#for months before that. that's not normal

[loveletterlore]

bucky needs a break ♡ b.b. x reader

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky barnes x thunderbolts!fem!reader THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS

summary: being a part of the team has had a strange effect on your lives, for you it has allowed you more freedom while for bucky it had given him more work - and the man needs a break.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI smut, not an established relationship, use of pet names [doll, darling, babygirl, baby], kissing, touching, fingering, oral [f receiving], penetration [p in v], unprotected sex, cream pie, straight up porn, reader is described to have a vagina, aftercare, subspace if you squint

word count: 5.1k

authors note: i can't believe i just wrote 5k words of smut, strangely proud of myself, hope you enjoy! <3

Family life with the New Avengers wasn’t exactly what you had signed up for when Bucky had called you, asking for your help with investigating Valentina’s dark web goings-on. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission, finding Yelena, Walker and Ava and getting them to testify before the court. If only it had been so simple.

Nowadays, you found yourself amongst a team of misfits, the equivalent of a collage on a schoolgirl’s moodboard. Yelena and Bucky took most of the public facing work, being the two members with the least amount of public disturbances - which in itself is a baffling statement - while Ava and John tended to work background. Alexei, well, Alexei did what Alexei wanted and there wasn’t much any of you could do about that. 

Bob was still largely unaware of what had happened to form the team, appointing himself the New Avengers #1 Cheerleader and Dishwasher. It had taken a couple of months to get over everything the Void had unearthed, a couple of months to stop seeing his eyes glow every time you looked at Bob. 

Since then, daily life had consisted of more media and publicity than missions and saving people, which had taken a while to get used to. Bucky often found himself pacing the tower, already having experienced the world of politics through his time in congress and not wanting to get into it all over again. Yelena, on the other hand, finally felt like she was doing some good, helping people in the way that she had needed in the past.

For you, it was bittersweet. A part of you missed going on missions with the team, missed the moments in between the fighting where someone would tell a joke and nothing else would matter. In comparison, it was lovely not being woken up at 3am by some emergency that needed immediate attention. Some of the day-to-day normalities of modern life had seeped into your routine, making you feel more like a domestic goddess than a kick-ass assassin.

The abundance of free time had allowed you and the team to get to know each other better, beyond the basic questions of “who designed your suit?” and “how much ammo do you carry?”. Genuine friendships had formed as you learned of everyone’s pasts, likes and annoying habits. At least, these friendships had formed with most of the team.

Bucky hadn’t been too keen to join in with the morale building, usually holding back with tablet in hand, focused on the comms that never seemed to stop. 

Sitting in the main room of the tower, the team were dotted across the sofas. Bob sat in a beanbag in the corner, listening in to the ongoing conversation while keeping his eyes on the windows. 

You glanced around, eyes searching for Bucky, but coming up empty. It wasn’t uncommon for him to arrive later or leave earlier, he was never there for a whole conversation.

“But Yelena,” Alexei bellowed, standing with his arms open. “What is so wrong with wanting my name to live on in the world?”

“I don’t think starting a bear fighting show is really the way to go about it,” Yelena rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat. 

Alexei spun, eyes brushing over the rest of the team, “Bears are strong! Bears are fighters! I know in my soul, I am a bear.”

You just blinked at Alexei, questioning so many of the things he said. 

“I think you’re onto something,” John stated, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up, Walker,” Ava replied, a bored expression on her face.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening, revealing Bucky in his tactical gear. Your heart jumped at the sight and you shifted in your seat, turning towards him. 

“Ah, Bucky!” Alexei started towards him before Yelena stood, marching towards Bucky.

“Bucky, have you seen this?” she pulled her phone from her pocket, turning him away from the group.

Your heart sank, a part of you hoping that he would have come to join the group. Bucky’s eyes caught yours for a second and you recognised the feelings instantly, the man was exhausted. It all added up - longer hours, being one of the public facing members of the team, constantly on the go - Bucky needed a break.

You began to wrack your brain for ideas on how to help him, knowing all too well the feeling that he was experiencing. The group continued chatting, Alexei louder than the rest, and while you were sure they were distracting each other, you stood from your spot on the sofa and headed towards Bucky and Yelena.

“Hey,” you spoke softly as the two turned to look at you, expressions serious and eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, I just need Bucky for a moment before I head out.”

Bucky looked at Yelena before looking back to you, Yelena giving a quick nod before going back to the group.

“What’s up?” Bucky asked, hands settling on his hips as he turned his attention to you. 

“Can you help me with something in the training room?” you asked, eliciting a curious expression on his face.

Sighing, he nodded and held out his arm for you to lead the way. Instead of heading to the training room, you took the turn that led you towards the dorms, causing a confused look on Bucky’s face.

“Okay, I lied,” you whispered, leaning in slightly. 

Bucky’s confused expression deepened as he waited for you to continue. You reached the corridor with the doors to everyone’s rooms and stopped in front of yours, Bucky’s just a few steps further down the corridor.

“You’ve been doing so much lately, it kinda seemed like you needed a moment,” you continued, hoping you were on the right track. “I don’t know if saving you from Yelena was the right call or not, but it gives you an out to go and hide in a dark room somewhere.”

After a moment, the corners of Bucky’s mouth twisted upwards. He raised an arm, placing his hand on the wall, leaning his weight against it. He let out a breathy chuckle, running his other hand over his face.

“Was it that obvious?” his voice seemed lighter than usual.

“A lil’ bit,” you chuckled, a grin on your face as you watched his shoulders starting to relax.

“Damn, didn’t realise you could read me so well,” his hand dropped and his eyes focused on your face, studying the expression there.

You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, hands clasping together in front of you as you leaned back against your door, “I’m just glad I got it right.”

A smirk grew on Bucky’s face as he watched your cheeks tint with a blush, his eyes softening at the sight, “Well, I believe I owe you a ‘thank you’.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied with a sweet smile. “Just go take a break, Bucky. You deserve it.”

His heart leapt at your words, he was always a sucker for someone showing him any form of appreciation.

“I don’t really know how,” he admitted, a bashful smile on his face. “Never had too much of a break before.”

Your eyebrows raised as he spoke, “Surely you’ve got some guilty pleasure that you never have time for?”

“Nope, not that springs to mind,” he shook his head, hands returning to their rightful spot on his hips. A cheeky grin grew on his face as he chose his next words carefully, “Why, what’s yours?”

You attempted to stifle the blush that threatened to grow even further on your cheeks, “Um, I don’t know, reality TV? I never get time to catch up with the latest seasons.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have time now, would you?” he grinned, eyes meeting yours again. “I think it’s only fair that since you saved me from work today, I return the favour.”

Your lips parted with surprise, mouth forming an ‘O’ before you realised and clamped it closed again, forming a soft smile, “As it just so happens, I do. I have everything logged in on my TV, I even have a secret snack supply.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Secret?”

“I wasn’t about to risk all of my snacks being raided by Alexei,” you giggled, a smirk on your face. “Or Walker for that matter.”

Bucky nodded as he stood straight, “Seems like we have everything we need.”

You reached your arm out, still holding Bucky’s gaze as you opened the door behind you, “Come on in.”

Moments later, you found yourself sitting next to Bucky on your sofa, flicking through streaming services to pick the perfect show to watch. While reality TV was a secret love of yours, Bucky had yet to experience the highs and lows of middle aged women fighting each other on national television, so you were trying to pick the perfect show to put on. 

“Okay,” you placed the remote down as an older episode loaded. “There are going to be lots of women shouting at each other, prepare yourself.”

An amused expression grew on Bucky’s face, more at your excitement for the show than the premise, “I don’t know how to prepare for that.”

“You’ll be fine,” you chuckled, settling into the couch and placing a variety of snacks on the table in front of you. “Just get ready to enjoy it.”

The show began to play and your brain finally started to quieten, your body relaxing into the comfort of the sofa beneath you. Throwing a quick glance at Bucky, you noticed how he had stripped off the majority of his tactical gear, left in a tank top and his combat trousers, boots left by the door. Your attention was pulled back to the TV by a shout and a dramatic sound effect, but what followed was even better.

Bucky laughed. Well, it was most of a laugh. Perhaps a sharp exhale from his nose would be a more fitting description, but in your mind it was a full-on belly laugh. Your heart fluttered at the sound and it took all of your effort not to turn and grab his face between your hands, forcing him to do it over and over again. 

Forcing a breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart rate, you leaned further back into the seat, shifting slightly. Bucky reacted, adjusting his position as well, his thigh brushing against yours for a brief moment. You stilled, eyes fixed on the TV as you tried to ignore the rush that went through you at the contact.

Bucky noticed your reaction, of course he did. He also noticed the way that your heart rate had picked up and you had been nibbling on your lower lip for the past few moments. Cautiously, he shifted his seating, pressing his thigh against yours more firmly this time, paying attention to how your body reacted. 

You gulped, eyelids fluttering for a second as a fresh wave of weakness spread through your body, warm and gentle. The communication was completely silent, just a hint of reciprocation as your thigh pressed back against Bucky’s. 

A smirk grew on his face as he felt your body pressing back against his, his hand snaking across to rest just above your knee. His fingers began to draw slow, deliberate circles on the inner side of your thigh, his heightened senses well aware of how your breath hitched as he began. 

If anyone walked in at this point and asked what you were watching, they would have received a garbled mess of sounds in response. Everything in you was focused on Bucky’s hands and how they were resting against your bare skin. Your lower lip was tucked between your teeth, absentmindedly running your tongue back and forth behind your teeth as you attempted to hide any reaction.

Bucky leaned in closer, his shoulder bumping against yours as his hand slid further up your thigh, delicately brushing the skin with his own flesh hand. He let out a quiet groan as electricity buzzed where your bodies met, jaw clenching as he tried to keep his movements controlled and gentle. 

The sound broke any restraint you had left and you turned your head to face him, taking in the blissful expression on his face. The line of his jaw was hard as his teeth clenched together, eyes half closed as his hand caressed the bare skin of your inner thigh.

“Bucky,” you whispered, something between a moan and a whisper. 

His eyes flashed open, immediately finding your gaze with a flash of desire and uncertainty. He pulled his hand from your leg, clearly thinking your voice was some form of denial. Rather than responding with words, you reached out to grasp his hand tightly, bringing it back to your thigh, higher than it had been before. His eyes darkened with desire, jaw still tight as he held himself back from doing anything too intense too quickly.

“Doll,” his voice was gruff with want, husky and hoarse. “We don-”

“I want to,” you whispered, cutting him off before he could continue his sentence. 

He ran his tongue along his lower lip, hand squeezing the pudge of your upper thigh, thumb reaching the soft skin of your hip as he stroked it gently. A whimper escaped your lips, the sight of his tongue immediately sending warmth between your thighs. You pressed them together and Bucky growled at the feeling.

“If we’re going to do this,” he spoke, voice dark and dripping with desire. “We’re going to do it right.”

Excitement rushed through your veins like an icy wave, eyes fluttering closed for a second as your head fell back. Bucky watched this happen, seizing the opportunity and pouncing.

His lips attached to your neck, kissing and licking at the sensitive pulse point as his hand raised to your hip, clutching at you as if you could disappear at any moment. The rough texture of his beard prickled against the delicate skin of your neck, the feeling stimulating every nerve ending in your body as you let out a delicate mewl. 

You lifted a hand to tangle in his hair, leaning your head back to allow him access as he continued to ravish your neck with attention. 

“Buck,” you whimpered, tugging at the ends of his hair. “I can’t-”

“Can’t what?” Bucky teased, nipping at the spot under your ear that made your body melt into his touch.

“Can’t be a one-time thing,” you moaned, a part of you afraid that this would scare him off. The growl that escaped his lips sent arousal directly to the spot between your thighs.

“Who said it was a one-time thing?” he replied, hand lifting to pull the straps of your tank top and bra off your shoulder as his lips trailed down your collarbone. “I certainly didn’t say that.”

You let out a sigh, pulling at his hair to bring his face to yours, “I’m serious, Bucky.”

“So am I,” his eyes searched yours, desperate to show you that he was telling the truth. 

You held his gaze for a moment, eyes darting between his eyes and lips before letting out a breathy chuckle, “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“I hope you’re gonna hold me to many things,” he teased, nose brushing against yours. 

You rolled your eyes playfully before pressing your lips to his, a moan escaping your throat as you felt his grip on your hip tighten. Lifting your leg, you wrapped it around his waist and pulled him down towards you. His hips slotted between yours as he balanced above you, your back pressed to the seats of the couch. You kept a leg tight around him, holding him in place as your hands dipped under the hem of his shirt.

He whimpered at the feeling of your hands dancing across his skin, your fingertips sending tingles on his skin. His teeth nibbled at your lower lip, tongue swiping against it as a plea for access. You relented, tongues dancing as the kiss deepened. You could feel your arousal pooling between your thighs, hips pressed firmly against Bucky’s as he leaned his weight on top of you.

Bucky’s metal arm rested above your head while his flesh hand pulled the other strap of your shirt down, exposing your shoulders and collarbones to him. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips from yours, trailing them down your neck and along your collarbone. The way he kissed you was wanting but careful, as though he didn’t want to risk shattering you under his grasp. He placed a kiss to the top of your sternum, eyes glancing up to meet yours.

The look on your face was pure bliss and Bucky was completely addicted to the sight. The thought flashed through his mind that the main goal of the rest of his life was to see it as many times as he could before he died. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, pulling it up gently before he moved his face away, placing an arm behind your back to lift you in order to remove the shirt completely. 

“Yours too, Buck,” you breathed, face flushed as you attempted to recapture your breathing. 

He flashed a grin at you before pulling his tank top over his head, revealing his muscular chest to you. Your hands immediately lifted, fingertips tracing the scars and marks that dotted his skin, the touches gentle and caring. His smile turned soft at your actions, the realisation that this was something real for you, for both of you. His eyes closed as he enjoyed existing in your touch, letting you explore the parts of his body that had been hidden for so long. 

Your hands drifted down, fingers hooking in the belt loops of his tactical pants before pulling his body back towards yours, lips crashing into his as your bodies collided. Your hips rolled upwards in search of friction, in search of him. He growled against your lips, hips pressing down into yours as his hand slipped beneath your back, arching your back to press your abdomen against his.

“Look at you baby,” he moaned against your lips. “Already so needy.”

“Someone got me all worked up,” you mumbled, hips rolling against his again as you bit your lower lip. 

Bucky chuckled in response, the sound airy and breathless as he nuzzled his nose into your cheek, “Hmm, maybe we should do something about that.”

“Please,” you were well aware of how desperate you sounded, the word like a prayer on your lips. 

Bucky smiled against your cheek as his hand slid beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers brushing the dainty material of your panties. His movements were delicate, calculated, careful. The dance of his fingertips along your abdomen, inching closer to where you wanted him most, sent shivers through your body as you writhed beneath him. 

The moment his fingers spread your folds you gasped, suddenly aware of just how much you wanted this, just how wet you had become. Bucky bit his lip as his finger slid over your clit and towards your hole, the sensation of your slick sending blood straight to his cock. 

“Shit, doll,” he whimpered, which sent another wave of arousal through your body. “Didn’t realise you needed me this bad.”

Any response died on your tongue as his fingers began to draw sloppy circles over your clit, hips jittering upwards as you searched for more friction. Bucky couldn’t help himself, his clothed crotch rubbing against your inner thigh as you moaned beneath him, lips parted perfectly. 

“Need you,” you breathed, forcing your eyes open to watch as Bucky’s blissed out eyes found yours. 

“Use your words, baby,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, a wild juxtaposition to the insatiable movements his fingers were currently working on your clit.

“Need your fingers,” you groaned, lips pressed against his jawline. “Please.”

“Good girl,” Bucky praised, leaving a trail of kisses along your cheekbone before yanking your shorts down your legs.

You gasped at the sudden cold air on your folds, instinctively squeezing your thighs together. Bucky placed a hand on each knee, forcing your legs apart with a gentle tut.

“Princess, if you do that again we’re going to have an issue,” his eyes were serious before turning soft as you let your legs drop wider. “That’s better.”

You flushed at the praise, hips grinding against nothing as you gazed up at Bucky’s face. Shuffling down your body, Bucky lay flat until his eyeline was directly facing your panties. He took in a deep breath, pressing his nose to the dainty fabric before licking a stripe directly over your desperate hole. Your back arched at the feeling, causing Bucky to reach up with his metal arm, pressing your back down against the bed. 

Nuzzling his nose against you, he nudged your panties out of the way before pouncing, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit. A moan echoed in your chest, guttural and raw, as Bucky began to lick at your delicate folds, slurping like a man starved. The sounds coming from the pair of you were borderline pornographic, all moans and gasps and squelches. 

“Fuck, can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me,” Bucky muttered into your clit, unable to tear his lips from your taste.

Bucky teased your hole with two fingers, sliding them in as your walls fluttered around him. 

“Shit Bucky,” you exhaled, hips grinding against his face. 

