#mcu gifs

[whitedarkmoonflower]

We are Thunderbolts! // The Thunderbolts* (The New Avengers) (2025)

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Winter's Child

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help.

Disclaimer: A lot of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort vibes. This is also a long fic. Bucky is not a step-dad but a dad who steps up. Brief mentions of abandonment, heavy on the Found Family, cute fluffy date moments between Reader and Bucky. Yelena and Kate being a duo, slight swearing. Not fully proof read.

You were at your wits end. At least, you thought you were until a handwritten letter slipped under your door at nine am on the dot a week ago. 

A noise complaint. 

You were a single, new mom of one. And instead of helping, three of your neighbours – two of whom had children of their own – decided to file a noise complaint against you. 

First, it was sleepless nights with a newborn. Then it was three weeks of convincing male doctors that your baby was, in fact, sick and it wasn’t you just being dramatic. And now…it was teething. 

You’d barely had a minute to yourself in several months. Family helped you where they could, but one night was all they would do in terms of babysitting. 

You had five piles of laundry that either needed washing, drying, folding or putting away. Your apartment was over-run with household chores that needed doing, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you moved through your home. 

And every time you’d just get your baby to sleep, someone upstairs decided that it was time for yet another rearrangement of furniture because it didn’t fit the ‘movement’ of his vibe. 

“What?” You were practically crying yourself. “What is it? I’ve tried everything. Please, just tell me what to do. Please.”

Nothing was working. You didn’t want another noise complaint in fear of someone suggesting you should move out. It took years for you to find a safe place that was within walking distance of a good school. 

Obviously, you’d planned the whole ‘having a baby’ thing happening differently than being single and alone the whole time. But it was the quiet moments, the moments where your baby laughed and smiled that made your heart lighten a little. 

But at two am, exhausted and desperate – that was not one of those moments. 

You’d never know why – you could only ever guess - but an idea popped into your head. And you could only pray it would work. 

Bucky had just closed his front door when someone knocked on it. It was hurried and for a moment, he felt for his side-arm. 

But when the knock was followed by a baby’s cry, he lowered his hand. By the time he opened the door, he was greeted with you - his neighbour. 

“I’m so sorry, I really really am-”

You looked like Hell. Bucky had been on a ten day mission in Serbia and had the crap kicked out of him twice – and somehow you looked worse. 

“But she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want another noise complaint or to be kicked out. I know this is really rude and I am sorry but, please. Is there-”

Bucky stepped forward and scooped the baby from your arms for a moment. He held her up, letting her little legs dangle in the air for a moment whilst he checked her over. 

It was like he’d performed some kind of miracle. 

Your baby had stopped crying. 

Bucky could see you in the corner of his eye. It looked like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, only to come crashing back down. 

“How do you do that?”

Bucky shrugged with a small smile as he cradled your baby in his arms. “I had kid sisters growing up. Ma was always run off her feet.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “Don’t be. You said you got a noise complaint?”

You nodded, leaning against the wall beside his door. “A week ago. Someone slipped it under my door. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to sign it, I’ve not exactly been a quiet neighbour these last few months.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Ignore the noise complaint. If you get any more, give them to me, I’ll get it sorted.”

“No, you don’t-”

“If they’d bothered to help, then someone might be able to say they're just in their complaint. But they haven’t. So nothing is right about it. Want me to put her down?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As Bucky walked inside your apartment, cradling your sleeping daughter in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were her mom. You should be able to do it without having to knock on your neighbour’s door in the middle of the night. 

And you knew it wasn’t the first time he’d helped you, either. 

At six months pregnant when she was kicking you like she was about to be the next World’s Greatest Football player, you had to pause outside your door, leaving your grocery bags on the floor for a moment. 

Bucky had just left his apartment when he saw you. In your small exchange, which most of your conversations were, you helped him press his hand to your stomach. 

It was one big kick. 

“Kid, you’ve gotta be nice to your mom,” Bucky had warned. 

The kicks stopped. 

Bucky had also helped when your baby was five months old. You were carrying her on your hip whilst balancing the baby bag and two bags of groceries. Bucky had just, again, left his apartment when he asked if you needed any help. 

“Can you hold her for a second?”

Bucky took her without question and the soft babbles had turned into quiet solitude as she laid her head on his shoulder. Bucky also took one of the grocery bags from you as you searched for your door key. 

Once you’d thrown everything inside the door, you took your baby back who, within the space of sixty seconds, had grown rather attached to your neighbour. 

Which was also clear in the way her little fists held onto his shirt as he carefully lowered her into her crib. 

“I’m really sorry about this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help.”

If Bucky was being honest, he was more than happy to help. When he’d first moved in, a lot of the tenants in the building had avoided him. A few even complained about him living there considering he was an ex-assassin. And he couldn’t blame them. He still blamed himself sometimes. 

But you were one of the few that didn’t treat him like that. You treated him like he was just an average human living across the hall from you. So, helping you and your daughter where you asked him to – it gave him another sense of normalcy. 

Something he found to be very rare in his line of work. 

“You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.” Bucky told you as you walked him to the door. 

You shook your head. “I already feel bad asking you to help me get her to sleep.”

Bucky turned on his heel and looked at you. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. You’re a mom trying to do it all. You’re allowed to ask for help, Y/n.”

That still didn’t stop the guilt, though. 

You’d opted to have the baby on your own. There had been other options, but they just simply were options you didn’t want to take. You’d chosen to do it on your own, which meant continuing to do it on your own. 

“Thank you, Bucky. For everything you’ve done so far.”

You bid him goodnight, feeling the continuing guilt settle in your stomach but gratitude wash over your home. Your baby was fast asleep, and for the first time in months, you got a full night’s sleep. 

When you woke up, you checked on your daughter to find her still fast asleep. So, you took the time you had to finish cleaning your apartment. 

You were folding the third pile of clean laundry when someone knocked on your door. When you answered it, you stalled for a moment. 

“Bucky, what are you-”

“I know you’re not gonna ask unless you’re out of options, so I’m giving you an option to take,” he told you. “When you need help, or need a break, call me.” 

He handed you a post-it note with his phone number on. 

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. And I want you to.” Bucky pressed. “You’re one of the few people outside of my job that treats me like a person. And, just because you’re a mom, doesn’t mean you should constantly be treated like one. You’re a person, too, Y/n. You deserve the help.”

You were completely shocked. Bucky was…an Avenger. He was someone who helped save the world, twice. But he was offering to help you and your baby. 

You lowered the post-it note. “Would you have any idea how to fix a kitchen cupboard?”

Bucky smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him that you were actually asking. 

He nodded, “Let me get my tools.”

Your brows furrowed. “You have tools?”

He laughed, “I have tools.”

What you thought was just going to be an afternoon turned into two years of frequent help – even when you never asked – and a growing friendship. 

The routine of helping you and your daughter also helped Bucky. It helped ground him after a tough mission. One that, if he went home alone, would be playing over in his mind until the nightmares all mixed into one. 

Even the team noticed the change in Bucky. He seemed lighter, happier and calmer. But the only one who knew the truth behind the change was Sam. Mainly because he’d seen the photo on Bucky’s desk at work. 

A picture of himself, you and a toddler who was holding the camera. 

“You should invite them over for dinner,” Sam told him one afternoon. 

“You think so?”

Sam nodded, taking the beer from Bucky. “Yeah, why not? She’s been your neighbour for years. I know you’ve had a crush on her, for like, ever.”

“I don’t have a crush-”

“You’ve got a crush.” Sam told him. “And, it’s about time we meet your future wife.”

“Sam.”

Sam just laughed. “Oh, come on, man. You know I’m right. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone when she calls you. I’ve also seen the look on your face when you find out it’s her daughter wanting to update you about her day. What a two year old has going on in her life, other than apple sauce packets, is beyond me.”

“She went on her first playdate and helped someone make friends. It was a big day for her.”

“Ha, see! Buck – accept it or deny it, they’re your family. Which makes them ours, too.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll ask, but if she says no-”

“Then we’ll let it slide.”

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket. “And you’ll make sure Kate doesn’t stalk her online.”

Sam held up his hands. “You have my word.”

Thankfully for everyone involved, you agreed. A week later, you were unbuckling your daughter from her car seat whilst she tried to scramble away and towards the crowd of Avengers who were laughing and chatting over a barbeque. 

That was when a small pair of lungs squealed at the top of their voice, “Bucky!”

Your daughter was running, ignoring your call of being careful before she fell, towards her favourite person. And you had to admit, aside from your daughter, he was yours, too. 

You watched as Bucky stopped his conversation with Sam Wilson and turned to jog towards your daughter. By the time they reached each other, Bucky lifted her into the air as she squealed with more happiness. 

“Hey, firecracker. How was pre-school?”

“Good!”

Resting her on his arm, Bucky talked to her and waited for you to reach him. “Really? You gonna tell me about it?”

You smiled, “Only if you want your ears to fall off.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t need them anyway.” 

You stopped just short of him and he led the way over to the table that was still being set up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

You’d had anxiety for a week over agreeing to the BBQ. What would they think? Would they hate you? Would it be awkward? 

But after twenty minutes, everything felt…normal. You helped a very chatting Kate Bishop and a calmer Laura Bishop set the table for the multitude of Avengers and kids that were attending the BBQ. 

People hugged, laughed, asked as many questions as they could – most of them coming from your daughter who, despite attaching herself to Bucky for most of the day, wanted to know everything she could about everyone she was with. 

And they answered every one of her questions. 

By the time the stars were peeking out behind the few clouds that remained in the sky, your daughter waddled her way over to you from where Kate had let her back onto her feet, and you picked her up. 

As you finished your conversation with Natasha, you started packing away what you could with a sleeping child on your shoulder when Tony appeared. 

“Why don’t you stay? You should stay. We’ve got plenty of room and the roads can be dangerous, really, at night. You should stay.”

You tried to shake your head, but Natasha stood. “Just say yes before he says he found a fault with your car.”

“That’s a generous offer, Mr Stark-”

“Tony, please. And don’t sweat it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You don’t remember agreeing but somewhere between Tony showing you inside to the compound and a sudden new message alert that a scan of your car had resulted in a few, rather dangerous faults being found, you were putting your daughter to be at the Avengers Compound. 

And then you were being led back into the living area where everyone was sitting around the coffee table talking. And the only available spot left was right beside Bucky. 

He sat you beside him with ease. Too much ease to be normal between friends. Not that you were complaining. There was safety with Bucky, in a way you couldn’t describe. 

Of course, when you felt his fingers trace up and down your arm lightly, you felt your cheeks heat. But you still felt safe. Not so nervous where you felt like running in the opposite direction, but nervous enough to enjoy being with him. 

And after an hour or so, Yelena walked back inside with a little hand holding onto her finger. 

“Someone wanted to join the party,” Yelena said as she led your daughter over to you where she climbed into yours, and technically, Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky smoothed down the back of her hair as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Don’t you want to go to sleep, honey?”

She shook her head, and pouted. “No. Not without you and Bucky.”

Bucky smiled softly, “C’mere, kiddo.”

Leaning over, your daughter settled herself between you and Bucky before leaning her head against his side. 

“Okay, that is way too cute,” Kate said as she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures. 

As conversations started up again, your daughter fell into a deep sleep against Bucky. Something you almost did yourself until you managed to gain enough energy to lift yourself from the sofa and carry your child back to bed. 

Bucky followed you, his palm warm on your lower back as he led you down the dimly lit hallways.

However, by the time you woke up in the morning and went to check on your daughter, you found her bed empty. But just as the anxiety that you tried to keep calm spiked in your chest, a voice spoke inside the room. 

“Your daughter is currently interrogating Mr Wilson on his preference of breakfast cereal.”

You relaxed a little. “Of course, she is.”

You were slow to round the corner into the kitchen, wanting to watch your daughter for a few moments. Bucky was right in her nickname; firecracker. She was like some kind of professional quizzer. 

It amazed you some days, at how head-strong she was for such a young age. But you wouldn’t change her for the world. 

Slowly, you lean against the kitchen counter beside your daughter, listening to her explain to Sam about how cheerios were better than eggs, Sam softly arguing back. 

Little did you know, her arguing with Sam would become a frequent image in your own home. 

It seemed, for as much as your daughter had fallen in love with the Avengers, they had fallen in love with her and each one of her questions. You started to see Sam at Bucky’s apartment more often, Yelena and Kate would show up at the park when you’d take your daughter out for the day, your daughter’s preschool also started to get a little more funding here and there throughout her school year. 

And on the days where Bucky would offer to pick her up from school when your work ran over, they would turn into sleepover nights at the Compound since you couldn’t pry your daughter from their arms no matter how hard you tried. 

