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swordgrace · 7 hours ago

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❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥. ❞

┊ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: by anonymous — amidst the avengers feud, you and joaquin are going steady in your relationship. you decide to sneak him into the watchtower while the team is away on a mission.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: joaquin torres x fem!thunderbolts!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4K (long one!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut/fluff, established relationship, sam wilson cameo, inexperienced reader, making out, body worship, mild dry humping, oral sex (fem!rec), lots of praise, unprotected p in v sex, missionary position. aftercare + cute ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: my brain is filled with joaquin torres, I’m in love with him sm !! this was so, so much fun to write, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

“You’re thinking about something.”

Sam’s inquiring statement sliced through Joaquín’s thoughts like a hot knife, tinged with an underlying jolt of humor.

Sitting sideways on the couch, the both of them were in his apartment — bunker, more like. He affectionately took to calling it the ‘Cap Cave’, which Sam always groaned at.

Swiveling around in his chair, Joaquín blinked owlishly, brows lifting in surprise. “I’m always thinking about something,” He counters, seemingly perplexed. “Are you saying I don’t think?”

On the coffee table, Sam’s got a stack of files, names of enhanced and non-enhanced individuals to recruit for the Avengers.

He’d gotten Jennifer and Shaun onboard with restarting the Avengers Initiative — he didn’t care about Fontaine’s new group running around. Sam pretended not to be bitter, but it still hurt anyway.

It stung knowing that people out there still didn’t think him worthy of the mantle, and worse, knowing that Bucky was there, too.

“Nah, I’m not saying that,” Sam mused, perusing through files. He was still waiting on a response from Shuri, who’d assumed the mantle of the Black Panther. “You look like a guy who’s thinking about a girl.”

Joaquín gawked, idly rolling the chair from side-to-side, palms getting sweaty. He was definitely thinking about a girl. “What if I am? You can’t police that, Sam.” He muses.

There’s a lapse of silence as Sam contemplates, brows pinching together. He knows it’s about you, and Joaquín’s face gives everything away.

He found out about the relationship unwittingly one morning, when Joaquín had come home at four o’clock, all cheery and stealthy like a teenage boy.

It wasn’t an intelligent move on his part — it was dangerously reckless, Joaquín knew this, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Joaquín, you gotta be smart about this,” He starts in with a fatherly tone and a certain sternness that makes Joaquín wither. “She’s in Fontaine’s pocket, and I know you’ve been sneaking over there to see her.”

“I’m being careful,” He vows, staring down at his lap to avoid the scrutiny of Sam’s stare. “I don’t think she’s in with Fontaine like that, man. She doesn’t seem that way.”

With a begrudging sigh, Sam doesn’t attempt to refute his claim or dissuade him. He can’t stop him from seeing you, even if he thinks it’s a bad idea.

Unconvinced, silence fills the momentary gap between the both of them, and Joaquín is swift to defend your honor; and you aren’t even here.

“She’s different, Sam. I want you to meet her sometime — she’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met.” He sighs, and Sam can practically hear the swooning in his tone.

“Whatever you do, don’t get involved in Fontaine’s business,” It was more of a precautionary measure than a threat. He didn’t want Joaquín to be taken hostage or something worse. “Got it?”

“I got it, Sam. I promise.” Swearing up and down, his phone vibrates in his pocket, catching both of their attention. His smile is light as he spins back around in the chair.

“If you’re gonna talk to her, take it to your room, Romeo.” Sam chuckles, and despite the circumstances, he’s being cordial about everything.

He didn’t want to heighten the tension if Joaquín couldn’t see you. Sam didn’t know you, but he knew how his partner talked about you — like you were the sun, the center of everything.

If you made him happy, he wasn’t going to interfere.

Flashing a smile, Joaquín clamors from the chair when he sees your name flash on his phone, and he waves in-passing. Sam scoffs and grins, but he doesn’t make any lasting remarks on the matter.

Admittedly, Joaquín hadn’t intended for all of this to happen in the way that it had; it just did.

He’d gone to the Watchtower about five months ago with the mission of trying to talk to Bucky, wanting to do right by Sam. He managed to get past the extensive security measures before it all came crashing down.

He met you.

Joaquín still remembered how you looked that day, wide-eyed and curious, wearing a shirt two sizes too big and floral-patterned shorts. You were eating from a bag of grapes, and you called him Falcon.

From then-on, you’d formed an unexpected friendship, and two months ago, he got the stones to ask you out.

Despite the newness of the relationship, he was loving every second of it, even if you couldn’t see one another as often as you wanted. It was all meetings in neutral places, at first — the park, going out to dinner, a museum.

Then, he started using his new suit to fly over to the roof of the Watchtower after you dismantled the surveillance system. He taught you how to do that, too.

The both of you started to get bold with how far you could test the limits of him “coming over”. The rooftop escapades merely scratched the surface.

It turned to midnight dates on the helipad, shooing him away when the others got back from a mission. It turned to him getting as far as the common room, giggling on the couch together at two in the morning.

Tonight, it was turning into your room.

Typically, Joaquín was the one pitching all of these ideas, and the both of you were all giddy, sneaking around like two teenagers. Now, it was really getting serious when you posed the idea of smuggling him into your bedroom.

The plan was all set, laid out to perfection, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Team’s gone on a mission, Bob included — no one else in the Watchtower except you and him. That got him excited; maybe a little too thrilled about the whole thing.

You planned on dismantling the surveillance systems beforehand, knowing that if Bucky went back and checked, he’d probably find evidence of your house-guest.

He scuttled into his room, kicking the door closed when your text popped up.

YOU (my girlfriend <3): hey joaq :) are you still wanting to come over tonight?

JOAQUIN: you’re really asking? I’m still coming over! coast still clear?

YOU (my girlfriend <3): yes, still clear! talked to lena today, said they won’t be back for two days! means we have tower to ourselves 😚

Joaquín huffed a laugh at the emoji you used, nose wrinkling with amusement. He had no idea what he did to get so lucky, other than break a few dozen rules and hijack the New Avengers headquarters.

In his eyes, no one could hold a candle to you; you were so beautiful, so kind, full of a liveliness that brightened everything around you.

The both of you were mutually understanding of the whole feud between two Avengers teams, and as long as that remained intact, everything would be perfectly fine.

JOAQUIN: do you think I could get away with spending the night?

Maybe a little brazen of him to say, or even assume, but if your teammates wouldn’t be back for a few days, he decided to take his chances. Sam wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d apologize later.

YOU (my girlfriend <3): like a sleepover? lol! I think you can :) don’t want sam to be mad at you, tho!

JOAQUIN: if I text him and tell him what’s going on, he won’t be as mad 😇

On the other end of the phone, you were giggling at your screen, perched along the edge of your mattress. Your relationship with Joaquín was going splendidly, especially with it being a secret — from your teammates, anyway.

He’d blown his cover with Sam awhile back, and you were grateful that he was relatively amiable about the whole thing.

A hush had fallen through the Watchtower with the absence of the team, save for some folk ballad you had playing from the speakers in your room. It was late afternoon, closer to evening.

YOU: don’t think you can bat your eyelashes out of this one, joaq 😭 also gonna order carryout tonight! what do you want?

JOAQUIN: it only works on you ig 😏 the beef and broccoli with noodles :)) thanks babe!

YOU: very funny! come over around five? will disable cams on helipad for a sec

JOAQUIN: sounds good miel :) can’t wait to see you tonight, missed you a ton 🥺

A soft snort escaped you when you caught the emoji he’d tacked onto the end of his text, heat curling around your spine. He made you feel so special, beautiful — you weren’t used to having that constant in your life.

When you closed your eyes, you pictured him on the other end, grinning at his phone, black curls framing his temples, a hand pressed against his jaw. It filled your stomach with butterflies.

Hopping off of your bed, you made sure to send another quick text, springing towards the shower. It was a little reckless, having him over like this, but love had made you a little stupid, too.

YOU: missed you more! ❤️ text me when you’re near the helipad, falcon :)

Joaquín grins at his phone, shoving it into his pocket before rifling through his wardrobe. He wants to find something nice to wear, something to fit under his Falcon suit.

The cologne he haphazardly throws into his overnight bag is a scent you’ve complimented him on before. Anticipation twists into knots in his stomach, excited to see you.

He does get some thrill out of all of this — of sneaking off to see you, getting smuggled into the Watchtower. He figures that all of this good luck is bound to cause whiplash, eventually.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he gets his stuff together, attempting to be quiet about packing.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: Do not wear the Falcon suit over there or I’ll lock it up for good.

Deadpanning at the screen, he lets out a sigh, figuring you’ll have to disable lobby cameras, instead. Joaquín groans theatrically into a bunched-up shirt, brows furrowing together.

JOAQUIN: You got it, boss.

It’s four-thirty when you get a text from Joaquín.

JOAQUIN: so no helipad, had to ditch the wings :( lobby safe to come through if cams are off?

YOU: let me disable on main system and come get you! give me ten ❤️

The clothes you wear are modestly comfortable, a pair of leggings with a baggy shirt thrown over, showered and smelling like a flower shop.

After you slide on your slippers, you make your way to the Tower’s mainframe system, disabling cameras in the main lobby and in the elevator, too. It’s simple to turn them off temporarily with the access code — you’d stolen it from Bucky.

Giddy, your ride down the elevator shaft is riddled with excitement and a constant bouncing of your leg. Outside, the New York cityscape begins to ignite with an eclectic nightlife, between the glow of skyscrapers and the hum of cars.

Downstairs, the lobby is polished, corporate — there’s banners of the New Avengers strewn over the walls, massive and theatrical.

Pale tile clashes with the dark furniture that had been set up to resemble something modern, business-like and suave. Valentina had a knack for making everything look very sterilized.

Joaquín is lingering just outside, waving at you with a pearly smile and a bouquet of flowers. Bursting at the seams, you jog over to let him inside, putting in your clearance code before the door slides open.

“Joaquín!” Overjoyed, you’re nearly leaping into his arms as soon as he crosses the threshold, feeling him wrap you up in a tight hug.

A laugh bubbles from his chest, warm and inviting, curling over your bones as he cradles you against his chest. He presses a kiss to your crown, catching a whiff of your perfume; you smell incredible.

“Hey, pretty girl,” He hums, peppering your face with a myriad of kisses, pulling a soft laugh from your mouth. “I missed you.” Joaquín’s got a lovestruck look in his eyes, akin to a puppy.

“I missed you too,” Draping your arms around him, the closeness is something you’ve craved, absorbing his warmth as if he’s his own sun. “No wings? Did Sam clip them or something?” You tease, nose wrinkled.

Embarrassed, he lets out a begrudging groan, features tinged with a scarlet hue as he shrugs. “He didn’t want me using them to come over, figured I’d respect his wishes.”

“He’s nice enough to let you come over here, given the circumstances,” You point out, gaze drifting toward the bouquet of brightly-colored flowers he’s carrying. “You brought flowers?”

“I know. I want you to meet him sometime, I think he’d like you.” Joaquín stands a little taller, resolute as he presents you with your gift. “It’s an apology for not seeing you in a while.”

“You’re sweet,” Flustered, you accept the bouquet with a beam on your face, feeling his lips press against your cheek. “Mm, move your mouth an inch or two to your right.”

“Yes ma’am.” A smirk spreads across his mouth before he kisses your lips instead. He’s enthusiastic yet disarmingly tender, kiss infused with an underlying passion.

Joaquín leans down, closer to you as he slings an arm around your hips, heartbeat stuttering beneath his sternum.

You make him nervous sometimes, in a good way — you make him want to be the best man he can be.

As the kiss slows to a crawl, he draws away with a contented hum, lips still quirked into a grin. “I want more of those, please.” He muses, hand lingering over the small of your back.

“There’ll be plenty more, I promise.” You laugh, tugging on his hand as you make for the elevator. The door bears the Avengers emblem — slightly modified, but the spirit is still there.

Once the both of you are inside, Joaquín peers around in awe, never having seen the whole interior of the Watchtower before. He’s been as far as the common room.

“You got your own superhero banner?” He remarks, brows lifting with amusement. He wished he got his own Falcon banner — maybe Sam could get the new team one, once he finished recruiting.

“Yeah. Valentina wanted it to be marketable and palatable for people who were reluctant about the whole thing,” You shrug. “I still use my old suit. The one she had made for me is uncomfortable.”

With a click of his tongue, he stifles a mischievous grin. “You look really good in it though, miel,” Joaquín lets out a low, playful whistle before you smack his bicep. “Seriously!”

Shooting him a sideways glance, he’s all smiling and chipper, attitude never dimming. It was something you really loved about him — he was good at his core, selfless and wickedly intelligent.

“Thanks,” Another laugh tumbles through your diaphragm. “Maybe I can get you one to hang up in your room back at the Cap Cave.”

He swallows the slight lump in his throat, biting back the urge to make a raunchy remark. Filtering himself, he plants a kiss against your cheek. “Yeah? Shit, I’d love that.” He murmurs, sly as ever.

“You’re bad,” You counter, and he holds one hand up in surrender. As you reach the main level, the elevator chimes open, and you’re greeted by the sprawling floor of the common area. “Here we are.”

The evening glow spreads through the windows, sunlight whispering over dark tile, bathing your features in downcast embers.

Joaquín refuses to look away, gaze reverently tracing across visage as you coax him into the Watchtower’s main room. He swallows, and the sudden coil of nerves settles in.

“I thought we could eat dinner here, or in my room,” You propose, but he’s thoroughly distracted, breath hitching when he absorbs your beauty. Time slows to a crawl the longer he lingers, lips parted. “Or we can eat on the helipad.”

Uncharacteristically hushed, he doesn’t answer you right away, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes as he blinks. It’s slow, and he’s too busy ogling you, mesmerized; he can’t believe that this is real.

When you catch him gawking, he awkwardly clears his throat and straightens up, mumbling a low apology. “Sorry. You’re so gorgeous, and I can’t stop looking at you.” He states, straightforward.

Surprised, you become smitten almost instantaneously, fingers toying with some of the plastic wrap curled around your bouquet. “You’re so sweet,” You mumble. “Thank you, Quín.”

With a suave smile, he nods, a hum snaring within his throat when you rock up on your toes to kiss him. He doesn’t recoil, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own, passion overwhelmingly obvious.

The smile that spreads over your mouth is palpable when you kiss, and he drops his duffel bag, wrapping his arms around you fully.

Lips meld together seamlessly, fitting a perfect mold, bleeding with passion. He’s rather charming about it, endlessly confident; he knows he’s suave, and it has you hooked.

He kisses you again after you reciprocate, peppering his lips all over your face. The sound of your laughter makes it all worthwhile, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Giggling against him, he plants another kiss to your brow, smoothing his hands across your hips.

“Yeah,” Joaquín bats his eyelashes, dialing up the swagger as he draws you close, chest-to-chest. “Not for beef and broccoli, though.” He remarks, kissing your jaw with a smirk.

“Joaquín,” A sharp gasp punctures your lungs, and you’re burning with embarrassment. Gentle lips continue to string along your jaw, over your chin, around your neck. “Easy there, Falcon.”

He laughs, and it sounds like sunshine; like everything warm and comforting about the world. “Okay, okay,” There’s still a shimmer in his eyes, one of ardor. “I am legitimately hungry.” He concedes.

“It’s in the fridge,” You muse, lips gracing his jaw before you untangle yourself from him. He’s all grinning and happy, chest puffed out, retrieving his duffel bag from the floor. “I’ll reheat it and then we can go to my room.”

“Deal,” Joaquín follows you to the open kitchen, letting out a low whistle. He’s in awe of everything — the Cap Cave is cool, but the Watchtower is incredibly advanced. “This is impressive.”

He follows you closely, hovering beside the island, bag still slung over his shoulder. “She wanted it to be ‘top of the line’ for investors.” You shrug, removing white containers of Chinese takeout from the fridge.

Admittedly, you still felt like you didn’t really belong on the team, unworthy of the mantle — you were inducted at the wrong place, wrong time.

Like Bob, you had superpowers; not as powerful, but enough for people to take an interest, look at you like a curious object.

Joaquín never looked at you like that, but he looked at you with something else; in awe, as if you’d moved mountains and hung stars.

He tapped a hand against polished granite, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for smuggling me in, by the way,” He murmured, tone warm. “I know this isn’t ideal.”

Scooping the contents of each container into large bowls, you reheated a bag of egg rolls too, lobbing a pair of colorful forks onto the island.

“It’s okay,” Smiling, you met his gaze, affectionate as you placed everything into the microwave. “You’re worth it, Joaquín — you’re worth everything.” Your cadence softens.

Typically, he’s the smooth one; flirtatious, coy, and always coming in with the suave remarks. It was his turn to blush, and he can tell that you’re genuine, sincerity bleeding from every syllable.

“Baby,” He mumbles, a touch flustered before he rubs at the back of his neck. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Smitten, you quietly remove a steaming bowl of beef and broccoli, wincing when the ceramic burns your palm. “I don’t know,” Cheekily, your brows lift in amusement. “Remind me again.”

Joaquín laughs, the noise bright enough to light up a room, and you’re falling hard. When the bowl begins to cool, he picks it up, following right behind you with your food, too.

“So your room is on this level?” He asks through a mouthful of seasoned beef, making noise when he realizes it’s still too hot for him to eat.

“Mm-hm. I share a floor with Bob and Ava, the rest are on two. The training room is up there, too.” As the both of you make your way toward the sleek labyrinth of corridors, Joaquín clears his throat.

“You guys got a training room?” He wants to see it, but he also isn’t expecting a fully-fledged tour as part of your date night. “What else did Fontaine put in this thing?”

“I think Alexei is trying to vouch for a pool,” A huff of laughter escapes you. “But there’s a debriefing room, a lounge and a bar, extra rooms, a medical ward, and a laboratory.” You name it all off like an extensive list.

“I should ask Sam about getting a bar.” Joaquín grins, nipping at your heels as you turn a corner into a long, hushed stretch of hallway. Outside, it’s nearly twilight, concealed by tinted window-panes.

Stopping in front of your door, you enter in your code before it hisses open, revealing a rather expansive, lived-in bedroom.

It smells like you; floral scents intermingled with everything saccharine, strung with hanging lights, comforter wrinkled over a queen-size mattress, bathroom door ajar.

Everything is warm, blanketed in a low, orange glow that swallows the room whole, a fluffy chair draped over with a woven canopy. It was relatively tidy and organized, but comfortable — it all felt organic.

“Sorry if it’s messy, I tidied up before you got here.” As you settle down on the edge of your mattress, Joaquín nudges his duffel bag onto the fluffy rug below, bowl in-hand.

“Messy? Babe, this room is pretty spotless,” He snickers, watching you bat your eyelashes before eating a forkful of noodles. “Food’s delicious, by the way. Where’d you order from?”

“Takeout place down the street,” Your mouth is full when you answer, prompting you to clear your throat. “Eggroll?” Wax paper crinkles within your grasp as you offer it to him, still-warm egg rolls inside.

“Thanks,” Joaquín immediately placed it into his mouth, halfway wedged as the other half fell unceremoniously into his bowl. “Hm, s’good.” He mumbles, watching as you stifle laughter.

Silence trickles in between the both of you, eating within a comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at one another.

He smiles, countenance one of tenderness as he clears his throat, lodging another hefty bite of beef and broccoli into his mouth.

“Want to watch a movie afterwards?” You hum, legs tucked beneath you, squinting through the waning sunset that trickles in through the windows.

It isn’t anything exciting, but basking in his presence matters most to you. There’s something gentle and clean about your relationship — you know he’d do anything for you, be anything for you.

You don’t want him to change — he’s perfect the way he is, and that’s more than enough.

“Yeah,” Through a light cough, Joaquín swallows, fork scraping over empty ceramic. “What are we thinking? You know what I’m gonna say.” He muses, nose wrinkling.

“Fast and Furious?” Sharp, your mouth quirks into a grin before he lets out a theatrical groan.

“Second choice,” His smile never wavers; he’s so handsome, something warm and ebullient, incandescently bright. “Interstellar.”

“That’s a long movie,” Another laugh leaves you when he shakes his head, scraping the remnants of his food into his mouth. “We can watch it. I know you think it’s amazing.”

“One of the best movies of all time, right next to The Princess Bride,” Joaquín chuckles, his laugh light and effortless, teeth glinting through glimmering sunshine. “You’ll love it.”

“I’m trusting you.” Teasingly, you finish up with your food before motioning to take his bowl. You stack them right outside of your bedroom door, assuming you’ll circle back in the morning.

“You mind if I change?” He asks, grabbing his duffel bag from the ground. “I brought you some stuff, too.” Dragging the zipper down, he tugs out a few old t-shirts to give to you.

“You brought me your clothes?” Delighted, you’re visibly ecstatic when he hands you three shirts, two of them old Air Force tops, the other an oversized Nike hoodie.

“I know you like wearing them to bed,” Joaquín plants a kiss to your brow, fingertips tracing over the small of your back. “You’re so beautiful, you know.” He hums, tone lowering.

“You are too,” You mumble, and you catch him blushing, lips parting. He huffs a laugh, mouth carefully tracing across your face, buried against your soft skin. “Very cute.”

“Gonna change, babe.” Joaquín hums, planting another kiss against your cheek before grabbing a bundle of clothes, including something you can’t make out.

After he disappears into your bathroom, door clicking with a soft thud, you scramble into something else. Tugging off your leggings and shirt, you slide into his hoodie; it smells like his cologne, like sandalwood and whiskey.

You’re applying a spritz or two of perfume as if you hadn’t layered enough on already, switching on your flatscreen before fumbling with the remote.

On the other side of your bathroom door, Joaquín is furiously brushing his teeth; he’d already brushed them before he left, but it’s a precaution. A hand is roaming through his dark curls, trying to push them into place.

It’s boyish; it’s something extra, valiant attempts to impress you and not ward you away.

Scrolling through streaming services, you locate Interstellar, settling down into bed as you wait for Joaquín to come back out. You can hear water running, shuffling fabric; it piques your curiosity.

When he comes out, cool and collected, he’s wearing loungewear, glint of a silvery chain dangling around his neck. A rosy flush settles into his face, and he’s still smiling.

It wavers when he sees you — no more pants, just his sweatshirt, sitting cross-legged in your bed. His heart stutters, mouth dry as he attempts to form words, ogling you.

“Everything okay?”

The sound of your question nearly makes him jump, lashes fluttering as he hastily clears his throat. He looks a little dazed, jaw unhinged before he waves your concern aside.

“Yeah, yeah.” He coughs, too busy wrapped up in the sight of you, especially as you sprawl out. The hem of his sweatshirt kisses your thighs, and he’s hyper-focused, tongue darting over his teeth.

Joaquín joins you, mattress dipping slightly as he crawls over, feeling you curl up against him. He’s more than happy to hold you, propped up on a mound of pillows, arm draping over your side.

His biceps flex beneath the material of his spandex shirt, sun-kissed like warm caramel, and your mind derails entirely.

“I’m really glad that we could do this,” You hum, tracing your fingers over his chest. “I know I’m breaking a thousand rules, but I missed you a lot, Joaquín.” Those words alone break open a barrier inside of him.

Admittedly, he’s been clinging to restraint as soon as you were kissing in the kitchen; he wants you so terribly that it hurts, and your perfume doesn’t make anything easier.

“You’re my light,” He’s quick with a reply, voice honey-thick and a touch husked, fading into you. “You mean a lot to me, miel — you’re perfect, inside and out.” As he lays on the compliments, you find yourself enamored.

Interstellar suddenly seems so inconsequential when his mouth is ghosting over yours, hand drawing circles into your ribs.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, hot breath fanning over your lips, unwilling to budge until you’ve given him consent. When you do, nodding fervently and unable to catch your breath, he doesn’t hesitate.

It’s sparks, tension brewing beneath the surface when you kiss him, palm splayed over his chest. The other rests comfortably near his neck, fingers toying with the necklace he wears.

For weeks, he’d been all wound-up over the thought of you — not being able to see you all the time had made him unbearably needy.

You can feel it rippling beneath his skin when he kisses you, coiled-up want knotted into something he wants to untether. You want it too, but part of you fears your own inexperience.

Joaquín kisses you as if you’re the only one he’s ever wanted, drawing a tremulous exhale from your lungs, making you shiver. His hand finally settles over your thigh, idly massaging your skin, fingers teasing the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Still want to watch the movie?”

It’s you who asks him, attempting to gauge his reaction, like a deer in the headlights. His kisses slow to a crawl, and he pulls away enough to catch your smile, obviously smitten.

“Would you be upset if I said no?” He murmurs, mouth quirking into a slight grin. His tells are so easy, but he owns up to it — he’s not ashamed to admit he wants you.

“Mm-mm,” Shaking your head, you curl closer, hand wandering until it steadies atop his bicep. He flexes for you, chuckling when you get all flustered; you’re easy to rile up. “You’re unbelievable.”

Joaquín smiles, planting a kiss against your jaw. “I know,” He murmurs, inhaling a gust of your scent, perfume sizzling through his senses, through his resolve. “But I’m yours.”

His hand continues to knead along your thigh, savoring the feeling; you’re too beautiful for him, and he knows it. You angle yourself enough to turn inward, face-to-face, lashes fluttering in rapid succession.

Mouths entangle with one another, each kiss deepening, blurring the line of desire. The more it progresses, the more you don’t want to stop — and he doesn’t want to, either.

Digits trail through his dark curls, stroking along the nape of his neck as you adjust yourself again, nearly slotted in his lap. An excitable noise bubbles from his throat, hands finding your hips.

A hush blankets your bedroom, save for the sounds of labored breathing and the subtle groan of the mattress beneath you.

Your palms climb higher, both hands gathering to perch atop his shoulders, feeling sinewy muscle tense beneath your fingers. Lips continue, unhindered, charged with a wave of passion.

“Hey,” Joaquín mumbles, his smile one of amazement as his kisses slow to a crawl, nose brushing against yours. “I don’t have any expectations for tonight.”

Stilling, you sit back for a moment, allowing yourself some composure. “Me neither,” You assure, gooseflesh crawling over your spine. “I want you, Joaquín — I do, I just … I’m not exactly experienced.”

With a tumultuous past and enhancements, your life was anything but normal. You didn’t get to live like everyone else until recently.

Intimacy was something you’d experienced in slices — never the whole thing, and never with someone who saw you in the way that Joaquín did.

When you tell him that you want him, he blushes; maybe he wasn’t expecting it, or it took him by surprise, but his need only continues to burn. It’s burning so hot that it’s scorching him, searing his bones.

“We’ll never do anything that you aren’t comfortable with, miel,” He assures, kissing at the inside of your wrist, lips akin to a warm brand. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure. We’re going at your speed.”

That makes you want him even more.

“I want to,” The cadence of your voice softens, pitched with something breathy, exhilarating. “There’s no one else that I’d ever want this with.” You murmur, and his heart stammers.

Joaquín nods, dazed and yearning, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. “Me too,” He confesses, hands rubbing circles over your hips. “You’re it for me.”

A smile spreads over your face, dazzling as you ease yourself into his lap, slotted over one of his thighs. The closeness smolders, and his pupils dilate enough to warrant your attention.

Slowly, he cups your jaw, rough digits stroking over silky skin, bringing you in for another kiss. It’s agonizingly sluggish, intended to savor as your chest brushes against his.

Peach-ripe sunset pools into your bedroom, giving way to the first inklings of twilight. It strikes you at the perfect angle, leaving Joaquín stunned, absorbing your features, committing you to memory.

Each kiss is deep, passionate; you move in an idle dance, and you shiver when his hand slips beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. He finds your back, caressing along your spine.

You aren’t wearing a bra underneath, he realizes, and that makes him flustered. He doesn’t know why, but it does — he’s itching to see you.

The pressure of his muscled thigh wedged between your legs fills your body with a muted buzz, and when you shift, it makes it worse. Pinpricks of bliss shoot through your belly, however slight.

Lips tangle together, again and again, and he feels your body roll into him, flush against one another. He steadies you, hand skirting from your spine to your chest, lightly kneading at your breast.

It’s gentle, a feather-light touch that starts as experimental, testing the waters. You shiver from the contact, skin to skin, kissing him one more time until he untangles your lips.

Instead, his mouth finds your jaw, kissing a trail from the delicate bone to your throat, the pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple.

“Joaquín,” A soft, throaty moan slips past your mouth, hips rolling forward, gathering friction against his thigh. He handles you so tenderly, as if you’re some precious gemstone or artifact.

“You’re so pretty, cariño,” He mumbles into your throat, lavishing kiss after kiss there, occasionally suckling at patches of skin. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” It’s partially disbelief; like he’s still realizing how lucky he is.

It’s more than just sex; it’s intimacy, the closeness, the delight of euphoria you find in one another, hearts twining together.

He wants you in ways that transcend physicality — he wants your future, wants to be the person you wake up to in the morning. Joaquín doesn’t know how badly he wants it all until he’s looking at you.