“Tell me doll,” he groaned against you, his hips thrusting wildly at the sound of your voice. “Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

“So good, Bucky,” you rasped, eyebrows furrowed as your eyes squeezed shut. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

Bucky hummed in response, tongue lapping at your clit as his fingers curled inside of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw going slack as you felt the familiar burning in the pit of your stomach. Unconsciously, you clenched around Bucky as he nibbled at your clit, following it up with a sloppy kiss. 

“Can feel you’re close, princess,” Bucky teased, unrelenting with that tongue of his. “Show me, wanna see you fall apart on my mouth.”

The words were enough to send you over the edge, hips shaking as your thighs tightened around his head. Your walls fluttered around Bucky’s fingers as your orgasm washed over you. Your breath hitched in your chest as your entire body tensed, brain unable to comprehend the pleasure that overtook your senses. 

Bucky began to press kisses to your thighs and hips as he let you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. Once your body began to still he lifted his fingers to his mouth, tongue poking out to lick your slick off of his digits with a groan. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned down, his dog tags resting on your bare chest.

Your hands lifted to feel his chest, his heart racing beneath his warm skin, prickled with sweat. A finger wrapped around the chain of his tags, pulling him down to meet your lips as you pressed your faces together. Your other hand slid down his chest, teasing at the waistband of his tactical pants. It didn’t take long for Bucky to have them off, throwing them across the room before immediately returning to your lips.

You pressed your palm to his erection over his boxers, whimpering into the kiss as you felt the size of him. Pulling away from his lips, you glanced down to see him held in your hand, the girth sending a shockwave through your body. A wet patch had begun to form on his boxers as precum leaked from his tip, no doubt related to the way his hips had been rutting against the arm of the couch as he ate you out. 

He hissed at your touch, evidently sensitive from the night's events. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck as you began to stroke him gently, pressing kisses to his hair. He thrust his hips into your touch, needing you just as bad as you had been needing him.

“Doll, as much as I love you touching me,” he moaned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “I fuckin’ need to be inside you.”

You didn’t take any further convincing, pushing down his boxers to free his rock hard cock. He leaned back for a moment, studying the view before him as he stroked himself a couple of times. He lined himself up with you, one hand gripping your hip tight as the other came up to stroke your cheek as he eased himself into you.

Your eyes immediately fluttered closed, jaw dropping at the sheer size of him. Garbled sounds fell from your lips, it sounded like you were casting a spell in some long-forgotten language. Bucky stifled a deep growl as he felt your walls tightening around him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mewled, pressing a desperate kiss to your lips. 

Any type of control Bucky had had before, the precision he had displayed while working on your pleasure, disappeared the second he felt your pussy clenching around his cock. He continued to enter you until he was fully sheathed, jaw clenched as he held himself back from immediately slamming his hips into yours. 

He watched your face carefully for any hint of pain as he began to withdraw, gently sliding into your tight hole again. Your face contorted with pleasure, unable to force any words from your mouth as you succumbed to the pleasure radiating through your body. Bucky took that as a sign to continue, hips rolling back and forward as his cock pounded deeper and deeper into you. 

Your fingers grasped at Bucky’s shoulders, searching for stability as your bodies moved together. Words defeated you, only lewd sounds falling from your lips as your forms united. The sound of wet slaps echoed around the room, punctuated by the deep groans elicited from Bucky’s chest as he felt the warmth of your body around him.

““Fuck,” Bucky hissed through his teeth, punctuated by the harsh slamming of his hips into yours. 

Your entire body vibrated with desire as you heard just how bad Bucky needed you, just how bad he needed to fuck you. You reached up to place a hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder as you pushed against him, flipping him onto his back. You saw a flash of surprise on his face as you threw a leg over him, the look immediately replaced with one of desire and want. 

Leaning down to kiss him, you pressed your lips against his before trailing kisses down his throat, tongue poking out to lick over his Adam’s apple. He growled at the feeling, hands clutching and squeezing at your hips. You felt his hips buck upwards against you, the head of his cock brushing against your clit as you let out a needy whine.

The sound broke something in Bucky and he grabbed your hips, pulling you down on his cock. He slid inside of you easily, even deeper than before as your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. You leaned back as you rolled your hips against his, grinding your pussy against him and hands resting on his muscular thighs.

Bucky thrust his body upwards, his balls slapping against you as the head of his cock hit the perfect spot inside of you, turning your body to jelly.

“Fuck-,” you moaned, the tip of your tongue poking out over your bottom lip as you focused all of your energy on staying upright. 

Bucky sensed your weakness, bending his knees to plant his feet in the bed as he fucked up into you relentlessly. 

“Shit, can feel you getting close babygirl,” he grunted, movements becoming sloppy as he felt his own high building in his abdomen. 

You whined in response, hand drifting down to stroke desperate circles around your clit, “So close, so fucking close.”

“Where’d you want me to finish, doll?” Bucky said, movements beginning to stutter.

“Inside, please,” you moaned, eyes opening to look down at him. “Wanna feel you.”

The words sent Bucky over the edge as he leaned up, wrapping his arms tightly around your abdomen as he slammed his hips into yours over and over. Your orgasm washed over you, body tensing as you crumbled into his embrace. Bucky’s arms were the only thing keeping you from falling on your face as he bit down on your collarbone, stifling a scream as he shot hot ropes of cum deep inside of you.

His hips didn’t stop, fucking his seed deeper and deeper inside of you as you garbled nonsense into his scalp. After a few moments, his movements became languid before stopping entirely, his arms still embracing you tightly as your chests heaved with breaths. His lips placed gentle, sloppy kisses along your shoulder as Bucky turned your bodies to lay you on the bed. You whined as his softening cock slipped out of you.

“I know baby, I know,” he whispered, continuing to place kisses along your jaw as he laid you down. 

Your eyes were still closed, lungs struggling to recover after the rigorous events that had just occurred. Letting out a gentle moan, you reached your arms out for him.

“One second doll, gotta get you cleaned up,” he spoke gently as he stood, moving to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and returning to the bed. 

Carefully, tenderly, he wiped at your sensitive folds, eradicating any proof of your joint activities. He threw the washcloth to the end of the bed, then brought the blanket up to cover your bodies as he wrapped an arm over your midsection.

“You back with me?” he asked, stroking gentle circles against your delicate skin.

“Yeah,” you hummed in response. “Holy shit.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound chesty and real.

“I think you should take a break more often,” you pressed your lips to his chest as you snuggled in closer. His arm wrapped tighter around you as you did, kissing your hair and inhaling your scent. 

“If it involved this every time,” he grinned. “I don’t think I’d ever do any damn work.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” you pulled away to look up at him. “Anytime you need a break, you come find me. I’ll be your perfect excuse.”

Bucky smiled down at you, realising just how much you truly cared for him. He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed how tired he was or how desperate he was for a break, but you had. 

“You got yourself a deal, sweetheart, but for now, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

a/n: i'm a slut for bucky in thunderbolts

masterlist for more of my work <3

[misskingshit]

Can’t help it, he’s so cute

summary: Bucky, knowing the team needs a new place to hide, turns to the only person he knows will support him. You didn't expect him to bring an entire team with him.

note: OMG BOB IS SO CUTE. xoxo

The makeshift safehouse reeked of dust and distrust.

It was someone’s abandoned cabin off-grid in the middle of Wyoming—too many pine trees, not enough coffee. The floor creaked when Yelena shifted her weight, sitting cross-legged on a rickety table while eating sunflower seeds like she was born for the apocalypse. Ava was pacing like a caged animal near the window. John Walker had his arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. Bucky sat in the middle of the room, elbows on knees, fingers threaded into his hair.

And Bob Reynolds… well. Bob stood shirtless in the corner, looking like an accidental god. His shoulders didn’t fit into normal space. His glowing eyes flicked around the room like he was still trying to figure out how reality worked. Or maybe he was just bored. Hard to tell with him.

“So what now?” Alexei grunted from the only real chair, arms stretched wide like a king. “We camp here and wait for the government to find us again? Bad plan. Terrible plan. I’ve been in Russian prisons with more dignity.”

“No one asked you,” Walker muttered.

“We need somewhere better,” Ava cut in, her voice sharp but tired. “Somewhere we can lay low. Where they wouldn’t think to look.”

“Well unless one of you has a vacation home in the Alps,” Yelena said dryly, “we’re pretty much screwed.”

Bucky didn’t move. His jaw ticked once, like a switch flipped in his brain. Slowly, he stood up, eyes distant. “I might know someone.”

That got everyone’s attention. Bob tilted his head, blinking once. Ava stopped pacing. Yelena actually paused mid-sunflower seed.

“You know someone?” Alexei asked.

“Who?” Walker asked, skeptical.

“Just—give me a minute,” Bucky said, already walking outside. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, heading into the cold with a phone already in his hand. His thumb hovered over a number he hadn’t dialed in a long time. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he wasn’t sure he should.

Your contact lit up his screen: Cutest Stark💋 Obviously you saved your contact under that name when you were helping Bucky use his new phone, he just laughed an decided keep it that way.

He sighed and hit call.

Meanwhile, in New York City…

In the gleaming kitchen of Stark Tower—your inherited kingdom—you stirred a bubbling sauce with one hand while balancing your phone between your shoulder and cheek. Morgan’s face filled the screen. She was giggling at something offscreen, probably one of the robots you still kept around.

“—and then I told him,” Morgan said between snickers, “if he thinks he’s smarter than me, he can explain why he just fell for the oldest prank in the book.”

You laughed, warm and full, moving around the kitchen barefoot in one of Tony’s old MIT sweatshirts. “God, you’re such a Stark it hurts.”

“I know,” Morgan beamed. “You taught me well.”

Before you could respond, a second call tried to interrupt. Your screen flashed with a name you hadn’t seen in weeks. Maybe months. James. F. Barnes.

You froze.

Morgan squinted. “Is that who I think it is?”

You smiled, heart stuttering, sauce forgotten. “Yeah. I—hang on, peanut.”

You switched the call, pressed video, and Bucky’s face filled your screen, framed by pine trees and late afternoon light. His hair was longer. His stubble thicker. He looked tired… but your name made him smile.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Bucky!” You nearly dropped the spoon. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see your face. Where have you been? Wait—never mind, I don’t care. I missed you. Are you okay? Are you safe?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I missed you too. I, uh… I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

“We’re in a tight spot. New team, no allies. We need a place to lay low for a bit.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You’re coming home.”

He blinked. “You sure?”

“Bucky,” you said gently, “I kept this place running for a reason. Your room’s still here. The tower’s secure. FRIDAY still knows your coffee order. Come home.”

He exhaled slowly, like the weight of the world finally slid off his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You don’t even have to ask.” You paused, smirking a little. “But when you get here, you will have to explain why the hell it took you this long to call me. I mean, seriously. I thought you died. Again.”

He chuckled, that low, gravelly laugh that used to echo through the Tower halls. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

Then your voice softened. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

The call ended, but your chest stayed warm. Morgan peeked back on the screen, smirking. “So… do I get to meet your war criminal boyfriend now?”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “He’s not my—oh, shut up.”

Because yes, obviously, you always liked Bucky.

Who wouldn't?

It was just a crush though.

He was clearly a man who wasn't ready for anything with anyone, and you were a person who wanted everything with someone. Clearly, you weren't a good match. The point here, the sweet tone you used with him and the tender way you looked at him, was because he was your last lifeline. The last thing you had left connected to your father, Steve, Nat. Bucky is the last thing you had left, the only living proof that everything that happened really happened and wasn't in vain.

“We have a place,” Bucky said flatly, stepping back into the cabin’s main room. Everyone looked up.

Alexei blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, pulling his glove tighter. “It’s secure, off-radar, not government-controlled. We’ll be safe.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where?”

He hesitated just long enough for them all to stare.

“…Stark Tower,” he finally muttered, and immediately regretted how that sounded.

Walker nearly choked. “You’re taking us to Tony Stark’s skyscraper? The Stark Tower? Didn’t that thing light up like a Christmas tree every time someone sneezed near Manhattan?”

“It’s under new management,” Bucky grumbled, grabbing his bag. “Let’s go.”

The quinjet landed on the private helipad atop Stark Tower at sunset, the entire skyline of New York painted in golden pinks and fire. The building glowed from within — a quiet kind of warmth, like someone had taken a monument of history and turned it into a real home.

The moment the team stepped into the elevator, surrounded by polished chrome and holographic glass panels, Bucky turned to face them all like an exhausted dad.

“Okay,” he said, lifting his hands. “I mean this — please. Behave.”

Yelena gave a little shrug. “You act like we are not capable of being polite.”

“You’re not,” Bucky shot back.

“Who exactly lives here now?” Ava asked, watching the floor numbers tick upward.

“That’d be…the older Stark,” Bucky said carefully. “Tony’s oldest daughter.”

The group went quiet.

“Oh,” Alexei said. “That Stark.”

“Wait wait wait,” Walker held up a finger. “Like Stark-Stark? The billionaire genius daughter of Iron Man who disappeared from public life after he—”

“Yes,” Bucky cut him off sharply. His voice lowered. “She was like family to Tony’s team. She stayed behind to keep the place safe. And she’s letting us stay, so try not to ruin it.”

Before anyone could reply, the elevator chimed — and the doors opened.

You stood there.

Hair soft and glowing in the evening light. Wearing leggings and a loose tank, barefoot but radiant, like the Tower itself breathed easier when you were in it. You held your breath the moment you saw Bucky, your eyes wide, lips parted, like you weren’t sure if he was real or a memory.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

He barely had time to register your name before you ran.

You launched into his arms like muscle memory, clinging to him with your face buried in his shoulder, and he caught you without hesitation, arms winding around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was tight, grounding, a little desperate.

“God, I missed you,” you murmured against his neck.

“I missed you too,” he said into your hair. “You look—Jesus, you look beautiful. You always do.”

You pulled back, eyes glossy but full of a grin. “You really ghosted me, Barnes.”

“I know.” He grimaced, brushing your cheek. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“You better.”

You finally turned your attention to the crew behind him, all still in the elevator like they were watching a rom-com unfold in real time.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You brought… everyone.”

He cleared his throat, hand still on the small of your back. “Right. Uh—guys, this is Y/N Stark. She’s letting us crash here.”

You smiled. “Welcome to Stark Tower, or what’s left of it. Now a semi-chaotic haven for misfit vigilantes, apparently.”

Alexei stepped forward and shook your hand with a grin. “Is honor to meet small Stark daughter.”

“Oh no,” you smiled. “I’m not small. I’m just the older sibling now.”

Yelena stepped out next, and the moment your eyes locked with hers, you froze mid-breath.

“…You okay?” Yelena asked gently, brow creased.

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “It’s just—Natasha… she was like an aunt to me. We lived here together. She’d braid my hair in the mornings. Seeing you—it’s like a part of her walked back through the door.”

Yelena’s gaze softened instantly. She stepped forward and pulled you into a quiet, firm hug. “She would’ve loved that,” she said into your ear. “And I think she’d be glad you’re still here.”

You clung to her a second longer than expected, heart full. Bucky smiled to himself, a weight lifted.

Then John Walker strolled forward, flashing you his best smug grin. “So… you’re telling me a gorgeous, genius Stark lives in a high-rise all alone? How’s that legal?”

Before you could answer, Bucky’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Back off.”

Walker blinked. “What? I’m just saying hi.”

“Say hi to the wall,” Bucky muttered.

And then—

You turned.

And saw him.

Bob Reynolds stood awkwardly near the elevator’s edge, towering, golden-haired, built like a titan and blinking like he didn’t know where to put his hands. His eyes met yours, and then traveled—slowly, reverently—across every inch of you.

And then, aloud—without even realizing:

“…She looks like a goddess.”

Everyone went still.

Bob’s face froze. His mouth dropped slightly.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, eyes wide in horror. “I—I thought that. That was supposed to stay inside my head.”

You laughed, hand covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”

Bob blushed so hard it looked like his skin might combust.

“I—I didn’t mean to—like, you are, but—oh no, I should stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you said, grinning. “You’re adorable. You can talk.”

He looked at Bucky for help. Bucky looked like he wanted to throw him off the balcony.

You clapped your hands. “Okay! Quick tour before someone combusts. Everyone gets a private room with a bathroom. There’s a training floor on level 12, a kitchen that doesn’t explode anymore thanks to FRIDAY, and a living space where you can yell at each other like a dysfunctional family. Just—don’t break anything expensive, or sentimental. Or, y’know, the structural integrity of the building.”

Yelena raised her hand. “Do weapons count as sentimental?”

“Only if they were gifted,” you winked.

---

It was late.

The kind of late where the city had gone quiet, even the Tower’s hum softened like it was tucked under a blanket. You were curled into the corner of the oversized couch in the common room, legs folded, one of Tony’s hoodies hanging loose off your shoulder. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the skyline blinked in a million tiny stars.

And Bucky was sitting beside you.

Not close enough to touch — not yet — but close enough that your knees almost brushed, that the weight of his presence filled the space in ways silence never could.

You smiled softly, looking out the window. “Morgan asked about you again today.”

He glanced over. “She did?”

