#bob barnes reader inserts

[senka-mesecine]

What do you think the boys favorite thing personality wise is about the reader. Like what kind of person do they prefer and admire.

---

― Chris would admire and gravitate towards someone who's fundamentally good. Who's righteous, especially when met with adversity and hardship. Someone who has a clear cut sense of right and wrong. Someone who has strongly set ideals and morals they don't flinch from easily, if at all. Someone who can be looked up to. A person who follows their own path even if said path isn't always the most popular or well threaded path to walk down or even if they're walking down it all alone. The person in question doesn't even have to be tremendously loud about this character trait or virtue signal it all the time, in fact, it is preferable they don't, because in don't tooting their own horn, they're effectively demonstrating how honest and genuine their whole compass is. Just the quiet, down to earth sort of conviction that the truth and commonplace day-to-day goodness is on their side and that time will tell they were correct all along --- and this, by extension? It is possibly the most lofty character trait Taylor could ever admire in another human being.

― One would think O'Neill would look favorably upon a person who's not only tough as nails and merciless, and even ruthlessly so due to his association and ass-kissing levels of support of individuals like Barnes, but I do think that deep, deep, deep down, the very opposite is true and even though Red wouldn't admit to it willingly, he'd actually secretly admire someone who's keen on giving him a goddamn break every once in a while. Yeah. You've heard that right. Red O'Neill wants a goddamn break. And someone who has a rare tolerant streak? Who's ready to go easy on him, repeatedly so? Shows him some clemency? While he might not demonstrate it openly, he'd be entirely blown out of left field by this because when was the last time that ever happened, huh? Yeah, that's right. Not in recent memory. His own ingrained habits run so deep, in fact, he might just openly mock his admired person's attempts to be lenient on him because that's what ought to be done to keep up a macho facade. In actuality? Man's at a loss for words.

― Bunny possibly lacks the foresight or wisdom necessary to have a clear cut set of character traits that he could classify into the 'I admire' and 'I don't admire' boxes respectively and if he was pressed on the matter, he'd probably say something entirely lewd, inappropriate or wholly horrendous, in the vein of 'I sure admire I get ass from so and so'. That's Bunny for you, in a nutshell. Simply put, the very fact you're his person is already a cause for him to annoyingly and perversely run his mouth nonstop about you to the degree he's boring everyone's asses off within earshot. He's got firmly set tunnel vision, sure, but it's safe to say that whoever his babe is, he's gonna like everything about them through sheer virtue that he 'scored that', so basically, if you squint hard enough, he simultaneously the most widely accepting and most wildly unaccepting person in the world; both wholly not picky and extremely picky. Which character traits he admires? Uh, all of them? Whatever you's got goin', he might say, and that's the entirety of Bunny's philosophical view on the matter.

― Having undoubtedly met a whole barrage of hotheads in his day who lost their lives over nothing, Rhah could very well admire a person's temperance --- someone who knows when to be passionate and someone who knows when to cool down. Someone who can have fun when fun is warranted and someone who can be serious when it's necessary. Someone who could be seen neutral, in ways, when it matters. Dare I say, an occasional centrist? It's this middle ground, balanced approach to life that keeps people alive in the first place and an individual with enough foresight to understand that instead of being needlessly swept up by rhetoric, ideals and zeal is someone Rhah could have a very favorable opinion of, albeit, in a very subdued, private way because he lives by his own words and he wouldn't want to get swept up in being preferential to anyone too badly, even though he is towards you and that's obvious to anyone with eyes. But, that's his own problem, and nobody else's, he might think. He likes your good sense. It's a rare thing to have. Genuinely sees you as a kindred spirit who 'gets it' due to it. Like you've cracked some great universal truth by just being you.

― King's a positive, hopeful person by nature and it can be fair to say he admires more than anything people who are positive and hopeful too; who never fail to see the good side of any crappy situation. Who believe a better tomorrow's possible in spite of the odds. The future? The future can turn around on you and be helluva of a wonderful place so long as a person's alive and breathing on this Earth --- so long as you draw breath, everything still has the chance to turn out fine. That the sun is shining, birds are chirping and that it's all good, man. Individuals who walk into any room and their good energy and vibes, their smile alone, just manages to brighten the place up like a lightbulb. Yeah. It's all bullshit to him, any other set of traits in existence, if this one quality isn't down to a tee seeing as how this is something his own personality encompasses as well. Along with all of that, it's fair to throw in that he looks up to people who are devoted. Have their loyalties and priorities straight. Who know their friends from their enemies and stick by them. But, on top of all that? Yes, this quality of positivity. That's the real deal to him.

― Geez, I downright see Wolfe nonironically admiring someone he can complain to, or to reiterate, someone to whom he can spill out all the things that bug him and actually be listened to because this is (possibly) a man with about ten thousand grievances bottled up and ten thousand ways in which he couldn't articulate these grievances to nobody due to all the empty vacuum of air he needed to keep floating around himself in order to maintain just the vague illusion of authority. But, point is, I think it's plausible to say there was about a million times Wolfe wanted to just let it all out and tell someone about all the shit but he just couldn't, so when he finds an ear actually willing to listen --- someone who cares --- who isn't about to belittle him, make fun of him or see him as lesser than, someone who might actually give him a space to talk and be heard, that's genuinely a quality he'd think the world of to the degree it's hard to believe for the longest time this person's real and not just covertly mocking him. It's not necessarily empathy itself in the general sense that Wolfe admires --- just empathy directed at him and him alone, almost selfishly so.

― Elias would appreciate above all else a person's capacity for spirituality --- perhaps not necessarily organized religion in the classical sense or some sort of fanatical zealot (quite the opposite) but he'd definitely admire a person who believes in some sort of higher force. A higher power in whatever capacity. A person who has their third eye open to see past all of this physical, temporal bullshit and understand the greatness of...well...everything. That's not the stoner in him talking, he just genuinely has the belief in anything ranging from rebirth, reincarnation and heck, returning as the wind or a lone deer after he dies and yes, he'd above all else admire a person who'd share his mystic, almost transcendent streak and who'd understand that life consists of neither war, nor strife or nor politics nor any of this. That's not what matters. What matters is the soul. The intangible. And you can call it The Universe, Karma or just about whatever you like, but if you understand nobody ever truly leaves and that everything's connected, Elias might just be pacified by that. Like you are aware he's never truly leaving you, no matter what happens to him. He is with you always.

― Barnes admires intelligence; not exactly book intelligence or book smarts. Chances are, he can't stand people who wave scholarly theory in his face instead of possessing good, old practical knowledge. He doesn't expect you to understand quantum physics, that's for sure. Doesn't even expect you to have street smarts --- but more in the sense of lived experience, observations and god-given wisdom regardless of your age; something a person either has or they don't have. Something that cannot be taught. Just something that's...there. And he notices. Oh, does he ever. He can differentiate a naturally wise individual with a good head on their shoulders from someone only pretending to be one by just looking at them and that person who is acute, sensible, prudent and discerning without being in anyone's face about it? The understated type of smarts? Yeah. He admires that more than anything even though he is fiercely closed off about the fact he admires anyone or anything at all. Might just keep it wholly to himself. Huge honor coming from him of all people, though. Barnes thinking you're insightful and smart? Someone worth listening to? It's like hell freezing over, that's how rare that is.

[https-bobreynolds]

save her

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x thunderbolts*! reader

summary: during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

warning: mentions of bloods, injuries, a curse word mentioned, anxiety and self-blaming. mentions of y/n. also, reader’s a badass who has powers like wanda.

author’s note: i’m not gonna lie, this is my BEST fic yet and i’m pretty sure it’s gonna be hard to beat so i hope i did the action sequences justice!! this is inspired by @disillusioniary ‘s comment on my bob headcanons post!! hope you like it <3

the thunderbolts* was currently on a mission deep in enemy territory. your target was a highly fortified secure facility that contained weapons of mass destruction. the mission was complicated because the target was heavily protected by an elite special ops division, so you were all expecting heavy resistance.

the team was currently moving through a heavily guarded corridor. the area was well fortified and manned by heavily armed guards. every corner was armed with motion detected weapons, and there were multiple barriers in strategic locations to make progress more difficult.

you had been briefed before the mission, and you were aware of the risks you were all taking. the mission brief was clear: reach the target and retrieve the weapon, or destroy it if you can’t recover it.

every member of the team was confident they could complete the mission, but they were also fully aware that there was a very real chance they wouldn't make it out alive.

the team was approaching the target area, and things were getting tense. they could hear voices coming from the other side of the door, and they knew they were about to meet a lot of resistance, there was at least a hundred of them… but they were still calm, still focused on the mission. they all knew the risks, but they were willing to take them.

bob was in the middle of the team, sandwiched between bucky and john. he was feeling nervous, his heart racing in anticipation. he had never been in a situation like this before, had never been in the middle of a fight like this. he felt like a fish out of water, he felt out of place, like he didn't belong here.

he was lost in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down... he was feeling a lot of things all at once, and his nerves were getting the better of him. he was trying to keep it together, not wanting to show the other how scared he was... but his breathing was coming out in short, quick bursts.

you noticed him from behind, quickly patting his shoulders in reassurance, giving him a nod and a smile when he looked back at you with his doe eyes, thankful for the reassurance, and making him feel so much better, knowing that you were there to support him.

that brief sense of peace was quickly tarnished when bucky made a signal with his hand ‘1, 2, 3’ and within seconds, the door exploded wide open, revealing a large amount of soldiers ready to kill them all.

all hell broke loose. bullets started flying, alexei was screaming “FEEL THE WRATH OF THE THUNDERBOLTS!!”, and the team scattered, taking cover and firing back. bob was crouched behind a corner, his heart pounding in his chest. he could barely see past his own fear, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold his gun... then he heard a voice, one of the others calling out to him.

“bob- look out..!” you yelled, jumping in front of him, quickly moving your hands to literally, work your magic through. you are a master of telekinesis, chaos magic, and mind manipulation- though not as strong as your mentor, wanda maximoff, yet.

he snapped out of his fear induced trance and turned to look at you, just in time to see you jump in front of him. he could see the energy surging from you, the magic surging through the air, he felt a wave of disbelief wash over him... was this really real?

“focus..!” he heard someone yell out, only God knows who, in the midst of the chaos. he shook his head at that, trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening around him. the battle was all around them, the bullets flying and the explosions thundering. it was sensory overload, and he was trying to stay focused.

“bob, try and get the weapons, will you??” yelena said from across the room, as calmly but still firm as she could, shooting at the enemies. bob swallowed his own spit, adam’s apple bobbing, ‘m-me??’ he thought to himself, wondering why the hell was he here instead of washing the dishes back at the tower.

his thoughts was disturbed as he heard an “i’ll cover you, go!” from you, energy surging once more, covering the man with a chaos-magic shield.

bob took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart... he could see the weapons on the other side of the room, and he knew he had to get to them. he was scared, but he knew he had to trust you to keep him safe. he nodded to you, trying to summon the courage to make a move.

he quickly ran, feeling a surge of adrenaline, bullets bouncing off from your magic shield. it made him feel safe, really, but you were getting tired, having to protect not only yourself but bob. only realizing now, that you’re holding off the enemies in front of you with one hand while protecting him with the other.

‘almost there…’ he thought to himself.

the moment he was there, his mind were in shambles, trying his best to think straight. ‘the mission was either to retrieve or destroy…’ and the latter seemed much easier than the first one.

he grabbed onto his gun and shot directly at the weapons, seemingly having to forgetten the fact that they are in fact, highly explosive.

after that, everything just seemed to go in slow motion- the moment the huge explosion occurred: alexei quickly pulled yelena into a bear hug, protecting his little girl from the debris, and they were fine- as they both were furthest away from the weapons.

bucky quickly threw a punch on a soldier before he ran and slid away from the explosion, leaving him to safety. walker got his shield to protect both him and ava, still getting pushed by the impact of the explosion though.

you however?

you completely lost focus on your surroundings and focused it all on his, placing both your hands in front of you, at him, using the energy surge to create a much more powerful shield for him- the impact of the explosion immediately throwing you and several shrapnel onto the wall, causing you to spit out blood, cuts everywhere.

“shit, y/n, are you okay??” bucky asked, from somewhere in the background.

bob couldn’t look, couldn’t believe what he had done... the explosion had been massive, and he was expecting to be injured, to have been hit by shrapnel... but none of the debris had touched him- you were protecting him, shielding him from the explosion... he felt guilty, guilty that he had done this to you. he tried to look back at you, hoping beyond hope that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, trying to find a way to help... he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. he crouched down next to you, trying to assess the damage... he could see that you were struggling, and it was tearing him apart.

“i-i’m alright, bob…” you said slowly, trying to reassure him as if you weren’t a few seconds away from fainting, eyes starting to feel so… heavy.

bob didn’t know what to say, he just crouched there, shaking, as if he’s the one in pain. “you know damn well she’s not.” a familiar, dark voice suddenly came to his head, it was the void.

“you did this to her”

“this is your fault”

bob’s heart sank, his mind racing with guilt... it was all his fault, he had caused this. he could see that you were struggling, that you were in pain, and it was all because he had failed to think rationally.

“i… i don’t k-know what to do… i don’t know how to help her…” bob scrambled, feeling like he was spiraling, trying so hard to remember the first-aid kit tutorials that you showed him several nights ago, “why can’t i… w-why can’t i remember??”

“you can’t save her...” the dark voice immediately says, as bob’s thoughts were being consumed by guilt and fear, like he was drowning- like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a whirpool of anxiety.

“but i can.”

bob froze, he knew that voice... it was the other one, the one that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“p-please…” in a second, bob closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him away, wanting nothing but you to be safe, “save her…”

the next moment, bob opened his eyes, now with golden rings around it, it was no longer bob, it was the void. bob was long gone, replaced by a cold and calculated demeanor, his black silhouette... his gaze fixated on only one person, you.

bob the void immediately stood up, and in an instant, flew across the room, throwing punches at the remaining soldiers who dared stand against his way. he was like a storm, destroying everything in his path... he moved with such grace and speed, like a work of art, each punch executed with precision and accuracy.

it was almost like an… overkill, even, he didn’t care about their wellbeing at all. he just kept throwing punches even if they were already unconscious. unbeknownst to him however, you were becoming weaker and weaker. the blood loss making your eyes droopy, your breathes shorter.

the more he fought, the more angry he got... he could feel the rage building up inside him, could feel himself losing control... but he didn’t care, all he cared about was taking the soldiers down, one by one.

he found himself on top of a poor soldier, punching him to oblivion. he couldn’t stop- until he heard a familiar voice, john’s to be exact, “bob. that’s enough.”

but that alone wasn’t enough to stop him, ava, who was holding your weak body, yelled at him, “you have got to save her, bob.”

for a moment, it seemed like the void might listen… his fist was inches away from smashing the soldier’s face in again, but he froze, almost shocked by what he heard.

‘save her’ he repeated in his mind, as if reminding himself. her. the girl who had bob in a chokehold, the girl who had shown him affection that nobody has in more than twenty years, the girl who’d do anything for him.

he abruptly stood up, walking back to them, to you... the others immediately prepared themselves, ready to defend themselves in case he gets volatile, “you can’t save her, not by punching people… not like this… but the sentry can” yelena says, desperate to save her friend.

the void stood there, trying to make sense of what he had been told… ‘the sentry?’ he thought, ‘how can the sentry possibly save her?’ he couldn’t understand, but he wanted to try, for her.

he suddenly remembered, the sentry is a being… so powerful… so almighty… that he can heal others with a simple touch. “i can… save her…” the void bob muttered, feeling a sense of determination wash over him… he had to try, he had to save you.

in a few second, his black silhouette started to fade away, going back to bob’s figure- but the others could tell that it wasn’t him, not with golden rings around his pupils anyway.

he was quiet, slowly moving closer to the girl. but it wasn’t because he was afraid or anything like that, no. it was because of his pride, knowing that he is the only one who could save you.

he knelt down next to you, his gaze fixed on your injured frame... he could see the pain you were in, the suffering you were going through... it made his heart ache to see you like this, but he would never admit to that.

he looked at the others, one by one, as if saying ‘look at me, look at your savior’, before he touched your arm, hands glowing a golden bright aura.

the others watched in awe, they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next- never could they have imagined your scars and wounds healing in just a mere seconds, your breathe coming to a better pace, and your eyes, opening once more.

you groaned, your eyes fluttering open as you slowly came to... you could feel something different, something had changed... you weren't in pain anymore, you weren't feeling sick anymore... you were good as new.

“bob..?” you asked softly, looking at the man with the golden eyes. he let out a small sigh of relief before his eyes went back to his normal state, closing it shut, and fainting right next to you.

you were immediately alarmed to see him collapse next to you, worried that he was hurt somehow. you checked him for injuries, and when you couldn't find a single one, you looked over at the others, searching for an explanation.

“don’t even ask.”

part two

[sillygoose067]

Wrong Bag, Right Time

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You’re already regretting your decision to book the late-night flight by the time you step off the plane. Your brain is a thick fog, your legs are stiff, and your eyes are burning from a barely-there nap sandwiched between two chatty seatmates. The fluorescent airport lights feel like a personal attack as you shuffle through the terminal, clutching your carry-on and weaving through a sea of bleary-eyed travelers.

You follow the signs to the baggage claim, your body moving on autopilot, ears still ringing from the jet engines and the tinny airline announcements. You lean against a cool, steel column, rolling your shoulders back as you wait for the belt to start rumbling. Around you, people are already gathering, faces drawn and eyes darting every few seconds as the carousel creaks to life.

Bags start thudding onto the belt, one after another — a parade of black, navy, and occasionally neon roller bags that look like they’ve been through multiple rounds of airport roulette. You squint, eyes scanning the blur of luggage as it slowly snakes its way around the conveyor.

Your suitcase is black, a standard roller bag with a scuffed corner and a strip of faded, decorative tape around the handle — a last-minute attempt to make it easier to spot in the chaos. When you finally catch sight of it, you push through the small crowd, reaching for the handle just as a kid with a Spider-Man backpack nearly trips over his own shoes, forcing you to dodge sideways to avoid a collision.

You grab the suitcase and wrestle it off the belt, feeling the reassuring weight of your overpacked essentials as the wheels clatter onto the tile. It’s a little heavier than you remember, but then again, you crammed it full of work documents, laptop accessories, and enough backup phone chargers to power a small tech convention.

Dragging it toward the exit, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glossy airport windows — hair mussed, eyes smudged with exhaustion, and your blouse slightly wrinkled from a restless sleep against the plane window. You sigh, mentally promising yourself a long, hot shower the second you get to your hotel.

The shuttle to the car rental lot is packed, every inch of space claimed by tourists and business travelers with the same dazed expressions you’re sure you’re wearing. You brace yourself against a pole, your suitcase tucked between your knees as the bus lurches into motion, bumping over the uneven tarmac.

By the time you reach your hotel, you’re practically running on fumes, dragging your suitcase through the lobby and into the elevator with a series of clumsy, exhausted jerks. You fish out your key card, nearly dropping it twice before you manage to swipe it through the reader and stumble into your room.

