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[em1i2a3]

The Dark Side

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Mutant!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob is having a really bad depressive episode, and you have been unanimously voted to go and provide him with the comfort that he needs to pull him out.

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of like…Oddly Fluffy but not much? Bob is going through it, Mentions of a Depressive Episode (in which Bob kind of destroys his room), Mentions of Blood/Bruises (descriptions are given of the injuries…Caused by the destroying of his room), Reader has the ability of Power Negation (rendering them unable to be Voided or sent into a shame room) and Telekinesis, Reader and Bob are very close, The Void is…In a large portion of this, like a huge portion of this…I need to write more Void tbh lol….Hinting at a part 2 possibly? I don’t know yet tho

Author’s Note: Someone requested Bob being the little spoon, and I truly loved the idea, so I took it and expanded it as much as possible to give it some…Bite. Hope y’all enjoy :) (also I’ve been literally waiting to use this song for something…And it’s so fitting)

Word Count: 7,652

The compound kitchen was too quiet for this many people. The silence thrummed with something unsaid, stretched thin and humming like a wire pulled too tight.

Ava sat cross-legged on the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing at the fraying edge of her gloved thumb. Every few seconds came the faint, squelching sound of wet leather between her teeth, rhythmic and uneasy. She didn’t seem to notice the sound–or maybe she did, and just didn’t care anymore. Her eyes were trained on the far wall where a few frying pans hung, staring at the one that was crooked and on the brink of falling.

Walker leaned against the fridge like a fixture, arms crossed so tight it made his biceps strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. His jaw twitched once. His expression–stone-cold and unreadable–was that same military-grade stillness he defaulted to in times like this. Moments where concern might as well be weakness. Where admitting you were worried meant that something had already gone wrong.

Across the table, Yelena was perched in a chair like she’d rather be standing–back stiff, boot planted against the rung of the seat, fingers drumming out a frantic little pattern against the metal tabletop. It wasn’t idle. It was tight, and sharp. Like she was trying to match the tempo of her heartbeat and couldn’t quite keep up because it just kept changing.

Bucky stood with his weight braced against the sink, one hand wrapped around a chipped Thunderbolts mug–faded red and gray–but he hadn’t taken a sip in the last twenty minutes. Steam had long since stopped curling from the lip. His knuckles were white where they gripped the handle, and every so often, his thumb would twitch like he might lift it to his lips, but he never did.

Alexei was in the chair beside you, the wood creaking with every restless shift of his weight. Normally the loudest in any room, he was unusually subdued now. His thick forearms were folded across his stomach, and his eyes–usually wild and reactive–were narrowed, watching Walker with something unreadable. His fingers tapped once against the edge of his knee, then stopped.

And you…You sat stillest of all.

Watching, listening and waiting. Because you already knew what this emergency team meeting was about. Knew it the second you got the text. The second you stepped into this room and counted the people present. There was only one person missing–and it wasn’t like him to be absent for anything.

”We need to talk about Bob.” Yelena muttered, breaking the silence. Her voice was low, but firm. There was a collective exhale of something heavy settling into the room, like everyone had been holding the thought behind their teeth and didn’t want to be the one to name it.

“He hasn’t come out in two days,” Bucky added, voice hoarse from not talking in a while, “Knocked last night…No answer. Door was locked too.”

“I phased through the wall this morning,” Ava said, voice clipped, jaw tense “Couldn’t even be in there for more than a few seconds. Got thrown into the door…Had to get the hell out pretty quickly.” Walker glanced over at Ava.

”Yeah, cause The Void’s in there, it’s not Bob.” He mumbled grimly. You felt the words before you heard them. That faint pressure behind your sternum. Like something whispering from the edge of a black hole. Bucky’s gaze found the floor.

”Last time it was like this, he didn’t eat for a week, he didn’t sleep, he just sat on the floor staring at the wall until we talked him out of it…This time I heard him breaking things in his room…I truly don’t think speaking to him is going to work this time.” He stated, shifting from one foot to the other.

”So we send someone in.” Alexei suggested, his gruff voice cutting through the tension in the room.

“And what?” Walker scoffed, pushing off the fridge just enough to gesture with one hand “Get them sent to a shame room? I’m not going through that again.” The words hung in the air. Heavy and acidic.

And then the silence came again–heavier than before, only this time there was this sort of feeling like everyone was waiting for something.

That’s when you felt it.

Eyes. Not all at once. Not direct. Just quick, darting glances. One after another. Like everyone had the same thought, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Not until–

“Y/N…” Yelena’s voice was quiet and measured, like she was testing the water of a pool, “Would you be willing to try?” You looked over at her slowly. Her brows were pinched, mouth set, but her gaze didn’t flinch. Not from you, and certainly not from what she was asking. Before you could answer, Walker jumped in.

”Nothing happened to you when he Voided New York, right?” Your lashes fluttered a bit, and you could feel your face heat up. Your fingers twitched where they rested against your thigh, and slowly your gaze dropped to your hands–open, resting palm-up.

“Well…No,” You replied softly, “But I don’t think it would be the best idea to send me in.” Walker opened his mouth, but you lifted your chin and cut him off, voice firmer now, “I think I make The Void angrier…Because he can’t…Y’know–“

”Go through every bad memory you have, and make you relive every single one like it just happened?” Bucky interrupted gently, now taking a loud sip from his mug. You turned your head toward him, and his eyes met yours. Steady and understanding of your point.

”Yeah…Pretty much.” You murmured. Another beat of silence passed.

Then Walker let out a short, incredulous laugh, “Then why the hell do we even have you on this team if you don’t want to use your powers for something as small as this?” Your eyes snapped back to him, eyebrows lifting as your expression flattened into something cool and sharp.

”Last time I checked, Walker,” You started, “I saved your ass from a bunch of mutants in Slovenia.” He opened his mouth to say something, but you went on, “Remember that? The underground lab. The one where they lured you in with fake hostages? The one where Bucky’s arm got fried while you were too busy playing Captain Knockoff to notice the tripwire?” Walker blinked at you, his gaze dropping to the ground.

”And if I wasn’t there to dampen and take away their powers, you’d still be in that goddamn hole,” You stated, voice deceptively calm now, “So–kindly?” You leaned forward in your seat, resting your elbows on your knees, “Sit on it…And rotate.” Bucky let out a sigh, stepping in before Walker could say anything back in retaliation.

”You’re the only one who can technically get close to him without setting him off…I mean, yeah, it pisses him off. But you nullify him, Y/N…He backs off when you’re around…It also has a lot to do with the fact you’re close with Bob too.”

Bucky was right.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you were already close with Bob–closer than most, maybe too close–this would be impossible. And it wasn’t just proximity or shared downtime or familiarity on missions. It was that quiet, tangled closeness. The kind that took root when two people didn’t have to speak to understand each other. When silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but necessary.

Still, that didn’t make any of this easier.

Because even with that closeness…The Void knew who you were. What you were. And it hated you for it.

You’d only interacted with it directly a handful of times. Each one branded into your memory like scars you didn’t wear on the outside.

Once during a medbay blackout–Bob had been unconscious and bleeding, a psychic wound ripping through the space around him, and you’d been the only one able to get close enough to touch him. The Void had flickered into the room with a voice like cold static, dripping something ancient and endless against your bones. It didn’t yell. It didn’t threaten.

It whispered, and challenged.

“You take him from me.”

“He’s safer without you.”

“I could make you feel every moment of your worst night in under a second–want to try?”

Another time, on a rooftop in London, when Bob had collapsed mid-mission, shaking, breathless, clutching his skull with both hands like he was trying to hold himself inside it, The Void had poured through his cracks and stared at you through his eyes. You had been taken off guard, and in the split second that you weren’t aware he had made you see your mother, the way she grabbed you by your hair and slammed you against a mirror–which was how you got the scar above your eyebrow.

You didn’t even flinch, and that made The Void angrier with you.

You bit the inside of your lip, eyes flicking over the room again. Every face trained on you now. Some guarded, some silently pleading, but all of them were waiting.

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

“…Fine. I’ll do it.”

A breath seemed to pass through the team like a wave, though no one dared say thank you. They knew better than to treat this like a favor. This wasn’t a volunteer mission. This was a gamble.

“But don’t hover around the door,” You added quickly, pressing your palms to your thighs as you stood, “I don’t need backup. It’ll just make things worse.”

They all nodded.

Bucky was the first to step back, giving you space. He dipped his chin once in acknowledgment, slow and solemn. Yelena gave you a tight nod, eyes shadowed with concern, but she didn’t argue. Ava dropped her hand from her mouth, the glove damp with spit, and looked at you like she wanted to say something–but didn’t.

Walker crossed his arms again and stayed quiet, which, for him, might’ve been the most meaningful gesture of all.

Alexei stood as well, hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder as you moved past. His grip was steady. Warm. Protective in the way only he could be–loud without words.

You didn’t say anything else as you left the kitchen. Didn’t look back.

The hallway to Bob’s quarters felt longer than usual. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, the soft hum of the compound’s systems running like a heartbeat in the background. You could feel it–low and dull–the way his presence saturated the air even through the door. That pressure in the back of your head. The coil of unease in your ribs.

You paused outside the room.

No sound from within. No breathing. No shuffling. No glass breaking. Just…Stillness. Heavy and full, like a vacuum waiting to collapse in on itself.

You raised your fist slowly and knocked twice.

“Void…I’m coming in.”You announced, already knowing he probably sensed you from miles away. The lock clicked under the pressure of your mind–an old security latch giving a reluctant little snick as your telekinesis pried it loose with practiced ease. The door creaked open, just wide enough for you to slip inside.

And the second it sealed shut behind you, the weight of the room hit.

Not just silence.

Suffocation.

The darkness was thick–almost physical. It pooled in the corners like oil and clung to the walls, layered and unmoving. The blackout curtains were to blame for that–drawn tight, suffocating what little natural light might’ve softened the edges of the space.

But even the shadows weren’t still. They writhed.

You took a single step forward, and the crunch under your boot broke the silence.

Glass…There was so much glass.

Not just from a shattered mirror, but from everything else in the room–fragments of picture frames, broken mugs, shattered bulbs. Jagged teeth scattered across the floor like a warning. In the far corner, an old desk chair laid toppled on its side, two of its legs snapped clean through, the splinters of plastic jutting upward like a broken rib cage.

The dresser was no longer a dresser.

It was a carcass. Wood panels torn from their seams, drawers ripped apart like kindling. One drawer had clearly been thrown–there were impact marks on the opposite wall where the corner had struck and left a dent, now trailing with paint dust and something darker–blood or ink or both. The walls were pockmarked with fist-sized impressions. You counted at least six from where you stood, each one blooming out in spiderweb cracks.

The air smelled like sweat, iron, static, and something metallic. Burned electronics…The scent of a mind unraveling, and overtaken by something empty.

Though, through all the destruction, the bed–miraculously–remained intact.

Sort of.

The sheets were rumpled, tangled half way down the frame, one corner half-ripped from the mattress, but the structure itself held. Just barely. The headboard was dented. The mattress had dark stains near the middle, but you didn’t want to guess what they were.

But none of that truly drew your eyes…It was him…

The Void.

Curled like a gravitational wound at the center of the chaos. A black mass draped across the unmade bed in something that only resembled the fetal position. Shoulders hunched, limbs drawn in too tightly, like he was trying to curl into the concept of himself and erase what was left. The shadows rolled off his back in slow, deliberate tendrils–molasses-thick and ink-dark. They rose and fell in undulating pulses, brushing against the sheets, licking the edge of the mattress, curling through the air like they were tasting it. He was still, but not inert, like a storm brewing, but just beyond the horizon.

You took one careful breath and moved forward.

Crossing the room meant stepping around the wreckage–splintered furniture, broken glass, ceramics, and fractured memories from the Polaroids that were scattered on the floor from the broken frames. You moved with practiced precision, keeping your steps slow, measured, and balanced. No sudden movements, no sharp noises apart from the cracking and shattering beneath your feet, just you and your presence.

When you reached the far wall, you hesitated–just for a second–then reached for the curtain. Your fingers trembled slightly as it came into contact with the thick, light proof fabric.

You took a breath, and yanked it open.

Sunlight poured into the room like a floodgate breaking.

Warm and red and golden–the last gasp of a sunset bleeding across the compound horizon. It didn’t banish the dark, but it carved a space in it. Lit the motes of dust hanging heavy in the air. Made the wreckage shimmer like a battlefield caught in the golden hour.

And it lit him.

The Void didn’t move. Not fully. But you could feel the shift. The twitch of air. The smallest ripple in the fabric of the room.

When you turned back to him–

There he was.

The Void looked…Almost beautiful in the sunlight.

Not in the way people meant when they talked about beauty. This wasn’t gentle or graceful or soft. It wasn’t something that asked to be appreciated. It was arresting. Unnatural. Terrifying, yes–but stunning in a way that made your breath catch like it had stumbled into your throat and forgotten how to move.

The golden light cut a jagged angle across the wreckage–strewn room, carving past broken drawers and shattered glass and plastic, but it slowed when it hit him.

Not physically, but perceptibly. Like the light hesitated.

The Void’s form didn’t cast a shadow–he was the shadow. A humanoid silhouette, pitch-black and impossibly dark, draped in endless, shifting tendrils that shimmered faintly in the warm light. He wasn’t see-through, not exactly, but he wasn’t solid either. Looking at him felt like peering into the night sky from the bottom of the ocean–inky, infinite, and so far removed from the natural world that your eyes didn’t quite know where to land.

He looked like a silhouette made of star-drenched tar. The only consistent shape was his outline–vaguely human, impossibly still–and the shock of those eyes.

Pale white. Pupils like burning pinholes through reality itself.

And then there were the freckles. Not normal ones. They weren’t skin-deep or superficial, but scattered like constellations across his chest and shoulders and face, splattered in soft gradients of faint violet and ghost-light blue and shocking white. They moved. Barely. Like they weren’t actually part of him, but windows into something else. Into somewhere that didn’t obey the same laws of existence.

Like someone had cracked open the body of the universe and poured it into him until he took its shape.

You took another step closer, your boots crunching on a piece of ceramic that used to be a mug, and that’s when his head turned slightly–just enough for you to meet one pale, gleaming eye.

And then–he growled. Low and guttural. Less vocal, and more…Animalistic.

”…God.” The word rumbled through the air like it had teeth, “Not you.” You blinked, and then smiled. Not unkindly. Not smugly, either. Just…Knowingly.

You shifted your weight onto one leg, arms loosely crossed, letting your gaze roam over him again now that you were closer. It was always a strange thing, seeing him like this–in daylight. You’d only ever caught glimpses. In dreams. In flickers. In the strange reflections that warped when Bob was between states. But never like this. Never with the sunset warm on your face, and him laid out in the middle of it like a void-stained wound stitched into golden light.

It made him look unreal. Like something painted across the world and only half-belonging.

“I figured you knew I was coming,” You said lightly, voice quiet but firm as you took another careful step forward, your knees almost hitting the mattress. “I’m sure of it, actually…You’re all knowing are you not?” He didn’t respond. But he moved–barely. A twitch in his shoulder. A curl of fingers you hadn’t noticed pressed into the sheets. And then slowly, with the kind of irritated dramatism only a god-tier being could muster, he turned over.

Away from you.

It was such a petty, human gesture that you nearly laughed. He curled onto his other side like a sullen teenager pretending to be asleep, the tendrils of shadow snapping faintly around his limbs–like he was swatting the sunlight away.

You sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, careful to keep your voice soft as you spoke again, “I’m not here to fight with you.” A pause. The air shifted again. Like the room was breathing for him.

“I’m just here for him,” You murmured. “You know that.”

No answer.

Just the shadows tightening around his form like a second skin. Flicking sharp toward the light, then recoiling. The silence didn’t just settle this time–it spread. Like a sickness. Like smoke crawling into your lungs, seeping under your skin, and clinging to the corners of your thoughts.

You stared at the pillow beneath his head, your brow slowly pulling into a tight line.

There–just beneath the crook of where his temple met the white cotton–were stains.

Tiny, deep red drops.

Not smeared, or splattered, but fallen and sunken into the fabric.

”…Are you bleeding?” You asked softly, the question curling through the air like the edge of a breeze that didn’t quite reach him. The Void paused for a moment.

And then–he laughed.

Short and dry. Low and splintered. It didn’t echo. It shook. Like the walls of the room didn’t want to carry the sound and were trying to drop it before it could reach too far.

“I do not bleed,” He said, the words scraping over the back of your mind like cold metal dragging across bone, “The shell does.” Your jaw flexed slightly, and your frown deepened.

“…Did he do all of this?” You asked, “The mess I mean…Or was it you?” At first, he didn’t say anything. There was not even the twitch of a shadow.

Then he curled in tighter into himself, the shadows drawing closer like blankets that didn’t warm.

”Mix of both,” He admitted, reluctantly, “I don’t understand why it matters to you.” You let the breath leave your nose in a quiet sigh and dropped your gaze.

“Well…” You murmured, reaching for the zipper of your hoodie, “First, we’re going to have to replace all of this stuff.” The hoodie came off in one fluid motion. You tossed it gently to the side of the bed and leaned forward to untie your boots, voice dropping just a little more casual as you added, “And second… I’d rather be ready when he comes back.” The last boot hit the floor with a soft thud. You stretched your socked toes slightly before curling them back under you and shifting onto the bed more fully, tucking one leg beneath you.

“Because I know I’ll have to bandage his hands now.” The Void shifted again. His back hunched tighter, shadows rippling sharp across his shoulders like hackles rising on an animal trying not to snarl.

“…He’s not coming back,” He replied, so quietly you almost missed it, “He’s in too deep.” You didn’t respond right away, you just tilted your head a bit, and let your eyes linger on the slope of his back, the way the light carved out the glinting star-patterns along his skin. You didn’t let your face harden. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t rush him. You just raised your brow slightly.

“Mm,” You hummed. “We’ll see about that.”

And then–slowly–you reached forward.

The tendrils noticed first. They snapped back from your approach like struck nerves. Sizzling faintly at the edges of your reach, shadows spiraling defensively around his form, curling between your hand and his body like they could block what was coming.

They knew what your touch would do.

But you didn’t stop.

You let your fingers slip through the whorls of shadow like they were ink in water–watching them coil and twitch as they tried, and failed, to recoil fast enough.

And then your palm met his shoulder.

Cold.

So cold your breath caught in your throat. Like placing your hand against dry ice, it was so cold it was…Hot in a way.

He flinched. Hard. The entire bed jostled with the sudden jerk of his muscles pulling tight.

“Ah–!”

The hiss tore out of him unbidden, guttural and strangled like it hurt. Because it did.

You could feel it the moment your skin met his–how the shadows shrank. How the hum of wrongness faltered in the walls. How the pressure around the room thinned slightly. You were draining him. Nullifying the divine static that clung to him like rot.

His body didn’t lurch away immediately, but his breath did. A sharp inhale. Like the pain was new. Like it surprised even him.

“…Don’t,” He rasped. “Don’t touch me.”

But you didn’t pull back.

Your hand pressed firmer to his shoulder.

The shadows hissed.

He jerked again, more violently this time, trying to pull himself away–but you didn’t let him. You didn’t even move. The only shift was in the air–your focus hardening, your mind expanding like a net, invisible but unshakable.

Telekinesis wasn’t always force. It wasn’t about slamming someone across a room or crushing metal with your thoughts.

Sometimes, it was about stillness. Weight. The kind of pressure that settled over bone and muscle like gravity, inescapable and patient.

And so when he tried to move again, the Void grunted–sharp, frustrated, restrained. The bedframe creaked beneath him with the effort of a god trying to disobey the very laws of physics you wove around him.

“I will kill you.” The words were low. Ragged. Meant to shake you.

But you…laughed.

Not loud. Not mocking. Just…Soft. A breathy, disbelieving thing that came from the hollow of your throat and made your shoulders twitch with the absurdity of it.

“If that’s what you truly wanted…” You murmured, your voice a ghost just above his ear as you leaned in close, “You would’ve done it already.”

There was a pause.

Heavy. Stagnant. Tense.

He tried again. You could feel it–his form straining against your hold, his shadows cracking through the air like whips, like rage incarnate, but they couldn’t touch you. Not really. Not with your powers blanketing the space between.

He growled. Animalistic. Teeth grinding, tendrils snapping.

You didn’t flinch.

You just moved.

Slowly, quietly, you climbed onto the bed fully. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, groaning with the shift, and he hissed again–but not from pain this time. From confusion.

And then…You laid behind him.

You felt it instantly. The temperature drop was jarring, biting into your skin through your shirt. It hit your chest first, then your bare arms as you wrapped them carefully around him, curling your body along the edge of his.

You let your arm drape over his side, your palm hovering at first, before pressing flat against his chest.

Gods shouldn’t feel like this.

Shouldn’t tremble. Shouldn’t shiver.

But he did.

His body didn’t accept the comfort–it reacted to it, violently at first. The moment your skin touched his chest, his muscles tensed, his breath caught, and then came the sound.

A broken, pained little gasp.

It wasn’t quite a growl. It wasn’t even a scream.

It was…A whimper.

Low. Raw. And filled with something deeper than pain.

The tendrils thrashed. A few brushed past your cheek, stinging cold, like frostbite in motion. One grazed your lips. Another flicked across your jaw, searching, tasting, confused.

But they didn’t strike.

They didn’t push you away.

In fact, slowly…They began to shift.

Curling, and looping, almost in a tender way. A hesitant winding around your arm. A slow crawl against your thigh. Brushing, nudging, and then stilling. Like they were learning you again. Like they remembered your signature and didn’t quite know what to do with it anymore.

“Just…” Your voice trembled slightly with the cold, but you didn’t stop, “Calm down, Void…Let him come back.” Your breath fogged against the back of his neck, warm in contrast to the chill that radiated off him like a dying sun.

He shuddered. Twitched. His hand moved to grab your wrist, but didn’t squeeze–just held it. Like an anchor. Or a warning.

Then he pushed against your arm once–sharp, desperate, useless.

And then…He sagged, letting out a frustrated, inhuman sound that didn’t belong in a throat. Something halfway between a hiss and a wounded sob. You felt it in his chest more than you heard it. A tremor under your palm. A ripple in your own ribs from how tightly you were pressed to him.

The tendrils wrapped tighter, and your cheek pressed gently to the back of his shoulder.

There was a long moment where neither of you moved.

Not a breath stirred the air between your bodies. Not a word passed your lips.

Your cheek stayed pressed to the curve of his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing the cool shadowed skin. You let your senses drift, quietly reaching–searching–for something deeper. Something alive. You tried to listen again. Tried to find it. That faint rhythm. That human thread. That flicker of Bob.

But there was nothing.

No beat. No pulse.

Just silence.

Like pressing your ear against something ancient and hollow. Something that had forgotten it was ever meant to hold life.

And still…You stayed.

Your arm slowly shifted under the pillow, tucking more securely around the Void’s form, locking him in tighter, folding yourself to him like an anchor trying to hold a black hole still.

He grunted–louder this time–when your hand slipped across his chest again. The heatless cold biting up your wrist, down to the marrow, but you didn’t let go.

“You are hurting me.”

His voice was fractured now.

Still sharp. Still foreign. But softer around the edges. Like something was fraying. Like he wasn’t used to stating pain—only inflicting it.

You shook your head gently, your breath warm against the shell of his neck.

“You’re not used to this,” You murmured, voice steady despite the chill leeching into your skin. “But this is the only way I can get Bob back.”

Your fingers flexed slightly, your grip never relenting.

“You’re not going to go away on your own,” You added, more softly now, “I know you well enough…”

The second the words left your mouth, he moved.

Fast.

The Void jerked against you, his shadows spiking like claws as he tried to break free from your arms with all the force of a universe unraveling. Your powers flared instinctively–holding him, grounding him, caging him without violence.

And then he snapped–

“You don’t know me at all,” He hissed. “You have no fucking idea who I am.” The room trembled. The broken glass shivered on the floor. One of the remaining lightbulbs overhead gave a sick little buzz and blinked out.

But you…

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t let go.

And you didn’t raise your voice.

Your reply was almost gentle.

“I know the person you live inside,” you said. “I know him.”

You let your forehead rest against the top of his spine, your hand smoothing softly over the cold, trembling surface of his chest.

“And you may not believe it,” You continued, “But you’re a piece of him. Whether you hate it or not.”

He stilled–but not with calmness–with a kind of rigid tension. The kind that only came before collapse.

You pressed on.

“And he…” You said slowly, voice like a thread stitching through the dark, “He likes being touched. And held. And wanted.”

A beat.

“Deep down inside that hollowness, I think you do too.”

The shadows tightened around your arms–an instinct. A warning. But they didn’t pull you away.

“That’s my little key to get into your head,” You whispered, “And bring him back.”

And with that, you pulled him even closer.

You melted into him–your arm cinched tighter under his ribs, your hand splayed flat against the void of his chest, fingers brushing those starlit freckles like they might ignite under the contact. Your thighs curved around the bend of his body. Your breath warmed the space between his neck and shoulder.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t hiss.

Didn’t growl.

But you felt the change.

His grip tightened on your wrist. Not to crush. Not to command. But to hold. Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to falter. Waiting for your guard to drop. Waiting for you to flinch–so he could shove you away and snap the thread.

But you didn’t.

You just held on.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” You breathed. “So go ahead. Try.”

Your voice was calm. Unshaking. Your hand moved without thinking now.

Slow, gentle circles against his chest. Fingers brushing the raised curve of a freckle, then flattening again. Just enough pressure to remind him you were there. Just enough heat to keep the ice from creeping back in too fast. Your thumb traced the faint starlit constellation scattered near his collarbone, following one mark to the next as if mapping a sky only you could read.

You didn’t know how long it took. Time didn’t work right in rooms like this–where the air tasted like static and silence stretched so long it warped.

But eventually…

The rigidness began to leave him.

Not in one dramatic exhale.

Not with a sigh or a shudder.

Just a slow, quiet shift. One vertebrae at a time. One tendon unwinding. His shadows still clung to your wrist and thighs like anchors, but their hold was less…tense. Less venom. More hesitation.

And then–you felt it.

A small, deliberate movement.

His head tilted down. Chin dropped ever so slightly toward his chest, toward your hand. Not fast enough to be startled. Not deep enough to retreat. Just…searching. Studying. Like he was looking at something he hadn’t dared examine until now.

And then–

“…You have a lot of beauty marks on your hands.”

His voice was quieter now. Duller at the edges. Like something inside him had collapsed just enough to let the words out.

“Bob looks at them a lot.”

The admission settled in the air between you like a stone into water–gentle, but heavy with weight.

