Omg Y’all This Writer Right Here??? The Fics Are So Freaking Done Well !! The Writing Style Is So Nicely

can you do bob x reader where he sees us interacting with a child and it makes him want to be a father so bad?

It’s You I’m Thinking Of

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/ The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement and because some events are mentioned in passing. Fluff, a hint of Angst and an Established Relationship is at the forefront here.

Author's Note: Surprise, it’s double update day…Because I had this in my drafts and forgot to post it…YIKES. I found this to be so fluffy and cute to write! Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this a lot!

Word Count: 3,805

Valentina had called it a “Visibility Effort,” which–as far as Bob was concerned–was just a polished way of saying: “I need people to stop thinking you guys are monsters, so go smile for the cameras and pretend you guys didn’t almost destroy New York City a year ago.”

The Thunderbolts had only just begun to scrape their way back into the public’s good graces after the Void. If grace could even be applied to a team that, not long ago, had been seen as volatile assets in containment rather than heroes in recovery. But Valentina didn’t care about semantics–she cared about optics. And what better way to scrub down their image than to host a carefully staged, feel-good community day in a public park–complete with banners, press kits, and security briefings disguised as media rundowns.

The day before, you and the rest of the team had been sweating under the sun, assembling the layout from the ground up. Tent poles groaned in the wind, tarps snapped against knuckles, and the oversized bouncy castle–more akin to a pop-up cathedral–took three hours to stabilize. It loomed over the field like a surreal monument to liability.

By sundown, the park had been transformed.

Face-painting booths stretched along the paved path like an art market in miniature, each tent hung with paper lanterns and garlands of plastic ivy. A ring toss area had been set up beside a small prize table, its wares still barcoded and smelling faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. Further down, a row of food trucks idled along the lot’s edge, the air thick with fried batter and roasted peanuts, preparing for the next day. A banner, bold and hopeful, rippled above the main walkway: THUNDERBOLTS COMMUNITY GIVEBACK DAY!

The park was bustling before noon the next day.

Children darted between booths with faces half-painted and shoes untied. Parents loitered on benches, plastic cups of lemonade in hand, cautiously optimistic about letting their kids near a group of enhanced individuals who, six months ago, were being referred to as national liabilities. Still, smiles came easier than expected. The air smelled like kettle corn, sun-warmed vinyl, and freshly cut grass.

Valentina had positioned her pawns with precision, each member of the team slotted into a role meant to soften their image–familiar, friendly, safe.

Yelena was stationed at the face-painting table. She didn’t argue when she was assigned to it, though she rolled her eyes hard enough that everyone could basically hear it. Now, seated with a paintbrush balanced between her fingers, she looked…Focused. Delicate even. She painted dragons, daisies, and one incredibly accurate depiction of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier face paint layout. She didn’t say much unless spoken to, but the kids flocked to her. Her bluntness came off as hilarious to them. Her gentleness? Earned in silence.

Walker manned the obstacle course–one of the only areas Valentina trusted him not to overcomplicate. With his sleeves rolled up and clipboard tucked under his arm, he barked out encouragements that sounded suspiciously like bootcamp commands. But he was patient. He let kids redo the course as many times as they wanted. And when one boy tripped near the finish line, Walker helped him up without hesitation and whispered something that made the kid’s chest puff with pride.

Ava floated between stations like an unofficial supervisor. She had no designated role, but her presence was felt and it was heavy. She hovered near the cotton candy vendor long enough to be offered a free sample, then spent ten minutes helping a little girl reattach the wheel to her toy stroller. Ava didn’t smile often, but she kept her sunglasses off today. It mattered more than anyone would admit.

Alexei had placed himself right in the center of the park’s open lawn, surrounded by children wielding foam swords. He was absolutely in his element. Towering, loud, enthusiastic. He let them “ambush” him over and over again, dramatically collapsing onto the grass as they tackled him, crying out in mock defeat with every fall. When one kid asked if he was Santa, Alexei laughed so hard he nearly swallowed a whistle. He’d fashioned a red Thunderbolts cap to resemble something almost festive. No one stopped him.

Bucky was at the photo booth. Not because Valentina assigned it to him–but because he asked. Quietly. Just once. And when she raised a brow, he explained:

“Kids like the arm. Makes them feel like they’re meeting a real superhero.”

No one argued with that.

He stood beside the printed backdrop of a Thunderbolts mural, his vibranium arm resting lightly at his side. At first, only a few families came by. Then word got around. By midday, there was a line curling around the booth. Bucky posed with toddlers who clung to his leg, tweens who wanted to see if he could lift them with his arm alone, and teens who just wanted proof they’d stood next to him. He let them. All of them.

And you–you’d been running the craft tent since the gates opened. Low folding tables filled with paper crowns, pipe cleaners, sticker sheets, and markers with their caps long lost to time. You moved between projects with practiced ease, coaxing confidence out of even the shyest children. One girl in a purple tutu had stuck to your side all morning, proudly referring to you as “Miss Thunderbolt” like it was an official title.

Bob on the other hand…Wasn’t assigned a booth.

Valentina had called it a “strategic decision”–which meant don’t scare the kids. She hadn’t said it outright, of course, but Bob understood the subtext. The others had made peace with their reputations, learned how to bend their edges into something palatable. Bob’s problem wasn’t sharpness. It was scale. People didn’t look at him and see a man. They saw The Void. A storm in a body. The thing that turned Manhattan’s sky black almost a year ago. Or they saw him as Golden Boy Sentry, which he rarely presented himself as now because all of that was dormant since the incident, so he was just Bob, and unfortunately nobody was really interested in just Bob.

Except you of course.

You had grown extremely close to him throughout the time he was recovering from the incident. You would stay back from missions just to keep him company, and within those small moments, the two of you grew a bond and became inseparable.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no big declaration, no kiss in the rain, no sweeping hand grab before battle. It was subtle–gentle, even. A shared quiet. The way you waited for him to speak on his own terms. The way you handed him warm drinks without comment and sat beside him on the floor of his room during the worst days, and just held him or smoothed his hair down. The way you always reached for his hand under the table when Valentina debriefed the team about “public image,” like you were grounding yourself in him, not the other way around.

It started with one date. A walk. A drink from the local coffee shop that you used two straws for. A movie you barely paid attention to because Bob had cried halfway through and apologized for it, and you’d told him, “I’d rather watch you feel something than watch the movie anyway.”

Now it had been nearly a year.

A quiet year. A healing one. A year where Bob–somehow–had begun to believe that maybe he wasn’t made just for disaster. Maybe he was allowed to want softness. Warmth. You.

So he stayed near you now, just like he always did. Even in the middle of this pastel-bright circus of a public relations stunt, even with the buzzing press cameras and the thunder of kids’ shoes over packed grass–he stood a few feet behind your tent. Watching quietly like he always did.

You didn’t need him to be part of the event. You didn’t ask him to engage. You just wanted him to be close and hover around you. And every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder and give him a little smile–soft, unhurried, like a tether that reminded him that he was still on your mind.

That’s what he was doing when it happened.

You were helping a child–maybe four, maybe five–cut out the outline of a star from glitter paper. She was sitting in your lap, legs swinging off the edge of the bench, her small fingers clumsy around the safety scissors. You guided her hands with your own, gentle and patient, your chin tucked down as you murmured something too soft for him to hear. The girl giggled. You smiled. And Bob felt something in his chest fracture.

It bloomed sharp and sudden, like a crack in glass that spiderwebbed behind his ribs before he could stop it. A low, aching pressure that pulsed under his skin and settled into his throat. He couldn’t look away from you. From the way the little girl leaned back against your chest, utterly content, while you helped her snip the edges of her glittery star. Your voice was low, your hand steady on hers, and when she got frustrated, you smiled and told her it was perfect just the way it was.

And the little girl–she believed you.

Bob watched her beam like she’d just won a medal, then twist to throw her arms around your neck. You hugged her back instinctively, without missing a beat, without needing to think about it.

And just like that, Bob saw it.

Not as a fantasy. Not as a warm, fuzzy, distant dream.

He saw you. Sitting in a living room. Soft lamplight across your shoulders. A child curled into your lap with a crayon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other. Your hair a mess from the day, a blanket half-draped over both of you. And him in the doorway. Holding a book in his hand that he’d forgotten to read, too caught up in the simple, breathtaking fact that this was his life. That somehow, impossibly, he’d made it here.

His throat tightened.

The thought came quietly, like breath fogging glass:

He wanted this.

He wanted you. A child. A family. Not someday, not maybe. Just–yes. He wanted tiny shoes in the hallway. A swing set in a yard. A sleepy voice calling him Dad. He wanted your laughter in a kitchen filled with baby wipes and half-assembled toys. He wanted something that was his and yours and no one else’s.

But right on the heels of that beautiful, terrifying longing came something cold and heavy.

Fear.

He swallowed, hard.

His father’s voice echoed somewhere in the dark part of his memory–low, sharp, filled with the kind of disgust that was harder to forget than fists. He could still hear the way the floor creaked before a bad night. The sting of being told he was nothing. How love only showed up with bruises attached.

Bob’s stomach twisted.

What if I turn into him? He thought.

He didn’t think he would. He knew–rationally–that he wasn’t the same. He didn’t drink. He didn’t shout. He couldn’t even raise his voice without wincing at the echo. He loved gently. He loved softly. But fear didn’t care about facts. It sunk into his lungs anyway.

What if something in him broke? What if the Void came back and he couldn’t stop it? What if one day he opened his eyes and the sky was black again, and the only thing he’d ever loved was looking up at him, afraid?

He could never live with that.

Never.

And yet–

You turned slightly, and caught Bob’s eyes across the grass. You smiled at him–something so simple, so safe–and in that moment, the fear didn’t disappear, but it softened.

Because you weren’t afraid of him.

You’d never been.