Your heels come off first, clattering to the floor with a dull thud as you toss your bag onto the bed. You flick on the bedside lamp, the warm glow instantly making the small space feel a little less sterile.

The water from the shower is scalding, and you let it beat down on your shoulders, eyes closed as the steam fills the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and making the tiles beneath your feet slick. You let yourself stand there longer than necessary, feeling the tension slowly drain from your muscles, the ache in your lower back gradually easing.

Wrapped in a thick hotel towel, you shuffle back into the main room, hair dripping onto the carpet as you flip open your suitcase, ready to dig out your comfiest, most threadbare shirt and collapse into bed.

But when you peel back the top layer of clothing, your fingers don’t hit neatly folded blouses or the sensible, corporate slacks you’d meticulously packed. Instead, you pull out a rumpled Led Zeppelin tee, its soft, well-worn fabric clearly belonging to someone who’s spent years living in it.

You blink, holding it up, the faded graphic stretching across the front like a relic from another lifetime. Confused, you dig deeper, pulling out a small mountain of band tees, a denim jacket with fraying patches sewn into the sleeves, and a battered leather notebook, its cover creased and edges worn.

Your pulse quickens as you flip through the pages, finding half-finished sketches, messy notes in looping cursive, and the occasional smudge of ink where someone clearly wrote in a hurry. There’s a faint, musky scent clinging to the pages, a mix of worn leather and old cologne.

“Wait...” you murmur, setting the notebook aside as you reach for a thick stack of papers wedged against the side of the case. It’s a printed script, the title bold at the top and someone’s lines heavily highlighted in yellow.

You glance back at the open suitcase, your mind racing, heart thudding against your ribs as you fish out a small, laminated luggage tag tangled in the zipper. It flips over in your hand, the plastic cool and slightly warped from years of travel.

“L.P.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” You sink onto the edge of the bed, the towel slipping from your shoulders as you stare at the mismatched pile of someone else’s life spread across your hotel sheets.

---

Across town, Lewis Pullman hauls his suitcase up the narrow stairwell to his apartment, one hand gripping the railing as he leans into the climb, every muscle in his legs protesting the final stretch. He fumbles for his keys, and finally shoulders his way inside, the familiar, comforting chaos of his one-bedroom coming into focus as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He toes off his boots, letting them fall wherever they land, and drags the suitcase into his cramped living room, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin, golden strips across the walls, and his refrigerator hums steadily in the otherwise silent space.

He flips open the suitcase, too tired to even think about organizing, and reaches blindly for a clean shirt. Instead, his hand lands on something stiff and sharply pressed.

Lewis frowns, pulling out a neatly folded stack of dress shirts, their collars crisp and perfectly creased. He blinks, eyebrows knitting together as he digs deeper, pulling out tailored slacks and a leather-bound planner with a small, discreet logo embossed on the corner.

“What the...” He flips the planner open, eyes skimming over tightly packed meeting notes, detailed itineraries, and a color-coded calendar that looks like the work of someone who genuinely enjoys spreadsheets.

He reaches for a thick, intimidating-looking folder marked “Confidential” in bold letters, his heart sinking further as he flips it open to reveal a stack of professionally printed documents.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He lets the folder drop onto the floor, running a hand through his already messy hair as he stares at the unfamiliar contents of what is very clearly not his suitcase.

Somewhere out there, someone is currently rifling through his tangle of band tees, scribbled notes, and, worst of all, his heavily highlighted script for a new gig he'd just scored.

---

You stare at the suitcase spread open on your hotel bed, the pile of band tees and creased notebook sitting there like a physical reminder of the chaos your life has just become. You should do something — call the airline, maybe, or at least try to figure out who this L.P. is before their missing luggage becomes your permanent problem.

But you’re exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones, turning your thoughts into molasses and making even the simplest task feel monumental.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing your eyes and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It’s already pushing 1 a.m., and the idea of trying to navigate a customer service call right now feels like a special kind of hell.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter to the empty room, tossing the vintage tees back into the suitcase and flipping the lid closed. You’ll deal with it in the morning, when your brain is at least somewhat functional. For now, you just need sleep.

You crawl into bed, still vaguely damp from the shower, and tug the covers up to your chin. The mattress is firmer than you’d like, the pillow a little too thin, but it doesn’t take long for the steady hum of the hotel air conditioning to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Across town, Lewis drops onto his couch, head thudding against the worn armrest as he stares up at the cracked ceiling. The folder of mysterious corporate documents is still sitting on the coffee table, its thick, embossed cover practically daring him to open it again.

He considers getting up, maybe flipping through the papers for a hint about who his mystery bag-swapping stranger might be, but the thought alone makes his eyes feel heavier. He’s not exactly equipped for a late-night detective mission right now, not with the remnants of jet lag still clinging to his brain like a wet blanket.

“Tomorrow,” he grumbles, kicking his feet up onto the armrest and letting his eyes drift shut. He’ll deal with it in the morning, when his brain isn’t actively trying to shut down.

---

The next morning comes far too quickly. You wake to the sharp, insistent chime of your phone alarm, the sound cutting through your foggy consciousness like a knife. You groan, slapping at your phone until it goes blessedly silent, and roll onto your back, staring up at the bland, popcorn-textured ceiling.

It takes a moment for the events of the previous night to come rushing back — the wrong suitcase, the unfamiliar band tees, the mysterious L.P. luggage tag. You sit up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and trying to shake the lingering cobwebs from your brain.

First things first: your own suitcase. You’d had the foresight to slip an Apple AirTag into one of the side pockets before your flight, a small, paranoid part of you always worrying about exactly this kind of mix-up.

You grab your phone, opening the Find My app with a flick of your thumb, but the screen just loads into a frustratingly empty map, the little green dot stubbornly refusing to show up. Too far away, probably. You grit your teeth, already regretting not springing for the upgraded model with the longer range.

You tap the call icon and put the phone to your ear, bouncing your knee as it rings.

“Thank you for calling Apple Support. Please hold while we connect you to the next available representative.”

You resist the urge to groan, your fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the hotel comforter as the tinny hold music crackles in your ear.

---

Across town, Lewis is having his own version of a chaotic morning. He’s halfway through his second cup of coffee, hair still damp from a hurried shower, as he flips through the stack of neatly printed documents that had been sitting in what he thought was his suitcase.

Every page is packed with dense, professional text — contracts, meeting agendas, and what looks like a series of legal documents with a name scrawled at the bottom in neat, looping handwriting.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, leaning back against the kitchen counter as he taps the name into his phone’s search bar.

Results flood the screen, a frustratingly long list of people with the same name scattered across LinkedIn profiles, news articles, and random blog posts. He scrolls through the first few pages, trying to find anything that might match the person he accidentally luggage-swapped with, but it’s like looking for a needle in a very, very crowded haystack.

He blows out a breath, tossing his phone onto the counter and rubbing the back of his neck. His manager is going to kill him when they find out about this. Still, he can’t exactly let a stranger hold on to his scribbled notes and half-finished script forever.

“Alright, screw it,” he says, grabbing his phone again and pulling up his manager’s contact.

“Sam, hey, I’ve got a situation,” he says as soon as the line connects, pacing a tight circle in his small kitchen. “No, it’s not like last time. I just... I might have swapped bags with someone at the airport, and I have no idea who they are, but they’ve got my script. And my stuff. All my stuff.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the kind that usually means Sam is resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall.

“Okay,” Sam finally says, his voice a carefully measured calm. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take the bag you’ve got and head back to the airport. There’s a decent chance the other person will do the same once they realize they’ve got the wrong bag.”

Lewis sighs, glancing at the stack of neatly folded dress shirts and leather-bound planner sitting innocently on his counter.

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door. “I’m on my way.”

---

Meanwhile, your Apple Support call finally connects, a cheery voice on the other end promising to walk you through the steps to locate your missing suitcase. You glance over at the still-open bag on the bed, the crumpled script catching your eye.

Maybe it’s time to finally figure out who the hell L.P. is. You grab the thick stack of papers, flipping to the cover page and skimming the title. Your eyes widen as the name Lewis Pullman jumps out at you, the pieces suddenly falling into place.

Lewis Pullman. The actor. Bill Pullman’s son.

You stare at the script in your hands, heart thudding in your chest as the full weight of your accidental heist hits you.

“Oh, no,” you mutter, sinking back onto the bed. “What have I done?”

---

Lewis taps his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight as he stares at the congested freeway ahead. The morning sun glares off the windshields around him, turning the LA traffic into a slow, blinding crawl. He glances at the passenger seat, where your neatly packed suitcase sits like a silent accusation, the crisp corners and tasteful leather trim a stark contrast to the chaos he’s used to.

By the time he finally reaches LAX, the nerves in his stomach have twisted into a full-on knot. He parks and hauls the suitcase through the labyrinth of terminals, the weight of his mistake pressing down on his shoulders.

The airport is buzzing with activity, the steady thrum of engines and the chaotic clatter of luggage creating a backdrop of controlled chaos as he heads for the airline counter.

The attendant at the lost and found desk looks up, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as Lewis approaches, his suitcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hi, I... I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” he says, his voice coming out a little more strained than he intended. He sets your suitcase on the counter, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sound less like a sleep-deprived mess. “This isn’t mine. I’m hoping the person who has mine will come looking for theirs, too.”

The attendant nods, typing something into the computer and giving him a weary, knowing smile — the kind that says this isn’t the first time someone’s stumbled in with the wrong bag and a panicked expression.

“Just leave it here,” she says, slapping a tag on the handle and sliding it onto the cart behind her. “If the other person comes by, we’ll let them know you dropped it off.”

Lewis hesitates, fingers still wrapped around the handle, his brain fighting a ridiculous urge to hold onto the bag a little longer. He gives it a final, reluctant nudge, watching as the cart wheels it away and disappears into the maze of behind-the-scenes airport chaos.

With a deep, tired sigh, he turns and heads back to his car, hands shoved into his pockets as the sounds of the bustling terminal fade behind him.

---

Meanwhile, back in your hotel room, you’ve entered the frantic, mildly horrifying phase of a full-on internet spiral. Your laptop is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, multiple tabs open on Lewis Pullman.

You grab your phone, pacing the small stretch of carpet between the bed and the window as you pull up his IMDb page, half-hoping there’ll be a contact button you can just click to resolve this mess. But of course, there isn’t. The closest you get is a list of his past projects and a handful of magazine interviews that all seem to paint him as the down-to-earth, quietly intense type.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity of frantic googling, you stumble across what you think might be his manager’s number, tucked away on an obscure industry listing. You dial it, hands shaking a little as the line rings, each passing second making your pulse thud harder against your ribs.

Voicemail.

You hang up, your breath coming out in a short, frustrated huff as you toss your phone onto the bed. You’re tempted to try again, maybe leave a message this time, but something about the whole situation already feels too much like a scene from a bad rom-com, and you’re not sure you can handle the embarrassment of leaving a rambling, half-panicked voicemail for a guy you’ve never even met.

Finally, you decide to cut your losses and head back to the airport, clutching Lewis’s battered suitcase like a lifeline as you weave through the bustling lobby and make a beeline for the lost and found desk.

An attendant is sitting there, her expression unimpressed as she types away at her computer. You clear your throat, shifting your weight nervously as you set the bag on the counter.

“Hi, I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... I just want to leave this here, in case they come looking for it. It’s got a lot of their stuff in it, and I’m, um, really hoping mine is still somewhere in the system.”

The attendant glances at you over the top of her computer, her expression a mix of boredom and mild curiosity. She slaps a tag onto the handle of the suitcase and adds it to the same cart Lewis’s bag disappeared on earlier.

“We’ll call you if we find anything,” she says, already turning back to her screen.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you scribble your name and number on the form she slides your way. It feels weirdly final, like you’re closing the book on a strange, mildly mortifying chapter of your life.

---

A few weeks pass, and the whole suitcase fiasco slowly slips into the background noise of your daily routine — a bizarre, slightly embarrassing story you’ll probably share with friends over drinks someday.

But then, just as you’re starting to convince yourself that you’ll never see your meticulously packed suitcase again, your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” you say, balancing your phone against your shoulder as you fumble with your laptop.

“Hi, this is LAX Lost and Found. We’ve located your suitcase. You can come pick it up anytime this evening.”

---

You arrive at the counter a little breathless, the memory of your original suitcase still a fresh sting as you approach. But just as you step up to the desk, another figure rushes up beside you, his sneakers squeaking against the polished tile.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my suitcase —” you both start, your voices overlapping in a messy, tangled echo.

You glance at each other, both of you wide-eyed and a little winded, and then immediately look away, the awkward tension settling like a heavy fog. He’s tall, a little scruffy around the edges, his hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. There’s a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes, like he’s trying to place you, but then he quickly looks down, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s suddenly aware of how tightly the air feels around you both.

The attendant rolls her eyes, bending to grab two identical suitcases from the back, her movements sharp with barely disguised exasperation.

“Here,” she says, shoving both bags onto the counter with a loud thunk. “I assume you two know which is which this time?”

You and Lewis both reach for your respective bags, pausing to double-check the scuffs and ID tags, even unzipping the top a few inches just to be sure.

When you both exhale in relief, catching each other’s eye for a split second, his mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, like he’s trying to catch the right words before they slip away.

“Uh, hey,” he starts, one hand gripping the handle of his suitcase, the other half-raised in a tentative gesture. “I, uh... just wanted to say thanks for, you know, bringing my stuff back. I know that, uh, it probably... wasn’t the most convenient thing.” He lets out a little breathy chuckle, eyes dropping to his shoes for a second. “I mean, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You let out a small, relieved laugh, the lingering tension breaking like the first crack of a smile after a long, awkward silence.

“No, it’s fine. I... kinda panicked when I realized what I had. Almost didn’t want to touch anything, but, uh... yeah.” You bite your lip, feeling a little of the same nervous energy radiating off him.

He nods, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“So, uh...” he hesitates, his gaze flicking back up to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching in a hesitant, lopsided grin. “Maybe we could, I dunno, grab a coffee sometime? Or, uh, dinner, if that’s... less weird?”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the sudden offer, but the earnest, slightly flustered look on his face makes it hard not to smile.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding before you can second-guess yourself. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Cool, cool,” he says quickly, letting out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a silent cheer. He fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it as he tries to unlock it with one hand, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Uh, here, just... give me your number and I’ll... yeah.”

You chuckle, tapping your info into his phone as he watches, his eyes crinkling at the edges when you hand it back.

“Alright, well... I’ll text you,” he says, stepping back with a little half-wave. “Thanks again. Seriously.”

You nod, your heart doing an odd little flip as you watch him turn and weave back into the airport crowd, his suitcase rolling behind him, the wheels clattering against the polished floor.

[lecl1ercswif7ie]

I Care Buck

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ! The New Avengers x Reader

Summary: After your first mission you tell Bucky to blowout his hair with your Dyson - The rest of The Avengers are shocked he doesn't oppose.

Author's Note: This is my first fic, i'm sorry if it's a bit weird, english is not my first languange and i'm kind of nervous of writing here 🙈 Enjoy the fic!!

-

Mission complete.

If you could call “barely surviving a shootout, a crumbling building, and Walker setting off the wrong grenade” a mission success. Still, somehow, no one was dead. That was a win for the New Avengers.

Back at HQ, the vibe was what you’d expect from a barely-functional team of chaos gremlins.

Ava and John were already at it again, arguing over tactical choices like they hadn’t just spent the last six hours screaming into comms.

“I’m telling you,” John said, arms waving, “you rushed the flank too early!”

Ava raised her eyebrows and bit out, “I rushed the flank because you set off the charge early, you toddler in a bulletproof vest!”

“Idiots,” Yelena muttered, flopping on the worn-out couch and covering her eyes with her arm, “please shut up. Some of us are trying to disassociate in peace.”

Bob sat nearby, legs crossed, calmly reading a thick novel. He was somehow the calmest man in the building — maybe in the world. “Let them bicker,” he murmured, not looking up. “It’s almost rhythmic now. Like jazz.”

You snorted from your corner. Bucky was standing silently nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the far wall like he didn’t want to admit he was tired. His dark hair was tousled, sticking out from where it had been flattened by his mask and ruffled by wind and debris. He looked… adorable.

But he also looked like he’d walked through a wind tunnel.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling and walked over, Dyson Supersonic in hand.

“Okay, soldier,” you said, pointing to the stool near the table. “Sit.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Your hair,” you said. “It looks like a bird tried to nest in it. I’m fixing it.”

“You’re gonna use… that thing?” he said warily, eyeing the Dyson like it might explode.

You grinned. “Relax. You’ve fought alien warlords. You can survive a blow dryer.”

A snort escaped him. And then — miraculously — he sat. You plugged the Dyson in, brushed your fingers through his damp hair, and got to work.

—

About five minutes in, Bob looked up from his book and said, “He’s letting her do his hair. It’s happening.”

Yelena didn’t even open her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“The slow-burn,” Bob replied, turning the page. “They’re finally getting there.”

Alexei popped his head in from the kitchen. “What are we betting? I say they kiss before next mission.”

“No way,” Ava said, arms crossed. “Barnes is emotionally repressed and Y/N’s too polite.”

John laughed. “$10 says it happens by the end of the week.”

“$20,” Bob added, “if they don’t even notice they’re basically dating already.”

You ignored them all. Mostly. Your fingers were threading through Bucky’s hair, drying and smoothing it as you guided the Dyson gently. He looked… relaxed. Kind of. Except when his metal hand kept twitching every time you got a little too close to his ear.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He grunted, “Yeah. Just… not used to people touching me like this.”

“Like how?”

“Like they care.”

You looked at him, your hand still in his hair. “I care, Buck.”

His eyes met yours then — and you swore your heart skipped.

From the couch, Yelena groaned loudly. “Oh my god, would you two just kiss already?!”

You flushed. Bucky cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I feel like a stray puppy right now.”

“Yeah, well,” you smirked, “you’re a cute one.”

—

Later that night, the HQ was quieter. Ava and John had gone off somewhere to probably yell at each other in private. Yelena was asleep on the couch, Bob was still reading, and Alexei was snoring in the recliner.

You were in the bathroom with Bucky, showing him how to use the Dyson properly. He watched you with that same intense stare he always had — like he was memorizing everything.

“Okay, see the cool shot button?” you explained. “Locks the style in place.”

He pressed it. A little too hard. The blast of cold air surprised him and he jumped slightly.

You giggled. “Scary, huh?”

“Not scared,” he grumbled. “Just… surprised.”

“Mmhm.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Thanks for doing this.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Anytime.”

His hand caught yours as you went to pull away — metal fingers warm from the dryer, his grip gentle but steady.

“You know,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “I don’t let just anyone near my hair.”

Your breath hitched. “Good thing I’m not just anyone, then.”

There was a beat.

You both leaned in slightly—

And from the hallway: “If you’re not kissing, then at least make popcorn!” Alexei yelled. “Some of us are invested in the subplot!”