You nodded. “She thinks you’re my boyfriend. Keeps insisting on it, actually. Says she’s seen the way I smile when you text.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Smart kid.”

You bumped his knee. “She gets it from me.”

He looked over, finally meeting your eyes. His were tired, but soft. "I missed this. I missed you."

“I missed you too,” you whispered, and you meant it like it had been carved into your chest.

A pause stretched between you — not awkward, just heavy. Heavy with time. With words you hadn’t gotten to say.

“How’ve you been?” you asked gently.

He exhaled, leaning back. “Weird. Floating. Sometimes I feel like I’ve figured things out. Then I wake up and I’m right back where I started. The team helps, but… I’m still figuring out who I am when I’m not being used. When I’m not fighting.”

You nodded. “I get that.”

He looked at you for a long beat. “How about you?”

You hesitated.

Then you told the truth.

“I’ve been lonely.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to. You stared at your hands. “At first, it was just grief. For my dad, for Nat, for Steve—God, even Thor. I don’t know where the hell he is. Clint’s with his kids. Bruce is off somewhere being Bruce. Everyone left. Or died. And I… stayed.”

Bucky watched you like the world might shatter if he blinked.

You gave a small smile. “I kept this place alive, Bucky. I filled the Tower with warmth again, but it didn’t feel like home. Not without any of you here. So I got used to it. The quiet. The space. The ghosts.”

Bucky moved closer, slow and careful, like approaching a wounded thing.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice steady. “Not anymore. Not as long as I’m here.”

You looked at him.

“I mean it,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. His metal fingers brushed against your skin like he was still afraid to break it. “You and me, we’re gonna stick together.”

“‘Til when?” you asked, a small smile playing at your lips.

He squeezed your hand.

“‘Til the end of the line.”

You closed your eyes. That old phrase — it still made your heart ache in the sweetest way. You turned your hand to link your fingers with his, soft and sure.

And then you whispered back: “I’ll love you 3000.”

His breath caught.

And he smiled.

Like something lost had just come back to him.

Like a promise he’d almost forgotten was suddenly real again.

---

The training room of Stark Tower was nearly empty — just the quiet whir of air conditioning and the thud of your feet hitting the mat as you moved through a practiced series of kicks and strikes. You’d been at it for an hour, sweat glistening down your neck, your breathing even, controlled. The Tower’s AI, FRIDAY, had the playlist low in the background, something smooth with a beat you could punch to.

You weren’t showing off.

But you weren’t holding back either.

Your dad started your training when you were a kid — when you were still small enough to sit in the lap of one of his Iron Man suits. And when Natasha took over, it became second nature. Your body knew the dance of it. Every twist, every dodge, every controlled exhale.

And then—

You felt it.

The eyes.

You stopped mid-kick, chest rising and falling.

“…You know,” you said without turning around, grabbing a towel from the bench and dabbing your forehead, “if you’re gonna stare at me like that, the polite thing to do is say hi.”

A pause. Then a very deep voice stammered—

“I wasn’t—staring. I mean—okay, I was. But not in a weird way.”

You turned.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, sheepish and impossibly sweet for a man who could melt steel with his pinky. His hair was tousled like he’d just run a hand through it out of pure nerves, and he was already blushing, even before you smiled.

You cocked your head. “That so?”

He blinked. “I mean—you were… doing that spin-kick thing. It was really impressive.”

You took a few steps closer, casually. Your sports bra clung to your ribs, the black fabric soaked in a way that definitely wasn’t helping Bob keep his thoughts PG. “Thanks. I’ve been training since I was little.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I could tell. You move like a storm.”

You raised a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment, or a warning?”

His eyes widened. “Compliment! Definitely. A very respectful—intense—uh, not creepy compliment.”

You laughed, crossing your arms loosely. “Relax, Bob. I’m not gonna kick your ass.”

“…I’d probably let you.”

Your smile froze for a second, caught off-guard — and then widened.

“Oh?” you teased. “You into that sort of thing?”

Bob’s face went bright red. “N-no! I mean, I—I don’t know if I’m—uh, maybe? Oh god, I said that out loud again, didn’t I?”

You laughed so hard you had to brace your hands on your knees. “You really need a filter.”

He groaned, half-hiding behind a training dummy. “I swear I used to be cool.”

“I think you’re pretty cute like this.”

That got his attention.

He peeked out at you, blinking like he wasn’t sure you were being serious. “You… do?”

You took a step closer again, slow and smooth. “You’re like a golden retriever with godlike powers. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bob laughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, his voice a little softer. “Yeah, well… you’re like… if a goddess got bored of Olympus and decided to just casually ruin me on a Tuesday.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “Ruin you, huh?”

He looked like he might spontaneously combust. “I—I mean emotionally. I think.”

You leaned in just a little. “You say the sweetest things.”

Bob’s breath caught as your fingers brushed his arm, just lightly.

Then you backed up, letting him breathe, and turned your attention back to the training mat.

“I’m done here,” you said, tossing your towel over your shoulder. “You coming?”

He blinked. “Coming where?”

You looked over your shoulder, your smile slow and teasing. “Kitchen. You owe me a smoothie. For the compliments. And the stare.”

Bob followed like a puppy. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I make a killer smoothie. Or, like… an aggressively average one. But I’ll give it emotional effort.”

You snorted. “Just don’t explode the blender.”

“No promises.”

As the elevator closed behind you both, he looked at you again — still soft, still wonderstruck — and whispered, “You really are something else.”

You didn’t answer.

You just leaned a little closer, brushing his knuckles with yours.

---

The kitchen was full of sunlight and chaos.

Alexei was digging through the fridge like it personally offended him. Yelena was perched on the countertop, already eating cold pizza with no shame. Ava stood in the corner like a ghost who had opinions but refused to share them. John Walker was trying — and failing — to figure out how to use the espresso machine.

And Bob?

Bob was making pancakes.

Or attempting to.

“Is this… normal?” Yelena asked, watching with a crooked grin as Bob poured another lumpy circle of batter onto the skillet, half of it splashing onto the stove.

“It’s either breakfast,” you said, tying your robe a little tighter around your waist as you stepped into the room, “or a science experiment.”

Bob turned around at the sound of your voice and lit up. “You’re up!”

You smiled. “Didn’t think I’d sleep through a kitchen explosion.”

He beamed like you’d just handed him a Nobel Prize. “I made you pancakes!”

You walked over, inspecting the pile. “…You tried to make me pancakes.”

“They’re… heart-shaped?” he offered hopefully.

“They look like they’re bleeding.”

He laughed, bright and boyish, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you — low, casual, watchful.

You turned just in time to catch him entering, hair still damp from the shower, black T-shirt clinging to his chest, dog tags tucked out of sight. His eyes flicked from you to Bob, then to the pancakes, and then back to Bob again.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That for her?”

Bob straightened. “Yeah! I mean—yeah, I wanted to make her something. As a thank-you. For letting us crash here.”

Bucky’s tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Right. Real thoughtful of you.”

Bob swallowed, and you quickly stepped between them.

“He’s just being nice,” you said with a smile, brushing Bucky’s arm as you passed. “And I did promise to let him cook something after that smoothie yesterday.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “He cooked?”

“Well… he blended.”

Walker wandered in with a cup of badly frothed coffee. “We talking about Bob’s pancake massacre? I give ‘em 4 outta 10. Points for optimism.”

“You put ketchup on eggs,” Yelena muttered.

“That’s freedom flavor.”

You rolled your eyes and slid onto a stool, sipping the orange juice Ava had silently placed beside you. “Thank you, Ava.”

She nodded, her version of a hug.

Bob placed a plate in front of you, his proudest smile yet. “Okay. Taste test.”

You picked up the fork dramatically, took a bite… and paused.

Bob leaned in. “Well?”

“…It’s not the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” you said.

Yelena choked. Walker snorted. Bucky froze mid-sip of coffee, eyes locked on you.

You turned to Bob with a sweet smile. “That was not meant to sound that filthy.”

Bob, very red: “I—uh—I wasn’t thinking anything. I mean I was, but not that—well, okay, I was but I—”

Bucky stepped between you both, casually, placing a protective hand on your back and subtly guiding you away from the stove like it was radioactive.

“She doesn’t need to eat any more of that,” he said firmly. “I’ll cook something decent.”

“Hey,” Bob protested. “They’re edible!”

“Barely,” Bucky muttered, already cracking eggs into a bowl. “She deserves real food.”

You leaned on the counter, grinning at him.

“Overprotective much?”

He glanced at you sideways, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. “You’ve had enough men treat you like something to win. I’m not letting him be one of them.”

You stared at him, heart skipping just a bit.

“…You know I can take care of myself, right?”

“I know.” He handed you a fork. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still try.”

You bit your lip, hiding a soft smile.

And Bob — poor Bob — watched you both with a mixture of awe and panic, like he’d just stumbled into a Netflix rom-com and realized he might be the side character.

“Uh,” he said finally, “I can do dishes!”

Yelena patted his shoulder. “That’s probably safer.”

---

The training room was charged.

You were in leggings and a fitted tank top, wrapping your wrists in tape, jaw set with a hint of a smirk. Across from you stood John Walker, cocky as ever, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this was a warm-up. Ava and Yelena sat off to the side, watching with sharp eyes and popcorn-level interest.

Bob was leaning on the far wall, arms crossed, pretending not to watch too hard. He was failing.

And Bucky?

He was there too. Silent. Focused. Leaning against the glass with arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched, eyes glued to you.

“I go easy on Stark’s kid, or what?” Walker joked as he stepped forward.

You smirked. “If you need to.”

The match started.

Walker was good — strong, fast, overconfident. You was better — precise, fluid, cool as ice. He threw a hook. You ducked. Spun. Grabbed his wrist, twisted, and swept him flat onto his back in one breathless second.

“Jesus,” Walker groaned, staring at the ceiling. “You marry me and we rule the world or what?”

From the corner, Bucky pushed off the wall.

“No.”

Walker blinked up at him. “Uh—wasn’t really asking you.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He stepped into the ring without a word, eyes locked on you. The tension in the room crackled. Even Bob stood straighter.

You tilted your head. “You wanna go?”

His voice was low. “You need a real challenge.”

You smiled. “Alright, soldier.”

You circled each other slowly, like a dance you’d done before. Bucky moved with sharp grace — watching, calculating, and when he struck, it was fast. You blocked. Countered. Moved into his space. He grabbed your waist during a fake-out — held you a second too long — and flipped you.

You hit the mat with a laugh. “Cheap.”

“You love cheap.”

“You love controlling.”

He smirked. “Only when it keeps you safe.”

You were breathing fast, skin flushed, limbs burning with adrenaline — and you knew what this looked like. The way he lingered in your space. The way your hand lingered too long on his chest when you got back up.

And Bob?

Bob had gone very, very quiet.

When the match ended, you caught your breath and turned — but Bob was already gone.

---

You found him on the balcony outside the Tower gym. His back was to the wall, hair tousled, long legs stretched out, eyes on the sky.

You stepped out, closing the door behind you. “You ghosting me?”

He didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t trying to.”

You sat beside him, knee brushing his. “You left kind of fast.”

“I figured you and Bucky needed… space.” He forced a laugh. “Looked like you two had your own language going on.”

You were quiet for a second. Then—

“He’s protective,” you said gently. “Always has been. But that doesn’t mean—”

Bob cut you off, voice low. “You let him touch you like that.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I know it’s not my place,” Bob went on, rubbing his palms together like he was trying to wring something out of them. “I just… I see how he looks at you. And you let him get close. Real close.”

You swallowed. “He’s family, Bob.”

“Family doesn’t look at you like that,” he whispered. “Like they’d burn the world down just to keep you for themselves.”

You turned to him — really turned.

And for the first time, Bob didn’t meet your gaze. He stared straight ahead.

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know what I am. I’ve been broken. Rebuilt. Ripped apart inside. I know I’m not the guy someone like you is supposed to end up with.”

“Don’t say that.”

He exhaled, a bitter edge curling into his voice. “You laugh at my stupid jokes. You let me make you smoothies. You smile like I’m more than just some weird science accident with a god complex. And I don’t even know if you mean it or if you’re just—being nice. Because you’re kind.”

You reached out, gently cupping his jaw. That got him to look at you.

“I meant every smile, Bob. Every time.”

He blinked, breath hitching.

You leaned in, forehead brushing his. “If I didn’t… would I be out here with you, when I could be inside with him?”

He closed his eyes. “You make me feel like I’m not a mistake.”

You kissed his cheek — soft, lingering. “You’re not.”

And in that moment, something shifted.

He didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

But he stayed close.

And he didn’t look at the sky again.

He only looked at you.

---

It was late.

The city was quiet in the way it only gets around midnight — the hum of traffic in the distance, a breeze threading between tall buildings, neon lights flickering against puddles.

You were walking with Bob, hands brushing now and then, neither of you saying much.

You didn’t have to.

He’d shown up outside your door after dinner with two milkshakes and a hoodie that was definitely his and had asked if you wanted to take a walk. No big mission. No team. Just you and him.

And now you were here. Calm. Close. Every few seconds, he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You turned to him with a smile. “You keep staring.”

Bob flushed. “Sorry. You just look…”

His voice trailed off.

You raised a brow. “Look what?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Like you should be illegal.”

You laughed. “Is that your way of flirting?”

He grinned shyly. “I’m new to it.”

You were about to respond when you heard it — footsteps quickening behind you, a camera flash, and then—

“Hey! Hey, wait—aren’t you Stark’s daughter?”

A man with a phone stepped in front of you, suddenly way too close. He wasn’t paparazzi — just some guy. Early twenties, beer on his breath, and eyes darting up and down your body like you were on display.

“Holy sh*t, it is you,” he said, stepping closer. “Damn, I thought you were hotter on the news, but—Jesus, you’re—”

“Back up,” Bob said sharply.

The man blinked, finally looking at him. “Relax, dude, I’m just trying to get a picture—”

“I said back the f*ck up.”

You grabbed Bob’s arm, gently. “It’s okay—”

But it wasn’t.

Because the air changed.

The golden hum started in Bob’s chest — soft, at first. His breath hitched, eyes flickering. You saw the power curling at his fingertips, glowing like a warning.

He stepped between you and the stranger, voice like steel. “You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get to talk to her. You don’t even get to look at her like that.”

“Jesus, alright,” the guy muttered, backing off. “Freak.”

And then he was gone.

Bob didn’t move.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping around to face him. “Hey, look at me.”

His jaw was tight. Hands shaking. Power still crackling in his veins.

“I’m okay,” you said, placing both hands on his chest. “I’m okay, Bob.”

He looked at you like he was barely holding it together. “He was looking at you like you were a thing.”

“But I’m not,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Right?”

Something in him broke.

In a second, his hands were on your hips, gripping hard like he needed to feel you to believe it. He pulled you close — flush against him — and kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it.

You gasped, and he groaned, deep and rough, backing you up against the nearest wall, his body covering yours. The city faded. There was only him.

His voice was low, shaking. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

He kissed down your neck, open-mouthed, desperate. “I want you so bad. I want to keep you like this — close. Always.”

“You can,” you said, tugging his hoodie until he was practically on top of you. “You already do.”

“I’ll protect you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let anyone get near you like that again. Not even him.”

You shook your head. “Bob…”

He smiled, eyes soft now. “I know. It’s not about him. It’s just—when it comes to you… I go a little feral.”

You kissed him again — slower this time, deeper, and when you pulled back, his eyes were glowing with heat and something softer too.

“You make me feel like I’m someone worth loving,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You are.”

And right there, in the quiet dark of the city, Bob Reynolds kissed you like a promise:

That you were his. And he was yours. And no one would ever touch you again — not unless they wanted to burn.

---

The front door clicked shut behind you.

The tower was dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You kicked your shoes off, tossing your jacket on the bench near the elevator.

Bob followed behind you, quieter than usual, hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw tight.

Neither of you had said much since that moment in the alley. His hand had hovered at your lower back the whole walk home, but he didn’t touch you again.

He hadn’t needed to.

The air between you was thick.

You glanced at him now as you padded toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I think there’s still some—”

Bob grabbed your hand.

You turned.

He was right there.

Close. Eyes burning. His thumb brushed your wrist, and when he spoke, it was low and aching.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

You stepped into him instead.

His hands found your waist, slow and reverent. “I almost lost it earlier,” he whispered. “The way he touched you. Looked at you. I—I saw red.”

“I know,” you said softly, reaching up to touch his face.

Bob leaned into your hand. “It scared me. How fast I’d burn down the whole world for you.”

Your chest rose and fell, breath catching.

“Bob…”

“I don’t want to be careful with you anymore,” he said, voice rough. “I want to be yours. I want to show you what it means to be wanted—not just protected. Not just looked after. Claimed.”

A beat passed.

Then you whispered: “Then take me.”

That’s all it took.

He kissed you.

Not the sweet, nervous kisses from before. This was hungry. Deep. Desperate. Like he was memorizing the taste of your mouth in case the world ended tomorrow.

You gasped as he picked you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, walking you backwards down the hallway toward your room — his hoodie riding up your thighs, your fingers twisted in his hair.