Even on the days he didn’t like himself, you liked him. Even when he flinched at his own reflection, you reached for his hand and rested your chin on his shoulder. You didn’t see The Void. You didn’t see the Sentry. You just saw Bob–the man who carried your snacks in his hoodie pocket just in case you got hungry when you went out, who still got bashful when you looked at him for too long, who curled into you at night like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.

Bob’s hand gripped the edge of the canopy pole beside him, just to ground himself.

He wanted to go to you right then and there just to say it. To whisper something clumsy like, “I want to build a life with you. A whole one. With glue-stained paper crowns and messy bedrooms and bedtime songs.”

But he stayed still.

Too scared to break the moment.

Too scared it might not be his to want.

—————————

Later, when the event was winding down, and the sky had shifted to gold and mauve and soft watercolor blues, Bob found you sitting on the grass alone near the now-abandoned craft table, peeling dried glue off your fingers and watching a few leftover kids chase bubbles across the park. He moved towards you slowly, and his looming presence immediately got your attention.

You stopped picking at the glue on your fingers and looked up at him instantly.

”Well, hey stranger.” Bob gave a quiet huff of a laugh at the greeting and smiled down at you, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “You gonna sit down or are you going to just stand there and stare?” You joked, patting the patch of open grass beside you. He hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside you, knees folding awkwardly in the grass. You watched him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek–light, and lingering, your lips warm against the wind-chilled skin just below his eye.

“I haven’t been able to do that all day,” You said softly, almost teasing, but the affection behind it was unmistakable.

Before Bob could even respond, you leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of his jaw, then to his temple, and then one right between his brows where they had scrunched up, each kiss softer and slower than the last.

By the time you pulled back, Bob’s cheeks were as red as a rose, and they had become warm, and his smile had curled wide and helpless across his face, because to him your affections were always welcome.

”Y-You’re gonna make me explode,” He mumbled, voice thick with love as he turned to hide his burning face against the shoulder of his hoodie, “This is h-how I die.” He stumbled, looking over at you with those big blue eyes you couldn’t help but stare into every night.

“Death by affection sounds like a dream to me.” You laughed, slipping your hand up to cup his cheek, to turn his face towards yours so he was looking at you directly.

“Y-You know I’m a fragile m-man.” You snorted at his comment.

”I know Sentry is dormant but you’re technically the strongest person on Earth.” You said, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t think you’re fragile.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh, his pupils blown out from how close you were.

”Y-Yeah, well…D-Don’t flatter me too much…You’ll make me f-fall in love with you or s-something.” You raised your brows at him, seeing his cheeks go an even deeper red, “I-I mean–more. Like…More in love with you.” You smiled, so warmly it made his breath catch in his throat, you could hear it.

”Almost a year in,” You whispered, brushing your nose gently against his, “And you still get all flustered with me…I love it.”

And you kissed him–gently, fully, your mouth warm and sure on his. Bob melted. His whole body slackened like your kiss had pulled all the tension right out of him. He groaned quietly and let himself fall back into the grass with a helpless thump, hoodie riding up slightly at the hem, his eyes fluttering closed like he was physically overwhelmed. You laughed lightly and laid down beside him, turning your head so you were looking at him and all his glory, feeling his hand find yours, lacing his fingers between yours instantly.

The sky above you was dimming into deeper blues now, streaked with soft brushstrokes of pink and violet. The hum of the event had finally died out completely. You could still hear the occasional giggle of a child somewhere off in the distance, but for the most part, it felt like you two were the last ones left in the park. Like the whole day had been waiting to exhale.

Bob stared up at the clouds for a moment, before letting out a small sigh.

”C-Can I ask you something…Kind of b-big?” Your eyes studied him for a moment, tracing the way his brows furrowed gently, like he was already halfway to apologizing for whatever he was about to say. Like he was bracing himself to ruin something just by saying it.

“Of course,” You replied, your voice just above a whisper, slowly growing more and more concerned with each moment that passed in silence.

Bob just kept looking up at the sky like the words were written somewhere in the clouds and he just had to find them. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your knuckles.

”Have you ever thought about…Us?” He swallowed, “I mean–not just us, b-but more like…A family.” You raised your eyebrows slowly, turning onto your side so you could face him fully, still holding his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I–I watched you today,” He whispered. “With that little girl in your lap. And it didn’t feel far away…It didn’t feel like someone else’s life. It felt like something I could…Want.”

Your heart gave a soft, aching pull at that.

“I want it,” He admitted, voice trembling. “I want it so bad it scares me. You, a kid–us. A home. Not perfect. Not polished. Just ours. Something warm. Something safe.”

You reached up and gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, your fingertips trailing along his temple. He leaned into the touch like it soothed something he couldn’t name.

“I want that too,” You said. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But one day. When things are a little quieter, when the world doesn’t need us to carry it. I want that with you, Bob.” He nodded, like he was trying to let the hope settle in–but his eyes were still stormy at the edges.

“But what if…” He swallowed. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I…Mess it up l–like I always do? What if I hurt them? What if something in me snaps and I—”

“Hey,” You cut in gently, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, his blue eyes wide and full of unshed fear, tears filling up in the corners threatening to spill at any moment.

“You’re not like your father at all Bob, you’re not him.” You said, your voice steady and firm.

”Y-You don’t know that,” He whispered, his eyes glancing away at you, making you chase his gaze a bit so he could look at you.

”I do know that…Because I know you. Because I’ve watched you fall asleep holding my hand. Because you carry two different granola bar options in your hoodie pocket in case I want a choice. Because you always refill the toothpaste without me asking. Because when I’m upset, you don’t try to fix it–you just stay with me. Quietly. Constantly.” Bob blinked, his lip trembling ever so slightly.

“You don’t lash out, Bob. You lean in,” You said. “You don’t shut down. You open up, even when it scares you. You feel everything so deeply, and you never make anyone pay for it.” His brow furrowed and he looked down, overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight of that truth.

You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then whispered into the space between you:

“You already take care of me in a thousand tiny ways. You love gently. That’s why I trust you with my soul.”

He let out a shaky breath, and the hand that held yours tightened just a little more. He nodded faintly, like he was still catching up to the truth you’d handed him–like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he was holding it anyway.

You reached up, your thumb brushing delicately at the corners of his eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered without pressure or embarrassment. Just care.

“You cry so pretty, you know that?” You whispered, a little playful, attempting to lift the mood just a bit.

Bob let out a short, breathy laugh–surprised and soft. “Th-That’s not a real thing.”

“It is when you do it,” You smiled, leaning closer, your voice light but laced with everything you meant. “You’re beautiful when you feel things.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a future and told him it already belonged to him. Like no one had ever said that to him before–and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, lips pressed to his like you had time. Like you weren’t afraid to show him just how loved he was.

And when you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered:

“You’d be the safest place a little soul could ever grow.”

Bob let out another shaky breath, and this time he smiled–full, unguarded, like something inside him had just settled for the first time.

“Only if it’s with you,” He said quietly.

You nodded, your fingers lacing tighter with his.

“Then we’ll build it,” You whispered. “Slow and messy and ours.”

And beneath a darkening sky painted with stars and leftover laughter, you lay together in the grass, your future unfolding between your palms like something sacred.

Just warm.

Just real.

Just home.

Loving it so far 🫶🏽✨

Lost & Found

Parental!DogDay & Child!Reader

A/N: Hey there! First post, I know, but I couldn’t help but share this. A friend of mine encouraged me to, so I hope other people like it as well! This is only the first part and I have much more planned for this story, I hope you enjoy! I know this ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but that may or may not be intentional.

Spoilers for Poppy Playtime Chapter 3: Deep Sleep!

Warnings: Mentions of character death, blood, gore, and the like. Child experimentation will also be mentioned. This story will contain references to the information in the game as well, if uncomfortable with any of those topics then please proceed with caution.

________________________________________________

DogDay and the others knew well that something was amiss in the building, several of the Smiling Critters had sought him out due to the fact that he was the leader. CatNap was the only one that had been distant for a long time now, becoming something that he couldn’t recognize.

And then it happened. The Hour of Joy. The metallic scent of blood was something he could never rid his nose of, his ears still rang from the sound of screaming from both children and adults. The Prototype had clearly been convincing the cat of the Smiling Critters, for nothing but praises fell out for the creature amongst that dreaded red gas that poured out of his perpetually gaping maw.

DogDay had been able to reach the others first, encouraging them to not stand idly by and follow something as monstrous as The Prototype and his newly fashioned pawn.

It ended poorly, their rebellion was met with nightmarish hallucinations and a set of claws that sliced their bodies to ribbons.

Even they were not impervious to the red gas that covered the ground like a dense fog, announcing CatNap’s presence before he could be seen. Few of them remained, far less than what once was. They rotated hideouts regularly, knowing well that they had to keep moving to avoid CatNap’s patrols.

Currently, the place they had sought refuge in was some long abandoned room of the orphanage. Those that remained were silent.

CraftyCorn was frantically drawing something on a dirtied sheet of paper, the colors bleeding against her hooves as she struggled to keep a steady grip.

Bobby BearHug was huddled in a corner, clutching a blanket that was shredded in places and nearly fell apart as she held it to her chest, her body shook from silent sobs or perhaps fear of what would come.

DogDay himself was solemn, resting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. They had just lost Hoppy days prior, or at least it had seemed like days. Any semblance of a concept of time was lost in this pit of despair, the inability to even catch a glimpse of light that wasn’t artificial was disheartening and disorienting. The others in the room were in no state to actively patrol, their minds in shambles and in various states of decay.

There was no optimism to be found, he knew that. Any attempt to even lighten the mood would be met with dismay and the kind of disgust that caused nausea to wash over oneself and clouded any other senses. They had lost far too many for any form of joy to be found.

CatNap may have been the one to end their lives, following the guiding hand of The Prototype, but their blood was also on his hands. Their screams kept him awake, the fear in their voices as they called out and weeped for help kept him going.