Eventually, you started to feel like family to them. They loved your daughter like one of their own, and she loved them right back. If anyone at school said that Captain America was less cool than Iron Man, or that Kate wasn’t the better Hawkeye or that anyone on the team wasn’t as cool as your daughter thought they were; she would defend them to her last breath. 

But the one she defended most passionately was Bucky. How he wasn’t scary but actually really kind and funny, even if he was grumpy sometimes. And how his metal arm was like having a normal one – he could still feel everything the same. Almost. 

She even drew him in all of her pictures when it came to her art class. Which, one day, turned into a list of questions which she just so happened to ask out loud one morning when Bucky had just made her breakfast. 

“Are you like my dad?”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look at your daughter. But her gaze was focused on her breakfast and the picture she’d made at school the day before. 

“Why do you ask, honey?” You asked her softly, leaning down beside her. 

“Because Jeremy said I couldn’t have a ‘Bucky’. I had a mommy, so I needed a daddy, too.”

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest. “Honey…” 

You didn’t quite know what to say. Her biological dad hadn’t been in the picture since he’d seen the positive pregnancy test on your bathroom counter. 

“Jeremy was wrong.”

“He was?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Look around you, baby girl. I know you don’t exactly have a daddy, but you do have people that love you.”

That was when your daughter looked around to the other people in the kitchen for reassurance. They all agreed that Jeremy was wrong. 

“Truth is, honey, maybe not everyone has a daddy, but not everyone has a ‘Bucky’ either.”

Steve smiled, “And that makes you extra special, kid.”

Your daughter smiled  before turning around in her stool and hopping down before walking over to Bucky who picked her up instantly. 

She hugged him around his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky was on the edge of tears. “Love you, too, firecracker.”

Later that night, Bucky put her to bed whilst you finished up in the kitchen. You’d offered to make dinner but since half of them got called out on a mission and Bucky was already being used as a human pillow for your four year old, Kate took his place on the mission. 

So, you’d packed the dinner into different take-away containers and stocked them into the fridge and freezer, along with a couple of post-it notes on how long to reheat. 

You were wiping down the counters when Bucky walked back inside. 

“She okay?”

“Out like a light,” Bucky smiled. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Earlier…when she asked me…what happened to her dad?”

You stopped cleaning for a moment before you took a breath. 

Bucky had lived across the hall from you for a while, even before you were pregnant. But he’d never seen someone in your life long enough to consider they would be your partner. 

“We’d been dating for a couple months, but since he lived closer to my workplace, I stayed at his house more often than he did mine. His house was also closer to his work, so it meant we could spend longer together in bed. Pretty sure it was one of those mornings when I got caught…” You took your time, and Bucky let you. 

If you had told him you didn’t want to talk about it, he would have backed off and waited. You didn’t have to tell him anything, but he was glad you were. 

“But, as we hit the three month mark, I started getting a weird feeling. More than I ever have before. Woman’s intuition told me he wasn’t exactly staying loyal. But it felt like more than that, so…I took a test. The minute he saw the two lines he told me he was seeing someone else and that he didn’t want to know about me or the baby, ever. I’ve never heard from him since.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his blood boil. First, a guy who was with you…he let you go. He strayed, cheated and let you go. And then, he abandoned you when you would have needed him the most, and finally…he didn’t even want to meet you or your little firecracker. 

“Well, that’s technically a lie. I heard from some cheap-shot lawyer of his after I sent him some pictures of his daughter’s birth. Just one of her in a hospital onesie and a little hat that one of the nurses had knitted for her. She was so little,” you smiled as you thought back to those first moments where you held her and heard her cry. 

“What did the lawyer say?”

“That he was giving up all parental rights. He wanted to make sure, as far as the law knew, he didn’t have a daughter.”

“He’s…something I would say if there wasn’t a four year old sleeping down the hallway.”

You chuckled. It was nice to know someone was just as angry, if not more so, at the thought of someone not wanting to know your daughter. 

“I guess I was kind of lucky in a way, though.”

Bucky looked up at you from the counter. 

“If he did want to know her, she might not have had you. I might not have…I probably would have moved closer, for the baby’s sake.”

Bucky let the breath go from his lungs. “God, I can’t imagine not having you both in my life.”

You smiled, “Luckily, you don’t have to. We’re both lucky to have you, Bucky. And I’m glad we do.”

Bucky smiled back at you, his heart rate increasing just that little bit more. He managed to look away before you caught the flush in his cheeks. 

A few months later, you were at home finishing up your third load of washing for the week when someone knocked at your door. 

“Kate? Yelena?”

Kate’s expression held nothing but relief as she turned around and faced the door when you answered. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s going on?” You asked them as they walked into your home. Yelena was carrying several different garment bags whilst Kate carried two more and dragged a small make-up trolly behind her. 

“We need your help.”

“What on earth for?”

You closed the door, balancing the laundry basket on your hip as they turned around to face you. 

“We need you to attend Pepper’s gala tonight.”

“What- Why?”

Kate looked at Yelena who nodded. 

“Because you do.”

“Girls, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she dropped the bags onto the sofa. “God, you’re such a mom.”

“Yelena.”

Yelena just fixed her hair. “We need you to be someone’s date.”

“Can I ask who this someone is?”

“It’s-”

“No.” Yelena cut Kate off. “You can’t know because it’s a surprise. So, enough questions. Give me that.” 

Yelena took the laundry basket from you and pushed you along down the hallway. Meanwhile, she pulled out the worn hair tie from your hair. 

“Yeah, you need to get washed first. Use your fancy stuff.”

“Yelena-”

“Go, now. Please.”

You gave a small huff as you got into the bathroom. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

Yelena smiled before she shut the door. “Thank you.”

By the time you’d finished your everything shower, along with the fancier shampoo you tended to save for dates and nights out – a shampoo that’s only use was before parent-teacher meetings, or any place you had to look like you hadn’t been up half the night reading parenting books. 

You were rushed into your guest bedroom where Yelena sat you down at the vanity desk. Meanwhile, Kate was lying with your daughter on the bed, looking through different eyeshadow colours, naming them all. 

“Katie knows a lot of colours, momma.”

Kate smiled. “I really do. Hey, you know what this one is called?”

Your daughter shook her head. 

“Aquamarine.”

“Aq…aquaamarr-”

“Aquamarine,” Kate repeated a little slower and your daughter copied. 

An hour and many more unanswered questions later, Yelena had finished your hair whilst Kate was helping you apply your make-up. 

You had been planning a quiet night in. More than likely, it would have ended with you watching the last half an hour of a Disney movie alone whilst your daughter snored herself to sleep on the sofa. 

“Okay, dress time.”

Kate stood and opened up each garment bag. “Which one?” She asked your daughter. 

“Don’t I get to pick?”

“You don’t know the plan, momma.” Your almost five year old, told you. 

“There’s a plan?”

Kate shrugged. “There’s always a plan.”

It took a total of seven minutes and a game of ‘left or right’ to decide on your dress. A floor length gown with a high slit up one leg. There was a soft shimmer to the fabric like you’d been spritzed with body glitter beforehand.  

All three girls gasped as you stepped out from behind your dressing divider. 

“Wow, momma,” your daughter seemed mesmerised. “You look beautiful like the stars.”

You smiled, “Thank you, babygirl.” Then you turned to the two elders. “Will you answer my questions now?”

They smiled, like they knew something you didn’t. But before you could get your answers, someone knocked on the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Your daughter sprung from the bed, quickly followed by Yelena. 

“You really do look beautiful, Y/n.”

You smiled. “Kate, what’s going on?”

She just smiled back. “You’ll see.”

As you tightened your shoes a little, you heard your daughter call out for you. 

“You can come out now, momma!”

And as you did, it was like your breath had been taken from you. 

By your door, Bucky was standing wearing a tux. You’d always known he was handsome, but there was just something about a man in a tux…

You felt yourself smile as you walked closer. “I thought you were away-”

“I know, I was. But…I managed to finish early. You look…” Bucky was lost for words. Or maybe he had too many. 

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, breathtaking…

“She looks beautiful like stars,” your daughter jumped in. And he had to agree. 

“You’re right, firecracker. You look beautiful like stars.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Yelena jumped in. “Right, off you go.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she pushed you both towards the door as Kate opened it. “We’ll make sure the little firecracker gets to bed before you’re home. She’ll be safe. She’s with two avengers.”

You knew that was true. But, you also knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be safe. Yelena was a trained spy, but Kate? Kate would crack under the pressure of your little girl's thousand and ten questions questionnaire. 

Before you knew it, you were being waltzed inside of the venue that had been rented out by Pepper’s company for the charity gala. All the while, holding onto Bucky’s hand and arm. 

“This is a lot of people,” you whispered to him. 

“We only have to show our faces for an hour. Two max. Then we can ditch.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a ditcher,” you told him, a little surprise in your voice. 

He chuckled. “No. Ma would have killed me for skipping school, not that I ever did. I actually enjoyed it. It was fun when Steve wasn’t getting his ass kicked. But, for things like this? It’s not my favourite thing in the world.”

You shrugged. You couldn’t blame him. It was lovely; getting ready, witnessing Bucky in a tux for the first time, feeling a little less guilty about leaving your daughter for the night. But there were a lot of people. People who you didn’t know. And you doubted Bucky knew, either. 

“But it’s better having you here with me.”

You whipped your gaze away from the crystal chandeliers, to your date. You covered the butterflies in your stomach with a soft smile. 

Before you could say anything, someone called your name. And then Bucky’s. 

It was Pepper. 

She introduced you both to different people before she was called away by someone else. 

Although it was a lot, it was easier having Bucky by your side. It was rare his hand ever left yours. At one point, his fingers had intertwined with yours and there was no way you were going to cut that off. 

By the second turn of the venue, looking at the items that were going to be auctioned off for charity, you and Bucky tried to sneak away from the crowd for a while. Only, you were caught in a conversation with a couple who – despite their fortune and education – didn’t know when to end a conversation. 

Half way through their very boring conversation, a thought passed through your head. Bucky could have fucked you right there and then, and they still would have carried on the conversation. 

But you pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. Although, it did try to resurface every ten minutes, when Bucky’s other hand would warm your lower back, your other hip or, briefly, the top of the slit in your dress. 

“We really should be going.”

You and Bucky managed to escape. But only for ten minutes. Because the couple were coming back. 

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. But Bucky beat you to it. “Fuck-”

You were pulled down a small corridor that led to the back of another room filled with  items up for auction, before being pulled into the smaller, darkened alcove in the wall. 

The couple passed you both right by, without being noticed. 

In the confined space, you and Bucky stayed as quiet as you could. Your hands were on his chest, letting you know that you weren’t alone with the rapid heartbeat in your ears. Though, his was a little calmer than your own. 

His own hands remained fixed on your hips, holding you steady on your feet. For a split second, he shifted and his knee brushed your inner thigh. 

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. 

Then you felt his hands lightly trace up your body. Your breath hitched. 

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked you, his voice in a soft whisper by the shell of your ear. 

You nodded and answered quietly. “It’s fine.”

With Bucky’s gaze on you, you started to realise just how small the alcove was. The scent of his cologne was intricately lodging itself into your mind – any time you’d smell that scent, you’d been pulled right back into the alcove. 

Then, with a breathy chuckle, he smiled. “Want to get out of here?”

No. 

“Think the coast is clear?”

Please don’t be.

Bucky peered around the corner before he turned back and nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

Let’s stay. 

With Bucky’s hand in yours, he swiftly got you both out of the venue unnoticed. It wasn’t until you were half way down the block, and Bucky was laying his jacket over your shoulders, that you realised you’d forgotten your coat. 

“But, you’ll get cold.”

Bucky just smiled. “I’ve got the serum. I can’t get cold, doll.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he assured you. 

And for a while, you both just talked. About the night, about the couple that couldn’t seem to take a hint and the fact Bucky had come back early. 

And then he asked you to dance.

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music. Come on.”

The street was completely empty. A couple of street lamps lit the way, and every once in a while, a taxi would drive down the main road ahead. But other than that, it was just you and Bucky. 

“Is this what you used to do?” You asked him after a few moments. “Take a girl out, ask her to dance under the streetlights with you. Bet you were a real heartbreaker.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe. Just a little. But if this was a date, I would have done this-” Bucky softly dipped you in his arms. “By now.”

He was slow to bring you back to your feet, your forehead against his, your lungs in need of some air despite already being outside. 

His palm burned a little on your back. You just wished it would make a permanent mark. 

“Does that make this a date now?”

“I don’t know. I’d like it to be,” he admitted to you, honestly. “If I asked you on one, officially, would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you, Bucky.”

“I promise you won’t. If it goes badly, we can laugh about it later. Just, say yes?”