He dropped you onto the bed like you were the softest, most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed, crawling over you, every line of his body pressed to yours. “You walk into a room and I forget who I am.”

“Bob—”

He kissed your neck. Your collarbone. Worshipping. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you what it feels like to be mine.”

You nodded, chest rising and falling fast. “Please.”

He pulled back just long enough to tug the hoodie over your head — and then paused.

His eyes swept over you. Slowly. Reverently.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

You reached up, tugging at his shirt, and he let you peel it off. And when his skin touched yours — warm, flushed, shaking — he groaned like he’d just come home.

Everything after that blurred into heat and light and him:

His mouth tracing every inch of your body. His voice in your ear, thick with praise: “You’re so beautiful… so sweet… so mine.” His hands holding you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And when he finally pushed into you — slow, deep, trembling with how badly he needed it — he buried his face in your neck and whispered, “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

You clung to him, breathless, lost in the feel of him, the weight of him, the way he filled you so completely it felt like he’d marked your soul.

And when you came undone — shivering, gasping his name — he followed seconds later, holding you tight like he never wanted to let go.

After, you lay tangled together, sheets kicked down, the city glowing outside the window.

Bob kissed your forehead, still breathless.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”

You smiled, eyes heavy, voice soft. “Good.” Because now? You were his and he was yours.

---

The next morning in Stark Tower felt unusually quiet.

You were in the kitchen, making coffee, wrapped in one of Bob’s oversized hoodies, the fabric soft against your skin. The scent of fresh brew filled the air, a small comfort in the sprawling, empty space.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a careful gaze that had grown sharper over the past few days.

At first, he thought it was just the normal relief of seeing you safe — but lately, there was something different.

The way you smiled at Bob across the room, the easy way you let him touch you, the way Bob’s eyes lingered on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

It hit Bucky like a punch to the gut.

He cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he said, voice a little rough.

You turned, bright-eyed and warm. “Hey, Bucky. Coffee?”

He nodded, stepping inside. “Thanks.”

There was a pause.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “Look… I just wanted to say… it’s good to see you smiling again.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “I’ve missed this. Missed all of you.”

He gave a short laugh. “Yeah… well, some things don’t change. I still don’t like the idea of anyone—” He glanced toward Bob, who was casually lifting weights nearby, “—getting too close.”

Your smile faltered just a bit.

Bob caught the glance and grinned, waving a dumbbell like a trophy.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything else.

Later, as you and Bob settled in the training room, Bucky lingered nearby, watching from a distance.

He noticed how Bob’s hand found yours easily, how your laughter sounded lighter when you were with him, and how Bob’s protective gaze never left you, even in moments when no one else was around.

The realization was sinking in.

Something had changed.

And Bucky wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

[soggyriceee]

cowboy ellie is so hot fuck write a flashback of when she was young and had no worries fucking in a field or stable

careless girl 18+ | E.W

<ellie is 18, flashback that doesn’t include reader, public sex, sub!ellie, oral(E!receiving), fingering, ✂️, lmk if i missed any>

growing up on a farm in bumfuck meant Ellie learnt almost everything from her parents. she was homeschooled, her mother too scared to send her an hour away everyday. she’d remember how hard her mother tried to make home feel like school, purchasing colorful books and toys to help her learn. but like most homeschooled kids, Ellie wanted to experience real school.

her parents would finally budge when she’d gone into highschool. it was almost a whole new world for the girl. so many people, classes, clubs. girls.

Ellie’s parents were your typical Christians, church every Sunday, super religious Christmas and Easter. that was normal for Ellie, though sometimes she would wish they could tone down all the Jesus stuff.

her parents only referred to her future partners as men, mentioning kids and pregnancy. she’d always agree, and force herself - well try- to see that future as well. and as much as she would “speak it into existence”, she knew deep down it didn’t feel right. and she’s feel guilty about it, never mentioning it out loud not even to herself.

but highschool only made those feelings stronger. seeing the girls in their right jeans, cute cowboy boots and ponytails. the guys were pretty much disgusting to her and ignorantly she’d think they all looked the same. same mullet haircuts, burnt red skin.

sophomore and junior year is when Ellie started to accept who she was. senior year is when she grew careless and needy.

Ellie wasn’t an alien, of course there were other girls like her in high school. she’d make one friend, a senior as well. she was in her english class, sat in the front row. this girl gave Ellie the type of attention nobody’s given her before. the way this girl was obsessed with her was foreign to the girl, but it only was a confidence boost.

Ellie would begin to realize the sort of effect she had on some girls. Ellie liked to dress a bit more masculine, at least in comparison to the other chicks. Ellie never wore a skirt or shorts. she wore a tight black tank, with a flannel and tight black jeans to match. she’d switch up the tee and flannel every day of course, but she kept herself covered.

her parents would question her, asking why she dressed so differently. Ellie would reply she wants to remain modest. her mother would mention that she can dress modest in dresses and long skirts, but Ellie would remain silent and sort of wait for her father to break the silence like usual.

it took Ellie 3 months into her senior year to get a tattoo, a master at hiding it from her parents. she got it knowing the girl in english would only fawn over her more, and she loved the attention.

as confident as Ellie was portraying herself to be, she was a bit insecure. she’d only begin exploring her own body late at night, learning what porn was from the disgusting boys at lunch. but she was just as disgusting secretly.

she’d rub her clit so fast, and then so slow, trying to learn what worked and what didn’t. the video was hot, typical milf stuff, but she just didn’t feel like she was doing anything. so she’s huff and give up, continuing the fake act.

but when her classmate pulled her into a stall during lunch, lifting her shirt and showing Ellie her tits, she felt what she was supposed to have felt the night before. her clit pounded, jaw slack as she straight embarassed herself. if she wasn’t giving virgin energy before, she was now.

she didn’t know how but all the power went to her classmate now, who somehow got ellie to agree to bring her over. Ellie would agree, eyes still glued to her hardened nipples. “never seen boobs before?” the girl would joke, making Ellie go bright red.

that same night Ellie would be pinned below the girl, back pressed against the haystack. she didn’t mind the pointy dry feeling, not with what she was already feeling between her legs.

her classmate would have her in the most vulnerable position, legs pressed to her chest. ellie would do a poor job at shaving, having to learn based off a youtube video rather than her own mom. but her classmate didn’t seem to mind, she was gentle with her. she didn’t care that ellie was a virgin, not at all.

she’s actually teach ellie about her body in the process, kissing from ellie’s wet hole, up to her throbbing clit, naming each part she was kissing. “fuck..” ellie would huff, not understanding why she felt almost pain as her pussy throbbed. she was so needy that it hurt.

the girl would suck ellie’s clit so gently, kissing it again beforehand. her fingers would slowly slide into her, one by one, stretching her out as slow as Ellie’s body needed. “so wet … don’t even think you’ve touched this pussy yourself huh?”

ellie was so embarrassed, the whines that left her plump wet lips. her parents window was wide open, and could probably hear what was going on. she tried her best to stay quiet she really did, but when her first ever orgasm came over her she didn’t even really realize it.

“o-oh fuck!” she’d cry out, pushing her body up and off the other girls mouth, her hole pulsing and toes curling. her classmate would giggle and watch as she came down from her orgasm, pushing her panties off.

“w.. what are you doing?” ellie would pant, peeling her eyes open. “let’s go to the field.. wanna try something.” and of course ellie would follow like a lost puppy, following her classmate arouns as if it wasn’t her house.

when the girls legs hooked arouns her hips, one resting over her leg, one resting under the other, she’d look into her eyes. “youre gonna like this.. promise.” the girl would smile.

hee hips would move forward, her hand gently pushing ellie back onto her elbows. her hips would rise to meet ellie’s, and for a moment ellie thinks she’s gonna faint. the feeling of the girl pussy on her own, the warmth and wetness, it made her whine immediately.

the girls hips would being to move slow, wanting to really feel how wet Ellie was for her. “fuck ellie.. can feel you throbbing on my baby..” she’d whisper, eyes drawn to where they met.

ellie’s eyes would roll back, shamelessly moaning like a bitch in heat. to the point her classmate had to kiss her to shut her up. “you’re so.. pathetic.. such a needy girl huh?” she’d tease, holding ellie’s face as she slowly picked up the pace.

ellie didn’t know what to say she was so overwhelmed in pleasure. she could only let out the most beautiful sounds, eyes glistening and big. “call me mommy.. tell mommy you want her to keep going.” she’s whisper into ellie’s ear.

holy fuck what was she doing to her? ellie could faint then and there. but she did as she was asked, she wanted to please her. the roles had reversed and she wasn’t mad at all. “p-please mommy i.. i feel it again.”

the girl would shove ellie’s back into the tall grass, towering above her. her hips wouldn’t stop as she locked eyes onto ellie. “cum for me ell’s.. you deserve it baby jus-“ the girl couldn’t even finish before ellie became undone under her, back arching up as she cried out in pleasure again.

the girl would cover her mouth, giggling once more at how well Ellie reacted to her. she’d follow not long after, praising and thanking ellie for letting her use her pussy to get off.

her classmate made it a routine to stop by twice a week or so, giving Ellie the same amazing sex over and over. Ellie thought she’d found her soulmate, she thought she was lucky. she’d found a beautiful girl, smart and funny. who seemed to like her back. they even went to prom together, to which Ellie had to do vide her parents it was as friends.

but when graduation came around, and everyone was going their serperate ways, the girl would block ellie. she’d block Ellie despite telling her “i’m never gonna leave.. no matter how far away I go.” she told her that while she was knuckled deep in her pussy, slowly thrusting into her as she stared into Ellie’s eyes.

it broke ellie so much, to the point she didn’t open up to a single soul in college. she got revenge on her classmate throufh other people, doing the same to girls who truly did want something with Ellie. but she was too scared. she was so submissive and open and vulnerable with someone, who now is just a memory.

her wife and her met after college, when Ellie was still at a low. her wife was a breath of fresh air for Ellie, but she was still scared and standoffish. their relationship had a rough start and Ellie was to blame. she could commit fully, no matter how hard she tried. but her now wife stayed, she was patient and was too understanding.

Ellie would marry her eventually at 27, moving to a new part of the country and starting a new life. she was happy, happier than she was before at least. her relationship was in a better place and she just wanted to feel.. secure. so she’d remember the bad times, and be grateful for her new life, because she had found someone who truly wanted her.

highkeyyy loved this request sm sm. ellie does call girls mommy idc byeeee

[pearlymel]

warnings: ANGST NO COMFORT, (fem) reader has terminal illness, it's cute in the beginning, < dont let that fool you, death (reader), 3.2k words.

notes: hey yall.. It's been a month.. And im back with angst if u even care.. lol and no i did not kiss the brick before throwing it </3

Ever since you've been diagnosed with a terminal illness, specifically a heart disease, you were worried on how you would break the news to Caleb.

Your best friend. The person that is the most important to you, the one you never want to disappoint or upset.

It didn't feel normal, you didn't feel alive. You couldn't hang out or play with him normally like you usually would, and it's unfair to him.

You cried the whole night in Caleb's arms that night, and he only held you silently, tightly. Trying to soothe you with soft strokes along your hair.

It's been months since that night.

"Hey," he says quietly, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. "Don't give me that look.”

He can probably read you like a book by now. But rather than pity, there's only concern in his eyes.

He takes a seat on the grass next to your wheelchair while still holding your hand, his gaze still fixed on you. "Just tell me what's going on, pip-squeak. You know I can't read your mind, right?”

You squeeze his fingers as you look down at him, “could you…” you pause to clear your throat, “… Help me stand? I want to try and walk together.” you mumble.

And Caleb's eyes widen in excitement. He quickly stands up and moves around behind the wheelchair.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want you to push yourself, okay?" he says, gently taking hold of your wrists as he starts to help you out of the chair.

Your legs feel wobbly, but you manage with his help. You feel likd you can do anything at times when he's there.

"don't try anything crazy. I'm not above carrying you back kicking and screaming." He says it with a teasing smile, but his grip on your arms is firm, supporting you as you try to stand on your own.

“yeah, yeah.” you chuckle, your hands are firmly around his shoulders, and you lift your chin up.

“hi,”

Caleb grins at the unexpected 'hi', his cheeks warming a bit at your closeness.

"Well, hello there," he replies, his voice naturally playful. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist, helping you stay steady on your feet.

His other hand finds its way gently through your hair, a comforting touch. "What's up, pipsqueak?”

“good.” you shrug. The breeze today feels unexpectedly nice, but the strands flying and sticking to the lip balm you applied this morning wasn't so fun..

Caleb’s grin widens at the sound of you attempting to shake your head amd blowing at the hair strands away, his arm still wrapped around you as he guides you towards the bench nearby.

"Alright, sit. Before you fall down and traumatize me," he teases, his tone light but his eyes serious. He gently helps you lower yourself next to him, making sure you're comfortable.

He then leans back, stretching his legs out and enjoying the sunlight, his gaze darting over to you every now and then.

"the weather is really nice." you hum, watching the people walk around, the elderly couple feeding the birds, and the children playing at the park.

It was at a distance, so you both were kind of alone in this corner.

Caleb nods, following your gaze at the people around them. "It is, isn't it?" he agrees, his arm still around your waist, holding you close. "It's been a while since we've been out like this, huh?"

He looks at the children tagging each other, and turns his gaze towards the couple feeding the birds. Something about this moment feels almost like the old days, before things got complicated.

His gaze turns back to you, "You really should get some fresh air more often. Being cooped up in that room all the time isn't good for you." He reaches over to tweak your nose, the way he used to when they were much younger, and you whine playfully at the gesture, "gotta keep the ol' pip-squeak lungs healthy, right?”

You huff, pushing his hand away, “i am healthy.” you reply defensively.

"Oh, really? And I suppose that weak little cough you've been trying to hide from me is just your way of practicing your opera skills, right?" he eyes you suspiciously, and you look away, pretending to whistle.

“I'll give you something to tease about.” you cross your arms, and he mimicks your moves.

“remember when we'd exchange secret kisses behind the tree?”

Caleb feels his brain go on short circuit.

"Wh-what—" he stutters, his cheeks warming at the memory. "That—that was back when we were kids. You can't bring that up, pipsqueak.”

You roll your eyes, “we were teens!”

His cheeks flush even more at your correction, and he rubs the back of his neck, "Yeah, yeah, we were. But still, it doesn't count. We were just kids messing around," he protests, his gaze darting away, unable to maintain eye contact.

He's clearly flustered, and it's hard to tell if he's more embarrassed that you brought it up, or remembering the feel of those secret kisses behind that old tree.

Teasing him back was just as fun, "We'd say it's just to practice for, oh, I don't know, future partners we'd be dating. How silly we were back then, huh?”

He remembers. Remembers the thrill of sneaking around, the rush of stolen kisses behind the tree, all under the guise of "practicing" for their future partners.

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head at their past naivety. "Yeah. We were pretty silly, weren't we?" he says, his voice soft. "Just a couple of dumb kids, playing at romance, pretending it didn't mean anything.”

He looks down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, trying to collect his thoughts. He's not used to talking about his feelings like this.

"caleb, i.." you want to reach a hand out to his face, but it pauses mid air.

"nevermind." you whisper, retreating your hand away, "you deserve better."

Hearing your words, Caleb's expression shifts. Confusion turns to frustration, almost anger. He grabs your retreating hand to prevent you from removing it.

"What do you mean, 'deserve better'?" he asks, his grip on your hand tightening marginally, as if afraid to let you go. "Don't say that. Don't decide what I deserve,”

You see the desperation in his eyes, how he looks almost upset that you even said such thing.

“look at me—”

"I am looking at you," he cuts you off, "And I see you." He scowls, "Do you think I care if you can barely move? Do you think that's **what matters to me?”

You inhale sharply, biting on your lower lip as you look away, defeated.

“can i be selfish with you one last time?”

You're asking for something, and it's like he knows what kind of request it was, with the way you glance at his lips.

As your faces draw closer, he can feel your breath against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Softly, ever so softly, he leans in, his lips gently touching yours.

a hesitant brush against yours. For a moment, it's just a soft, chaste touch, like he's testing the waters, making sure he's not about to lose control.

But it doesn't stay chaste for long.

The kiss deepens, as Caleb's hand cups your face, his thumb tracing light circles on your cheek. He leans in further, the intensity of the kiss building.

He could feel the tightness in your grip, the desperate way you're holding onto him, and for a moment, a thousand different emotions flick through his mind. The guilt, the helplessness, the fear of losing you...

But also the love.

The overwhelming, all-consuming love he's felt but never voiced. He kisses you harder, his hand moving from your jaw to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, as if trying to pull you even closer.

He breaks the kiss to give you a break, only for a brief moment, his breath coming out in short breaths. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, as he speaks in a low, hoarse voice.

"One more.”

—

You feel yourself being pushed on the wheelchair by Caleb through the hospital hallways, returning to your room, he glances over at you.

He can't help but notice the smile on your face, the way your eyes are still gleaming from your earlier encounter.

He feels his face warm a bit, but he covers it by clearing his throat. "You... seem happier than usual," he observes, trying to keep his voice casual.