You stilled for just a breath. Then resumed your tracing, softer this time, almost like you didn’t want to scare the moment away.

“He pretends he’s not,” The Void added. “But he memorized them.”

A pause. “One by one.”

Your throat tightened. Just a little. But you didn’t speak. You waited.

He inhaled once, shallow.

“…Folklore says they represent where your soulmate from a past life used to kiss you.” Your brows furrowed, caught somewhere between surprise and something warmer, softer.

You tilted your head just a little against his shoulder, trying not to let him hear the quiet thrum picking up in your chest.

A moment passed.

And then you said, teasingly–light but careful–

“Seems like a lot of soulmates have kissed you everywhere…” You nudged gently at his side with your fingers. “You’ve got marks all over your body.”

There was a pause.

Then–

A sound.

It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff either.

It was something between.

A sound from deep in his chest. Soft, strange. Like a hum unraveling. Like a thread pulled from a black tapestry and found to be made of silk. Not hostile. Not mocking. Just…Thoughtful.

“…It is not the same,” He murmured.

And the way he said it–

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t flippant. It was almost longing. Like he knew, with unsettling clarity, the difference between touch and intimacy. Between worship and warmth. You didn’t move your hand from his chest. Just kept brushing your thumb in slow arcs across the curve of one freckle, and then another, as your brow furrowed gently.

“How is it not the same?” You asked, feeling The Void shift beside you–not violently, but with something sharp in the tension of his shoulders, like the question had scraped a nerve. His chin dipped again, the shadows curling tighter along your spine.

“It’s just…” He muttered, clipped now, almost irritated, “…How it looks.” He rolled slightly, enough for the tendrils across his chest to shimmer faintly in the dying sunlight. The freckles pulsed there still–pale, slow-burning starlight in a galaxy of ink.

“You may interpret it as marks,” He added flatly, “But it is just…How it is. There’s nothing more to it.” His voice was distant again. Slipping back into that cold echo, like he was digging himself into a trench of denial. You hummed softly in response. Not convinced. Not arguing. Just…Thinking.

And then, after a beat–

“You’ve never felt love, or anything like that, hmm?” He stiffened entirely. Like you’d cracked a fault line that ran straight through him and threatened to split his chest open.

He didn’t reply.

So you continued–gently, but with a note of something more pointed.

”You just…Live behind Bob’s eyes, and whatever he goes through–whatever he feels–you get the little bites of it…Correct?” It was a truth you didn’t say to hurt him. But it landed that way anyway.

He groaned. Not out of pain. Not purely out of rage either. It was resentment. Pure and concentrated. Heavy in his chest and thick in his voice as he snapped–

“Listen…”

The tendrils twitched against your arms. Coiled with warning.

“I am already stuck in this position because you’re a succubus leech who drains me every time you breathe near me–” He spat, the words acidic and cutting, “I am not going to speak about what I experience through Bob. This is not a therapy session.” You bit the inside of your cheek, just barely, and sat with the sting of it. Let it pass.

“…Okay,” You said quietly, “Touchy subject. Sorry.”

Your voice didn’t waver. But it softened. Like you knew it was a wound. And not one you could cauterize tonight.

A pause fell over you both. He turned his face just slightly, half-hidden in the bend of his elbow, and the tension around him seemed to slow–not dissipate, not ease, but slow. A stalling breath caught in molasses.

And then, without even thinking about your next actions, you pressed your lips gently to his shoulder.

It was a soft kiss. Barely there. Just a whisper of heat against a body that didn’t carry it.

But the reaction was immediate.

The Void flinched–hard. But not away.

And just below where your lips touched his skin, you saw it.

A flicker.

A little fractal of a star.

Tiny. No bigger than your thumbnail. A fractured pinpoint of white-gold, like a nova caught mid-bloom. It shimmered once, flaring faint violet at the edges–like a nerve exposed. It appeared beneath the skin of shadow like light behind thin glass, and then…Stayed. Not fading. Not shrinking. Just there.

And the second your heart clenched–sharp and aching at the sight–he snapped.

“Don’t do that again.”

The voice was low. Cold, but not cruel. He sounded afraid.

You blinked. Sat up slightly behind him. Your hand still rested against his chest, but your expression shifted–watching the star pulsing softly.

”I knew you brought up that folklore stuff for a reason,” You murmured.

The Void twitched beneath your weight–tension returning, but not fury. Something more volatile in its vulnerability. He shifted, trying to roll, but the weight of your powers kept him still, your body pressed too closely against his for him to twist away.

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, frustrated. “What are you? A rock? A boulder? I—I can’t even move.”

“Exactly,” you said lightly, settling your cheek back against his shoulder. “You’re trying to avoid the conversation… Maybe you should let Bob come back to handle this one.”

He growled low in his throat, shadows snapping once in protest, but nothing struck you.

“I’m not that easily swayed by a thing like you,” he bit out.

But there was hesitation in it now. Thinning resistance. A fracture in the spine of his anger.

You smiled against his skin.

And then—you started kissing him again.

Slow. Gentle. One after the other.

You placed a kiss at the dip of his spine.

Then at the base of his neck.

Then to the spot just beneath his jaw, where the darkness shimmered like ink floating over glass.

And each kiss—every single one—left another starlight bloom.

A pinpoint of white-gold.

A soft violet pulse.

A celestial wound that didn’t bleed—but glowed.

Tiny galaxies emerging under your mouth like his body had forgotten how to hide them.

“Are Bob and I soulmates?” you whispered against his skin, voice just playful enough to burn, “Is that what this is?”

Another kiss. Another nova. Another whimper. Not a growl this time.

He jerked again, but this time–not away.

Something loosened, and you felt it. The tension in the shadows began to stutter.

Their rhythm breaking.

Tendrils untangling.

The air around you shifted–less cold now. Less heavy. And then—you saw it.

Just a glimpse.

A slip.

A patch of pale, trembling skin where darkness used to writhe. Just beneath your hand, on the far side of his ribs, the black slid back like melting paint, retreating under your touch.

His breath hitched.

And then–suddenly–the shadows collapsed inward.

Like a tidal wave rushing in reverse.

Like the vacuum of space had just exhaled all at once.

They peeled off him in layers, the tendrils shriveling and snapping back like overstretched nerves, retreating into the floor, the walls, the bedframe. A vortex of absence pulling itself away from something it could no longer cling to.

And all that was left–was Bob.

He gasped like a man drowned. Choking on the air like it burned.

His whole body trembled–bare skin exposed now, sweat-slicked and shaking, his spine curved, arms drawn in like he was trying to hold himself together.

His fingers twisted into the sheets like he didn’t know where he was.

His eyes were wide. Unfocused.

And then–

They found you.

And the second they met yours, that glimmer of bright, beautiful blue–

You exhaled. All the weight in your chest collapsing inward with a relief so fierce it stung.

“Bob,” You breathed.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched, shaking.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes–not falling yet, but close. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp.

You moved instantly.

Your hand came to his head–gently, reverently–fingers sliding into his sweaty hair, dragging softly over his scalp in long, grounding motions.

He flinched at first–then leaned into it, seeking the comfort that you had given him countless times before from outside of this context. You pulled him back toward you, tucking his head beneath your chin as your arms curled tighter around his chest.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, voice warm, threading through the cold air like gold wire. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His fingers clutched at your forearm with sudden, desperate strength.

A choked, broken sob tore out of him as his grip tightened like a vice—raw, panicked, trembling. He clung to you like the room might dissolve if he let go, like you might dissolve. And when you glanced down to where his hand gripped your arm, your breath caught in your throat.

“…Oh my god…Bob.”

His hands were ruined.

The skin across his knuckles was torn open–bloody and cracked like old leather stretched too far. Scabbed-over lacerations split in jagged lines across every joint, with dried blood crusted thick beneath his fingernails and ground into the creases of his palm. The bruising was almost violent in color–black and violet pooled beneath the skin in wide, uneven patches that traveled from the backs of his hands to the delicate tendons along the inside of his wrists.

His palms were the worst.

Torn in places. Split where skin had given out from striking too many hard surfaces–glass, wood, stone. Splinters embedded in the meat of his thumbs. Swollen pads bruised from impact after impact, the raw friction of knuckles dragging across floors and punching through walls. There was a fine tremor in every finger, shaking so subtly it made your chest ache.

You reached for him instinctively, your other hand hovering just under his wrist–

“Let me ge–”

But he cut you off.

“Pl–Please,” He gasped, voice wrecked with sobs, “Don’t–don’t leave me. I…I don’t wa–want to be alone.”

His fingers curled harder around your arm, pulling you in tighter, frantic and shaking. Your heart cracked clean in two.

You softened instantly, forehead resting against the back of his head.

“I can’t just leave your hands like this…” You whispered, barely able to get the words out through the thick knot forming in your throat.

But he whimpered again, voice splintering apart at the seams.

“Ye–Yes you can…I d-do—don’t want to be alone…”

The words hit like a blow.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just honest in the way only raw fear could be. His body was folded in on itself, back pressed to your chest, and you felt every tremble he couldn’t suppress. Every twitch of pain. Every fractured breath.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, letting your brow knit tight, letting the helplessness crest over you–but only for a second.

Then–gently–you shifted back into place behind him.

Your arm curled across his torso once more, anchoring him against you, your legs folding in tighter like you could protect him from the air itself. You kissed the crown of his head–once, then again, softer this time–your lips trembling against the tangled mess of his damp curls.

Your voice came quieter now, steadier, like you were afraid speaking too loud might break him again.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand still clung to your arm, shaking, but you moved carefully–slowly–lifting one of his bruised fists with tender fingers. You brought it to your mouth, just above the worst of the dried blood, and kissed it.

One knuckle.

Then the next.

Then lower–across the cracked bend of his thumb.

Another kiss.

And another.

You didn’t flinch at the blood. You didn’t pull back at the bruises. You kissed through them like they were sacred. Like they were his and that made them worth kissing.

“I’m sorry,” He choked suddenly, the words tumbling out in gasps. “I–I’m sorry for the r-room, for everything–god, I ruined everything, I just–I–”

“Hey,” You whispered, cutting him off softly. You kissed his hand again. “It’s fine. Everyone will help you replace everything. You’re safe. You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”

He hiccuped a sob, still trembling, still cradled in your arms.

“Just breathe,” You repeated, your voice like silk threading through the ache in his lungs.

And slowly–painfully–he tried.

You pressed your cheek to the side of his head and spoke quietly against his hair.

“In through your nose…”

You inhaled with him.

“Good. Now out through your mouth.”

You exhaled slow and steady.

Again.

“In…”

He followed, ragged but trying.

“…And out.”

You felt his shoulders shake–but this time, they weren’t recoiling. They were easing. Piece by broken piece.

“You’re okay, Bob,” You whispered. “Just keep breathing with me. I’ve got you.”

[lovelettersfrommai]

What Shadows Whisper

Summary: The three times you were there for Bob after a nightmare…and the one time he was there for you. 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader 

A/N: There needs to be more Bob content on this app. I need it BAD. Good grief. Reader is a witch with chaos powers (purple). If you’ve been reading Marvel fan fic for a long time, you probably get that joke. This is the longest fic I’ve written! Which is exciting, at least to me! I also got a request somewhat similar to this (and I actually wrote this BEFORE I got the request. Me and y'all are in sync for real.)

Word Count: 2.5k

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to anything Marvel related, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.

Warnings !: Nightmares, mentions of Bob’s drug usage, sleep paralysis, physical violence, slowwwwwwwww burn. 

When renovations finally finished on the Avengers tower, the building still had a sense of eeriness to it. Maybe it was the fact that you had been here before, years ago, when the original team was still around. You swore if you listened well enough, you could still hear the sounds of your friends, the people you once considered a team. Maybe even a family. 

Little did you know, you were not the only one haunted by the tower’s quiet halls. It had been a long day of moving things in, and despite being physically (and mentally) exhausted, you just couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep. It was all so familiar, and yet it had none of the comfort nor familiarity that the compound had. 

You quietly walked over to the kitchen from your bedroom, making yourself a cup of herbal tea in hopes of feeling a sense of peace in the quiet night. You go through the motions, grabbing a mug and turning the electric kettle on, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, leaning against the counter top as the water boils. That’s when you heard it; the sound of whimpers, barely noticeable over the rumbling of the boiling water. At first you ignored it, but they progressively grew louder and deeper, like sobs. 

Once in the hallway, you can pin down exactly which room it’s coming from; Bob’s. Tentatively, you open the door. He’s thrashing around in bed, trapped in an unpleasant dream. You cross the room to gently put a hand on his head, the familiar thrums of something reckless and wild, something you are all too familiar with. 

Gently, you squeeze his shoulder, to try and get him out of his head. “Bob?” You whisper, eyes roaming over his face to see if it’s working. For a split second, you see his eyes rolling under his eyelids rapidly. You decide to shake him, your voice getting a little bit louder as you try to wake him from his nightmare. 

“Bob!” Your tone is a tad firmer, but it seems to do the trick as his eyes immediately shoot open, hands coming up to grab your throat. 

You heave and gasp, before using your powers to stop him, the lavender haze surrounding your hands to take him off you. As you regain your breath, you cough a bit, throat aching with the pure force that he put onto you. This seems to break Bob from his trance, as his eyes immediately soften. 

“I-I am so sorry! I didn’t- I was having a-” You shake your head. He shuts up immediately, expecting for you to chew him out the way he’s seen you do to Walker and Alexei a couple of times. He looks down at the floor, ready to be admonished like a child, but instead you speak quietly.

“Want some tea?” Your voice is a little bit gravelly from the pressure that had just been applied there, but you clear your throat and it already sounds better. Bob opens his mouth, then closes it, opting to nod wordlessly. You nod towards the door, and together, the both of you walk to the kitchen just in time for the kettle to finish boiling. You take it off of its power base and grab another mug from the cabinet, pouring you each a cup. 

The both of you sit in silence as you sip the tea. It’s not tense, nor is it particularly warm, but it is a truce, one of stability and comfort to end what was a long day. 

~ 

Bob isn’t really sure how to handle nightmares. In the night, the void infects his brain with horrific imagery, when nobody is around to help him. He tosses and turns, trying to find some rest but is only greeted by his mind playing his worst memories, reminding him of all his present anxieties and all the terrible things he’s done to the people who’ve only ever shown him kindness on some sort of sick and twisted loop. 

When he finally decides to give up on sleeping, he climbs out of bed, his pajamas sticking to his skin just like the guilt he feels for his useless existence. He doesn’t expect anyone to be awake, you all train early in the morning and go to sleep early in the night, but once he walks down the hallway, he’s surprised to see you. 

You’re curled up with a book, sitting cross legged on the couch, a blanket tossed over your lap. Before he can even consider going back to his room to wallow in self pity, you sense his presence immediately, head flicking up to make eye contact from across the room.

“You’re up.” You say simply. It’s a blatant observation.

“I- uh. Yeah. I am…” He blunders. Something about your presence is both comforting and terrifying. Maybe it’s because he’s seen you control other people with the flick of your hand, as if they were puppets on a string. But seeing you here, now, uninhibited by having to fight for your life and save the world, simply reading a book on the couch? It’s jarring. It reminds him that you, like him, are just human. 

“Had a bad dream, so…” You nod in understanding, closing the book and placing it on the coffee table. 

“Do you want to be alone, or..?” Bob shakes his head. 

“No. Stay.” He says before he can even think through his words. If you notice how much he tenses at the thought of being alone, you don’t mention it, simply beckoning him to sit on the couch beside you. He obliges, the space between you both feeling treacherous, fidgeting with his hands.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask gently. You’ve never been one to push, he thinks to himself. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t already heard before.” He looks down at his hands. Your face twists slightly as you stare at him, then you get up, grabbing the tv remote from its place on the stand.

“Then a distraction would probably be better, huh?” You turn on the tv, flipping through the channels until you eventually settle on some random nature documentary about birds in the rainforest. Not very engaging, but it’s steady. Quiet. Soothing. You move a bit closer, tossing the blanket over his lap as well as your own. He feels his spine slowly decompress and he melts into the couch already feeling incredibly more at ease with you beside him.

The documentary is enough to lull his hyperactive mind into a state of rest. As he drifts off, his body starts to slouch, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder. You freeze at first, unsure of what to do or if you should move him, but ultimately you do nothing. You stay. His presence is warm, despite the void that you know is in him. 

The next morning, Yelena is up first. She runs her hands through her blonde locks and then she stops, stumbling upon the sight of you and Bob on the couch. The tv is still on and playing some different documentary. The blanket you both are sharing has begun to slip off your laps. She tilts her head at the sight, her eyes filling with something fond before turning off the tv and leaving you two alone.

~

By the time you hit the two month mark of living in the tower, the two of you have established a routine for handling Bob’s nightmares. You’re an insomniac, he’s learned, so it’s always highly likely that you’re awake when he is awoken in the middle of the night. Depending on how bad the dream is, your guys’ routine changes; tea when he can’t really remember it, watching tv or reading him a book if he needs a distraction. He also gets special permission to go into your room. 

The nightmare wasn’t as bad today, but Bob couldn’t help but feel pissed off. He was tired, and yet every time he tried to sleep the void came back to him. He begrudgingly walks across the hallway to your room, knocking gently before walking in. 

Surprisingly, you are actually trying to sleep. You're tucked under the blankets and your head is facing the opposite wall of the door. He almost leaves when he notices, not wanting to bother you, but you turn your head and offer him a sleepy smile. His heart stutters in his chest and he finds himself walking over, just by looking at you.

“Come.” You lift up your duvet and scoot over a little, offering him solace in the warmth of your own bed. He blinks, hesitant, but eventually gives in, climbing into bed with an awkward grace that is unmistakably his. The two of you lay in silence for a little, your body angled facing him, before Bob speaks up.

“I’m so tired…” Despite your own exhaustion, you recognize the desperation in his tone. 

“…I could help you.” 

“How?”

You bring your hands up in between both of your heads, the purple haze surrounding your hands once again. 

“I can make you go to sleep? If that’s okay?” Bob hesitates. The idea of you being in his mind, willingly, fills his stomach with butterflies. You’ve already seen the void, and you’re still here. He trusts you more than he’d like to admit. With the nod of approval, your hands hover over his head. You close your eyes. 

Bob watches as the familiar lavender color drifts from your fingertips and surrounds his mind. At first, his hands instinctively grab at the sheets. He anticipates pain, but instead is greeted with the feeling of your hands, gentle as always, fingertips grazing his warm skin. His mind is then instantly flooded with something he can’t quite place.

Instead of the usual cold emptiness he feels from the void, your powers invade his brain in a warm light. It’s a stark difference from how he was feeling just a couple of seconds ago. You’ve completely surrounded his mind and body with an all encompassing spark, and for once, he feels at ease. You are so familiar. 

After muttering something he can’t quite catch, you take your hands off his forehead, his head nearly chasing it, just craving your touch. He’s left with a sense of content he’s never felt before. He feels a little bit hazy, reminding him of that feeling he got in the past when he was high on whatever he could get his hands on, only now it’s not accompanied by the paranoia; He just feels sleepy. 

You watch as his eyes droop, his body language completely different from how it had been just a mere couple of seconds earlier. Adjusting the blankets around you both, you move closer so that your head leans against his shoulder. 

“Sleep well, Bobby.” 

As he drifts off, he realizes that the nickname that his father had taunted him with all those years ago sounds just like a lullaby coming from you. 

~

Somehow, the day didn’t end when you went to sleep- Well, tried to. 

Despite your usual insomnia, you found yourself actually winding down tonight. Everything had been going well too; The mission you and the new avengers went on had gone smoothly, you got home early and were able to take the most luxurious shower of your life, Yelena had made you all dinner, and you stayed up having good conversations with the rest of the team with no fighting. By the end of the night, you had felt good enough to go to sleep. It was the making for the perfect end to an all around awesome day. 

Until it wasn’t.

When sleep finally overtook your body, you were met in the depths of your mind. It started off just like a dream would…until the colors became devoid of life, and faces of people began to blur. You could physically feel the terror of people’s minds you had hijacked in the past. Their fears are now yours. You know you’re asleep, and you know that what you’re feeling isn’t real, but you can not bring yourself to wake up. Your body is trapped under what feels like two tons worth of weight on your chest, and you swear you can see something, someone? Just watching you. 

You awaken in an uncomfortable sweat, your body shooting upright pretty much immediately after your sleep paralysis episode. Hastily, you toss the covers off of you, welcoming the bite of the cold air. 

It wasn’t real. It isn’t real.

You rub your fist into your sternum, it hurts, but you keep pressing harder and harder until you’re sure that the phantom weight is gone. That’s when you hear a soft knock on your door, followed by the quiet creak.

“Y/n?” Bob calls out from your doorway. When he takes in your state, he lets himself in the rest of the way. You won’t mind anyway. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay; he can tell just by looking at you. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice weak and shaken from what you just woke up from. He walks closer and takes your hand away from your chest, and gently squeezes your wrist, before letting it fall back to your side. 

“Something felt…wrong.” He doesn’t know how to elaborate without feeling like a creep. He knew that something wasn’t right with you. He just had to come and check up on you. Your jaw tenses and you avoid his gaze. Rather than make tea or distract you, he sits on the edge of your bare bed, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. A silent offer. 

Your body moves before your mind can protest the action, and you sit beside him, leaning into his embrace. The warmth of his body is immediately welcoming and you can’t help the way your body naturally relaxes, wrapping your own arms around him. He rests his chin on your head before speaking again.

“Can I ask what it was about?” His throat vibrates against your skull, and you dig your fingers into his cozy blue sweater even more. 

“Wasn’t just a nightmare. I could feel them.” You whisper. “The people I’ve hurt. Their fear. Like I was trapped in their minds while I was taking over them…” You shake your head and push into his chest slightly. He doesn't move an inch, just squeezes your body again in encouragement. 

“I couldn’t wake up. I tried.” 

“I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been pleasant.” You shrug in response, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He lets the silence settle before he helps to get your duvet back on your bed. He helps you get settled, making sure you’re comfortable. 

“Don’t go…” You mumble. Bob softens at the words, nodding. He’s not going anywhere. He crawls under the covers with you, making himself comfortable in your bed once again. Unlike usual, he is the one to close the space between you two. As you begin to fall asleep, he looks like he wants to say something- instead, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Goodnight, Bobby.” 

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. Not tonight. 

~

A/N: Rereading this made me realize how often I used semicolons…apologies everyone.

[orellazalonia]

Catnapped

Summary: A mercenary tries to kidnap “the weird cat that’s always with the Avengers.” They succeed. Ten minutes later, you're back in human form, sitting on their escape van holding a taser with an exasperated Bucky arriving at the scene. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 800+

Main Masterlist | Shapeshifting Shenanigans Masterlist

It was supposed to be a low-stakes surveillance mission.

You’d volunteered to go in cat form since it was easy to sneak past cameras, no need for disguises, and plus you got to nap in sunny windowsills while pretending to spy. Win-win.

Bucky had explicitly told you: “Stay within two blocks. If you get caught, don’t be a smartass. Just shift and call me.”

Naturally, you ignored the second part.

Because when a low-rank merc saw you napping behind a weapons stash near the docks, they scooped you up with a triumphant laugh like they’d just bagged a diamond.

“Well well well,” He cooed, holding you up by your scruff. “Aren’t you the weird little furball that’s always following Barnes around?”

You squinted at him. Then casually went limp like a floppy stuffed animal.

“Aw, no fight? You’re comin’ with me.”

He stuffed you into a duffel bag with air holes. That part was annoying. It smelled like sweat and beef jerky.

You waited precisely six minutes. Let them get all nice and cocky.

The merc’s van was parked in an alley. There were three of them: your scruffy friend, a bored woman chewing gum in the passenger seat, and a guy in the back watching TikToks on full volume. Truly, the elite.

“Barnes’ll lose his mind when he finds out we got his freaky little shapeshifter cat,” One muttered. “Think it’s got powers?” “It drooled on my boot.” “…so no.”

You rolled your eyes, managed to unzip the top of the duffel bag enough, then shifted.

And emerged: human, pissed, and holding a taser.

“Hi,” You said sweetly.

The driver shrieked as you zapped him square in the thigh. The woman reached for her gun but you launched the taser at her head. TikTok guy screamed and dove out the back of the van.

When Bucky finally arrived (having sprinted three blocks after you triggered your location beacon), he found you sitting on the hood of the van, sipping one of the merc’s energy drinks, completely calm.

The three would-be kidnappers were zip-tied and groaning.

Bucky skidded to a stop, blinking. “You good?”

You nodded. “They tried to catnap me.”

He paused. “Catnap. Really?”

“…Had to.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Why didn’t you just shift and call me?”

“I wanted to see how it played out.”

He looked at the van. Then back at you. “You could’ve easily gotten away.”

“I needed a dramatic entrance,” You shrugged. “Very effective.”

He just shook his head and muttered, “I swear to God, one day I’m gonna leash you.”

You smirked. “You say that like I wouldn’t love the attention.”

He walked off muttering expletives while you followed behind, smug and victorious, sipping your stolen drink like the chaos goblin you were.

Back at the Avengers compound, things got out of hand immediately.

You only meant to tell Steve. Just a quick, offhand “Hey, I got kidnapped in cat form today, tased a guy. All good now.” Casual stuff.

Steve blinked. “You what.”

Five minutes later, a full team meeting had been called.

You sat on the conference table, lazily batting at a paperclip while Bucky stood in the corner, arms crossed, visibly trying not to explode.

“…So just to confirm,” Tony said, barely holding back laughter, “You voluntarily let yourself be captured, didn’t call for backup, and waited in a gym bag until you could do a dramatic transformation and taser reveal?”

You nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Iconic,” said Sam, already typing something on his phone. “Absolutely saving this.”

Wanda floated a bag of chips over to you with a grin. “Next time, give me a heads-up. I want popcorn for the sequel.”

Bucky groaned. “Can we not turn this into a thing?”

“Too late,” Sam replied, dropping his phone onto the table.

On the screen? A meme of you photoshopped onto a “Missing Cat” poster, with Bucky’s face underneath and the caption: “If found, do NOT return. She bites.”

You snorted. “Okay, that’s good.”

Tony added fuel to the fire. “FRIDAY, note to install mini GPS on the shapeshifter’s collar.”

“I’m not wearing a collar,” You said firmly.

“Too bad,” Bucky muttered. “You’re gonna end up on a milk carton one of these days.”

“Is that still a thing?”

Steve tried to be serious, bless him. “You do need to be more careful. That could’ve gone really badly.”

You tilted your head innocently. “But it didn’t.”

Bucky, pinching the bridge of his nose: “That is not a defense strategy!”