You and Bucky broke apart, laughing quietly.

“Stray puppy, huh?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips.

“Only if you’re the one taking me home.”

-

kinda nervous to post this haha, i tried my best okay? but i think i made justice to the whole new team with unstable people trying to live togethere

[scarletmika]

Requests are open!

Marvel

Steve Rogers

WATTPAD, 118 Chapters : ̗̀➛ Slate - Steve Rogers X OC (Charlotte Watson) - angst, fluff, friends to lovers Charlotte Watson deserved a fresh start, a chance to begin her life again and be the woman she was meant to be, the woman that Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes knew she was inside. Her second chance came in the form of a secret SSR project: Project Athena.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds

Peace and Quiet : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 2.3K words Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He's always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you'll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.

・❥・

Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, angst, 5.2K words Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more. PART TWO: Always : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, angst, 5.2K words Bob stayed with you, just as you asked, and life couldn't be better. But the past always has a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you try and push it away and leave it behind. Now, it's Bob's turn to save you.

・❥・

Destiny or Not : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 3K words As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

・❥・

I Just Feel You : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 2.6K words Bob Floyd was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

・❥・

Only Good Thing : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - angst, fluff, 3.2K words There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

・❥・

Let Me In : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - angst, fluff, 4.6K words Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

・❥・

Kiss Me Again : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 4.7K words A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him? PART TWO: Kiss Me Forever : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 3.7K words Bob never expected to fall in love with a Goddess, or have her fall in love with him, too. But even when you're capable of showing him the entire galaxy, you're the only thing he wants to be looking at.

・❥・

Four Weeks : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 3.7K words When a four-week mission keeps you and Bob separated, with no contact whatsoever, there's nothing either of you wants more than to simply be in each other's arms.

・❥・

The White Witch : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader - fluff, 11.2K total words Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both. PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

Top Gun

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Sunflower : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, angst, 3.7K words Bob Floyd was head over heels for you from the moment you met. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But Hangman knew just how to get under people's skin, too well sometimes, and sometimes frustration hits a boiling point when the people you don't want to hurt are standing in the way.

・❥・

Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 13.5K words There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 14.3K words The Best Man and the Maid of Honor…you and Bob Floyd fell in love in the most cliché of ways, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, it's your turn to say 'I Do.'

・❥・

One Last Gift : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 6K words Living with Bob Floyd was killing you slowly, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to admit how you felt about him. It's your birthday, though, and shouldn't the birthday girl get whatever it is she wants?

・❥・

Knight in Shining Glasses : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader - fluff, steamy, 11K words All you wanted to do was enjoy your first night in San Diego at the bar recommended to you by your father, but a hot-shot new to the Top Gun program was intent on bringing you home with him, or at least couldn't take a hint. Lucky for you, there's a knight in shining glasses ready to save you.

Miscellaneous

I'm Glad You're Here : ̗̀➛ Peeta Mellark x Reader - fluff, 1.3K words The War is over, the Mockingjay has won. All that's left is you, the man you've loved through it all, and the life you now get to choose together.

Find me on Wattpad at @mikammadi for longer-form stories!

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

part two!

[supercap2319]

*Bucky sees a mess in the living room of the tower*

Bucky: "Tell me the truth, Bob. Who made this mess?"

Bob: "I did."

Bucky: "No, try again."

Bob: "Walker?"

Bucky: "Better. One more time."

Bob: "Y/N?"

Bucky: "I knew it!"

Y/N: *From behind the couch* "Dude! Bob, what the f dude?"

[loversrocktvgirl2]

I NEED BOB, i need to cuddle that man to sleep and i need to kiss his face - do with that what you will

muahahahhahaha hi babes i wrote you some headcannons

my mini multiverse of madness…

Cuddles (Bob x Reader Headcannons)

word count: ~0.4k

masterlist

Ughhh this man is just in dire need of cuddles and affection AND GUESS WHAT Y’ALL YOU CAN GIVE THAT TO HIM 

In my mind, Bob seems like the kind of guy who would struggle with insomnia, so I’m picturing that you “go to sleep” in your room for about twenty minutes before you sigh, pick up your favorite blanket, trudge barefoot down the hallway and into Bob’s room, where you find him reading a book, and you lay down with him, using him as a pillow with your blanket half-draped over you. You’re kind of like his weighted blanket, relaxing him to help him fall asleep. It doesn’t work every time, and Bob still has a lot of sleep struggles, but you being there relaxes him, and if he needs anything, he can wake you up and you can talk. 

Whenever Alexei convinces everybody that a movie night is a good idea, Bob lays on the couch with his head in your lap and you play with his hair. Sometimes, Yelena gently headbutts your shoulder and declares, “my turn!” which makes you laugh. 

Bob has a lot of trauma associated with being touched, so you’ve always been careful to be very gentle with him and respectful of how he likes being touched. You never sneak up on him from behind or touch his back or shoulder while walking by. He feels safer if he sees that it’s you first before there’s any physical contact. Once he knows that it’s you, he feels okay. 

Bob doesn’t often initiate affection, but now that you’re more comfortable together, he’s definitely the kind of guy to dress in sweatpants and a t-shirt and drape a blanket over his shoulders, walk over to you and just open his arms like, “hello. I require affection” and you just get to hug him. It’s wonderful, 11/10 would recommend.

Bob also loves holding your hand. It grounds him. Whenever the air has a bit of tension at the New Avengers dinner table (say, if John and Ava are bickering), he’ll reach for your hand under the table and that’s enough to keep him feeling good at the moment. 

Yeah, those are my thoughts. WHY IS HE SUCH A LIL’ CUTIE PATOOTIE HUMAN JELLYBEAN??

taglist @spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

just thunderbolts/bob

@papitas-con-sal @yesshewrites1

[yelenasburnbook]

Short Circuit

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob helps Y/N train to control her powers under pressure. But when frustration gets the better of her, their sparring session turns tense.

Reader’s Abilities: Electrokinesis, Telekinesis (not really mentioned here though), and Flight

Warnings: Mild angst, accidental electrical discharge, brief loss of control (non-lethal), combat training.

Please let me know if I have missed anything.

A/N: I wrote this so it takes place a few years after the Thunderbolts takes place, where Bob has a much better control over his powers and void (I will touch on his journey in some one-shots as well). Y/N has been a part of the team for a while, but struggles to control what she can do.

—————————————————

There was a hum of energy buzzing faintly in the training room of the avengers tower, dancing off the reinforced walls like static. The center mat had been cleared, the lights dimmed, and two figures stood, facing one another under the glow of the overhead panel.

Bob cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, almost cocky looking, “Alright, sweetheart. Hit me.”

Y/N squinted at him, hiding the lilt of annoyance in her voice, “Just… hit you? You’re not even going to block?”

He smiled. It was patient. Infuriating.

“Don’t need to. This is about control, not damage.”

She exhaled slowly, raising her hands. Pale blue sparks flickered in her palms, licking at her fingers as she summoned a burst of energy

———

From the overhead walkway, Yelena was leaned over the railing, watching with interest. Bucky stood beside her, arms crossed. He was silent and stoic as per usual, but observant.

It was him who had suggested this training session. After the last mission had almost blown up in their faces, due to Y/N’s loss of control when she was overwhelmed by enemy agents, he needed to find a way to keep it from happening again. Her aim had suffered, she had gotten cornered, and Ava almost lost a limb in an effort to rescue her.

Bob was a bit reluctant at first, knowing Y/N already wasn’t proud of what had happened. He wasn’t sure that having her own boyfriend critiquing and correcting her would help.

But Bucky was insistent, considering he was the only other member of the team with any sort of powers. It also helped that once upon a time, he struggled to control his own abilities and emotions too.

With a sigh and a mumbled, “You’re paying for our couples therapy,” he reluctantly agreed.

They watched as she fired a few rounds of electric blasts at Bob, very obviously holding herself back a little.

“She’s getting better,” Yelena murmured, “But she’s tense.”

“She’s always tense when it’s him,” Bucky replied.

———

Below, Y/N was focused, her eyes locked on Bob’s chest. She extended one palm, fingers shaking slightly, and fired another tight bolt of energy. It hit his shoulder and dispersed harmlessly across his skin.

“Good,” Bob said, his tone gentle, “But you hesitated. Again.”

She huffed, “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bob gave her a look, “You can’t-” Y/N cut him off, annoyance layered thick in her voice.

“Yes I know. I can’t hurt you because you’re ’Invincible’ or whatever,” her voice was almost mocking, and it didn’t go unnoticed by her boyfriend, “But you never actually know, so please just humor me.”

He took a slow step forward, keeping his patience as he spoke, “You wanna know what could actually hurt me?” His voice wasn’t cold, but it was stern.

At that moment, Y/N couldn’t really tell the difference.

“If you hesitate or lose control out there again? And a situation that you’re fully capable of handling goes haywire? That would hurt me. Because god only knows what could happen to you next time.” There was a softness behind his eyes.

And enough shame behind Y/N’s for her to not notice.

“So please humor me, and stop hesitating.”

She clenched her jaw, and lifted both hands this time, “Fine.”

Six quick pulses fired from her palms, more powerful than what she had released before. It was the kind of power she would use on enemies. The kind that could flip a vehicle. Four of them missed, only two of them hitting Bob.

He didn’t move, let alone flinch. Frustration burned hot in her throat.

“Y/N,” Bob said quietly, “You’re overthinking it. Feel it. Trust yourself.”

She shot him a look. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Invincible.”

His expression hardened a bit, “You don’t have to be invincible to be in control.”

———

From above, Yelena whispered, “She’s about to snap.”

Bucky just nodded.

———

Y/N released another blast, bigger than the ones before, this one only catching him in the shoulder, and she watched as his body just absorbed it.

She didn’t know what was more frustrating, the fact that she could barely hit an unmoving target, or that any time she did hit him, he took it like it was just a light breeze.

It made her feel weak. It made her feel angry.

“You’re just standing there,” she muttered, electricity building like pressure behind her ribs, “You’re not even trying. You’re not trying and I’m still failing—”

“You’re not failing,” Bob interrupted, stepping closer.

She took a step back, not looking at him. She felt like yelling, and screaming, and kicking, and breaking anything that she could get her hands on. She opted not to for the time being.

“Don’t lie to me,” she shook her head, hardly noticing the electricity beginning to flow through her entire body, in sync with her frustration, “Don’t act like this whole thing isn’t pathetic. Like I’m not pathetic.”

All of a sudden Bob was the one hesitating, not sure what to do or say. He could see the electricity flowing beneath her skin, and how she glowed slightly.

He began to take another step forward, “That’s not true-”

“I said don’t lie!” Her voice cracked as a violent surge of electricity finally released itself, bursting from her hands as she lashed out.

Bob barely had time to brace himself, catching the wave square in the chest. He skidded back a few feet while floor around him crackled, and smoke rose from the mat. He smiled to himself for a moment, when he realized that it actually hurt.

He hadn’t felt that in a while.

Y/N stood frozen. Her heart was racing, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly, “I-I didn’t mean to-”

Bob straightened slowly, looking incredibly impressed, “There she is.”

Y/N blinked, “What?”

“That,” he said, pointing to her hands, “Is what I’m talking about. It was raw, yes. But you didn’t lose control. You held the charge, you aimed, and you pulled back at the last second. That was instinct and restraint. That was control.”

She glanced down at the mat, seeing the minor skid marks from where he had dug his heels in as she knocked him back. She looked at her hands next, feeling the current run through them more comfortably, more confidently.

More powerfully.

She looked up at Bob, a different kind of glint behind her eyes this time. He smirked at her, heart swelling with pride as he opened his mouth to speak,

“C’mon,” he said, arms going up in defense for the first time during the whole session, “Hit me with another one.”

———

From above, Yelena smiled faintly, her own chest swelling with pride as she watched Y/N throw blast after blast. They were steady, more controlled, accurate.

They were even knocking the wind out of Bob, something no other avenger had ever been able to do.

Another fifteen minutes went by before Y/N’s hands finally dropped to her sides, catching her breath. Bob relaxed his stance, making his way over to her.

“Well,” she said, glancing toward Bucky, “That was surprisingly productive.”

Bucky gave a quiet grunt of agreement, eyes still on Y/N. “She just needs space to fall apart without being judged for it.”

“She’s lucky,” Yelena murmured, watching Bob as he gently wrapped an arm around her, “To have someone like that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice unreadable. “She is.”

Yelena shrugged, turning to walk away, “They are like lovesick puppies.”

Bucky cracked a smile for the first time that day, but said nothing else, as he followed Yelena out of the training room.

———

Y/N sat down on the mat, still catching her breath, and wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I actually feel good,” she said, surprised at herself, “Like I could do that again… not today though. No more for today.”

Bob sat beside her with a chuckle, their knees touching, “You should feel good, you earned it.”

She nudged him playfully, “You sure you didn’t go easy on me?”

“Absolutely not,” he said with mock offense, “I was bracing for impact the whole time.” She laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and leaned against his shoulder,

“Thanks coach.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her back,“Anytime, sparky.”

She snorted and shoved his shoulder.

[moonlightsolo]

thunderbolts where you're exhausted to the brim and they're worried

lights out | thunderbolts* x reader ⋆｡°✩

pairing: thunderbolts* x fem!reader (with a slight hint of bucky x reader)

warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, insomnia, reader being kinda strung out lol

word count: 2.1k

note: okay wow. it’s been two years since i actually wrote anything and posted it on here so i’m glad to be back!! i hope u like it <3

It’s been four days since your last mission. Four days since you’ve felt the relieving bliss of a full night’s rest. 

96 hours. 5760 minutes. 345,600 seconds. 

But it’s not like you’re counting anyway. 

Usually you’re fine after an assignment, maybe a little sore or winded— but not this exhausted; mentally and physically. 

It’s almost like clockwork now as you lie in bed throughout the night. Your thoughts loud as you listen to your own breathing, and thrumming of your heartbeat beneath your ribs. How the air conditioning kicks on and blows cold air onto your face, causing you to bundle up under the covers. 

The only source of light in your dark room is coming from your phone as you scroll through numerous social media apps. Your eyes dancing over the screen, switching between tiktoks and instagram reels as you doom scroll. 

And then your eyes begin to flutter shut, hand going limp as your phone drops beside you on the bed. Your body allows you all but twenty minutes of sleep before your heart constricts with anxiety. 

You wake up gasping for air, sitting straight up in your king-sized bed. Your oversized pajama shirt is drenched in sweat and stuck to your body as if it’s clinging to the sleep you’ve been so rudely disturbed from.  

Your eyes dart around your dark room before following the beam of light coming from your phone. The same video has been playing on repeat, along with a song as someone dances to it on the screen. 

With a loud sigh and a deep breath, you reach over to check the time on your phone. In the top corner it reads, ‘2:18’ a.m. With your heart still beating heavily against your ribcage, there’s no way you can try to sleep now. You might as well go watch some tv instead of mindlessly scrolling on your tiny phone screen. 

You rub your eyes with your fists, eyes watering desperately as you stifle a yawn. Your feet kick the covers off as your legs swing over the side of your bed. Shuffling your feet into your slippers, you use your phone screen as a flashlight to direct yourself to your door. 

Your head peeks out as you slowly open it, looking down the dark hallway. You listen for any movement, any sign of life from your other comrades. 

Sometimes you wonder if they can tell you haven’t been getting enough sleep, maybe it’s the dark circles or how you space out more often. 

Or maybe it’s that you’ve skipped training five times in the last four days. It wasn’t a rare occurrence to have bouts of sleepless nights, they knew that too— but this has been the longest and most exhausting four days of your life. There’s no way that they haven’t caught on yet. 

As you make your way to the living room, your body viscerally shivers from the crispness of the air in the tower. The sweat on your skin cools, and the dampness of your shirt turns chilly. You need warmth, and you know exactly what will suffice. After snatching a blanket off the couch and wrapping it around your shoulders, you shuffle into the kitchen. 

Yawning as you pop a pod into your coffee maker and quietly pulling a mug from the cabinet. It reads, ‘I ♡ NYC’, which makes you smile and scoff at the irony of it. The coffee maker splutters and spits out coffee as it brews the liquid gold into your cup. 

The aroma almost does the job of energizing you itself. You wrap your hands around the hot mug, hissing from the heat, but you allow it to warm your cold hands as you make your way to the living room. 

Tucking yourself into the far corner of the plush couch, you pull your knees close to your body to drape another blanket over your legs. Your hand clicks buttons on the remote as you sip on the hot coffee, humming from the taste and how it warms you from the inside out. 

Some late-night sitcom is on, so you resort to watching that for now. Quietly giggling along with the laughter in the background of the show. You don’t even notice soft footsteps padding down the hallway towards you as you stare wide-eyed at the tv screen. 

A deep voice calls out your name, making your eyes snap towards the sound. It’s Bucky. 

“What are you doing up?” His voice is scratchy from sleep as his half-lidded eyes squint from the brightness of the tv. His hands are on his hips as he stares at you, almost like a disappointed dad. 

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Your hand grips the remote as you hurriedly turn it down. 

His feet drag as he walks into the living room, still standing up as his eyes watch the screen. The light casts over his features as you stare at him from your position on the couch, “No, no, it’s okay. I heard the tv but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay…” He trails off and turns toward you with his eyebrows wrinkled in the middle, “Well, uh… Are you okay?” 

Your eyes nervously dart from your coffee in your lap to him, and then back to the tv. Your body shudders, urging you to word vomit about how you haven’t slept in four days and how your stupid mind won’t shut up. 

“Y—yeah, Buck. I’m good.” You send a quick, insincere smile his way before looking back down at your steaming mug. You can still feel his eyes on the side of your face, refusing to look up at him. He knows. 

The couch dips beside you, making your breath catch slightly as you side-eye him. 

“Well, I’m gonna sit out here with you and watch whatever the hell you’re watching.” He almost chuckles, his hand motioning toward the tv. 

He looks over at you as his metal arm folds behind his head, the other sprawling out on the back of the couch toward you. Almost like he’s inviting you to move closer to him. 

It’s not weird for you and Bucky to cuddle—especially during your low points, but you can’t give in.

“It’s called friends.” You mumble, still staring into the mug. 

“Hm?” He hums and adjusts himself so he’s a little closer to you, his head leaning forward so he can hear you clearer. 

“The show. It’s called friends.” You speak up, and turn towards him now before taking a sip of your coffee. 

Bucky watches you intently, how you bring the mug to your lips, how your bloodshot, purple-rimmed eyes flick to the screen and back to him. 

“Is that coffee?” He questions with a raised eyebrow, his hand reaching out for it, and you hand the mug over to him. He takes a sip out of your cup before handing it back to you, settling himself into the couch with a satisfying tsk and an, “Aah.” 

“So why haven’t you been sleeping?” He asks with his eyes trained on the tv. You start to fumble over your words, stuttering and wiggling in your spot. “I-uhhh.. wha-?” Your voice trembles. 

Why can’t you just admit it? 