When his sweatshirt rides up to pool around your hips, his gaze catches on your thighs, over the soft plane of your body. His hand still kneads into your breast, drawing out another moan from your lips.

Sheets ruffle beneath your bodies, and he’s shifting enough to peel his shirt off, leaving you visibly flustered.

He’s beautiful; a chiseled adonis whose muscle is raw and well-earned, something he’s worked tirelessly for. His skin turns warm, like melted caramel dusted with freckles, silver chain glinting around his neck.

He’s got a tangle of scars on the right side of his throat, a few peppered across his abdomen. You want to kiss every single one, tell him how perfect he is.

“You’re gorgeous,” You murmur, listening to the subtle hitch in his throat. Delicate digits trace the lines of his musculature, drinking him in, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Just perfect.”

Preening beneath your compliments, Joaquín doesn’t shy away from the scarlet flush that slithers around his face. Instead, he kisses your neck fervently in response.

His other hand drops to skirt beneath your sweatshirt, holding onto your hip, palm still kneading at your breast. “You look so good in my clothes,” He murmurs. “Mind if I take this off?”

“Mm-hm.” With a soft hum, you adjust your arms, letting him peel off your sweatshirt with ease, draping it toward the foot of your bed. His tongue flicks over his teeth when he sees you.

God, you’re perfect; everything about you is beautiful and he can’t help but drown in you.

Pastel-hued cotton clings to your hips, the last article of clothing that covers you. A slight draft slithers over your hot flesh, goosebumps following suit as your mouth returns to his.

A husky groan stirs in Joaquín’s chest when you shift against him, friction producing a heat that settles within his stomach. He kisses you back, passionate and needy, hands touching you everywhere.

He caresses you with rapture, reverence; it’s a reminder of how he sees you, how much he loves you. Mouths entangle, and he slyly lets his tongue trace over your bottom lip.

There’s another shift when he begins to ease you back onto your mattress, over soft sheets and pillows. Your legs part for him without a second thought, letting him stay there.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful,” Joaquín murmurs against your mouth, nestled between your thighs. He props himself up on one forearm, the other stroking across your ribs. “Can’t get enough.”

He catches a whiff of the perfume clings to your flesh, an amalgamation of something saccharine and fresh; he loves it; drinks it in.

His mouth wanders over your jaw, layering endless kisses over your skin as he climbs toward your throat. A low moan fizzles past your lips, leaving you wanton, desperate for more.

The cold metal of his necklace grazes your collar, a bite of ice, knees squeezing at his hips. Your line of sight drifts toward the soft tent in his sweatpants, causing you to lick your bottom lip.

Joaquín is relentless, wanting to map every inch of your skin with his mouth, tongue; he kisses fervently toward your collarbone. Fingers tease the waistband of your panties, feather-light and gentle.

Warm lips graze your sternum, dipping toward your right breast, kissing your chest with a thinly-veiled passion. “You okay? Can I keep going?” He asks, tone husked and pitched with affection.

“More than okay,” You huff, squirming slightly underneath him, hands drifting to rake through his dark tresses. “Please keep going.” After vocalizing your enthusiasm, he’s more than happy to continue.

With a nod, he starts to take your nipple into his mouth, kissing at the sensitive bud, hand skirting to grope at the other. A moan escapes you, jaw slack and mouth agape.

He’s so gentle; there isn’t a single rough or harsh movement, everything concentrated with an oozing affection. Ardor is laced into every kiss, every caress of his hand, every stolen glance.

Arousal pools between your thighs, hot and honey-thick, slick cooling along your core. Hips grind together, and the friction is enough to elicit pleasured sounds from the both of you.

Exploratory, Joaquín commits all of you to memory, letting you sink your talons into the deepest parts of his mind. Your perfume gets on his skin, and he doesn’t want it to come off, either.

He briefly teases your nipple with pearly teeth, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts before he descends.

“Joaquín,” You moan, hips jolting forward, absently grinding against the swell of his erection. He lets out a low groan in-turn, lips carving a path along your body. ��Feels so good.”

When he peppers kisses across your stomach, you suck in a sharp breath, knowing exactly where he’s going.

He mumbles something in Spanish, and it scratches something raw inside of you, belly twisting into a coil of excitable knots. Reaching the waistline of your panties, he looks at you again.

You’re already nodding several times over to tell him it’s okay, and you catch the little stutter in his exhale, pupils dilating.

“Yeah?” He whispers, breathless when you nod again, shivering when his fingers curl into the thin elastic. Easing your panties down, he looks like a man starved, razed by affection and desire.

Joaquín crawls down, head settling between your thighs as he guides your legs onto his broad shoulders, palms kneading their way toward your haunches.

As your panties leave your legs, he kisses hot brands to your calves, stringing them along your knees, cresting over your thighs. The exhilarated wobble in your exhale makes him excited.

“Been thinking about this,” He confesses, and it floods your insides with molten heat. There’s something effortless about the way he says it — you know he means it. “Wanna taste you, miel.”

His gaze is incendiary, staring at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, tongue absentmindedly swiping over his bottom lip.

“Please,” It’s all you can manage to squeak out, legs flexing beside his face, fingers fisting at the sheets. “Please, Joaquín.”

Steady hands hitch beneath your thighs, holding steadfastly to your hips, haunches braced on top of his shoulders. He caresses near your waist, fingers stroking in repetitive motions.

“Look at me, pretty girl,” Joaquín murmurs, and it’s merely a suggestion, not a demand. When you do, it’s him who blushes, lips kissing a trail to the slick coalescing over your pussy. “Gorgeous.”

The sweetly-spoken praise rips through you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body as his tongue laps at your slit.

Pleasure sizzles through you suddenly, hot and wanton as his mouth explores your cunt. He’s tender, painstakingly passionate when he strings kisses over your core.

Maintaining eye contact is something that has you squirming, lips parted, heat curling over your bones like wildfire. Joaquín’s stare doesn’t waver, mouth buried deep into your pussy.

His tongue is vigorous, flicking from your entrance to your clit, causing you to quiver. Wordlessly, he reaches for one of your hands, keeping them interlocked atop your hip.

He eats you out like he’s deprived, hungry for you; for all of you, body, heart, everything.

Your thighs twitch, curling around his head, stomach twisting into knots. Arousal coalesces heavily between your thighs, oozing onto his tongue.

Mouthing at your pussy, he slows to a crawl, taking his time to savor every inch of you, feeling your legs quiver. He groans, musculature shaking, gaze eclipsed with desire.

You say his name as if it’s a prayer, the only words worth memorizing. A shiver traces through his spine, joined hands squeezing tighter, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing at all.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, eager to please without an ounce of hesitation.

The bridge of his nose ghosts over your slick folds, causing you to tremble. There’s a fire in your belly that demands to be extinguished, nerves set ablaze, a fervent buzz humming in your skin.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Joaquín sighs, hot breath pluming over your cunt. His tongue is a thing of beauty, working through you in the way that you deserve.

Eager lips kiss their way along your pussy, from your aching entrance to your clit. Your thighs tense, twitching when he stimulates that clutch of nerves, listening to you moan.

He tries again, using his tongue this time, slowly working it over your clit in languid patterns, intended to savor.

You want to melt, back arching, hips jolting forward as you grind into his face. Joaquín welcomes it without recoil, groaning as he eagerly laps over the clutch of nerves.

The sight of you razed, jaw slack and visage one of bliss, body on-fire for him; it’s picturesque, an image that’s emblazoned in his mind for the rest of his life. He can’t imagine anyone else like this.

Through the low glow of your bedroom, he strings kisses around your clit, tongue circling afterwards, one hand caressing your thigh. You let your free hand drift to run over his scalp, and he hums.

When he focuses on teasing your clit, your hips jerk again, prompting you to whine out a breathy apology, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“That feel good? Want more?” Gruffing from between your thighs, your boyfriend ensures that you’re getting everything you want and more.

“Y—Yes, Joaq, please,” You moan, and the use of his little nickname makes him preen. He shuffles closer, tongue deep in your pussy as he begins to lightly suck at your clit. “Right, mm — Right there!”

He provides without question.

His lack of hesitation makes you all hot and bothered as that coil in your stomach begins to unfurl, dragging you toward the edge.

Each pulse of his mouth sends shockwaves of ecstasy hurling through your bones, hot and blissful, like static surging in your brain. You begin to see stars when he keeps the pace, throat ragged with another moan.

To relieve his own arousal, his hips rut helplessly into your mattress, finding some reprieve, but it’s slight. He’s too busy wrapping himself up in your own pleasure, and it outweighs his own.

It’s how he wants things to be, focusing on you, ensuring that you’re taken care of before it ever comes down to him. His cock twitches when you squeeze his hand again.

White-hot spots float through your vision as he brings you to your peak, lips lightly stimulating your clit even when your legs rattle.

His tongue eagerly laps across your throbbing cunt, cleaning you up, the taste of you ambrosial, intoxicating. Joaquín’s brain is filled with static as you grind your hips into his mouth a time or two.

“Joaquín!” A pleasured whine rips through your diaphragm, lungs stinging as you catch your breath, euphoric high still rippling through your body.

He works you through it, stringing kisses over your pelvis, flush against the inside of your thighs, over the crook of your knee. A rosy pallor clings to his features, chest tight with excitement.

“So pretty when you cum, cariño,” Joaquín hums, kissing up along your body as he slots himself between your legs, his erection firm against your aching core. “Did so well.”

The praise makes you preen, a lackadaisical smile floating across your face as you arch forward, shyly wiping your slick from his chin.

“You’re so handsome,” You sigh, and he’s kissing your jaw, letting you feel what you do to him. He’s painfully hard and ready to feel you, hand shifting to tug at his sweatpants. “Need you, Joaquín.”

“You’ve got me,” He murmurs, his suave cadence dripping with adoration, and the look in his eyes rips the air from your lungs. It’s clean, gentle love — loves you so much. “Always.”

When he discards his sweatpants, the spandex of his boxers leaves little to the imagination, and it makes you swallow.

Lips find one another, and you taste yourself on his tongue, drawing a moan from his chest when you’re eager to savor it for yourself. Your hands trace over his biceps, perching around the nape of his neck.

“Still want to keep going? We don’t have to.” Joaquín is incredibly reassuring about everything, and it makes you want it all the more.

“I do,” You swear, fingertips tracing patterns over his hot skin, over freckles and now-faded scars, over the plane of his muscles. “I want you more than anything.” His breath hitches when you say it.

He nods, planting several kisses along your throat, feeling your legs constrict near his hips. There’s another light scuffle of fabric, and he adjusts himself enough to kick his boxers off.

They join his sweatpants, scattered somewhere along the foot of your bed. Joaquín stares down at you with wide eyes and a slightly nervous smile, as if you’re the center of his universe.

A shiver passes through the both of you when the flushed head of his cock nudges against your slick folds. He swallows, beautiful through the sienna glow, lashes fluttering a time or two.

You’re perfect — beautiful beneath him, breathtaking in every way imaginable. The lapse of silence lasts for a moment, with him adjusting himself between your legs.

A shiver grips his spine when his hips fall flush against yours, cockhead splitting past your folds, still oozing with precum.

“Ready?” His voice is low, pitched with want as he attempts to keep composure. Splintering at the seams, Joaquín stifled a groan when you moved against him, wanton.

With a nod, you give him your consent, trembling from exhilaration as his hips push forward. There is mild resistance at first, tip of his cock prodding against your entrance.

He’s sluggish, making sure that you’re comfortable first before progressing. “I’m okay.” You assure him, the sensation stinging yet blissful.

Shifting closer, you suck in a sharp inhale as his hips urge forward, cock sinking into you. It takes a moment of adjustment, cunt clenching around him with ripples of ecstasy.

Halfway inside of you, he stops to let you feel it all, every twitch, every muscle-deep quiver. Joaquín swallows a groan, forehead pressing against yours as he kisses your lips.

“Good, s’good.” Reassuring, you want him to continue, nearly clawing out of your flesh to have him in you completely. His cock is perfect — it’s pretty, as if it were molded for you.

“Yeah?” He huffs, mouth messily tangling with yours. Again, you’re nodding, spurring him on as his hips sink forward completely, cock fully buried inside of your pussy.

You’re tight, and it’s driving him crazy in the best way possible. He’s head over heels, so desperate for you that he might’ve been a beggar.

There’s a moment of hesitation from his end, and before you can comment on it, he begins to pull his hips back, and push forward. He’s disarmingly tender, making love instead of fucking you.

Sighs of passion tangled together, hot and fervent, breathing in the sweet air of one another. His cock kisses your pussy with each drawn-out thrust, dragging over your walls.

His chest burns with a string of needy grunts, holding you tightly, feeling your skin flush against his. Braced on one forearm, the other hand moves to hold yours, pinning them into the pillow.

Muscles flex, taut and sinewy, and you’re momentarily distracted by him; all of him.

Pupils dilate with desire, amber hues turned molten by the low light, jaw loosened, features flushed. He’s gorgeous like this, when he’s all over your mouth and needy.

Each rock of his hips is meaningful, cock buried into your tight heat. He’s good at it — makes you feel wanted in every way imaginable, like you’re something worth worshipping.

“Joaquín,” You pant, and the sound of your voice makes him buckle, trembling above you. Delicate fingers stroke over the nape of his neck, reaching into his tresses.

“You’re perfect,” He groans, inhaling a gust of your scent, hips stuttering slightly before regaining their confidence. He’s exceptionally passionate; not rough, not harsh, just desirous. “So pretty.”

His cock kisses your walls with each thrust, well-timed and intentional, driving himself into you. Your arousal makes it all easier, hips rolling over one another, friction simmering.

The silvery glint of his necklace dangles from his throat, mouth ajar, inhabiting a host of low, throaty groans. He’s vocal about how much he’s enjoying this, savoring every second of it with glee.

He smooths a hand over your thigh, gripping at your haunch to angle himself, joined hands squeezing beside your head.

The slow, drawn-out thrusts make your body melt, succumbing to heat. Sometimes he can’t believe that you’re real, that this is real; you’re a vision, a fantasy made flesh.

Joaquín doesn’t change course — he’s steady, passionate as he continues to rock into you, letting you feel everything properly.

Digits wander from the nape of his neck toward the silvery chain that dangles from his throat, hitching a finger in to drag him down.

A tremulous moan splits your diaphragm, shuddering as your cunt pulses, clenching around his cock. Lips collide, and you’re moaning into his mouth.

Each kiss makes your head dizzy; it’s all passion, bleeding heat that coagulates in the pit of your stomach, coil wanting to unfurl. His cock continues to slip inside, and then back; a push and pull.

Hitching your leg around his hips, it gives him leverage, a new angle to thrust into. He never gets rough or invigorated, letting passion override everything else.

Foreheads press firmly together, noses ghosting the other, mouths still joining in slow, needy kisses. “Mi amor,” He sighs, causing your cunt to clench around him. “Gettin’ close.”

There’s a slurred pitch in his voice, drunk on desire, drunk on the feeling of your body flush against his, on the sensation of you.

Pleasure floods your insides, the coil within your stomach having unfurled, treated to the loving thrusts of his hips. His cock moves deeper, kissing your walls, pulling another moan from your mouth.

Something tightens in his abdomen, pulled as taut as a bowstring, threatening to snap into two. Joaquín’s thrusts tick up in speed, just enough to make his head go static with desire.

Hot, breathy pants escape him, feathering over your mouth, and your noises spur him further. He keeps pushing, motions languid and loving, dragging out each thrust so that the both of you shiver.

“Joaquín!” A low, shaky whine tumbles from your lips, mouth pressing against his jaw as you lavish him in kisses. He shudders, teeth clenched as he gently fucks into you, again and again.

He’s there, and it’s euphoria — he groans, countenance contorted into bliss, chest shaking with low, pleasured sounds.

Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, the aching sensation crawling through your skin. His movements begin to stutter and slow, hands twined together, his knuckles turning white.

Your name rolls from his tongue a time or two, dark curls tousled, wisping over his temples as he loses his composure.

For a moment, his thoughts are blank; the only thing he wants to think about is you.

With a drawn-out exhale, his hips shift, cock beginning to soften inside of you. He looks thoroughly pleased, razed and delighted, flashing a pearly smile at you.

“You okay?” Joaquín mumbles, leaning in to plant a kiss against your brow. Perspiration glitters over his skin, bitten by scarlet, muscles beginning to unravel the tension.

“Yeah,” A smile spreads over your face, and it makes his heart buzz with something warm. “That was amazing.” You don’t have much to judge it off of, either.

“Amazing, huh?” A twinge of playful cockiness creeps into his tone, characteristically upbeat. “That’s gonna go straight to my head.” He muses, kissing at your shoulder.

“I’ll revoke my compliment,” The faux threat makes him laugh, followed by your fit of giggles. It’s that sound he clings to — it’s everything. “You’re so perfect, Quín.”

There’s a sparkle in his gaze when he meets yours, swimming with affection. He’s always strived to prove himself, be better; to you, he’s flawless, sunshine in living flesh.

“Mm-mm,” He kisses your jaw. “That title belongs to you, miel. You’re everything I want,” There’s a sudden sincerity that saturates his tone. “Got my heart in your hand.”

A hitch forms within your throat when you realize how serious he really is about you. You aren’t used to it, accustomed to only pain and misery, of being isolated.

You lose that fear with him in ways that you never thought possible. Unable to keep from smiling, you kiss him again, hands squeezing at his biceps.

“Maybe we can make breakfast in the morning,” You suggest, and he’s already over the moon about the idea. “Lena said something about tomorrow night, so we’ve got time.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Joaquín insists, all doe-eyed and dazzled, showering you in another playful barrage of kisses. He moves off of you not long after, wanting to help you get comfortable. “You a pancake type of girl?”

Laying on his back, he gently grabs your hips, pulling you into his chest, propped up against your heap of pillows. He’s smiling still, painfully handsome as continue to stare.

“French toast, actually,” You muse, and that stumps him. His nose wrinkles slightly, arms still cradling you close. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” He chuckles, warm and tender, fingers drifting to cup the nape of your neck, thumb tracing along your jaw. “I’ll learn how to make french toast tomorrow.” Joaquín won’t back down, either.

“You don’t have t—” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s kissing you, affectionately squeezing at your hip. “Joaquín.” You mumble, visibly flustered.

“Making you breakfast,” He insists, kissing your mouth again, a second time, and then a third. “My beautiful girlfriend deserves it.” You know there’s no protesting him.

“Your girlfriend wants to take a shower,” Giggling, you’re moving off of him, body sticky with perspiration and the aftermath of your escapades. “And you’re coming, too.”

Visibly excited, he huffs a laugh, swift to scramble after you, hastily grabbing a bundle of clothes in the process. As you move off of the bed, you give your phone a quick glance.

There’s a new text that’s popped up, one you didn’t notice while you were with Quín.

YELENA: Nice of you to ask if we wanted any takeout. Tell little Falcon we said hello :)

#mcu #marvel #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres smut #marvel x reader #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader #brave new world #mcu fanfiction

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wayeasier · 2 days ago

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COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part eight

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: Last fight, last room, last everything. Even though it hurt, you had to keep fighting to save your missing ghost. He did too and only because of you. At the end, you will find out you will be seeing the others from your little group sooner than you'd expect.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, mention of kissing (nothing major), thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

It was almost like gravity shifted. It was as if the world decided that you were supposed to tumble on the other side.

You and the others tumbled sideways, falling from the basement-like doors that Alexei had opened for you. The floor seemed to almost lurch sideways, shoving you down so you could crash into a new additional room. You hit hard, falling down onto the ground, shoulder-first right between Bob and Yelena.

Around you, the others coughed and groaned too, scattered right behind you. The room was quiet, which was the first thing you noticed. It felt colder than the others and felt almost empty. It was different than the attic, the downstairs kitchen, or the road where the chicken-suited Bob attacked you all.

You lifted your head slowly, staring ahead of you. You squinted as you took in the surroundings and the strange figure just further away in the middle of the room. Sitting on a hospital-like examination table. The dark shadow of the figure sat hunched forward, their head slightly bowed to their chest and their back turned to you. Sitting still as a statue. It looked straight out of a horror movie, you were expecting the silhouette to move and jump at you at any moment given to them.

You could feel something.

It started as a slow and cold feeling at the back of your head, almost tingling. It was a strange familiarity pulling at you. You somehow felt as if you had met the dark figure already. An unknown recognition flooding your senses.

You rose off the ground first, pushing yourself off the floor with your palms at first and then you stood up from your knees. Still staring ahead at the figure, just like the people behind you. Yelena and Bob stood up on either side of you next. John and Alexei straightened up behind you too. Even the loud Russian was quiet at this moment. Ava stood behind, as well preparing herself for whatever may await her. Bucky was focusing his gaze on the back-turned figure right in front of him. No one spoke at first.

Behind the dark, back-turned silhouette, were shadows. It looked like they were a pair of stains where people used to be. They clung to the wall as if painted there. The dark shadows were blurred at the edges. Nearly as if someone tried to smudge it with their hand. Like they were trapped in place. They looked like stuck shadows of people, painted by the Void himself with his dark hands with his mind crushing the joy out of them.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you, but you knew this had to be the last room out of Bob’s. The final room. This nightmare doesn’t get to keep you.

You glanced sideways, finding Bob staring bewildered in front of him, your gaze was torn off when the blonde woman spoke next to you, making you turn your head at her.

"I've been here before," she said, staring ahead of her. You furrowed your brows at the words, but looked back ahead, staring at the dark silhouette hunching over like a living creature of nightmare.

“This is where it started,” Bob said, looking fixedly at the figure before him, “I was roaming around the Southeast Asia. Thought I’d figure something out... Or at least find more drugs.”

A very quiet, almost unheard mechanical sound made its way to your ears from behind you. You turned just in time to see a pair of modern-looking doors, that you hadn’t even noticed before, start to slide shut. Bucky and John both stepped back to look, Ava stared back at it too. Nobody moved at all, until Bob took a step forward. Inching closer to the figure. Then slowly, everyone on their feet began to move forward. Bob’s voice accompanied your steps.

“And there’s this guy. He started talking to me about… a medical study. A trial drug that can make you stronger,” his steps slowed for a moment, but then he continued to walk forward as if nothing stopped him, “felt like a miracle. If I get it, I could show them I was more. That I was… something.”

Everyone stared at Bob while he spoke. You and Yelena stared at him from the front, heads turned at him over your shoulders. The dark-haired woman's, Ava’s, eyes were burning at the back of his head. The three super-soldiers were staring too, their eyes fixated on the man with the blue crewneck.

Then suddenly, a voice came to join.

“And look what you unleashed.”

Everyone stopped at that.

The voice was different. It was a deep, distorted. It sounded almost like Bob. But it also sounded like something else too. Something different. Something unreal. Almost imaginary. Its voice sounded like it had been morphed with a touch of a nightmare that was peeking at you from night to night. A rasping, hollow sound that was twisted and warped. A dark echo.

You recognized that voice.

It was the one that had spoken to you in your latest darkest moments. The one that told you to follow your fears. The one that was in the rooms of your shame and fear.

It was the one Bob spoke about in the attic when it was just the two of you.

The Void.

The figure then finally moved, as if it heard your thoughts of the calling of his name. The shadow lifted its head, shoulder stretching back to straighten its posture from the hunched-over position. The figure then slid off the edge of the examination table. The shadowy dark feet touched the ground without a single sound. No footsteps sounding out. As if it wasn’t really standing on the floor. But the figure was. Then it rounded the table slowly. It didn’t run, it wasn’t hurried. Because it didn’t need to be.

You stepped back reflexively. And so did Bob on your right. His fingers brushed just past yours and his eyes snapped even wider. Like he finally realized that he was alive. That this was actually happening and it wasn't just his eyes believing a dream thought.

“The most shameful thing was thinking you could be anything more than… nothing,” the dark side of Bob spoke. The voice was laced with all the emotion of darkness and mockery.

The shape of the figure was unmistakably Bob. But it wasn't actually him. It was like his whole figure was wrapped in the darkest shadow that you could possibly find. The Void had the exact same outline of Bob, when he was in those hospital clothes that he was wearing back in the vault in Utah. His body wasn’t what you call a black colour. It was beyond black, something even darker. It was darkness. The type of darkness as if the light had never existed. The type of darkness that makes you afraid. One that makes you afraid without actually knowing why.

On his face, there were those two, small white pinpricks glowing where Bob’s blue sky-like eyes should be. It was almost like there were made holes that the light bled from. But that light did not comfort. It brought fear. It made you step away, prepare for the worst.

That was what children are terrified of. Not monsters with teeth that they show on television. Fangs and roars with colors that were friendly and childishly bright. Not beasts or monsters that wait. It was this. The quiet dark. The quiet that scares. The shape that stands just at the doorway, staring at you unmovingly. It doesn’t growl. It doesn’t move. It doesn't scare with jumping at you. It simply is. In all spaces where the light doesn’t reach. The shape that waits in the shadows until you’re alone and afraid to move. Just like you’re now.

Then, the Void tilted its head. It was not out of curiosity. But it looked like it was a recognition. Your fingers twitched when the small, white, glowing pinpricks moved slightly and you were so sure they had a perfect vision of you. Staring straight at you.

Yelena stepped forward. Her posture is straight, no fear showing off her. Almost like this was a normal day for her. Then she spoke out to the dark silhouette, “we’re leaving.”

But the Void stood still. Staring without moving his head. The white dots were glowing the same way, staring at the six people in front of him.

“No.”

At that moment, the table behind the Void’s form began to ascend. It started floating upward gently and slowly. It lifted itself off the floor just behind his back. The table leveled for a second. Then it rocked swiftly forward, passing in the blink of an eye towards you. It was pushed by an invisible string of the Void’s mind. Moving straight at you and Yelena like it was targeted.

You leapt aside as the table flew closer to you. But your quick response sent you crashing into Bob’s side. Your side colliding with him in a quick motion. His arm snapped around your forearm and pulled you closer, just enough for the table not to crash into you. The heavy impact drove Yelena and Alexei backwards, crashing them against the now shut modern-looking doors at the back of the room you were in. The table pinned them there, metal bending around their torsos.

Just a moment later, a piece of the metal piece tore itself free from its ceiling bracket above your heads and the light panel wrapped tightly around Bucky’s torso too. Slamming the metal-armed man into a medical steel cabinet just behind him. He was trapped underneath the cold metal, pushed against the steel cabinet full of pills and medicines.

In another flicker of a moment, another sharp streak of metal from the light panels above shot off towards John. With a quick movement, it ripped through his shoulder and pinned him against another similar medical cabinet closest to him. He gasped as it ripped through his skin and made him be pushed against the metal.

Ava was then struck next. A heavy metal that flew towards her easily curled around her body. The force threw her into a wall just where Alexei and Yelena were stuck at.

All of them were stuck.

Just you and Bob remained. Both of you watched the chaos unfold in front of you. The Void hovered motionless at the front of the room. Not moving in the slightest, it was practically like he was enjoying the scene in front of him.

You looked at Bob just when Ava was pushed against the wall, trapped under the cold and heavy metal that wrapped itself around her waist like a snake. Bob didn't look at you, he was turned around, staring at the people who were stuck behind him. He gripped your arm tightly, and his fingers were twitching on your forearm. His mouth was parted, his expression furrowed, and he was scared. His brows hooked down like a sad puppy. His hand was otherwise still wrapped around yours like he was glued to you.

You could hear Yelena groan under the metal behind you, John was grimacing and gasping as his hand came up to the metal panel that was holding him hostage against the metal cabinet.

"Stop. Just... just let them go," Bob slowly turned towards the dark figure that was staring at him motionless. His fingers twitched around your forearm when he spoke. His voice was trembling slightly. He stepped half in front of you slowly.

"You really think they care about you?" came the low voice again while the dark figure's white glowing eyes stared ahead at you and Bob like you did not belong in this world. The darkness continued to hurt, "you don't matter. To anyone."

"Bob, don't—" you said, not taking your eyes off the Void in front of you. The Void's gaze bore into yours like it could open and break you apart and merge all your nightmares into you, so you could never escape them.

"That's not true!" Yelena gasped out, managing to yell out from underneath the metal that was pushing against her chest. You turned around just as a metal cord then wrapped and tightened itself around her neck, shutting her up fast. Alexei was next to yell out when he noticed that the darkness was hurting his daughter, "no!"

"Don't hurt her," Bob turned around, staring back up at Void. You turned around at the sound of his voice, staring at his brown curls and then back at the dark silhouette of his own body that lived just in front of you.

The Void rolled his shoulder and let out a bored breath, "Robert, the hero..." The Void finally moved then, his head snapped to the aide and on quiet command, the glass broke into a million tiny pieces that flew straight at you and everyone behind.

"You followed your fears," the dark figure's white pinpricks glowed slightly, almost like they had moved onto you.