And then, just to spite him, you shifted into cat form mid-sentence, leapt into his lap, and started purring obnoxiously.

He stiffened. “Don’t.”

You meowed sweetly and curled up like a loaf.

“You’re making this worse.”

Wanda took a picture. “She’s making it better.”

-

Later that night, Bucky found you asleep in your cat form at the foot of his bed. Still smug. Still slightly damp from your shower earlier.

He sighed, pulled a blanket over you, and muttered, “Absolute menace.”

Then paused.

“…My menace.”

You twitched your tail in victory.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑀𝑦 𝐹𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: Wanda can’t keep her eyes - or hands - off of you. She has her way with you, and you’re just happy to let your long-time crush ravish you.

content warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, slight possessiveness, slight overstimulation

word count: 4k+

masterlist

Original Request

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

A warm glow of light spills out from the kitchen, and you rub your bleary eyes as you make your way towards it. Your book is clutched in your hand, one finger holding your spot as you follow the source of light, and the delicious smell of freshly brewed tea. The pads of your feet tread softly, protected by thick wool socks that ensure your steps are virtually silent as you wonder who else would possibly be awake at the late hour. 

“Oh,” You stop, taking in the sight before you. The first thing you notice is red hair, cascading down like a waterfall, curled slightly over a slender shoulder. Wanda has her back turned towards you, one hand with multiple silver rings twisting in the air as her magic pours a cup of tea, a single scarlet wisp bringing sugar over and spooning some in. 

Leaning against the doorframe, you smile as you admire your best friend. You had grown close with the witch ever since she arrived at the Avengers compound, and were happy to see her improvement with control over her magic. It had taken a while, but you were glad that Wanda felt comfortable enough to show such common displays of power. In the kitchen, too, her happy place. 

Green eyes meet yours, and Wanda freezes in surprise. Her scarlet magic hovers with uncertainty in the air, sugar sprinkling a light dusting onto the countertop before she recovers. You tell yourself that you imagine the way her eyes rake down your form, and fight the urge to cover yourself up as you step into the kitchen.

“Don’t mind me,” You say, a smirk on your face at the way Wanda blushes slightly. “I was just up reading.” 

Holding up the book briefly as if to further prove your words, you let it drop onto the counter. Curious eyes peer at it, before quickly returning to you as you step closer. Leaning on the space next to Wanda, you ask, “What are you doing up so late?”

Ducking her head, Wanda gingerly takes her cup of tea. “I… couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh?” You ask, gently prodding for more information, but receiving no answer. This time, you don’t have to imagine the way her eyes travel up your bare legs, lingering on your sleep shorts as they slide up further when you cross your legs. 

Deciding to test a theory, and hoping your unrequited crush might be slightly reciprocated, you lean over. From this angle, Wanda has a direct view down the front of your tank top. Her eyes widen slightly, taking in the bare sides and tops of your breasts before coughing awkwardly and sipping her tea. Her eyes remain steadfastly on the steaming liquid before her, and you wonder if she’s burning her tongue. 

“Could you pour me some?” You ask, innuendo slipping between your words, “I’m quite thirsty.”

Green eyes snap to yours, and she sets her mug down on the counter. Instead of making a move towards the teapot, Wanda carefully moves to stand in front of you, as if to give you a chance to escape. You don’t take it.

You turn as she moves, your back pressed against the counter and you raise an eyebrow. Wanad stares right back, fingers trembling slightly as she places them on either side of you, trapping you effectively against the counter. Her face is close to yours, and you can smell her vanilla perfume washing over you and the slight scent of tea as she exhales softly. 

“You look…” Trailing off, Wanda seems to steel herself. You mentally applaud her, urging her to continue, even if it's only with your eyes.

Wanda presses her lips together, biting her bottom lip briefly before saying, “I want to fuck you so badly, it’s keeping me up at night.” She gestures towards her cup of tea on the counter. “As you can see.”

Her candor takes you off guard, and you can only blink at her in surprise. She takes your silence as a sign to continue. 

“I mean…” Her eyes rake down your thin tank top, pausing at your slightly pebbled nipples before continuing their hot trail down your toned legs. You feel goosebumps rise, feeling frozen in place as your best friend appraises you. 

“Just look at you,” One of her hands moves to rest on your hip, pressing you further against the counter as she leans her body against yours. The heat of her skin against yours sends a wave of arousal through you. “Dressed in skimpy clothes for anyone to see, it's almost like you want me to have my way with you.”

“I only dress this way around you.” You blurt out, not wanting her to presume that you always dress this scantily. 

Wanda raises her eyebrows, a pleased smile rolling across her face as she strokes your hip. “Good,” She says, her tone mild even as relief flows through her. You watch her eyes soften, her walls lowering slightly as she appraises you. 

“Now,” Her face grew slightly serious, and you strained your ears as her soft words began flowing. “I’m going to fuck you, either here in the bedroom, I don’t care which one. You have five seconds to decide.”

You barely process the words before she holds up her hand and starts silently counting down from five. Panicking, your mouth gapes for a second before you whisper, “Bedroom.”

A wide smirk makes its way onto her face, and your knees suddenly feel weak. It’s not like she’s never smiled at you before, she’s your best friend, of course she smiles around you. But this time, it's different. This smile is paired with hungry eyes and twitching fingers, her lips far too kissable for you to concentrate. 

“Good choice,” Wanda whispers, moving her lips close to your ear. You don’t even try to hide the shiver that runs down your spine at the action. “Start walking.”

The commanding tone sends another shiver down your spine, leaving a pleasant tingle at your core. You know that your eyes are wide, lips parted slightly as you look at Wanda with a mixture of slight shock and awe. Her ever-watchful green eyes notice, and her smirk widens as she slowly moves to the side, gesturing for you to pass. 

You hope that your steps are confident, measured even, but you know that’s only false hope as you stumble slightly on your way out of the kitchen. Mind racing, you make your way towards your bedroom. 

Wanda liked you back? I mean, you knew she liked women… but she specifically liked you? Your best friend, who you’d been hopelessly in love with for what seemed like forever… wanted you.

You considered slapping yourself, convinced that you were dreaming. Yes! That was it, you had stayed up too late reading your book, and now you were in some sort of horny dream. You’d wake up tomorrow and blush at Wanda across the table, and she’d be none the wiser. 

The door to your bedroom opened, light from the hallway spilling across your plush carpet as Wanda stepped inside. She shut the door softly behind her, green eyes peering at you through the dim lighting, and your heart jolted. 

It wasn’t a dream. You weren’t sure what to do, your hands seeming too clumsy at the moment. Your tongue felt weighted down with lead, lips parted as you just stared at Wanda. Standing awkwardly near the center of your bedroom, you felt your heart race as Wanda held out her hand, silently ushering you toward her. 

With shaky footsteps, you managed to cross the room, your eyes questioning as you stepped up to Wanda. She was lingering by the door, and as soon as you were within arms reach, she grabbed you by the waist and spun you around. 

A surprised gasp left your lips as your back hit the wall. Wanda’s body pressed flush against you, warmth spreading from your thighs up to your chest as she trapped you against the wall. Not that you were complaining, this was the best moment of your life. 

“Can I kiss you?” Wanda’s voice was soft, only a hint of uncertainty woven into her words, and you raised your hands to cradle her cheeks. Fingers gently stroking over her soft skin, you smiled when she nuzzled against your palm slightly, her breaths biting your cheeks as you flushed. 

“Of course you can,” The words were murmured, your eyes focused on her lips as her hands tightened over your waist. 

“Good, because I’m going to kiss you a lot from now on,” Wanda says, and you don’t have any time to process her words before her lips are pressed against yours. 

There are no words to describe what kissing Wanda Maximoff felt like. Time suspended its relentless march, and it felt as though the world had dissolved under the soft touch of her lips moving against yours. You could practically hear your heart singing out, symphonies rising like a never-ending crash of waves as the heat of her lips spread through you. 

A soft, probing tongue ran along your bottom lip, and you let out a moan. Wanda eagerly swallowed it, delighting in the way your lips parted for her. Her thigh slipped between your legs, pressing deliciously against your core as you gasped. 

Your tongues danced together, and it felt so good that you didn’t have time to overthink your actions. You were simply doing what felt good, and everything with Wanda felt good. The kiss grew slightly sloppy, your lips parting further as you panted, arousal shooting through you as you ground down against Wanda’s thigh. 

Insistent fingers pulled at the hem of your tank top, briefly sliding under the thin material to splay over your stomach. You mentally thanked Natasha for the daily reminders to hit the gym when Wanda moaned at the feeling of your abs. 

“Can I take this off?” Wanda asked, and you almost laughed. If it weren’t for her body pressing you against your wall, you would have already stripped yourself of all clothing at this point. 

“Yes, Wanda. You can do anything you like,” Your words spurred her on, a wide smile flashing at you before your tank top was pulled smoothly over your head and tossed somewhere on the floor. 

Something shifted as soon as Wanda had pulled that first item of clothing off. Her pupils dilated, her hands scraping down your sides and grabbing your breasts roughly as she reattached her lips to yours. This time, she had no qualms about sinking her teeth into your bottom lip, and you couldn’t help but moan. 

It was like something had taken over your best friend, her movements frenzied as she slipped her fingers under the waistband of your sleep shorts. You weren’t too concerned, happy to keep kissing her as your fingers wove themselves into her beautiful red hair. 

Beautiful. Of course, that would be the only word you could describe Wanda as. She truly was, with her soft smiles and gentle touches. Evidently, her touch could also send fire coursing through your veins, her fingers rough as they pressed you tightly against the wall. You absolutely loved it. 

Your shorts quickly joined your discarded tank top on the floor, Wanda’s fingers skating around your underwear. You took the chance to pull at her shirt instead, your lips detaching briefly as you gazed at her. 

“Take it off,” Wanda mumbled, her lips glistening. “Take it all off.”

Not willing to disobey a direct order, you gladly peel her shirt off. Wanda blushes under the force of your stare, your eyes widening as you take in her smooth skin and perfect chest. Her bra cups her breasts gently, and you’re suddenly jealous of the firm fabric, wishing it was your hands holding her instead. 

Quick fingers unclasp her bra, the item falling to the floor as you fulfill your wish, hands cupping her breasts as a smile spreads across your face. Wanda moans as your thumbs brush over her nipples, the pebbled nubs already achingly hard as she arches her back, pressing her chest further against your touch. 

“You’re beautiful,” Your words flow like a prayer, filling the space between you two as Wanda stares at you. 

“I…” She can’t find the right words to respond, tears springing into her eyes as she lets her mouth crash against yours. Her own fingers pull her sweatpants down, kicking them off as she continues to ravish your mouth with her impossibly soft lips. 

The hands around your waist no longer tremble, instead confident with their movements as Wanda slowly spins you away from the wall. She presses against you still, each of you taking small steps until the backs of your legs hit the bed. 

A firm hand against your sternum pushes you backward, and you sit down heavily as your lips part from hers. Her eyes are dark and piercing, the air feeling heavy around you as you tremble slightly underneath her gaze. 

Your hands make their way to her thighs, pulling her onto your lap as you marvel at her soft skin. You’ve been dreaming of running your hands along her body for months now, and you can’t quite believe that Wanda is letting you. 

A small gasp leaves Wanda’s mouth, the warm air hitting your parted lips as she slots herself perfectly onto your lap. Your hands aren’t rough, but they’re not gentle either as you pull her with you toward the center of the bed. Soft yet insistent lips return to yours as you let yourself be slowly pushed down into the mattress. 

“Is this okay?” Wanda asks, her voice low. Her hands are stroking your breasts, thumbs flicking gently across your hard nipples. You can feel her damp underwear against your pelvis as she straddles you, and can’t help the way your hips roll against her. 

“Yes, it's more than okay. Please don’t stop.” At your words, Wanda’s hips grind down slightly, smearing her arousal onto your skin, and you let out a low moan as your breaths become slightly shaky. 

It’s everything you’ve been dreaming of, better even. You don’t ever want this moment to stop, especially when Wanda leans down and starts kissing you again. Yeah, you hope this moment never ends. 

It ends, and you try not to cry. 

Wanda sits up, her lips swollen and eyes bright. Your fingers tighten on her thighs, urging her hips to move, wanting to see those perfect lips fall open as she loses herself in pleasure. She just smirks at you, a single eyebrow raising and letting you know that she is aware of what game you’re playing. 

“Patience, darling.” The words are teasing, and you sigh. Your eyes don’t leave her form, skating over her nude chest as your mouth fills with saliva. The urge to taste her skin wells up, and you lick your lips as your eyes zero in on her nipples. 

Movement distracts you, Wanda’s fingers coming into focus as you shift your attention. She’s taking off her rings, slowly, and you nearly cum from the sight. Her green eyes are boring into yours, a predatory look in them as she plucks her delicate rings off one by one. 

Her fingers are bare, the rings resting innocently in the palm of her hand, and you feel a wave of anticipation rise within you. Wanda leans forward, her breasts tantalizingly close to your mouth as she sets the rings down on the bedside table. They clink lightly together as they hit the hardwood, the sound jarring you as you crane your neck toward her. 

Just before your lips can rest against her smooth skin, Wanda leans back again, a chuckle erupting from her at the stricken look on your face. Her fingers reach up and pull her hair back into a ponytail, her sharp features looking soft in the dim lighting of your room. 

“Just relax,” She advises, and you want to protest when she moves her weight off of you. Any words threatening to escape are quickly silenced when she kneels between your legs, her hands pushing them open. 

“Fuck,” You manage, the word spilling out as soon as Wanda’s tongue makes contact with your dripping core. It’s curious, yet deliberate as she explores your drenched folds and expertly avoids your protruding clit. 

Strong hands hold your squirming hips down, and you try not to moan too loudly as you feel yourself grow more desperate. She’s purposefully avoiding your clit, denying you any true pleasure as she collects your juices on her tongue eagerly. 

Placing a tentative hand on her head, fingers playing with her ponytail, you wait until her green eyes meet yours. She looks up, and you nearly cum from the sight alone. Her eyes meet yours, tongue buried in your pussy as she smirks slightly. You tug slightly on her hair, asking a silent question. 

Nodding, Wanda smiles wider as your hand wraps fully around her ponytail, pulling her face flush against you. Your hips rut up, seeking that delicious pressure against your clit, and you finally feel her lips wrap around it. 

Wanda’s cheeks hollow, and you feel her suck your aching clit into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, and your back arches off the mattress as you feel the first tendrils of your orgasm race toward the surface. 

There’s a high-pitched whining sound, and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s you. Wanda looks immensely pleased, happily sucking and licking your throbbing clit as you hold her against you. Your face is flushed, legs trembling around her as you grind yourself against her talented mouth. 

With a few more strokes of her talented tongue, your clit throbs violently as a deep, aching pressure makes its way through you. Wanda can feel your cum spilling out, and she eagerly laps it up as you pant and moan above her. Your fingers have a vice-like grip on her hair, and she can’t help but feel her own arousal climb at the sensation. 

Your hands start pushing her away, the pleasure quickly becoming overstimulating. Wanda practically growls, her hands capturing your wrists and she leans over your still trembling body. Pressing them above your head, she kisses you deeply, and you moan at the taste of your own arousal coating her lips. 

“We’re not done until I say we’re done,” There’s an air of finality in her tone, and you bite your lip to stop any arguments from escaping. She continues, mumbling against your inner thigh while she waits for you to calm down slightly, “I’ve waited far too long for this to be over so soon.”

You let out a moan at her words, silently agreeing with her. Probing fingers make their way towards your swollen pussy, gathering your slick juices before Wanda brings them to your mouth. Your arousal is still warm, coating your lips before you slowly part them. 

Wanda’s fingers are heavy against your tongue, and you start sucking automatically. Her other hand disappears between your thighs, fingers sliding along your slit and gently rubbing your clit. Green eyes are locked on her fingers as she begins pumping them in and out of your mouth. 

“God,” Her voice is low, a raspy tone intermingling with her slight accent. “You look so pretty with my fingers in your mouth, sweetheart.”

You moan again, not caring how pathetic the sound is, not when your best friend lights up as you suck her fingers harder. 

“Oh, a praise kink.”

“Shut the fuck up,” You say, but there’s no venom behind your words, and they come out as a muffled, “Shmgh thm fmmph uhh.”

Wanda smirks, “Don’t be a brat.” 

You try to protest, but suddenly her fingers shove even further into your mouth, and you focus on not gagging as you feel a single finger slip inside your wet pussy. It's the best thing you’ve ever felt and you immediately want to beg for more. But, it’s a bit hard to do that with fingers buried deep in your mouth. 

Almost as if she’s reading your mind, Wanda slips another finger inside you, both of them knuckle deep in your pussy as she feels you clench desperately around her. It’s laughably easy to start thrusting, her fingers sliding in and out of you easily as wetness coats them. 

Curling her fingers, Wanda feels your muscles tighten further when she presses against that spongy spot of pure pleasure deep inside you. Smiling, she fucks you faster, watching you droll around her fingers as your eyes roll back when she repeatedly hits your g-spot. 

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well,” She delights in the choked moan that escapes you at her words, every fantasy of hers playing out as she fucks you dumb. Wanda had always wondered what you would sound like in the throes of ecstasy, and it was even more angelic than she imagined. 

Her fingers curl again, and your entire body seems to seize up. Your fingers scrabble weakly against her forearm, one hand gripping the sheets with white knuckles as your second orgasm washes over you. 

Wanda fucks you through it, slowing only briefly when the pleasure threatens to turn painful. Before long, you’re rolling your hips again as you attempt to grind down on her fingers, and Wanda can find it in herself to deny you. 

She fucks you through another orgasm, before roughly pulling her fingers from your mouth and attaching her lips to your clit again. The dual pleasure of her fingers deep inside you while her tongue quickly flicks against your clit sends you straight into another orgasm before the first one is fully finished. 

You lose count of how many orgasms Wanda gives you, pleasure ebbing and flowing through your body as her presence invades every corner of your consciousness. Her vanilla perfume clings to your damp skin, her green eyes piercing even when you close your own. Her lips, soft and incessant as her tongue never tires. Her teeth, marking your skin and claiming you as hers. 

At one point, Wanda allows you to eat her out, your legs still trembling while she gently strokes your clit as your tongue eagerly laps up her leaking arousal. You wrap your arms around her thighs, holding her against you and drawing three orgasms from her while she shakes and gasps above you. 

You’re rewarded with a passionate makeout session, her fingers bringing you to your final orgasm while her tongue thoroughly explores your mouth. Your lips tingle when you pull away, parted as the last tendrils of your pleasure are pulled through you. 

Finally, you gently push Wanda’s hand away from the slick mess between your thighs, something in your eyes telling her that you’re truly finished. 

“Wanda, I…” You trail off, not really knowing what to say, still catching your breath. 

A chuckle sounds out, and Wanda nuzzles her face into your neck, inhaling deeply. She curls around you, breathing deeply as you hold her. “You don’t have to say anything, I know.”

“No,” You tilt her chin up, wanting to look her in her eyes. “I need you to understand something.”

A worried look appears in your best friend's eyes, and you curse yourself for your terrible wording. As she begins to pull away, you place your lips against hers, feeling Wanda sigh into your mouth as your hand pulls her back against you. 

“I really like you,” The words are whispered against Wanda’s lips, her green eyes boring into yours. “I need you to know that I’m not just here for sex, as amazing as it is. I want something more with you. I want us to create something… meaningful.”

“I want that too, idiot,” Wanda shoves you playfully, “Don’t scare me like that again.”

You chuckle, too tired to formulate many more words. Wanda snuggles closer, her breaths evening out as she wraps an arm around your waist. 

“Oh, fuck.” You say, and Wanda feels a vague sense of alarm shoot through her tired brain. She looks at you inquiringly, and you grin sheepishly down at her. 

“The tea has gone cold.”

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff

[hellfirebarnes]

Bit Of Magic

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Asgardian reader

Fluff, nothing else really. Just a silly I-miss-the-old-Avengers type of fic that I wrote way too quickly while working on other fics with the Thunderbolts.

You’re described as having hair long enough to tie up and at two points (I think) your clothes are described briefly. Barely.

Let me know if there’s any warnings I should put, otherwise - enjoy! This has NOT been proofread so beware of mistakes 😚

This was written on my phone so don’t know how it’ll look on other devices, sorrrrryyyy

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The compound had never been quieter than at 7 AM. Except for the subtle whirring of Stark’s espresso machine and the tapping of Bucky Barnes’ metal fingers against his coffee cup.

He was watching you again. The newest Avenger. Sharp, strategic, quietly funny - and, somehow, best friends with Loki.

No one really knew how that friendship came to be. One day Loki just waltzed into the compound, smirked at everyone, and said, “She’s with me. Behave.” Nick Fury was pissed. Tony was delighted. Natasha just sipped her coffee and said, “Well, this’ll be fun.”

You weren’t like the rest. You weren’t trained like Natasha or enhanced like Steve or full of vengeance like Bucky. You were… calm. Intuitive. Powerful, but humble. You had this laugh that made Bucky forget what century he was in, and every time you touched his arm - whether to pass him something or steady yourself on a landing - his brain did a full reboot.

And you had no idea.

Which made it hell for him. And delightful for everyone else.

“Morning, Bucky,” you said now, sliding into the seat beside him with your tea.

He nodded, stiff. “Morning.”

“Are you always this grumpy or is it just around me?”

He choked on his coffee and Sam, across the room, wheezed.

Tony looked up from his tablet. “Can’t wait for this mission. Married couple, huh? Bucky, better start practicing your pet names.”

Bucky groaned and put his head down on the table. Steve just laughed into his oatmeal.

⸻

The mission was simple on paper: infiltrate a gala hosted by a suspected Hydra affiliate. You and Bucky were to pose as a newlywed couple scouting for investments. Hold hands, smile, dance a bit, snoop around.

Simple.

Until you stepped out of the quinjet wearing a dress that made Bucky momentarily forget how to speak English.

“You okay?” You asked, adjusting the fake diamond on your finger.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, brain buffering.

“Good. Because you’re going to have to be charming tonight,” you said, looping your arm through his. “Think you can handle being my husband for a few hours?”

He was going to die. Right here, before they even reached the building.

The party was elegant and shimmering and full of possible danger. You were all smiles and laughter, slipping seamlessly into your cover story.

And Bucky? He was malfunctioning.

Every time you touched his chest while talking to someone—“Oh, darling, remember Italy?”—his internal processor glitched. When you fed him a bite of dessert and giggled like it was the most natural thing in the world, his knees nearly gave out.

“You’re sweating,” you whispered at one point as you danced.

“It’s the tux,” he lied.

From their comms, Sam’s voice crackled: “You’re not wearing enough to be sweating, man. Chill.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Then someone got suspicious.

A man with a sharp jaw and a Hydra pin half-concealed on his lapel. He started circling closer, questions too pointed.

“You two seem… very close,” the man said. “Where did you say you met?”

Bucky hesitated.

But you didn’t miss a beat. “Paris. Rainstorm. He gave me his umbrella.”

“Romantic,” the man said, unconvinced.

Then you leaned in, smirking. “Let me show you how romantic.”

You kissed him.

No - you kissed him.

It wasn’t a peck. It was long and intense and made Bucky’s hand tighten on your waist like he’d never let go. Your fingers curled in his hair and for a full ten seconds he forgot Hydra existed. He forgot Steve. Sam. He forgot the mission.

When you pulled away, Bucky blinked like he’d just been unplugged.

You whispered, “You good?”

“…No,” he muttered, still staring at your mouth.

⸻

Back at the compound, the teasing began before they’d even landed.

“I swear I heard violins through the comms,” Tony said.

“I was about to call a medic,” Sam added. “He stopped breathing.”

Natasha teased, “So when’s the honeymoon?”

Even Steve, always the serious one, smirked. “You know, Buck, in our day we called that ‘going steady.’”

Bucky shoved past them all and stormed down the hallway, cheeks redder than they’d been since 1943.

⸻

The next day, you walked into the kitchen barefoot, hair messy, wearing one of the oversized S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirts they all seemed to steal from the laundry pile. You moved around like you belonged there now, like you’d always been one of them - and to Bucky, you kind of had.

“Morning,” you said, grabbing a mug. “Sleep okay?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the cereal he wasn’t eating.

You bumped your hip into his playfully. “You sure? You looked pretty out of it after that mission. I mean… I kissed you, but I didn’t knock you out.”

He choked on nothing.

From across the room, Tony grinned and leaned on the counter. “Oh, here we go.”

Steve muttered under his breath, “Round two.”

You sipped your tea, completely unaware of the chaos you caused. “Anyway. If we ever go undercover again, I promise I’ll try not to kiss you too hard next time.”

This time, Bucky dropped the spoon.

The room erupted.

Sam wheezed into his hand. “He’s turning red! I didn’t even know he could turn red!”

Natasha deadpanned, “Barnes.exe has stopped responding.”

Tony clutched his chest like he was watching a soap opera. “Just propose already, you coward.”

Bucky fumbled to say anything, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing like he’d forgotten how words worked. “I-uh, no-I mean, I didn’t-I wasn’t-”

You blinked at him, innocent and sweet. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Totally,” he mumbled, practically teleporting out of the kitchen.

He didn’t see you turn to the others after he left, a curious little smile playing at your lips.

“…Did he think I was serious about the next mission?” You asked, a little too casually.

Steve grinned knowingly. “Oh, he’s doomed.”

⸻

Tony Stark’s parties were legendary for many things: luxury, unpredictability, slightly illegal laser shows, and the fact that someone always ended up passed out on a table. That someone was usually Clint.

But tonight, it wasn’t Clint doing tequila shots with Maria Hill at 2 a.m. It was you.

“I didn’t even know she drank,” Bucky muttered from the corner, arms crossed, watching as you swayed to whatever pop remix was blasting through the compound’s rooftop speakers. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes bright, and your laugh - God, that laugh - was echoing over the skyline like music.

“She doesn’t,” Natasha said, sipping her wine beside him. “She’s letting loose. Stark parties’ll do that to you.”

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “That’s not comforting.”

“Dude,” Sam grinned. “She’s flirting with a lamp right now.”

“It’s mood lighting,” you were saying to the floor lamp with utmost sincerity. “Not everyone understands ambiance, you know?”

Tony passed behind them, drink in hand. “I’ve already ordered the wedding cake, just FYI.”

Bucky groaned. “Can everyone not-”

Then you were there, suddenly leaning against him like you’d been magnetized to his side.

“Buckyyyyy,” you said, dragging out his name like a melody.

He stiffened instantly. “Hey, hey, easy. You okay?”

You poked his chest, right over his heart. “You have a good one of these. I like your heart.”

