This is a blog of really anything, but some common things you might find are my many husbands: Sebastian Stan, Tom Holland, Shawn Mendes and the Dolan Twins
I have a request! Where the reader is on her period and she has a lot of cramps and Bob takes care of her 🤧
Affection
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader
Summary: You’re in extreme pain from your period cramps, and Bob is the first person to jump in to help you.
Warnings: No warnings, just fluff, lots and lots of fluff, and Comfort too (reader and Bob are very close friends)
Author’s Note: Thought I’d give y’all something light…Because ummm…I’m stirring a pot of angst and it’s stewing and simmering…The emotional bricks are at the ready lol. So I thought we’d actually just relax with this one a bit 😂 (thanks for the request BTW anon! :))
Word Count: 3,984
The kitchen was dim, steeped in the kind of quiet that only exists at 2:32 a.m–where the world was pausing between breaths. The under-cabinet lights were casting a soft amber glow against the tile, reflecting faintly off the sheen of sweat along your forehead. The red coil of the stovetop glowed like an ember, pulsing lazy hazes of warmth that didn’t seem to touch the chill in your limbs.
You were bent at the waist, forehead pressed to the cool marble counter as if you could siphon relief from its surface. The stone was slick beneath your skin–smooth and icy–and it did little to ground you. Your breath came shallow and fast through your nose, each inhale shaky, each exhale punctuated by a quiet whimper you couldn’t suppress.
Your shirt clung to your back, damp with sweat, the cotton twisting uncomfortably beneath your arms. You were overheating and freezing all at once–skin clammy, spine prickling, stomach coiled so tightly you swore it was tying itself in knots. The pain wasn’t sharp, not exactly–it was deeper than that. A dragging, molten ache that curled low in your abdomen seemed to radiate down your legs and all the way to your back, it was as if your body had been caught in a vice and someone kept twisting the handle and laughing.
Every few seconds at this point, a new wave crested–hot and unbearable–and your hand flew to your lower belly instinctively, fingers pressing hard into the tender flesh like the pressure alone might hold the worst of it at bay.
It didn’t. It never did.
A low groan slipped from your throat as the kettle finally began to whistle–sharp and rising, like it was mocking the sharpness in your gut. But you couldn’t move. Your muscles were locked in place, spine bowed forward, with your knees trembling beneath you.
You just needed one more minute. Just one more wave to pass. Then maybe you could stand up fully and stop the annoying whistling.
Then. Your ears caught the sound of footsteps, padding in from the hallway behind you.
”O-Oh…Sorry–I-I didn’t think anyone was u-up–“ Your head turned slightly at the sound of his voice, forehead lifting just enough to glance over your shoulder. The amber light from beneath the cabinets spilled across the entrance–and caught Bob standing there in all his soft, sleepy awkwardness.
He froze like a deer in the light, clutching an empty glass in one hand, like he’d just come to get water and stumbled into something he wasn’t sure he should be seeing. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side and wild on the other, and he was swimming in a faded navy hoodie that hung loose around his shoulders. Grey sweatpants clung low on his hips, and his bare feet shifted uncertainly against the tile.
His eyes–still heavy-lidded from sleep–tracked you slowly. From the way your body was braced against the counter to the sweat that began to bead at your temple, to the tremble in your knees. You could see his eyes soften at the sight, almost like he was trying to figure out what was wrong without asking you–because he knew you got frustrated when people were concerned for you.
Bob’s grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles paling. You could tell he was trying to play it cool–not alarm you, not smother you–but there was no mistaking the way his mouth parted, just slightly, like he was about to ask something, though he choked it back.
He took a cautious step towards you, shifting his weight to one foot like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go–like he was waiting for some kind of cue from you. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He knew you didn’t like being asked that when you clearly weren’t. Instead his eyes continued to move over you, noticing the grip you had around your stomach. His mind immediately jumped to the conclusion it was something you ate–and the dread settled into him quickly. The chicken was the first thing that came to his head.
He’d insisted on making the team dinner, he had even waved off Walker’s offer to order Thai and physically blocked Ana from touching the stove because he said ‘No, l-let me do it! I-It’ll be a surprise!’
You watched his face slowly twist into a horrified expression. The dawning belief that he’d positioned everyone settling in his bone. That he was the reason you were hunched over a countertop at two in the morning like you’d been run over by a semi.
”I-I didn’t…Oh my god,” He blurted, stepping a bit closer to you, his free hand flailing slightly like he didn’t know where to put it, “I-I knew I shouldn’t have tried to make that recipe from memory. I-I mean I checked the chicken so many times. I-I know it was a little dry but…I swear…Wait…Oh crap…If Y-Yelena wakes up p-puking she’s gonna kill me and b-bury me in the woods I–.” Your laugh cut him off from continuing. A short, low wheeze that hurt to let out–but the kind that broke through your clenched teeth anyway. Your whole body shuddered with it, and you winced, but it was worth doing.
”Bob.” You said quietly, turning your head toward him as best you could, one hand still braced on your stomach, “As much as it was dry, and as much as I needed to chug water just to swallow it…Your food didn’t do this to me.” You added, your eyes snapping shut as another surge of pain twisted your insides around, before returning your forehead to the counter.
Bob blinked like he’d just been slapped with a wet towel–stunned out of his guilt spiral by your laugh, your voice, your reassurance. His posture softened almost immediately. The hand that had been flailing now just hovered awkwardly in the air before slowly lowering to his side, fingers curling around the edge of the counter like he needed something to steady him.
”O-Oh…” He breathed, “S-So then…W-What’s happening with you then?” He asked, reaching over to turn off the whistling kettle, his movements clumsy but quiet, his eyes still locked onto your figure, seeing the way you slowly swayed from side to side.
You lifted your head–only an inch or two–to look up at him again, and that was enough.
When his eyes met yours, everything in his face changed.
Tears were forming. They weren’t falling yet, but they were there–thick and glassy, clinging to your lashes like they were holding on for dear life. Your lips were slightly parted, trembling just enough to betray you, and your breath hitched audible as you tried to blink them away.
His brows pulled together instantly. Deep. Concerned. His whole expression shifted like something was cracking behind it–worry rising slowly, curling under his features like a rising tide. His lips parted slightly, jaw ticking with hesitation, but his eyes…His eyes said everything.
It was the look he got when someone on the team was bleeding but too stubborn to say so. The one he wore when he thought he wasn’t allowed to step in–but he desperately, desperately wanted to.
“It’s just cramps Bob…I’ll be fine. You should just…Get what you need and go back to bed.” You sniffled, wiping your eyes off quickly, averting your gaze from him. For a moment Bob didn’t move, he just stood there, staring down at you like it pained him not to get closer. You tried to be casual about the tears streaming down your face now–tried to pretend like your body wasn’t unraveling.
But Bob just shook his head. The kind of quiet refusal that didn’t come with volume–but from depth.
“W-Why…Would I-I do that when you’re n-not okay?” His voice cracked on the last word, and immediately your eyes returned to his, taken back by the softness in his tone–by the way he wasn’t trying to fix anything yet, and by the way he was just being present.
”I don’t need help,” You said barely above a whisper, “It’s just pain…It’ll pass.” Bob took a moment, and let out a short breath, before putting his empty glass on the counter and leaning forward, bringing himself down so he was eye to eye with you. You could feel his breath mixing with yours in the space between you.
The under-cabinet lighting, soft and golden, carved warm halos along the edges of his face. And for the first time since he stepped into the kitchen, you saw the fullness of his eyes–blue like deep water, not just bright but saturated, with something rich and aching caught beneath the surface. The amber glow softened them, turned the outer rim to shadow but made the center gleam, like starlight reflected off a dark lake.
They shimmered.
Not from light alone–but from the way he was looking at you. From the way he saw you.
Not just someone in pain.
You.
Not just a teammate or a friend–you.
The muscles in your jaw tensed as your eyes welled again.
Bob didn’t blink.
His voice, when it came, was soft. Unsteady.
“When…W-When was the last time someone a-actually took care of you, Y/N?” You swallowed hard.
That was the kind of question that shouldn’t have hit like it did. But it knocked the air from your lungs with its gentleness. The honesty in it. The fact that he wasn’t asking to prove something–he was asking because he saw it.
The exhaustion. The weight. The way you always powered through everything because it was easier than asking. Because you thought maybe you weren’t allowed to ask.
You didn’t answer.
You couldn’t.
Your lips parted to try, but no sound came out.
Bob didn’t push.
Instead, he lowered his voice even more–barely audible now, like a secret meant only for you.
“B-Because… I-I want to help. I want to take c-care of you right now. Because I care about you. And I–” He glanced away for a moment, jaw tightening, before forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “And I see you’re s-struggling. And I don’t think you should have to go through this alone.”
The words were simple.
But the sincerity behind them wrapped around you like a blanket–warm and devastating. There was no pity in his voice. No pressure.
Only care.
Only Bob.
You didn’t say anything right away. Your eyes stayed locked with his, and something in your chest cracked open. Not loudly. Not visibly. But something shifted.
Slowly, with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you nodded.
“O-Okay.” You stuttered, feeling your pulse beating in your throat, “Fine…” Bob gave you a small nod, slow and certain–like your quiet surrender meant more to him than anything else.
”I’ll help you to the couch,” He said, already adjusting his stance, “Then I-I’ll make your tea…That…Which one i-is it again?” You stared up at him.
”The gross raspberry leaf one…” You replied, watching a soft, sheepish smile appear over his lips.
”Y-Yeah that one…And then I’ll steal W-Walkers heating pad from the closet…S-Should help you a bit with the pain, alright?” You nodded at his plan, feeling his arm gently slip under yours, bracing your weight against his side.
”C’mon…I-I’ve got you.” Bob helped you to the couch with a kind of patience you didn’t know anyone still had.
Not rushed. Not overly careful. Just present–his arm braced solid and steady around your waist, one hand hovering protectively near your elbow in case you stumbled. The living room was dim, still cast in that same honeyed glow that the kitchen had, and the couch–your favorite end seat–looked like a sanctuary carved out of lowlight and flannel.
Bob eased you down onto it with a reverence that made your chest ache. His hands didn’t linger, but the warmth of them remained even after they left your skin. You slumped back into the cushions with a breath that felt just a little deeper than the ones before, muscles uncoiling slightly now that you weren’t upright anymore.
“H-Hold on,” Bob murmured, eyes flicking to the side.
He crossed the room in quick, quiet steps and tugged the large fleece blanket off of Walker’s ridiculous leather recliner–one of those overpriced monstrosities with fake cupholders and lumbar massage settings he claimed were “good for his spine.” Bob brought the blanket back and unfolded it gently over your shoulders, tucking it in around your arms like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Then he grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flicked the TV on, lowering the volume with a few soft clicks before handing it to you.
“News is on, if you want to change it,”He said, crouching beside you. “I’ll be r-right back, okay? Just going to get the tea, heating pad…M-Maybe a hoodie in case you’re still cold.” He added, repeating the list he mentally made in his head.
You nodded, too overwhelmed to say much more than a quiet “Okay.” Bob brushed his hand over the blanket once more before slipping down the hall. You could hear him moving–cupboards opening, the kettle whistling again. The low, comforting clink of a mug set on the counter. The closet door creaked open, followed by a quiet “shit” when something fell off the top shelf.
You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. Even through the pain. Especially through the pain.
A few minutes passed. The TV played on quietly in the background–some late-night anchor talking about overnight weather patterns and airport closures. It was white noise. Background to the warmth slowly returning to your limbs, to the softness of the blanket around your shoulders. The pain was there still, but it had become a little more manageable with the fabric wrapped around you–which was already a good sign that you would actually get a semblance of sleep tonight.
Then he returned.
He had the tea in one hand–the mug carefully braced with a napkin wrapped around the handle– and the heating pad folded in the crook of his arm with a hoodie covering it. He crossed the room in three steps and set the tea down gently on the side table next to you.
“Still p-pretty hot,” He murmured, “C-Careful.” You watched him as he knelt again beside the outlet and plugged in the heating pad. He held the hoodie out to you, but you shook your head. The little orange light flickered on briefly, before turning a dark red. Bob tested the temperature with his hand, feeling around the flat end with his palm, then he shifted closer to you.
“I-Is it okay if I…” he trailed off, eyes flicking to your abdomen, then back to your face. “If I help you with this?”
You nodded wordlessly, the pain still etched into your features but softened now by trust. You didn’t need to speak for him to see it.
He shifted forward slowly, folding one knee onto the couch cushion beside you. The pad was already warm–radiating a low, comforting heat as he carefully uncurled the cord from around the folded fabric. You could smell him now, fully–clean linen, spearmint, and that faint trace of cinnamon that always clung to his hoodie when he wore it throughout the day. It wrapped around you just as much as the blanket did, thick and soothing.
Bob held the heating pad open and reached for the hem of the blanket tucked around you.
“L-Lift up just a little?” He asked, voice low.
You obeyed, slow and stiff, and he slid the pad forward, pressing it gently across the curve of your lower abdomen. His hands ghosted beneath the blanket, through the thin barrier of your cotton sleep shirt–his fingers warm, a little rough from old calluses, but so careful it made your breath catch in your throat.
He smoothed the pad into place with open palms, applying a light pressure–not too much–just enough to let the heat sink into your skin. His thumbs brushed your sides on the way out, knuckles skimming the soft give of your waist through the fabric before he pulled back.
“D-Does that feel okay?” He stuttered.
“Yeah,” You whispered. “Yeah…It helps.”
Bob looked at the pad, frowning a little. “Wish these things worked better. I mean, it’s warm, b-but it doesn’t wrap all the way around, y-you know? Just heats the front.” You let out a dry laugh.
”Probably because Walker cheaped out and bought a throw away…” Bob’s smile flickered, small and crooked.
“I c-could’ve made one better in the fifth grade with a sock and a microwave.”
You tilted your head with a smirk. “Yeah? You gonna patent it?”
His eyes met yours and held. “Only if I can put your name on it too.”
There was a beat of silence. Not awkward–close.
Then, without another word, Bob settled beside you, his body angled slightly so he could still glance at your face while giving you space. The heating pad glowed faintly beneath the blanket, casting soft orange pulses like a heart beating slow and steady in the dark. You took the mug from the side table with both hands—fingers curling around the ceramic for warmth more than anything else.
The raspberry leaf tea was bitter, herbal, not exactly pleasant, but the heat soaked into your chest with each sip, loosening the tightness in your ribs. You cradled the mug and leaned a little into the couch cushions, letting yourself sink further into the moment, into the quiet that had grown easy now between the two of you.
Bob was watching the news like it mattered–eyes narrowed slightly at the forecast ticker running along the bottom of the screen. When he spoke, it was soft, conversational, like he didn’t want to break the atmosphere.
“D-Do you think it’s the s-storms that really c-cause more accidents or if people just…F-Forget how to drive?”
You glanced over at him. His hair was still tousled, his jaw faintly shadowed with very very light stubble. “A little of both,” You said, sipping again. “Storms and stupidity. Dangerous combo.”
He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, then looked down at the mug in your hands. “T-Tea helping?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Not magic or anything, but it’s better.”
You talked like that for a little while. Quiet things. Small things. Bob asked if you’d ever seen a tornado up close. You told him about the one time you had to shelter in a Walmart freezer with a bunch of other customers because they were within a tornado zone. He winced and muttered something about how “no one deserves that.”
Eventually, the tea was gone and you set the mug down with a small sigh, shifting under the blanket to get more comfortable. The pain had dulled but hadn’t left. It had just relocated. Mostly in your back now, a deep, dragging throb nestled in your lower spine.
Bob must’ve noticed your subtle wince, because his head tilted slightly, as concern tugged at his brow again. “Y-You still hurting?”
“Just my back,” You murmured, pressing your palm against the base of it. “Feels like something’s pulling at the muscles though…That’s all.”
He hesitated, then gently peeled off the hoodie he was still wearing. Underneath, he wore a simple black t-shirt–thin enough that you could see the dip of his collarbone, the lines of muscle in his arms. His movements were unhurried, like he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but you still caught the way he swallowed before glancing at you.
”I–I could help with t-that…If y-you want.” He started, seeing the way you tilted your head at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “I-I mean…I run pretty hot,” He said, almost sheepish. “L-Like, body temp-wise. I-It’s…It’s kinda just...How it is. S-Sometimes I sleep with the window open even when it’s snowing ’cause I get too warm.” He paused, looking down at you with hesitant sincerity. “So I thought maybe… I-I could just… Lie with you? J-Just hold you, maybe. Like–with my chest against your back, and the blanket and everything might…Y-You know…I-Insulate the heat.” You considered it for a moment, then gave a slow, small nod.
“Okay,” You whispered. “Yeah. That actually…That sounds really good.”
Relief bloomed on his face so quickly it made you want to reach for him. He gave you a quick, grateful smile and then turned, padding over to the wide sill beneath the living room window. The throw pillows you usually kept for decoration were stacked in a lopsided pile, half-flattened by time and sun. Bob scooped up three and brought them back over, crouching beside you again. He carefully arranged them along the edge of the couch, creating a makeshift bed—just enough space for you to curl into without losing the heating pad or the blanket.
“You sure you’re comfortable lying on your side?” He asked, already adjusting one of the cushions to support your knees.
“Yeah,” You murmured, shifting with his help. The motion was slow, a little stiff, but manageable. You rolled gently onto your left side, facing the TV, wincing as the dull ache pulled through your spine. Bob waited until you were settled, then carefully eased himself onto the couch behind you.
His movements were hesitant, precise.
He slid onto his side, chest brushing lightly to your back, one arm stretching out under the pillow you were lying on–so that his wrist dangled off the edge of the couch, palm up, loose in the open air. The other arm came around you, slow and cautious, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hand hovered just above your stomach, eyes flicking to yours.
You gave a small nod, shifting your hips back just an inch–enough to close the space between your bodies without making a show of it.
Bob placed his hand gently over the heating pad. You couldn’t tell if his palm was causing the pad to be warmer, but you could feel the temperature change almost in an instant. The newfound heat sank through the fabric of your shirt like a balm, and you felt your muscles instinctively ease.
His touch didn’t wander. He didn’t stroke or squeeze. He just…Rested there. Solid. Steady.
You felt safe wrapped up in his arms, but then again it was Bob…He was always safe to you regardless of everything that happened with The Void and everything.
You let your hand drift slowly, fingers reaching up the curve of the couch until you found his other hand–the one still hanging just off the side. Your fingertips brushed his wrist first, then his palm. He stilled for a moment, startled, but then his fingers curled up and around yours. No hesitation. Just soft, certain pressure.
No words were exchanged and the quiet deepened around you like a hush after a snowfall, the soft cadence of late-night weather reports humming in the background. Your body, which had felt wrung out and trembling before, began to feel like it might belong to you again–bit by bit.
His chest rose and fell against your back, the rhythm slow, soothing. And when his thumb began to unconsciously trace over your knuckles, your eyes fluttered shut.
“Thank you Bob.” You whispered into the dark. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
Peace and Quiet : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Former Avenger/New Avenger Witch!Reader
Summary: Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He's always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you'll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.
Warnings: fluff, idiots not realizing how in love they are, two generally kinda mentally ill individuals, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*
If there was one thing the Watchtower, which stood high above New York and housed The New Avengers, lacked the most, it was quiet. Given the newest inhabitants of the staple tower in New York, it wasn’t surprising that peace and quiet were hard to come by, or even a moment alone to think.
Between Alexei running through the common room, ranting and yelling about his latest idea for a marketing opportunity for the team, or stories of his glory days, and Ava and John arguing about the smallest things in the world while Yelena tried to get them to ‘desperately shut up’ while Bucky mumbled about his ‘idiotic team,’ there were very few places in the entire building where one could go to find quiet.
Sometimes, peace was all that Bob wanted. There was only one room in his entire new home where he could find it most days, and it was your room.
The team wasn’t entirely shocked by how close you and Bob became in the few short months that Valentina had moved them into the Watchtower, after proclaiming them as “The New Avengers” to the public. From the moment you met in the vault to the moment you held him and helped pull him from his own Void in the middle of the city, everyone could see how much you’d come to care for him in such a short amount of time. Truthfully, of everyone on the team, they knew if Bob was going to lean on any of them for support, it definitely should be you, given you were the only one of them that was ever truly touted by the public as a hero, as an Avenger.
At the moment, you weren’t sure what kind of commotion could’ve been happening upstairs in the common room of the tower. This morning, Ava had thrown a knife across the table at John, who deflected it with his own fork while still digging into his waffles, sending the knife flying toward Bob as you stopped it with a flick of your hand from across the table, magic holding it in place as you send both of your teammates an unimpressed look. In the middle of the day you’d passed by Alexei trailing after Bucky as he left the training room, trying to convince the super soldier that they could make so much money doing their own “Super Soldier Swimsuit Calendar,” which left Bucky mumbling why he had even agreed to stay part of this team as long as he had.
You’d retired to your room within the tower long before you could witness the inevitable dinner fight or argument, as entertaining as it was sometimes to watch your new friends fight. Skipping dinner was something that you’d been doing for months, ever since Alexei wanted to make it mandatory that you eat in the dining room as a “family.” There were too many memories that resided in that room, in this entire tower. It’s how you found yourself on the piano bench by the windows of your room, fingers dancing across the keys to a familiar tune that you’d heard for many years as you hummed the lyrics you knew all too well to yourself. The music helped you not think about the past.
“That sounds really pretty,”
The voice at the doorway of your room startled you, fingers hitting the wrong keys as the progression of the song was interrupted. You whipped around, heart racing for a moment until it quieted, seeing who was standing in your doorway across the room.
“Bob-”
“I’m sorry!” he was quick to apologize, shaking his head as he wrung his hands together, actions that brought that soft smile you reserved only for him to your face in seconds. “I didn’t mean to startle you, or just barge in like this, that wasn’t okay, I’m sorry. You just left the door open, and usually you come grab dinner after everyone has left the table, but I didn’t see you up there-”
“Bob!” you cut in with a laugh, one that ceased Bob’s rambling and brought a shy smile to his lips as you looked at him. “It’s okay, I just lost track of time, that’s all. Also, I’ve told you before you’re allowed to come in whenever you want, when the door is open, you don’t have to apologize. I was just lost in thought, is all.”
Bob seemed frozen in his spot for a moment, just simply looking across the room at you with a smile, before he ducked out of the room for a second before reappearing with a plate.
“It’s not much, but uh…I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
He hadn’t admitted it out loud, though he’d thought about it daily, but your laugh was probably the best thing that Bob had ever heard.
“Shut the door and get your cute butt over here with that sandwich,”
Most of their interactions went like this, with a slight flirty edge to your words, something that Bob couldn’t quite decipher was legitimate flirting or just how you talked to him. John and Alexei tried giving him pep talks that you had feelings for him and that he should ‘man up’ and make a movie, all while Yelena tried to tell him to ignore their words and take it one step at a time.
Bob had gone with the ‘one step at a time’ approach, simply just inserting himself into your time over and over again every day. From the moment you’d first met in the vault and you’d flicked John across the room with a single wave of your magic because he’d rushed at Bob, he’d been drawn to your side. Now, living with you every day, he’d found comfort in your presence the most than in all of his new friends. When this sense of comfort turned into romantic feelings, he wasn’t sure, but Bob was terrified at the thought of crossing that invisible boundary in your interactions. He was a mess, and he knew it. What would a hero like you want with the mess of a man he was?
You’d moved over on the piano bench, leaving space for Bob right beside you. The smile hadn’t left your face, even laughing lightly as Bob still managed to sit as far from you on the bench as he could, terrified of invading your personal space.
With the plate placed on top of the piano, you quickly ripped it in half, handing the other half over to Bob. Slices in hand, you ‘clinked’ your half against his, the pair of you laughing quietly together over the little moment. Your eyes stayed on Bob for a moment, smile never leaving and softening even as he looked down at his hands, taking small bites of the sandwich as his cheeks flushed red.
“I uh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you play the piano before,”
Placing your half of the sandwich back on the plate, your fingers quickly moved back to the keys of the piano, playing that same familiar tune you had before. She glanced over to Bob, his eyes following your movements over the piano keys in wonder.
“I don’t do it often anymore, usually just when my thoughts are the loudest and I need a distraction,” you confided in him as you played. “Piano was something my mother taught me when I was little, she was good at it. Told me I had a knack for it, had me in lessons the earliest that she could put me in them.”
Bob found himself looking at you again, observing you as you played and stared out the window over New York City before you both. He could see it, the slight frown in the corner of your mouth as you spoke.
“You…you said your thoughts were loud?”
You glanced over to him as you played, seeing the hesitation in his question. You gave him the softest of smiles to try and comfort him as you spoke.
“You know how I used to be an Avenger? Part of the original team?” Bob gave you a small nod. “There’s…a lot of memories in every corner of this tower. It’s different now, Valentina has made sure to give it a complete makeover, but I can still feel the memories everywhere. Especially in the dining room. When I saw everyone in there earlier together for dinner, it all came flooding back to me. I just needed to come and find some-”
“Peace and quiet,” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. You and Bob shared yet another smile, a similar red flush to both of your faces in that moment of understanding. “I look for that too, a lot. Our friends they’re uh, they’re loud.”
Another laugh fell out of you as Bob spoke, nodding your head in agreement with his statement.
“You’re not wrong in the slightest, they’re the loudest people I’ve ever lived with. I’m glad that you’re able to find some peace and quiet here, though,”
“Yeah, it’s usually just when I’m with you,” even Bob seemed surprised at his own comment, stumbling for a moment as he tried to understand where that came from within him. “That uh…sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come off as-”
“If that was your first attempt at flirting in awhile, I have to hand it to you Bob you aren’t half bad at it,” the giggle that fell from your lips fell in line with the music that you were still playing as Bob ran his hands down his face, shaking his head over the entire thing. “Come here.”
Bob hesitated for a moment, but that moment didn’t last long. He slid across the bench to your side, legs pressed together and shoulders just barely touching. You stopped playing for a moment, turning to him with a smile as you flicked your hands, magic dancing from your fingers as it flipped the sheet music in front of you back to the beginning of the book.
“Have I mentioned how cool your magic is?”
“Just about every time I use it in front of you, though I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,”
“Well…it’s really cool. Do you think you could uh, maybe show me how to play?”
“Give me your hand,”
You took hold of Bob’s hand, placing it on top of the keys and laying your own on top of his, spreading your fingers to cover his own. Both of you flushed, silently hoping the other couldn’t hear the intense beating of both of your hearts at the gesture.
“Just relax and let your fingers do what I tell them to,” you told him softly, experimentally pressing one of his fingers down onto one of the piano keys. “This is a song Steve used to play all the time, here and in the compound. It was hard not to get it stuck in your head after so long.”
“Does it bring up memories?”
“Yes, but good ones,”
Bob felt himself relax, something he hadn’t truly done in a long time. In the rush of it all, there had been very few moments to relax since he’d awakened in that vault just a few months ago. He felt truly at peace as you worked your magic, dancing his fingers across the keys in the same patterns as the sound of the piano was the only thing playing in the room. Your eyes lay on your hand and Bob’s together as you helped him play the music, but his eyes rested solely on the side of your face.
“Can you…can you sing the words?”
You didn’t answer him, instead doing just as he asked.
“Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me. There's so much I feel that I should say,” you sang in the softest voice you could muster, glancing up at Bob’s flushed face as she smiled at him. “But words can wait until some other day…Kiss me once, then kiss me twice then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time.”
Bob smiled, every memory and bad thought tucked away in his head fighting to get out simply background noise at this point, every one of his senses invaded by you instead, and he never wanted you to leave.
“Haven't felt like this, my dear since can't remember when. It’s been a long, long time,” you bumped your shoulder with Bob’s, smile growing andchest fluttering with an emotion you knew was far some simple fondness at this point as he laughed at you. “You'll never know how many dreams I dream about you…or just how empty they all seem without you…”
Your singing trailed off as you and Bob simply looked at one another. The piano keys beneath your two hands ceased playing as you took a leap of faith, sliding your hand into Bob’s as you fingers intertwined together. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from Bob at the initial contact, but it didn’t take long for his hand to mould to your own, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the world and keeping the Void inside him at bay.
