and when it squeezed your shoulder just slightly, it felt comforting. Protective, in a way. And when you finally turned your head and noticed those familiar glasses you’d been staring at all night, and those gorgeous blue eyes hiding behind them, you immediately relaxed into his touch.

Caveman’s hand immediately left your knee as he seemed to sit up a little straighter, putting his hands up in surrender as he looked at the man standing at your side now.

“Lieutenant Floyd-”

“Things are looking tense over here!” those two pilots you’d observed earlier, the ones who exuded confidence in your eyes, suddenly appeared behind Caveman. The taller blonde placed his hand down on his shoulder just as Lieutenant Floyd’s was on yours, and you glanced at their tags: Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw. The blonde pointed to Caveman, raising an eyebrow at the man at your side. “Baby-on-board, is this man causing trouble?”

Your shoulder was squeezed once more as you turned back to look at the man at your side, feeling another flutter in your chest as you got a good look at those sky blue eyes up close, which made him even more attractive in your eyes. He gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward your ‘friend’ just like you had earlier on.

“Is he bothering you?”

You’d glanced back at Caveman, who seemed semi-scared shitless around these guys, and a smirk curled up on your lips.

“Yes, yes he is,”

“Disrespecting a lady?” it was Penny’s voice now as she reappeared behind the bar, her glare set on that poor pilot that everyone was ganging up on. She ‘tsked’ in his direction, before stepping back to point to a sign hanging just behind her. “It’s your first night here, you should probably check the rules before you get comfortable.”

Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cellphone on my bar…you buy a round.

Alright, Penny might be your new favorite person, besides the hot ass pilot in glasses still comfortably resting his hand on your shoulder as the scene played out before you all.

Caveman never even got a chance to defend himself, as Penny had stepped up to the bell hanging from the ceiling beside the sign, the ring of it echoing throughout the bar. Within seconds, there were chants of ‘OVERBOARD!’ heard throughout the room before Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw had the man hooked under their arms, dragging him out to the parking lot as his friends quickly followed behind.

“A-Are you okay?”

Your eyes found your pilot’s brilliant blue ones again, this time in front of you as he chose to now occupy the seat Caveman was sitting in just moments prior. You simply stared at him for a moment, still trying to process the entire interaction, before a smile stretched wide across your face.

“You know, I thought the Knight in all the fairytales was wearing shining armor?” you posed it like a question, a teasing tone present in your words as you took a quick swig of your beer, eyes never leaving his, and your smile turning into a slight smirk. “Didn’t know mine was going to come bearing shining glasses, instead.”

He’d laughed, that laugh just minutes ago you would’ve burned this bar down to hear, and my god, did you adore it. You adored it more than you should, given that you still didn’t know this mystery man’s name.

“No woman deserves to be treated like that, ma’am,” he tried to dismiss you, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as your eyes trailed over those hands once again, now that they were so close. You could see the redness in his cheeks from this close now, too. “T-The way he was acting, my mom would’ve torn me a new one if I didn’t step in.”

“And is that the only reason?” you quipped back immediately, placing your beer down on the counter just so you could really look at him, study him. “That you stepped in?”

You could see the way he hesitated for a moment, but not as if he didn’t want to answer you. No, you could see that flush deepening in his skin: you were flirting with him, and he knew it, he just didn’t know how to handle it.

“N-No, no, that’s not the only reason,” there was a shy smile on his face as he huffed out a sheepish laugh, looking down at his lap for a moment, before looking back to you. “I should actually thank him, his incompetence gave me the balls to come over here and talk to you.”

He’d made you laugh, a boisterous one that caught the attention of a few lingering around the area of the bartop you were sat at, and you knew already that you were screwed when it came to this man. You’d offered your name immediately after that, a hand out to shake, and he took it in his own as he gave his name: Bob Floyd.

You tried desperately not to think about the way his hand had felt against yours, or the way it had absolutely engulfed your hand due to its sheer size alone. You forced your gaze to the badges that adorned the left side of his khaki uniform, glancing back up at him with a grin as you pulled your hand away.

“So, a Lieutenant?” you commented, gesturing toward the two silver bars on the collar of his uniform, before pointing with your beer bottle to the golden wings centered above his heart. “Flight officer badge. You’re a Weapons Systems Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave you another kind grin as Penny swung by quickly, shooting a wink in both of your directions as you slid you both another beer each, muttering something about it being on the house. Bob took his with a sheepish smile, thanking Penny quietly before his attention refocused on you. “Top Gun graduate.”

“Ah, that and the rank explain why Caveman was so scared shitless to see you and your friends,” he’d laughed again at that comment as you finished off the last of your beer, a sly smirk appearing as it was hard to miss the way that Bob’s eyes flickered down to your neck as you tilted you head back to finish off the bottle. “Typically, you’re only recalled here for special detachments and sent home to your squadrons, unless you’re here to train newbies like our friend in the sand outside.”

“We were brought in for a mission months ago,” Bob’s attention was turned away as Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw reentered the bar. They both gave you polite waves that you happily returned for what they’d done for you, before making the most obvious of kissy faces toward Bob that had him shaking his head in embarrassment. You tried to hold in your laughter for his own sake. “They thought we had good team dynamics, so they formed a special squadron to keep us in town for a while. VFA-73 Dagger Squad, at your service.”

“Well, cheers to you all and a sincere thanks for your service,” he happily clinked the top of his bottle against your own. “Must be one special group to get a new squadron formed, no less made up of the best of the best.”

“Oh, they’re special, alright,”

You’d quickly come to learn in the next few minutes that Bob Floyd might’ve been the quieter one of his friends, but he was just as charming as the rest seemed to be. Honestly, you weren’t sure he understood just how charming he really was. He’d pointed across the bar toward his friends, naming off their names and the callsigns that you were sure to remember more easily. With each name, he seemed to easily have a story or a quick-witted quip about each one (including the embarrassing story of his Bob ended up his callsign and how Hangman had turned it into baby-on-board) that had you progressively laughing harder, leaning further toward him. You were seated facing one another, bodies angled directly at the other, and his knee was just barely brushing up against yours now with each laugh shared.

“Hangman seems like a piece of work, but I bet he’s got a soft side buried somewhere down in there,” you’d shot back, turning Bob’s attention back to you as you leaned closer to him with a grin, launching into a story that Bob seemed gripped to, an easy smile on his own face. “My dad’s the same way, took my Uncle Solomon–not my real Uncle, but kind of chosen Uncle–to break him down a little bit, get him to loosen up more.”

“So, your father was in the Navy?”

“Still is, reason that I’m in town right now,” 

With Bob this close, you were losing focus fast. The way he hung onto every word that you said, seemed to genuinely care about what you had to say, had a flutter flying through your chest that you hadn’t felt since your first boyfriend back in high school. Sure, you’d had your fair share of relationships in adulthood, but nothing that clicked, no one that made your heart soar or made you want to ‘pop your foot’ as Princess Mia always said in your favorite childhood movie. You were starting to understand her logic, though, because every second around this charming knight in shining glasses had you ready to throw caution to the wind.

So, with a little boost of confidence fueled by the third beer in your hand and the adorable sight of a blush on the Naval aviator’s face, you moved even closer. Your leg slotted itself between his, pressed between his thighs as your foot rested against the bottom rungs of his chair. You could see him freeze for just a second as his eyes followed you, not apprehensive, but just unsure, like he’d never been here before. With your beer pushed off to the side, not seeing a need for any more liquid courage, your elbow came to rest on the bartop and your head on top of your hand, allowing you to look up at the handsome man before you and watch as he visibly swallowed the lump in his throat.

God, that really had no right to be as hot as it was.

“S-So, he’s stationed here on North Island?”

“Maybe,” you shot back with a smirk, one that brought an easy smile back to his lips as he could surely hear the teasing tone laced through your words as you kept your answer vague. “I’d prefer not to talk about my dad, though, when I could be hearing more about the incredibly handsome WSO who saved this poor damsel in distress.”

Another easy laugh was shared between you both before the floodgates seemed to open up.

Bob had no issue telling you all about his childhood. He’d grown up in Montana, on a ranch somewhere on the outskirts of Bozeman, which prompted a lengthy debate on whether or not he qualified as a cowboy or not (you thought he did, and when he confessed to owning a few cowboy hats, you declared yourself the winner of the debate). His mother and father, Bonnie and Owen Floyd, had three daughters before finally having Bob, their youngest: Laura, and the twins Sophia and Sierra. He’d recounted a story from back in high school when they’d taken a trip to Yellowstone National Park for Bob’s birthday, at his request, where his oldest sister had gotten yelled at by a park ranger for stepping way too close to one of the hot springs.

“That’s, like, impossible to do!” you’d almost shouted through the bar incredulously as Bob laughed at your reaction. “All you have to do is stay on the guided paths, right?”

“That’s what I said!” Bob managed to explain through his own laughter. “Laura swore she saw a bald eagle and was just trying to get a closer look. She then, unbelievably, yelled back at the ranger about how one day she was going to be a conservationist and work there.”

“In the nicest way…she sounds like a piece of work sometimes,”

“No offense taken, the whole family agrees. I like to say she took all the extrovertedness in the family so that there was none left for me,”

Your lips quirked into another bright smile at that, tone slightly teasing once more, but in a soft way.

“I don’t know, you don’t seem so introverted around me,”

Bob paused at that, that adorable blush still ever present in his skin, as his lips quirked up just slightly higher than they were before.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t,” he’d shyly managed to say, eyes never straying from yours. “You make it easy.”

With more shared laughter, two hearts fluttering just from conversation alone, Bob even told you the story of how he’d decided to join the Navy. He’d been with his father one day, the family truck getting worked on at the local shop, and his dad had slid him some money to grab them both some snacks from the pharmacy a few doors down. Bob had only been around 10 at the time. In between those two buildings, though, had been a Navy recruitment center where he’d overheard the conversation inside with some high school students, and the rest was history. He suddenly had every book known to man about the Navy, was watching every movie that even mentioned the Navy in passing, and had sheepishly admitted to even starting a collection of model planes he’d built, dreaming one day of flying them.

God, if that wasn’t somehow the cutest story in the world, but also the hottest moment of vulnerability you’d seen from a man your age in years, you were practically ready to swoon and drop to the floor right there in the middle of the bar. You had a feeling that Penny wouldn’t take kindly to that, even if she seemed to like you and Bob’s friend group.

In turn, you’d told Bob everything about yourself, too. Growing up in a town in New York that felt more like it was part of Canada than New York, given your proximity to the border. You were an only child, your father (who had you skirting around any details that Bob asked about him) was too focused on his career to think about having another kid. But he always swore that you were enough for him. His workaholic nature and deep love for the Navy and moving up the ranks strained the relationship he had with your mother until they divorced. How you never got to see him often, but he always managed to call at least once a week to talk to his ‘perfect girl.’

With the depressing comparison of your childhoods and family dynamics, you’d told him the happy stories and memories, too. Ones that you didn’t normally divulge to a man you had just met. You’d been on a softball team all through high school with your best friends, won multiple championships, and even gotten a scholarship to Boston University because of it. There were multiple stories about how your parents always bribed you with Cold Stone Creamery, and how it was still your favorite ice cream place today. That time your friends had gotten caught sneaking alcohol into the punch bowls at prom (that story had Bob laughing, as he recounted a similar one that Hangman had told them from his high school days). And, of course, the thrilling stories of your very mundane marketing job back in your hometown, the one you never managed to escape.

“You at least like your job, though, right?” Bob had asked, and with the way you were now sitting together, it would probably be more comfortable and practical to just climb into his lap and use him as a chair. Legs still wound around one another, both leaning against the bar with beers long forgotten, faces entirely too close together as you sat in your own bubble together. The sun had long since gone down, as it had still been in the beginning stages of setting when you’d first entered the bar. 

One hour, two? You had no clue how long you’d been talking to Bob Floyd, but every part of you wanted to talk to him for the rest of the night and beyond. It was easy, it was comfortable, and you felt more respected in the entirety of this conversation than you did on any Tinder date you’d been on in years. Safe. That’s what you felt. You felt safe around Bob Floyd, a feeling that was a hot commodity in today's dating climate.

“I do. I went to school for it, so I hope I like it,” your eyes drifted to the bartop, finger absentmindedly tracing the water ring left around your discarded beer bottle. “Pays well, very well. Just want to do it…somewhere other than my hometown, is all. Love the company I work for, just want a change. If an opportunity presented itself, I’d leave Watertown immediately.”

“And besides your mom, you wouldn’t uh…you wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind, would you? No like a, uh, a boyfriend…or anything?”

You’d glanced back up at him now, at the way he bit into his bottom lip with both nerves and hope shining in his eyes as he waited with baited breath for your answer. And in turn, you smiled, leaning just the slightest bit closer to him with amusement laced in your words.

“Lieutenant Floyd, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been flirting with you all night. I wouldn’t do that if there was someone waiting for me,”

He laughed then, and you could almost physically see the tension and nerves leave his body.

“Good, because uh, I-I don’t either. Have anyone, I mean,” your head tilted as Bob groaned slightly, running a hand down his face and adjusting his glasses with a deep chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m really not good at this.”

“At flirting?”

“I never really get the chance to, no one ever really notices me,” he’d shrugged it off like it was nothing, but you’d felt a small pang in your chest at that comment. “Jake, Bradley, Javy…it’s always them, and it doesn’t normally bother me. But I…I saw you earlier, and you looked at me like you saw me. Like you really saw me. You never looked at them, you kept looking at me. And…I’ve never been the one looked at like that, not when I’m with them. I’m not the one noticed.”

You shuffled, sitting up slightly now so that you weren’t leaning against the bar, as you placed your hand on top of his, where it lay in his lap. Bob simply watched you, a tiny smile never leaving his face, as you reciprocated the look and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m not one to flirt with a random guy at a bar, or sit and divulge details of my life story to him for hours on end. Which means you, Bob Floyd, are special. And honestly? I’m glad the other ladies don’t notice you, because I sure did. And that just leaves more for me.”

There was silence for a beat before his hand under your own moved back just slightly, his fingers now splayed out over your own, wrapping around them slightly with a tiny squeeze. And somewhere in that small movement, in the looks exchanged in the never-ending eye contact you seemed to hold with one another, something changed. Those heated looks from earlier held a new weight with the words spoken out loud, the tension on the rope connecting the two of you tighter than it had been from the moment you’d first saw Bob Floyd from across the bar, and it felt like all it was going to take to snap that tension was to lean in-

“Baby-on-board! You done hogging your girl over there so we can meet her?”

And…moment ruined. Bob immediately shut his eyes, groaning with a mumble under his breath about how he was ‘going to kill Hangman’ while his friends all laughed from across the bar. You’d simply laughed, leaning your head down until your forehead rested against Bob’s shoulder, his breath and words ghosting over the side of your face as he finally spoke.

“Sorry about them. The one time I have a girl interested in me, they decide to be pricks about it,”

“Maybe they’re just trying to summon you back over, I have held you hostage long enough,” you commented when you finally lifted your head, glancing down at the watch on his arm to see that you had, in fact, held this man hostage at the bar for almost two hours, even though it had felt like minutes.

“Trust me, this was no hostage situation. I’d rather be over here with you,” Bob was quick to interject, his smile seeming to stretch wider as you were sure he could see the flush crawling up your own neck. Untangling your legs, Bob rose to his feet beside the chair as a pang of disappointment hit you square in the chest. That was, until he held his hand out to you with a sheepish grin. “Care to join me?”

You were pretty sure you would’ve followed Bob Floyd anywhere at this point. Was it insane to like a guy this much after barely knowing him for a night? Probably, but you didn’t feel like you’d just met him. No, Bob Floyd felt like meeting an old friend again, and god did you love the feeling. That’s why you didn’t hesitate to put your hand in his.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,”

There was another round of cheers the second you and Bob were finally in their vicinity, another comment from Hangman about ‘Bobby finally bagging a woman’ that ended with a harsh shoulder slap from Phoenix. You’d only laughed as Bob shook his head at their antics and gratefully accepted the barstool he’d held out for you. Your eyes watched him, like they had been the entire night, as he turned down the invitation to the pool game at hand, taking a seat on the stool directly next to you.

What he probably hadn’t expected was for your foot to hook around the leg of his stool, dragging it directly to your side until every part of you that could be pressed up against the handsome WSO was. When he saw the easy smile on your face and the tiny wink you gave him, you could see any last bit of tension leave his body as he easily leaned into you as well.

They’d all quickly introduced themselves, though Bob had already given you the rundown before. You greeted them politely with a smile, finally giving them your own name so Bradley didn’t have to call you ‘mystery bar girl’ anymore.

“Well, well, well baby-on-board,” it was Hangman once again, shaking his head as he took a shot on one of his last solids left in play, sinking it easily. “Looks like you snagged a confident one. Too bad, bet I could’ve swept her off her feet if given the chance.”

Flirty. Bob certainly didn’t exaggerate just how flirtatious Jake Seresin seemed to be, not that you were interested at all in any comments from him. The comments didn’t catch you off guard, but Bob’s actions did.

His hand was immediately on your thigh, closer down toward your knee, but resting there nonetheless. Just the slightest bit of pressure, enough to feel as if it had been meant in a comforting gesture, but it inherently held something a little more to it. Not quite possessiveness, but something akin to staking a claim, to say you were with him and him only. While Caveman’s hand on any part of you had you wanting to run for the hills, Bob’s firm grip had you leaning into his side more, chasing after the warmth and security he provided. It still sent a flash of heat through every inch of your body, especially when you glanced down to see just how big his hand was when it was resting on such a small part of you. You wished you’d opted for the jean shorts you had picked out earlier now just to feel his hand engulf your bare skin instead.

“Knock it off, Bagman. Clearly, she’s more interested in the quiet types,” the wink Natasha sent your way made you laugh, a similar chuckle coming from Bob at his front-seater’s comments, as she whacked Hangman over the shoulder. While lining up to take her own shot in the game, you saw her catch the way Bob’s hand rested on your leg, and a flash of surprise followed by pride seemed to cross her features. “So, never seen you around before. What brings you to Fightertown?”

“Visiting my dad for a few weeks, he’s stationed here on North Island. But…I’m also here for work,” you could see Bob’s head turn to look at you curiously from the corner of your eye, but you kept your gaze on Natasha. “The marketing firm I work for has a branch out here in San Diego, over in Chula Vista. They know I’ve been looking to move, so they thought I should come check out their set-up out here to see if I liked it enough to take their offer.”

There was a squeeze to your thigh as you turned your attention back to Bob, who was looking at you quizically.

“You didn’t mention that before,”

“Wasn’t sure I was going to take their offer earlier,” you shrugged innocently. “San Diego is hot, I’m not built for this weather.”

“But you…think you might take it now?”

You bit into your bottom lip, leaning just a fraction closer to Bob as you tried to hold back your grin as you replied.

“Well…maybe I found another enticing reason to hang around San Diego for a while,”

There was a low murmur of laughter throughout the group at your words, that gorgeous redness settling back into Bob’s cheeks, and you could hear Fanboy mumble out just loud enough a ‘damn, she’s good at this’ comment.

The group asked their questions, and you answered happily. Where you were from, what all your job entailed, even the stupid little questions like who your celebrity crush was or if you ever thought about joining the Navy like your father.

All the while, Bob never strayed from your side. His thumb had been rubbing little circles into your jeans, just firm enough to feel it on your skin each time the digit moved back and forth, and god, you were really cursing yourself for not wearing those shorts right now. At some point, during a pool rematch between Rooster and Coyote, your head had found it’s way to rest against Bob’s shoulder, and after a brief moment there was the unmistakeable feel of lips pressed to the crown of your head that had a shiver running down your spine and another flash of heat rushing through you, this time heading all south.

Charming, sexy in a quiet way that made him seem so non-threatening, and an absolutely sweetheart and a gentleman…it hadn’t even been a day, but you knew Bob Floyd had already ruined your standards for men. He was the standard.

“Sorry, my favorite fighter pilots,” the attention of everyone crowded by the pool tables turned to Penny, hand on her hip, but an easy smile on her face as she glanced around, eyes lingering on you and the WSO who were still wrapped around one another. “Last call time, going to have to kick you all out now.”

Last call? With a quick glance around the bar, you noticed that there was, in fact, barely any patrons still around. The ones still left behind were already moving toward the door. And with a glance down at Bob’s watch, the time was confirmed: 2 a.m.

“Damn, we almost never stay here until last call,” Rooster laughed, packing up everything on the pool table so that Penny didn’t have to deal with it, Fanboy and Paybackl disappearing after offering to help Penny clean up bottles still littered around the bar.

“Time does fly when you’re having fun,” Natasha commented, bumping shoulders with him before she set her sights on you. “What about you, our honorary Dagger? Need a ride back to wherever you’re staying?”

“Nah, I’m staying at Hotel del Coronado right down the beach. Perks of the job. I just walked along the beach to get here earlier,” your gaze then flickered over to Bob, his thumb still rubbing circles into your leg where he’d never let go throughout the night. “Though it’s pretty late, I’d love if there was some knight in shining glasses still hanging around that wouldn’t mind walking me back.”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation from Bob before he was on his feet, the heat of his hand on your leg disappearing, and then reappearing moments later when his hand wrapped around your own, fingers sliding into place between yours.

“I’ve got tomorrow off, I’ll see you guys on base Sunday,” Bob nodded toward his friends, tugging you even closer to his side. “Tell Penny I’ll come grab my truck later.”

“More like in the morning,” Hangman commented, trying to conceal it surrounded by fake coughs. The group had laughed, the comment spurring another bloom of red across Bob’s cheeks and your own, before he’d tugged you out the back door of the Hard Deck and into the sand.

The beach in these early hours of the morning was quiet, beautiful in a way that only these lonely hours of the night could make it. No distant sound of traffic, no families or rowdy groups of teenagers running up and down the sand, just the sand, the waves, and the moon. It cast streaks of light over the water, its reflection rippling in the waves as they crashed to shore, setting the scene of a picturesque night along the stretch of sand that lasts miles.

Bob had held you up as you removed your sandals, carrying them in one hand in order to appreciate the cool sand beneath your feet. Your other hand still stayed wrapped up in Bob’s, the warmth of his skin a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that came with the cool nighttime California air. Conversation hadn’t stopped, not once, since you’d both started talking earlier on in the night, but this time it was Bob pointing up at the sky as you lazily moved down the beach at the slowest pace you could, naming constellations visible.

“That one right over there,” you followed his gaze as he pointed just slightly West in the sky. “That one is Hercules.”

“Ah, absolutely. I can totally see it,” you nodded your head repeatedly, and it was clear that Bob was already starting to laugh at your response. “The square those stars form, and the little stick arms and legs, definitely gives off a mythological Greek hero to me.”

“Well, actually,” Bob managed to speak through his laughter. “It’s named for his Roman counterpart. Heracles was his Greek counterpart, so they’re essentially the same thing.”

After a moment, you dropped Bob’s hand, turning and angling your body so that you were facing him head-on, walking backward in the sand. Even in the dark of the night, you could tell there was a tiny blush creeping along his cheeks as you tilted your head toward him.

“Bob Floyd, don’t tell me you’re also a secret space nerd!”

His laugh echoed down the beach as he hung his head for a moment, adjusting his glasses when he finally looked back up to you with a grin.

“Guilty, hard not to be with the kind of night skies I grew up seeing in Montana. I-I haven’t…completely ruined my chances now that I’ve nerded out…have I?”

“On the contrary. I have a thing for smart men,” with another wink, you’d spun on your heel in the sand, continuing your walk toward the hotel. “Especially this smart, handsome WSO named Bob Floyd that I met tonight.”

You’d barely gotten a few steps away before there was a sudden tug on your hand, your body spinning back around in the sand until your chest was pressed directly to Bob’s. And before you could utter a single word, his lips were, finally, on yours.

Without a second of hesitation, you fell into him, swept away by the way his fingers traced the line of your jaw, sliding their way to the back of your neck as he held you in place against him. His lips moved against your own with a sense of gentleness that disappeared once it was clear you were reciprocating with vigor, his mouth swallowing yours with the hunger of a starved man.

Almost involuntarily, a delicious little sound you swore you’d never made before tumbled from your lips, swallowed whole by the soft, firm moves of Bob’s lips against your own. A spark grew in the pit of your stomach the second the hand on your waist gripped you just the slightest bit tighter, a spark that was soon a raging inferno that you had no thoughts about taming. 

It takes no effort to give in to Bob Floyd, not when he holds you like this. Not when he’s kissing you on a moonlit beach as if you’d personally hung the moon in the sky just for him.

There is no question in this kiss, no lingering doubts about whatever had sparked between you both since the moment you’d made eye contact hours ago. When your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding through and tugging lightly on the sandy blonde hair you couldn’t even see in the dark, and he elicits a groan that has your knees threatening to give out in the sand, there’s no question: there’s a claim. If his hand on your thigh was the precursor, the writing of a contract to claim you as his in a way you didn’t even realize you already were, this kiss was the signature. Signed and dated, written in stone. You weren’t sure there was another man in the world who could kiss you the way Bob Floyd was kissing you, who could ignite a fire that bright in the depths of your soul.

With reluctance, as if it takes the gods themselves to pull either of you away, you part for the simple need to breathe. And, god, does Bob Floyd look wrecked. Panting, lips red and swollen, the skin of his neck and cheeks flushed red, and an unmistakable bit of fog to his glasses. You laughed then, breathy from your own lack of oxygen, reaching up with the sleeve of your shirt to wipe at the fog, knowing that, given how you felt right now, you surely didn’t look any better than he did.

“Well…hi,” you managed to huff out, chest still struggling to get air back into your lungs.

“Hi,” his voice came out almost like a whisper at first, full of wonder, his hand still cradling your head. His thumb was, once again, drawing little circles into the skin right around your ear, his smile wider than you’d seen all night. “I…I’m sorry-”

“Do not apologize for that,” you’d interjected immediately as Bob huffed out a laugh. “Please, never apologize for that.”

“Good, because I was lying. I-I’m really not sorry,” the hand against your cheek left you, taking its warmth with it, before both of Bob’s hands settled on your waist. You tightened your arms around his shoulders in response, sandals having been long discarded in the sand somewhere amid the kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours. I…I like you. Like, a lot. More than I think I should for the few short hours I’ve known you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re on the same page. I don’t divulge my entire life story to just any Naval aviator in a bar,” another breathy laugh fell from Bob’s lips as you leaned forward, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “No, I only tell all those stories to this one guy that I happen to really like. Like, a lot.”

And when Bob Floyd kissed you again, it was blissful. Gentler, still passionate, so full of an emotion that you wouldn’t ever dare to call love, not this soon. It was more like affection, adoration, a warmth that had you melting into his arms without a care in the world. You’d do anything, as long as it meant you got to keep kissing this man.

Maybe Princess Mia had been onto something with that ‘foot pop’ of a kiss idea, because this sure felt like that moment.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” Bob groaned out against your lips, hands squeezing at your hips again as you laughed, playfully leaning back to swat at his chest as he smiled down at you, illuminated by the moonlight. 

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps kissing me. I think any court of law would find you at fault for that. Also,” you quickly gestured around at your surroundings with a tilt of your head. “Hell of a setting for a first kiss. A moonlit beach in the dead of night, did you walk straight out of a rom-com, Bob Floyd?”

“In all honesty, I was going to wait until I got you back to your hotel room to kiss you and hopefully get your number,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But then I looked at you and…and you were just too beautiful not to. And I was going to kick myself in a few hours if I didn’t kiss you.”

If you were ever asked to pinpoint something you adored about Bob Floyd, his ability to make you laugh with the simplest of things would probably be your favorite. He barely even had to try, and he had you laughing like a little schoolgirl.

The entire walk back to the hotel down the beach felt like a dream sequence, like something straight out of a movie that you never believed actually happened to people in real life. Bob’s hand never strayed from yours, swinging between you both as you kicked at the sand. Every few steps, he’d push you away from him slightly, just to be able to pull you back into his side and make you laugh again.

And somehow, in the midst of the walk, you’d ended up engaged in the most spontaneous round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ questions you’d ever been part of. You and Bob had both been caught speeding during college, but Bob had managed to awkwardly sweet-talk his way out of a ticket with the female officer. You’d been skinny dipping twice before, both on bachelorette trips for two of your college friends, and you didn’t miss the way Bob had to swallow the lump in his throat at that confession (no doubt imagining it). He, in turn, had ended up having to confess the embarrassing story that was him having a crush on his high school English teacher.

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around that,” you’d managed to say through your laughter that you couldn’t contain as you both approached the main doors of the hotel building. “She was at least young, right?”

“Yes, she was in her thirties,” Bob shook his head, obviously amused by how hilarious you found the story. Like the gentleman he was, he’d opened the door for you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he led you into the building. “Girls didn’t look at me in high school, okay. She always offered that I could eat lunch with her since she had a free period, and the entire school had agreed that she was objectively pretty. You can’t blame me!”

“Okay, fine, but you do have to admit it’s a little funny,” you’d offhandedly waved to the concierge, the same one who had checked you in that morning, now working the graveyard shift, before leading Bob over to the elevators. You rested against the wall, awaiting your ride to arrive, while Bob stood just barely a foot in front of you. “As for the girls: their loss. If I’d have gone to high school with you, trust me, I would’ve looked at you.”

The doors for the elevator slid open with a ‘ding’ as you quickly moved inside, back turned to Bob.

“And trust me, if I’d have known you back then, we’d be married by now,”

The second the elevator doors shut, you paused, finger hovering over the button for your floor. Turning on your heel back to Bob, head cocked to the side in amusement, you could see the realization flicker over his face as it dawned on him what exactly he’d just said.

“Oh, would we now? You saying we’d be high school sweethearts?” Bob sheepishly laughed, fixing his glasses as he looked anywhere but you. “That kind of sounded like a line straight out of Hangman’s playbook, and I barely know the guy.”

“Yeah…y-yeah, it really did, didn’t it? Might have to blame the alcohol, I-I don’t typically drink much on our nights out,”

You hummed, taking a step toward him with a growing smile as his stuttering came back for just a second, something you realized only ever made an appearance when he was nervous. His eyes were locked on you as you leaned up, nose bumping his.

“Don’t worry, I found it cute coming from you,” you leaned back to hit the button for the third floor, and the second you did, Bob’s hand was settled on your hip, pulling you back to him. Teeth gnawing into your bottom lip, you contemplated the words floating around your head for a moment, afraid that whatever was happening here was fragile and your words could break it. “When we get up there…do you want to come in?”

You had read it before, about the way a man’s eyes darkened with ‘lust’ or in moments such as this, but you’d never witnessed it. Not until now, and once again, Bob Floyd had you weak in the knees.

“I’d love to,”

“Good,” you nodded. “Just know…I don’t do hook-ups. I don’t do flings.”

“Good,” he responded with his own nod. “Because neither do I.”

“Good,”

The door of your hotel room had barely been closed before Bob was on you.