Slowly, he rose from his seated position to his feet, the sun pendant that hung from his zipper clinked against the metal with the motion and swung gently before resting against his chest. It was enough of a sound to draw the eyes of CraftyCorn, to which DogDay gave a dip of his head. “I’m sorry to startle you, that wasn’t my intention,” he started, voice rough and scratchy from disuse as he met the eyes of the other.

“I’ll take the first watch, be safe and try to get some rest, please.” The please sounded pathetic in his own ears, a sign that despite his attempts to remain strong for the other survivors, he was suffering from the grief and loss of their shared companions.

The idea of losing them too was something he refused to linger on, a small sliver of hope remained in his heart despite the horrors that threatened their very lives.

CraftyCorn didn’t seem to mind the interruption, even going as far as lowering her hooves as she looked over at him, the red crayon in her grasp rolled to the floor with a quiet thump. “Be careful, DogDay.” Her voice was soft, it was a comfort in this trying time. As gentle as the very petals of the flower she once smelled like, an extension of her kind yet hardy nature.

He wanted to reassure her, to give her some hope that he might return. But that wasn’t a guarantee, he knew that.

Regardless, he nodded before approaching the door, opening it slightly before listening carefully for any sounds. Relieved to have been met with relative silence, he crept through the door before shutting it behind him. Complete silence was impossible for him to achieve, given his size and the overall state of the orphanage itself.

His movements were slow and deliberate, each placement of his hand or foot was mindful of the debris that lined the halls. Shattered picture frames with glass littering the floor and various toys that had once belonged to the children here were a common item to stumble across. There had been moments when the odd toy activated or some rotting piece of wood snapped under the pressure of a bed that rested upon it, but it was silent other than that.

His ears were active in keeping note of his surroundings, as his nose focused on the horrible scent of lavender and the intensity of it. It stuck to every crack and crevice of this building, yet it was relatively faint at the given moment, a positive in an otherwise grim situation. His eyes swept every open door that he passed by, peering into the room for several moments before moving on. To say he was tense and alert was an understatement, every fiber of his being stood on edge as he patrolled the halls.

He froze in his tracks as a sound caught his attention, a sound that he hadn’t been expecting to come across. It had been a sob, a shuddering and weak sound that left from an open door in front of him. Had he not been focused as intently as he was, he could’ve missed it. DogDay stayed in that position as he listened further, making sure that he hadn’t been imagining such a sound. His doubts were shattered as he heard the sound repeat, the fear in the weeping was unmistakable.

The thought didn’t even cross his mind that it could potentially be a trap, that some sick monster would be willing to mimic such a heartbreaking sound.

Light On

Simon Riley masterlist

Anthology complete - 2/2/24

Simon has a new neighbor. His new neighbor has a baby.

Simon Riley/female reader Single mom, neighbors fic. Fics are listed in chronological order

Simon discovers something unexpected Simon realizes where you live Simon gives you a hand Simon comes over for dinner Simon eavesdrops Simon spends time in the garden Johnny learns his LT's secret Simon helps you out last minute Simon gets a phone call Simon accompanies you to the park Simon steps in Simon answers the phone in the middle of the night Simon learns something about you You miss your neighbor Simon's choice has consequences Simon tries to make amends Simon has you over for dinner 🎄Simon helps you and Emmaline pick out a tree Simon shares his space Simon shares his bed Simon takes you on a proper date Simon thinks he could die here You tell Simon about your grief 🎄Simon takes his family to a holiday party 🎄Simon has himself a merry little christmas Simon discovers one of your fears Simon comes home from work Simon takes his girls to the aquarium

Omg,,, that shit with graves ,,,

imagine you, a recently divorced person and Graves is working your case or whatever and feelings get caught in between 😩😩

I kinda wanna write this up now 🗣️🗣️

Secrets out

Summary: The daggers know now...that's good....right?

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of labour, postpartum, mentions of smut, not detailed smut, nudity.

Word count: 3918 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part 5 of the little life universe

Three weeks later, Jake was sprawled out on the couch in the apartment he shared with Javy, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The lazy afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room. His mind was wandering, somewhere between half-asleep and awake, when a loud knock echoed through the apartment.

Frowning, Jake pushed himself up, glancing at the door. Javy wasn’t home, so he wasn’t expecting anyone. Another knock, this time more insistent. He stood up, running a hand through his hair as he padded across the floor, pulling open the door without much thought.

Standing in the doorway was Y/N.

For a moment, Jake blinked, his brain not fully processing the sight of her standing there in front of him. She was dressed casually, a light jacket over her shoulders, her hair loose around her face, and a suitcase by her side. She smiled at him, that familiar spark in her eyes, and it was only then that it hit him—she was here.

“Y/N?” he asked, completely shocked. “What… what are you doing here?”

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, her smile widening as she took in the sight of him standing there in just his boxers. “Nice to see you too, Jakey,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her tone that softened the surprise of her sudden arrival.

Jake ran a hand over his face, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I mean—God, it’s good to see you, but what are you doing here? You didn’t say anything about coming to San Diego.”

Y/N tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “I have a meeting here about my book.” She paused, watching his expression shift. “They’re talking about a movie adaptation.”

That stopped him cold. Jake stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. “A movie adaptation? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, a soft laugh escaping her. “Yeah, pretty big deal, right?”

He was speechless for a moment, his mind racing. He had known she was an incredible writer, but the idea of her work being turned into a movie? That was huge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, still processing the news.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze flickering over his face. “Well, I haven’t exactly heard from you in a while.” Her voice was playful, but there was an edge of teasing accusation there.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling guilty. “I’ve been… busy,” he muttered, though he knew it was a weak excuse. He hadn’t been great about calling as often as he should have, between missions and keeping up appearances at the base.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I noticed. So, I figured I’d come see you in person.”

Still reeling from her unexpected arrival, Jake’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, half-expecting Ellie to pop up from behind her. “Wait… where’s Ellie?”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping inside the apartment and shutting the door behind her. “She’s with your parents. I left her in Texas.”

Jake let out a breath, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment wash over him. “Oh… okay.” As much as he missed Ellie, there was a part of him that was glad to have Y/N here, just the two of them, even if only for a short time.

Y/N stepped closer to him, her hands sliding around his waist as she looked up at him with that knowing smile. “I missed you,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of the distance that had grown between them over the last few weeks.

Jake wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his. “I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

As Jake held Y/N close, feeling the familiar warmth of her body, something shifted. The weeks of separation, the missed calls, the teasing pictures—all of it came rushing back. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and before he could think twice, his lips were on hers, kissing her more deeply, more passionately than he had in weeks.

Y/N responded instantly, her fingers threading through his hair as she pressed herself closer, the tension between them melting away. His hands roamed down her back, sliding over the curve of her hips, gripping her tighter, but as he started to guide her toward the couch, Y/N pulled back slightly, her breath a little ragged as she smiled against his lips.

“You can touch me everywhere, Jake,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with a playful heat. “I’m past the postpartum weeks. Doctor gave the all-clear.”

Her words sent a thrill through him, and Jake’s heart pounded as his eyes darkened with desire. He met her gaze, that familiar smirk spreading across his face. “You sure about that, darlin’?” he asked, his hands already moving to slide underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palms.

Y/N nodded, her lips brushing against his. “I’m sure. So, stop holding back.”

That was all the permission Jake needed.

With a low growl, he scooped her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he carried her over to the couch. Y/N let out a soft laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck as he laid her down, his hands already exploring her body with a renewed urgency. Every touch, every kiss felt like a reconnection, a way to make up for all the lost time between them.

His fingers traced over her skin, moving with a confidence that came from years of knowing exactly how to make her melt beneath him. And Y/N, for her part, didn’t hold back either—her hands roamed over his chest, down his back, her lips following the path of her hands as she revelled in the closeness they hadn’t had in weeks.

As Jake’s hands found their way under her shirt, pushing it up to reveal more of her skin, Y/N’s breath hitched. She arched into his touch, her body alive with anticipation, and Jake couldn’t help but smirk at the way she responded to him, the way she always did.

"You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?" he murmured against her neck, his voice rough with desire.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. "You have no idea," she whispered, tugging him closer.

And with that, all the space, all the time between them disappeared as Jake gave in completely, losing himself in the moment with her, finally able to let go of everything except the woman in his arms.

---

Jake lay on the couch with Y/N curled up against his chest, their bodies tangled together under the sheets. The warm glow from the setting sun filtered through the blinds, casting a soft light across the room. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her back, and she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. It had been weeks since they had this kind of time alone, and the silence between them was comfortable.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, fully content, his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, breaking the peaceful moment. He groaned, reluctant to leave the warmth of her body, but reached over to grab the phone anyway. Unlocking it, he was met with a flood of texts—messages from the squad and one from Javy.

The first message was from Phoenix: Phoenix: Hangman, where the hell are you? We’ve been at the Hard Deck for over an hour. Don’t tell me you bailed again. Then Rooster chimed in: Rooster: Man, this better be good. You keep dodging us. Fanboy followed: Fanboy: If you don’t show, you’re buying all the drinks next time. And Bob, the most polite of them all: Bob: Everything okay?

Finally, a message from Javy: Coyote: Bro, where you at? You’re supposed to be here. You better not be pulling that “family business” excuse again.

Jake chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Y/N stirred slightly beside him, her head lifting from his chest as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s so funny?” she asked, her voice still soft from the afterglow.

He turned the phone toward her. “The squad. I was supposed to meet them at the Hard Deck tonight.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she read the texts. “The squad?” She leaned back a little, curious. “You mean, the ones you barely ever talk about?”

Jake scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin forming on his face. “Yeah, those guys. Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy… They give me hell for not showing up to things.”

Y/N smirked. “I’m guessing they don’t know about me either?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Only Javy knows, and even he doesn’t know you flew down here today.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. “You’re keeping me a secret from your friends, huh?”