With one hand still playing the piano, music drifting through the room, your head made it’s way to Bob’s shoulder, tucking itself into the space between his shoulder and neck as you stared out at the setting sun over the New York City skyline. It didn’t take Bob long to rest his head back against your own, every ounce of tenseness in his body leaving as he settled against you, overwhelmed by the feel of you against him, grounding him in the real world and keeping his thoughts at bay. Just two people who found one another, basking in the peace and quiet they’d found in each other.
They were none the wiser to Yelena right outside the bedroom, peaking through the doorway that Bob had forgotten to close in his haste to enter the room, smiling softly at the pair closer together than ever before, and shut the door to give them the privacy that they deserved together.
PART TWO OF Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Ex-Widow!Reader
Summary: Bob stayed with you, just as you asked, and life couldn't be better. But the past always has a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you try and push it away and leave it behind. Now, it's Bob's turn to save you.
Warnings: fluff, angst, idiots in love, violence, death, gore, mental health talk, language, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, Bob maybe SLIGHTLY OOC (he's making progress)
Word Count: 5,269 words
Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here
A/N: @violentrayof-sunshine you requested a part two, and who was I to say no!
The team was sick of you and Bob, and it had only been 2 months since they’d broken into that room of rubble and fire to find the pair of you crying and wrapped in one another's arms. It wasn’t that they were sick of seeing you two together and being together so much as the added level of affection at any time of the day had John and Ava in agreement over wanting to hurl at every corner.
You both refused to talk about what had happened in that room after the bomb had exploded, choosing to keep it to yourselves so as not to worry the team. But whatever it is that had happened had changed the nature of your relationship with Bob forever, and the team was honestly thankful that it had finally happened. What they didn’t like was that Alexei got closest to guessing when you’d finally end up together, winning their entire pot of money they’d gambled months ago when they’d moved into the tower on that nature of your relationship.
Yelena saw it before anyone else did. It was almost instantaneous after they’d come back to the Watchtower from the mission, the way that Bob wouldn’t leave your side, and you didn’t seem to be pushing him away anytime soon. It wasn’t shocking, seeing you both together, but the sly hand holding under the tables didn’t go unnoticed by Yelena, and she couldn’t help but feel at peace knowing you both had found one another. You’d lived a hard life, she knew it best as she’d been there for all of it. Knowing you’d found someone you so clearly loved gave her peace.
It began that first full night back after the mission. You’d finished reports with the team, debriefing on what had happened but holding back the details of what went down in the control room. The sun had finally set, moonlight streaming through the windows of your room and highlighting the outline of New York City before you as you laid in bed. The ache in your bones was present now, more so than it was before, and you were already mentally preparing to tell Bucky that you were sitting out the next mission in favor of letting the feel of the explosion leave your bones. A soft knock on your bedroom door interrupted you as you slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, barely there. You didn’t hesitate to tell whoever it was to come in.
“I’m sorry…you’re usually up late so uh, I didn’t think you’d be asleep,”
The sound of Bob’s voice, still laced with hesitation after what had happened just hours before, brought a smile to your face. You turned your back on the windows, leaving the city behind you as you faced him instead.
“Just sore and tired from the mission, and the paperwork,” you joked lightly with him, voice like a whisper in the quiet of the bedroom. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Bob hesitated for a moment, seeming to be dancing on the line of entering flight mode. He looked back at you, at the serene and calm look on your face before choosing to shut the door behind him, wringing his hands together as he took another step toward you.
“I…I didn’t want to be alone,”
“Then come here,”
There was no hesitation from you, so for once, there was no hesitation in Bob’s own actions. He crossed the room in a second, slowly and cautiously maneuvering himself down onto your own bed as you lifted the comforter for him, allowing him to climb in and rest his head on the pillow opposite of yours. You tucked the comforter back overtop of him, fingers gentle as they glided lightly back up his now covered arm, hand moving itself up to his cheek as you cupped it. He leaned into the touch as if on instinct, eyes never leaving yours.
“Hi,”
“Hi,”
“Nightmares?” you guessed in a hushed tone, and Bob nodded slightly, not trusting himself to truly answer with his own voice. Your thumb caressed his cheek, rubbing comfortably up and down the skin. “I get them too.”
“I wish they’d stop,” he whispered back, unable to look away from you. “Sometimes it’s uh, it’s dad. The screaming, the fights…the hitting. There’s uh, moments from when I was…still doing drugs. The vault too…I-I’m scared this time I’ll see…earlier.”
Sometimes, Bob did a good job of hiding how he was feeling. Around you, from the very first meeting, he was terrible at it. You could see it clear as day in his eyes, the terror in them and the slight tremor in his bottom lip as he spoke, the shaking of his hand underneath the covers.
You retracted your hand, not missing the way he chased after the grounding feeling of your skin on his. You took his hand instead in your own, bringing it to you chest and placing it over your heart. You held him there, both of you listening to the feeling of it beating in your chest, pumping blood through your entire body.
“I’m here, and that’s because of you. You came back from the edge,” he nodded very slightly at your words as you gave him a comforting smile in return. “The nightmares will always be there, they never leave. But they’re nothing but bad dreams, they aren’t reality.”
Bob’s eyes followed your intertwined hands, locking onto them for a moment as he listened to the steady beat of your heart once again.
“...how do you deal with yours?”
“I wake up,” it brought a very small huff of a laugh from him, which was all that mattered. You gave his hand a squeeze, bringing his eyes back up to you. “You tell yourself they’re just bad dreams, and then you push them away. They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”
There was a beat of silence in the room once again, a question hanging off of Bob’s lips as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, the flush that had appeared on his cheeks still obvious within the darkness of the room.
“...can uh, can I kiss you?”
Taking his hand still in yours, you brought it up to your own cheek, laying it there with a grin.
“From this moment on, you never have to ask again,”
There was no hesitation from Bob the second he had your consent, pulling ou to him and slotting his lips against yours. His movements were slight, cautious, but firm. The tremble in his lips was still there as you pressed back just as firmly to him, moving against him just as you had hours before as his hand managed to slip to the nape of your neck.
From that night on, neither of you ever slept alone again.
Bucky and Yelena were the first to know, having gone to wake you up for an early training one day, but instead opening the door to you and Bob tangled together in a mess of limbs as you slept. It wasn’t long until Alexei was celebrating upstairs over the news.
Bob’s bedroom soon became simply storage for his things, finding himself on the other side of your bed every single night. Curled around you with your back to his chest, his head resting against your collarbone, you name it and he’d fall asleep in any position possible as long as he was with you.
He thought the world of you. But it wouldn’t be long until he realized that you were never as “okay” as you seemed to portray yourself as. Sleeping together seemed to keep Bob’s nightmares at a bare minimum, but it hadn’t done much to stop yours.
Bob could still remember the first night he’d shot awake to your own screams. You were sweating profusely, heat essentially rolling off of your body. Bob scrambled under the covers, sitting up beside you as you ran your hands down his face, trying desperately to calm your breathing as you glanced at Bob quickly.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” your breathing was still heavy, your heart beating out of your chest. “It was just a bad dream, I’m sorry.”
“...was it her?”
As awkward as Bob could be around others, he’d found a way to read you like a book in certain moments together, and now was one of them. The Mistress, the same woman from that day in your own personal shame room of hell, of course Bob knew it was her.
“She…wasn’t just a teacher in The Red Room. She was my mother,” you paused your own explanation, mulling over your words. “Well, as much of a mother to me as Alexei really was a father to Yelena and Natasha back then. At least he cared for them. Yelena got peewee soccer teams, got to go to school…I got hit, thrown around the room…she ruined my life in every way possible. Sometimes it’s hard to keep her out of my head.”
There was another beat of silence in the room, before Bob’s hand cautiously found yours. He threaded his own fingers through yours, giving your hand the lightest of squeezes in what he hoped was comfort. He’d grown used to receiving comfort from you and the others, but giving it himself wasn’t something he was used to.
“In the vault, Yelena tried to tell me that uh, that you just have to take that darkness and…push it down. It was…it was uh, you when you came into the Void that told me I couldn’t do that. Being with you, being around you…it helps me. I lean on you a lot, I know I do…y-you can lean on me too,”
No other words were spoken that night as Bob laid back down on his back and you slotted yourself into his side, head laid on his chest and letting the beat of his heart and the heat his body emitted lull you back into sleep.
For awhile, you never spoke of it again. The nightmares seemed to slow every night you and Bob spent wrapped up together, and you smiled around the team just as you typically did. On the outside to most, you were perfectly fine, but Bob could see through it. You were masking your thoughts and your pain, just as he always had. But you never pushed him to talk about things with you, so he didn’t push you to talk to him either about those dark thoughts that floated around your head.
Life moved on in the tower. Missions were run, dinners together were had, occasional movie nights even made their way onto the docket every week, once again courtesy of Alexei.
The first time the Red Guardian had managed to wrangle you all together in a shared space for a movie had been…chaotic. John and Ava argued over who could sit where, Yelena tried to convince her father that “old home movies of the glory days” did not constitute a movie night with the team, and Bucky shook his head quietly from the couch like a disapproving father.
One of the couches was already claimed by you and Bob. You’d slotted yourself into the corner by the armrest while Bob had found himself laid out across the cushions, his head finding it’s place in your lap as your fingers gently combed their way through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as he closed his eyes and leaned into the feeling.
“You look like you’re going to fall asleep down there,” your voice opened his eyes once again as he looked up at your grinning face, the noise beyond you two from your friends drowned out in the moment. “Careful, fall asleep during Alexei’s movie night and you might not hear the end of it.”
“I-it’s your fault,” he mumbled back in the moment, cheeks flushing. “Your hands…they feel nice.”
That familiar four letter word was hanging in the back of your throat as you looked down at him, practically dying to crawl out of you the longer you looked at him. Instead of saying it, you leaned in, placing the gentlest of kisses on his lips, before pulling back with a smile at the awestruck look that had crossed his face in the moments after.
“God, Alexei, you’ve taken so long to pick a movie the lovebirds have already checked out!”
“Ah ah ah! Don’t be so harsh on young love, Winter Soldier! Two very strong, capable heroes these two are, I think they are perfect together. Imagine the super babies that could be had-”
“ALEXEI!”
Bob could still remember your laughter that night as the entire team yelled at the Russian super soldier, the carefree smile on your lips. He wished that smile would never leave your face, no matter what.
He loved your smile most in the moments where you were alone, though. Laying on the common room couch together, one of your heads lying in the other’s lap as one of you had your nose buried in a book. Or the moments he watched you flit around the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you made something for the two of you to eat.
Bob loved you. He’d known it for awhile, even when he was so broken he didn’t believe he could be loved, or even give it. He felt loved by you, cared for, and he knew he loved you.
It’s because he loved you that he could clearly see that you were struggling inside. You’d never blame him, but that day in that HYDRA control room had done irreparable damage to you mentally, and he could almost see you beginning to come undone.
He saw it most when he watched you spar with Bucky or Yelena in the training room. He’d kept up with practicing control of his powers, but physical hand-to-hand combat was something he shied away from. That never stopped him from watching you, though.
Yelena ducked from the swing of your leg, sliding between your legs before landing a kick to the back of your knee. With a hiss of pain you dropped to your own knees, throwing a leg back and launching it into Yelena’s shoulder, giving you time to spin around and face her again as she bounced back to her own two feet.
Bob sat quietly in the corner, legs crossed under him as he wrung his hands together for something to do in his lap, just silently watching the two former Widows go hand to hand.
You made a lunge at Yelena, trying to knock her feet off the ground, but slipped, missing. Yelena took advantage, landing a swift punch to your jaw. You flew to your stomach, catching yourself with your hands on the ground as your jaw tightened from the pain.
“Sloppy, but you knew that. Come on, that mistake would’ve gotten you killed back in the room,”
Even Bob flinched at the comment, knowing what he knew about your past, having witnessed your greatest mistake with his own two eyes. Maybe Yelena couldn’t see it, but Bob did. The way your shoulders immediately tensed from across the room, how your entire body seemed to react to that statement, the memories you were probably enduring.
He knew the feeling of falling apart at the seams, having done it enough himself. He could see it happening to you right before his eyes, even if others didn’t notice, but he had no idea how a broken man like him could help the woman he loved.
Then, the mission came in.
“Intel suggests the base is held somewhere deep on the outskirts of Мирный, in the heart of Russia…” Bucky paused his explanation of the mission as the digital map behind him zoomed in on the coordinates outlined in the packet before him. His gaze flicked to Alexei for a second, before settling on the two former widows sat at the other end of the table. “Whoever is running it…they’d been kidnapping children, young girls, between the ages of 4 and 6. They’re…training them.”
Yelena managed to keep a straight face at Bucky’s words, even as her fists seemed to tighten. You didn’t do as good of a job at hiding it, everyone able to hear the sharp intake of breath from you. Bob could feel the way your hand tightened around his under the table as Yelena turned to look at you.
“Someone is trying to restart The Red Room,” you gave a stiff nod at Yelena’s words as you both came to the same conclusion. “Alright, what’s the plan? Dismantling, intel, what’s the job?”
“Rescue,” Bucky answered back, the digital board behind him showing the faces of a hundred or so young girls that were reported missing around the world. “They’ve got at least a hundred kids that we know of. Contain any agents around, if we can gather intel, then great, but they want us to go in and simply get these kids out of there. This is all hands on deck, no one is sitting this one out.”
You and Bob were alone before the mission, wheels up on the jet in less than ten minutes, according to Bucky. You adjusted the tactical gear that Bob had gotten himself into, the same one as last time, making sure that Bob protected for what was to come. While your hands were busy fidgeting with the buckles and straps on his tactical gear, Bob’s eyes never left your face.
“Are you…are you okay?”
“Well, someone is trying to restart the organization that ruined my life and many others, so…as good as I can be, I guess,” you tried to joke, stopping your movements as you looked up at Bob, hands sliding up until they rested on either side of his face. “I’m okay, I promise, it’s just…it’s a lot. Do me a favor, though? Let’s try not to have any Void related incidents today.”
“No promises,” you quirked an eyebrow at Bob’s words as he faltered. “T-that was supposed to uh, to be a joke.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, at the small smile that crossed his lips, and that four letter word was dying to spill past your lips and out into the open. You held it in, instead pulling Bob into you, molding your lips to his. His arms wound their way around you, albeit still cautiously, as you reveled in the small moment in the arms of the man you loved more than anything you ever had before.
The warehouse deep in the forests of Russia was quiet inside as the team moved through it. John and Bucky led the way through the falls, checking each and every room as Ava and Alexei looked over the files in front of them and gave directions to the area within the warehouse where the girls were said to be kept.
Yelena, Bob and yourself hung by at the back of the pack. Bob was quiet, simply looking between the former Widows as they glanced to one another every single time John or Bucky yelled out a “clear” after checking another room.
“Something is off about this, there’s no one here,” you commented quietly to Yelena and Bob. “Think they knew we were coming?”
“Maybe, but moving that many girls isn’t easy,” Yelena shot back as Bucky gave a nod back to the trio in the back, who moved to the next door. Bob stood behind you as you and Yelena raised your guns to the door, preparing to move through and check the room.
A single kick threw the door open, but the room was empty of anyone inside, just like the other ones were. You reupholstered your gun as Yelena took the right of the room, and you and Bob moved through the left side.
“It’s…kind of creepy down here,” Bob mumbled to you as you rifled through the papers on the desks before you, trying to find anything that could be useful to finding the girls. You laughed lightly at the comment.
“Well it’s not as creepy as The Red Room itself, but you aren’t wrong,”
“Widows, Bob, think we got something!”
John’s voice from the hallway brought the team back together. John quickly passed off the papers he found to you and Yelena as you rifled through them together.
“These are different from the intel we have on the girls,” Yelena shook her head, still flipping through the paperwork. “This talks about an entirely different holding cell for the girls, but it’s on the opposite end of the building.”
“We can’t be sure that information is even accurate,” Ava tried to argue back, looking around at the group. “Our intel clearly outlined they were being kept on the East end of the warehouse, there was nothing about the West end.”
“Easy, we’ll split up,” it was you that cut in, taking the papers from Yelena to look over the information. “You guys follow the original intel we received from Valentina’s team and Yelena and I will go and check out this new information.”
Bob bristled at the thought of splitting up from you, of not being with you for every second of the mission. He couldn’t help but think back on that fated HYDRA mission, of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there with her. In a moment of confidence, but what was probably pure terror in his heart, Bob’s hand shot out to grab onto yours as the team watched in silence.
“We- we can’t split up. What if- what if something happens and we- we aren’t there?” your face softened at the familiar look of terror glistening in Bob’s eyes. “What if…what if you get hurt?”
You leaned in quickly, not caring about your friends as you left a soft kiss on his lips, squeezing his hand once before backing away.
“I’ll see you in a bit, I promise,”
Not another word was shared between the ground as you and Yelena made your way back down the hallway toward the West end of the warehouse to check on the new information, while Bucky clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder, trying to bring him back with them toward their original goal. Bob couldn’t help that his eyes followed you until you fully disappeared down the hallway.
The former widows were quiet for a moment before Yelena cleared her throat, looking over at you with a smirk.
“So…you told Bob you love him yet?”
You barked out a laugh, shaking your head as you both entered back into one of the larger, open rooms of the warehouse.
“Yelena-”
“I’m just pointing out how sickeningly cute you two are. It’s nice to see Bob come out of his shell around you,” she passed by you, gun at the ready as she checked the room, bumping her shoulder with yours just slightly. “It’s nice to see you so relaxed, too. You’re different around him, lighter. After the life we’ve had…I’m glad you’ve found someone to care about like that, to make the darkness a little lighter.”
You smiled to yourself at her words, adjusting your grip on your own gun for a second as you looked around the room, still moving across the floor.
“Let’s just save these little girls from living through hell like we did so that maybe I can tell him I love him-”
The sentence was barely out of your mouth before an alarm blared, all exit doors in the open room of the warehouse being shuttered immediately. Both you and Yelena whipped back to the doorway you’d just come through, shooting toward what looked like a glass doorway that had come down, but your bullets simply ricocheted off without leaving a single mark.
“How nice it is to see two of my star pupils again,”
You and Yelena whipped around again, guns still trained high as you turned to the woman now standing behind you. Yelena’s grip on her gun tightened as she glanced between the woman and yourself just ten feet from her.
You faltered the second you laid eyes on the woman, grip on your gun loosening for just a second as she stared across the room at you.
The Mistress. Your mother.
“What, no words for your long-lost mother?” there was a smirk on her face as your grip on your gun tightened again. The smirk left her lips as she glared straight at you. “Stand up straight, have I taught you nothing-”
“There’s no girls here, are there,” Yelena cut in, stating her words instead of asking. There was no doubt in her voice. “It was all a setup to get us here.”
“Well not you,” the Mistress pointed her finger toward Yelena, before trailing it to you once again. “More so for my daughter-”
“I’m not your daughter,” you sneered back, finger resting over the trigger of your gun.
There were shouts behind you, the rest of the team seeming to have heard the alarm and running back to find the pair of you. They were stopped behind the glass-like barrier that had been shut. You looked back, seeing Bucky, John and Alexei all trying to break through, but whatever it was made out of was something that it didn’t seem super soldiers could even break that easily.
Your eyes locked with Bob’s terrified ones, and your grip on the gun tightened again.
“What do you want with us?” Yelena called out to the Mistress, who shrugged her shoulders toward her.
“Well, I’m not exactly here for you,” before anyone could react the Mistress had raised her arm, the familiar glow around her wrist of what had been nicknamed “Widow Bites” lighting up before shooting toward Yelena.
You called out for her, throwing yourself between the woman as your gun stayed trained on her and Yelena, who was now writhing on the ground in pain, the electrocution from the device obviously having been increased from the groans that sounded from your closest friend. You could hear Alexei from behind the barrier call out for her.
“This is between us,” you seethed at the Mistress, every second in her presence fueling the anger deep inside of you. All those memories, all those years, all that pain.
“That it is,” she called back. “I needed to see my girl in the flesh. My little deadly assassin, my perfect project, turned into an Avenger. What a joke. This isn’t who you are-”
“You know nothing about me,” you sneered back at her as she laughed.
“I made you, I know everything about you. Just rejoin me, my girl. Train the next generation of Widows at my side,”
“They only place I want to see you is six feet under,”
The Mistress sighed, shaking her head as she reached into the waistband of her pants.
“So sad…my perfect project…and you turned out to be nothing but a mistake,”
The calls from your team, your friends, to stop went unheard as the Mistress pulled a gun, shooting toward you. You dodged with ease, launched forward and grabbed her around the waist, slamming her onto the concrete ground below you as you sat over top of her.
The team was stunned from beyond the glass, all they could see was the wailing of your fists into the woman’s face. She slashes at your arms with a knife from her waistband, but you never even flinched, grabbing the weapon from her hands and launching it across the room before resuming your punches.
“She’s losing it…” Ava whispered loud enough for the team to hear. “Who…who is that woman?”
Bob knew, but it wasn’t his place to tell. From what you’d all explained to him, what played out before them was eerily similar to that day in New York in the Void, in the shame rooms. The way that Bob wailed punches on the other side of himself, desperately trying to free himself from…himself.
You were trapped in your own head, in your own memories and your own pain. You needed him.
Bob shoved through his friends, not wasting a second in placing his hand on the glass no one could break. The second his fingers touched the glass it shattered on impact, thousands of pieces falling to the ground. And he didn’t waste a second before rushing to your side.
Your vision was blurred from your own tears by the time that Bob’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you backward off of the bloody, beaten shell of a woman now barely breathing below you.
“NO! No, let me kill her! Let me kill her!”
The rest of the team helped Yelena to her feet as they watched on as you screamed and cried, falling into a heap in Bob’s arms as he simply held you, letting you cry as the sound echoed around the room.
Hours later, and Bob was still pacing outside the medical wing of the Watchtower back in New York. You were just on the other side of the door with Yelena, and all he wanted was to be in the room with you. His hands wrung together, his pacing increasing by the minute until the door finally opened.
“She’s okay,” Yelena told Bob with a small smile, holding up a hand to stop him as he rushed up to her the second she was through the door. “Well, physically at least. But she’s okay. She’s asking for you, though.”
“...are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just go in there and see your girl,” Yelena placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, squeezing it with a smirk on her face, but there was a softness behind it. “And maybe…tell her, if you know what I mean.”
You were stood at the windows within the confined space of the medical wing, looking down on the streets of New York. You could hear the door open and close behind you, the footsteps crossing the room lightly, and coming to stand beside you. You knew who it was without a second thought, reaching over and taking Bob’s hand in your own.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,”
“W-well I’m pretty sure you all uh, you all have seen me worse than that, so…”
You let out a short chuckle at the comment, turning up to look at him as tears pooled in your eyes.
“All I saw was red…she called me a mistake and all I saw was red. I’ve spent so long trying to push it all away, push my childhood away and be this strong person…and all it took was seeing her once for my walls to come crashing down,” a lump formed in your throat as you swallowed it. “I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t push it away anymore, and I…I don’t know how to get better this time.”
Bob seemed to hesitate for a second, before shaky hands came up to cup your cheeks.
“J-just stay with me,”
You smiled, leaning into his touch.
“Stealing my line now-”
“Just stay with me because I…because I love you. A-and I need you,”
You froze for just a moment at his words, and you could see the momentary panic in his eyes before you surged forward into a kiss. It was light, sweet, and the fluttering within your chest mirrored the one happening in his own.
It was you that pulled away, but just barely. Lips just an inch apart, noses brushing as another tear ran down your cheek, but this time not in sadness.
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Ex-Widow!Reader
Summary: Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.
Warnings: fluff, angst, idiots in love, violence, death, language, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*
Word Count: 5,292 words
PART TWO: Always : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader
To be fair, Yelena Belova had every right to be apprehensive of your idea. It had only been a few months since The New Avengers had been formally established, and the team itself was still finding its groove working together. Standing up to Valentina and saving Bob from himself? That was one thing. Receiving missions from Valentina’s team, having to travel the globe in order to save innocent civilians? That was a whole other can of worms that they’d popped open without thinking of the consequences.
The amount of missions the team was needed on was slowly ramping up, going from just two a month to now almost four in just the last month. The entire team wasn’t always needed for certain mission: Bucky, Yelena and yourself had been sent on solo missions, while Alexei had tagged along with John and Ava on others (much to their dismay at times). There was always one agreed-upon rule: Bob was staying in the Watchtower.
It’s not that the team didn’t want Bob with them, because everyone did. They knew he wanted to feel wanted and feel useful, that he didn’t want to simply do the dishes after dinner every night and read through every book that had accumulated in his room. The problem came down to control. When they had fully explained what had happened that day in New York to him, the Void and how he became his worst fears, the small sense of control he seemed to have over his powers had slipped. His worst fear had quickly become losing control once again and hurting his team, hurting the people of the city.
You, though, had another idea.
“I think it’s time, Lena,” you tried to reason with her that night in the kitchen, the pair of you working on the load of dirty dishes together. Yelena cleaned while you dried them and put them away, working in tandem just as you had for many years within the Red Room, memories you both wanted to forget. “Bob is capable of controlling it, I know he is, he just needs help. Just let me train him, show him some basics and help him find that sense of control again.”
“And if he loses control? If the Void takes over his mind again?”
“I’m not scared of him,”
Yelena scoffed, shooting a smirk toward her oldest friend before focusing back on the dishes before them, hoping to finish them sooner rather than later.
“Just because you have a little soft spot for Bob doesn’t mean your idea is the best idea,”
“I’m not asking any of you to help me,” you shot back, bumping your hip against hers with a pointed look for her comment about your soft spot for Bob. “Just trust that I can do it. I believe in Bob, and that’s enough for me to try.”
Yelena paused at the sink, quietly watching as you placed the dishes up into the cabinet where they typically went, and let out a sigh, shaking her head.
“Fine, but it’s on you if it goes wrong,”
“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Convincing Yelena was the part that you knew would be easy. You’d grown up just houses down from her, Natasha and Alexei, kept there under the watchful eye of your own Red Room spy posing as your mother. You’d escaped America with them, been trained through the Red Room and escaped mind control with Yelena by your side, and brought down Dreykov once and for all with her, too. There weren’t many people Yelena trusted in the world, but you were one of the very few. You knew it might take slight convincing, but she’d ultimately trust your judgement in the end.
Now, convincing Bob was a whole other story, one you knew wouldn’t be easy.
“No uh, no way,” you sighed, watching Bob pace his bedroom and wring his hands together. He glanced at you for just a second before shaking his hand again. “Using my powers means being the Sentry and I can’t be the Sentry without…you know…”
“And it’s been months since there’s been any incident, Bob,” you tried to explain to him softly. Without giving him a chance to pull away you reached forward, silently taking his tense hands in your own and squeezing them. “Look, you’re holding my hands and I’m not being transported into any shame room!”
Bob tried his best to laugh at your attempt to lighten his mood. His cheeks flushed a bright red as he pulled his hands from your own, shaking his head as he sat back down on his bed, picking back up the book he had been reading before you’d come in and pitched your idea to him.
You took a deep breath, wracking your brain for any idea to hopefully convince Bob that this was good for him, that learning control again would be good. The cover of the book in his hands distracted you, a smile crossing your lips in an instant as you recognized it.
“I remember buying that for you last month, along with the rest of the series,” you told him gently, sitting down on the bed beside him and gesturing to the book. “Seems like you’re enjoying it, since I’m pretty sure that’s book three.”
“It’s not bad. Helps pass the time,” Bob shrugged, looking back to you with a shy smile. “You have good taste.”
With a shared smile between you both, you bumped your shoulder with his lightly, glancing down at the book before looking back to his eyes. God, were you fond of those blue eyes.
“You trusted my book recommendations…can you trust me on anything else?”
Bob didn’t hesitate before speaking again.