“We’re all worried about you, ya know. Missing training, showing up to meetings late, stumbling into the kitchen for food… or coffee. You've been hiding in your room for days now.” He tilts his head toward your cup to prove a point. 

Tears begin to well up into your eyes, your bottom lip shuddering and your hands trembling. Bucky watches as your walls start to crumble, the exhausted, beaten, and bruised version of you seeping through. “Hey hey. It’s okay, doll.” He sits up now, taking the mug from your hands to set it on the coffee table. 

Once the coffee is safely put to the side, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you from your cocoon of blankets. Your face is smushed into his soft cotton tee shirt, tears soaking the fabric as you silently weep into his chest. 

“I-I jus-just can’t sl-sleep.” You stutter out, arms still by your side, his strong arms caging you in, “My-my mind, my th-thoughts… I just can’t anymore.” 

Bucky shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles into your back. “I know, I know.” He hums. 

Bucky lets you cry into him until it turns into quickened breathing, and then your body starts to go slack. He’s been through this with you so many times, too many times. 

Your head moves from his chest, wiggling your way up to fit into the crook of his neck. Your soft breath fans across his warm skin, and your arms hesitantly wrap around his solid waist. 

Bucky pulls you closer, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple as you snuggle in close. The sound of footsteps breaks you from your little bubble with Bucky, your watery eyes lifting to see Yelena standing at the edge of the couch. 

“Everything okay?” Her usual strong, accented voice is soft as she stares at you with tender, yet tired, eyes. 

Bucky pulls back slightly to turn, his flesh arm still holding onto your waist as he looks at Yelena. A small smile plays on his lips before turning back to you, tapping your hip as his grip loosens. 

“Yeah, she’s good now. Can’t sleep.” Bucky yawns at the end of his sentence and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. You move back slightly, still pressed against his side but not in an embrace. 

“Good. We were worried about you.” Yelena comments, which makes you snort. Both of them turn towards you, looking confused. 

“Bucky said that earlier.” You poke at him jokingly, and he swats at your hand. Yelena lets out a raspy laugh and plops down on the chaise lounge, kicking her feet up as she looks at the tv. “Friends, really?” She rolls her eyes and motions for the remote with her hand. 

You toss the remote to her, and she catches with ease—not even looking as it flew toward her. She flips through the channels as Bucky pulls you closer, your head gravitating towards his lap. You keep telling yourself this is a normal thing for you and Bucky to do; he helps you. But this time, it just feels different. 

You lay on your side, head on his thigh as you curl up into yourself. His hand instantly goes into your long flowing hair to play with it before he pulls a blanket over your body. You can feel yourself relax, your chest warming up as your nervous system resets itself. 

You can feel yourself growing sleepier by the second as Bucky’s hand cards through your hair. Yelena and Bucky’s quiet conversation is slowly drowned out as your ears start to ring, blinking slowly as you try to fight the weight pulling down your eyelids. 

The tv in front of you blurs out of view as your eyes shut, finally succumbing to the sleep your body has been begging for. 

-

You wake up to a bright room around you, sunshine illuminating the walls shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You can feel wetness around your mouth, almost as if you’ve been drooling. 

Wait, where are you? And what is that delicious smell?

Your eyes fully open and you suck in a deep breath of fresh air. It smells of breakfast, like bacon and maple syrup. You’re surprisingly still in the living room, but the tv’s volume is lowered and Bucky isn’t under you anymore. Your coffee cup has been cleaned up, and you’re still covered in a blanket or two. 

As you sit up, you groan, muscles aching from sleeping in a weird position on the couch. You move your neck side to side, yawning as you stretch your arms above your head. 

“Ah! Sleeping beauty is awake!” Yelena’s voice shouts, making you jump as you spin around to face her. 

Bob is sitting at the kitchen island alongside Bucky, while John is at the stove cooking. Yelena is sitting on the counter, laughing at something Bob said as she bites into a piece of bacon she has in her hand. 

The sound of something sizzling catches your ears, and suddenly your stomach grumbles. Bucky swivels on his chair to turn toward you, his face beaming when he sees you’re awake. 

Your lips twitch upwards into a smile, sliding off the couch to shuffle over to him. His arm wraps around your waist from his seated position, “How ya feel?” He asks, looking up at you. 

“Pretty good, still tired but much better.” You sigh happily, smiling around at your teammates who return the same expression.  

John sneakily eyes Bucky’s hand sitting comfortably on your waist, winking at you which makes you blush. 

You know you’ll start to feel better, slowly but surely. Especially with everyone around you being so supportive. They’ll make you feel more like yourself again, and you know you’ll be back to a regular sleep schedule soon. Hopefully with Bucky’s help again. 

[yourkidinthedark]

Coffee and Close Calls

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (She/Her/Hers)

Warnings: Smut-not very detailed. Dry Humping, Making out. Reader gets Robbed. Panic Attack (reader). Minor injuries.

Summary: You work at a cafe, and the highlight of your day is when your favorite customer—James—stops in. With recent break-ins in your area leaving you terrified, he gives you his phone number in case of emergencies, and one night, in a panic, you call him. You didn't know that the man you served coffee to every day would come to your rescue as the Winter Soldier.

Word Count: 4629

Notes: I could be convinced to write a part 2, let me know if that’s something you’d like!

————————————————————————————

The café was quiet for the first time that day. It was a Friday, and they had quite the track record for being insanely busy. Not to mention, the holidays were just around the corner. Christmas shoppers had been flooding through the door all day with flushed cheeks and so many shopping bags over their arms that they were hitting door frames and tables. The sun was just teetering on the horizon as the chilly December air nipped at the tree branches on your street. You had about an hour before you had to close up shop, so you began your list of chores to tidy the café. You emptied the coffee grounds, changed all the garbage bins, wiped down all surfaces, and made sure that everything was restocked and ready to go before the morning shift.

The jingle of the door made you internally groan. There was nothing worse than a customer coming in at the last minute, especially when you had started emptying the display case, storing away the pastries for the morning. You quickly composed yourself and turned on your customer service persona.

“Hi! What can I get started for you?” you asked before your eyes even fell on the individual in front of you.

“Sorry I’m so late, Doll. I got caught up at work.”

You recognized the man instantly as your favorite customer, James. He usually came in around noon, his order the same every time: a black coffee and a plum tart, slightly heated.

“James!” you said, discarding the fakeness in your voice and flashing him a wide grin. “I thought you had forgotten to tell me you were on a business trip.”

“Ah, no,” he said, smiling and running a gloved hand through his hair. “I had to catch up on a bunch of paperwork, and I lost track of the time, but I wanted to see you before close.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” your skin ran hot. “Catch me up. How was your day?”

“Long and boring, but better now.” He flashed you his signature grin, but his eyes held a look of exhaustion that told you he had probably forgotten to eat today. You poured a coffee into a paper cup and slid it across the counter to him.

“They work you too hard,” you said as he slipped the coffee from your grasp. “Sit, let me make you something to eat, on the house.”

“You’re too good to me, Sweetheart.”

—-----------------------------------------------

You remembered the first time he came in. He looked like he had just pulled an all-nighter. It wasn't a particularly busy day, so there was no line at your counter. You took in his blue eyes and disheveled hair, and you felt a little flustered. Cheeks tinged pink, you asked,

“What can I get started for you today?”

He hesitated, just looking at you as if he looked out of place or expected you to say something else. When you didn't, he spoke.

“Uh, could I get a coffee, please?” he asked, his voice low as if he didn't want anyone else in the café to hear him.

“Sure thing!” you said, adding a bit more sweetness to your voice. “Can I get a name for the order?” With the lack of customers, you probably didn’t need to get his name for the order, but your own curiosity got the better of you.

He froze, and his eyes widened. You noticed how his tensed shoulders eased slightly as he let out a breath.

“It’s James,” he said, a soft smile toying at his lips. He pulled out his card and paid for the drink.

“Alright, James, hang tight. I’ll get that started for you.” You began filling a paper cup with the house drip. “Are you from around here or just passing by? I don't think I've seen you in here before.”

“I, uh, just got promoted at work. I moved to the head office. But I am originally from here,” he said, cringing over his words.

“Well, congrats on the promotion!” you smiled. You tightened the lid on the cup, marking his name on it with a Sharpie.

“Thanks,” he said, sheepishly. “It’s... long hours.”

You bent down to the display case and picked a plum tart, gently placing it in a wax paper bag, writing on it with your Sharpie as well. You slid the coffee and bag across the counter to him. He looked at the little white bag, confused.

“A little ‘pick-me-up,’” you smiled, feeling your heart flutter a little as the leather of his gloves grazed your fingers. “I hope to see you around.”

He flashed you a wide smile. “Thanks, uh?”

“It’s Y/N,” you said, feeling a little flustered.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

His eyes scanned you for a quick moment as if he were committing you to memory. A small smile ghosted his lips as he left the café. Glancing down at his coffee, he noticed beautiful handwriting spelling his name like artwork across the lid. And on the paper bag, you wrote a simple “Congrats” with a happy face. He stopped in every day after that, completely hooked on you.

—--------------------------------

His soft voice brought you out of the memory as your hands worked on autopilot, making up a sandwich. “You have to stop giving food away; who am I going to get my coffee from if they fire you?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, shush. The owners will never miss it, and besides, you’d find another barista in seconds. This is New York; it's practically coffee paradise.”

You wrapped the sandwich in a bag and grabbed your trusty Sharpie, writing a little message on the bag and finishing it with your signature smiley face. You heard the door to the café slam open. You let out a startled scream and ducked behind the counter. James turned on a dime to the door, all his senses zeroing in, ready to attack. Instantly, he relaxed and headed to the door to close it.

“It’s okay, Doll. The wind must have caught it,” he said as he made his way over to where you were hiding. You slowly rose from your crouched position and peeked at the door. Sure enough, you and James were the only ones in the café, a trace of the heavy winter air lingering.

“Sorry, I'm just a little on edge these days. The flower shop and the bakery next door have been broken into this week alone. I guess I'm just keyed up,” you said, completely embarrassed by your sudden outburst. His eyes softened as they found your terrified ones.

“Hey, don't apologize,” he said, concern lacing his features. “Would you like me to stay until you close?” You shook your head.

“No, no, it's okay. I couldn't ask you to do that. I'll be fine.” You offered him a genuine smile, touched by his offer.

“Well, here,” he said, grabbing your marker and a napkin from the counter, “if you ever need backup, this is my number. You can call me any time, and I'll be here. I will be in Germany this weekend, but call me anyway; I know a few people who will make sure you’re safe.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture. You took the napkin he handed you and inspected the digits.

“Thanks, James, really. I’d just hate to see you get hurt, though.”

He laughed, a disbelieving but yet charmed laugh.

“I promise you, I can handle a few burglars,” he looked at you earnestly. “But seriously, if you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call me. I’ll be there. I’d even tell the pilot to turn the plane around so that I can make sure you’re alright.”

You practically melted into a puddle on the floor. You pocketed his number in your apron and thanked him again. And with that, he left.

—----------------------------------------

Your weekend went by faster than you'd like. You spent the free time you had catching up on laundry and cleaning your apartment, and before you knew it, you were back behind the counter at the café. Another shop had been broken into over the weekend, this time directly across the road from your work. You tried to push the fear out of your mind by throwing yourself into your work. It was half past noon when you looked up from the counter to meet those familiar blue eyes.

“Germany looks good on you,” you said, taking in his new stubble and black leather jacket. He chuckled, looking down sheepishly.

“God, I missed you,” he said as you worked to get his order together, completely flustered. “Do you have a minute?”

You checked the time. “Yeah, actually, I’m just about to head on break.”

You quickly made yourself something to eat and slipped into a booth with James across from you.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” he said, fidgeting with his gloves. He had a look of worry painted across his face.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You could see that what he was about to say was hard for him to talk about.

“Do you remember about a year ago when the city was taken over by the void?” he said slowly, gauging your reaction.

“Yeah, I don't think I could forget that anytime soon,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “I was stuck in this trauma loop thing, and then something about the new Avengers stopped it, but now one of them was the one who caused it? It’s kind of confusing; I don't really watch the news.”

“Do you remember anything about the new Avengers?” he asked, looking at you for any sign of recognition.

“Uh, just what I’ve heard from customers here. They have a couple of super soldiers and an ex-Black Widow? I think the Black Widow is Natasha Romanoff’s sister, and one of the super soldiers is the Winter Soldier. Why the sudden interest?” James was looking at you intensely now, ignoring your question.

“You know who the Winter Soldier is?”

“Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, I know his story, but I don't keep tabs on the guy.” You looked at him closely, really closely. He radiated familiarity, but you shoved that thought to the back of your mind.

“So, you're familiar with his past?” he said gingerly.

“Yeah, James, what ar—” “Y/N, can you help me with the line?” your coworker hollered over to you. You gave James an apologetic look and told him to stay put while you helped tackle the line of customers at the counter.

Americano after espresso after cappuccino later, you glanced back to the booth where you and James had sat. The table had been cleared, and all trace of him was gone.

You thought about him all day. The conversation playing over and over in your head. Why did he have a sudden interest in the Avengers, and why was he trying to pull you out from under the rock you tucked yourself away in? In between thoughts of confusion lived the words he first spoke to you that morning: “God, I missed you.” That alone was enough to make you giggle like a schoolgirl all afternoon. You decided that you were going to make a point tomorrow to outright ask him what he needed to tell you and apologize for your coworker whisking you away.

Soon enough, the rush of people faded away with the last streaks of daylight, and you were closing up shop. You turned your key in the lock of the door to the café and turned on your heel, the bite from the winter air pricking at your cheeks. You were only a few shops down the street when you heard a quiet shuffling from the dark alleyway that separated your café and the flower shop next door. You spared a quick glance and saw two figures emerge from the shadows and walk slowly behind you.

You felt fear bubble up in your throat, but you tried not to panic just yet. You crossed the street quickly, trying to gauge if they were actually following you, and soon enough, they mirrored your actions. You rounded a corner, taking a sharp right, and they did the same. The panic set in full force now. You walked faster, trying to radiate false confidence but failing miserably. You threw your hands in your pockets to try and find anything that you could use as a weapon to defend yourself. That's when you remembered the napkin resting in your apron pocket. You had put James’ number in your phone, but you couldn't part with his messy handwriting scribbled across the napkin. You didn't hesitate; you pulled out your phone and pressed his contact. He answered on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he said sternly into the phone.

“I—uh—this—this is Y/N.” Your voice came out broken. His tone immediately softened.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“I—I didn't know who else to call. You said to call you if I needed help. I'm being followed, and I’m really scared,” you said rushed, tears hot on your face despite the cold night air.

“Where are you?” he asked quickly, and you could hear shuffling on his end of the line.

“I’m just a couple of shops down from the café, around the corner by the bank,” you whispered, praying that someone, anyone would turn the corner and help you.

“Y/N, I'm going to need you to stay on the line with me until I get to you.”

“O-okay, I’ll try,” you stammered, glancing back. They were beginning to gain on you, and you noticed an extra figure join them. “There’s another one.”

You had never felt so panicked in your life. The white-hot fear enveloped your body, and you felt the blood rush from your face. Your mind began thinking of all the possibilities that could happen if they caught up to you.

“Just keep talking to me, Doll,” he said as you heard another noise. Was that metal? You thought to yourself. “How was work?”

“It-it was f-fine. I'm sorry I got pulled a-away from you,” you said as you once again quickened your pace. The men behind you followed suit. Another loud clang came from James’ end of the phone.

“Don’t apologize. I panicked, Doll; I shouldn't have left.” You heard the sound of wind rushing through the phone.

You were just about to respond when you felt a hand grip your wrist, causing you to drop your phone. You screamed as the other two men swarmed you and dragged you into an adjacent alleyway. James screamed your name into the phone, but he was met with sickening silence.

You kicked, scratched, and fought back as hard as you could, but eventually, two of the men held you back as the third one approached you.

“You're a feisty one,” he spoke. His voice was slimy and smelled like cigarette smoke. “You’re going to cooperate now, though, and you’re going to give us everything of value, and then we will THINK about letting you go—” The man was cut off. A metal arm grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him to the ground with so much force you were surprised the asphalt didn't crack. The men released you to help fight off the assailant. You flattened yourself against the wall, trying to stay out of the way of the fight. You may not have been up to date with the most recent news, but you knew that there was only one person with that kind of metal arm, but you couldn't piece together why he would be here and helping you.

That’s when you saw his face. Those familiar blue eyes that always found yours with kindness and admiration were now replaced with snow and sleet. James stood before you as the Winter Soldier. He grabbed one of the men by the throat and threw him against the concrete wall. He fell to the ground with a thud. The other man, realizing who he was, threw his hands up.

“Hey man, I didn’t know she was your girl,” the guy tried to reason, but James stared at him as if his gaze could turn him to stone.

“It doesn't matter who she is,” he said, slowly advancing toward the guy. The man reached into his pocket, pulling out a knife. James laughed.

“You’re going to need more than a knife to fight me off, pal.” He grabbed the man’s hand that held the knife and broke it. Metal crushing bone echoed off the alley walls. He screamed and dropped to his knees as James picked the knife up and pocketed it.

Scrambling, the three attackers bolted toward the mouth of the alley. Your labored breathing brought his attention back, and he was on you in an instant.

“Are you hurt, Doll? I’m so sorry.” His eyes scanned you rapidly. You had a cut on your lip and a scrape on your cheek, but otherwise, you had no major injuries. You slid down the wall your back was resting against, and James knelt down beside you. The weight of what just happened set in, and you began hyperventilating.

“You’re having a panic attack,” he said gently. His flesh hand grabbed yours, and he placed it on his chest. “Just breathe with me.”

Tears and choked sobs wracked your body as you tried your best to follow his motions. Eventually, you were able to calm down enough to speak.

“T-thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw and grating. “For saving me.” His heart clenched at how broken you sounded.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, still holding your hand. “It took every bit of strength I had not to kill those guys as soon as I got my hands on them.”

You made a half-hearted attempt at a joke. “I don’t think the higher-ups would like to hear that their lead Avenger killed three men in an alleyway.”

His eyes found yours, and a bit of fear swam in them. “You know,” he breathed, brows creasing.

“Metal arm gave it away. The thought also crossed my mind from our conversation earlier.”

“Are you—are you okay with it? I can understand if you don't want me coming around again; I mean, I've done al—” He stammered nervously.

“Of course, I’m okay with it. I know your story, and I know you didn't have a choice. And besides, I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you stopped coming into the café.” You touched his arm reassuringly, and the cold metal was freezing against your fingers. That's when you realized he wasn't wearing a coat. “Oh my God, you must be cold! My apartment isn't far; we should get you warmed up,” you fretted, rising to your feet.

“You just found out that I’m the Winter Soldier, and you’re worried that I’m cold?” He laughed in disbelief.

“Well, yeah. You’re out here because of me.” He shook his head and stepped closer.

“You’re impossible,” he chuckled, looking at you with adoration. “I promise you my only concern is that you’re okay. And besides, I don’t get cold easily.” His fingers brushed your cheeks gently, taking in the sight of your injuries. “We should get you looked after.”