Bob inhaled sharply beside you, his shoulder once again grazing yours as he stood closer, "no,” he said, "don't talk to—"

But the Void didn’t stop, his gaze bore into yours and his head tilted to the side as he was observing you. He spoke curiously to you, "you're not afraid of me."

Bob pulled you with him when he took a step back at Void's voice. He was still gripping your arm. The man in blue crewneck didn’t even seem to notice that you stumbled slightly beside him, his eyes pointed at the darkness that seemed to be interested in the very important person to him who was standing just beside him.

"Why don't you let me—" the Void started to say with its deep, low voice that seemed to hurt at your temples, but Bob gripped your arm and pulled you behind him, almost like he wanted to become a human shield just for you.

"I'm stronger than you," Bob said, his head moving upward, lifting his gaze towards the living nightmare in front of him.

"Let's see," the Void said after a moment of silence. Then, without a second to spare, Bob's fingers felt like they were not working anymore and your arm was free from his grasp.

One moment you were standing just beside Bob, his fingers wrapped around your suit-covered forearm, looking into the glowing white eyes before you. Then in the next, you were ripped from his grasp like his hand was never there. You were hurled through the air and the pain that came back was almost immediate. A blooming pain in your whole body, especially at the back of your head. The small, but very sharp glass pieces slid under your body, sharp ends digging into your cheek, your temple, your hands as you tried to stop yourself from whatever was going on. The broken shards scraping against your exposed skin, especially your face as you don't wear any face protection.

There was blood on your fingers, it was dripping over your gloves and onto your grey suit. Everything was loud but also so muffled. There is this strange, almost underwater-like sensation in your head and ears. Especially because your skull collided with the doors behind you. It hurt so badly that it felt like your teeth were close to shattering.

Somewhere above you, Yelena shouted your name. She and her father were trapped under the metal against the shut doors just above you, and you were at their feet. Her voice sounded far away. Like you were in a hole somewhere far away. Your vision danced in your eyes, hazy and blurry. Your vision was a mess of broken shapes of different colours and trembling shadows that swayed just before you. You couldn't even make out what they actually are. The room then suddenly trembled, like there was an earthquake approaching or an explosion had gone off.

Bob’s voice ripped through the air just as the room started to tremble. It was a loud cry of absolute terror. A painful sound that you hadn't heard from anyone before. It sounded so far away, just like Yelena's voice, but you heard it.

Bob turned back to the center of the room from where he watched your body lay on the floor in the sea of glass. His whole face changed. There wasn't the horror that there was before, he didn't look scared. He was raging. His fists clenched, his chest heaving just as he turned back at the dark silhouette.

All you saw were two silhouettes as blurry lines. One of the silhouettes, the dark shadow, was standing, while the other one was lunging at the him.

Bob launched himself forward at the dark version that lived within him. The punch came connecting hard with the side of the Void’s face. The Void’s head jerked sideways, but he felt solid. Bob didn’t wait for Void to move. He threw another punch, fist tightening as he struck toward the darkness' temple again, but this time the darkness moved before him.

The Void's arm shot up and blocked Bob’s fist. The next second, he was shoved back by the dark figure of himself. Then the punch from the nightmare came. Right across Bob’s jaw. His head snapped sideways and he gasped out a pained breath.

The second strike came even faster from the opposite side. The Void’s other hand crashed into the opposite side of Bob's face, making his body twist with the impact. Bob barely stayed standing at the impact of the Void's punches.

He staggered backward, then launched back at the Void as if something had pushed him to fight. The Void ducked low almost like he knew what Bob was planning and threw a punch into Bob’s stomach. Bob but then folded forward with his arms sneaking around his middle where it hurt. His stomach was clenching.

Bob didn’t have a second to recover from the pain. The next strike came up from below, an uppercut straight to his chin as he was bent forward. His head jerked back. Then he crashed down. He fell on the floor just in front of his dark self, his knees on the floor, his body curved inward as pain shot up.

“Get up, Bobby!” John’s voice rang out from behind him. He was still pinned, his arm slightly trembling as he tried to push against the sharp metal jammed through his shoulder. His eyes were on the man on the floor.

"You thought you were gonna be some great man?" The void judged the man on the floor. Bob then lifted himself back onto his knees, his face saddened and hurt. He looked over at the dark man. The Void dipped his head low and mocked him, "some saviour?"

John's eyes snapped at the man on the floor and then to his left, right at the ground where you were kaying under Alexei and Yelena. His face was enraged, angered. He took in your state, his jaw clenching, and he returned his gaze back at the front where the two were fighting for their lives. And yours too.

Bob was still on his knees, one hand clutching at his stomach where the previous blows had been struck. He lifted his head slowly, his curls hung with sweat on his forehead. He looked wrecked, Void was giving him the bare minimum from what he was seeing, but he felt the absolute maximum from what he was feeling. He was in pain, but he had to fight. For his friends. For you.

For his ghost.

“Can’t even save yourself,” the Void mockingly said, staring down at the self that was slowly getting up. Pushing his body up with all the power that was hiding beneath his skin and bones.

He then launched himself once again. His fist flying out, aiming straight for the Void's face. But once again, the Void ducked down just as the fist was mere centimeters away from his face. Almost like he learned this as a choreography, the whole fight was almost predicted in his own way.

Then a dark fist met Bob's stomach again, curling him inward at the impact. He gasped out at the new pain. Before he could stumble forward, the Void seized him. Like a small muppet that he was playing with.

A dark shadow-like hand grabbed the back of Bob’s neck, fingers locking around him. The Void lifted him in a swift way and dragged him up to full height, feet barely walking over the ground that was just beneath him. A violent punch flew straight into his stomach, and the force nearly lifted Bob off the floor. He gasped out as another wave of pain erupted in his body. Then came another punch, to the same exact spot with the same exact force. Once again nearly knocking him off the floor.

The Void drew his fist back and then he slammed it straight into Bob’s face. The impact of the flying fist threw his body backward like he was made of nothing but feathers. Then he crashed down. Right onto his chest and face.

You were lying on the floor right across from him. Your body was curled against the wall, laying on the floor. Glass was on the floor all around you like you had fallen into a sea of glass. There were small pieces embedded in your cheek, scattered down your face, blood slowly drying on there. Your eyes were half-lidded, squinting, struggling to focus. But, yet you were looking right at him.

Bob’s heart did something painful in his chest. Not like the Void’s punches. It was something that he had not felt before. It was so warm and deep. It wasn't pain, it was a small jump that made him feel something. He didn’t know if you could even see him as you laid there. But he saw you.

And that was enough for him.

"We will always be alone," the dark figure rasped out to the man. Saying every word with an even harder voice, to make Bob remember each word of his sentence. Bob's legs shook, barely obeying as he planted his knees under him, lifting his head up. His gaze not wavering from your laying body just under Alexei's and Yelena's trapped bodies.

The room began to shift.

It was really subtle at first. Bob almost thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him from all the punches he had gotten from the dark figure standing just behind him. But then he really saw the shirt. The room was in fact moving. The floor was stretching.

The floor beneath his knees didn’t crack or bend. It didn't break, it just stretched further away like it was a gum. Almost like the ground was made from clay and someone was playing with it. The glass from the metal cabinets shattered as the room stretched, more sharp glass pieces falling around into the already nearly full glass sea swimming just around him in the room.

And you were at the end of it all. At the end of the room. At the end of his vision.

His breathing was loud in his ears. He wasn't breathing, he was gasping. He was in actual pain. But it wasn't his pain that he was hearing in his ears. It was the real in his ears. The pain of the closest ones to him. The far groans of his friends stuck there because of him, the rattling of the walls stretching away into almost a hallway, the looped sound of glass breaking. The room kept slipping away. You were disappearing into the end of a hallway that wasn’t there a moment ago.

It was all fading into each other, stretching into something that hurt him more than the punches did.

The Void stared at the man on his knees. He did not move, he did not reach out to Bob. The Void didn't need to, he had what he wanted. He did what he wanted. He knew Bob would snap again and give him more of his darkest desire.

Bob's body moved almost like it wasn't his. His hand pressed itself with its palm to his bent knee as he rose off the floor. He turned sharply on his heel and sprinted with his body half-crouched, shoulders forward right behind himself. Bob slammed into the into his own shadow and the both of them hit the ground hard. Their bodies colliding together on the ground, Bob right above him.

The moment he collided with the Void, the roar of the structure of the medical-like room was eclipsed by an even more violent crashing, the room destroying itself just above your heads.

Bob rose the second Void's back touched the ground. One hand curled into a fist and he raised it just above his head. Without anything to spare in the time he had, he swung his arm downward to meet the lightlessness' dark vice face that held the outline of his own.

He punched once. He then punched again, but with the other arm. Once the left arm, the next time the right arm.

He pressed his punches hard, fists pounding into the wicked ill-lighted face below him. Again it went, left then right, repeating each punch. Each of his punches were so truthful that it seemed to send tremors through the room. Maybe even the whole building. The metal groaned everywhere, but the sound fell deaf onto his ears. The ceiling above his head cracked. Pieces dropping down onto the floor around like they were pieces of a puzzle.

He couldn't stop. Bob couldn't stop. Each punch made him feel something. He kept going. Trying to ruin the curse's pitch-black face, which was portrayed as his own.

The Void let him. The dark body laid beneath him, the curls snapping to the side with each blow that his face took from Bob. Then something shifted in him again, a small turn of his head after another punch. The Void's face fully turned fully towards Bob.

Then he grinned up at him.

White teeth flashed like snow in the darkness. A grin that stretched too wide. One that would easily scare anyone. One that terrifies people. Mocks you until you would rather crawl away and hide until you can't. Those eyes, two identical glowing pinpricks, stared directly into Bob’s with mockery that pulled at his chest.

“Is that all you got?” the Void asked, voice swaying with cruelty and mockery. And then the darkness chuckled. Mocking not only Bob above him, but everyone in the room who was praying for the man.

It mocked the hope itself.

Bob didn’t answer. He couldn't. He continued with the punches, his knuckles drawing invisible shapes with nearly useless bangs upon the shadow's unpained face. Even as the shadow grinned up, Bob did not falter in throwing his fist down.

Each collision of his fist against the unmoved Void below sent tremors through the floor and the entire room. Hurting not just Bob, but also the ones behind him.

From the soles of his shoes, a blackness began to bleed slowly into him like a growing parasite that he had no idea of. Slowly it spread like a spilled ink on a paper. It was wrapping around him like he was a sheet of paper. It started at the tips of his old worn-out shoes, curling around his ankles hungrily.

The dark crawled up past his shoe-covered ankles, slipping over his feet and slowly moving around his calves. The shadow-colored ink clung to him like liquid that was trying to claim him, pull him to the dark side of his own life.

Bob didn’t notice. He couldn’t notice.

He was still swinging at the darkness below him. His movements were frantic and repeated. One is like the other one. A desperate attempt to hurt what hurt him. He didn't see the terror of night spreading slowly up his body, now at his knees.

The Void had never wanted to have a double-sided fight. He wasn't planning on winning. He knew he didn't even need to try. The Void only wanted to make Bob fight long enough until he could forget that he was becoming the Void himself. To let him think, believe the fact that he was resisting and fighting against the enemy. While at the same time, he was only letting go. Doing exactly what the other side wanted.

"This isn't right," Bucky turned his head away from the scene where Bob was trying his best to defend himself from the dark side of his own life. The dark shadow spreading over him was like a spilled coffee on a white blouse. He looked down at you, his eyes looking over the laying body near the two Russians' feet. Your face was streaked with red blood from the glass.

"Twenty-Two!" he breathed out loud enough for it to fly to your ears, "he needs you. You're what he needs now. Right now!"

His voice was distant, but it was there. You heard his words.

Your arms throbbed from the sharp edges of the shattered pieces of glass beneath them, blood weaving tiny rivers down your palms and even cutting lines through your grey tactical suit. Your vision swam like you were trapped with never seeing the world again. But you heard it. You heard Bucky's words.

You closed your eyes. For just a moment. A one that felt like a forever. You saw nothing. Only the familiar dark shapes and colours behind your eyelids that hid there.

And then you did everything you could. You moved the way your body allowed you. Your palms pressed down against the glass-littered floor beneath your body. The sharp edges of the glass shards biting into your skin. You then slowly began to rise back up onto your feet.

The glass dug into your half-covered palms. Blood smeared beneath your hands, trailing down onto your sleeves like a red tattoo.

Your legs trembled as you reached yourself back up onto your height.

John was on your right, still flush against the metal cabinet. He stared at you with an expression that you had not seen on his face before. It was deep and real. His eyes locked on your trembling body. He swallowed hard and spoke to you, “he needs you,” his eyes stared deep into yours "we need you."

You looked at him and your eyes told the many words you couldn't even get out. He nodded and then you did too. Turning your head away, looking straight towards where Bob was fighting for himself. Slowly letting the darkness consume him whole. The shadow wrapped around his torso, nearing his shoulders now.

The entire room was collapsing. Breaking down by each second to pass.

Your feet found the floor beneath you. You took a step, it felt unreal but it was there. Then another and another. You moved like someone walking through a dream, the pain did not amuse you. You pushed it far back into your mind, your mind was set on your finally found missing ghost. On Bob.

Your feet are hurting, you knew that. Your whole body is hurting. But you barely felt it as you moved forward. The room was breaking, collapsing like it was made out of a piece of paper. The entire pieces of the ceiling falling through holes in the ground that hadn’t been there a moment before. The room was tearing itself open. An open wound. Self-destructive.

The shadow had wound itself around Bob's neck like he was in a chokehold. So, you ran. Even though it hurt. You were halfway down the stretched down room now as you were running. Every step sent blossoming pain through your entire body.

Suddenly, a part of the floor gave under your right foot as you ran and you crashed forward, your body falling forward as your leg hung down into a hole full of void. You gasped in pain when your body made contact with the floor. But your eyes stayed on Bob in front of you.

"B—Bob!" you slammed your hands against the floor and pushed yourself back to your feet, yelling out the man's name like he was a saint.

“You can’t save him,” the dark voice snarled at you from the air. It was speaking to you, "you're my light. You're our light. But the light is not enough for a darkness this dark—"

“Maybe not,” you said with a pained voice as you pushed yourself even more forward towards Bob, "but I can remind him who he is.”

You dove just right past another similar void-like black hole that appeared just beside your another step. You slid across the surface of the hospital-like floor. Right towards the nearly full shadow, Bob is in front of you.

You then caught Bob by the shoulders. Pulling your body flush against him, but he kept punching the darkness below him like his arm was not his. Your front slammed into his back as your arms wrapped around his form. Bob didn't react at all. His fist still moved in that repeated motion without a single thought.

You shifted, pulling your body flush against his side, kneeling with him he threw his fists down. The shadow darkness clinging to him like a skin now. Wrapped around his neck, now just below his jaw like a turtle-neck. All over his body, up his arms, over his chest, down his spine, and legs. Completely dark apart from his head.

You brought your shaky and bloody hands up to his face. The glass pieces that were embedded in your palms through your gloves scraped against his jaw as your fingers gently curled around the soft skin of his face. You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the skin of his cheeks, leaving small maroon stains over his flushed skin.

"Bob," you whispered now, your voice trembling as you looked down at Bob. Not daring to look at the grinning mad nightmare below him, "I'm here. I'm with you."

You leaned in closer as you said those words, your temple brushing the side of his own temple that was hidden under his brown curls. Your lips softly brushed his skin just beside his pink lips "I'm here,” you repeated against where his lips met with his cheek, “you're not alone. You will never be alone.”

Even as your lips remained on the corner of his mouth, even as your palms cupped the side of his face, Bob’s fist kept moving. The darkness was clinging to him even more with each punch that was thrown. The darkness that called itself a void wanted to finish what he had started. Destroy himself.

“It will always be just us,” the Void rasped to Bob with a venomous, mocking voice that made you tremble with each humming dark word.

You stayed there even as he spoke just a few centimeters away from you. You let your finger gently drag along the edge of Bob's soft jaw, you then softly whispered against the corner of his mouth, "don’t listen to him. You’re with me. You’re with us.”

As you spoke those few words, you felt something just beside your body. A new person on your side.

Yelena was there.

She wrapped herself around Bob’s shaking body from behind, her side warm against your own. Her arms looped around his neck, her forehead pressed into the slope of his shoulder just beside your own head. You moved closer to her, almost as if you really wanted to be sure she was actually there by your side.

Then a moment later, came another sudden crash of a body just on the opposite side of you.

John was next.

He dropped down beside Bob, one arm going instantly around Bob’s who was high in the air, ready to throw another slam into the Void's face below. John instantly grabbed it when he landed onto his knees, He held it, letting him relax his punching arm in his grasp. Bob trembled and where your finger was on his cheek, you felt a bit of something warm touching you. A tear.

You pressed your forehead against his more fully. It was more a temple to temple. You shifted slightly so your lips left his skin by his mouth. Your face flush against his. His arm then moved, and you felt the shift of his shoulder against yours. Not the one John held, but the other one closer to you. It rose upward and curled around your arm. His hand was gripping yours tightly like he was trying out the grip in his fingers. His fingers were digging into the sleeve of your grey suit-covered arm.

You felt another body crashing just behind you and Yelena. It was the metal-armed man this time. Bucky was there.

His arm slid over Yelena’s back, the other arm wrapping around Bob. His face was close to Yelena's. He groaned as he dropped to his knees, his body crashing against your and the blonde woman's backs. You were all so close to each other. All because of Bob.

Because of the Bob that was just beside you. Crying. His blue eyes were shut tightly. His lips parted in a cry out. His brow furrowed and quiet sobs wracked through him. Finally getting to him like they were trying to push him down for who knows how long. His fists had stopped, one arm wrapped in John's grasp and the other one gripping yours like he was scared you might leave him. The Void beneath him writhed, he was slowly disappearing. The outline of him was blurry, like an actual shadow. The Void's body was breaking away.

Another crash of a body came from behind. It was Alexei.

He slid in just behind Bob, beside John who was holding Bob's arm. His hand reached forward, grabbing at the blue cloth of his crewneck that clung to Bob's shoulders. His fingers wrapped around it.

Then came the last final crash of a person into your group. It was the dark-haired woman, Ava.

She landed beside Alexei and Yelena, sliding just on her knees to wrap her arms around the trembling frame of Bob on his knees. Her hand was already out before she had really fully stopped moving, grabbing at whatever of Bob she could reach out.

Then all of you in that one moment, you all pulled. And all of you fell back.

You hit the floor with Bob with you. His body pressed flush against yours. The others followed too, Yelena landing just to your right. John, who was actually still bleeding from where metal had caught him in his shoulder, collapsed to Bob’s other side, his arm still looped with the other man. Ava fell just beside John and Bob. Bucky was laying lowest, near Yelena's waist, but he kept an arm on Bob's stomach as you all laid on your backs on the medical-like ground. Alexei hit the ground right beside his daughter, he moved to the side closer to her when Ava came, letting her go in front of him. He was still grasping Bob's edge of his soft blue crewneck.

All of you were there. On the floor, holding Bob like your life depended on his.

Your hand stayed on Bob’s cheek. Even as your bodies dropped onto your backs, even as your head met the cold floor, you stayed with him, your hand not losing its holding point off his cheekbone. Your bloodied palm holding him, fingers scraped with small sharp glass pieces etched in them almost invisibly, fingers trembling unsteadily but you still held him. You couldn't let go of him.

You could feel the damp skin from his tears. His cheek was wet under your fingers, his eyes were closed shut, eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in uneven motion.

Your thumb brushed gently along the soft edge of his cheekbone. His head tilted to the side, closer to your touch. Leaning into the curve of your palm. Like he belonged in it.

The hand that was wrapped around your arm slowly moved lower as you laid still on the ground for a moment, fingers dragged along the edge of your sleeve until they found your gloved bloodied palm. His fingers curled around yours. One of your hands on his cheek and the other one in his grasp.

Beside you, Yelena’s arm was draped across Bob’s chest. She let out a deep breath and moved her arm away, letting it hang by her side. John had rolled onto his side, not holding Bob's arm as a hostage anymore. Ava’s hand had loosened from the back of Bob’s crewneck and she laid still too. Alexei was lying on his back, gasping for air. Bucky had his arm draped over Bob's stomach too, he moved it away just when he laid.

Then you saw it in the corner of your eye. The shadows were moving off the streets around you.

The shadows were disappearing, fading.

Gone was the black parasite-like shadow that was wrapped around Bob’s body just moments before. The growing shadow from his boots to his jaw that threatened him to take the whole. It was gone. The darkness dripped slowly away from the cracks in the ground of the streets. The thick void-black shadow that stole over the city was fading. Showing off the bright streets of New York City.

You were in the street. The streets of New York City. Middle of the road. You weren’t in the medical-like facility that the Void had come from. You didn’t know when the shift happened, but suddenly, you were all lying in the shattered place of a city street. Of New York. You were not in the Watchtower anymore.

The street beneath your backs was half-covered in soot and debris from whatever had happened. But above you was no longer a black void. But a bright, soft blue a sky that matched so well with Bob's eyes.

You felt him shift just beside your body which was flush against yours. His fingers gripped yours more weakly, and you looked down just as his lashes fluttered against his soft cheeks under his eyes.

He blinked once and then twice. Staring up at the marching blue sky above him, then he turned his head towards you. His curls falling over his face, softly brushing against your forehead. Your noses were so close they nearly brushed against each other. The city was shattered around you, a whole world fallen to pieces of darkness and shame of nightmares, but in that moment, it was just the two of you. Or that's what your mind whispered to you.

He whispered your name. So quietly. You barely heard it. But you felt it as the words left his mouth and a breath fell upon your face, "Twenty-Two..."

You gave him a smile. A real one, but small enough that it barely stretched your lips. But it was real, it was genuine. Your thumb moved gently across his cheek, wiping away the last, clinging tear that stained at his cheek. There was a smudge of red maroon stain just below his eye, but he wasn't hurt. It was your own blood. You let your eyes drag over his face and then you leaned forward, closing the tiniest space between the two of you.

You kissed him. Not on the lips. Just close by.

Softly on the same place as before. The corner of his mouth, where cheek met lips. You left your lips there for just a moment, your breath mingling with his as he breathed out through his nose. For a good point in time, you pulled back and rested your forehead to his temple again.

The two of you sat up then. Both of you. Together with your hands still laced. Shoulders touching like you were glued together.

The others slowly sat up too on the street of New York City. Yelena pushed herself upright just beside you, her arm brushing against yours. John moved up, hand pressed to his not much bleeding shoulder that was healed quickly thankfully to his super soldier serum flooding his veins like a wild beast.

Ava pushed herself off the ground too, her eyes scanning the street where the shadows were fading away from the city's buildings. Alexei groaned something in Russian under his breath and rolled up to sit. Bucky sat up too, his eyes moving around the city too, observing the now-free city from the darkness.

You looked at Bob again. He was staring down at the street, brows furrowed as he looked at the city above him. Buildings towering above him. Then he slowly turned his head and looked at you, his brows unfurrowing as his eyes fell upon you. You tightened your hand in his. He tightened his hand back.

"You—Are you okay?" you whispered, tightening your grip on his hand again and letting your other hand fall from his face. His eyes followed your hand that slowly slid from his face, almost like he already missed your contact. His eyes flickered up back to yours, "why wouldn't I be? You're here with me."

You then rose up with the others, standing back up on your feet. Bob was still beside you, his hand in yours, his fingertips grazing over your knuckles.

Around you, the world was crawling back to its original state. The buildings that had looked like blacked-out silhouettes of a dark nightmare slowly faded back into reality. Colours brushing back like they were being painted. Then, people began to appear, stumbling from the shadows that had once sent them into their biggest fear. The shadows were retreating back. Showing off people's and the world's true colours.

John was nearby, taking in the New York around him that was coming back to its original glory. He turned slowly, his eyes falling upon Bob next to you. He gave him a slow nod, "you were great in there, Bob.”

Bob blinked at the mention of his name and turned his gaze away from the New York at John, his smile twitched on his lips, "thanks, Walker."

Then he leaned in slightly, his brows scrunching up in confusion, “um, wait... in where?”

"Oh—what happened here?" he gasped out as he noticed the ruined street around him and the flipped car that laid there on its roof just a few steps away from him, "sorry, I'm just... I'm just a little bit fuzzy."

"Aha... okay," Alexei muttered, also staring at the confused Bob whose hand was still looped in yours. Alexei blinked at him, "are you serious?"

Yelena walked closer to Bob, her head tilting in confusion at him. Her voice was careful when she spoke, "are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Bob turned his head at her and gave her a smile that stretched at his lips. It looked genuine, almost... Almost as if he didn't remember anything that had happened in the last few moments.

Bob looked like someone who had just woken up from a long, comfortable nap and hadn’t yet remembered what the nightmare he had while he slept. And in a way that made you twist your thoughts, you thought it was maybe exactly that was. He didn't seem to recall whatever had happened. You were kind of glad on one side, but on the other side, you were quite disappointed or even sad.

Then, from behind you all sounded a loud high-pitched voice that carried itself to you. A sharp voice cutting through. Valentina's voice was furious and loud. She has her phone up to her ear, her other hand throwing gestures around that looked almost like she was swatting away a fly that kept bothering her. She was pacing around too, just at some unknown destroyed ruins just behind her with a covering thrown over it.

"I'm gonna kill that person!" the Russian in red suit said, pointing his finger directly at Valentina. Before anyone could say anything, he started walking towards the woman, his shoulder squared forward and his steps almost too steady.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. What happens when he regains his memory?" John quickly tried to stop Alexei but he kept walking away. He realized Alexei won't probably stop at his words, so he turned around to face you, Bob, and Yelena. Hoping that someone else has the answer that he's looking for.

Yelena looked up at Bob and then at you. She tilted her head slightly, almost as if she was expecting you to say what happens. Like she was silently asking you the same question.

"Um... I don't know. Come on, Bob," you shrugged your shoulders and started walking, pulling Bob with you by your holding hands. Your fingers tightening around his once again.

Bob glanced down at your holding hands, then up at you with raised eyebrows, "oh? Me too?” he asked quickly.

"Of course. We stick together from now on," Yelena spoke for you, already walking just in front of you, moving to catch her father before he actually hurts Valentina.

"That's nice," Bob smiled faintly and you felt him squeeze your hand back.

"We can't kill her. We've got to take her in," you heard Bucky say to Alexei at the front as they approached the mentioned woman just a few steps before them. Alexei stared at the woman like he was about to jump at her, "maybe when we take her in... we can break a few bones," he said from under his bushy beard.

You walked side by side with Bob. Your hands are held together. The two of you are trailing just at the end of your little wannabe superhero group that tried to save New York just a few minutes before.

You nudged his shoulder gently with your own, "hey... You really don’t remember anything?”

He looked down at you then and the corners of his mouth twitched in a soft, crooked smile. The corner of his lips where yours were just a little while before, "it’s just a bit fuzzy… you know?” he said with an exhale of a laugh. He shook his head which made a few of his brown curls fall over his forehead.

You nodded slowly. Actually a few times, your gaze dropping from the man beside you to the group in front of you. Unfortunately, deep inside your chest was a very growing pot of disappointment. Even though it felt selfish. He did not know that he got hurt, that he nearly died stuck in his own nightmare. The disappointment came from the fact that he didn’t remember the attic. He didn't remember your talk as you sat next to each other in his childhood house's attic. He didn’t remember the ghosts. The cards you both have had since you were children. The press of your lips against the corner of his. He didn’t remember how you pulled him from within the darkness' grasp with your own bloodied hands cupped around his face, whispering that he was not alone. He didn’t remember your forehead resting against his temple as the shadows disappeared from his body.

Or… so you thought.

“But,” he said suddenly, his voice almost amused or cheerful, "I remember when we were in an attic."

You stopped walking at that, your head snapping up at the man. He kept going for half a step but then he realized you weren’t beside him, his hand still in yours so he had his whole arm was hanging to the back. He smiled at you and stepped closer, "you had a card,” he said, “similar to mine. You showed it to me in the attic."

"You remember that?" you breathed out and continued walking behind the others who were going right after Valentina.

He nodded slowly, staring at you as both of you walked with your hands together. Then without you expecting it at all, he leaned down to your head until his lips brushed gently against your temple.

“You’re my missing ghost,” he whispered, the words sounding slightly muffled against your skin, "how could I ever forget that?”

And then he pressed a small, soft kiss just there. Right on your temple.

"Okay! Guys! I know we're all having feelings right now. I have too!" Valentina started to walk away on her heels, stepping over broken ruins to move behind the thrown on covering on one of the ruins just behind her.

"Hi!" Alexei started walking faster and so did Bucky on his side. The red-suited man raised his arm up and waved to her innocently. A thought of snapping her bones in his mind like a pink dream.