“I trust you more than anyone,”
The way he said it, so sure of himself, made your smile grow even wider.
“Then trust me when I tell you that this could be good for you. Learning control again will help you, even just the smallest bit of practice and control can be good for you. Please, just try? For me?”
It was quiet between you both for a moment, eyes never leaving one another, before Bob’s voice came out softer than it had before.
“Yeah…yeah, okay. Let’s try,”
It was a process…a long process to say the least. It took almost two weeks before you could even get Bob fully comfortable in the full gym that tower had for him to even consider channeling his powers again. He never liked going to the training room when John and Alexei were there, Walker always managing to make snide comments toward Bob. You knew Walker cared, he just hated wearing it on his sleeve and masked it instead, but that didn’t mean you appreciated the small remarks.
Instead, you’d gotten Bob comfortable with heading to the training room whenever Bucky and Ava were sparring, the pair tending to leave you both alone unlike your other friends.
“I know you can do it. Just focus on it, channel your energy into it, and command your mind to do what you want it to do,”
You didn’t have an extension range of powers the way that Bob did, so you weren’t entirely sure that what you were instructing Bob to do was actually helpful to helping him learn control, or even get comfortable with his powers again. But he was trying, and that was enough for you.
Bob took a deep breath beside you, focusing in on the 20 pound medicine ball on the ground across the room from the two of you. He held his hand out, making your mind flashback to that day in the tower when you were forced to fight against him, something you had refused to do, and you saw the furrow in his brows as he tried to focus in and command the ball to move. There was silence in the room, besides the sound of Ava and Bucky talking across the room.
You watched Bob in silence as he seemed to grow more frustrated, desperately trying to move the ball across the room toward you both. You placed your hand on his arm, thumb gently rubbing across his skin in the most gentle and comforting way you could muster, tone hushed as you spoke just to him.
“You can do this Bob, just focus. You can do it,”
The tenseness in his body seemed to leave him at your words and your touch. Bob pulled his hand back in toward him, and for just a second, he was delighted as the weighted exercise ball finally moved across the floor.
Until it stopped just an inch after moving.
Bob’s head was buried in his hands in seconds, and you could see the deep flush in his cheeks through the cracks in his fingers as he mumbled to himself. You couldn’t entirely hear him, but you could make out the words “mistake” and “useless” clear as day as your hand made its way to his back, rubbing it comfortingly.
John Walker’s obnoxious laughter from the doorway cut through the silence of the room before you could encourage Bob to try again.
“Wow! I thought after a few weeks you’d have his control and powers in better shape there, Widow,” John whistled, stepping slightly further in through the doorway. You could hear Ava mumbling to Bucky about how this wouldn’t but good, but John didn’t seem to care. “I mean an inch! Wow! I mean hey, it’s not all about size right?”
“Walker, that’s enough-”
You tuned out Bucky’s scolding of John, looking back to Bob. His hands had left his face, his eyes trained on the ground, as he continued to mumble to himself about how he was useless. Your blood boiled in an instant, reaching down to take one of Bob’s hands in your own and squeeze it in comfort as you turned your glare back to John.
“Hey Walker? How about you shut it, yeah? If I wanted to hear an ass’s opinion I’d take myself down to the zoo and ask the fucking donkeys,”
John laughed again, shrugging off Bucky as he tried to place a hand on his shoulder, pointing over at you. Your hand tightened around Bob’s as he did.
“Want to say that again, Widow?”
“Ex-Widow, thank you very much. You should remember that your dick belongs in your pants and not in your personality,”
“Keep running your mouth. This little experiment here of yours isn’t good for anyone. Just because you’ve got a little soft spot for Bobby boy here doesn’t mean-”
Walker was cut off as the medicine ball Bob had been trying to move was flung across the room, narrowly missing his head and embedding itself in the doorframe behind him, shattering and splintering the wood and burying itself in the wall. Ava’s gasp was the only other sound as Bucky grabbed Walker almost by the back of his neck, shoving him out of the room with a gruff comment of “let’s go” as Ava followed behind.
Your eyes finally left the piece of exercise equipment now one with the wall of the room, gaze turning back to Bob. His hand was held up in the direction the ball had flown, but it was shaking slightly. You trailed your gaze up to his eyes to see he was already looking down at you, eyes blown wide as she stammered over his words.
“I wasn’t, that- that was a mistake. I didn’t- I really didn’t mean to do that he was, he was just- he’s such an asshole sometimes-”
Your laughter cut him off, pausing him in the middle of his tracks as you gripped his hand tighter, forehead falling against his shoulder as he stiffened for a moment, before relaxing and smiling slightly at the sound of your laughter ringing through the room.
“Oh my god, Bob, that was brilliant! I’m going to use that idea next time Walker decides to be a dick to mask his own troubles, that shut him right up!”
“I didn’t mean to, though,” he quickly backtracked, shaking his head as you lifted your head, looking up at him, though still holding his hand tightly. “It was a mistake.”
“Mistakes happen. We’re human, it’s natural,” she smiled at him, tilting her head toward the ball. “Now…do it again.”
Bob stared at her for a moment, truly trying to discern what he possibly could’ve done to deserve you. You’d stepped between him and Walker down in the vault, keeping the former Captain America from laying a hand on him, you’d almost died in the elevator shaft to make sure he didn’t. You’d refused to fight him that day in the penthouse, trying to bring him back, and it was ultimately you who was the first one to run to him and pull him back from the Void.
When he looked at you, he could feel the flutter in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. He knew what it meant, but he couldn’t find the words to say it. It was in thinking of that four letter word while staring down at you that he’d pulled the ball right back to the two of you, letting it hang in the air before you both for a moment before dropping it to the ground.
Your eyes had never left his, your smile only growing wider and your fingers slotting between his own.
“Not bad, Bob. Not bad,”
It was a month later that your idea would be fully put to the test.
HYDRA was the most stubborn organization, like an insect that just refused to die. Steve Rogers couldn’t stop them in the 40’s, and there was no stopping them now. They’d rebuilt momentum as an organization during the Blip, with cells popping up around the country. It didn’t take long for information to come in about their new main base; an underground compound hidden within the Five Ponds Wilderness in upstate New York. The New Avengers had been tasked with infiltrating and dismantling the base, taking in as many soldiers within for questioning by the US government, and recovering any intel that they’d managed to steal during their rebuild time.
It was an all hands on deck operation, the team knowing it was going to take all of them in order to fully infiltrate and dismantle this large base. In your eyes, that meant no one was sitting this one out.
“You guys handle dismantling and capturing soldiers. I’ll handle intel recovery…and I’m taking Bob with me,”
The comment had everyone at the briefing table pausing, including Bob, who had opted to sit in the corner of the room after you had asked him personally to attend the briefing with you.
John refused to meet your eyes, knowing his single apology weeks ago wasn’t enough to calm how angry you still were over the situation. Alexei and Ava shared concerned glances, while Bucky and Yelena seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes. The former Winter Soldier was the one to turn back to you, giving you a small nod.
“He’s ready?”
“I think he is,” you trailed your gaze over to Bob, giving him an encouraging smile. “The question is, do you think you’re ready?”
Bob looked at his teammates, his friends, seeing the apprehension in their eyes. But all it took was one look back to you, to the pride and encouragement shining in your gaze on him, that had him sitting up straighter.
“I am,”
It was that simple sentence that had Bob finding himself trekking through the wilderness of upstate New York behind you, decked out in a minimal tactical suit that the team had insisted he wear for the mission. He didn’t mind it, anything was better than that monstrosity that Valentina had put him in before.
“Is this normal?” Bob cautiously questioned you, stopping alongside you in a clearing in the woods you’d finally gotten to. “You know…splitting up? The team all uh, went another way didn’t they?”
“Our mission is intel recovery and intel recovery only, so it was easier for us to head through this separate entrance,” you explained, kneeling down in the leaves below your feet and brushing them away, revealing the steel door below your feet. You glanced up at him, smiling. “This should bring us closer to their control room, which minimizes the amount of fighting that we have to deal with.”
Both of you finally making your way through the hatch and down into the halls of the, Bob stuck close to your side as you guided him through the halls, earpieces in your ears alerting you to updates from the rest of the team. The hallways blinked in the emergency red lights you knew would be going off, signaling that the base was in lockdown mode. That meant your friends were doing their job further down the compound.
You’d briefed Bob on the mission on the very short jet ride to upstate. Taking the separate entrance would mean minimal fighting for both of you, which you wanted for Bob. You wanted to ease him into missions like this, especially when he was afraid to fully unleash his powers and be ‘The Sentry’ in fear of losing himself. You found a middle ground, instructing Bob that you would handle the majority of anyone you came across as well as the intel dump to your central computers back at the Watchtower. All he had to do was watch your back for stragglers.
With the compound in lockdown, most of the HYDRA agents had been pulled to the main fight. Using the tech embedded into your suit, you did a quick scan through the control room door, highlighting the agents that were inside.
“Just follow my lead and watch my back,” you mumbled to Bob, hand on the door of the control room, glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’ve got this.”
Within seconds of throwing the control room door open you were inside, launching yourself over the row of computers, legs spread as you took down two agents simultaneously with kicks directly into their throats. You ducked under another row of tables as shots rang out from the gun of another agent, propelling yourself up and above the table toward him. His gun tracked your movements, shots ringing through your ears, but the bullets hovered in place. Bob was barely through the doorway, one hand stopping the bullets from touching you while another held off the agent rushing toward him with ease.
In the signature move you’d learned from Natasha herself, your thighs enclosed around the neck of the agent shooting at you, twisting your body until you were both thrown to the ground, With another single twist of your legs you heard a crack, quickly scrambling back to your feet.
With one agent dead and two down you glanced to Bob, who was entirely fine holding back the agent that was struggling against his powers to get to him. Kicking the chairs before you out of the way, you quickly inserted the USB into the main computer drive, initiating the sequence to download any intel that HYDRA was harboring in the compound.
Bob was simply staring at the man in front of him, head tilted as the agent struggled against his mental hold on him that held him in place. Realizing that he needed to be focusing on watching your back instead of messing with the agent, Bob quickly threw him across the room, the agent’s head hitting a wall and knocking him out almost immediately. Bob smiled to himself for just a moment at the sight; he felt bad for hurting anyone, even if these people were bad people that needed to be stopped. But to have this kind of control over his powers was a miracle to him, something he didn’t believe was possible. And he owed everything to you-
“BOB!”
He frantically turned, seeing one of the agents back on his feet, hand wrapped around your throat and body pressed against the row of computers before them. He could hear your choked coughs from across the room, your feet pushing against the man’s chest in a desperate hope to knock him off of you. It was to no avail, though, as the agent lifted his other hand with some sort of device encased in it. The HYDRA agent pressed the button on top of the device, the entire body of it lighting up red in seconds.
“NO!”
You sucked in a deep breath as the agent’s hand was ripped from your throat in seconds, your own hands flying to your throat as you tried to regain control of your surroundings. Bob with a single flick of the wrist dragged the man aross the room, launching him into the wall opposite you at the speed of light, a sickening crack sounding through the room.
Your eyes locked with Bob’s for just a second before you both looked to the beeping, red device at your feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bob flew across the room in what seemed like a blink, grabbing hold of the device and launching it across the room toward the door where you had entered. In the next second he turned, covering your body with his own as he pulled you both to the ground just as the device containing a high powered bomb exploded.
In an instant your hands covered your ears, feeling the rush of heat from the blast and pieces of debris rush past you and Bob. He body stayed crouched over yours, keeping anything from the blast from hitting you. It seemed to go on for what felt like forever until all that was left was the smell of smoke and gunpowder in the air and the faint crackle of electricity from destroyed wires.
After another moment to recover, you crawled out from Bob’s arms, quickly turning to the harddrive behind you to pocket the USB and whatever intel you were able to download before the explosion. You turned back to the area of the blast, and felt your breath leave you at the sight.
The entire wall that connected to the main hallway was gone, the ceiling having come down on top of it as well, almost splitting the room into almost half of the size it had been when you had first entered and encountered the agents. Wires were exposed within the ceiling, pipes leaking down into the room as small fires burned in the explosion area of the rubble.
“Widow, Bob, answer us!” fully coming back to your senses, you could hear John’s voice through the earpiece in your ear. “We heard an explosion, does one of you copy?”
“One of the agent’s had a bomb, but we’re both fine,” you called back to the team, still breathing heavily as you surveyed the damage before you. “The room…not so much.”
“Did you get the intel-”
“That’s not important,” Yelena’s voice cut off John’s, and you could hear the concern within it. “What’s wrong with the room?”
“My best guess is we’re trapped now, given that an entire wall and half the ceiling was just blown out,” you relayed back to them. “We’re underground so I really don’t want to think about being trapped within a concrete room with what I can only assume is a limited amount of oxygen, so if the three super soldiers on this team could hurry their asses over here and help dig us out sooner rather than later we’d appreciate it.”
“Stay put, we’re on our way,”
“Stay put, as if we can go anywhere,” you mumbled to yourself, tearing the earpiece from your ear and pocketing it, ears still ringing slightly from the blast. “Bob, you okay?”
Your eyes stayed trained on the debris before you even as you asked the question. After a moment of no response you glanced to the side at one of the only walls that wasn’t destroyed, freezing in place at the sight of a black tendril like shadow crawling across the wall.
“I made a mistake…it’s my fault…”
Turning fully, it felt like ice had suddenly run through your veins at the sight before you.
Bob was on his knees on the ground, eyes trained on the floor, but he was barely Bob anymore. Half of his face, of the face of the beautiful, broken boy you’d fallen so irrevocably in love with over the last few months was still visible. The rest of him was bathed in shadows, tendrils of it seeping out through the floor and into the walls, as the Void slowly took him over.
“Bob…” your voice was low, cautious, as you took a single hesitant step back.
He looked up at you at he sound of your voice. One single blue eye remained, tears welling in it and streaming down his face, in contrast to the shadow and pinpoint dot that covered the other half of his face. He spoke like himself, but almost like there were two of him, a low and gruff second voice of his layered over it.
“It’s my fault. It shouldn’t have happened I- I made a mistake. I could’ve hurt you, I could’ve got you killed,” his voice broke for a second, a sob almost seeping out of him as the shadows took more of what was left of him away. “I’m useless. All I do is make mistakes, all I do is make everything worse.You shouldn’t have brought me, I wasn’t ready. I- I can’t hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”
“You protected me,” you tried to explain to him, voice soft as you crouched down, bringing yourself down to his level as you held out your hands toward him. “You saved me. You didn’t make a mistake, Bob, neither of us knew he had a bomb. You did everything you could. Please just…just listen. Just come back to me.”
He stared at you, one blue eyes and one pinpoint eye, but your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. The shadows still crept in.
“I’m better off dead. If I’m dead I…I can’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you,”
The shadows crept in again, that blue eye full of tears barely left to look at you, as the Void was seconds from swallowing him whole once again.
Panic filled you in that instance, at the thought of losing him, and you lunged forward. Your knees dropping to the ground in front of him as you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck as you cried, letting the shadows consume you as well.
“Don’t leave me…please don’t leave me,”
It could’ve been minutes, it felt like hours, but in reality it had only been seconds before your eyes opened once more. There were arms wrapped around your waist as your brain caught up with you that you were still with Bob. You flung back, prying your head from the crook of his neck as you pulled back to look at him, just as he looked back at you with a similar look of confusion.
One hand came up to cup his cheek, overwhelmed to simply see his face unmarked by shadows. His eyes trailed over your face before they flickered around the room, face contorting in confusion.
“This…this isn’t one of my shame rooms,”
You followed his gaze, breath catching in your throat automatically as you took in the room. The grand pillars in front of the staircase, the white and black tiled floor beneath your feet, the dim lighting you knew all too well.
The Red Room.
“No…it’s one of mine,”
Bob’s hand around your waist tightened at the sound of heels against the floor behind you. His hand never left you, and your’s never left him as you both turned to face the scene before you.
You were so young, only 9. You stood to the side of the room, still in your ballet flats and hair slicked back impeccably. You recognized the woman in heels, of course you did she’d been your instructor since you were barely old enough to be molded into one of their assassins. She came to a stop before you, glaring down at you. God, you were just a child.
“You were given simple instructions,” her shrill voice cut through the air as you tightened your hold around Bob at the sound. “A simple task. You have been a perfect student…only to fail now.”
“I’m sorry, mistress,”
“There are no apologies here,” her voice cut in again. “Only consequences.”
Two burly men entered the room, holding the arms of a body not much bigger than your own at the time. They tore the sack upon the child’s head off, revealing her face: Polina. You’d grown up together, progressed through every challenge together. Besides Yelena…she’d been the closest thing to a best friend you could have in a place like this.
Bob’s own hands on your waist tightened as the mistress pulled out a revolver from the waistband of her skirt, loading a single bullet into the chamber. Her gaze flickered back to your young 9-year-old self, glare harsher than it was before as she saw your eyes were closed.
“Open your eyes, and accept your consequence.”
A single tear made its way down your cheek as this young version of you did as she was asked, holding back her own tears as she looked into the eyes of your friend, just as the mistress’s bullet pierced her skull.
“What…what happened?”
“Simple…I made a mistake,” was the only response you could muster back to Bob. You pulled your gaze from the bloody scene before you, turning back to the man you loved as he watched you. Shaky hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs gliding over his skin as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Bob…we all have regrets. We all wish we could’ve done things differently. We all make mistakes, whether we want to or not, but it just means we’re human. We are not the sum of all of our mistakes, but what we choose to do differently because of them.”
Bob leaned into your soft touch, his eyes never leaving yours. He shook his head, choking on his own words as he tried to find the words to say.
“All I’ve done is cause you pain…cause everyone pain, because I keep- I keep making mistakes. I don’t know how to fix it,”
You thought about the next thing to say, what you could possibly say to get through to him, but words no longer seemed to do the trick. Instead, your hands held tight to his face as you surged forward, molding your lips to his own.
In a single kiss, you tried to convey every single thing that you needed him to feel. The way that you had cared about him from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, that one single look into his blue eyes had forever held him a place in your heart before you even realized he was the one occupying it. That in your eyes, he could do no wrong, that there was no mistake he could make that would make you love him any less. That you would walk through fire, cross any ocean, or throw yourself into the void of his own mind if that’s what it took to bring him back to you. The press of your lips against his own, the hesitant reciprocation back from him as he tried to navigate this new territory, his hands gripped onto your waist in hopes to ground himself in the moment, you tried desperately to ensure that he knew everything you needed him to know in that moment.
You pulled away, eyes closed as you felt him lean back into you, chasing after the feeling of your lips on his. Your nose brushed against his, hand moving from his cheek to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair.
“Just stay with me. That’s all I need…just stay with me,”
When you finally opened your eyes, you were back in the debris-covered room of the destroyed compound, still kneeling on the floor. You could hear the sound of your friends from beyond the debris, calling out for you as they tried to move the debris before them to get to you both.
All that mattered was the man still wrapped in your arms, shadows faded away as if they’d never appeared to begin with, leaving behind those beautiful blue eyes that shone brightly with one thing only: love.
pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader
synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?
words ; 7.8k
themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance
warnings / includes ; violence/gore/death, human experimentation, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, walker is an asshole, everyone's mental health sucks!
a/n ; this is part one !!! a second part is already in the works :) this was written all today so apologies if there are any mistakes!
main masterlist. read on ao3!
It didn’t seem a hard task. One kill. One more. Then you could go. Quit the clean-up business for good. You could practically hear Valentina’s sickly sweet smile through the phone.
“You’ll be in and out of there in no time,” her voice crooned. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about your target. After all, you’re rather… disposable, aren’t you?”
You frowned at that. “My self-copies aren’t disposable. I feel it every time one of me dies.”
Valentina laughed—a high-pitched keening noise. You assumed she was waving her hand about in a dismissive manner, as she usually did with you. “You’ll get back up. That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it? Good luck. Try to have some fun. It’ll be your last one, anyway—make the most of it.”
“Yeah,” you said. Your free hand wound around your midriff, almost as if you were cradling yourself. “I’ll take care of it.”
You hung up before you could hear Valentina say one more word.
There were ringing gunshots, muffled grunts, and resounding thuds when you arrived. Who else was here? Your target was only one person—an untouchable woman. A Ghost. Would a thousand of you be able to tackle one of her?
Or perhaps the better question was… were you willing to sacrifice yourself a thousand times to kill one woman? You definitely have before, on previous missions. Over and over again, the bitter taste of death was stuffed into your mouth, dry as a sock, tainting your innards like black tar.
You waited outside the junk room’s entrance, counting the voices you heard. One man, for sure. One unidentifiable. Two women. You split yourself into two, then three. With a begrudging sigh, you spliced once more to make four.
Three copies ran in. One stayed out.
You spotted the ghost immediately. She was phasing between the shield of another masked assassin. Were they also here to kill her? Another copy spotted a woman being pinned down by another man, a blade inches away from her throat. Not your mission, not your problem.
Though, it certainly became your problem when the woman croaked, “There you are!” upon seeing you. “Holy shit, there’s three of you.”
She bucked the man off after tasing him, scrambling towards her gun. A click, a point, a shot. Your copy dove behind a pile of sturdy cases, but clearly not fast enough. You felt the bullet pierce your chest, the warmth of the blood pool across your ribs—and then you were dead.
“Fuck,” you winced, feeling the resounding ache of the gunshot in your own body, eyeing your dead self. Without a second thought, you split once more. Your copies scattered from your assailant, off to find the ghost.
You tackled your white-masked target as soon as she materialized once more, managing to get only one powerful strike in before you fell to the ground, the ghost phasing away and disappearing once more. Then your head pierced with the terrible, agonizing pain of a bullet fracturing your skull, and you were dead. Again. And again, and again. Impaled by a shield, stabbed by the ghost.
You gasped from outside the room, crumpling to your knees. How many more times were you willing to die? How many times could you?
Then there came a nauseous, gagging sound from inside the room. For a moment, you wondered if one of your copies had miraculously survived and was making that sound. You split yourself and crawled inside. Maybe you could save yourself. Spotting you coming in, the man with the shield seemed to realize there was one of you waiting outside. He sent the shield—already covered with your blood—arcing outside and striking you clean across the throat before you could react. Your decapitated head hit the metal floors with a disgusting, bloody noise, lolling to the foot of the entrance.
That left one copy inside the room. You gasped for breath, air painfully dragging within your esophogas as you clutched at your neck, the veins beneath your skin popping. For safety, you duplicated yourself once more.
“Woah,” came a voice beside you. There was a man in… hospital clothes? You scrambled away from him. He watched you with an open mouth, blinking in a manner not unsimilar to an owl.
One of the assassins was dead already, bullet wound in the head, not unsimilar to one of your deaths here. You could see your own bodies scattered about, in varying states of mutilation. The three assassins left were all pointing their guns at each other, then you and your copy, then to the man gagging next to you.
“Which one of you is the real you?” said the blonde woman.
“I’m all me,” the both of you said at the same time.
She shuddered. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”
The man on the ground made a disoriented noise, as if realizing that he really shouldn’t be in a room full of people with guns trying to kill each other. “Actually, I—” He struggled to his feet, then turned to run. Thick metal shutters fell down over all the entrances before he could leave. It crushed your decapitated head as if it were a grape, your blood splattering all over you, your copy, and the hospital-man.
Shit. If you were still outside, you could have gotten away.
The assassins all trained their guns at the man, spooked by his skittish movements.
“No, no!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m—I’m Bob.”
It didn’t look like he had any place to hide weapons. Still, just to be safe, you split yourself again, now three of you. The faux Captain America flinched. “Fuck!”
“Who?” said the ghost, eyes trained on Bob.
“Bob,” said Bob, shrugging.
“Who sent you, Bob?” asked the blonde woman.
“Nobody, why would I be sent?” he said, hands trembling. He was afraid. “You were all… you guys were all sent?”
His question went largely ignored. The woman’s eyes, lined with hazy blue makeup, darted to you. “You—how am I meant to kill you if you can’t die?”
You raised your hands in surrender now, mimicking Bob. “I can die. It’s the one thing I’m really good at.”
Something flickered in her gaze. She lowered her gun just slightly. “Who sent you?”
The ghost rolled her eyes and lowered her gun. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but my job is done.” She gestured to the dead assassin on the ground and stepped forward to go.
One of your copies blocked her way. “My job isn’t.”
She scoffed, then phased straight through you. You felt a cold chill traverse down your spine.
“Neither is mine,” said the blonde woman, turning the barrel of her gun to you.
“Don’t waste your time,” you snarled. “I have infinite lives. You have finite bullets—do the math.”
The man with the shield tilted his head at the woman. “Convenient cover for someone stealing weapons from O.X.E.”
“I’m not stealing, Copy-Cat here is ste—” She paused, and realization came over her bloodied face. Then, she raised her hands in the same way you did. “Okay. It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”
“Yeah, so?” said the man.
“So all of this shit is O.X.E’s secrets. And so are we.” She gestured to the mountainous stacks of boxes and crates.
You felt your heart sink to your stomach. You should’ve known Valentina would pull something like this with you. It should’ve been suspicious how easily she accepted your request to leave. How could you be so stupid? So naive?
“We’re liabilities no one would miss,” said Ghost.
The man scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I was sent here on a mission.”
“Look around!” said the blonde. “We are the evidence, and this is the shredder! She wants us gone.”
The three began to bicker over who was in the right. From their argument, you learned that the man with the shield was John Walker, officially Captain America for about three seconds before he had murdered a man in public. And the blonde woman—tasked with the impossible mission of eliminating you—was Yelena. Former Red Room assassin.
Bob began to shuffle closer to you, and you tensed.
“Hey—” he said, reaching out a hand to help you up. “Are you okay? I watched you die, like, fifty times or something.” He fidgeted when you hesitantly accepted his hand, pulling yourself up with his help. Bob took turns smiling at you and your clones, all lopsided. He was so… off-putting. You scrutinized him with a narrowed gaze.
“What are you doing here, Bob? You clearly aren’t… like us.”
“Wh… Why not?”
“You’re in a patient uniform. It’s the kind of shit I always wore as a kid,” you said, beckoning to his pants.
Bob was about to respond, but clammed up when John Walker began stalking closer to the two of you. Subconsciously, Bob edged behind you, almost as if he were using you as a shield. You sure as hell didn’t know who Bob was, or what he was doing here, but he certainly didn’t seem deserving of the piercing glare Walker was sending his way.
“I’m not leaving here without completing my mission,” said the man. “Valentina gave me a clean slate, guaranteed—I’m not screwing that up.”
“And you believe her?” you said in disbelief, almost a whisper. You stepped back, bumping into Bob in the process. He felt strangely solid behind you. “She promised to let me go. A rogue, powered assassin let loose out of the cage. I was stupid for letting myself believe her. And you are, too.”
Walker’s face crumpled with anger. “Listen here, you freak. You multiply like… like bacteria. Obviously Valentina doesn’t trust you. She may be lying to you, but she trusts me. And you—” He rounded on Bob. “You were part of my job, so I gotta know. How’d you get in?”
You shifted so you’d be able to see Bob. He seemed to shift with you slightly, unhappy that you were no longer between him and John. Fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, Bob shrugged. “I don’t… Pfft. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
One of Walker’s eyes twitched. “Terrific answer. Great. Well, alright!” He beckoned to you, Yelena, and Ghost. “Tie yourselves up. I’m sure there’s rope in here somewhere.”
“Wow,” said Ghost—Ava, you remembered reading her name from your mission casefile. “No.”
“Hey,” whispered Bob, tugging on one of your copy’s utility belts. “I just realized I don’t—I don’t know your name.”
“Now’s probably not the time for niceties,” you said. After staring at him for a moment longer, you sighed. It was pitiful how lost he looked. “I’m known as Xerox.”
“Xerox—that’s a… that’s a cool name. Way better than Bob.”
To your surprise, you found yourself giving him a small twitch of a smile. “Bob’s a palindrome. Same backwards as it is forwards. That earns it at least half a point on the cool scale.”