You look up, “i am."

"Good," he murmurs, almost to himself. He pushes your wheelchair into the room, carefully setting it next to your bed.

You push yourself off and back onto the bed, “i had fun today.” you voice out your thoughts.

He pulls a chair to your bedside, sitting down, and runs a hand through his hair, still a bit flustered.

"Me too..." he admits, "It's been a while since we've spent time together like that." He smiles, but there's a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

“… thank you.”

"What are friends for, right?" he quips, shrugging his shoulders. Then, he adds, "Besides, I couldn't just let you sit around in this sterile, depressing hospital room all the time. You'd go crazy.”

Your eyes narrow as you turn your head slowly to his, “friends, even after our kisses.”

"Uh, well..." he stutters, again. trying to find the right words. "I mean... friends can kiss, right?" He's trying to sound cool, nonchalant.

You gasp, then your arms cross, “then i should just kiss all my male friends.”

"What—no!" he exclaims, evident panic in his voice. "That's not what I meant. I just—”

He stops himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He opens them again, his gaze locked onto yours, and his voice is quieter, more serious.

"That's not the same.”

You become silent, blinking twice at him, “fine, we're ‘friends’ i suppose.”

Caleb's face falls a bit at your words. "Friends..." he repeats, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wants to say more, to express all the things he's feeling, but he holds back.

Instead, he manages a weak smile, trying to keep the atmosphere light, "Right. Best friends.”

Caleb stands up from the chair, his expression conflicted. He wants to say more, to protest, to shout at you, to... say the truth.

“goodnight, caleb.” you wave your hand at him.

But he doesn't. He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer.

"Goodnight, pipsqueak," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turns and walks out, his hands clenched into tight fists.

“you can go back to sky haven.”

He stops in his tracks, your words hitting him like a cold wave. He turns back, his eyes locking onto yours, searching.

"You... you want me to go back to Sky Haven?" he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt.

You avoid his eyes, “yeah, you've been here all week. Take a break.” you further reason out.

Caleb opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it again. He knows you're right—he's been spending all his time at the hospital, neglecting his duties at Sky Haven.

But the thought of leaving you here, alone... "You sure you'll be alright?" he asks, his voice low.

“… Of course.”

the way you're putting up a brave face. But he also knows you well enough to see through it. He clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to argue, to stay.

"Alright," he says finally, his voice betraying a hint of reluctance. "I'll go back to Sky Haven. But... you better text me every morning, and night." He glances towards you again. "Got it, pipsqueak?”

You only smile back, “i love ya.”

Caleb freezes. He hears those three words, those three simple words that he's longed to hear from you for so long. But they feel like a bittersweet goodbye.

He looks at you, his heart constricting in his chest, and he wants to say so much, to tell you everything he's felt for so long. But he just nods, biting back the words that threaten to spill out.

"Yeah." He manages a weak smile. "love you, too.”

—

Days pass. Caleb is back in Sky Haven, working on his duties as a colonel in the Farspace Fleet. But every day, his thoughts keep drifting back to you. He finds himself distracted, his mind constantly wandering.

Sunday texts.

you: it's hot today.

caleb: make sure to tell the nurse to not set the air conditioning too cold

you: m’kay

Monday texts.

you: i miss your cooking

caleb: only that? You don't miss me? :(

you: i miss you, too >:)

caleb: :)

Tuesday texts.

caleb: knock knock, did you lose your way here?

you: was watching the birds

caleb: are they that interesting?

you: nope.

Wednesday texts.

caleb: hellooo pipsqueak

four hours later and three missed calls.

caleb: </3 ignoring my calls now?

you: i was asleep! :’)

caleb: morning, sleeping beauty ;)

Thursday texts.

None.

Caleb's eyebrows furrow as he stares at the empty screen, refreshing his messages over and over, and calling every hour.

You're just asleep, again.

He sighs at the thought, right—

His blood runs cold when his phone rings, seeing the caller ID from the hospital.

“hello?”

“Mr. Caleb, we regret to inform you that…”

Caleb's heart drops.

The next words doesn't even register in his head, he can't process it, can't wrap his mind around the news.

He takes a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, to understand what he just heard. But it doesn't make sense. It can't be...

He hangs up, and he runs. Without thinking, and feeling all numb, he needs to get to your hospital.

—

Caleb arrives at the hospital, his steps heavy as he walks through the familiar hallways. But everything seems different now. Darker, empty. The memories he once had are now tainted with grief.

He enters your room, his heart sinking more at the sight of the vacant bed, the machines turned off. He sees a bag on the table, your belongings. He moves forward, slowly, as if in a trance.

His gaze goes from the bag to the letter atop it. He stands there, torn between wanting to open it and wanting to pretend it doesn't exist.

After a moment's hesitation, he picks up the letter, his heart pounding in his chest. He carefully opens the envelope.

“dear, caleb.

I'm sorry you had to find out like this, i didn't want to worry you. My health was deteriorating these past few days, but i told them to not tell you, and im glad they respected my wishes.

I wanted to spend my last few days with you, and told you to go back on the last few days so you wouldn't witness the whole thing. Again, I'm sorry.

Please take care of yourself. I left a bunch of other letters in the bag for you.

Love, “

Caleb stares at the letter, reading and re-reading the words. His vision is blurry, his eyes filled with unshed tears. His heart feels heavy, as if someone had reached into his chest and snatched it away. He carefully folds the letter and puts it back in the envelope.

Caleb is going to read those letters you wrote for him, but he realizes you'll never get to read his own letters to you, it was too late.

—

The days following your passing are blurry in Caleb's memory. He moves through life like a shadow, going through the motions but not truly present. His work is done in autopilot, his interactions with others are forced.

But every night, when he returns to his empty apartment, he re-reads the letters. Like a cruel, comforting cycle, he reads them again and again.

The letters are all scattered on his bed. He would be curled on the bed, embracing each letter to try and make him sleep, but he can't. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you. And it almost feels like a nightmare.

These letters were a window into your thoughts, your feelings. And even though you were gone, he felt like he had a piece of you with him.

He would read until the early hours of the morning, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. But the pain was preferable to the emptiness that threatened to consume him.

It's been a week since your passing. He has avoided visiting your grave, unable to bring himself to face the reality of your absence.

Caleb is afraid of coming home to see scattered letters on his bed and not remembering who they belong to.

But today, something stirs within him. It's a mix of guilt, sadness, and a sense of resolution.

He needs to pay his respects, to fsce reality.

He makes his way to the graveyard, where your grave sits solemnly. The sight makes his chest tighten. But he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what he knows he has to do.

Caleb stands in front of your grave, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stares down at the name on the grave. "H-hey, pipsqueak," he whispers, his voice extremely shaky.

There's a pause, and he can almost hear your voice responding to him in his mind, calling him by his name.

"I... I have something to show you," he murmurs. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a worn leather notebook. It was his own journal, filled with thoughts, sketches, and snippets of memories from over the years.

He sits on the grass, trying to be as close as possible.

"I've been thinking about you a lot," he continues, his eyes still fixed on the grave. "I remember all the times we were kids. Those moments... they were the best."

He opens the journal, flipping through the pages, each one a small snapshot of their shared past.

"And those letters you left..." he continues, his voice growing quieter. "I've read them again and again. It feels like you're right here, whispering in my ear.”

If you were there, he knows you'd say all the right things to ease his pain, to tell him that everything would be okay. But you're not, and the silence hangs heavy in the air.

Caleb's grip on the notebook tightens, his knuckles white with the effort. He takes a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall.

"God, I... wish you were here." his voice chokes up, and he swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"I...I have so many things I want to tell you, so many things I never said...”

You closes his eyes, covering his face while he slumps against the stone, that one wish you wrote in your letters replays over and over in his head.

to move on.

[mephestopheles]

My mother fell down her front stairs 2 years and cracked her head on a rock that caused a lot of bleeding and her she fell on her left arm during the fall. We spent 7 hours in ER, no head CT, no X-rays, all she received were 5 stitches and a tetanus shot that was nearly duplicated because the RNs didn't communicate on who was giving what. If I hadn't said, "she's already gotten that" the nurse would have ignored my mother and given it to her again.

5 days later she had a phone appt with her pain doctor and he requested she get in touch with primary care to have her stitches removed, instead of me doing them. Thankfully she was able to get in to see the nurse practitioner within two days, to be seen and it was only because the np was concerned about her that she was sent for X-rays.

A week later.

We found 5 days after her X-rays that she'd broken her wrist and took a piece off her shoulder blade. She was sent to the Ortho who didn't tell her he had to rebreak her wrist to set it properly, just broke it again and set it. She found out when the cast was being removed that the click she heard was her wrist breaking again.

She also developed post concussion syndrome. All because she could move under her own power in the ER that night they didn't bother doing further investigations. It took a good 6-8 months before mom felt normal again and even now she still gets headaches if she reads too long.

as a severely mentally ill 14 year old, I remember thinking “the medical system would treat me better if I was physically ill and not mentally ill” and then I coincidentally developed multiple chronic illnesses and found out that actually they dgaf even when you’re essentially bedridden

[regular-gnome]

some light body horror sketches, still alive

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

Ok this is based on my surface level understanding of the Particle Accelerator that gave Barry Allen his powers. I’ve also only watched the show and it’s been a really long time since I’ve read the comics.

Dani is traveling through central city in order to help Danny with a favor. He suspects that theymight have some ectoplasm that they found near a crime scene (one of his ghost fights got out of hand, by the time he realized, he found got back with getting caught by his parents)

So Dani helps. She breaks into the forensics labs where they’re storing the ecto. She’s goes in her human form to not make anyone think she’s a supervillain.

There’s a scientist in the lab. Barry Allen.

She waits until hes looking away to grab the ecto.

She’s spotted before she can escape.

After a couple of awkward moments of silence, it’s broken by the lightning bolt.

From what I can find, the reason Barry’s the flash is because he was standing next to forensics equipment and chemicals. By logic, Dani is also standing next to said equipment and chemicals. One thing is different.

She’s holding the ecto.

-

Barry was found in a coma like state, and another girl, around 13 was found next to him. The officers who found them say that she was melting and resolidifying into green goo. She looked completely normal when she and Barry were loaded into the ambulance.

Dani didn’t have paper of a birth certificate, she’s a clone. Any DNA tests crashes the computer. Shes labeled as a Jane Doe.

She and Barry are kept in close proximity at the hospital because of their similar conditions.

(Danny and Jazz don’t know what happened to Dani. To them, she’s disappeared, dead most likely. They think she’s been taken by the GIW)

Barry wakes up after 9 months but Dani’s still in the coma. The Flash team monitors her progress from the lab, ready to help her if she develops the same powers as Barry.

Then, 3 month later, on the one year anniversary of the accident. Jane Doe awakes.

Cisco forges documents that says the Caitlin is the girl aunt, and Caitlin takes her to STAR labs for testing.

They ask her if she remembers what happened on the day of the accident. Dani does, but she’s not about to land in jail, so she pretends she doesn’t.

Dani didn’t turn into more or less of a ghost, that lightning strike gave her the powers but that ecto made her DNA less stable, although she didn’t know it at the time. It also gave her a power boost.

Flash gets a partner, named Flare, who’s almost as fast as he is.

Things are good.

Until Dani starts destabilizing mid-run.

Things are grim. Nobody knows how to help, and Dani isn’t coherent enough to help.

Jazz and Danny are visiting through central city, looking for schools for the both of them. Amity is too dangerous for Danny with the GIW and Jazz is looking to transfer away from Metropolis University (the Alien attacks are very annoying, at least in central she doesn’t have to deal with city wide destruction threats)

Barry runs into a teen that looks exactly like Dani, and kidnaps him.

It wasn’t his best thought, but the teen recognizes Dani.

They vanish in a burst of light. Dani is no where to be found.

Barry is devastated that he got his partner kidnapped. Until she returns, completely healthy.

[turing-tested]

I am very stressed and anxious about making this post but today on top of having to emergency pay to stop the electricity from being shut off to my grandmother's home (I have no idea if it even has water still) - tomorrow I am having to travel a couple hours to file her will and I have no way to pay those court filing fees.

I normally would be already stressed financially about this process but I have yet to pay my own electricity, rent, or internet + on top of the fact that it's going to be several days before I'll get reimbursement for travel I needed to do for work I was counting on to help make it even slightly more manageable.

I've maxed out my credit card, I have no savings left because these past couple months I've had one emergency/unexpected bill after another.

I'm already doing probate myself without a lawyer because I cannot afford one - but I told the bank her mortgage is through I'd have some kind of documentation tomorrow because they're starting to get worried about the lack of progress. if I can't pay those filing fees and get that paperwork filed, I don't know what will happen to her house.

if anyone is capable of/willing to help me get through/literally just survive this incredibly stressful month, I would really appreciate it, truly. anything I get will go to filing that paperwork, paying my rent and keeping my electricity on, and then paying her water bill, in that order. thank you so much.

[okayto]

When in Bar Harbor, users drove the digital car into the ocean, taking advantage of a Google Street View glitch. Daugherty threw on Ween’s “Ocean Man” to commemorate the splash. Players even steered the car to WBOR’s station in Brunswick, creating what Bowdoin senior and WBOR DJ Janet Briggs said on-air was a very “meta” moment. She was worried that her show’s theme of playing the 1,001 albums to listen to before you die wouldn’t resonate with listeners. “I’m about to play like a Jacques Brel, like, literally a French jazz album that none of these people are going to want to listen to, while they’re trying to get me to play Minecraft music,” Briggs said. “It actually ended up being kind of funny. It was a live jazz album that had a bunch of clapping and weird crescendos. It’s very theatrical.” Users showed their appreciation, and excitement about the moment, by several rounds of honking. Then she started taking song requests. “I ‘Rickrolled’ them at the beginning, because obviously,” Briggs said. (She played Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” to bring the famed internet prank to the players’ simulated car stereo.) “As a captive audience, it’s the only option.”

"How an imaginary roadtrip through Maine drove real traffic to Bowdoin’s student radio station," Aidan Ryan, Boston Globe

(Full article below)

The waning days of the spring semester are typically quiet for WBOR, thestudent radio station at Maine‘s Bowdoin College, with students focused on taking exams and DJs preparing for their final shows.

So when station manager Mason Daugherty got an e-mail this month claiming that more than 1,000 people were currently tuned into WBOR’s digital broadcast, he at first assumed it was a scam. Daugherty — perhaps ill-advisedly — clicked on a link in the message anyway, and he discovered something far stranger.

People from around the world were streaming WBOR through an online game called “Internet Roadtrip,” which does nothing more than crowdsource the route of an imaginary car traversing the roads covered by Google Street View. The car “radio” only picks up stations near its location, and the car had wandered into WBOR’s corner of Maine. Listeners were loving it.

“I quickly pulled up our servers’ logs and on the graph, everything is spiked,” Daugherty said, adding that the station’s listeners had jumped 100 times the normal audience. He had to tweak the station’s servers, which had reached maximum capacity. “I‘m like, wow, this is kind of insane.”

In an era where online connection can often turn hostile, “Internet Roadtrip” is a throwback to an earlier, friendlier version of the web that features simple and soothing graphics, forces fun collaboration among strangers, and lacks the pesky pop-ups and banner advertisements that can clutter online games. And it’s brought WBOR, whose programming seldom reaches listeners outside of coastal Maine, an unlikely legion of new fans.

The station’s DJs joined the Discord online chat connected to the game to chat with users, take song requests, and make recommendations on where to travel next, earning the station the adoration of the game’s players. Many sport display names such as “wbor is love” or “WBOR convert.”

“It’s nice to feel validated by thousands of strangers that what we’re doing is not in vain or pointless, and that it does still hold pretty deep relevance — especially in the context of streaming and competing mediums,” Daugherty said.

The game moved out of range of WBOR on Thursday morning, but its legacy has lived on in the Discord chats.

Neal Agarwal, who created “Internet Roadtrip” on his site Neal.Fun, has built other breakout games including “Infinite Craft,” which challenges users to generate new items by dragging and dropping other items onto each other (water and fire make steam, for example).

He said he was inspired to build “Internet Roadtrip” by online group gaming experiences such as a Twitch stream where users collectively played Pokémon.

“I grew up in the era of flash games on the internet, and that era of weirdness and possibility is something I definitely want to capture on my site,” Agarwal said. “I think the web is an amazing creative medium that isn’t being used to its full potential.”

In “Internet Roadtrip,”players can vote every few seconds on what the car does next: drive forward, make a turn (when available), honk, or change the radio station. Results are tallied live in a window at the top right corner of the screen. There’s also a live map and windows designed like green and white street signs showing the current town and thoroughfare of the imaginarycar.

The game started on Boston’s Tremont Street, next to the Common, on May 6. Agarwal is based in New York and said he doesn’t have any connection to Boston, but wanted to begin in a coastal city. He figured that would give users the option of going on a cross-country trip, and he wanted a city for players to get the feel for the game before venturing to rural areas.