It took you a short moment, but you nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Bucky walked you back home. And by the time you opened up your door, you walked in to find Kate, Yelena and your daughter all fast asleep on the sofa, the bright colours of the Disney Princess film flashing across their faces. 

“Do you want to get her out of the tangle?” You asked Bucky. “I would but I’m afraid to get a fist to my face.”

Bucky chuckled, softly closing the door as he nodded. Even he knew how it was when trying to wake Kate up. She was a fighter until she opened her eyes and realised who was trying to get her up. 

Bucky got your daughter out with ease and carried her to bed, leaving you to deal with the two sleeping Avengers. 

Meanwhile, down the hall as he laid her in her bed, she woke up briefly. 

“Did you ask her?”

Bucky brushed the baby hairs that had fallen from the braids in her hair. He smiled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “She said yes.”

She gave a tired cheer before he kissed her head and tucked her in. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

The moment she rolled over, she was snoring. And just as Bucky passed the guest bedroom, he could hear two more sets of snoring coming from inside. 

You crept out of the room and softly clicked the door shut. From there, you and Bucky took your time walking back to the front door. 

“About this date-”

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told you. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

You smiled. “I was just gonna ask if you’re free on Sunday.”

Bucky was a little surprised but smiled. “I’m free on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten?”

It was definitely the earliest date you’d been on. 

“There’s a place I want to show you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

After picking you up on his motorcycle, Bucky drove an hour out of the city to a small town. The entire main street was taken over by a farmer’s market. There were smaller stalls with different homemade items. 

You and Bucky ended up picking up a few things for a make-shift picnic in the park before he took you to the local watering hole where a live band was playing and people’s shoes were scuffing the wooden floor from dancing. 

“How did you find this place?”

“Barton told me about it.” Bucky told you. “Him and Laura passed through it once before, so I decided to come and check it out. I’ve wanted to show you ever since, but each time I came to tell you, something came up at work so I wouldn’t have been here to show you.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am,” he told you before he took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

It was a small two-step, nothing major. But for you, it felt like everything. Being in his arms again – you knew there would never be another place where you would feel this safe. Feeling his hand in yours, seeing the blush creep up on his cheeks each time you looked at him. 

Slowly, the rest of the room disappeared. The music from the band became nothing more than background noise and the only person you could see was Bucky. 

And when you closed your eyes, and felt his lips against yours, the only thing you could feel was him. 

The light breeze that wafted past the barn doors disappeared, the air of apple pie and ice cold lemonade disappeared from your skin.

The only thing that soaked its way into your bones was the feeling of him. His hand in yours, his other at your opposite hip, holding you flush against him, his belt buckle making a small impression behind the fabric of your outfit. 

It was more than you ever dreamt of. 

The Talk came two weeks later. The one that neither you and Bucky had mentioned, but had to be done. Because it wasn’t just both of you in the relationship, if you were going to continue. 

Your daughter was involved, too. 

“She loves you, Bucky.”

“And I’ll never want to see her hurt, either,” he finished. “I never want to hurt either of you, ever.”

“I know.”

“So, we take it slow,” he offered. “But I think we should involve her, too. You come as a package deal, and I don’t want to ignore that.”

You gave him a small smile. There had been plenty of one-stop dates who had ignored that fact, plenty who had wanted you to come as a single package. 

Bucky was the first. 

So, a few weeks later, when a knock came to your door, your daughter beat you to the door and opened it to find Bucky. 

“Bucky!” 

Your daughter ran for his legs and wrapped her arms around them before she let go and he bent down. 

“Why are you here?”

Bucky looked from your daughter, up to you with a half cocked smile. “I’m here to give you these.”

Behind his back, Bucky pulled out two bouquets of flowers. One was a little bigger than the second. 

He presented the smaller bunch to your daughter before he stood to his full height and handed you the bigger section. 

“And these are for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky crouched back down to your daughter. “And I was hoping that you and your mom would want to come with me for the day.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay!” Your daughter turned around and ran back inside. 

“Careful, honey. Put your flowers in the kitchen, I’ll put them in some water!”

“Okay!” She yelled back before going to her bedroom to get her shoes. 

With the coast clear, Bucky leaned in and pressed three light kisses to your lips. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Bucky closed the door as he entered and you walked into your kitchen to run the tap for some water. 

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“From me, too?”

He nodded. 

Two minutes later, your daughter came running back down the hall. Bucky managed to scoop her up before she tripped down the small step. 

“Got my shoes!”

“Firecracker?”

“Yes?”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, honey,” he told her. She looked down, very confused. 

Bucky popped her on the kitchen island before offering to fix them. Swinging her feet, she nodded. 

As you placed the flowers inside of a vase, finding a smaller one for your daughter’s; you watched as Bucky taught her a trick to always remember her left and right before he reached into one of the cupboard draws and pulled out a small sheet of stickers. 

“When the star touches, then you know they’re on the right feet.”

“So cool.”

A little under an hour later, your daughter was on Bucky’s shoulders, looking with amazement at all the artifacts in the museum. You could see her little brain working overtime to find out all the answers to every question she had, knowing she was going to be telling Kate and Yelena all about it in a few days time. 

After lunch and the second half of the tour, you heard your daughter gasp before she took your hand and dragged you down the hall. 

Secretly having been holding Bucky’s hand, you pulled him with you. 

“Slow down, honey. Where are we going?”

“Come on, you gotta see! Come on!”

By the time you both found yourself in the exhibit room, you looked around and realised why she had seemed so excited. 

The entire thing was dedicated to Captain America. 

“Look, momma. It’s Steve!”

You picked your daughter up and carried her over. “That’s right, honey.”

“Look, Bucky. It’s you.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s me.”

“Why is it not got colours?”

Bucky chuckled. “Because it’s from the 1940s.”

Your daughter watched, puzzled, as a small clip of Bucky and Steve laughing played on the big screen. 

“That’s over 90 years ago.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

You and Bucky chuckled lightly, just before your daughter wiggled her way out of your arms. The moment her feet were planted on the floor, she ran over to the small window where people were standing on the scale. 

The picture didn’t even move. 

“Come here, firecracker.” Bucky scooped your daughter up in his arms and planted himself on the scale. The picture changed and you watched as your daughter looked at herself in uniform. 

However, for a glimpse, you caught Bucky’s face in the reflection. 

You’d seen plenty of pictures, news segments, documentaries and home videos of Bucky both in and out of uniform, back in the 40s. But there was just something in that moment that it hit you- 

Bucky had lived that life. He’d seen that world. If you had met him on the streets of Brooklyn over ninety years ago, you would have been watching him getting shipped out to England. 

“Okay, where to next?”

“Hmm, over there! Come on, momma!”

The little voice, filled to the brim with excitement, broke you out of your trance long enough for you to follow after them. 

However, hours later; long after Bucky had carried your daughter from her car seat and up the steps and into your apartment. You surprised him. 

He was in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as you got dressed into your home clothes. But, when you returned and he felt his heart light up at seeing you as you, he was shocked. 

You hugged him. 

He held back the laugh in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Just because,” you told him. 

Then you kissed him. 

“And that?”

“That was because I love you.”

Bucky faulted for a moment. He didn’t want to come off too excited in case he’d heard wrong. 

“You love me?”

You nodded. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, but seeing you today…it just hit me. And I wanted to tell you.”

Then he smiled, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad, because I’m in love with you, too.”

A smile broke onto your face before it was kissed away by him, his hands pulling you flush against his body. 

It had taken years for you to realise, and even longer to work up the courage to tell him. 

Who knew all it took was a family trip to the museum? 

Thankfully, those family trips started to become more frequent. As did the solo and family dates you, Bucky and your daughter went on. 

But, for Bucky, nothing beat the date night you and he had after the parent-teacher meeting you both attended just a little under a year of dating. 

It was in that meeting that the teacher gushed over how far your daughter had come in the last year, how incredible her artwork was and how they were looking at moving her up a couple of reading grades. 

Although Bucky wasn’t there to create your daughter, or there to cut the cord. She was like him in so many ways, it was scary. 

The pouting face when she was tired, the overly cute aggressive face she gave when she was getting competitive. And then there was her love for school. Steve had shown you some of Bucky’s old school reports. 

Your daughter was starting to get the same. 

Maybe Bucky wasn’t your daughter’s father by birth, but he was her dad in every way that counted. He dried the tears, cleaned the grazed knees, carried her sleeping frame to bed. 

And after that parent-teacher meeting, it was going to become official. 

He had proposed and you said yes. 

And when your daughter had found out the next morning when you and Bucky went to pick her up from the compound, where Sam and Yelena had been put on babysitting duty, she cried. 

“Can I call you my daddy now?”

Through your own happy tears, you watched Bucky’s own fall. He was hugging your daughter just as tight as she was holding onto him. 

“I’d love nothing more, firecracker.”

[eyelessfaces]

save the date

bob reynolds x reader

summary: bob is gutted to find out you’re looking for love on a dating app, not knowing the only reason you are is because you're convinced he will never make a step in your direction – you’re now both trying to move on from each other while neither of you know how much you actually want each other.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, misunderstandings/miscommunication trope, dating apps, oblivious idiots in love, mutual pining though both parts think it's unrequited, angst, alcohol consumption, bob takes care of drunk reader, mentions of bob's former addiction, insecurities, the thunderbolts are very involved, yelena being an amazing supportive friend and an aroace icon, I pick on walker a few times in there but I actually like the guy dw

word count: 6k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

“I made a selection already but I’m not sure how to slim it down and which ones I should pick”

Yelena gives you a single, confident nod that tells you she got this and silently motions for you to hand her your phone, her lollipop standing by itself inside her mouth as she carefully looks through the different pictures you selected to potentially put on your profile, scrolling through them with the same focus she reviews mission plans with. 

She had helped you come up with things to write down for the descriptions on your profile, but you knew damn well that this was the most important part, the main object of attention, the thing that would make your first impression on those men you could potentially date. And you had to admit it was fucking terrifying in some way.

“Oh this one is nice. You look so cute” she says as she picks the lollipop out, stopping on one picture. “It’s definitely going up on your profile.” 

Before you can respond, she swipes again and nods decisively. “Oh and this one too.” she says it like it’s a fact, not up for discussion. “Your eyes look like you might want to kill someone, which is probably attractive to some people”

You huff out a laugh. “You say it like it’s a good thing”

“I told you, I wouldn’t be surprised some would be into it,” she says with a shrug as she sticks the baton back between her lips.

You chuckle and nod in appreciation though you're filled with a strange mix of feelings, caught somewhere between excitement and anticipation. It's all new to you, it's not something you have tried before, and you can feel a stress blooming at the bottom of your stomach – picking pictures for dozens of strangers to see is a bit intimidating, even when your face is already known for working as a New Avenger; it feels widely different to choose how you’re wanting to be seen, to put yourself out there for others to judge.

You watch as Yelena continues swiping to the left. “Oh I took that one!” she exclaims, face lighting up with pride as she points proudly to the screen. “Yeah it’s got a little kick. You didn’t even know the picture was being taken so it looks natural. Brings out your casual charm” 

You snort up a laugh and nod. “Okay thank you,” you grin, picking your phone back to set the couple pictures she chose and add them onto your profile. “Hey, thank you for helping me with this” you nod, giving her a grateful smile. “I know dating is not your thing so I appreciate your involvement even more”

“Sure, anytime” she tilts her head, giving you a shrug and a friendly smile. You go over your whole profile, assessing the final product, watching how it’s all supposed to reflect you for good now. 

Yelena turns around when a couple of knocks hit her door, and she allows entry, her face brightening when Bob reveals himself behind the door, a smile over his face. He greets the both of you sitting cross legged over Yelena's bed, and you reciprocate the smile as he steps inside. 

“Oh Bob, good thing you’re here we need a masculine input” Yelena swiftly takes the phone from your hands, showing Bob the set of pictures over the screen. “This looks alright to you?” 

Bob steps closer, eyes moving across the images slowly. “Yeah?” he shrugs positively, nodding genuinely, eyes darting back and forth between each picture of you on the screen before they land on you for real. “I mean you look great, what’s that for?” he asks, unsure what is expected of him.

“Dating app” Yelena says as she hands you your phone back. You look up at Bob, quickly feeling a slight heat creep up your cheeks before your gaze darts back down at your phone.

“Oh” Bob’s voice drops a little before he catches up with a smile. “Well you’ll do great,” he nods, his voice sincere. “I mean, whoever matches with you, they’ll be lucky”

“Thank you, Bob” you genuinely smile. 

Yelena glances up and watches as he fiddles with the hem of his sweater, and chooses not to say anything. 

Bob lightly clears his throat before he talks again. “Well I was just checking up on you, I’m gonna get going,” he says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “Good luck with that,” he smiles.