Bob paused, regarding you with an equally twitchy, uncertain grin. “I never thought about it that way. Yeah, that’s… thanks.” He let out a nervous laugh that was obviously forced—and yet still somehow endearing.
As you spoke with Bob, Ghost walked on ahead, intent on leaving. She phased out of tangibility, so you knew there was no way you could stop her even if you tried. You watched her go passively—you no longer cared if you failed your mission. It was clear it wasn’t a real mission, anyway. You were glad that Yelena had come to the same conclusion. She didn’t seem intent on wasting any more bullets in your copies’ skulls.
When Ghost drew within an inch from the door, a piercing sound echoed throughout the chambers. You and your copies keeled over in pain. The noise made violent shudders ripple through your body. It reminded you of all those times you had to be strapped down when you were a child before you could control your powers, riding out your seizures with a belt across your mouth to muffle your screaming.
You could feel shaking hands drift to cover your ears for you. Bob’s. Your head snapped up, meeting his worried gaze.
Eventually the noise subsided, and his touch fell away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, eyeing him cautiously. What did he want from you?
“You were hurting,” was all he said in response, tone hesitant and soft, as if worried he’d done something wrong.
You felt your face soften and you let out a weak exhale, suddenly feeling as if your heart was going to fall out of your chest. Why was he making you so flustered?
The five of you were left sitting around for the next ten minutes. Walker and Ava took to raiding the dead assassin, Taskmaster’s body. Yelena didn’t seem too happy with that, snapping at them to respect the dead, job or not.
“You knew her?” you quietly asked the blonde as she paced to and fro like a caged tiger, watching as Ava took a gun off the corpse.
“I did,” she said, nodding solemnly. Then, she gestured to your own dead bodies strewn about. “Sorry about—”
“It’s fine. Comes with the job,” you mumbled, voice soft.
Yelena nodded grimly. “You live and you die, right? You more than most, I suppose.”
You blinked at her. Before you could say anything back, a siren blared across the room. The lights turned an angry shade of red that made the blood on your hands look black as tar. You felt your stomach roil.
Ghost looked upward. “It’s not a shredder,” she said. “It’s an incinerator.”
There was a large timer by one of the entrances that started to count down from two minutes. “Two minutes before Valentina’s slate is wiped clean,” said Yelena.
“Don’t know that for sure!” John protested. “Could be for when they come to pick me up.”
You could only barely withhold yourself from driving your fist into the smug look on his face. It did, however, make you feel slightly better that you weren’t the most stupid, delusional one in the room.
“Do you not feel that? The temperature rising dramatically, as if heat were involved?” Ghost pointed up at the gaps in the ceiling, where heat was filtering in, so strong that space warped and wobbled looking through the columns of air.
“Oh, boy, that is no way to go,” said Bob, nervously wringing his hands.
Walker scowled. “Well, how would you like to go, Bob? With a hand around your throat choking the life out of you or a bullet to the head? Either could certainly be arranged!”
“Stop,” you barked. “You really want to spend your last moments alive being a complete asshole?”
The man clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Yelena stepped in before another fight could start. “Listen, Ghost-lady—”
“Ava.”
“Sure, whatever. We need to get you through one of the walls so you can open the door.”
“She tried that already,” said John, eyes rolling up to the pipes on the ceiling.
“I know she did, but we haven’t tried shutting off the sound barrier!”
“If they built a barrier specifically for her,” you said, recalling your casefile. Her weakness was high-frequency sounds that caused interference with her suit’s technology. “The emitter must be in close-range. Somewhere inside the room. Outside would be too weak and dampened to work.”
Immediately, you spliced a few dozen times and scattered, looking for some sort of power source.
“What—what exactly are we looking for?” asked Bob, hurrying alongside one of your copies.
“Not stupid questions, Bob!” John said.
“Ignore him. Look for something with circuitry. Wires, a battery cell, that kind of stuff.” You tore through a few crates, feeling up the nooks and crannies of the walls.
Fifty seconds left on the clock, rapidly ticking down. You were no stranger to dying, but this was strangely a different experience altogether. True, complete death. It sounded like both a blessing and the most terrifying thing possible. You could feel the panic rise up like bile in your throat.
To your relief, Ava found the power source, and John immediately hacked away at it without thinking, orange sparks flying with the power of his strike. You would’ve been angry with his impulsive behavior if it hadn’t worked—Ghost successfully phased through the walls and disappeared.
Twenty seconds.
She was going to come back, right?
Ten.
The furnaces above grew hotter and brighter.
Nine.
One of your copies pushed Bob forward, since he was loitering directly beneath one of them. “Don’t stand under there.”
Five.
One of you caught sight of Yelena shutting her eyes in solemn acceptance.
Four.
You heard Walker curse under his breath.
Three.
You braced yourself. Would death be kind to you this time, despite all of its ugly cruelty before?
Two.
And then—a blaring siren. The slabs of metal began to shirk upwards. The four of you dashed out just as the columns of fire began to spew out.
Bob was slow. You split yourself multiple times to keep shoving him forward. You could feel fire engulf your body, shrieking as the searing flames tore through your suit, into your skin, eating at your flesh, burning you to a crisp.
Some of you escaped, thrown by the explosion. One died instantly with a broken spine. Others clung to the walls, injured but alive.
You watched in horror as many of your selves wailed in agony, dying a slow, agonizing death. You curled up into yourself, a few tears silently rolling down your cheeks. You supposed that was another one of your talents—you were very good at crying quietly.
“Thanks for coming back,” you heard Walker say to Ava.
“I had to use someone. They cut the power to the elevator.”
“Hey,” the ghost said, reaching out a hand to you. You looked up at her, furiously wiping the tears away with the back of your hand, trying your best to ignore the pain. “Come on. Up you get. We need to find a way out of here.”
When she helped you up, she noticed that you were shaking violently. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been set on fire before,” you murmured. “Burned alive is a new one to add to the books.” You kneeled down to close the eyes of one of your corpses. You caught sight of Bob on the other side of the room, having just woken up from being knocked unconscious beside Yelena. He was uninjured, to your relief.
“You helped me out,” he said, once you neared him. “Why did… Why did you do that? You died for me—so many times. I’m not…” He fidgeted uncomfortably. You could see the guilt weighing heavy in his eyes. “I’m not worthy enough for that.”
You didn’t know what to say. You were never good with sentimentalities.
To your dismay, John cut you to the chase. “I won’t disagree with you on that,” he told Bob. He stormed forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Bob, who cowered away just slightly before straightening himself to his full height. “I’m tired of your bullshit! Tell me how you got in here right goddamn now!”
“I swear I just woke up in this place,” he said, placating, as if he were talking to a spooked mare. “One minute I’m having my blood drawn for this medical study, and the next I’m here. I don’t know what’s happening, I really don’t.”
“Okay, then show me where you woke up!”
Bob hesitated, then pointed into the incinerated room. “In—in there.”
“Where everything’s on fire,” John deadpanned. “That’s real convenient.”
“Walker, relax,” said Yelena.
“You don’t remember anything?” asked Ava. “Bag over your head, a needle in your neck?”
“Chokehold? Nerve pinch?” Walker asked. It was beginning to feel terribly like an interrogation of sorts.
Bob stepped back again. “No, none of those.”
“I think he’s just a civilian,” said Yelena, eyeing Bob carefully.
With an edge to his tone, John hissed, “Okay, well, if he’s a civilian, he knows too much and if he’s an agent he sucks. Either way I say we throw him back into the fire!”
“No,” you said, glaring daggers at the man. “I died multiple times just to get him out. We’re not murdering an innocent man.”
“What do you want, a medal? And we don’t know he’s innocent!” Walker fired back.
Suddenly, Bob started to laugh. It was a wheezy, chuckling noise. You looked at him in surprise.
“You said you’re… Captain America?” he said, smiling incredulously.
John’s countenance grew even stonier than before. “What’s funny about that?”
“It’s just, heh, you’re… you’re an asshole,” Bob said between his peals of laughter.
There was a beat of tense silence. Then John smiled, wolfish. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. In an instant, he was an arm’s length away from you and Bob, grabbing Bob by the throat and shoving him back so hard his back crashed into the wall behind him. You scrambled forward, multiplying twice to place enough hands on Walker’s chestplace to shove him back. Yelena also came to help, physically placing herself between the two men.
“Okay, woah!” said Yelena, shooting a warning glare at John. “We swung our tiny dicks—it was a lot of fun, but we need to have some space now. Walker, you go over there. Bob, come with me.”
You watched the blonde woman whisk Bob off to the side, who followed her with no complaint. When you looked back at John, he was toeing one of your burnt corpses with his boot. He caught you staring at him and stopped.
“Sorry,” he said. Even he knew that crossed a line.
“Force of habit?” you taunted him with a tilt of your head.
John apparently had nothing to say to that. He turned away from you. Then, he began hacking at one of the walls with the shield. “There has to be a way out of here if we go in one direction for long enough, right?”
You shrugged. “Go right ahead. Be my guest.”
After a few more pummels, the solid concrete gave in and revealed metal doors. He pried them open, grunting with exertion, revealing an empty elevator shaft. There were no wires or indented surfaces to climb. Just sheer, smooth metal walls for as far as the eye could see. Likely even further than that. You gulped as you stared up.
“Hey, are you guys done with your therapy session yet?” John snarked to Yelena and Bob.
Yelena, after saying a final few words to Bob, let him go. Bob made his way to you. Whatever it was that Yelena said to him, Bob didn’t seem particularly settled. You decided not to dwell on it for too long.
“So, this is—our way out?”
“Looks like it. No way to climb, though,” you said. You glanced at his head. “You okay? That looked like it hurt.”
Bob glanced at you strangely, not used to others being concerned over his well-being. First Yelena, and now you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t have been as bad as you.”
“It’s no competition,” you said, pursing your lips. Then, to the rest of the group, you asked, “Should we all get in there? Maybe we’ll figure something out once we scope it out.”
All of you crowded into the bottom of the elevator shaft, staring up at the endless void above.
“So… none of us fly? All of us just… punch and shoot?” Yelena asked, looking around.
“Don’t worry,” said Walker. “I got this.”
He pushed you and Ava to make more space for himself, ignoring both of your startled noises. Then, he leaped up. An insane distance for a regular human, and what you assumed was just above average for one pumped with super serum. You watched him disappear into the darkness for all about four seconds. And then you heard screaming as he came back down. Bob tugged you back just in time not to get crushed beneath John crashing back down on his shield.
“You should try that again,” Ava suggested, grinning down at him as he struggled back to his feet with a pained groan.
John looked at you and you clones expectantly. “You can multiply. Why don’t you, I don’t know, make enough copies for us to climb up there?”
“You want me to form a human ladder for you guys?” you asked, horrified.
“Well, yes—”
“My clones have limited range,” you interrupted, voice curt. “We’re a collective mind. If we don’t all stick within a few meters of each other, I get seizures and lose control.”
Walker frowned down his nose at you. “Is it not worth a shot?”
“Not unless you want to risk me spazzing out mid-climb and all of us falling to our deaths,” you retorted. “We need to think of something else.”
Then, Walker turned his gaze to Ava. “Can’t you just phase up there and throw down a rope for us, or something?”
“First of all, someone other than you would have to ask me,” she hissed. You had to admit, you were starting to warm up to her. “Second, I’ve only ever been able to hold it for a minute, and who knows how long it would take to get up there—I’d be crushed under the weight of it before I could phase back.”
“Just a minute?” Walker deadpanned. “What is it with you lab rats and your limitations?”
“Shut up!” both you and Ava exclaimed at the same time.
“I… have an idea,” said Bob, raising a tentative hand.
All of you turned to him expectantly.
Your backs were pressed up together, your legs splayed out onto the metal wall as the group slowly inched upward. For the plan to work, there was only space for one of you, so you reabsorbed your copies into one body again. The rest of the group watched you do it in a mix of muted curiosity and horror. Bob gave you an awkward thumbs up, which made you smile despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation.
A part of you wanted to leave a copy down on the ground in case something happened, but you couldn’t risk having a seizure if you got too far away, and with everyone else on the line, too.
“Ew,” said Yelena. “Which one of you is wet?”
“Sorry,” Bob winced. “I run hot.”
You shifted the arm looped around his, grimacing at the sweat dripping down your own face. “I get it. It’s fucking sweltering in here.”
“Someone’s got a weird, hard butt,” Walker groaned.
“That’s not my butt, that’s my suit,” Ava hissed in return. “Pardon me for the inconvenience—I only spent my entire life in labs, hooked up to machines so I could create this physical cage to keep my material body from disintegrating at all times!”
You heard Yelena let out a bark of a laugh. “You don’t want to start the whole sob story game. I’d win. Enslaved child assassin over here.”
For some reason, John said, “Well, you were just a kid, so—”
“Oh!” said Yelena. “Does that make it better? Gee, I wish someone had told me that earlier! That makes me feel so much better.”
“Not that it’s a competition, but I’ve spent my whole life quite literally dying over and over again,” you said.
“Oh, really?” said Walker. “Sounds like you’re making it a competition.”
You fell silent, not wanting to waste your breath arguing. The group, panting in ragged, short breaths, simultaneously decided to fall silent. You were so high up now that you couldn’t see the bottom of the shaft anymore.
After what felt like eons, Walker finally gasped out, “I see a door!”
“Now what?” Yelena asked.
“Uhm—I guess one of us should… go first…” said Ava from your other side, uncertainty weighing her words.
“No, then the rest of us would immediately fall!” protested Yelena, breath trembling with the strain of holding herself up.
“Shit… sorry guys, I guess I didn’t really think this through,” Bob muttered.
“Genius fuckin’ plan, Bob!” Walker exclaimed.
“Always making things worse,” the man on your right muttered.
Your brows furrowed. “Bob, we’re all the way up here because of you. Come on, we’re so close. I can duplicate and—”
“We can’t risk your additional weight,” Walker barked out. “One slip and we all come tumbling down!”
“Then what do you want to do?” you asked.
“Hand me a baton, I can reach it!” he said.
Immediate protesting ensued. “No way, you’re just going to leave us!” Yelena gritted out.
“We have to hurry, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my bloody boots from slipping!” Ghost said. True to her word, you caught sight of her shoes slowly gravitating downward.
Yelena inched upward. “Spin us around and we’ll—”
“No! Are you crazy?”
Bob shook beside you.
“Bob, are you alright?” you asked, wondering why he was tossing his head from side to side like a dog shaking off excess water.
“Cucumber—cucumber, cucumber!” he said, scrunching up his face.
“What the hell is happening?” Yelena asked.
“Growing up, somebody told me if you have to sneeze, you yell out cucumber to confuse your brain. I have to sneeze, but if I do, I’ll lose control and we’ll—”
“This is insane!” Walker bit out. “I can get us all out of here, I just need to go first!”
“NO!” Ava said. “There must be another way!”
Bob tilted his head back, knocking against yours. “Oh, no,” he said.
“Oh—” You began to panic. “Cucumber! Cucumber, cucumber! Bob!”
Yelena and Ava both began chanting with you. John, his patience worn thin, reached behind and grabbed Yelena’s baton. Then, he jumped out of formation.
You felt yourself falling, your heart dropping to the balls of your feet in sheer horror, trying your best to grip onto the slippery metal walls. In your panic, you duplicated yourself in an attempt to slow down your descent. Just above you, Ava punctured the walls with her dagger, braking to a halt.
Then, to your shock, you were abruptly smacked against the wall when Ava grabbed hold of your wrist. But only one of you.
“No!” you exclaimed, watching as your copy plummeted downwards with a blood-curdling shriek. After several seconds, you could feel your mind grow hazy, dizzy with the distance. “No, I’m—”
Your pupils rolled into the back of your head and you began to convulse. You didn’t register that Yelena had grabbed a hold of your ankle as she fell, and she sent a grappling hook down to catch Bob.
He tried his best to catch your copy, but you had streaked past so fast that you slipped right through his arms, and fell into the darkness below.
The rest of the group, minus Walker, who had climbed through the opening, watched as you shook about violently. After several agonizing seconds, there was a resounding thud and splattering noise. It seemed a twisted sort of blessing that the fall had killed your copy immediately. You broke free of your seizure but immediately fell into a bout of pain, doubling over. It felt as if you were on fire all over again, and someone had carved you open, poured honey all over your innards, and released a thousand fire-ants to crawl over you.
You were so out of it that you only barely realized Ava was pulling you through the entrance with John’s help. Yelena hauled herself up after that, Bob shortly following her.
The ghost kneeled down beside you, gently tapping your face as you came in and out of consciousness. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep on me.”
With slow, painful movements, you nodded, sitting back up. It took you another moment to realize that the entire group was huddled around you. “Oh, God. I felt my brains spill out down there.”
“What did you go doing that for?” Walker said in an irritating I-told-you-so tone, kneeling down beside you. “I told you not to duplicate yourself, didn’t I?”
“I really don’t think a lecture is needed right now, thank you,” Yelena told him.
“I’m sorry,” said Bob, looking wearing yet another expression of guilt. “I tried catching you, but—”
“Thanks, Bob,” you said, nothing but sincerity in your eyes. “I felt you. Thank you. And thanks for holding onto me, Ava. Even though I tried to kill you.”
The woman averted her gaze, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Would have been a terrible weight on my consciousness. So really, I did it for my own benefit.”
“Alright,” you said, not believing her in the slightest, but you decided not to comment on it.
With the help of Ava and Yelena, you stood up on your own two feet, albeit a little wobbly, and completely exhausted from the climb up.
“You selfish prick,” Ava spat at Walker. “If you had just waited for one goddamn second—”
“I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety before ensuring all of yours,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Pretty ungrateful, if you ask me.”
Then, something strange happened. Bob placed a hand on John’s shoulder, saying, “Thanks for saving us, Captain.”
Instead of making a snarky comment, John’s face grew dazed. Unfocused. He turned and stepped closer to the elevator shaft, feet just a few inches away from joining your dead clone on the ground.
“Walker?” Yelena asked, wondering what on earth he was doing. Both she and Ava stepped closer to check him out.
You looked to Bob, one of your brows arched. “What’s up with him?”
Bob spared you a cursory glance. “I don’t know,” he said. You chose to believe him, but frowned nonetheless. “Are you okay, though? You were—you were shaking really badly in there.”
“A seizure,” you whispered. “Sorry I scared you guys. I panicked and duplicated. It wasn’t very smart on my end.”
“No, I get it,” he muttered. “The only one you can truly trust is yourself. I get it.”
You tilted your head, regarding him curiously. As much as you thought Bob was a perfectly ordinary civilian, he said some very cryptic things sometimes. “Right… yeah.”
“I know I haven’t given you any reason to, but… you can trust me,” he offered. His hand trembled, and you could read the anxiety plainly across his features. When you took a second too long to respond, he retracted slightly. “But, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t—”
“I trust you,” you said, cutting him off. You spared him a downturned smile, which made him relax just a smidge. “You haven’t given me any reason not to, Palindrome.”
The mellow blue of his eyes shone with mild amusement. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Is that my nickname now? Palindrome?”
“If you want it to be,” you said, shrugging. “It is a bit catchier than just Bob. The same forwards as it is backwards.”
Bob looked back to John, who still wouldn’t move away from the shaft's sheer drop. “I guess that’s fitting,” he whispered. “Nothing changes even if I want it to.”
Before you could ask him what he meant by that, John finally seemed to snap out of it. He stumbled back from the edge of the shaft.
“Jesus Christ,” Yelena said, completely bewildered. “Are you crazy? What did you do that for?”
“Do what for?” John grouched, waving her away as if she was a fly. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Ugh, nevermind, then,” said Ava. “It’s time we all get out of here.”
Once Ava pressed a button for the exit to slide open, light spilled in from outside. But—it was nighttime. You knew because you arrived at 10 PM on the dot, and you also knew for certain that not enough time had passed for the sun already to be rising. The lights were coming from cars. Multiple of them, at least three dozen. There was chatter as well. Boots. Guns. Tactical armor.
It was an entire squadron out there. No doubt sent by Valentina.
Ava, John, and Yelena then started bickering about a plan and who was in charge.
“I think I might just surrender, probably,” said Bob.
“I suppose she won’t hurt you if you’re just a citizen,” you said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“Okay, fine,” John said, shrugging. “Every man for themself, then.”
“Why should you be in charge?” snarked Yelena. “You almost killed all of us right there!”
John propped his fists onto his hips. “Well, let’s see—I’ve been in the trenches of every war-torn country there is, rescued God knows how many hostages, and shook the hands of two US presidents!”
“And how, pray tell, does any of that help us in the slightest way?” you hissed.
Walker ignored you. “What else—oh! High school state football champs, back to back to back. Go bears!”
You stared at him incredulously. You never met Steve Rogers, but you wished you had that Captain America rather than this one in front of you right now. You were sure Steve was infinitely more tolerable than Walker.
Yelena rolled her eyes. “Oh, wow. When I was five, I was in a peewee soccer team named the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Shane’s Tyre Shop. We won zero games, and one time one of my teammates did a poo midfield! Anyone else have any pointless stories to share?”
Exasperated, Ava pointed to herself. “Grew up in a lab prison.”
Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Meth-addicted sign twirling chicken. Was a… summer job.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Had my entire skeleton pulled out of my body once. Took me twelve minutes to die,” you said, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The rest of them turned to you, horrified. “What?”
“... Great,” said Yelena. “Now that we’re all done sharing, here’s the plan…”
It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one on the table. You and Walker take out the first wave of soldiers coming through, wait for Yelena (and Bob) to turn the lights off and back on once the second wave of soldiers came in with night vision goggles, effectively blinding them, all while Ava went out to find an escape vehicle.
Naturally, Walker didn’t wait. He went barreling into the wave of second soldiers, knocking them all down with his shield and picking them off one by one. You hadn’t even bothered to step in, watching him punch through all of them on his own.
“Thanks for the help,” he spat at you once he was done.
“Didn’t want to get in your way,” you snarked in return. “Now come on. Let’s get their gear on and head out.”
Eventually, Yelena and Bob came back, the former angry that the two of you hadn’t waited for her. John was quick to defend themself, but you merely tossed Yelena and Bob their own sets of tactical wear.
“No time to argue. We can’t keep Ava waiting.”
Walker sneered. “If she’s even waiting for us at all.”
Once everyone was changed, the four of you walked out, dragging Bob as if he were a fallen soldier.
“I don’t think I want to be carried anymore,” Bob groaned, arms stiff and aching from where they were grabbing him.
“Shut up, Bob. You’re injured, remember?” Walker gruffed, which made Bob fall silent.
“Just a little further. Ava should be here somewhere,” came your gritted mutter.
“We don’t know where she is. She could be halfway to Mexico for all we know,” Walker retaliated. Behind your visor, you rolled your eyes.
And then, from the corner of your vision, you spotted Valentina. Pristine as always, sipping a warm cup of coffee. Envy and white hot rage scratched within your chest, but you swallowed down your anger. It took everything you had in you not to storm right up to her, chug down her coffee, and punch a hole straight through her pearly whites. You had a cover to keep up, after all.
Finally, after a few minutes of dragging Bob, a truck pulled up to the four of you. Ava materialized in the driver’s seat. “Get in,” she said.
You smiled. A small part of you really did think she was going to abandon you. You were glad she came back.
Yelena and John clambered into the front while you and Bob sat in the back of the tactical vehicle, where there was nothing inside but two wooden benches for seats. “Will you be okay back there?” Ava asked, and the two of you sent her tired thumbs-ups.
Both you and Bob swayed back and forth as the truck began to purr to life and rumble ahead. “I wonder what they’ll think once they see all my bodies down there. Can’t be a pretty sight,” you whispered.
Bob gave you a sympathetic grimace. “Do you still feel them? After they…?” He motioned vaguely with his hands.
“After they die?” you finished, sucking on the back of your teeth in thought. “I don’t feel them, no. I feel the pain right before they die, though.”
Bob slumped into the truck’s wall across from you. “Sorry,” he said, to which you just shook your head.
“So…” You started, eager to change the subject. “What did Yelena say to you back in the incinerator after your little argument with Walker? You seemed a bit… downcast.”
Bob squinted in thought, trying to jog his memory. “Oh… that. Well, I told her that sometimes I have… really high highs… and then really low lows… and it’s hard to remember things in the middle.”
“Must be a really low low right now, hm?” you said, a laugh lacing your words.
“Hah… yeah. No, I mean… right now I’m fine, I think. Compared to other times, now is… much better.”
“Yikes,” you said, now only half-laughing. “Glad you’re having a relatively good day, then.”
Bob laughed along with you, awkward as ever, then cleared his throat. “Ahem. And then I, uh, to Yelena I said there’s this… darkness… inside me. Never-ending. Like, uhm, I called it a void. Anyways, she said she felt the same way, so I asked her how she dealt with it.”
You motioned for him to keep going, leaning forward. “And?”
“She—she just said she pushes it down. Deep, deep down. Heh. I mean, i-it makes sense, I guess,” Bob said, stumbling over his words a little. “Like, what else is there to do, even?”
Judging from the way your brows knitted together, Bob came to the conclusion that you didn’t seem to think it made much sense. The thought crossed his mind that you looked rather endearing the way your nose wrinkled in thought. You would be a terrible poker player—the cards were written all across your face. Bob liked how easy it was to read you. It made him feel safer to be around you. But these thoughts were quick to wash away when he remembered that you were just—another bump in the road. You would pass, and everything would go back to being… nothing. A void.
“It makes sense for an ex-red room assassin,” you told him, not unkindly, roping him out of his drifting thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you should take the same advice, seeing as you’re not an assassin. Right?”
Bob itched at his wrist. “Right.”
The truck slowed to a grueling halt when a few soldiers stopped the group. Walker, to no one’s surprise and everybody’s dismay, insisted on being the one to talk. They asked for identification and a reason for leaving the base, since the medbay was northside, and they were currently heading southward. Walker tried to bluff his way through, but it was clear that the soldiers were not buying his story.
Bob’s expression twisted as if he had swallowed something sour.
“I’m sorry for this,” he said.
“What?” you asked, watching in confusion as he softly took your hand.
And then, strangely, you were no longer in the truck.
You were in a hospital. The air smelled distinctly of sterilizing chemicals with the sharp twinge of copper—blood. There was a belt in your mouth. Screaming muffled around the stale leather as they hacked away at your leg. Your copy stood off to the side, also bound, but whole. There were tears streaking down both of your faces. You looked younger then—your hair was longer, your face rounder. The years had weathered you.
“Again,” said one of the surgeons. Your younger, whole self trembled, then split into another copy. It took longer back then. An entire minute of straining yourself just for one duplicate. Now, you could make hundreds of yourself in an instant if you wanted. Nurses came in and took the other copy away. Off for more screenings, more tests, more surgeries, more experiments. That’s what you were to them—an experiment.
“Please stop,” you croaked. You weren’t sure whether that came from the younger you or just—you. “Please… I don’t want to die again.”
“Oh, sweetie,” said the surgeon, coming around the dissecting table to push sweaty strands of hair away from your head. “You’re not actually dying, though. Not really. None of these—xeroxes of you are actually you.”
You broke down into silent, heaving sobs when he returned to the other you, and began hacking away more parts of you. “For science,” they’d always told you.
Present-you turned, desperate to leave. Only, you were met with… Bob?
You searched his face, completely dumbfounded. “Palindrome?” you whispered.
“That’s where Xerox comes from?” he asked, clearly perturbed by the scene he was watching. You didn’t spare him a response.
His lips pursed and he reached out to take your hand again. In this strange, hazy world that you knew not to be real, his touch was cold. You rather liked how it felt against the warmth of your own palms, sticky with blood. Was that yours or one of your copies? You couldn’t remember. Was there any difference at all?
You held onto him tighter, shutting your eyes. Bob’s free hand raised to cradle the back of your head, shielding you from your own memories.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he murmured. “I’ll fix it. Leave it to me.”
Then, he pulled away from you despite your protests, and the nightmare realm seemed to spin and spin and spin, caving in on itself—
By the time you came to, Ava was shaking your shoulders and calling your name, as you were passed out on the floor of the truck. You glanced around with glassy eyes, confirming what you already knew to be true.