The game moved south, crossing through Rhode Island, and then drove north again, eventually hitting Interstate 495 in Hopkinton and finding its way to New Hampshire and then Maine.

Many players wanted to go Canada, while others have aired preferences for excursions to sites such as Stephen King’s house. Fights over the direction of the car can be seen in the wild turns and circuitous side trips that the car took to Mount Desert Island and Bangor.

When in Bar Harbor, users drove the digital car into the ocean, taking advantage of a Google Street View glitch. Daugherty threw on Ween’s “Ocean Man” to commemorate the splash.

Players even steered the car to WBOR’s station in Brunswick, creating what Bowdoin senior and WBOR DJ Janet Briggs said on-air was a very “meta” moment. She was worried that her show’s theme of playing the 1,001 albums to listen to before you die wouldn’t resonate with listeners.

“I’m about to play like a Jacques Brel, like, literally a French jazz album that none of these people are going to want to listen to, while they’re trying to get me to play Minecraft music,” Briggs said. “It actually ended up being kind of funny. It was a live jazz album that had a bunch of clapping and weird crescendos. It’s very theatrical.”

Users showed their appreciation, and excitement about the moment, by several rounds of honking. Then she started taking song requests.

“I ‘Rickrolled’ them at the beginning, because obviously,” Briggs said. (She played Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” to bring the famed internet prank to the players’ simulated car stereo.) “As a captive audience, it’s the only option.”

do you guys know about the internet roadtrip? right now somewhere between 500 and 900 people are collectively 'driving' a car on google street view trying to make it to canada. it's fun i recommend it

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Comfort for the Soul

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts*!Reader [REUPLOAD]

This is the reupload as I made the mistake of publishing it the first time round and it not being even finished, lol! Attempt no.2!

A/N: Look babe, new comfort character just dropped! I've been loving these fics for Bob and wanted to add something myself! Not much to add apart from reader has no descriptions of what they look like but is afab.

I will be uploading a second part to this, so be sure to be on the look out! It'll also go uploaded onto my A03!

Summary: When you realise your supply of blood bags has run dry, Bob is more than willing to become your temporary blood bag.

Tags: blood, swearing, blood drinking, reader is part vampire (think Blade - daywalker), Bob is very touch starved, fluff.

Wordcount: 4,243

E/C = eye colour

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

You stare down at the message your phone had lit up with, a simple message from your boss, Valentina.

If there was one thing you asked for from Valentina, it was to have the necessities: a roof over your head and some decent safety. It's not just that, it's that she's able to bring months on end supplies of blood bags, it's her buying a fridge just for the blood, buying the best quality cuts of steaks for you to eat rare or blue. She even got you herbal teas to help nurture your hunger temporarily.

In return, you provide your skills, your skills as a fighter, an assassin.

Looking over the message, your blood felt as if it was beginning to boil, nearly crushing your phone from the lack of explanation:

Y/N. The board is questioning the lack of blood bags. I can guarantee more to come in three day's time once we've figured things out. - V

"Just my fucking luck." You grunt, looking at your calendar on your phone; three days is simply too long to go without blood.

You're mad at yourself for overindulging in your supply. You had always been careful, counting what you needed daily, but you had decided to splurge out the night before, consuming two extra bags because your stomach wasn't satisfied.

A few days, she promised, though you doubted she was in any rush to fulfil that.

You check the clock, realising it's getting late, your accomplices/dorm-mates are up and you can hear that they're all in the kitchen grabbing breakfast.

Groaning, you grab a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the sunlight. You can only thank those who experimented on you for giving you the gift of walking in the sun rather than burning.

You walk out, and immediately your senses are overwhelmed by the strong smells you could normally ignore. You can sense many heartbeats, and their scents differ from one another. Your ears seem to ring when you hear laughter, and your vision is hazy despite the shades to help.

Crossing the threshold from your dorms to the kitchen, you find out you’re the last person to be up.

"Ah, look who finally decided to rise from the dead." Walker is the first to 'greet' you, the triumphant look present on his face, revelling in taking you down a bit.

The smell of grease hits your nostrils before you can answer back, the strength of the coffee pot mixes to create a wavering nauseous stench, but you try to ignore both smell and words jabbed your way.

Walker doesn't seem to relent in his words, looking around the group to see if anyone else is laughing with him. Alexei is flipping bacon with his sous chef Bucky. Yelena is blitzing fruit up into some green concoction with the help of Bob chopping, and Ava is sipping her coffee, watching silently with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"I mean," he continues, "has anyone actually looked in her room to see if she sleeps in a coffin?"

No one answers, but you can hear their snickering; there are eyes on you, waiting to see how you'd quip back.

"Maybe you'd like to sleep in one, Walker, it would really help with your attitude." you jab back, not as fierce as you'd wish, slowly moving round the table sluggishly, sitting yourself on the kitchen island table, opposite Yelena and Bob.

Yelena waves at you with the lid of the blender, "You look like shit, my friend."

"Yeah, I feel like shit." You mutter, looking over your surroundings, debating if you should grab a cup of coffee to help your nausea.

Bob is the only one who is silent, taking in both sides, listening intently, but his soft eyes do not leave you. There is visible concern in the way he looks at you.

"Hi," he awkwardly waves with the knife still in hand, putting it down. He looks as if he wants to say something about how you're doing, stopping from opening his mouth as he changes the subject, "Want a coffee?"

"That would be lovely, Bob. Thank you." You find yourself smiling easily when you're with or near Bob, eyeing him as he stands to go over to grab your favourite mug.

Yelena doesn't say anything, but she watches, a thoughtful raise in the brow, her eyes moving through between you and Bob. She knows something, she's thinking, but she's quiet and that is the scariest thing of all; not knowing what Yelena Belova was thinking.

The smell of black coffee brings your attention back, looking up at Bob as he hands you over your mug, a secret Santa mug you found out was from Ava saying 'Will this fucking day ever end?'

"Just freshly brewed." He smiles sweetly, your hands grazing over his accidentally as the mug is passed over, earning a collected mocking "Awww" to fill the room.

"It's so gross, I'm gonna puke." Ava fakes retches. Walker mimics kissing faces at you, but not in front of Bob. You're glad the large shades are hiding most of your face, or else the remaining warmth had made its way there.

It is only Alexei who seems to be 'supportive' of this. "Ah, young love! How it warms my heart."

"Yeah, if you had a heart to begin with," jabs Walker.

Bucky, who has been quiet in the room this entire time, looks over to John with a single look, but it doesn't stop the ex-Captain America.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say, John?" You chime in, lowering your glasses to stare directly at him. It's obvious that they have changed from their usual E/C to become a glowing red hue.

"Just surprised you haven't taken a straw to any of our necks whilst we're sleeping yet," he adds nonchalantly.

"Trust me, John. I wouldn't go anywhere near your blood- it reeks of 'I peaked in high school.'"

The snorts of laughter make you feel better, even Bob is laughing quietly to himself.

"Enough." Bucky starts before a fight can start in the kitchen area. The last one didn't go down so well. "I'm meeting with Valentina shortly. I can assume you can all get along without killing one another?"

"Yeah, sure, dad." Ava chimes in, and you nearly snort your coffee all over the place.

"Ha ha." Bucky rolls his eyes, strolling out as the remainder of you continue to eat breakfast, chatting about recent missions or new ones on the horizon. There's even talk of Bob going to his first one, but he is still reluctant in bringing forth the Sentry.

"If the day ever comes, Bob, you can always ask for me to be there." You say to him. This seems to brighten something within him, a hopeful look that burns brighter than any sun. "Really?" His face is one of relief and you can only wish you could bottle that look up forever.

Breakfast ends, and you ask to wash up, since you didn't need to eat, but no one made any argument against it.

Washing the dishes and putting them to dry, you're in your own little world, when you sense a fluttering heartbeat, a presence behind you-

"S-Sorry!" You don't know who jumps first, the loudness in Bob's presence or for you to nearly drop the plate in your hands.

"It's all good," you wave it off, turning to face him properly. "What's up?"

"The sunglasses-are y-you okay?"

"Oh, these?" You flip them off, revealing your more than normal eyes to him. "No, but I can assure you I'm not hungover." You laugh at your own joke pathetically, but Bob still wears a small smile, one that is still concerned for you.

"Yelena told me- you sometimes run out of... blood." He doesn't know where he's going with his words, and something shudders deep down in your chest. How Yelena knew and told Bob you don't know.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just a bit of crankiness-which doesn't help if I get pissed off by Walker."

"I mean," he continues nervously, "you... ran out? She told me about o-one time when it happened."

"Oh." You recall it, the hunger was a gnawing pit, constantly never satiated, even when it was filled, but that time... that had been pure torture.

You had personally confined yourself to isolation until that next blood supply arrived, nearly consuming half of the supply in one go.

You sense the spike in Bob's heartbeat, he's nervous about something, you can see a single trail of sweat on his forehead, focusing in on the vein in his neck that moves when he's tense.

You're hypervigilant on the small parts of his nervous system that you almost don't hear his next words: "Maybe... I can be of h-help? With the blood I mean-"

"No." You answer curtly, and the word stops him that he looks at you like a kicked puppy. "O-Oh," he answers back sheepishly, his fingers going to the hem of his frayed sweatshirt, "did I do... something wrong?"

Your stance softened, realising what you've done, how harsh you said. Way to go, Y/N. Scaring him off. You hesitantly step forward to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. You feel him visibly tense, not from your touch, but in worry you'll both be brought back to a old memory of yours. It does not happen thankfully.

"I'm sorry, I don't want you to hurt yourself, Bob. This stuff can be really dangerous- what if I were to lose control? Hurt you?" You whisper the last part, your heart clenched in fear. "I would never forgive myself, Bob."

"I trust you." he answers earnestly. It's the same way all these times you've spoken to him when he doubted himself. How you helped bring some clarity and reason to him, to make him feel safe, that he was a trusted member of the team.

No wonder you developed such a crush for him so quickly.

"Bob-"

"I trust you- you've done so much for me... why can't I help you for once?" You're thankful you're the only two in the kitchen now, for the gladdening look he has, the rosy tint to his cheeks... the glint in his pretty blue eyes, it's all too much.

You sigh, maybe in defeat, maybe from nerves, but your stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of having a meal. "Fine. Tonight, meet me here when everyone else goes to sleep. Drink lots of fluids."

"Of course," he's grinning and he’s so proud of himself and it's taking a lot in you not to kiss him all over his pretty face. "I'll be very prepared."

You however, don't.

It's gone midnight when people slowly begin to filter back to their rooms, another 30 minutes before Bob finally emerges from his room.

As quiet as possible, he contemplates knocking on your door, deciding against it to not rouse noise or suspicion.

Tiptoeing carefully barefoot across the cold floors, the darkness warps shadows across his vision, and he fears for a moment if the Void is one of them, waiting to grab him and swallow him whole.

He ignores that worry, placing it in the back of his head, as he continues towards the kitchens, listening out to any noises as he keeps the lights off for now.

It's only when he hears it: the soft rustling of pots and pans, a fridge being opened. He rounds the corner slowly, thinking it to be Alexei or Walker grabbing a drink when he's greeted with them.

Glowing eyes, watching.

'Tapetum lucidum': You had described the term to him when he accidentally caught you in the middle of the night, nursing a herbal tea to quell your stomach.

The lights were off completely like they were now, leaving poor Bob to almost drop his cup when golden-white luminated eyes jolted up to stare right back at him.

He was surprised he didn't wake the entirety of New York with his scream.

Now, they didn't as much scare him but fascinate him. There were many things that fascinated him, and sometimes he found himself staring for a bit too long at your eyes, the elongated teeth that glinted when you spoke, the way he thought you stared him down like he was prey-

"Hey," the figure whispered, and a small light from the kitchen illuminated you. Gone were the golden-white eyes, replaced by the lovely E/C ones Bob was so used to. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Me too." Bob smiled, looking around to see some items already gathered; some tissue paper, band-aids of all sizes. Bob picks up a certain item, its content jiggling it its small carton.

"Apple juice?"

"Helps to not make you faint, helps with blood sugar." You counter, gesturing for him to sit as you move around him. There is a nervousness to you that he rarely sees in you. It's frantic, not as controlled as it usually is when you're not starved out your mind.

"You sure you want to do this?" You ask as you stand next to him. Even sitting on a stool, Bob comes pretty much eye level to you, and maybe even smaller due to him slouching.

"I want to help." He says again with a certain smile, and that smile is enough to ground you, to let you know you're trusted.

"Stop me at any point when it gets all too much, and I mean it." You sigh, looking him up at down as if you're sizing him up. "Now, take your shirt off."

Bob is certain his face has erupted into a million shades of red, but thanks to the dimness of the room, it's not as noticeable. He averts his eyes from you shyly at your frankness.

"I can't believe you just said that s-so casually." He says, but obliges, lifting his shirt slowly.

It takes all in you not to ogle: the man is ripped in a way you cannot describe. You force yourself to look away, but your mouth goes dry when you see the sudden happy trail going down towards his trousers that he hides when his shirt is off.

Now, shirtless and carved like a Greek statue, Bob awaits.

You shuffle closer to him until his scent hits you, nerves but mixed with his everyday smell, a hint of mint in his shampoo, the laundry detergent from his clothing.

Your mouth waters, eyes brighten in the darkness of the room, fangs grow as you eye the side of his neck. "Promise me you'll tell me to stop?"

"I promise." He answers, but he's so enraptured by the sight of you, your fangs, the way your eyes glow hauntingly. He's scared he will be too occupied in looking at you to even notice.

You enter his space even more, situating yourself between his parted legs, your fingers grace over his skin carefully. Like a sculptor, Bob is carved like a God only a creator would be proud or, but you are also a lover of art.

Bob visibly shivers, his body tenses and untenses, but his blue eyes do not leave you. "So... how are you going to do it?"

"I'm going to bite you." You say matter-of-factly. Bob snorts lightly, his brown locks hide his eyes as he shyly looks back at you. "As simple as that." He takes a small breath in, tilting his neck more to the side, giving his permission.

You lean over him, and that is when his heartbeat is the loudest, the strongest. It rings like a bell in your ears, overcoming you from the sound of it. It is all you can hear, not the humming of the lights, nor the sound of the city outside, just him and only him.

Your hands find him gently, your face leaning over him, closer and closer to him, sniffing him lightly and unintentionally- his scent drives you wild.

Bob is as stiff as a statue himself, waiting for the long-awaited pain, and when your mouth finally comes into contact with his skin, he thinks it's not so bad, the curvature of your lips is so soft on him.

That's when your fangs sink in.

"O-Oh-holy shit." He grips the counter with an urgency from the sharpness of the pain, followed by the sound of heavy slurping. Bob is now suddenly aware that this is all that he wanted, but the suddenness of it, the sounds that are coming from him, are all very intense.

And you... The noises that come from you the moment you sink your fangs into his shoulder are like music to Bob's ears. You groan from the delight; blood fills your mouth as you greedily try to swallow as much of it as possible.

You don't feel close enough, and Bob almost yelps when he feels one hand move to hold him closer, the other moving to run through his hair.

He shudders at the light tug in his hair, turning his head further the other way, a moan of delight makes him shudder against you.

He's never felt this open with anyone before, and having you so close against him, his head swims with further hurried thoughts.

His hands don't know what to do, hanging awkwardly and playing with the string of his sweatpants, twitching to touch something-anything-to occupy his thoughts as he grows closer and closer to losing his mind. It's when he realises, he needs you- you're not close enough, he needs to feel you practically against him to feel whole.

How will he tell that to you: to ask so sweetly that he's begging. He feels himself growing warmer, beads of sweat trace down his back. His eyes are blinking back the bright lights of the kitchen.

Despite your mouth being attached to his neck, you notice his fidgety hands, drawing back lightly to murmur against the wet flesh of him, "You can touch me."

He doesn't need to be told twice, his arms wrap round your waist, pulling you closer than you thought could be possible, a shudder escaping his trembling lips. A wave of relief washes over him, how has he never before had you this close?

His eyes are squeezed so tightly, clinging to any part of you for that will give him comfort. It's not even the pain of your fangs in his flesh that hurts him anymore-rather, it's become a dull ache, but the need to have you as flush to you as possible.

"Ah- shit, Y/N." It's the first sign that he's getting overwhelmed, and astonishingly, you detach yourself from him. As quick as you're gone, Bob already misses the feel of your mouth on his skin.

You don't take much from him for his first, pulling back to look over him. His skin is flushed, his brown hair is clinging to the back of his neck as if he has a fever. It doesn't help that his body has slumped lightly, holding you as close to him until his head is pressed to your chest.

Despite this closeness, he sways lightly with you in his arms, and in a panic, you're quick with the apple juice carton, pressing the paper straw to sit on his bottom lip.

"Here, drink up. Don't want you passing out on me." You say sheepishly.

Groggily, his eyes open, staring up at you, adjusting to the dimness of the kitchen. Your eyes glow lightly when the shadows dance across them, otherwise, they are E/C; bright and bold and beautiful as anything.