His hands on your hips guided you, pressing you up against the closed bathroom door just to the right of the room’s main door, and his lips descended upon yours as if he were attacking his target. Vigorous, relentless, he kissed you in a way you’d never been kissed before, not even like he did on the beach, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance. A wanton moan slipped out of you, parting your lips just enough for Bob’s tongue to sneak through, to savor the taste of you. You savored the taste of him, too: the lingering taste of the beer he’d been sipping all night, and the remnants of your own vanilla chapstick still smeared across his lips.

You moved in tandem, like your bodies were one with each other. It didn’t take long before your shirt was off, his lips hot, slicked with spit, dragging themselves over every inch of skin he could get his lips on. Every drag of his lips, every press of a kiss against your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts had your mind going blank, your fingers desperately fumbling with the buttons of his khaki uniform to no avail.

If you just asked, you’d let him have anything he wanted in this moment. You’d let him take you against this door, the wall next to it, the floor, the bed, hell, you’d let him lean you over the balcony railing where anyone might be able to see you both. Nothing else mattered besides Bob Floyd, as long as he continued to touch you, adore you, worship you the way he was.

In the moments it took Bob to maneuver you from the wall to the bed, you’d finally come back to yourself, able to delicately unbutton his uniform and not ruin it, before tugging it from its place tucked into his pants and tossing it across the room. The white shirt he had on beneath it was gone in seconds, too, and god, you wanted to admire him like a painting on the walls of a museum, like he was the Mona Lisa himself.

Like they say, it’s always the quiet ones. You shouldn’t have been surprised; he was in the Navy, after all. But you couldn’t deny the heat that pooled between your thighs from just a single look.

With a tiny yelp from your lips, your back hit the bed, and Bob was on top of you in seconds, drawing yet another moan from your lips. At this rate, there’d surely be a noise complaint in minutes. His leg wedged itself between your thighs, delivering just enough friction to have you squirming, while his lips locked back into your neck. From your jawline, all the way to your collarbone, Bob nipped at every inch of skin he could, blowing a short puff of air across over tender spot before leaving a searing kiss to it that felt like you were being branded. All the while, your hands roamed up and down every expanse of skin you could touch, His forearms to his biceps and every vein that ran along them, popping out from under his skin. The lean body that hovered over you now, nails ghosting along the lines across his stomach toward his chest that had a low grumble emitting from him. And in a moment of boldness, invigorated by the tension that had snapped between you both, your hand traveled lower, just barely grazing over the outline straining against his khaki pants, finally feeling for yourself just how big he truly was. And the groan that left him that time, wrecked and on the verge of falling apart, had a whole new flood of heat rushing through you.

In a show of his strength, Bob rolled you both again with just one arm. Suddenly, there you sat, straddling him as he lay below you, half naked, eyes blown wide behind those glasses, looking absolutely desecrated beneath you. The only sound that flickered through the room was the heavy pants from each of you, once again catching your breath and calming the firestorm of emotions in you both.

“So,” Bob had breathed out once he’d finally caught enough of his breath. “Y-You’re totally taking that transfer to San Diego, right?”

You’d let out a breathy laugh, swiping your hand down your face as you sent him a small smirk.

“In all honesty…I already accepted it. That was half the reason for this trip: to see my new office and meet my new coworkers. Meeting you, though…well, that’s just like the cherry on top,”

His grin was infectious, but your mind was elsewhere in the moment as you took your chance, simply grinding yourself down on the man below you with a smirk of amusement still on your lips. His smile was gone instantly, lips straining to hold in a moan as his hands gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to freeze in place so you couldn’t make that same move again.

“I-If you do that again, I’m not going to be able to stop myself,”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes, because I want to do this properly. I want to do this in order,” he huffed out a laugh. “Tomorrow, my day off. 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up. Il Fornaio, an Italian restaurant just on the other side of the island, right on the beach, with beautiful views of the water. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, and for dessert…a Cold Stone Creamery, barely a minute away. And if I can muster up the confidence to do it, I’ll make you mine before you’ve even taken a single scoop of your ice cream, because I don’t need a second date to know I want this. And then I’ll bring you back here, and then I’ll fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, to be worshiped. God…I already don’t think there’s a single thing I wouldn’t do if you just asked me to.”

If you opened a dictionary, Bob Floyd would be painted under the word ‘perfection,’ and there was no doubt in your mind about it. Hell, he’d remembered the stupid story about your favorite ice cream shop you’d told him hours ago. You were about ready to ravish him on the spot.

“Sounds like you’ve had this planned out for hours now,” your voice had dropped into a whisper, laced with just pure awe for the man below you.

“Since the moment we first locked eyes across the bar. Had to add the ice cream bit in, later,”

And you’d laughed, something you had done all night with him. For a moment, you paused, smile stretching nervously, as something you’d been meaning to say all night, but had been stuck in your throat, was itching to finally be said. It terrified you, but you had to say it. Bob Floyd was an angel; he deserved to know what he was getting into.

“Well, that’s a yes to dinner, and everything that comes after. I’ll just have to make sure to tell my father I can’t have dinner with him after I visit the base tomorrow afternoon. I hope he doesn’t get too upset, you know how the, uh…how the Vice Admiral can be,”

It was like you’d just dropped a bomb, and you could see the aftermath in Bob’s eyes. The way he tilted his head from beneath you, before realization seemed to crawl into every feature of his face.

“The…the Vice Admiral. As in…Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, Cyclone…” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and all you could do was nervously nod your head as Bob let out yet another breathy laugh. “Your Uncle Solomon…Rear Admiral Solomon Bates, Warlock. Wow, how did I not figure that out?”

“Because I was really careful not to give it away,” you’d tried to laugh, nerves only calmed slightly by the little circles that Bob’s fingers were drawing into the skin of your waist where his hands still lay. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said something earlier. But you were so sweet, and not to mention attractive, and it was so easy to like you…I was scared if you knew, you wouldn’t think it was worth it.”

Bob’s eyebrows furrowed as he shifted, sitting up on the hotel room bed now with you still positioned in his lap. One arm fully locked around your waist, the other taking your chin between his fingers to keep your eyes locked on him as he spoke.

“Why would I think that?”

“I dated a Navy man in college; he was a few years older than I was. He was excited for his reassignment; he was going to be training under my dad. But then, I told him that it was my dad, and he freaked. Thought he’d be treated unfairly if his superior knew he was dating his daughter. I just…I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t worth the hassle. I know how my dad can be.”

Bob stared at you for just a moment before he pulled you into another kiss. Softer than any previous kiss the entire night, but firm, as if he was trying to drill something into you. Whatever it was, it was working, as your chest fluttered and your hands wound their way back into his hair. And barely a beat later, he’d pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, hand on your chin, cupping your jawline to hold you there with him.

“If in the end, I get you…anything is worth the hassle,”

[luvwanda]

CONTAINMENT BREACH

Bob Reynolds X female!reader || WC: 6.6K

SUMMARY: Ever since the day he accidentally voided all of New York City, Bob’s kept his circle tight, trust was a luxury he can’t afford. His teammates were the only ones who get close. That is, until Bucky’s cat sitter shows up. Charming, unshakable, completely unexpected, and completely slipping past Bob’s defenses with alarming ease. Now he’s questioning everything he thought he knew about trust, about himself, and maybe even about second chances.

WARNINGS: Slight Thunderbolts* spoilers! Talks of mental health, depression, self-depreciating thoughts, character death (not reader or Bob) platonic Bucky x reader, Alpine being a little menace and matchmaker, lots of time skips, angsty fic but fluffy ending!

A/N: Just like everyone else, Bob Reynolds has had such a hold on me ever since I watched Thunderbolts, which is how this came to be written! I love that Marvel gave us such a relatable and real character. Enjoy! Divider by @luxifrv <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob reynolds masterlist

It wasn’t often that the Watchtower had visitors. From time to time, Valentina or Mel would swing by, typically armed with sharp suits and sharper words, checking to make sure the New Avengers hadn’t shattered another city block or, God forbid, triggered another diplomatic incident. But personal guests? Those were rare. Especially for Bucky Barnes.

Lately, even Sam didn’t visit much, tensions still stretching between them. Which is why the silence in the Watchtower’s main floor was deafening when the elevator chimed and opened with a soft hiss… and Bucky smiled. Not just the tight-lipped, guarded smirk that passed for a grin these days. A real smile. The kind that started in the eyes and softened his whole face, made him look like someone who’d once known peace.

He stepped forward before the doors had even fully opened and wrapped the woman inside in a firm, familiar embrace. She returned it just as easily, arms winding around his shoulders like this was far from the first time. “Thank you for doing this,” Bucky murmured. You pulled back slightly, but not before affectionately squeezing his forearm, flesh, not metal, and giving him a look full of warmth.

“Just add it to the tab of favors you owe me, Barnes.” You teased. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you broke the moment. You turned, finding a semi-circle of curious, and clearly surprised faces staring back at you. These were the teammates Bucky had told you about over late-night calls. John with the cautious eyes, Ava standing slightly apart from the group, Yelena who assessed you from head to toe, Alexi wearing that unmistakable grin, and then—

Bob.

He stood a little off to the side, arms crossed. He didn’t say anything. Just watched. You gave a small, sheepish wave. “I’ve heard a lot about all of you.” There was a beat of silence. John and Ava exchanged a look that said we’ll be talking about this later. Alexi nodded approvingly, his grin widening like this was the most entertainment he'd had in weeks. And Bob… Bob tilted his head slightly, something unreadable passing through his expression.

You were pretty, he thought, objectively so, but more than that, you seemed to carry an energy that didn’t belong in a place like this. You radiated optimism like it was your default setting. No armor, no edge, no practiced emotional detachment like the rest of them had learned to wear like skin. It unsettled him and intrigued him at the same time. Because in a tower full of jaded heroes and haunted soldiers, you stood out like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Wish we could say the same,” Yelena drawled, her Russian accent curling around the words. She leaned casually against the edge of the table, eyes glinting with mischief as they flicked to Bucky. “But Bucky here hasn’t told us anything about you.” Alexi’s laugh followed a beat later, loud and delighted. “About time you brought your lady over and introduced her to us!” You and Bucky exchanged an immediate, mutual grimace.

“Oh, we’re not—” You said at the same time he blurted, “No, she’s—” You motioned vaguely between the two of you, stepping slightly away from Bucky’s side for emphasis. “We’re not together like that. He’s like the overprotective big brother I never had. Annoying, broody, and occasionally helpful.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. At your words, Bob felt something inside him unclench, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

His shoulders eased slightly, tension leaking out like air from a valve. But just as quickly, his own mind betrayed him. Stop it. She would never look at you like that. The thought hit like a sucker punch to the gut. A harsh voice, well-rehearsed and heavy with truth. His posture shifted again, the weight of it all settling across his shoulders. He ducked his head slightly, eyes lowering as he avoided looking in your direction altogether. Across the room, Ava’s sharp gaze never wavered.

She tilted her head, brows drawn together ever so slightly. “Then what are you doing here?” You met her scrutiny without flinching. “Cat-sitting,” You replied simply, lips curving upward into an easy smile. As if on cue, the cat in question trotted into the room. Her white fur gleamed under the overhead lights, tail held high and confident as she padded across the floor. A single approving meow escaped her as she reached you, rubbing against your leg with practiced affection.

“There she is.” Your voice softened immediately. “Hi sweet girl.” You crouched, scooping her into your arms and pressing her against your chest. She purred, loud and satisfied, immediately tucking her face into your neck like she'd missed you for days. Bob’s eyes lifted without permission, drawn to the scene despite himself. Something about it, the calm in your touch, the quiet joy you didn’t bother hiding.

It wasn’t the kind of thing he got anymore. But here you were, in a tower full of ghosts and ex-assassins, holding a damn cat like it was the most natural thing in the world. It made him want to look away. And also made it impossible to. “That monstrous feline is not sweet.” John Walker’s voice cut in like a sawblade, his words practically dripping with contempt as he stared Alpine down like she’d personally offended him. You gasped, clutching the cat closer.

Alpine blinked at John with the casual disdain of someone absolutely unbothered. “Monstrous?” You echoed his words with exaggerated disbelief, gently scratching her under the chin. “I think you’re talking about a different cat. Alpine wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She responded with a low, delighted purr that vibrated against your chest.“Alpine is selective,” Bucky clarified, dry as ever, stepping in like the overprotective big brother he was determined to be.

“Only likes very specific people. Don’t disrespect my cat just because she doesn’t like you.” John scoffed and crossed his arms, muttering something under his breath that you were pretty sure included “spawn of Satan.” Alpine simply blinked again completely unbothered. You bit back a grin and looked down at her. “She’s definitely a good judge of character.” Before John could retaliate, Bucky shifted the conversation. “We should be back in a few days,” He interjected, tone casual.

At those words, Bob, silent, still as ever in the background, tensed so subtly only someone who really knew how to look would have noticed. But it was there. That flicker of alarm. Of dread. Because if everyone was leaving… then it would be just you. And him. In this tower. Alone. “I even got you that god-awful grass drink you like,” Bucky added, smirking slightly. “It’s in the fridge.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, reaching out to smack his arm. Which, predictably, felt like smacking concrete wrapped in tactical gear. “Disrespect matcha one more time, Bucky,” You warned, faux-serious. “And you’ll see what happens.” The super-soldier simply laughed even when you narrowed your eyes. “This is so weird,” Yelena muttered, arms folded as she eyed the scene.

“You being soft. It’s unnatural.” She gestured vaguely to Bucky, making everyone else in the room nod in agreement. With one final check of their gear and Bucky thanking you for the tenth, or maybe hundredth time, and pulling you into one more hug, the team moved out. The elevator doors hadn’t even fully closed before you heard a chorus of muffled voices instantly bombarding him with a flurry of questions:

“Who is she, Barnes?”

“How long have you been hiding her?”

“Why did the demon cat cuddle her and hiss at me?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. Then the quiet settled. Just you, Alpine… and Bob. You cradled Alpine as she adjusted herself like a baby, utterly at peace. You crossed the room, shoes soft against the polished floor, and stopped a few feet in front of him. “Hi,” You offered, voice warm but not too pushy. “I’m Y/N.” Your hand extended between you. Bob glanced at your hand, then at your face, then down at his own sleeves, pale knuckles twisting the hem of his oversized hoodie.

His posture was withdrawn, hunched in a way that felt almost apologetic, like he was constantly trying to make himself smaller. “Bob,” He whispered back quietly, avoiding your eyes, your hand, and pretty much all signs of contact. Then, without another word, he turned and slipped out of the room like a shadow trying not to be noticed. You didn’t take it personally. Bucky had warned you he was quiet.

But still, your smile faltered as your hand dropped, a soft exhale slipping through your lips. You glanced down at Alpine, who pawed at your shirt and yawned dramatically, as if she were unimpressed by the exchange. “That went well." You muttered under your breath. But you didn’t give up. You never really had that in you. You turned the lights down low and settled on the plush couch with Alpine nestled into your side.

You flipped through the Watchtower’s extensive movie archive until you found something comforting, a favorite you’d seen a dozen times, familiar enough to be background noise, comforting enough to combat the eerie silence that blanketed the place once the others left. The quiet was different now. Less filled with activity. You curled up under the soft throw blanket Bucky had left out for you, Alpine’s warmth keeping your chest grounded even as your thoughts began to spiral.

Eventually, the low murmur of the film and the rhythmic rise and fall of the Alpine’s breathing lulled you toward sleep. But even as you drifted off, one image kept slipping into your mind: Doe eyes. A slouched frame in too-big sleeves. A boy trying to be invisible in a room full of larger-than-life heroes. And the ache behind his silence that you couldn’t quite stop thinking about for the rest of the foreseeable future.

The next morning, the Watchtower was nearly silent, save for the occasional soft thud of Alpine jumping from one surface to another. Sunlight poured through the expansive windows of the kitchen, casting long golden rays across the sleek countertops and polished floors. You moved through the space quietly, barefoot, hair tousled from sleep, wearing one of Bucky’s old henley's over your pajamas.

Alpine trailed behind you, tail flicking with approval. You hadn’t expected Bob to be awake yet, which is why you froze for just a second when you saw him. He was sitting on the far end of the kitchen island, hunched over a mug of tea like it might anchor him to the world. His hoodie was the same as yesterday, slightly too big, sleeves pulled down over his knuckles, hair a little mussed like he hadn’t slept much, if at all.

He looked up as you entered. For a brief moment, your eyes met. Then he quickly looked back down, as if the connection had startled him. “Morning,” You greeted gently, not wanting to startle him further. He gave the slightest nod. “Morning.” Progress. You moved with quiet purpose, grabbing a pan and a few things from the fridge. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d make something.” No reply.

“Can’t live off matcha and croissants the whole time I’m here.” He didn’t respond, but he didn’t leave either. That had to count for something. You worked efficiently, the smell of browning butter and cinnamon soon filling the air as you began prepping a small stack of French toast, humming softly to yourself. You noticed the way Bob’s posture shifted slightly, still guarded, but curious.

Alpine perched herself on the windowsill nearby, watching like a supervisor. Occasionally, she meowed at Bob, almost like she was trying to coax him into joining the moment. “I don’t bite,” You smiled softly, keeping your tone light as you slid a plate across the island toward him. “Unless someone badmouths my emotional support drink.” That got a soft huff of air from him. Almost a laugh. He didn’t touch the plate yet, but he looked at it, and that was a start.

You grabbed your own plate and settled onto a stool nearby, not too close, just within conversation range. You didn’t push. Just let the silence stretch comfortably between you as you both started to eat. Eventually, you spoke again. "Do you like the quiet?" His fork paused. For a moment, you thought he might shut down again, but then, his voice, low and unsure whispered. "It's comforting," He paused swallowing the lump in his throat.

“But not always, I-I get too lost in thought, spiral." You looked up, heart catching on the simple truth in his voice. “That’s fair,” You murmured. “Sometimes quiet with the right person is… kind of perfect, makes the voices go away.” His fork didn’t move. You could feel it in the air, the shift, the wall going up behind his eyes even though he hadn’t physically moved a muscle. That one word, voices had tapped something deep, something raw. You didn’t need to ask to know where his mind had gone.

You saw it in the sudden tightness of his jaw. The way his gaze didn’t land on you, but somewhere around you, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to recoil. Waiting for the disgust or fear he was sure would come. He didn’t speak, but his body did, stiff, guarded, breath shallow. Then finally, with your voice quiet and even, you spoke again. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” His eyes flicked to yours, fast, searching. “I just know sometimes… the quiet can feel more like a trap than a comfort,”

“Especially when your thoughts won’t turn off.” His posture eased. Barely. But it was enough for you to notice. “I didn’t mean your voices,” You clarified, almost a whisper. “I meant mine.” You reached for your mug, sipping slowly to let the weight of your words land without pressure. You weren’t here to interrogate him. You weren’t here to fix him. You were just… here. He watched you. You could feel it, his gaze heavy and unmoving.

As if he was seeing you for the first time without the filter of assumptions. You were still radiating light, he thought, but it was softer now, not the blinding kind. A more human kind. Like sunlight after rain. Warm, but gentle. His brows drew together as if something inside him hurt a little. You watched his jaw twitch, the flicker of conflict in his features as your words processed. There was no way, he thought. No way that someone like you could carry shadows, too.

Yet there you were, cracks and light, both and you weren’t hiding either. He stared at you like he didn’t understand what he was seeing. How had this happened? How had someone like you, all open warmth and gentleness, who cooed at cats and smiled like it didn’t cost you anything, gotten in? His guard was steel-reinforced. Always had been. It had to be. That’s how he survived, how he kept others safe from him, and himself safe from the world. But somehow, without him even realizing it, you’d slipped right past it, in less than twenty’s four hours no less.

Not with force. But with kindness. With patience.

And now, there you were, sitting across from him with your mug and your quiet understanding, and the wall that had taken years to build suddenly had cracks in it wide enough for sunlight to bleed through. He hated how fast it had happened. And how natural it felt. And yet… he didn’t want to rebuild the wall again. Not right now at least. “I’m not afraid of you, Bob.” He blinked. Once. Twice. His eyes darted to yours, then away again, like the truth of that statement was too much to look at head-on.

You weren’t afraid of him. And that terrified him more than anything. Because if you weren’t afraid… that meant you saw him. Not the Void. Not the Sentry. Not the stories people whispered behind closed doors. Just Bob. Just the broken, stitched-together, half-repaired version of a person who wasn’t sure if he was worth caring for. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Something sharp and bitter lodged itself somewhere behind his sternum.

Why did his walls let her in?

Why her?

And why, for the first time in a long time… did he not want to push her back out? His fingers twitched on the table, restless, as though caught between the urge to retreat and the aching need to stay. You didn’t press. Didn’t push him to speak or to make some grand declaration. You just watched him, quiet, calm, like you were willing to wait. Like he was worth waiting for. And for the first time, maybe ever… he started to believe someone, most importantly you had meant it.

Later that night, you found yourself curled up on the couch once more, Alpine nestled along your side. The glow of your phone lit your face as you scrolled aimlessly through social media, half-reading posts, half-dozing off. Then you heard it. A soft, pained whimper, almost like a cry. Muffled, strangled, fragile. You sat up instantly, ears straining. Alpine’s head lifted too, eyes alert.

“Bob?” You called out gently, not loud enough to startle, just enough to be heard. No response. But the rustle of bedsheets and the creak of the floorboards told you enough. You didn’t hesitate. Padding barefoot down the hallway, you knocked once on his door. No answer. Another whimper. You slowly opened it. The room was dark save for the spill of moonlight across the floor. Bob was tangled in his sheets, face damp, brow twisted in agony, chest rising and falling like he was drowning in air.

“Bob,” You tried again, a little firmer now. He jolted awake with a gasp, eyes wide and wild, but unfocused. Disoriented. Still halfway in whatever nightmare he had just clawed his way out of. His breath came in sharp, panicked gulps. He shoved himself upright, fists clenched in the sheets like he was bracing for impact. “Hey, hey…” You coaxed, crossing the room slowly, palms lifted. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He blinked rapidly, vision clearing.

When he saw it was you, just you, the panic didn’t vanish, but it changed. Turned inward. Like he was ashamed to have been caught so exposed. “I’m sorry,” He rasped. “I didn’t mean—” You shook your head. “You don’t need to apologize,” You interrupted softly, settling on the edge of the bed. “You had a nightmare. It happens.” He turned his head, jaw tight, avoiding your eyes. But you saw the way his hands trembled. The way his body practically vibrated with the need to pull away and collapse at the same time.

“You’re shaking,” You murmured, not accusing, just acknowledging. “Would it help if I got Alpine?” His head whipped around at that, confused. You offered a faint smile. “Animals help. They can bring your nervous system back down. Petting them, just being near them, it grounds you.” He looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes still wide and full of something raw. “…How do you know all this?” He whispered.

“I work at the VA,” You replied quietly. “That’s how I met Bucky.” Something in his face shifted, not a crack this time, but a softening. Like your words had just unlocked a door he didn’t even realize had been sealed shut. “I’ve seen people fight battles even after the war’s over,” You added. “And I’ve seen what helps, even if it’s momentarily. Let me help.” He didn’t answer. Not with words. But when Alpine padded into the room moments later, hopping gracefully onto the bed, he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t turn her away. His trembling hand hovered for a second before he hesitantly laid it on her back. She pushed into his palm instantly, as if she knew. Purring loud enough to fill the silence. You stayed still. Let the quiet do what it needed to. After a while, Bob’s shoulders sagged. The tension bled out of him slowly, like air leaking from a balloon. His breathing evened out. And though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, he didn’t ask you to leave either.

So you didn’t. Instead, you shifted closer, careful not to overwhelm, but near enough to offer warmth. “You don’t have to talk, just… let someone be here. Let yourself not be alone tonight.” Your voice was soft, softer than the darkness around you, yet it filled the space like a promise. Not loud, not forceful. Just steady. Just there. You didn’t reach for him, didn’t press closer. You waited.

Tentatively, you watched as his hand inched along the rumpled bedding, fingers twitching. He moved slowly, like he was afraid the act of reaching out might break him. His index finger brushed yours, barely a whisper of contact almost like he hadn’t meant to, or wasn’t sure he had the right. Your breath caught, but you didn’t move. Not yet. Then your fingers slid closer, bridging the gap. And this time, he didn’t pull away. It wasn’t a full grasp. Not a hand-hold. Just the side of your fingers against his, warm and unmoving.

A silent offering. A quiet, unwavering truth: you were here. His hand was cold. A little clammy. But he didn’t retract. He let the touch stay, as if testing the idea that maybe, just maybe, physical touch didn’t have to hurt. The fear hadn’t left him. Not entirely. But it had receded enough to let something else in. Peace, maybe. Or at the very least… permission to breathe. He just sat there, pale in the moonlight, shadows clinging to the hollow angles of his face.

With Alpine curled trustingly in his lap and you by his side, your fingers brushing his in quiet solidarity. You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to. And as the minutes passed and Alpine’s purring filled the air, you swore you saw something in Bob’s shoulders, not relax exactly, but release as his head lolled to the side, fighting sleep. Almost as if he wasn’t carrying the weight alone anymore. Not tonight.

It was safe to say that after that night, something had shifted between you and Bob. Nothing dramatic, nothing loud, but it was there. Real. He didn’t flinch when you entered a room anymore. He didn’t avoid eye contact or disappear without a word. His hoodie still swallowed him whole, but now he stood a little straighter. Walked a little closer. He didn’t speak often, not at first, but he stayed. And that meant more than any words could. You’d become something like a routine for him.

A calm one. Mornings started with pancakes, a small victory you were still gloating over. He claimed he didn’t know how to cook, and yet, he took to it like muscle memory, flipping with quiet precision while you chattered beside him. Perks of the Sentry serum, he claimed. Sometimes, you caught him sneaking chocolate chips into your batch when he thought you weren’t looking. He never admitted it. You never called him out. Evenings belonged to the couch.

You and Bob, Alpine curled between you, and whatever movie series you’d decided to marathon. You weren’t sure when he started sitting closer, or when the silence between you stopped feeling awkward and started feeling like safety. But it had. And you weren’t about to question it. Tonight was no different. Blankets tangled around your legs, Alpine’s tail flicking lazily over Bob’s thigh, and the familiar glow of another Twilight movie painting the room in silver and shadow.

"Twilight is a cinematic masterpiece," You declared with mock-seriousness, eyes fixed on the screen as Edward Cullen and Bella Swan made their appearance. Bob’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in both confusion and disbelief. “I don’t know about that.” He muttered dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been the very beginning of a smirk.

You turned your head sharply, gasping as if personally insulted, hand flying to your chest in dramatic offense. “Excuse me?” Your smile had dropped instantly, but only for show. He could tell. Still, there was an almost guilty flicker in his gaze as he looked at you, unsure if he’d crossed a line until you threw a kernel of popcorn at him. “Jacob just imprinted on a baby,” He added flatly, motioning to the screen. “You’re calling that a masterpiece?” You blinked.

“That’s Breaking Dawn, and that’s not the point, Bob.” You huffed, throwing a pillow into his lap. His laugh, quiet, breathy, but real slipped out before he could stop it. It was soft and short-lived, but it froze you in place all the same. You turned toward him slowly, smile creeping back in its full, delighted form. “Was that a laugh?” you asked, eyes shining. “Did I just hear you, Robert Reynolds laugh at Twilight?” His face flushed instantly, but he didn’t deny it.

He simply just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, slumping back into the couch like it could absorb him. “Alpine, did you hear that?” You stage-whispered, petting her head. “History was made tonight.” Bob glanced down at the cat now lounging half on his lap, half on yours, and then to your surprise looked back at you with the faintest trace of warmth in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” He scoffed, but there was no bite to it. If anything, it sounded like affection.

You leaned your head against the cushion, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “Maybe. But I’m also right. Keep watching, it gets better trust me.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he let himself lean ever so slightly into your side, not enough to seem intentional, but not accidental either. Some time during the movie, right as Bella stared longingly at Edward for the hundredth time your fingers brushed his again, both of you reaching for more popcorn.

It should’ve been nothing, just another soft moment in the quiet rhythm you’d found together. But in an instant, everything shifted. The room vanished. Gone was the flickering TV light, the warmth of the blankets, the hum of Alpine’s purring. Instead you were back in that sterile, humming hospital. The air was too clean, too sharp, filled with the muted beeping of machines that had haunted your nightmares for years.

God, the sound. Steady. Constant. Mocking. In the corner of the room, your mother was laid out in the hospital bed like a stranger, tubes in her nose, bruises blooming along her collarbone from too many IVs. Her skin was dull. Her hair thinned. The woman who used to dance barefoot in the kitchen with you to 80s music was just… fading. And you stood frozen in the corner of the room, watching. Always watching. Too afraid to move.

Too afraid to touch her, as if you might cause the last thread holding her here to snap. The doctor had already given the odds. Words like “aggressive,” and “systemic,” and “prepare yourselves.” But you clung to hope the way a child clings to a blanket, desperate, naïve, and fraying at the edges. Then she turned her head just slightly and looked at you. Really looked at you. She smiled. And it was wrong. Too calm. Too peaceful. Like she knew something you didn’t.

Like she had already made peace with the fact she was leaving, and all that was left was to make you okay with it, too. Suddenly, the room went quiet. The memory ended. But the ache in your chest didn’t. And just as quickly as it came, it was gone. You were back on the couch, but breathless, your chest tight, your hand trembling where it still hovered above the popcorn bowl. The movie still played, but the world felt distant.

Bob had already pulled away, his entire frame hunched and tense like he was waiting for a blow. “I—I’m sorry,” He stammered, voice cracking under the weight of shame. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I s-still don’t know how to control it, sometimes when I feel too much or get distracted it just… happens.” You blinked back the tears stinging your waterline, still trying to catch your breath as your reality settled again around you.

The last image of your mother still echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t jagged or cruel. It wasn’t weaponized. It was just… a part of you. A scar you’d kept covered. Your gaze snapped to him, to the way he had recoiled from you like your touch had burned him. His arms were wrapped tight around himself now, fingers clutching the sleeves of his hoodie as if he could shrink himself small enough to disappear. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He was braced for disgust. For fear.

But you didn’t feel either.

“Hey,” You whispered, the word breaking the silence like glass. Still, he wouldn’t look at you. You couldn’t handle it, not again. You shifted closer, slow and deliberate, reaching out to gently rest your hand on his knee, grounding both of you. “Bob, look at me.” He hesitated, eyes flickering to yours, filled with panic and self-loathing. “It wasn’t your fault,” You stated firmly, voice steady despite the slight shake in your hands.

“I’ve been carrying that moment for years. You didn’t force it out of me. It was… already there.” Yet he shook his head, mind spiraling right in front of you. “I didn’t mean to invade your thoughts,” He rasped. “I hate that I do that, just rip people into their worst—” You squeezed his knee, stopping him mid sentence. “You didn’t rip me into anything,” You cut in softly. “You touched my hand, and for a second, my mind gave in. That’s all. You didn’t show me something I didn’t already live through.”