"Oh—give me a half a second!" she started to say as she disappeared behind a heavy cloth covering that was draped over what looked like a makeshift wall from ruins up close. The two super-soldiers, Alexei and Bucky, were quick to follow the woman who dipped away. They both fastened their steps and dipped in between the thrown sheet of covering and stepped through it to wherever she had just went to.

You were quick to follow Yelena with Bob just behind you. You were dragging him with your hand, his fingers around yours. You followed through the parted covering next.

Just as you stepped on the other side of the makeshift wall, you were met with a sea of people. At least hundreds of them. Maybe even more than a hundred. They were all gathered right in front of you, all of them facing you with their huge cameras pointed at you like you were an animal in a zoo. Cameramen and photographers lined the front with their lenses pointed straight at you all in the front. Flashes went from all the sides as you stepped through in the front.

Valentina stood at the front like a queen facing her own country. A transparent podium right in front of you with dozens of microphones stuck on top of it, facing her mouth to catch every word she's going to say for the public before her.

"Is it live?" Valentina asked her assistant who was standing just beside her. The younger woman nodded and Valentina smiled back at the people in front of her.

Valentina leaned toward the microphones, "for years, I've been working secretly to develop a new age of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States needed that protection and thanks to my hard work... They got it!"

You squinted your eyes at her, a frown on your face. Bob was nodding to her words, it looked like he was agreeing with her even though he didn't know a single thing that had actually happened before. You hit his shoulder with yours and his head snapped to yours with wide eyes. He turned to you with surprise all over him. You leaned to the side, your eyes on the public in front of you, "don't do that," you said under your breath, "she is lying."

Bob widened his eyes and stood still like a statue out of a stone. Then what came next hit you so hard in your soul that you couldn't even believe it. Valentina said the most unhinged thing ever. Something nobody in the whole of New York was expecting.

"Ladies and gentlemen... Meet the New Avengers!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. Applause broke out from the people before you, flashes snapping even more now.

A deep frown pulled across your face as those words left her mouth, you squinted at her from where you were standing with Bob. You were not standing with Bob anymore. You realized that when you heard a clapping sound that sounded too close to you.

He was standing a step away from you. He was smiling at you and the others just on your right, his palms coming together in excited applause. He was clapping.

He was turned towards you all. Towards Alexei, Bucky, John, Ava, Yelena, and you. Clapping for you six. All six of you were even dressed for combat. And Bob, he was the only one in civilian clothes, he looked like a fan as he was clapping.

You stared at him, your lips parting slowly as you stared at the man in disbelief, "Bob,” you breathed, low at first to only catch his attention. But it did not, faze him at all, he just continued with a smile and clapped. You tried louder then, more sharper, "Bob?"

“Why are you clapping?” you whispered-shouted at him, stepping closer to the man, “you are not doing this! You know you’re not—why are you—”

He just grinned at you, almost like he did not hear you. He continued clapping. He didn't even seem confused at this. You stared at him in disbelief. You glanced at the others just to your right.

John's mouth was parted open in disbelief, his expression furrowed as he stared at the cheering people in front of him. Alexei was enjoying it. Ava's eyes were wide, and she was looking from side to side, from one photographer to another reporter in front of her. Bucky looked at the reporters and then at Yelena, who was already looking at him and she gave him a firm nod.

She slowly walked over to where Valentina was standing in front of the transparent table. Yelena stopped just beside the woman and she leaned by her ear.

"We own you now," she leaned in and whispered to the woman.

Valentina's fake, smile twitched down and then twitched back up again. She stared at the crowd before her, her smile twitching. She then turned back up and breathed out, her professional fake smile back on like a mask.

Yelena then leaned away with a smirk on her lips. Still by Valentina's side, staring at the crowd before her. She closed her eyes for a moment, she let out a deep breath, and looked back at the people. Prepared for whatever may come in the future. The consequences of becoming the New Avengers as Valentina had said to the audience.

"Bob," you said again, trying to catch the man's attention once more, "Bob..." it was less of a warning now, it was more of a plea.

"Okay—stop clapping! Bob. Bob, please—" you whispered-shouted again, taking a step towards him. He grinned at you and continued clapping.

You were quick to pull your hands up and grab his right arm, holding his wrist between your fingers, gripping his blue crewneck's sleeve.

"You're a part of the New Avengers! That's exciting," he leaned closer to you, his arm in your palm. Not clapping anymore.

"Well," you said, uncertain of your own next words. You looked over your shoulder towards where the others were. Alexei smiled at you from under his unkept bushy beard and nodded to you, as he was the only one to hear your small conversation with the man in corduroy pants, "we are. You are too."

"What—" he started to say but was cut off when Alexei nudged his shoulder with his. He grinned at him and nodded towards where Yelena was leaving from where she had come from through the opening of the covering over the makeshift wall. You nodded towards where Alexei nodded towards and then you dragged Bob with you once again, following Yelena and as well the others who were leaving too. Leaving Valentina to face the public herself.

You went through the hole in he covering and moved to the side where no flashes of cameras, photographers, or reporters were. You breathed out and stopped just beside Bucky. You put the top of your hand on your forehead and exhaled, letting go of Bob's hand. He stood still, looking up at the towering buildings of New York City.

"So, what now?" John came just beside you, his shoulder knocking into yours. You knocked yours back.

"I don't know. I want to go home," Ava said breathlessly, staring down at the ground, her hands on her hips. John nodded with his lips pouted, "good idea. I'm heading home."

"Yeah. I know Valentina's going to have our asses ready for something in a few days," Ava said again, lifting her head up and staring at others. You nodded, your hand still on your forehead. Ava then added, "we should've let Alexei break her bones just this time.”

"Also, Bobby. Can you—Can you fix this taco you made out of my shield?" John turned towards Bob, leaning himself slightly forward to look at him over you.

"Oh. Woah, I did that?" Bob looked down at the bent shield in John's hands. His eyes nearly bulged out, wide as a deer.

John blinked at him and then lowered his arm. He muttered quietly with a huff, "nevermind..."

"Awh. So, we are not called Thunderbolts anymore?" Alexei suddenly appeared next to Ava, his smile was downturned and his arms were on his hips too. She turned to him as he spoke out with his thick Russian accent.

“We are the New Avengers,” Ava said to the man next to her. Then she added with a flick of her head, “apparently..."

Alexei leaned back on his heels, staring at the Watchtower that was close by, "so what now? We go to that big tower in the sky where the Avengers were before?"

Ava turned to him and raised her eyebrows, "that doesn't sound bad."

"It does not! You are all so welcome!" another voice joined your conversation and you all turned towards it. It was Valentina. She had her arms clasped together with a smile plastered on her face.

"You—" John started but was cut off by Valentina raised her finger and shushed him like a little baby. She smiled at him with her teeth out and turned towards Yelena and then looked at you others.

"As I said... You are welcome at the Watchtower. After it gets reconstructed because it's ruined. Again!" the woman rolled her eyes at her last word.

You took a slow step forward, "we didn’t agree to this. You threw us into the public eye without any warning, Valentina. Some of us almost died today. I did once, remember? Why did you do this?"

Valentina blinked slowly, but her smile remained on her lips like it was painted on with permanent marker, "yes. I see, you're angry. I understand. But this… this is bigger than one bad day. Everyone will die once, won't they?"

You blinked at her a few times.

Valentina exhaled loudly. Almost too dramatically. She turned back toward the group of you with a look that look of hers when she was going to have a long, boring speech.

“Go home,” she said flatly with another exhale of her breath, "get rest. Make some coffee. Or tea, I don't really care” she paused and then clasped her hands together into a prayer, “and please, for god’s sake, don’t die. Not now. I’ve just branded you.”

"Branded us? What are we... a brand now?" John muttered from next to you with sarcasm dripping from his lips.

Valentina ignored him and continued her speech without making any remark at him, "I’ll be contacting you soon. Very soon. When I do, I expect you back here in New York. Specifically, the Watchtower. It will be rebuilt. For the New Avengers!" Valentina smiled at you with all her teeth.

"In the meantime, do whatever. Sleep. Meditate. Cook. Find a hobby. I don’t care. Just don’t make me regret... this" she gestured at you all with her hands.

Before you could say anything to the woman. She was already leaving. She turned and walked off again without looking back at you, no other words uttered to any of you.

You turned back towards Bob who was somehow already staring down at you with those blue eyes of his. You then looked back in front of you where others were.

“Well. As I said, I’m going home,” Ava was the first to speak, stretching her arms high above her head with a groan. She then dropped her arms back and looked at you and everyone else, "see you,” she added, her mask jumping back on her head before she disappeared in a blur and phased somewhere further away. You didn’t even get the chance to say anything to her.

Yelena was next to move. She turned to you first. She gave you a tight smile, "take care,” she said softly. You smiled back at her as she said that.

“You too. I’ll see you,” you replied with a small smile of your own. But she had already turned around, walking off into the street without another word to anyone else.

"I don't get a take care from her?" John muttered childishly from beside you, his shoulders dropping sadly. You chuckled and your eyes moved to the other Russian who was already grinning like a little boy.

Alexei let out a loud, delighted shriek which made you grimace, "I love you, my new team! So cool!” he called out with his familiar thick Russian accent, "I need to go with my Lena. Bye!” he waved with his both arms above his head and then quickly ran off after his daughter, catching up to her before she was quick to disappear into the long streets of the New York City.

Bucky was next to go. He stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed as he scanned the ruins of the street like he still wasn’t sure any of this had actually happened and that it was all his dream. He shook his head, his longer hair falling over his eyes slightly. He exhaled sharply through his nose and looked over at you, John, and you.

“I didn’t even plan on going anywhere today,” he said with a huff and shook his head, "then suddenly I’m in the New Avengers?"

He turned to face you again. He gave you a single nod and then looked over at Bob, then finally at John on your left.

“You all take care,” Bucky added and gave another firm nod, his eyes flickered to John on your left and he grimaced but gave a smile afterwards, "don't die, Walker..." he then started walking, leaving you three standing alone.

It was just you now. You, John, and Bob.

"Hey. You got a take care from Bucky at least," you joked to John, who scoffed like a teenage boy. Nudging his side with your elbow, "also a don't die! I didn't get that one."

“That was cool,” Bob said with a smile, his shoulder brushing against yours as he shifted slightly on his feet.

John grumbled under his breath as he followed, "I say don’t die all the time. Nobody calls me cool.”

“That’s because you also say stuff like... Can you fix this taco you made out of my shield?" you mocked his voice as you tried to speak like he did. You then nudged him with your elbow once again and he swatted your arm away with a loud dramatic groan.

"But—it is a taco. He literally bent my shield!" John yelled out, pointing his hand at the curved metal in his hand. Lifting the curved piece up to show it off to you and Bob. You both quietly chuckled and snorted at the twisted metal piece that used to be his shield.

John let out a long, dragged out sigh, “alright… I should probably head... home too,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, staring ahead at the street that stretched in front of him.

You looked up at him with a small smile and nodded at him, “yeah...” you said. John then nodded again, once and then again, "you too. Stay safe. Don’t die.”

You rolled your eyes at that, grinning, "right. Especially me... No promises here.”

He then shifted his attention to Bob right next to you, "and you—uh…” John gestured vaguely at him with his bent shield, "stay happy. Or… whatever..."

"John, you can't—" you shook your head and John raised his hands with a few chuckles. Then he turned back to you, his body completely facing yours. Just stood there in front of you, not moving at all. Just standing there in front of you. Your brows pulled together at his weird stance, "what?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there. You squinted your eyes at him, "John?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, his stance still as a statue, “Twenty-two?” he said your name the same way you did said his.

"What? Are you—" you tilted your head up at him, confusion drawing on your face. Puzzled.

He exhaled deeply that his shoulder fell down, "damn it,” he muttered and before you could ask anything else, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. You froze at that. You didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. You stood still as a dead one.

Bob stared at the interaction from beside you, brows furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open like he was not expecting this either.

It took you a moment until you let your hands up slowly, wrapping your arms around his frame to return the hug. You did it slowly, carefully, almost like you weren't sure. Your hands finding their way to rest lightly on his back.

John didn’t say anything else for when you hugged. Then when he pulled back, he didn’t meet your eyes. Just cleared his throat and nodded once, staring at the street, "do not make this weird."

“It was already weird,” you said staring up at the man with taco-shield. John scoffed and his eyes found yours again, "I'll see you," he told you and then his gaze flickered to Bob beside you who was watching the whole scene unfold like a movie scene, "you too, Bobby."

Bob smiled at him awkwardly and gave him a short wave. John didn’t say anything else, but just gave a short, awkward nod in return to the man in blue crewneck. John then turned on his heels and he finally he walked away, his silhouette growing smaller with every step as he went down the long street of New York.

You then exhaled a breath that you didn't even realize that you were holding. You looked down at your feet, at the tip of your tactical boots and then back up. This time up at Bob's face who was silently observing you.

He was still staring. Like he never took his eyes off you. When he caught your gaze, he straightened his shoulders slightly, shuffling on his feet.

“Can I... Do I go with you?" he asked quietly. Almost like he was looking for an allowance from you. He was hoping for you to say yes deep in his chest. He didn't know where else he could go. He was in Malaysia for months while they did their experiments. Then before Malaysia, he was mostly on the streets, looking for drugs and staying in motels that nearly did not even have a bed or a functioning shower. He was an addict who tried to live.

You blinked at him and then a smile stretched on your lips, "yes... You can and you do."

A grin spread on his lips. From one ear to another, he was beaming. You both then started walking together, shoulder brushing against each other's with each step you took.

You have an apartment. It's an average size, you'd say. It is small, but not cramped small. You hadn’t been there much lately, you've been mostly on the road because of the missions that Valentina assigned you. You hadn't been there for nearly months. You cannot count the weeks you hadn't been home on your fingers anymore.

The time passed quietly, but also pretty quickly. One minute you were walking on the half-destroyed street of New York, the next you were holding two tickets at the nearest airport in the city, and then the next you were slowly drifting off into sleep on your flight back home. Valentina somehow managed to get you and Bob two flight tickets with one of her private contacts without anyone being on the flight with you. That was one thing she was good at, using her money for when you needed it. They wouldn't have let you on a normal, public flight with bombs, knives, and guns strapped to your suit with blood on your face and hands.

Bob had fallen asleep not long after takeoff of the shaking plane. His head rested against your shoulder. His whole body heavy with exhaustion, his breath even for the first time in the whole day you'd say. His eyelashes softly fallen on his cheeks, fluttering slightly while he dreamed.

Your seat was by the window, so you leaned your head against the colder part of it. It pressed on your exposed skin of your face, cooling you slightly as the warmth from Bob radiated onto you. His warm palm wrapped around your own.

And you let yourself lean back against him. His curls brushing against your jaw as you put your head upon his. You laid together, sleeping soundlessly until the plane touched ground and you both had to face whatever awaited you next in your upcoming life chapter that you had not planned beforehand.

But for now, he was here. You were here. And that was enough for the both of you.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

well. we just finished the whole thunderbolts* movie for the writing.... eight chapters done, two to go most likely :,)

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180 , @witch-of-letters , @articel1967 , @kazamys , @ch-3-rry , @blackstabbath6

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blackwidowbabe · 2 days ago

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Medic Bay

Description: Natasha learns to trust you with her injuries, and decides to pay you a visit on purpose.

Tags: mainly fluff (if you can call it that tbh), medic!reader, gn!reader

Word count: 542

Natasha Romanoff could handle pain. The Red Room taught her to, so there was little room for excuse that she wouldn’t. It was engraved into her. Pain was an indicator of weakness; from prey to meal, and Natasha refused to be eaten. Or at least show it.

When you first arrived at SHIELD, it was safe to say Natasha didn’t trust you. She didn’t like being treated by strangers. It took weeks for her to let Clint treat her injuries when she first joined SHIELD, and it was no different with you. Weeks passed of her observing you with the others to deem you trustworthy, although it made it easier when you teased Tony about ‘how he deserved a lollipop because he was so brave.’

From then on, she liked you.

Even if it was your job, she noticed how you held compassion for each person who came through the medic bay, no matter their injury.

It made her think back to the Red Room, how medics only stared blankly at the widows that passed through. They didn’t bother with pleasantries or comfort—they simply stuck a needle in you and did what they needed. It didn’t matter if she was eight or eighteen, widows were meaningless bodies that were their paycheck.

But you truly cared. How you picked up anyone's mood, or changed their perspective, or how you knew exactly what type of humor would crack their frown. It was kindness like that which stuck.

All she did was walk in and lock eyes with you. No words were exchanged, and yet you got up from your desk and took out some first aid. She went ahead and sat on the medical bed.

And although she wouldn’t admit it, she wanted a lollipop too.

Pulling up a chair, you dabbed some antiseptic on her injury, shaking your head playfully. “Again?” Cradling her hand gently in yours, you slowly began wrapping bandages over her wound.

Natasha let out a small smile. She would’ve easily dodged the man’s knife, but knowing she’d get to see you, she let him have a small nick. She found that letting you tend to her was comforting. “He got a good hit,” she replied.

You gave her a look as you tucked the end of the bandage to secure it. “Nobody gets a good hit on Natasha Romanoff.”

Her mysterious eyes met yours. “Thank you.” Her voice was more vulnerable than she would’ve liked. You seemed to pick up on that, but didn’t comment on it. You just waved your hand with a smile as you packed away the supplies.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“No, really.” She stood up from the bed, “thank you.”

She watched as you began shuffling though a drawer and presented a colorfully wrapped lollipop. She cracked an amused smile, but underneath the child in her squealed as she took it. “I take it I was brave?”

“Braver than Tony.” You grinned, taking out your own. The two of you unwrapped your sweets, and you titled yours towards her. “Cheers.”

She clinked her candy with yours, and with only the hum of the medic bay generators, the two of you shared a trusting silence.

She’d have to get hurt more often...

#black widow #natasha x reader #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #fluff #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 1 day ago

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John Walker X F! Reader: Reckless Admission

Summary: After a mission gone wrong leaves you injured, John can no longer keep his emotions hidden. Smut ensues.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, self blame (reader fucked up a mission), oral sex (f receiving), penetration (p in v), strong language, kissing, teasing, slow burn romance, emotional tension, light fighting, some angst, injury mention, mild violence, possessive behavior, no use of y/n, fluff, happy ending.

Word count: 4.3K

You felt like a fucking idiot.

The entire flight back, you couldn’t stop cursing yourself.

How could you have been so stupid? How did you not see the guy before he took the shot?

It was a fucking amateur move. It wasn’t something an Avenger should have done. Which meant it wasn’t something you should have done. But it had happened all the same. And now you were going to have to deal with the consequences.

Your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling, running through every possible fight you were about to get into the second the team saw you. You knew they’d blame you—and you’d take it, because it was your fault.

Your fuck-up. Your stupid move that had almost thrown the entire mission off the rails.

You weren’t arrogant enough to deny that. So you just sat there in silence the whole way home, rehearsing for what was sure to be the most uncomfortable evening of your life.

You barely even felt the bullet wound anymore. Barely smelled the blood. But it was there—drying, crusting. A dull reminder beneath the suit.

You were so buried in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the way John's eyes flicked to you every now and then.

Watching. Measuring. Making sure you didn’t knock yourself out from blood loss.

He was keeping an eye on you—because he always did, even if you were too dense to see it. But this time, there was something else in his expression. Something quieter. Angrier.

It wasn’t just concern. There was rage coiled beneath it. A restrained kind of fury. Because how could you have been so fucking stupid?

If he hadn’t been there, you probably wouldn’t still be breathing.

Had you even stopped to think what that would’ve meant for the team?

For him?

Probably not.

Not that he could blame you—not really. It wasn’t like he’d ever made it crystal clear how he felt about you. At least, not in a way you seemed to pick up on. He cared. More than he cared about the rest of the team. That much was true. He’d lost people before. He knew what that felt like. And he sure as hell wasn’t planning on losing you.

The moment you stepped off the jet, voices started filling your head. Not the anxious kind that usually followed a fucked-up mission, but actual voices—real teammates, completely unaware you were still bleeding through your suit. And you let them talk shit. You just stood there, hollow, listening to the bickering around you about how you’d fucked up, how you’d almost ruined everything.

You took it, because you felt like you deserved it.

Maybe if Bob had been here, he’d have shut them down. But he was still somewhere up in the tower, doing God knows what.

“Hey, can you all just shut the fuck up? Can’t you see she’s fucking bleeding?”

Your eyes snapped up at the sound, your head turning to face the owner of the voice.

John stood beside you, his spine rigid as he spoke.

You hadn’t expected him to defend you. If anything, you thought he’d join the rest of the team as they chewed you out.

He’d saved you, and you were sure that if he hadn’t been there, you probably wouldn’t be standing here right now.

John avoided your gaze, even though he could feel your eyes on the back of his head. He couldn’t look at you right now, because if he did, he’d most likely say or do something stupid. So he kept his eyes on the rest of the teammates, silently daring them to keep talking.

Under many other circumstances, Ava would have probably chewed him out about something, or Yelena would have made a smart comment. But the look on his face—this raw rage that had become more and more unexpected in recent months—kept the rest of the team silent.

You were all tired. You were all full of adrenaline. Someone was about to say something they’d regret. You could feel it in the air.

So none of you spoke.

The rest of the team moved silently into the tower, leaving you and John alone outside. You hadn’t stopped looking at him since he’d spoken. You felt the urge to say thank you, but just as you opened your mouth, his words cut through the silence.

“Get to the medbay. You need to patch that thing up.”

He hadn’t even waited for you to respond before walking toward the building, leaving you outside alone. Suddenly, you felt the urge to cry, but you bottled it down, shaking your head as you followed the rest of the team inside.

This whole patching-up thing would’ve been a lot easier with an extra pair of hands. But you felt too bad about yourself to ask for help. So here you were, ripping gauze with your teeth as you tried—unsuccessfully—to patch up the wound on your arm.

The bullet had gone clean through, which was a good thing. It meant you didn’t have to extract it yourself, which you were sure would’ve been an awful process to do alone. But that also meant you needed stitches. Stitching yourself up wasn’t exactly the most fun process. You’d managed through gritted teeth and small curses.

But you’d managed.

Once you’d finally covered the wound with the proper amount of gauze and tape, you allowed yourself to sit on the cot, eyes staring out into the city through the window.

The urge to cry bubbled up again. This time, you allowed yourself to feel it—because you were alone. You felt comfortable being vulnerable alone. The sound of your cries echoed through the tiny room. You hadn’t expected anyone to hear it. It was quite possible they wouldn’t.

But John was in the room. And with no doors or walls stopping the sound from reaching his ears, it was impossible to ignore.

He suddenly felt like a fucking asshole.

He thought about leaving. Thought about silently exiting the room, leaving you to cry by yourself. But he pushed the thought down as soon as it came to his brain—because he couldn’t. He couldn’t physically remove himself from the room knowing you were suffering inside it. Maybe that made him soft. Maybe he was okay with that.

He made his way over to you in silent steps. He didn’t want to freak you out, but he also knew he needed to make his presence known—especially if his intention was to comfort you.

Your hands covered your eyes as you cried, your body shaking softly with every sob. John reached out a hand, stopping an inch from your shoulder.

He hesitated.

Was he doing the right thing? Would he be able to talk to you without getting pissed? Probably not. But he’d try his best.

Your head snapped up at the feeling of something touching your shoulder. Your tear-covered eyes met John’s baby blue ones. Your face was wet from crying. You felt pathetic, and you were sure you looked it too.

John didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a moment. You stared right back at him. Then your lip quivered, and before he could react, you reached out for him—hands wrapping around his chest as you buried your face in his shirt. He hadn’t been expecting that. If anything, he’d expected you to tell him to fuck off.

It was a rather nice surprise.

He let you cling to him, his hands moving in small circles on your back as you continued to cry into his shirt. He could feel the wetness of your tears leaking through the fabric and into his skin.

“I’m sorry,” you said through a sob.

God, he was such a dick.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. You knew it wasn’t okay. But you let him comfort you, because if you were going to be truthful—you needed it. More than you cared to admit.

You slowly pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you wiped at your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, voice cracking. “I fucked everything up.”

John’s eyes narrowed just slightly, and he didn’t hide the bluntness in his tone.

“Yeah, you did.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and you bristled immediately.

“Wow, thanks. You don’t have to rub it in.”

He stared at you, unflinching.

“I’m not rubbing it in.”

“Then why say it like that?”

John sighed, frustration threading through his voice.

“Because you need to hear it.”

You crossed your arms, anger bubbling up.

“Well, maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m already beating myself up enough without you piling on.”

Of course you two were going to have at it. Of course his desire to comfort you would turn into a fight. That’s just the way he was wired. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t escape it—this anger, this aggressiveness that always seemed to bubble just under his skin.

It didn’t help that you were just like him. Just as ill-tempered. Just as ready to snap back and defend yourself. Because yes, you’d fucked up. He didn’t need to rub it in. You didn’t need him reminding you of the things you already thought about yourself. And he hadn’t intended to. He truly hadn’t. Of course, that was the way you’d taken it.

John stepped back, his hands going over his face. It had been months since he noticed he had a thing for you. Months since he realized just how much he cared about you—about your well-being. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d tell you. This was definitely not the situation he would’ve imagined.

But maybe it was perfect this way. Maybe it fit with the way you two were wired. He’d confesse to you in a fight.

Wasn’t that just fucking poetic?

“It’s not about your fuck-up!”

“Oh yeah, John? So enlighten me—what is this about?”

“It’s about you being so fucking reckless that you’re gonna end up getting yourself killed.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, and the sound made his blood boil even more.

“Like you fucking care.”

And that was the breaking point.

Because what the hell did you mean—he didn’t care?

Okay, John wasn’t the most cuddly person, but he never ever went out of his way to make you feel like he didn’t give a shit about you.

You were both standing now, chests heaving.

He took a step forward, towering over you, jabbing his finger at your chest.

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“Why the hell not, Walker?”

John’s eyes darkened, the frustration and worry swirling in them like a storm.

“Because I do care,” he growled, voice low but fierce. “More than you realize.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defensively.

“Then why do you always act like I’m a screw-up? Like I’m not worth the trouble?”

His finger dropped from your chest, but his stance stayed firm.

“Because I’m scared,” he admitted, voice cracking just enough to show how much it hurt. “Scared of losing you. Scared you’re gonna get yourself killed and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

You blinked, the fight faltering for a heartbeat.

Oh, you had not expected that.

There were a million other things you thought he might say, but what he did? No—you never expected that.

You didn’t know how to answer, so you just stood there for a moment, gazing up at him, watching his chest rise and fall with anger.

You’d riled him up because you’d expected him to put you down.

But this—this was something else entirely.

You reached for him before you even realized what you were doing, hands clawing at his shirt as you pushed your face to his, crashing your lips together.

Your lips moved against his with a fierce urgency—everything you’d been holding back pouring out in the desperate press of your mouth against his.

His hands found your waist, gripping firmly as if anchoring himself to you, while your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The roughness of his calloused hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, sending sparks of heat rippling through you.

You felt the sharp intake of his breath as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a growing hunger. His body pressed harder against yours, every inch of him taut and demanding.

You hadn’t even realized you’d moved back from where you were standing until your back hit the wall. You let out a soft gasp, lips parting to allow John to tangle his tongue with yours.

There was no restraint. There was no fear.

There was only passion—and you adored it.

John was completely lost in it, his hands roaming over your body as he tried to grab onto any part of you. He was being rough with it—and it wasn’t like you were complaining.

But then he pushed you a little too hard, and your shoulder bumped into the wall—right on the spot you had wounded.

You hissed.

The moment you did, John pulled back.

“Did I—”

“No, okay, it’s okay. Don’t stop.”

John hesitated for a moment, his eyes trailing over the gauze on your shoulder. The fervent desire that had been coursing through his body faltered for a moment.

You were hurt. He’d known it, but seeing it—actually looking at the place where your wound was covered—made his heart ache a bit.

“John.” You called his name softly, one of your hands moving up to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “I’m okay. I promise.”

John pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a shuddered sigh. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You knew he was talking about getting hurt, but it wasn’t exactly something you could always stop. “I’m not in control of that. Not always.”

John sighed because he knew it was true. You were superheroes. Of course you’d get hurt one moment or another. That didn’t mean you had to do it alone.

“I know. Just… ask for help next time. Let me…” He stopped for a moment, suddenly self-conscious. But he forced himself to continue because it felt important to say. “Let me take care of you.”

You gave him a soft smile—it was the most tender side he’d ever seen come from you. You pushed your lips against his, softer this time.

“Okay,” you whispered.

When his lips met yours again, the fire that had been burning was still there, but it was softer now—followed by something that wasn’t just lust, but love.

You sighed as he moved his lips to the side of your neck, your head tilting up to give him better access.

His fingers trailed against your hips, kneading the skin there gently.

When his hand slipped beneath your shirt, you let out a soft gasp—not expecting the warmth of his palm on your body.