It's not just your eyes that render him speechless, but the blood - his blood- smeared messily over the bottom part of your face. Your lips gleam with the redness as if you're wearing lipstick, with some having already beginning to dry over your cheeks and collecting at the tip of your chin.

You feel nervous with his eyes on you, wiping the blood away in a terrible attempt with the back of your hand.

To him, you're are a sight to behold.

Gingerly, he searches for the straw with his mouth, gulping deeply until his tongue is coated with the sickly-sweet substance of apple juice. Too sweet that it tasted artificial, he pulls back, his fingers dancing lightly over your hips, a light hum drawn from him.

"Are you okay, Bob?" He hears you ask him softly, sweetly, does he think you're some angel, and he's truly experiencing heaven. He feels everywhere and nowhere, sitting in a space that is so silent and peaceful.

He nods groggily, his eyes drift as if he's sleepy and it's caught up with him, his head leans forward until his forehead is pressed the night shirt.

"Mhm," it's the only thing he can say in this very moment; his skin is dull with where your fangs have pierced him, but he feels the most alive from it. "Do I- uh- how do I taste?"

It comes out clunky on his tongue, he internally curses himself for not wording that a bit better, but you smile at him to help with his nerves, teeth white against the red and he's gulping nervously.

"Call it corny," you haven't pulled back from him, he's noticed, in fact, you feel warmer now, a normal body temperature, "but you taste sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yeah, very nice." He blinks and he misses it, that you've already cleaning him and yourself up. There's band-aids already on him before his brain catches up with him.

His shoulder feels stiff, but there is an element of thrill that he feels seeping into his veins. He thinks its endorphins, the happy kind that have brought him to feel so content with you being so close to him.

Bob stares at you dazed, as if he's witnessing some phenomena. There seems to be some rejuvenation that has flooded back into you, energy that you have when you drink from your blood bags. He feels a sense of pride that he managed to make you look healthy once more, rather than that sickly-feverish state.

He's starting to stare directly at the dribble of blood down your chin you've missed, and without thought, swipes it gently with a shaking hand.

It catches you off-guard for a second, and you observe him look at the smear on his finger. You can see the cogs turning in his brain, debating whether to take a lick, but he stops himself when he remembers who he's with, wiping it off onto his pant leg.

"That was... pretty nice." He breathes into your space, trying to take as much of you into him. He realised quickly he still has you wrapped in his arms, but you're not making an move away from him.

"Are you going to be able to make it back to your bed?" You ask kindly, tentatively stroking a piece of hair out of his eye. Bob thinks he's happy like this if he fell asleep like this, but he dejectedly nods. "I'll be okay."

It takes a bit to pry himself off you, to allow you to move around him and tidy, glancing back to him occasionally to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep at the kitchen counter. Bob has a giddiness to him now, this unspoken feeling that only you two have shared, and he wishes desperately for more.

He groans when he feels you soft fingers touching him back to consciousness. He's unsure when he fell into it and when he came back round, but as he stands himself up, the words come tumbling out from his dry mouth.

"S-Same thing again?"

"Oh, I don't know if that's right," you say, watching the light that is present in his eyes dies a little. He seems to be a bit down that he's been turned down; it's often that the two of you share time together, reading and sharing book recommendations, but this... this was a far more intimate albeit brief moment he doesn't think he'll ever have again with you.

It's you who brings him back, reaching out first, touching him, a care you have in your eyes that he feels so much that he thinks you're some otherworldly beauty.

"If we did do this again... we'd have to be discreet..." The thought of being caught is both a thrilling yet nightmarish concept; imagining anyone seeing you feeding off your crush. What ideas would they have in their head?

"I-I can be discreet." He's nodding, and the image of an energetic puppy fills your mind. You smile at that, and you nod yourself. "Okay, I just-don't want to overwhelm you. It's quite a lot, I get it."

Bob wants to interject, to tell you that it's the most exhilarated he's felt in some time, ever since he got the serum, but he stops himself, reassures you by hugging you tightly. He's gotten a taste of you being close, skin on skin, and now, he's addicted to it, yearns for more.

"I'll do a-anything to make you happy." He whispers, and your heart clenches at his words. He's too good and pure and lovely for you to need to tell yourself that he would never like you in the same way you do for him.

"Thank you, Bob." You whisper back, a temporary promise to be sealed.

[f1girliefics]

Learning Curve

Kimi Antonelli x Reader

Summary: You were hired to manage his image, not fall for him.

It was your second day as the new PR assistant for Mercedes, and you already felt like you were drowning in emails, social media alerts, and sponsor updates.

But the real challenge hadn’t even started yet.

Your first task?

Help Kimi Antonelli ease into the media spotlight.

They warned you he was quiet. Reserved. Intense.

What they didn’t tell you was that he had the kind of eyes that held a thousand thoughts but gave away nothing.

And when you first met him in the corner of the hospitality suite, tucked between a sleek espresso machine and his unopened media guide, he looked more like a student in detention than a future F1 star.

“You’re the new PR person?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, curious but guarded.

“That’s me,” you smiled, clutching your iPad a little tighter. “And you’re my new challenge, apparently.”

He raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t say anything. Just took a sip of water, and nodded toward the paddock entrance.

“Let’s get it over with.”

The first few weeks were a blur of interviews, sponsor shoots, fan meet-and-greets, and endless attempts to get Kimi to say more than five words on camera.

He wasn’t rude, not at all. Just careful. Thoughtful. Private.

But there were moments when you saw the person underneath the calm, media-trained surface.

Like the time he held the door open for an elderly cameraman carrying a tripod, waited until he was well through, and even helped him down the stairs.

No cameras, no one around. Just Kimi being kind.

Or the time you caught him reading through a fan letter someone had dropped at the media centre. It was a child’s drawing of his karting days, misspelt words and all. He stared at it for minutes, like it meant the world.

“Do you keep those?” you asked gently.

He folded it carefully and slid it into his bag. “Only the good ones.”

—

It became a quiet ritual between you.

After every media day, you’d sit side by side in the team trailer, debriefing with a cup of tea or whatever weird energy drink he was testing that week.

“I said too much, didn’t I?” he’d ask after a particularly chatty interview.

“You said two full sentences,” you teased. “I'm proud of you.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

You didn’t know when it started feeling like more.

Maybe it was the time he started checking your schedule to see if you’d be free for lunch.

Or when he started saving you a seat beside him during meetings. Or when he noticed your cough during a back-to-back triple-header weekend and quietly left a lemon and ginger tea in your cubby the next morning.

But you really knew when he called you at half past ten, the night before his home race in Monza.

“You okay?” you asked, already worried.

There was a long pause.

“I know you’re supposed to help me handle pressure,” he said quietly. “But sometimes... I think you’re the only reason I’m handling any of this at all.”

Your breath caught.

“Kimi...”

“I don’t know if this is allowed. Or if it’s a terrible idea. But I like you. Not just as my PR lifeline." He laughed softly, nervous for the first time. “I just thought you should know.”

The team found out a month later when Toto caught Kimi stealing a kiss behind the garage after qualifying P3 in Japan.

“Be smart,” he said to both of you, but there was no stern warning, just a faint smile.

The gossip lasted all of two days before another race scandal buried it, but your life didn’t go back to normal.

Now Kimi reached for your hand under the table during press dinners. Now he texted you song lyrics when he missed you on travel days. Now he gave you his hoodie during long media shoots even though it messed with his ‘brand aesthetic’.

He was still quiet, still fiercely focused but now he let you in.

Let you see the nerves before a race, the joy after a win, the frustration after a DNF.

And you? You stopped hiding behind your clipboard.

You learned that sometimes, the best stories weren’t on the track. They were in the small moments. The almosts, the glances, the late-night calls that turned into early-morning laughs.

The day he won his first podium, you stood just off-stage, trying not to cry while cameras flashed around him. Kimi found you in the crowd anyway.

He ignored the media scrum completely, walking straight to you, helmet under his arm, champagne still dripping from his suit.

“Still proud of me?” he asked, voice low.

You reached up and cupped his cheek.

“More than ever.”

And this time, it was you who kissed him first.

[escapaldi]

Yeah, the thing that I think a lot of people tend to forget about parenting is that there's a role for people that's not reliant on biological or adoptive family roles that's a lot more transient that fits Law and Cora's relationship extremely well: foster family.

I'm not here to extol the virtues or condemn the flaws of foster parenting systems, but as someone who grew up seeing the good, the bad, and the everything in between, I look at the Law-Cora relationship and very clearly see that relationship, which honestly looks different depending on the people in it. Fostering (at least where I'm from) is only meant to be temporary--anything from a weekend to a few months--but sometimes it turns out longer stays than that. It's meant for kids to have a stable place while their normal adults are working their shit out. Sometimes a foster family turns into an adoptive family, but other times they're just another group in a long chain of situations. It can be the closest thing to a family one has ever had, or just people who you later exchange cards with. Anything from "Mom" or "Dad" to "Ms" or "Mr" to just using given names like weird siblings--it's different for everyone.

Law's biological family was wiped out. He had no one. Then Doflamingo comes along and does the sinister version of adoption. This terminally-ill tween goes from one horror story to another. Say what you will, but Doflamingo was not in the correct headspace to raise children. Look at what he ultimately did to Baby 5 and Dellinger. But Law... Cora learned something crucial about him and decided that he needed to get into a better place, ASAP. He took emergency responsibility and carted his ass all over trying to get him help so that he could one day be stable, because as also ill-prepared to handle the upkeep of a child as Cora was, he had the love and compassion that his brother lacked, which is frankly the key here.

Are there other foster parents in One Piece who do things very different? Yes--I can go on a whole fucking rant about how Dadan was a piece of shit if I wanted to--but that's not the point here.

I do imagine that, should there be a Coco-style afterlife in One Piece, if there is no one waiting to greet Law when he arrives, he'll go searching for his family before all others. His parents, his sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins; he'll find the Flevench Trafalgars and they'll be delighted that he's hopefully come back to them old and gray and with a lifetime of stories to tell, of medical advancements, and the proof that he honored them by continuing their practice of medicine. That he took the hands he wanted to use to murder and used them to heal instead, because that's what we're watching Law try to do in canon. He becomes better than the soldiers who razed their home, which is the ultimate revenge.

...but then, on the edge of the crowd of his relatives, he catches sight of blond hair in a red hat and he realizes who it is, and his father urges him to go, and his mother says it's alright because they've already talked, and Law--who left the living as a great-grandfather and stoic patriarch--meets this man who died the same age as a grandkid was at his funeral and fucking loses it, because although he was far from perfect--Nika above he wasn't perfect by a long-shot--he was the first adult who cared anything close to what his parents did... was the one who took care of him until he reached his adopted family (in this case, his brothers Penguin-Shachi-Bepo), and was the one who made sure he lived. Countless people were helped with Law's medical knowledge as he honored his biological parents, but he only lived long enough to do so because of Cora... because both parenting situations were important, even though their relationships were really different.

Do I think that in a canon sense Cora would have tried to adopt Law had he lived long enough? Yeah. Do I think that it would have changed Law's trajectory much, pulling him away from honoring his parents and Flevance and keeping their medical traditions alive? Not at all. It's honestly a given that Law loves and honors his parents, given his chosen profession; what's interesting is that he also honors the one who only had him for six months, because they were just as impactful on him, just in a different way.

I am also sorry about the rant but I have feelings about this.

Poor Law thinks he's hallucinating about his dead father 😭

I already said this over on Blueskye but-

I personally don't really see Cora as a parental figure/dad, if only cuz OP is usually rather overt about those sorts of relationships (Zeff, Bellmere, Whitebeard, etc).

I like them being this weird, nebulous sort of deal that isn't defined by nuclear family roles. Law never refers to him as a father figure or even an older brother. He's just Cora-san.

Law HAD A DAD who was nurturing and loving and patient and taught him a lot of stuff, and Cora is very, VERY different from that, (and also not old enough to be Law's dad either-)

In the end, I just don't like people always needing to put "found family" into hardcut nuclear family roles. Human connection is more complex than that.

He's just Cora-san :y

[quintessenceofdust88]

Congratulations on 500!!! 🎉💗 I’d love some bucktommy with pregnant Buck and prompt 6 ✨

Thank youuu Lory 🎉💗🎉💗 Here you go, prompt 6 with pregnant Buck! I decided to go a little rom-com with it and I hope you like it! It's post 8x18 and canon verse! Prompt 6: “Of course I’m pregnant! Can’t you see that?” “Well, I didn’t want to assume and be rude.

Thing is, Buck wasn't even supposed to be on the field. He's almost six months pregnant, and more often than not has been relegated to desk duty for the past few weeks.

But Ravi sprained his ankle on their last call and has been sent home early, and they get a call for a big car pile-up before Chim can even think about calling someone to replace him. He looks as if he wants to protest when Buck makes his way towards the truck, but then he sighs, realizing they don't have much of a choice.

"No shenanigans, Buckley, you hear me?", Chim says sternly. "You better keep my niece safe"

"Copy that, Cap", Buck says, and he means it; he doesn't plan to put his baby girl in danger. "I'll be fine, Chim"

Turns out. Buck is not as fine as he thought he would be. A few weeks of desk duty has left him slightly out of practice, and carrying fifteen extra pounds definitely doesn't help. He tries to push through at first, but he's sweating, and his legs are trembling, and his daughter is fiercely kicking him in protest.

"Buck, go and sit down before we have to take care of you instead of the patients", Hen says, not unkindly, but firmly, and Chim nods while ordering Eddie to take over search and rescue.

Buck doesn't protest as he normally would; he really could use a moment to sit. He finds a bench by the sidewalk and heavily sits on it, a small sigh escaping his lips as he rests a hand on his bump. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to will his hearbeat to slow down, and that's why he only knows someone approached him when he hears the last voice he expected to.

"Evan?!"

With a jolt, Buck opens his eyes only to find Tommy standing over him. He's wearing his flight suit, looking sinfully good, and right now staring at Buck with widened blue eyes.

"What are you -" Tommy starts, and then he looks down, noticing the very prominent bump Buck is showing.

Buck can practically see Tommy's brain running the math, and he tries his best not to flinch. He... he meant to tell Tommy, he truly did. But then there was the laboratory lockdown, and Bobby died, and things kept happening, and then it was too late, and he didn't know how to anymore.

"Evan, um." Tommy says awkwardly, rubbing his neck, and looking from the bump to Buck's face. "Are you pre- um. Are you...?"

Buck knows it's probably a shock to Tommy, and he could be kinder about it. He could, but there are hormones running through his system, and now he's nervous about Tommy finding out, and before he knows it he's rolling his eyes at him.

"Of course I'm pregnant! Can't you see that?" Buck says, pointing to the bump straining against his LAFD shirt.

"Well, I didn't want to assume and be rude!", Tommy says defensively, and then gives Buck that trademark bitchy look. "We... we haven't talked in weeks and... You never said anything. You never told me"

"Well, who says it's yours?" Buck retorts, and he meant it mostly as a joke; after all, he's never slept with another man besides Tommy.

But Tommy's face falls instantly, and Buck can see those wretched emotional walls coming up as he crosses his arms around his chest.

"I'm kidding!", he rushes to correct himself, hurriedly getting up and placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder before he can go away. "Of course it's yours, Tommy, I... whoa."

Buck shouldn't have gotten up so fast; he feels the world spin around him and his knees buckle. The only reason he doesn't fall is because Tommy has wrapped two strong arms around him.

"Hey, you okay? I've got you" Tommy says, impossibly tender, and Buck nods tentatively.

"Yeah, just... She doesn't like sudden movements" He mutters, and Tommy looks as if the sun itself has taken home on his smile.

"She? It's a girl?" Tommy asks, his voice filled with wonder and delight, and Buck definitely regrets every time he thought about telling him and didn't go through with it, too afraid Tommy would reject him and their baby.

"Y-yeah. Still haven't named her. Didn't... Didn't feel right to do it alone" Buck admits, and it's so very true. Every time he tried to think of names, the first thought in his mind was what Tommy would think of them.

"Well, I... I'd love to help you with that" Tommy says, and he looks so vulnerable, so eager, that Buck feels like he's falling in love with him all over again.

Before he can stop himself, he presses a gentle kiss to Tommy's lips, their daughter a steady and warm presence between the two of them.

"I want you to help me" Buck reassures him softly, and Tommy gives him that scrunchy smile that makes Buck's heart skip a beat.

Tommy's very inconvenient captain chooses that moment to call him over the radio, and his regret is clear all over his face when he squeezes Buck's hand.

"I gotta go. Text me?" He asks, and Buck nods.

"I promise", he says, and he means it.

"Take care. Of you both", Tommy says, pressing a kiss to Buck's forehead and a gentle hand to his bump before rushing away.

Buck stands there, smiling, all tiredness forgotten and replaced by a happiness he hasn't felt ever since losing Bobby.

He wonders what Tommy's doing Saturday, and if he'll like Buck's baked Alaska.

[possessionisamyth]

for ppl who havent read the DMC4 novelization

Nero didn't get his demon arm until about 1-2 months before Dante showed up. It wasn't something he was born with. He had a normal human arm for his whole life up until then.