You stayed close to him on your walk back to your apartment. You were practically clinging to him. You told him it was to keep him warm, but he could feel the way you were trembling, even if you tried to hide it.

You unlocked your door and led him into your place, quickly locking the door behind him. You grabbed his hand and led him to your kitchen, motioning for him to have a seat at your island counter. You started rooting around the cupboards.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

“I’m making coffee,” you stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What? Doll, you’re hurt; we need to look after your injuries,” he said, standing and making his way over to you.

“I don’t know how to process what just happened, but I do know how to make coffee, so that’s what I’m doing.” You said gently, feeling your wrists stopped by his steady hands.

“I know what happened to you was terrifying, and you’re still in shock, but please, let me help you.” He brought you over to the chair you told him to sit in and guided you down onto it. “Can you tell me where you keep your first aid supplies?”

You hesitated; you weren’t used to someone trying to take care of you. And James looked at you so softly, as if he were afraid you were going to break. You gave in.

“They are under the bathroom sink,” you mumbled, motioning vaguely to your hallway. He was gone and back in an instant, your first aid kit in his hands. He set it on the counter and began rifling through it until he found some alcohol and gauze.

“This is going to sting a little, Doll. I promise I’ll be quick.” You gave him a small nod, and he pressed the cotton to your cheek. You flinched at the pain, and he felt his heart crack. “I know, I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

When he was satisfied, he moved to your lip. Thankfully for you, he switched to saline as he determined the cut wasn’t as bad. His eyes were trained and focused as he worked. Your cheeks flushed. He was so close, and you could smell the earthy scent of him. He looked up from your lip and caught you staring. You quickly looked away and pretended to be extremely interested in your wall clock all of a sudden. He smirked at you, going back to work.

“When you said you were on business trips, were you actually on missions fighting bad guys?” you asked, trying not to pry, but curiosity was eating you alive. He chuckled at your choice of words.

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a quizzical look. “You really didn’t know who I was until tonight?”

“No, I mean, I kind of assumed you were a pretty important person, but I didn’t know who exactly. I really try to stay away from the news; it just makes me depressed.” You said, causing him to laugh. “And by the way, I’m still calling you James.”

“That’s why I like you; you don’t treat me any differently. You like me for me, not just who people want me to be.” You held onto the meaning of his words, savoring them.

He held your chin in his hand, tilting your head slightly to make sure you had no other injuries.

“I think I can clear you as my patient.” He pulled away, and you already missed him being close to you. He started packing away the medical supplies in your med kit, but you grabbed his arm.

“James,” you said, his blue eyes finding yours. “Thank you for taking the time to help me. I’m sure there are more important things that you’ve got to do.”

“Doll, there is nothing more important to me than you.”

And those were the words that cut the last thread you were so desperately clinging onto. You stood up on your toes, your hand resting on the back of his neck. You were an inch from his face, and you paused for a moment, giving him the freedom to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, you felt his arms grab your hips securely, pulling you closer. You leaned up and connected your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. You both moved slowly, lips mirroring each other's movements, savoring the taste, the feeling. The butterflies in your stomach brushed upon a sensation that you could feel growing by the second. Your hands trailed down his back, tracing along his muscles, committing them to memory like sacred text.

He pulled away slightly and whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you to catch on.” You let out a breathless laugh, kissing him again, but this time, you didn’t hold back.

He kissed you harder and hungrier than before. He kissed you for selfish want, and you gave him everything you had. His tongue slid over your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you happily obliged. You felt drunk off him; everything about him filled your senses, and you loved it.

He pulled off your mouth, trailing hot-breathed kisses down your jaw and neck. He hit a spot just under your jaw that elicited a lewd moan from your lips. The sound lit something in him, and with one swift movement, he picked you up and placed you on the counter like you weighed nothing. That alone could have made you come undone right then and there. He positioned himself between your thighs, lips catching yours once again in a heated kiss. You arched your back as you snaked your leg around him, begging for him to be closer to you—no, needing him to be closer to you. His fingers rested on your hip just under the hem of your shirt, the cool metal flush against your hot skin sent goosebumps up your spine. His other hand, on your thigh, dangerous and waiting.

He wanted to lay you down and have his way with you right there in your kitchen. He was raised to take a girl out to dinner first, but God, you broke all his restraint with your pretty eyes and infectious kindness. The first day he met you at the café, he knew he was screwed. He tried so damn hard to admire from afar, but he just kept coming back to you. On the days he could see you, he was happier, more chipper, so much so that his team started to notice. Everything about you made him better. He just wished that the events leading up to this moment didn’t happen the way they did. But here you were now, drinking him in like chilled Chardonnay.

Your hand gripped his black crew neck shirt as you breathed him in. Your hips shifting closer to the edge of the table brushed against his, causing a low moan to escape his lips. You could feel how badly he wanted you, and that brought out a dark, mischievous side of you.

You moved again, this time more deliberate, lustful. The contact where you needed him most causing your eyes to flutter in pleasure. He panted hot breath on your skin, and you kept going, moaning his name like a prayer. His breaths became more shallow and frequent. You could tell he was close. You pulled away from him, whispering in his ear.

“The bedroom is down the hall, Soldier.”

He picked you up from the counter and carried you bridal-style down the hall. You couldn’t contain your giggles as he pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, neck, and cheek.

He threw you on your bed as he hovered over you, dog tags dangling in front of your face. You reached up and gently pulled them down, connecting his lips with yours again.

That night, under the chill of the New York skyline, you gave yourself completely to him. In a haze of discarded clothing and soft, begging pants, you let yourself feel him entirely. James didn’t fuck you; he made love to you. He explored you and took note of what you liked, what made you beg for more, what left you breathless, and what made you weak.

You fell asleep next to him, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. That night, you had never felt so safe, so protected, and so loved in the arms of James Bucky Barnes.

[auroralwriting]

ice ice, baby! the masterlist

the brooklyn thunderbolts and the manhattan avengers are the biggest rival hockey teams. filled with friendships, ex-friendships, relationships, and drama, no one can get enough of the rivalry; including the teams themselves.

warnings: i do not play hockey so there might be some inaccuracies, injuries, graphic language, hockey level violence, inspired by @/loveisstxnge on tiktok pairings: bucky barnes x reader (yelena belova x ava starr, bob reynolds x joaquin torres, steve rogers x natasha romanoff, tony stark x pepper potts)

introduction | chapter one | chapter two

chapter three (out soon!)

[https-bobreynolds]

reluctant heart

pairings: platonic! thunderbolts* x enchantress! reader, robert ‘bob’ reynolds/the void x enchantress! reader

summary: moments where the enchantress shows that she cares, even though she would never admit it.

warnings: curse words, enchantress should be a warning herself, blood, injuries, and magic.

author’s note: look man i’m sorry, this is so ass i hope this is readable😭😭 this is… what you call a brain vomit??? i have a major headache rn, have tons of my finals exam deadline DUE IN A FEW HOURS, but i really wanted to include two fic scenes for each members (i got carried away oops) READ TILL THE END IF YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ENCHANTRESS X READER AS WELL

james ‘bucky’ barnes

“this one broods like it is a full-time occupation. what century is he mourning? all of them?”

bucky didn’t talk much, which the enchantress liked. but he watched. he analyzed. he asked smart questions, even if he only used five words at a time.

over time, they developed a rhythm in battle. she’d clear the path, he’d cover her blind spots. quiet, efficient.

one time, he handed her a knife mid-fight, the kind made of vibranium with a leather-wrapped hilt. she spun it in her hand, then raised a brow.

“you gift weapons like they are poetry.”

he didn’t answer, but he smirked.

she almost smiled.

bucky was always first to clock danger, always had your back. he didn’t flinch around her magic, didn’t fear her like the rest of them.

she once called him “the least irritating man with a metal limb”.

she would stand behind him during briefings.

he once left a knife near her altar. her fingers hovered over it, then left a spell tucked in its leather grip. a rune of silence. of peace.

she lets him train in her magical barrier zones to test his knives.

she once stitched a cut on his jaw with glowing thread and didn’t insult him for bleeding.

once, after a particularly vicious mission, she found him alone on the rooftop, sharpening his knife in silence.

she appeared beside him in a blink.

“you mourn with such commitment. what would the winter soldier say?”

he didn’t look up. “he’d probably ask you to stop reading his mind.”

a beat of silence.

then she sat beside him, not close, but close enough.

“i do not mourn. but i have known what it means to carry blood like it is your own.”

he nodded.

they didn’t speak again for an hour. and she stayed.

ava starr

“this one walks like she is moments from ceasing to exist. how fitting.”

enchantress saw ava as volatile, broken, and far too reactive. magic and quantum instability do not mix.

but then she saw her fight.

uncontrolled but brutal. ava would tear through enemies like smoke with teeth. no flair. no showboating. just pain.

she respected that.

once, when ava phased through a collapsing bridge to save a child, enchantress shielded the exit, not because she cared, obviously, but because the structure was “inefficiently designed and offensive to the eye.”

later, ava said, “thanks.”

enchantress replied, “i merely wished to avoid your atoms becoming someone else’s mess.”

but her magic was gentler the next time ava faltered.

“i tolerate her presence. she is… hauntingly efficient.”

enchantress subtly adjusts her spell radius so ava can phase safely.

once, when ava collapsed mid-fight, phasing out, half-conscious, it was enchantress who caught her mid-fall. “you will not die. not until I say so.”

she once left a note on ava’s locker: “stabilization rune. do not waste it.” no signature, but ava kept it anyway.

another time when ava got cornered by tech-augmented soldiers, glitching, faltering. it was enchantress who threw a wall of shimmering emerald fire to block the incoming blast.

“do not shatter. it is… irritating to repair quantum dust.”

ava, catching her breath, replied, “you’re such a bitch.”

enchantress tilted her head. “flattery will not win me over.”

later, ava phased through her shield during a drill, a stupid dare from yelena, and landed a hit.

instead of retaliation, enchantress smirked. “impressive. try that again and i’ll atomize your molecules into alphabet soup.”

ava grinned back. “you’re learning how to joke. that’s terrifying.”

yelena belova

“this one laughs too easily. she dances in fire as if it cannot burn.”

yelena is everything the enchantress is not: snarky, warm, reckless in joy. she jokes with knives, flirts with chaos, and annoys with purpose.

enchantress loathed her.

until one mission, yelena cracked a joke mid-battle, something absurd about “stabby girls sticking together”, and enchantress laughed.

out loud.

everyone heard it.

she incinerated the next five hydra agents in cold fury.

later, yelena nudged her and said, “you’ve got a soul under all that goddess drama, huh?”

enchantress’s eye twitched.

“speak again and i will summon a basilisk to dine on your bones.”

yelena winked. “so we’re friends now. got it.”

she sometimes lets yelena braid flowers into her hair after training, which she “forgot to vaporize.”

she lets yelena sleep against her shoulder on long flights. she hexes away yelena’s migraines in silence.

after one mission, where yelena deflected a shot meant for enchantress with her bare forearm, she looked up and said, grinning through the pain, “bet you’ll miss me when i’m gone.”

“do not test that theory,” enchantress whispered, sealing the wound with glowing green magic. “it is the only kindness you’ll get.”

enchantress once muttered, “i will burn the world if she dies” but only to you.

“why does she mock death like it’s a punchline? she is chaos without consequence.”

yelena annoyed her. with the relentless teasing. with the sarcasm. with the friendship bracelets.

yes, yelena made her one.

it said “MAGIC BAD BITCH 💅” in pink beads.

enchantress vaporized it. but the next day… she found it again. reconstructed. stronger. with added charms.

“try again,” yelena grinned. “this one has protective runes.”

enchantress incinerated them again.

later that week though, she replaced the destroyed bracelet with one of her own, etched in runes, disguised as a joke.

yelena wears it everywhere now.

she also once dared to sneak enchanted glitter into her cloak.

enchantress didn’t hex her.

instead, she made her levitate for three hours as punishment, but never once said, “i hate you.”

yelena, upside-down, shouted “this means we’re besties!”

john walker

“this one worships authority like it is a god, yet cannot comprehend divinity when it speaks to him.”

walker is everything she dislikes about men, loud, moralizing, self-important, and carrying that cursed shield like it holds weight in her realm.

he teases her constantly. calls her “witchy” and “disney villain-coded”, says she secretly likes them. once said she had a heart after she pulled him out of a crumbling helijet mid-mission.

she flung him into a wall so hard it cracked the plaster.

“you talk so much for a mortal whose strength lies in a puny shield.”

he groaned and said, “admit it. you like us.”

“i liked you better unconscious.”

still, she shows up first when he’s injured. always last to leave him behind.

she’d rather resurrect hela than ever admit that she has a soft spot for him.

she always shields him in battle “only because you’re a lightning rod for stupidity.”

but during a mission gone wrong, walker tackled a bomb off a bridge and almost didn’t make it back. his shield cracked. his ribs broke. but he saved a dozen lives. when he woke up in medbay, she stood over him. “you are a fool.”

he winced. “missed you too.”

she laid a rune on his chest and turned to leave.“that will heal the bone. but not the idiocy.”

“a man who clings to a shield like it’s the only part of himself worth preserving.”

“you know,” he once said after a mission, wiping blood from his lip, “you’re not that scary.”

she blasted him against a truck.

“speak again, and i shall reduce your tongue to ash.”

“still not that scary.” he wheezed.

they fought constantly, verbally, magically, and once in a team spar where she almost turned him into a goat. almost.

byt when he shielded ava from a blast with his own body, enchantress watched him differently. the next time he made a joke, she let it pass without comment.

once, during a blackout, the team sat around sharing stories. he shared one about his friend who tragically passed, quiet, genuine.

she didn’t speak after that.

but the next day, she conjured a charm and said: “wear it. not for you. for your friend’s memory.”

he blinked. “so you do care.”

alexei shostakov

“a relic. much like myself, only louder, and fueled by pickled ego.”

alexei is boisterous. boastful. calls her “mystical lady” and “magic mama” and once tried to arm-wrestle her.

she hexed his biceps into noodles for an hour.

but he’s also weirdly endearing. he means well, fights hard, bleeds without complaint, and disturbingly, sometimes makes her laugh.

he once handed her a hammer mid-mission and said, “now you look like a god.”

she didn’t hex him for three days after that.

she tolerates his proximity.

she lets him spar near her sacred altar (“you must stop bleeding on the glyphs”).

she healed his broken ribs after a mission, then denied it. “you imagined it. likely brain trauma.”

once, she saw him throw himself in front of a plasma cannon aimed for her. when she tried to chide him, he interrupted: “you are part of the team. i protect team.”

“foolish. sentimental. moron.” he grinned. “you say that like it’s new.”

she sighed and cast a protection spell on his bones. “you will live. regrettably.”

alexei always defends the team like a bear would its cubs. no hesitation. no fear. just fists, heart, and delusion.

he once stood in front of a hydra tank to shield her spell casting. took the hit. didn’t flinch.

“you’re welcome, my glowing queen.”

she stared at him. “you are the dumbest mortal i’ve ever begrudgingly admired.”

he grinned. “that’s basically love in your language, no?”

robert ‘bob’ reynolds/the void

“i knew you before light had a name. i remember the collapse of stars with you at my side.”

she never doubted bob.

and the void? he knows her. the ache of eternity. the gravity of being too much and too lonely for too long.

their bond is old. deeper than names. stranger than time. a flicker of love that doesn’t always look soft, but it’s there.

sometimes they float outside the tower, silent, watching the sky fracture in distant colors. saying nothing. needing nothing.

he once reached out, brushed her cheek with a shadowed hand, and said, “you’re softer than you pretend.”

she replied, “and you’re gentler than you believe.”

she doesn’t have to admit that she has a soft spot. the void already knows.

she calls him “beloved” in ancient tongues.

casts protective runes on him that glow only in darkness.

if the void breaks, she will break the world to rebuild him.

“he is the beginning and the ending. my mirror. my ruin. my solace.”

they understand each other beyond words.

oncr, during a night thick with stormlight, they stood side-by-side, watching lightning split the sky in silence.

“you miss it too.” she said, softly.

he nodded. “the quiet. the before.”

they rarely touch, but when they do, it’s like galaxies breathing against each other.

she once placed her hand over his chest and whispered a spell older than this universe.

“you are too much,” he whispered.

“so are you,” she replied.

“and still not enough for each other.”

“yet we stay.”

you

“a flame that believes in rain. beautiful. foolish. necessary.”

you’re the only one who speaks to her like she’s real. not a god. not a weapon. not a curse.

you call her out gently. you tell her things like “they’re not as bad as you think.”

and over time… she believes you.

she watches how you talk to them. how you protect them. and she learns. for you.

she once shielded the entire team with a dome of magic that pulsed in your color, but when asked, she said she did it to preserve her own resources.

you smiled anyway. you knew.

“you care about them,” you said one night, “you’re becoming part of this.”

she looked at you like you were the most terrifying thing in any dimension.

“speak of this again,” she whispered, “and i shall turn your tongue to ash.”

then added, quieter

“…but only briefly.”

you are the only one who can calm her when her powers spiral.

the only one who can summon enchantress with a whisper.

you’re the reason she protects the team. why she hasn’t scorched the earth clean. why she stays.

“a mortal. too kind. too soft. a flame dancing too close to gods.”

you were her tether. her reason.

the one who taught her that humanity wasn’t just weakness, it was choice.

you talked her down when her magic raged. held her hand after nightmares. defended her when the world called her a monster.

“they’re family.” you told her once, after she called the team a circus of fools.

“they are.” she said.

“they’re your circus now.”

she stared at you like you broke the sky.

“you are absurd.”

“you’re soft.”

“i will turn your lungs into lilacs.”

you smiled.

author’s note: so yes i do headcanon that since enchantress only comes out during the night or when ‘you’ summon her (which is always on the battlefield) most of their soft moments would appear during battle.

if i write another action-sequence fic centered around the enchantress being soft and protecting the others would y’all read it🥺 (i feel like you guys hate action sequences lmaooo)

tag list: @spongelll @lovetoalll

[sillygoose067]

Crash Landing Into You pt.2

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Joaquin stood outside the bookstore café, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He’d changed his shirt twice before coming—settled on a dark green button-up he hoped looked cool but not too try-hard.

When you walked out, he straightened, caught off guard by how nice you looked in your sweater dress, hair down, a small crossbody bag slung at your hip. You had this slightly nervous smile, the kind people wore when they weren’t totally sure if this was a good idea.

“Hey,” he said, hands slipping into his pockets. “You look…great.”

You ducked your head, warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Thanks. So do you.”

There was an awkward moment, the two of you trying to figure out if you should hug, shake hands, or just wave. He opted for a slightly dorky half-hug, arm barely touching your shoulder, and you both laughed as you walked in.

The conversation over coffee started cautious, a little stilted. He asked you about your job, you asked him about his, both of you trying not to sound rehearsed.

“So,” he said, stirring his cortado, “ER work. That’s gotta be intense.”