Synopsis: After a mission filled with close calls and bad decisions, the team comes home to find an even bigger threat waiting at the door—your wrath.
Warning(s): THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!! platonic!thunderbolts x reader. no use of y/n. use of the nicknames doll, honey, and pretty girl. canon typical violence. descriptions of injuries. descriptions of explosion, gun use, etc. established relationship. profanities. kissing. VERY suggestive content (minors be advised). talks of having a baby. bucky being a little feral (very briefly). slightly hurt/comfort. basically bucky and reader being the parents of the group.
Word Count: 3.6k-ish
Author's Note: GUYS I saw this fanart on instagram and instantly knew that I had to write something inspired by it!!! I've been itching to post a thunderbolts fic since last week 😭 welcome back 2012-2014 era of avengers' tower fanfics ✨️ anyway I hope they're keeping the revolution hair for bucky in doomsday or else I swear I'm gonna RIOT!!! (I know seb's head is shaved rn but wigs exist yk 😔) don't forget to comment, like, and reblog loveliesss 🩷
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Bucky Barnes doesn't understand a lot of things since he returned to society.
Cryptocurrency is one of them. Social media is another. Anything that involves more acronyms than actual words is an immediate no on his list.
Above all else, Bucky Barnes struggles to comprehend how exactly he became responsible for the group of walking disasters now hailed as earth's newest, mightiest heroes.
Looking at the pack of hellions in front of him, Bucky has serious doubts about that title.
Right in the middle of the tower's lobby, the Thunderbolts—the New Avengers now, apparently—are scattered like barbie dolls in the aftermath of a toddler's tantrum. John is standing against a column with a tight jaw, his left leg lifted gingerly, wrapped in a makeshift splint that looks suspiciously like someone's utility belt. Beside him, Yelena sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her as she cradles a bruised shoulder with an equally bruised hand. Alexei leans atop the front desk with a dried blood streaking down his temple, the young receptionist gone in fright the moment the team walked through the tower's entrance. Even Ava, usually one to disappear before debriefs, is visible for once, propped against the wall with her suit half-glitched and her expression blank.
Everyone is accounted for. Everyone is breathing.
But they all look like they rolled down a hill of bad choices where they banged their heads at every rock.
The mission was supposed to be a quiet recon, a simple surveillance on a rumored underground tech sale in an abandoned shipyard, low risk with minimal engagement. But then someone—Bucky still doesn’t know who—decided that they could handle it.
No heads-up. No plan.
Just four impulsive thrill-seekers interrupting a high-stakes black market deal involving high-tech plasma rifles and an offended buyer with too many goons.
By the time Bucky caught wind of what was happening, it was already chaos. He had to go in solo, extract the squad under heavy fire, disrupt the shipment, and reroute an entire response team of hostiles to avoid further catastrophe. They got out—just barely—and none of them seemed particularly eager to look him in the eye about it, especially after the thirty-minute tirade he launched into somewhere between fourth gear and a traffic jam.
From his place in front of the elevator, Bucky crosses his arms. “If any of you pull something like that again, you're all getting benched. Indefinitely.”
“What?!” Alexei roars.
Yelena scowls. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You don't get to make that call, Bucky,” John protests.
Ava nods. “We're not children. You can't just ground us whenever you feel like it.”
“Sort of?” Bucky screeches, his tone rising. “Walker nearly lost a leg!”
“It's just a sprain,” John clarifies. “Probably.”
“See? It's just a sprain!” Yelena repeats a little too cheerfully. “He'll be good as new in no time. Right, John?”
John nods, failing to conceal his wince when Yelena bumps her unharmed shoulder to his.
Bucky rubs his temples. “I can’t believe I’m in charge of you people.”
The elevator dings again at the top floor.
“You know,” Yelena says as the team stumbles out of the metal trapbox, “we technically stopped the deal. You're not giving us credit for that.”
“That’s because you weren't supposed to stop the deal. You were supposed to observe.”
“Back in my day, observe meant punch first, ask questions later,” Alexei quips.
Bucky lets out a scathing scoff that echoes through the air. “Right. Remind me again how many years you spent rotting in that Siberian prison, Alexei?”
“Well, that's not very nice,” John mutters.
“You know what else isn't nice, Walker?” Bucky growls. “Getting your asses lit up by dozens of machine guns because none of you seem to grasp the basic concept of following orders.”
The group swelters in a momentary silence.
“I mean, in our defense,” says Ava, “none of us actually got shot.”
Before Bucky can tell her off even further, a voice suddenly intercepts, “How fabulous! You guys didn't get shot? Geez, someone really should give you all a medal for that.”
The whole team stops in their tracks.
One by one, everyone turns their head towards the direction from which the voice has come. The view that greets them could probably send a perfectly healthy man straight into an early grave.
On the platform floor a few paces away, they find you standing with arms folded across your chest. Despite the bright lilt of your voice, your eyes are cutting as they assess the entire team with the judgement of a juror who has already decided on a guilty verdict. It's clear from your attire that you were freshly off work before going straight to the tower, and since everyone knows that you were supposed to be on a work trip to Philadelphia for at least another two days, it’s safe to assume that your ticket back was booked right around the time someone shouted “mission compromised!”.
It's a full ten seconds of shared disgrace before Yelena finally breaks the silence.
“You called her?” she hisses, landing an accusatory glare in Bucky’s direction.
“I did not.” Bucky scoffs. “And why does it matter if I did?”
“Bucky didn't call me,” you interject, your posture still rigid, your gaze still icy.
“Then who—no.” Yelena's eyes drift towards the kitchen, squinting as she takes in the figure trying to hide behind the doorway. “Bob.”
Ava snaps her head up. “Bob, you little shi—”
“That’s enough,” you jump in, moving sideways to conceal Bob from Ava's murderous line of sight. “He's got nothing to do with this. This is about you—all of you—and what a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing you just did.”
Under your scrutiny, the whole squad shifts like a pack of raccoons caught rummaging through the kitchen trash. The weight of your stare seems to age them all by a decade.
“I'm gonna give all of you two minutes to explain yourselves,” you declare, the authority in your tone indisputable. “And I already know what happened, so don't even think about trying to trick me.”
There is a lull in the air where everyone seemingly tries to process your demand.
When their mouths open again, what follows is not so much an explanation as it is a verbal dogpile. Everyone starts talking all at once—too loud, too fast, and entirely contradictory. John tries to lead with the logistics, only to be steamrolled by Alexei shouting something about creative liberty. Ava attempts to downplay the situation with a jovial “it was barely an explosion!” while Yelena throws her under the bus with a hasty “she started it!”.
Bucky—standing to the side with the posture of a man watching his funeral getting turned into a Dollar Store circus—doesn’t even bother stepping in. He knows better.
You hold up a single finger and the room quiets instantly, like someone pressing mute on a trashy sitcom argument. The stillness that follows is so heavy, even the lights begin to flicker in anticipation.
“But we got out fine!” Ava sputters, desperate to fill in the quietness, though her voice immediately thins when she adds, “Mostly.”
“Yeah! I mean, it's just a bruise here, a bruise there—everything's great.” Yelena grins.
Your sharp stare slides towards John, the lines between your eyebrows tightening as you take in the awkward angle of his injured leg. John nearly cowers under your piercing gaze.
“How bad is the damage?” you question, your voice booming throughout the surrounding space.
“What, this? Oh, it's not that bad. Probably just need to ice it then I'll be good as new—”
“Walker.”
It's hardly a secret that John is perhaps your least favorite person in that room, with you still clearly holding a grudge towards him for what happened with the Flag Smashers. The man is used to your constant cold shoulder by now. He expects it, even. More often than not, John finds himself wondering if you would ever warm up to him the way you have with the rest of the team.
And yet, as he now stands at the end of your long stare, John can't help but think that perhaps your silent treatment isn't really that bad. Especially if it means he doesn't have to be on the receiving end of the critical scrutiny you're currently aiming towards him.
The blond gulps.
“There's a forty percent chance it might be broken,” John admits. “But it's likely just dislocated. No big deal.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Get to the medbay and tell them to run a scan,” you command. “Alexei, go with him.”
“That's not necessa—”
The sharp glare you're sending him causes John's words to lodge in his throat.
Alexei springs right into action, steering John away from your ferocious perusal and back towards the elevator.
“C'mon, big guy,” Alexei bellows. “Let's go pay a visit to our doctor friends.”
As soon as the two men disappear into the elevator, your glower shifts towards the remaining two people standing behind Bucky. Yelena pretends to check her nails while Ava's eyes are roaming the ceiling with faux nonchalance, both a pathetic attempt to avoid the clear daggers in your stare. The ridiculousness would've made you chortle were you not livid beyond salvation right now.
“I want you two to go back to your rooms, clean yourselves up, and be back here in no more than thirty minutes,” you proclaim. “We'll continue our discussion after dinner.”
“Wait, hold on—”
“That's not—”
“Just go, you two,” Bucky interrupts, the blue in his eyes colder than the Arctic ocean. “That wasn't a request.”
The two figures slump in defeat, teetering towards the staircase with the speed of a turtle in a morning rush hour. You hear Yelena grumbling something in Russian under her breath, and you force yourself not to think about what the phrase might mean lest you want your skin to crawl in an even higher degree of vexation.
“Good gracious.” Bucky shakes his head.
Behind you, Bob emerges out of the kitchen, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly as he approaches you like a wounded kitten.
“They're mad at me, aren't they?” Bob murmurs. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys fight with each other.”
“It's not your fault, sweetie,” you assure him, extending your hand and offering a comforting squeeze around his palm. “They're just being idiots right now. You did good, okay? Give it a few hours and I promise you, they'll forget about this already.”
Bob nods solemnly, his voice quiet as he excuses himself and trudges towards the common area. You release a breath as you observe him diving head first onto the sofa, burying his face in the cushion like a Victorian widow fainting onto her chaise.
Turning around, your eyes lock with another pair in blue. The smile on Bucky's face grows as he takes you in, his arms opening with all the intention to collect you in his embrace.
“Hey, doll. I've missed—”
“No. Stay right there.” You raise your palm, taking a step back. “I'm mad at you, too.”
Bucky blinks.
He watches you turn around and walk away from him, his arms coming down limp by his sides before he scutters after your retreating form. Bucky lingers in the doorway as you move about the kitchen, taking out pots, knives, and pans while slamming the cabinet doors shut in the process. You don't even spare him a glance as you start retrieving fresh ingredients from the fridge.
“Honey?” he calls out, voice meek beneath the echo of your knife slicing through onions on the counter. “C'mon, doll, you're really not gonna talk to me?”
“No.”
The chopping continues.
Bucky rubs his face.
“You know I'm just as disappointed in them as you are, right?” he begins. “Swear to God, doll, I had nothing to do with this. Didn't even know what those rascals were planning ‘till I got the call from Alexei. Told ‘em off as soon as I extracted them outta there.”
“Hm.”
Sighing, Bucky takes a tentative step forward, then another, finally closing the distance when he's sure you wouldn't smack him across the head with the chopping board in your hand. His fingers find purchase around your elbow, halting your movements, the gentleness aching as he spins you around to face him. The knife and half-sliced onion lie dormant on the counter.
“Hey,” Bucky utters, so softly that the air nearly swallows the word whole. “Talk to me?”
You heave in a shaky breath, evading his eyes. “What's there to talk about? I told you I'm pissed.”
“Okay, that part I already got.” Bucky chuckles, brushing the back of his palm on your cheek. “Help me understand why? At least tell me how I can fix it, pretty girl. Hm?”
Your silence quivers at the edges, growing more brittle with each swipe of Bucky’s touch on your skin. The walls around your heart crumble under his infuriating tenderness.
“When Bob called and said the team had gone radio silent, I—” you pause, swallowing hard, “—I thought something terrible happened. I booked the first train out of Philly before I even hung up.”
Bucky stays quiet, watching you with careful eyes.
“I couldn’t reach anyone. Not John, not Yelena, not Ava, not Alexei—not you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got in my head. I pictured the mission going sideways. All of you gone.” You inhale sharply. “I pictured all of you coming home in body bags.”
Bucky's heart breaks at the shudder he feels running through your back. His soul is already mourning over the loss of light he would usually find shining so brightly out of your eyes. It makes him cling to you just a tad bit tighter.
“Bob finally called me again to tell me that you're all fine. That you're on your way back. But that's not the point, Bucky.” You look at him then, your fingers flexing. “The point is, I should've never heard about all of this from Bob in the first place. I should've heard it from you.”
Bucky's shoulders sink. “I didn't want you to worry.”
You shake your head, eyes burning with the threat of unshed tears. “But I do worry, Bucky! That’s the point. I worry every single time. The moment all of you step out of this building, I'm counting down the minutes until you guys return to me again. You can't shield me away from that.”
He steps closer, removing what little bit of distance between the two of you until all of your atoms are nearly merged as one. “You're right. You are. I should’ve called. Should've trusted that you'd want to know, even if it might scare you.”
“It did scare me,” you whisper. “And I didn’t want Bob’s voice telling me everything was okay. I wanted yours.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs, his arms pulling you nearer. “No more leaving you out. I promise it’ll be me from now on. I'll tell you everything, doll. Always.”
A shuddering breath leaves your lungs, and just like that, you completely melt away under Bucky's touch. Your forehead drops against the line between his shoulder and chest, your fingers gripping his sides as though he was the very force keeping you tethered to earth. Meanwhile, Bucky's lips ghost over the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings, the contrasting temperature of his palms appeasing you with random patterns against your back.
“I don't know how this all started,” you confess. “I'm not sure when I began caring this much about those idiots, but I do. The thought of something happening to them—to you—to all of you…”
Bucky's arms tighten around your frame. “I know, honey. I feel the same way.”
“This is not what I had in mind, you know?”
You tilt your head back to stare at his face, your fingers tangling themselves in the soft waves that Bucky has been growing out over the past few weeks. He almost cut them all off several days ago, but after some convincing on your end—which may have included activities that found your fingers buried in the soft tendrils and his face buried somewhere else—you managed to talk him out of it.
Bucky's eyebrows lift. “What do you mean?”
“Well… when you said that you were joining this team, I thought I'd never seen a more dysfunctional group of people in my entire life. I figured it'd be a miracle if all of you last a whole month without someone quitting or accidentally blowing each other up.” You chuckle, your eyes softening. “I didn't think I'd end up pacing the hallway every time you guys went out, worrying like some overworked mother of five.”
Bucky huffs out a laugh, his forehead falling onto your own. “I get it. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined myself stepping into the dad role either, but… here I am.”
“Yeah?” Your lips quirk up. “How did you imagine it then?”
“Well—” Bucky's voice drops, his breath warm where it fans against your skin, “—I figured it’d start with a little house, somewhere quiet. Nothing fancy. Just enough for us to start building a life in. I’d fix the place up real proper. You’d hum to yourself as you whip up one of those famous pies of yours, and I’d pretend not to stare.”
The cheeky grin on Bucky's face grows, prompting a laugh out of your chest. His thumb continues to trace idle circles upon your waist.
“Then, when you feel the time's right, we’d try for a baby. The old-fashioned way. Real slow, real sweet. I’d kiss you like I got all the time in the world, and make love to you like I didn’t.”
Something flutters inside your chest, like stardust stirring in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. The way Bucky is looking at you makes you feel as if you were the first breath of the universe itself.
“That's how I pictured us becoming parents,” Bucky adds, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not… this. Whatever this is.”
You smile at the graze of his beard on your cheek, angling your head to capture him in a brief kiss.
“You know what I think this is, Buck?” you ask, teasing your lips against his own. “I think we should view this as a practice run. After all, how hard can it be to parent our own kid if we can do it to a group of five ridiculous, chaotic misfits, right?”
“Doll.” He sighs. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
“Depends.” You hum, your lips twitching in feigned innocence. “If you think I'm imagining you putting a baby in me… then yeah, you're absolutely right.”
Bucky swallows your cheeky grin with a kiss, grunting against your mouth as he presses you back against the counter. The muffled moans you let out are music to his ears, a lascivious melody that rushes straight towards places he reserves explicitly for you. His hands slip under your blouse, roaming the expanse of skin, drifting lower and lower in search for the one place that could send him straight to heaven and—
“Yelena! Give it back to me!”
“I told you it wasn't me!”
Bucky groans.
The shrill voices resonate all the way down to the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable echoes of footsteps thundering down the staircase. Bucky makes a guttural noise of frustration as his face slumps into the crook of your neck.
“I swear to God, I’m gonna ship them to Asgard one of these days,” he mutters.
You snort, brushing your fingers through his hair and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
“Let's put a raincheck on the baby-making, soldier,” you purr, smirking when it spurs on a rumble from Bucky's chest. “Looks like I've got a fight to break up before we have two dead superheroes on our hands.”
He groans again, this time at the loss of your warmth as you slip out of his arms. From the kitchen's doorway, you raise an eyebrow towards the common area, perching your palms on either side of your hips as you take in the havoc ahead.
“What the hell is going on here?” you snarl.
“She stole my snacks!” accuses Ava.
“I don't even like Jammie Dodgers, you lunatic!”
“What a lot of crap. We all know you'd even eat chicken off the ground given the chance, you pig!”
“Fucking asshole—”
“Hey!” you interrupt, your voice sharp as you march towards the two fuming Avengers. “You call each other any more names, then I promise you, you're gonna wish you got shot on that mission today.”
Bucky watches the whole interaction from the kitchen with his arms crossed and a slow grin spreading across his face. He leans against the counter, studying you with the quiet reverence of a man who has found the meaning of home after decades of searching. Even in the midst of this domestic madness, even with the team’s antics grinding on his last nerve, he wouldn't trade a single thing in his life for anything else.
There are still a lot of things in this world that Bucky struggles to understand.
But with you by his side, and his entire team watching his six, he knows that he's got nothing to worry about.
Summary : Bucky has to recruit the love of his life to save New York from the void. He doesn't know if she wants to ever see him again, though.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers below the cut!!!!!!! Exes to friends to lovers. Fluff, angst, reader is a tracker with enhanced senses. Cursing, Trauma. Implied sex. Alcohol consumption. Death(Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)
Requested by : anon
Word count : 15k whoops
Note : This story touches on the events of Civil War, IW, Endgame, FATWS, BP Wakanda Forever, and Thunderbolts*! I used google translate for the Xhosa, so please let me know if it needs to be corrected. If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!
You were a tracker.
Your body was a weapon, biologically improved by enhanced senses. You could smell a carcass from ten miles away. You could hear a pin drop on the other side of town. Your eyes could track body heat through a crowd of thousands— and it meant you were a hunter in a world full of invisible prey. Some people hunted with tools. You were the tool.
So, of course Steve Rogers found you when he needed to find a ghost. Steve found you when the world turned on James Buchanan Barnes.
After the UN bombing in Vienna, when Bucky was framed and every intelligence agency on Earth wanted him in chains or dead, Steve came to you— he heard of you through old SHIELD files— with desperation and a duffel bag full of cash.
“I need you to find him,” he said. “Before they do.”
You didn’t even hesitate before taking the job. Because even then, before you met Bucky you believed Steve. And more than that, you believed in redemption.
You tracked Bucky down with your senses—following the scent of gunpowder and cold metal, the subtle trail of heat left in his wake, the ragged sound of breath through the cities of Bucharest.
You found him before the world did and pointed Steve and Sam in the right direction.
—
By the time the Avengers disbanded, you were a fugitive—hunted by that least half of the world’s government. Helping Steve Rogers had branded you a traitor in their eyes, but you didn’t regret it. Not then. Not now.
When T’Challa offered sanctuary to Bucky, he extended the same offer to you. Wakanda didn’t just take you in; it gave you purpose. In exchange for refuge, you worked for the royal family— tracking those who dared to steal vibranium from the borders and ensuring justice found them before they slipped through the cracks.
Your home was a modest apartment tucked into the east wing of the palace. It was secluded, perfect for someone like you.
—
When Bucky finally woke from the ice and the trigger words were gone, he didn’t know who to trust. The world had changed too much. He had changed too much.
He trusted Queen Ramonda, who always made sure there was room for both of you at the palace table. He trusted Shuri and the Dora Milaje, because they helped him heal his mind. He trusted both you and T’challa, simply because… Steve trusted you.
He didn’t expect to fall for you, though.
—
At first, Bucky barely spoke. He moved like a shadow through the palace when he even left his little hut at all.
He was healing, but not whole. Not yet. The arm was gone—torn from him in Siberia, left behind with the rest of Hydra’s wreckage.
Bucky hadn’t gotten his new arm yet. Shuri insisted they take their time, that his body and mind needed rest before they complicated him with upgrades. It was the right call. But it left him vulnerable in ways he hated.
For a man who’d lost so much already, it felt like one more cruel subtraction. You noticed how he avoided using his left side. How he winced at imbalance. How he hated needing help.
You didn’t pity him. You just made space for him to breathe. You shared meals together in the palace garden, never pushing for a conversation he wasn’t ready for.
Sometimes, you’d sit and sharpen your blades while he watched the sky. Other days, you’d bring him small things—a worn paperback with dog-eared pages, a piece of fruit from an outreach mission, or a knife he could train with using only one hand.
“You're not trying to fix me,” he said once, more surprised than grateful.
You shrugged. “You’re not broken.”
You started getting really close because of jars. Peanut butter, mostly. Occasionally pickles. Once, a stubborn jar of papaya jam.
You noticed how he hesitated at cabinets, how he didn’t ask for help even when he clearly needed it— especially because he didn’t know how to use just one hand.
If he needed a jar opened, you’d walk by, say nothing, and twist the lid off. Then you’d leave it on the counter and move on. No questions. No pity.
Over time, it turned into more than jars.
He started joining you on your patrols—not in an official capacity, just to walk, perhaps to feel the beauty of the world again without being chased. You’d track down potential threats to Wakandan borders—smugglers, black market mercs—and Bucky would wait for you to get back before having his meal.
He eventually told you about Bucharest in fragments. About Hydra in pieces. In return, you told him about the experiment. Not all of it—just enough for him to understand that you, too, had been shaped into something you didn’t ask to be.
Days passed like water through your fingers.
You trained with him in the early mornings — barefoot in the dirt, palms open, bodies moving like you were learning each other through motion. You’d fight, laugh, fall, rise again.
At night, you sat together under the stars, sharing stories in fragments — half-finished memories neither of you were strong enough to say out loud in full. You learned he liked fruit, that he slept on his side, that he sometimes talked in Russian in his dreams and didn’t realise it.
One night, you asked, “Do you remember who you were, before all of it?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I think… I remember who I loved. My sister. Steve. The Howling Commandos. But who I was a long time ago? He’s long gone.”
“He’s not,” you whispered. “You’re him. Just… in pieces.”
He looked at you like you were a miracle.
And one of those days, you fell in love with him.
You didn’t fall in love all at once. It happened slowly, quietly—like stepping into warm water without realising how deep it’s gotten until you’re already submerged.
You tried not to make too much of it. Tried to keep it buried. But your heart had a mind of its own.
So one afternoon, you found yourself pacing in the royal garden while Nakia and Okoye pruned herbs, and blurted it out before you could stop yourself.
“I think I’m in trouble.”
Okoye raised an eyebrow, “Did you get injured?”
“No,” you said, “but I—“
Nakia interrupted you, a knowing smile curling at the edges of her mouth. “Is this the kind of trouble with blue eyes and long hair?”
“Well, yes, I—“ You groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “—I think I like him.”
Okoye tutted, not unkindly. “You think? I’ve seen the way you look at him like he’s a sunrise after a long night.”
Nakia laughed.
“I’m serious!” you said, trying to sound firm and absolutely failing. “He looks at me like I’m not broken.”
“What is wrong with that?” Okoye asked.
“Because I might believe him.”
Nakia finally stopped laughing. Her voice softened. “Sounds like someone sees you the way you’ve always deserved to be seen.”
You didn’t answer her.
—
Meanwhile, Bucky sat on a sun-warmed bench beside T’Challa, overlooking the city below. After a long silence, Bucky confessed, “I think I’m in trouble.”
T’Challa turned to look at him and raised a brow. “The kind with bullets or feelings?”
“Feelings,” Bucky muttered under his breath.
“Ah. More dangerous,” T’Challa smiled slightly. “The tracker?”
Bucky blinked. “How the hell does everyone know?”
“You are not subtle, my friend,” T’Challa said, patting him on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled cynically, “Well…”
There was another pause, and then T’Challa spoke softly, “When I was hung up on Nakia, my baba used to tell me Uthando aluyomdlalo; ngumlambo ongenamkhawulo.”
Bucky stared at him for a while, translating in his head. Love is not a game. It is a river with no end.
“You cannot control where it takes you,” T’challa explained, “Only whether you choose to step in.”
Bucky sighed. “I think I already have.”
—
Later, by the lake, the air was still. The moonlight danced on the surface of the water, casting silver over the little hut Bucky called home.
You stood at his door, hands in clenched fists at your sides, heart racing in a way you hadn’t felt since you first got your powers. You knocked, and it was softer than intended— like a question more than a demand.
He opened the door like he’d been expecting you. You didn’t wait. You didn’t explain. You just looked at him and said, “I think I’m in trouble.”
He stepped aside without a word and let you in without a word. “Me too,” he whispered.
Inside the hut, the world seemed a bit quieter.
Bucky stood a few steps away, uncertain. You didn’t move at first. Neither did he.
Then he reached out, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His fingers brushed yours. You curled into his touch without thinking. “I— I think,” you choked out the words. “Fuck— I don’t know how to say it or where to begin…”
“Shhh, I know,” he whispered reassuringly, “because I do, too.”
You nodded, throat tight. “I know.”
You had known for a while now. Your senses allowed you to smell the oxytocin in the air when he was around you, to hear his heartbeat quicken when you spent time together,
He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. He just stepped closer, forehead resting against yours like it was the only place he belonged. Your fingers traced the curve of his jaw, then slid to the scar marring his shoulder—a mark where his Hydra arm used to bed.
“I’m scared,” he confessed, voice low.
“Me too,” you whispered, your lips trembling.
But then you leaned in, and kissed him.
At first, it was tentative—testing. Then, almost immediately, it turned urgent, like you needed to carve this moment into memory, like you were oxygen to him.
He kissed you back with desperation, like he was terrified you might vanish if he let go. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left, no more hiding. When you finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed, fingers still clinging to each other like anchors, you said it again, softer this time. “I know.”
“Yeah,” he smiled, “I know.”
The next few months unfolded in pieces.
You were his lover, though neither of you used the word much. Labels felt too fragile, too small for what you were building. You sparred in the mornings, slept tangled together some nights. Sometimes you held him through dreams he didn’t remember. Sometimes he held you through memories you couldn’t say out loud.
Neither of you said “I love you.”
You didn’t need to. You showed it in the broken ways people like you do. He cleaned your knives after missions. You kissed the scars on his body without asking where they came from. But in each other, you found peace.
But you did, though you didn’t say it until a year later, When Thanos’ army broke through Wakanda’s barriers.
You stood on the battlefield, shoulder to shoulder with the Dora Milaje. He was beside you, new arm gleaming.
You both knew you might die here.
So just before the charge Bucky turned to you and reached for your hand, calloused fingers threading with yours.
“I love you,” he said.
You looked at him, heart pounding. And in that final moment—when the world outside this little bubble burned and the force field opened—you said it back. “I love you too.”
And then you let go and ran into the fire together.
—
The battle was chaos.
Together, you carved a path through the madness, never far from each other’s side. Each glance was a tether. But when Thanos snapped—
You felt it first. A strange pull in your chest. Like gravity forgot you.
Bucky turned just in time to see you stumble.
“Doll?” He breathed out, voice catching in his throat.
You looked down at your hand— and your fingers were dissolving.
“Hey…” you said softly, like you didn’t want to scare him.
And then— you were gone, carried by the wind.
Bucky’s knees gave out next.
His vision blurred as your hands started to vanish. The world felt far away as he turned to Steve next and said his best friend’s name.