Jake sighed, running his hand through her hair. “It’s not like that, babe. I just… I like keeping things between us for now. Less drama, less questions.” He paused, glancing down at her with a grin. “Besides, you’re my best-kept secret.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t press him further. She knew Jake valued his privacy, especially when it came to their relationship. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little curious about the people he spent so much time with. “What do they think you’re doing all the time? You’ve bailed on them a lot.”

Jake chuckled again, locking his phone and setting it aside. “They’ve got their theories. I just tell them I’ve got family business. They think it’s something serious, but I’m not giving them any details.”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. “You know, one day they’re gonna figure it out.”

Jake met her gaze, his smile softening. “Maybe. But for now, I’m enjoying having you to myself.” He slid his hand down to her waist, pulling her closer as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

As she settled back against him, Jake’s phone buzzed again, and he reluctantly glanced at it.

Phoenix: Hangman, last chance. If you’re not here in 20 minutes, you’re buying every round next time.

Y/N laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. “I think they’re serious.”

Jake groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, they’re not letting this go.” He looked back at her, mischief in his eyes. “But I’d rather stay right here.”

Y/N grinned, tracing her fingers over his chest. “Well, when you do go back, you better buy them all those drinks. You can’t keep ditching them forever.”

Jake sighed dramatically, pulling her even closer. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Y/N shifted slightly in Jake’s arms, resting her chin on his chest as she gazed up at him. A playful smile tugged at her lips, her fingers tracing slow circles on his skin. “You know,” she began, her voice teasing, “if you’re so worried about them being curious… why don’t I just meet them?”

Jake blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Meet them?” he repeated, as if testing the idea out loud.

“Yeah,” Y/N continued, her smile widening. “I mean, it’s not like I’m some big secret. We’ve been married for a year, Jake. Maybe it’s time they knew about me.”

Jake looked down at her, his expression thoughtful. “You want to meet the Daggers?” He asked, half-amused, half-serious. “You know they’re a lot to handle, right?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and warm. “I think I can handle them. I’ve heard enough about Phoenix, Rooster, and the others to feel like I know them already… even if you don’t talk about them much.” She teased him, poking his chest gently. “And besides, it’s better than you making up excuses every time you disappear.”

Jake chuckled, running his hand through his hair as he considered her words. He hadn’t introduced her to his squad, not because he was hiding her, but because he liked the privacy their relationship afforded. The idea of his squad knowing about Y/N and Ellie-Mae felt like crossing into uncharted territory. But looking into her eyes now, with that familiar warmth and playfulness, he realized she was right. They had been married for years, and there was no reason to keep her separate from this part of his life.

“Well,” he said slowly, a grin forming on his face, “if you’re sure about it, I’m not against it.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll grill you about everything—and once Phoenix gets going, there’s no stopping her.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Please, I think I can handle Phoenix.”

Jake laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Alright, darlin’. We’ll make it happen. I’ll figure out a way to get everyone together without causing a scene.”

She smiled, resting her head back on his chest, feeling a little thrill at the thought of finally meeting the people Jake spent so much time with. “Good,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Jake held her close, his mind already spinning with how he’d make the introduction. It wasn’t just a casual meet-and-greet with the squad; it was Y/N stepping into his other world, and the thought of it made his heart race with excitement—and just a little bit of nerves.

-----

The next day, Jake stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he got ready to head out to the Hard Deck. The plan was set: the Daggers would meet up for drinks, and for the first time, Y/N was going to join them. He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness about how it would all go down.

As he finished fixing his shirt, Jake could hear the low hum of conversation coming from the living room. Y/N and Javy had been chatting for the last ten minutes, laughing like old friends. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he listened in on their conversation from the bedroom.

Walking into the room, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Y’all are getting way too close,” Jake teased, eyeing the two of them. “What are you gossiping about this time?”

Javy grinned from where he sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably with one arm slung over the backrest. “Oh, nothing too serious, man. Just giving Y/N the inside scoop on your time with the squad,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N chuckled, turning to look at Jake with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Javy’s been very informative. Apparently, you’ve been quite the pain in everyone’s ass lately.”

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head as he walked over to grab his keys off the table. “Yeah, yeah, don’t believe everything he says.” He pointed at Javy, narrowing his eyes in mock warning. “And you, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

Javy raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “I am! But I’ve also gotta prepare her for Phoenix and Rooster’s questions, man. They’re gonna want to know everything.”

Jake groaned, knowing Javy wasn’t wrong. Phoenix and Rooster wouldn’t hold back once they found out Y/N was his wife. They’d dig for every little detail. “You two are trouble,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pocketed his phone. “Remind me why I invited both of you into my life?”

Y/N stood up, smiling sweetly as she walked over to him. “Because you love me and because my best friend crashed into your wall,” she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “And you need Javy to keep you grounded.”

Jake smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Fair point. And that wall took ages to fix.” He looked between her and Javy, shaking his head in amusement. “But I swear, the two of you are like a couple of old ladies when you get together. Gossiping about everything.”

Javy laughed, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “Hey, it’s not my fault your wife’s cool to hang with. You’re just jealous.”

“Damn right, I am,” Jake shot back with a grin, giving Y/N a quick squeeze before letting her go. “Anyway, we should get going. Don’t wanna keep the Daggers waiting. They’ll start texting me again if we’re late.”

Y/N smiled, grabbing her bag and giving Javy a quick wink. “Let’s do this. I’m ready to meet your friends—and give them something to gossip about.”

-

As Jake and Y/N walked into the Hard Deck, the familiar buzz of voices and the clatter of drinks greeted them. Almost instantly, the Daggers spotted them, and the teasing began before Jake could even find a seat.

“Well, look who finally showed up!” Rooster called out from his spot by the pool table, spinning a cue stick with a mischievous grin.

Phoenix’s eyes landed on Y/N, standing close to Jake, and a smirk crept onto her face. “What’s this? Your younger sister, Hangman?” she teased, clearly sizing up Y/N with curiosity.

Fanboy and Bob exchanged confused glances, while Coyote tried to stifle a chuckle, knowing exactly what was coming. Jake rolled his eyes, keeping his arm casually wrapped around Y/N’s waist as they approached the group.

Phoenix’s gaze lingered on Y/N. “Wait, hold on a second…” she started, squinting as if she recognized her from somewhere but couldn’t place it. “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you? The author of Eclipsed?”

Y/N smiled, nodding politely. “That’s me.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened, excitement bubbling in her voice. “No way! I love that series! I can’t believe this! Hangman, how do you know her? Are you her bodyguard or something?”

Jake let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not quite, Phoenix,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. He glanced at Y/N, then back at the group. “She’s not my sister or just some author I know. This is my wife.”

The room went silent, the group of Daggers collectively staring at Jake in shock.

“Wait, wife?!” Rooster exclaimed, looking between Jake and Y/N with wide eyes. “You’re married to her?”

Jake grinned, looking down at Y/N with a hint of pride. “That’s right. We’ve been married for a while now.”

Fanboy’s jaw practically hit the floor. “You’ve been married this whole time and didn’t tell us?”

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose, looking bewildered. “I mean, we thought you were dealing with some mysterious ‘family business,’ but we never thought you were hiding a whole wife!”

Phoenix, still in shock, finally found her voice. “Hold on. You’re telling me that you’ve been married to Y/N Y/L/N, the author of Eclipsed—the same series I’ve read a thousand times—and you never mentioned it? How did you keep that under wraps?”

Before Jake could reply, Javy stepped forward with a wide grin, clapping Jake on the back. “Oh, trust me, I’ve known for a while,” Javy said, clearly enjoying the moment. “Y/N’s my bestie. We’ve been tight for years.”

Y/N laughed softly, shooting Javy a playful look. “Javy’s been great. He’s known about us since day one and has kept Jake in check.”

Jake groaned in mock frustration. “Alright, alright, you two are ganging up on me now,” he said, shaking his head.

Javy laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep you in line, man.”

Phoenix, still staring in disbelief, slowly shook her head. “This is insane. I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret. And Y/N, I mean—Eclipsed is one of my favorite series! I’m going to need the full story on how you two met.”

Rooster, still leaning on his pool cue, shook his head with a grin. “I gotta hand it to you, Hangman. You talk a big game, but I didn’t think you had this level of stealth in you.”

Jake smirked, pulling Y/N a little closer. “What can I say? Some things are worth keeping private.”

The group erupted into more laughter and teasing, with Phoenix diving headfirst into questions about Y/N’s books and the rest of the squad buzzing with curiosity about how Jake had kept this secret for so long.

As the lively chatter filled the Hard Deck, Jake leaned in close to Y/N, a playful grin tugging at his lips. His arm stayed comfortably around her waist, and he lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“I can’t wait to see their faces when they meet Ellie,” he whispered, his tone filled with excitement. “They’re barely handling the fact that we’re married. Wait ‘til they find out we’ve got a daughter.”

Y/N chuckled softly, her hand resting on Jake’s chest. “They’ll never see it coming. We might break them,” she teased.

Jake smirked, shaking his head. “They’ll lose it.”

But just as they exchanged those words, Rooster, who had been standing closer than either of them realized, froze. His eyes widened as he processed what he’d just heard.

“Wait—daughter?” Rooster blurted out, his voice cutting through the noise around them.

The rest of the Daggers turned toward Jake and Y/N, their shocked expressions slowly forming.

Phoenix’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold up. You’ve got a daughter?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.

Fanboy let out a low whistle. “Hangman with a kid? Now I’ve heard it all.”

Jake sighed, realizing they’d been overheard, and gave a half-shrug. “Yeah. We have a daughter—Ellie-Mae. She’s almost four months old now.”

The reactions were immediate. The group exploded with shock, questions, and disbelief, their voices overlapping.

“You’re telling me you’ve been married and had a baby this whole time?” Rooster asked, shaking his head like he was trying to piece it all together.

Bob stared wide-eyed. “You’ve been living this secret life? With a kid?”

Phoenix crossed her arms, still processing it. “This is insane. First, you’re married to Y/N Y/L/N, who writes Eclipsed, and now you’re a dad? I can’t keep up.”