You nod, watching as he heads for the door and closes it behind him with a soft click. Yelena raises an eyebrow at you once the sound fades, a little something in her gaze you can’t exactly define. “What?” you ask flatly, but the heat remains on your cheeks as she looks at you accusingly.

“Nothing,” she shrugs. You know she means the whole opposite of it.

—

This past week hasn't been the calmest, but then again, nothing ever really had been – not for Bob. 

He had been used to carrying the discomfort his whole life, tossing it quietly at the corners of his mind, letting the mess grow until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Like everything else, it had just been a matter of dealing with it, pushing through, and trying to come to terms with it. 

Bob sits in his usual spot of the common area when he reads, but now, it's not really what this is about, as he can't seem to focus and rereads the same line over and over again without ever truly grasping its meaning and the image that is supposed to be painted inside his mind. 

Because the only thing he can think about is you, knowing that you're dodging movie night tonight to go on that date.

You had just mentioned it earlier this week – hadn’t made much of a show out of it, just told the team you wouldn’t spend that Friday evening with them the way you did every other Friday, the way your routine as a group had set it. 

And you didn’t even specify what it was, where you were going, what you were doing and who you were doing it with. 

But it made sense and spoke for itself, but still, as Bob heard Alexei ask and you answered him with what was implied, it still hurt.

This whole dating app profile thing shouldn't have him overthinking it so much, because technically, there was no reason for it to.

And the worst and most confusing thing was, it wasn't even jealousy or something – being jealous would imply he had something to lose, but there, he didn't have anything to begin with, not rightfully. 

He knew damn well he could never be enough for you, that was something he had figured out the moment he realized the feelings he had for you. 

So he didn’t feel angry. He felt less than. He felt small.

And he hates feeling so deeply about it, hates that an overwhelming ache grows inside his stomach every time he has to think about it, hates the insecurity that creeps up his thoughts and gnaws at everything else until it's all he can think about, until all he can hear is the distant voice of the Void telling him he could never be worth it, could never deserve someone like you. He’s used to it, but it feels different now that it involves someone else indirectly. Hurts in a whole different way. Especially when he truly wants someone to make you happy, even if it involves it not being him.

“Bob” Bucky calls, watching him from a distance, noticing Bob’s gaze unfocused, away from his book, not even pretending to read anymore. “You alright kid?” he asks once Bob’s head perks up, giving him his attention. The team had taken the habit of snapping him out of it whenever it looked like Bob was too deep inside his own head, to distract him with something else before his thoughts got too intense – though Bucky knew for a fact there sometimes was no use trying to chase it away, that if it had to crawl back and consume you whole, it would. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah I'm fine” Bob smiles. 

That was the default answer, no matter how he truly felt, despite having been wanting to be more honest about his feelings as per his therapist’s advice – it wasn’t supposed to be that deep in this specific case, it was just some teenage-like feelings, so lying about it wasn’t so wrong, it didn’t feel like the kind of thing worth confessing, wasn’t the kind of pain that deserved air. 

Yet it still hurt.

Bucky nods, barely convinced, but chooses not to say anything, not to push it.

He knows better than anyone else how much it costs to be honest about whatever the hell goes on inside your own head.

—

You stumble out of the elevator, gathering the little focus you have left to try not to trip over your own feet as you make your way inside. Your eyes are glassy, your gaze unfocused and the view around you is scattered from the alcohol poisoning your blood, but the force of habit makes you quick to join the couch and finally sit down. Your limbs somehow feel equally heavy and light, but your legs ache in a whole different way, one that makes you dread the fact that you’re going to have to drag yourself to your bedroom – it makes you consider crashing here, on the couch, without even taking care of removing your makeup and getting into more comfortable clothes, because you swear that once the thought lodges itself inside your brain, it makes you convinced you could fall asleep right then and there. 

That is until a soft shuffle draws your attention, and you notice Bob quietly sitting in his corner, turned to you. “Hey,” you smile, the muscles of your face numb.

“Hey” he responds gently, standing up to join you. “You okay?” he asks as he sits beside you, a worried frown transforming his usually soft face when he sees how glassy your eyes are, how tired the lines over your face make you seem to be.

“I’m so drunk, Bob” you whine softly, hand coming to rub at your eyes, smudging your mascara even further. 

“Happens,” he shrugs with an easy smile.

“‘m sorry, I didn’t want you to see me like this, ‘figured everyone would be sleeping” you apologize. 

He hums quietly and presses a hand at your back. “I’ve seen and been way worse, believe me” he pinches his lips into a small, compassionate smile. “Come on, let me help you get to bed”

“I’m okay,” you wave him off just to be polite, already embarrassed enough that he has to see you in this state. You get up and he’s quick to do the same, grasping your wrist when you almost lose balance.

“Yeah, sure” he snorts a small laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to stabilize you as he starts to lead you towards your room. 

You lean against him, instinctively trusting the way he guides your stumbling feet towards the room. “I just– don’t wanna be a drag” you mutter.

“You’re not,” he assures you. His face grows warm when you wrap your arm around him for more balance, the path of your feet shifting slightly before he rectifies the trajectory. “I would have liked having someone to care for me back when I was using”

Once in your room, Bob turns the light on and helps you sit down on the edge of your bed, a soft sigh of relief escaping you when you're finally there and finally able to rest your aching legs. 

He has already moved to your bathroom before you can thank him for helping you, coming out with a few cotton pads and your bottle of makeup remover. You watch as he sits beside you, the mattress dipping softly under his weight. “Can I?”

You nod, suddenly feeling the urge to remain quiet instead of wanting to apologize once more. 

His hand hesitates with a slight tremble before it gently settles at your jaw, holding your face while the other starts to carefully wipe the makeup away; he can clearly feel the heaviness of your gaze over him while he does this for you, can almost taste the quiet tension filling the air.

Neither of you speaks or attempts to fill the silence, you're way too close to each other to bring yet another layer of closeness, and you're too mesmerized by the way his gaze focuses on you yet remains avoidant anyway.

You're convinced the warmth in your chest has nothing to do with the alcohol anymore – it's intimate in a way that momentarily has you slightly sobering up, anchoring you to reality.

Your eyes flutter shut when he wants to clean the mascara off your lashes, and the gentleness and carefulness he handles you with leaves you weak. 

Bob lightly clears his throat when he’s done, giving you a small, awkward smile. 

“Pajamas” he points out, quickly walking over to your dresser as if to move on and diffuse the tension that has settled. He rummages through, pulling out one of your large shirts and a pair of shorts before he turns back and hands them out to you. 

“Here,” he says, voice dipping, a bit awkward now.

You reach out for them, immediately already pulling your shirt off over your head, not even thinking. Bob practically leaps to turn around, ears burning red. “Oh! Sorry– I didn’t– I’m not looking.”

You giggle tiredly. “You’re fine, Bob.”

The heat in his face barely fades away as he waits, swaying back and forth on his feet, eyes glued to the wall. He only turns back to you once you confirm you’re done, waiting a couple seconds just in case, to avoid further embarrassment.

“Alright,” he huffs out softly. “You all good? Can I do anything else?”

He's too gentle, too devoid of judgement, too caring. You don't answer right away, just stare at him for what you think you would judge to be way too long if you were sober. 

Your tiredness hits you in the face at full force, your stomach tightening in a way that is different to the feeling of needing to spill your guts.

You eventually shake your head slowly, vision still swaying. “Thank you,” you murmur quietly, voice cracking slightly.

You know it's over the moment your tears are flooding your eyes before you can even think to hold them back. 

You start profusely apologizing the moment Bob rushes back to your side when he sees you breaking into soft sobs, sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid” you apologize.

He shakes his head immediately, hand reaching and hovering over your knee before he decides to put it over your shoulder instead. “Hey. No it’s not. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to swipe your tears away, ashamed of how freely they fall now that you have no control over them. “It’s just– you’re so nice,” you whisper, a tremble laced through your voice. “And I’m making a fool of myself while you watch and help and it’s so fucking embarrassing, and now that I’m crying it’s even worse” 

Bob huffs out a soft, almost fond laugh. “Come on, I used to be an addict. I’ve embarrassed myself more times than I can count. You think you being drunk and crying a little is gonna change the way I see you?”

You breathe out something between a sob and a laugh, and when you look up at him, his smile somehow makes you mirror it.

Until it all catches up to you and your smile fades as quickly as it came, and the lump that starts forming in your throat seems to be carrying the weight of what you’ve been dragging around for weeks.

You shake your head, letting out a scattered breath. It feels different than the silliness of crying because you’re embarrassed that you’re drunk – it’s like the switch has been flipped, and the precise reason why you got drunk is now floating back to the surface and clawing at your back.

And Bob feels it. He watches you carefully, doesn’t push you, waits for you to say anything, ready to listen.

“It's just– I spent most of the night at the bar down the street after the date” you eventually say. “Just to get drunk and forget about it” you admit, your voice lowering. Bob’s eyes flicker along your face, intently listening. “The guy was nice but I hated it, I think I'm the problem, Bob, and you’re–” you croak out as you look back at him, blinking your tears away when it gets too much before you go on. 

His head instinctively shakes, his hand reaching your face to brush away the hair that sticks to your tears stained cheeks. “I thought that dating app thing would be a good idea but it’s not working and it’s barely… keeping me distracted from the fact that–” 

“Hey,” he murmurs, a frown over his face. “Just because it didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean it never will” he shrugs, eyes roaming along your face. “I’m sure you will get other opportunities and– and I’m convinced you will eventually find the right person” he nods, a reassuring smile over his face when you look up at him, eyes blinking your tears away. “And when you do… I’ll be rooting for you. You deserve it.”

You nod, holding it back. It’s no use telling him more, not when he made it clear he’s not the one waiting for you at the end of this, not when you’re now set on the idea before you could even unburden yourself of it all.

—

Your dating app is a mess of half assed conversations with good looking but painfully uninteresting men – you’re not pretending to be better than them, but it’s an actual torture to try to go through texting some of them, between the stupid and cringe ones, those who take two to three business days to respond, and those who only want to get in your pants and don’t even try to disguise it.

The nice ones make themselves rare but still can’t seem to do it for you, so it pains you to have to go through the whole process again, but you take a chance at trying to match with some new faces. 

You look up from your phone when you hear the sound of Bob’s laugh when Ava says something to piss Walker off, making him roll his eyes and leave the room.

Ava sighs something about him having an ego so massive he can’t even take a joke, and joins you, taking a look over your shoulder behind the couch. 

“Oh my god, what is that” she grimaces as she glances at the screen of your phone, an obviously disgusted expression over her face. 

“I know,” you sigh, immediately clicking the cross on the side of the screen, making the profile vanish, revealing the next one. “I want to give up already”

“You would probably do yourself a favor”

“Is it really going that bad?” Yelena asks from her spot on the couch, gaze still focused on the show on the television. 

“I mean,” you start, taking a breath as you adjust your position on the couch. “I have a date planned in a couple days, and he’s nice and actually cares about me and what I have to say” Ava watches as Bob swiftly picks up his book from the table and flees the scene once he sees the direction the conversation is going, leaving the three of you to it. “But I feel like I need a backup plan in case it doesn’t go so well”

“Okay, I’m gonna need a picture so I know who my next target is if that man hurts you in any way” Yelena casually declares, her slight frown indicating she’s half joking, half serious.

“Mhm, count me in” Ava nods in agreement. “You can also guess their intentions and good faith through their eyes”

You huff out a small laugh before you go fetch the guy’s profile, pulling up his pictures.

Ava sees them first and hurries to climb onto the couch from behind to sit down next to you. “Oh honey, I know what your backup plan is, and he lives with us” she scoffs, mouth hanging in disbelief as she takes the phone from your hands to get a better look. Yelena frowns softly, still waiting to see the pictures, and you’re almost as confused, raising an eyebrow at Ava. “This guy looks just like Bob” she huffs out low enough so no one outside the room could hear if they happened to be nearby, eyes wide as she points at the screen of your phone like she tries to make you see it.

This makes Yelena grab the tv remote and pause her show, reaching to grab the phone from Ava.

“Come on, back me up on this,” Ava urges Yelena.

Yelena’s mouth twists into a small grimace that makes her suspense agonizing. “I mean, they do have the same haircut, yeah” she says before she scrolls to take a look at the other pictures, her head tilting slightly as she goes on. “Yeah he does look like Bob. Like a more pretentious Bob” she eventually declares, surrendering to what’s obvious, giving you an apologetic grin. 

“Thank you!” Ava whisper-shouts. “You have to admit it’s a hell of a coincidence”

You chuckle, unsure what to say for your own defense. “We’re in New York, Bob is bound to have plenty of doppelgangers” you declare matter-of-factly with a shrug.

“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly what this is about” Yelena counters in a mumble, looking away when you glance at her, scratching her temple, teasingly pretending she didn’t say anything. 