He stared at you like you were speaking another language. Like kindness itself didn’t make sense coming from someone who had every reason to walk away. His eyes were glassy, wide, as if he was expecting you to scream, to flinch, to at him curse. Instead you didn’t move. You didn’t raise your voice or look away. “Bob,” You called his name softly, your voice full of a tenderness he’d only ever seen in other people’s lives, never his own.

“Sweetheart, come here.” The nickname hit him like a freight train. He blinked, stunned, like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Your arms were open, welcoming. No threat. No edge. He didn’t move. “I’m sorry,” He whimpered again, like it was all he had left. His voice cracked in the middle, fragile and full of every emotion he couldn’t name. “I didn’t mean to—” You shook your head gently, shushing him like, and then you reached.

Your fingers found his wrist, slowly, gently, and when he didn’t pull away, you guided him forward. The moment his body made contact with yours, he froze. Stiff. Breath held. He didn’t know what to do with it, your warmth, your hands in his hair, your chest rising and falling against his. But he didn’t stop it. Couldn’t. Your nails scratched delicately into his scalp like a grounding rhythm, the other hand running in soft, steady circles between his shoulder blades.

His breath hitched. It had been so long since someone touched him like that. Not out of obligation. Not for necessity. Just to comfort. And God, he hadn’t realized how much he needed it. His arms, wrapped around you tightly, too tightly, like if he loosened his grip even a fraction, you’d disappear. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breath shaky and uneven. Every part of him trembled under your touch.

You held him tighter. “It’s okay,” You whispered into his hair. “You’re okay. You’re here. I’m here.”He made a sound then, a quiet, broken noise that wasn’t quite a sob, but close. Maybe it was relief. Or grief. Or both. You felt it in your own throat, that heavy lump of emotion neither of you could name yet. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Neither of you moved. And finally, in the low hush of the living room, Bob spoke.

So quietly you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already tuned to every fragile part of him. "I d-don't deserve you." It wasn’t just guilt in his voice, it was certainty. Like it was fact. Like someone, somewhere had etched it into his bones and he’d spent every day since then believing it was true. That sentence alone shattered something inside you. Because you had fallen, not in the surface way, not in some passing infatuation, but in a slow, aching unraveling for the man in front of you.

For his quiet strength, for the storm of self-hate he carried in silence and the flickers of hope he didn’t know he was allowed to hold. You’d fallen for all the versions of Bob, the terrified one, the broken one, the funny one who made dry little comments at the screen when he thought you weren’t listening. You saw every cracked piece of him and loved him more for it. And he thought he wasn’t worthy. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze to yours.

“Don’t say that,” You whispered, voice barely audible, like you were afraid the moment might break if you spoke too loud. “Don’t ever say that again.” He flinched, eyes flickering between yours, and you saw it, the war behind them. That desperate need to believe you, battling a lifetime of voices that told him otherwise. You leaned in just a little, your forehead resting gently against his.

“You deserve everything, Bob,” You declared, eyes closing as the gravity of your words landed. “You deserve safety. And peace. And someone who sees all of you and stays.” You felt him exhale, a slow, shuddering breath that seemed to come from the deepest part of him. Your lips barely brushed his cheek when you spoke again, softer now. “And if you'll let me… I want to be that someone.” He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

But his eyes searched yours like he was trying to memorize them, like they might be the one thing anchoring him to the present. And then, slowly, cautiously, his hand found the side of your neck, warm and trembling, thumb brushing just under your jaw. You tilted your head, giving him space, and that was all it took. His lips met yours with the hesitancy of someone who hadn’t kissed in a long time, or maybe had never kissed like this. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried.

It was a whisper of vulnerability. Your hand slid behind his neck, drawing him closer, and he exhaled into the kiss like it physically hurt to let go of the air between you. He tasted lwarmth and fear and something unbearably tender, like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to meet him in the quiet, in the ache. You tilted your head, deepening it just a fraction, your lips molding to his with a tenderness that made his shoulders sag.

Like the weight he’d carried for years had just been handed off, piece by piece, into your keeping. His breath hitched against your mouth, and your fingers slid into his curls, anchoring him to the moment. He melted under your touch, leaning into you like you were something breakable he wanted to protect but didn’t know how. When his other hand found your waist, it was clumsy and careful at once. He held you like you might vanish, like this might all be a dream, and kissed you again, slower this time, more certain.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads still touching, you whispered. “You’re not alone, Bob. Not anymore. I'm not going anywhere, I promise." He didn’t cry. Not exactly. But he closed his eyes, nodded, and exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “C’mere, let me hold you.” You coxed, voice thick with tenderness and exhaustion as you tugged him gently down onto the couch with you.

There was no hesitation anymore. No flicker of doubt in his eyes. Bob let himself be pulled, let himself fall, not just onto the cushions, but into the warmth of you, into the safety net of this fragile, blooming thing between you. Your arms wrapped securely around his waist, hands smoothing over the soft cotton of his hoodie, anchoring him like a lifeline. Without needing to be asked, he folded himself around you, holding you like something precious.

One arm around your back, the other settling protectively along your spine. Your legs tangled together as if they’d been doing that for years, as if your bodies already knew how to fit together. He clutched you gently but firmly, like he still didn’t quite trust the world not to take you away. “You’re warm.” You sighed, nuzzling into the space beneath his collarbone. His scent, faint cedar, old cotton, a whisper of something herbal from the tea he always made, filled your senses.

“I—um, I run hot. S-sorry.” His voice was muffled by your hair, and his hand twitched nervously against your back. You shook your head where it rested against his chest. “Don’t you dare apologize,” You scolded playfully. “You’re perfect.” He didn’t say anything at first, but you felt it. The way his chest rose and fell differently, heart thumping under your ear, as if your words had hit something he didn’t know how to name.

And then, soft and uncertain, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His face flushed, visible even in the dim light of the television screen still flickering forgotten in front of you. He pressed one last chaste kiss to your forehead, lingering there. Then, finally, you both surrendered to sleep, curled up and wrapped around one another like if it were second nature. The elevator hummed to life hours later, the quiet of the Watchtower broken by the low clunk of boots on metal.

Bucky stepped out first, duffel slung over one shoulder, scanning the empty common space for any sign of Alpine’s prancing form or your cheerful presence. His brow furrowed. The lights were dimmed, the room untouched. Not even a half-drunk mug of matcha in sight. Then his gaze landed on the couch, and the corner of his mouth curled. There you were. Tucked into Bob’s chest like you belonged there, legs intertwined, his chin resting atop your head.

His arms were locked around your waist with the kind of protectiveness Bucky hadn’t seen in Bob since… well, ever. And the kicker? Bob’s lips were still pressed softly against your forehead in sleep, the image of peace incarnate. “Are they—?” Yelena’s whisper broke the stunned silence as the rest of the team piled in behind Bucky, slowing to take in the sight. “They are." Bucky nodded, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Ava blinked, completely stunned. “Wow.” Alexei gave a low whistle, while John looked vaguely like he wanted to protest before Yelena elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. Bucky raised a finger to his lips, motioning for them to be quiet. He stepped forward, carefully scooping Alpine into his arms from her perch at the foot of the couch. She purred instantly, tail flicking with smug satisfaction, as if to say I told you this would work.

Then without another word said, Bucky promptly ushered the entire team out of the room, leaving you and Bob undisturbed in the glow of something new, something fragile and hard-earned, something definitely worth holding on to. And as the door slid shut behind them, the only sound that remained was the steady rhythm of two heartbeats, finally at peace in each other’s arms.

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[luvwanda]

you can ship who ever you want but... you really think yelena likes men??

[luvwanda]

𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙊𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙙𝙪𝙚

MINORS DNI, MEN DNI

WC: 5.5k

Summary: Ellie invites you to a dance in Jackson, and you finally decided it was the night to make a move.

Content: 18+, jackson! ellie, loser! ellie, smut, public sex, switch! ellie, switch/sub! reader, fingering (e), scissoring, breeding kink, praise/dirty talk

Author’s Note: Hello! I finally finished this fic from my first request. I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry if it’s not exactly what was wanted… scissoring is just hot ☹️

Ellie felt like at any moment she might crack. The pressure of Jackson slowly getting to her, patrols dragging on constantly, and tonight… Of course, it was the party she’d dreaded since the posters were plastered around town. Everywhere, haunting her. No matter where she turned.  

She’d heard by ear from none other than Dina and Jesse, the two nagging her to invite you to go. The idea made butterflies flutter inside her stomach, cheeks burning — the stutter not going unnoticed by Dina, who teased her. 

Ellie felt herself wanting to hurl, anxiety overtaking her emotions as she finally braced herself to knock on your front door. Finally finding the courage to ask you to the party, even if it was tonight. Better late than never. With sweaty, shaky hands she knocked on your door, backing away afterward and tugging to fidget the sleeves of her flannel.  

The sound of your door opening made her jump, eyes jolting up to your familiar face. Her heart pumping in her ears, fidgeting, halting, before she cleared her throat to speak. “Hey, sorry for randomly dropping by… Just was wondering if you’d like to uh… Come to the dance with me?”

There you stood, hand still on the door with a confused look on your face at Ellie’s unexpected appearance before your lips morphed into a smile. You waved her in, “Let’s talk inside, Ellie.”

Still scatterbrained, Ellie nodded, following after you inside to the warmth of your home. The door closed with a click, and you hummed, turning to face her. “So… The dance you say? Yeah, I’d love to go with you! Also… why are you just wearing a flannel right now?” Your eyebrows furrowed upon seeing the light material draping over her shoulders, confusion to her idea of protection from the cold. 

Ellie’s mouth almost fell open, her jaw would be on the floor if it could be from how shocked she was. Ellie tried to shake off the feeling, tongue swiping over to wet her dry lips. “Yeah, and you’re like a house over from me…. It’s not THAT cold,” Ellie shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. Even though the weather in Jackson had her shivering at times, especially during the winter months. 

You let out a snort, walking over to Ellie, who stood awkwardly in the middle of your house — not knowing where to place herself. “Don’t play smart with me, we all know you’re freezing your ass off.”

Ellie shuffles at your words, “Oh, shut up, I’m fine!” She rolled her eyes, playfully, a grin stretching across her face. The jokes helped ease her anxiety, reminding her it was just you, and at the end of the day you were one of her closest friends, in all of Jackson. 

You returned her eye roll with your own, using your elbow to shove her into the side. She groaned, grabbing her side dramatically, and glaring at you. “How dare you?!” She gasps out, “Hitting my most vulnerable spot. Could’ve killed me…”  

That had you both erupting into a fit of laughter, you both almost felt like kids again from the exchanges you’d share like this. When the laughter in your chest finally died down, you were finally able to find the words to speak. 

“Seriously, though, I’d love to go to the dance with you. You should’ve asked me sooner!” 

Ellie let out a sigh and leaned her frame against your kitchen counter, “Fuck… Dunno you know how I am. Just get in my head and stuff.” 

Ellie always second-guessed everything she did when it came to you. No matter how much she journaled away her thoughts and feelings about you, she never could calm down the nerves that erupted when she was with you. 

Your hand brushed her shoulder, a shiver shot down her spine. Another reason, she second-guessed things, your friendship — was for reasons exactly like this. The way you held your hand on her shoulder, gently humming and holding eye contact with her made her crumble.

“We’re friends, El. You don’t have to be worried, not like I’d say no,” you whispered, so sweetly, leaning close to her ear, breath fanning the outer shell, and your hand was still pressed onto her shoulder. Then, in a blink of an eye you moved away again.

She nodded, “Yeah, of course. I’m really happy you agreed to come with me, I should uh… Go home and clean up before then… See you in a few hours?” She nervously smiled at you, still recovering from the littlest bit of contact you held on her shoulder. Ellie aways tried to play off your touches, even the lingering ones as something you did with everyone. 

“Of course, see you soon, El.” Your smile that held so much affection, adoration never left your face as you held the door open for her and waved goodbye, even waiting a few seconds to watch her silhouette leave your walkway to make her way home. 

Ellie huffed out a sigh of relief as she made it inside the warmth of her room. She collapsed onto her bed, a million thoughts drifting through her head, ones of excitement and anticipation of what the night would bring. 

Lying in her bed with her thoughts wasn’t doing her any good, she laid up, and walked over to her desk to jot in her journal.

“Holy fuck, still cannot believe she said yes,” Ellie whispered, grabbing a pen and opening to a blank page. She always started her entries on new pages, or sometimes even updated them, later in the day. 

Ellie got to writing, finding it somewhat therapeutic to write out how she feels. She found it easier to spill it on paper, finding it complicated telling people how she felt. A diary allowed Ellie the ability to illustrate and write about how she felt, and keep it to herself. She always carried the small notebook with her, even on patrol. 

‘I asked her to the dance, she said yes, touched my arm!!!! Doesn’t mean anything Ellie! It does DONT! FUCK! UP! YOUR! FRIENDSHIP!’ 

Ellie messily scribbled a sketch of you, faint from memory alongside the words. She felt relief, dropping the pen after she finished her last scribbles and closed the diary. Even in her own room, she was paranoid someone would discover her journal so she never left it open. 

Ellie threw on a new pair of clothes, gave her half bun a quick fix, and loosely pulled on a red flannel. She noted she’d take an extra jacket for the party due to how cold it was earlier, shaking her head to herself at how right you’d been. She always pretended like she hated your teasing, it doing the opposite effect — making her more flustered about how you can combat her. 

Ellie felt more confident about the party, knowing you’d be together. She knew Dina and Jesse would be there, but often they’d get too lost in each other, and she’d become the third wheel. 

Ellie checked herself one more time in the mirror, her eyes scanning over the outfit. Her free piece of hair that often frames her face fell out, pinned back previously in a poor attempt, she blew at it, rolling her eyes and just let the damn strand of hair be. 

She checked the small clock by her bedside table, the numbers reading 5:30. Ellie bit her lip, noting she should leave now to your house. You weren’t far away, so she threw on her jacket and threaded through the frigid air of Jackson to your house.

Ellie was thankful you lived only a few houses away from Joel’s, she eyed the familiar path up to your doorway that she walked on, merely only a few hours ago. Unbeknownst to Ellie, you caught sight of her through your window and had the door opened before she could knock. 

Ellie sheepishly smiled at you upon taking in your appearance, her eyes raking over your outfit and how effortlessly gorgeous you looked. Her eyes were lingering on each article of clothing you wore, still taking in the aura you emitted, Ellie’s breath catching in her throat the more she looked at you.

She blinked, shaking her head quickly, “Hey! Are you ready for the party?”

With that she earned a giggle from you, the sound causing her cheeks to darken. “Yeah, let’s go,” you muttered, shrugging on your coat, closing your door behind you. Ellie waited for you on the bottom step, you bounced down the stairs and grasped one of her hands hanging by her side. 

The darkness of the night helped mask the bright pink her face was right now, hiding away her embarrassment from you. Even with gloves on both your hands to shield them away from the frosty air outside, Ellie felt sparks walking hand and hand with you to the party.

The two of you walked in silence to the center of town, the snow crunched beneath your feet, even when you weren’t talking, being together was pleasant. Ellie was the kind of person that, although she’s usually reserved with everyone in town, is the most caring for those she loves. That included you. She was particularly protective of you, even in the walls of Jackson. Another reason she was happy to accompany you to the dance; claiming you away for herself. 

You suddenly felt Ellie squeeze your hand, checking in on you, to which you nodded and squeezed back. A toothy smile blossoming on your face, one that made her want to pause that moment in time, capturing it on a camera forever. 

Unfortunately for her, she had to shake her head, Ellie smiling to herself as the two of you continued hand and hand to the party.

The party was loud, lights strung about the large room, helping further light the place and set an atmosphere for the party. Due to the time, the sun was already setting, the large windows dimming the room, lessening the natural light. A long food and drink table was placed in the corner with an assortment of different snacks and beverages. People were already dancing, chatting away, and drinking in their own groups. Thrown about were a few tables and chairs to eat and rest at.

Dina spotted the two of you entering hand and hand, Jesse stood next to Dina, wiggling his eyebrows at Ellie as the pair of you made your way over. Ellie rolled her eyes back into her skull seeing that you, however, were taking in the scenery and your surroundings. Ellie was thankful you didn’t witness Jesse’s stupidity. 

You greeted Dina and Jesse with a wave, your precious smile still etched on your face the whole way into the party. You let go of Ellie’s hand to remove your gloves, shoving them into your pocket, Ellie copied you and did the same. 

Dina smirked, a knowing grin on her face. She looked over at the two of you, still clad in your winter jackets. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head, “Let’s get these off and hang them up with the rest of them. With the heater in here you’ll overheat.”

“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver for already knowing where it goes, lead the way,” you muttered and you all went to hang up your jackets on the various free hooks available before heading back outside to grab food and drinks. 

Ellie took in your appearance once more: with your coat off, the fuzzy blue sweater you wore, long black jeans and combat boots appropriate for the raw bitter air that lasted for months until spring. Anything you wore complimented you perfectly, bringing out and enhancing your features, which Ellie loved, and the faint fairy lights kissed your skin so effortlessly. To say you were beautiful was an understatement, Ellie didn’t understand how you existed in a world like theirs. You were too good for this horrible, cruel world.

She felt her heartbeat speeding up, especially with your hand back in hers, dragging her over to the plethora of drinks laid out to offer. You hummed softly, eyes scanning over the many options, and finally deciding upon some vodka and lemonade. Ellie picked her own drink, the two of you dropping hands, sweaty from the connection. 

Dina and Jesse fiddled around and picked their own drinks, Dina topping off her previous one. Jesse took a sip, wincing slightly at the tang of the alcohol on his tongue. “Shit, this is strong,” he coughed, eyes closing in disgust. He scrambled to add some juice to it or something to make the drink less strong.

Dina, Ellie, and you stifled back laughter at his facial expression. Dina patted his back, “Can’t overdo it, babe,” she nonchalantly shrugged.

Jesse rolled his eyes, you sipped away at your own drink, eyes glancing to Ellie who stood beside you. You turned to face her, while Dina and Jesse dwindled in their own conversation. You took one more sip of your drink before bringing it down from your lips.

You licked away the remnants of liquor on your lips, “Ellie, can we dance?” You knew Ellie hated dancing, but sometimes she’d give in to you for certain things. You’d hope this would be a time she would, you crossed your fingers just in case.

Ellie turned to you, brows furrowed in concentration as if she were debating the idea. The idea itched in her head. “I would usually say no… But for you, yes.”

If sparkles could appear in your eyes, there would be when you heard those words leave her lips. A wicked grin appeared on your face, making Ellie also dread her answer. 

“Thank you! I’m so happy,” you hummed, moving closer to her to lean up and kiss her cheek. You felt bold and had never done something like that before to her.

Ellie’s breath hitched in her throat for a moment at the contact, she hadn't expected you to do such a thing. Her cheeks were set ablaze by it, her sensitive skin tingling from your kiss.  She only wished the kiss was on her lips. 

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink to help wash down the burning sensation throughout her body. Ellie felt too hot, even in the middle of winter. You somehow had that effect on her. When she seemed done with her drink, you grabbed her wrist, eyes drifting to the dance floor. 

She could read what you were directing her to, Ellie nervously swallowed and nodded.  Allowing you to drag her to the dance floor. It was a slow dance, the music calm, so you wrapped your arms around Ellie’s neck, her hands finding solace on your hips.

The two of you swayed to the music, your eyes locked onto Ellie’s green ones. She had no choice but to look at you, so she did. She never got to be this close to you, and knew full well she had to take advantage of it. Who knows the next chance she’d get to be close to you like this again.

“So…” you began, fingertips tickling Ellie’s hairline as they draped around her neck. “What do you think about the party?” 

Ellie's face scrunched, a small laugh bubbling from within her throat. “You know… I hate these things. It’s more fun because… you’re here.” 

Your eyes stuck to her face, trained on the various different sized freckles, the scar embedded across her right eyebrow, to others it made her look tough — but to you, it just added to her beauty. It was hard not to fall for her, and you didn’t hold back, returning her laughter. 

“Well, it’s more fun that you’re here, Ellie. I’m happy you asked me to come with you,” you muttered. Your eyes never ceasing from hers, confidence flowed through your veins due to the alcohol you’d consumed. 

Ellie was a jumpy person, a nervous girl you knew that. That’s why you wanted to see her twitch from teasing her. So you pressed on, hands rising to play with her hair. You swore over the music you heard her gasp, goosebumps prickling over Ellie’s skin. You moved her head to rest on her shoulder, making the distance between your bodies even tighter.

Ellie’s body felt like it was enveloped in fire, her mind spinning with thousands of possibilities. She decided this was just you still being friendly, wanting to dance with her since Ellie did invite you. Somehow, she always convinced herself of everything other than the truth — even if it’s staring at her in the face.

She didn’t push you away, she blinked a few times, arms tightening around you lightly, and continued swaying to the music. You breathed in her scent, it was a mix of pine and burnt wood almost. You enjoyed the comforting warmth Ellie brought, her whole presence always having your heart beating loudly in your chest. 

Her fingers brushed your sides, she swallowed. “Happy I finally had the guts to ask, I know it’s probably dumb… Because we’re friends.”

Suddenly, you pulled up from where you rested on Ellie. Her face contorted into a look of surprise, you tucked the stray hair framing her face behind her ear. “Oh, Ellie…” you began, leaning your face closer to hers. “It’s not dumb, but I think… It’s not clear enough to you that I like you.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed, she was at a loss for words. Did you mean what she thought you did? Her mind was spiraling, rethinking the words you just blurted out, picking them apart word by word. Before she could ask you anything, your lips were pressed against hers.

You kissed her slowly, your eyes already closed when you leaned into the kiss, Ellie’s eyes remained opened for a second. She blinked rapidly, slowly processing what was happening, her eyes fluttered shut — finally eagerly returning the kiss. 

You two got lost in the kiss almost forgetting you were in a room full of people, too lost in the moment and each other. Ellie’s hands eagerly pressed into your waist, moaning quietly in the kiss. At that, she pulled away, realizing the noise that slipped out and her eagerness. 

You smiled cheekily at her, finally happy you’d taken it upon yourself to make a move after wanting Ellie for so long, hinting at it with your lingering touches and glances. You’d had enough and sealed the deal with a kiss. 

Ellie herself had a small smile on her face, face flushed from the kiss. “I- Definitely wasn’t expecting that…” 

You leaned close again, lowly talking so only she could hear you. “That was the point, Ellie… Now follow me.”

Your hand grabbed hers, pulling her along to wherever you decided. The bathroom was the most private, quiet place you could think of, so you chose there. There was no care for anyone else in the world right now except Ellie, and you wanted her alone. The two of you excused yourselves past people and made a bee-line to the restroom.

Ellie stuck close behind you, her hand growing clammy in yours as the two of you approached the bathroom door. She hadn’t put the pieces together yet in her head, realizing that you wanted her alone. All to yourself. 

The poor girl was still flustered from the previous kiss, never once thinking your friendship would cross that line. It wasn’t something she minded, she was happy — but it all felt surreal. 

The door clicked open with ease, you pulled it aside, allowing the two of you to step into the small, private bathroom. Ellie followed in after you, hand still clinging to yours. Once she was inside, you dropped Ellie’s hand and went to lock the door. The lock clicking into place, echoing in the small space. 

Ellie nibbled on her lip, unsure of what to do or say now that you two were in the bathroom. She didn’t have to say or do anything because you did it for her.

You slyly walked over to her, the distance between your bodies only inches apart. Your eyes fell to her face, her nibbling away at her lip, and how flushed her face looked underneath the lighting of the bathroom. 

“Ellie…” You began, finally breaking the silence. “I wanted to come somewhere more private and this was the first place I thought of… so.” 

For some reason, being alone with Ellie made you more nervous than you thought. Even with your previous booming confidence, it was like it all flushed away once you were enclosed in the bathroom with her. Your feelings for the girl overwhelmed you, causing your heart to swell and throb within your chest as if it were an over inflated balloon about to burst. 

Ellie shifted her body, eyes glued to the floor. She nervously chuckled at that statement, still not meeting your eyes. She mumbled, unsure if you'd even hear it. “So… what was that?” 

The ‘that’ in Ellie’s statement, obviously, alluded to the kiss you had initiated, which left her bewildered and unsure of your true intentions. Her mind was reeling from uncertainty. Was your kiss driven by alcohol fueled impulses, or did it hold a deeper meaning, signaling that you harbored genuine feelings for her? 

Your soft touch against her cheek gently snatched Ellie’s thoughts away. Her focus was suddenly centered on your shimmering eyes, the lines of your forehead creasing in concern, and the way your hand felt caressing her cheek. She found herself momentarily bereft of words, caught off-guard by the intimate gesture.

Your whisper broke the silence, “It was a kiss, and if it wasn’t already obvious… I like you, Ellie.” Your proximity grew even closer, almost chest to chest, and your faces now mere inches apart, as your gazes remained locked together, the room filled with unspoken tension. 

Ellie’s lips parted, you watched as her eyes fell to your lips, then quickly back to your eyes. The air between you thickened, all you could hear in the air was yours and Ellie’s breathing. You grinned, closing the distance again. Ellie tenderly returns the kiss and places her calloused hands on your hips.

You pressed into her body, her back hit the wall, she groaned feeling the coldness of it. This allowed you to slide your tongue into her mouth, swirling your tongue around hers. It was messy and hungry, a tumble of emotion surging into the kiss, the both of you could feel it. 

Kissing Ellie like this felt intoxicating, you wanted more, you sucked her bottom lip, lightly nipping it. Ellie groaned into your mouth, your tongue swallowing the noise. The two of you separated, chests heaving for a breath of air. 

You removed your hand from her face, fingers ghosting around her neck, digits softly brushing against the skin. Ellie shivered, skin flushed from the frantic kisses, and just the situation she found herself in. 

You broke the silence first, beating Ellie to speaking. “Guess that means… that you like me too?” You teased, this made Ellie flush more and shake her head. 

“Of course, I like you. Shut it!” Ellie whined, closing her eyes and leaning her head back into the wall. 

You lifted a finger to her mouth, brushing against her plump lips, slightly blotchy from your nibbling. “You should shut it, Ellie,” you mumbled, not stopping there, leaning your head down to the collar of her neck, lips ghosting over the skin before you pampered a column of kisses down her neck. 

Ellie groaned, her hands faltering to your hair, the sensation of your kisses went straight to her core. You licked and sucked away at her neck, making sure to leave bruises in your wake. Ellie felt you softly whisper against her neck, the sound angelic to her ears. “Ellie… you should let me touch you.”

She opened her eyes abruptly, looking down at you, bewildered at the statement. She remembered where the two of you were, the bathroom. She swallowed hard, outweighing the situation in her head. This was definitely something she couldn’t pass up nor did she want too. You clearly didn’t have a care in the world, dragging her in there in the first place. 

So, she finally gave in. “Please touch me, just… we can’t be loud.”

“We? You mean… yourself, Ellie,” you pressed more kisses down her neck, fingers dancing to the button of her jeans. You undid it, then unzipped her jeans. You patted her thigh, “C’mon need these off.”

Ellie nodded, you backed away to give her space to shrug the material down her legs a little. “Not taking them fully off,” she huffed, not wanting to be pantless in a public restroom, nonetheless. You smiled, understanding and the item being half down her legs was more than enough. Ellie tugged down her boxers too, feeling embarrassed at you eyeing her most intimate part. 

Once gone you could see her wet pussy you almost started drooling, wanting to delve your face into it, but not yet, another time. Your tongue skimmed across your bottom lip, quickly closing the distance between the two once again in a searing kiss. 

Ellie felt light headed in the way you stared at her; predator to prey, before drowning in the pleasure of your lustful kisses. She didn’t want this to stop, her pussy growing slicker with arousal.

Your fingers made their way to her pussy, she whined into the kiss, feeling your colder digits touch her. Ellie abruptly pulled away, her usual bright green eyes darkened as she spoke to you. “Please… finger me, please…” Ellie mewled, raising her hips to rub against the two fingers you had exploring her folds. You rolled your eyes, fingers finding her needy hole and slowly, almost agonizingly inching your fingers in.

Ellie was soaked from the anticipation as your fingers filled her up. She brought your lips back to hers, pushing her tongue into your mouth and massaging yours along hers. This caught you off guard, your fingers inched out of her before you slammed them back into her. Ellie’s moans were swallowed by your mouth, you were grateful for that, knowing she’d be loud. Too loud.

Ellie swore she was on cloud nine, the music muffled against the walls of the bathroom, your sloppy kisses never failing to add to the feeling. She pulled away, looking down to see your fingers pumping in and out of her. 

The squelching and wet noises didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. A smirk made its way onto your face, enjoying how needy she was, even her body was trembling for attention. It made you hungrier, the need to make her feel so good that she’d beg for more consuming every fiber in your body.

Ellie shyly stuffed her face into the corner of your neck, wanting to lessen the sounds she made. Your pace didn’t falter, you instead took her hiding away as a challenge. A challenge to make it hard for her to hold back her sounds. 

She squinted her eyes shut, tiny sounds slipping past her lips. You wished you could see her doe eyed expression, face contorting into pleasure as you fucked her. You used your free hand to move her face, gripping her face with one hand, while the other was busy, delving inside her wet pussy. 

Ellie felt your hand clutching her face, tearing her away from your neck and to no one’s surprise at all, those little breathy moans were louder. Ellie gripped tighter, nails digging in the more aggressively you continued fucking her. Everything felt hazy to Ellie, desire building and building until she felt her vision fading out. Her back slouched against the wall, a burning sensation forming rapidly in her stomach, her hips jerked against your hand, needing that burning bubbling inside her to snap.

“Come on, Ellie. Are you going to cum for me? Huh?”

“Yes, oh.. My god. It feels good, please. Fuck c’mon don’t stop!” Ellie bit into her lip, hard enough to draw blood, her vision becoming blurry. “Shit… my god! I’m cumming… fuck.. Fuck!” The warmth in her stomach dispersed, with her legs shaking from the shattering orgasm. She clung to you, breathing hard.

You watched in awe as she came, “Holy shit, Ellie…” Her wetness leaked down the entirety of your fingers, still inside her, the rest of your hand was drenched in wetness. 

It was everything between Ellie clinging to you, then her orgasm hitting her hard and seeing someone, the person you’ve wanted and craved for so long look so angelic that you needed a taste. You pulled out your fingers, inserting the digits into your mouth, humming at the taste of her. Your tongue needed to savor the taste of her.

Ellie, still slouched against the wall, catching her breath, watched as you did this and her core clench, her mind dirtying with more thoughts of you. Your fingers exited your mouth with a pop, the bathroom succumbing to a silence.

Her pants and underwear were down by her ankles, she tugged them up and popped the button on her jeans. Her breathing and demeanor remained shaky, a smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, holy shit… Now we’re getting out of here.”