There was no time to be afraid. He just had one last thought— I’m coming with you.
And then— nothing.
—
Five Years Later.
You came back gasping.
One moment there was nothing—and the next, the battlefield roared around you again. Portals opened. War cried out for soldiers. You ran through it, only searching for one person. You searched the air for his scent, tracked body heat through the crowds looking for Bucky.
When you found him, he grabbed you and pulled you into his arms, and held you so tightly it hurt. But you didn’t care. You buried your face in his shoulder and let yourself feel everything all at once.
You fought side by side again that day, but even after Thanos was defeated, even after the dust finally settled, the weight on Bucky's shoulders hadn’t lifted.
That night, you and him laid down on a half-collapsed med tent. You were bruised, your leg cut, his knuckles torn open—but you both refused to be separated.
“Bucky,” you said gently as you took his shaking hands. “I’m here.”
He didn’t answer, he just stared blankly at you like you might disappear again.
“Talk to me,” you whispered.
And then— he broke.
His hands grabbed your face and kissed you like he had to prove you were real. Like if he didn’t, the universe might take you away again. His breath was uneven, voice hoarse as he finally spoke, “You turned to dust in front of me.”
You pulled him in, forehead to forehead, hearts thundering between bruised ribs. “We came back.”
“I watched it happen,” he choked. “You looked right at me—and then you were just gone. I—“
“I came back,” you repeated, firmer now. “I am here.”
He didn’t ask. He didn’t explain. He just pushed his forehead into your collarbone and let his walls fall.
And in that surrender, you undressed in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything at all.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. His hands shook against your bare skin, yours ached. You kissed the scar at his shoulder where metal met flesh, and he kissed the bruise on your cheekbones as if he could heal it.
And when you moved together, it was achingly intimate— two ghosts trying to remember how to be alive.
After, he stayed wrapped around you, hand on your stomach, breath finally steady. You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his temple.
—
You soon learned that you were different people to who you were five years ago.
You were still yourself—but edged. The senses they’d carved into you had only grown keener in the dust. You could smell grief in the air. Taste the metallic echo of time. You threw yourself into your work because it was the only way you could process anything. You have given more time to your job and less to everyone else in your life because it was the only way to block your demons out.
And Bucky—God, Bucky.
Maybe it was watching you vanish into nothing. Maybe it was watching Steve choose a life he didn’t get to have. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it left him wound tight, walking through the world like it might crumble beneath his feet at any second. He became suffocatingly protective.
Now, he was always checking exits. Watching windows. Reading strangers’ faces. Looking for ghosts with Hydra insignias or familiar flags. Always ready to run.
You soon realised that while you both have survived death, surviving life was harder.
Some nights, he woke drenched in sweat, eyes wide and terrified. Sometimes he dragged you with him—out of bed, into the hall, whispering about danger that wasn’t there. About people who might take you from him again. You held him anyway.
You wrapped your arms around his trembling body.. You whispered to him that he was safe, that you were real. And some nights, he even believed you.
And on the quietest nights, when your pulse thudded steady beneath his hand, you’d say the only promise that mattered, “If we vanish again—we vanish together.”
He would nod against your chest and weep.
And while your words helped him in the moment, things only got worse.
He was still obsessed with not losing you again.
He watched you like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff. Always scanning, always planning, always afraid. He checked your comms before you left on a mission. He memorised your schedule like a battle plan. He begged for access to your Kimoyo beads so he could track your movements like a tactician studying the terrain.
It wasn’t protective anymore. It was paranoia.
He wouldn’t sleep if you were out past dark. Would sit by the window, waiting for footsteps or the sound of your key in the lock.
You tried to reason with him—gently, at first. You reminded him who you were, what you could do.
None of it mattered.
To Bucky, you were breakable simply because you were his.
When he got pardoned, the first thing he said was, “Come with me. Brooklyn. I have to… make amends.”
“Bucky, the Wakandan royal family is extending my contract,” You sighed, kissing the crease between his eyebrows. “They trust me. I’m not leaving that behind.”
He didn’t argue. Not really. He just clenched his teeth and nodded. But you could feel the storm brewing, so you compromised. You would spend three months in Brooklyn with him, then three in Wakanda for work. A split life.
But even in that compromise, the obsession bled through. Every time you left, he’d call. Text. Ping your locator chip on your kimoyo beads. Just checking, he’d say. Just making sure you’re okay.
It stopped feeling sweet. It started to feel like surveillance.
Sometimes you’d be halfway through a mission—deep in a jungle or in the middle of a compromised crowds—and his name would light up your screen five, six, ten times. His worry grew into desperation.
You knew he didn’t mean to be cruel. But it didn’t make it easier.
And then one day— it was too much.
You’d just gotten back from a run along the Wakandan border. You were bruised but fine as you walked into your apartment and found your phone flashing with fourteen missed calls and a message that said, “If you don’t answer in five minutes, I’m calling Shuri. I’ll track your signal myself if I have to.”
When you called him, he picked up instantly. “Are you okay? I thought—God, I thought something happened—”
“Bucky,” you snapped. “Stop.”
You were pacing now, your heart hammering harder than it had in the field. “You have got to stop doing this. I am not going to disappear every time I step outside!”
“I just—” he started, but his voice cracked. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t—”
“I’m not yours to lose,” you said, quieter this time.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” you said, softer now. “But this—this isn’t love. This is fear in disguise. You’re watching me like I’m one wrong step away from disappearing, and it’s like you’re still stuck in that moment five years ago.”
“I am,” he said, unbearably honest. “You turned to dust. We can't just pretend that's not real.”
“We turned to dust, Bucky,” you corrected, your voice shaking now. “And we came back. We both did.”
There was a long pause. He just exhaled like the air had been punched from his lungs.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said again, but this time, it sounded like a prayer.
You wiped a tear from your cheek and whispered, “Then let me live.”
That night, he promised he’d do better.
He swore he would be on time to his therapy sessions. That he’d let you breathe. That he’d learn how to love you without gripping so tight it left bruises.
And for a while, he did.
But healing isn't linear, and Bucky Barnes fell back into the spiral like it was a black hole.
Two months later, the calls started again. The check-ins. You’d wake to a dozen voicemails. You’d tell him your mission schedule, but he’d still show up unannounced in Wakanda under some flimsy excuse, saying he just needed to see you, to make sure.
Then the court notices started coming. Missed sessions. Warnings from the state department. Red letters in bold ink.
He wasn’t going to therapy anymore. He was tracking you instead.
When you returned from your latest mission along the southern border, there he was— waiting in your apartment in Wakanda, hands shaking.
“Bucky?” you asked, dropping your gear. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just stepped toward you, breathing hard like he’d run the whole way from Brooklyn.
“I tried calling,” he said. “You didn’t answer. You were late reporting in. You weren’t supposed to be gone that long—”
“I was on a stealth mission, James!” you shouted, incredulous. “Do you hear yourself?”
He winced when you used his first name. “I thought you were in trouble.”
“You thought I was in trouble so you hopped a plane, skipped two international borders, and missed court-mandated therapy to come stalk me?!”
“I wasn’t stalking—” he started, but you cut him off, voice shaking.
“Bucky, go to fucking therapy! You are missing mandated sessions to follow me around like I’m going to vanish into smoke again. You’re not okay.”
His eyes flashed with tears building up in the corners. “I’m not okay because the one person who makes me feel safe disappears for weeks at a time without warning!”
“What kind of pressure is that? I am not your fucking safety net!” you finally screamed, though you did not mean to. “I am your girlfriend, not your property.”
He flinched.
“You don’t trust me,” you said, your voice cracking at the seams. “You trust your fear more than me. You trust your obsession more than you trust my skills, my choices, my life.”
“I do trust you—”
“No, you don’t!” you snapped. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be in therapy. Not sitting on my damn bed, panicking because I missed a check-in by three hours.”
He looked down. “I just wanted to make sure—”
“I know,” you said softly, bitterly. “I know. And I love you. God, I love you.”
Your voice cracked again, but your words were firm. “But this isn’t love anymore, Bucky. This is control. This is not good for you. Being here? With me? It's hurting both of us.”
Finally, Bucky nodded. Just once.
“Do you think we’ll ever be okay again?” he asked, voice barely audible.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and sat next to him, squeezing his human hand. You didn’t want to do this like this. But the moment you looked at him you knew you couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine and dandy.
You took a breath.
“This…” you started gently, like saying it softer might hurt less. “This isn’t working.”
He blinked. “What?”
“This,” you said, motioning between you with a shaking hand. “Us. The way it is right now. It’s not working.”
He jerked his hand back, standing up in shock like you’d slapped him. “Wait—what the hell are you saying?”
“I’m saying you left Brooklyn without clearance. Again. You broke parole—again. You’ve got people looking for you.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he snapped, eyes dark. “You weren’t answering. You were off the grid. What was I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait?”
“Yes,” was all you said. You didn’t need to remind him that he needed to trust you. That he needed to trust your skills.
His voice was shaking now. “What happened to ‘if we vanish again, we vanish together’?”
You closed your eyes at the words. You’d meant it.
But promises can rot when fed with obsession.
Your voice cracked. “I said that when you could breathe without having to know where I was every second of every day, Bucky.”
He looked down, jaw, hands balled into fists. “I can’t lose you again.”
“And I can’t live like this,” you said, voice strained as you wiped your tears away. “I’m not your leash, and I’m not your cure. You can’t chain yourself to me because you don’t know how to be with yourself.”
His eyes filled with watery tears, and he didn’t speak.
So you did.
“Please,” you said, “leave by morning. Go home. Check in with Dr. Raynor when you land. If you don’t, they’ll arrest you.”
He opened his mouth, but you shook your head. You couldn’t do another round of argument.
“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t make this harder.”
He took a breath, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon just to make it this far. “So that’s it?”
You didn’t answer.
Just stepped up and pressed your hand gently against his chest—where his heart still beat too fast and your enhanced hearing was picking it up too well—and whispered, “Goodbye, Bucky.”
He turned without another word, because anything he said might break you both.
And when the door shut behind him, the silence that followed felt like a funeral.
—
Bucky didn't know where to go, so he wandered and wandered until he sat down on the palace steps, hands shaking, heart swirling like a thunderstorm in his chest.
He didn’t notice T’Challa approach until the king sat beside him, arms resting on his knees.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. “She told you to leave,” T’Challa said simply. Not unkind, but not sparing.
Bucky’s teeth clenched. “Yeah.”
“She’s right, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear that right now.”
“I know,” T’Challa said. “But I am saying it anyway, my friend.”
Bucky said nothing, fists digging into the vibranium infused staircase step beneath him. T’Challa went on, “You love her. I know. She loves you too. But love twisted by fear is dangerous. You were not protecting her. You were holding her hostage in your panic.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” T’Challa interrupted gently. “And she forgave you for longer than most would. But she cannot carry both her past and yours. You nearly became what you once fought against: control.”
Bucky turned his head away, chest tight. “I didn’t mean to. I just— I couldn’t lose her again.”
“It’s not just you,” T’Challa said softly, “she… she needs space. She’s throwing herself into work, and perhaps that’s how she copes, but she’s becoming… distant. From you. From all of us.”
Bucky’s breath hitched.
“You know I know what it feels like firsthand to come back from being turned to dust.” T’Challa said, “and when we came back, we all changed. I believe you might need time away from each other to first understand how you both have changed.”
Bucky finally looked at him, eyes rimmed with red. “So what, I just pretend none of this happened?”
“No,” T’Challa said. “You leave. You go to therapy. And you become someone who deserves a second chance—not from her. From yourself.”
Then T’Challa stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes. He looked down at the man once known as the Winter Soldier— now just a man.
“I will have a jet ready within the hour,” he said. “You will not say goodbye. That would only cause more pain.”
Bucky could only nod. Deep down, T’challa was his friend as much as he was yours. He was looking out for him as much as he was looking out for you.
—
Bucky didn’t go straight to the jet in the landing pad.
He walked around first—through the gardens he used to kiss you in, down the quiet stone paths lined with flowering trees. And then, when he couldn’t stall any longer, he found Shuri.
She was in her lab, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of grease on her cheek, working on a new upgrade for the Kimoyo bead system. She didn’t look surprised when she saw him.
He stood just inside the door for a while, fidgeting with the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m leaving,” he said finally, voice hoarse.
Shuri nodded with a sad smile. “I heard.”
He hesitated. “Can you keep tabs on her for me?” He asked. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realised how bad it must’ve sounded. “I’m not asking you to spy on her. I swear.”
That made her pause. She turned to him, brows raised in wary curiosity. “Sounds like you are.”
“I’m not,” he said again, hands up in surrender. “But I need—I just need to know if she’s hurt. That’s all. If she’s injured. If something happens in the field. Not every move, not every detail, just... if she’s okay.”
Shuri’s eyes softened. “She wants you to move on. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Bucky said quickly. “And I won’t reach out. I won’t interfere. But if something serious happens—if she’s in the med bay or worse—I need to know. I can’t breathe not knowing that.”
Shuri crossed her arms. Studied him.
“You still think it’s love, don’t you?” she asked quietly.
He flinched. “I don’t know what it is anymore. But I know that it’s not trust. Not peace. That’s why I’m leaving.”
She held his eyes for a long time. Then she nodded once. “If she’s ever in danger, you’ll hear from me. That’s all I’ll promise.”
He nodded, relieved. “Thank you.”
Shuri stepped closer, pressing a new set of Kimoyo beads into his palm. “These won’t track her. But they will let you receive encrypted pings if I send one. No contact. Just information.”
Bucky curled his fingers around the beads like they were a lifeline.
“I’ll earn my second chance,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Even if it’s just for me.”
Shuri nodded. And with that, she turned back to her work.
Bucky walked out of the lab with the bracelet tucked into his pocket and boarded the jet alone.
Not with closure. But with a choice to begin again.
—
Six Months Later
You hadn’t meant to watch the news. It was just playing in the corner of the lab, the volume low was meant to be background noise.
But there he was.
Bucky, onn screen, his hair shorter now, beard shaved. He was standing next to Sam, both of them looking like they’d just walked through hell and come out victorious.
“Barnes and Wilson led the operation to contain a Flag Smasher attack—”
The footage cut to shaky video: Bucky saving hostages from a burning truck. Sam dropped from above, wings that Shuri gave him expanding in the night sky
You stopped breathing for a second.
Not because he looked good— though he did— but because he looked... different. Lighter. Still sharp around the edges, still Bucky, but not strung so tight he might snap. His shoulders weren’t so hunched. His eyes didn’t carry that haunted glaze you'd come to know too well.
You looked down at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Muscle memory had already opened your messages. The text thread was still there.
You started to type.
Saw you on TV today. You looked—
You paused and backspaced.
Took down some Flag Smashers, huh? Didn’t even trip once. I’m impressed.
Delete.
You looked okay.
No.
You stared at the screen. You wanted to say something small, something kind. Something to let him know you’d seen him, that you still cared.
And then—
“Nope,” Okoye said from behind you.
You jumped, flipping your phone face-down like a teenager caught texting a crush.
Okoye raised an eyebrow, arms crossed in full general-mode. “I know that look. You are thinking about him.”
You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “He looked... better.”
“Good. That is what healing is supposed to look like,” she said, tilting her head. “But do not dishonour that progress by dragging each other back into the fire so soon.”
“I wasn’t going to send it,” you muttered under your breath.
Okoye gave you a really? look.
You smiled sheepishly. “Okay, maybe. But just a little.”
She stepped forward, took your phone, and pocketed. “Let him move on. I will take you on patrol,” she said briskly, already walking toward the hangar. “And after, we have tea. And girl talk.”
“Girl talk?” you chuckled, following.
“Yes. I have opinions on your taste in emotionally volatile men. It is time you heard them.”
You laughed despite yourself.
—
One Year Later.
The palace was quieter now that T’Challa was gone.
And grief didn’t move cleanly through your body like it used to. It crept and lingered and collected behind your eyes, in the back of your throat, in the hollow ache of your chest that wouldn’t quite go away.
You’d expected to feel lost. But not like this.
You stood at the balcony outside your quarters, fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea Ayo had forced into your hands.
You hadn’t slept. Couldn’t eat. Before returning back to your quarters, you stayed with Shuri the entire day today, being present for her and Queen Ramonda.
And then the doorbell chimed.
You opened it to find a small wrapped bundle of flowers on the floor. A delivery slip attached in elegant Wakandan script: With honor and remembrance.
In the bouquet was Snowdrops, winter jasmine, and White hyacinth.
It was a winter bouquet.
Not many people in Wakanda would choose those blooms. Not unless they’d meant something.
It was him. Bucky.
He must’ve contacted his old florist in the city to have it delivered to your wing of the palace.
You sat on the edge of the bed, the flowers still in your hands, too stunned to cry.
And then, before you even realised what you were doing, your phone was in your lap. You opened the message thread with Bucky.
You typed, Shuri said she texted you. Said you could come to the funeral. Why didn’t you?
You stared at it. Then, slowly, you deleted it.
Because what would he even say? That he wanted to give you space? That he didn’t know if you wanted to see him? That he sent flowers because showing up would hurt you more?
Maybe he thought the blooms were enough. But they weren’t.
You needed him— a friend who had known T’Challa like you had. Someone who remembered the man like you did— not just the king.
You wanted Bucky to hold you and reminisce about that time you dared T’challa to arm wrestle him. You wanted to laugh about his horrible jokes during harvest. But all you got were flowers.
And wasn’t this what you asked for?
You had told him to let go. To move on. To live his life. And he had.
You wiped at your eyes with the back of your wrist, too tired to be angry. Too empty to cry. Later, you placed the bouquet beside the small altar in the throne room, next to T’Challa’s photo.
A winter gift for a king.
You whispered, "I miss both of you."
—
You didn’t sleep much the year after that.
You didn’t eat much either. Grief gnawed at your gut like hunger, but nothing ever settled. Not even water. Not even rest.
All you had left was work. You helped Wakanda defend itself from foreign attacks, and when the time came, you helped track Riri Williams for Shuri.
But when Shuri was taken by the Talokan, your sanity was cracked clean in half.
You didn’t feel fear. Or rage. Just focus. Razor-sharp, ice-cold, deadly focus.
You helped Nakia track her— followed her scent through the water, infrared vision scanning jungle heat signatures, nose full of salt and humidity until found her underwater. You got her back.
But then Namor attacked, and Queen Ramonda didn’t make it.
You had to look at one more coffin. One more goodbye to one more person gone who had offered you safety, love, and dignity.
Ramonda had seen both you and Bucky when you came to Wakanda scarred and haunted. She had welcomed you with open arms. And now she was gone too.
At the funeral, you held Shuri up because she was shaking. You held her hand. And when it was over, you took her into your quarters and let her sob into your shoulder for hours
You didn’t cry.
You couldn’t. You had to be strong for her.
That night, your phone buzzed with a message.
Bucky : “You okay?”
That was it.
You stared at it. You read it again. Then again.
Are you okay?
You almost laughed. As if that was a question that could be answered in a text. As if that was something you could possibly explain.
Your queen was dead. Your sister in everything but blood had just buried both her brother and mother within 14 months. The kingdom you had called home for the past decade was under attack. You hadn't slept in four days. Your body was covered in bruises. And Bucky—the man who had once buried his face in your collarbone and sobbed because he couldn’t bear to lose you—sent a text.
A fucking text. Not even a call.
You set your phone down and didn’t respond.
You didn’t throw it. You didn’t curse. You didn’t scream. You just... sat there. Numb.
And that was the first night you drank.
You drank because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and your mind wouldn’t stop screaming and no mission could numb you enough to silence the memory of T’challa’s last words or Ramonda’s last breath or Shuri’s tears soaking through your shirt.
You didn’t stop after one. You wanted to not feel at all. And when the bottle emptied, you drank again. And the next night. And the one after that.
It didn’t fix anything.
—
A Year Later.
You had buried yourself in fieldwork— back to back missions for Wakanda with little to no rest in between. It dulled the ache of grief, but it never fully faded. You were getting better. Still dying inside, but a little slower now.
You took risks that made even Okoye grit their teeth, but you didn’t care. With Shuri as the new Black Panther and the Midnight Angels at your side, it felt like movement was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.
You didn’t care if the assignments were dangerous. Maybe you even preferred it that way.
Shuri was adjusting your new visor in her lab when she glanced up casually. “You know your ex is running for Congress?”
You tilted your head, “What?”
She flicked her fingers and brought up a holographic newsfeed. There he was—James Buchanan Barnes. Neatly combed hair in a dark blue suit, sporting a nervous half-smile. He was shaking hands somewhere in New York, surrounded by cameras.
You stared. “Bucky… in politics? Are we sure that’s not a skrull?”
Shuri laughed, brightening the room. “Positive. He filed last week. His campaign’s all over the place—veteran advocacy, post-Blip recovery programs.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Making amends.”
“He always said he wanted to,” she said gently.
You nodded, silent for a second too long. “He’ll do well.”
Shuri studied your expression. “You think?”
You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes stayed on the image—on Bucky’s restrained expression, the way he looked down like he was afraid to take up space.
“Yeah,” you said. “Have you seen that smile? He could charm a whole room without opening his mouth.”
Shuri laughed again. You found yourself smiling too, even if it hurt to do so.
For a while, she was as self-destructive as you. But now, you didn’t know how Shuri carried her own losses so gracefully, how she held herself together. Maybe it was the suit or the legacy. Or maybe she was just stronger. Your method was simpler: run into danger and don’t care if you make it out. It wasn’t healthy. But it was efficient.
Still, your senses were stronger than ever. You have noticed how Shuri’s heartbeat always picked up when you mention Bucky. You always assumed it was because she was worried about you— about the old wounds reopening.
What you still didn’t know, what she never told you, was that she and Bucky were in constant contact. And after her mother’s death, her updates to him became more detailed, more frequent. Perhaps, it was because you were the closest thing she had to a sister. Perhaps she wanted to keep you safe— and letting Bucky know of your missions meant that if anything were to go wrong, he would be there to help.
She had already lost T’challa and Ramonda. She was not going to lose you, too.
—
Utah. Thunderbolts* timeline.
The gas station was run-down, lit by flickering fluorescent lights and signs buzzing with static. Inside, the team Yelena had apparently nicknamed the Thunderbolts stood in varying degrees of impatience as Bucky took off the last of their restraints.
Yelena rubbed her wrists and shot Bucky a sidelong glance. “So. How are we going to track Bob?”
Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He was already pulling out his phone, lips pressed in a hard line. “Can’t track Mel’s phone,” he muttered under his breath. “Wherever they are, they must have signal jammers.”
“Great,” John said. “And we’re just supposed to... drive and hope we’re going in the right direction?”
Ava narrowed her eyes. “We don't have time. If Val has Bob, there’s no telling—”
Bucky raised a hand. “I… I might know someone nearby who can track a scent halfway across the world.”
Alexei straightened with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Ah! We are getting reinforcements?” He cracked his knuckles.
Bucky was already reaching for his phone, hesitation coiling in his chest. His thumb hovered over the screen.
He shouldn't be doing this, right?
Were you ready to see him? After everything? After how you ended things? Did you even want to see him?
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shove down the uncertainty clawing at his ribs.
Focus, Barnes.
This wasn’t about closure or guilt or anything personal. Civilians could be in danger. And if Sentry project was as dangerous as they said, then they were way past playing it safe.
Even if it was messy. Even if it hurt.
“Something like that,” Bucky muttered, then hit Call—and walked out into the gas station parking lot.
—
Call to Shuri, Wakandan Secure Channel.
“Bucky,” Shuri answered briskly, “If this is about a replacement arm because the raccoon stole it again—”
“It’s not,” Bucky cut in. “I need hotel information.”
A pause. “For whom?”
“For her.” He didn’t have to say your name. Shuri knew exactly who he meant.
“Why?”
“You told me she was in a joint op with Everett Ross in Salt Lake City. I just need the hotel name, Shuri.”
“That’s classified,” she said, more defensively than she meant. She was willing to give him many things about you, but this might be teetering on a line she wouldn’t cross.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. We need to track someone before he levels a city,” Bucky explained, “Please.”
Shuri went quiet, because she knew a call from the White Wolf meant things were getting out of hand.
—
You smelled him before he knocked.
He smelled like leather and metal. He had that faint, signature scent — like snowmelt clinging to old wood.
You just finished an intel swap with Everett Ross, and now all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep. That was until you caught a whiff of his scent and you stopped dead in your tracks.
The knock came a second later.
You took a breath, schooled your expression, and opened the door.
And there he was. James Buchanan Barnes. Standing in a Salt Lake City hotel hallway.
His hair was longer than you last saw on TV, a little more silver threading through the temples. A black t-shirt that clung to him in all the ways that weren’t fair, leather jacket over it.
You froze for a moment.
“Wow… I— you…,” he said, as if he couldn’t help himself. “You’re still as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”
You let out a dry laugh before you could stop yourself, folding your arms. “You showing up uninvited in a hallway in Utah wasn’t exactly how I imagined hearing that.”
Bucky gave you a lopsided little smile — the kind that once made your knees weak. “Yeah, well… surprise?”
You rolled your eyes. But it was hard to ignore how your heartbeat had kicked up. “How did you even know I was here?”
He winced. “Okay, so… don’t be mad.”
“Oh no,” you said, flatly. “Great way to start.”
“I, uh… may have asked Shuri.”
Your brows rose. “You what?”
“Just for updates.”
“Bucky.”
“She didn’t tell me much! Just—like—general stuff. Missions. If you were injured. If you’d… eaten.”
“You’ve been asking my best friend to report on my food intake?”
“Okay, that was one time!”
“You don’t get to be worried anymore,” you cut in ever so gently, and the smile dropped from his face.
“I know,” he said.
You stared at him, longing pressing under your ribs.
“You could’ve just called,” you said.
He swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I needed your help. For something. But part of me… I- I don’t know. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to see you.”
“Well, congratulations.” You rolled your eyes, “You found me.”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there with that goddamn puppy-dog look on his face — the one you used to wake up to. The one that said he still loved you in ways he probably didn’t know how to stop.
The silence stretched thin.
Finally, you sat down on your bed and said, “You weren’t there.”
Sitting down on the armchair across from you, Bucky’s brows pulled together, and he knew instantly what you meant.
“T’Challa,” you said. “Ramonda. You didn’t come. You sent flowers. A text. That’s all.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Your voice cracked at the edges. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You were family. They loved you.”
“I loved them, too,” he said. “God, I loved them. T’Challa gave me a second chance. Ramonda treated me like a second son. You think it didn’t kill me not to be there?”
“Then why weren’t you?” you asked, quieter now. “Why didn’t you show up?”
He looked away. “Because I knew I’d see you, too.”
Oh.
He continued, voice rough, eyes fixed on a random point over your shoulder. “I knew I’d see you in white, standing in front of that city that saved both of us. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. I couldn’t go to Wakanda to grieve them and be reminded of you. I was already falling apart. I couldn’t break in front of everyone.”
Your breath hitched, just a little.
“You think I didn’t fall apart?” you whispered. “You think I didn’t wake up everyday being reminded of you? That I didn’t carry Shuri when she couldn’t stand even when I missed you?”
He looked back at you, “You are stronger than me.”
“No, Bucky,” You shook your head. “I just showed up.”
He swallowed hard, his chest heaving just slightly.
You stared at each other again — that thick, choking silence drowning you like a wave.
And still… underneath it all, there was love. Frustrated, frayed, unresolved — but alive.
Bucky leaned forward. “I know I messed up. I know I don’t deserve to ask you for anything.”
You didn’t answer. You just watched him, waiting.
“I’ll stop,” he promised. “The updates. Everything. I’ll leave you alone. I just… need you to do one thing.”
Before you could respond, your nose twitched.
You frowned and sniffed the air, eyes narrowing when your ears picked up four new heartbeats in the vicinity.
“Bucky,” you said slowly. “Does this have anything to do with the four jackasses currently pressed up against the hallway wall?”
He blinked. “...No?”