His soul short-circuited.

Natasha, whispering to Sam: “He’s about to combust.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know you smell nice? Like metal and… soap. But good soap.”

He blinked. “…Thanks?”

Then you were wrapping your arms around his torso like a koala, face smushed against his shoulder. “Hey,” you mumbled. “Don’t drop me, you’re so strong.”

“I’m not gonna drop you,” he said, arms hovering in panic. “You, uh - you wanna sit down?”

“No,” you said cheerfully. “I wanna slow dance.”

Tony’s voice came over the speakers: “Cue the jazz!”

“NO,” Bucky shouted, but it was too late. Sinatra was already crooning something about moonlight and strangers.

Thor appeared at Bucky’s side like a mountain made of warnings, sipping from a goblet the size of a cereal bowl. “Ah, young Barnes.”

“Thor, not now.”

The thunder god clapped a heavy hand on Bucky’s shoulder anyway. “I have heard you are… smitten.”

“I’m not-”

“I understand this. Many mortals fall under such spells.”

“Not a spell,” Bucky hissed, watching you try to dance with one of Tony’s suits of armor.

Thor leaned in, suddenly serious. “But heed me, friend. You are aware that the Lady is close with my brother?”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

“And you are aware that Loki is… not known for emotional restraint?”

“That’s- putting it mildly.”

Thor’s gaze turned thunderous. “Then you must understand: should you ever wound her, even unintentionally… Loki will eviscerate you. Possibly in your sleep. Possibly while wearing your face.”

Bucky swallowed. “Noted.”

Thor nodded and then beamed. “Excellent! Now, go. She is trying to kiss the Hulkbuster.”

Later that night, after Bucky finally coaxed you into drinking three glasses of water and sitting down on the couch, you curled up beside him, legs tucked under you.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, half-asleep.

He looked down at you, heart jackhammering. Whispering your name.

“Mmh?”

“I- never mind.”

“Okay,” you whispered, already drifting off.

The others watched from the doorway. Sam, grinning. Nat, smug. Steve, fond.

Tony just raised his glass. “To long, painful pining. May it drag out for months.”

⸻

The morning after Stark’s party, Bucky thought - hoped - that maybe things would go back to normal. You would forget everything. He could go back to hiding his crush behind sunglasses and emotionally repressed sarcasm. Easy.

Except you had not forgotten anything. If anything, you were more affectionate now.

“Hey, soldier,” you said that morning, entering the training room in yoga pants and a tank top. You tossed him a bottle of water like you were in some kind of fitness-themed romcom. “You survived the party. Congrats.”

Bucky caught the bottle, blinking. “Thanks?”

You grinned, leaning in slightly. “You were really cute, y’know. All flustered. You blush a lot for an assassin.”

He dropped the bottle.

Steve, doing push-ups nearby, didn’t even try to hide his snort. “Don’t pull a hamstring, Buck.”

Bucky gave him a look that could’ve curdled milk.

“I, uh, don’t remember you being this… chatty before,” Bucky said, not meeting your eyes. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice a little teasing. “Just… figuring some things out.”

He didn’t know what to do with that, so he nodded and pretended to stretch while praying for a dimensional rift to open under his feet.

Which is exactly when Loki arrived.

He didn’t walk - he glided, as usual, dressed in something velvet and unnecessarily dramatic for 9:30 AM. His presence instantly sucked all warmth out of the room. Bucky’s spine went rigid.

Loki said your name smoothly, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he approached you. “You didn’t return my message. I feared you’d fallen into another one of Stark’s party pits.”

“Only slightly,” you said, smiling as you gave him a hug. “I was just training with Bucky.”

Loki turned his head slowly. Like a predator spotting fresh prey. “Oh,” he said. “Were you now.”

Bucky suddenly felt very aware of all his organs. Particularly the stab-worthy ones.

Loki stepped closer, that ever-serene smile curling like a blade. “Tell me, Barnes. Is there a reason you are spending so much time with my dear friend?”

You laughed. “Loki, don’t scare him.”

“I’m not scared,” Bucky lied, stiff as a board. “Just - uh - hydrated.”

Steve, behind him, mouthed hydrated? with a baffled expression.

“I merely wonder,” Loki continued, circling slightly like a very elegant shark, “if your intentions are… honorable.”

“Loki,” you warned.

“I mean,” Bucky stammered, “I-uh-don’t have intentions. Not that I wouldn’t! I mean- I would, if she wanted, not that she does - but if she did want that, which she doesn’t, probably, then sure, but like-respectfully-”

He was dying. Actually dying.

Loki blinked. “Was that English?”

You had to physically step between them, pressing a hand to Bucky’s chest and gently nudging him back. “Okay. That’s enough testosterone for one morning.”

Bucky tried not to react to your touch. He failed.

“Mortal,” Loki said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Just remember: my threats are not idle.”

“I believe him,” Bucky squeaked.

“Good,” Loki said, satisfied. Then, as casually as ordering coffee, he added, “Because if you do anything—anything—to hurt her, I will unravel your mind and wear your guilt like a cloak.” And then he disappeared in a shimmer of green light.

Silence.

Bucky exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a week.

You turned to him, hands on your hips. “Don’t take him seriously.”

“He threatened to wear my guilt.”

“Yeah, that’s just Loki being Loki.”

Bucky stared at you. “Your friend is terrifying.”

“He likes you, actually,” you said with a shrug.

“That was him liking me?!”

You smiled, sweet and dangerously close. “You’re cute when you panic.”

He short-circuited for the third time in a week.

Back in the hallway, Sam, who had been listening through the door with Nat and Tony, whispered, “That man is not gonna survive this.”

Nat chuckled. “He’s not even halfway through his emotional breakdown.”

Tony popped a popcorn kernel into his mouth. “Ten bucks says he faints before he kisses her.”

“Fifteen says Loki hexes him first,” Sam added.

They all shook on it.

⸻

The mission was supposed to be routine. Infiltrate. Secure the artifact. Minimal damage.

But when has that ever worked out for the Avengers?

They were deep in a forest somewhere in Eastern Europe - Hydra base, hidden underground. The team was split into pairs: Sam and Natasha taking the north entrance, Steve and Tony drawing attention to the front, and you and Bucky sneaking through the back.

“Stay close,” Bucky said, crouched low behind a ruined wall, checking the last of his gear.

You leaned beside him, quiet and composed. “I’m always close.”

He looked at you, heartbeat quickening at how calm you were, how sure of yourself . Something about the way your eyes flicked toward the entrance, focused and clear, gave him pause.

“You sure you’ve got this?” he asked.

You grinned. “Worried about me?”

He didn’t answer, because yes, but also… obviously.

You made it inside undetected, slipping through dimly lit corridors. Hydra had apparently started hoarding magical artifacts - some of which, Tony said, were “definitely not supposed to glow purple.”

That’s when it went sideways.

An explosion echoed through the compound, followed by the unmistakable sounds of Hydra reinforcements.

“We need to move-” Bucky began, but a unit had already cut you off down the hall.

You stepped forward - too casually - and raised your hand. You murmured something in a language that didn’t sound Earth-born.

The lights flickered. The Hydra squad froze mid-step. A pulse of gold light shimmered in the air around your palm, and in the next second, the entire unit crumpled to the floor in a silent heap.

Bucky stared. Then stared harder.

“…Did you just cast a spell?”

You turned, blinking innocently. “Oh. Right. So… there’s something I should probably tell you.”

He gaped. “Probably?!”

You ducked into another room, and you sealed the door with a flick of your wrist and another soft chant. The locks clicked into place on their own.

Bucky’s brain was spiraling. “You’re a sorceress?!”

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?!”

“I was trained in sorcery, yes,” you said, brushing a bit of dust off your shoulder like this was totally normal. “By Frigga.”

“…As in Queen of Asgard Frigga?!”

You nodded. “I spent most of my childhood there. My mother was Asgardian. My father was Midgardian. Long story. Loki and I became friends when we were kids.”

Bucky sat down on a crate, gripping the sides like the world was spinning. “You’re-you’re from Asgard.”

You winced. “Technically half. But yeah.”

“Do the others know?”

“Steve suspects, I think. Tony thinks I’m a ‘magic hacker.’ I don’t think anyone’s told Sam because no one wants to hear the rant.”

“And I didn’t know because…?”

“You were already glitching every time I so much as bumped into you, Barnes,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You really think you could’ve handled this on top of it?”

He flushed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. You nearly fainted when I kissed you for a mission.”

He mumbled something unintelligible into his hands.

You crouched in front of him, voice gentler. “I wasn’t hiding it from you to mess with you. I just… didn’t want you to look at me like I wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be just the sorceress from Asgard.”

He looked up. Your eyes were soft, serious. Human. And still you.

“I don’t care where you’re from,” he said quietly. “You’re still you.”

You smiled. “Good. Because I still plan on confusing the hell out of you every time I can.”

He opened his mouth - maybe to say something brave, maybe to flirt back.

But then the comm crackled in their ears. “Status update?” Steve’s voice came through. “Everyone okay?”

You tapped your comm. “All good. Bucky’s just having a mild identity crisis.”

Thor’s voice joined in cheerfully: “Excellent! Barnes, we must speak later.”

Bucky looked at you with pure dread. “Why does that sound like I’m about to be interrogated?”

“Oh, you will be,” you said sweetly. “Thor and Loki have been waiting for this.”

⸻

The news was out.

You: Half-Asgardian. Trained by Frigga. Magic user. Loki’s bestie.

Bucky thought he was taking it well. Thought.

Until Clint Barton-casual destroyer of mental stability-strolled up behind him during lunch with the words that would haunt his every waking moment.

“So,” Clint said, popping a grape into his mouth, “just curious… what if she’s got you under a spell?”

Bucky turned, mid-bite. “What?”

“You know,” Clint gestured vaguely, “magic-y people. Mind control. Charms. Love spells. That sort of thing. I mean, you’re obsessed with her, right? What if she just made you feel that way?”

Bucky stared at him, mouth slightly open, hand hovering over his sandwich.

“Anyway,” Clint said, walking away like he hadn’t just ignited a full-blown existential meltdown, “food for thought.”

Four Hours Later…Bucky had not let it go. Was it real? Was he enchanted? Was he in love or just bewitched?

You touched him and he lost his brain. You smiled at him and he forgot his name. And now that he knew you were magical…

He was pacing the armoury, muttering to himself.

“Okay, okay. Maybe it’s natural. Maybe it’s just hormones. Or proximity. Trauma bonding? No—wait. Mind control? Emotional suggestion? Was that a spell when she brushed my arm last week or just static electricity—?”

“You’re spiraling, James,” came Loki’s voice from behind him.

Bucky yelped.

He turned to find Loki leaning in the doorway, sipping something suspiciously green from a glass that shimmered ominously. Thor stood beside him, arms crossed, exuding calm judgment like only a god of thunder could.

“I don’t suppose,” Loki said with a smirk, “you’ve finally decided to confess your feelings?”

“No,” Bucky said instantly. “I’m… I’m trying to figure out if they’re real.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “Your emotions?”

“I mean… what if she’s got me under some kind of… spell?” Bucky muttered.

Loki laughed—openly, unhelpfully, loudly. “Oh, this is delightful.”

Thor gave his brother a look, then turned back to Bucky. “James. Her magic does not function that way. Not with emotions.”

“Not unless it’s very dark, very illegal, and very painful,” Loki added with a casual sip.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’d know.”

“I would,” Loki said proudly. “And I can promise you, she hasn’t laid a single enchantment on your poor, foolish heart. That catastrophe is entirely organic.”

Thor nodded. “She would never manipulate feelings. Frigga taught her better than that.”

Loki’s grin widened. “Besides, if she had cast a love spell, it wouldn’t look like this.” He gestured to Bucky’s whole person. “You’re a wreck. You blush when she says hi. You stammer like a schoolboy. You flee rooms.”

“I do not flee—”

“You sprinted out of the kitchen last week,” Loki said.

Thor added, “Through a window.”

Bucky flushed. “It wasn’t- …shut up.”

Loki leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “She likes you, Barnes. I can see it. Everyone can. Except, it seems, you.”

“And yet,” Thor said, tapping his chin, “you still haven’t made a move.”

“I’m working up to it!”

“You’ve been ‘working up to it’ for three months.”

“I need time!”

“You’ve had nine decades!”

“Not for this!” Bucky snapped.

At that moment, Steve stepped into the room holding a report and paused mid-step, taking in the scene:

Loki, smug and sipping glowing liquid.

Thor, nodding sagely.

Bucky, bright red, fists clenched, looking like he’d just been grilled alive.

Steve blinked. “…What the hell did I just walk in on?”

Loki didn’t miss a beat. “A breakdown. It’s adorable.”

Thor gestured toward Bucky. “He is finally admitting his feelings for our sorceress.”

Bucky groaned and sank onto the nearest bench, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Even her?”

“…No,” Bucky mumbled.

“Then maybe talk to her?”

Loki grinned like a cat in sunlight. “Oh no, don’t ruin it, Captain. Let’s see how long he can self-destruct before someone intervenes.”

Thor clapped Bucky’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “Fear not, James. When you are ready… you shall have our support.”

“I don’t want your support,” Bucky muttered.

“You need it,” Loki said.

Steve shook his head, walking back out. “I’ve seen interrogations less intense than this.”

Meanwhile you were in Tony’s lab, perched on a high stool, lazily sipping iced coffee while watching Stark mess with what looked like a cross between a toaster and a death ray.

“…You’re going to set the curtains on fire again,” you said, not looking up from your tablet.

Tony squinted. “What curtains?”

You pointed at the corner. “The ones behind you.”

FOOM.

Tony cursed and immediately grabbed an extinguisher. You didn’t even flinch. “Told you.”

Once the fire was out and Tony’s pride had been thoroughly scorched, he turned to you with a calculating gleam in his eye.

“So,” he said casually, dusting ash off his shirt, “how’s our favorite magical misfit today?”

“I’d assume you mean me, but that sounds like a trick question.”

“Just making conversation.” He leaned on the table across from you. “You’ve been here a while now, right?”

You nodded. “Six months and change.”

“Team likes you. You’ve got style. Good battlefield instincts. A tendency to make my AIs nervous, but hey - so do I.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

Tony smirked. “You and Barnes have been awfully cozy lately.”

You blinked. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine,” he said, grinning wider. “Do you like Bucky?”

You tilted your head and sipped your drink. “In what way?”

Tony squinted. “The ‘do you want to make out with him in the elevator’ way.”

“Elevators are too small,” you said smoothly.

Tony cackled. “So you admit it!”

You smirked back, just a little. “I admit nothing. But you’re not exactly subtle.”

“Neither is he. I’ve seen traffic cones with better poker faces.” Tony leaned in, mock-serious. “You like him, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “I think he’s kind. And interesting. And doesn’t know how to handle eye contact for more than three seconds.”

Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “Which you find irresistibly endearing, right?”

You didn’t answer immediately, just set your cup down, gaze drifting thoughtfully toward the lab windows where the garden was visible. “…I think he’s trying very hard to be someone good. And I admire that,” you said finally, softly. “It’s not easy. He carries a lot.”

Tony’s smile faded just a bit. “Yeah. That he does.”

“But he never looks at me like I’m dangerous,” you added. “That’s rare. You don’t forget that kind of thing.”

Tony studied you for a moment, expression unusually serious. “Does he know how lucky he is?”

You chuckled. “If he does, he’s keeping it a secret.”

There was a short pause.

“…So are you going to make a move, or what?”

“Maybe,” you said, grinning again. “It’s kind of fun watching him flail.”

“You are evil.”

“Sorceress,” you corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Tony’s phone pinged suddenly, and his brow furrowed. “Huh. Steve just texted me: ‘Bucky’s having a breakdown. Loki involved. Possibly Thor too. Send help or snacks.’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like he’s learning something.”

“Oh, he’s learning, alright. You’re not hexing him, right?”

You stood, finishing your coffee. “No. That poor man is just suffering from a terminal case of feelings.”

Tony snorted. “So what now?”

You flashed him a mischievous smile on your way out the door. “Now? I let him sweat a little.”

And with that, you walked off - calm, cool, and in total control - while Bucky Barnes, one floor below, was contemplating whether his feelings were real or the result of ancient emotional sorcery.

You were not in the same emotional galaxy. But you were definitely on a collision course.

⸻

Bucky had rehearsed this.

He had practiced in the mirror. In the gym. In the Quinjet. In his room. In the shower. He had an opening line, a backup line, and a backup to the backup line in case he panicked and reverted to caveman grunting.

“Hi, I really like you.”

No. Too stiff.

“You enchant me- wait, no, not like that, not magic- well, also magic, but like, in the emotional way-”

God, no.

And now you were in the gym after a sparring session. You were stretching like you hadn’t just sent him flying into a mat five minutes ago with a smirk and a casual “Sorry.”

You were radiant. Glowing from the workout, sipping water, hair messily tied up, still managing to look like you belonged on a magazine cover. And you were smiling at him, like he was the only thing in the room.

Bucky’s brain melted like a microwaved snowman.

This was it. He had to say something. Now. He’d waited too long. The team knew. Steve knew. Loki definitely knew.

So he cleared his throat, wiped his palms on his sweatpants, and stood awkwardly in front of you like he’d just spawned in from another dimension.

You looked up from your water bottle, eyes soft.

“I-uh. So. Okay.” He took a breath. “I like you. A lot. I mean- not just the normal ‘you’re cool’ kind of like. But the-uh-‘I think about you all the time and I rehearse conversations with you in my head and every time you look at me I feel like I got hit by lightning but in, like, a cute way’ -kind of like.” He exhaled, hands flailing vaguely.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “In a cute lightning way?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But not the Thor kind. Less thunder, more… um… heart palpitations.”

You tilted your head. “Bucky.”

He froze. “Yeah?”

“You could’ve just kissed me.”

“I was getting to that!” he blurted. “I had a whole thing planned! There were sentences. I rehearsed!”

You stepped closer, calm as ever, with a half-smile on your lips. “You’re adorable.”

His brain: 404 Error.

And then before his panic reflex could kick in again - he did it.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t suave. Or smooth. Or coordinated in the slightest. His hand kind of fumbled somewhere between your jaw and your shoulder, and he leaned in a bit too fast, and for a split second, he thought he might miss entirely and headbutt you.

But none of that mattered. Because you kissed him back. Steady. Confident. Like you’d been waiting for this.

And when you pulled apart, Bucky blinked, eyes wide, lips parted like he couldn’t believe his own existence.

“I-uh-I was supposed to say more stuff.”

“You said enough,” you replied, brushing your fingers through his hair like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Besides, I knew.”

”I’m sorry, what?”

You grinned. “Bucky. You blush when I walk into a room. You looked like you were going to combust when we fake-married.”

“You kissed me on the mouth!”

“You choked on your own name.”

He groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Nope,” you agreed cheerfully. “But you’re mine now, so that makes up for it.”

“Yours,” he echoed, dizzy. “Yeah. That sounds… really good.”

Meanwhile in the security control room, Tony leaned back in his chair, watching the camera feed with a smirk.

“Woo! Pay up, Wilson,” he said, reaching his hand out behind him.

“Ugh, are you kidding me?!”

“I told you he’d crack before she did. My faith in his emotional instability remains undefeated.”

Steve chimed in, “You bet on them?”

Tony grinned. “Of course. I bet on everyone. It’s how I show love.”

Loki’s dry voice cut in, “I would like my percentage of the winnings. I coached the fool through half his existential crisis.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“I want a kingdom.”

“You get a scone.”

“…Done.”

[angelofthenight01]

A first step to believe

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Hey, guys! So, I'm new here and I've decided to start posting some short stories I wrote of characters I like. I hope you enjoy!

genre: fluff || warnings: none

You had always been a quiet observer in the background, preferring to stay out of the limelight, especially with someone as powerful and captivating as Wanda Maximoff around. You worked with her on several occasions in the Avengers compound—whether it was helping with strategy or assisting in the tech department—but you never quite felt like you belonged in her world.

She was magic and mystery incarnate. Her powers, her strength, her vulnerability... all tangled up in that red aura that surrounded her. You, on the other hand, were just... you. A normal human with a special skill set, not even close to the god-like powers Wanda wielded.

But something had changed over the last few weeks. You’d caught her eyes a few times—just for a brief moment—and there was something there. Something soft. Something that hinted at a longing you couldn’t quite interpret.

It started on one particularly quiet evening in the compound. The rest of the team had scattered for some downtime, and you found yourself in the kitchen, making tea to unwind. Your hands trembled slightly from the long day of troubleshooting tech issues, and you were looking forward to a peaceful moment alone.

But as you poured the hot water into your mug, the door creaked open.

“Mind if I join you?” Wanda’s voice was soft, a lilting accent tinged with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” you said, offering a small smile. “I was just about to make some tea.”

She stepped into the room, a flicker of hesitation passing over her features. Her eyes—those impossibly deep, captivating eyes—met yours. You could see the exhaustion in her posture, the weight of the past few missions still lingering on her.

“You look like you could use a moment,” you added, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

She hesitated, and for a second, you thought she might decline and retreat to the solitude she so often sought. Instead, she gave you a small smile and nodded. “I could use the company.”

You poured her a cup and passed it over, your fingers brushing for a brief moment. Wanda’s gaze lingered on your hand, and then she met your eyes again, her smile softening just a bit. There was an unspoken connection between you, something that had only grown stronger with time.

The silence between you two was comfortable, not awkward. You both sipped your tea, and you found yourself slowly relaxing in her presence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wanda said suddenly, her voice low. “About... about everything. All the things I’ve done. The things I can do.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest from taking over. You knew exactly what she meant. Her powers, her trauma, her inner turmoil. It had been a lot for her to bear, especially after everything she had gone through with the Mind Stone, and the aftermath of everything that happened with Vision.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said gently, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t define you, Wanda. You’re so much more than the pain and the power.”

Wanda’s lips parted as though she were about to say something, but she stopped herself. Her gaze drifted away for a moment before returning to you, this time with a look that was almost unreadable.

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” she whispered.

You set your cup down and took a step closer. “You don’t have to believe it all at once. But I do.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something that both of you seemed afraid to give voice to. It was like a thread, fragile and delicate, waiting to be pulled. You could feel her uncertainty, but you also felt the quiet yearning in her eyes.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand resting lightly on her arm. She tensed at the touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m here for you,” you said, voice steady, but soft. “Whatever you need.”

Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked at you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the compound, with all its dangers and distractions, faded away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of the tea and the gentle hum of the compound around you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped even closer, your heart hammering now. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. We can figure it out together.”

Wanda looked at you, really looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. And in that moment, you knew something had shifted between you both.

The tension in the air seemed to crackle with possibility. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned in. Your breath caught in your throat as her lips brushed lightly against yours.

It was soft. Simple. Tentative, even. But it was enough to send a shock of warmth through your entire body.

When she pulled away, her eyes were full of wonder and uncertainty. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped her face gently in your hands, your thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wanda allowed herself to believe it, too.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Just a Little Sick

Cgs!Wandanat x little!fem!reader

Summary: You're sick and your Mommy and Daddy are here to take care of you

Word count: 3K

Warnings: None fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm sick and I just want Wandanat

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

In the Avengers compound, the living area was unusually quiet, save for the occasional sneeze or cough from you all bundled up on the couch, swathed in your favorite blanket. Your trusted stuffie sat beside you, offering silent comfort.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, moved around the room, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your occasional whimpers caught Natasha's attention every time, making her heart ache.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Natasha asked softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. You sniffled, your eyes watery.

"Sick, Daddy," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You clutched a lollipop lozenge, the soothing taste providing a small comfort. Natasha smiled gently, adjusting your glasses for you.

"I know, sweetheart. Just rest, okay? I've got you." She tucked your blanket more securely around you.

The bond between you two was unique. In a world filled with heroes and battles, you two had found solace in your relationship. Today, as you battled your cold, Natasha's protective instincts were in full force, ensuring her little girl felt safe and cherished.

Natasha's fingers danced across the keyboard, rapidly typing up a report for Fury. Every few minutes, she'd glance over at you, ensuring you were okay. The juxtaposition was stark: the fierce warrior, known and feared by many, caring for the young, vulnerable girl who had a power greater than most could imagine.

A soft snore broke Natasha's concentration, and she looked over to see your chest rising and falling rhythmically. Smiling softly, Natasha reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, careful not to disturb you.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha continued her work, answering calls with a hushed voice, ensuring the noise didn't disturb your slumber. Every so often, she'd pause to jot down notes or sip on a cup of tea, the room filled with the sound of rain gently tapping against the windows.

Despite the pressing demands of her job, Natasha's priority was clear: ensuring you felt loved and protected, especially on days like this. The bond the two of you shared was unbreakable, built on trust, care, and a love that transcended the ordinary.

As the day carried on and Wanda came rushing in. "How is she Tasha?" Wanda asked in a panic, seeing the little one's sleeping form.

"She's got a cold. Trying to give her medicine was hell, but she enjoyed those lollipop lozenges you got. I wanted to make her soup, but I know she'd want yours more." Nat told her girlfriend. Wanda smiled, giving Nat a kiss.

"I'll get it started right away." Wanda got up going to the kitchen which was attached in an open layout with the living area.

Wanda's nurturing nature made her a perfect fit as "Mommy," complementing Natasha's protective instincts as "Daddy."

From the couch, you stirred slightly, your brows furrowing. Natasha was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your forehead. The medicine seemed to be doing its job; your temperature felt slightly lower.

A short while later, the aroma of homemade soup filled the air. Wanda emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl. "I made her favorite," she said, placing the bowl on the coffee table.

Together, they carefully woke you, who blinked up at them sleepily. "Mommy?" she murmured, her voice raspy.

Wanda smiled warmly, brushing your hair back. "Hey, sweetheart. I made some soup for you."

Your eyes lit up a bit, and you nodded weakly, allowing Wanda to help you sit up. As Wanda fed you the soup, Natasha couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. In the midst of chaos and battles, they had found a semblance of home and family, and she cherished every moment of it.

°○°○°○°○°

Natasha observed from a distance, her brows furrowing with concern as she watched you shiver from the cold sensation of the fever patch. The bond between you and Wanda was evident in moments like these—Wanda's gentle reassurances calming you despite the discomfort.

Once the patch was in place and you were comfortably nestled back under your blanket, Wanda sat beside you, softly singing a lullaby, an old Sokovian one. The room was filled with the warmth of their love and care, a stark contrast to the chilly patch on your forehead.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on Wanda's shoulder. "You're amazing with her," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's temple.

Wanda smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "She's our girl, Tasha. We'll always do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy."