John pulled away for a moment, gazing up into your eyes.

“Can I take this off?”

You gave him a quick nod, arms raising to help him.

You grimaced as the movement sent a small sting of pain through your wound. It wasn’t anything too bad, but John placed a kiss on your shoulder to distract you.

You hummed at the gesture, hands moving to cradle his head as he made his way down your body.

Every inch of skin revealed to John was treated with reverence and love.

He kissed every inch of you—from your lips down to your calves.

You were having a hard time standing, desire clouding your brain and turning your body into mush.

John seemed to notice, causing him to call out your name.

“You alright?”

You grinned down at him, your hand moving against his beard.

“I’m perfect.”

John seemed satisfied with your answer for the time being. His hands framed your thighs, steadying you as he kissed along your inner thighs—careful and slow, worshipping every inch of your skin.

Your hips bucked up unconsciously. It was clear from the wet patch in your underwear that you needed him.

His chest swelled with pride.

John moved one of his fingers along your clothed cunt. You let out a soft whine.

“Please.”

“Don’t need to beg, baby. I’ll give it to you. Just relax.”

He pushed your underwear down your legs before tugging one of your legs onto his shoulders.

After what felt like an eternity, John’s tongue flicked out.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your breath hitching as his lips wrapped around your clit.

John’s tongue moved with slow, teasing strokes, each flick sending shivers rippling through your body.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against you, voice low and husky.

You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “John…”

He looked up briefly, eyes locking with yours, full of hunger and something softer underneath.

“I want to make you feel amazing,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss just above your clit before diving back in.

Your breath hitched, body trembling as waves of pleasure built steadily.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice rough with need. “I want to know everything you want.”

You managed a shaky smile. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk, tongue swirling in circles that drove you higher, his fingers slipping inside you to caress your pussy with practiced ease.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, the words sending a fresh rush of warmth flooding through you.

You moaned, head falling back against the cool wall, the contrast making the sensation even more intense. John’s rhythm never faltered, each movement calibrated to push you closer to the edge. You could feel it coming—you just needed a little push for your orgasm to wash over you.

And John was prepared to give it to you.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

And you did. You came with a cry, hands moving over the wall as you tried to hold onto reality. John continued to lick at you, cleaning your cum up like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

John pulled back slowly, his lips glistening with you. He looked up at you, eyes dark and satisfied, but there was a softness there too. You reached down, brushing your fingers through his hair, still trembling from the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Something about your fucked out face snapped somthing inside him.

“Not done yet,” John murmured, his voice rough as he pressed a lingering kiss to your inner thigh.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache of wanting more. You wondered if you’d ever have enough of him. You doubted it.

John stood up after gently placing your foot back onto the ground. Your leg ached slightly, but it was soon forgotten as John kissed you again. You could taste yourself on his lips.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, matching his hunger with your own desperate need.

You weren’t the only one who was still needy. Heat radiated off John’s body as his hands moved to cup your ass, his hard on pressing urgent and unforgiving against you.

How you wished to feel him inside.

John’s breath hitched as he pressed you harder against the cool wall. His hands gripped your hips possessively, thumbs digging into your skin as he ground his hardness against you with slow ruts

“You want this, don’t you? My reckless girl,” he murmured, his voice a rough tease, eyes dark with hunger and something fiercer beneath.

You gasped, fingers clutching at his shirt as your hips rolled instinctively, craving more. His reckless girl. Because yes, you were his—and there was no denying that. The ache between your legs grew unbearable, burning with desire and raw need.

John’s lips found your neck again, teeth grazing the tender skin and eliciting a sharp moan from you. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, fingertips tracing the curve of his muscles. It felt unfair how overdressed he was compared to you.

John seemed to read your thoughts because he backed away slightly and pulled his shirt off.

Your nipples dragged against his bare chest as he pulled you into another bruising kiss. You whined as you felt him roll his clothed dick against you for the hundredth time. You couldn’t handle all this teasing—you needed him, and you needed him now.

Your hands moved over to his pants, fingers grazing the belt. He glanced down at the waistband, then back up at your flushed face, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He replaced your hands with his own, moving yours to hold onto his shoulders. You watched as he slowly, deliberately hooked his thumbs beneath the belt loops and began to unbuckle them, his eyes never leaving yours.

You licked your lips unconsciously, as his dick was finally free from its confines. You’d been craving him for a long time—maybe longer than you cared to admit—and you were sure it was clear on your face. John placed his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with desire and something else—something possessive.

He pulled you into a steamy kiss, groaning as his dick came into contact with your slick folds.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and fierce. “And I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

You couldn’t trust your mouth at that moment, so you just gave him a soft nod.

“Ready for me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, John.”

Satisfied, he pushed in. You hissed at the feeling, trying to get used to his length. John noticed your discomfort and paused the movement of his hips for a moment. It was taking everything in him not to just ram inside you.

Your hands clawed at his back, surely leaving marks. He didn’t care—in fact, he enjoyed the thought of having a reminder of you on his body.

“John, please move.”

He did as you asked, thrusting forward.

John’s hips began a steady, deep rhythm—slow and deliberate at first, giving you time to adjust to the stretch, the fullness of him inside you. His hands found your waist, gripping firmly, holding you close as he drove into you. The roughness in his movements was laced with a fierce urgency, a hunger that matched your own.

Your breath hitched as his body moved in time with yours, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure that blurred the sharp edges of pain from your wound. The cold wall pressed against your back, grounding you, contrasting with the fire burning between your legs.

John’s voice dropped low, thick with want. “God, you feel so good.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm—fuck, I’m getting close.”

You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, hips snapping harder against yours. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed faintly in the small medbay, your ragged breaths mingling with his deep groans.

His lips found your neck again, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Want you to cum with me. Can you hold on a little longer, baby? Huh? Can you wait for me?”

You nodded dumbly, already so far gone you were surprised you could even process what he was saying.

Your body trembled under his touch, pleasure rising fast and fierce. You clung to him as the waves built, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The heat inside you pooled and spilled over, your voice breaking free in a shuddered cry.

John groaned deep in his chest, hands tightening on your hips as he chased his own release, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke.

“Cum, baby. Go ahead,” he rasped, voice thick with need.

With one last, powerful thrust, you both tumbled over the edge—your cries mingling, breathless and raw.

Your bodies stilled, clinging to one another in the aftermath. His chest heaved against yours, damp with sweat, the sound of your synchronized breathing filling the quiet space.

John didn’t pull away right away. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing tenderly over your skin, as though grounding himself in the moment. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, the other smoothing gently down your spine.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice rough but softer now, laced with concern.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah… I’m good. Really good.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, warm and fond. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his fingers brushing a few strands of hair from your face. His eyes, once dark with lust, were now gentler—softer, searching.

“I meant what I said,” he told you quietly.

“I know you did, John.”

Your hand found his jaw, thumb stroking along the stubble there.

“I promise I'll be more careful.”

He kissed you again—slow this time, without heat, just closeness. His lips lingered on yours like a promise, like he wanted to seal the moment into something more than just physical.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm as it fanned across your cheek. His arms wrapped fully around you, holding you close, grounding you against his bare chest.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes,” he murmured with a faint smile, voice rough with leftover emotion. “But I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into him. “Even when I drive you insane?”

“Especially then.”

You laughed softly, and the sound made something flicker in his expression—something tender and unguarded. His thumb brushed slow circles against your hip as silence fell over you both, the kind that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but full.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” you whispered, the confession slipping out as natural as breath.

He pulled you in tighter. “Good. 'Cause I don’t think I’d let you.”

And for a long, still moment, you just stayed there—tangled up in each other, the chaos of the world outside forgotten. Just you and him, in the quiet after. Safe in each other's arms.

218 notes · View notes

blank-potato · 8 hours ago

Text

You Cast A Spell On All My Nights And Days

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Witch!Reader

Summary:

“You could tear down cities with what’s inside you. But instead, you shackle it for people who will never understand it. Who will never understand you.” The implication is all too clear. “Who will never understand you like I do.” You tense. He wants something. Power, connection and most of all, you. “You don’t know me,” you spit back, as if to ward him off. But he doesn't flinch, nor does he smirk. “I’d like to,” he responds, and it’s surprisingly soft. Or After your last encounter, The Void is still haunting your every thought, and you're still toying with one another. But, after a mission sends you spiralling, he gives you a nudge in the wrong direction.

Tags/Warnings: The Void is a bad influence and trying to bring you to the dark side (he's like 'Palpatine'-ing you), reader has arrived at manipulation station, Bob being cute, The Void being toxic but kinda sweet, little angst, reader's guilt/self-condemnation, no smut

WC: 3.0k

A/N: Title from Magic Ways by Tatsuro Yamashita again. This is part 2 of I Love The Girl With Magic Ways, linked below. I thought about writing smut, but then I didn't because I thought it was too soon, so I might write a final part with smut later idk

Part 1

✷✷✷

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” You answer before diving back into your fifth cup of coffee as Bob looks at you like you’re insane.

He didn’t understand, if you wanted to beat The Void at his own game, you had to be vigilant. You had to deprive him of you, to make him want you that much more. Even if it meant staying awake so he couldn’t snake his way into your mind while your defences were down.

“Ready to…” You take a particularly long blink, “... train?”

Bob thought it was kind of cute, the way you were still trying to act sharp, your head bobbing back and forth. But he was worried about you; he didn’t want to see you exhausted. “You need to sleep.”

“Sleep?” You scoff, flashing him a cocky grin. “I eat sleep for breakfast, Bob.”

Those words might’ve landed better if you weren’t, at that exact moment, sliding down the wall like a dying plant. You end up flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when exactly it all went wrong.

Then you’re not on the ground anymore.

You blink twice before realising Bob is holding you, steady and strong as he lifts you without effort. You successfully defeat the urge to snuggle into his shirt and instead put your efforts into squirming.

“…I need to train you,” you mumble.

He just huffs a laugh, adjusting his grip.

“We can train once you can stand on your own two feet.”

He carries you back to your room, his movements gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll break. Bob always treated you with grace and care. Sure, he knew what you could do, but that didn’t stop him from trying to take care of you. Despite your cold exterior, he always seemed to find a way through; your walls weren't so high around him.

He doesn’t stop until you’re lying in your sheets, all snuggled up. They wrap around you like a warm hug from a cloud.

“My coffee…,” you mumble, a tired little whine escaping your lips.

“Sleep is better than caffeine,” he replies, tucking the blanket around you with a smirk.

You blink slowly, already fading, your limbs heavy, your mind lighter. But even as sleep pulls you under, you’re still aware.

The Void might be waiting for you the moment your eyes close.

✷✷✷

“You’ve missed me,” a voice says, and you know exactly who it is; exactly who can make themselves so at home in the darkness of your mind.

“You’re the one that’s invading my dreams,” you retort. Most times when you slept, you’d get a visit from him, warping your mind, sending you into twisted visions and half-buried memories, mostly bad. The kind you tried not to revisit during the day. He knew you wouldn’t do the same to him, for fear of hurting someone else. Sweet, innocent Bob.

It was unfair, the way The Void prowled through your subconscious like it belonged to him. The push and pull between you was too addictive to give up, but too exhausting to maintain. So even with a full night’s sleep, you often woke up feeling like you’d been dragged through a battlefield.

And still, you couldn’t deny you’d feel a flicker of disappointment if he didn’t show up. But you had to keep him chasing. You were winning…for now.

“Well, maybe I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, the faintest curl of amusement in his tone. “Running after you is fun and all, but as I’ve told you before…”

You feel him before you hear the rest. His body pressing close, voice right against your ear.

“I don’t want to play games.”

You remain unaffected, or at least, you pretend to be, your expression unreadable. “Giving up?” you tease, smirking at him, even though your pulse betrays you, thudding hard beneath your skin.

“Changing strategies,” he replies smoothly.

And in the next breath, you're falling backwards, the darkness folding and reshaping itself into something softer. A bed of shadow and silk.

He's over you now, leaning in, his golden eyes aglow, scanning your face like a map he's trying to commit to memory.

"You—" you start to speak, but he silences you before the words can escape.

His thumb presses lightly to your lips, quieting you with a touch.

“Not now.” The air thickens. Heat building between your bodies as you arch slightly beneath him, even though you’re dreaming. It’s all too real. His hands press yours into the soft, shadow-formed mattress, anchoring you there. There’s no hiding from him now.

He can see everything. Every want, every fear. He always could, even though you ran and resisted, and he chased. He knew you’d end up here, your mind at his mercy.

You feel exposed, but not weak. No, being close to him feels like it’s charging you.

He lets out a soft, low chuckle against your jawline as he dips lower, mouth almost touching your neck, but not quite giving you what you need.

"What did you say? Until I’ve had enough?” He throws your words from that night back at you, taunting, savouring the way you react. Maybe you weren’t winning anymore.

You blink awake.

It’s dark.

Bob had taken the liberty of closing your blackout curtains, the soft grey light barely breaking through. You flip on your desk lamp to see what he’d left you. There’s a tray beside the bed with bacon, waffles and a glass of orange juice, along with a sticky note, “Please eat!”, with a little lopsided smiley face drawn beside it.

Your heart squeezes. How could The Void possibly be part of someone so sweet?

✷✷✷

It’s a shitty night after a shitty mission.

Everything went wrong, and worse, you let them get away.

You’re stewing alone in the silence, bitter and regretful. The team told you you did the best you could, that it wasn’t your fault. But whose fault could it be when you had them right in front of you? Deep down, you know the truth: if you’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you could’ve stopped them.

You don’t hear him approach. Just the soft weight of a hand on your shoulder.

His presence in the dark is warm and familiar now, but not quite comforting.

“I’m not in the mood,” you say, short, clipped. But you don’t shrug him off.

He moves in front of you, gently turning you by the shoulders, trying to catch your eyes. You avoid him, but it doesn’t matter. He looks at you like he sees right through you.

“You’re angry,” he says quietly.

“Great deduction skills, Sherlock,” you bite back.

There's a beat of silence as he winds up his response.

“And you’re ashamed of it,” He taunts. You knew exactly what he thought of your attempt at heroics, of your efforts to bury the rage, to smother it beneath ideals and restraint.

It was weakness.

He steps closer, his voice dropping into that dangerously tender register.

“You could tear down cities with what’s inside you. But instead, you shackle it for people who will never understand it. Who will never understand you.”

The implication is all too clear.

“Who will never understand you like I do.”

You tense. He wants something. Power, connection and most of all, you.

“You don’t know me,” you spit back, as if to ward him off.

But he doesn't flinch, nor does he smirk. “I’d like to,” he responds, and it’s surprisingly soft.

You're far more used to the snark, his thinly veiled seduction. You were used to that, you knew how to combat that. But this? You didn’t know he was capable of this.

He steps further into your space, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“Anger isn’t something to hide from,” he says, his hands curling gently around yours. “It’s something to use.”

Your chest rises and falls as the emotion wells up, everything that went wrong today, everything you wanted to do better. The frustration, the doubt, the fear. You let it rise, no longer pushing it down. And with it, your magic surges, wild, untamed, swirling around both your hands in arcs.

It sparks against the air like a storm barely held in check.

Then you feel it, that whisper, that familiar chill brushing against your ear like breath.

“Beautiful,” The Void says.

✷✷✷

You can’t sleep.

Not after what you did today.

It was a mess, a mission gone wrong. You’d lost control of the situation, of yourself, and it’s eating at you. All you could think about on the quinjet to the mission site was the last time you’d failed. The fact that you failed meant that people got hurt. And you weren’t going to let anyone get away next time, no matter what it took.

You curl in on yourself, wrapped in the hollow hush of your room. Hugging your knees to your chest, fists clenched tight against the fabric of your pants. You wanted to cry, to scream, to break something, but you wouldn’t let yourself. What would that fix? Instead, you just sit there, staring at your lamp like it might offer answers. Slow blinks. Breathing in silence.

When The Void appears, it’s not shocking. You’d almost expected him. Your guard isn’t completely down, but it is damaged. He takes in your diminished form and lets out a sigh.

“Come here,” he says softly, the command barely more than a breath.

You say nothing. Just glare at him, lips pressed into a line, and roll your eyes with all the exhausted fury you can muster.

Then, before you can protest, you’re pulled out of bed in a blink of darkness and into his arms, your feet unsteady on the ground.

“Classy,” you mutter with a brittle voice.

But your resistance doesn’t last long, because it’s clear you’re in no position to fight. And he wasn’t looking for one either.

He tips your head up towards him, forcing you to look at him. In those few seconds of eye contact, he knew exactly what had happened. That’s if he didn’t already know before he even entered the room.

“You did nothing wrong.”

Of course, he’d say that. Of course, he would think that hurting someone meant nothing to him. He thrived on it. You flinch slightly, trying to step away, to put any distance between you and the guilt still clinging to your skin.

But he catches your wrists before you can push him away, his grip firm but not cruel. Just enough to stop you, and lets go as soon as he feels your body relax.

He circles slowly, a predator at ease, until he’s behind you. Close enough that you feel the heat of him, or maybe the chill. Like a blanket draped over your shoulders.

Then, with no hesitation, he tugs the neck of your shirt aside, exposing skin. You’re on high alert, but you don’t stop him, wanting to know where this was going to go.

He lays one slow, deliberate kiss to the nape of your neck. Your fist clenches and unclenches, as you try and ignore how that makes you feel.

“You did nothing wrong,” he says again, quieter now.

Now he starts kissing the side of your neck, just the faintest brush of lips, like feathers on your skin. The danger danced in your mind, you knew what he could do, but you found yourself pushing it aside. He wanted to sink into his darkness rather than run from it.

“If they cared about you, they wouldn’t ask you to hold back.”

You knew they cared. Bob. The others. They did. But the ache in you, the part that always felt restrained, twisted at his words.

“This is who you are,” he whispered.

The more logical part of your brain was screaming. Don’t listen, don’t trust him. But the rest of you, the part still vibrating from the taste of power…it was excited.

“He begged… I… I didn’t have to hurt him like that,” you say, voice cracking, unable to be hidden. You try to hold it together, he was the last person you wanted to catch you slipping.

“But it felt good, didn’t it?” The Void adds. It’s like he’s reading your mind, everything you keep hidden now staring back at you.

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the truth prickles under your skin. You know it did. That rush. That control. The sheer, terrifying ease of it.

“He’ll never be the same.” You look down at your hands, as if they still held the echoes of what you’d done. It had come so easily, forcing him to his knees, hearing the screams that tore from his throat, twisting his mind until he didn’t know which way was up.

The whole time, it felt like you could feel The Void all around you. Guiding your hands, not telling you where to push, but urging you to keep going until they broke.

The Void is beside you now, his presence cold but intimate. “Don’t be afraid of what you’re capable of,” he whispers in your ear, the words curling into your soul. “Accept it.”

You bet he wanted to know you, to know what made you tick, what lit that fire behind your eyes, what shadows you kept buried beneath the surface. And you couldn’t lie, not to yourself: You were just as curious about him.

But this was a dangerous path.

The line between fascination and destruction would blur fast with someone like him.

He turns you around to face him, and as soon as you look at him, it’s electric.

“Let me in.”

His voice echoes in your mind, it’s almost hypnotising.

It’s not a demand, a request. He wanted you to come to him of your own will; he wouldn’t force you to walk this path, but he knew you would. Your pulse kicks in your throat. You could push him away, in fact, you should push him away. But your hands don’t move. Your body doesn’t pull back.

You just look up at him and say, “Why should I?”

“Because all the fear, and anger… and ugliness you’re so afraid of is beautiful,” he explains slowly. “It’s you. And I—” he pauses, shaking his head, like the admission costs him something.

“You’re the only thing in this world that’s ever made me want to stay.”

Looking up at the ceiling, he chuckles hollowly, almost as if he can’t believe it himself, “Isn’t that funny?”

When he looks at you, he sees power. Wild, untamed, aching to be unleashed. But more than that… He sees the restraint, the fear, the humanity you still cling to like a lifeline.

He wonders if he could strip it away.

You’re strong, he knows that. He’s seen it. But you’re human. And humans break. And he wants to break you.

Not out of cruelty or hatred. But because some dark, twisted part of him believes that if he broke you enough, if he shattered that stubborn sense of righteousness, he could have you to himself.

If you were broken, too, maybe you’d stop pretending.

The silence stretches, the air between you shimmering like a live wire.

“You’re not going to say anything?” he asks. He didn’t want to wait for your words, but he was hanging on to each one. He hated feeling like this, being helpless in any way.

“I think I’m afraid of what I want to say.”

You watch as his signature smile curls its way onto his face before he says, “Then show me instead.”

His gaze is expectant but hungry. You were no less hungry than he was. With a flick of your fingers, you tug him closer with your magic, resting your hand over his heart. Staring into his golden eyes, less intimidating than the first time you saw them, and more beautiful now, in a way that made your chest ache. You still didn’t know what to make of him.

And maybe it was foolish… But you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

At first, he didn’t move. Like he wasn’t sure it was real.

You don’t even quite know how to describe it… like you’re melting into him, like the edges of you blur where he begins. You breathe in sharply, your hands start glowing faintly with power, against his back. It’s dangerous, some might consider it an abomination, but it was yours.

You pull back to look at him, the magic flowing between the two of you; you’re close. Too close. Close enough to kiss.

“You really want this? Me?” You ask firmly, despite your reservations. Being vulnerable didn’t come easily to you, but something about him made you want to risk it all.

“I do.”

His eyes are already on yours, dark and hungry but patient, like he knows he doesn’t have to rush. You aren’t sure who’s leaning in first, but suddenly you’re kissing him, deeply, fiercely.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping like you’re afraid he might vanish if you let go. He pushes you back against the wall, his hands exploring your body with need and desperation. It’s rough and consuming, like you can’t get enough of each other, like the kiss is the only thing keeping you alive. The tension that’s been building between you ignites, and the room answers with it.

The overhead lights flicker and spark, surging with the wild thrum of your power. Somewhere in the background, glass fractures with a soft crack, unable to hold the pressure of what you’ve unleashed together.

Still, neither of you pulls away.

You didn’t trust him.

Not with your mind, and definitely not with your soul.

You’re not even sure your heart would allow it. But you wanted him, it was undeniable, a fact at this point. Every part of you, from the twinkle in your eyes to the power at your fingertips, you wanted him. And some twisted, dangerous part of you didn’t care what it might cost.

He made you feel alive.

Main Masterlist || Marvel(Thunderbolts) Masterlist

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #the void x reader #the void #x reader #bob reynolds fanfic #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts x reader #angst #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #the new avengers #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction

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heartbreakgirl67 · 1 day ago

Text

So Much More.

summary: after kissing and revealing your feelings, you and bucky started to avoid each other. but, when the both of you get put into a mission that had the other worrying, those feelings start resurfacing again.

pairing: congressman!Bucky x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

content: banter, tension, angst, soft bucky, marriage of convenience, (used to be) enemies to lovers, brief mentions of childhood trauma, oblivious fools in love, protective bucky, protective reader, she looks at him like he hung the moon, he looks at her like she hung the moon

a/n: this is kind of a p2 to this but can be read on its own. someone asked me for a p2 that i wasn't planning on doing so this is it. hope you enjoy it!!!

@starstruckfirecat

You haven’t spoken.

For two weeks, five days, ten hours, and 54 minutes, you haven’t spoken with him.

But who’s counting, right?

Since the kiss, since the confession, not once did you both utter a single word to each other. You were hoping that he would have forgotten what had happened the night before, but when you woke up to an empty bed the next morning, you knew he remembered. And you knew he didn’t mean it.

But now you were both back where you started–in Congressman Gary’s office, in creaky wooden chairs, side by side. Except this time, it was silent. Eerily silent.

The congressman felt uneasiness crawling all over his skin, not used to the room being this quiet when the both of you were in each other’s presence. Usually it was loud, full of vulgarities and fallacious remarks about the other—and he oddly preferred that, missed it, even.

“Alright,” Gary uttered, taking the glasses off his face and wiping it with a small thin rag lying on the table, “I’m not exactly sure what happened here,” he directed his glasses between the both of you, “and I’m honestly not sure if I even want to know–”

“You don’t,” both you and Bucky muttered in unison.

Gary paused. “Right. Anyway, I need you to push that aside because you have a mission, which requires the both of you to work together.”

“Are you serious?”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“I cannot work with…him.”

“She is insufferable.”

You gasped. “I am not! You seriously cannot be talking here, Barnes.”

“Well I am, ‘cause I’m right.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“You, um–you just are.”

“Wow, real mature. How the fuck you managed to become a congressman is beyond me,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I heard that.”

“Good. I wanted you to.”

He shifted in his seat to glare at you and you felt time stop. The first time you’ve actually looked at each other in a while. The words suddenly got stuck in the back of your throat, leaving your lips parted and mouth dry. Bucky paused as well, his body frozen and tense, as his eyes stayed glued to yours.

You averted your gaze to Gary, who for some reason had a small smile plastered on his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed, “What’s so funny, congressman?”

Bucky turned to face him as well, wondering the same thing. Gary’s smile grew wider as he stood up, the chair screeching against the tiles. He placed his glasses on his face and walked towards the door. “Your mission is next week. I’ll email you the details later. See you, lovebirds!” and the door slams shut.

~~~

“I swear, I’m going to leave without you if you’re not here in the next five seconds!”

“As if. You need me,” you screamed back from your room. You lost it, again. The little gold bracelet. You were trying really hard to stay calm but as the clock ticked further away into the night, you found yourself unraveling.

“I have a metal arm. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you seem to have that for a brain too,” you retorted quietly.

“I heard that. What are you even doing?” you heard Bucky’s voice float into the room as his boots thudded through.

“I lost the…something,” you came out of the bathroom, going to rummage through your drawers for the seventh time.

Recognition flashed in his eyes. He walks over to you and grabs your shoulders to get your attention.

“Wait, just give me a second!” you tried to turn away but he pulled you back. He slowly lifts his gloved hand before putting it into his pocket, slowly pulling out the bracelet.

“You–” you reach out to grab it but he puts it out of your reach. You look at him exasperatedly, eyes begging him to just give it to you.

Bucky grabs your hand, clasping it back on for you, pressing the clasp slightly harder than you usually would to tighten it. “There. Now you won’t lose it.”

You didn’t answer, your hand playing with the band as you looked away from him, not really knowing what to say.

The tips of your fingers stayed in his grasp, like neither of you wanted to pull away. “You know,” his tone was quiet and soft, “you still never told me why it is so special.”

You pulled your hand away. “We’re late.”

~~~

“In and out, okay?”

“I know, Barnes. I’m not five.”

“Well, you never know how to follow instructions.”

You loaded your gun. “That’s ‘cause your instructions suck.”

Pulling up the mask that covered the bottom half of your face, you walked past him, going into the compound, but you only managed three steps before Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you back. “Why are you–”

“Behind me.” He pushes you behind him as he leads the way. You tried to slip in front of him a couple of times, but he blocked your move each time.

When the both of you successfully entered the compound, you agreed to split up to find any source of evidence. Anything that could possibly be used against Ms.de Fontaine. “Meet me here in 30 minutes. Nothing more. Understood?” he told you. To which, you waved him off and said, “Yeah, yeah, I know.” an answer he didn’t accept. “Understood?” he repeated, not allowing you to move from the space between him and the wall. You then proceeded to nod, and a quiet “I understand.” was said.

You dug through the stacks of papers scattered on the various sleek metal tables that were all over the room. Nothing.

It was like every scrap of possible evidence was removed and burnt off the face of the earth. You continued digging around anyway until you came across something that made you stop in your tracks–a crumpled black and white picture lying on top of a brown file.

It was a photo of Bucky and Steve–pre-serum– and they were mid-laughing, all smiles and teeth. You’ve never seen Bucky smile like that before. You don’t think you’ve even seen him smile before, and the thought of that brought an uncomfortable feeling to simmer in the pit of your stomach. You quickly folded up the photo and stuffed it into your back pocket.

You then picked up the file that was placed under it. It had the name ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ scrawled bright and bold in red on the front. Just as you were going to flip it open, a loud shot came from a couple rooms down.

Bucky.

You quickly swiped the file off the table and ran into its direction. Your mind was spiralling, panic seeping into your pores and flooding your bloodstream, taking up your thoughts bit by bit. All you could hear was nothing. Nothing. Silence.

The second you reached what you thought was the room, you kicked the heavy metal door as hard as you could, and it came crashing down, the loud sound echoing all over the room.

There you saw Bucky on one end and Valentina on the other, and the gun still steadily held in her right hand. You turned to face Bucky–hair strewn all over the place but he seemed perfectly fine. But he was tense, cold eyes burning into yours–angry.

“Well, if it isn’t the other half of my favourite starstruck lovers. And to think that just a second ago your lovely husband was telling me that he came alone,” Valentina said, walking closer to you. Stopping right in front of you, she reached a hand up towards your face.