You sighed, walked to the front of the room and opened the door. Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei all flinched like a bunch of kids caught behind a curtain.
“I told you to wait in the car,” Bucky groaned.
You crossed your arms at the four extremely guilty faces frozen mid-lean.
Ava, arms crossed like she wasn’t just eavesdropping with laser focus. Yelena, who gave a tiny wave. “Hi.” John, trying very hard to act casual. Alexei was grinning wide. “Ah! She is even more terrifying than Mr. Soldier described! I like her.”
You stared at them. Then at Bucky.
He winced. “...So yeah. About that one thing.”
—
They gave you the rundown on Bob and the Sentry Project—chaotic, riddled with questions and coded language that made you realise that Bucky was right— this was a larger-than-life situation.
It was enough to raise every red flag in your head, and by the end of it, you were just dragging a hand down your face like you were wiping off the last shred of peace you had left.
“Fine,” you muttered, already rerouting your mental map like instinct. You stepped in closer, tilting your head just slightly at the three people who had been in close vicinity to Bob.
Yelena, John, and Ava.
You went in close and did a focus inhale through your nose. Your senses lit up. You could smell a thread between them— that must be Bob’s smell.
You could pick apart the sweat and smoke residue. You could smell the iron-spike scent of stress hormones surging through their blood. You could practically taste the adrenaline.
“Got it,” you said, nodding once.
Then you turned, already moving.
Your pupils contracted as you flipped into the edge of your infrared vision, sweeping the environment in layered pulses of heat and light. People lit up like sketches in flames. Your hearing tuned up next, catching radio chatter three blocks out, the thrum of a drone overhead.
You walked out, and they followed you as you followed the scent straight toward Avengers Tower.
—
Void, New York.
The city was being devoured—block by block, building by building—into a yawning chasm of darkness,a negative space eating reality alive. It was as if Bob had carved a hole in the fabric of reality and let nothingness bleed through. The skyline blurred at the edges, buildings sucked into the black like paper into flame.
People were turned into shadows, and what scared you the most was you can’t smell them anymore. You can’t hear them anymore. They… vanished.
You stood on the edge of where Grand Central Station used to be. Bob was in the center of it all—or what was left of him.
You had found him, and it had gone bad. Catastrophically bad.
Yelena didn’t hesitate. She was the first one to go in.
The others had followed—Alexei, John, Ava—one by one, swallowed whole by the nothingness.
Now it was just you and Bucky.
The edge of the Void shimmered like a heat mirage, the floor fracturing under it.
You stared into the nothingness and it looked exactly how you’d felt the day Wakanda lost its king. The day Ramonda breathed her last breath in that throne room. The day you held Shuri’s hand as she lost everything.
And all you could think, selfishly, was how Bucky hadn’t been there.
You swallowed hard, voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m scared.”
Bucky looked at you, eyes softening.
You didn’t know what was on the other side. You didn’t know what you’d see— what the Void would show you, or take from you.
But for the first time in years, the love of your life reached out and took your hand.
“If we vanish again,” he said quietly, “we vanish together.”
Right.
Your fingers curled around his, Your voice barely trembled as you said it again, “Together.”
Then you stepped forward and let the Void take you both.
—
Bucky woke up in the snow.
He recognised this place even before he heard the screaming wind, before he looked down and saw his blood soaking into the white ground.
Bucky was twenty-something again—still Sergeant James Barnes. Still just a soldier, a friend, a smartass.
He was watching himself fall. Watching his arm catch on the railing, and breaking on impact. He watched his body spiral and bounce once before settling.
He tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
He remembered waiting for hours for help. No one came.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered, but the younger version didn’t respond. He blinked once more and then stopped moving altogether.
Then, in an attempt to escape this vision, he buried himself in an avalanche of snow.
He woke up in another room. It was his apartment, familiar and claustrophobic at the same time. The curtains were drawn tight, the air thick with the scent of cheap whiskey
And there he was — himself again. This Bucky was slouched on the floor, back against the wall, surrounded by a graveyard of bottles. Some still full. Most empty. The floor was soaked where he’d dropped one earlier.
He had a bottle pressed to his lips now. He took another long, angry swig. Then another. Then—
Nothing.
No burn. No warmth in his chest. No haze. He roared suddenly, launching the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall. Glass rained down like glittering snow.
“Why won’t it work?” he shouted, voice hoarse. “Why won’t it fucking work?”
He lurched to his feet, fumbling for another bottle in the kitchen. His hands shook. His breathing was ragged.
“Just let me forget,” he begged, staring at his reflection in the microwave’s glass. “Let me forget. Let me be numb.”
But his body refused. His curse of super soldier metabolism was that he would never let him escape. He would never get drunk ever again.
He threw the next bottle harder. The glass cut his knuckles. He didn’t feel it.
He had only landed from Wakanda twelve hours ago. But this time, he landed with the knowledge that you were not his anymore. And now there was no one to fight with. No one to talk to. No one to hold his hand when the nightmares got bad. No one to anchor him when he spiraled.
He slid down the wall and pressed his forehead to his knees like he could disappear into his own body.
He whispered your name over and over again.
The most devastating part was knowing that he had finally found someone who saw him, and still, somehow, he had driven you away.
He stayed like that for what felt like hours. Days. Maybe he never left that floor at all.
Then — Bucky saw a ripple from a puddle across the room where he had spilled his drink earlier.
He looked into it, and instead of a reflection, he saw you.
You were curled up on a couch in another life, in another room. Fingers wrapped around a half-empty bottle. Your head lolling against the armrest, eyes glazed. Laughter bubbled out of your mouth that didn’t belong there — not the happy kind. This laughter was crooked, the kind you used to hide the sobs building beneath your ribs.
The bottle slipped from your fingers and onto the floor.
You were drunk. Not a buzz. Not a haze. You were gone, and it showed.
You started slurring words to no one and between fits of laughter. The makeup smeared across your cheek wasn’t from a night out — it was from wiping away tears with the back of your hand over and over again.
You were wrecked in a way Bucky couldn’t be.
You had the freedom he envied, the escape he was never allowed. You could bury the grief. He had to live with it. And then— he saw what you were clutching in your lap.
It was a photo of You, Bucky, Shuri, and T’challa, taken by Queen Ramonda by the lake, only a couple of days before Thanos attacked.
You stared at the photo like it might move. Like if you looked hard enough, you could reach through the glossy paper and pull them out.
But they were gone.
T’Challa. Ramonda.
And Bucky.
He hadn’t died, but he wasn’t there either. Not when it mattered.
Your grip on the bottle tightened. And then—suddenly—you screamed. “WHY AREN’T YOU HERE?!”
The words tore out of you like glass, shredding you from the inside out.
You hurled the bottle across the room. It hit a wall, shattered, and splashed liquor across the floor. Your body jolted with it, like you’d thrown a piece of yourself.
And then you just collapsed yourself, rocking back and forth. “My fault,” you whispered over and over again. “My fault. All my fault. My fault.”
Bucky watched from the other side of the reflection, both of you broken in different ways—he, invulnerable and furious that he couldn’t feel the poison work; you, drowning in it.
The grief between you wasn’t just shared.
It was mirrored.
Both of you in your separate corners of the world, drinking like it might erase memory, like it might bring someone back, like it might turn regret into penance.
With a deep breath, he took a leap of faith and stepped into the puddle.
It felt like falling like leaping off a rooftop with no guarantee of landing, but choosing the fall anyway because it might bring him back to you.
And he was right.
He was there, with the real you.
You were in that room, in the corner, watching it all play out like a film you couldn’t pause.
That puddle had been more than a doorway. It had been a choice. And he had chosen you.
Bucky knelt down beside you slowly. He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you into him.
And for a moment, you didn’t move.
But then his arms wrapped around you, the walls gave in. Your fingers clutched at the back of his jacket and you buried your face into his shoulder.
You stayed like that for a while.
Then, muffled against him, you said, “I should’ve called.”
He just held you tighter.
You continued. “You gave me flowers. A text. It wasn’t much, but… at least it was something. I didn’t even text back. I didn’t give you anything.”
Bucky pulled back slightly to look at you, his hands still resting gently on your shoulders. “No,” he said. “Don’t apologize. I—” He exhaled slowly, eyes dark and honest. “I was suffocating you. I… I ruined you.”
“You never ruined me, Bucky,” you said. “You broke my heart. But you never ruined me.”
Silence stretched again — for a while.
“I was scared I’d never see you again,” you admitted, quieter now. “That you’d disappear into some mission and I’d never get to tell you I was still… that I still— fuck… I—” Unable to finish your sentences, looked away instead, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then you asked what had been burning in the back of your throat this whole time: “Are we ever going to be okay again?”
His answer was quiet, immediate. “We already are.” He kissed your temple — not possessive or desperate, just… loving.
You blinked up at him. “What?”
He smiled. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re talking. Yelling. Holding each other. That’s more than most people get.”
You chuckled, exhaling a shaky breath, forehead resting against his. “So what now?”
“Now?” he murmured. “We get up.”
Your hand slid down his arm and laced your fingers with his. “And what about the end of the world?”
He gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Right. That.”
You both stood, like people learning how to walk for the first time again.
He looked at you, wiping a tear from his cheeks. “C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go find Bob.”
And this time, you walked out together.
—
Post-Void. New York, again.
You’d done it. You’d pulled Bob out, helped him control the void inside of him.
And just as the dust started to settle, Val ambushed you all with a press conference. She threw around the word New Avengers like it was already printed across a glossy magazine cover.
Your phone immediately lit up like a Christmas tree.
Everett Ross: Did my EX-WIFE just put you in the New Avengers lineup? Why did you not tell me this?
You winced. Ex-wife. Of course.
Then, Shuri: ??? What is HAPPENING? Should I have not given Bucky your hotel?
And the kicker came from the current king of Wakanda himself.
M’Baku: Weren’t you on a foreign mission on behalf of Wakanda? You are now on AMERICAN NEWS? Call back immediately.
You groaned and thumbed your phone to Do Not Disturb.
The others were watching you now. Bob was still sitting in the sun. Yelena tried ignoring the cameras with practiced disinterest.
Beside you, Bucky was catching his breath, hair tousled, jacket streaked with dust.
“You wanna come back to my place?” he asked, pointing to your phone. “Make the calls from there, if this is too much.”
You blinked. “Don’t you live in D.C. now? Whole Capitol Hill, suit-and-tie Bucky?”
He shrugged, glanced at a hovering drone cam, and flipped it off without changing expression. “Kept my old apartment in Brooklyn. Rent controlled.”
You smirked, though the change in his heartbeat did not go unnoticed. “You’re sentimental.”
“No,” he chuckled. “I’m cheap. But if it helps, the water pressure is still garbage and the radiator still sounds like a haunted typewriter. Just like last time you were there.”
Before you could answer, Alexei called out from behind you. “Can we all come? Team debrief?”
You turned, and shook your head. “Top secret. I’ll find you later.”
Ava lifted a hand lazily. “She’s a tracker. She will.”
She was right. If anyone tried to disappear, you’d have them in an hour.
As you turned away with Bucky at your side, your super-hearing picked up everything. Far behind you, John Walker, never one for subtlety, muttered to someone — probably Yelena, “Twenty bucks says they’re back together by tonight. I mean, do you see how they look at each other?”
You kept walking. Bucky hadn’t heard it — his senses weren’t as sharp as yours, even with the serum.
You debated pretending you hadn’t either.
—
You knew before he even unlocked the door that keeping this place wasn’t about rent control.
When it creaked as you walked, the first thing you could smell was remnants of yourself.
The radiator still coughed in the corner like it was dying. Everything smelled faintly of old wood and clean laundry, and something faintly him — steel and cedar and memory.
Your breath hitched when you saw the shelf to your left still had your copy of Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time, the one Bucky swore he never borrowed.
Your old hoodie — the grey one with the thumb holes — was folded on the arm of the couch like you had just worn it yesterday.
The photos in the frames hadn’t changed. There was one of you and him, laughing in the sunset. One of Bucky, Sam, Steve, and T’challa with you and Shuri making faces while photobombing them. Then, a photo of you, him, Shuri, and T’challa— his copy of the one Ramonda had taken.
Oh.
The space was like a museum and a time capsule rolled into one.
You didn’t say anything at first.
You sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out your phone. A stack of voicemails and messages had piled up, still buzzing in the background. The world was catching up to what had just happened — the Void, Val’s PR machine spinning headlines while you were still scrubbing concrete dust out of your hair.
You answered M’Baku first, then Shuri, then Ross. But your eyes kept drifting to the photos, the jacket, the battered mug with the chipped rim that you used to have your coffee in, no matter how much it leaked.
Bucky stayed quiet.
He didn’t hover. Just leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand that had long since gone cold.
When you finally finished the last call, you let out a deep breath. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Then, you looked at him. “Rent control, huh?” you raised an eyebrow.
He blinked, looking down to his feet.
“You’re full of shit,” you added, gentler this time.
And Bucky chuckled his first real laugh since your reunion. He dropped his head for a second, shaking it slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”
He stepped a little closer, leaning one hand on the table across from you. His other hand hovered, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t want to break whatever fragile platform you were both standing on.
“I kept thinking I’d throw it all out,” he said. “That I’d come back one day and finally… take it all down. Pack the clothes. Box up the books and mail them to you. But I never did.”
You looked down at your hands. You could feel his eyes on you.
“I think,” he said, quieter now, “that part of me thought… if I kept it all exactly the same, maybe you’d come back.”
Your throat tightened.
He ran a hand through his hair, his voice rough around the edges. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not… good at this. At any of it. But I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t want you in my life .”
Silence stretched for a long moment.
Finally, you said, “Shuri told me something the other day.”
Bucky straightened a little.
“She was trying to explain quantum entanglement to me. That even when particles are separated by galaxies, they still feel each other. React to each other. Like distance doesn’t matter. Not really.” You met his eyes. “That’s us, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Bucky gave you a sad smile, “It’s us.”
You looked around the room again.
“I’m not ready,” you said. “I don’t know how to go back to what we were. I don’t even know if we should.”
“I don’t want what we were,” he said, without hesitation. “I want better.”
You studied him. He looked different than the last time you saw him — older, maybe. Not physically. But his eyes were angry. Less anxious.
You nodded. “Slow,” you said. “We take it slow.”
He looked… relieved.
He didn’t step closer. He didn’t grab you or kiss you or make some grand statement. Instead, he reached out and gently rested two fingers against the back of your hand, just enough to feel you there.
“Okay,” he said.
And somehow, it was enough.
Not everything was fixed, but for the first time in a long time, you had him back in your life.
—
You didn’t know what you expected when you landed in Wakanda. Maybe M’Baku would challenge you to one final sparring match and attempt to win the truth out of you with his bare hands. Maybe Shuri would yell. Maybe Okoye would look at you like a traitor.
But no one raised their voice, and that almost made it worse.
The throne room was still. M’Baku stood tall with his arms crossed. As you stepped forward, you tried to square your shoulders, trying to find the version of yourself that had once stood tall here— not as a visitor, not as a liability, but as someone who helped this nation rebuild from the blip, from the loss of their king, from the loss of their queen.
But your throat was dry. Your heartbeat thrummed in your chest. “I came to explain,” you said, voice thinner than you’d hoped.
“You do not need to,” M’Baku replied, his voice grave but not unkind.
You stopped, stunned by how final he sounded.
He descended the steps from the throne, each footfall echoing through the vibranium coated walls. “I regret to inform you that your contract with Wakanda is terminated,” he said. “Effective immediately.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he lifted a hand before you could speak.
“You are now aligned with the New Avengers,” he said, reciting an uncomfortable truth. “You report to the CIA’s director. Your loyalties have shifted—by necessity, perhaps, but shifted nonetheless. Wakanda cannot afford blurred lines.”
Fuck.
“I didn’t ask for the public announcement,” you said as a last line of defence. “Valentina made that move without consulting anyone.”
“And yet the world knows,” M’Baku answered. “Perception, as you know, is reality. The eyes of the world are on you now. And those eyes inevitably turn toward Wakanda.”
You lowered your gaze, heart dropping in your chest. “I understand.”
“But…” he continued, “I want you to know that you were never just a contract to us.”
When he stepped closer, his stance shifted. He wasn’t Wakanda’s king now. He was M’Baku— your sparring partner, your most stubborn friend, the man who once cracked your rib in training and called it ‘bonding.’
“You were family,” he said quietly. “You annoyed me more than any outsider I’ve ever met, and I will miss that more than you can imagine.”
Before you could speak, he pulled you into his arms and… hugged you.
You held onto him—tighter than you meant to. You didn’t want to let go. Wakanda had been more than a mission or a job. It had been your home. It was the place that gave you purpose when the rest of the world had hunted you. And now, with a few words and a king’s goodbye, it was slipping through your fingers.
“You’ll be alright, sister,” he reassured, voice. “You always land on your feet.” He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Like a very ugly cat with no grace.”
You laughed. Or maybe you cried. You weren’t sure.
—
Outside the throne room, Shuri was waiting.
She stood like she’d been pacing with her eyes trained on the floor— but when you appeared, her head snapped up. Okoye was beside her, and even her usual perfect posture had softened.
“I’m sorry,” Shuri said the moment your eyes met, brittle at the edges. “For giving Bucky your location.”
You let out a deep breath and a sad smile ghosted across your face. “Don’t be.”
“He said there was a threat,” she shook her head, stepping closer. “And he wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t know it would end…. like this. I thought I was helping.” Her voice broke slightly. “I thought I was giving you back something you’d lost.”
You shook your head. “You weren’t wrong.”
She didn’t look at all startled by that— as if she knew whatever hole had been carved into you by the loss of Wakanda had immediately been filled by Bucky coming back into your life, by the rest of the team that you found.
“Every time I hit a wall,” you said, just above a whisper. “I throw myself into work and pretend I don’t need anyone.” Your voice cracked open without permission like a dam that had held too long.
“But maybe…” You glanced down, then up at her. “Maybe it’s time I stop pushing away the people who love me. Maybe it’s time I meet them halfway and let them care for me.” You took her hand, “like you do.”
Shuri stared at you like sunlight through storm clouds— equal parts pride and heartbreak.
“Bucky cares,” she said. “Do not let each other slip away this time.”
“He is better,” she said, almost approvingly. “He has learned how to breathe without you. Perhaps it is precisely the reason you need him again. And he might just remind you that life is not all about survival and contracts— it is meant to be lived.”
You tried to blink away the sudden sting in your eyes. “Okoye…” you managed.
She raised a finger in warning. “Do not make me cry, girl.”
That startled a snorting laugh from Shuri.
You smiled. Just a little.
—
Two days later, Bucky helped you move into Avengers Tower.
He smiled sadly when he spotted your duffel bag on the curb beside a single, battered box.
“That’s it?” he asked, easily lifting the box labeled in your unmistakable handwriting: SENTIMENTAL SHIT.
You raised an eyebrow. “You expected me to have more emotional baggage?”
He let out a small laugh, missing your sense of humour. “I meant literal baggage. But…” he glanced down at the label, the corner of his mouth twitching, “…noted.”
You fell into step beside him, entering the still-mostly-empty tower. The echo of your footsteps followed you down halls that smelled like fresh paint and industrial cleaner. A few rooms were already occupied—Bob’s, Ava’s, and an unnamed office space—but yours was at the far end of the residential floor: a bit secluded, sunlit, and overlooking New York in a way that felt almost too generous.
You dropped your duffel onto the bed with a sigh. He set the box on the desk and stood back, studying in the space like he was mentally filing it away for future reference.
“You alright?” he asked softly.
You shrugged, arms crossing out of reflex. “I guess. Feels… weird.”
“What does?”
“Living out of Wakanda.” You glanced at him. “It’s even weirder being around you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Friends,” you said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s what we are now, right?”
“I guess so.” He gave a gentle laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Friends who know exactly how the other one likes their coffee.”
You smiled for real then. “Friends who have seen each other naked. And cry. And leave.”
His voice was quieter now. “And come back.”
—
Two days later, the tower was silent after midnight.
It didn’t feel like a base yet—more like a draft of a memory— place still deciding what it wanted to be. The lights in the common room were dimmed to an amber gold. Somewhere down the hall, a ventilation unit clicked and sighed like an old house learning how to breathe again.
You couldn’t sleep.
You’d unpacked your bag. Stacked your few books with spines you knew by heart. Hung your jacket on the back of the door and lined up your toiletries with mathematical precision, like symmetry might trick your brain into believing this was home.
But your body didn't buy it yet, So you wandered barefoot down the hallway in an oversized sweatshirt—the same one Bucky had given you all those years ago.
You found him in the common room, curled into one corner of the couch, damp hair curling at the ends from a recent shower and mug of tea cradled between his metal fingers,
He looked up when he saw you. “You too, huh?”
“Sleep is a myth,” you said, plopped onto the cushion beside him.
He handed you the mug. You didn’t hesitate before sipping— he used to share drinks with you all the time. The tea was warm, chamomile and honey, just the way you used to make it for him when he couldn’t sleep.
You let the heat sink into your palms for a few seconds longer than necessary before handing it back.
“This place is too clean,” you said at last.
Bucky nodded. “Won’t be for long. Alexei just moved in. Give it two days before something explodes.”
You snorted. “I give it twelve hours.”
That made him laugh, as he leaned his head back against the couch cushion and looked up, like he could see constellations through the ceiling. You looked at him and, for a second, you imagined you were both back in his hut again, painting stars on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stickers and half a bottle of wine.
“Remember that night by the river?” you asked.
His eyes flicked to yours. “The one after T’challa’s birthday dinner?”
You smiled. “Yeah. We dragged the blankets out and tried to sleep under the open sky. You brought out your old army jacket. I stole your pillow.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Slowly, he reached out, brushing his fingertips across yours.
—
The next few months passed easily.
You and Bucky slipped back into some old habits. Mornings were for training. Afternoons often ended in sparring sessions and conversation. And in the hours in between, you found each other again and again— sometimes late night tea. Sometimes, you'd leave a book by your door. Sometimes, he’d put in your favourite movie after a stressful day. He never made a big deal out of it, and neither did you. It wasn’t discussed. It simply was.
Of course, the team noticed.
Ava, subtle as a brick, started running a betting pool in the group chat on who would initiate getting back together. She never said who the odds favored, but winked at you every time you entered a room with Bucky in tow.
John grumbled about “weird tension” on mission briefings, mostly because he lost his first bet. Even Bob— still learning how to survive in a household of ex-spies, assassins, and super-soldiers—picked up on it. One morning over coffee, he glanced at you, then at Bucky, then said, completely unprompted, “You breathe easier when he’s around.”
You blinked at him, stunned. He just sipped his coffee and went back to his crossword.
But the real kicker came at breakfast, a few weeks later.
You were barely awake, slouched at the long kitchen island in the tower. Bucky sat beside you, reading news with a tablet in hand.
Yelena walked in, grabbed a banana, and without hesitation said, “So. When are you two getting back together?”
You nearly choked on your tea. Bucky froze mid-scroll. You coughed for a solid ten seconds before managing, hoarsely, “I—what?”
Yelena leaned on the counter. “Please. The movie nights? The sparring together all the time? You are basically together.”
Bucky cleared his throat. “We’re… talking. Taking it slow.”
Yelena squinted at him like he was the world’s worst liar. “Slow like friends slow, or slow like ‘you slept in her room after the Prague mission and thought no one noticed’ slow?”
You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Bucky stared at the ceiling like he was considering defenestration.
“I—I didn’t—we didn’t—” you stammered.
“She had a nightmare,” Bucky said valiantly. “I stayed in her armchair.”
Yelena raised her eyebrows. “How noble. You’ll be married by June.”
And with that, she bit into her banana and walked out as if she hadn’t just casually set your entire life on fire before 8 a.m.
You stared at the doorway for a long time before turning to Bucky. “We are never living that down.”
He smiled, just a little. “She’s not wrong, though.”
You tilted your head. “About what?”
He shrugged. “About the slow part not really being all that slow anymore.”
That shut you up, but not in a bad way.
—
The day it had finally happened, though, you’d been in the tower’s comms room, backlit by flickering screens, teeth clenched as you watched the mission feed buffer and skip. Bucky and John were on the field on recon and containment. It should be routine. No reason to worry.
You told yourself it was fine. You knew Bucky could handle himself. You’d said it a hundred times.
But then the feed glitched again. Then John mentioned gunfire and Bucky’s comms went dark.
The jet returned fifteen minutes later, skidding onto the landing pad. You were already waiting there when they brought him in.
Bucky.
His combat suit was torn, blood soaking through the thigh, gashes deep in his side. His vibranium arm was scorched, still hissing faintly from an energy blast. And yet… he was awake. Breathing. He gave you a small smile, somehow, even when the poor nurse wheeled him into the med bay. You ran to follow
He could’ve died. And you weren’t there.
That’s when you saw John.
“You were supposed to watch his six!” you shouted at him before you could even register how much you meant them. “Do you even know what a field partner does, or do you just wing it and hope the super soldiers heal fast enough?”
John blinked, surprised. “Jesus, I didn’t—”
“Don’t!” you snapped. “You were with him! He had your back—where the hell were you?”
“He told me to take the high ground!” John barked, his voice rising. “I didn’t know they had long-range fire!”
“It’s literally your job to know!” Your skin felt like they were on fire now. “Do you even remember the brief? You think because he’s got the Hydra serum he can take every shot for you?”
“Hey.”You heard Bucky say from the bed behind you. “Relax.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Relax?”
He half-winced as a doctor pulled a bullet fragment from his thigh. His breathing was shallow, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward in dry amusement
“Yeah. Relax. You’re doing that thing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What thing?”
“You sound like me back in the day,” he managed to say, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “God. The role reversal’s kinda scary.”
And just like that, you shut up.
He did used to do this. When you were still together. When it was you on the field and him pacing the halls of the palace like a caged wolf. Every bruise you got, he catalogued. Every mission report, he read twice. When you brushed off injuries, he’d pull you aside and look at you like you'd died and no one told him.
And now here you were, standing over him, boiling over like your heart had been under for years.
“It’s different,” you whispered under your breath. “You were obsessed.”
Bucky opened his eyes again, squinting slightly. “What?”
You could hear the beeping of monitors overwhelming you. You could taste the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic. “You were obsessed,” you said, a bit louder, “I’m freaking out over bullets. You used to freak out over a scratch.”
He gave a nod, not flinching. “Yeah. I know.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t healthy. But I cared.” But then his tone shifted. “And you don’t get to talk to John like that.”
You took a step back, caught off-guard. “Are you serious?”
“He’s not perfect,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“Wow,” John interjected under his breath, “Thanks.”
Bucky paid him no mind “But he tried. This wasn’t on him.”
You pressed your fingers into your temple, trying to breathe. “I know, I just—I didn’t know what else to do, Buck.”
You looked at him then, and all the fire in your chest dimmed into ash. He looked… tired. Older. Stronger, too. But there was something in his eyes—some flicker of the man you left behind.
Bucky glanced toward John. “Give us the room when they’re done, yeah?”
John, for once, didn’t argue. He just nodded and backed out, probably relieved.
The door shut with a hiss, and you waited until the doctors had finished stitching him up and giving him the okay to rest before you walked back to his side, a little more tired, a little more human.
You sat on the edge of the bed. Your hand found his immediately, as if it was instinct. His skin was warm and he smelled like bullets and iron, the way it always got when he’d been running on too much adrenaline and too little self-preservation.
“Is this okay?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
He nodded before reaching for you with both hands in that familiar, greedy way he always used to, like he couldn't stand another second without you touching. “C’mere,” he said.
So you climbed carefully onto the too-small mattress beside him, your body curving into his like muscle memory. You avoided the bruised side, settling in close with your head tucked beneath his chin, just where it used to belong. His wrapped his arm around you.
Your palm rested over his chest, right above his heart. It beat steady, and you wondered if it ever really stopped beating for you.
He breathed in your hair. "You always smell like home," he whispered, so quiet you almost missed it.
You watched the little cuts and bruises heal on their own, bit by bit. His lashes fluttered like he was teetering on the edge of sleep — then opened again, just to make sure you were still there.