Jake chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I wanted to keep things private. Ellie’s been our little secret.”

Coyote, who had been standing back watching it all unfold, finally spoke up, clapping Jake on the shoulder with a laugh. “Jake here couldn’t hide something like that from me. Best friends don’t keep secrets.”

Phoenix’s jaw dropped. “Javy, you knew all this and didn’t say anything?”

Javy shrugged, grinning. “Hey, it’s not my secret to spill. Plus, I’ve met Ellie—she’s the cutest little thing you’ll ever see.”

The rest of the squad stared at Jake and Javy, dumbfounded. Rooster finally shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

Fanboy pointed between them. “So you’ve been plotting this whole time, just waiting for us to figure it out?”

Jake smirked. “Something like that. I had to keep a few cards close to my chest.”

Phoenix sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Well, now I need to meet this kid. And hear the full story about how you managed to hide a wife and a baby from us.”

Jake shrugged again, a satisfied grin on his face. “Hey, what can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

As the Daggers laughed and continued throwing questions at him, Jake glanced at Y/N, relieved that the secret was out. Meanwhile, Javy was practically glowing with pride, having kept his best friend’s secret under wraps the whole time.

So I feel like this is the end of the main series in order but I will continue in one-shots so If you'd like to be tagged let me know!

Bob and the Superhero Love Story Arc

Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/sentry x (f)reader

Tags: fluff, feelings, kissing, comfort, learning disabilities, childhood friends, found family (thunderbolts), some nice times because Bob deserves it

You were ten years old.

You were both in the same special needs class in elementary school.

Even if your needs were different.

It was your first day at a new school after you and your older sister had just moved to a new town. It was a small suburban town, with a small school at its center and small classrooms. Your sister had registered you at the main office, quietly informing the principal that you had a learning disability. He nodded and got up to exchange some husged wispers with the front desk lady. A moment later, the woman offered a soft smile before motioning for you to follow. "Come with me, hun."

Down the hallway, she led you into a quiet classroom where about ten students your age sat. The teacher paused mid-lesson as the door opened, and everyone turned to look at you next to the front desk lady.

"Miss Brown, please welcome your newest student," the secretary said.

The teacher, an older woman with kind eyes and a denim vest, nodded. "Good morning, why don't you come up here and introduce yourself."

You walked up to the front of the class, slightly fidgeting with the hem of your dress and told everyone your name.

Ms. Brown smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, y/n. We don't get new students often around here."

Gesturing to a boy at the far end of the room, she said. "You can have a seat next to Robert."

He sat alone, half-curled into his hoodie, shaggy brown hair hanging over blue eyes. The desk beside him was empty. You crossed the room with your backpack slung awkwardly over your shoulders, pulled the chair back, and sat down. Your hands were slow as you arranged your notebook and pencils.

"Hi," he wispered, looking up for only a second.

You smiled. "Hi. I’m Y/N."

He nodded. "You said that."

"Right," you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat. You sometimes blabbed when you were nervous. "You have a nice name, Robert."

"Bob’s okay," he murmured, opening his notebook and scribbling the date in the corner.

Feeling like you somehow said the wrong thing, you turned to your desk and did the same, copying down the teacher’s notes. Your grip tightened on your pencil as the words blurred. Like they always did.

At lunch, a few of your classmates came over, smiling and curious.

"Hey, I’m Alex," a boy said.

"I’m Kate. I like your dress," added a girl sitting beside him.

A few more names followed. A boy named Timothy and a girl named Gillian.

"So, what do you have?" Timothy asked plainly.

You blinked. "What do you mean?"

He motioned vaguely around the room. "Everyone's got something in this class. I have ADD. Alex is on the spectrum... what about you?"

"Oh," you understood now, swallowing. "I’m dyslexic," you said quietly, pressing your lips together the way you always did when explaining it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bob glance up from his desk, eyes flicking to your notebook before returning to his.

"What’s that?" Kate asked.

"I... I have difficulty reading," you explained.

They gave you a variety of looks. Some curious, others sympathetic.

"I’ve never heard of that," Gillian said. "Sounds awful."

"Gillian," Bob said, without looking up.

Gillian grimaced, giving you an apologetic look.

"It's okay," You smiled, grateful even for that brief defense. “It’s not too bad,” you said, even if you didn’t always believe it.

The truth was that the school didn’t have the resources to distinguish between different types of needs. So, they grouped everyone together. And in time, you all became something like friends.

But Bob was still... distant. When you all tried to include him in group games or projects, he’d just shake his head, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on his desk.

Until one day.

Your sister was late picking you up, and most of the others had already gone home. You sat on the curb, arms wrapped around your backpack, and then noticed Bob lingering nearby.

You plopped down next to him, your leggings brushing against his scraped-up knees poking through wrinkled cargo shorts.

"Your parents not picking you up?" you asked.

He flinched slightly, then glanced over. His hair was a mess and falling into his eyes. You had the sudden urge to brush it away.

"Sometimes they’re late. Or they forget," he said with a sad little smile, eyes fixed on his shoes. "It’s alright."

You frowned. He smiled, but he clearly wasnt happy. You looked around, trying to come up with something to change his mood.

You froze when your gaze landed on the school playground. "Wanna go on the swings?"

He looked at you, uncertain.

You offered your hand. "Come on. It’ll be fun."

He hesitated. Then, slowly, his hand met yours. It trembled slightly in your grip.

It was that day you first felt it. A little flutter in your chest came with holding his hand. A crush.

From then on, you watched him more closely. How he always sat in the back. How he flinched at loud noises. How his eyes lit up when a teacher asked a question about science, or outer space, or machines.

It was during a group project—the group being your entire class— that you realized how sharp he was.

You and your classmates were brainstorming ideas for a model bridge, and Bob sat at his desk and mumbled something about tensile strength and suspension systems.

Kate blinked. "How’d you know that?"

He shrugged. "It was in one of Ms. Brown’s books."

"Huh. That sounds smart. Let me write it down for the presentation," Alex said, scribbling it down. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bob smiled a small smile. "Sure thing."

And that smile stuck with you longer than it should have.

You enjoyed math's and sciences enough, but your favorite subjects were history and literature. The ones that ironically required a LOT of reading and writing. After your sister showed you a movie about a pair of journalists who uncover a major political conspiracy, you had your goals set on becoming a journalist. And for that, you'd have to ace the humanities.

One afternoon, you were hunched over your history book you were researching for an assignment, frustrated nearly to tears. The letters wouldn’t sit still.

"Can I?" Someone asked softly. You looked up and saw Bob, taking a seat next to you, motioning toward the book.

You nodded, swallowing hard and handing it to him. Afraid that if you'd open your mouth, you'd might let out a sob.

He read aloud, voice low and steady. Something about the way he spoke made it all easier. You could’ve listened to him for hours.

You never told him how grateful you were. How safe you felt in that moment.

By the time you both turned sixteen, Bob had started to withdraw even more. You still waved in the halls. Sometimes he waved back, sometimes he didn’t. He was absent more often than not. But somehow, his name always showed up on the academic distinction list that was plastered on the wall at the end of each term.

The crush still lingered, quiet and patient.

He didn’t come to graduation.

And you wouldn’t see him again for a long, long time.

You were twenty-two now.

The surprise press conference was in full swing. Cameras flashed as Valentina stood at the podium, parading the new Avengers. The memory of the recent disaster still lingered in the air.

You’d been on the opposite end of New York during the Void attack, but the moment authorities announced it was safe to return, you were assigned to cover the story. So you rushed to the scene with your press badge and your crew.

You were just an intern at The Washington Post, clutching your phone as you tried to keep up, typing every word Valentina said with great effort. Your brows knit in concentration. This could be your big story. You didn't want to mess it up.

You looked up off your screen to take a brief look at the new Avengers.

Then your eyes caught on him.

One of the team members was clapping awkwardly with the crowd, standing a little behind the others like he didn’t quite belong.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

Oh my God.

"What is it?" Your co-worker, Anthony, asked while snapping pictures with his professional camera.

"Uhm, nothing. I'm just excited about the story." You mumbled, your eyes glued to Bob.

He’d changed.

He used to hunch over like he was trying to disappear into a desk. Now he stood tall—broad-shouldered, navy sweater tight across his chest. His curly brown hair was longer and messier, but it still fell into his blue eyes when he looked down.

But his smile—shy, unsure—was exactly like you remembered.

Your old classmate, Bob. Your first crush... was an Avenger. A superhero!

"Stand back," he said flatly.

After the conference, you circled the venue until you found him, chatting with the Avengers. You made your way over.

Only to be stopped by a stone-faced agent.

"Right. Sorry." You lifted your badge. "I’m with The Washington Post."

He gave you a once-over. "Interns don’t get access to the Avengers."

The comment was meant as a dig, but it didn't work. By now, you were used to being overlooked and underestimated. And you knew you could deal with it with sass when the time was right. You raised a brow. "You’re gonna regret that when I’m head writer someday."

He snorted. "Come back when that happens."

"Come on," you said, trying not to sound desperate. "I just want one statement from the team."

"No—"

"I give statement to nice young lady," came a booming voice behind him.

You turned to see the Red Guardian looming like a wall of muscle, casting a long shadow over the both of you.

"We have orders—" the agent began.

"Davai, Shoo, little man. I get brand deal now," Alexei said, swatting him away like a fly.

You blinked, feeling starstruck. "You're the Red Guardian. From the Soviet Union."

You read a lot about him in your history of the Cold War 101, a required course in your journalism program. Alexei was truly a fascinating figure, a warrior. A spy. A soldier. A human experiemnt. There was so much about him still unknown to the public. And he stood in front of you in the flesh.

"Im him, yes." He grinned a bearded, gold-toothed grin. "Washington Post, you said, da? I enjoy watching senators play... what you call... football. Ridiculous game. The name makes no sense. It's called football, but they hold it in their hands—ne vazhno. it's very violent. Entertaining."