The incident that caused the transformation was him being badly clawed while he fought off a demon attack to protect Kyrie and a few orphans she'd taken out for a nature walk. He was learning how to use all his arm's abilities for the first time during the entire game of DMC4.

He then has his demon arm for the 5 year interim between DMC4 and DMC5.

[annlyticalarchive]

CHAPTER FOUR: The Pod

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue | Chapter Three| Chapter Four (Here) | Chapter Five

w/c: 3.1k

c/w: She/Her pronouns and the feminine Kryptonian naming convention used for the reader

a/n: so, revealing more about Y/N or Kent, I have written her to simply be a female version of Clark. Thus the weird version of Clark’s name. I normally wouldn’t change it, but I want to stick by the naming convention as more characters will be introduced using that.

“I’m thinking about going back to the country,” you said suddenly, placing your chopsticks down.

To say Mark froze would be an understatement. He flinched, barely perceptible if you were anyone else, but unmistakable for you, and went completely rigid. For a second, you weren’t even sure he was breathing.

“You’re moving back to the country?” he asked quietly, the hesitance in his voice making you feel instantly guilty for even bringing it up.

“Moving? No—no, that’s not…” you stammered, shaking your head, hunching your shoulders. “I’ve just… maybe I’ve been homesick? I don’t know—”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, accidentally tugging at it. “I’ve kinda been wanting to look into it. Into… into who I am.”

“You’re you,” Mark said immediately. The words came out too fast, too certain. His frown deepened, somewhere between a pout and genuine concern, as he tilted his head. Like you’d just tried to convince him the sky wasn’t blue and he was struggling to comprehend it.

“Well, yeah, but lately I’ve just felt this pull. Like I need to understand it all. Where I came from. What I am.”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, the old familiar guilt creeping in for laying this on him out of nowhere. But then he nodded.

“I get it.”

You blinked, surprised.

“I mean,” he continued, glancing down at his cup, fingers tapping once against the ceramic, “I think about that kind of stuff too. More than I let on.”

That caught your attention. Mark rarely cracked open that door. You leaned forward slightly, curious.

“Do you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Guess I know a thing or two about feeling… not normal.”

There was a pause. A quiet moment that buzzed with meaning. You both sat with it, with the unsaid truths you weren’t quite ready to voice.

“You don’t have to figure it all out,” he added. “But if going home helps? Then do it. Just don’t stay there, okay? I’ll miss my favorite reporter.”

You smiled, this one small but real. “I won’t. Hey, if it makes you feel better, I’ll give you updates. Tell you all about the baby cows.”

“Those fluffy ones?” He asked

“I think I remember our neighbor having one or two Highlands for shows,” You laughed softly.

Mark responded almost immediately after. “Deal.”

You clinked your glass lightly against his in a silent toast with a laugh.

He walked you back to the Daily Planet, and that’s where you parted ways with a hug and a quiet promise to text when you got home.

The rest of the day passed far more smoothly than the morning. No creepy visitors. No friends dragging you off to investigate something dangerous. Just painful, wonderful monotony.

You called Dr. Kim on your way home, asking about your dad’s progress and whether he might be able to come back home for a few days. She replied warmly, telling you there were no more tests to run for now and that it’d be a few months before all the results came in. If he kept up with his exercises, she added, he wouldn’t even need to come in for physical therapy. At least not as regularly as he had been.

The news lit you up. A weight lifted from your chest, replaced by something lighter. And a small, persistent voice in the back of your mind whispered, Now you can finally go home.

But you shook the thought away as quickly as it came.

You liked it here, in the city, despite how different it was, how loud and fast everything seemed. You had a job you actually enjoyed, even if it was more intern-level grunt work than real reporting. You had friends, good ones. Real ones. You had Jimmy Olsen and all his hijinks but always somehow snapping the best candids. Lois Lane and all her stubborn, persistent, but admirable search for the truth as the best journalist you knew.

And you had Mark. Who could go quiet for days but come back like no time had passed at all. Who made lunches and walks feel like something more than just a break from work. Who was a constant. The kind of constant you didn’t realize how much you needed until it was gone.

Still, as you reached your apartment and unlocked the door, a strange stillness greeted you. The kind that didn’t quite feel like peace.

You slipped off your shoes, hooked your bag onto the hooks near the door, and stood there for a moment in the quiet.

Then your phone buzzed and you pulled out your phone. One new message.

Pa: Dr. Kim says I’m in the clear for a while. Might go crazy without all the poking and prodding. Hope your day wasn’t too insane. Proud of you.

Your chest tightened, but in a good way. The way that it always felt when your dad would say he’s proud.

You: Don’t go getting into trouble without me. I’ll have dinner set when you get home. Love you.

You kept thinking of your lunch with Mark as you made dinner, how even though he did seem upset at the idea of you going back home for a bit, he supported and told you to do what’ll make you feel better.

So, once dinner was ready and plated, and while you waited for Pa to come home, you pulled out your phone again.

You called Perry White first. He grumbled about the timing and asked if you were quitting, to which you quickly replied, “Absolutely not,” and explained it was just a few days to reset. He let out a heavy sigh, muttered something about “damn kids needing breaks,” and told you to keep your phone nearby in case something big broke while you were gone.

Then you texted Lois and Jimmy.

You: Heading back home for a bit. Just a few days.

Jimmy: SEND PHOTOS. I wanna see the cows. Or goats. Or whatever you've got out there.

Lois: Ughhh but who’s going to stop me from punching Cat Grant during meetings?

I better get my partner in crime back in one piece. And no skipping out on post-trip gossip. I expect the full debrief.

You: You will, promise. And don’t actually punch him. I will, promise. And don’t actually punch her.

Lois: I make no promises

You smiled and set the phone down just as you heard the front door open.

“Smells good in here,” Pa called as he stepped inside, setting his keys in the dish near the door. “That your cooking or did someone sneak in and leave us dinner?”

You snorted. “Rude. You know I’ve got skills.”

“Sure, sure.” He grinned as he came into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. “Need me to set the table?”

“I’ve got that,” you said, gesturing to the already-prepped plates. “But… I wanted to ask you something.”

He paused, picking up two glasses to fill with water. “Shoot.”

You hesitated for just a second, then said, “Would it be okay if we went back to Smallville? Just for a few days. Nothing long, but… I think I need it.”

Pa glanced at you. His expression didn’t shift much, but you knew him well enough to spot the emotion under the surface.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” you said, meaning it more than you expected to. “I just— I want to be home for a little while. Not just here, but home home.”

He nodded slowly, then gave you a half-smile. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been waiting,” he said, shrugging as he handed you a glass. “Figured it’d hit you eventually.”

You took the water, your fingers brushing his. “So… that’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes. We’ll head back in the morning.”

You sat down with him, the quiet hum of the city outside your windows fading into the background as the comfort of dinner and company filled the space instead.

Tomorrow, you’d go home.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of Mark’s day went significantly worse.

It had started out completely normal.

Breakfast with his mom and brother. His mom made scrambled eggs, toast, and cut up fruit like it was any other day. Oliver spilled orange juice all over the table accidentally as he was talking animatedly with his hands, and Mark helped wipe it up while his mom shook her head fondly.

After that, he spent the morning hanging out with William, who insisted it had been way too long since they’d hung out and managed to wrangle a morning off from classes. They grabbed coffee,as William was telling Mark about the newest episode of the show he’d been trying to get Mark to watch with him.

It was nice.

Comfortable.

And then it all shifted.

Mark had barely said goodbye before his fingers were already moving over his phone, typing without thinking, like muscle memory.

Texting her.

Their lunch went mostly how he expected it to. Teasing, sarcasm, and soft smiles tucked in between bites of dumplings. The place had been a gamble, he hadn’t even been there before, heard about it and just had looked at the menu out of curiosity, but she’d liked it. That had been enough.

But when she told him about the man, some government guy, pressing too hard, asking too many personal questions, something in him snapped.

He didn’t show it. Not much. But every part of him had gone on high alert.

He asked calmly. Quietly. But he knew what she was talking about.

GDA.

He didn’t know for sure who the agent was, but if he had to guess, it had to be someone under Cecil’s umbrella.

When she said the guy made her feel like she’d never get to be normal, Mark had to restrain himself and keep back the urge to crush his glass in his hand.

She deserves better than that.

He wanted to tell her everything. About the GDA. About himself. But the words caught in his throat, because how could he ask her, a normal citizen, to carry his secrets that he had trouble keeping?

So he told her what he could. That she deserved a life of her own. That anyone who thought otherwise could deal with him.

And when she laughed. A quiet, real, soft around the edges type of laugh. And he felt something in his chest ease. Even just for a moment.

After lunch, Mark changed into his workout clothes and flew over to the Guardians' HQ.

He technically had to be there, anyway. They still him on this training extreme regiment. Plus working out helped him think.

The workout room was empty, it normally was since he was the only one to really use the ginormous weight lifting machine, which also was a relief. He quickly scaled it up three times before he cooled off enough to simply count the reps to his usual number.

But as he toweled off, breathing hard, he heard the door hiss open behind him.

Footsteps. Steady. Unfortunately familiar.

He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Cecil,” Mark said, voice flat. He grabbed his bottle and took a long drink, refusing to look over.

“Mark,” Cecil replied. Calm. Even. Always unreadable. “We need to talk.”

Mark finally turned, towel slung around his neck. His jaw was set.

“About?” Mark prompted with a raised eyebrow of his eyebrow.

“I think you know,” Cecil replied unamused, “That girl you hung out with today.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, could feel his nose crinkle as his hackles raise. Turns out it wasn’t someone under Cecil’s umbrella. It was the umbrella.

Cecil clasped his hands behind his back. “She’s not in any danger. Yet. But I think we both know she’s not exactly ordinary. And if she’s going to be that close to you, we need to be sure she’s not a problem waiting to happen.”

Mark stepped forward, tension humming under his skin like a live wire. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but she’s not a problem.”

Cecil didn’t flinch. “So you don’t know what she is?”

“I want you to stay the fuck away from her,” Mark sneered as he all but stalked closer to Cecil. Catching what Cecil said but not questioning it in the moment, too caught up in his emotions.

They stared at each other for a long beat.

Then Cecil added, with that infuriating calm, “This isn’t a threat, Mark. Just awareness. We’re watching. That’s the job.”

Mark’s fists clenched.

He didn’t say another word.

He just turned and walked away. There wasn’t anything else to say. He gave Cecil his warning. And God help him if he doesn’t listen to it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Home.

God, you missed home.

The warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft Kansas breeze rustling the fields, the distinct smell of grass and earth and fresh air. Everything. All of it.

“Ma!” you shouted, practically launching yourself into your mother’s arms.

She caught you with a laugh, and you wrapped her in the most careful hug you could manage, despite how desperately you’d wanted to squeeze her tight.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, bug,” Ma murmured, holding you close. She only let go when Pa made it up the porch steps with a slow grin.

“Good to see you too, dear,” she added, pulling him in for a kiss and a quick hug.

Dinner was what you missed most of all.

You and Pa could hold your own in the kitchen, but Ma’s cooking? That was comfort wrapped in nostalgia, seasoned with a whole lifetime of love.

Later, when everyone was cleaning up. Ma elbow-deep in soap suds and Pa stacking dishes with practiced ease, then you finally cleared your throat.

“Hey, Ma? Pa?”

They both looked over.

You hesitated, then, “Do you think I could… go back to the pod?”

Ma froze, water still running from the faucet. Pa paused mid-stack, brows knitting.

“Is everything alright, bug?” Ma asked gently, drying her hands as she crossed the kitchen to you. She cupped your face in her warm hands, tilting your chin up like she used to when you were a kid, as if she could check for cracks or bruises just by looking into your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, resting your hands over hers. “I just… I think it’s time I figured out who I am.”

“You don’t have to go digging into your past just because you feel like you’re supposed to,” Pa said as he stepped over, voice quiet but steady. “You should do it because you want to. Not out of pressure.”

“I do want to,” you said, firmer now. “I want to understand. I want to know where I came from.”

There was a long pause, but then Pa nodded. He laid a gentle hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Alright,” he said. “Come on.”

He led you out the back door, through the soft golden light of early evening, across the yard and toward the barn.

The old barn creaked softly in the wind, just like it always had. The scent of hay, wood, and oil lingered in the air, familiar, grounding. And beneath it all, that other scent, faint, metallic, what you could only describe as, as cheesy as it sounded, not of this world.

Pa pulled open the sliding doors. The interior was shadowed but not dark, streaks of sunlight pouring in through slats in the walls. And there, nestled beneath a tarp and resting in the middle of a reinforced storage pit, was the pod.

Your pod.

You stepped toward it slowly.

“I dusted it off last week,” Ma said behind you both, near the doors still. “Just in case.”

You glanced back at her, a little surprised. She just shrugged. “Had a feeling. Call it mother’s intuition.”

You reached out, fingers brushing the smooth, curved surface. Even now, years later, it still thrummed faintly under your touch. Alive in some strange, alien way.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” Pa said from behind, his voice soft, but not pulling you back as he walks back to the doors to stand next to your mother. “Take your time, we’ll be just back inside the house. If you need anything, yell.”

As they walked away, you were left with only the low creaks of the barn and the quiet whisper of wind through the open door.

Then you took a breath and laid your full palm on the pod.

And the world fell away.

It wasn’t dramatic. No burst of light. No whirlwind. Just one blink you were in the barn. The next, you weren’t.

You were standing in a chamber of light and crystal. Vast and cold and bright like starlight frozen into form. It wasn’t real, not physically, anyway. You knew that. But it felt real. The way dreams sometimes do.

Before you stood a man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a blue and white suit that shimmered like glass. What you could only call a symbol in the middle of his chest, one that looked like an ‘S’ in the middle of a shield. Important, you could guess. His eyes held a sadness that reached across galaxies and through unknown languages. His face was vaguely familiar yet unfamiliar all at once.

He stepped forward and spoke, but you couldn’t understand a word.

The language was fluid, soft but dense. You could only infer the emotion behind each unknown word. Confusion. Urgency. Grief, maybe?

And then he said something you could only infer was a name, “Kala Zor-El”

You frowned. Shook your head.

He paused. Then started to repeat the same phrase over and over again. The only words you could distinguish that were proper nouns were Kala Zor-El, Zor-El by itself, and Krypton.

You took a tentative step forward.

“I don’t understand you,” you said, your voice echoing faintly in the crystalline space. “I’m sorry—I don’t—”

He didn’t seem frustrated, but maybe a bit saddened. Instead, he lifted a hand, and a soft blue light bloomed between his fingers. It expanded outward like a ripple on water, washing through the chamber. Across your skin.

And then.

What you could only guess was memories filled the space around you.

Not yours. His.

A planet. The skyline of a world lost to time. The odd solar rays of sun. The man in front of you taking a baby from a woman’s arms and placing it into what you recognized as your pod. A planet you could tell was dying.

The vision stuttered. Flickered.

The man, you now know was the one to place you in your pod, looked older now as he continued to speak. Less of a projection now, more of a ghost.

The language still didn’t make sense. But the emotion behind it did.

And who ever he was, he was important to you. And whatever it was he was trying to tell you, it wasn’t finished.

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ roomates!pb&jj au

#0 - headcanons:

notes: okay so. i’ve been thinking about pb&jj quite a lot recently. so this is the result of hours and hours of researching and brainstorming a timeline/au where they could all meet and eventually become roomates. things are slightly based off canon comics/mcu movies, but obviously taking a turn where they’re not superheroes, just normal guys!! i will be writing actual blurbs, but for now you get headcanons to set the scene!!

kindly reminding everyone that english is not my first language and this is actually my first time doing this, so please be nice! <3

i like to think that pb&jj moved in together after college!!

bob and joaquin have been best friends since middle/high school after bob moved from sarasota springs to miami

joaquin only meets both peter and johnny in college (MIT babyyyy), they’re all engineer majors (peter is majoring in chemical engineer, joaquin and johnny are majoring aerospace engineer)

johnny and peter do NOT get along at first btw. johnny attended midtown high school as well, so they’ve known and hated each other for a while now, but they both push through it for the sake of joaquin’s friendship.

bob goes to new york and majors in music (and minors in psychology, he wants to be a music therapist). he meets yelena, ava and walker in college and after two years they start looking for a place together.

they were not able to find a big apartment with an affordable rent, but they find two two bedroom apartments right next to each other (think of the joey/chandler and rachel/monica set up). the landlord is willing to give them a discount if they sign for a three year contract. they take it.

after two years, yelena is offered a job in san francisco. moving would be great for ava’s career as a musician, and walker’s willing to tag along too. bob knows joaquin is graduating in a couple months, and invites him to move in. and bring two friends, if possible, cause bob’s contract says they need to live there for another year at least.

joaquin convinces peter and johnny to move in with him and bob, promising they won’t need to share a room, and they only have to live there for a year, just the time for them to start a brand new life in new york.

and this is where we start!!! i wanted to set the vibe before expanding the universe and maybe introducing characters (ahem, reader) if that’s something you’re interested, but please let me know what you think and if you have any requests! xx