You stayed tucked beneath his chin for a long while. Eventually, you spoke, your voice muffled into his chest. “I didn’t mean to scream at Walker,” you said with a small laugh. “Or be… so overbearing. Like you used to be.” You peeked up at him with a sideways smile. “Funny, right?”
Bucky chuckled. “I deserved that,” he smiled, rubbing slow circles against your back with his human thumb
You swallowed, then pulled away just enough to look at him properly.
“I just…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, like they mattered. Because they did. “For the first time in a long time, work isn’t the most important thing to me.” You reached up and gently brushed your fingers along the edge of the bruise on his cheeks. “You are.”
“I know,” he said, voice rough. “And I… I just wanted you to know I never stop caring — just didn’t know how to care right.”
You both laughed a little at that — sad and sweet, like the punchline to a very old joke.
“Remember that time you hacked into a satellite feed because I missed one check-in?” you teased, smirking.
Bucky groaned, his cheeks turning pink. “Okay, first of all, it was a tactical recon satellite, I didn’t hack it, I borrowed a login.”
“Oh, that makes it better,” you said, eyes sparkling. “You bribed M’Baku with a reservation at a two Michelin Star vegan restaurant just because I didn’t text ‘safe’ fast enough.”
“I was worried,” he shook his head, then, quieter, “You didn’t answer for four hours.”
“I know,” Your brows relaxed again. “I know you were trying to love me. I just… couldn’t let myself be loved like that back then.”
Bucky reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you now?”
You smiled, eyes filling up with a puddle of tears.“Well,” you said, voice a little wobbly, “Only if we meet halfway.”
He smiled, and god, it was like the sun rose just for you.
“Okay,” he agreed, leaning in until you could taste the air he breathed.
Just before your lips touched, he stopped. “You sure?” he asked, looking down at your lips.
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it through your chest.
You nodded. “I’m sure.”
He didn’t move yet.
“You sure you’re sure?” he whispered, voice lower now. His fingers had tightened just slightly at your waist, anchoring you there,but he just needed to give you one last chance to run — but you didn’t take it.
“Bucky…” you whispered, and the way you said his name answered everything for him.
“Okay,” he said, more a sigh than a word. “Okay.”
Then he kissed you.
It was heat and hunger that only two people who had been starved of each other, who’d tasted what it was like to be apart and never wanted to go back could feel. His mouth claimed yours like he needed to make sure you were his and you kissed him back just as fiercely, just as desperate to prove that you were.
You curled your fingers into the collar of his tac vest, pulling him closer, and he groaned against your lips. His metal hand slid up your back, and his other hand cupped your cheek and pulled you closer
And he kept saying it between kisses, like a litany, “You’re sure?”
You answered with another kiss. Deeper now, borderline bruising.
“You’re sure?” he asked again
“I’m sure.” Your lips parted on a gasp, and you nodded, forehead pressed to his. “I’m so sure, Buck, I— I never stopped—”
His mouth was on yours again before you could finish, and it didn’t matter. His thumb traced your cheek like he was re-learning you all over again, when he realized he still remembered all the ways you liked to be kissed. When you finally pulled back, breathless, he looked at you like you’ve been to hell and back for him.
“God, I missed this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I missed you so bad, doll.”
You smiled, blinking back the tears that weren’t sad at all. “I missed you worse.”
He grinned, all wrecked and completely in love.
You kissed again, gentler this time, remembering how good it felt to be known by each other again.
Which was exactly when the door slid open with a cheerful whoosh.
“—Bucky! I was gonna check on—oh,” came Alexei’s voice, suddenly flat as pancake batter left too long on the griddle.
You froze, lips still an inch from Bucky’s. Your heart leapt straight into your throat, and you turned slowly toward the door, horror across both your faces.
Alexei stood there, blinking once, before giving the slowest nod known to man. His hands were crossed on his chest, looking too smug for his own good.
“Well,” he said, dragging his voice out. “Well. I’m going to tell team it finally happened!”
Bucky let out the deepest, most resigned sigh imaginable and let his head thunk back against the pillow. “Can you please wait until I’m discharged?”
“Nonsense!” Alexei said brightly, already halfway down the hallway. “Ava owes me twenty American dollars. And John will make that face. You know the one.”
You groaned and buried your face in Bucky’s chest, playfully mortified.
“Back then,” he chuckled, lips brushing your hair, “I would've fought him for interrupting.”
You hide your face in the crook of his neck with a whine when he praises you. Tells you how pretty you are as he guides your hips with one hand, the other caressing your body with such care. How proud he is that you're taking what you need and letting him give it to you.
"Doing so well for me. That feel good? You wanna come? So pretty when you come. Let me see it. Let me feel it."
His deep voice is so gentle that it makes your eyes sting with unshed tears.
So you praise him, too, when you ride his thick thigh faster. How you're wet and needy because of him. How his touch makes you feel both weak and alive. And how lucky you are to have his love.
“We start to find comfort in the strangest of places.”
The war has ended, and life is getting back to normal, or least supposed to be. For returning half-blood Ravenclaw Y/N Y/L/N, her only focus is to finally have a year without fear and uncertainty, until professor Slughorn asks her the question the rest of the room is dreading: “I trust you will be Mr Malfoy’s partner?”
Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts the same as any other past seventh year student. He wants to complete his education and ensure himself a good future, one better than his previous years, but there is one slight problem: he’s Draco Malfoy. For his family’s involvement in the war, Draco attends school feeling alienated and resented, spending most of his time alone and suffering his guilt in silence. When Y/N starts coming over to the manor, they begin a rocky work relationship, and often argue
After a small but grand gesture, they decided to become friends. Neither of them realise, however, it was about to get a whole lot more complicated than that.
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may i please request neighbor!bucky also being a camboy 🤔
Cherry
camboy!Bucky x neighbor!f reader
words: 4k+
warnings: smut! dom!bucky, bratty reader, neighbors, both have silly little baby brains because i think it's funny, bucky is YOUR neighbor AND a camboy???? all the warning you need. mutual masturbation (f +m)
a/n: don't know if i even like this but i wrote it and finished it and i want a neighbor bucky fck. i wrote this on my phone and didn't proofread it lol. mistakes are obviously all my own! sorry this is so late. i hope this is okay for you <3 mwah
IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS.
You didn’t always know who he was. His name was James-- his username was, at least. He never bothered to show his face, keeping some form of privacy for himself. It didn’t matter to you, you just knew that he was the most perfect specimen to ever walk the earth. With his thick neck crowning his broad shoulders, a perfectly sculpted chest adorned atop the most chiseled torso you’d ever seen, leading to the most delicious deep v that seemed to teasingly point to his beyond impressive cock.
He was huge in every possible way; but that wasn’t what made him stand out so beautifully to you, no. His left arm was entirely metal. A prosthetic that couldn’t be described as anything but magnificent; always glowing faintly with a bold shine in the lowlights of what you assume to be his bedroom. It mimicked the look of his right arm, all down to the exact cut and curve of each of the gorgeous muscles he had. Through your dimly lit web screen, even just the mere size of him caused a flutter in your heart and a throb between your thighs. And his voice-- a low and demanding baritone that overwhelmed your senses and ignited every nerve in your body.
After having found and joined on his page for a few of his group live sessions, you knew you desperately needed something more intimate than what you were paying for. You now knew the intoxicating tease of his low voice and needed it all for yourself. The first time you heard him whine out Oh, just like that. Wish I could feel your soft hand wrapped around me. God-- needa feel your warm lips wrapped around my cock leave the speakers of your laptop as you watched him pump himself furiously, whining and bringing himself closer and closer to the edge, you needed to hear your name fall from his lips-- even if it was just your username.
That’s what got you here, sitting at your laptop at 8:57 on a Thursday night, dressed in nothing but a matching black lace panty set. 9 pm was your time together. After seeing your tips come in a few times over the course of a few months, he knew you well enough by username-- Cherry-- and looked forward to your private sessions.
He wouldn’t be able to see what you were wearing but after the first mind-blowing session you had together, he made a list of rules he expected you to follow. One of them was to always wear something sexy, reasoning that his Cherry deserved the best.
You quickly place an order for dumplings from your favorite Chinese food place, knowing it would get to your apartment just after tonight’s session and you’d need to eat afterward.
Placing your phone down, the face of your laptop lit up with the knowing signs his connection was about to go through. His broad chest popped up, basically taking up the entirety of your screen, metal arm looking as pretty as ever. He was wearing a tight black shirt with fitted black jeans and a belt that clearly wasn’t needed-- only wearing it to tease you. It would only make getting his pants off that much harder and he loved how impatient you could get.
“Hi baby girl, missed you. Been looking forward to our time together all day. Couldn’t stop thinking about my Cherry.” You couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk on his face as he said it.
Your chest swells at “my Cherry”, and you quickly lean forward to your keyboard, already typing out your greeting as soon as his voice filled your room.
Hi Jamie, been thinking of your cock all day
You watched as his chest moved as he chuckled at your message, “Yeah baby? All day?” He moves his hands so they are in perfect view of the camera, metal softly tracing above his annoying belt buckle while his flesh hand slowly moves up and down his thigh, taunting you, showing you that you’d never actually get to lightly trace his thick legs you dreamed of so often.
All day Jamie, even had to stop from touching myself like you asked me to
One of the rules he had set for you was about touching yourself during the days where you guys had sessions booked. He was the only one allowed to get you off on those days. It drove you both crazy, knowing that he had the power over you without even knowing you.
He moans softly reading your message and traces his hand over the growing outline of his cock through his jeans. “That’s my good girl, always doing what I ask. You’re gonna touch yourself soon, okay? Gotta get you warmed up first pretty girl.”
You whine and nod your head as if he could see you, but the low chuckle he lets out tells you he knows the power his words hold over you.
Please Jamie, been hot all day thinking about you
“And what’ve you been thinking about?” he groans out, thinking of you clenching your legs together all day at the thought of him, being so good for him not touching yourself to relieve your need. He starts slowly undoing the buckle of his belt while he softly palms himself with his forearm.
Your gorgeous thighs, wish i could be between them.
“Oh Cherry, what else? Need that baby, need more.” Removing his belt, his fingers tease their way towards the hem of his tight shirt.
Riding your thigh and jerking you off Jamie, been dying to.
So wet just thinking about you
There was a lot of truth to that. You didn’t even need to get yourself into a mood to talk with him. It flowed so freely, you never imagined feeling something for a man you’d only meet through a laptop, but here you were, wishing you could do every dark and perverted fantasy you’d ever had with him.
He groans and moves his hand to palm at his growing crotch while he brings his metal one slowly up his torso to finish removing his shirt. “If only you knew Cherry, want that so bad. I know you’d be such a good girl for me. My dirty girl, getting herself off on my thigh, ain’t that right baby?”
You felt a shiver rip through you at his words while you watched him palm himself harder and quickly moved to type Yes Jamie, so good for you. Need it so bad.
You felt your thighs becoming sticky and you hadn’t even laid a finger on yourself yet.
“Cherry, play with those perfect tits-- God I know they’re amazing. Wish I could be the one teasing them baby.”
Need you to touch me Jamie
Sending the chat, you bring your hands to play with your lace-clad nipples, imagining what it would be like to have his giant hands on you, teasing and toying at your hard buds.
“Unh baby, you wearing a bra like a good girl? Take it off. Need to feel those pretty nipples. Can you do that for me?” He brings his hands up his stomach as his abs contract. You watch as his metal hand goes over his nipples, shivers left in its wake as the cool feel of the metal and air works its magic.
You whimper as you quickly work to remove the black lace and throw it absent-mindedly across the room. You immediately bring your hands back to your boobs, squeezing them and tugging at your nipples. Your hands just aren’t big enough to help your imagination wander crazy with thoughts of what he’d feel like. Bringing one hand down to your keys you type out
Not enough, hands aren’t big like yours. Need yours Jamie
He whines reading the message and he quickly coughs to try and cover it up, not wanting to show just how crazy you make him. “Pretty girl, suck on your fingers. Get ‘em nice and wet for me. Bring ‘em to your nipples, pretend they’re like my tongue baby. God, you want that? Wanna feel my mouth on you?”
You whimper doing as he says and feel a new wave of shivers overcome you. Bringing your free hand down you quickly type Need your mouth everywhere
Your lace panties are completely soaked by now, but you were waiting for his instruction before you dared to touch them. You had to be good for him, you already made it this far. But what would happen if you didn’t wait? You’d never been bold to do something like that before. It’s not like he could actually do anything to you if you disobeyed him, he was only in your laptop screen. But then again, you were desperate to know how he’d react.
A new wave of excitement overcame you as you made your mind up. Slowly bringing one hand down to your waist just above your panties, you toy with the skin there a bit nervously, trying to work up the courage to touch yourself before he instructs you to.
The sight of him pushing his jeans down his legs to reveal his throbbing cock, leaking red and angry against his stomach, sans underwear was enough to push you. He didn’t wear underwear to tease you? Okay-- you didn’t need underwear then either. The surge of bratty confidence overwhelming you, you shiver as the cold air hits your wet center while removing the fragile lace.
Moving one hand up to toy with your nipple, you bring the other down to your aching center. You shudder as your cool fingers dip into your wetness, swiping around your slit and dragging some to coat your clit. Rubbing slow circles, you drop your head back and listen to him talk while he pumps himself.
“Can just imagine your mouth on my neck, on my cock, your warm tongue playing with me. Drives me crazy, I know that tongue of yours is magic, yeah? Witty mouth like yours, know that mouth is heaven, Cherry.”
You whine and speed up your movements, plunging two fingers into your dripping entrance while flicking your thumb on your sensitive nub. You were already so close, so worked up from just the sight of him pleasuring himself and the thought of ignoring his rule.
Bringing your other hand down to your keyboard you wait a second thinking of just the right thing to say. What will get him going?
Smirking and rolling your hips into your hand slowly, you type out
Mhmm my fingers too Jamie. Wish you could feel them right now
they feel so good
His movements completely stop when he sees what you wrote. You see his shoulders and chest tighten and his cock twitch in the open air of his room. You continue your movements, slowly, knowing just the amount of pressure to apply that will keep you on edge and wanting more but also in anticipation of what he’ll do. You add another finger.
“What do you mean, they feel so good, Cherry?” You practically feel the venom-laced words dripping from his lips slapping harshly against your aching center. You whine and feel your walls clench around your fingers at his deep tone. He is not happy.
Pleased with his reaction, you bargain for more
They feel so good inside me
Wish they were yours
So wet, could fit my whole hand
Bet your huge cock couldn’t fit
Need you to stretch me Jamie
My fingers aren’t enough
He whines pathetically and you watch his cock throb angrily, pre-cum leaking from his almost purple tip. He brings his metal hand down to his cock and slides his thumb over his slit, spreading his pre-cum around his length. He flicks his wrist a bit at his base and starts pumping himself while bringing his other hand down to fondle with his balls.
“Can’t believe you think you can touch yourself without permission.” He growls, clearly taking his frustration with you out on his angry cock. He moans as he pulls at his heavy sack, metal hands going back to circle at his tip just the way he likes. “You’re not coming tonight,” he barks, furiously working his member, “Only good girls get to cum. You’re gonna watch as I get myself off, Cherry, because that’s what girls who don’t listen have to do.”
You whimper at the thought of not coming and having to watch him get off, but you’re just so close. You could feel the coil in your lower stomach grow tighter and tighter and a few more brushes at your clit and you’d be seeing stars. But you already disobeyed him enough tonight. What if you obeyed and just told him otherwise? He’d never know. And you loved seeing this new frustrated side of him.
I don’t know Jamie, I’m the one with my hand in my warm pussy right now
He moans and starts pumping himself faster. “Not fair, baby. You know I’d give anything to touch you. Please! God just-- Cherry you are not coming. Take your hand out of my pussy now!” The low growl of his voice had your head spinning. How were you supposed to stop now? You were far too gone.
Your pussy feels incredible around my tiny fingers Jamie
Can’t wait to watch you finish with me
You can tell by his trembles and cries how close he is and how annoyed he is at the situation. His legs are shaking and his chest and stomach have a light sheen of sweat on them. He looks so beautiful. “Stop being a damn brat! I’ll end this call right now Cherry. Right before I finish.”
No he won’t. He physically can’t, you know what his body looks like right at the brink of completion. And he enjoyed this too much.
Not if I end it first
Watching his orgasm overcome him, you hear him moan loudly and beautiful chants of your name leave your laptop speakers and fill your room. You keep circling harshly at your clit and bring your other hand up to your pinch at your nipple, the last touch you need before a loud thumping in your ears and a sea of white overtakes you.
“What am I going to do with you?” he groans out, his intense orgasm still racking through his body. Hot white ropes of his release leaving his throbbing member, covering the skin of his tight abs and metal arm. “You are something else.”
You smile, your breathing trying to return to normal as you say your goodbyes in the chat.
Oh, you enjoyed it baby. Xo
He smiles, and you hear him chuckle and blow you a kiss.
Shutting your laptop closed without even bothering to exit the site, you smile brightly still trying to catch your breath. He was so hot angry. Where did your confidence come from?
The knock at the door brings you out of your pleasured daze and you quickly wipe yourself up and grab your robe to slip into to go grab the food.
Opening the door to your apartment, you’re greeted with the aroma from the delivered bag on the floor mat and your next-door neighbor Bucky, just closing and locking the door to his apartment. Catching your eye, he nervously waves and sends one of his warm smiles your way. He seems a bit out of it, hair disheveled and a warm flush on his face.
“Hey Y/N! Chinese? Sounds good. About to go get some myself.” His smile was so infectious. It made you want to invite him inside to share yours but you changed your mind when you quickly glanced down to note you were only wearing a thin robe and you must still appear flustered from your session with James.
After months of subtly trying to get Bucky to spend some time with you, you reasoned he was just reserved and closed off, not trying to take it too personal how he never seemed to play into your advances. He was always so kind, so it could be worse.
But there he was, looking a bit flustered himself but delicious as ever in his signature leather jacket and matching gloves you never see him without. You can’t help but wonder what was hiding beneath all the leather every time you heard his precious giggle light up the entirety of his face. He was so beautiful. And after that empowering session with James, you feel a sudden air of confidence take over you.
“You know Bucky, we’ve been neighbors for how long now? 6 months? You ever gonna take me up on my Friday night movie offer?” You smirk leaning against your doorframe holding the bag of dumplings you could care less about right now.
His face blushes even more so and he smiles softly looking at the floor. Shaking his head with a slight chuckle, he looks up and his eyes nearly knock the wind out of you. Stepping a bit closer to you he breathes out, “Yeah uh, yeah actually I am. That sounds nice Y/N. Tomorrow okay? I’ll bring wine?” His shy demeanor was going to be the death of you. He was nothing like your James, and that made you want Bucky even more.
The spark and fire that James brought out of you in your video sessions was absolutely perfect. He helped you regain ownership of your sexuality. But there was something just so appealing about how sweet Bucky always was. Someone like that was missing in your life and he seemed perfectly matched for you. Maybe after tomorrow night, you wouldn’t need to call James anymore. Maybe the sweetness of Bucky was the new flame you needed to kindle.
“Sounds perfect Buck, I’m a merlot kind of girl, hope that’s okay with you.”
He smiles widely at this and shakes his head, “More than okay with me, doll.” As you smile widely at him about to turn back into your apartment, you notice the left sleeve of his jacket slide up and get caught on his elbow.
No. It can’t be.
Your eyes widen and you feel your heart start to race at the sight of the small gleam of metal staring back at you, almost mocking you. He catches your gaze on his arm and he nods knowingly, disappointed in your reaction. You were just another person freaked out by his arm, and not even the entirety of it. Just from the small sliver now showing, just proving why he always covered up.
He shuffles his gloved hands around a bit, “Yeah uh, my uh arm isn’t exactly my arm. If you know what I mean. That’s why I usually wear these damn things. If it freaks you out I can uh. I ca--”
“No!” You yell shaking your head furiously, moving closer towards him, hoping the nearness eases his concern.
It’s him.
There’s no mistaking that beautiful metallic shine.
Your Jamie.
The thought of him feeling like he has to cover it so people don’t react exactly how you idiotically just did hurts your heart. But how do you let him know it’s because you’re his 9 pm on Thursdays? How do you let him know that you’re a customer of his? A customer that he frequently gives mind-blowing orgasms to through a screen to a person who unknowingly happens to be living right next door.
“No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you think-- I mean. I am not freaked out, I promise. I’d never… no. It’s just surprising, that’s all! You always have it covered. It’s uh, real pretty Ja- uh Bucky. Should show it more.” Cringing at your horrendous attempt, you quickly add, “So tomorrow at 7?”
The look on his face lightened a bit, but you still could sense the apprehension of your pathetic attempt to cover up why you actually got so flustered. How was this even going to work? Pretend you never paid him for his services? Pretend you haven’t seen all of his gorgeous body so much so that you fantasize daily about it? Pretend you didn’t develop feelings through a screen only to find he’s your incredibly perfect and shy next-door neighbor?
You smile a bit, thinking of how different he is from his online persona. Online he’s so confident and certain and dominating. In person, he’s just a shy little angel.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
He lets a soft smile sit on his lips at the sight of yours. “Sure Y/N, tomorrow. Night, then.” He turns quickly leaving you at your door watching him walk away. When he turns the corner you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.
Holy shit.
Bucky is James. Bucky is James.
Tomorrow couldn’t seem to roll around any slower. Your anxiety was at an all-time high. What if he didn’t want to see you anymore after he found out? What would his reaction be? Would he be freaked out that you’ve been paying him and he’d want nothing to do with you? Should you even bother telling him? Of course you had to, it felt like an invasion of privacy at this point. Maybe you were making it all up. Anyone could have a metal prosthetic. This is all just some big coincidence.
You hear a heavy knock at the door and feel your heart throbbing in your ears. Going to open the door, you brush down the front of your top and fix the zipper of your jeans before letting him in.
Bucky is standing there in a short sleeve shirt, jeans, holding a bottle of red wine, without his jacket or gloves. The sight of the arm up close nearly makes you pass out. Yep, there’s no mistaking it. James is Bucky.
He catches you staring and smiles softly, “Hey Y/N, figured I’d let my arm breathe for the night. Is that okay with you?” Before he could even get the question out you were excitedly nodding your head at him.
“More than okay. I meant it, it’s real pretty Buck.” You grab the wine from his hand and gesture for him to follow you into your apartment. You can’t help but notice the growing blush that blooms along his neck and face at your comment. It’s soft and radiant, just like him and his damn arm.
Looking at him scan your apartment and take in his surroundings, you open your arms as if to say welcome to my small place, hope you find what you’re looking for. He chuckles at your nervous body language and it immediately calms some of your nerves. Some of them; there’s still that other big issue you have yet to figure out how to disclose.
“So what movie were you planning on showing at this Friday movie night event of yours?” Shit. You almost forgot why he was here. “Don’t exactly see a TV anywhere Y/N, you know, so we could watch a movie.” He smirks at you, clearly catching you off guard.
Laughing softly, you point your head towards your bedroom, “My uh laptop is in there. I don’t have a TV but I promise, the screen on my laptop is pristine. Perfect for the couch too,” you wink. “Let me go get us some glasses and you grab my computer and set it up on the table for me, okay?” He smiles at you and turns towards your bedroom door.
You let your shoulders relax for a second and close your eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, you try and get control of your nerves. Everything is fine, he is here, you’re here, everything will be okay, he wants to be here with you.
You feel your nerves dissipate until you look up to see Bucky standing in the doorway of your room, a shit-eating grin covering the entirety of his face.
Walking into the living room with your laptop in his hands, you suddenly remember the last time you used your laptop the night before and the last site you had been on. His web page, the one you forgot to exit out of. How could you be so stupid?
The look of pure satisfaction on his face as he met your wide and frightened eyes was enough to tell you he’d figured it out. He knew now.
He turns your laptop and smiles with his eyes, taunting you so that the screen is showing his sculpted chest on display at the top of his page. He sucks his teeth at you and tuts disapprovingly, “This how you wanted me to find out? Paying me to get you off all this time, I’ve been right next door. Hmm? How long you know it was me, Cherry?” You gulp and feel a pool of wetness envelop the underwear now sticking to you as the shy and sweet demeanor of Bucky now fades. You couldn’t manage to get any words to come out of your gaping mouth. This is the James you know-- only it was actually Bucky. Looking at you with a burning hunger in his eyes, he closes the laptop and places it on the table.
He slowly starts removing his shirt while stalking towards you, eyes and piercing smile never leaving your shocked face. Your body can’t help but shiver lightly as he corners you in towards your living room. No amount of screen time could’ve ever prepared you for the feeling of seeing his body and his beautiful arm in all its glory right in front of your face. Tangible and present, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch him.
He hums, puckering his lips teasingly and shaking his head. “I don’t remember saying you could touch me,” he squints his eyes at you while bringing his metal hand to grasp your chin. Bowing down to your eye level, he squeezes at your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your throat. He chuckles darkly, “Hmm, now that I think about it, I don’t appreciate your behavior lately. What happened to my good girl?”
His eyes travel down towards your lips and he licks his own, internally fighting the terrible urge he has to give in and kiss you. Glancing back up into your lust-filled eyes, he gains back some of his composure. He brings his other hand to stroke at the side of your face, “You don’t get to touch me since you want to be a brat. You don’t get to cum until you’ve earned it. Don’t have a screen to hide behind this time huh? Can smell my pussy crying for me to stop already. You’re gonna let me ruin you tonight-- ruin my perfect little pussy. Ain’t that right, Cherry?”
Run-through: The mob boss had everything one can ever want from life; power, money, fame. He was well respected and had people almost worshipping the ground he walked on. And yet, each day he came home to an empty, cold house; no warmth, no love around him. And each day, he tried changing that. Until one day he finally figured out how to; and he met you along the path. Having found each other, nothing in both your lives is ever the same again.
Themes throughout the series: mob!seb, surrogacy, fluff, smut, slight angst
a/n: This is it! We’ve reached the final part of Afterglow. Thank you to everyone who stayed till now. This story is special to me, and I’m so glad to see that you guys liked it as well! Thank you so much, I love you more than anything!!
After that first night together, the following months were pure bliss.
I need a lot of comfort right now, so I wrote this!
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The kiss changed between tender affection and hunger, completely controlled by the man who managed to draw out small moans from your throat simply with his tongue. A whine left your mouth as he pulled back and stared down at you with a pleased expression.
“Another one.” You pleaded, set on making the cutest face you knew while you laid sprawled out against his chest. Sebastian was propped up on several large pillows, one hand stroking absentmindedly through your hair.
“Mhh, you already had so many. Is my kitten still hungry after all?”
You nodded, licking your lips and tilting your head in hopes of stealing another kiss.
“Maybe she should drink a little milk~” Sebastian chuckled and reached over to the nightstand, lifting the golden cup into his hands. He held it in such an angle that you had to tilt your head upwards and crane your neck a little, but eventually you drank the warm, sweet milk in small, quick gulps. While you did, the demon approvingly stroked over your hair. “What a good kitty you are. Yes, drink up.”
After he set the cup back down, you eagerly licked the last traces of the white liquid off your lips, catching how the butler´s eyes flashed and narrowed a little in attention. “What a pretty girl you are.” With an appreciating hum you listened to his every word, drinking in their warmth and comfort. “I wish I could show you off to whole London and let everyone see how beautiful my little kitten is.” His hand found the small crown on top of your head, one of his many presents.
“But I rather appreciate having you all to myself.” With a low hum he dipped down and peppered your neck with kisses, delivering each and every one with great care and gentleness. “Purr for me~” You let out small, pleased hums, feeling so very, very appreciated in every possible way. After a while you felt sleepy, resting your head against Sebastian´s chest comfortably. The low chuckle of the handsome demon butler vibrated in his chest and you smiled while he pulled the silks up around you to keep your body warm.
With a last kiss to your hair, Sebastian leaned back with you in his arms, watching over you like a guardian in your sleep.
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