"Uhhh..." Before you could say more, a quiet voice spoke up.

"Y/n?"

Bob had stepped beside Alexei, eyes wide with recognition. Your heart skipped. His voice was deeper now, steadier.

You smiled, a little breathless. "You remember me?"

He nodded, warm and surprised. "Of course I remember you." His gaze roamed down your body, and a pink coloring appeared on his cheek. He'd changed since you were kids, and so had you.

Recovering, he turned to the others, gesturing to you. "Guys… this is a friend from back home."

They all gave you the once-over, some more skeptical than others. You offered a sheepish smile and wave.

Bob glanced at your badge. His brows lifted. "You’re with The Post? That’s amazing!"

There was genuine pride in his voice.

You smiled back, feeling something catch in your throat. "Well… interning for now. But yeah. It’s a dream come true." You hesitated, then added, "And you’re an Avenger!"

According to Valentina, he was one of the strongest beings alive.

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You probably don’t remember me that well. I mostly—"

"I remember you, Bob."

He blinked. Swallowed. Opened his mouth—and couldn’t find the words.

The agent came back, signaling to you to wrap things up.

You cleared your throat and lifted your recorder. "Sentry, can I get a statement on this exciting new team-up?"

Bob opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. He did this a couple of times.

John Walker elbowed him. "Say something before you embarrass yourself."

Bob coughed. "C-can I see you again?"

Walker winced, shaking his head. Alexei let out a deep chuckle, rubbing his belly as he looked between you and Bob.

You froze, lowering the recorder. Then let out a small, surprised laugh.

"I mean, we don’t have to—" Bob backtracked.

"How’s next Monday?" You cut in.

His eyes lit up. "I’d… I’d like that."

You tore a page from your notebook and scribbled your number. When you handed it to him, he looked at it like it was something rare.

"I don’t like her," Yelena muttered, pacing the lounge.

Ava rolled her eyes from where she was sprawled on the couch. "What now?"

"She’s too pretty."

"I know," Bob mumbled sat in a chair, eyes on the floor. "Why would someone like her want to be with someone like me?"

Walker chuckled, chips halfway to his mouth from the bowl he held in his hand. "Nice going, Yelena."

"What?! No—," Yelena exclaimed, then turned to Bob. "I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay?"

"You can’t protect Bobby from everything, docha," Alexei said with a shrug, stretching out over the other leather sofa. "Even heartbreak is part of manhood."

Bob frowned. "Heartbreak...?"

"Oh my God," Bucky groaned, rubbing his temples. "Can you all shut up? They haven’t even gone on one date yet."

He clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder. "Relax, son. It’ll be okay."

New tech filled the lab at Stark Tower. Bob was tucked into the far corner, flipping through the worn, half-burned files from Valentina’s vault.

Equations lined the whiteboard in his handwriting. On the table beside him lay pages from Tony Stark’s notebooks, dog-eared and annotated with scribbled notes. Every so often, he muttered to himself, tapping a finger on a page.

"Hydrogen density ratios don’t match…" he murmured, then sighed. "Unless the pressure chamber’s offset by six degrees…"

You smiled at the door. Sentry—the mighty Avenger—looked like a very tired, very nerdy engineering student.

You cleared your throat.

He looked up, startled, then grinned sheepishly. "Oh. Hey. Sorry, I was just… working on something for the team."

"It’s okay. Your friend Walker let me in." You stepped closer, glancing over the papers. "Anything interesting?"

"Sam’s flight suit overheats at high altitudes. I thought Stark’s insulation algorithm might be adaptable."

You nodded slowly. "Wow. That sounded really smart. I wish I understood half of it." You chuckled.

"I can explain it to you," he offered, shrugging. "If… that’s something you want to hear."

"Yeah. Definitely." You bit your lip. "Maybe over pizza, though?" You raised your brow in emphasis.

His eyes lit up as he remembered your date. He shoved away at the papers.

"I didn't forget." He rushed out. "I just got carried—"

You let out a soft chuckle. "Its fine, Bob. You don't have to apologize."

His shoulders dropped with a sigh of relief.

You licked tomato sauce off your fingers. "So, you’re solving cooling issues while the Red Guardian is learning how to post on Instagram?"

"He is?" Bob asked across the table from you before taking a bite of his peperoni and mushroom slice.

You held out your phone. "He’s live right now. Doing a Q&A."

Bob raised a brow. "Wow. Twenty thousand viewers?"

"They mostly ask him about his workout regimen."

He snorted.

The two of you walked side by side down a quiet Midtown street, the city’s hum distant behind you. Hands jammed into his jeans pockets, he nudged a pebble with the toe of his sneaker now and then. No godly aura. Just… a guy.

You laughed softly as you reached your building. "You’re still the same, you know."

Bob looked down. "I don’t feel the same."

You watched him—how his jaw flexed when he was deep in thought, how his brow furrowed like it always had. "You are. Just taller."

At the door, you turned your key. "Thanks for walking me home."

"Anytime." He lingered, hands still in his pockets. "Can I see you again?"

"I’m heading to D.C. next week for a press conference," you said, before joking. "Wanna fly down to meet me, Sentry?"

He smiled. "I might stop by if I’m in the area." Then he leaned in and kissed your cheek before wishing you a good night.

A knock came at your hotel window.

Sunset spilled across the National Mall in orange, blue, and soft pink. Stepping away from your papers and notes you've collected from the day, you walked over, heart skipping as you spotted him hovering over the balcony, wind in his hair, a shy grin on his face.

You threw open the window. "Oh my god!"

"How was work?" he asked.

Shaking your head, you laughed. "This isn’t real."

"I want to show you something." He held out his hand.

"…Are you serious?"

"Trust me."

You hesitated, then pulled on a jacket and boots before coming back and placing your hand in his.

"If you drop me—"

"I won’t."

With a gust of air, you lifted into the sky, wrapped in his hold. The city dropped away beneath you, a sea of lights and honking horns. Your stomach tensed as your hands gripped his shoulders.

"Don’t let go!"

He laughed above you, the sound vibrating agains your ear, and tightened his hold.

"I won’t, I promise." he said quietly.

He brought you to a rooftop that overlooked the Potomac, the city was wide and glittering in the distance. Wind woodshed around as Bob touched down, setting you down gently.

You whispered. "This is… amazing."

By a rusted AC unit, a picnic blanket was laid out with a paper bag and two bottles of Coke.

"Did you do this?" you asked, sitting beside him, knees brushing.

"Do you like it?"

You peeked into the bag and gasped. "Burgers? This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to anyone."

He chuckled. "What can I say? I’m setting the bar high."

You took a bite of your burger and moaned. “God, this is good. All i had to eat today was a croissant for breakfast." You turned to him. "You really are a hero."

He looked out at the horizon. "Still doesn’t feel real."

You wiped around your mouth, lowering the burger in your hand. "Must’ve been a massive adjustment, huh?"

"Sometimes, when everyone’s asleep, I just sit there… waiting to wake up. Like this is a dream."

You blinked, unsure what to say.

"You remember everything now?" You asked.

He nodded. "Bits. Enough. Mostly the bad parts."

You placed a hand on his. "Wanna to talk about it?"

"I should." He hesitated. "My therapist says it’s healthy. But maybe not right now."

You nodded. "Whenever youre ready."

He glanced at you. "I was wondering… when we were kids, how did you handle your dyslexia?"

You leaned back on your palms. "It was hard. People often thought I was lazy. Until I finally went to a school that recognized what having a learning disability means."

His jaw tensed. "Thats not fair. Im sorry."

"It's not so bad." You shrugged with an easy-going smile. "I got creative. Audiobooks helped a lot. Or people reading to me. Like you used to."

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes.

You asked gently, "Where did you disappear to after high school?"

His gaze drifted. "Nowhere good. I tried to… change. To fix myself. But Sentry—he wasnt a good solution. I couldn’t stop the—"

He stopped talking when he realized he was about to say "void" and possibly reveal his dangerous alter ego to you. He wasnt sure how youd react.

"I couldn’t stop the bad times. Until the Avengers helped me claw my way out."

"Its good you have them," you said softly. "And that you’re here."

He finally looked at you. His eyes were glassy, filled with something wounded and ancient.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess it is."

The two of you sat like that. Talking and watching the city light up the night.

After he flew you gently back to your balcony, Bob touched down with barely a sound, the soles of his sneakers brushing against the floor. The wind tugged at his hoodie, making his hair tousled from the flight.

He stepped back, motioning for you to go inside. But you lingered in the doorway.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, your voice low, carried barely above the breeze.

He smiled, looking down at his shoes. "Anytime."

You hesitated.

Then stepped toward him.

Before he could say another word, you leaned up and kissed him softly.

He froze for a second. His breath caught, sharp and startled.

You wondered if it was a good surprise or a bad one.

But before you could pull away, his hand lifted, finding the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly closer.

His fingers rose to your jaw, warm against the curve of your neck. His lips softened into yours, gradually going deeper, more certain.

You gasped softly against his mouth as his his thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone. The scent of him, laundry detergent and wind, filled your senses. Your hands found his chest, feeling the muscles and ribs underneath his hoodie.

His hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside your head with a solid thud, his body crowding yours back into the doorway. Your blood roared in your ears.

And then you heard a crack.

You pulled back slightly, breathless. "What was that?"

He glanced at his hand, still pressed to the wall… or rather, into the wall.

A small hand shaped hole had formed beneath his palm—brick flaked and splintered, dust crumbling down.

Bob blinked. "…Shit."

You burst out laughing.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Smooth. Way to go, Bob."

"You dented my wall," you teased, poking his chest.

"Yeah, well, you kissed me!"

You stared at each other. Then you were both laughing.

You grinned. "Goodnight, Bob."

He stepped back, hovering just off the balcony, the night air catching the hem of his hoodie like wings. His eyes never left yours.

"Goodnight, y/n" he said, voice low and happy.

And then he rose into the sky.