You know exactly what she means. But no part of you wants to talk about it, no part of you wants to admit it, because this is all you have been trying to avoid, this is the reason you have been trying so hard to make something out of that dating app. 

“Whatever,” you sigh, suddenly wanting to crawl inside a hole and never come out.

“God, it’s so painful watching you two,” Ava rolls her eyes.

“Ava–” Yelena scolds, throwing her a knowing glance when she guesses where she wants to take the conversation.

“No, come on, I can’t be the only one. I can’t be the only one who sees it, and this evil Bob twin is proof” she insists, trying to get Yelena on her side.

Yelena sends Ava a death glare that you know barely impresses her, but still prevents her from adding more and makes her lift her hands in surrender.

The silence that follows is carrying the weight of everything you don’t want to name out loud, the weight of everything Yelena is trying to hold back from Ava too because it is not their business to resolve, but only yours.

And while you're deep down aware of the problem, you’re not exactly sure how to do it.

—

Things get worse before they get better.

That was all you heard during your whole life, and so far, the saying had proven itself to be true.

Only now, things only seem to get more awful as you go on. 

Because you cannot, despite everything you have tried, stop thinking about how stupid everything gets whenever you try to stop thinking about it and eventually end up only thinking about it more.

Because as you watch Bob dig through the crates of the record store while you’re supposed to do the same, you can't help but face the fact that there is no one else you would rather do this with, and trying to bury your feelings only makes them resurface and hurt tenfold.

You know pulling away isn’t the solution and can barely be considered as an option – he’s still one of your closest friends and you don’t want to hurt him that way, and the idea of losing him altogether is unbearable. 

And maybe all of this is what makes it all the more complicated.

So trying to find someone else to have feelings for still seems like the best solution despite not going great so far, but you have to give it a try, you have to find a way out of this dead end. 

You have to give that date tonight your best chance.

That’s the only solution you see when you stare at Bob.

“I found grace” Bob says suddenly, hands braced on the edge of a crate, tearing you out of your thoughts.

You blink, suddenly snapped back to reality, the distant sound of Soundgarden playing from the speakers of the shop clearer now that it’s not just your thoughts overtaking your brain. You squint at Bob, frowning in confusion. “Huh?”

“The album. Grace. Jeff Buckley” he makes clear as he lifts the record slightly to show you the album cover, chuckling softly when he realizes how it sounded.

“Oh, right” you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Nice” you smile.

“You can have it,” he offers, pulling it out from the vertical pile. 

“Nah don’t be stupid. You found it” you chuckle, watching as he nods in surrender before tucking the record under his arm. 

It had become a thing, your thing. To go and search through local record stores after you both had established wanting to get a physical copy of all of your favorite albums – sharing the same taste made it a little more interesting, and it felt special to share that activity. Borderline intimate, even. Which in the actual context, makes it worse for you. 

“Are you alright?” he eventually asks, noticing you don’t seem fully present. 

You give him a quiet approval, trying to ignore the front pieces of his hair falling in front of his eyes and how much you would want to push them away if you weren’t actively trying to get over him. 

“We should go to that place you like. The one with the carrot cake” he suggests, smiling when he sees your face light up at the offer. “I think we have enough time before I have to go to my therapy session”

—

Bob enters Yelena's room without even knocking, much against his habits – he considers apologizing for the matter of half a second before the reason he's here floods back at him in urgency and nothing else seems important anymore. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She raises an eyebrow in interest as she quickly glances up from her phone, letting him know that despite being busy, she's ready to listen. “Sure.”

“It's serious,” Bob adds, voice low with gravity. 

Yelena is quick to toss her phone aside and give him her full attention, concerned by his tone, foot pushing to the floor so her chair can spin towards his direction. “Okay, spit it out.”

“I–” he starts, eyes closing momentarily when he lets go of the loose thread he's been pulling at on his flannel to scratch his forehead, an uncomfortable smile over his face. He thinks of backing out, considers it for a moment, but he knows he’s not a coward, knows he shouldn’t be, and knows he has to go through with it before it’s too late.

Yelena waits, watches Bob intently as his mouth opens to no sound, moving like he's unsure how to articulate whatever he wants to say. 

“I know,” she eventually grins before he can begin to talk, too impatient to not pull the rug from under his feet and make it easier for him, guessing what it's all about from seeing the nervous expression over his face just from having to word it out loud. And as much as she would like to hear him say and finally admit it, she's the last person who officially needs to hear about it.

“What?” he frowns, confused. “I didn’t even say anything yet” he chuckles, borderline offended that she caught him off guard with such force and ease.

“I know what you're going to say, and I don't even want you to say it because I'm not the one you should be saying it to” Yelena shrugs, mouth twisting into a grin. 

Bob doesn’t know what to say, not really. His mouth closes in defeat though it’s barely one, his neck suddenly itching from the anxiety growing from the pit of his stomach.

“It’s all over your face, Bob. Has been for a while. And you shouldn’t even need my opinion. Go for it” Yelena nods, a supportive smile tugging at her lips. “You got this.”

—

You set on wearing the exact same thing you did on that previous, disastrous date. 

If you were superstitious, you would probably throw it back into your closet and never pull it out for that kind of occasions again, but it happens to be an efficient outfit on all the other levels aside from whatever factor it was that made your other date bust, and looking good and feeling comfortable is an undeniable privilege that is worth keeping.

You feel strangely excited – it’s so surprising that you start to wonder if there’s not something you’re leaving out of the equation, but you easily roll with the fact that you for once believe things could go well and decide not to question it.

You leave the pieces of clothes folded onto your bed like a physical representation of your procrastination – maybe that the later you will wear it, the later you will start anticipating and feeling nervous about that date, but preparing things so early when your date is far away as four hours already attests to how much you’re deep down overthinking it. 

When you join the common room in hopes you will channel your energy into something and it turns out to be completely vacant, you’re not so sure what your plan is; you’re even starting to wish even Walker was here, which attests to how strange everything feels at the moment. 

You catch glance of a sheet of paper on the floor and immediately assume it got loose from one of Bucky’s files – you know he likes working here on the rare occasions the room happens to be less than half empty, so you pick it up and put it back over the table so he knows it’s here. 

The room is so quiet it has you looking out the window like it is the only thing you can busy yourself with. You’ve grown so used to the view that you sometimes forget how impressive it actually is, that high up above New York. 

When you turn around after a few moments of watching the other buildings and thinking about how intimidating they look as opposed to their view at night, you go and pour yourself a glass of water, picking and filling another one when the light sound of Bob’s footsteps echo through the empty room when he finds you. 

“Don't go on that date tonight”

The unexpected mention of the subject from him shakes something within you, and you still for a second, eyes meeting him as you put the jug of water back down. “What?”

“Please don’t go on that date.” Bob repeats, his voice gentler this time, less firm. 

“Why?” you let go of the glass in your hand.

A short silence hangs for a second before he talks, like he’s waiting and contemplating before the bomb goes off. But there’s no turning back now, he knows that. “I see how much it has you struggling, don’t tell me it’s doing you any good” he frowns softly.

Your eyebrows raise, your gaze shifting back down at your glass of water. He has a point, but in the long run, you don’t want it to remain true, and you don’t even see why it would matter that much to him. “It’s not, but I have to give it a better try, and I’m actually confident about that date, so,” you explain in your own defense, even though it sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I can’t just sit around and wait for it to happen” you shrug.

“It's happening right now,” he chuckles uncomfortably. 

He forces himself to take a steadying breath when he sees the small frown growing from confusion over your face, and he gathers all the confidence he couldn’t get for months before he says it. 

“I like you,” he declares. 

It should feel like the world stops there, but it doesn’t, so he goes on. “And it’s getting really exhausting pretending I don’t” he huffs out in a nervous admission, hands gesturing at his sides.

No matter how intensely he tries to read your gaze at that moment, nothing gives away the way you’re taking in the information – the confusion is etched all over your face, like a mask that hides everything else. 

Your mouth opens before it closes, opening again just a second later. “Wha– why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

His mouth tightens into a strained smile. “Uh… I figured I wasn’t worth it” he shrugs indifferently, like what he’s admitting about himself is barely important. “Still kinda do,” he admits, head tilting slightly. “But my therapist– we've been working on opening up. I've been working on opening up” he nods in earnest. “That's what I'm doing right now” he affirms, voice quieter with endearing awkwardness.

It’s what it must feel like when machines short circuit, because you have no idea how to function anymore, how to go on from there, what to say. 

You let out a breath you barely realize you had been repressing, one that holds all the disbelief of the situation, and despite that relief, your chest remains tight from his confession – you don’t think this one feeling is going to go away so easily. 

“Bob I thought you didn’t–” you halt, unsure what to pick out to say out of the whirlwind of things coming and going inside your head. “I’ve been trying to tell you” you blurt out. “That night I came back drunk.” 

“What?” he asks, face twisting in bewilderment.

You nod, lips pinching into a half amused smile. “I thought you would never ask me out, and it’s the exact reason I put myself on that dating app” you explain.

Bob breaks into a stunned chuckle, hand coming to rub at his eyes. “So you’re telling me it was right there and…”

“Mhm,” you nod, huffing out a laugh. 

You both shift into a soft laughter from how you have obliviously made things complicated between you, and when it quiets down, the atmosphere falls back to seriousness again, but now that everything is let loose in between you, the dynamic feels relaxed in a whole other way, like that previous overwhelming tension had been looming over your heads.

“So…” he rests a hand against the table, leaning onto his side. “Date offer can still stand, but, y’know…” his head tilts to the side teasingly. “With me”

Your chest rises with a quiet inhale, shaken by how fast your heart rate has managed to rise. “Okay,” you say softly, grinning at the idea of a proper date with him – it suddenly changes the whole aspect of going on a date for you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile.

He blinks, then that smile, the one that makes your stomach flip every single time without fail, grows across his face like he still can't really believe it, like he had stepped into this without expecting anything but walked out with everything. “Okay,” he repeats, voice gentler now, like he’s really taking it in.

“Hey, just one thing,” you ask, making him raise an eyebrow expectantly. “I think we should keep it on the low and enjoy it for a little before the team starts to make fun of us.”

—

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[lady-murderess]

low-key them tbf

—Fyodor Dostoevsky

[princesevsnape]

Sharing a bed with John Walker

Requested by anon

Summary: Headcanons for sharing a bed with John Walker

A/N: I love John Walker so much. He is such an underrated character. Please send in more Marvel requests, and more John Walker requests

John would be quite a restless sleeper, due to his military background and constantly needing to be alert. That would be difficult for him to get over. So he’s normally tossing and turning, and he wakes up so easily.

However after some time of consistently sharing a bed with you, he may start to get out of that habit

He still remains protective of you, making sure he’s protectively got an arm wrapped around you. Or making sure you’re close to him the entire night

He’s like you’re own personal heater

He is very cuddly and loves holding you close

Placing kisses on your neck and forehead.

He loves when you rest your head on his chest, he’ll stroke your hair and tell you how much he loves you.

He often has nightmares about his past and he often wakes you up screaming. You’ll comfort him letting him rest his head on your chest. While you help soothe him and telling him everything is ok. That he’s ok and that he’s safe

He likes to tease you occasionally. Slipping his hands into your panties and making you moan for him. Running his hands all over your body. He just loves touching you.

He often wakes up early in the mornings and he tries not to wake you up as he gets out of bed to start his day as he likes you to get a much sleep as you can, and he hates disturbing you, but sometimes he does accidentally wake you up and you have to beg him to stay in bed with you a little bit longer. Which if he can he does but only because he hates to see you upset when he can’t stay in bed with you

[wintercarnage]

UNDRESSED ╱ with BOB REYNOLDS x READER ────⠀⠀⠀ relationships are messy things to define.

warnings explicitly implied sexual activity. reader has hair long enough to get tangled. no use of y/n or gendered language.

note this took so long i’m so sorry. i rewrote the beginning about 5 times... i hope you enjoy! title from the sombr song ‹𝟹

SWOLLEN, low hanging clouds hover over the city. Lightning strikes and thunder crashes, a cacophony of noise closing the world in. You take a sip of your drink, eyes focused out the window. You’ve been watching the storm roll in for over an hour; 2 AM has come and gone.

“Hey.”

You startle, head whipping around. Your drink sloshes wildly, licking up the edges of the glass.

“Oh, Bob,” you say, letting out a breath. “Hi.”

You wave Bob over, inviting him to join you on the couch.

“It’s dark in here,” he remarks. His sweater is curled over his fingertips, turning his hands into soft paws.

“You can turn on the lamp.” You gesture towards the lamp on the end table nearest to Bob. He pauses to flick it on before curling up next to you. His shoulder presses into yours, warm warm warm.