You nodded, wrapping your hands around your mug. “Yeah, it is. I mean… I like it. It’s chaos, but it makes me feel useful. You have to be quick, but you also have to be kind.” You shrugged. “Keeps you human, I guess.”

He tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “I get that. I mean, my whole thing is about quick decisions, too, but usually it’s more… ‘don’t crash into that building’ and less ‘save a tiny life.’”

You laughed, your shoulders relaxing a bit. “Both important. I think the building people appreciate you.”

The date got easier from there. You found little overlaps—shared shows, mutual fears of public speaking, the same guilty pleasure for really bad pop songs. By the time the café closed, you were leaning in toward each other, forgetting to check your watches.

He walked you home, hands brushing once or twice before he finally took yours, and when you reached your door, you lingered there, suddenly self-conscious again.

“I had a really good time,” you said, looking up at him. “Thanks for… this.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, me too. Can I… text you? Maybe plan something less caffeinated next time?”

You grinned. “Definitely.”

You parted with a soft, slightly awkward hug, and when you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

⸻

By your fourth or fifth date, you’d found a rhythm. You’d made him dinner at your place once—a slightly burnt lasagna he pretended to love, even though the edges were like roof shingles. He’d taken you to a street fair, where you’d nearly puked on a spinning ride but insisted you were fine.

It was after one of those casual, unplanned nights that you found yourself curled up on his couch, legs across his lap, half-watching a terrible reality show while he absently rubbed your ankle.

“I have a confession,” he said suddenly, eyes still on the screen.

You looked over, heart skipping a little. “Yeah?”

“I have no idea what’s happening in this show,” he admitted, looking at you with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been nodding every time you comment.”

You burst out laughing, head falling back against the armrest. “You liar. I thought you were invested in this trainwreck!”

“Hey, in my defense, I just like listening to you talk about it. You get all fired up.” He poked your shin. “It’s cute.”

You blushed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

But he was also leaning in, thumb tracing gentle circles against your calf, his face closer now, eyes flicking to your mouth.

And when he kissed you, it was soft at first, a tentative press of lips, like he was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned in, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, and he exhaled against your cheek, a quiet, contented sound that made your heart do backflips.

⸻

Eventually, he started leaving things at your place. A spare hoodie on your coatrack. His favorite phone charger coiled beside your bed. A toothbrush in the cup next to yours, like some quiet promise.

He’d stay over some nights, both of you too tired to make the trek to his apartment. You learned his little habits—how he hummed when he brushed his teeth, how he always checked the locks twice, how he stretched his arms over his head every morning like he was about to launch into the sky.

One lazy Sunday, you were curled up on the couch, his head in your lap, your fingers absently running through his curls as you read a book. He closed his eyes, a soft, sleepy smile on his lips.

“Is this weird?” he mumbled.

You looked down, brushing a curl off his forehead. “What?”

“This.” He cracked one eye open. “Us. Being this… domestic.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss his temple. “Not weird. Just… nice.”

He squeezed your knee, eyes drifting shut again. “Yeah. Nice.”

⸻

It wasn’t perfect, of course. No couple is.

The first time you really fought, it was over something stupid—a last-minute mission that took him out of the country for two weeks without so much as a text, and you’d spent every night staring at your phone, convinced something had gone wrong.

When he finally showed up at your door, looking exhausted but relieved, you’d tried to brush it off, but he’d caught the tightness in your voice, the way your arms stayed crossed, shoulders tense.

“You’re mad,” he said, leaning against your doorframe, eyes dark.

You bit your lip. “I’m not mad. I just… I wish you’d said something. I worried.”

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve. I just… it’s hard to explain. I didn’t want to put that on you.”

You hesitated, then stepped closer, your tone softening. “I want you to put it on me. That’s kind of the point, right?”

He dropped his head, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “I just… care about you. A lot.”

He looked up, his eyes softening. “I care about you, too.”

And the hug that followed wasn’t perfect either—too tight, too desperate—but it was real. And that mattered more.

⸻

It came out one morning, long after the sun had risen, when you were both tangled up in your sheets, half-awake, still groggy from the night before.

You were draped across his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing the faint scar on his shoulder, your head tucked beneath his chin. His arm was wrapped around you, holding you close, his thumb brushing the soft skin of your arm.

He yawned, stretching a little, then mumbled, “You know you’re my favorite person, right?”

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, voice sleep-heavy. “I’m serious. You… you make everything feel… different. Lighter. Even the hard stuff.”

You blinked, waking up a little more, feeling the weight of his words.

“I mean,” he continued, a nervous chuckle in his throat, “I’m still a mess, obviously. But you make me want to be less of a mess.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “Are you trying to tell me something, Torres?”

He hesitated, eyes searching yours, his heart clearly picking up speed. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I love you.”

Your breath hitched. It felt like the air in the room shifted, the world suddenly sharper, brighter.

You swallowed, felt your heart pounding in your ears, then leaned down, pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your nose brushing his. “A lot.”

The relief in his eyes was immediate, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that felt both urgent and deeply, deeply right. Like a promise sealed.

⸻

A few months later, he got hurt. Nothing critical, but enough to shake you both.

He’d been out on a mission, one of those chaotic, high-stakes ones that Sam swore would be quick and easy, and he came back with a gash along his ribs and a limp that made your stomach drop.

When he stumbled into your apartment that night, his uniform torn, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, you froze.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, rushing to his side. “Joaquin, what happened?”

He tried for a reassuring smile, even as his knees buckled a little. “Nothing. Just… took a hit. It’s fine.”

But when you peeled back the fabric and saw the jagged, bloody line across his ribs, you felt a wave of nausea hit you.

“You’re bleeding,” you hissed, guiding him to the couch. “Why didn’t you go to med bay?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, wincing as he leaned back. “I just… wanted to see you.”

Your heart twisted, both at the stupidity of it and the tenderness. You grabbed your first aid kit, kneeling beside him as you started to clean the wound, hands shaking slightly.

“Dios, this looks bad,” you muttered, biting your lip as you worked. “You can’t just… walk around with this.”

He let his head fall back, exhaling shakily. “I knew you’d patch me up. You’re surgeon, right?”

You shot him a look, half angry, half terrified. “Yeah, for kids.”

He reached for your hand, catching it even as you tried to swat him away.

“Hey,” he said, voice suddenly serious. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

You paused, meeting his eyes, and felt your chest tighten.

“Promise me you won’t do this again,” you whispered, your voice cracking a little. “You can’t just… come back to me like this. It’s not fair.”

His grip tightened on your hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin.

“I promise,” he whispered back, eyes softening. “I’ll be more careful. I swear.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, his free hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there like you were his whole world.

⸻

Eventually, you stopped keeping track of which things were his and which were yours. His spare hoodie became a permanent fixture on the back of your desk chair. Your favorite blanket migrated to his couch. He started leaving spare socks in your laundry basket, and you stopped pretending you cared.

One morning, you caught him singing in your shower, a horribly off-key rendition of some old R&B song, and instead of being annoyed, you found yourself grinning like an idiot.

He came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair dripping, and caught you staring.

“What?” he said, a little sheepish, grabbing for his shirt.

You shook your head, blushing. “Nothing. Just… you’re cute.”

He paused, then broke into a wide, teasing grin. “Oh, I’m cute, huh?”

You tossed a pillow at him, laughing as he ducked. “Don’t push it, Torres.”

But as he crossed the room, pulling you into a damp, soapy hug that made you squeal, you realized you hadn’t felt this happy in a long, long time.

[swightops]

still holding the silence - thunderbolts* (b. reynolds)

summary - the world is moving on with the New Avengers leading the move. you not so much. warning(s)- typical thunderbolts warnings (depression, cannon violence, blood, etc.), mentions of alcohol, language a/n - mentions of multiverse of madness, thunderbolts,CA 4 (?), this will probably become a mini series since this is wayyyy too long (around 3.8K words) but I really couldn't help myself, lowkey a sad x sadder trope hehe, pretty angsty ngl

It's funny how Bucky and his new team seem galaxies away from you, like characters from a fantasy. You shift in your seat on the couch, eyes glued to the huge TV screen. Reruns from the news report earlier today play different angles of the new heroes cycling with new commentary here and there. They seem untouchable, like heroes you only see on screen. 

A laugh mixed with a scoff makes its way out of you as you force yourself to get up and throw out the empty ice cream carton from your hands. You place your spoon in the sink, and as you turn around, you nearly jump out of your skin and see Morgan now sitting on the couch.

The young girl's eyes are trained on the screen before she turns to you, her lips curled slightly downwards. "That guy with the metal arm was at Dad's funeral," she says, and your mouth goes dry momentarily.

You exhale as you sit next to her, the couch dipping and her small body leans onto you. Morgan's quick to curl up in your lap, and you let her. Your fingers comb through her brown hair, and your eyes fall back onto the TV.

"Yes, he was," you finally answer, your voice quiet, almost a whisper. You don't remember your voice always being so small. You used to be louder, snarkier, livelier. Keyword: used to.

Now, everything seems to be muted. There isn't a new adventure or mission every day, and part of you likes it like that. After everything that's happened, you deserve to live a quiet, calm life, not wondering what monster is around the corner.

But then there's another part of you—one that yearns for the life of the New Avengers—your old life. Yes, constantly fighting bad guys was annoying and tiresome, but with it came the Avengers, your friends, your family.

And now?

Now, there was little to nothing to show for it. You look down at the girl curled up in your lap and notice her breathing has evened out. She's fallen back to sleep. Maybe Morgan sensed how sad the news of the New Avengers made you and sought you out to comfort you. Kids are like that, as Pepper told you once. That they could sense things that adults couldn't.

You shake away all your thoughts and lift Morgan up. You really should have scolded her for being awake since Pepper is coming early to pick her up. Guess there's still some of this "parenting" or "adulting" thing you need to get better at. With a last look at the TV screen, your heart squeezes again agonizingly as you look at Earth's newest defenders.

Good luck to them, you think.

You've come to the conclusion that you're a glutton for punishment.

Your fingers run over the silky material of your black dress as you lean back in your seat. Happy's eyes dart back to you for a moment, trying to asses if he should turn the car around back to your apartment.

You can feel his eyes, sense his worry, and hell, hear how loud his thoughts are. Not the exact thing he's thinking, but more so a general "I am worried about y/n, but I don't want to say anything out loud" thought. You aren't as gifted as Wanda when it comes to mind-reading. Or, you aren't as talented as Wanda was at mind-reading. 

The reality of your best friend's death makes you shrink in on yourself as you recall everything that happened with you, Strange, Wanda, and America. Why hadn't you been there for her earlier? Why hadn't you thought about your family after Thanos and the war? You were hurting, so surely they were as well.

No.

There's no point in dwelling on the past. You also aren't gifted with time-manipulating abilities, so there's not much you can do now to change reality.

"You ok back there, Kid?" Happy finally asks, and you lift your head to meet his eyes. There's a furrow in his eyebrows, and you feel bad about making him worry.

"I'll be ok," you reply, short and small. Happy frowns.

"You don't have to go to this, you know," he says. And he's right. You aren't required to attend the New Avengers' "Meet the Future" gala. It's not like you were actually invited.

You figured no one could say no to you if you showed up.

You could also finally talk to Bucky. You know that he and Sam had argued about the New Avengers, and when you tried to talk to the former assassin, nothing but silence came your way. It hurt. Downright ripped what little of your heart you're holding onto.

Realizing you haven't replied, you clear your throat. "I just want to say congratulations to them. That's all."

Happy isn't convinced.

You shrink a little under his flat gaze. "Do you think it's a bad idea?" you ask, voice smaller than before, almost like a child asking their parent if they're in trouble.

"Why do you think it's a good idea?" he says, and you furrow your brows. Happy's been on this crusade lately of flipping your questions back, hoping you do some "self-realizing." He read it in some book and you think it's bullshit.

As annoyed as you are with his questions, you give him props. Why do you think going to this gala is a good idea? On paper, it isn't.

You, former Avenger now turned billionaire philanthropist, who seems to be on the verge of breaking down in all senses, meeting the New Avengers, made up of people you know don't have the greatest backgrounds, whom no one bothered to ask you about. Ask if it was okay, if you wanted to be involved, what you thought—nothing.

"I don't know," you finally confess, and the car stops.

Paparazzi shout and flash their cameras, and you watch multiple investors, politicians, and workers walk up the red carpet and into what was your home, now remodeled for the new heroes living there.

The world seems to mute itself as Happy steps out of the car and approaches your door. He knocks three times.

"Are you ready?"

You knock back once.

"Yes."

Dozens of flashes go off, and the crowd intensifies as you step out of the car and onto the red carpet. You can see reporters call your name and wave you over for an interview, but you ignore them, simply turning to thank Happy for driving you and that you'll call when you're ready to go home. You breathe out before straightening your shoulders and holding your head high as you enter the tower.

"Ms. l/n! One moment!"

"Sunwraith, will we be seeing you join the New Avengers!?"

"Are you supporting the New Avengers tonight?!"

"What do the remaining original Avengers say about these new ones!!"

"What does this new team mean for the Avenger legacy?!!"

Finally, you make your way inside the tower, and you stop. Something, a mix of guilt and joy, you think, floods you as you look up. The tower's lobby has always had a high ceiling, but now, it seems taller, different, scarier. 

"Ms. l/n!" a voice calls out, and you turn your attention to the older woman calling you. Cecilia Anderson greets you, telling you that you look stunning tonight. She's an older woman and a politician who has donated to the Stark Relief Foundation and yours, "New Light." She's nice, has a good heart, and is a little blunt, but company you don't mind.

"Hello," you greet softly, your hand shaking hers. "You flatter me, Ms. Anderson. I love the gold tonight." Cecilia laughs at your compliment, telling you your dress is much more modest and flattering than hers. You let her ramble away for a few minutes, silently nodding here and there and laughing when appropriate.

"Shall we make our way upstairs?" she asks, her eyebrows wiggling up and down in anticipation. Your stomach turns.

"Of course."

Your heart beats wildly in your ear as you make your way towards the elevator. People are staring. They're whispering. They're pointing.

All directed to you.

Cecilia pulls out a small card from her clutch, and the guards nod at her. She turns into the elevator, waiting for you to join her.

But you can't. Your feet freeze as you stare at the ground. The world shifts, and everything sounds murky as you hear their voices around you. Time rewinds, and suddenly, seven years haven't passed since Thanos. You're still you, a hero, an Avenger, Sunwraith.

"Ms. l/n," the guard to your right calls out, and everything snaps back into place. You raise your head and meet his gaze. "You're free to enter," is all he says, and you force a polite smile before bowing your head and apologizing for holding up the line.

You step into the elevator, and Cecilia is saying something, but you're not listening as you press your back to the wall. People fill up the shaft, and you feel them looking back at you. You duck your head down a little to avoid their gazes, and shit, you think Happy was right. You shouldn't have come; this was stupid, so utterly stupid.

What did you think you were going to achieve by showing up tonight? Show people that you're stable, like all this "New Future" shit doesn't bother you? Show the world that you've moved on past the Avengers, that it was who you were, and now you've turned a new leaf? This plan was complete and utter shit. You can turn back now. Leave and pretend this—

The doors open, and people flood out.

Shit.

Your brain goes on autopilot as you step out. Before you know it, you have a glass of champagne in your hand and are shaking all sorts of hands.

Faces come and go as you're dragged from one side of the room to another. Pleasantries are shared, and bad jokes about how you've grown up so much and are much more well-mannered than Tony ever was. Foundation names are thrown at you, and you simply smile and nod. Questions are asked about you and New Avengers, and all you do is give them a cheeky wink and a finger to your lips, and they eat it up.

You don't know how many people you've spoken with, but soon your chest is filling up. You need to get out, breathe some air, and take a moment to remind yourself that you're a person and not some marketing pawn for these people.

"If you'll excuse me, I don't want to fall too behind on drinks," you say, and the older men around you laugh. You're quick to move away from them and out of the main room.

You walk and walk and think you're going the right way toward a balcony, but everything's different, and you're lost. Your eyes start to sting as you come to a crossroads. Unsure which way is the right one, you crouch down. A shaky breath leaves your lips, and your dress suddenly starts feeling too big, like it's not meant for you, like you're a little kid playing dress up.

"Are you ok?" a voice asks, and your head snaps up. A man stands there, his eyes big, worried, and cute if you're being honest. He's biting his lower lip as his right hand tugs at his other hand, and he's starting to shrink in on himself in the looming silence. "I'm sorry! Y..You probably want to be alone, so I don't know why I asked. I.. I'll just leave!" he stutters out, and he flinches when you suddenly stand tall.

"You can stay," you finally say, and some of the tension leaves the guy's shoulders. "I was just looking to get some air, but I'm kind of lost now," you add on, and you try to laugh to seem happy, but it comes out sad and depressing.

"Me too," the man adds and his eyes meet yours for a second before shifting down to the ground. "I can show you the way?" he asks, and his shoulders bunch up again, already preparing himself for your rejection.

It certainly doesn't help that you're just staring at him. Helplessly staring at him, he really wants to look up and meet your eyes, but he can't. Bob knew he was a depressing person; hell, he couldn't really use his powers because of how intensely he went from his highs and lows. But you, your eyes were just so sad. 

Sad in a way that made him sad—like it was oozing out from you and clinging to his newly tailored pants that still felt too tight. But with that sadness came a weird calm, like the feeling he gets when he's curled up in his room, staring out over New York on a cloudy, rainy day.

"I'd like that," you finally answer with a small smile, and Bob catches a glimpse. Seeing you smile makes his chest feel lighter, and he feels like he has accomplished something unthinkable. He nods, and a silence falls between the two of you. It's not uncomfortable or awkward, it just feels right.

Finally, you're able to breathe again once Bob leads you to a balcony. The lights of New York seem to shine a little brighter tonight as you look out over them, and it brings another smile to your lips. You remember nights like this when you and Natasha would sit on the helicopter pad and talk, overlooking the night sky. Sometimes Bruce or Clint would join you, and the two of you would gang up and tease the joining party about something embarrassing they've done recently.

"Do you come to these things often?" Bob asks, and your eyes shift over to him. Honestly, you forgot he was here. He was so quiet and leaning in on himself, as if he feared taking up too much room, as if he were scared of simply existing.

"I used to. Now...not so much," you answer, and he nods, soaking up all your words.

"Do they ever get easier?" he asks, making you laugh. Again, his chest swells, and he feels like he has accomplished something.

"You get the swing of them. At least, I did. You learn when you can escape," you chuckle, and Bob does too. "I used to get trouble for escaping." Pepper used to lecture you on your escape acts while Tony simply made faces behind her, which had you trying to contain your giggle in fear of being lectured more.

"I don't think I ever will," Bob says, pulling at the cuffs of his suit jacket. "All these people and all the talking...I'm not too good at that."