Bob came back to Avengers tower at around two in the morning.

"Where have you been?!" Yelena ran to him in a range, then pulled him into a hug. "Don't just walk off like that without telling us where you're going!"

Bucky leaned against the wall behind her, his face a mixture of disinterest and worry. "Shes right. You could have been hurt."

Bob wanted to laugh, he felt like a kid being lectured by his parents, but in a good way. He's never experienced that before.

"Did everyone forget the part where I'm invincible and have superstrength?" Bob patted Yelena on the back as she hugged him, muttering angrily that if she had to tie him to herself, again, she'll do it.

"Yeah, and what about your other version of pops by to say hello again?" Ava walked up to the living room with her hands folded.

His smile dropped. Ava was right. He slowly relearned to control Sentry's powers, but he never learned to control the Void. Hell, he barely understood what the Void even was, and thanks to Valentina, any scientist who may be able to clear that up was dead.

He didn't feel the void resurface as much since becoming an avenger. Even forgetting about him—especially since things were going so well with you.

"Ah, relax and let the kid have some fun, would ya?" Walker strolled out of the kitchen in bunny slippers and civilian clothing, his presence a welcome disruption of the tension. "You did have fun, didn't you, Bobby?"

Bob nodded eagerly, then slowed his movement when he saw Yelena's narrowed eyes. Now was probably not a good time to mention the fact that he got so excited from your kiss that he broke a brick wall with his hand.

"You be careful of pretty girls." She pointed a finger at him, then turned towards the hallway. "Hooligan, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

As his team all dispersed into their rooms, Bob plopped down on the couch. Instead of trying to wake up from a dream, he played with the strings of his hoodie, smiling as he thought of your laugh.

Nothing Comes Close to the Golden Coast

Description: You're on the beach because it's what your little sister wanted for her bachelorette party. One day, you can manage, right? You're not expecting to stumble right into the woman who could can change your outlook on beaches that day. But with Natasha Trace, maybe you're starting to see nothing comes close to the golden coast.

Warnings: Female! Reader, Flirting, Beaches, Mild Cursing, Natasha is too flirty for words and possibly a little dangerous

A/N: Hiya lovelies! This is a fic I wrote for @bellaireland1981 's 1K Pool Party celebration. Congratulations on 1K followers Bella! It's my first time writing a long form Phoenix x Reader fic and I hope I did Nix justice. All my love to @horseshoegirl for beta-ing this fic for me and making sure I wasn't 1) using too many commas (yes I have a problem) and 2) that this fic was flirty and fun and summery enough!

Word Count: 3617

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

Cross-posted to Wattpad here!

You like going to the beach as much as any other girl. But unlike other girls, you tend to prefer quiet, calm, clear beaches to lie on. The kind of beach where you can hear the tide coming in and the seagulls wheeling in the clear summer sky. The kind of beach where the sand is clear, and you never have to fight to find a spot to lay down your towel and where you can read without a beach ball smashing into your face. Of course, finding the clear beaches you love is far from easy. It seems like the minute the calendar hits Memorial Day, everyone in the Greater San Diego area books it to the beach for the summer. You’ve even seen people taking meetings out on the beach. But to put it bluntly, you're not one of those people.

So why are you out on this congested, loud beach today? There's only one reason: your baby sister's Bachelorette party. It was an obligation you couldn’t get out of. You love your sister, but you’re less than happy to be spending time with her and her friends. When it’s just the two of you, it feels like you’re the closest pair of siblings on the planet. But when she’s with her friends, it feels like there is a colossal, ever-widening, yawning gulf between you. Everyone calls her the pretty one while you're the practical one. In the eyes of your entire extended family, it is one of the many reasons why she's getting married at 22 when you're still single at 28. To keep the peace, you’ve been pasting a smile on your face and literally grinning and bearing it for everything she’s asked of you. Because you love her and in only a week’s time you can get a bit of a break from her (or really, from her best friend).

To make matters worse, you’re the only girl in the group wearing a one-piece suit, something flattering yet mostly covered, without showing off your cleavage or too much of your ass.

“God, do you have to wear that old lady suit?” She'd scoffed when you walked out of your house that morning, a sunhat on your head and a sarong tied around your waist to complement the deep maroon one-piece you’d pulled out to wear. “Please tell me you have a bikini you can go wear instead. If you'd told me, I would have brought you one of mine!”

As if you'd have ever worn a bikini of hers. Your younger sister is thin, model thin, with a narrow waist and perfectly perky A-cups, which look fantastic in the hot pink bikini she's wearing today. She's got the physique that makes men look a little stupid. Already, there is a pack of unfairly pretty men who have gone a little cross-eyed when your sister and her friends walked by. In contrast, you're shorter and curvier, your hair dark where hers is blonde, and the ultimate introvert to her bubbly extrovert.

You aren't even her maid of honor at her wedding - that particular honor belongs to her best friend - yes, the aforementioned obnoxious Sally herself. It's not as if anyone has even noticed you're not having the time of your life in the water. After all, why would they? Who wants the babysitter hanging around you when you're trying to have fun? It's the role you've been playing since your sister was born, and you're sure you'll play it again once your sister has kids. For now, all you can do is stay secluded under your umbrella and try to read a little despite the noise. At least it is a little emptier on the beach now as the sun sinks slowly across the sky.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The voice is male, filled with all the surety of a man who knows what he wants and has never failed to get it. Your eyes are rolling before your head rises from your book. Your sister and Sally are under the umbrella next to you, and unsurprisingly, that comment was targeted at the two of them. You're pretty sure they are two of the group who were tossing around not one but two footballs on the beach.

“Two pretty things like you look like you could use a drink.”

It's the blonde, tall with green eyes, and a shit-eating grin, who makes the offer. And to your disbelief, it looks like your sister is going to take these guys up on their offer.

“We'd love to!”

Is she thinking at all? Before you can stop yourself, you're speaking.

“Can I talk to you, Vicky?”

“The fuck do you need to talk to her for?”

Sally's growling at you, her arms crossed under her chest in a way that accentuates the cleavage already threatening to break free of her string bikini. Your cheeks flush as the two men glance between you and her, discerning gazes flip-flopping between you and her at heated words.

“You're her sister, not the fucking morality police. We're having drinks with them. Either you can join us, or you can glare disapprovingly. But don't you dare tell us what we can and cannot do.”

“You're such a fucking stick in the mud. I don’t get why the hell you came with us. Why are you always coming out with us, anyway? I mean, I’d have had a life by the time I was your age, but well, I guess you're even too boring for that.”

You're left gaping at Sally and your sister as they walk away. The words don't hurt, not really. You've been hearing a version of them for years, ever since Sally and Vicky decided they didn't like having you shadow them. Of course, they don't believe you when you say you'd rather do anything other than join them while they get up to all the bullshit they do. Once upon a time, Vicky used to defend you. Obviously, those days are long gone.

It doesn't mean you won't still watch out for your sister, though. Call it some sort of sickening nostalgia for the days when you and her were close once, chasing each other around playing unicorns in your backyard. Call it affection for the little girl who used to follow along behind you, repeating everything you said with a lisp. Call it love for your sister who you would once do anything for - would still do anything for.

Of course, you immediately realize the situation is far different than you thought it would be. Because there aren't just two incredibly hot men, but ten. Before you can blink, they're all over Vicky, Sally and their other friends. Somebody has sparked up a bonfire, and you gravitate to the hot flames despite yourself. You're a little chilled after being out in the hot sun all day. As the sun sets over the sea, one of them nestles a Bluetooth speaker into the sand and turns the music up. 

California Gurls, we're unforgettable,

Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top

Whoever made this playlist needs better taste in music. Or at least they need to pick something which you haven't heard on the radio every day of the summer in 2010. As it is, it will be stuck in your head for days.

“This song sucks, huh?”

You jump at the voice near your ear, stumbling and nearly face-planting in the sand. You have the kind of face which shows your emotions plainly, you've always been told so. Now someone has noticed, and you hope this person won’t throw you under the bus like all of Vicky’s friends. You pretend it’s just the song as you turn around with a smile pasted across your face.

“It's the worst!”

You're sure you have other things to say, but they disappear from your head like smoke when you see the woman who is talking to you. She's gorgeous, whiskey eyes flickering gold with the bonfire's flames. She's absolutely beautiful, and it feels a little like you're in an alternate universe. There's a cool breeze coming off the water, and in addition to the salt from the sea, you can smell hibiscus in the air. It has to be from her perfume, you note vacantly.

There's humor in her eyes as she stands beside you, surveying the others around the bonfire just like you are. You can see your sister in the distance, dancing with the blonde who asked if she wanted a drink. She looks like she’s well on her way to becoming completely drunk, but you don’t care. Vicky’s an adult. She made her own decisions, and she can stand by them. All of your attention is on the brunette in front of you. She holds out a bottle to you, condensation dripping over her fingers.

“I thought you could use a drink.”

“Thanks.”

The drink in question is a bottle of soda, ice cold.

“I, uhh…” She looks a little sheepish, some of her confidence draining away as you look inquiringly at her. “I wasn’t sure how else to get you to talk to me.”

“W-why wouldn’t I talk to you?” 

She grins ruefully, “Because you've been glaring at Bagman and your friends since you walked over here?”

“And, you don't look like you're having much fun.”

“Fun…” You sigh, "is a word for it. And we're not friends.”

“Younger sister?”

You laugh, “Is it that obvious?”

“You're a good sister, coming out with her and her friends like this.” 

Her innocent words touch your heart a little bit.

“I've got two just like her. They're so sure they're grown up, but they could still need somebody to watch out for them.”

You turn excitedly, “Yes! Yes. That’s it! She's getting married next week, but there's still so much she doesn’t know yet! And she and her best friend hate that I'm here. Call it her need to be seen and treated like an adult. I'm in her bridal party and she doesn’t even want to celebrate with me. Guess everybody would pick Bagman over there over me.”

“I don't hate that you're here, you know?”