“What are we doing?” he asks softly. He tilts his head to rest it on your shoulder.

“Storm watching,” you reply. A few stray droplets of rain tinkle against the windows; the rain hasn’t quite made it to you yet. “I couldn't sleep, so this is my solution.”

Bob hums softly. “It’s nice.”

He smells like fabric softener and mint. It clings to his skin and clothes, pressing into you everywhere he touches. You take another, much longer sip of your drink. It’s heavy in your throat when you swallow. You wonder how nice Bob must be to hug, sweet-smelling and warm.

The rain picks up from a drizzle to a heavy pour. Bob pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it across your laps. There is nothing but the rush of rain and the burning heat where he leans against you.

The clouds outside are purple, bruised. Aching and full, spitting torrents over New York. You think of the stray bruise on your hip from hitting a table corner, skin tender. You think of darkly sucked hickies, mottling the skin like a painting.

Bob’s fingers ghost over your shirt sleeve, dipping under it just enough to wrap his thin fingers around your wrist. Your pulse jumps and sputters, trembling anew beneath his touch. He says nothing, but you know he can fel it.

There is longing wedged between your teeth, spilling bitter juice across your tongue. Your jaw tenses; it bursts like downy fruit into your mouth. It tastes like sunburns and sex.

—

Bacon sizzles in a pan on the stovetop. Your head rests limply against your palm. You never returned to your bed to sleep last night, staying up hours past Bob bidding you goodnight with a quiet whisper in your ear.

John, who wakes up rigidly at five am still, slides the bacon onto a paper towel-covered plate. He sets it on the breakfast bar in front of you, amidst a horde of other breakfast foods: toast, eggs, waffles, sausage, microwavable pancakes, biscuits and jam, croissants, cereal boxes.

He leaves with a “be back later,” off to do something he neglects to mention. You gather yourself some food but pick through it slowly, sleep deprivation making you both starving and nauseous.

It’s a while later before you see Bob again.

Yelena comes through, commenting on how she could hear Ava snoring through the walls. You laugh; she smiles. It’s easy enough, even as an ache blossoms in your chest, the beat of your heart reoriented to repeat Bob Bob Bob over and over.

He leaves his room after noon. You’ve moved yourself to the nook in the living room, into a pillowed chair hidden behind bookcases. Bob wanders over soon enough, plate of food in hand. He stops abruptly when he sees you, eyes a bit wide.

“Did you need me to move?” you ask awkwardly when he hasn’t said anything.

He quickly shakes his head, cheeks flushing a brilliant rosy color. “No, no. Sorry. Uhm. I just didn’t think you’d be up.”

He takes a seat on the floor in front of you, plate balanced precariously on his knee.

“Haven’t slept,” you admit. Bob’s brows furrow. His care for others is a lake, wide, care for himself barely a puddle. You wish you could crawl between his ribs and stitch together all the wounds that hurt him.

“How long have you been awake?”

You count off on your fingers. “Thirty…thirty-six hours, I believe?”

“You need some sleep.” His cheeks still carry a lingering blush, his eyes all doe-like and concerned. His hair curls messily around his ears. “That’s not healthy.”

“I’ll have a nap later,” you say, mostly to appease his worry. You don’t sleep very well, anymore. You usually wait until the point of absolute exhaustion, unable to keep your eyes open, borderline hallucinating, to finally settle down.

Bob eats quickly, swift and dainty bites that make him look princely. He offers you a bit, grinning sweetly. You take it, the knowledge of his mouth being the last thing to touch the fork heavy in your mind.

“We can nap together,” Bob says eventually. He plucks at a string on his shirt. “If you want?”

He looks a bit like an angel, you think. Soft skin and glowing eyes. A gentle demeanor that can easily get intense on both sides of the scale. A sweet voice and delicate bones.

“Yes,” you breathe out. His smile is like the sun.

You end up in his bed, curled like parenthesis, facing one another with restless eyes. The curtains are pulled shut, the room dim, a soft glow emanating from a lamp. The room is warm and smells like vanilla, sweet and strong. Everything feels soft and close, safe, like nothing can touch you from outside this little bubble.

A shelf of books sits in the corner, stacked with Bob’s favorites and paperbacks he’s been gifted. A candle sputters away on the top shelf, flicking shadows around. His bed sheets and blankets are soft, a variety of smooth and simple textures to not overstimulate his sensitive skin.

You think you could live here forever, so long as he stayed too.

“Your hair sticks up here,” you murmur. You thumb at a curl that pokes out from behind his ear. His hair is smooth and soft, kinked to never lay flat. Your palm brushes his cheek accidentally and he lets out a shaky sigh at the contact. His eyes remain open, fixated on yours, lids lowered, giving him a sleepy, pleased look.

“You have a freckle here,” he says. His fingers, warm, draw down along your neck. You shiver.

The two of you go back and forth like that, trading you haves as an excuse to touch, running fingers along the other’s skin. His palm rests against your neck, thumb curling to brush your collar bone. You put your hands against his chest.

You lie close enough to trade breaths now. His fans over your face sweetly. He brushed his teeth after eating; more mint. Your nose brushes his, lips only the barest bit apart.

You want him to kiss you. You want him to devour you raw.

He doesn’t.

His eyes rest on your lips, plump and soft, but he doesn’t move. You wonder if he tastes like mint, too.

You fall asleep there, hungering and aching.

—

His sheets are warm. They tangle around your legs. You come to slowly, blinking open your eyes and pushing back your tangled hair. It takes you a moment to realize Bob is gone.

With a soft groan, you shove yourself up and reach out to his side of the bed. Still warm. He’d gotten up for breakfast, or the bathroom.

You pad through the house, sleep-clumsy, narrowly avoiding doorways. The air conditioning is running; you shiver in your shorts and long sleeve tee. Bob isn’t in the bathroom—Ava is showering, loudly having proclaimed that when you’d knocked. He isn’t in the kitchen either, where Bucky and Yelena are arguing about breakfast.

“We should have crepes, yes?” Yelena demands, questioning you. She shoots a glare at Bucky. “Not eggs on toast.”

“Crepes,” you agree, though you don’t even register saying it. Bucky throws his arms up in defeat. “Where’s Bob?”

“He said something about fruit,” Yelena answers. She throws a questioning glance at Bucky.

“Wasn’t very clear,” Bucky elaborates. “He rushed out, some kind of strawberry emergency.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you only take a seat at one of the island’s stools.

Bob comes back two hours later, distinctly fruit-free.

You don’t talk about it.

—

The shower spray runs loud in your ears as you wrench through another knot in your hair. Water trickles into the drain and you try to not think of heat running down, down down.

Your mouth tastes like ash, bitter and sharp on the tongue. There’s something to be said about longing, the way it eats at you like rot until you’re suffocating, but anything that can be said already has been.

The ache in your ribs is not new; the way you hunger to touch every bit of his skin has been felt before; the images flashing through your head at night, your hand between your thighs, are a recreation of billions of loves before.

You know now that Bob tastes like hot tea spiced with cinnamon; mint on the days he chews gum. That he runs cold, always wrapping himself in warm layers. That a hug from him slows your breath and heart rate, oxytocin levels surging.

He feels like a dream, hazy and blurred at the edges, too good to stay for longer than a few hours. But the solidness of the way he feels beneath you, the rough of his palms and the chapped skin of his lips are more earthly perhaps than anything else.

You switch off the water and climb out of the tub, dripping onto the smooth floor. You wrap in a towel, gray and fraying at the edges. A swipe of the steam covering the mirror reveals your too-large pupils and flushed skin.

Sometimes you dream of Bob and the stars.

Other times you dream of gasps falling from his lips, sweeter than honey.

—

An oversized pot of soup bubbles away on the stovetop, the scent slowly creeping throughout the floor. You stir it slowly, watching the way it bubbles. Most of the team had gone off on a mission earlier, soon to return, leaving you, Bob, and Bucky in the Tower.

You’re fairly sure Bucky is passed out in his room, exhausted from helping with a variety of things. Bob, however, sits at the breakfast bar, sketching away in a small journal.

You think he might be drawing you.

But that’s probably just your heart hoping.

“Do I get the first bowl?” Bob asks with a smirk. He knows the other will arrive in a matter of minutes; they’ll be exhausted and falling upon the food with tongues lolling.

You shoot him a look. “If you want to fight off a hungry Yelena, be my guest.”

Everyone knows better than to get between the Widow and her food. Especially after a mission, where she often collapses until she garners the strength to shower off the job.

When Ava, John, and Yelena arrive ten minutes later, you and Bob hand them wide bowls filled to the brim with a mix of vegetables and chicken swimming in broth. You manage to grab your own bowls, quietly sipping away while sitting on the kitchen floor, not wanting to disturb the others who have spread themselves across the living room.

Bob grins at you over the rim of his bowl. A bit of carrot sticks to his upper lip as he takes another sip of broth.

“This is really good,” he says. “My compliments to the chef.”

You grin back and lean forward, close enough for your chest to bump his dish. His pupils go wide, a blush spreading across his cheeks. You scoop the bit of carrot off his lip with your index finger and slide it into your own mouth with a grin.

“The chef says thank you very much.”

“That’s—what—that wasn’t fair,” Bob stutters. “It’s bad form to make someone think you’re about to kiss them and then not.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? Are you interested in a kiss then, Mr. Reynolds?”

His blush darkens, spreading to the tips of his ears, but his gaze remains firmly on yours. “Yes, I am, in fact.”

You carefully take his bowl from him and set it aside on the polished wood floor. His breath shakes as you lean in close again, resting your hands against his knees.

“I like you,” you whisper softly, grinning like a little kid.

“I like you too,” he responds, breathless. You laugh and lean in, lips meeting sweetly, a rush of rightness and satisfaction flooding over you.

—

Sunlight curls around the room, puddles on the wooden floor. Everything is quiet. There’s only the hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of book pages from Bob. You tilt your head back to look at him, the soft scrunch of his brows and the twist at the corner of his mouth.

You think: He’s not made for Earth. He’s something else entirely, pure and holy in a way a person could never be.

You know of his past, heard spoken in hushed confession under the blanket of night, curled with covers pulled over your heads like a confessional. Bare skin against bare skin, trembling, overwarm, sore.

I don’t deserve this, he’d said.

You had traced a finger over the line of his nose, skin warm and damp, flowers at dawn, bending together in wait of the sun.

Stay anyways, you’d replied.

You push yourself up from your spot on the floor.

“What book is this?” The cover faces you; you trail a finger along the top of the pages. Your eyes on Bob’s. He looks up. His breath hitches for a moment before he clears his throat and looks down.

“It’s, um. It’s Moby-Dick.”

”Any good?” The skin of his neck is soft. You want to sink your teeth in and hold.

You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His eyes flit to yours and back away again.

”I like it so far,” he says. His voice is quieter now. His gaze hooks on your lips. Your canines poke out just a bit, digging into your bottom lip.

For a long moment, there is nothing but your breaths mingling. Your hand curls around his on the book, slowly lowering it to his lap.

“What are we doing?” you murmur. “One moment I think we’re the most in love anyone has ever been and the next we’re tip-toeing around each other like we just had an affair.”

Bob winces. His eyes cast downwards. “I’m not very good with feelings.”

“You don’t have to be,” you say softly. “Just let me know if we can be a thing, or if friends are a better option for us.”

“I want to be a thing,” Bob rushes out. His cheeks go red with blush. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if I can’t handle things sometimes, or most times.”

You brush his hair off his forehead and press a gentle kiss there. “You could never disappoint me. Not like that.”

He offers you a watery smile and you grin back, ignoring the tears pricking your eyes.

“Partners?” you ask, holding your hand out. Bob chuckles and grabs your hand.

“Partners,” he agrees.

reblogging supports your writers !

[helaintoloki]

Can you write a Bucky x reader fic where Reader doesn’t know she’s pregnant but Bucky and Steve hear a second heart beat before going on a mission? You could also have it that maybe Steve notices first and congratulates Bucky by pulling him aside and Bucky is slightly confused because he didn’t hear it right away since he’s always with reader. Thank you

a/n: hi lovely! ty for sending this in and for your patience. this was a fun prompt and i hope you enjoy <3

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, nausea, fertility issues, fluff

summary: after being out sick for a week, Steve feels he has no choice but to bench you from the team’s next mission. However, a moment alone with you allows the Captain to discover it isn’t a stomach virus that’s responsible for your illness

Your stomach is churning with what you believe to be nerves as you fumble to secure your weapons belt around your waist. You’re struggling more than usual to make it fit, but you chalk the difficulty up to your lack of training sessions this past week due to a random bout of illness. Sudden waves of nausea had plagued your daily life, but Bruce had assured you it was most likely some type of stomach virus considering Tony had suffered a similar fate right before you started showing symptoms.