°○°○°○°○°

"In a little bit we should give her a bath." Wanda mentions taking the empty bowls to the kitchen, Nat following behind.

"You cooked dinner, let me take care of the dishes." Nat said, putting her hands on Wanda's hips, kissing her shoulder. "Go be with our little one. I'm sure she wants Mommy cuddles." Nat mentions Wanda turning, kissing Nat on the lips,

"Thank you Daddy." Wanda whispered going back to the couch and moving onto the couch, having you lay on top of her.

°○°○°○°○°

Once the kitchen was in order, Natasha joined her two loves on the couch. You, now clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, snuggled comfortably against Wanda's chest. Wanda softly stroked your damp hair, humming a lullaby as the trio settled into the quiet comfort of their makeshift family.

Wanda got you dressed in comfy pajamas and helped get your dry. “How about we watch something little one?” Wanda asked softly, kissing the crown of your head.

“Please Mommy, can watch Bluey?” You ask as Wanda gets your paci, popping it in your mouth.

“Of course we can little one.” She smiled softly, pushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

°○°○°○°○°

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you snored peacefully, still wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Wanda's emotional admission filled the air with a mix of vulnerability and love. Wanda smiled, tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

"What's wrong Wands?" Nat asks, noticing her girlfriend's mixed expressions.

"I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I just never thought it'd be like this, but," Wanda looked up at Nat, the tears spilling over, "I wouldn't trade being her Mommy for anything in the multiverse or having you by my side as her Daddy." Wanda reached a hand out, Nat lacing their fingers together and smiling,

Natasha's eyes softened, and she squeezed Wanda's hand reassuringly. "We may not have expected this journey, but it's our own unique adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Y/N is lucky to have you as her Mommy, and I'm grateful every day to be her Daddy with you by my side."

Wanda nodded, wiping away a tear with her free hand. "She's our little miracle, isn't she?"

Natasha leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's forehead. "Absolutely, and our family is stronger for it.”

°○°○°○°○°

The three girls all ended up falling asleep with Bluey playing in the background. As morning came, Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce made their way down to the kitchen for breakfast finding the three girls there all the Avengers knew of the girls special relationship and your needs at times. "They probably had a long night, Wanda was telling me as we came back from our mission about Y/N being sick." Steve mentioned.

Bruce, pouring himself a cup of coffee, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Nat mentioned it to me. It's good they have each other, especially on days like this."

Tony, flipping through a digital newspaper on his tablet, chimed in, "We've all seen how strong their bond is. It's heartwarming, really. Makes the compound feel a bit more like home."

Bucky, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, glanced over at the sleeping trio. "They're a team within a team. It's nice to see they've found their place here."

Steve smiled, looking at the scene before him. "Let's give them some space. I'll whip up some breakfast for when they wake up. They'll need it.”

Steve decided to gently wake Nat first. Who stretched out, bones cracking and popping from the way she slept. "Hey I made breakfast for you three. How's Y/N?" He asked softly. Nat leaned over feeling your forehead.

"She's going to need more medicine." Nat stood up. Going to the cabinet, grabbing the grape flavored liquid medicine along with a sippy cup of apple juice. Moving back over to the other two as the boys watched their dance with practiced ease. "Baby girl, it's time to wake up." You stirred in Wanda's arms, which made Wanda wake up as well. Nat smiled, kissing Wanda. "Good morning love." Wanda smiled back,

"Mmm morning sweetie." You rubbed your eyes, coughing up a storm.

"Owwwww" you whined. "Daddy..." Nat moved back to the couch, scooping you up,

"Medicine first baby girl and then your apple juice to get the yucky taste out." You pouted, but took the medicine, making a gross face and took the apple juice and sucking it down.

"Easy baby." Wanda rubbed her back,

"Yes Mommy." You eased up on your juice.

Steve watched the exchange with a sense of admiration. Despite the challenges and the morning's routine, there was a tenderness to it that he found endearing.

"Need anything else for her?" Steve asked, referring to the medicine.

Natasha shook her head. "We're good for now, thanks, Steve. Just need to keep an eye on her fever."

Bucky approached with a gentle smile, ruffling your hair playfully. "Hey there, kiddo. You had us all worried."

You gave a weak smile, leaning into Natasha. "Hi, Uncle Bucky.”

Tony, holding a tray with breakfast plates, smirked. "I made sure there's plenty of bacon. Thought it might tempt a certain little one."

Wanda chuckled, "You know her too well, Tony."

As the group settled around the dining table, the room was filled with the comforting sounds of a family breakfast, laughter, and the unmistakable bond that held them all together.

°○°○°○°○°

Wanda held you close, you were nestled against her, comforted by the warmth and love of your Mommy. Natasha had gone off to shower first as the room was filled with the hum of conversation as the remaining Avengers continued their breakfast.

Steve, sipping his coffee, remarked, "We've got a briefing later today. Nothing major, just some updates on potential new threats."

Tony, scrolling through his tablet, nodded. "Yeah, I've been monitoring some unusual activity. Might be worth looking into after the briefing."

Bucky, leaning back in his chair, added, "Well, if it's anything like last time, it'll be a team effort."

Wanda listened intently, her focus shifting between the conversation and the little girl in her arms. "Just another day in the life, huh?”

Wanda and Nat switched spots so Wanda could take a shower, you whined as she was shifted around after having fallen asleep.

"Shhhh it's okay Detka, Daddy's got you." Nat ran her fingers through your hair, calming you back down and grabbed a paci, rubbing her knuckle gently over your lips first to make you open up and then stuck the paci in.

"There, there, sweetheart," Natasha cooed softly, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. The pacifier worked its magic, and soon, your breathing evened out, your little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Steve, observing the tender scene, remarked softly, "You two have something truly special."

Natasha looked up, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "We do. It's a bond unlike any other."

Bucky nodded in agreement. "It's clear she feels safe and loved with you both. That's what family's all about."

As Wanda returned from her shower, refreshed and ready for the day, she smiled at the sight before her. "Thank you, dorogaya.”

Natasha nodded, carefully handing over your sleeping form. "Anytime, milyy. We've got each other's backs, always."

°○°○°○°○°

As the meeting began, Nat kept a hold of you who unfortunately for everyone had to be awake. You never enjoyed being forced out of little space for missions and debriefing. So a grumpy half little half adult was currently in Nat's arms as the secretary of state droned on and on and on.

Natasha tried her best to keep you calm, gently rocking you back and forth while the Secretary of State continued with the briefing. Your discontent was palpable, your little space clashing with the serious tone of the meeting.

Steve, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "If we could just summarize the main points, please. We have a lot to cover."

Tony, ever the provocateur, leaned over, whispering loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Think Grumpy Bear needs a timeout?"

Bucky smirked, "Or maybe just a nap."

Wanda, sitting beside Natasha, reached over, gently stroking your hair. "It's okay, detka. We'll be done soon.”

After hours of them being force fed information it was finally over and you were the exact opposite of happy between having to pretend to be an adult and being sick made you fussy beyond belief as everything Nat and Wanda tried currently wasn't helping so when they got back to the common room, Nat set you down as you started throwing a tantrum that turned into a full blown meltdown. Wanda wanting to intervene, but Nat stopped her. "She needs to let it out.”

Natasha's experience with you over the years had given her insight into your needs, especially during moments of distress. As painful as it was to witness your meltdown, Natasha knew that suppressing it wouldn't help.

The common room fell silent as the Avengers watched, their concern evident. Steve approached cautiously, "Should we give them some space?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes filled with worry. "Yes, but it's hard to see her like this."

Bucky, leaning against the doorway, sighed, "She's been through a lot, even for someone her age."

Tony chimed in, "Is there anything we can do?"

Natasha shook her head, her focus solely on you. "Right now, she needs us—Wanda and me. We'll handle it.”

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, your cries began to subside, replaced by soft whimpers. Natasha approached, offering a comforting embrace, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're here."

Wanda joined them, her own voice soft and soothing. "We love you, detka. Always."

You clung to your Daddy, sniffling and hiccuping out a 'sorry for being so cranky.' Nat just soothed you, "no baby it's okay." Nat spoke up rubbing her back, "you're sick and forced out of your preferred heads pace at the moment so it's expected. We still love you.”

°○°○°○°○°

You started nodding off, Natasha smiling at the scene as she got up, picking up the littlest Avenger. "Come on baby girl." Natasha held you close, grabbing all of your things and bringing them down the hallway.

The two loves of her life walked through the door as she finished getting changed after her shower.

"What are you two doing up here?" Wanda asks.

"Shhhh...she's finally gone down for a nap." Natasha responds, setting you on the bed. Making a cocoon of blankets and pillows, putting your stuffie back into your arms. Wanda leans down and kisses your forehead.

"Oh she's getting warm again." Wanda goes to the bathroom grabbing a cooling patch to put on your forehead, making you shiver as it got put on, but you didn't wake up, only turning over. "Nat I love her so much. She's too precious for words." Wanda spoke softly as Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda's waist, trailing kisses up the witches neck and jaw.

"You're such a good Mommy to her. You were meant for this." Natasha whispered.

"And you are the Perfect Daddy for her." Wanda responds, turning to cup Natasha's face, kissing the older woman's lips.

"Let's go watch something that isn't Bluey while she naps." Wanda says turning on the little baby monitor so they could watch over and listen while they headed back to the common area to watch something together finally having some time for just them.

As they made their way back to the common area, Natasha intertwined her fingers with Wanda's, the warmth of their bond filling the space between them. The weight of the day seemed to lift as they settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV providing a welcome distraction.

Wanda snuggled into Natasha's side, her head resting against her shoulder. "I'm so grateful for moments like these," she murmured, her voice filled with love and contentment.

Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda's forehead, her heart swelling with affection. "Me too, my love. It's moments like these that remind us of what's truly important.”

Natasha and Wanda were actually able to make it through a movie before they heard you stir. Wanda gave Natasha a kiss before getting up. "I'll get her." As Wanda was heading out she heard the whimper from you,

"Mama...?" Wanda smiled, picking up her pace just a bit. Opening the door to their shared room, you sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking a bit like a disheveled mess as she sniffled and coughed. "Mommy!" Her calling out started a coughing fit that made Wanda grab the little trash can near the bed.

"It's okay baby, cough up the yuckies." Wanda rubbed your back as you coughed up the phlegm and mucus. "That's it baby get it all out. It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Wanda whispered soothingly, gently wiping away the tears that had welled up in your eyes.

You sniffled, clinging to Wanda tightly. "I don't feel good, Mommy," you whimpered.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your forehead, her heart breaking at her daughter's distress. "I know, baby. But Mommy and Daddy are right here with you, okay? We'll take care of you."

Natasha appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her features. "Is she okay?"

Wanda nodded, giving Natasha a reassuring smile. "Just a little coughing fit. She's doing better now.”

°○°○°○°○°

Your two girlfriend's took care of you the rest of the night and by morning you woke up feeling much better as you rubbed your eyes. As the other two stirred beside you, you smiled down at them.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my loves.” The two redheads smiled up at you,

“Always dorogaya.” Wanda's voice full of sleep as Nat sat up and kissed your cheek. You felt so much gratitude towards your girlfriend's for always taking care of you when needed.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @mrsromanovaa

[sincerelykimii]

𝐒𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞?

𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶．

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘹 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱

𝐀/𝐍: 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳？𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴！

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: Despite being one of the most powerful and overall dangerous members, you're known as a ray of sunshine, always optimistic and always making the best out of the worst. He however, is quite the opposite. Right now, you were in the kitchen at the avengers compound, making some strawberries and chocolate. It was late evening, everyone was asleep. You were up watching stuff due to your usual problems with insomnia, but you couldn’t Ignore the rumble in your stomach. Humming a soft tune of a familiar song you couldn’t remember. Your hands were attached to the knife as you cut the fresh strawberries infront of you, glancing over at the stove, your chocolate melted slowly, the scent lingering through the kitchen, filling your senses with delight. Caught up in the moment you didn’t notice Bucky entering the kitchen, to be fair he was as quiet as a mouse. His deep, gruff voice, clear he had just awoken startled you, making you drop the knife a little too loud on the counter. “Jesus Bucky…”

He raises a brow at your reaction, taking a sip of his water. He sets the glass down on the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. He seems almost...amused by your small jump scare. “Didn’t mean to startle ya doll.” My eyes follow his hands as he sets the glass back down, when did he even…? Anyways. I smile warmly at him, hand over my chest, feeling my heart rate quiet down. “that’s okay, what are you doing up? Did I wake you? I’m so sorry if I did.” The words stutter out, he always did make me nervous. He moves closer, leaning against the counter beside you. His usual stoic demeanor softens slightly as he catches the scent of chocolate. "No…no, couldn't sleep. You didn't wake me." He pauses, watching your hands work with the strawberries.

I nod my head focusing my attention back to the knife in hand, I can’t help but blush at the proximity between Bucky and I. He’s not the most talkative person but he always keeps a conversation going with me, makes me feel…loved. A few moments later, I’m popping the plate of chocolate covered strawberries into the freezer. Bucky hasn’t said much since he’s been in here, just observing, I break the silence humming the same tune from earlier.

His eyes never leaving you as you hum that tune. He can't quite place it, but it's soothing in a way that only you manage to be. He watches as you put the plate in the freezer, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers brush against the handle. Finally turning to face Bucky, my eyes meet his as he is already looking at me. “Hi” my tone is softer than before, his eyes melting my heart. I smile warmly at him, the same smile that spreads across my face anytime my eyes catch a glimpse of his. There's a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost like he's fighting a smile. He doesn't do warm and fuzzy often, but something about your genuine smile makes him want to try. He suddenly straightens up. "How'd you get that cut on your finger?"

My brows furrow just as quickly as his did looking down at my finger, there it was, a small cut, barely noticeable. “I’m not sure…do you think any blood got on my strawberries?”

The frown that appears on your face, throws Bucky for a loop, his heart racing as he notices it. He can't help but chuckle at your expression, finding it adorable that you're more worried about your strawberries than the small cut. He reaches out and gently takes your finger in his calloused hand, examining the tiny cut. "It's barely a scratch." He's not usually one to notice small details, but he finds himself studying your face more than the cut on your finger. Your stomach flips more times than It should, the feeling of his surprisingly warms hands on yours, has your cheeks darker than the strawberries. You can’t help but admire his face, his squinted eyes, barely creased at the corners. His soft lips parted ever so slightly, and his small nose scrunches while examining the scratch. The same thoughts that are running through your head are in bucky’s just as much as yours, he can't help but notice the way your cheeks flush under his scrutiny, making you look even cuter than usual.

“It’s all good.”

His voice pulls me from my thoughts, focusing my attention back onto the cut. “Oh! my strawberries should be finished by now.” I pull the plate from the freezer placing it infront of Bucky, “you ever had these before?” He pulls the plate closer, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the chocolate-covered strawberries. He's had his fair share of sweets, but something about these looks particularly enticing. He picks one up, examining it carefully before bringing it to his mouth. "No, I don't think so."

my eyes follow his movements, almost trance like. He’s so intriguing, it’s hard not too, “It’s my favorite snack, always had a sweet tooth.” I pick one up, bringing it to my lips taking a slow savoring bite. The pretty blush color from the strawberry leaving a tint on my lips.

His eyes linger on your lip, the faint blush of the strawberry tinting your smile a shade that seems to taunt his thoughts. He takes a bite of his own strawberry, the rich chocolate melding perfectly with the sweet, juicy fruit. The sight in front of you is too die for, his lips quirk up ever so slightly into a smile, barely ghosting on his lips. His eyes flutter close momentarily, allowing you to really take in his features for a moment longer. When he opens his eyes again, they lock onto yours. There's a softness there that you rarely see, a warmth that seems to draw you in. He sets the half-eaten strawberry back on the plate and leans in closer, his voice low. "You have chocolate on your lip."

my cheeks flush immediately, almost embarrassed. I can only gaze into his eyes, seeing the warmth in them has my head fuzzy, “can you?” I say softly, leaning in a bit closer. Without breaking eye contact, Bucky reaches out with his thumb, gently brushing it across your bottom lip. His touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the callouses on his fingers. He lingers for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Your breath hitches, not at his touch, but the way his eyes linger on your lips. Your eyes meet his, flickering between the two blue orbs before pulling away from his embrace. “thank you.” I whisper.

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐑: the sun comes shining strong through my window. My eyes focused on the ceiling fan spinning quickly above me. Finally having enough energy I sit up swinging my feet off the bed letting them lead me to the bathroom. A few moments later, teeth and hair brushed, I walk in the living room, eyes immediately landing on Buckys. I flash him a warm smile as I usually do, before taking a seat on the sofa a few spots away from him. Even though we’re dating, he’s still getting used to the comfort, so I give him all the space he needs till I know he’s ready. Bucky is sitting on the armchair, a book open on his lap but his eyes aren't focused on the pages. He looks up as you enter the room, his expression unreadable. He watches as you sit on the sofa, the warm smile you give him making his mind reel.

The silence floats in the air comfortably, “mornin buck, how’d you sleep?” I say softly, my voice is still a bit raspy from awakening. He closes the book and sets it aside, his gaze never leaving yours. He rubs the back of his neck, a slight frown tugging at his lips as he tries to formulate a response. "I slept fine," he says gruffly, his voice a low rumble. my brows furrow at his response, easily identifying the lie coursing through it, “I know when you’re lying buck, you gotta get some sleep sweetheart.”

His jaw clenches briefly at your use of 'sweetheart', you call everyone sweetheart, but there’s something about the way it rolls off your tongue whenever it’s directed towards him, for some reason it makes his heart skip beat. He runs a hand through his hair, the signs of a restless night visible in the slight messiness. "How do you know?" he asks, more curious than annoyed. I shrug my shoulders, “I know what insomnia looks like, I’ve been through it countless times.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. He knows all too well the effects of insomnia, the constant tossing and turning, the never-ending thoughts that keep you awake. "What helps you sleep?" I press my lips together softly, I can’t tell him he’s the reason I sleep so good at night, knowing I’ll get up and see his face…his beautiful smile, his terrible dad jokes he whispers to Steve unaware I heard, his concentrated face while reading a new book, he’s the reason I sleep at night…but he’ll never know that, not now at least. “I’m not sure…”

He notices the slight hesitation in your response, the way your eyes dart away for a moment. He feels a strange pang of jealousy, wondering if there's someone else who helps you sleep so peacefully. He pushes the thought aside, focusing on the conversations instead. "Maybe we should try something new,"

“don’t keep me on my toes Barnes.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth at your playful jab. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ever tried meditation? Or maybe some of those bizarre sleep apps Steve raves about?" I chuckle softly, everytime steve saw something new he would rant to Bucky and I about it, it’s quite sweet actually. “I’ve tried meditation, I just can’t sit still for that…you know what! I’ve seen people fall asleep to asmr.” my lips quirk up in a smile knowing Bucky has no clue what asmr is.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, the term 'asmr' foreign to his ears. He tilts his head, studying you with a curious expression. "Asmr? What the hell is that?" He asks, his voice laced with a hint of amusement and curiosity. Ive never pulled my phone out so fast, finding a video. I hand the phone to Bucky letting him watch the video of a girl having her hair played with, “it looks very relaxing.”

Bucky takes the phone, his eyes widening slightly as he watches the video. He listens to the gentle whispers, the soft brushing of the comb through her hair, and the soothing sounds of the girl's voice. His expression softens, and he finds himself strangely entranced by the calming scene. "Huh,"

My eyes admire his softened features instead of watching the video, “what do you say buck?” I can’t help the smile growing on my face. Bucky lowers the phone, a rueful smile spreading across his face as he catches your admiring gaze. He shakes his head in disbelief. "I never thought I'd be considering hair brushing videos as a cure for insomnia," he chuckles softly, handing the phone back to you. I take the phone from his hand letting my fingers linger on his for a moment longer, “well it won’t cure it, but it’ll help definitely.” I say softly.

He notices the lingering touch, his heart skips a beat at the gentle contact. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Yeah, it does seem pretty relaxing," He pauses, his gaze drifting back to the video for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "Wanna..."

“Tonight. I’ll come to your room or you can come to mine, and I’ll be your asmrist for the night.” I say playfully before standing up. Bucky rises to his feet as well, a amused smirk plastered across his face. "Asmrist? I think you mean ASMRtist," he corrects, shaking his head in mock disbelief. He steps closer to you, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. The giggle that left your lips had buckys heart racing, he swears he’s never heard such a sweeter thing. “Oh so you’re a pro now Barnes, I’ll remember that for tonight sweetheart.” with that I disappear back to my room.

The sun finally sets, and everyone is already in bed. I leave my room, heading to the living room, Bucky is already sitting on the couch, his legs stretched out and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks up at you as you enter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ready?”

“Ready.” he whispers, trying to suppress a grin.

I smile softly taking his hand in mine, leading him to my room. Bucky follows you willingly, his heart pounding in his chest at the prospect of the evening ahead. He settles onto your bed, positioning himself comfortably against the headboard. He watches you with an amused expression as you arrange yourself behind him, his muscles tensing slightly at your proximity. My hands move slowly as they finally make contact with his shoulders, “relax buck, I’ll be gentle.” I whisper rubbing small circles on his arm with my thumb. Bucky takes a deep breath, the tension slowly starting to melt away under your gentle touch. He leans back slightly, allowing himself to be more comfortable against you. "Easy for you to say," he murmurs, though his tone is light and teasing.

my smile never left, only growing wider at his words. I hush him as I move my hands to his hair, letting my fingers run through his surprisingly soft locks, untangling any knots I find. He lets out a soft sigh as you run your fingers through his hair, the gentle touch soothing his frazzled nerves. He tilts his head to the side, giving you better access to the knots and tangles. "You're really good at this," he comments, his voice low and content. I let another giggle fall from my lips, “Here, lay back and rest your head on my thigh, it’ll be a bit more comfortable.” the suggestion picks up his heart rate a bit more than it should’ve, “if you want too sweetheart.” I say softly, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. He hesitates for a brief moment, his cheeks coloring slightly at the intimate suggestion. But with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he slowly lays back, resting his head on your thigh. His breath is steady but his pulse betrays his inner turmoil.

placing my hands back in his hair, I repeat my movements from earlier. “comfortable?” I coo quietly. He nods silently, his eyes drifting closed as you continue to work out the knots in his hair. The warmth of your thigh against his head and the soothing touch of your hands is incredibly comforting, and he finds himself relaxing even further. "Perfect," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. I sigh contently, my eyes admiring his relaxed expression. “I’ve got you buck, you can fall asleep.” I whisper before humming the same tune from last night.

His breath becomes softer and more rhythmic, his muscles completely relaxed now. The humming lulls him even further, and he finds himself drifting in that sweet space between wakefulness and sleep. His hand unconsciously moves to rest on your knee for support. "Don't stop..." the sight has my heart beating out of my chest, I wonder if he can hear it. “I won’t honey, rest. You need it.” I say softly, my fingers moving subconsciously through his hair. He inhales deeply, taking in your comforting scent as he nestles his head further onto your lap. His mind is fuzzy, his thoughts blurring together, but one thing is clear - he feels safe. He feels... loved.

𝐅𝐚���𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐓𝐮𝐧𝐞: You and Bucky are in the living room simply enjoying eachothers company. He’s reading a book and you’re laying down, listening to music. the song you never know the name of comes on, you began humming softly.

So this is love, mm.

He glances up from his book as he hears the familiar humming. He recognizes the tune, though he still doesn't know the name. He pauses, his fingers marking his place in the book, and listens more intently. Completely lost in the song, eyes closed, you don’t notice Bucky watching you instead of reading. You continue humming the song letting a few words slip as you sing along.

So this is what makes life divine…

He sets his book aside, giving you his full attention. He's captivated by the sound of your voice, the way you effortlessly bring the melody to life. He finds himself leaning forward slightly, drawn in by the raw emotion in your humming. "What's that song?" My eyes flutter open slowly landing on his, “So this is love.” I reply finally looking at my phone seeing the song that’s been stuck in my head for what feels like months. "Yeah? What're the words? That part you keep humming..." He reaches out and gently takes the phone from your hands, bringing the screen closer to his face so he can see the lyrics better. His fingers brush against yours, deliberately lingering for a moment. "Mind if I..."

I shake my head handing him the phone, “go for it.”

He takes the phone, holding it close as he reads the lyrics silently to himself. A soft, wistful smile tugs at his lips as he realizes the song seems to echo the tender feelings blossoming between you two. He glances up at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. I furrow my brows seeing the same mischievous glint in his eyes that always mirror in mine, “what?” I whisper sitting up.

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and inviting. "This song suits you," he says with a gentle smile. "You've been... singing it without even realizing it. Like it's a part of you now." I chuckle softly, “It only comes to my head when I’m around you.” I say softly. His expression softens considerably at your admission. There's a gentle intimacy in his eyes now, unguarded and vulnerable. He shifts closer on the couch, close enough that the fabric of his shirt brushes against your arm. "That's... interesting," he says quietly. “why’s that?” I reply back, moving close enough, our sides are met with eachother.

He looks down at where your side meets his, feeling the warmth and the gentle rise and fall of your breath. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. "Because," he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "it makes me think that maybe..." Before he can answer your voice cuts him off, “maybe I’m in love with you.” I burst out, it felt like a weight was lifted off of my shoulder as the words finally leave my lips. His eyes widen momentarily, surprise and joy mingling in his expression. For a heartbeat, he's stunned into silence, but then a slow, warm smile spreads across his face. He turns to face you fully, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Maybe I'm right there with you."

[wholoveseggs]

hi! ik youve done smth similar to this but i'd like to request like an enemy-to-lover elijahxreader with him just being an asshole. with eventual smut and teasing. ty!

The Gardener {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

The relationship between witches and vampires has always been fraught with complexity— a toxic mix of power and revenge. Raised to preserve nature’s balance, you’ve been taught that vampires are a perversion of life itself. You have a duty and a purpose, to eliminate all vampires. You're willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill it, even if that means falling into bed with the enemy.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon! This is a story I've wanted to tell for a while, I hope y'all enjoy it...♡♡

3.7k words - Warnings: no smut in this one, but lots of drama, angst, violence and deception... reader is a bit of a fanatic, witches, magic, murder && vervain...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

{Elijah Mikaelson Tag-List }

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

You wiped the sweat off your brow before picking up another bag of soil. Entering through the front gates of the compound, you dropped the bag next to the others and paused to catch your breath. You took a few more steps down the hall, entering a lavishly decorated courtyard. You had always been curious about what the compound looked like on the inside; you were not disappointed. Beautiful ivy laced up the old walls, spanning over arched balconies and expensive antique furniture was thoughtfully placed throughout. It was cozy, fantastical, and a little medieval; the only hint of modernity was string lights artfully hanging about.