You quirked an eyebrow, about to question Ellie when she laced her hand gently through yours. “Are we really now?” 

She didn’t bother turning to look at you, already tugging the two of you towards the nearby door. Ellie unlocked the door, mumbling in a snarky tone, “Yeah, you don’t seem to be arguing though.” 

Ellie only had one goal now, that was getting to whoever’s house was closer and repaying you for making her feel so good. Even with the tons of people in the way, Ellie got out quickly past people, and had you not far behind her the whole time. You didn’t miss the wink and thumbs up Dina sent you, which in turn made you roll your eyes and smile. 

Clothes were thrown messily around your room, Ellie was on you within milliseconds of entering the space. Now she was on top of you, your leg hiked up with her pussy slotted against yours. You watched Ellie find her pace, her clit brushing yours just right, your hand soothed at her sides. 

Ellie watched your face contorting into pleasure, she sped up rocking her hips more roughly. “Fuck, want you to cum on my pussy,” she blurted out, too overcome with the thought of it. The very want and need of it growing heavier on her mind the more she fucked you. 

“Yeah? Want my cum, Els?”

She bit her lip, nodding her head frantically, still staring down at you. Her forehead was sweaty, dark locks clinging to her forehead, eyes squinted shut as she kept rolling her hips. Each time her clit caught yours, you let out breathy whiny noises; ones only Ellie could pull from you. It made Ellie’s clit throb, squelching from your shared wetness grew louder and louder the more frantically Ellie moved, chasing both your highs. It ignited the tension further, your hands on Ellie’s hips helping move her faster and faster. 

Your nails dug into her side, feeling yourself on the very edge, on the very tip of the iceberg; about to crumble. You whisper Ellie’s name, almost too quietly she doesn’t catch it. “Ellie… Please cum against me, breed me.” 

That made her go feral, your chest bouncing with each roll of her hips, Ellie whining at her swollen clit catching yours. “Yeah? I’m gonna promise… gonna breed you. Breed this pussy,” she groaned. “Oh my god,” Ellie’s movements grew slopper. “ I- Fuck! I’m cumming, I’m-” Her orgasm washed over her quickly, yours following shortly after, your legs spasming from the intensity. 

You moaned out Ellie’s name, her lips finding yours and swallowing the pleads and sounds coming from your plump lips. She lazily dragged her hips, riding out the feeling of your orgasms. Her body fell into yours, chests pressed against one another, bodies sheen with a layer of sweat. 

Ellie ended the kiss, pecking your lips one more time, moving herself more to lay down and rest her head against your breasts. You stroked a hand through her unkempt hair, smiling and welcoming the warmth of her body. “I’m.. happy we did this, Ellie.” 

She opened her eyes, holding a dazed look on her face. “Me too, this is unbelievable,” she left a soft kiss on your boob. Smiling as she pulled away, “And I really… do like you.”

Hearing her confirm it once again, with words, not actions made you want to scream with joy. “I know, El. I like you too now, lemme get up and clean us both up,” you giggled. Ellie pouted begrudgingly, moving off you.

You grabbed a towel, first cleaning Ellie off then yourself, before climbing back into bed. You moved Ellie’s back to rest against your chest, holding her tightly and pulling your bed’s covers up to envelope the two of you in warmth. Ellie let out a sigh, snuggling more into you, her skin tickling yours.

“Thank you,” you heard her mutter. 

“Don’t thank me,” you held her tighter, if possible. Never wanting to let her go, especially now that you both had each other.

Taglist♡: @livvietalks

[luvwanda]

Hey!! I'd like to request a "she fell first, he fell harder" trope with Jackson!Joel and younger reader. The plot is up to you really

Falling harder

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x younger!reader Summary: She fell first, bright and hopeful; but Joel Miller, weathered and guarded, fell deeper—learning that love means risking everything in the quiet peace of Jackson. Warnings: slow-burn, age gap (unspecified, but reader is younger), Joel letting his guard down, fluff, softness

The first time you saw Joel Miller, he was fixing a busted generator behind the community hall. A wrench in his hand, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and the late afternoon sun catching the streaks of silver in his hair. He didn’t look up, didn’t spare you a glance as you passed, but you noticed the tired set of his shoulders, the rough calluses on his knuckles, and something in your chest fluttered like a nervous bird.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a crush. Just Jackson’s most quietly intimidating man, looking like a weathered cowboy stepped out of a storybook.

But you kept walking past that generator every afternoon after shifts at the greenhouse. Kept offering a smile. Kept hoping one day he’d nod back.

He didn’t. Not for weeks.

Still, he became a quiet fixture in your world. You noticed the way he wiped his hands on a rag and sighed like he carried the weight of the town. How he was always alone, even in a crowded room. People respected him, nodded to him. But they didn’t get close. There was a perimeter around Joel Miller, a space he didn’t let anyone step into.

Except you wanted to.

You’d moved to Jackson only a few months ago, still adjusting to the quiet routines of safety, the strange rhythm of peace after years of chaos. You worked in the greenhouse, learned names, made polite conversation. But Joel—Joel was the one person you couldn’t stop watching. Not out of fear. Curiosity, maybe. And something else you didn’t want to name yet.

One night, as you passed by the dining hall after dinner, you found yourself lingering outside the window just to catch a glimpse of him. He sat alone at the corner table, spooning stew into his mouth, eyes downcast. When someone approached, he nodded but didn’t invite them to sit. He ate, he stood, he left. Efficient. Solitary.

You started asking Tommy harmless questions. Not obvious ones. Just things like, "Joel always help with repairs?" or "He been here long?" Tommy had smiled, eyes warm, but there was a knowing tilt to his expression. He didn’t say much—just that Joel was dependable. Protective. A good man, even if he wasn’t good at showing it.

And then one evening, as snow drifted lazily around the lights of the settlement, he looked up. Eyes dark and unreadable. You’d frozen in place like a deer in headlights. He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t said anything. But that look stayed with you—deep and searching, like he was trying to figure you out.

You fell first. And you fell hard.

It didn’t help that Joel was always around now. Walking with Tommy. Repairing the fencing. Riding out with patrols and returning with snow in his hair. Every time he passed by, your stomach turned with a warmth you didn’t want to admit was hope.

He was older. Wiser. Probably didn’t think twice about the girl who kept stealing glances.

You told yourself that, too.

But Joel saw everything. He always did.

You started finding little things. A thermos of hot coffee left beside the greenhouse door one morning. A set of gloves your size folded on your chair in the common room. A new lantern hanging outside your front porch when yours broke. No notes. No words. But Joel had that kind of silence about him—one that spoke volumes without ever having to say anything.

You told yourself not to read into it. Maybe he was just kind. Maybe he did that for everyone.

But when you smiled at him the next day, he paused long enough to say, "You keep forgettin’ your gloves."

That was the first time he said anything more than a passing greeting. You stood there dumbly, heart tripping over itself.

"Thank you," you’d said.

He just nodded and kept walking, but there was something about the way his fingers flexed at his sides—as if he wanted to reach for something and stopped himself.

You kept falling.

Not like the first drop off a cliff, but like snow accumulating with the seasons. Layer by layer, memory by memory. The moments he shared something small—how he liked his coffee, the kind of music he used to listen to. The first time he laughed at something you said, a low, rough sound that warmed your entire body. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention—tender, almost regretful.

You didn't know when it happened exactly, but Joel Miller became the constant you looked for in every day.

And he still hadn’t touched you.

Not yet.

The first time he did, it was your hand. The two of you were outside the stables on a wind-bitten afternoon, trying to rehang a stubborn gate latch that had come loose. Your fingers were numb, fumbling with the metal, and he stepped beside you without a word, took your hand in his to warm it between his palms.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, eyes flicking to yours, his rough thumbs brushing across your skin like he was memorizing it.

You couldn’t breathe.

It lasted seconds. Maybe a minute. But it felt like the world narrowed to just that point of contact, your heartbeat so loud you were certain he could hear it. And then he let go.

"Y’can’t work like that," he muttered. "You’ll lose a finger."

But his voice was too soft. Too careful. As if he was already regretting touching you or already missing the feel of your hand.

Later, when you walked home, your hand still tingled where he held it.

That night, you stared at your ceiling and wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was falling, too.

But what you didn’t know was that Joel had already fallen. Hard. He just didn’t know how to let himself land without breaking.

Joel Miller was a man who had learned, too many times, that loving something meant losing it. That peace was temporary. That happiness was dangerous. So when he saw you—bright, young, hopeful—you were everything he didn’t deserve and everything he wanted. A contradiction he didn’t know how to live with.

He kept his distance not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much.

And when you started showing up at the workshop with extra muffins from the bakery, when you sat beside him in the common hall instead of across the room, when you smiled at him like he mattered—Joel started to crack.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t dramatic. But every time you said his name, every time you laughed around him, every time you looked at him like he was someone worth knowing—he fell a little more.

You fell first.

But Joel Miller? He fell harder.

——

It happened again in the dead of winter.

You were walking back from patrol—your first in weeks, after training hard enough to convince Maria you could handle light shifts. Snow fell soft and thick, muffling every footstep as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Your breath came in clouds, and your fingers curled in your coat pockets, stiff despite the gloves. When the gate came into view, so did Joel, standing by the entrance with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed against the wind.

You slowed, heart rising to your throat.

He didn’t move at first. Just watched you like he was counting each step. When you got close enough to see the tension in his jaw, you offered a tentative smile.

“Didn’t know you were on gate duty,” you said, teeth chattering.

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “I came to make sure you got back.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. They landed right in the centre of your chest, sharp and unspoken, full of weight he didn’t seem ready to name.

You stared at him, blinking. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know I didn’t.” His voice came low. Measured. Like he’d rehearsed it.

He turned and started walking toward your house before you could say anything else, leaving a single trail of boot prints for you to follow. You had to jog a little to keep up, snow crunching beneath your feet.

“I’m fine, you know,” you said once you caught up, brushing snow from your sleeves. “Just tired.”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded once, silent as ever. But you saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides again. Like he wanted to reach for you and couldn’t make himself do it.

By the time you reached your porch, dusk had settled over Jackson in a thick, blue hush. The windows glowed warm from within, but neither of you moved to go inside.

You turned to him. “Joel—”

“Why’re you always lookin’ at me like that?”

The question stopped you cold.

You blinked. “What?”

Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, steady and unblinking. “Like I’m somethin’ worth waitin’ on.”

Your throat dried. The cold didn’t matter anymore—not with the heat rising under your skin, not with the way his voice cracked at the end like the words cost him something.

“Because you are,” you said. Simply. Quietly. Because it was the truth.

Joel looked away, his jaw tightening. His hands balled into fists, then opened again like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I ain’t young,” he muttered. “Ain’t easy. I got blood on my hands, and I—I can’t give you what you deserve.”

You stepped closer, your breath clouding between you. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

He finally looked at you then. Really looked. And for a moment, the mask cracked wide enough for you to see everything underneath—the fear, the longing, the guilt he wore like armour. You saw the man who carried grief like a second skin, who held kindness in hands that had done terrible things. And you loved him all the more for it.

“I’ve been fallin’ for you since the day you smiled at me,” you said. “But you… Joel, you’ve been fallin’ too.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t run.

Just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you’d say it out loud.

And then, slowly—like gravity finally won—he reached for you. One rough hand cradled your cheek, warm despite the cold, and your breath hitched. His thumb brushed beneath your eye. Careful. Hesitant. Reverent.

“I think about you,” he said, voice rough. “All the goddamn time.”

Your heart stuttered.

You leaned in before you could second-guess it, forehead resting against his. “Then stop thinking and do something about it.”

Joel’s breath caught.

And finally—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was years of restraint unravelling all at once, mouths meeting in the falling snow like something inevitable. His hands pulled you in close, and you didn’t care that you were shivering or that your knees almost gave out. You just kissed him back like your life depended on it.

Because maybe it did.

Because maybe his did, too.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Stayed close, noses brushing, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“You scare the hell outta me,” he whispered.

You smiled, shaky but certain. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

And Joel—weathered, wary, guarded Joel—nodded once, as if your words could be true, if only he let them be.

He fell harder.

But this time, he let himself land.

——

The morning sun slipped through the threadbare curtains, spilling pale gold across the wooden floorboards. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the remnants of last night’s fire. You woke slowly, the warmth of Joel’s body pressed against your side a steady, grounding weight.

For a moment, you didn’t move—didn’t breathe too deeply or even open your eyes—because it felt like you’d stumbled into a quiet corner of the world where everything fragile and broken could rest. His steady heartbeat, slow and sure beneath your ear, was a lullaby you never wanted to stop hearing.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, he was already awake. Joel’s gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, the lines around his eyes easing into something like peace. His fingers were curled lightly over yours, thumb brushing lazy circles on your skin, anchoring you to the moment.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice low and rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you whispered back, tracing the calluses on his hand with your thumb, memorizing the map of scars and stories.

Joel shifted just enough to look down at you, eyes narrowing in a way that made your heart skip. “You stayin’?” His voice held the question like a fragile promise.

You smiled, a little breathless. “I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

He exhaled, a slow breath that sounded like relief and something more—hope, maybe. His rough hand lifted to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers warm against your cheek.

The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire still burning low in the hearth. Outside, the world was white and frozen, but here, with Joel, there was a quiet heat building between you—soft, slow, like the dawn unfolding around you.

You shifted closer, letting your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you just a little tighter, and you felt the weight of his years, his pain, his hopes settle around you like a shield.

For once, you didn’t have to be afraid.

“Tell me about your day,” you said softly.

Joel’s lips curved into something close to a smile. “Worked the fence. Fixed the water pump. Made sure Tommy didn’t get into too much trouble.”

You laughed, light and warm. “Sounds exhausting.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing compared to what you do. Greenhouse ain’t an easy job.”

You pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your lips. “It’s better with you around.”

Joel’s hand found yours again, squeezing gently. “I ain’t good at this,” he said quietly.

“You’re good enough,” you promised.

He held your gaze for a long moment, then nodded, like he was letting himself believe it.

And in that soft, golden morning light, you both knew this was just the beginning.

[luvwanda]

"...Wanted to tell him how important he is to you. That you’d do anything for him to make sure he was safe and happy. How you’d fight off any nightmares he had with your bare fists if it meant he could sleep peacefully. Tell him that he was one of the most handsome men you’d ever met and you would kiss him till you couldn’t breathe if he’d let you."

that's literally what I think every time I see bucky barnes <33

Cool To The Touch

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Being a telepath meant being cautious. With every touch, you were cautious. Whether you used it on criminals during a mission, or tried to avoid it when in close contact with your friends.

You were cautious when Bucky, the last person you expected, woke you up in the middle of the night, begging you to use your powers on him.

WC: 7.8K

Tags/ Warnings: canon typical violence, depictions of murder/strangulation, hints at torture, Hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, reader is ex-HYDRA

A/N: Not canon compliant! It gives OG avengers tower fics so it briefly includes some of ur fav OG avengers + Yelena, and I started writing this before Thunderbolts came out so doesn’t really reference that. Beta read by my bestie @whats-yesterday00

You thought there was a noise. It was muffled and quick, but it still managed to reach your ears. 

It’s what caused you to stir awake. Half asleep, half fighting to wake up. In your semi-conscious state, you assumed it was nothing and attempted to fall back asleep. 

Then the knocking came. This new sound fully woke you up. 

You lazily reached over and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. Your eyes pried open to see the time was 3:16 am. The knocking returned. This time it wasn't quiet, cushioned. Now it was a real knock. 

You threw off the comforter and stumbled to the door. When you opened it you found Bucky Barnes about to knock a third time. 

He stared at you in silence for a moment. Even though he was the one to knock on your door, he looked almost startled. Like he was surprised to see you answer your own bedroom door. 

It was now that you noticed he was shirtless because his tense muscles relaxed, Like the sight of you relieved him. 

“Bucky, it’s three in the morning,” you started with a hoarse voice from just waking up. 

He shifted his weight as he stood in front of you. You couldn’t read his expression very well, but you could still sense something was plaguing him. 

“Can you do me a favor?” He asked. His voice had a hint of desperation. 

You straightened at the tone of his voice. Concern filled you in seconds. 

“What is it? What happened?” 

He swallowed before making his request. “Can you go in my mind?” 

You froze at his question and stared back at him with wide eyes. The last thing you would’ve ever expected from Bucky, was not only him allowing you to enter his mind, but practically begging you for it. 

When Steve first introduced you to the rest of the Avengers, he described your powers as similar to Wanda’s. After all, she was part of the reason you had those powers in the first place.

In an effort to replicate their success with the twins, Hydra started a new research program to create another telepath. You were unfortunately one of their test subjects, and the only one who made it out alive. That was because you were the only one who showed any positive results. 

Unbeknownst to them, Wanda's exposure to their experiments brought out her own magical gifts. So when they tried it with you (and without the mind stone), the results were what they called “insufficient.” The only reason they kept you alive was to study you and your abilities to perfect their technique on someone else. 

Thankfully, the Avengers tracked down the lab and found you. You were even more grateful that Steve thought you would be a good addition to the team and gave you a place to stay. 

But when he briefly explained your abilities, it made a few of them wary of you like they were with her at first. You remember Tony, and Bruce tensed up at the reveal of how your powers actually worked. Meanwhile, the woman herself was immediately welcoming. 

But just like with Wanda, you quickly grew on them. Even Tony warmed up to you and called you Witch Jr (even if you weren’t a witch).

One person that you became particularly close with was Bucky. From when you first met, there was something about him that you found comforting. You couldn’t quite place what it was. All you knew was that you never felt tense in his presence. You never worried that he would find you odd or strange. 

He started to fill the missing pieces that hydra tried to take from you. 

The beginning of your friendship was quiet. That might have been why you guys clicked so well so fast. You could exist in the calm silence together. You both enjoyed each other's company. Occasionally making small talk that didn't feel awkward or forced. 

What soon followed was deep growing trust and appreciation. It almost happened overnight. How quickly the friendship blossomed into more than just enjoying the company. You looked forward to spending time together. Wanted to know all the little quirks and intricacies that made you who you were. 

“So how does it work exactly?” he asked you. 

Bucky sat at the opposite end of the couch from you, slightly baffled that in the many weeks he knew you he still didn’t know the full scope of your powers.

“It’s kinda like Wanda’s, but more restrictive.”  The more you talked with him, the less interested you were in movie playing.  

“I know that part, but how?” he inquired. 

You shifted to fully face him, “I’m only a telepath. I can see into someone’s mind and alter it, but can’t move things with my own. And I need to make physical contact with the person to do it.”  

He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. 

“I can see your thoughts, memories, emotions, fears, desires, anything and change them. I can alter your actions, but of course only if I’m touching you. I can plant myself in your memories and experience them for myself.” 

As he took in the information, his expression grew with curiosity. “You can change memories?” he asked in a slightly lower voice. 

His curiosity was no surprise to you. You were fully aware of his past as the winter soldier and the things your mutual acquaintances put him through.

“I can reach deep into your subconscious and bring out memories that were previously hidden. I can remove short term memories, but never long term ones,” you hesitated as you recalled what happened the previous times you were ordered to remove long term memories. All the minds you scrambled at Hydras orders. 

“Completely erasing long term memories can be dangerous.” 

Bucky nodded after you explained, acknowledging he understood. 

“Got any other cool tricks up your sleeve?” 

“I can make someone fall asleep and enter their dreams. I’ve done that a few times. Knocked out a lot of people since joining this job,” you ended with a chuckle.

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Sounds like a good cure for insomnia or nightmares.” 

“Pretty much,” you shrugged. “I actually did help Wanda fall asleep once. I don’t do it often but sometimes it can be really helpful if your dreams just get a bit too much.” 

“Sadly that’s a common occurrence for all of us.”  

“Unfortunately,” you mumbled. 

You were no stranger to nightmares. Every so often- more often than you’d like- terrifying images would creep their way into your sleep. Whether real or artificial, they still made you wake up feeling like your chest is running out of air.

You knew Bucky got them too. Probably more often than you did. Just a few days after you joined the team you ran into him in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Neither of you spoke about it other than a simple “nightmare?” and a nod as a response. 

“How hard is it to control?” he asked, still eager to understand the depth of your abilities. 

“I’ve pretty much got a good handle on it. I was offered a lot of,” you swallowed down the words hydra test subjects, “practice.” 

There was a subtle look of sadness in his eyes, like he silently told you he understood. 

“Except, there have been some moments when I’m in contact with someone and I can feel their emotions or thoughts without trying because it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t mean to, it’s just so overwhelming for the other person it seeps into me.” 

You immediately cringed at your own words. “That sounds weird doesn’t it?”

Bucky shook his head, “not at all. I think I get it. It’s like your empathy is cranked up to a thousand.“

You nodded to confirm his assumption. A tiny breath of relief left you. 

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” you whispered as your attention drifted towards your fidgeting hands. 

You didn’t expect the confession to leave you. But something told you that Bucky wouldn’t think of you as strange or creepy for it. While he was often found with a judgmental grimace, you hoped, prayed even, that not a single ounce of judgment would pass through his veins. 

“I’ve always been afraid that if I told someone, then they’d never want to touch me,” you continued, even quieter this time. 

“Hey,” he muttered to bring your eyes back to him. 

He reached his hand out towards you. You stared at it in confusion before he spoke again. You’d never heard his voice sound so soft and gentle before.

“I trust you.” 

Your heart nearly gave out from his sentiment. A soothing ache wound itself around your heart and squeezed it tight. 

You accepted his offer and took his hand in yours. His skin was warm to the touch compared to yours. The heat from his hand started to creep its way into you. 

“You don’t seem like the type to go digging around in my head.”

You gently squeezed his hand, “I promise I won’t.” 

This time he allowed the smile to grow on his lips. 

His hand parted from yours, his touch lingering for just a second longer. It left sparks on the ends of your fingertips that traveled in your veins and to your heart. 

You tried not to overthink how that was the first time you and Bucky ever really had close contact.

He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, “You don’t want to look in there anyway. It’s a mess,” he joked. 

That’s what made you so concerned. Bucky had enough invasive alterations to his mind over the years. Turning his thoughts insight out until he no longer knew who he was. 

It was assumed that he would never ask you to look inside or do anything to his mind. 

Until now.

“Bucky what happened?” you asked, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter. 

He cautiously stepped inside. “I haven’t slept in days,” Bucky couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. His voice sounded shaky and rough. 

“I thought I was doing better. I didn’t have a single nightmare for three weeks and then-“ 

He paused at a loss for words. He balled his metal fist so hard you could hear the metal adjust to the strength. 

“It’s been days. Every night. I can’t sleep,” he finished weakly. 

“Do you want me to erase it? Your nightmare?” you offered.

“No!” he snapped louder than he intended. A brief flash of terror crossed his face. Likely from the images of whatever occurred in his dreams. You couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want you to rid himself of the memory. But you assumed he wanted to keep you from witnessing whatever horrors he saw. 

The sight of him in this state was shattering your heart. 

“No, I uh … wanted to ask if you could help me sleep.”

You didn’t have to consider his request. You would help him in a heartbeat. 

“Of course.” 

His tense shoulders slightly loosened and his tight fist released. 

You moved back to the door to leave and he gave you a quizzical look.

“You wanted to go to sleep right?” you asked in conformation as you opened the door. 

His eyes widened for a second. “Right,” he muttered. 

Bucky led you down the hall to his room. Upon entering your eyes all around the interior until you stopped at the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw one of the pillows and a blanket removed from the bed and layed out messily on the floor next to it instead. 

“Sometimes the bed is too soft. I thought the floor would help,” he answered your question before you could even ask it. 

The memory of Sam and Steve mentioning the discomfort of regular beds returned to you. How they felt like they were sinking in their own mattress and it took a while to get used to. 

“Do you want to try sleeping here again?” 

He shook his head, “no, I don’t want you on the floor.” He grabbed the discarded pillow and blanket and placed them back on the bed. 

You held back from playfully rolling your eyes, sensing this probably wasn’t the time to tease him. “This isn’t about my comfort, Bucky. The goal is to get you to sleep.” 

He shrugged as he sat down. “Still.” 

The room fell into silence as you stood before him. Your body was frozen in place, hesitant to move closer. It’s not that you haven’t done this before. It just felt different this time. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t feel weird about this. Both Wanda and Bucky are your friends. Why should it be any different doing this for Bucky? This is normal. This is what friends do, they help each other, they comfort each other. 

This is you being a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a few steps closer. You ignored the way your stomach was in knots. 

“So, you can lie down like normal and I can hold your hand,” you started, trying to hide the nervousness. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“That’s fine,” he shifted to lie down, giving himself the pillow that was on the floor. You moved to the other side of the bed and slowly layed down. 

That weird feeling in your stomach started to boil over as he turned to face you with his hand out. You had no choice but to shove that feeling down. He needed your help. You couldn’t help him with these feelings swarming around and distracting you. 

“I’m gonna do this slower than when I knock people out during a job. To make sure you don’t get another nightmare I’m going to help you relax and then you’re going to slowly feel more and more tired. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he whispered back. “Ya know, you don’t need to use your powers to help me relax.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

Bucky fake smiles back as the meaning behind his statement is lost on you. 

Reaching forward, you met his hand in yours. His palm was clammy and warm. On instinct you started to gently move your thumb back and forth over his skin. 

“Close your eyes.”

He followed your command. You took a deep breath, and focused your energy on him. 

His emotions started to flow through your veins. It was worse than you thought. His fear and anxiety were clouded, letting you know he started to calm down. But the presence was like a black cloud ready to pour at any second. A lingering weight that couldn’t stop pulling you down.

And what surprised you, was the guilt. You felt like you were drowning in it. Suffocating on it. Like it filled up your lungs and you couldn’t breathe. 

You tried your hardest to melt the feelings away. To sooth them with something he found comforting. You searched for the source of whatever started to cloud his fear, and it took you back to the feeling of his hand in yours. 

Oh. 

That’s what he meant. 

With his eyes still closed, you didn’t bother to hide the smile on your face. 

You focused back on his feelings. While smothering the flames that his nightmares sparked, you opted for a more organic source of comfort instead of mentally amplifying it. 

Your hand slowly traveled to his forearm. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingertips over his arm. Occasionally, your nails grazed his skin as you drew absentmindedly. 

The relief was almost immediate. It enveloped you like a tidal wave and left phantom goosebumps on your skin as you felt what he did. 

“That feels nice,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Shhhh, be quiet. Go to sleep,” you whispered. 

That brought out a smile from the man across from you. He threatened to open his eyes, but you reached up and covered them. 

“Nuh-uh. Keep em closed.” 

Bucky quietly chuckled at your antics. 

Your fingers returned their dance on his arm. Now that the horrors from his nightmare had finally loosened their grasp on him, you began to lull him to sleep. 

As the seconds rolled by, his body relaxed into the mattress. You watched the tension air out of his muscles and let the serenity overtake him. Even after you knew he was asleep you kept tracing his skin. You didn’t want to stop. You wished you could stay there with him all night. To wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you. 

Before tonight, you and Bucky were never this close. Well, physically at least. Always leaving a small bubble between the two of you. Even now with your hand traveling up and down his arm, you kept yourself a safe distance away. Desperately craving to be closer but too scared to take the leap. 

After a few more greedy moments, you considered finally leaving his room to let him sleep. Carefully and slowly, you turned away from him trying to ease out of the bed without disturbing him. 

Except you couldn’t make it very far after he reached forward and grabbed your waist.

You froze in place, barely even breathing. His hand on your waist trying, and failing, to pull you closer. You knew he was asleep because you could sense it through his touch. And yet somehow he felt your presence leaving. 

Your whole body was paralyzed as you weighed whether to leave or not. Hypothetically, it would be the easiest thing in the world. Use your powers to release his hold on you. You’d done it a thousand times before to other people.

But you really didn’t want to. 

Because he wanted you to stay. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

So you stayed. You told yourself it would only be for a few minutes longer. 

You settled into a less tense position and rested with your back to him. He sensed the movement in his sleep again. Now, his arm had fully wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him. 

As he moved, your sleep shirt shifted, his touch was leaving goosebumps all over your skin and made your heart flutter. 

It took a moment, but you finally let yourself melt into his hold. Surrendering to the comfort and serenity it brought. 

You did not in fact only stay for a few minutes longer. Actually, the situation you found yourself in was so comforting you fell asleep after those few minutes and stayed the whole night. 

By the time morning came, you pried your eyes open, letting them adjust to the small amount of sun creeping in through the window. After a few seconds, you registered the different position from when you fell asleep. You were face to face with Bucky as his arm lazily draped over you, keeping you close. 

You studied his features, mere inches away from you. He had an essence of calm you didn’t see often. There were many times you saw his normal hardened expression soften; but this just seemed different. He looked so at peace and secure. 

It was while you were observing every little detail of him you noticed his breathing change. It was a subtle disturbance in the rise and of his chest, but you saw it. 

You looked at him confused before deciding to test your theory. You lightly traced your hand over his arm and watched his closed eyes move.

“I know you’re faking.” 

No response. 

“Bucky, I know you’re awake.” You tried not to giggle as you attempted to call his attention again. 

A small smile danced on his face as he opened his eyes. 

“Liar,” you playfully accused.

“Cheater.” 

You pointed a finger at him, “Wrong, I did not use my powers.” 

His cheeky expression softened the longer he looked at you. “You didn��t leave,” he stated the obvious. It was his way of asking why. 

“I fell asleep.” 

Technically it wasn’t lying. You fell asleep. You just left out a few key details. 

An awkward silence hung in the air, waiting for one of you to break it. Instead you both let it linger for a moment longer. Bucky released his hold on you and you carefully backed away and got out of his bed. 

“I should probably go,” you stated while fixing your sleep clothes and avoiding his gaze

As you tried to leave, he sat up and called out your name, stopping you in your tracks as you reached for the door handle. You turned back to him, his stare left you feeling exposed, like an open wound. 

“I really appreciate you doing this,” he thanked with quiet vulnerability. His tone reached out and pulled at your heartstrings. 

“I’m glad I could help and that you finally got some sleep,” you returned sweetly. 

Bukcky’s hand fidgeted with the sheets, “It did help, a lot.” He couldn’t quite grasp the right words he wanted to say. 

“If you ever need me, just ask,” you offered sincerely. 

A fond expression crossed his face, “I won’t hesitate.” 

You felt your cheeks start to heat up and quickly turned to leave. The short walk back to your room left your palms sweaty and heart racing. 

It was so silly how much he had an effect on you. And it only got worse in the days following the night you spent together in his room. 

All day long, your thoughts would be consumed by him. Like he had you under some magic spell and no matter how hard you tried to break free of it, you were left staring back at your own longing. 

It started to become addicting. His attention. His affection. Him 

It had been days since you spent the night. You were suffering from withdrawals and needed a fix. 

And it didn’t help when one evening you were woken up by daunting dreams that kept you awake all night. You desperately wanted to seek out comfort from him, but instead you laid in your bed alternating between staring at the ceiling or the back of your eyelids. 