"You seem alright talking to me," you say, facing him so you can see him fully. He's taller than you, only a couple of inches, and his brown curls are slicked back with gel. You wonder what they look like normally. Your eyes fall onto his suit again, and you can tell it's tailored to fit him. Although he's hunched in on himself, you can tell he's fit and that there's muscle underneath. It makes you wonder what he does. He doesn't seem like a politician. Maybe an investor?

Bob flushes under your gaze and words and quickly coughs (or laughs?). "I guess you're just easy to talk to," he says, and you blink.

You? Easy to talk to? When was the last time anyone ever said that to you?

"You think so?" you say, your voice lower than before, and you also start to lean in on yourself. Bob's eyebrows furrow as he watches you curl up from his words, and he starts to worry that he said something wrong.

"Of course," is all he can say, and somehow, like magic, you're peering over at him and uncurling again. "I...I'm Bob," he blurts out, his voice a little too loud and pitchy, and he cringes. A soft laugh comes from you, and he smiles.

"y/n," you say, and Bob can feel himself smile a little more. "So, Bob, why are you here tonight?"

"I'm just here to support my friends. I'm not good at talking, but I already told you that." Bob chuckles breathily, but it's muted in your ears.

"You're friends with the New Avengers?" you ask, and you feel like you're floating outside your body.

Bob nods, unaware of the shift in you. His gaze falls onto the city's lights. "Yeah, they helped, uh, me a while ago, and now...well, we're all a team."

"Oh."

"What about you? Why are you here?" Bob asks, a soft smile on his face, and it confuses you. He doesn't know who you are?

No, he's probably lying. He has to be. He's friends with the New Avengers, Bucky, more specifically.

But, as you look at his face and see the honest curiosity, you know he's not. Like, he's incapable of lying and just wants to know about you. There's a flutter in your chest, relief. Bob has no idea about your past, what you've lost, and who you were.

It scares you just as much as it comforts you.

"I need to go," is all you say before turning and rushing away. Your heels click on the floor as you follow the sound of laughter and chatter back to the main room.

Bob calls your name out from behind you, asking if he said something wrong, and you want to turn, but you force yourself to keep walking. Everything is closing in around you, and your vision is getting fuzzy, with wisps of black coming into your view and growing by the second. The sting comes back to your eyes and fuck, you really shouldn't have come tonight.

"Sunwraith!" a voice cheers, too loud, too staged. You freeze.

The blinding lights of the main room rip the shadows away, and all eyes turn to you. You feel Bob freeze and duck behind the wall, retreating from the sudden shift in attention.

From across the room, the woman who called you out grins. Not kindly—no, the curve of her lips is wolfish, all calculation, like she's watching to see what makes you twitch.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, the person who formed the New Avengers, starts walking towards you, the room parting like the Red Sea. It almost seems staged, like she was waiting for this moment all night.

"Or is Ms. l/n more suitable," she purrs, her gaze never breaking from yours, "since you're not avenging anymore?"

A ripple of talk stirs uncomfortably through the room, unsure if this is some show. But all of them are soaking up whatever's about to unfold. They're all watching, waiting for you to reply.

She turns to the audience. "Everyone, don't be shy! We're in the presence of greatness! A founding Avenger. A living weapon of light and death. The Sunwraith herself. Please! Some applause!" And like a commandment, the room fills with claps.

Your fists clench behind you, and your fingernails dig into your palms to create tiny crescent moons. Your codename burns like an old scar being reopened. It brings back memories, and it creates heat running up and under your skin and flowing throughout your body, a change from your usually ice-cold body.

Valentina tilts her head, mock surprise playing on her features. She steps closer to you, and you can smell her perfume; it's spicy and burns your nostrils, like breathing in cinder ashes. Valentina leans in close enough that everyone else can't hear her words.

"Oh, but I forgot," she says slowly, eyes narrowing just enough. "You gave that all up, didn't you? Walked away. Some say burned out, others say buried too many friends. Depends on who you ask." The crowd is still watching, waiting.

You breathe in, and your shoulders fall back. Your spine straightens out, and Valentina whistles low as she watches you puff out your chest.

"Is there a point to this?" you ask, voice steady, low.

She grins widely, "Only that the world doesn't get to retire just because you did." Valentina's grin sharpens, pearly and cruel. "See, I thought you might want a look at what progress looks like."

She lifts her hand theatrically, and your gaze shifts to where she's pointing. And then you see it, see the New Avengers, see Bucky. His presence crashes into you like a riptide. Blue eyes met yours, and your breath stills in your chest.

You knew the chance of seeing him tonight, hell, you were hoping to, but seeing him now, standing with her, letting Valentina dangle your past like bait for a crowd…it's like being gutted all over again.

Valentina clocks your reaction instantly.

"Even James knew how to move on. It just took the right kind of...leadership," she says, her voice still low, keeping the words between you both.

You don't move. You don't flinch. Hell, you don't even think you're breathing anymore.

Valentina tilts her head, eyes dancing with mock concern. "Aww. Did that sting? Or are we still pretending you don't feel anything at all?" There's blood dripping from your palms, and you hope it doesn't stain your dress.

You blink once, slowly, measuredly, and force your lips into a neutral curve. Not quite a smile, but enough to keep your image polished. The lights are still hot on your skin, the weight of every stare pressing against your back like a loaded gun. "I feel plenty," you say softly, voice sweetened just enough to mask the venom underneath.

Valentina laughs—a sharp, brittle sound that cuts through the murmurs in the room. "Someone's PR trained!"

With a swift move, she links her arm with yours and smiles brightly at the audience. "Sunwraith, everyone! A true hero for embracing the future of our world!" Cheers and applause sound throughout the room, and cameras go off as you force that practiced smile of yours to stay.

"You know there's always room for more," Valentina purrs, her teeth still locked in a smile for the photos. "Especially, for America's sweetheart."

"I'd offer congratulations," you say, voice soft and pleasant, "but I think you've got enough people doing that for you." She laughs at your words.

Valentina breaks away and steps closer to the crowd, her smile still pearly white. "Shall we raise a glass, then? To new beginnings? To heroes who show up when it counts?" She glances back at you, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure together.

Champagne is passed around, and people start to move again.

You don't. You stay frozen.

And then, once again, your eyes meet Bucky's through the crowd. You swallow the lump in your throat, and so does he. He starts moving towards you, but you turn and walk away. You can't talk to him, you don't want to anymore.

A shift catches your eye, and your eyes meet Bob's. His back is pressed to the wall, and his eyes are wide with worry and shock. You swallow again and keep moving.

You really shouldn't have come tonight.

[j-eryewrites]

Hayloft

Chapter Two of Under Pressure: A Thunderbolts Fic

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SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: ~6.4k

Spotify Playlist

Warnings: Canon typical violence, gun violence, government testing, mentions of death, language, John Walker needs his own warning, mentions of trauma, THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS (let me know if I missed any)

Author's Note: Wrote this in a day. Man, I haven't had the writing juices this good in a long time. Anyway, reader finally meets the gang and Bob. I hope you all enjoy! (P.S I didn't really have time to proofread, so if there's typos, I'm sorry :) )

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It was surprisingly easy to get out to Utah within the span of less than a day. You thanked your money, and the tools Tony had left you. He had made you a suit, one that wouldn’t see the wear and tear that normal fabric would. You remember when you stumbled upon it late at night. Tony had been sitting at his desk in his workroom. The walls were lined with his various Iron Man suits, all ones you had seen before, except a small blue and silver one. Tony caught how your eyes were drawn to the suit as a proud smile flicked onto his face. 

“What’s this?” You asked, stepping closer to the suit. Tony approached, his path slowly beside yours.

“Like it?” Tony peered down at you, wiggling his brows before popping some dried blue berries into his mouth. He always had a snack on hand, and ever since you joined their little superhero family, he carried extra. You nodded in response. “Well, it’s yours.” Your jaw fell slack, making Tony chuckle. “Just let me know when you want to take it out for a spin, Jinx.” You smiled at the nickname, Jinx. The one he gave you the first time you made his suit malfunction. 

Landing down, just outside the remote bunker, you double-checked your fuel levels. It was just enough to get you out of here and back to a place where you could hitch a ride. Barely enough.

“FRIDAY, do a scan of the area for any threats, and get me more information on this place.” 

“Of course, Ms. Stark,” she replied before a mini icon loading screen popped up in your helmet. You never understood how Tony could deal with all the icons that required attention in the helmet. It was all too much for you, too cluttered, too distracting. Instead, you stuck to allowing a small icon for FRIDAY, a map, and your music to appear before you. Flicking off your helmet, you adjusted your earpiece, making sure the connection was strong. Satisfied, you pressed the side of your earpiece. Music flowed into your ears. It was a playlist you and Tony had made to help you focus on the energy flows around you. 

A small chime lets you know FRIDAY’s search was complete. Pulling up the holographic screen from your forearm, you scanned the information. The Bunker was one of O.X.E’s. What it was used for or what could be inside was a mystery. You bit your lip, shaking the uneasy feeling you left walking in blind. Despite the unease, you pushed forward; what was inside this place was more important than being too cautious. 

You had promised Bucky you’d get it, even if it was more of a promise to yourself. Growing up in a testing facility to make new super-powered humans was never a life anyone wanted. No matter how much the internet chat rooms wished and begged to get a chance to be a hero, to fight alongside the Avengers, to be Tony Stark’s daughter, they would all cower in fear from the truth. The pain and hollowness that followed everywhere you went from all those years making you, building you into the person you are–the weapon. You swore off the internet and chat rooms ever since that day. The remnant quakes that erupted from your body and the tears that scalded your cheeks still resided deep inside you, like invincible scars immune to the effects of time and love. That hurt is what pushed you on. No one should be forced into that life, and you were going to make sure of it. 

It had been years since Valentina Allegra de Fontain found you. It was a time in your life you’d rather forget. You had all just lost. Thanos had gotten all the stones, and you were there on the last line of defense, watching over Vision. Energy manipulation, that’s the power you possessed. Able to manipulate the energy of anything and everything. However, that meant you did it all the time. Just a touch and the technological victim would jinx out. Its energy was now a part of your arsenal. It took years of training, tears, and numerous pairs of gloves before you could really touch anything without frying it. 

This power was one Vision had begged you to use. His plea was simple: use your power, drain the stone, stop Thanos. You did as he asked. But it wasn’t enough. Thanos still got the stone, Vision died again, and you failed. All of a sudden, your progress had reverted, and your power was stronger and less predictable. The mind stone left a mark on you, one you couldn’t wash away. From then on, you could see the energy flows, not just sense them—whisps of glowing strings like the aurora borealis that danced across the sky. Not only that, you could see the energy flow of living things, something that terrified you. Frying out a machine was one thing, but taking the energy of a living thing? 

Wiping the beads of sweat off your forehead, you sighed. Utah was hot. A dry heat that made your blood boil so hot that your veins would burst. Hurriedly, you approached the building, removing your gloves to redirect the energy in the vault door and open it. The dark concrete surface was cool and smooth despite the flaming heat casting down from the sun. Closing your eyes, you took a deep inhale of air, searching for the energy. In your mind's eye, you saw the wisps of light swirling around. Gently, you grasped it, directing it to where you needed it to go. Slowly it followed, but soon enough there was a deafening click and the door pulled open. With your gloves back on, you enter the building, sighing at the difference in temperature. 

“Remind me to never move out here,” you muttered to yourself. All the nearest wall stood an elevator. You frowned at the tube-like thing. It reminded you of those water park tubes, yet instead of glass, it was concrete and metal. Once you stepped into the elevator, it hummed to life, traveling downwards before coming to a thud. Stepping out of the elevator, you pondered the ease with which you had found and entered the vault. It wasn’t normal. Too easy. Sighing, you bit your lip. 

“FRIDAY?” You called out. There was no response other than some static noise. Your music had also shut off. “Fuck,” you muttered. Well, it was too late to text Bucky and let him know where you went, and it was too late to back out. Every fiber in your being screamed with warnings. If one good thing came from being raised by the Avengers, it was your sense of self-preservation and awareness. Too bad, it always came right when you were in the middle of something. Suddenly, the elevator door closed. Its energy darkened. 

Now you really couldn’t turn back. Turning away from the elevator, you saw an area up ahead. Warm yellow lights directed you deeper into the vault. Passing through large entryways, you noted their energy flow. It was filled with anticipation, as if awaiting some sort of command or trigger. Narrowing your eyes, you memorized the flow of its energy in case you needed to reverse whatever command it was given later. Easier said than done, though. 

Leaving the doors behind, you noted three other entry ways into the room. Well, to say it was a room was an understatement. It was more like a forgotten storage container filled to the brim with papers, files, and odd-looking machines. Your mind flickered to the message from before. The one that had sent you here on what was a wild goose chase, yet here you are in the wings of the goose. Taking a closer look, you realized you had hit the jackpot—the remnants of Project Sentry. Taking out your device, you flicked through the pages and files, taking photos of anything you deemed relevant. With each click of the camera, the smile on your face grew wider. This was it. The evidence that would stop Valentina. 

In the corner of your eye, you noticed a blue blinking light. It was small, and if you hadn’t had a heightened sense of energy, you wouldn’t have noticed it. Placing the file in your hand, you slowly sauntered over to the box. It was long, almost coffin-like, with its strange dimensions. Removing one of your gloves and tucking it into your pocket, you placed your hand onto the box, eyes closing. There were two signs of energy. One similar to the energy that flowed in the rest of the building and another that–

A gunshot rang out. You ducked beside the box as your lungs held the air captive. 

“I know you’re there,” a crude voice rang out. “Make it easier on yourself and come out.” 

You knew damn well that coming out would make you an easier target. Clenching your eyes shut, you tugged your other glove off, but not before activating the security measures of your suit. Staying low, you crawled away from the box, behind some stacked file cabinets. You didn’t really have weapons, not in the traditional sense. You just never got used to them, but cowering behind the cabinets made you regret not taking Bucky up on those lessons. 

Behind you, heavy footsteps thudded against the floor. With each calculated step they took, the sound shortened. They were getting closer. You needed to move somewhere safer, preferably with a strong flow of energy, so you could fight back. But before you could make your escape, another gunshot rang out, followed by a pang and a few grunts. You frowned. Were there more people? Shaking your head, you reached your arms out and jumped, tucking your body into a ball, coming up behind the flipped-over table. 

“What's happening?” A coarse voice rang out. It was different from the one before. There were definitely more people. “You’re not even my target!”

“You’re mine!” The man growled before grunting as he launched another attack. 

The voice was louder now. Peeking out from behind the table, a black figure came soaring over, plopping next to you. You couldn’t help how your mouth hung open at the woman. Her short, choppy blonde hair was tinted with dust and dirt. It took her a moment to notice you beside her. 

“Who are you?” She questioned in a thick russian accent, all while pulling her gun on you. 

“Who are you?” you emphasized, raising your hands to disarm her, but before you could, the table you two were hiding behind flipped over, knocked over by a flying shield. Jumping to your feet, you rolled away from the woman. Both of you were coming to a stand behind more filing cabinets. 

“Look,” she said in a hushed voice as she checked the status of her gun. “I don’t know who you are. But all I know is you’re not my target. So I say we kick this asshole’s butt and I leave you alone.” Glancing over at you, you nodded in agreement. 

As you both popped out of your hiding place, more shots were fired. As the man threw his shield at you, the woman ducked and shot her tasers at him. Twirling out of the way, you swung your legs over a fallen cabinet. The man’s movements appeared to be a mimicry of Steve’s shield, the armour, and his fighting style. Unconsciously, your jaw clenched at the sight, as you swung an arm at the man. Expertly, he dodged your attack, swinging his leg to knock yours out from under you, just as the shield came flying back.  

As you collapsed to the ground, you couldn’t help the gasp of air that fled from your lungs. Your suit, noticing the lack of oxygen, switched the mask open, something you quickly tried to override. Above you, the man clenched his hand in a tight fist, ready to strike. 

“Stark?” You heard him question. 

Your eyes narrowed, and a moment of recognition flooded your system. “Walker?” You had known him before the incident. When he was first named the new Captain. Everyone was seeking validation from you. The girl grew up under the wing of America’s hero. No one wanted that validation more than Walker, something you refused to give him. He was nothing like Steve Rogers. Steve was kind and a shoulder you could lean on when Tony was being too harsh. He always noticed when you were too pent up in the tower and took you on runs, which turned into Steve running laps around you. Walker was something else entirely. He was there to fill a void left by Steve. A void you found yourself not wanting to be filled by just anyone. 

In his stunned silence, the woman from before pounced, knocking Walker off of you. At least you thought it was the woman from before; however, seeing the white mask and orange details, you realized your error. Fumbling to a stand, you clutched your ribs, groaning in pain as you watched the scene in front of you. There were four of them, all fighting each other. Each one had a target, and the rest seemed irrelevant. As the fight continued, you stepped further and further away, seeking shelter from the fallen debris. Without taking a look back, you navigated the battlefield. You had your evidence, now you needed to get out of here before one of them decided you were their target.

Suddenly, a clear shot rang out, and a body fell, and silence fell over the group. All of them were breathing heavily as they watched the third, a woman in a white mask, begin to scavenge the weapons and gear off the dead body. Hurriedly, you backed up, reaching for the vault doors. You could open them and get out. Your hand felt the air behind you, slowing landing on something hard. 

“Woah there,” a voice muttered. You froze. Feeling a warm hand brush against your back and arms, you felt your breath go cold. Instinctively, the other’s raised their guns, cocked and ready to shoot. Whirling around, you stepped back and found a pair of deep blue eyes. The man stood wide-eyed with shock as he raised his hands innocently in the air. You studied his nervous figure dressed in pajamas you’d only seen in hospitals. Slowly, your eyes trailed to his hands, which were trembling. For fear or other reasons, you weren’t sure. He looked dazed and out of place as a room full of strangers had weapons aimed at him. Something itched inside you. You winced at the strange flow of energy nearby. Surely it wasn’t from this guy?

“Hello,” he cleared his throat. “Hi, I’m Bob.” He nervously glanced around at all four of you. His eyes settled on you for a moment as the wisps of dark curls framed his face. You watched as his eyes darted over your figure with an expression you could not quite place. His gaze lingered a little too long on you before flicking to the guns pointed at him. Having assessed the threat, he turned and leaped towards the open doors. Suddenly, they shut. Their thud brought a wave of silence. Weakly, Bob turned around, fixing his garments. You noticed the air of defeat around him as his eyes began to water slightly.

“Who are you?” Walker aggressively asked. 

Bob gulped and backed up a bit as Walker’s grip on his gun tightened. “I’m Bob. I told you, I’m…uh…yeah…Bob” 

“Jesus Christ, stop saying Bob.” Walker hissed, and Bob’s posture sank, like a dog cowering with its tail tucked. “Who sent you, Bob?” I frowned at the sudden interrogation. Clearly, this guy was terrified, yet Walker continued his pursuit.

“Nobody,” Bob replied, his eyes unconsciously searching yours before darting around the room. “Why would they send me? Were all of you sent?”

Rolling her eyes, she put her mask back on, drawing all the attention in the room off of Bob. “I’m not sure what’s all going on here, but you’re all exhausting and my job is done.” 