It was easy to get swept up in the beauty of the place, so you had to remind yourself of all the evil the people that lived here had done. It was a sobering thought and you felt a surge of righteous anger. Your mind raced back to the countless people who had been hurt by these monsters. The innocent lives lost.

The ancestors had bestowed a glorious mission upon you and you were honored to be chosen. To take down one of the oldest and most powerful families of vampires was no small feat. It was not something you took lightly.

You returned to your task and carried on with your work. Gathering your tools from your car and retrieving the last bag of soil from the trunk. It was all very heavy, and the warm Louisiana weather was making you thirsty. You lugged the remaining supplies back inside the gate, dropping them down into a pile. Letting out a relieved sigh, you leaned against the wall and took a long sip from your water bottle, then another, then a third one to finally quench your thirst. You pooled a bit more of the water into your hands and splashed it on your warm face.

"Can I fetch you a wheelbarrow?" said a smooth voice from across the courtyard.

You spun around to find an amused looking gentleman, dressed in a three-piece suit. The infamous Elijah Mikaelson. He was not exactly what you had imagined, though it wasn't entirely surprising. A good predator hides behind a pleasing facade.

He was attractive, that was certain and he had the sort of charisma that could disarm you. He was smiling, his eyes dark and intense, like he could see right through to your skin and bones.

You put on your best smile, trying to be friendly and non-threatening. "Yes, that would be very helpful, thank you," you said breathlessly, wiping the water and sweat from your face.

He nodded and disappeared down the hall. You watched him go, admiring his handsome features as he left. You had a good feeling about this, he could be your way in.

You stepped further into the center of the courtyard, straining your neck trying to get a look at the opulent rooms beyond the second-floor balconies. What you were looking for was probably up there somewhere, just waiting for you to take it.

Elijah returned, pushing a large wheelbarrow before him.

"Thank you," you said, as he handed it off to you.

"It's nothing," he replied with a soft smile.

"Are you Klaus? I'm the one you hired to plant your garden," you replied politely, extending your hand. You needed to play the part of the naive gardener, clueless to who and what he was.

He chuckled, glancing at the bags of soil piled at the entrance. "No, I'm not Niklaus, but I did deduce what you were here for. My name is Elijah; Niklaus is my brother," he took your hand and shook it gently.

You knew exactly who he was, practically learning his name not long after you learned your own. He was the poised one, the liar, the deceiver. You had been taught to be wary of him, for his soft words and empty promises always led to death.

You didn't let any of this show, smiling back at him and saying, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Elijah."

It was a simple performance, all you needed to do was maintain it, add a bit of sincerity to your mannerisms. You pretended to be flustered by his charm, reaching up and twiddling the piece of verbena you had braided into your hair.

"So do you two own this place? It's beautiful," you remarked, looking up once again at the stunning architecture. "The ivy is incredible."

"Thank you; it's been in our family for years. Would you like a tour of the place?" He said, his eyes on your twiddling hand. You immediately put your arm down.

"I would love to, but I promised your brother I would finish setting everything up before the end of the day," you replied, pointing to the pile of supplies.

"It's quite alright, I will help you."

"Oh no, it's okay, I can manage-"

"Please," he said, his brown eyes looking deeply into yours.

This almost felt too easy, a part of you was suspicious, but you couldn't deny the thrill of playing the game. If you could win the favor of a Mikaelson, it would certainly help your cause.

"Alright," you replied with a nod. "Could you show me to your greenhouse?"

"Of course, follow me," he replied, walking ahead.

You picked up your bag of fertilizer and began the task of wheeling the heavy materials across the courtyard. Elijah glanced back at you with a concerned look on his face.

"Let me," he offered.

"That's alright, I've got it," you said, pushing the wheelbarrow with a grunt.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the matter further. He led the way towards the back of the estate, opening the doors for you. He had a way about him, a posture and stride of a man who had the confidence to do anything.

Because he wasn't a man, but a beast, and the world was his prey. You had to remind yourself not to be intimidated, even if it was difficult. You had trained for this, prepared yourself to face the most vile of creatures.

The greenhouse was large, with old, wooden tables full of tools and gardening supplies. The sunlight shone through the glass, illuminating the rows and rows of empty flower beds. You smiled, admiring the beauty of the space. It was the perfect place to create, to nurture life. The irony of it being located at the center of the den of death made you laugh.

Elijah gave you a curious look. "Is something funny?"

"It's nothing," you replied. "I'm just excited to get started. The weather is perfect."

He raised an eyebrow, looking a bit skeptical, his eyes traveling down your body, taking in your appearance. You looked a bit eccentric, with a pair of overalls covered in colorful patches and flowers braided into your hair. It was all a part of the persona, an act, and it worked. He relaxed his stance and gave you a smile, then he took the wheelbarrow from your hands and unloaded the soil with ease.

"You didn't have to do that. If you keep helping me like this, I might have to pay you and not the other way around," you joked, setting down your bag of tools on the workbench across from the door.

He smiled, taking a step back and raising his hands playfully in mock surrender. He leaned against the door frame, surveying you as you unpacked your things. "How long have you been a gardener?" He asked.

"I've been doing this professionally since I was eighteen, but I've loved it my whole life," you replied honestly, setting the seeds you had brought with you on the table. "I own a shop not far from here."

He nodded, glancing at the bags of fertilizer and plants, then back at you. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Of course. What's not to enjoy? Being able to create something beautiful, nurturing it, watching it grow. I love it."

You were being sincere and honest this time, no need to change everything about yourself. He studied you carefully, then made his way towards you, pulling out his handkerchief and gesturing for you to take it. "You have some soil on your forehead."

You blushed, taking the fabric and cleaning yourself; that was entirely on accident, but it was working well for your act. "Hazards of the job," you said, giving him a sweet smile and handing it back to him.

He smirked, sliding the used handkerchief into his pocket with a practiced grace. "It's no problem at all; I'll leave you to your work," he moved to leave when he suddenly paused and turned back to face you. "I don't mean to be impolite, but what do you have in your hair?"

"What?" You replied, feeling the side of your head where your hair was braided. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but it was important to feign innocence. "Oh, it's verbena, one of the plants your brother asked me to grow," you pulled the flower out of your hair and twirled it between your fingers. "It's an herb, and it smells nice, too," you lifted the blossom towards him.

He didn't make any move to take it from you, and you knew exactly why. Verbena was known for repelling vampires, you had braided the sprigs into your hair and woven it into the band of your hat. They were small enough to be ignored, but they were powerful.

"Out of curiosity, what else did he ask you to grow?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hmm, let's see," you turned away from him searching for the list you had left in your bag. "Monkshood, Sage, Yarrow, Verbena, and Winter bloom," you read off to him. "Klaus told me he liked the colors together."

You both knew that was utter bull shit. All of the plants were herbs with various magical properties, especially in the hands of a witch.

"Hmmm, of course he did, my brother can be very particular," he replied, looking a bit uneasy.

"It sounds like a diabolical witch's brew straight out of a fairy tale," you laughed, and so did he, but the tension was still there.

"It does, doesn't it." He paused for a moment, as though he was debating whether or not he should say something. "The verbena suits you. You should keep wearing it in your hair."

You smiled, blushing and twirling the flower between your fingers, "Thank you, I think I will."

"I will leave you to your work. My brother will be returning shortly, so if you have any questions, please feel free to ask him."

"Thank you," you replied cheerfully, "I appreciate that."

With that, he walked out of the greenhouse, shutting the door behind him. Once you were alone, the smile dropped from your face. Your hands were shaking and the adrenaline was coursing through your body. You were scared and excited all at the same time, the rush was overwhelming. It had been a risk, to flirt so brazenly with danger, but it had paid off.

Soon you would have your prize and the ancestors would honor you for generations to come.

You had your headphones on, humming along to your music as you worked on planting a row of winter bloom. It had taken a couple of hours to organize all the flowerbeds and fill them with soil. Now, the hardest part was getting everything planted.

You felt a large vibration through the floor, then another. You stood, pulling off your headphones; a blood-curdling scream echoed through the hallway, along with a loud crash coming from the courtyard. You quickly shut off the music and crept towards the door, peeking your head out. You heard angry voices and saw the shadow of a fight moving along the walls.

You stepped out into the open, walking slowly towards the noise, your spade clutched tightly in your fist. You peeked around the corner to find a gruesome sight.

Crumbled on the floor was what looked to be a pile of bodies, blood pooling out around them. Another scream came from above. You looked up to see Klaus on the third floor, holding a woman by her neck as he dangled her over the railing. Her feet kicking erratically as she helplessly struggled.

"You know the rules, no magic in the quarter," he yelled, his voice crackling with rage, pulling the woman close to his face. "You witches think you can make moves against my family and live," he said in hushed fury. "Now I have to use you and your conspirators as an example."

The woman gasped and clawed at his arm. Her face was turning blue, and her eyes were bulging. Klaus glanced down, meeting your eyes. Then he dropped her, her scream cut off as she hit the floor, a loud crack reverberating through the compound.

Suddenly, Klaus was in front of you. You tried to use the spade to defend yourself, striking out in his direction. He laughed and grabbed it from you with extreme ease. He then planted both of his hands against the wall on either side of your head. His eyes were black with murder, blood dripping from his grinning mouth. You tried to look away from his horrifying face, too frightened to even scream.

It was him, the fabled beast, the abomination. You could hear the voices of your ancestors, thousands of voices yelling out in anger, screaming at him.

Kill him, kill him, kill him, they chanted, louder and louder until it was all you could hear.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his eyes and all the chanting turned to screams of fear and agony. Like they were being slaughtered by him all over again.

"Hello love, you must be the new gardener," he said, his words soft and gentle, "I'll be sure to give you a generous tip, for services rendered."

You wanted to tell him that he was the devil, the monster, the bringer of death. That you would be the one to end him. But you were paralyzed with terror, the screams and images were too much. You shut your eyes tight, trying to block it all out, but it was impossible. You started to sob, tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the dirt on your face.

"Look at me," he said softly, his fingers digging painfully into your cheeks.

You opened your eyes, your vision blurry and your head spinning. He had a strange look on his face, half amused, half concerned. He brushed away your tears with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"You won't remember anything about today; all you know is that you did another excellent day of work and finished all the planting," he said slowly, staring deeply into your eyes.

He let go of your face and offered you the spade. You looked down, taking it from his steady hand with your shaking one. He believed he could compel you, and you had to convince him that was true. You swallowed, taking a deep breath, remembering your training, focusing on slowing down your heart, relaxing your muscles. You couldn't panic, or you would die.

You looked back up at him, and he seemed pleased with himself, smiling brightly, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Go back to your work," he said, patting you on the shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you tried to compose yourself. You were so scared you could barely stand. You had faced the beast, and you had survived. The screams in your head were deafening, the images of the dead witches flashed through your mind, the pain of their deaths searing through your body. But slowly, all their garbled words turned into one unifying chant.

Death to all vampires, death to all vampires, you whispered, echoing their words, clutching your spade tightly in your fist.

You half walked, half ran from your car to your shop, scrambling inside. You threw your tool bag behind the counter and headed to the back room. You faced the stone wall, and with trembling fingers, you slid aside the brick that hid the hidden latch. Your hand was shaking so hard you could barely get the door open.

Once it swung open, the scent of incense wafted through the air, filling your nose. The others had already gathered, all seven of them, the other witches who were brave enough to make a stand against the vampire scourge.

You rushed into the small room and shut the door behind you, turning to face them. They were waiting for you, looking at you expectantly.

"Report," Agnes demanded, her eyes narrowed and her hands gripping her cane tightly.

"They don't suspect a thing," you said, your voice still a little shaky. "The abominations bought my act,"

"And the ash?" Agnes asked.

"Location still unknown," you replied.

She nodded, seeming satisfied with the news, "very well,"

"How was it? Facing them, what were they like?" Your friend Beatrice asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.

"It was horrible," you replied, "they are just as ancestors say,"

"We need to plan the next steps," Maeve interjected, she was always impatient, wanting everything to happen as soon as possible.

"Maeve," Beatrice chastised. "If they suspect something is amiss, this could all fall to ruin,"

"We have a way in, that's the first step completed, we should not waste any time," Maeve argued. "Y/n can only plant a garden so slowly, when she is done we will lose all access to the compound."

Agnes was about to reply, but the door chime of the shop rang, cutting her off. "I will handle this," you said, taking a deep breath.

You looked to your sisters and nodded, leaving them and going back out into the shop. You would be right back to finish the meeting, you just had to quickly deal with a customer.

You put a smile on your face and rounded the corner, only to come face to face with one of the monsters you were just talking about.

Elijah.

He was standing by a shelf, looking at a potted plant. You swallowed, composing yourself before walking towards him.

"Mr. Mikaelson," you said as cheerfully as you could, "what can I do for you today?"

He looked up at you and smiled, putting the pot back down.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he said politely. "I wanted to see your shop, it's lovely," he gestured to the display shelves and many plants hanging from the ceiling.

"Thank you, I've spent a lot of time making it this way," you replied, feeling a bit proud.

"Your work in the greenhouse is quite impressive," he said, looking back at you, a curious expression on his face.

"It was nothing," you laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck, trying not to meet his gaze.

"I wanted to ask you something," he continued, walking around the store, looking at the various plants.

"Ask away,"

"You're a witch," he said casually, picking up a pot of herbs, taking in their fragrance.

You felt your heart stop, but you tried to remain calm. You had prepared for this, bumps in the road are to be expected.

"That's more of a statement than a question." You said as calmly as you could.

"Yes, well, you've done a very good job of hiding it, so much so that my brother didn't even suspect," he glanced at you, his brown eyes dark, almost black. "It seems strange that you would take a job as a gardener in a vampire's home."

"Why does that matter?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He stepped closer, and you backed up, bumping into the shelving behind you. Leaning down, his face hovering inches from yours, you could feel the heat of his breath on your face, and you were frozen in place.

"I like you," he whispered, "and I want to give you a chance to explain yourself."

You stared him directly in the eye, trying not to flinch or show any emotion. "It's important to protect yourself in these times,"

He chuckled, looking amused. "You speak of the ban on magic? My brother's rule of the quarter?"

"Yes," you replied simply.

He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "And how would you like to change that?"

You swallowed, the voices of your ancestors ringing in your ears. Lie, lie, lie, they commanded.

"I'm simply trying to survive," you answered, it wasn't a lie, just an incomplete truth. "I have no love for my kind,"

"Hmm," he mused, his dark eyes studying your face. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. "So, tell me, are you planning on harming my family?"

You could feel his energy, his power. He was ancient, powerful, and deadly. "Of course not," you replied, looking up at him, praying your face didn't betray you.

He didn't respond, his gaze searching yours. He was close, so close, you could smell the cologne on his skin, the subtle hints of soap and shampoo. You knew the stories, the horrors, here you were, staring into the eyes of death himself.

You leaned in and kissed him, placing a hand on his chest. It was a wild gamble, but one that you hoped would explain your nervous energy.

He stiffened, surprised at the sudden contact. Then, as if he remembered himself, his hands grabbed you, pulling you in tightly against him. You had been told over and over that vampires were monsters, cold and heartless, but the heat radiating from him was overwhelming. He was so gentle and his lips were so soft. He pulled away, his eyes boring into yours. You were sure that he could see into your soul, see all the secrets and plans you were hiding. But, if he did, he didn't say anything.

"Well," he said, releasing you and straightening his suit jacket, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

You were about to say something when he was gone. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the shelves.

"Shit," you whispered.

You could see your path now, the way forward to victory, to eliminate the world of vampires. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. You couldn't fail, not now, not when you had come so far.

All that was required was that you seduce a monster.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

[hexed-hearts]

Midnight Rendezvous

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Human Torch!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Emotional Suppression, Soft Moments

Word count: 1,150

Summary: Quite late night encounters bring Reader and Wanda closer together

A/N: Hey guys! It’s certainly been awhile, I started this but never really finished so this is what I think is presentable right now lol. Thanks for all of your feedback! Enjoy!

The compound is quiet as I lean against the kitchen countertop. A late night bowl of cereal in hand as I take in the tranquility. Since joining the Avengers, everything has been so fast paced and busy. Hardly much time to be alone unless I’m in my room or doing training modules. The team has been welcoming, it’s not everyday a top SHEILD agent gets powers, and it’s even more crazy that I am now immune to fire. Thor calls me the human torch but I think that’s a silly name.

I continue to munch on my bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch when I hear the faint sound of a door opening. Light footsteps slowly make their way towards me. The smell of her shampoo wafts into the room before she appears, her bright red hair pulling me into her green eyes when she finally steps in. “It’s late, what’s got you still up?” She asks, pulling out a mug from the cabinet as she prepares to make tea.

“I like the silence, it feels like everything slows down at night. I can focus better. Besides,” I grab the tea that was hiding behind me and hand it to her, “I can ask the same of you.”

She frowns, “I uh…couldn’t sleep.” She looks away from me, her eyes focused on the water as she waits for it to boil. Her fingers tapping on the rim of the mug with impatience.

“Are you…okay, Wanda? Do you need to talk about i-“

“I’m fine.” She cuts me off quickly, eyes never leaving the still water. Her tense shoulders rising even higher. I don’t respond to her right way, instead letting her words linger in the silence of the room.

“Well, when you’re not fine…I’m all ears.” I drink the last of the milk in my bowl and quickly wash it out. I feel her eyes watching me as I move around the kitchen. Every movement is meticulously surveillanced. I finally pause in front of her, our eyes locking as I take in the state of her exhaustion. Her eyes are red, her hair sticks to her forehead, evident with sweat. I know she’s not fine but I don’t push it, instead I wrap my hand around the water pot and use my powers to bring it to a boil. “Good night Wanda,” I state as I leave her alone in the kitchen.

A week goes by before I catch Wanda in the kitchen again. I get up in the middle of the night for my midnight cereal. As I step into the kitchen, I’m stunned to see Wanda standing with her hands firmly wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. Hair tied up in a messy bun as she stands with her oversized band shirt on, Led Zeppelin. Our eyes lock together, surprise evident on my face, “for once you beat me here, I didn’t expect that.”

“I hope I’m not in your way,” she says sheepishly, “I know you like your quiet.”

“You’re fine, certainly not in my way,” I pour the cereal into my bowl before pouring the milk in, “besides…I’ll make an exception for you anyway.” She sends me a smile over her mug, “still couldn’t sleep huh?”

“Nope,” she says bluntly.

“Are you ever going to tell me why?”

“Nope.” She pops.

“Figured.” She sips on her tea as I eat my bowl in conjoined silence, the faint buzzing of the kitchen light the only sound that fills the room. “How come you don’t conjure up a cup of tea with your magic, why do you always make it by hand?”

“The tea doesn’t taste the same, it tastes like residual magic.” She says.

“What does magic taste like?” I chuckle, sipping on my remaining milk.

“You know what pop rocks are?” I nod, “it tastes like pop rocks and dirt.”

I laugh at her description, “oh come on it can’t be that bad. I remember pop rocks being pretty good when I had them.” I clean my bowl and lean against the counter next to her.

“Probably cause they were filled with sugar and artificial flavors,” she elbows my side, the corners of her eye crinkling with her smile, “you’ll just have to experience it yourself.”

“Well then, I look forward to our next midnight rendezvous,” I give her a light tap on the shoulder, “goodnight Wanda.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

A few more days go by before I make my midnight walk from my room to the kitchen. The kitchen light is already on by time I make it to the hallway, indicating that Wanda beat me again. I walk into the kitchen to find Wanda leaning against the counter with her tea, a bowl and a box of cereal sitting next to her.

“Took you long enough, I was beginning to think I would spend tonight alone.” She quips.

“No way, you promised me magic cereal and I’ve been dying to taste it.” I sit on top of the counter top across from her, my legs swinging in the open space.

“Alright fine,” with a wave of her hand a pristine bowl of cereal appears, looking like it was plucked out of a commercial. She hands it to me across the empty space and I eagerly take it, using the spoon to push some of the cereal under the milk before taking my first bite. She watches my face expectantly, waiting for my reaction.

“Oh…oh no…” my face contorts in disgust as I slowly chew, “the tingling is certainly like pop rocks.” I jump off the counter and spit out the remnants in the trash, Wanda laughs as she watches me.

“I tried to tell you, maybe next time you should put your listening ears on,” she mocks as she makes the bowl of magic cereal disappear.

“Listen witchy,” she raises her eyebrow at the nickname, “I wasn’t not listening, I just had a hypothesis that I wanted to check out.” I grab the normal cereal and milk and quickly make myself a bowl.

“So your defense is that you chose to ignore me?” She questions as she tilts her head.

“Nooo, how could I ever ignore you,” I pointed my spoon at her before taking a bite of my new cereal, “more like… selective hearing.”

She chuckles, “whatever you say weirdo,” she finishes her tea, staring at the empty mug as she runs her fingers through her hair. She taps the rim with her finger as she contemplates her next move. “I better get off to bed now.”

“Leaving so soon, and here I thought we were bonding, witchy.” She shoots me a glare before rolling her eyes, shaking her head as a small smile creeps on her face.

“Don’t push it there pyro, goodnight Y/N.” She turns and starts walking out of the kitchen.

“Goodnight Wanda, get some rest.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

[infamous-light]

All I Think About Is You

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

AO3: All I Think About Is You

Summary: Wanda’s growing crush on Natasha doesn’t go unnoticed.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, G!P Natasha, PIV sex, blow jobs, dirty talk, light dom/sub, fingering, seduction

Wanda had always told herself it was just admiration. Admiration for Natasha’s skill, her composure, her sheer presence.

But deep down, she knew better. It wasn’t just the way Natasha could captivate a room with just a smirk or how she carried herself with effortless grace. It was the way she made Wanda’s chest tighten, her stomach flutter, and her thoughts spin wildly out of control.

Every interaction left Wanda yearning for more: a glance that lingered a second too long, a soft laugh that sent warmth rushing through her veins, or the casual brush of fingertips that felt more intimate than it had any right to. Natasha was magnetic, and Wanda? She was hopelessly caught in her orbit.

Wanda sighed, clutching her water bottle as she walked down the Avengers compound hallway, trying not to think about the way Natasha had looked earlier that morning at breakfast. Her hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling in her face as she sipped her coffee, eyes still half-lidded from sleep. Wanda had stared for too long, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth, until Natasha glanced up and arched a playful eyebrow. Wanda had quickly looked away, heat rushing to her face, but the memory of Natasha’s teasing smirk lingered stubbornly in her mind.

Now, as Wanda passed by the gym, the rhythmic thuds and soft grunts broke through her thoughts, pulling her from her reverie. Her heart skipped a beat – she recognized that sound. It was Natasha.

For a moment, Wanda hesitated, her hand resting on the cool metal of the door handle. She shouldn’t go in. She should keep walking, leave Natasha to her training, and save herself from the inevitable spiral of emotions she’d feel watching her. Yet, her feet refused to move. The thought of seeing Natasha – seeing her strength, her focus, her raw energy – was irresistible. Wanda swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the handle more firmly.

Finally, Wanda pushed the door open just wide enough to peek through.

Inside, Natasha was sparring against a training dummy. Wanda couldn’t help but watch in awe as the assassin’s lithe form executed a perfect roundhouse kick, her body twisting with precision and power. The dummy wobbled violently under the impact, but Natasha was already in motion again, her chest heaving with exertion as sweat glistened along her collarbones.

Wanda continued to stare, mesmerized. Her eyes wandered, taking in the sculpted muscles of Natasha’s arms, the way her tank top clung to her, damp with sweat. Wanda froze when her gaze slipped lower, landing on a subtle yet undeniable bulge pressing against the fabric of Natasha’s workout shorts. For a fleeting moment, her mind seemed to shut down entirely.

Then, a wave of heat surged between her thighs, settling there. She shouldn’t stare, couldn’t stare, but her traitorous eyes refused to obey. Wanda bit her lower lip, and her imagination ran wild before she could stop it.

She pictured herself on her knees, Natasha’s fingers tangling in her hair as the tip of her cock pressed firmly against her lips. She imagined the warmth of it, the weight, and how Natasha’s soft groan might sound as she –

Wanda jolted back, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She clenched her hand tightly around the water bottle, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to steady herself. This was not appropriate – not the time, not the place, not… anything. And yet, her heart hammered, and her thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

“You okay there?” Natasha’s voice snapped the witch out of her thoughts.

Wanda’s eyes darted up to find Natasha watching her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She was standing by the water cooler now, toweling off her neck, her green eyes sharp and knowing. Too knowing. Wanda shifted awkwardly on her feet, suddenly aware of how red her face must be.

“Yeah, I was just… uh, passing by.” Wanda stammered, gripping her water bottle like it could somehow deflect Natasha’s gaze.

“Uh-huh,” Natasha drawled, her smirk widening. “Next time, you should join me. Staring doesn’t exactly burn any calories.”

Wanda’s face flushed a deeper shade of crimson as Natasha approached her with a confident stride. She struggled to maintain her composure, her eyes stubbornly avoiding the prominent curve of Natasha’s bulge. Natasha tilted her head ever so slightly, her gaze trailing up and down Wanda’s form, lingering on every curve.

“You seem tense, Maximoff,” Natasha said, her voice smooth and velvety, laced with a teasing undertone. “Perhaps you should come by my room later,” she paused, her voice dropping into a hushed whisper. “I think we should... talk.”

Wanda’s lips parted, but no words came out. Talk? About what? But the way Natasha’s green eyes glinted with mischief told Wanda it wasn’t going to be a simple chat.

“I – uh...” Wanda stuttered, her face growing impossibly hotter. “Sure. I mean – okay. I’ll come by later.”

Natasha chuckled as she brushed past her. “Good. Be there in an hour. Don’t keep me waiting.”

With a towel draped over her shoulder, Natasha walked away, leaving Wanda standing there, her heart pounding, thoughts racing, and a slow, unmistakable heat pooling low in her abdomen.

***

An hour later, Wanda stood outside Natasha’s bedroom door, her fingers twisting anxiously in the fabric of her short black skirt. The hem barely brushed mid-thigh, revealing more skin than she was used to showing. Her low-cut red t-shirt hugged her figure, the neckline dipping just enough to highlight the curve of her collarbone and the faint swell of her breasts. She had chosen the outfit with care, hoping it would catch Natasha’s eye.

Wanda smoothed her hands down her skirt for the tenth time, trying to calm the nervous fluttering in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked.

“Come in!” Natasha’s voice rang out.