“Don’t touch her.”

She clicked open your mask, letting it fall to the ground. “Relax. She’s all yours, loverboy.”

Your eyes shifted from Valentina back to Bucky again. He was staring at you–intently–but he wasn’t meeting your eyes.

Valentina’s eyes panned down to what was in your grip. She smiled. “What were you planning to do with that?”

You didn’t answer, just subtly moving it behind you.

Her smile widened. She turned to face Bucky, who was still frozen in his spot. “Aww, look at the two of you, being all so protective of each other, just–” a buzz in her pocket.

She reached into it and pulled out her phone. After staring at it for a couple of seconds, she sighed. “Well, I must get going. Responsibilities and all that,” she waved her hand, walking past you. She pointed between the both of you, “Adorable, really. Call me when you finally get your evidence, okay?” she added sarcastically, leaving you and Bucky alone in the room.

It was uncomfortably silent for a couple of seconds before Bucky quietly walked past you and out of the room. You chased after him–his large strides making it impossible for you to walk at a normal pace. “I found this file about you,” you said from behind him. He didn’t reply so you continued, “I think…I think that it’s about you during your Hydra days. And maybe even before? Experimentation, trials, history, and stuff like that. I thought m-maybe you would like to know. Or not. It looks old so I thought it could be the original. And that you could–you know, do whatever you’d like with it. Keep it. Burn it. Or something. Whatever you’d like.”

You slowly stopped talking, seeing as if he weren’t listening to a word you were saying. The only sound that was coming from him was the loud stomps of his combat boots against the metal tiles and the faint creak coming from his metal arm.

The whole ride back was silent. You sat at the backseat this time, hoping that if he didn’t see your face, he would feel a little less hatred towards you–that you would be a little less of a burden for him to carry. You’ve never really felt like this in a long time, and especially never with him, despite never getting along. He’s always made you feel like an equal, like every step, every move, and every word that comes from you matters. But this time, movements tense, not talking, and disappointment hanging all over his face, you couldn’t help but let it consume you as it did when you were a child.