“Oh, no, you’re not. You see, my job is watching you,” the blonde woman explained. She raised her gun at the retreating woman. “So no, you’re not going anywhere.” 

Walker scoffed. “So you’re watching her, huh?” His eyes narrowed at the blonde woman. “That’s a pretty decent cover for someone stealing from O.X.E’s assets. 

You felt your face go pale. Were they all here to stop someone from stealing information? If so, you were cooked. 

“I’m not stealing,” the blonde corrected. “She’s stealing,” she said, pointing to the other woman. Her eyes narrowed before widening as if she came to a realization. “Okay,” she dropped her gun to her side. “It’s clear we’ve all worked for Valentina in some kind of Shadow-Ops role.” 

“So what?” the other woman asked. 

“So…” The blonde motioned to the rest of the room. “All of this is O.X.E’s mysteries, but so are we. Which makes us the unknown liabilities in this…” 

You cursed under your breath. Bucky was going to kill you when you got back. If you got out. Your connections were compromised. Valentina knew it was you who discovered and leaked Project Sentry, and like the others, you once worked for her. She wanted you gone, but a public or sudden death wouldn’t do. You were Y/N Stark. Your death would bring attention, but if you died in an undisclosed location, you’d be chalked off as missing. Not like anyone would really come looking. Your family was gone. 

“Speak for yourself,” the woman in the white mask muttered. 

Walker scoffed, bringing his hands to his hips. “Your theory is flawed.” 

The blonde smirked and cocked her brow. Her russian accent getting thicker as Walker got cockier. “Oh, please. Go on.” 

“Fine,” Walker stated. “Well, let’s look at the facts. The infamous Ghost,” Walker motioned to the woman with the white mask. “Ava Starr. A SHIELD reject on the run across 15 nations.” Next, he pointed to the dead body on the floor. The one he ransacked without a care, a few moments before. “Dead girl over there, she destroyed half of Budapest.” 

“Don’t talk about that,” the blonde said quietly. You noticed the reverence and pity she held in her voice. 

“You,” Walker continued, “ Yelena Belova. A former Red Room assassin.” You drew in a breath. Natasha was from the Red Room. Pursing your lips, you wondered if they had any connections. “Only God knows the blood on your hands.” 

“Pretty rich coming from a dime-store Captain America,” Ava quipped back. 

Walker’s face tensed. “I want you to know I was actually the official Captain America, so…”

“Yeah, for two seconds before you tainted his legacy,” you hissed, pulling all eyes on you. 

“You don’t have the right–” Walker began, marching towards you. 

You didn’t cower from his menacing aura, standing tall, you met his eye with an unwavering gaze. “Oh yeah?! I’m innocent in all of this. You publicly murdered an innocent man on the streets, do you call that Captain America-esque?” 

Walker’s voice lowered. “Look, I’m a decorated war veteran, with a loving wife and son. And if we’re being honest, what’s a girl like you doing in this vault with the rest of us?” He glared at you, waiting for you to waver. 

“It’s none of your business, Walker.” 

A smile twitched onto Walker’s face. “The little princess isn’t as perfect as she wants us to believe.” You clenched your fist at your side. It was twitching to find a home deep in the side of Walker’s pompous face. Pulling his gaze away from you, Walker turned back towards the others, cocky confidence oozing from his figure. “You guys are just cheap mercenaries, alright? So clearly, I wasn’t supposed to bring you in.” 

Yelena’s eyes narrowed at Walker before glancing over to Ava. The two of them shared a smirk before bursting into laughter. “That was funny,” Yelena noted. “Thanks. We needed that.” You watched as Walker’s ego faltered. The sight brought a small smile to your face as the tension in your fist eased. 

Suddenly, a foreign laugh joined in from the wake of the women’s laughter. You all turned towards Bob, who had slowly made way around the room before peeping out from behind a cabinet. “It was getting pretty tense in here for a second,” he beamed, playing with his hands. Bob’s eyes scanned the remnants of laughter on the women’s faces before freezing on Walker’s, who made his face fall. Creeping back, Bob returned to his place behind the cabinet. 

Shaking his head, Walker placed his helmet back on, tightening the straps. “I’m not leaving here without completing my mission. Valentina gave me a clean slate guarantee, and I’m not going to blow it. But this weirdo–” Walker pointed to Bob, who had made his way back behind you, making you slightly jump out of your skin. Bob gave you an apologetic look before feeling Walker’s eyes on him. You weakly smiled, figuring he felt safer behind you than a metal filing cabinet. You couldn’t blame him. A human shield was more comforting than an inanimate one.

“He wasn’t a part of the job, so I need to know,” Walker stalked towards Bob. Your arm instinctively reached out. Walker barely glanced at you, stopping just short of your arm. “How did you get in?” Walker interrogated. 

A puff of air escaped Bob’s mouth as he shrugged his shoulders. His pajamas crinkled around his neck before falling back down across his shoulders. “I don’t remember,” Bob mumbled. 

“Excellent answer,” Walker cursed. “Alright,” he said after a pause. “Tie him up.” 

“Wow,” Ava chuckled, stepping closer and closer to the doors just as you hissed no.

“Walker, he’s most likely a civilian, caught up in all of this,” You responded. 

Walker rolled his eyes. “Just like you were, Ms. Stark?” You tensed at the name. 

“Well, goodbye,” Ava said, waving her hand as she phased out of sight towards one of the vault doors. Before she could reach the doors, a deafening screech filled the air. Clutching your ears, you cowered in pain. Just as fast as the sound came, it was gone. 

“What the hell was that?” Walker groaned, pushing himself off the floor. 

“Oww,” Bob moaned, his eyes blown so wide all you could see were his dark pupils.“Did you hear that?” Bob muttered to you. You nodded your head, rubbing your temple with the palms of your hands. 

“I think everyone heard that, Bob,” you mumbled. “God, that hurt.”

“We can’t get out,” Ava said, as she flicked it off. 

“No duh, we can’t get out,” You snapped. “Should’ve known when the doors first closed when Bob tried to run.” Behind you, Bob’s eyes flickered down to the ground. 

“Sorry, guys,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear.

Twirling around, guilt filled your body. “Oh no, it’s not your fault. You just tried to leave first. It would’ve happened to any of us.” You scanned Bob’s eyes, making sure he understood it wasn’t his fault. “I had a feeling it was going to happen. The energy in the doors was waiting for something.” 

“Energy?” Yelena questioned. 

You nodded. “Yeah, energy manipulation.’ The other frowned, unsure of what you were saying. You winced, remembering it wasn’t common knowledge. The Avengers took precautions to make sure hardly anyone knew. Those who did were in the know.  After all, an ability like yours was powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands. “You know, my ability,” you clarified. 

“Can this energy manipulation help get us out?” Yelena asked. You nodded. “Good, you get to work on that then, and the rest of us can–”

“Who put you in charge?” Walker questioned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus Christ.” Taking a step forward, you reached for the doors. Your hands came to rest on the smooth surface of the thick metal. Closing your eyes, you felt the energy around you, noticing Bob had come up behind you. Peeking your eyes open, you watched Bob as he observed you while the rest argued behind you. You softly smiled at the intrigue he held for something as simple as putting your hands on a door. 

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” you teased. Bob snapped out of his daze and began to profusely apologize. You chuckled, turning back to the door. “You’re good.” 

“So–sorry, you just your hands and hair…they were,” his eyes flickered down in a sheepish manner. You glanced at your hands and the strands of your hair that had fallen in your face. “- They glow.” You nodded. They hadn’t glowed before Mind Stone, but now, well, you guessed it was another side effect of dealing with an infinity stone.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a side effect of the energy manipulation.” 

“It’s pretty,” he muttered before his brain could catch up. A deep red hue tinted his ears. 

“Thanks,” you smiled, turning your focus back on the door. “Keep talking,” you said. Bob froze beside you. “It helps keep me focused. Usually, I have music playing in my ear, but the connection doesn’t work this far down in the ground.” 

“O–okay,” Bob said, biting his lip, unsure of what to say. It was always a strange phenomenon. The moment someone asks you to speak, all thoughts of conversation vacate the mind, leaving you wordless. It was a phenomenon that Bob found himself under, so instead, he began to hum a familiar tune. It was twinkle, twinkle little star, but he was cut off before he could finish. The warm yellow lights flickered red. A loud beep thundered. A screen with a timer appeared as the room grew worryingly hot. 

“Stark,” Yelena called out. “How’s the door looking?” 

“I’m trying, guys!” You tensed. “Manipulating energy is a lot more complicated than it looks. 

“It’s an incinerator,” Yelena noted. “Two minutes, then Valentina’s plate is clean.”

Behind, Walker shook his head. “You don’t know that for sure. It could be for anything.” Then, with a more hopeful, slightly delusional tone, he added, “It could be for when they come to pick me up.” 

Ava hissed. “You feel that? Temperatures are rising dramatically, like heat is involved? Guess what, that's an incinerator.” 

“Well, then, how would you like to get out, Ghost lady?” Walker growled. 

“Shut up!” Yelena yelled, and everyone grew silent. “We need to help get Ava through these walls so she can open the door. No offense, Stark, I don’t think you’re getting that door open anytime soon.” 

“I’m doing my best,” you hissed. 

“I’m not saying you’re not great, just…” Yelena tilted her head side to side before uttering the next words, “...slow.” 

“I’m going slow so we don’t go BOOM prematurely.” 

“Well, I’d much rather get out of here faster and risk going boom than getting burned alive,” Walker blurted. You shot him a glare. 

“Guys, what if we try shutting down the sound barrier. They built it for Ava,” Yelena noted, glancing around the room. “It has to be an independent power source.” Turning to you, she continued. “Stark, can you–” 

Sighing, you pulled your hands from the door, closing your eyes already knowing what she was going to ask of you. Beside you, Bob nervously hummed another tune. You softly smiled, telling yourself to thank him later. Focusing on the song Bob hummed, you tuned out the frantic sounds of your fellow captives…? Friends? Whatever you were. “There!” You pointed to a hidden latch in the room. 

Quickly, you all dashed to the power source, prying it open. “Can you turn this off, Stark?” Yelena asked you, but before you could reach the power source, Walker came barging in. 

“On your left,” and without another word, sparks flew, and the power source flickered out. 

“Well, that works,” Yelena muttered, as Ava wasted no time running through the wall. 

Together, the remaining of you made your way to the door Ava had phased through. All of you stood side by side, some closer than others. With heavy breath, anticipation built up. The room was getting warmer and warmer. By the time you got out, you’d think the Utah heat would be cold. That’s if you did get out. A thought that passed through all of you. However, Bob was the first to speak.

“You think she’s coming back?” 

You clenched your eyes shut. You had to believe she would come back. She would, you kept telling yourself. 

“Should’ve seen this coming,” Walker hissed, wanting to throw his shield against the wall. 

You glanced to the side. The clock had less than fifteen seconds left. With a blink, the clock was nearing ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. You peered over at Yelena. An expression of acceptance found its way onto her face. Six. You looked over at Bob. His blue eyes reflected the reddish lights that were blaring brighter and brighter. He was terrified, but so were you. Five. Four. Three. You reached out to him. Your hand stopped just before grazing his fingers, realizing your gloves were off. Bob glanced at you and your attempt at comfort, but the contact never came. Suddenly, the door lifted open, and all of you ran. Two. One. Your back burned from the heat of the incinerators filling the room, and the force of the fire sent you flying into the hallway. With a crack, your back hit the opposing wall. Before it went dark, you heard the sound of the door shutting. You had made it out. Ava had come back. 

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“Hey, Y/N,” a gentle voice called out to you. It was Nat’s. You whined and rolled over to your side, mumbling to Nat to give you five more minutes. The hand on your shoulder retracted. “Stark,” Yelena’s voice broke out of Nat’s. Frowning, you opened your eyes. An action you immediately regretted as a throbbing headache formed. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You groaned. Pushing yourself off the ground into a seating position, Yelena sat in front of you with a look of concern and bewilderment on her face. “Are you okay?” You asked.

Yelena chuckled. “I should be asking you that, Stark. You were knocked out cold.” You tried to stand up, and Yelena raised her arms to brace you. “Woah there. Careful.” 

“Thanks,” you muttered while coming to a stand. In the corner of your eye, you caught Bob pacing around. He stood hunched over, a hand grazing his lips as he occasionally eyed you all. When he noticed your gaze, he grew quiet. 

“Hey Bobby, talk less to yourself and more talking to us.” Walker was marching over to Bobby. You saw the panic that formed in his eyes. Instinctively, you moved yourself in front of him. However, Walker was not having it, shoving you to the side. 

“What is your problem, Walker!” You yelled, rubbing your arm from where he pushed you. The Super Soldier serum was no joke. 

“Everyone has a reason to be here except this guy,” Walker accused, reaching out to grab the neck of Bob’s shirt. 

Quickly, Bob backed away, avoiding Walker’s grasp. With each step Walker took towards him, Bob took a step back until his back hit the wall behind him. “I swear, man, I just woke up in this place. One minute I was, you know, getting…my blood drawn for this medical study, and the next I’m here in my pajamas.” Walker cocked his head to the side not believing a word out of Bob’s mouth. “I don’t know what’s going on.” 

That seemed to get to Walker, who paused in his rampage. “Okay, then show me where you woke up.” Bob hesitated, something Walker didn’t appreciate. “Go on,” he urged. 

Bob turned his head, pointing to the door that led to the vault that was currently burning to a crisp. “In there.”

“Where everything’s on fire.” Walker rolled his eyes. “That’s really convenient.” 

“You don’t remember anything?”Ava questioned. “A bag over your head and a needle in your neck.” 

Bob shook his head. “No.” 

“A chokehold, nerve pinch?” Yelena suggested. Bob shook his head again. 

“Guys, as I said before, I think he’s just a civilian,” You noted. 

“If he’s a civilian, he knows too much,” Walker spat with an animosity that you didn’t like. “If he’s an agent, he’s useless. Either way, I say we throw him back into the fire.” 

Like a knife cutting through butter, a chuckle left Bob’s mouth, silencing the tension building in the room. You all expressed some form of confusion at his giggles. “You said you’re Captain America?” Bob snickered. 

The rage once lit in Walker’s eyes returned at Bob’s laughter. “Why are you laughing?” Walker sneered. 

“Because…” Bob was cut off by his own laughter. Taking a sharp inhale, he continued. “Because you’re such an asshole.” 

With those words, Walker pounced on Bob, shoving him up against the wall. A threatening glare twinkled in his eye as Bob struggled against him. Suddenly, Walker’s shoulders fell, and you watched as Yelena pulled Walker off of Bob, yanking him away. 

“You go over there,” Yelena instructed Walker. “Bob, come with me,” she said, pulling Bob to the side. 

Approaching Ava and a fuming Walker, you walked past them towards the elevator. With trembling fingers, you reached out and touched the door of the elevator. Narrowly escaping with your life did little to help calm the nerves that spread throughout your body. Closing your eyes, you searched for some remnant of energy, but you found none. You frowned, opening your eyes to a knowing look from Ava and Walker. Averting your eyes, you peered over at Bob and Yelena. If you listened hard enough, you could make out their whispers, but Walker demanded your attention before you could. 

“So you’re saying it’s dead?” Walker exasperated. 

“I’m saying, Walker, there’s no energy, not unless I take it from something else and put it into the elevator, but I don’t think you want the whole vault to lose power or one of you to go unconscious.” 

Ava furrowed her brows at your comment. “Wait, you can take energy from people? Like us?” 

“Every living thing has energy, so yeah, I can take it, but…” You trailed off, looking at your hands. They were bare. A risky choice. Fumbling for your pocket, you pulled out the gloves and put them on. 

Walker frowned at the action. “What’s with the gloves?” 

“None of your business, Walker,” you hissed. 

“Wow, someone’s pissy,” Walker exclaimed as you ground your teeth together. 

“Wow, someone’s a dick,” you quipped back. “Maybe use your anger to break down the door to the elevator, so we can get out of here faster.” 

“As you wish, princess,” Walker tensed, raising his shield to bash into the door. 

“Jesus, you two really hate each other,” Ava muttered. 

“Shut up,” you and Walker simultaneously fumed. 

Ava’s eyes widened, and she raised her hands in defeat, taking a step away from you two. As Walker dug at the elevator, your attention turned back to Bob. There was something about him, his energy was…different. Which wasn’t a bad thing, but his energy seemed to be overflowing from his body. Even so, you kept finding yourself worrying about him. You guessed it was sympathy and pity. If he really was a civilian, there was no need for him to be dragged into this mess. Shaking your head, you staved off thoughts of the past, your need to be a hero to prove yourself. Looking at Bob, you thought quietly, if you could protect him, get him out of here, maybe you’d have a chance. Maybe you could step into the legacy your family had left behind, and god, there was nothing you wanted more. 

Walker’s voice cut through your thoughts as he called out to Bob and Yelena. “Are you two down with therapy?” The two of them turned to Walker, who motioned to the gap he had made in the door of the elevator. “I think I found a way out.” 

Slowly, the lot of you climbed into the elevator that was most definitely not built for five grown adults. 

“Stark?” Yelena wondered. “Any chance you can get us up?” 

You sighed. “Like I told Walker, unless one of you wants to be carried out of here unconscious, we’ve gotta find another way up.” Yelena’s brows pinched together before spotting the hatch above. 

“Think you can open that up, Walker?” Yelena asked. 

Walker raised his brow, assessing the hatch. “Yeah.” It only took a moment before the hatch opened. One by one, you all climbed up, Walker climbing up last. You all stood too close together for comfort, peering up at the long tunnel above you. It seemed to stretch forever. You pursed your lips, wondering just how far down you all were. For a moment, you thought of your jets. You could possibly fly everyone up one by one, but you don’t know how far down you were and if you’d have enough fuel in the supply to carry two. Shaking your head, you chose not to mention it. 

“We’re pretty far down here,” Ava muttered. 

“We’ll see about that,” Walker chimed, before jumping up. You all eyed his figure as he disappeared in the darkness, before slowly crashing back down. Grumbling, Walker pushed himself to a stand, ignoring how all of you snickered. None of you had the grace to attempt to hide your laughter. “Why don’t you just go through the walls or whatever and then throw us down some rope,” Walker furiously suggested. 

“Yeah, well,” Ava tensed. “First of all, someone else would have to ask me nicely. And second, I have to know where I’m going because I’ve never been able to hold it for longer than a minute. So I’d just get lost in an ocean of earth and then I’d be crushed to death, okay?” 

“Oh, shut up,” Walker chastised. 

“God this sucks,” Yelena muttered to herself, as you groaned, rubbing the headache from all the bickering away. 

Amidst all the arguing and tension boiling hotter and hotter, Bob peered up into the dark. The emergency lights slowly dimmed as he looked higher. Scrunching his nose, he tilted his head to the side before speaking up. “Oh, I have an idea.” You all looked at Bob, awaiting his next words. “Has anyone seen Emperor’s New Groove?” 

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