Though your health wasn’t exactly at a hundred percent just yet, you were adamant about being well enough to join the team’s next mission. You would swallow down whatever antacids you needed to in order to ensure you weren’t barred from going out into the field, and you would let no one catch on to the fact that your nausea had yet to ease up on you.

You finally get your belt on just as your bedroom door opens, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your suit feels tighter than normal around your torso and puts your figure on display in a way that’s never happened to you before, but you’re just grateful for the fact that it doesn’t seem to restrict your movements too much.

“This view never gets old,” Bucky compliments with a flirtatious grin as he leans against your doorframe and takes in the sight of you.

“You don’t think I look… different?” You prompt him with uncertainty, shifting around in front of the mirror to get a glimpse of yourself at all angles. “It feels off.”

“You look just as good in that suit as you always do,” he reassures you, softly shutting the door behind him as he makes his way towards you and moves to take your hands in his own. “But if you feel off, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to sit this one out.”

“Are you kidding? No,” you scoff indignantly, almost offended by his well meaning suggestion. “Absolutely not. I’m going.”

“Y/n,” Bucky sighs gently only for you to firmly shake your head in defiance.

“I’m just in my own head, I’ll get over it,” you assure him as convincingly as you can. “Everyone gets nervous before a mission sometimes.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He presses you with a raised brow and firm squeeze of your hands.

“I’m sure,” you avow sincerely. A beat passes before Bucky finally accepts your words as the truth and gives you a faint smile in return for your effort.

“Alright, but the minute you start to feel off in the field you tell me. I can’t have you getting hurt because you tried to push yourself too hard too soon. Understood?”

“You got it, Sarge,” you reply with a playful salute that has Bucky rolling his eyes in response, a quiet chuckle tumbling past his lips as he pulls you in by the waist and leans down to steal a kiss from his favorite girl.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he quips with a cheeky grin before finally releasing his hold on you. “Steve wants us on the Quinjet in ten. I’ll see you there.”

You watch your partner shut the door behind him as he makes his departure before you finish arranging the rest of your ensemble. You take the extra precaution of hiding some ginger chews and antacids in the smaller pockets of your uniform to help you keep your nausea at bay during the mission, and after taking a final look at yourself in the mirror you determine you’re ready to go.

You manage to make it onto the Quinjet with a minute to spare, able to evade another lecture from Steve about your usual tardiness as you seat yourself next to Natasha and secure your restraints. You try to discreetly toss back a ginger chew to prepare for the long flight, but you’re unable to get anything past the former assassin.

“You sure you’re up for this?” She asks with a quirked brow, watching you chug down a water bottle to rid your mouth of the strong medicinal taste.

“Why is everyone doubting my capabilities today?” You protest indignantly with a huff, prompting her to raise her hands in surrender.

“I’m not doubting you, I’m just being a concerned friend,” she assuages you amiably. “Barnes isn’t the only one allowed to worry about you.”

Her comment prompts a small laugh to leave you as you partially ease up from your tension. “I know, I know, I just- I’m just feeling a little on edge today, but it’s probably because I’ve been out of commission for a week. I just need to get my head in the game is all. I’ll be fine.”

You’re not fine.

Despite the handful of stomach settle drops you take, the flight to the designated coordinates is excruciatingly nauseating. Your face is drained of color, droplets of sweat beading down your forehead as Bucky kneels before you and coaxes you to drink another bottle of water. It’s clear to everyone that you’re nowhere near ready to be out on the field, but you’re too stubborn to accept your fate.

“Y/n,” Bucky murmurs softly once you hand him back the empty bottle, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out there in the state you’re in.”

“I’m fine,” you insist through gritted teeth as another wave of nausea overcomes you. “It’ll go away once we land. I swear-“

“Y/l/n,” Steve’s voice calls from the cockpit, interrupting your sentence and immediately filling your stomach with dread. “Can I have a word?”

You feel like a scolded child being called to the principal’s office as you quietly rise from your seat and make your way over to the Captain. All eyes seem to be on your stiff figure as nervously avoid their gazes in shame and do your best to put on a confidant front for the man in order to avoid being benched from the team.

You hesitantly seat yourself beside him and clear your throat of your nerves before innocently speaking. “What’s going on, Cap?”

“I know how much you want to be on this mission today, but I can’t let you fight in good conscious when you’re clearly still not at your best,” Steve says regretfully, voice firm yet remorseful at depriving you of a chance to join the action. Your throat feels tight as you swallow down your disappointment and attempt to put on a brave face in response to his confession.

“Look, I know I’m not a hundred percent,” you begin to argue, noticing the way in which Steve’s brows seem to furrow immediately as you speak. His eyes seemed honed in on your figure as you try to argue your way back into the mission, and you absently wonder if he too has taken notice of the way your suit seems to cling to you in a way it never had before. You shift awkwardly, almost losing your train of thought as you continue, “But I can do this, Steve. You know I can.”

A heavy pause fills the air as you sit waiting with bated breath for some type of response from your Captain. He seems taken aback and uncertain, and you’re not sure what has caused the sudden change in demeanor. You don’t think you’ve said anything to offend the man or disrespect his authority as the team’s leader, but it’s almost as if he seems unsure how to proceed in your conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs absently after finally regaining his composure, faintly shaking his head before meeting your gaze. “I know you can, but I think it would be best if you stayed on the Quinjet and did surveillance for today’s assignment. You won’t be in the action, but you’ll still be able to help the team by keeping an eye out for any incoming threats and having the jet ready for a quick exit. Understood?”

Despite your clear discouragement, you manage a meager nod in response. Steve simply offers you a faint smile and comforting squeeze to your bicep before rising out of his seat and allowing you to take over as pilot. You’re not exactly thrilled by the change in plans, but you suppose being somewhat involved in the mission is better than nothing at all.

As you’re left in the quiet of the cockpit to pilot the plane, Steve seems to find himself in a daze as he walks towards the cargo load where Bucky sits checking over the team’s weapons supply.

“How’d she take it?” Bucky prompts at the sound of footsteps, never once removing his eyes from the rifle he works to put together. However, his friend’s inability to respond has the soldier faltering in his movements. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s… great,” Steve breathes out with a shaky laugh, fighting to keep back the smile that attempts to play itself upon his lips. A whirlwind of emotions is whirling within him, and he isn’t sure how to approach such a precarious situation. He firmly claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and gives it a loving squeeze. “I’m really happy for you, Buck.”

“Happy for me?” Bucky repeats unsurely, brows furrowing with confusion at Steve’s sudden change in demeanor.

“Of course I am. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to get a second chance at life after everything Hydra put you through.”

“Right…” he drawls quietly. His chest pangs with guilt at the mention of Hydra, tightening at the reminder of all they’d taken from him, but he still isn’t sure what his friend is getting at.

“While I support your new start in life, I can’t understand why you’d let y/n on this mission knowing her condition,” Steve points out with a disapproving frown, attempting to keep his tone void of any judgement. “I know how much being an Avenger means to her, but you can’t risk putting her and the baby in danger like that-“

“What?” Bucky chokes in shock, clearly taken aback by Steve’s comment.

“I know y/n’s pregnant,” the blond reiterates with a raised brow.

“No she’s not,” Bucky argues with an adamant shake of her head. “She just has a stomach bug, the same one Tony had.”

“Buck,” Steve utters, giving his friend a pointed look that signals his complete sincerity, “I heard a second heartbeat when I was with her in the cockpit. It was faint, practically drowned out by her own heartbeat, but it was there. She’s pregnant.”

“Oh, god,” Bucky breathes out uneasily, stomach already beginning to twist itself into nervous knots. “Oh, god, how could I have missed that?”

“You’re telling me you didn’t know?”

“Of course not!” Bucky cries defensively before immediately lowering his voice after earning himself a few curious stares from his other teammates. “I would never have let her step foot on the Quinjet if I knew that. This whole time I just thought she had some sort of stomach virus… I should have known, Steve. I’m her husband.”

“Hey, come on, don’t do that to yourself. I was barely able to hear it myself, and you probably tuned it out because you thought she was just sick. You know now, and that’s what’s important.”

“She told me she felt off before we left headquarters. I should have tried harder to get her to stay,” Bucky laments despondently, head hung in shame for putting you in danger once more.

“You and I both know there’s no stopping y/n from changing her mind,” Steve reminds him humorously, prompting a faint quirk of Bucky’s lips. “All we can do for now is complete this mission and make sure everyone on this jet gets home safe.”

“She doesn’t even know,” he replies halfheartedly as the two super soldiers focus their gazes on your figure in the pilot’s seat.

“You just have to keep this secret until we’re home,” Steve encourages him gently. “We can’t have any distractions.”

“I just can’t believe it… We’d tried so many times in the past, gotten countless negative tests. We both just decided to accept that it wasn’t going to happen for us, and now… now I’m going to be a father.”

“You’re going to be a great father,” the Captain affirms wholeheartedly, “and I’ll be there to help you both with whatever you need. I’ve got your back.”

A faint hum leaves Bucky as he hones in on your figure, focusing his concentration on the sound of your heartbeat as he does his best to block out the noise. The rhythm was steady in spite of your current predicament, and it was a familiar sound that brought comfort to his panicked mind. His state of focus allowed him to finally detect the unusual stutter that followed your own heartbeat, a fluttering sound that desperately tried to match your pace.

Bucky could do nothing but keep a watchful eye over you for the duration of the flight and hope that this mission went smoothly so you could return home as quickly as possible. You were going to be parents, and every second he kept that secret to himself was torture.