The questions bounced back and forth in your mind. Would he even be awake at this hour? Would he let you stay? Even though you were 100% willing to help him, would he be willing to help you?

You were starting to get restless. Turning around in bed you checked the time on your phone. An hour of tossing and turning had gone by and still you were no closer to falling asleep. 

With a sigh of defeat, you got out of bed and snuck down the hall. For a second there was no response to your knock. You almost gave up after your first attempt and left, but the door opened and you were met with blue eyes. Those blue eyes you could swim in.

He said your name in a raspy voice, indicating he was in fact previously asleep. You were already starting to regret your decisions. 

He looked at you confused, “what’s up?” 

Your hands played with the hem of your sleep shirt. The words were stuck in your throat with no way out. 

He noticed the hesitation in you immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Did I wake you up?” you asked, ignoring his own question. 

“No.” 

“Liar,” you accused with a hint of humor.

He tried to resist smiling, but you caught the corners of his mouth lifted up. 

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. It took all of your strength to not look him up and down as he did it. Of course he had to be shirtless, again. 

“Can’t sleep,” you offered quietly as you folded your arms. “I uh, I know this might sound dumb, but I wanted to ask if- if we could-” 

“Yes.” 

You froze in response to his interruption. 

“Really?” 

He nodded, “Really. And It’s not dumb.”

The tight fists you didn’t realize you were holding loosened. 

“Thanks,” you said more bashfully than you intended. 

“Do you want to sleep here or in your room?” 

You honestly didn’t care at this point where you were. 

You just wanted to be with him. 

“We can stay here, I don’t mind.” 

He nodded and welcomed you into his room. Your eyes trailed to his bed, it looked slept in this time. There were no pillows or blankets on the ground. That brought a bit of relief to you that he was comfortable sleeping in a bed again.

“Nightmare?” He asked, fixing the pillows on the bed from their messy position.

”Yeah.” 

“Well, I may not have any of your fancy magic, but I’ll help the best I can.” 

“Wanda’s the one with magic.” 

He deadpanned at you, but you could tell he found you amusing because of the glint in his eyes and the tiny smirk he couldn’t hide. 

You lightly smacked his arm- the real one or else you would break a finger- and walked to the other side of the bed. “C’mon, you know I appreciate your help.” 

He quietly chuckled as you both settled into bed. 

That turned into a common occurrence. At least once a week, one of you would have trouble sleeping and end up in the other person's room. 

But it wasn’t just your sleeping habits. There was a significant change between you and Bucky. 

It was unspoken, but present. The bond between you was stronger now. You were closer, figuratively and physically. 

The both of you seeked out the other more often. When in group settings, you always sat next to each other. Even offering small subtle touches of affection, like your hand on his arm or his hand on your back. He sat so much closer to you when you spent time together in the lounge. 

The team had definitely noticed this change in your and Bucky’s behavior. As the weeks passed, most of them tried to clue in on what was going on between you two. Anytime they brought it up, you both tried to avoid the subject and shoot down their questions. 

While you did soak up every little bit of this new bond you shared, it also started to drive you to the brink of insanity. As your bond grew, so did your feelings. 

Every touch, every glance, every word shared between you was feeding the yearning that ate away at your heart. 

It was borderline mean how he would rest his head on your shoulder when you’d be watching a movie and easily fall asleep against you. Or when you would rest your head on him and his arm would sneak around your shoulders. It was sickening how he let you ruffle his hair- meanwhile if someone like Sam or Clint even came close to his hair- they’d lose a hand. It was torture when in an effort to stop you from overexerting yourself, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carried you out of the gym to get some rest. It was evil how he would poke your warm skin with his cool metal hand to watch you jump in surprise. 

It was painful being so close to him yet feeling so far away.

You desperately wanted more. Wanted to tell him how important he is to you. That you’d do anything for him to make sure he was safe and happy. How you’d fight off any nightmares he had with your bare fists if it meant he could sleep peacefully. Tell him that he was one of the most handsome men you’d ever met and you would kiss him till you couldn’t breathe if he’d let you.

You needed him to know that when you looked at him you saw your safe space. That no other person has made you feel so content and at home. That he was the only person who you could lay next to and feel safe enough to let yourself sleep. 

But instead you kept that all to yourself. Letting it fester like a wound inside of you. 

Because one too many times after a sweet intimate moment you shared, he would almost close in on himself. It was subtle, but you would always catch it. 

There would be this look in his eyes when he left your bedroom in the morning. His eyes would melt with melancholy for a few brief seconds. Or right after you pointed out the serenity of your closeness while casually spending time together and his posture would stiffen or he’d become less talkative. 

So, you never brought it up. Instead you existed in the space between friends and more than friends. 

“They look so cozy,” Yelena commented as she observed from afar. 

Sam stepped closer to get a better view of what she was seeing. From where they stood in the kitchen, they could see you and Bucky on the couch. You had both fallen asleep. The movie you had previously turned on was still playing in the background. His face was buried in your neck and his arms were wrapped around your middle. One of your arms lazily draped around him keeping him close. 

“Yeah, a little too cozy,” he teased. 

“God will they just kiss already?” She joked walking back to the kitchen island where Steve and Wanda were cooking. 

Sam looked at her like she had four heads. 

“Wait, I thought they were sleeping together.”

Wanda shook her head, “No, I don't think they’ve made it that far yet.”

“What are you talking about? I saw him leave her room at like 7 am yesterday. How would you know they haven’t even kissed yet?” 

“You can just tell,” Wanda answered without even looking up from chopping vegetables. 

Sam crossed his arms, “Okay, how?”

Yelena pointed towards the couple in question as she spoke. “He’s still holding back.” 

Sam looked at her in disbelief, “His face is in her neck. You call that holding back?” 

The two women shushed him as his voice accidentally raised in volume. Sam turned around to take a peek at the living room and make sure you were still asleep. And more importantly, not listening. 

Yelena shrugged back at him, “I don’t know how to explain it Sam. There’s something in the way he acts around her.” 

“Not that it’s bad,” Wanda interjected. “It just seems like he’s scared of something.” 

Sam turned his attention to Steve who had still yet to comment on the matter. 

“What about you?” Sam asked him. “Did he tell you anything?” 

Steve glanced up from the counter and his gaze landed on the scene many feet away from them.

“I know he’s sweet on her.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “Well obviously.” 

Steve cracked a smile at his friend. He lowered his voice, careful to not wake the couple in question, “I asked when he was gonna ask her out. He told me she wouldn’t want someone like him.”

“That’s complete bullshit,” Yelena argued as she sat on a stool and stole a chopped vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board. 

Steve shook his head and returned to preparing dinner. “I told him. He wouldn’t listen.” 

Steve didn’t know exactly what was going on in his best friend's head. But one thing he did know was that Bucky didn’t think he was deserving of love. 

“Well he needs a wakeup call.” Sam snatched a vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board as she swatted him away. 

Two hours later, the kitchen was abandoned. Dishes in the sink and leftovers, for the “love birds” as Clint called you, in the fridge. 

You and Bucky were still asleep on the couch. By now, one of your many roommates turned off the tv. 

You don’t remember when you fell asleep, who fell asleep first, or how you ended up in this position. But you woke up with a painful feeling in your chest. 

It snuck up on you. Like one of those dreams where all is well and then suddenly you're falling and it startles you awake. 

Only this was worse. 

A lot worse. 

This feeling was familiar. Waking up from a nightmare. You were no stranger to it. Yet this time it felt different. It felt foreign. This fear wasn’t coming from your own dreams. 

Except, you didn’t realize that when you woke up. All you could think about in your freshly awakened state was the pain. The terror and guilt had wrapped around your chest like barbed wire and choked you. 

You saw it. 

You didn’t mean to. You didn’t go looking for it. It found you because it was so powerful. His feelings were so strong, so painful that they seeped into you from his touch. And what followed were the images of his nightmare.

You watched the dream from Bucky’s point of view. The setting was blurry. You were indoors with no windows. Maybe some kind of cellar. It was dark, but light enough that you could make out who you were fighting. 

Yourself. 

The first thing you noticed was the difference in his arm. It was chrome with a red star on his shoulder instead of the black and gold vibranium. He was wearing all black tactical gear and a black mask. 

You were fighting the Winter Soldier.

As the fight continued, you grew weaker. You managed to hold your own against him, but his brute strength and endurance were catching up with you. He wasn’t holding back. Your strength was weakening the more you blocked off his attacks. 

With a small blade, he sliced your arm before you kneed him and knocked the knife to the ground. He managed to anticipate your next move and kicked you in the abdomen, causing you to slam back into the wall behind you. 

You hunched over in pain, struggling to breathe. He stalked towards you and slammed you against the wall. His metal arm wrapped around your throat and held you in the air. You choked for breath but couldn’t take one. From his eyes, you watched tears streamed down your own face and lips mouth a silent plea. 

“James please.” 

Seconds later your eyes fell and your body went limp. 

A gasp left you as you were brought back to the present. Back in your own body. 

Seconds later you felt movement and the man next to you woke up. 

Bucky was in shambles. He quickly sat up on the couch, panting quick weak breaths. His hands were trembling as he gripped the couch cushion. His metal fingers dug into it so hard you were worried he would rip the fabric. 

His eyes were the worst to take in from the sight in front of you. They were bloodshot, glassy, and full of panic as they scanned his surroundings. 

You reached forward and placed your hands on his face. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t think to use your powers. You almost didn’t want to after what you accidentally witnessed. 

“Hey, hey you’re okay. You’re okay. I’m fine,” you cooed to him. This didn’t help him at all. His face was still struck with horror. 

“James, look at me.” This caught his attention. His eyes landed on yours and you watched a tear fall down his cheek and felt it land on your hand. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe, I’m safe,” You comforted while stroking his face with your thumbs. 

His eyes darted over your face as he recognized you were there. You were tangible. 

You were alive. 

Bucky dove forward and engulfed you in a hug. His hold on you was tight, like he was scared you wouldn’t be there if he let go. 

His quick movements took you by surprise and almost knocked the wind out of you. After a few seconds, you relaxed against his hold and rested your arms around his neck. Your hand weaved its way into his hair. You felt his tense muscles start to ease at the feeling. 

“I thought I-“ he stuttered, voice still frail. 

“I know, I’m fine baby I’m right here.” You didn’t mean to let the term of endearment slip out. You hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it. 

And for a moment you were worried he did. There was no response from him for longer than you liked. 

Until he nervously asked, “did you see that?” 

You let out a small sigh, knowing the guilt would tear him apart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise. It was just so … strong,” you apologized while your fingers dug in his hair as a way to comfort him. 

“I couldn’t … I couldn’t stop myself,” he whimpered. His hold on you tightened.   

“It wasn’t real. I know you would never hurt me.”

He whispered so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close. His voice sounded fragile and small. “What if one day I did?” 

“But what if you didn’t?”

You heard a sniffle followed by a long pause. It seemed like he was calming down because his breathing started to even out and slow down. 

You continued to play with his hair until he finally released his hold on you. When you separated he quickly wiped at his wet eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered with guilt etched on his face. 

“For what?” 

“For scaring you. That you had to see that.” 

The surprise of his apology hit like a brick to your temple. 

Bucky was the one who had the terrifying nightmare that brought up his trauma from Hydra. He just watched the winter soldier kill someone he cared about. But you are his main concern. He’s more worried about you accidentally being a witness to it. He’s more concerned about you being scared than his own fear. 

If he wasn’t reeling from what he just saw you would’ve punched his arm for apologizing. But tough love wasn’t what he needed right now. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that. It’s not your fault.” You’d repeat it like a mantra to him until he believed you. “The only thing that scares me is seeing you like this,” you comforted with a soft voice. 

There was a small look of relief in his eyes, but not enough to show that he was fully convinced. 

Silence grew between you. As time stretched, you thought more about his nightmare. Your curiosity was growing and it needed to be answered. You needed to know if your suspicions were correct. 

“Can I ask you about it?” you asked cautiously. 

There was a brief pause before he nodded. 

“Was that like the nightmare you had a while ago? The one I helped you with.”

His eyes couldn’t quite reach yours. He looked down with a pained expression and swallowed before letting out a quiet whisper. “Yes.” 

The ache in your stomach tripled at his meek reply. Flashes of that night bounced in your head. The tremble in his voice, the panic on his face. How he practically came running to your room after he woke up. He’d been having nightmares for days, but that night specifically he needed to see you. 

You thought of the terrified reaction he had to the idea of you erasing the memory of the nightmare. Because if you erased it, that meant you would’ve seen your own death. 

You would’ve seen him killing you. 

“You’re not usually in my nightmares. That was the first time I ever saw something like that. It’s been eating away at me ever since.” Bucky explained, still not looking you in the eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, you noticed he did that a lot when he was nervous. 

His earlier question rang in your ears as realization dawned on you. 

“What if one day I did?”

You sat up straighter and leaned closer to him. “It was a nightmare. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore,” you comforted in a gentle voice. 

“I know but—” his eyes squeezed shut as the words he was trying to say got stuck in his throat. “I’m scared that it’s still a part of me. I’m scared that somehow it’ll all come back. And I could never live with myself if I ever hurt you.” 

Things were starting to fall into place and suddenly make sense in your mind. This had to be why he kept close to you but somehow still at arms length. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to fully enjoy your embrace in fear of getting too close and hurting you. He didn’t want to bring his frightening past with him and let it poison your life. 

“Buck,” you whispered to make sure he was listening. 

Bucky’s eyes opened back up and finally met yours. They were still red, glossy and full of fear. 

It was now or never. You needed him to know. 

“I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.” 

You placed a hand on his cheek and gently caressed his face. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. It seemed like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“I feel safe when I’m around you. I don’t think there was ever a time I felt like I was in danger with you in any way. That's why I want to be near you or why I seek you out when I can’t sleep.” You let out a gentle chuckle before your next words, “Hell, I can sleep next to you. Do you know how big of a deal that is to me? For me to feel safe enough to fall asleep in the same bed as someone else.” 

He resisted the urge to smile. He looked like he desperately wanted to believe you, but the darkness had a chokehold on him and wouldn’t loosen. 

You needed to dig deeper. 

“Are you afraid of me?” you asked in a serious tone. “Afraid of what I can do with my powers when I touch you?” 

His expression fell with absolute bewilderment, “No, of course not.”

“Then why would I be afraid of you?” 

Bucky momentarily froze as he realized the point you were making. He shook his head unconvinced, “That’s not the same.” 

“Is it really?” you insisted. “You said it yourself, you trust me. You barely knew me and you trusted that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He muttered your name, about to counteract you, but you gently cut him off. 

“No, listen.” You grabbed his hand in yours. The warmth from your hand started to seep into the cool metal. 

“You would never hold the things I did at Hydra against me. Why should I do the same to you?” 

It seemed like you were getting through to him the way his jaw clenched. He wanted to argue back, but he couldn’t. 

“I’m not scared of you. I never was.” you spoke with determination in each breath. You needed the words to sink in.

“When I look at you I don’t see the winter soldier. I see a kind man who cares so deeply about people. I see someone who even though he shows a tough exterior, is secretly a huge softy. And a sucker for physical affection even if he doesn’t want to admit it.” 

That made him chuckle. He almost appeared sheepish the way he looked at you in return.

“I need you to get it through your thick skull that you’re important to me. You mean so much to me and you don’t even realize it,” your hold on his hand tightened as your heart poured out into his grasp. 

Bucky sat there quietly. Wide pupils staring back at you as he took in what you said. His bright blue eyes appeared almost incandescent. 

His other hand found its way on your thigh. The feeling of his hand on you had butterflies swarming in your stomach and your face heating up. You were used to his touch by now, but this felt so much more intimate than anything you’d ever done. 

“Ya know, when I had that nightmare for the first time and I asked you to help me fall asleep, I didn’t really need you to use your powers on me,” he confessed. His hand traveled up and down your thigh as he spoke. 

“I just needed to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t go back to sleep without knowing you were safe.” 

He started to lean closer to you. The distance between you was slowly dwindling as he continued. 

“You mean the world to me doll,” he said softly. His voice dripping with devotion. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” 

You closed the space between you and him and rested your forehead against his. 

“I’m right here. I’m all in. The good, the bad, I don’t care. I want all of you.“

Bucky's metal hand reached up to cradle your face. Your cheeks were so flushed and warm, the cold metal sent chills down your body. His thumb gently caressed your cheek and ran over your bottom lip.

“Can I-?” he pleaded in a low voice. 

Of course he would be a gentleman and ask. Even when his lips were mere inches away and you were like putty in his hands. 

“Just kiss me James,” you breathed desperately. 

He didn’t waste a second. He tiled your face up towards him and his soft lips collided with yours in an instant. You were practically melting in his hold. 

Your mind was going fuzzy. You couldn’t think of anything other than the feeling of his lips against yours as he hopelessly tried to mold to you. Your hands found purchase around his neck and in his hair, trying to pull him closer. 

He sighed and smiled against your lips. His hand that was on your thigh traveled up and gripped your waist. 

Neither of you knew how much time had passed. I seemed like time stood still until you heard someone enter the deadly silent living room and gasp. 

You quickly pulled away from each other at the sound to find Wanda trying to hold back a smile. Bucky and you sat like deer in headlights staring at her. 

“Get a room you two. I know you use them,” she teased before retreating into the hallway. 

As she left, you turned to Bucky and saw his face was bright red matching yours. 

“Oh god,” you chuckled, leaned forward and hid your face in his neck. 

He reached up and ran his hand up and down your back. “You wanna go somewhere more private?” he whispered close to your ear. 

You leaned back to face him again. “Why? You want to kiss me more?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

He offered you a smug grin as his eyes darted between your lips and your eyes. 

“Babygirl, I never wanna stop kissing you.”

[luvwanda]

: ̗̀➛ The Paul Mescal school of yearning

You and Pedro had stared in the Last of Us together, and now he cannot stop talking about you at any chance given, very much similar to another friend of his…

[Pedro Pascal is my love and my life and has been for a while now, idk what anyone else has told you but we’re very happy together. Anyway, this is a little thing I created cause don’t we all want to be wanted the way Paul wants Daisy?!] daddy references, language, fem reader, not proof read

ᴘᴇᴅʀᴏᴘᴀꜱᴄᴀʟɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀᴏɴᴇꜰᴀɴ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ: ɴᴏ ʙᴜᴛ ꜰʀ ᴘᴇᴅʀᴏ ᴘᴀꜱᴄᴀʟ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴍᴇꜱᴄᴀʟ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴏꜰ ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴜᴛ !!!

↪️ -

Yourusername: The Last of Us, out now. If you’ve ever liked me, you’ll go give it some love

1.1 m likes // 7.8k comments // 🏷️pascalispunk

urfan: obsessed

peoplelover: oh she getting that Emmy

pedroisloveislife: THE LAST OF US?!?

urfriend: ❤️

pedroishot: u and pedro are going to kill me

fanista: this is gonna break me

pascalbemine: mother is mothering!!!

pascalispunk: I’ll watch it cause I like you

↪️ yourusername: I appreciate that

↪️↪️ pascalispunk: and because pedro pascal is in it

↪️↪️↪️ yourusername: actually he got cut

↪️↪️↪️↪️ pascalispunk: 😦😦

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pascalispunk: The Last of us with some of my favourite people. Give it some love

1.9 m likes // 101k comments

user101: cannon that pedro doesn't know what tagging is

y/nfan: that's y/n in the third picture, i know it

pedroismyman: he's so daddy

personcha: daddy

bellaisqueen: daddy is a state of mind

y/nluver: y/n took the last pictures, i scream as they drag me into the asylum

pascalandy/n: the flowers!! i need him

youryousername liked this post

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~ y/nbiggestgurl: guys!!! @yourusername and @pascalispunk at the a Stevie Nicks concert, I don’t know who I want to be more!!!!

↪️↪️↪️ - Pascalisinlove:

Everyone saying Pedro and Y/N are just friends when all of this exists:

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

'Do you ever look at instagram accounts devoted to you being a heartthrob when you’re feeling down ?'

'Yes, I do,' Pedro immediately burst into laughter.

'What’s your favourite account?'

‘It’s called Pedropascalfanaccount,' he chuckled to himself again, eyes squeezing shut. He regained himself in time. 'Y/N runs that account.'

There was silence in which he tried not to laugh again.

'Does she think you’re a heartthrob?'

Pedro cringed. 'I hope.'

comments:

but this is so normal pedro behaviour

I love Pedro and Y/N together sm, i hope the rumours are true

He's so daddy, need him

Y/N Pascal, I am here for it

↪️↪️↪️↪️ Pascalisinlove:

'K but Pedro Pascal is like this with all his costars.' Pedro being close with Y/N like any other costar:

These headlines:

↪️↪️↪️↪️↪️

One of my favourite moments- y/npascal11

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

The camera's caught you and Pedro standing next to each other as the interview progressed onto how you all bonded on set of the Last of us. She suggested, off-handily, karaoke.

Pedro leaned into the microphone. 'I hate karaoke.'

You chuckled, giving your own answer. 'I'd have loved karaoke, it's quite fun.'

Everyone lost their minds at how Pedro flustered, waving his hands around and desperately grabbing for the microphone. 'I don't mind karaoke, I don't mind it,' he quickly redeemed himself. Everyone loved how he was looking to you for approval. 'With the right company, it can be great- oh, we should go.'

Everyone watching the video lost their minds at how quick an opinion change he had as soon as he realised you liked it.

'We should!' you chuckle, playing along.

The video then played every other interview clip that could be found of Pedro expressing dislike for karaoke. He hated it. But as soon as you said you liked it his whole mind set was changed.

User101: he’s in love omg!!

User102: the way he looks at her

User33: omg internet mommy and internet daddy!!?!

- ⤵️

Pedropascalnumberonefan: this interview is what started it all, the way Paul just brings up Daisy and Pedro can’t stop talking about Y/N!!

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

Pedro and the rest of the cast of Gladitor II sat together, each taking turns holding cards and asking questions, how well do they all know one another.

Paul and Pedro seemed to be having their own competition, privately wanting to beat each other. But whilst privately competing they hadn’t realised just what they were saying:

"Who is my favourite actor?" Pedro asked, biting the lid of the pen off.

Joesph Quinn stroked the boldness of his head. "It’s me right?"

"That you’re my favourite actor?"

"Yeah- you said that to me once."

"I said that you were special," corrected Pedro, grinning to himself before laughing at his own joke. "And special can mean a lot of things."

"Marlon Brando?" Connie suggested.

"Harrison Ford?" Was another by Freddy.

And just as Pedro was gonna accept that answer, Paul said your name.

"Y/n! It’s y/n, y/n!"

Pedro’s grin split his cheeks as he turned his board and showed everyone your scribbled name, a heart jotted down next to it.

Pedro didn’t even care he’d just supplied the fans, he cared he got a point- going for a high five that nobody returned.

And if Pedro and Paul were in a competition for who could name their girls the most, Pedro had the lead very quickly as when Connie was up, asking:

"What is my favourite curse word in Danish?"

Pedro went in with ‘fuck’ which was wrong. Then he tried again with Bastard but he told himself off with that one, mumbling a:

"No that’s y/n’s favourite."

Next to him, Paul laughed.

But Paul came swinging back in the game when Joseph asked:

"What actor do I get mistaken for?"

The question had hardly left his lips when Paul erupted-

"Daisy Edgar Jones! Sometimes,"

"Um, no."

Userp12: PLS!! Jo shut him down so quick

User89: guys this is hilarious

User69: not even ten seconds in and we got a Daisy and Y/n mention

PaulMescalboy: k but do you think Paul is so mad cause Pedro stay winning, like has everyone SEEN the SNL videos

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

Everyone had seen the SNL videos. Not only had you and Pedro done a sketch to express how he is internet Daddy and you were internet Mommy looking after all your children, but then a tiktok had gone viral.

You were walking the red carpet with your assistant, the flashing lights adding to the glamour you carried in every step when you brushed by Pedro.

At first everyone was talking about how they were sure your hand was purposely grazing his ass but then everyone's jaw dropped with how you dragged your hand over the back of his neck. It was such a simple move, so nonchalant that you didn't even look as you did it.

Pedro looked.

Pedro grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it as if there weren't a hundred camera's on the pair of you.

Pedro looked at you like you'd hung the very moon.

He pulled you into him, leaving the microphone to grab you and hug you. Maybe he'd abandon the whole thing just to follow after you like a lost puppy.

But he'd left the microphone and the people in front of their phones with a deep need for love like Pedro loved you. When he muttered a small 'Dios mío'.

-

↪️

Y/nupdates: but do you all remember that time Pedro and Y/N were caught looking after her nephew together BEFORE FILMING FOR THE LAST OF US EVEN BEGAN!! UR HONOUR ITS ALWAYS BEEN THEM

-

↪️↪️

"You really facetime people a lot," said Bella, as they were on camera, discussing The Last of Us and what it was like on set.

Pedro laughed. "Let's facetime someone."

"Y/n?" asked Bella. They didn't even need to take another guess, Pedro's cheeky grin telling all just who he would be face-timing.

"Lets see if she answers me this time," he mumbled as he got your contact up.

Bella continued adding fuel to the fire. "I feel like every time I came into the tent on set, if you weren't with her on set, you'd be talking to her over the phone."

"Oh come on, don't exaggerate- she calls me!" said Pedro, furrowing his brows at the phone screen as he watched your name flicker on his phone. The camera's picked up the scrunch of his face as did Bella.

"You always do that face as well!" Bella pointed out. "When you start a face time call- you always do a little smoulder!"

Pedro chuckled. "I can't see!"

His head snapped down to his phone when the ringing had stopped and you'd picked up his call. He grinned and cheered.

"What the fuck do you want?" you playfully yelled down the phone as Pedro laughed, showing you Bella and showing you off to the camera.

-

↪️↪️↪️

User1: If Pedro went to the Paul school of yearning then Y/N went to the Daisy school of avoiding the damn question.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

The video played you in your own lie detector test, similar to how Pedro had once been subjected to.

"People call you the mother of the internet," said the lady behind the camera.

You nodded and waited for the rest of it to come.

She slid a picture of Pedro over to you and your cheeks immediately went red. "Is this man your daddy?"

The camera caught you trying to keep it together but you started to laugh, hiding your face as you clearly didn't want the camera's to pick up your blush or your heart rate. "Oh geez- um," you hesitated, but picked up the picture of him. "My god his eyes are gorgeous. I think-"

"True," said the man officiating the lie detector test.

"Thank you," you quickly threw his way before addressing the question. "I think he's everyone's daddy, yeah."

"But is he your daddy?" she repeated.

You tried to think of a way to play it and yet nothing came to mind. "I plead the fifth."

-

You laughed as you finished the video and read the article’s accompanying it and even went back to look at the pictures.

You felt like a fan of yourself and Pedro as you stared at all the evidence on your phone.

Perhaps the most incriminating bit of evidence was the man stirring next to you.

"What have you been laughing about over there?" Mumbled Pedro as his arm wrapped back around your waist, tugging you closer to him again.

You cuddle in, abandoning your phone to the side. "Oh you know, just how much you love me."

Pedro knew immediately as he grumbled, hiding himself in the soft skin of your neck. "That damn video again?"

[I hope you enjoy!! Let me know if you’d like any more Pedro,]

[luvwanda]

this is literally cyberbullying delate please 💔

i often think about ellie listening to the space launch tape joel gifted her, as a way to connect with him after his death. how she’d sit somewhere entirely isolated, look up at the moon and think, maybe, he’s just up there waiting for her.

[luvwanda]

aaghh I want a girlfriend 😭

after midnight

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: turns out having your girlfriend as a neighbor might have its pros.

word count: 5.6k

THE BELL ABOVE the record store door chimed as you stepped inside, the off-key jingle already familiar. That comforting scent of old CDS, wood polish, and faint incense hit you instantly—Ellie’s world, lived in and real, and lately? A place you’d started thinking of as your favorite part of the day.

Your eyes scanned the shop, smiling instantly when you spotted her behind the counter. Ellie was bent over a stack of records, tongue peeking out between her lips as she scribbled some price tags. She was in her usual uniform—baggy flannel, sleeves pushed to her elbows, her tattooed forearm lazily resting against the register. Her hair was a little tousled, cheeks flushed like she’d been rushing around, and she was mouthing lyrics to whatever was playing softly overhead—Pixies, if you were hearing it right.

You leaned against the counter. "Hey, pretty girl."

Ellie jumped slightly, then quickly smoothed out her expression—though the pink in her cheeks deepened instantly. "You’re gonna give me a heart attack doing that," she mumbled, but her eyes sparkled as she took you in. "Also… hey."

"Missed me much?"

Ellie tried to act chill, but her smirk betrayed her. "Nah. I’ve had a great time reorganizing punk bands alphabetically. Living the dream."

"She’s lying," Jesse called out from the back. "She changed her shirt three times this morning."

"Dude," Ellie hissed.

You turned your grin toward Jesse, who was leaning out from behind one of the shelves with a box of used records. "Seriously?"

"She tried to wear the black one, then the gray one, then the black one again. I told her it didn’t matter, but apparently it really matters what you wear when your girlfriend comes by."

Ellie groaned and dropped her head to the counter. "I will kill you."

Jesse shrugged, unfazed. "Not before I write a song about this moment and play it in your funeral slideshow."

You laughed, leaning closer to Ellie’s crumpled form. "So… black shirt, huh?"

Her voice was muffled against the countertop. "I thought you liked the black one."

"I do." You reached up and gently tugged the collar of her flannel, teasing. "But I like you flustered even more."

Ellie sat up, squinting at you. "You’re evil."

You just gave her your most innocent smile.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms and pretending to lean back casually, "well if you’re gonna come in here looking like that—"

"Like what?"

"You know what," she muttered, her voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

Jesse groaned from the back again. "If you two start making out on the counter, I’m calling your mom."

"I like her mom," Ellie shot back.

"Yeah, and her mom likes me more. Be afraid."

You choked on your laugh as Ellie blinked, betrayed. "What—"

"She follows me on Instagram," Jesse added smugly, vanishing back into the jazz section.

"Unreal," Ellie muttered.

You brushed your fingers against hers on the counter. "I think he might be my favorite coworker of yours."

"I am your favorite coworker!" Jesse yelled without missing a beat.

Ellie just stared at you, that little soft look settling back on her face. "He is a pain, I will give that, but… he likes you. A lot."

"Clearly." You bumped your knee against hers. "You jealous?"

Ellie raised a brow, her lips twitching. "You want me to be?"

"Maybe," you replied sweetly. "You’re cute when you get all huffy."

Ellie leaned in just a little, her voice low and teasing. "If you want me to get huffy, you’re gonna have to flirt with someone hotter than Jesse."

After a while, Ellie disappeared into the back and returned with something wrapped in brown paper.

"I got this for you," she said, suddenly a little shy again, eyes flicking to yours and then away. "Didn’t know if you had it, but I... I thought of you when I saw it."