Wanda stepped inside, and the sight that greeted her made her heart skip a beat. Natasha was lounging on the edge of her bed, her damp red hair falling in soft curls around her shoulders from a recent shower. She was dressed in a loose black tank top and navy-blue gym shorts that were so short that they left little to the imagination. The material hugged her thighs, accentuating every muscle, and the slight stretch of her legs revealed a large bulge that was impossible to ignore.

Though Natasha’s posture was relaxed, her gaze was anything but. The low-cut top Wanda wore drew Natasha’s attention, her eyes lingering before tracing the curve of her bare legs, exposed by the short skirt she had chosen. When their eyes met again, Natasha’s smoldering intensity sent a shiver coursing through Wanda.

“You came,” Natasha said, her lips curving into a slow smile. “Good.”

Wanda nodded, unsure of what to do with her hands or where to look. She lingered near the door, feeling both drawn in and overwhelmed by the tension growing in the air. Natasha rose slowly, closing the distance between them in a few unhurried steps. Wanda could barely breathe as Natasha came to a stop mere inches away.

“You look nervous,” Natasha said in a low voice. Her fingers grazed against Wanda’s wrist, a fleeting touch that sent a spark of electricity through her. “Don’t be. I don’t bite –” she paused, her smile deepening. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Wanda’s throat tightened, her breath catching.

“I’m not nervous.” She replied, though the waver in her voice betrayed her.

“Is that so?” Natasha’s gaze lingered on Wanda’s lips before flickering back up to meet her eyes. Her hand rose, fingertips tracing a slow, tantalizing path along Wanda’s forearm. “Then why is your heart racing?”

“I –” Wanda’s words failed her.

Natasha leaned in closer, her voice a whisper against Wanda’s ear. “It’s okay. I just want to… get to know you better.” She pulled back just enough to meet Wanda’s eyes again, the corner of her mouth lifting in a wicked grin. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to leave.”

The challenge hung in the air, daring Wanda to stay. There was something in Natasha’s tone, something about the way her presence seemed to wrap around her like a silken thread, that made it impossible to walk away.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Wanda said, her voice steady now.

Natasha’s smile widened, her fingers lightly trailing down Wanda’s arm. “Good,” she said again. “Because I’ve been waiting for this.”

“I – Natasha...” Wanda moaned, her words faltering as Natasha’s lips began to move down her jawline, placing the softest of kisses there.

“Relax, Wanda,” Natasha murmured, her hands holding onto Wanda’s hips to steady her. “I’ll take care of you.”

Wanda’s knees nearly gave out at the promise in Natasha’s voice, her hands instinctively gripping Natasha’s shoulders for support. Any coherent thought fled as Natasha’s lips found hers – slow, tender, yet irresistibly intense – pulling her under like a tide she couldn’t resist.

Natasha’s lips were like a slow-burning flame, searing into Wanda’s with a heat that threatened to consume her entirely. Natasha’s hands moved with purpose, one threading through Wanda’s hair while the other slid down her back, drawing the witch closer until their bodies melded together. Wanda moaned as Natasha’s tongue swept against hers, teasing and demanding all at once. She could feel Natasha’s smirk against her lips, that smug confidence that never failed to send a delicious shiver down her spine.

Natasha’s hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing the hem of Wanda’s skirt before slipping underneath. The touch was delicate, feather-light, yet it made Wanda’s breath hitch, nonetheless. Natasha’s fingers skimmed along the curve of her thigh, moving higher until they brushed against the damp fabric of her lace panties. Wanda trembled, her knees shaking as Natasha’s touch grew firmer, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive clit hidden beneath.

“Natasha.” Wanda breathed, her voice a shaky whisper as she broke away from the kiss.

Her hips rocked forward involuntarily, desperate for more pressure, more friction, more of her. But Natasha only chuckled, the sound a low, sinful vibration in her throat. Her lips traced a path down Wanda’s neck, teasing, while her fingers maintained their maddening, deliberate rhythm.

“You’re so wet already,” Natasha said, her voice a husky purr that sent a jolt straight to Wanda’s core. “Do you even realize what you do to me? How much I want to ruin you right now?”

Wanda whimpered, her nails digging into Natasha’s shoulders as she tried to ground herself. Natasha smirked, the sound fueling her determination as her fingers tugged Wanda’s panties aside, exposing her. Without hesitation, she slid two fingers deep inside Wanda’s slick heat. Wanda gasped, the sudden, direct contact almost drawing a sharp cry from her lips. Natasha began to pump her fingers steadily, her knuckles brushing teasingly against Wanda’s walls with each thrust. Each stroke sent sparks racing through Wanda’s veins, igniting every nerve until her entire body trembled against Natasha.

The wet sounds of her pussy being fingered, the glide of Natasha’s fingers, and the warmth of her lips on Wanda’s skin were beginning to push her to the edge. It was too much, too consuming – until another force took over, an all-encompassing need to have Natasha.

Wanda shoved Natasha back, the force making her stumble slightly. Natasha's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could react, Wanda’s hands were on her again, firmly guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed.

An amused smile appeared on Natasha’s lips a second later, clearly enjoying the shift in power.

“Oh, are we playing rough now?” Natasha teased, leaning back on her elbows as she watched Wanda sink to her knees before her.

Wanda just smirked, her hands reaching for the waistband of Natasha’s shorts. In one swift motion, she tugged them down just enough to expose what she had been craving.

Natasha’s cock sprang free, thick, hard, and achingly perfect. Wanda couldn’t help but marvel at it, her gaze lingering, captivated. It was undeniably large, a 9-inch monster. For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered through Wanda’s mind – wondering if it would even fit inside her mouth or her tight pussy. Yet, she quickly dismissed the thought. She had wanted Natasha for far too long to let size be a barrier. She’ll make it fit.

Wanda’s fingers curled around the heavy base, testing its weight with an experimental stroke. Natasha groaned, the sound deep and guttural, her hips lifting off the bed in a wordless plea. A bead of precum glistened at the tip, catching Wanda's eye, and she leaned in closer, her warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head.

A soft hum of appreciation escaped her lips, low and sultry, as if relishing the sight of Natasha's growing need.

“You’re so perfect, Natasha. Every part of you... even this.” She gently stroked again, savoring the shape, the firmness, the way it filled her hand. A sly smile curled her lips. “Hm, I can’t wait to wrap my lips around this huge cock,” Wanda purred. “To feel you throb, give in, and come undone as I take you deep into my throat.”

She placed a tender kiss to the underside of the tip, her lips lingering there as she looked up at Natasha with half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck, Wanda,” Natasha rasped, her hand tangling in Wanda’s hair as if to guide her. But Wanda didn’t need guidance – she knew exactly what she wanted.

Wanda’s green eyes glimmered with dark amusement as her tongue darted out, swiping across the slit before she carefully took the head into her mouth. At first, the fit was tight, and Wanda struggled slightly, the resistance drawing a soft cough from her. Natasha swore under her breath, her grip tightening in Wanda’s hair as she encouraged her to take more, to relax. Slowly, Wanda eased her way down. As her head began to move, she started to gently bob up and down, taking more of Natasha’s length with each pass. The taste of her was intoxicating, salt and musk and something uniquely Natasha, and Wanda moaned around her, the vibrations drawing another sharp intake of breath from Natasha.

Natasha's thighs shook, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as Wanda's other hand slid up, cupping her balls. Her fingers kneaded them in perfect sync with the rhythm of her mouth. Every touch, every caress, intensified the mounting tension within Natasha, coiling tighter and tighter, like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

It wasn’t long before Natasha began to thrust into Wanda’s mouth, her control fraying as pleasure overtook her. Wanda hollowed her cheeks, sucking deeply, her tongue gliding over every sensitive ridge and curve as she felt Natasha’s cock twitch against her lips.

“I’m close,” Natasha warned, her voice strained. “Don’t stop.”

Wanda didn’t intend to. She fought to push just a few more inches past her lips, the strain drawing a gag from her throat. The sight of Wanda teary-eyed, her mouth stretched halfway down her spit-slicked cock, was the final trigger. With a deep, guttural groan, Natasha came, her release spilling into Wanda’s eager mouth.

Wanda responded with a soft, muffled moan, savoring the warm, intoxicating sensation of Natasha's come flowing down her throat. She kept her lips firmly sealed around Natasha’s cock, drawing out every drop, her hands holding her hips steady as Natasha rode out the rest of her orgasm.

When Natasha finally stilled, Wanda pulled back, swallowing everything as she looked up at the woman before her. Natasha’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes shimmered with an intense, burning desire. Without a word, she stood up and hauled Wanda to her feet, guiding her onto the bed.

In the next breath, Natasha flipped Wanda onto her stomach. Wanda barely had time to comprehend what was happening before Natasha’s hands were on her once more, hiking her skirt up around her waist and yanking her panties down. Settling herself behind Wanda, Natasha took a moment, her cock still hard as she aligned herself with Wanda’s entrance. Slowly, she began to push inside. Wanda cried out, her hands clutching the bed sheets as she felt herself stretch to accommodate Natasha’s girth. The sensation was intense – painful yet deeply pleasurable – as Natasha continued to slide deeper, inch by inch, filling her completely.

Natasha paused for a moment, giving Wanda time to adjust, but she wasn’t having it.

“Natasha, I swear, if you don’t fuck me already…” Wanda demanded, her voice cracking with desperation.

Natasha obliged, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in with a force that made Wanda see stars.

The pace Natasha set was ruthless, each thrust driving Wanda closer to the edge. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the bedroom, mingling with their shared moans and whimpers.

“God, you feel so good,” Natasha panted, her rhythm faltering as her own pleasure mounted. “So fucking tight,” she punctuated her words with a deep, sharp thrust, burying herself to the hilt. “Such a perfect little cockslut for me.”

Wanda could only nod, her mind consumed by the cock spearing in and out of her cunt. Her body quaked, teetering on the edge, every nerve alight. She was so close, so unbearably close, and she could tell Natasha was too.

Natasha’s movements grew erratic, her hips stuttering as she lost herself in the moment, chasing her release with reckless abandon. Wanda met each thrust with equal fervor, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Then, with a cry that bordered on a shout, Wanda shattered, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Seconds later, Natasha followed, her cock pulsing as she came hard, emptying herself deep inside Wanda. For a moment, they stayed like that, both shivering as the aftershocks rolled through them. With a soft, contented sigh, Natasha pulled out and eased down beside Wanda, her arm curling around the witch to draw her close.

“You okay?” Natasha whispered, her voice soft and soothing.

Wanda nodded, lifting her hand to rest against Natasha's cheek. “I’m fine.”

Natasha leaned into the touch, closing her eyes in comfort.

“Good.” She murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's palm.

They held each other close until they fell into a light, peaceful sleep.

[em1i2a3]

At The Beach, In Every Life

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Rogue Inspired!Fem!Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of you and Bob’s argument, you make a rash decision that changes everything. (Conclusion of Sailor Song, and Fable!)

Warnings: Angst…A lot of it once again…What can I say, I love the sadness 😩

Author’s Note: Well, this is the final part of this series, I hope y’all enjoy! I loved writing this a lot, it was a bit sad, but very therapeutic, and I hope it does the series justice. Also SURPRISE WITH THE DOUBLE UPDATE heheheh

Word Count: 5,621

A few weeks later, the dreams of you had stopped completely.

There were no more golden fields. No more glimpses of you half-turned with sunlight caught in your lashes. No more moments where your name left Bob’s lips and you smiled. No more touching. No more holding. There was only darkness now. Cold, still, and absolute.

It was a silence that didn’t just exist in his sleep anymore–it followed him like a shadow. Bob hadn’t said anything about it to anyone, but the emotional shift was unmistakable. He stopped showing up to breakfast, and began skipping team meetings without any explanation. He limited his conversations, and when he did choose to speak, it was barely a whisper–low and distant, like his voice has to travel through walls just to reach the people he was communicating to. His hands began trembling again, and he started sitting on them to try and numb the tingling that worked through the nerves, but nothing seemed to solve the issue.

Everyone had noticed, and for those that didn’t, it became apparent to them really quickly when you left the compound out of nowhere.

It had been exactly one week since the retreat–since the night on the porch, when you left him with words that shattered him like glass.

The morning in question had started quiet. You hadn’t shown up for your usual session in the training room. The logs were untouched, and your comm was shut off.

At first, no one panicked. You were a private person, and oftentimes you disappeared for a few hours, whether it was for a walk in the park, or to window shop because you couldn’t stand the thought of going into crowded stores. The team knew you sometimes craved some alone time, and they respected it.

But by noon, Yelena felt it in her bones that something was wrong.

There was no movement on the hall cams, and no heat signatures coming from your room–last time she had checked it had been fourteen hours since the last reading. She told herself you were asleep, or reading, or hiding from everyone like you sometimes did after a stressful night–but something in her chest had already gone tight.

And then she remembered.

Two nights before you had gone radio silent, you’d found her in the kitchen just before midnight. You didn’t say much–just leaned against the counter in your pyjamas and gloves, and sipped from a mug of tea, watching as she cut an apple. There was something restless in your eyes that night, something stormy, like you had been mulling over a thought that was bigger than your entire being. You asked her a question–a stupid, hypothetical one, she thought at the time.

”If you were in my shoes…Would you want to get rid of the power? Would you want to be normal?” Yelena had paused, her knife stilling over the cutting board. She had looked at you with a concerned look plastered on her face, and her eyes were already grilling you.

”What kind of question is that?” She asked, noticing the way you shrugged. She was trying to gauge your body language, attempting to somehow read your mind.

”I’m just curious,” You said quietly, “Would you get rid of the power or not?” Yelena gulped, looking back down at the apple she was slicing, chewing on the question for a moment. She knew she had to be careful with how she answered, because it was easy to misinterpret her words, so she cleared her throat, and looked back up at you.

”No…I’d want something better…Something that makes sense. Something that keeps me, exactly the way I am.” She responded. You didn’t say anything back, you just broke eye contact and glanced down at your steaming cup of tea, but Yelena had gone on, trying to shrug the question off like it was just a late-night talk between friends.

”There has to be something that gives you both…That lets you keep what’s yours without it being a danger towards everyone else around you…I think you shouldn’t throw away part of yourself because it’s hard, you should figure out how to live with it, hell maybe there’s research that you haven’t looked into yet.” You nodded slowly, and told her she was right before ending the conversation.

Now, when she was standing in your doorway the day you had gone missing in action, Yelena’s stomach turned.

Drawers were yanked from their tracks. Clothes were scattered. Your closet was cracked open like a wound, and your bed was rumpled, with the blanket hanging off the edge. A hoodie was bunched up on the floor, like it had been dropped mid-thought, and a glass of water was knocked over on your desk, which had slowly soaked into a folder of mission reports.

Your car keys were missing, and your go-bag–the one you said was for emergencies only–was gone.

There was no note, no message, not even a scribbled post-it on the fridge, there was just absence.

When Yelena and the rest of the team made the discovery Bob hadn’t been far. He was slouched on the couch in the living room staring at the same page of a book he hadn’t turned in hours. Bucky had rushed down the hall to find him, but he said nothing–he just looked at him with eyes that already held grief–and Bob followed, silent and pale, like he already knew something dire happened.

When he reached your room, he stopped mid-step in the doorway and didn’t breathe for almost a minute. He didn’t speak, nor did he blink. He just stared at the spot where your boots used to sit–lined up perfectly, always tucked against the wall. They were gone. Just like you.

The physical absence of you was worse than anything Bob could have imagined, because it didn’t just feel like you were gone–it felt like the world had been cracked open and left gaping. Like something that was sacred to him had been plucked out of the air and now everything around him was too loud and too quiet all at the same time. The light didn’t fall the same way through the windows, and the hallways felt longer…Even the sky looked wrong to him.

He began to spiral.

Not all at once. Not in a way anyone could fix. But in slow, shattering increments that no one could stop.

He started locking his door.

Stopped replying to messages unless it was mission-critical.

He wouldn’t eat unless someone left something at his door and walked away without speaking. He barely slept. And when he did, he didn’t dream. Not anymore. The golden fields were gone. So was the version of you who smiled and reached for him.

Now there was only blackness. Still. Silent.

And Bob cried when he thought no one could hear. He curled up on the floor of his bathroom or curled into the corner of his bed with his face pressed to the hoodie you left behind in your room. He had held it like it might still carry the shape of you if he clung hard enough. But the sweet scent of you had already begun to fade. Then on top of all that, that’s when the dreams ceased to exist.

He kept trying to stay busy. He organized his books, then destroyed the order and started again. He wrote down a list of things he wanted to say to you if he ever saw you again, then tore the page to pieces before he finished the last line. He tried to bake a cake, but he burned it. Then dropped to his knees on the kitchen floor and sobbed so hard Bucky had to pull him away from the smoke and extinguish the flames.

Nobody knew what to do, not even Alexei.

Walker offered to spar with him–Bob declined without meeting his eyes.

Ava left a stack of research papers on alternative power-dampening tech outside his door, and he didn’t open them.

Bucky was able to sit with him in silence but that didn’t help.

And Yelena kept checking gate logs, just in case you showed up, but nothing came. There were no messages, no information, and no you.

That was until one night, four weeks after your disappearance.

It was just past midnight when Yelena’s phone rang. She was in the kitchen, again, this time she was going through security footage of the 24 hours before and after you went missing.

The number that flashed across her screen was unrecognizable–no name, no contact photo. Just a block of jumbled numbers. It was the kind of number you didn’t reply to unless you were expecting to receive bad news. She almost let it go to voicemail…But something in her gut twisted, like her instincts were screaming for her to do the complete opposite of what a normal person would do.

So she answered.

”Hello?” There was silence on the other end for a beat or two, and then that’s when she heard it.

“Yelena…Please don’t hang up.” You said quietly. Yelena’s whole body locked up instantly. She didn’t say your name, she was too shocked to. For a second, she thought she was dreaming–hallucinating maybe. She had been losing sleep over your whereabouts, and she assumed that maybe it had finally splintered into pure delusion…But she knew your voice well enough, and she knew that wasn’t the case.

”Where the fuck are you?” She asked, voice low and trembling with rage. She tried to keep quiet, not wanting to garner attention from the other teammates, knowing that there was a possibility you would hang up if you heard anyone else’s voice apart from hers.

”I can’t tell you that,” You said softly, “I’m…I’m not trying to make this worse. I just needed to hear a voice that was familiar.” Yelena closed her eyes, and gripped the counter so tightly her knuckles went white.

”You left. You ran off. You didn’t leave a note, and you didn’t say goodbye…And now you call acting like you didn’t do anything wrong. How could you be so stupid Y/N?” There was silence on the other end for a moment, before she heard a sigh.

”I know what I did was wrong…And I’m sorry Lena…” There was a rustling sound, like you were outside. Wind moved through the line, maybe it was the shaking of trees or it was gravel crunching under your foot. It was distant, and soft, but it certainly wasn’t local, Yelena could tell.

“I found something,” You started, “A group out east. They call it ‘Second Light'.’ It’s this…Rehabilitation program for powered individuals with high-level threat classifications. It’s off the grid in upstate Maine, near Camden, hidden in the woods…” Yelena didn’t say anything, she just sat in silence.

”They don’t promise to fix you…They just promise to help you understand yourself. I don’t even know what I’m hoping for…I just–I wanted to be somewhere I couldn’t hurt anyone.” You added, and Yelena could feel the venom rising in her throat.

”Well it’s too late for that Y/N.”

“I know.” You responded.

”You should’ve told us…You should’ve told him.” There was a pause, and then your breath shook.

“How is he?” Yelena nearly laughed. It was a sharp, dry sound with no humor behind it, and she stood up from her seat and began walking around the kitchen with her eyes closed.

”How do you think he’s doing? He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping. I don’t think he’s seen the sky in four fucking weeks Y/N. Does that give you an answer? Or do you want more details?” Yelena’s voice was sharp, cracking around the edges. Her fury wasn’t clean. It was jagged, wrapped in grief. And for a moment, all she could hear on the other end of the line was your breath–shallow, shaky, like you were trying not to fall apart.

And then came the sound. A sniffle, quick and broken.

”It’s not like I don’t miss him, Lena.” Your voice dropped to a whisper full of splinters, “I miss him with all my fucking heart. Every second. Every breath. Every time I try to fall asleep, I remember he’s not down the hall from me. But you don’t know what that’s like…You don’t understand what it’s like to be around someone that you have such intense feelings for and you can’t touch them. You can’t feel them…You can’t hold onto them. You’ll never understand what it’s like to not be able to hold the person you–“ You cut yourself off with a breath that shook so hard it cracked through the receiver, as you tried to compose yourself with a shaky breath.

”I’m doing this because I want to live a normal fucking life with him one day…I want to wake up next to him and not worry that I’ll kill him if I roll the wrong way. I want to be able to hold his hand…To kiss him…Without thinking or being cautious.” Yelena’s back hit the fridge, and she slid down it, the cool metal biting her skin.

”Then why didn’t you tell him any of this?” She hissed, “Why didn’t you give him a chance to understand? Why did you push him away when we were at the cabin?” You exhaled so softly, it barely registered over the line. When you finally spoke, your voice was wrecked.

”Because he would’ve given himself up to be with me…He would’ve let go of who he was, and he would’ve tried to let the Sentry take over completely–just so he could be close to me. He would’ve burned himself to glow brighter, and I couldn’t ask that of him, I wouldn’t survive knowing I let him sacrifice the parts of himself that were still healing just to feel my skin.” Yelena’s breath hitched, but she didn’t interrupt. She didn’t need to. You were unraveling now, bleeding truth down the phone line, the confession clattering like shattered glass between you both.

“Bob is…Fragile. Not weak, but fragile, Lena. He’s been holding himself together with trembling hands since the day we took him in, and I saw it in his eyes…That night on the porch–I felt it. He would’ve said yes to anything. He would’ve given up being Bob just to be mine.” You swallowed, hard. Your voice thinned into a whisper, “And I want him…God, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But not at the cost of who he is.” Yelena leaned forward, elbows digging into her knees, fist pressed against her mouth as her heart broke in slow motion.

“You think he’s better off now?” She asked, “You think he’s safe because you’re gone? He’s not. He’s broken and he’s slipping, and we are all struggling to catch him right now.”

“I know,” You whispered, “I know I made it worse, but I’m trying to be strong for him in the only way I can…I’m doing this so that when I come back I can give to him all the things I’ve been starving to give…” Your voice cracked again, the final words hitting like a stone dropped into water. Yelena clutched the phone tighter, her voice finally softening–but not with forgiveness. Just with desperation.

“Can you at least talk to him, Y/N?” She whispered. “Can you give him anything to pull him out of the hole he’s in? Please.”

The word landed like a bruise–please–because Yelena didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. And now here she was, curled against the refrigerator, voice raw and trembling with the effort of trying to hold up what little was left of you both. There was a pause on your end. Long. Heavy. The only sound was wind brushing across the mic and the faint static of distance. You swallowed so quietly Yelena could hear it through the line.

“…You can give him this number,” You said finally. “Tell him he doesn’t have to call. He doesn’t owe me that. But if he ever wants to…If he ever needs to…” Your voice broke, but you pushed through it anyway. “…I’ll answer. No matter what time it is. No matter where I am. I’ll pick up.”

Yelena pressed her eyes shut, nodding even though you couldn’t see it. Her throat tightened.

“I’ll tell him,” She said.

“Thank you,” You murmured. “And Lena?”

“Yeah?”

“…Just…Stay near him. Please. I know he won’t ask for help, but–don’t let him drown.” Yelena bit her lip so hard she drew blood, holding back the swell in her chest.

“I’m trying,” She said quietly. “But he needs you, not me.”

A breath caught in your throat, and before you could say anything Yelena hung up. She sat still for a long moment, with the phone cradled against her chest. Her eyes stung, and her heart ached in places she had not known could ache like that.

She sat at the kitchen table, lit only by the dim under-cabinet lights, scribbling your number onto the back of a takeout menu–then rewriting it again, neatly this time, onto the inside of a folded notepad page. She stared at it for a while. Ran her fingers over the ink like she could steady herself with the pressure of its presence. Then she stood.

Bob’s door was cracked open when she got there.

Not locked like it had been for days. Just…Barely open, as if he didn’t have the energy to close it anymore.

She knocked once, soft.

He didn’t respond.

“Bob?” she said gently, peeking in.

The room was dim and still. Bob sat at the foot of his bed in a sweatshirt that hung loose on his frame, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers twisted together like they were trying to keep him tethered. He looked up slowly, bleary-eyed and distant. Like the world was a radio station he couldn’t quite tune into.

Yelena stepped inside and crouched down in front of him. She didn’t sit. Didn’t linger. Just held out the piece of paper.

He looked at it like it was something sacred. Something terrifying.

“She called,” Yelena said quietly.

His eyes snapped to hers.

“She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s in some place called Second Light. It’s in Maine–rehab for powered individuals, off-grid.” Her voice stayed level, but it cracked once around the edges. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. His chest was rising fast and shallow, like breathing had suddenly become difficult.

“She didn’t ask me to convince you of anything,” Yelena added, pressing the paper into his hand. “But she said…If you ever wanted to talk. She’d pick up. No matter what.”

Bob took the paper like it might fall apart if he held it too tight. His thumb smudged the edge. He stared at the numbers. Silent. Pale.

Yelena didn’t wait for his decision.

She just reached out, squeezed his shoulder once, and stood.

“Whatever you do,” She said softly, “Do it for you. Not for anyone else.”

Then she walked out and closed the door behind her.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bob sat frozen for a moment. Then, with shaking fingers, he reached for his phone, and typed in the number. His thumb hovered over the call button for a split second, before he pressed it and brought the speaker to his ear.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then–

“Hello?” Your voice broke like dawn through fog–quiet, breath-warmed, and raw with the kind of vulnerability that only comes when you’re bracing for impact.

Bob froze.

Not just his hands, or his breath–but in his soul…Something inside him went utterly still. It wasn’t peace, not quite. But it was close. Like that first inhale after you’ve been drowning, the way your lungs tremble under the relief.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked so hard on your name it didn’t even sound like him. The syllables were hoarse, wrecked, like they’d been caught in his throat for weeks–because they had.

There was a pause on the line. One breath. Two.

Then–

“Bob…” Your voice softened into something that sounded like disbelief. Breathless and aching. His name came out of your mouth like a secret you’d been holding too long. Like a prayer you weren’t sure would ever be answered. His eyes shut tightly. A tremor ran through his shoulders.

“I didn’t know if you’d call,” You whispered. He could hear the wind behind you, faint but constant, like you were standing just outside somewhere. Alone.

“I didn’t know if you’d pick up,” Bob said. You both went quiet again. Not the kind of silence that hurts, but the kind that trembles between two people who have too much to say and no idea where to start.