It was going to be a long day.

~~~

Much to Bucky’s relief, the mission goes by smoothly. Other than a minor explosion and a cut to Wanda’s forehead, the team leaves relatively unscathed. You’re still in a sullen mood over your lack of involvement, but Bucky is glad no harm had come to you during the trip.

At your return to the compound Steve is quick to excuse you both from the mission debrief, and this time you don’t have it in you to protest your exclusion as a sudden wave of fatigue washes over you. You don’t know why you feel so tired considering all you did was keep watch of the Quinjet and pilot the team home, but your body aches and the comfort of your bed is calling you. You have no objections to your husband escorting you to your shared room and helping you get settled into bed.

You swap your constricting suit for one of Bucky’s shirts after a quick shower and nearly collapse into the mattress with a groan. You feel awful and want nothing more than for your stomach virus to finally go away, but it seems that won’t be happening any time soon.

“Drink some water,” Bucky coaxes while gently brushing his fingers across the expanse of your cheek. “Once your stomach settles we can try to get some food in you.”

“Why do I feel so awful? Tony didn’t even have it this bad,” You whine pathetically, prompting Bucky to stiffen uncomfortably as he’s reminded of the current predicament he finds himself in. “Isn’t there a way to make it better?”

Sighing, features full of guilt and chest tight with agony from having to keep such an enormous secret from you all day, the man carefully seats himself on the edge of the bed beside you and takes your hand in his own. You watch with piqued interest at his sudden shift in demeanor, reminiscent of the way Steve had behaved towards you on the jet. The cool metal of his fingers is soothing enough to alleviate some of your tension, but you’re a bit unnerved by your husband’s behavior.

“James?” You press gently, slowly sitting yourself up in bed to meet his gaze. You know him well enough to detect even the slightest of changes in behavior, and now that it’s just the two of you in your bedroom he can’t hide from the truth any longer. “What’s going on?”

“You don’t have a stomach bug,” he says with finality. Your features immediately contort in confusion at his words, but he doesn’t give you any time to argue or question him. He figures it’s best to just rip the bandaid off. “The reason you’ve been feeling so awful lately is because… you’re pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” You retort with a disbelieving scoff. “That’s impossible! You know we can’t have kids. We’ve tried, James. It must be something else.”

“Y/n,” he utters gently, eyes pleading for you to believe him. “You know I would never get your hopes up like this by telling you something I wasn’t completely sure about. Steve and I- you know our senses are dialed to a hundred, and we can pick up on things that regular humans can’t. We heard a second heartbeat coming from you. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

“So I really am pregnant?” You murmur quietly. Your eyes are wide, lips parted with silent shock as you try to process the news your husband has just given you, and Bucky isn’t sure how to properly decipher the emotions fighting within you.

“You are,” he affirms, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze while allowing you the moment to organize your thoughts. “I know this might be scary considering we didn’t plan for this, and I know it changes so many things for us, but I’m here for you, and I support whatever you think the right move is.”

“I think…” you begin to say after swallowing down your nerves and resting your watery gaze on your husband. “I think we should do this.”

Bucky can’t help the wide grin that quickly spreads across his face at your words, his own eyes beginning to grow watery with tears he fights to keep at bay. He wants to be strong for you, but he can’t help the joy that overcomes him at the thought of finally starting a family with you. All he’s ever wanted is to settle down with his perfect girl and live the life that had once seemed so far out of reach, and now it feels like all the pieces are finally starting to fall into place.

“You really mean it?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“I mean it,” you reply, letting out a tearful laugh when he practically throws himself at you and pulls you tightly against his chest in a hug. “If you’re in, I’m in.”

“I’m all in,” he breathes into your neck before pulling away to pepper your face in tender kisses. “I wouldn’t want this with anyone but you.”

The news of your pregnancy fills you with an amalgamation of emotions. You’re so overjoyed yet so terrified of what is to come as you start to think of all you need to do to prepare for your child’s arrival, but your nerves are easily melted away as you remind yourself that you’ll always have your husband by your side. You’ve both endured grueling challenges in the past, dangerous missions and heartbreaking loss, but this new journey was yours, and no one could take that away from you.

As terrifying as becoming new parents may be, you know that you can get through anything so long as you have each other, and that single thought fills you with hope for the future.

[glindauplland]

Okay, Ben, just be strong. FANTASTIC FOUR (2005) DIR. TIM STORY

[kdheaven]

dd:ba 1x09 straight to hell

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running To You 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve’s beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he’s not at his best.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The door hits the frame, waking you from a fraught slumber painted with dreams of sludgy shadows. You sit up and the cot rocks slightly, knocking on the wall as you steady it. Your heart races before you recognise Steve and the night before comes flooding in. The smell of jasmine is still overwhelming.

Steve sighs and jiggles the handle. He keeps trying to make the door stick. You rub your eyes as you turn your legs over the edge of the cot.

"Is it broken?" You ask.

"Looks like. Didn't even notice last night," he lets it go and faces you. "With everything else... good thing I stayed."

"Um, yeah. Thanks," you scratch your shoulder. "Sorry you had to sleep on the floor."

"No problem. Like I said, could be worse. You could be seriously hurt."

"Uh, I guess," you stand up. Your shorts stick and you tug the legs free from between your thighs. You should put on real clothes. "I'll call the landlord."

"You said it took him a while before to fix it." He tuts.

"Sure but, this is worse, I'm sure he'll come right away," you shrug. "You've done enough. Really. I feel bad."

His eyes wander around and his forehead creases. "I can fix the door. I'd rather make sure it's done."

"Steve--"

"It's easy. Won't take much."

"Well, er, Steve, I appreciate that but I have some stuff to do."

"Oh yeah? I can help," he offers.

You sigh. "No, you shouldn't. I-- I already feel awful waking you up--"

"You'd feel worse if you didn't," he insists. He grips his hips as he stares you down. "I still mean what I said last night. This place isn't safe for you."

"There's people worse off."

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you."

You shrug. He's impossible to argue with but you know he means well. You appreciate that he worries yet you feel bad for the same thing.

"I gotta take these packages down to the post office." You change the subject.

"Great, I'll go with you," he says.

You look at him. "If you want. I'll get dressed."

"Mind if I try to freshen up in the bathroom?" He asks.

"Erm, sure."

You open the small set of drawers next to your cot. You take out a pair of denim capris and a square neck tee. The bathroom door clicks and you check to make sure he's gone. You quickly change then look around.

Your phone. Last night, you never went to find it. It fell out in the hall during your struggle with Mike. You chew your thumb as you look at the door. You're nervous at the thought of seeing him again.

You grab your purse instead and check your wallet. There's that at least. You take out your rolling cart and focus on filling it with the small packages.

Steve emerges. "Your turn."

"Oh, yeah," you smile and cross the apartment. "Thanks."

You flit past him into the bathroom. You wash your face, brush your teeth, moisturize. You tidy your hair and skip the mascara, only smearing on a layer of gloss.

As you come out, Steve stands at the small kitchenette. He shuts the mostly empty cupboard. You cringe.

"You looking for something?" You ask.

"I was going to try to make you breakfast," he turns and leans on the short counter.

"Oh don't worry about that."

"Clearly you're not. There's a can of beans and half a bag of rice in there." He rebukes.

You wince, "Steve, I'm fine. I don't eat breakfast."

"And is that a choice or a necessity?"

You huff and hug yourself. "You're making me feel bad."

"I'm not meaning to. I'm concerned." He once more frames his hips in disapproval.

"It's nice that you care, really. It's just food."

"How much does it cost to do all this? You breaking even on that pine soap?" He wonders.

"I do okay. I keep the lights on," you march to the cart and shoulder your purse. "I have to get this in the mail or I won't get paid."

He sucks his teeth but doesn't argue further. He nears and puts his hand on the cart handle next to yours. "At least let me get this."

"Uh, okay," you crinkle your nose. The smell of jasmine is starting to really bother you. It almost smells like burning plastic.

You go out into the hall. You glance around but don't see our phone. If it wasn't smashed, it was probably snatched. Steve rolls the cart out and turns to the door. He uses one of the mixing sticks you use to jam it shut.

"It will have to do. There a hardware store near here? I'll grab the lock while we're out."

"Sure. On the way back," you say.

He follows you outside. The cart rattles loudly. Your nerves too.

You're embarrassed. He's seen more of your life than anyone has. He just doesn't get it. You'd rather scrape by on your own then go back to before. The idea of another boss breathing down your neck, feeling up your skirt-- No, that's not going to happen.

"You okay?" He asks, startling you out of your gloom.

"Oh, yeah. Thinking."

"About last night? Mike?" He suggests.

"A little. More about the candles I wanna make with the beeswax I ordered." You drone. "Oh, and reusable food wrap."

"Huh," he clucks. "You got a lot of ideas."

"I like making things. It's peaceful."

"Fair. I always enjoyed drawing." He says. "Before... well, it's been a while."

"Really? You draw?"

"Novice at best," he snorts.

"Hey, Rogers, how's it goin', guy?" A man passes by and salutes. Steve offers him a tense smile and his throat bobs.

You look back as the man struts on. That was strange.

"You know him?" You ask.

He shakes his head, "can't remember from where."

"Oh, yeah, that's always awkward."

You continue down the block and make your way to the post office. You hold the door as Steve pulls in the cart. He brings it to the counter and helps you unload the labeled parcels. The employee behind the counter scans them.

"New customs policy, there's an amount owing, miss," the clerk stands at the till. "Two-hundred and seventy three."

"What? I paid online? How can they change?" You squeak.

"I don't make the prices," he shrugs.

"Oh..." you blink. You don't have that much money. You don't even have two dollars and seventy three cents."

"No problem," Steve reaches into his back pocket. "American Express?"

"Yes, sir," the clerk stares at Steve before he points to the swipe machine.

"No, Steve--"

Too late. The machine chirps as his payment goes through. He slides the card away and tucks his wallet into his pocket.

"Receipt?" The clerk asks.

"Sure," Steve waits then takes the slip. "Have a good day."

"You too, Cap."

The reply tugs at your brain. Cap? That's an odd epithet.

You leave the post office, stewing in a new boil of humiliation. He just had to do that. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously.

"Thanks for that. I'll pay you back."

"Oh, you will. And I know exactly how," he declares. "You are going to eat a proper breakfast."

He points across the street to the small diner on the corner.

"No, that's not--"

"That's what I want. Fair trade."

"You must think I'm a real loser," you murmur.

"I don't. I think you're in hard times but a little help isn't a bad thing," he counters. "Besides, I'm trying to show you I'm listening. You want this business to work so I'm making an investment. Because I trust you." He reaches up with his free hand and touches his beard. "And I know you make quality stuff."

🩷

You walk out of the diner with leftovers. Breakfast was much more than you expected and you hate to waste food. Steve drags the cart with no uneaten bounty of his own. A man his size could easily clear at least another plate.

"Thanks, Steve. That was really good," you preen.

"I like the local places. You can tell they use real ingredients."

"Oh, yeah," you agree. If only he knew the amount of ramen you eat...

"Coffee's decent too. That's what really gives it away," he continues on. "Oh, the hardware store, where was that?"

"Not far," you assure him.

You guide him to the small shop with a bunch of plants outside and a spinning rack of seeds. You go inside, single file as the narrow aisles crowd Steve's large figure. He finds the right section and browses intently. He grabs a handle and a deadbolt. You mull the price tags. That's another line in the ledger.

He pays. Again. You don't even try to pretend you can. He's probably already figured you out.

Back on the street, you're hit with the stench of smoke. You scrunch up your face and look at Steve. He lifts his nose.

"Fire," he says.

"Oh... no." Sirens blast by you as a fire truck honks. Traffic honks back, inconvenienced by the emergency. You watch the big red engine turn the corner, toward you building. "Must be close by."

"Must be," he says as you cross the street.

The cart bounces, empty so it jars over each crack. As you come in sight of your building, your heart plummets. The fire engine is right in front of the apartment. The thick grey smoke billows up from the windows, curling around the brick walls.

"No," you gasp and hurry forward. "It can't be."

"Hey, sweetheart, don't get too close," Steve grabs your arm. "Smoke inhalation is dangerous."

"My apartment! My stuff!" You squeal and drop the container, fighting him to no end. He's strong. Inhumanly so. You look at his hand. "Steve, let me go."

"I can't. You'll get hurt."

"I'm not going to go inside. I'm not stupid."

"Let them work. They're the only ones who can do anything," he argues. "You'll just be in the way."

You pout. He's right. That doesn't make this any easier.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he clings to you.

You shake your head and gape up as flames lick outside and furl around the brick. You stagger and press your palms to your cheeks. Even if they do put out the fire, it's too late. After last night, you just can't believe this. Why does everything have to go so wrong?

🩷

"They'll have to keep investigating. That much damage, they can't permit entrance," Steve explains from your vantage.

You stay clear of the other residents, crowded around the firemen and other emergency personnel. They're a hoard, raging at the innocent. You're upset but not angry.

"It's a structural hazard. Same as you need a permit and inspections according to the building code," he continues on. "These things..." he sighs.

You drop your head. You stare at your shoes. You almost laugh. What a waste of time. The profit you make from those packages won't make a dent in surviving this. If you hadn't been so adamant about getting them shipped, you might have been able to save your apartment, or at least a few things.

"I got room. You can crash with me."

"Steve..." you utter.

"Well? Unless you got somewhere else?"

"No," you confess weakly. "I don't."

He's quiet for a moment. "Sorry. I know how that feels and that's not what I meant. But you got me now, doll. Not everything is lost, right?"

"Cap?" A fireman approaches. "Hey, you here about the fire? You hear something?"

Steve's jaw ticks and he looks over tersely at the man in his heavy helmet. "No, I--"

"This isn't some terrorist stuff, is it?" The fireman asks. "I mean, why else they sending you?"

"I was passing by," Steve twitches. "I'm not working right now."

"Ah, gee, I'm sorry. I just figured..." the man looks between you. "Sorry for bothering."

Steve purses his lips and rolls his eyes. He's irritated. You fidget next to him.

"Sorry, about that--" he begins.

"Are you a fireman?"

He shakes his head as his mouth slants. "Not exactly. I... I deal with emergencies though."

"Right..." You think. There's something you're missing and it feels so obvious.

"Mama," a child's voice trickles through. "It's Captain America."

You peek over to a young child points in your direction. You look back at Steve as he rubs the back of his neck. He smiles sheepishly.

"Really, I'm just Steve," he says.

[thundervengers]

REMEMBER WHEN JOSEPH QUINN -

EDDIE MUNSON Stranger Things 4.08: "Papa"

[yellenabelova]

Thunderbolts* (2025) + text posts

[whitedarkmoonflower]

"Bob..." Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes // Thunderbolts* 2025

[ivystoryweaver]

It feels like so so long ago!

With You (part 1)

next part  ||  Fic Masterlist  ||  My Masterlist

Hi, everyone! This is not my first fic, but it is my first MK fic! I have been on Tumblr for ages, but never actually posted a fic here. (I know this account is newer. My much older one is my more personal blog). 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. 

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader. No references to reader’s gender. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 2890

Warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism, ummm cursing? Some kissing and stuff? No actual smut. Let me know if I missed a warning. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Marc was a little quiet lately. Strangely quiet, even for him. 

After finishing your shift at the hospital and stumbling home exhausted, you were eager to see your fiancé, maybe even talk to him to see what was going on. 

After a brief eternity riding up in the old lift in your building, you finally turned the key in the deadbolt and let yourself into your shared flat. As usual, one of the boys had left on a small lamp in the entry way, its incandescent glow the only illumination in the flat except for the florescent light of Steven’s fish tank.

Depositing your belongings on the entry table and kicking off your shoes, you quietly made your way toward the bedroom. But as you passed the darkened kitchen you heard a whispered, “Shit,” followed by the sound of a glass bottle landing on the countertop.

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[ghostwalkers]

"I'm so alone! I don't have anyone anymore!" Thunderbolts* (2025)