You opened the paper gently—and gasped.

It was a first press vinyl. An artist you’d mentioned only once, months ago, during a late night cuddle session on her couch. She must’ve remembered.

Your voice came out soft. "Ellie…"

"It’s not a big deal," she said quickly, playing with her fingers nervously. "It’s kind of scratched, but I cleaned it up. Should play fine. Just figured…"

You were already throwing your arms around her neck.

She froze for a beat, then melted into you, her hand finding the small of your back instinctively.

"You’re unbelievable," you whispered.

Ellie buried her face in your shoulder, voice muffled. "You say that like it’s a good thing."

You pulled back enough to kiss her cheek, right below her freckle. "It is."

From the back, Jesse made a gagging sound, but neither of you moved away.

The rest of the day went slow and sweet. You stayed until closing, perched behind the register on the stool, flipping through albums while Ellie teased you with music trivia.

She got bolder as the afternoon stretched on—resting her hand on your thigh beneath the counter, brushing her fingers over yours whenever she walked by, low murmurs in your ear that made your chest flutter every time.

YOU WERE TRYING to not psych yourself out too much. Really, you were. You were just going to hang out with Ellie’s best friends, Jesse and Dina. You already knew Jesse. He was easy. Friendly. Teased Ellie in a way that made you feel instantly included.

But Dina… Well. You’d seen her that morning in the hallway, laughing with Ellie like something out of a damn romcom movie. Cool haircut and easy smile. You didn’t even mean to assume anything, but the image had branded itself into your brain and stayed there for a while.

And now Ellie had invited you to a little movie night at her place. Just the four of you. She’d been smiling, nervous and adorable, when she asked. 'She has been bugging me to meet you. Not in a weird way. Just—she’s just curious. You’re important.' You melted on the spot. Obviously had to say yes.

But now, with the microwave humming behind you and your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your hoodie—Ellie’s hoodie—you were bracing yourself for impact.

"Stop looking like you’re about to be sacrificed," Ellie said as she grabbed a drink from the fridge. She was dressed with a faded band tee and sweatpants, her freckles dusted pink with amusement.

"I’m not," you said, not very convincing. "I just—what if Dina hates me?"

Ellie frowned, slightly offended. "Why the hell would Dina hate you?"

You shrugged, and she gave you the Ellie Look. The one that meant you’re being ridiculous, but I also kind of love it. Then, softer: "She’s gonna love you." Then, quickly—"Not like that. I mean—love, like—fuck, you know what I mean."

You laughed, cheeks hot. "You're really bad at calming people down."

"I try my best," she mumbled, nudging your hand with hers. "C’mon. They’re almost here."

The knock came five minutes later, followed by the familiar voice of Jesse shouting through the door, "Ellie! I brought snacks and our combined bad taste in movies!"

Ellie pulled the door open and Jesse walked in like he owned the place, a bag of chips tucked under one arm and a six-pack in the other. "Hey, stranger," he grinned at you, giving you a one-armed hug. "Looking dangerously cozy tonight."

You laughed, giving him a warm smile. "I dressed up for the occasion."

He turned to Ellie. "So, you finally let her wear your real hoodie, huh? What happened to 'this one’s sacred?"

Ellie blushed furiously. "Shut up, Dude."

Then you heard another voice behind him. "Hi! Sorry, I made us stop to pet a cat. Totally worth it though." You looked up—and there she was. Dina. Radiant, cool, confident. And already giving you a warm smile like you were old friends.

You froze for half a second, caught between smile like a normal human for fuck’s sake and panic. Ellie watched your face like she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

Dina stepped forward and held out a hand. "You must be the neighbor. Ellie’s been hopelessly annoying about you."

Ellie groaned, face-palming behind you, and Jesse cackled. "It’s true. Still a loser."

Dina added, "I already feel like I know you. You’re basically a character in the group chat."

That made you laugh, the nerves slowly melting away. "Oh god. Hopefully a flattering character?"

"Absolutely!" Dina answered. "Though I do have questions about how you fell for the grumpy music goblin."

"Rude—"

Dina just winked and took your arm. "C’mon, you’re helping me with the popcorn. I need to know everything."

The kitchen turned into your safe zone. You and Dina hit it off shockingly fast—she was funny, warm, a little chaotic in the way that made you laugh constantly. Within ten minutes, she was mock-interviewing you while stirring cheese sauce for nachos.

Dina opened every cabinet in Ellie’s kitchen, grabbing ingredients and tossing them onto the counter. "We’re doing nachos. And maybe pizza."

She passed you a knife and a cutting board, then nudged her hip into yours like the two of you had done this a hundred times before. "So." She glanced at you sideways while dicing tomatoes. "Ellie’s been a wreck since she met you.”

You snorted. "I seriously doubt that."

"Nope. Total disaster. She’d come into work all flustered, humming Green Day like she’s in high school again."

You glanced toward the living room. “Does she always hum Green Day?”

"Only when she’s in a mood," Dina said, mock-serious. "Like, full-on love-sick loser behavior."

You giggled, cheeks warm. "You’re really selling her, wow."

"She’s got layers. Like an onion. Or a tortured lesbian lasagna."

You nearly dropped the knife from laughing. "A tortured lesbian lasagna?"

Dina grinned, clearly proud of herself. "It’s canon now."

You leaned against the counter, biting back a smile. "You’re not what I expected, honestly."

"Oh?" She looked curious. "What did you expect?"

You hesitated, then gave a sheepish shrug. "I kinda… thought you and Ellie were dating."

Dina blinked, then burst out laughing. "Me? God no. We tried kissing once in freshman year and it was like making out with my cousin."

"Oh my god."

"She made this weird sound with her nose," Dina added, pointing at the bridge of her own. "Like, nnchh—I can’t explain it. Traumatizing."

You doubled over in laughter. "You’re insane."

"And you’re adorable," Dina shot back, poking your arm. "I kinda get Ellie now."

You looked down, trying not to grin too hard.

"I’ve never seen her this soft. She’s usually all 'grr I don’t feel emotions unless they’re in minor chords.'"

You snorted. "She’s been very—sweet."

"Sweet?" Dina wiggled her eyebrows. "Did she show you her little CD shrine yet?"

"…Maybe."

"Then yeah, it’s over for her."

You were giggling over the counter with Dina when Jesse tapped Ellie’s shoulder gently, voice low. "She’s cool," he said.

Ellie didn’t take her eyes off the open kitchen. "Yeah."

Jesse watched her for a moment. "You’ve got that dumbass look on your face again."

She looked at him, deadpan. "Eat shit."

Jesse just grinned. "Can’t help it, huh?"

Ellie softened a little, voice quieter. "Can’t help it. I love seeing my favorite people together."

Jesse elbowed her lightly. "You’re so far gone it’s embarrassing."

Ellie didn’t even bother denying it.

Later, you all crammed onto the couch, Ellie squished between you and Jesse, Dina spread out with her feet in Ellie’s lap and her head in yours. The movie was some ridiculous cult classic Jesse insisted on, and most of the time was spent throwing popcorn at each other and cracking jokes.

By the end of it, Jesse and Dina were dead asleepç, and you were almost on that path. Your head was on Ellie’s shoulder. She looked down, nudged your hair gently with her nose, her voice soft. "You okay?"

You looked up. "Yeah. More than okay."

She smiled. "Told you she’d like you."

You leaned in closer, fingers brushing hers beneath the blanket. "Yeah. She’s great."

Ellie gave you this look—one full of warmth, and something deeper that she maybe didn’t even know how to say yet. And you thought, god. You were so screwed for her.

By the time Dina and Jesse left, it was already past midnight, and the apartment had gone utterly quiet. After hours of chaotic laughter and awful movie marathons, everything had finally settled into a hush. You stirred awake in Ellie’s bed, eyes blinking against the soft darkness. The space beside you was cold.

You sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and instinctively looked toward the balcony door. The curtains swayed slightly with the breeze. You walked over, the hardwood cool under your bare feet, and peeked outside.

Ellie was there. Splayed out lazily on the patio couch—bare arms curled around her knees, a cigarette glowing softly in the dark. She was wearing a dark tank top and some oversized boxers, and her hair was a mess of tangled auburn locks.

You opened the door slowly, letting the cool air kiss your skin. "You’re gonna catch a cold out here, you know."

She didn’t turn immediately, but her lips quirked. "Nah. I’m immune."

You stepped out, arms crossed as you sat by her side. "Nuh-huh. That’s what every sick person says right before they get the flu and whine for three days straight."

Ellie glanced over her shoulder with a sheepish smile. "Okay, I’m maybe a little cold. Just didn’t wanna wake you." She leaned her head back, her voice low. "Tonight was good."

You hummed, pleased with the warmth that her body gave you, and suddenly sleepy again.

"I don’t know, it’s just… Jesse and Dina, they’re my people. They’ve been there through some heavy shit, you know? And seeing you with them…it just... it meant a lot."

You softened, your heart swelling in your chest. "I was nervous. With Dina, I mean. After that whole hallway thing, I thought maybe…"

Ellie groaned, her face falling into her hands for a second. "God, I’m never gonna live that down, am I?"

You laughed, nudging her shoulder softly. "Nope. But hey, it worked out."

Ellie took another drag, then stubbed out the cigarette in a tiny tray perched on the table. "It’s just… it’s kinda crazy. How fast this all happened. But it doesn’t feel rushed, y’know? You being here, in my space, it feels… right."

You rested your head on her shoulder, and Ellie immediately leaned into the touch, her cheek brushing against your hair. You could feel her smiling, even if you couldn’t see her face at the moment "It made me really happy."

Your chest ached in the best way. You leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. "You’re really stuck with me, Williams."

She laughed under her breath. "Good. I kinda like being stuck with you."

Eventually, you whispered, “Come back to bed?”

Ellie stood slowly, stretching out her arms. "Only if you promise not to tell Jesse how soft I got just now."

You grinned, taking her hand. “No promises."

YOU WERE barely awake when you heard the sound of a sniffle. Then a sneeze. Then another. Followed by a dramatic groan.

You open your eyes slowly, and turned your head slightly, frowning as you brought the back of your hand to her forehead. "Oh no, Ellie?"

"Mmmgh," she groaned. "I’m dying."

She was curled under three blankets, hoodie pulled tight over her head, only her red nose poking out. "I feel like death," she croaks.

You bit back a smile. "Oh really? That serious, huh?"

She rolled onto her back dramatically. "This is how it ends."

"Uh-huh." You shifted up onto your elbow, brushing a curl from her sweaty temple. "Told you you’d get sick, dummy. What was that you said last night? Something about being immune?"

"I was," she grumbled, voice hoarse. "Now I’m just... weak. Helpless."

"Pathetic, I would say" you offered, as you leaned down to kiss her burning cheek. "You want tea?"

She nodded, sniffling again. "With honey. And I also need like… the healing power of your presence."

You slid out of bed with a mock-salute. "Coming right up, you big baby."

It wasn’t long before you came back with the warm mug, setting it on the nightstand before sitting cross-legged beside her on the bed. Ellie struggled to sit up, groaning dramatically as she wrapped both hands around the tea and sipped carefully.

"You’re an angel," she murmured.

You grinned, brushing your fingers through her hair. "Don’t forget it."

She looked up at you with droopy, red-rimmed eyes. "Hey, uh… babe?"

"Mm?"

"Can you call Joel?" she asked, her voice suddenly a little sheepish. "We were supposed to get lunch today. Can you tell him… we’re canceling?"

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. "We’re canceling?"

Ellie blinked at you.

"No no, baby," you teased, taking the mug from her hands and setting it aside. "I’m telling him you’re canceling. I’m not getting dragged into the wrath of Joel Miller just ‘cause your dumb ass wouldn’t wear a hoodie."

Ellie groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with her pillow. "Cruel. Heartless. Betrayed by my own girlfriend."

"Go cry about it."

"I will, actually."

You laughed and leaned over to grab your phone from the nightstand. "Fine. I’ll call him. But don’t blame me when he tells you I’m the new favorite."

Ellie mumbled something incoherent as you pressed Joel’s contact and hit Call. He picked up after a few rings.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Joel, it’s me."

"Well, hey there, kid," he said, voice warm with recognition. "You and Ellie on your way?"

"Not exactly," you said with a little wince. "Ellie’s, uh… not doing so good."

He immediately sounded more alert. “What’s goin’ on?”

"She’s got a fever," you explained. "Caught something overnight. She’s okay, just cranky and dramatic about it."

Joel let out a soft chuckle. "That sounds about right."

"She wanted me to call and cancel lunch."

Joel sighed but didn’t sound particularly upset. "Figures. I told her to stop running around dressed like it’s summer."

You smiled, glancing over at Ellie, who was now peeking at you with one eye from under her pillow. "I mean, to be fair, she did say she was immune."

That got a full laugh out of Joel. "You takin’ care of her?"

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see. "Yeah, yeah, I got her. Made her tea, bullied her a little."

"Good," he said. "She’s lucky to have you."

Your chest fluttered, and you ducked your head, suddenly warm. "Thanks, Joel."

There was a pause, then his voice softened a bit. "You know, I wasn’t sure about anyone bein’ good enough for her." You blinked, lips parting. "But you… You might’ve shut me up."

Your throat tightened. You tried to swallow around the lump there. "That means a lot. Really."

"Take care of her, alright?"

"Always."

"Alright. I’ll see you two when she’s upright again."

You ended the call slowly, staring at your phone for a second before glancing back at Ellie. She was still under the pillow, but now she had a tiny, dorky smile on her face. "Shut him up, huh?" she said, voice thick with smugness despite the congestion.

You tossed a pillow at her. "You heard that?!"

"I did," she beamed, catching it and holding it to her chest like a trophy. "That’s the best I’ve ever felt while being miserable."

You slid back into bed beside her, pulling the covers up over both of you. "Next time you get a cold, I’m making you call him," you said, nuzzling into her shoulder.

"Deal," she whispered, already halfway back to sleep. "Love you."

You froze for just a second. Then your smile bloomed, unstoppable. "Love you too, baby."

YOUR DAY had been a disaster from the second you stepped into work.

It started with someone taking your lunch from the communal fridge — not just any lunch, but the one Elliecooked and poured her time and heart into it, both of you knowing how bad she sucked in the kitchen. The one she’d tucked a dumb little sticky note into, just saying, 'Pasta tastes better when shared w/ me. But I hope this helps. Love you.'

It only spiraled from there. A last-minute meeting turned into your boss questioning your ideas like they were barely coherent. A coworker made a passive-aggressive comment that echoed in your mind hours after. Everything you touched felt off. Wrong. You kept fumbling. Kept overthinking. You felt raw by the time you finally made it home.

You dropped your bag at the door and kicked off your shoes with an exhale that sounded like a sob if anyone had been there to hear it. You started to cry not much later, leaning against the wall for a minute, trying to steady yourself. Trying to remember that tomorrow would be better. That it was just a bad day, not a bad life. But it was hard when everything felt like it had weighed on your back all day long.

It was when you already dercided to skip dinner and crawl into bed that you saw it.

Sitting right in the middle of your little kitchen table was a bouquet — chaotic and beautiful. Lilies, your favorite, some you’d told Ellie you liked months ago, others that looked like she probably just thought were 'cute as fuck.' A few petals had already fallen onto the wood.

Next to it, a folded piece of notebook paper. Torn from the corner of a page, slightly smudged, written in the messy scrawl you recognized instantly.

Hi baby,

Here’s something for you to come home to.

You make everything better. For me. Just by existing. Come over later. Or now. Or whenever. Just know that I love you.

Your El.

You reread it twice before your vision blurred with tears again. But this time they weren’t sad ones, though. Just overwhelming. Just the kind of tears that come from feeling seen, known, and loved. You didn’t even think to grab shoes. You ran barefoot down the hallway, heart pounding, letter clutched in your hand.

Ellie opened the door at the second knock. There was music playing faintly behind her — something soft, acoustic — and her mouth opened to say something, but it caught in her throat the second she saw your face. "Oh," she breathed.

You must’ve looked a mess — eyes red, lashes damp, a slight tremble still in your hands from the adrenaline rush of holding it in all day. You couldn’t even say anything. Just looked at her, your lower lip wavering.

And Ellie —God. Ellie stepped forward so fast, so instinctively, that the door swung all the way open behind her.

"Baby," she whispered, both hands coming up to cradle your cheeks. Her thumbs wiped at the tear tracks like they offended her. "Hey. No— come here. Come here."

You let her pull you in, your arms looping tight around her waist as she hugged you, hugged you, like she’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. Like you were something precious and fragile and hers. You buried your face in her neck. Her hoodie smelled like cedarwood and smoke. She smelled like home.

"I— I was gonna text," you mumbled, breath hitching. "But then I saw it and I wanted to say thank you, I just—"

"No, no," she whispered, stroking the back of your head. "You don’t need to say anything. You’re okay. You’re with me."

She guided you inside wordlessly, closed the door with her foot, then walked you backwards toward the couch, her arms never leaving you for a second. She sat first, tugging you gently onto her lap, wrapping herself around you like a human blanket. Her hand rubbed slow, grounding circles up and down your spine.

After a while, when your breathing evened out and your fists unclenched a little against her hoodie, she pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured, "Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head. "Okay." She paused. "Wanna sit in silence and just let me hold you for a while?"

You nodded into her collarbone. Her grip tightened, like she was the one that needed you close. "Done. It’s already happening. You're stuck here. Tough luck."

You huffed a tiny laugh, and she grinned against your skin, proud of herself for pulling it out of you. "I’m sorry," you murmured eventually, voice hoarse. "I feel ridiculous."

Ellie pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Her expression was so soft, it made you want to cry all over again.

"Don’t you dare," she said. "Don’t you ever apologize for having a hard day. You’re allowed to feel like shit sometimes."

You looked down at your hands in your lap, still nestled in the folds of her hoodie. "I just… I feel like I give and give, and people still find ways to make me feel small. Like I’m not enough."

Ellie took your hands in hers. "You’re more than enough," she said seriously. "You’re everything." Your heart squeezed. "And you didn’t give too much today," she added. "They just didn’t know how to receive it. That’s not on you."

You blinked at her. "Since when did you get so wise?"

She smirked like she was already proud of her answer. "Since I fell head over heels for a girl who cries at love letters and runs barefoot down the hall to kiss me."

You smiled and leaned in, your nose brushing hers, your voice a whisper. "I just really needed to see you."

Ellie kissed you slow and gently. "I’m always right here," she said. "I will always be right here for you."

You ended up falling asleep there, curled together on the couch, her hand still laced in yours, feeling her soft heartbeat against your own.

YOU WOKE UP to the smell of cinnamon.

Still groggy, you stretched a little, blinking against the early light slipping through Ellie’s curtains. You reached out instinctively — but her side of the couch was empty. Something gentle hummed through the apartment. Music, faint and crackly from the little record player in the corner. Something older — Nancy Sinatra, maybe. And cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon.

You sat up, your body heavy with sleep, but your chest felt lighter. You walked around the apartment barefoot, wearing only one of her shirts, the hem brushing your thighs.

Ellie was in the kitchen.

Hair messy, tied back in a low bun. Oversized hoodie. Socks half on, half falling down. She had flour on her face — actual flour — and was bent over the stove, very seriously flipping something in a pan.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and smiled. "I feel like I’m interrupting something private here."

Ellie jumped and turned — her entire face lighting up when she saw you.

"Babe," she said, like she’d been waiting for you all morning. "I was trying to let you sleep. Did I wake you?"

"You made your whole apartment smell like cinnamon. I’d wake up even in a coma."

She grinned and held up the pan like a trophy. "Cinnamon pancakes. I found this recipe online — well, Jesse texted it to me. He said it’s foolproof, so if they’re bad, we blame him."

You laughed, walking toward her, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind as she focused on pouring syrup into a tiny saucepan. She leaned back into your chest instinctively, humming under her breath. You swayed with her for a moment.

"You’re ridiculous," you mumbled into her hoodie.

She turned her head slightly, brushing her nose against your temple. "Nah. You just had a shitty day yesterday. And I hate it when you look sad."

You pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "So you decided pancakes would cure me?"

"Did it work?"

You thought about it — how your chest felt less tight, how the anxious hum in your bones had quieted, and how safe she made you feel just by standing there, solid and sleepy in her kitchen, making you breakfast. "It’s definitely helping."

After pancakes (which were — surprisingly — very good, despite Ellie nearly burning the first one and dramatically mourning it like it was a fallen soldier), she told you the plan for the day: "There’s no plan."

You blinked at her from across the table, licking syrup off your thumb. "No plan?"

"Nope. None." She leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head, looking pleased. "You’re not lifting a finger today. Not a single one. I’m your butler. Your chauffeur. Your loyal steed."

You snorted. "My what?"

"I take my girlfriend duties very seriously."

She really meant it, too. She ran you a bath with the stupidly fancy bubble stuff she’d teased you about the week before but then bought anyway. She showered you with compliments and let you pick a movie, not complaining even if it was one she’d already seen.

After dinner, she was inside the kitchen again, preparing a french dessert you mentioned once and she just happened to have every single ingredient. So here you were, smiling at the dedication and effort Ellie put into making you happy. She turned, and caught you staring.

"What?" She asked, suspicious.

"Nothing." You replied, trying not to smile.

"No, no. I know that look. That’s the I’m-about-to-roast-you look."

You tilted your head. "I’m not—"

"You’re about to say something mean and deeply offensive. I can feel it."

"I was just thinking about how you hold a spatula like it’s a weapon. Like you’re about to interrogate it." You shrugged innocently.

She gasped, pointing you with the utensil. "You take that back. I cook with precision."

"You cook like someone who’s holding the last weapon in a boss fight."

Ellie narrowed her eyes and closed the distance between you in three quick steps. "You wanna say that again, sweetheart?"

You smirked. "Or what, you gonna arrest me with the spatula?"

She blinked once. Then, wordlessly, she grabbed you—hands at your waist, firm and sudden—and hoisted you off the stool like you weighed absolutely nothing.

"El—!" you yelped, laughing, squirming as she walked you the three steps to the counter.

"Say it again," she said, deadly serious, "and I swear I’ll put you in the sink."

You were still giggling when she deposited you on top of the kitchen counter, your legs dangling and hoodie riding up your thighs. She stepped between your knees, arms on either side of you. Your laughter softened into breathless smiles. Your cheeks hurt. Her eyes were so green up close, you could almost count every single freckle that embelished her visage.

"Not gonna lie," you murmured, "this is kinda hot."

Ellie raised a brow. "Me threatening you with domestic violence is hot?"

"Only when it ends like this."

She laughed and leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours. "You’re ridiculous," she whispered.

"You love it."

"Unfortunately, I do."

You kissed her, soft and lazy, her hands resting gently on your thighs now. When you pulled back, you ran your fingers over her jaw. "Thanks for today. For everything."

She shrugged, but her ears were already red. "Didn’t do that much."

"You spoiled me. You’re still spoiling me."

"Yeah, well, you deserve it."

You touched the tip of her nose with your finger. "You’re a sap."

She grinned. "And you’re lucky."

"I am," you whispered. "I really, really am."

The moment stretched, the kind of moment you wanted to live in forever. And then, "okay, but seriously,” you added, poking her side. "I’m never gonna forget the way you flipped that first pancake this morning. It flew."

She groaned and buried her face in your neck. "Don’t. Don’t bring that up. That pancake died tragically."

"It looked like a UFO. I thought it was gonna hit the ceiling—"

"You are banned. Banned from my kitchen."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, letting her hold you there, tucked against the warm crook of her neck, swaying slightly to the background hum of the record player. Her fingers tapped along your thigh to the beat, and for a while, you just breathed her in.

And when you finally curled up with her on the couch, full of tea and warm and soft all over, you rested your head on her shoulder and whispered, "You really went all out."

Ellie kissed the top of your head. "You’re allowed to have bad days," she said quietly. "But I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure the day after feels better. Always."

You looked up at her, your heart so full it ached. "Ellie."

"Hm?"

"You’re gonna make me cry again."

She smiled, leaned in, and kissed you softly. "Yeah, but like… the good kind this time."

You nodded, curling closer, letting the world outside dissolve. Wrapped in her arms, safe and held and spoiled absolutely rotten, you finally let yourself believe it — that no matter how rough things got out there, this would always be your soft place to land. You could definitely get used to this.

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THUNDERBOLTS* | 2025

[luvwanda]

AAAAH THEY ALMOST KISS

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter seven

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: your conversation with maria has you secluding yourself while you deal with your realizations, but what happens when you get injured and joel can’t find you? wc: 6.9k (6901 words exactly... nice) rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters  chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, fluff, angst, mild gore (injury-based), mentions of blood, miller brother bonding, perhaps a joel pov?? (who knows, teehee), reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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VII. RENEGADE 

Is it insensitive for me to say Get your shit together? So I can love you Is it really your anxiety That stops you from giving me everything? Or do you just not want to?

The conversation you had with Maria earlier in the week had you reeling, to say the least. Did Joel like you that way? Did you like him like that? Surely not, right?

Then why the fuck have you been avoiding him?

It was unintentional at first, you tell yourself. The following day after you saw Maria, you didn’t have patrol, and Joel had to go join Tommy for his outing. Then, the next few days you asked to have off—said you were sick. Which… wasn’t a total lie. You definitely didn’t feel good or normal.

Joel had come knocking on your door the day you had told the others you weren’t feeling well. “Tommy said you wouldn’t be joinin’ me for patrol the next few days. Said you’re sick,” he had said. You had kept him on your porch, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible while feigning a cough. You remember his face showing confusion mixed with concern before he’d given you a bowl of something. “Ellie made it for ya after I told her. Said she hopes you feel better soon.”

Did she make it, you wondered, or was he using her as his excuse again?

Having quickly taken it from him, you said your thanks and shut the door in his face, waiting a few moments behind the door to hear his footsteps walk away. You could tell he had hesitated—waiting by your door for a few moments, concerned, before turning around and making his way down your walkway. After that, you ignored any visits you had—brushing people off through the door and assuring them that you were fine.

It felt pathetic, honestly. Only a few months ago, you were frustrated with Joel’s own avoidance of you after your argument. Now, here you were, doing everything you could to keep a distance from him.

That day Joel came with soup was three days ago, and you knew you couldn’t fake being sick for too long. So, you decided you needed to spend some time past the gates today, hoping to go by yourself and stopping at Jackson’s bar, Tipsy Bison, on the way to grab some food beforehand. It was midday on a Saturday, which you know is usually when Tommy and Joel are there. And that’s totally fine—you’re capable of facing him.

You open the door and are immediately hit with the noise level of the place being so busy. Before you even take a full step inside, your eyes lock onto Joel who was sitting at the bar, staring at you as if he felt your presence being there. You freeze and watch him immediately sit up straight, as if moving to greet you, his face lit up with a rare smile. The sight makes you fight to suppress your smile, just from seeing Joel’s reaction to your presence. That damn odd, warm feeling returns, and suddenly that happiness you first feel when seeing him shifts into shame—shame that you’ve been depriving yourself of this for so long.

Taking a deep breath to try and compose yourself, you step into the place and make your way over to the pair of brothers sitting at the bar. Tommy follows Joel’s gaze until he lands on you, his face lighting up with a similar warm greeting.

“Hey there, honey. You been feelin’ alright?”

You smile in response to Tommy’s question. “Yeah, I feel much better, thank you,” you say, before moving your gaze to Joel’s, only to find him looking up at you sheepishly—a half-smile slowly upturning the corners of his mouth. 

“Hi, Joel.”

“Hey, darlin’. Glad to see you outta the house finally. I’d offer you to sit and join us for a drink, but Tommy and I were about to head over to the power plant to fix up a couple things.”

You try to force a smile before saying, “That’s alright. I was actually planning on heading out today. Saw a shop out west the other week that had some things I thought I'd like for my place, so I just came here to grab food before trying to join someone on patrol.”

At that, Joel frowns for a second before an idea seems to come to him. “How ‘bout you wait for tomorrow? I can go with ya first thing in the mornin’.”

You tense up at that and quickly try to come up with something to avoid having to wait. “No, that's alright. I’ve been cooped up all week and wanna get a chance to be outside as soon as possible. I don’t mind going out on my own.”

Joel’s frown deepens. “I don’t like the thought of you goin’ out there by yourself…”

Tommy quips up to interject with, “C’mon Joel, she’s an adult. She’ll be alright out past Jackson on her own for a bit. Area’s been clear for a while.”

Joel takes a second to turn to his brother with a sharp glare, and you grab the chance to speak up. “Yeah, plus the spot wasn’t too far away.”

Looking back at you, Joel’s mouth settles into a firm line, uneasiness feeling his features before he speaks up again—his tone leaving no room to argue with him. “I’ll go with ya in the mornin’. You shouldn’t be– I mean, no one should be goin’ out there on their own, no matter how safe it feels right now.”

Sighing in defeat and annoyance, you reluctantly agree—feeling scolded like a child.

Tommy looks between the two of you back and forth for a moment before tapping his hand on the bar table and standing up. “Well, we need to start headin’ out now. You take care of yourself, honey,” he says, patting your shoulder as he moves past you and heads out of the bar.

You look back to Joel who had just gotten up and was staring at you questioningly. “Meet you outside your place at 7 a.m. tomorrow, alright?” He says, though his voice phrases it as more of a statement than a question, causing you to reluctantly nod and stifle a pout as you watch him walk out of the bar.

Frustrated, you huff out a breath before ordering a sandwich to go, grabbing it and begin to head to the market stall down the street with the intent to get some produce and go back home obeyingly. On your way, you’re suddenly hit with that feeling of Joel treating you like a child—feeling like you aren’t to be trusted on your own. You stand there for a moment, fidgeting in place trying to figure out what to do. You feel that same stupid fucking feeling in your stomach you’ve felt all week and it was beginning to drive you insane. You realized isolating yourself in your house didn’t do what you wanted it to, and it felt like you were on the precipice of insanity. You had to get out. 

So you would.

Looking the other way, you make the decision to head in the opposite direction over to the stables. Stopping at the patrol board, you notice one of the newer, younger members that joined the crew, Jesse, was speaking to someone about his partner being late. You walk over to him, asking, “You on your own?”

He looks at you and sighs. “I guess. Damn guy was supposed to be here like thirty minutes ago. Fuck… I don’t want Maria to think I’m not capable out there if I’m irresponsible with the time.”

His concern makes you smile a bit. Though new, Jesse has proven himself to be incredibly responsible—always wanting to prove himself worthy of his role in the most sincere way possible. You hadn’t spoken with him much, but he was always kind and genuine.

Taking a quick glance at the board to see Jesse’s assignment and realize the area you wanted to check out was only a few miles past it. “Mind if I join?” You ask. “I got a spot I wanna stop at not far from your destination, and it’s smarter if I take someone with me. Only if you’re up for that?”

His face shows relief as he eagerly nods. “Yes, please. I don’t wanna wait too long for him, but I also don’t want to go on my own.”