“I…” Bob swallowed, and it was audible through the line. “A-Are you okay?” The words slipped out fast, heavy with concern.

“I’m okay…I promise. I’m not in any danger…I…I just couldn’t keep hurting you by staying.”

“Y-You weren’t hurting me,” Bob said quietly. “But…You hurt me when you left.” There was a crackle of static across the line, but neither of you moved to fill it. It stretched for several heartbeats–full of words unsaid, grief unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, and it nearly crushed him. “I should’ve told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye. But I knew if I looked at you… I wouldn’t be able to go.”

Bob closed his eyes. His free hand trembled in his lap, clutching the paper Yelena had given him so tightly it had begun to wrinkle. He pressed the phone harder to his ear, as if doing so could make you physically closer.

“Why didn’t you let me help you?”

“Because you already carry too much,” You breathed. “Because I’ve seen what happens when people ask you to bear more than you should. And I couldn’t be the thing that pushed you over the edge. I couldn’t be the reason the Sentry came back.”

“You wouldn’t have been,” He said immediately, desperate. “And you never will be. The only time I ever felt like I could hold myself together was when I was near you.” You let out a shaky breath.

”Bob…”

”Please tell me you’ll come home…” He interrupted before you could continue. There was a pause and he swore he could hear your heartbeat through the speaker.

”I don’t have a date yet,” You said, quiet and trembling, “But when I do…I promise I’ll tell you first.” Bob pressed a hand to his chest, like he could soothe the ache under his ribs with sheer pressure.

“O-Okay…” There was a pause, and Bob heard another gust of wind blow by the speaker/

“I miss you…” He added, voice small. You didn’t answer right away. But when you did, he could hear the sorrow behind your words.

“I miss you too, Bob. I think about you all the time. You’re…Everywhere. In the little things. I can’t even make tea without hearing your voice in my head asking if I want honey in it.” You laughed under your breath, but it broke halfway through. “God, I missed your voice so much…” He dropped his head, let his eyes squeeze shut.

“I haven’t dreamed of you since you left.”

There was a long pause.

“Not once?” You asked, and the tremble in your voice fractured him. He shook his head even though you couldn’t see it.

“No more fields. No more sunlight. Not even your name. Just…Nothing. It’s like you got pulled out of the part of me that knew how to dream.”You were silent for a long time. When you spoke again, it sounded like you were holding back tears.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered. “That’s not what I wanted. That’s not what this was supposed to feel like. I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know,” He replied softly. “And maybe you were. But it still feels like someone carved the color out of the world.” You let out a breath that caught halfway up your chest.

“I still see you, Bob. In my sleep. Every night. You’re always there. Reading. Smiling. Saying my name like it means something.”

“It does mean something,” He said, sudden and sure. “It means everything to me.” You both fell quiet again, but the line didn’t feel empty–it felt like it was being held between you, like a thread stretched across distance.

“I should let you sleep,” You said eventually. “It’s late.”

“I don’t really sleep,” He admitted. “Not lately.”

“Still…I’ll be here tomorrow.” Bob nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Okay. I’ll call.”

“I’ll pick up.”

There was a pause. A heartbeat. A thousand things unsaid in the silence.

“Goodnight, Bob.”

His voice broke on the answer. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

The line went dead, but he didn’t move for a long time. Just sat there on the edge of the bed with the paper still in his hand, and the phone pressed to his chest–like he could keep the warmth of your voice inside him a little longer. Like maybe if he held still enough, he could start dreaming again.

———Three Months Later———

The sun was sinking low on the horizon as you pulled into the backlot of the compound.

It had been ninety-one days, and every single one was spent counting down to this.

You had put in the work, you had done every single activity Second Light gave to you. They helped unravel the mental block that was inhibiting you from containing your powers properly, they gave you techniques on how to control everything, and own it rather than have it own you. It took a lot of time, but when you were finally able to get the courage to touch one of the counselors without fear of hurting them, you cried for hours.

The tires crunched over the gravel, and your hands–steady, and sure–tightened around the wheel as you brought the car to a stop in your old spot. Your heart pounded so loud it echoed in your ears. You hadn’t told anyone else the exact time you’d be arriving. Just Bob. And when you looked up toward the main doors–there he was.

Bob stood perfectly still at the top of the steps, hands clutched at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to tremble. His eyes were wide, too-bright in the low golden light, and his mouth was slightly open, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. His sweatshirt looked too big on him again, sleeves bunched at the wrists, and his hair was messy like he’d been pacing with his hands dragging through it all day. He hadn’t moved an inch. Not until you flung the door open.

You slammed it behind you and ran.

Hard, fast, and unthinking–like you had been holding yourself back for too long and couldn’t wait one more second. The sound of your boots echoed over the concrete of the backlot, and Bob descended the steps just as you reached them. Your arms collided first, wrapping around his shoulders, and his hands caught your waist so firmly it made your knees buckle. The impact knocked a breath out of both of you.

“Bob,” You gasped against his neck.

“God–” His voice cracked as his arms crushed you closer, one hand at your lower back, the other gripping the back of your jacket like if he let go, the ground might fall out from under him. “I-I missed you–I missed you so bad.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, and his chest was warm and alive beneath your cheek. No gloves. No hesitation. Just contact–real, and grounded, aching with every second lost and every second recovered.

When you finally pulled back–just enough to see him–your hands slid up his chest, slow and reverent. You cradled his face between your palms, thumbs brushing the smooth apples of his cheeks, and he leaned into the touch with a breathless noise that tore straight from his chest. His stubble was warm and soft beneath your fingers, the bone beneath solid and familiar.

“You feel…” You whispered, eyes searching his face like a map you’d only ever been allowed to look at from a distance. “God, you feel real.”

Bob’s eyes shimmered. He lifted one trembling hand to wrap gently around your wrist, and with aching care, he turned your palm inward and pressed a kiss to it.

His lips lingered there. Like he didn’t just want to kiss you–he wanted to memorize the pulse beneath your skin. His breath hitched as he pulled away just enough to whisper against your fingers:

“I-I’ve been looking forward to this…For ninety-one d-days…” You swallowed hard, feeling the limp in your throat.

“I kept dreaming about what it would feel like to touch you. And when I realized I could–I knew the first person I ever wanted to hold like this again…Was you.” You whispered.

He looked at you like you hung constellations in his chest.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow at first, but when your eyes fluttered shut, and your breath ghosted over his lips, he immediately closed the gap and kissed you.

It was soft. So soft it nearly broke you.

Mouths brushing, lips catching, breath mingling between one shared heartbeat. His hand slid up to cup your jaw as yours clutched the front of his sweatshirt, and the kiss deepened with a quiet, desperate sound from his chest. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. But it was everything you had both been waiting for.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and your breaths came in tandem–shaky, trembling, full of something holy.

You stayed wrapped in that shared breath, forehead to forehead, the weight of absence melting between your bodies. His thumb brushed along your cheek, catching a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. You laughed softly under your breath–shaky and overwhelmed–as your hands slid into his hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck just to feel more of him.

Bob pulled back a few inches, just enough to look at you.

And he looked. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of your face, like you might disappear if he blinked. His lips were parted, breath still coming in short little exhales, and his eyes looked like they were drowning in stars.

“I need to kiss you again,” He said, voice low, like a prayer barely surviving in his throat. “Please.”

You nodded and this time he didn’t hesitate.

This kiss was different.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t soft.

It was everything.

He kissed you like you were the gravity keeping him on the ground, like he had been dreaming of your mouth every single night and was now trying to make up for every one he had woken from aching. It was unsteady, raw, and filled with three months worth of longing that was unspoken through trembling phone calls and sleepless nights.

You whimpered into it, gripping his sweatshirt like a rope as he backed you up toward the concrete wall until your spine met the coolness of it. His hand slid up the side of your body, careful, reverent, his palm finally resting over your heart.

And when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours again, his breath hitched–then stilled.

“I–I love you,” He said.

It broke like thunder between you, cracking the silence with truth too big to hold back any longer. “I love you,” He repeated, as if saying it once couldn’t possibly be enough.

“I love you, and I never stopped. Not for a single second. I didn’t know how to say it before you left, but I said it every time I closed my eyes. Every time I picked up the phone. I was afraid it would hurt you to hear it–but not saying it hurt more.”

Tears welled again, catching the glow of the fading sun, and you cupped his face tighter, your thumbs brushing the wet beneath his lashes.

“You just said it perfectly,” You whispered. “You said everything.”

And then your voice broke–just a little. Because this time, it wasn’t from pain. It was from something fuller. Heavier. Brighter.

“I love you too, Bob. I think I’ve loved you from the start–I just didn’t know what to do with something that big. But I’m not afraid of it anymore. I’m not afraid of touching you. I’m not afraid of myself. Not if it means I get to have you.”

His breath caught, and he leaned in again–gentler this time. His lips brushed yours in a kiss that felt more like a vow. Slow. Sure. Infinite.

Around you, the backlot was quiet. The last of the sun slipped below the skyline, casting everything in a golden afterglow that made the world feel suspended–like time itself had paused just to bear witness. And when Bob pulled back again, smiling for the first time in what felt like years, he whispered,

“W-Welcome home..”

You smiled back, radiant through your tears, and took his hand.

“Take me inside,” You said. “I want to start over. Right here. With you.”

And together, under the weight of everything that had brought you back, you walked into the compound hand in hand.

Like nothing had ever broken.

Like everything had always led to this.

——LE FIN——

[missnightshade]

❝ IN BETWEEN ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes.

Summary: Wanda Maximoff's younger sister seems to have no place in the hex besides Agatha’s side.

Warnings: Fluffy; a bit of angst. My poor writing. I love Wanda but needed to portrait her like this for the plot. English not being my first language.

Word count: 1.2K.

Y/N Maximoff was a delight. A lively, powerful, rebellious, and carefree creature that echoed as someone so different from her older siblings. At least, that was the image Agatha Harkness had of her since the first time stepping into Wanda's made-up reality. A sweet little thing, ready to be made hers.

The younger witch didn't have a coherent part into that small city her sister held captive. Pietro has been dead for years, and even with Agatha’s poor casting of someone in his place, the Scarlett Witch held more care in her eyes for him than to Y/N. Her real and alive little sister. Agatha felt the need to protect you. To gather you into her own arms and never let go.

"Hey, Agnes. What's up?" The sweet voice of the youngest Maximoff elated her as Agatha stood by Wanda and Vision's door with a bottle of wine and what looked like a food container.

"Heard the Maximoffs were out and about. I decided to pay my favorite girl a visit." She stepped in, not caring to be invited. "Who in their right mind would leave such a pretty pet alone?"

Y/N's laugh scaped as her hand pushed the door closed. Agnes was the only happiness the move to Westview brought her. Yet, she couldn’t bring herrself to remember why she had decided to live with Wanda.

"I think you're the only one who thinks that way, Aggy."

The Maximoff's body flopped down on the couch as Agatha roamed around the kitchen she's been in many times before. Now, with the late nineties aesthetic, it felt easier to find what she needed to open the bottle.

"Why do you think so, dear?", Agnes asked, waltzing back into the living room with two glasses of red wine.

She reached for one, eyes now dedicated to gaze at the company for the night. "Oh, you know." Y/N moved her hand gently around her, and Agatha could swear whips of magic erupted from them in frustration. "Wanda is out with Vision, the boys and Pietro. The Maximoff's outing. Yet, here I am. Barely part of the family."

As Y/N grumbled, sipping the wine, Agatha smiled against the rim of her own glass, mind rapidly working.

"Oh, sweet girl. They love you. You know that. Wanda would never choose to leave you behind."

Her words seemed to wake something inside Y/N’s mind. As her eyes locked into Agnes', the young witch frowned, memories of Sokovia and the Maximoff twins leaving their younger sister in the hands of Hydra agents after fleeing. The puzzle pieces of memories also had the smell of burned cookies in the Avengers compound and Wanda grieving in the arms of a robot while Y/N suffered alone.

But just as they came, a stronger power pushed them out.

"Y/N?" She looked at Agnes."Where did you go?"

"Uhm..." She tried piercing things together, but her mind felt blank. "What were we talking about?"

"Wanda?"

"Oh, right." she sipped on the wine again. "You're right. She wouldn't choose that."

The happiness in your voice made Agatha’s stomach hurt. She thought for a moment that something inside you had remembered.

"Yes, sweetie. She wouldn't."

Agatha's inside twisted and turned. That precious girl, with the most mesmerizing eyes and bright personality was just another refugee of the excuse of a Scarlett Witch that was being written.

She scoffed at the thought, bitterness seeping from her mouth. The sound made Y/N look at her, the thick alcohol sliding down her throat. Her gaze was questioning, but Harkness' eyes were fixed on the movements she did to swallow. For a moment, as Agatha tried to look up at her eyes, a ghost of necessity lingered above her shoulders.

Y/N smiled then, and for the first time since meeting the younger Maximoff, she felt obsessed.

( . . . )

That feeling didn't vanish... or even subsided. In fact, it only grew stronger.

Agatha would stop by the Maximoff's home every day to bring the girl a sense of comfort and, almost always, she would be alone, playing the part of the perfect, quiet sister that hardly ever made Wanda lose her mind. Forgotten. Misplaced. A secondary part that no one actually cared about.

But Agatha did. And Agnes was always there.

There were many reasons as to why she wanted to play along Wanda's game. To pursue her. To enlighten her. To...steal her. But when looking at Y/N, all of that seemed so small in comparison. And even inside that wrecked reality of Wanda's, somehow, Y/N had enough of free will to choose to fall in love with Agnes.

"Argh, i wanna cry." Y/N cried out in another wine date. In Agnes' home, the effect of Wanda was not so overwhelming. The woman could, actually, feel something real.

"Cry? Why?" Agatha questioned, trying to reach for her. The space between them grew smaller by the time they saw each other. Now, on the same couch, Agnes' hands were stopped by Y/N, who quietly guided them to both sides of her face. The vulnerability on her irises pained Agatha as her thumbs caressed Y/N's cheeks. "Darling, what's it? Tell me."

Y/N closed her eyes, pouting as if she was really fighting the urge to cry. Maybe devouring two bottles of wine by her side wasn't a good idea.

"It's just..." She mumbled, only opening her eyes when Agatha held her a bit closer, almost touching their noses. Y/N felt as if she couldn't breathe. Her entire world crumbled when looking at Agnes like that. "You're so pretty, Aggy. And you're always here for me. And...and when you are this close, I feel like the only thing I want in this world..." She breathed out in a full smeared sentence. "Is to have you all to myself."

Agatha's digitals tingled with the need to sink her fingers and merge her skin with Y/N's. In all the centuries of her life, not once the sensation of such primal need crumbled the ever so calculatedly built walls of her existence. She eyed her with confusion, but then, with love. Y/N didn't need a second time to wonder what that meant when her lips crashed down onto hers. The sweet kiss was firstly a mere touch, but when the Maximoff's insides twisted and her fingers slid against the ones on her face, Agatha pulled her closer. There was an almost bestial growl that scaped the older woman, but her fingers gently stroke the other, bringing her in.

When they parted, their foreheads touched. Agatha had a smile that could light up the whole city of Westview. Y/N saw it up close, laughing slightly as she pressed the tip of her nose against Agnes'.

"Are you laughing at me, Dove?"

The nickname made Y/N raise an eyebrow, but that didn't stop her hand from cupping the nape of Agatha’s head, nails slightly running against it.

"I'm laughing with you." She answered, pecking Agatha's lips again. "I thought it would take you longer to kiss me."

"Were you betting how long i would take?"

"I was actually betting on how long I would take lose my patience. "

"If you knew I also liked you, why didn't you take the lead, Dove?" Agatha's hand took a strand of Y/N hair into her hands, twisting it. "Are you that stubborn.

"Don't you know me?"

Agatha laughed as she gazed at Y/N. There was a lot she didn't actually know about her, but she was okay to find out. Preferably outside her sister's influence, a problem the witch would have to figure out how to deal now. One thing she was sure: no matter what, she wouldn't let Wanda take you apart.

[orellazalonia]

You Didn’t See That Coming, Did You?

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes turn your precognition into a playful, flirtatious game. What starts as harmless teasing evolves into a deeper connection as Bucky challenges your abilities in creative ways, from sparring matches to leaving cryptic notes and pulling mischievous stunts. Eventually, the game becomes your shared language and you have the quiet realization that even when you see things coming, some moments are worth letting surprise you. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power of precognition.

Word Count: 1.4k+

A/N: Honestly, I was worried how I’d create a good story with this power. However, it turned out so fun. I definitely have a second part in the works if y’all like it too. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You weren’t exactly a spy. Or a soldier. Not even an Avenger. You were just… useful. That’s what Natasha had called you the first time she brought you in. “This one sees things. Makes life easier.”

Your gift, if you could call it that, was simple in concept and chaotic in execution: you could see short flashes of the future. Usually just a few seconds ahead. Sometimes minutes. Rarely, a day. It wasn’t flashy like Wanda’s magic or Steve’s shield throws. It was quiet, subtle, and often annoying. Like déjà vu that never stopped happening.

That’s how Bucky Barnes became your daily torment.

The man had the audacity to be interesting. A mystery wrapped in a grumpy, tactical jacket with eyes that were always watching. He didn’t trust easily. Neither did you. But trust was a little easier to fake when you already knew what someone was about to say.

At first, he hated it. You’d finish his sentences before he even opened his mouth:

“You're going to say we should sweep left instead of right.” “What the hell-“ “I know. You hate that.”

He scowled at you for a solid two weeks straight. But then came the mission in Prague, when a bullet meant for his temple missed by a fraction because you shoved him sideways exactly one second before it hit. After that, his scowl softened into something else. Something wary. Something curious.

"How did you know?" He’d asked that night in the safehouse, a whisper between the click of his metal fingers unbuckling his gear.

You looked him straight in the eye. “I always know.”

You didn’t mean to flirt. That was the problem with precognition. Sometimes you said things you hadn’t decided to say yet.

Bucky started testing you after that. He’d toss questions at you when your back was turned. “What am I thinking right now?” “What number am I holding up?” “What color shirt is Steve going to wear tomorrow?” You were right every single time.

Eventually, he stopped testing and started playing.

He’d make dramatic predictions just to throw you off. "I bet I’m going to trip over that table."

“Nope, you’re going to stub your toe on the leg and then swear under your breath like a cartoon villain.”

Which he did. Twice. You caught him smiling after the second time.

Somewhere between missions and late-night kitchen raids, you began orbiting each other like clockwork. He’d brew two mugs of coffee without asking if you wanted one. You’d hand him his forgotten gloves before he remembered them. He’d mutter, “You already knew I’d forget, didn’t you?” and you’d just shrug, sipping your drink like you weren’t smug about it.

The Avengers noticed. Steve raised an eyebrow at your synchronized movements. Sam teased Bucky mercilessly. Natasha didn’t say anything, just gave you a knowing smirk that said she’d been right all along.

The thing about seeing the future is, you never get surprised. Not really.

But Bucky managed it.

It happened on a Tuesday. You were both holed up in a quiet corner of the compound, a storm pelting the windows. You were curled up with a book pretending to read, and Bucky was tinkering with his knife. You saw the future as easily as breathing. The next page. His next move. The way he’d stretch, then ask if you were cold. You prepared to tell him you were fine before he said anything.

But he didn’t follow the script.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out. A crumpled slip of paper. It was a fortune cookie message, the cheap kind from the takeout place a few blocks away.

“Surprises are the universe’s way of making sure you’re paying attention.”

You blinked.

“You didn’t see that coming, did you?” He asked, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. For once, your foresight had gone quiet. No flashes. No hints.

Bucky chuckled. “Finally caught you off guard.”

And you realized, he’d been trying to surprise you this whole time. To prove he could. Not to annoy you. But to know you, in a way you couldn’t predict.

You looked at him then, really looked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The tension in his shoulders as he waited for your reaction. The hope he was trying not to show.

You smiled, slow and genuine.

“I didn’t see that coming,” You admitted.

He grinned back. “Good. Maybe I’ll keep you guessing.”

And for the first time in a long, long while, you hoped he would.

After that night, Bucky made it a thing. A challenge. A game neither of you officially acknowledged but one you both played with increasing intensity.

“I bet you think I’m going to grab the left mug,” He’d say the next morning, hand hovering indecisively between two identical coffee cups.

“You already decided on the right one three seconds ago,” You’d reply, not even looking up.

“Damn.”

The rules were simple: he tried to surprise you. You tried to stay unshaken. It was fun and harmless. At first. But then came the curveballs. You walked into the training room one afternoon and found the lights dimmed, the floor cleared, and Bucky standing dead center with a smug expression.

“What’s this?” You asked.

He tossed something underhand at you. A soft, rolled-up T-shirt. Your T-shirt. “Figured you’d want to change before I beat your ass in hand-to-hand.”

You caught the shirt easily. “You really think I didn’t see this ambush coming?”

He grinned. “Oh, I knew you saw it. Doesn’t mean I won’t win.”

You sparred for half an hour, laughter echoing off the walls. You dodged every feint, every fake-out but there were moments when he moved unpredictably. Sloppy on purpose. Lazy where he should’ve been sharp. You were reading him, but he was adapting.

By the end of it, you were both breathless, flushed, your back against the mat with his weight braced above you, metal arm warm against your ribs. He was close enough to kiss. Close enough that the future went blurry.

You expected him to pull away but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and whispered, “Didn’t see that one, did you?”

Your heart stuttered. “No, not this time.”

But he didn’t kiss you, not yet. That bastard just smirked, rolled off, and offered a hand to pull you up.

The game? Still on. And it only escalated from there.

Sticky notes started appearing around your room: “Bet you can’t guess what I’ll cook tonight.” “Wrong sock color. Check again.” “Don’t look in the third drawer unless you want to scream.” (You did. It was a glitter bomb. He laughed for ten minutes.)

He started carrying around coins, flipping them when you least expected it. “Heads or tails?” He’d ask, already knowing you’d call it right. But then he’d switch coins on you mid-flip. Or not flip at all. Or throw it across the room and say, “Plot twist.”

He lived to frustrate you and he loved when you slipped.

The game became your language. Your dance.

You pretended not to know when he would brush your hand in the hallway. You pretended not to see the moment he’d glance at your lips and look away. And eventually, you started bending the truth. Saying you “weren’t sure” even when you were. Letting him win.

Because sometimes, it was nice not knowing.

One night, you found a note slipped under your door: “Meet me on the roof. No peeking ahead.”

The stars were out when you arrived, cold air kissing your skin. Bucky was already there, leaning against the railing, arms crossed, watching the city lights twinkle below.

You stood beside him in silence.

“I had a vision,” You said softly after a moment. “About tonight.”

He looked sideways at you, wary but amused. “Oh yeah? How’s it end?”

You smiled. “That depends.”

He leaned a little closer. “On what?”

“On whether you finally kiss me, or if you chicken out again.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I thought I was supposed to surprise you.”

You shrugged. “You still can.”

He hesitated but not for long. The kiss was unhurried. Intentional. Less about passion, more about proving something. That even if you saw every move, every possible path, this choice was still his. And he was choosing you.

When he pulled back, he searched your eyes.

“Did I get you?” He whispered.

You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. You got me.”

“Good,” He smiled. “Because I’ve got at least ten more moves planned and I bet you won’t see half of them coming.”

You laughed, head against his chest, and let the future fade for once just enough to stay in this moment.

Game on.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Baby's First Steps

pairing: dad!robert "bob" reynolds x fem!mom!reader

genre: fluff

requested? yes @horrormovielover2000

el's thoughts: i hope yall like it!! this is a short little fluffy fic of bob being a dad :)

bob masterlist

The sun poured gently through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound’s living quarters, warming the hardwood floors where little Laoise Reynolds sat with a determined pout. Her golden curls bounced as she babbled to herself, her chubby hands smacking her knees in rhythm.

“Dada-da-da,” she chirped, turning her wide hazel eyes up toward the man sprawled on the floor in front of her. Bob Reynolds smiled so softly it could melt metal.

“You almost got it, baby girl,” he said, arms outstretched. “Come to Daddy.”

Y/N peeked out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, watching as Laoise planted one tiny foot forward before promptly plopping onto her bottom. A loud thump echoed through the room, followed by a dramatic pause… then giggles.

“She’s not even upset. She’s thriving,” Y/N laughed, walking over.

“She’s got your attitude,” Bob teased, reaching over to scoop up their daughter. “Fearless. Like her mom.”

From the couch, Bucky lifted an eyebrow. “You sure about that? She cried when I said no more banana puffs.”

“That was betrayal, Barnes,” Yelena called, entering the room with Ava in tow, both holding iced coffees. “She trusted you.”

“She trusted you,” Ava repeated, mimicking a tearful toddler’s voice.

“She’s one,” John interjected, sipping a protein shake with a smirk. “She can’t even say betrayal yet.”

“Not yet,” Alexei added proudly, lifting Laoise into the air when Bob handed her over. “But she’ll know Russian before betrayal. Yes, little cabbage? Say ‘Dedushka!’”

“She’s not calling you grandpa, Alexei,” Y/N laughed, taking a seat beside Bob, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Come on, just a little practice,” Alexei insisted, cradling Laoise as she babbled nonsense and drooled on his shoulder. “See? That was definitely ‘Alexei.’”

“That was definitely spit,” Bucky said dryly.

“Okay, let’s give her another go,” Bob said, leaning forward and gently taking Laoise back. He kissed her forehead and placed her on her feet again, his hands hovering just behind her. “You can do it, sweetpea. Just like earlier. Come to Daddy.”

Laoise teetered, her tiny legs wobbling. The room went silent except for Bob’s calm encouragement and the baby’s little grunts of effort. One step. A second. Then she launched herself forward into Bob’s arms with a triumphant “Da-da!”

“Did you see that?! Did you see that?!” Bob lifted her up and spun her in a gentle circle. “You did it, Lo! You walked! You came to Daddy!”

Laoise squealed with delight, her laughter echoing in the room as the entire team clapped and cheered. Yelena recorded the whole thing on her phone, whispering to Ava, “This is going to be the best blackmail material when she’s fifteen.”

“I’ll start the photo album,” Ava grinned.

“She’s got good form,” John nodded approvingly.

Y/N leaned over and kissed Bob on the cheek. “She really loves you, you know.”

Bob chuckled, still holding Laoise close. “She’s my whole heart. You both are.”

As Laoise babbled happily in his arms, her head resting against his chest, the room full of superheroes faded into background noise. For a moment, it wasn’t about powers or missions or saving the world.

It was just about a baby girl, her first steps, and the people who would walk beside her every step of the way.

And probably teach her how to say betrayal, Alexei, and banana puffs before anything else.