So you sat there, with the file held close against your chest, never opening it.

~~~

The apartment door opens with a swing as Bucky speeds through, leaving you to trail behind him.

You shut the door, placing the file on the coffee table, and following him into the kitchen. He had his back to you, gloves removed, flesh and vibranium pressed against the cool granite of the counter. You could tell he didn’t want to talk to you but you didn’t like him angry��especially when it directed to you. He got annoyed at you, yes, but never angry. But even without seeing his face, you could just feel it emitting from him.

“Bucky, I…” you started carefully, not wanting to push the wrong buttons, “I didn’t mean it. Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I–” you paused, noticing the way his shoulders tensed. “I don’t totally get it, but if you’re really unhappy about it, I won’t do it again. I promise. Tell me and you won’t have to worry about it again. Just please–please don’t be mad at me, Bucky.”

“Don’t say that.”

You got startled at the sound of his voice–low, heavy, his.

“W-what?”

He turned to face you. His eyes were red–not from crying, but from tiredness–accentuating the ice blue of his irises. “Don’t say that. Don’t beg me for anything. Don’t make me that important to you.”

Your frown grew deeper. He didn’t want you that much? You meant that little to him?

He saw the look on your face and immediately shook his head. “N-no. No. Not because of you, I promise. It’s me.”

“But you are important. To me.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Too bad.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared. Trying to read you, to see if you were lying–hoping that you were–but all he saw was truth. Laid bare, handed to him, pure and honest truth.

“Why?” he asked, the genuineness in his voice made your heart break. You didn’t like the way he saw himself, but then again, that’s how you noticed him.

You stepped closer to him, head tilting up to meet his eyes. “I don’t need to have a reason, Bucky. I don’t need to have an excuse to have you close to my heart. Because you are, and I want to keep you there forever. Although, I don’t think I’d ever be able to rip you out of it. I’ve tried, I couldn’t, and now I don’t want to. I want you there, stuck, forced to keep it beating till my dying breath. Even if I wasn’t in yours.”

He frowned like that was the most outlandish thing you’ve ever said. “You are.”

You knew he was just trying to not make you feel bad about it so you tried to change the topic. “Why were you mad at me?”

You could tell he knew exactly what you were doing, his eyes said it all, but he decided to let it slide–for now. He sighed, “I wasn’t mad. I could never be mad at you,” he mumbled, looking down at the ground, “I was just…scared, I guess. I told you to meet me in 30 minutes. It had been 32. You weren’t there. And then I saw Valentina, and I freaked. I thought she might have done something to you but then she asked me if you came with me, and I tried to convince her that I came alone. Then she shot the ceiling, knowing that you were going to come. I didn’t. Then you did. And, I don’t know, I hated the idea that you would risk yourself for me like that. But I shouldn’t have treated you like that. To make you think like that,” he looked back up to meet your eyes, “the thought shouldn’t have even crossed your mind. You’re so much more than what you believe you are. So much more.”

You weren’t much for physical touch, and you knew he was worse when it came to it, but almost like it was instinct, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms–tight–around his neck, pulling him flush against you.

Bucky froze, hands hovering over your back–hesitant and scared. Then, slowly, softly, like it wasn’t even there, he held you back. The heat from the fleshed hand penetrated through your clothes, as did the cool of the vibranium of his left hand, making your head spin in a way that made you want to hold him like this. Again. And again. And again. Till your bodies moulded as one and your brains turned to mush.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #fanfic #mcu #bucky x female reader #mcu fanfiction #thunderbolts #congressman bucky #congressman barnes #the new avengers

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fru1t4fr0gs · 1 day ago

Text

You and Me - Chapter 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky has been turned back into the Winter Soldier. When you find him during his rampage, you expect him to kill you on the spot. His reaction is…a bit different than that.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Violence, Swearing, Attempted kidnapping (kind of?), the Winter Soldier is kind of obsessed with you, You kind of get stuck in the middle of a super soldier fight, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author’s Note: We finally have the Winter Soldier making an appearance! Let me know what you guys think!

You’ve never run so fast in your life.

Your feet barely seem to touch the ground. You skid around corners, down flights of stairs, grab onto the edges of doorways and fling yourself through them quicker than you would have ever thought possible.

Steve and Sam are behind you, and you’re moving faster than them.

It’s right before you hit the bottom floor that you feel it.

Up. To the left. Three doors in, one hallway down.

It’s sharper than an instinct. Deeper than a passing thought. And you don’t have the time or wherewithal to question it.

While the two men behind you keep going down, you dart off down the opposite hall and lose them in less than a second.

You’re not even winded when you get to the right floor, gunfire and violence a distant thought as you sprint down down the corridor.

You whip around a corner, and you see him.

Bucky.

He’s less than ten feet away, and your momentum causes you to nearly collide with him as you skid to a halt.

A metal hand wraps around your throat.

Memories of that day so long ago flood through you. The pain and terror of it all. The way your helpless feet kicked against nothing. The way your fingernails vainly scratched against unfeeling metal.

You close your eyes, because this shell of the man you love is going to kill you, and for some reason all you can think about is how Bucky is still inside him somewhere. Bucky will remember this, like he remembered all of the others, and it will kill him. You can’t look at him. You can’t let him watch the life leave your eyes.

You’re going to die.

“You and me.” You whisper, almost to yourself, voice quiet and shaking. If he ever comes out of this, you pray that he’ll remember those words. That he’ll know that you don’t blame him.

His hand remains around your throat, but it doesn’t squeeze.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open.

The Winter Soldier is looking at you, and his eyes aren’t hollow this time. He looks almost perplexed, like he’s trying to place a distant memory.

You hold your breath.

The hand around your throat loosens, and his metal fingers slide upwards, agonisingly slowly, until they curl gently in your hair. His thumb brushes against an almost-healed bruise beneath your eye, soft as a feather.

“Мой” He murmurs, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. Mine. The reverent possessiveness in his voice makes you shiver involuntarily, and he leans closer like he’s trying to chase the feeling.

You’re terrified that any movement will shatter whatever spell he seems to be under, but you nod. Barely.

A warm hand slides up under your shirt, and his fingers brush over the scar on your stomach where his knife had twisted so long ago. This time, however, his touch is soft. Achingly gentle.

That same hand moves to wrap around your waist, and he pulls you closer until your chest is flush with his. His nose presses into the side of your head, and you feel his breath against your hair as he exhales like it’s the first time he’s ever been able to.

Hesitantly, you tilt your head so it rests in the crook of his neck. For a moment, you just stand there, allowing the killing machine who just caused so much carnage to hold you like he might never let you go.

A loud noise echoes down the hall, and his entire body tenses. He pulls back, looks you over, and you make a frantic attempt to speak to him. If he leaves again, you don’t think you can stop him. You don’t know what his orders were, or where he might be planning to go, but you can’t lose him. Not again. Not like this.

“Bucky, you’ve gotta snap out of it.” You sense someone coming. Fast. You hope beyond hope that it’s Steve and not another barrage of armed soldiers. “You’ve gotta come back. We have to- wait what are you-“

In one swift movement, he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. And then he begins walking toward the roof.

You squirm, wiggle, even kick, but it’s like trying to fight against a brick wall. A frantic stream of words spills past your lips as you scramble for some kind of purchase against his back, but his arm only tightens around your thighs as he pushes through the door to the roof.

“Bucky you have got to stop picking me up like this put me the hell down what kind of insane caveman bullshit are you trying to pull here-“ you manage to look up, still trying in vain to get yourself free, just in time to see Steve burst through the door. You try to call out to him, but there’s no need for it. You’re sure that if it weren’t for the dire circumstances this scene would look absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Bucky - not Bucky, the Winter Soldier - puts you down in a helicopter seat so gently you almost wonder if he’s going to buckle you up. If there were time you think he actually might, but Steve is still running towards you and in the span of a second he’s in the seat beside you and slamming the door shut.

“What are you doing?!” Your words fall on seemingly deaf ears, and the helicopter starts to take off. You feel a jolt that throws you into the door, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that it’s because Steve is holding the helicopter.

Fucking supersoldiers.

“Fuck!” You might have a serum, but you’re pretty sure you’re not going to survive a helicopter crash into a river. The helicopter whips around again, and your stomach drops as you try to grab at something. Bucky’s arm yanks you back as the chopper jolts again, keeping your head from bashing against the window like the action is pure and simple instinct, and in the same movement he adds more power and tries to take off again. You don’t need the serum to know that this isn’t going to end well.

“Soldat!” You half-shriek, desperate and terrified, and he finally looks at you. You watch the shift happen like it’s in slow-motion.

He’s still not Bucky, but his mind is no longer focused on just keeping you safe and nearby while he’s fighting. He sees, despite the orders locked into his entire being, that you’re not safe, and his entire demeanor seems to shift.

He stops trying to fight. Stops trying to escape. And instead, he moves to get you out of the chopper.

You actually see genuine concern and fear in his eyes as he grabs at you, tugs you onto his lap and towards the door. But even the Winter Soldier isn’t quite quick enough.

The helicopter tilts. And you fall.

Everything after that happens in a blur.

Your new instincts kick in, time seeming to slow to a crawl in that way that’s becoming all-too familiar, and you bolt towards the door. The Winter Soldier’s hand slams out beside you, hard enough to knock the entire hunk of metal off of its hinges, and you feel a hand on your foot boosting you with enough strength to toss you what must be fifty feet from the chopper.

You barely have time to breathe before you hit the water, and the world goes quiet as you plunge into the murky river. The muffled sound of the helicopter crashing hits moments later, and you scramble to the surface choking on water and air and wondering how the fuck you’re not dead.

It feels like hours before Steve finds you, one strong arm suddenly wrapping around you and keeping you afloat. Bucky is on his other side, unconscious but alive, and you force yourself to kick alongside Steve as he pulls you both to the shore.

By the time you’re pulled onto a warehouse dock, you’re no longer gasping for air. You’re even relatively unscathed, despite the near death experience.

“You okay?” Steve asks, lifting Bucky’s large body like a sack of potatoes as you pull yourself to your feet on legs shaky with exhaustion. He’s looking you over for injuries, and from the relief on his face you see that you’re all in one piece. You nod. Your eyes fall to the unconscious supersoldier.

“Is he okay?”

Steve frowns, and the two of you begin making your way towards the nearby abandoned warehouse.

“We’re about to find out.”

It’s been hours.

They locked his arm in some big metal contraption, and he’s slumped over in the chair like a broken action figure. Over the course of the last couple of hours, you’ve gone from pacing around the room to sitting against the wall, tapping impatiently on the floor with your fingers.

What if he wakes up, and he’s still not Bucky? What if he’s never Bucky again?

You hate waiting. You hate not knowing.

Time trickles by.

You’re about to get up and start pacing again when you hear him groan, and you shoot to your feet so quickly you almost fall back down.

His eyes open, slowly, and he murmurs your name. You call Sam and Steve into the room and fight the urge to run over to him and try to pull him free with your bare hands.

“Which Bucky are we talking to?” Steve asks, calculated, and Bucky doesn’t look up when he answers.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes.” His gaze rises from the floor, and he looks to you. His eyes are tired, still bleary, but they soften as they meet yours. “You’ve burnt everything I’ve ever seen you try to cook, and you doodle schematics when you’re anxious about something.”

Relief floods through you, and don’t hesitate before you move over to the machine. One pleading look at Steve has him lifting it off of Bucky’s arm, and he’s immediately standing and pulling you into a desperate embrace.

“What did I do?” He asks, voice muffled by your hair. He pulls back, just barely, like he can’t fathom the idea of letting you go. His flesh hand smooths over your cheek, eyes searching you for injuries. “Are you alright? Did I…”

“No. No.” You soothe him, shaking your head and covering his hand with your own. You turn your face into it, pressing a kiss to his palm, and he lets out a relieved, shaky exhale. “You didn’t hurt me. You went a little King Kong on me for a minute, but you didn’t hurt me.”

“I understood that reference.” You hear Steve say behind you.

Bucky makes a face, confusion and concern clouding his features, and you shake your head again. “I’ll explain later. I’m okay. Don’t worry. You and me, right?”

He nods, and then he kisses you.

You kiss him back, the world melting away as you wrap your arms around his neck. He kisses you like he’s spent the last two days drowning, and this is the first time he’s been able to come up for air.

His arms wrap around your waist, and he lifts you a few inches into the air to deepen the kiss. You have no complaints about him picking you up like this, and you almost laugh at the thought.

A throat clears behind you, but neither of you notice or care enough to break for air. The familiar little jolts of electricity run through you at his touch, and your hands tangle in his hair as the smell of gunpowder and leather and pine invades your senses in the most wonderful way.

“Okay, okay.” You hear Sam say, and you finally pull back as your clouded mind reminds you that you’re not the only two people in the room. Bucky doesn’t look like he cares very much, and his eyes are burning so brightly you think he might just kiss you again before Sam speaks again.

“Save the hormones for later. We’ve got to figure some of this shit out.”

You nod in understanding, clearing your throat as Bucky lowers your feet back to the ground. He moves back a bit, but hesitates to let you go.

By the time you’ve all talked, discussed everything and figured out exactly why all of this might have happened, you’ve come to the conclusion that you might just be fucked.

Other super soldiers. Other Winter Soldiers. Like what they were trying to turn you into. Shit.

And you’re on your own. You can’t go to S.H.I.E.L.D. You can’t go to Stark. You have to take this threat down all by yourselves, with no weapons or backup.

“No chance you could give me access to a robotics lab in the next few hours, is there?” You ask, feeling painfully useless. You’ve got quick reflexes now, sure, but you’re untrained and out of your element. You barely held your own in Bucharest. How are you supposed to take down five super soldiers with nothing but your fists?

“I don’t think any of us have the clearance for that anymore.” Steve says. “But I might know someone who can help.”

And just like that, a plan begins to form.

Previous Chapter

Tag list:

@vicmc624

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #the winter soldier #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x y/n

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redemptive-truth · 1 day ago

Text

A Time to Pretend | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Four years ago, she survived the impossible—going toe-to-toe with the Winter Soldier and living to tell the tale. Now, Bucky Barnes is on her balcony, broken and bleeding. And her? She’s always had a soft spot for lost causes with blood on their hands.

MCU Timeline Placement: Post-CATWS

Parts: Part 1

AO3 Link

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.2K

Author's Note: This started out as a more of a fledging idea than an actual, fleshed-out plot, but the plot built itself as I wrote. Gets better as it goes (I hope). This is also the first thing I've written and completed since I was seventeen, but I guess that's what Sebastian Stan does to a girl

This will be a ten-part series.

*Note - In this fic, the scene at the Hotel Inessa in FATWS takes place in 2010, before the events of CATWS.

______________________________________________________________

Part 1: Inessa, 2010

“You ever get to see the inside of the White House?”

She kept her eye fixed to the rifle’s scope, breath calm, steady. Through the mist on the hotel’s windows, she watched silhouettes move—blurry shapes dressed in suits, talking with the relaxed confidence of people who didn’t know they were being watched. One group of businessmen made their way down a plush, chandelier-lit corridor, laughing over drinks.

The hotel was a relic of Cold War luxury—six floors of marble and gold trim, with heavy velvet curtains and crystal lighting that hadn’t been updated in decades. It was the kind of place oligarchs and arms dealers still used to pretend they were just successful businessmen. And tonight, it was the kind of place where people might die.

“Saw it a few times before, Connors,” she said evenly.

Her partner shifted beside her with barely concealed enthusiasm, but she didn’t glance over. It had taken them hours to find the right vantage point in the crumbling building across from the hotel. She’d been lying prone for the last hour, arms propped up, sight locked in. Connors had been talking since they got into position.

He was a good kid. Green. A new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a similar Army background—though unlike her, he hadn’t seen real combat. Four years in, no real advancement. She had pushed back when he was assigned to the mission in Russia, but Hill fed her some bureaucratic line about “building experience.”

She knew the truth. They thought the intel was garbage.

The source was flimsy. The tip-off that HYDRA was deploying the Winter Soldier to Inessa was circumstantial at best. But she didn’t care how cold the trail was. If there was even a whisper of him, she followed it. He was a legend, a ghost — but the promise of capturing him, seeing if he was real, was too sweet to miss out on.

“What’s it like?” Connors asked. “Meeting the President. I always wanted to do one of those White House tours—my dad’s obsessed with that stuff. But I’ve never had the time.”

She tugged her jacket tighter with her free hand, the cold biting through even with multiple layers and gloves. Russia was colder than expected in the early spring.

“Which President are you referring to?”

She caught the way Connors froze beside her, his glasses beginning to fog in the freezing air.

“Wait—more than one?”

She didn’t respond. Twenty seconds passed. The realization hit him like a punch.

“I—sorry, I forgot. I wasn’t thinking about your dad —”

“Connors, it’s fine,” she cut in sharply. “I know what you meant. Just… shut up and watch for the target.”

He was silent for maybe a minute before he began to chatter again. She clenched her teeth, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

She hated new recruits.

Her father’s death had been over a decade ago, but the mention of it still crushed her every time. He had been a three-star Army general, assassinated just months after being sworn in as the Senior Military Advisor to the Secretary of Defense. That was her first visit to the White House—where a man she didn’t know, dressed in a suit she’d never seen before, handed her a neatly folded flag and thanked her for all that her father had done for his county. Like that would be enough to dull her grief.

For a brief moment, she was America’s sweetheart. The nation mourned the poor, little, orphan —the girl whose mother had died of cancer when she was just a toddler, and whose father now lay bled out in the street, the victim of a surgical, brutal assault. America loved a good sob story.

To add injustice to it all, the assassin was never found. No evidence, not even a hint to who it might be. Another brutal reality pill to swallow.

But once the funeral ended, once the last tears were shed and the coffin draped in red, white, and blue was lowered into the ground, everyone moved on.

Which was perfectly fine by her. She had no interest in parading her grief for headlines or leaning into a legacy built on loss. Let them forget. She didn’t owe the world a thing.

“I still can’t believe they assigned me to this op. Russia. Hotel full of ex-military and intel brokers. And you. I mean—Captain L/N, the Medal of Valor recipient. I read about your unit in Kandahar—was it true you were taken prisoner and broke yourself out after a month?”

She didn’t respond.

He took the silence as encouragement.

“That’s insane. I mean, what’d you do to get out? And to be a captain so young – ”

“Connors.”

Her voice was clipped.

“Right. Sorry. Focus. Quiet. Got it.”

He fidgeted, lowering his binoculars and wiping the condensation from the lenses with his sleeve. She adjusted the focus on her scope, sweeping past the elevators to the mezzanine. Nothing suspicious yet. Still time.

Connors spoke again, quieter this time. Like a child resisting being put in time-out.

“Is it true S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited you because your godmother is Maria Hill?”

She snapped her head away from the rifle’s scope, eyes narrowing as she fixed the young agent beside her with a look that could freeze blood. Connors flinched. The nervous smile he’d been wearing, bright under his hazy glasses and mop of curls, faded immediately.

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it.

Yes, the infamous Maria Hill had taken her in after her parents’ death. Yes, Maria had trained her—ruthlessly—until she could kill a man with her bare hands before she turned sixteen. And yes, the rumors followed her everywhere. That Nick Fury had only recruited her because Maria asked. That she was a “pet project”. That the girl in those old funeral photos—the one sobbing in black while the President touched her shoulder—was just a tragic orphan polished into a weapon out of pity.

They never mentioned the blood she’d spilled to earn her place. Just the headlines. Just the whispers.

She could handle the rumors. But she wasn’t going to let some baby-faced agent with a month on the job say it to her face.

“Connors,” she said, low and steady. “You seem like a good kid. Really. And I have nothing against you, personally. But if you don’t shut your fucking mouth in the next thirty seconds, I’ll show you exactly why S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited me.”

He blinked at her, cheeks flushing red from the cold��or maybe embarrassment. His glasses had completely fogged up now.

“Aren’t you just, like… a couple years older than me?”

She was half a second from breaking his nose when the screaming started.

The sound tore through the frozen air like a blade—muffled, at first, behind thick hotel walls. Then sharp. Raw. Screams and gunfire rang out.

She whipped back to her scope.

“Eyes up,” she barked.

Connors scrambled to follow her line of sight. Through the scope of her rifle, she watched a masked man in tactical gear charge down a hallway—faster than any normal human had the right to move. He closed the distance between him and two guards in the span of a breath, gunning them down before their fingers even fully tightened around their triggers.

It was him. It had to be.

Her breath caught, ragged. She tracked him through the hotel’s fogged windows, shifting to find a clear shot. He was too fast. Too brutal. Somewhere deep beneath the adrenaline — the muscle memory, and years of hardened instinct, her stomach twisted.

Normal people would never stand a chance against him. That much was apparent from just the brief moment of watching him in action.

“Do you have a shot?” Connors hissed beside her, his own weapon trembling slightly in his hands.

“No… fuck, he’s moving too fast,” she snapped. “Call it in, Connors.”

He obeyed immediately, muttering rapidly into his comms. She barely heard him, locked in on the figure below. The grainy surveillance images she’d memorized hadn’t done the Winter Soldier justice. Watching him in motion—fluid, mechanical, efficient—was like watching death incarnate. If she didn’t want him dead, she might have admired it.

He dispatched two more guards with two precise shots , then leapt down a staircase like gravity meant nothing. Without looking, he fired backward, killing another guard mid-sprint. A flash of silver caught the light — his metal arm, she registered — as he drew a knife and flung it into the chest of the last man standing.

It was terrifying.

He was terrifying.

Connors was still talking, frantic, but she couldn't hear him over the roaring of her own heartbeat. She adjusted her grip on the trigger, forcing herself to breathe, steadying her aim. Below, the Soldier grabbed a man in a suit—his target, probably—by the throat and slammed him against the wall, choking the life from him.

Now. She had seconds.

Inhale. Exhale.

Squeeze.

The Winter Soldier moved just before the shot landed. Instead of burying into the back of his skull, the bullet tore into his shoulder—his flesh shoulder. He staggered, dropping the man in his grip. And then— He turned.

Even from across the street, She could feel it.

His eyes found her. Locked in, directly on her even from this far away.

“Damn it, he saw me,” she growled, already on her feet, yanking Connors up by the front of his jacket. “We need to run. Now.”

They tore down the stairwell with her in the lead, Connors stumbling behind her with one hand still clutching his rifle. She didn’t waste breath yelling orders, just motioned with sharp gestures and relied on the hope that he was smart enough to follow. Her boots pounded on concrete, heart hammering harder than her feet.

Behind them, there was no sound at first. For a moment, Connors relaxed, probably thinking they were in the clear. She gave him a pointed look, cocking her rifle.

Then glass shattered somewhere nearby. Heavy boots landed on metal with unnatural force.

He was coming.

They moved — hit the first floor. She shoved through the exit door, shouldered into the alley, and skidded into a sprint. The cold air outside felt like knives in her lungs, but she didn’t stop. They had maybe ten seconds. Fifteen, if they were lucky.

“Keep up!” she barked over her shoulder.

“I am, I am—!” Connors gasped, his breath puffing out in uneven clouds. “Where do we—”

She didn’t get the chance to answer. A massive blur slammed into the alley behind them with the force of a meteor. Concrete cracked under impact.

She spun just in time to see him—the Winter Soldier, hair wild and dark around his masked face, eyes shaded with black narrowed in on her with laser precision. He looked feral, deadly. And not remotely winded.

“Go!” she screamed at Connors, raising her weapon.

But Connors, to his credit—or his stupidity—stepped forward instead. “Get out of here, I’ll hold him off—”

“Don’t—”

It was too late. Connors raised his gun.

The Winter Soldier was on him in less than a heartbeat.

A gunshot rang out—but it wasn’t Connors’. She barely registered the motion before Bucky slammed his metal fist into the younger agent’s chest. There was a sickening crunch—bone and armor breaking—and Connors dropped like a sack of meat.

Dead. Instantly.

She’s stomach turned, bile crawling up her throat. She didn’t have time to grieve.

He didn’t even glance at the boy’s body. His eyes were immediately turned on her, focused in her on face.

And for a split second, she swore he hesitated. His mouth twitched. His eyes narrowed further. Confused, maybe. Or…something else.

But then the moment was gone, and he moved again—charging at her full-force.

She fired quickly, efficiently. One. Two. Three rounds. All aimed center-mass.

He dodged the first, deflected the second with his metal arm, and took the third in the side—but it didn’t slow him down more than a beat. He was inches away now.

Far too close to take him in a fight and win.

She dove sideways, narrowly avoiding his outstretched hand. Rolled, came up gasping, and ran.

Run. Don’t fight. Not this one. Not yet.

Footsteps thundered behind her. She vaulted over a chain-link fence, boots scraping the top as she hit the other side and sprinted down the next alley as fast as she could possibly move.

He was still following.

But now—he wasn’t shooting. Wasn’t throwing knives.

He was chasing. Like it was a game.

Her boots skidded over ice-slick pavement as she rounded the corner of the alley. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, blood roaring in her ears. Panic coiled in her gut like a spring ready to snap. She forced herself not to look back, even as every instinct in her screamed that he was right behind her.

He killed Connors. In less than a second. Focus. Breathe.

She trained for this. She asked for this op. She was capable of holding her own.

She hit another fence, taller this time. Rusted metal - no footholds. She stumbled over this one this time, the height of this fence about a foot taller than the last one. Still, adrenaline propelled her forward.

He was getting closer. She could hear it. The thundering steps of a man who didn’t stop. Who didn’t need to. She would stop far before he would — and she needed an advantage over him.

She turned. Dropped to one knee. Aimed. One shot. One clean shot.

The Soldier rounded the corner at full speed—expression blank, terrifying in its neutrality. She fired the moment he was fully within range.

The shot never landed.

In one fluid motion, he deflected the bullet with his metal arm, the sound of impact ringing sharp through the alley. Before she could react, he was on her—closing the distance with terrifying speed.

She braced herself, trying to raise her rifle again, but his hand shot out and seized the barrel. With a single, mechanical squeeze, the weapon crumpled like paper in his grip, twisted metal and splintered carbon raining to the pavement.

She staggered back, breath caught in her throat, watching in disbelief as the remains of her rifle dropped from his fist. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unrecognizing, and he began to stalk toward her with relentless purpose.

“Go to hell,” she spat, fury burning through her fear.

She slammed into him, shoulder-first, trying to knock him off balance. He barely budged, but it bought her just enough time to land a punch to the side of his jaw and duck as his metal fist swung wide.

She darted behind him, grabbed the knife from her hip, and went for his back.

His hand caught her wrist mid-swing, yanking the blade from her grip and throwing it. It clattered somewhere behind them.

She went for her pistol instead, grabbing it from her holster quickly. He was faster, knocking it from her hands before she could even get it up.

Fuck.

She spun, trying to create space. He moved with her, faster than she could react, and drove her backwards into the alley wall with a solid crash. Air whooshed from her lungs.

She struggled, throwing elbows, knees—anything to get him off her. He caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head with his metal arm. His body was a wall of unyielding weight. She kicked, but her boots barely scraped his shins.

She was trapped now.

His face was close, an inch or so away from her own. He smelled metallic, like blood and gunpowder. His blank expression hadn’t changed—but his eyes had.

They weren’t dead like they had been when he killed Connors. They were a brilliant blue, a cerulean far too beautiful for a weapon built to kill. Glazed over, like he was submerged in a fog. And maybe she was spiraling, maybe the fear had finally cracked her open—but as he met her gaze dead-on, she could have sworn that fog lifted. Just a little. Just enough for her to see something behind it.

They looked at her like he was… trying to place her.

Her breathing turned ragged. Not from exertion, but from a rising, sick panic she hadn’t felt in years. She hadn’t been this helpless since she was in the middle of a war, captured and wondering if the next day would be her last. Now, she was wondering how many moments she had left.

Her voice shook despite the steel she tried to put in it. “Do it.” Her chin lifted, daring him. “Kill me you coward.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He stared at her. Not blankly. Not coldly. There was no emotion in his eyes - no anger, no hate…nothing. He was silent, keeping her pinned in place as he observed her.

Studying her. Curious. Like a machine trying to solve a puzzle it had been programmed to ignore.

He tilted his head slightly. Just enough to unsettle her. Just enough to make her heart stutter. His gaze swept over her face like he was cataloging her features, storing them somewhere deep inside whatever was left of the man buried underneath all the programming.

And then—he spoke.

Soft. Foreign. A voice that didn’t match with the image of a killer..

“…Я те��я знаю.”

The words hit her like a blow. She blinked, startled. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. What did he say?

But he was already moving again, cold precision in his limbs as the fog rolled back into his eyes. The Winter Soldier reasserted control, expression blank once more.

Whatever short emotion had flared behind those eyes, it was gone. The rage came flooding back in. Sharp, red-hot, and blinding.

She moved without thinking.

Driving her knee upward, aiming for his ribs, she twisted beneath the vice grip of his metal arm. His reflexes were inhuman—he stepped back just enough to avoid the full brunt of her strike, then caught her wrist before she could grab the knife tucked at her hip.

She fought anyway.

Elbow, palm, heel. She struck with everything Maria had taught her. Every move was clean, fast, and brutal. She’d trained for years for this — to fight, to kill. She’d fought in active war, killed combatants when she needed to. She had been fighting as a career for years.

But he was better. Faster. Stronger. He could kill her without breaking a sweat.

And yet…

He wasn’t fighting to kill her.

He blocked every strike, deflected every blow. Grabbed her forearms, stepped out of the way, twisted her momentum against her until she stumbled—but never once struck back with lethal intent. It was all control, precision, restraint.

“Fight me, damn it!” she shouted, breathless with fury. “What’s the matter? You had no problem killing everyone in that hotel!”

That flicker returned—just a flash—behind his eyes. A hesitation.

But it didn’t stop him.

With one fluid motion, he ducked her wild punch, caught her arm, spun her around, and slammed the flat of his palm against the side of her head. A clean, surgical strike—meant to end a fight, not a life.

Everything went fuzzy. Her legs folded under her.

The last thing she saw as the concrete rushed up to meet her was the Winter Soldier standing over her, eyes clouded again.

Expression unreadable. A weapon.

And then—darkness.

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #bucky x you #the winter soldier #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #captain america #captain america and the winter soldier #the avengers #marvel mcu #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction

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terrimisu · 2 days ago

Text

Just Bob

Prologue

Fandom: MCU | Thunderbolts (Sentry)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader (Y/N), ensemble cast

Warnings: blood, mental health themes, soft horror, therapy avoidance, surveillance, implied addiction/relapse

Word Count: ~2.1k

⸻

Summary:

Bob says he’s fine. The team wants to believe him. But when strange malfunctions ripple through the Tower and therapy logs show silence instead of progress, Yelena begins to worry. As doubts grow, Valentina reaches out to someone from Bob’s past—someone who might be able to reach him before it’s too late.

Note: Y/N comes in the next chapter.

⸻

Bob was folding laundry—doing the minimal domestic tasks around the tower, as he had been for the last few months.

His eyes softened as he lifted a sheet fresh from the dryer. Ivory-colored. Still warm.

He held it to his nose, catching a whiff of the lavender dryer sheets he’d tossed in on autopilot.

A faint smile pulled at his lips. Then he moved to fold it, tucking the corners under his chin.

But something caught his eye.

A drop of crimson, clear as day, bloomed after the first fold.

He rubbed it with his thumb. It smeared instead—fresh.

His chest tightened.

Not again.

He brought a hand up to his nose.

Wet.

“A-Ah, shit…” he muttered, tossing the sheet into the dirty pile and stumbling toward the elevator.

“F—fuck,” he whispered, weaving down the hallway, head tilted back. The lights above flickered as he passed. Somewhere in the tower, the lab beeping repeated in uneven pulses—like a heartbeat, off-rhythm.

“So Amsterdam was—Bob?” Yelena’s voice cut off mid-sentence as she turned in time to see him stumble past, disappearing into a bathroom.

Bob stared at himself in the mirror. Blood trailed from his nostril, slow and steady. His hands shook as he washed his face and stuffed tissue into both nostrils.

His reflection blinked back at him. Eyes glowing.

Not gold—something colder. Too bright. Too awake.

He didn’t say anything. Just pressed his palms to the sink and lowered his head.

“Bob?” Yelena’s voice came from the doorway.

He didn’t turn. Just groaned as he wiped the rest of the blood from his face.

Yelena’s brow creased.

“Your nose have a period?”

“I—I think it’s stress,” he muttered, barely audible.

She looked at him through the mirror, unmoving.

“I’m fine,” he added, voice flat.

“Promise.”

⸻

The debriefing room sat in heavy silence. Each of them watching Valentina, who stood at the center console, arms crossed, jaw set.

Ava phased through the vault door, moving to sit beside Walker. His boots were propped up on the edge, eyes flicking to the monitor.

“There was another shift last night,” Valentina said, her voice clipped. She turned to the Tower’s power and energy readouts on the screen.

“Are we talking about—” Walker started.

“Bob,” the others said at once.

Valentina sighed as the feed updated. Everything in line—except for a few flagged anomalies: energy grid failure, containment center malfunction, water levels dropping.

Ava stood.

“The energy grid has shorted before. That wing’s overdue for recalibration.”

She moved closer, hands bracing the console.

“Doesn’t mean it has to be him.”

Valentina didn’t look up.

“What else could it be?”

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the console. A camera feed loaded, filling the screen with a hallway outside Bob’s dorm. Mostly quiet. Logs stacked over months.

Then: footage from last week.

Dark shapes blurred across the screen, unrecognizable.

“Is that static?” Ava asked, narrowing her eyes.

Bucky shook his head.

“Too clear.”

The feed cut. Switched to live.

Bob’s door stayed closed. But along the edge of the frame, something slithered into view—jet black, for half a second—then gone.

Bucky rewound, slowing the frame. A dark, humanoid shape. Crawling. Then smoke.

“Great. Ghosts. Just what we needed,” Walker muttered.

Yelena snapped her gaze to him.

“That’s not funny.”

Walker raised both arms, defensive.

“Just saying—it’s tense in here.”

Ava didn’t look away from the screen.

“Whatever it is, it’s not mechanical. The systems are fine.”

Valentina straightened, hands pressing against the console.

“If Bob’s instability grows, we’re not just risking another power surge. Think about what this place holds. Think about what the Void touched last time.”

Yelena stood, shaking her head.

“It can’t be him. He’s been doing therapy. I take him every week.”

Valentina’s stare sharpened.

“And? Have you ever seen him stay?”

Yelena blinked. Slowly. Her mouth parted, but no sound came.

Silence pressed in like static. Her thoughts flickered through—like skipping scenes from an old tape.

She saw herself walking him to the elevator. That morning last week. Bob chewing the inside of his lip. Then his nails. The way the elevator hummed and neither of them said much.

“Bob?” she’d asked, her voice low.

His hands had stilled. He looked at her—startled. Like he’d just remembered where he was. His eyes were the same blue as always.

Just… foggy.

“Y-Yeah?” he’d said.

“You okay?”

Elevator dinged.

“I’m fine,” he replied, walking out. Not glancing back.

She always let him go from there. Sometimes with a coffee. Or a Frappuccino if he looked tired. Something to hold while someone poked around in his head.

But she never watched him go all the way in.

Not once.

“I…” her voice cracked slightly.

“I just walk him in.”

Her face went tight. Her eyes darted toward nothing in particular, scanning for something invisible.

“What do we do?” she asked, looking between the team.

No one answered. The hum of the tower echoed again, louder this time. The lights flickered above them, faint but sharp.

Barnes broke the silence.

“So we don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone?”

Valentina shook her head.

“He goes. That’s logged. But he’s not staying long or really talking. Not anymore.”

She pulled up a series of screens. One feed, one list.

Therapy logs. Nearly a year’s worth. Notes filed under Bob’s sessions, paired with muted security footage from the tower’s clinic.

Ava squinted.

“Isn’t that—kind of an invasion of privacy?”

“No audio,” Valentina said.

“Cameras are for the psychiatrist. Bob’s case is… complicated.”

One file caught her attention. She opened it. Minimal notes:

Session cut short. Subject nonverbal.

She scrolled. Note after note. Jargon-heavy, terse. Scribbled handwriting. You could almost feel the psychiatrist’s frustration in how jagged the pen had moved.

Then: a blank screen. The last week had no entry.

“I can talk to him,” Yelena said quickly.

Alexei spoke up.

“What about missions?”

Valentina nodded once.

“He’s right. You’re still a critical asset. But this—this is something else. This is groundwork.”

She crossed her arms.

“It won’t be easy.”

Bucky leaned forward.

“So if therapy isn’t working—what’s next?”

Valentina hesitated. Then tapped into another file.

“I dug into his rehab history. North Carolina. In and out before Malaysia. One contact stood out.”

She pulled up a card.

Y/N.

“She was in treatment with him,” Valentina said.

“There were notes. Shared housing. Intake overlap.”

Yelena stared at the name.

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” Valentina continued.

“And if he’s not even telling you—”

She looked directly at Yelena.

“Then maybe this is the next best option.”

She paused, voice lowering.

“Because if we don’t get ahead of this, and the Void returns, we’re looking at a PR nightmare. Or worse.”

The team exchanged uneasy glances. Like they all knew she was right—but didn’t like what that meant.

Yelena’s stomach turned.

“Only if it helps Bob,” she said.

⸻

[TBC – Chapter 1 coming soon]

Taglist:

@werewolfgirl1995

@naushtheaspiringauthor

@sapphirest0nes

Taglist open. DM to be added.

A/N: This is my first in-depth fan fiction in about maybe 10 years — I’ve written others but dropped them due to writers block and workload. I’m open to feedback or suggestions!

This fic is also a deep dive into who Bob could have been pre-Malaysia. Talking about his struggles and recovery is just as important as his power.

Hope you guys stick around for more!

⸻

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #sentry mcu #marvel thunderbolts #bob thunderbolts #mcu fanfiction #lewis pullman #character study #void x reader #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #slow burn #angst #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds fanfic

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starlightfaerie777 · 1 day ago

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fooling around with 40’s bucky at a drive in movie theater 🤭🤭🤭 trying to keep quiet but he won’t stop whimpering and praising u 🤭🤭🤭 yeah 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction

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damn-stark · 1 day ago

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It’s here. It’s here. ITS HERE!!!!

Chapter 5 God is alive; magic is afoot

Chapter 5 of Moon Star

A/N- I hope you guys like this chapter!!!

Warning- Violence, blood and weapons, swearing, Angst, FLUFF.

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader, Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Ding.

Metal scrapes against glass plates, the soft sound of raindrops thumps against the restaurant window at your side, some overplayed pop song plays overhead, different conversations fill the small diner, but silence fills the small space between you and your dad.

Ding.

Do your lives have to be in danger to repeat that ever-so-loving bond that you shared that night?

Ding.

“These flapjacks are to die for,” Marc mumbles with his mouth full of food.

You only briefly glance at him and hum in agreement.

Ding.

Fucking jeez…

After annoying incoming messages, you finally turn the ringer off on your phone and place the screen down against the table's surface, making your dad look at your phone with curiosity as to why it’s been going off since you got to the restaurant.

He's tempted to ask, but he doesn't dare to, fearing it might upset you. He just continues eating in the awkward silence that's suffocating the both of you.

Maybe Steven could be better at this whole rebuilding relationships thing? Perhaps he can emerge, Marc thinks to himself as he eats the pancakes on his plate.

“So,” you break the silence and set your fork down to grab your milkshake. “It’s been a while since Khonshu left you to your lonesome, how does it feel? I mean you guys were together for quite some time,” you say as you begin to smirk as you catch the sound of your own comment.

Your dad sighs in response before he finally sets his silverware down and adds on. “Well, I don’t miss it. I finally feel free, you know?” He says whilst you begin to sip on your milkshake—“I felt stuck for years. Now I feel like I’m getting my shit together again.”

You offer him a faint smile and put your drink down to comment once you've swallowed your milkshake. “That’s good, I'm glad. What about Steven?”

Marc scoffs and lowers his gaze to slowly begin picking up his silverware. “Eh, he wasn’t aware of Khonshu until the very end, he won’t miss him.”

You begin to smile wider and lean in closer. “Is there a chance—” yet before you can finish what you planned to say, your phone begins to vibrate now, causing you to pick it up to check who’s annoying you.

“Busy?” Marc finally asks in a simple yet inquiring manner as he watches you as you realize that it's your local contact who wants to know if you’re interested in doing a small job.

“Eh,” you tell your dad mindlessly. “No, just…work,” you partially lie as you answer yes to the contact without giving it too much thought—“Just my tasks for next week. My boss always wants a lot done,” you tell your dad as you offer him a tight lipped smile when you put your phone in your bag.

Marc hums and then puts his things down to pull out something hidden under his shirt. You grow extremely curious so you lean over, but just before you can see what he took from his neck a flyer is placed on your table, drawing your attention to some middle-aged bald man.

“Join the cause,” he proclaims before he walks away.

“Join the cause,” you mock and pick up the flier, expecting something from the people's Christian god, but when you read what it says in big black letters, your smile fades and your amusement dies as anger and sadness take its place.

“What does it say?” Your dad asks before he takes the flyer from your hands to read it out loud. “Thanos was right, let’s put everything back as it was…” he trails off and slams the flyer down on the table before he instantly gets up on his feet to look for the bald man.

“Pa,” you whisper, and grab his hand to pull him back down. “Drop it. Just leave it alone.”

“No,” Marc retorts sharply. “No, why should I? What the hell was that purple fuck right about? Are these people listening to themselves?”

“No,” you interject and pull his sleeve down. “No they’re not, but I’m used to it.”

Marc slowly begins to sit back down and his anger slowly begins to turn to disbelief.

“That’s all people have been saying since half of the population came back,” you continue. “It’s messed up, but we can’t do anything about it. Just let them talk.” You sigh and let his hand go to raise yours and ask for the bill.

Marc looks back and catches the bald man leaving the restaurant and when you return all your attention to your dad you can tell that he wants to go after him, but you just insist for him to stay put.

“Maybe it was easy for some people,” you mumble as you wait for the waiter to come back with the check. “We can’t take that freedom of—”

“But it wasn’t easy,” your dad cuts you off. “For no one. People disappeared…you did,” he mumbles. “I thought it would stay that way for the rest of my life. A lot of us did.” He says and reaches for your hand as he also leans in closer. “It wasn’t easy. Don’t let these people guilt-trip you into thinking so.”

You lower your gaze and remember the moment you came back, the need to see him in that moment, and the pain when he didn’t come see you, so you quickly pull your hand back and turn your head away to hide the tears that form in your eyes.