You nod in response before getting set up to head out with Jesse. You told Joel you wouldn’t go out there alone, and you wouldn’t.

Joel knew something was going on with you, and it was starting to frustrate him—a gnawing feeling burrowing deeper and deeper into his skin as more and more time goes on without seeing you. He knew you were out for the week, but you ignored every one of his efforts to check on you. And now, he sees you for the first time in what felt like years to him, and it felt like you barely acknowledged him. His anxiety brewed, and he began to worry if he had done something and wasn’t aware—racking his brain through anything that’s happened but not recalling anything. Plus, Ellie would’ve told him if he did, or maybe you would’ve spoken to Tommy about it. At least he hopes you would. 

“Ya know, if you keep glarin’ hard enough, I think you’ll break the same pipes again with just your eyes,” Tommy says. 

Joel looks up from his task to scowl at his brother. “The fuck you mean?”

Tommy gestures to Joel with a wave of his hand. “Man, you’ve spent the past two hours glarin’ at anythin’ and everythin’ since we got ‘ere. Hell, ya almost bit off Eugene’s fuckin’ head when he asked if you wanted help grabbin’ the wrench,” he says with a laugh.

Joel grumbles before looking down and muttering, “M’not glarin’.”

What Joel misses is the doubtful look his brother gives him. “Yeah, sure ya aren’t. Just like you haven’t been a pain in my fuckin’ ass since the first day you didn’t get to see her.”

Joel looks sideways at Tommy. “Don’t know what you mean,” he lies.

Tommy looks at him pointedly before laughing. “Really? You mean you don't remember the times this week you’ve been pouncin’ on me every chance ya get, demandin’ to know if I’ve seen her?”

A grumble is the only response that comes from Joel, before Tommy presses further. “C’mon now, big brother. I’m not as blind as you when it comes to this shit. Usually you were the one better with women growin’ up—hell it got you a kid at the ripe age of sixteen.”

Joel gives Tommy a warning look for a moment before he sighs. “Yeah, well that was almost fourty fuckin’ years ago. Things change,” he says. “And I already told ya, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. I’m just… worried, ya know? Ain’t heard from her all week and then she just shows up wantin’ to venture out on her own? Figure someone should check on her—talk to her and see if she’s alright is all.”

Shrugging, Tommy says, “Think she just wasn’t feelin’ well, man. She was fine when she was with Maria earlier this week. Probably caught somethi–”

That seems to grab Joel's attention, and he cuts Tommy off, rushing out demands of, “Maria? What do you mean? Why was she over at your house? When was this?”

Tommy looks at him like he’s crazy. “Relax, Joel, they were just hangin’ out. She’s allowed to have other friends besides you, ya know? Hell, anyone would get sick of your ass if you were the only person they spent time with.” He scoffs humorously before deciding to push and tease his older brother a bit further. “Maybe Maria told her all your bullshit and she realized how fuckin’ crazy you are,” he says, laughing before folding up the blueprint on the table next to them. 

Joel freezes at that, dread filling his entire being.

Tommy seems to notice his brother’s silence and looks over at Joel’s nervous face. Sighing, Tommy tries to reassure him by saying, “Look, Maria wouldn’t… talk ‘bout that stuff, okay? It was just a joke, Joel. I’m sorry, alright?”

Joel flexes his jaw, nodding distractedly. He knows they wouldn’t talk to you about anything like that, but he holds anxiety at the thought of you hating him. The mere idea of it makes him sick.

Joel’s pulled from his thoughts quickly as he finishes tightening up the final pipe in the machine they’ve been working on for the past few hours. “Alright, I gotta go head out, and you need to go home and take a fuckin’ cold shower to help the anger I feel radiatin’ off you,” Tommy tells him.

Joel rolls his eyes, a soft grunt leaving his mouth as he straightens himself up, packing away the tools that were used and getting ready to head out.

As he follows Tommy out, his brother stops him with a grip on his shoulder. “Maybe try lettin’ her come to you—gives her the opportunity to open herself up to a social presence without feelin’ suffocated.”

Joel gives him a silent nod before parting ways as he heads home. Once he reaches his place, he sees none of the lights on in your home. His brows furrow at the thought, before figuring you were just around town shopping at the market or something. He’ll take his brother’s advice, as much as he doesn’t want to, and let you come to him.

But he can’t help thinking, where were you?

It was nighttime when Joel had left his house to get dinner. The moment he steps outside, as if on instinct, he’s immediately looking at your house to find any form of life in there. A piece of him feels relief when he sees the kitchen light on, as well as another in some upstairs window. 

Okay, you were home. He’d go to the mess hall to eat and bring you something as well to see how you were doing. He knows what Tommy said but… something in him pulls himself to be near you. Like a goddamn addict, he got one sight of you earlier today after a week of withdrawals, and needs something to help him make it to tomorrow when he’d see you.

On the way over to the mess hall, he sees Maria and one of the newer guys on patrol standing outside of the makeshift hospital in Jackson. Joel makes eye contact with Maria and watches her body language shift the moment she spots him—tensing herself if something bad has happened, and she doesn’t want him to know. 

His eyebrows come together before he marches up to them, catching the man she’s with saying your name in a hushed tone. Joel feels his heart pounding in his chest upon hearing the mention of you.

“Somethin’ happen?” He demands from Maria, formalities long forgotten.

She looks over at the new kid, who Joel vaguely remembers his name being Jesse, before sighing in resolve and answering him. “She… Look, she just decided to join Jesse for a last minute patrol thing.”

Jesse speaks up, guilt coating his voice. “I swear I didn’t mean for anything to happen. She said she just wanted to get out for a bit, and it was only gonna be a quick trip–”

Joel feels his stomach drop as ice fills his tone. “Where is she.” 

Maria sighs again, as if she didn’t want Jesse to speak up. “She said she’s fine, but she didn’t want to get checked out with the doctors. Said she could handle it herself and that she was just gonna head home and–”

Joel doesn’t give her a chance to finish speaking before he walks, no, runs to your house. 

You had been outside? Without him? Why would you do that? You promised him you’d wait till tomorrow morning like he asked.

Joel reaches your place in record time and begins pounding on your door while calling out your name. He waits a few moments and gets no response, his anxiety only growing as he begins shouting your name again, more frantic. “I know you’re home,” he says. “I see your damn lights on. Open the door, please?”

A minute in total passes with no response from you before panic completely consumes him. “Darlin’, just please come open this door for me, will ya?”

He reaches for the door handle and begins to aggressively shake it hoping to get it open, only to find it was locked—something he knew you remembered to do religiously. He picked up on it fairly quickly, how you had the habit of instantly locking your door the moment it was closed. Honestly, it was something that eased Joel’s worries of your safety at times. But now? Now he wishes you didn’t remember to lock it.

Reason leaves his mind completely as he begins banging his shoulder into your door repeatedly, hearing the cracking of the wood before managing to get the door open. Joel takes a quick look around your living room but sees no traces of you there. He makes his way into your kitchen, where the light he had seen earlier was still on. 

He marches in, quickly scanning the space but not finding anything until his eyes land on the floor behind your island counter. His whole body freezes as he sees water on the floor, and droplets of blood haphazardly covered by a kitchen towel. Fear reaches into his chest and wraps a fist around his heart, squeezing until the air gets sucked out of his lungs.

A soft clatter sounding from upstairs grabs Joel’s attention—his head snapping in the direction of the house, making a run towards the staircase stationed at the base of your entryway. He takes the steps practically three at a time until he pauses at the top of your staircase for a moment, realizing he’s never been in this part of your house. He doesn’t really know where you could even be.

To his right he sees a room with the door slightly ajar and thinks to check there first before he notices a very faint light in the room on the left with the door wide open. Rushing over, he walks into what he realizes is your bedroom but stops, confused when he doesn’t find you. Then, connected to your bedroom is another closed door where he sees light peeking out from the crack at the bottom, and hears faint cursing.

Joel crosses the short distance in quick strides and twists open the doorknob before barging into what appears to be your bathroom. His eyes widen, and he feels slight relief fill his lungs when he spots you. You’re sat on the side of your tub, wearing only a tank top and jeans, and staring at him with an expression that shows disbelief and slight annoyance. His relief at you being in front of him, alive and breathing, switches back to that fear from only minutes ago when he notices something else.

You were hunched over, wincing in pain as you held a wine-colored rag to your right shoulder. But it’s not wine, he realizes. No, it’s blood.

“What happened?” Joel breathes out.

“Dude, did you just break down my fucking door?”

“What. Happened.” 

You sigh, lightheartedly saying, “You know you’re gonna fix that shit for me, right? Fucking lucky you were the one who did it. If someone else had broken down my door I’d be way more pissed off.” The sound of Joel saying your name as a warning makes you look up to see the death glare on his face aimed at you.

Deciding to not joke anymore, you sigh and wince as you pull away the rag from your shoulder, allowing Joel access to view your wound. At the sight, Joel rushes over and kneels onto the ground in front of you, hands immediately coming up to gently examine the injury.

You try to brush away his concern. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He gives you a pointed look, silently calling you out on your bullshit and making you sigh before saying, “I… I just wanted to get out, alright?”

Joel’s look of concern, and almost anger, slowly softens into something else before he gives a resigned exhale. “Darlin’, I told you to wait for me to come with you. I promised you I’d go with you in the mornin’.”

His words make you frown. A part of you told yourself you wanted to go out by yourself just because. Now, being faced with Joel in front of you, you begin to realize why you didn’t want to go with him.

You let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at the tile floor timidly before offering a half-assed reason. “I just, I wanted to do it now… I don’t know.”

Joel’s lips straighten into a firm line as he seems to hold back what he wants to say. Instead, he presses you about the cause of your wound.

“It’s stupid, okay? Just… We ran into two raiders–” 

At that, Joel straightens up and his eyes fill with rage before you rush to finish talking. “Don’t worry, we handled them. But, one of them shot me before I could reach for my gun. It went right through and it didn’t hit anything major. I figured I can just stitch it up myself here.”

Joel looks over to your shoulder to assess your wound. It really wasn’t that bad—not bad enough to bleed out, and you really could have been able to stitch it up yourself.

He sighs before taking the rag from your hand and dipping it into the bucket you had placed on the side of the tub. “Won’t need more than a few stitches it looks like,” he says, before frowning and looking at you again. “Ya know, we got doctors who can do this for you? Don’t need to be doin’ these things yourself anymore… Could’ve asked me,” Joel says, sounding timid and almost sad at the end.

You look at him softly, his face inches from yours as his entire body is leaned into you so he can get closer to your shoulder. “I guess I just wanted to do something myself…” The words sound so frail leaving you, as if they hold no real weight to them—your own voice betraying whether it believes the words you’re saying.

He keeps his eyes trained on your shoulder as he cleans the wound, not looking at you while he mutters, “You can just say you didn’t want me with you.”

Joel’s words make your body sag as you feel guilt—guilt for making him worry, guilt for breaking your promise to wait for him… guilt for avoiding him for so long. You don’t think you realized how bad it was, or how noticeable it was until you hear his voice in this moment, seeing the way his jaw clenches and his eyebrows twitch as he furrows them in concentration. 

You hurt him.

Shame fills you as you struggle to figure out what to say to him. It’s the same kind you felt this morning when you noticed how happy he seemed to be when he saw you. God, you were foolish to think you could get away with this. Stupid enough to even avoid him in the first place—as if it would solve anything, when in reality it made you feel worse. You suppose you didn’t realize just how much his absence in your life has affected you. An absence that you created.

You can’t find a response, so the two of you sit quietly as he finishes cleaning your wound—breathing being the only sounds coming from you both. Joel reaches down to grab the needle and thread from the first aid kit you had opened on your bathroom floor beside your feet, then breaks the silence.

“Should take me just a few minutes to get this stitched up,” he says.

You nod—your mind elsewhere until you find the strength to speak to him finally, reaching your hands up to his own with the intention of taking over. “I can do that bit. You don’t need to be spending any more time kneeling on the floor–”

“Can you just let me do this?”

Joel’s eyes make contact with yours as he frustratedly speaks up, the firmness in his voice making your mouth close shut. His face portrays the determination you are so used to seeing on him—knowing that when he looks at you like that, there’s no point arguing with him.

You give him a weak nod, and he immediately looks down to begin stitching you up, his calloused hands placing themselves so gently on your arm. “Shouldn’t hurt that bad. You lemme know if ya need me to stop.”

Bracing yourself for the first initial prick of the needle going into your skin, you let out a soft wince as he begins working on your wound before the pain becomes familiar enough for you to not feel uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you softly say after a moment, but you both know you aren’t talking about the injury, or him kneeling on the cold, hard tiled floor to help you.

You hear him inhale in through his nose, giving you a sign that he heard you, that he knows what you mean, and to continue. “I— I didn’t mean to avoid you. I just… had some things on my mind that I needed to work through and figure out on my own for a bit.”

His eyes lift up to yours, briefly looking down to your lips before back up again. He sighs out what seems to have been a breath he was holding in for a while and his shoulders sag. “Why didn’t you just say that? I would’ve understood. I thought… thought I did somethin’ to ya. Thought you, I don’t know… hated me.”

You quickly shake your head, his words making your heart crack. “No. No, of course not, Joel. I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make me hate you. I’m sorry I made you worry. I didn’t mean to.”

He lets out a soft laugh and looks back down to your shoulder as he picks up his delicate movements. “Darlin’, I’m always gonna worry ‘bout ya. You ain’t nothin’ but trouble sometimes,” he adds with a teasing smirk.

Your mind feels fuzzy at that word again. Darlin’. You focus on how gently he’s interacting with you right now. How vulnerable he seems to be at this moment. 

How close he is to you…

You let him finish stitching up your wound and watch him do so silently, looking at the crook on the bridge of his nose—how many times did he break it for there to be a permanent indent? You take the opportunity of having him be so close to you to continue letting your eyes roam over his face, watching the concentrated look as he diligently works on your stitches. You look at the scar on the right side of his temple—admire how strands of his hair are curled towards the front of his face, almost as if they were tousled. It’s a reminder to you of how he said he was worried.

“Ya know, m’sure you got prettier things around this room to be starin’ at,” Joel says, interjecting your thoughts and examinations.

You freeze for a second, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had caught you admiring him in his peripheral. He looks up at you after a moment with a smirk, showcasing that he was teasing you.

Your embarrassment diminishes as you breathe out a laugh. “Unfortunately my mirror isn’t angled towards myself right now,” you try to joke.

Joel barks out a laugh at that. “Suppose that makes me the lucky one then—gettin’ the prettiest thing in the room as my view.”

His words make your cheeks go red, causing your insides to do a flip. For a moment you think the words slipped from Joel—accidentally voicing his inner thoughts without meaning to—because his eyes widen briefly as they flicker from your shoulder, over to your own eyes. You almost think you see his own cheeks go red, but his gaze settling on you makes you shyly look to the floor, unable to hold eye contact. 

Joel clears his throat and leans away. “Alright, m’done. Not the best stitchin’ you’ve ever seen, but it does the job.”

You look down to your shoulder, taking note of the fine stitching before lifting your eyes back to him. “It’s better than what I would’ve been able to do,” you huff out. “Thank you.”

He leans down, placing the needle and thread back into your kit. “Yeah, it’d be even better if ya let a real doctor do it,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you in a playful scold.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah I know. I won’t do stupid shit like this anymore unless you’re there to witness all of it. Sound fair?”

He gives you a laugh in return before standing up with a grunt. “Far too old to be on my knees like this, god.”

You wince, feeling bad once again. “I told you, you didn’t have to be on the floor—plus, you’re not that old.”

Joel looks down at you with a flat look. “Yeah, darlin’, you go and tell my bones that.”

“Hey, mine feel the same—especially right now,” you say as you wince while trying to get the strength to stand up, bracing your palms on the edge of the bathtub at your sides.

Joel reaches out saying, “Here, lemme help you,” as he grabs you by your forearms to gently pull you up to a standing position. Finally up, he moves to let go of you, but you stumble at the loss of support and feel his arm wrap around your waist to keep you steady. 

“Whoa, you okay, darlin’?” He asks, concerned.

You shake your head to dismiss his concerns, looking at your feet as you try to find your balance again while grasping his arms to keep you grounded. “I’m fine, just my own bones telling me I’m getting old,” you laugh as you look up at him.

What you find is that his face is incredibly close to yours, and you realize that the two of you have your chests pressed up against each other. You take in a shaky breath as you feel his arm around your waist slide a bit until his hand lays at your hip—an attempt to help you stay steady, you tell yourself. Your shirt had lifted up slightly, a sliver of your skin peaking out, causing your body to shiver when you feel his warm, rough hand on your side.

You notice Joel’s jaw clench before his eyes travel down to your mouth for the second time tonight. He looks back up after only a second before he clears his throat and takes a step back—his hand slowly sliding off your side, making you selfishly mourn the loss of comfort his touch provided you.

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, breaking the silence to say, “I, um, I’ll let ya get cleaned up and dressed for the night. I'll just be waitin’ downstairs for you when you’re done. Take your time, alright?”

You nod and watch as he walks out of your bathroom, hearing him make his way back downstairs. 

What the fuck just happened?

Once in the shower, you let yourself stand under the hot water and relish in the feeling of washing away the remnants from the day's events, as well as calming your nerves over your moment with Joel before.

Is that what you would call it? A moment? What did you even mean by that?

If your conversation with Maria hadn’t been stuck in your mind enough lately, tonight made your thoughts grow. Except they didn’t seem to get worse, but rather, the memory of her words seem to soothe your anxiety now—letting you feel some sort of peace at how you think and feel.

When you feel as though you are fully clean, you step out of the shower and dry yourself off before heading into your bedroom to get dressed. Your eyes widen briefly at the realization that Joel had come into your bedroom. Not like that, of course, but just… He never had come in before, and your room had quickly become your safe space. Ellie hadn’t even been in here—the most she’s seen of your personal space being your office in the room neighboring your bedroom so she could look through your books and vinyls.

After getting dressed for the night, you look at your clock on your bedside table to see that it’s been almost an hour since you had gotten into the shower. You widen your eyes as you realize how much time had passed by as you were consumed with your thoughts for so long, and how Joel said he would wait for you downstairs until you were finished.

You begin to rush downstairs, calling out, “Joel, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how long I had been. I didn’t mean to make you wait so…” You cut yourself off as you reach the bottom of the steps to see your door is… fine?

“Long…” you finish.

You peer into the living room to find no sign of Joel until your eyes settle on the kitchen light shining into the hallway. Your senses pick up on the sounds of someone moving around in your kitchen, and the smell of food being made.

Walking over to your kitchen, you look in to find Joel standing over your stove while mixing something in a pot. Having spotted you, he shyly looks up at you before saying, “Hey, sorry to ransack through your kitchen but I figured you were hungry, so, thought I might make us some dinner.”

You take a second to take in the scene before you—the domesticity of it fogging your mind. Joel speaks up again to say, “I made some soup, in case you still weren’t feelin’ good.”

Then, that damn guilt eats at you again, creeping its way back. “Joel, I, uh… lied. I wasn’t really sick.”

Looking at his profile, you see him smirk before looking back at you. “Yeah, I know. Never seen a sick person with so much color in their face when I dropped off soup for you earlier this week.”

Your face falls at his admittance. “You’re such an ass,” you say as you walk over to slump into a chair at your kitchen table.

He laughs as he goes to turn the stove off, taking out two bowls from your cabinets and grabbing a ladle to use to pour the soup in your bowls. He brings them over to you to set one bowl in front of your seat and another in front of a chair on the side of the table besides you. Before sitting down, he goes to grab two spoons from one of your drawers and then walks over to a bottle of wine you have sitting on your countertop. “You mind if I open this? Figure you could use a drink after today.”

“God, yes, please.”

He smiles before grabbing the bottle and coming over to set your utensils down. He fills two glasses with wine for each of you and sits down beside you. Your table being a small square shaped one meant that him sitting to the spot on your left made for his right knee to be pressed against your left one. 

“How’s your shoulder lookin’?”

“Brand new,” you say. Looking in the direction of your front door, you add, “Just like my door that I seem to remember hearing you break down.”

He gives you a small smile before looking up at you with warm, brown eyes. “Yeah… Figured that out of everythin’ I’ve fixed in your house, that that was one I really owed ya for. Got it done real quick while you were in the shower.”

You remember how much time had passed and begin to tell him, “Right, yeah. Sorry again for taking so long. I really didn’t realize–”

He cuts you off with a warm laugh. “Darlin’, I promise you, you’re fine. Gave me a chance to work on that quickly so you aren't left feelin’ unsafe in your home for the night, and I got to make us some dinner.”

You let his words soothe away your guilt. “Thanks, Joel. Not just for dinner, but also for helping me in the first place tonight. And for fixing my door… even if you were the one to break it in the first place.”

He laughs in response and you find yourself matching him. The two of you continue to finish dinner while making light conversation, asking him about his week and what he was up to. His mention of Ellie makes your eyes widen in realization.

“Oh my god, Ellie. I didn’t even– If you need to leave, that’s okay, I know it’s late–”

He quickly reassures you, something you’re realizing he not only does a lot but also does so successfully. “She’s at Cat’s tonight so no need to worry. On my own tonight so you gave me somethin’ to do besides sit and stare at my wall. Although, m’not sure that I really enjoyed the sight of you covered in blood on your bathroom floor as a way to spend my Saturday night.”

You wince out a smile at him. “Yeah, fair enough.” Opening your mouth to speak again, Joel cuts you off.

“Darlin’, if you say sorry to me one more damn time, I’m gonna break that door again.”

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh… and another apology. “You got it, Miller.”

At that, he gives you a smile and goes to take your empty bowls as he stands up. “No, let me take these,” you interject, standing and reaching for the items in his hands. He frowns as he goes to move his hands away from yours before you give him a look. “Joel, you stitched up a gunshot in my shoulder, made me dinner, and fixed my door. Let me wash my damn dishes.”

He eyes you for a moment before seeming to give up. “Fine, but I’m washin’. You’re dryin’. And don’t even try to make a fuss about that because you shouldn’t be movin’ your shoulder that much right now anyways.”

You playfully roll your eyes before giving in and letting him wash while you dry. Though you couldn’t help but laugh as he ended up putting up the dishes himself after you dried them, saying something about, “Reachin’ up to put things away will rip your stitches.”

After finishing cleaning up dinner, he looks at the clock hanging on your kitchen wall and turns to you. “It’s gettin’ late, and you need to rest after today.” Joel eyes you for a moment before adding, “Promise me you’ll let me know if your stitches break or anythin’?”

“I promise,” you say before he gives you a squinted look to make sure you’re telling the truth. You hold out your right hand to him with your pinky out. He looks down at your hand offering a childish interaction and raises an eyebrow at you with amusement. “Is that a pinky promise? Haven’t had someone pull that on me since Sarah.” 

You nod with a dramatic show of seriousness, raising your eyebrows expectantly. “I’ll have you know that pinky promises are the only kind of promises that I’ll accept.” 

His resolve crumbles as his lips turn up at the corners before you see his eyes glint as a teasing thought crosses his mind. “You implyin’ to me that every promise you’ve made before now didn’t count?”

Looking off to the side, you fumble trying to figure out a reply, but he saves you by reaching out and wrapping his own pinky around yours—warm and firm. “Promise,” he says.

You smile before letting go and walking towards the door, Joel in suit behind.

“Thanks for tonight, Joel,” you say as you open your door and he steps through. Turning back to look at you, he says, “No problem, you have a good night, now.”

You watch as he turns away from you and begins to walk down your front porch steps. Your eyebrows furrow as you realize something is different about this moment, and that it’s your doing. Usually, Joel never left you at any moment before clarifying he’ll see you tomorrow or on patrol the next time you were scheduled together. But tonight, he didn’t, and you realize it’s the result of your own actions.

“Joel,” you call out.

He turns back to you as he reaches the bottom of the steps, his face confused as to what is wrong. “Yeah?”

Trying to fight back a smile, you ask, “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

The confusion disappears from his face as you watch him fighting back his own smile, but that only causes your own internal barrier to fail. “Of course, anythin’ you want.”

You nod, your smile growing bigger. “Good. Night, Joel.”

“Night, darlin’.”

You watch him as he walks across the road to make sure he gets in his house okay before closing your own door, finally feeling at peace with yourself after the anxiety you had felt all week.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3 follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for updates!

a/n: gonna get sentimental for a second. i've recently gotten a lot of people reading and enjoying my story and it seriously warms my heart. the last chapter, chapter six, was one that i really loved but didn't think people would enjoy it that much because joel wasn't in it and it was shorter. so, i released it as a mid-week mini chapter thinking it wouldn't be received as well as the others. then i posted it, and on both ao3 and tumblr, so many comments talked about how wholesome the chapter was and that y'all enjoyed it. idk why but that made me so happy because i was so confident people wouldn't care much for it, but i truly didn't mind because i knew that i liked it. anyways BLAH ty all for being so kind. mwah, ily. be kind to yourselves <3 🏷️: @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747 @lcvespedro @heartpatch @orodaeh @ithinkimokeei @emnull0 @warriorkarol @luvwanda @pascal-mynightlyobsession @grayandthyme @crlsummer @ashleyfilm

[luvwanda]

“me time” and it’s just lay in bed reading fanfiction for hours

[luvwanda]

"im scared of ending up alone" 😔

i’m in shambles.

[luvwanda]

Small Circles

Summary : Bucky Barnes is still getting used to modern dating… and hates that you have to work with your exes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x vigilante!reader (she/her)  / ex!various MCU anti-heroes/vigilantes x ex!reader

Warnings/tags : jealous!Bucky. Bi!Reader Hurt/comfort. Injury, references to violence, sex references. Reader used to be an anti-hero, and also used to date a lot of anti heroes. Angst/Fluff!!!!

Word count : 7.7k

Note : Retroactive jealousy is very common, and I definitely struggled with it when I first started dating my partner. I don’t really see it solved healthily in fiction, so I thought I’d write about it. I just finished moving in, so I will resume my series writing soon! And please, if you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes didn’t talk about his exes.

For one, they were from a time when women wore red lipstick like armour and wrote love letters to the men who might not make it back home. Two, in the 1940s, talking about past relationships was basically the equivalent to hanging your dirty laundry out in the street— and not just because most of them ended with him shipping out to war. Sex and feelings simply didn’t belong in polite company.

But here he was, in the 21st century, trying to navigate dating after missing eight decades of social evolution— trying to keep up with you. 

And god, he hadn’t stood a chance from the moment you first met.

You were the first person he met post-pardon that didn’t look at him like the sum of his past. Sam introduced you at a bar in D.C.—nothing fancy, just three tired veterans nursing drinks and pretending the world wasn’t still spinning out of control.

“She’s an old friend,” Sam said. “Used to serve with me in the air force. Then she went off grid and disappeared to be an antihero—”

“Vigilante,” you corrected, scoffing.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes, “But she’s retired now.”

“You’re prettier than the photos.” You gave Bucky a once-over. “Grumpier, too.”

He blinked, thrown off by how casual you were, and before he could respond, you leaned in and asked, “You always look like someone stole your puppy, or is that just for special occasions?”

Sam just laughed and walked off to grab another round, leaving Bucky staring at the woman who didn’t flinch when he said “Winter Soldier” like it was some contagious disease.

Instead, you talked and talked through the night. At one point, he was talking about his brainwashing, and you just leaned your elbow on the bar, eyes on his metal hand, and said, “I’ve done worse.”

It was the first time someone didn’t try to talk him out of his guilt. You didn’t say he was “more than his past.” 

You didn’t try to fix him. 

You just looked at him and recognised the survivor with blood under his nails and scars that never faded.

That night, he walked you home. It was supposed to be a formality, but you talked the whole way, about the desert missions you and Sam survived, about the ops you ran without orders, about why you quit the military, and the blurry line between heroes and people who did what had to be done.

“Why’d you retire?” he asked at your door.

“After the Blip, I helped the Avengers out. Did some good. Got tired of seeing my hands stained red, even when it was for the right reasons.” You shrugged.  “Figured if I couldn’t die, I might as well live. Got a nice place. Set up offshore accounts. Now I make pancakes and talk to my plants.”

He smiled. 

“What about you, Barnes?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe. “You ever get tired of the life?”

Fuck, he hadn’t flirted in decades. He wasn't even sure if he still knew how anymore. 

But with you, it was easy. It was awkward at first, sure, but you laughed every time he stumbled, and you never once made him feel like he was too broken to try.

He brought you flowers a week later. 

Tulips. 

He had said he read somewhere that they meant forgiveness. You didn’t ask who he was forgiving.

“I’m not afraid of your past,” you told him one night, sitting on the floor of your living room after Sam convinced him to take you out on a date. “Not when I’ve got one that would make priests faint.”

He looked at you then, and the walls he’d spent so many years building fell all at once, because you weren’t someone he had to hide from. 

You weren’t afraid of the blood on his hands, because you’d seen it on your own.

So you became a couple. 

Three years later, he still couldn’t believe how easily you loved him.

You were loud where he was quiet, open here he was closed— a perfect balance. 

You called his name like it wasn’t borrowed from another lifetime. And for the first time, he wasn’t just surviving— he was healing. 

He was planning a future. 

With you.

And then… Sam had to drag you back into the field.

That’s when everything started to unravel.

See, Sam had said it would be one mission.

"Just a quick assist," he told you, sliding a file across the table while Bucky sat beside you, arms crossed and already suspicious. "No big commitment. We just need someone who knows how to hit hard and get out clean. I know what you’re capable of,” Sam leaned back and crossed his arms, “And this has your style written all over it.”

“This isn’t just a mission,” You raised an eyebrow, flipping through the folder and studying the requirements. “This is a clusterfuck.”

“That’s why we need you,” Sam fogged. “Come on, for old times’ sake.”

You said yes. 

Later that night, Bucky looked at you like Sam had handed you a grenade. “You’re retired.”

You smiled sadly. “It’s just one job, Buck.”

And at the time, you meant it. 

You really did. 

You had a home together, the pancakes and the plants. 

You had Bucky. 

You had a life.

But then you got out there again—suited up, boots in the dirt, heart pounding like it used to—and it was like a switch was flipped in you.

Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.

You weren’t craving chaos or the violence. Not anymore. 

Unlike your antihero days, you didn’t kill this time. You’d made that choice before stepping onto the field. You weren’t going to be the person who solved problems with blood anymore.

But the mission lit something inside you all the same.

Perhaps it was control. Perhaps it was purpose. Or clarity. 

The world didn’t make much sense most of the time, but in the field, you knew exactly who you were.

So when you came back home after that mission—Bucky could already see it in your eyes.

“You’re going back,” he said flatly, watching you drop your gear in the hallway.

You shrugged, breathless, hair stuck to your forehead. “I mean… yeah. I missed it. But I’m not that person anymore, Buck. No killing. Just in and out. Recon only. You know the drill.”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Because part of him was proud. You’d stepped back into that world on your terms.

But another part of him… was afraid of who you were behind the mask.

—

The first sign was Matt Murdock.

It was your and Bucky’s first mission together since you’d unretired. Sam had assigned a simple intel grab in Hell’s Kitchen. You needed a legal inside man, someone who knew the network by heart, and Sam had said, “You still got a contact in New York, right?”

That’s how you and Bucky ended up across the table from Matt in his firm, the three of you tucked into a room that smelled like paper and secrets.

From the moment you walked in, there was chemistry— it wasn’t active, nor was it inappropriate, but it was present. 

Bucky could see it in the way Matt tilted his head to the sound of your laugh, how your posture relaxed like muscle memory. It was subtle, but it was there.

“You told him,” he said with a small smile. He could hear it in Bucky’s heartbeat. “About my… other job.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was stiff beside you. “Yeah,” you said. 

Matt hummed. That told him more than it should. “You must be serious about him, then.”

You just nodded, infuriatingly calm and confident. “I am.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to, especially because Matt’s voice was too casual when he added, “We used to be a thing, her and I.”

It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t even smug. But it was there. As far as Bucky was concerned, it was a punchline with no joke attached.

You shrugged as the meeting wrapped, grabbing your jacket. 

“His job and crime fighting? No time for me,” you whispered an explanation on your way out. 

But it was the way you said it— the lack of apology. It was the way you weren’t surprised your old flame was part of the mission. 

“You never told me he was your ex,” Bucky mumbled under his breath. 

“We never had to meet any of my exes in retirement,” you shrugged.

That night, Bucky lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling while your body curled toward his. 

But all he could think about was Matt fucking Murdock—Daredevil. Lawyer by day, masked vigilante by night. Another man who had kissed you, fought beside you, known you in a world Bucky still wasn’t sure he fully belonged in.

What the hell.

This was the first time you’d fought side by side. The first time he saw how natural you were when the mask slipped back on. And suddenly, Bucky was wondering if he was the only one still trying to catch up.

—

The conversation about Yelena came over coffee. 

It was one of those late mornings, with sunlight spilling through the window of your kitchen, his metal fingers on your knee. You were sitting close, like always, thighs touching under the table, his hoodie drowning your body in a sense of safety. 

Bucky was scrolling through contacts Sam had floated for upcoming intel work, casually tossing out names. “Yelena Belova might be a good person to reach out to for our next mission. She’s low-profile, knows how to stay off the radar.”

He didn’t even look up when he said it, but you froze, coffee cup hovering in the air, just long enough for him to notice.

“Well… yeah. I haven’t seen her since…”

His head tilted slightly. “Since what?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral. But it came out just a little too sharp, like it scraped on the way out.

You hesitated, a little sheepish. “Since Paris. There was a caper. Messy one. We got out clean, but… one thing led to another.”

Oh.

He knew you were bi, so that wasn’t a surprise. But he never expected that knowledge to ever come with knowing names, too. 

Another sip of coffee wouldn’t fix the knot in Bucky’s stomach, but he took one anyway. It gave him something to do besides look at you—at the woman he’d fallen in love with, who kissed him in the dark and said “I love you” every night.

He nodded pretending it was fine. Pretending it didn’t sting.

But it did. Because it was another name from the same small, bloodstained circle of vigilantes and morally gray heroes. 

He didn’t realise how many people you’d still work with were the same people you’d trusted with your body before you ever handed Bucky your heart.

You were experienced. Not in a shameful way, but you'd lived. You’d fought and fucked and fled and loved in all the places Bucky had never dared go. And now you were here—his—but he couldn’t stop that stupid thought in the back of his head:

Where do I even fit in the story?

You reached for his hand, your thumb brushing the metal knuckles like it was second nature. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple, voice soft.

“She didn’t mean anything long-term,” you reassured him.

He wanted to believe that settled it. He wanted to lean into you, like he always did, but he froze—just for a moment. It was a childish, stupid insecurity rearing up where your warmth used to melt it down.

And Bucky hated that, even now, three years deep in love with you, he still sometimes felt like the last one to the party.

—

Then came London, and of course, Moon Knight.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction—intel swap, quick in and out. You and Bucky were working in sync like you'd done this a few times now. 

There were no hiccups, until he showed up.

You spotted him across the plaza first— casual clothes that you knew could turn into a divine suit any second, and a woman at his side. You froze instinctively, and Bucky felt it immediately.

The guy was weird in that charming, cryptic way, like he might shake your hand or break your nose, depending on what time of day it was. And you smiled at him. 

“London is always full of surprises,” you said as the man approached. You turned your attention to the two people now standing before you.

“Who am I talking to?” you asked, casual on the surface, but your eyes scanned him like they used to.

“Relax, it’s Marc.” The man gave a small, tired smile. “This is Layla.”

“Layla,” you repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re married,” Marc added.

“Good for you!” You beamed genuinely. “Seriously, never thought I’d see the day. This is my boyfriend. Bucky— Marc and I used to… date. A lifetime ago.”

Bucky gave a tight nod, hands in his pockets. “Of course you did,” he muttered under his breath.

Marc caught it. So did you. You shot Bucky a really? look, but Layla just laughed, clearly unfazed. She greeted you like she’d known about you already, because you were clearly another name Marc had mentioned.

“So… does he still talk to Khonshu in the bathroom?” you asked Layla with a crooked grin.

“All the time,” Layla said dryly. “Once, I came in to see the bathtub trashed. He said it was because of Khonshu. At least Tawaret isn’t that demanding.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, we weren’t all superheroes with government contracts,” Marc added, trying to joke, but there. “Some of us were just bleeding in alleyways hoping the gods were paying attention.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a dig. He also wasn’t sure how to respond. Was there a polite way to talk to your girlfriend’s ex who serves a moon god and still too-casual wife who served the goddess of fertility?

You tried to smooth it over, looping your arm through Bucky’s. But he was still stuck on the fact that you had dated this man—this strange, fractured vigilante with too many voices and a ring on his finger now. You’d been part of his chaos once, too.

And that he hated that Layla was okay with it, hated that Layla was secure— because fuck, if it didn’t make him feel bad. That’s who he should be. 

He shouldn’t be bothered by any of this. But he couldn't help it, he was.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was the only one trying to learn how to stand still while everyone else had already danced through the fire and survived.

He was old-fashioned. He didn’t know how to joke about weird missions with exes or that time you almost died in a tomb under the Nile.

You, on the other hand, just kept moving forward. 

And Bucky loved you—but in that moment, he felt like the odd one out in a room he hadn’t realised he was still learning to walk through.

—

Then Nebula arrived on earth, as she always did every couple of years. It was a routine visit.

She talked to Sam for a while to exchange intel, but after that… the lines between work and play got blurred.

Sam had dragged you and Bucky to a rooftop bar, insisting that even people with kill counts needed to let loose. Nebula was tagging along. She wasn’t the nightlife type, but she was making an effort to try Earth customs.

So, there you were, nursing a coke, while Bucky was ordering himself another drink. 

He was watching you across the room, laughing at something Sam had said when Nebula slid in next to you.

She said no greetings. No small talk. Just a hand on your thigh and a blunt, “Are we doing this again?”

Bucky could hear that, thanks to his enhanced hearing.

You choked slightly on your drink, startled but not shocked. You swatted her hand off gently, not unkind, but firm.

“I have a boyfriend now,” you said with a smile. You tipped your head toward Bucky’s direction. “Long-term.”

She blinked, entirely unaffected. “What’s that like?”

Bucky was across the room, eyes fixed on you. His knuckles were white around his glass.

Later, when you were alone again, Bucky asked, “You…  and her?”

You curled up beside him on the couch, his vibranium arm slung heavy over your shoulders. You kissed his jaw once, then the corner of his mouth. “It was during the Blip, when she went to Earth a lot more,” you said casually, “Long-distance didn’t work. It… happened a couple times. Nothing serious.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

Nothing serious.

The words sat in his gut like a stone.

That was what got him. Not that it happened. Not that you’d been with someone else. He knew—internally, logically—that he wasn’t your first. But that phrase stuck like a splinter under his skin.

Nothing serious.

You said it so easily. That sharing a bed, even briefly, didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t long-term.

But Bucky came from a different world. One where people didn’t talk about past lovers. Where something like a hand on a thigh meant you were hers.

And now here he was—three years in, in love with a woman who kissed him like he hung the moon and yet casually mentioned flings with alien assassins.

He didn’t say anything that night, but pulled you in closer and let you fall asleep on his chest.

But he stayed awake long after, staring at the ceiling.

You were his peace. 

But when it came to your past, he felt like a stranger in your house. 

—

That month after, you came home flushed with mission energy, shedding your jacket before the door had even shut.

“She’s still as annoying as ever,” you said, grinning. “Yelena. She hasn’t changed. Made me climb five flights of a condemned building instead of going around because it was ‘more fun.’ See, this is why it would have never worked out between us.”

You were buzzing— adrenaline and nostalgia glowing in you. Bucky didn’t match your energy.

He stood in the kitchen silently as he rinsed a mug. You didn’t notice at first. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t think anything of it until he set the mug down so hard, it cracked down the middle.

“You ever gonna tell me how many of these people you’ve actually slept with?”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

He turned, tense as a live wire. “Every time we go out in the field, you’ve got history with someone. Is there anyone we’ve worked with who hasn’t had a piece of you?”

Whoa. Where did this come from? 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He didn’t back down. “I’m serious. Daredevil. Moon Knight. Nebula. Yelena. I can’t take two steps into a mission without watching someone look at you like they already know how you sound in bed.”

You blinked, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. “I’m—”

“You are,” you cut in. “And possessive, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. “I just— I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t eat at me. I walk into a room with you and wonder who the hell knows you better than I do.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling. “You never told me this bothered you.”

“Well, I didn’t know half this shit until the last few months!” he barked. “Because you’re so damn casual about it. ‘Oh yeah, we hooked up a few times,’ like it’s a joke—like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because it didn’t, Bucky!” you shouted back. “Because none of them were you. None of them lasted. You’re the only one I gave three years of my life to, and you’re standing here acting like I cheated on you with my past.”

He didn’t respond. 

And something inside you broke a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” you said, smaller now. “Erase it? Lie? Pretend I lived like a nun until you came along?”

“I want to not feel like I’m sharing you with half the damn underground,” he looked down, teeth grinding.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Then maybe you should’ve picked someone from your own century.”

That landed like a slap. 

You shook your head. “We’ve got an early mission tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Without waiting for another word, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and walked down the hall.

You slept in the second bedroom that night.

You didn’t cry. But god, it hurt.

And Bucky sat awake in the kitchen for hours, guilt and resentment twisted in his chest like barbed wire, because he knew none of what he said was fair. 

But the feelings he felt were still real. And they were starting to rot.

—

In the morning, you two were so quiet still that every small sound felt amplified: the click of your knife sliding into your boot, the zip of your jacket, the dull thud of your holster being strapped across your chest.

Your movements were efficient, muscle memory from years of knowing how to armour up always kicking in.

Across the room, Bucky stood still, with his gear slung half-forgotten over his metal arm. His eyes were rimmed with red, dark bruises blooming underneath from a night without sleep, but he had a job to do, so he was awake anyway. 

“Y’know…” He finally said. “You didn’t have to sleep in the other room.”

You fastened the last strap on your thigh holster and glanced at him. “Didn’t feel like pretending we were okay.”

You saw it—the slight flinch in his muscles, the way he looked down like the floor might offer a better answer than anything in his own damn head.

“You think I don’t know we’re not okay?” he said, quieter this time. “You think I didn’t lay awake wishing I could take it back?”

“Then why’d you say it?” you snapped, finally turning to face him. 

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed it immediately. He had no excuses.

“You didn’t ask. You never asked.” You shook your head, biting down the lump in your throat. “You just… threw it in my face like it was supposed to shame me. Like I was a toy being passed around!”

He stepped forward, desperate now. “I wasn’t trying to shame you, I— I was pissed, okay? I was stupid. I saw the way Matt looked at you, and then Nebula, and—Christ—Marc—”

“They were my exes, Bucky!” You raised your voice, “what do you want me to do? Never speak to them again? I would have no help in this line of work!”

“Doesn’t matter!” he snapped, frustration boiling over. “BecauseI feel like I’m just the guy keeping your seat warm.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Killing time?”

“No,” he said, gentler now. “No. I know you love me. I know.” His voice cracked. “But I come from a time where no one talks about this kind of stuff. Where men didn’t have to wonder how many people their girl used to patch up in back alleys and kiss between fights.”

“Well guess what, Bucky,” you said, voice trembling. “I didn’t get the luxury of going to swing bars and holding hands on Coney Island. I got blood and war and figuring out how to survive without falling apart. I didn’t know I was going to make it past 25. And then you came along. You—you, James—you made me realise some things last. And now you're throwing it in my face because what? You didn’t like the guest list to my past?”

He looked like you’d shot him.

But there wasn’t time to let the silence fester again—your comms buzzed with an urgent ping from Sam.

The mission. 

You turned toward the door.

“Let’s just get through today,” you said, voice brittle. “We’ll figure the rest out after.”

You walked out first.

And this time, Bucky followed—not because he knew what to say, but because even after everything, he couldn’t stand not being by your side.

—

The op was supposed to be easy.

But nothing was easy when you were angry.

You and Bucky moved like soldiers, but not like partners—not like you usually did. 

You were out of sync, one heartbeat off, one glance too short. One command left unsaid because your pride wouldn’t let either of you speak first.

That got you ambushed.

Suddenly, you were ducking behind crumbling concrete, the walls of the building already groaning as a blast from beneath shook the foundations.

Gunfire rained down the stairwell.

Bucky shielded you without thinking, metal arm flashing as he tore through two men, fast and efficient—but not fast enough.

A stray bullet lodged  itself in you.

You screamed.

“Goddammit!” you hissed, hand pressing to your shoulder as blood spread fast. “Fucking—shit!”

Bucky was already beside you, crouched low, blue eyes wide and terrified. “You’re hit.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

You leaned against the wall, blood soaking through your suit too fast, pooling in your glove as you applied pressure. Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to stay upright. 

“We have to move,” you growled, pushing off the wall. “Extraction’s too far, comms are jammed.”

“Then tell me where to take you,” Bucky said, already moving to sling your arm over his shoulder. “You’re losing blood.”

You paused, teeth clenched so hard your jaw hurt. You did know someone in the vicinity. “You’re gonna hate this.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You guided him three blocks through the back alleys of the city, stumbling past broken windows, flickering lights, and blood left behind like breadcrumbs. You turned down a shadowed stairwell, and at the end of the corridor was a steel door. 

You raised your good hand and knocked: four slow, two fast.

A secret code. 

Bucky stiffened beside you. “You have a safehouse down here?”

“Not mine…” you mumbled under your breath. 

The door swung open, and there he was.

Frank Castle.

Bucky had heard about him— The Punisher.

He looked at you. Then at Bucky.

Then at your shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Let me in.”

Frank stepped aside immediately, grabbing you by the waist like it was second nature. Bucky’s hand was still on you. Neither man let go.

“Nice to see you, too,” Frank said with a worried frown.

Bucky followed, staring at Frank like he was a ghost come to life—except this ghost had callouses, bruises, and knew your name too well.

“You’ve got him on speed dial?” Bucky bit out.

You sank down on the battered couch as Frank pulled out a med kit and started cutting through your gear. “I said you’d hate it.”

Frank smirked without looking up. “Still dramatic, huh?”

“She’s bleeding,” Bucky growled, stepping in. “Maybe shut the fuck up and do something useful.”

“Relax, soldier.” Frank didn’t blink. “I’ve patched her up worse.”

Bucky's jaw twitched. "Worse?"

You groaned. “Please. Not now.”

But it was already too late— you could smell the testosterone and unfinished history. 

Frank’s hands were on you. Bucky’s heart was in his throat. He saw the way Frank looked at you— like he knew what your skin felt like already. 

“You two…” Bucky started, then stopped. His voice was dangerously low. “You fucked, didn’t you?”

Frank looked up. “We didn’t bake cookies.”

Bucky surged forward. “I swear to God—”

“Both of you!” you barked. “Enough!”

Frank didn’t flinch. He just scoffed under his breath and turned back to your shoulder, grabbing a syringe from the med kit and tearing open a pack of gauze with his teeth. 

“Didn’t realize you were dating the Winter Soldier,” Frank muttered, injecting the numbing agent into the skin around your wound. “Last time I saw you, you were with that blonde Widow chick. Got a thing for Russians now, pretty girl?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a second. Pain, exhaustion, and frustration welled up inside. “Shut the fuck up, Frank.”

“I’m not Russian,” Bucky snapped before he could stop himself.

Frank glanced over his shoulder. “That’s not what I heard.”

Bucky stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to test what I’ve got in common with the Red Room, Castle?”

“Easy,” Frank shook his head, “just sayin’. She always did have a type.”

That almost did it.

Bucky’s fists curled at his sides. His breath came faster. He saw red— and for a split second, he was ten seconds away from tearing Frank’s smug face off. 

But then… he heard your soft whimper. It was a hiss of pain. Your head tipped  back against the couch, eyes fluttering as the blood loss started to catch up. 

And suddenly, Bucky remembered why he was here. What really mattered.

You.

He was at your side in an instant, kneeling by the couch as Frank packed the wound and started stitching. You were grunting, your fingers twitching for something to hold.

Bucky took your hand.

You gripped him like he was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Frank worked without saying much after that. The tension between him and Bucky didn’t fade—it settled like a landmine they both agreed not to step on. For now.

“Got anything for the pain?” Bucky asked, looking toward the dingy kitchen.

Frank jerked his chin. “Cabinet over the fridge. Bottles labeled in red are painkillers. Other colors are mine.”

Bucky found what he needed. Got the pills into you with a cracked water bottle. He sat by your side while you slowly went limp under the weight of the drugs.

You passed out with your head in his hands. He brushed the hair from your face with a touch so gentle it made Frank’s heart ache.

—

An hour later, Bucky stood at the tiny sink in Frank’s dimly lit bathroom, water running red as he scrubbed blood from his hands. 

The cracked mirror above the sink showed him a version of himself he didn’t like: wild eyes, tired lines on his forehead, and blood smeared up to his wrists.

This was your blood.

He gritted his teeth, pressing his palms harder under the water like he could scrub away his sins, like he could rewind time just by cleaning fast enough.

You got shot because we weren’t focused. He thought to himself. Because I couldn’t shut my mouth. Because I couldn’t let go of the past. Because I just had to pick a fight.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

You had every right to have a past. You told him, over and over, that you chose him.

But it hadn’t been enough in the moment. 

And now…

Now you were unconscious on Frank Castle’s couch with stitches in your shoulder, and he was standing in a stranger’s bathroom washing away the evidence of his own failure.

He slammed the faucet off and leaned heavily on the sink, breathing hard. For a moment, he just stared at himself. The blood was gone, but the shame still clung to him like a second skin.

“Get a grip,” he said to his reflection.

He grabbed a towel and dried his hands.

Behind him, the door creaked open. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was Frank.

“You done crying in there, Barnes?”

Bucky met his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror and took a deep breath. When he stepped back out, Frank was already cracking open two beers— one slid across the counter toward him like a peace offering.

“Don’t drink on missions,” Bucky said, even though alcohol didn’t give him anything to work with. 

“We’re not on a mission anymore.” Frank shrugged.  “You’re in my house. She’s breathing. “Take the fuckin’ beer.”

Bucky hesitated, but still sat down.

He cracked it open and drank in silence.

Frank leaned back, arms crossed, smiling like he’d already written this whole scene in his head.

“So,” Frank said. “How’s that working out for you?”

Bucky shot him a sideways glare. “You mean her?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “No, I meant your bloodstained fashion choices. Yeah, I mean her.”

Bucky drank again. “Fine.”

“That right?” Frank said, not buying it for a second. “Cuz she showed up bleeding out on my doorstep and you looked two seconds from throwing me through a wall.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You didn’t exactly help.”

Frank’s grin widened. “What, calling you soldier? That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Both of them drank.

The air between them stayed hot, but not explosive. 

Frank looked toward the back room, where you were still out cold. The lines of his mouth softened slightly, the smirk dying in the corner of his mouth.

“She still talk in her sleep?”

Bucky glanced at him. “Sometimes.”

“Used to scare the shit out of me. She’d mumble names. Codes. Orders. She’d say something about Wilson or about how Riley’s in danger. Good ol’ air force PTSD,” Frank nodded, “One time she said my name and thrashed so hard I thought she was gonna kill me in her sleep.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

“She doesn’t talk.. about you,” Bucky said finally. His voice was low, eyes locked on the floor. “I didn’t even know you two…”

Frank shook his head. “Didn’t bake cookies,” he echoed.

“Yeah. Got it.”

They let another beat of silence fester.

“You loved her?” Bucky asked, even though he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“I did,” Frank took a sip, but didn’t look at him. “Still do. Not the same way, though.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around the bottle. “What the hell does that mean?”

Frank finally looked at him. No sarcasm now, just tired honesty.

“I don’t know if she told you about my… past. But after all that happened to me, I didn’t think I was capable of it again. I was half dead. Barely human. And then she showed up and saw through all the bullshit. And she stayed.”

Bucky was listening. Processing.

“She taught me how to feel again. Real shit. Not just rage. Not just grief.” Frank rubbed the back of his neck, like the memory itched. “She used to tell me I wasn’t broken, just dented. I believed her.”

“So what happened?”

Frank leaned back, eyes on the cracked ceiling.

“She fed my flame and I fed her violence. I knew if she kept me around, she’d forget what peace felt like. So I ended it.”

That made Bucky’s stomach twist. He hated how much of that felt familiar. 

Frank glanced toward the couch where you were still curled in sleep, bandages soaked but holding. “She deserves better than that.”

“She deserves someone who doesn’t get jealous of her past,” Bucky muttered.

“You and me both,” Frank chuckled under his breath. “I used to hate that I shared an ex with Red,” Frank admitted. Bucky could just assume he was talking about Daredevil. “But it’s a small world. Small circle. Vigilantes fuck around. You think we go home to nice houses and clean sheets?”

Bucky said nothing. Because now, you did. 

“How long you two been together?” Frank asked, casual.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Just watched the light shift across the floor as the old ceiling fan spun overhead. Then, finally, “Three years.”

Frank’s eyebrows lifted. “Three?”

He let out a low whistle and took a sip. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s like… eight decades in vigilante time.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but nodded once.

“Congratulations,” Frank tilted his beer toward him in a mock toast. “Longest relationship I ever seen her in. Not that I was taking notes or anything, but…” He grinned. “I knew all the flings. None of ‘em made it past a year. Most of them burned out around month ten.”

Bucky shifted, fist clenched, but not as harsh as before. “I’ve met a few of them. Or… worked with ‘em.”

Frank chuckled. “Bet that’s fun.”

“Not really.”

Frank scoffed. “Y’know,” he said, “you don’t gotta worry about me. Or any of the rest of us.”

Bucky looked at him sideways. “Yeah?”

Frank nodded toward the living room, where you were sleeping under a threadbare blanket, one leg hanging off the side of the couch.

“She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t love you. Still a bit of a dick when she’s mad, but who isn’t? She chose you. That woman’s got trust issues deeper than the fuckin’ ocean, but she lets you near her when she’s bleeding?” He shook his head. “That’s something, man.”

Bucky’s hand curled loosely around the bottle. “Doesn’t stop the way it feels sometimes. Like I’m… following ghosts.”

Frank leaned against the counter, arms folded, studying him. “You’re not a ghost to her.”

“Feels like I am.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

That hit a little deeper than Bucky expected. He looked away.

“You’re not me,” Frank said finally. “And that’s a good thing.”

Bucky blinked. Looked up.

Frank gestured between them. “You know what I gave her? Rage. Like I said, we fed each other’s worst instincts.” He took a breath. “You give her something I couldn’t: Peace.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter little noise. “Peace? You should see the way we’ve been acting lately?”

Frank shrugged. “Fights happen. Especially with her.” He smirked. “But she came here because she trusted you to carry her when she couldn’t stand. That’s what counts.”

Bucky  took a sip of the beer, but didn’t really taste it. He still felt the heat of the moment in his chest.

Frank tilted his bottle toward him again. “You love her?”

“More than anything.”

“Then hold on to that.” Frank’s voice was sincere. “Cause’ if two broken people can get their shit together and still choose each other every damn day, that’s more than most people get.”

They sat in silence for a while, before eventually, Frank raised his bottle one more time. “To the girl who survived all of us.”

Bucky hesitated—then tapped his bottle gently against Frank’s.

“To the girl who made us feel human again,” he said.

They drank.

In the back of the room, you shifted in your sleep, muttered something under your breath, then went still again.

Frank leaned back. “Think she’s gonna be pissed when she finds out we bonded?”

Bucky found himself a smile— just a little. “Probably.”

—

The pain was dull when you woke up—  more like a memory than a wound, pulsing behind your bones in sync with your heartbeat. Your shoulder throbbed under tight bandages.

You cracked your eyes open, vision swimming in the dim light. The ceiling was warped and water-stained, familiar in the worst way, lit only by the flicker of a busted lamp somewhere in the room. The air smelled like old cigarette smoke, sweat, and gun oil.

You remembered where you were. Frank Castle’s safehouse.

You felt a body pressing against your side. 

Bucky.

He was crouched beside the couch, looking like he’d been glued to your side for hours— maybe longer. His hair was a mess, flattened in places from where he’d run his hands through it on repeat. 

“Hey,” he greeted, rough around the edges but laced with so much affection it you felt it more than you felt the wound. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, “You okay?”

Your lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. You tilted your head just enough to brush your mouth against his in return, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mmhmm.”

Behind you, someone cleared their throat.

You glanced past Bucky, and there was Frank— arms crossed, watching the two of you with a look that wasn’t quite judgment and wasn’t quite amusement either. 

It looked like... approval.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, but shifted closer to you anyways. His hand brushed your hair back with the softest care, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“We gotta go, yeah, doll?” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You winced as you shifted upright, his hand already sliding under your good arm. You leaned into him without hesitation. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, trying to shake the fog from your head. “Just... give me a sec.”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, letting the world settle, then pushed yourself upright again. 

“Thanks, Frank,” you managed, voice rough but sincere. “For the whole... keeping me alive thing.”

His mouth curved upward at the corner. “Anytime, pretty girl.”

The words had barely left his mouth before Bucky’s voice cut through the room— “Don’t call her that.”

But.. there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Frank’s brow ticked up, amised. “Relax, soldier. It’s a nickname, not a ring.”

“She’s not yours to nickname.”

You let out a low groan, rubbing your hand over your face. “Jesus Christ. I almost died and you two are busy measuring dicks?”

Frank huffed a small laugh. “Still got that attitude, I see.”

Bucky glanced down at you, brushing your knuckles lightly with his thumb. “Good. Means you’re still alive.”

Frank pushed off the doorway, “She’ll outlive both of us at this rate.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, his hand never leaving yours. “That’s the plan.”

You leaned against him, blinking up at the two men, brow furrowing as the realisation finally hit. 

These weren’t snide remarks. This was… banter. 

They weren’t trying to kill each other.

“What the hell…” you mumbled. “You two friends now?”

Bucky looked down at you, shrugging. “Had a long night.”

Frank smirked from across the room, raising an eyebrow. “And a few beers.”

You stared between them, utterly baffled. “The fuck did I miss?”

—

The drive back was a quiet haze of streetlights. You slumped in the passenger seat, curled toward the window, your shoulder still aching beneath layers of gauze. 

When he pulled up to your shared home, Bucky came around to your side before you could even try to open the door. He lifted you again like you weighed nothing and carried you into the apartment without saying a word.

He laid you gently on the couch, brushing the hair from your face as you settled back into the cushions. His fingers lingered on your cheek, “I’ll get your painkillers,” he said.

You let your eyes follow him as he crossed to the kitchen, retrieved a glass of water, and returned with a small pill in his palm.

“Small dose,” he warned, crouching beside you again. “We’re spacing them out.”

You took it, swallowed, then leaned your head back and sighed. You tilted your head toward him.

“So… you and Frank buddies now?”

Bucky snorted softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“But you talked.”

“Yeah,” He confirmed. “We talked.”

You raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And you didn’t smash each other’s face in?”

Bucky chuckled. “Came close.”

You let a beat of silence pass between you. 

Then you finally said, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicked back to you. 

“I should’ve seen how uncomfortable you were,” you admitted. “I… I just didn't think the exes would be a sore spot.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He reached up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I let all that shit build up. That’s not on you.”

“Still… I could’ve talked to you about all of it before I got back into the field.” You swallowed. “I… I just didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I do see you differently,” he said quietly.

Your stomach twisted.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Your past… is just that. Frank helped me see that.”

You blinked fast, trying not to cry. “But it keeps finding me.”

“I know,” he said. 

You gave him a sad smile and a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. You’re my now. You’re my future. You're it.”

His breath caught, and he looked at you like you’d just pulled him out of the deepest part of the ocean.

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft and sweet. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, because he was still learning what it meant to be loved out loud by someone so unfiltered, by someone with nothing to hide.

You stayed pressed againsthim for a long time, your hand in his hair, his forehead against yours.

Eventually, he pulled back and smiled faintly. 

He stood, walking toward the kitchen. “I’m making you hot chocolate.”

You blinked after him. “Are you serious?”

“You want marshmallows?”

“Obviously.”

He got up, and from the kitchen, you could hear Bucky moving around — the clink of the saucepan on the stove, the rustle of a cocoa tin being opened, the faint hiss of milk heating as he stirred. 

You sank deeper into the couch, letting the ache in your shoulder fade into the background.

Your eyes drifted half-shut, but then you heard it.

A ding from beside you on the couch.

You blinked, turning your head slightly, and there it was — Bucky’s phone lighting up on the cushion, his name glowing on the lock screen along with the preview of a new text.

Frank Castle.

Of course it was Frank.

Curiosity got the better of you, and your eyes skimmed the message: "If you wanna give your pretty girl a break and need someone who doesn’t pull his punches on a mission, give me a call, Barnes. And I’ll be there."

You smiled — part fond, part exasperated — and the warmth in your chest didn’t dim.

Before you could say anything, Bucky’s voice floated over from the kitchen, teasing, “You looking at my phone, doll?”

You glanced toward him, two mugs cradled in his hands as he walked towards you.

“Didn’t know you and Frank exchanged numbers,” You lifted your brows. “He says he’s offering his services.”

Bucky lowered himself onto the couch beside you, placing the mug carefully into your hand.

Bucky let out a quiet snort, shaking his head as he picked up the phone and read it for himself. His thumb hovered over the reply button, but he didn’t type anything right away.

“At least,” he muttered under his breath, “he’s now calling you my pretty girl.”

You leaned your head toward him, letting it rest against his shoulder.

“Damn right I am,” you mumbled fondly.

Damn right you are. 

–end.

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[luvwanda]

that was so much worse!!!