“Here,” Marc whispers and returns you your crescent moon necklace after you had given it to him when you thought you’d never see him again. “It’s yours.”

You look down at the necklace and then look back at him with a faint scowl he doesn’t see since the waiter comes with the check.

“Here it is…”

You tune out the waiter as you look down at the necklace in your palm—You know the reason your father kept his distance, but why can’t it stop hurting? Why doesn’t this anger still linger?

“Where to next?” Marc breaks you from your train of thought, making you fist your hand over your necklace and then pull your hand down to your lap. “Uh,” you sigh. “Work. You wanted to see it, yeah? I can bring you in for a tour.”

——

*LATER*

“Building for a better tomorrow.”

“Oh wow,” you hear your father gasp as he begins to fall behind you.

“…look at Wakanda, all their technology is due to vibranium. Now that half of the population returned we are working towards matching their advancements without it.”

“Hi Fred,” you greet the receptionist as you prop your arms on the table.

“I thought you were off for the week, Spector,” he retorts as he rolls his chair around to grab your ID card.

“I am.” You nod slowly in agreement. “But my dad is in town. I wanted to show him the place.” You let him know as you knock your knuckles on the surface and peer back, seeing your dad—or correction Steven messing with the hologram on display in the middle of the lobby.

“Here,” Fred says and breaks you from your stupor to look back at him so you can grab your ID from his hand—“Here’s your guest pass. Bosses are out, knock yourself out.”

You shoot him a half smile and then pull away from the desk to walk towards Steven still putting his hand through the hologram.

“Hello!” The hologram suddenly speaks before an animation of a lightning bolt appears, causing Steven to jump back.

“Oh. Jeez…hi,” he mumbles.

“Steven?” You ask slowly since it could actually be Marc.

Yet as he turns he confirms your suspicion. “Yes. That’s me. I’m here. I just wanted to check out this lobby. It’s very cool,” he muses and begins to grin before looking back at the lightning bolt animation.

“Welcome to your future,” the animation speaks in a cartoonish voice so as to grab the attention of the public. Which is working since Steven is entertained by it

“Well, you'll have to say goodbye. I hear that they want to remodel it,” you let him know as you hand him the guest pass.

“The Avenger Tower,” Steven keeps musing as he takes the plastic card from and keeps looking around in awe. “I never thought I'd be here. This is so awesome!”

“Old Avenger tower,” you correct him.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But still. They stood here. Literal Gods.”

You scoff at the mention because he's seen a god too. More than one.

“Steven,” you urge him softly, and then walk through the hologram to head towards the elevators. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Steven slowly follows you whilst he slowly turns around and looks up at the tall ceiling that looks like the sky since it is so high up.

“It’s so impressive here,” he says.

You nod and when you reach the elevators you hit the up button. “Right,” you agree. “I was taken aback when I first came here too.” You smile. “Standing where they stood. Bruce Banner and Tony Stark,” you share your own fascination. “It was fascinating to me too.”

Steven looks away from the ceiling and finally looks back at you to probe. “You work for the big man?”

You shake your head. “I work for a doctor who works for her, but I don’t work for her directly.”

“Oh,” he gasps and corrects himself. “Her. Sorry.”

“I haven't met her so it doesn't matter,” you brush him off and walk in the elevator to click the number of the floor you work on. When Steven walks in, the elevator closes shut and then moves up swiftly.

It almost feels like it's not moving.

“But soon,” you continue with a hopeful smile. “I will hopefully work directly for the woman in charge. If all goes well and I don’t fuck up I might even become his youngest senior reseacher.” You let out a deep sigh and can’t help but grin whilst Steven looks back at you. “I’m sure you will. I mean your gadget stuff is already so impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say with a soft smile before you look at the doors as the elevator comes to a stop.

“So what is it you’re working on?” You recognize Marc asking now that he emerges again.

“Well,” you sigh and step out to head down to your area, making your dad follow. “Right now since I am an intern, I just do a lot of watching. I take notes, fetch stuff for my boss, you know all that stuff,” you let him know, and turn right in the hall, seeing and hearing people working in their labs and offices. “But next week I will get some lab hours.” You share and turn another right to now head towards the lab your boss works at.

Before you can open the door, however, you scan your ID first to unlock the door, letting your dad know this isn't some small company.

“Just don’t touch anything, okay?” You warn him as you walk after the door automatically slides open.

“Yeah.” Your dad scoffs. “I’m not Steven.”

You laugh softly and roll your eyes. Once you’re inside the organized and empty lab a silence follows you in as your dad takes in every machine, every robotic arm turned off since no one’s working right now. He then walks over to the lab coats hanging by the door and looks back with a smirk.

“You wear one of these?” He asks out of genuine curiosity.

You nod. “Yeah, I do.”

Marc begins to grin and nods before he continues to wander.

“You know,” he begins to say. “I always imagined you’d be working at a big place like this…”

You stop walking around yourself and watch him with a soft look on your face that you can't help.

“I just, I don’t know…I always knew you were so freakin’ smart,” he continues and stops to crouch down slowly and look through a glass container that currently holds different gadgets and stuff the doctor is working on. “Every time I thought about your future something like this always came to mind.”

You scoff softly and smile down at the floor while you also begin gnawing on the inside of your cheek.

“You’re doing great, kid,” he compliments you and turns around to face you. “Definitely better than me.”

You slowly meet his gaze and smile shyly. “Trust me,” you redirect. “If I could be out there traveling the world in search of stolen artifacts I would. Adventure tempts me every day.”

“Nah. Nah.” Your dad shakes his head as he begins to make his way to the table you’re at. “It might be fun, but that provides no future. Not like this,” he says, and clicks his teeth as he points around. “This…this is where you need to stay, Wolfie. Become a science doctor or whatnot. Make your own stuff and make money the right way. Carve your own path.” He stops and leans over the table to keep holding your gaze. “That’s why I didn't want Khonshu messing with you. That type of work has the potential to ruin your life.”

You sigh and step back. “Layla is doing good,” you mention.

Marc nods. “She’s been lucky. But it’s a risk. Everyday. I...I don’t want you to run that.”

You drop your gaze and hum. How could—no. Just do it.

“Well, I think you’re very cool,” you admit in a quiet voice. “That’s never something that’s gone away.”

Marc slowly begins to stand up straight and slowly narrows his gaze as he also begins to smile shyly.

“While kids brought their parents metal name cards from their offices, I would bring pictures you took at all the different cities and the trinkets you had gotten me from Japan, or Mexico.” You begin to grin. “I was always the cool kid.”

Your dad chuckles and shakes his head. “Well,” he interjects. “Maybe they shoulda tried harder.”

You shrug and continue to speak the truth. “Nah, no one could outdo you in any of my classes. Not even Melissa with the firefighter dad.”

Marc smiles widely and averts his gaze as he seems flustered. He doesn’t say anything in the regard, he just pulls away from the table and continues to wonder.

You step away from your spot by the table and try to show him something you’ve been brainstorming, and hopefully, try to push yourself into telling him about the successful nano-tech you’ve been working on. However, before you can your phone begins to ring and when you check who it is you see that it's your contact for your job later tonight.

“It’s school,” you lie and head towards the door. “I’m going to step out for a minute. Don’t,” You point at him. “Touch anything.”

Before your dad can say anything in response you walk out and make sure the door is closed before you answer your phone.

“Hello,” you greet them and begin to wander away from the door.

“Spector,” your contact says in his usual mischievous tone of voice. “It’s a low-key grab today. 10pm at station 47 en route to Rockefeller.”

You groan and roll your eyes since it’s such a public grab.

“Man in his late 40s. Red hair. Green eyes. Carrying for one of his own contacts. Mike is his name. The artifact should be in a black satchel.”

You stop and glance back to make sure the lab door isn’t opening. “What is it?” You ask.

There's a short silence before your contact responds. “Old, ancient gold statues from the late 14 century, so be careful. I’ll meet you tomorrow at our usual place.” He then hangs up, letting you let out a deep frustrated breath as you turn your phone off and wonder…just for a second, if you shouldn't take it.

You already accepted, but you can always “accidentally miss it”.

After what your dad said about his dreams about your future and his pride toward you, you've started to wonder if you really should continue pursuing the dangerous life. As fun as it is, you want to be…renowned. More than the great minds that used to live in this tower.

You don't want to be known for your mistakes or a bad past like the ones that tainted theirs. You want to be inspiring in the most perfect way. You want to be perfect.

You don’t want your scales to be unbalanced.

With that in mind, you pull out your phone to reach out to your contact.

However, just before you can do a thing, your phone screen turns on by itself as your phone starts to ring again with Denver’s name shining on the screen

You almost don't answer, but it won't be suspicious if you linger in the hall for a few moments longer, so you answer your only friend so you don't risk losing him.

It's a big city. It can get lonely and you're finally not moving around or at risk of turning into dust, so you want to make this work.

“Denver,” you greet.

“Spector,” he hisses lightheartedly. “So how is your father treating you? Have a laugh? Or is he completely vexing?”

Vexing?

“Well,” you say and glance back at the door. “It's been awkward, but we're working on it, so not vexing…what's up?”

There's a moment of silence before he suddenly exclaims. “Ha! Well, I was wondering, you. Me. The mummy tonight while we get some work done of course…or you going to be out with your father all day?”

“No—”

“Are you planning to do something mischievous, my friend?” He asks teasingly but he hits the target perfectly as if he was inside your mind.

“Well…no,” you try to answer nonchalantly, but in his short time with you, he's gotten to know you well.

“What is it?” He probes. “That eyesore of a Lady Liberty? Or something from that ever so offensive museum?”

You gnaw at the inside of your cheek and hesitate, so he keeps pressing.

“Whatever it is there's power in your inventions,” he strokes your ego. “Use them tonight.”

You shake your head. “No,” you mumble. “Not tonight and…not Sunday either. I'm stepping back. This life that I think I want was to defy my dad…I don't need to anymore. I can be someone worth admiring if I follow the right path,” you say softly with your voice laced with hope.

“Admired? Is that it?” He asks in the same nonchalance, but it still makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “What person worth admiring has walked a straight path? Gods didn't walk down such a perfect path without staining it and they're still admired.”

“Well, I am not a god,” you retort and turn to face the door.

“No,” he deadpans. “So why should you lead such a boring life without having a little harmless fun?”

You shake your head as you feel him pulling you back into that darkness. “Fun is dangerous.”

“Fun is thrilling,” he says softly and with every word laced with temptation. “Perfection is boring. Power is strength and the very thing you need to have that life you crave.”

You’re engulfed in the shadows again. You have a way out, but oh is it tempting to follow the uncarved you are making yourself with every sudden and thrilling choice you make.

Alas, before you can let him know what choice you want to make. Whether it’s the perfect narrow path, or the uncarved path basked in the shadows of mystery, the door opens and your dad pokes his head out.

“Is everything okay here?”

You hang up the phone and nod. “Yeah. Just got finished.”

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

The music in your ears gets louder as the doors to the subway slide open. A soft groan escapes your lips as you tighten your grip around the burning coffee cup in your hand and the satchel in your other hand. A variety of different scents dance in your nose as you step into the subway, and a variety of different people come into your peripheral view as you look from side to side. A redhead especially stands out to you though so you turn to walk to the right and scratch the itchy wig on your head while bopping your head to the music.

As you begin to approach the red-headed man with the black satchel discarded on the side of his feet, you pretend to look for a seat and pretend that you don’t see his feet out in the pathway to trip and “accidentally” drop your hot coffee on his lap.

“Watch where you’re going!” The man exclaims and jumps out of his seat with his hands up and his eyes on his coffee-stained pants.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry sir,” you say in a sweet voice and shift to his right to block his vision and drop your satchel next to him so Denver can take the seat next to the man and then quickly push the man's satchel out from under his seat so you can take it as if it was yours.

After that, rather than bringing attention to himself by standing up and moving, Marvin stays where he is and pretends to be busy on his phone. Meanwhile, you keep trying to apologize to the man using the best trick you have, the fact that you’re a young woman.

“I have,” you mumble and slip a backpack strap off your shoulder to look for a napkin. “I have something for you. I’m so sorry man. I’m such a klutz.”

The man takes one look at you and shakes his head before letting out a deep and annoyed sigh. “I should be more careful. My feet were in the aisle, sorry sweetheart,” he says in a Boston accent before he sits back down. “It’s okay. It’s just coffee.”

You let your backpack swing back and meet the man’s gaze with a feigned apologetic smile as you pick up the satchel. “I’m so sorry once again. I’ll be more careful,” you say and offer him one last sweet smile before you walk away and stay standing by the subway door.

You then proceed to go on your phone to pretend to be busy on it while actually actively reading a message your dad sent you instead of scrolling mindlessly.

Dad:

Steven wants to go to Coney Island tomorrow. That okay?

You smile faintly at your phone and immediately respond.

You:

Yeah. Sounds fun :)

The subway begins to roll to a slow stop thereafter so you put your phone in your jacket pocket and wait. Once the doors open you make sure to get lost in the crowd. You then peer back and make sure the red-headed man isn’t close.

When you don’t see him nearby you pull off the backpack you had bought at some thrift store, and place it down by a homeless man’s makeshift music stand.

“Thank you,” he salutes you.

You offer him a partial smile and as you climb up the steps of the subway station and begin to see the dark polluted sky over the Rockefeller Center you pull your headphones off and tuck them in your pocket. You then proceed to put your hood on and slip off the cheap red wig from your head to throw it in the trash can. After all, they say that the most subtle changes are the best kind.

Nevertheless, once you begin to walk past the Rockefeller Center to head towards the bike you left behind earlier. However, once you turn onto the street you left your bike at, it’s of course gone.

Damn.

You sigh and have no choice but to walk home now.

At least it isn’t far from here, you think to yourself as you grip onto the satchel and pull out your phone to text your contact whilst you slowly turn to face the sidewalk.

You:

I have it.

You put your phone away and when you look up you see the red-headed man from the subway, along with two other men with black hoods over their heads.

“You really thought you would get away with it that easily?” The redhead asks with a scowl on his long face.

“It was easy to take.” You say nonchalantly.

The man scoffs whilst the other two snicker at him, making the redhead pierce his glare at you, and then, without warning, he reaches back to pull out a handgun hidden in his jacket and point it at your chest.

Without letting go of the satchel and as the man doesn’t hesitate whatsoever to hit the trigger, you cross your wrists over one another and manage to stop the bullet with the bangles that are hidden under your jacket sleeves.

A sharp pain doesn't fail to sting your arms where the bullet hit the bangles, but the good thing is that there’s no blood trickling down your arms or other intense pains. It…

It worked!

THE FUCKING NANOTECH WORKED!

You blink and look at your wrists in disbelief and pride whilst the men blink rapidly in shock.

“Wh—” the redhead gasps and slowly lowers his gun to look at you.

“She’s a freak!” The friend on his right side proclaims before he also reaches back, making you snap your eyes to him before uncrossing your arms and lifting up your left sleeve to go on your apple watch and change the bangles to claws like the ones Khonshu had provided for you in the short time you wore his ceremonial armor.

The man on the right sees all this happening and expects to catch you off guard so he pulls the trigger, but before he can shoot, you lunge forward and swing your hand to gash his arm, causing him to drop his gun. You then swiftly twist around to face the redhead, and proceed to swing your hand again, managing to gash his face before he can shoot again.

However, as you’re distracted with those two, before you can hit the guy on the left, he gets to you first and bashes something hard and cold on the bridge of your nose.

You keep hold of the satchel, but immediately lift your hand to cup your wounded nose and groan as a sharp pain radiates throughout your offended area.

“Fucking…DICKHEAD,” you curse the man and stumble back. “Ah.”

Thick warm liquid begins to trickle down through the gaps of your fingers and drips off your chin. “<Son of a bitch>,” you curse in Spanish. “<Dickhead>.”

Before you can let go of your nose you suddenly feel a tug on your satchel, so you drop your hand to look down and catch the redhead’s hand on the satchel. Thus you pull right back and slowly glower at him before you kick him in the crotch without shifting your gaze his way.

“Stupid little—” he groans and stumbles back.

The man on the right picks up his gun off the ground and points it at you. Yet just as you snap your eyes towards him suddenly a large figure comes out from the shadows and tackles him to the ground.

“What the hell,” you gasp and squint your gaze on the scene that suddenly unfolded before you, catching the man groaning and on the ground.

The red-headed man also looks over and begins to pant before looking over at you and pointing his knife at you.

“You—”

“Here,” a familiar hisses from behind and reveals his brown hands first as suddenly wraps them around the man’s face before he yanks him back into the shadows.

You step back and away from the scene, but suddenly stop when you catch a flash of who this intruder is. It’s Denver. He’s the one who came out of the shadows.

“Denver?” You ask with disbelief.

Said man looks over after he punches the man in the throat and flashes you a smug grin. Before he can address you formally he first knocks out the man he was towering over and then begins to walk out of the shadows and into the light, making you slowly approach him with confusion written all over your face.

“Stay back!” The man left standing bellows and points his knife at you.

“You or me?” Denver asks as he glances over at the man.

You gulp and look back at the man before taking a couple of steps towards him.

“Stay back!” The man yells out shakily and steps back until the heel of his shoes hits the gun that belonged to the red-headed man. He then glances down and quickly bends down to reach it, but Denver then hurls a rock at him and hits him square in the face, causing him to stumble back with a yelp.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you approach the struggling man

“I followed you,” Denver throws out casually. “Of course.”

“Why?” You quip. “Your part of the job was done. I told you not to come,” you scold your friend.

“Well,” he sighs. “Here I am after I saved your life.”

You roll your eyes and the man looks over your shoulder before looking at you horrified. “Who—”

Before he can finish you cut him off by using your bracelet to taser him until he’s unconscious.

Once he’s on the ground you face Denver with a pointed look.

“Care to explain?” You immediately blurt as you walk to him now without distractions.

“Why I saved your—”

“Why you stalked me,” you cut him off and stop under the light to put your hand on your hip. “Why would you risk yourself like this?”

“Oh,” he breathes out. “I understand now. Well, how could I possibly let you come alone after I knew what you were doing?”

“You were not supposed to worry about me after I got off that train. I know what I'm doing you—”

“I am your friend,” he interrupts you this time and walks toward you with his hands out. “The only one I have. That's what friends do.”

You look at his open hands and watch him stop before you with his hands still waiting.

You hesitate and still wonder why he got to you so fast, but with your heart cast in a depressing solitude, you take his hands as if giving him all your trust and offer him a sweet smile, making his lips pull to a very smug smile.

“Thanks.” You offer him with your gaze averted. “Thank you for helping me. It seems you always find me at the right time. Should I be scared because you’re possibly stalking me? Or should I be forever grateful?”

“Stalking you?” Denver quips in amusement and props his hands on his hips. “It’s not my fault you always need me.”

You scoff and shrug in defeat. “Okay, I appreciate that you got here when you did. I was cornered, but I could have handled it.”

He nods. “Oh, yes, I know. Now what are we going to do about that nose?”

It hurts to sniffle so you just have your hands hover over the offended area. “Put the bone back in place and come up with something to tell my dad.”

Denver chuckles. “The truth?”

You scoff. “Funny.”

He smirks and points his head back. “Let's get you home,” he offers you before he grabs your shoulder and turns you towards your way home.

“Are you sure?” You probe. “Aren't you busy?”

He shakes his head. “No. I have nothing planned but to mend your nose.”

“Okay,” you whisper and pretend to give in in defeat when in reality you’re glad. It feels like you’re going to actually puke and pass out with the pain throbbing as sharp as it is.

“Okay I have one important question,” Denver interjects as you're making your way home.

You glance over at him and nod. “Shoot,” you encourage him.

“How are you so good at fighting?” He asks. “You’re very good.”

You scoff softly and drift your gaze away as you begin to smirk smugly. “Well, my step mom taught me for one and two.” You sigh. “I was trying to prove something to my dad.” You begin to grin now. “If he wasn’t going to teach me, I was going to find my own way. We've made up since then, but that’s what encouraged me then.”

Denver hums and he offers you a half smile. “Those are very good reasons,” he says.

“I know,” you quip with the same cocky attitude. “Where did you learn how to fight?” You ask curiously as you try your best to ignore the pain you're currently suffering. “You're very fast. I almost missed you.”

Denver’s eyes narrow for a brief second before he looks at you with a lighthearted look. “I sought classes. While all the other children were busy doing other things, I…was building my muscle, toning my body, and learning how to fend for myself.” He says with a hint of anger lacing in his tone and showing in the way he tenses his jaw, but it's brief because when he remembers where he is his face softens again.

“I was not going to give them the pleasure of seeing me broken,” he adds, making you offer him an awkward pitiful look as you round a corner.

“They had taken so much already,” he whispers as his face remains soft.

“Well,” you interject kindly. “They can't break you now.”

Denver meets your gaze and the corner of his lips perk up into a small smirk. “No.” He shakes his head. “They cannot. Perhaps they'll try. They always find me, but,” he adds with an air of arrogance. “I always manage to win.”

“Besides, now you have me,” you reassure him. “If you ever need help, come to me, I'll always be there for you.”

Denver snickers and nods softly. “Yes, I do, don't I?” He grins and then hides his face by looking both ways down the street. When you know it's clear you cross the street without asking or even thinking about why he found what you said so amusing. You just cross the street and make your way to your small apartment.

“You hardly talk about your past,” you tell Denver. “So thank you for trusting me.”

There's silence from Denver so you stop past the door and turn to face him, but he turns away quickly to close the door, making you miss any possible reaction he could've had on his face.

“And you're an open book,” he quips, making you turn away to head to the bathroom now that he shows you that he's not bothered.

“Hardly,” you mutter. “You know just enough.”

“Sure,” he teases while you’re away grabbing what you need and he’s left to wonder about an apartment he’s been to multiple times already.

However as familiar as he is with your living space there’s a new change he comments on. “Are these new?” He asks loud enough so you can hear him from where you are.

You grab a first-aid kit, a splint, and a bandage from the bathroom counter under your sink and don’t even dare to look at yourself in the mirror while you're moving about in the bathroom. You’re too afraid to see the bloody aftermath, so you just quickly turn the lights off and stride out to join Denver in the living room as he’s looking at the picture of you, your dad, and Steven from today.

“Oh?” You wonder and glance at the pictures before setting everything down on your coffee table to get a stool from the kitchen. “Yeah. They're for my grandpa,” you let him know. “He wants pictures of me and my dad and he can't work out how to print them himself, so I'm printing them to send them to him.”

Denver snorts. “Elder people are so wise yet so stupid. It’s fascinating. Thank the stars I am not going to get old.”

You snicker and probe. “Oh? How come? Do you know something I don’t?” You taunt and he quips right back. Or at least you thought he did.

“Do you want to know?”

“Please be gentle, okay?” You say as you come back to the living room, changing the subject to your throbbing nose you can't ignore anymore.

“Gentle?” Denver repeats with amusement and stands from his seat to grab what he needs. “Okay.”

You quirk your brow and counter. “What’s so funny about that?”

Denver shrugs and opens the first-aid kit to take out the alcohol wipe packets. “You were handling those men not so gently.”

You laugh and shake your head as you take a seat on the stool. “That doesn’t matter. I mean I can take a punch, but I'm sucker at actually tolerating the pain afterwards. No matter how tough I act.”

Denver scoffs and gently pulls out a wipe after he tears the packet open. “Pain is temporary. There's nothing to fear about it,” he says, and leans down to carefully wipe up to the bridge of your nose where you can feel a small cut.

“Well, maybe for you, but not for me,” you retort and meet his focused bright green eyes.

“That's because you have been spoiled with comfort and told that everything was going to be okay your whole life,” he argues while without warning, dabs the wipe on your nose, making you wince and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Damn,” you hiss under your breath and grip onto the stool.

“It's not even the worst part,” he mutters and throws the wipe on the table to grab another so he can clean the moist blood that was stained on your upper lip without anything to add the entire time. All while you open your eyes and study him, the rich color of his earth-colored eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow with the thoughts spinning within his mind, and wondering if he can feel the heat rising off your cheeks as they're slowly growing warm.

His thoughts spin, you can tell, but you can't know what he might be feeling now at this moment, and you don't ask either. You just watch him pull his hand away to throw the wipe on the table.

“Now we're at the bad part,” he says with the corner of his lips slightly perked up. “I’ll make it fast.”

You gulp and part your lips to ask him to count so you can prepare yourself, but he kept true to his word.

Denver presses his hands against the bridge of your nose and cracks the bone back in place, causing you to instantly yelp and throw your head down as a blinding obliterating pain shoots out and radiates throughout your nose.

“<Son of a bitch,” you swear in Spanish. “Son of a bitch. Ah—>”

“It's over,” Denver once again is true to his word. There's not even a hint of comfort. He just grabs what he used and walks off to throw it all away.

“Fuck, it’s fine,” you murmur to yourself and lift yourself off the stool in hopes walking will make it all better. “You’re good.” You let him know with a shaky sigh and drop your hand back at your side.

Denver walks back to the living room and picks up the splint, making you make your way back to him to finish this whole ordeal.

“Can I ask you something else?” Denver asks and continues before you can give him your okay. “Why are you risking your life for the work you do?”

You lower your gaze and shrug gently. “I guess it's because it's something my family is into. My dad, my step mom…I’ve always liked what they do.” You share with a small smile. “It’s fun to me, and before it also fell under the same category of me trying to prove something to my dad.”

He hums and nods as he takes note of what you said and also reaches for the bandage strip to carefully place it over your splint. “I understand what you mean,” he says as he holds your gaze. “I can’t stop doing what I do either. The rush. The excitement. The glory. The power. It is all…”

“Thrilling?” You finish for him and his eyes brighten.

“Exactly!” He exclaims with a wicked look in his green eyes.

You smile at him either way before you begin to frown and then rebuttal. “The difference is that you do good. I steal stuff, I beat people up and I like it,” you pause and avert your gaze as you think back to those damn scales. “I’m not a good person. You are.”

Denver puts down the wrapper and stays close. “Who said that?” He retorts with an honest curiosity.

“Would you believe it if I said scales by an Egyptian goddess?” You say and feign a laugh as you roll your head up.

“I would,” he assures you. “But you cannot believe what the Gods say or think. It's all bogus and it's all to boost their egos because they think they're all mighty with everything they were given, but the truth is that they are not all mighty.”

Your eyebrows knit together and you probe. “Have you crossed many gods in your lifetime?”

Denver turns away and chuckles before he avoids the question and returns to the conversation. “I think that you are the way you are for a reason and that is not a bad thing. Take pride in it.”

You smile and feel your heart begin to pound in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Denver faces you again and offers you a brief smile before he turns away from you again before anything else could happen and just as a knock raps on your door, startling you and making Denver tense.

The knock raps again before suddenly a voice echoes. “Love, it’s me. It’s Steven.” He laughs softly. “I know, I know I should’ve called or texted, but would you guess what? My phone died.”

“Oh,” you whisper and walk toward the door, but before you can reach it you turn to Denver. “It's okay, you can stay here.”

Denver nods stiffly and you finish making your way to the door to open it and greet Steven.

“Steven.” You grin but pass him a questioning look. “Hey, man, what’s up? Come in.” You welcome him kindly and step aside to let him walk in before shutting the door, expecting to see Denver.

“I have a friend…” you trail off when you don't see him in the living room where you had left him. “I had a friend over,” you mutter and notice that the window is opening, letting in the air and telling you how he made his escape.

“I guess he got nervous,” you say, and watch the window for a moment before you turn to Steven. “Whad brings you here?”

“We were in the neighborhood,” Steven explains. “So I thought I’d come and drop off our favorite,” he says and lifts the brown paper bag in his hand with a sweet smile. “Donuts. There was this neat vegan…” Steven trails off and his smile fades as worry sets in rather quickly.

“Hey,” he says and points at his own nose. “What happened, love?”

You lift your hand over your nose and quickly make something up. “Boxing,” you blurt. “I had boxing class today. My partner missed the swing.” You laugh breathlessly. “I’m all good though, don’t worry.”

Steven hesitates but slowly nods as he puts his hand back down at his side. “Well if you say so.” He sighs and begins to smile again. “I brought you a chocolate donut and a glazed one, so enjoy. That’s all I came here for. Oh! And to wish you a goodnight.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. “My friend is not here anymore. You can stay a while longer. I can make some tea or something else.”

Steven glances around the room and then finds your gaze. “Are you positive? I don’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head. “I’m positive. Stay.”

“Well okay then,” he says and makes his way further inside to make himself at home. “Just a little while because I know that you might have homework.”

You chuckle and make your way to the kitchen. “I finished it all already before you got here,” you let him know to reassure him so he doesn't have to worry. “It's all quite easy at the moment so I get done fast.”

“Well, aren't you a smart cookie,” he teases, making you giggle before you bring something up that just came to mind. “I bought us matching shirts that say I Love New York,” you giggle. “So tell Marc to get ready for that.”

Steven grins. “Really? That’s rad! I’ve always wanted one.”

“Me too,” you say and shoot him a smile.

“Oh!” He exclaims. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s just me and you tomorrow. Marc can’t hog up all our time with you.”

“Sounds like a nice plan.”

“Maybe you can invite your friend to Coney Island with us?” Steven adds.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know,” you say mindlessly and glance at the window where Denver had made his grand escape even though you didn’t give him a reason to fear your dad.

How odd.

Tagged: @broadwaytraaaaash @jasminemohmed @padsdarlg @seninjakitey @anonoussy @mateihavenoidea @queenofthekill @scoliobean

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multiversediaries · 9 hours ago

Text

IN EVERY UNIVERSE

PETER PARKER X READER

Summary: Set in No Way Home, Peter finds you, his deceased loved from his universe.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, grief, very in love Peter!

part count: 1/2!

———————————————

"I lost Y/N. She was my... She was my MJ."

You froze in your tracks. Breathing was becoming harder and harder. It could've been because of the cold night weather of New York, or maybe because in front of you stood a man, that seemed so heartbreakingly in love with you; or better said, a version of you.

You had met this Peter Parker only a few hours prior. Everything happened so fast. You remember impatiently waiting with MJ in your living room, eyes glued to the TV, waiting for your universe's Peter to show signs of life.

Aunt Mary had passed away in his arms, the government and authorities now turning on him, intending to capture him, yet he seemed to have gotten away. However, he hadn't gotten in contact with you guys, not even with MJ, who Peter endlessly loved. You remember checking your phone every two minutes, just hoping Peter would contact you. After all, you had been his best friend for so long, for as long as you can remember.

"I just wish we could see him." You desperately waved your arms in front of your face. The simple actions causing sparks right in front of you both. MJ's face grew in confusion, softly tapping your shoulder.

"Do that again." She said, her eyes still looking ahead. You wished you knew what you had done, you simply did not know. Your eyes trailed down to the ring you had previously stolen from Doctor Strange. Copy him, that must be the answer, you thought. And so you lifted both your arms, mimicking the way Doctor Strange opened portals, and you tried again.

"I can't do it. I just... I don't know how to do this!"

"Yes, you can. We need to get to Peter. You can do this, Y/N." MJ assured you, her eyes begging to you simply try. You nodded, a shaky breath leaving your lips, lifting your hands yet again.

"I just wish we could see him!" You said louder this time, doing the circular motion with your hands, and open it did. A portal had opened. You looked at MJ, breathlessly chuckling at her, shocked by your newly found talent.

The portal had opened in what looked to be a street. The night sky being reflected on the puddles of water in the floor, and by the very end, stood Peter. It was difficult to see him, being completely honest, but you recognized the red suit. A gasp from MJ took you out of the trace you were in. MJ started waiving down Peter, calling out his name. Soon enough, Peter had seen you both, and began making his way to you. You saw him run slower as he actually got a good look at you both. You could have sworn you had see him physically taken back by something. He catiously walked into your living room, carefully and awfully slowly looking around your apartment. If you only knew how familiar everything was to the man standing in front of you.

"Y/N?" His voice shook, and shuttered as he spoke. Your eyes widened gently at the mention of your name. MJ and yourself knew this wasn't Peter. This man was much taller, his build being very different from Peter. Who was this man? And more importantly, how did he know your name?

"Who... Who are you?" You asked, anxiously.

"It's me. I..." The man tenderly spoke, his hands running to remove his mask, revealing his face. You took a step back without even realizing it. His face read sadness, confusion and even desperation. "It's me, Peter." He continued to speak, how voice becoming softer by every word that left his lips. He was handsome, truly the type to take your breath away. Your breath had even hitched by the sight of such a pretty man, standing in your living room. But he was not your Peter. And he knew you were not his Y/N, but God, he couldn't stop his walls from coming crashing down by the sight of the love of his life, alive and well.

"You're not Peter. It's not possible." MJ said after a long pause, shaking her head continiously. The man, Peter, slowly adverted his gaze towards MJ, as if needing to keep you in his sight at all times. He sighed softly, trying to find a way of explaining.

"I am Spider-Man. Peter Parker if you will... in my world. But then, yesterday, all of the sudden..." He tried explaining, his words spilling from his mouth as he paced around the room. You simply watched his tall frame.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove it, that you're Peter Parker." MJ demanded, earning a small grin from the man.

"Well, I don't... carry my ID with me, it kinda defeats the whole anonymous superhero thing." He joked, earning a small laugh from you. He could've sworn this was heaven, the sweet sound of your laughter. He looked at you, smiling at you, yet his eyes only carried grief, and now you understood why.

"Hang from the ceiling." You finally spoke, the lovely melody of your voice bringing him peace. He breathlessly chuckled, you even saw his chest sink at your words. He shook his head, looking to the floor.

"God, you're... That's exactly what she said." He chuckled sorrowfully, his hands running through his face, as he recalled the time he first told you that he was Spider-Man. Well, to his world's version of you. He remembered how hard he laughed once you asked him to simply hang from the ceiling to prove himself. This was all too familiar.

"Sure." His words were short, instantly doing as you asked. hoping lightly towards the ceiling, and hanging from it by this sticky hand. You smiled a bit at the action, nodding your head. You looked to MJ besides you, this was was Peter Parker from one of the many other universes.

You gulped, your eyes meeting Peter's eyes, the tears filled to the brim, as he tried to not break down crying in front of all of you. It seemed like on his universe, you were together. It seemed like such a crazy idea to you. You had never even thought of the possibility of dating Peter, he had been your childhood best friend, you only saw him as a brother. Yet, in another life, he was your one true love. Your heart ached at the single sight of that man, so visibly broken by the simple fact that he had lost you. You had meant everything to somebody, and your absence deeply affected him. It was all so overwhelming to comprehend.

You had never been anyone important. Your entire life, you had been invisible. Nobody had loved you yet. Years of life and you had never even experienced a confession. So how could you understand that in another life, someone had loved you this much? So much to the point of referring to you as 'his version of MJ'? The love MJ and Peter shared was so undeniably unconditional. Unweavering. You thought of them when thinking of real love. And this man said he loved you just as much. Your skin covered in goosebumps at the thought.

"I tried to... keep going. To keep being that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, because I know that's what she would've wanted. But I..." Peter added, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. He couldn't stop his body from pointing at you when mentioning your name, His voice sounded so devastated, so genuinely crushed. MJ, who held Peter's hand, looked your way, her eyes saddened by the story.

"At some point, I just... stopped pulling my punches. I got rageful. Bitter." He continued, hissing painfully, remembering how hard it was for him after you were gone. You didn't even notice you were crying until tears streamed down your face.

"She was..." A small, shattered chuckle left his lips. "Yeah, she was everything. And I couldn't save her. I won't ever forgive myself for that." He finished, sniffling gently, his eyes glued to yours. He looked away as soon as he noticed your tears, cursing under his breath, wiping his own tear filled face.

Truthfully, you didn't know how you all had ended up by the Midtown High Laboratory, you had disassociated after Peter's story. Peter bit his lip, standing by the other end of the lab, noticing how distraught you looked. He thought it would be best to keep his distance, not wanting to smother you. Even if he missed you so much he could not breath, you weren't his Y/N, and he needed to come to terms with that. That didn't mean he could keep his eyes off your beautiful face, his eyes were simply drawn to your inmense beauty, having had forgotten just how gorgeous you were.

They were all working on cures, and Peter focused on Connors, having already cured him in the past, he knew what he had to do. He decided to drown himself in his work, trying his hardest to forget your presence. But God, it was impossible. He couldn't stop from thinking of you. From comparing you. You just acted exactly like her, dressed just the same, talked as sweetly as her. You were his Y/N, yet you weren't. He was so conflicted. Gosh, he just wanted to embrace you, and kiss those sweet lips he fell in love with. He dreamed of the way your soft skin would feel under his touch, warm and as soft as always.

He couldn’t stop reminiscing of the way you would love him. You were just so endearing, you did everything for Peter and his happiness. His wellbeing was your passion, often working on new add ons for his suit, further ensuring his security.

You were so loving. You would always find sweet ways to show him just how much you loved him. Your tender kisses and caresses were his need. He found himself smiling as he remembered your sweet details. Small, wholesome letters in his backpack. I love you's written on the computing of this mask. He remembered coming home to you everyday, you'd always try to wait for him, welcoming him by jumping in his arms and planting kisses all over his faces. But whenever you’d fall asleep before he got home, you'd always be wearing one of his shirts, as if needing something of his, his scent to be able to rest. He jumped in his seat, being taken out of his thoughts by you. Your touch.

"How's it going?" You asked, offering him a smile. His eyes looked at his shoulder, just looking at your hand on his skin. You followed his gaze, noticing how his skin was fully covered in goosebumps, and all by your simple touch. You sat next to him, looking at what he was working on. He cleared his throat, nodding his head, smiling a bit.

"Good. Pretty good. I'm almost done." He replied, smiling at you, almost finishing up the serum. You nodded, watching him. It felt good being close him, as if electric. "I just need to fill my webs, just in case" He chuckled.

"I can help you with that!" You said, sitting up straight, excited to help out. He looked at you, a bit shocked.

"You know how to do that?" He asked, earning a scoff from you.

"Do I know... Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" You joked, grabbing his gadgets from him, shaking your head at him, smiles plastered on both your lips. He laughed, genuinely this time.

"Wow, you're just..." He started, looking at you. You met his eyes, lifting your eyebrows in curiosity. "Sorry." He chuckled, shaking his head. You shook yours, nudging him a bit, interested in what he wanted to say.

"What?" You giggled a bit, and Peter melted.

"You just exactly like her." You could hear his suffering in his voice as he spoke. Peter breathlessly laughed a bit, shaking his head, not wanting to tear up again, but it was hard. He still hadn't been strong enough to talk about you without crying. Your hands softened around the gadget, locking eyes with him.

"Yeah?" You asked, wanting to know more. About you. About the relationship you shared with this man. You wanted to know it all. He nodded his head rapidly.

"God, yes, it's almost terrifying." He chuckled.

"Could you... tell me about her?" You asked, scared of possibly hurting him. Peter's eyes softly widened at your request, before gently nodding his head.

"Yeah, you were... I mean, She..." He trailed off, both of you giggling gently. All this universe talk was definitely confusing. "She was just perfect." He continued, a small smile on his face.

"We met in college, y'know? Not that we studied in the same uni, I met her by chance. I was lucky." Peter nodded his head, truly believing he was incredibly blessed. "Met her one day while I was walking home. It was pouring rain, and I never really carry an umbrella; It's a.... hard thing to hide if I were to quickly change into the suit, y'know?" He chuckled, his head tilting as he recalled that special day. Your laugh complimented his.

"I was drenched, and it had been awfully cold around Queens." He continued, and you listened. You had begun to notice small, lovely things about Peter, like how he talked with his hands. "And in she came, running towards me; a total stranger to her, by the way." He jestered, earning another giggle from you. "But she, uh... shared her umbrella with me, going on and on about the unusual weather of New York, not that I cared, I was too busy admiring... her. It was a small, kind gesture, but it truly just..." He trailed off again, and you couldn't help but pout.

"So cute. I remember how she got herself wet, running after me, to shield me from the rain." He chuckled, biting his lip after shaking his head in endearment. "But, yeah. I knew instantly, really. And I think she did, too? 'Cause we started going out soon after that. And it was just perfect, she was perfect."

"I had it all. I had never been so happy, I swear." Peter expressed, meeting your eyes for a quick moment. "She was the calm in my chaos. Just perfection, I can't explain it." He chuckled, trying his hardest to find the words. Your hand ran to lay on top of his.

"It's okay, Peter. We don't have to talk about this."

"No, I want to. Talk about her." He said softly, nodding his head, a sad smile on his face. You nodded your head, allowing him the space to talk about it, if he'd like.

"She was it; I know it now and I knew it then. We had plans, dreams, things we wanted to do together... and it all got taken away from me." Peter's voice shook as he spoke, his head dropping lightly. "We were together for so long, but it wasn't enough, it could never be. I needed more. I needed a life by her side, hell, I had planned it. And it was all stolen from me."

"How did she..." You couldn't even finish your sentence, Peter already knew what you meant.

"Just didn't protect her like I should've." His breath trembled, your hand squeezed his gently. His eyes carefully met yours.

"It wasn't your fault, Peter." You consoled him, the words bringing solace to the broken man sitting besides you. "Stop blaming yourself. I'm sure she would've liked that." You continued on, now interlacing your fingers with him. Peter felt as if he were on cloud nine. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't take all this. He couldn't dare to break eye contact with your pretty eyes, he was too far gone. He was awe-struck, fawning over the features of yours he simply adored. His eyes roamed your face, soon landing on those lips of yours. It was taking everything in him, and from you too.

You couldn't deny the obvious attraction you felt for Peter. He was everything you had ever asked for. He was smart, funny and kind, and that physic of his was no joke either. You wanted him. You genuinely did, but he could never be yours. He would be gone soon, and to never see again.

You mustn't allow yourself to fall for this mysterious man.

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