You startle a little at the frank openness of this beautiful stranger's voice.

“Why not? You don't know a single thing about me.”

“I know you’re a big sister. I know you hate Katy Perry’s California Gurls, not because the song itself is horrible, but because you’ve probably heard it a million times.”

She tugs at your hand, and you follow her as she leads you away from the bonfire, the song still blaring away. You shouldn’t follow her, you know you shouldn’t. But despite yourself,you’re curious. There’s something about her you need to know more of. Away from the bonfire, the air is cool, and crisp. The beach feels swept clean the further you walk.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned this.” 

You crack open the soda and take a sip, pretending not to feel dark eyes on the side of your face.

“I didn’t plan it.” She chuckles a little, playing with your fingers. “All I wanted was to keep talking. I think I owe you a few more things I know about you, anyways.”

Your heart warms as she shrugs out of the hoodie and lays it over the sand. She sprawls down with a grace you couldn't emulate if you tried, all long, lean muscles exuding strength and power. You feel awkward in contrast, self-conscious as you try to sit on as much of the hoodie as you can without sprawling in her lap in a way that would have you mortified and her uncomfortable. But you can still feel her, warm and solid, as she retakes your hand. It’s comforting, the light touch, the calluses at her fingertips making goosebumps rise over your arms. Her perfume smells different this close, the light scent of summer hibiscus melting into roses and morning dew. It’s addicting.

“Y-you mentioned there were a couple more things you knew about me?” 

The words leave you in a whisper, tripping over each other as they drop off your tongue.

Her laugh is husky and warm, and for one moment, all you want is for her to make that wondrous sound again. But you quell that particular impulse. After all, no matter how weak you are for this woman, you barely know her. You won't be making a fool of yourself tonight.

“I think you're smart, smarter than anyone gives you credit for being. You're strong and single-minded.” She leans in conspiratorially, a smirk on her lips. “Some people would call you stubborn, but I think they're just afraid you'll leave them behind in your quest for world domination.”

“How do you know I'm gunning for world domination?” You're smiling from ear-to-ear as you ask the question.

“All the prettiest girls are. Especially the girls who bring a book to the beach for family when they'd probably rather be curled up on a window seat with a cup of tea handy.”

Your cheeks have to be crimson by now. Of all the days for an unfairly pretty woman to come up to you and flirt, she has to pick today. She’s so confident, so pretty and vivacious and all the things you never could be. In comparison, you just feel dull, like a piece of fabric bleached by the sun, until there are only the faintest hints of color left. It’s also been a really long time since anyone’s even looked twice at you.

“I-I do like reading at a window seat while it rains.” Your smile is halfway genuine now, you think. You can’t keep volunteering bits of information about yourself without getting some info from her in turn.

“What do you like doing in your spare time?”

Maybe you picked the wrong question to ask because her easy smile drops faster than you can blink. The small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes flatten out, and the dimples are so deep you’ve been wanting to kiss them since you saw them disappear as her smile does. The silence between you isn’t comfortable anymore. It’s awkward, a discordantly awkward tone spoiling the harmony of the moments before.

“I don’t have much spare time. Or hobbies.”

“I’m sorry.”

You’re babbling before the apology has left your lips, mind speeding at a hundred miles per hour at the thought you’ve somehow managed to insult the one person who’s wanted to talk to you all night. You’re standing and turning to head back to the bonfire before she hops up next to you.

“Whoa, whoa.” Her hands are hot as they make contact with your upper arms. “I’m not angry at you. I dunno if you heard what those meatheads were saying when they were posturing to your sister and her friends earlier, but I’m a Naval Aviator.”

“It doesn’t leave a lot of time for hobbies.”

“So, what do you do with your free time?” 

She’s so close you can feel the heat of her skin.

“Most of my free time is spent at the gym. It takes hard work to look this good.” 

You giggle a little as she tugs your hands until they’re flat against her toned stomach. The muscles twitch under your fingers a little, and you feel light-headed. Is she really flirting with you? You? 

“Not everyone can read books and look as good as you do.”

“What else do you do?” Your voice is weak, barely audible over the rushing waves, but she hears you anyway.

“Sleep. Try to read. Though it’s harder to concentrate when you’re surrounded by hundreds of lonely, horny men than when you’re sitting in a window seat.”

She smirks a little, leaning closer then. 

“And I definitely spend a lot of time daydreaming about a pretty bookworm in my bed to keep me warm at night.”

“O-oh.”

Your face has to be crimson by now. It feels so hot. The dark ocean seems way too alluring, if only for a cold reality check. There’s no way this gorgeous, smart, sexy woman is hitting on you. There’s no way. Maybe if you keep saying it over and over, it will be a reality instead of what your delusional mind is coming up with.

“Sadly, there hasn’t been a pretty bookworm in my bed in a while.” 

The smile on her face falls, the motes of color swirling in her hypnotic eyes, fracturing into crystals at the words. 

“None of them can take the long days away, no dates, little contact. Maybe one day I’ll find the right bookworm for me. Unless…”

Her arm has found its way around your shoulders, the warm lines of her body searing into you.

“Well, this is a silly question, but would you maybe like to grab a coffee sometime? Get to know each other better?”

You want to say yes. More than anything you want to. But you can’t bring yourself to accept her invitation, not when you have more questions than answers.

“W-why me?”

Her lips are warm even through the material of your half-damp swimsuit as she presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“You’re different from the other girls I talk to.” 

You’re unsure how to respond, half afraid she will go on and on about how boring and dull you are. All of the others you’ve dated certainly have. They expect one of the standard sexy-librarian types when they meet you and find out you like to read. They’re always disappointed when the truth they come to see couldn’t be any further from what they imagine. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she sighs. “I swear I nearly got hit on the head with one of the footballs when I saw you walk out onto the beach and sit under your umbrella.”

“You missed it, I'm sure, but those goofballs in my squadron were laughing at me for hours.” 

There's a slight pink tinge to her cheeks as she leans back. You miss her the minute you lose her warmth.

“I um…” She runs a hand, long-fingered and pretty (why the hell are even her hands so pretty), through her hair. “I'm pretty sure that's why those two walked up to your sister and her friend.”

“They wanted me to come to the bonfire tonight?”

You're pretty sure your mouth is wide open at this point. 

“Yeah. Though I should say, I wanted an excuse to talk to the prettiest woman I've ever seen. And maybe flirt with her a little. And maybe get her to agree to go out with me.”

“How is this clever plan of yours working for you?” 

Your voice is a whisper again as you peer over your shoulder at her. 

“You don’t know my name. You don't even know if you're my type.” 

It takes every bit of courage to banter lightly with her.

“I think it's going pretty well. After all, I've got you sitting here with me instead of out there with those idiots. And I'd very much like your name.”

You smile despite yourself as you tell her your name, getting hers in turn: Natasha Trace, callsign Phoenix. Her callsign fits her fierce and confident personality.

“So what do you say about getting coffee with me sometime?”

Just before you're about to respond, you hear your name called from the bonfire. It's one of Vicky's friends calling for you and pointing at your sister. She's drunk, and you can tell she's minutes away from courting an indecent exposure charge. She's sitting on Bagman's lap and doing her best to eat his face right off. He seems like a more than willing participant. Your concerns have more to do with how her bikini is moving, how she’s only moments away from an indecent exposure charge.

“Fuck.” 

You turn to Natasha and smile. “I'm really sorry, but I have to…”

You make a vague gesture in your sister's direction.

“I understand. She needs you right now.”

You nod and begin to walk away, pulling your coverup out of your bag. But your feet don't let you move very far. What kind of person would you be if you let the best thing that's ever happened to you slip through your fingers so easily? You can't let her slip away. So you rummage in your bag for one of the notebooks you always carry with you and scrawl your phone number down on it, ripping the page away.

She looks surprised to see you again when you catapult yourself into her arms and kiss her soft lips. She tastes like the beer she was drinking earlier, and as her arms wrap around your waist, you sink into the kiss a little bit more. You feel like you never want to leave. Yet you know the longer you stay here kissing Natasha, the more time your sister has to make situations worse. Her friends may be cheering her on, but her fiancé won't be quite so magnanimous.

When you pull away, her cheeks are the same pink as earlier. Her lips are kiss-swollen, and her eyes are bright. You're sure yours are the same.

“Let's get that coffee, Natasha.”

You press the paper into her hands and hurry back up to the beach to take care of your sister. In the hilarity of pulling her away from Bagman and wrestling her into your coverup, you can feel eyes on you. They track you until you drive away.

There's a text on your phone when you get home.

Let's get that coffee tomorrow morning. Do you know Madison's Cafe? I'd very much like to kiss you again.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @chaoticassidy @kmc1989

Tw: cussing, angst, choking, bruises

Part 2

Words of Command - Part 3

The lights in Stark Tower dim on a gentle cycle—cool and golden like a fading sunset. You rub your eyes as the hallway stretches quiet and long before you, socks sliding soft over polished floors.

It’s late.

And you're exhausted.

You offer a tired goodnight to Steve, who nods with a warm smile from the common room couch, book half-forgotten in his lap.

Behind you… Bucky follows.

Silently. Footsteps so soft for a man made of steel and shadows.

You glance back at him. “You don’t have to follow me now,” you murmur, voice laced with sleep.

He tilts his head.

“Protection” he says simply.

Not a question.

A statement.

You bite your lip and nod—too tired to argue, too soft-hearted to tell him no. Still, anxiety coils in your gut.

You grab your Stark Phone and speed-dial Tony.

He answers after three rings, voice groggy and annoyed. “If this is about him eating toothpaste, I swear to God—”

“Tony,” you whisper. “He’s following me. Into my room.”

Pause.

“...Okay, that’s less funny. Still not my problem. Give him a blanket or something.”

“I don’t think he knows what blankets are, let alone boundaries,” you say, glancing at the man shadowing your every move like a silent sentinel.

“Yeah, well—RoboCop's not getting his own room until you've got him fully housetrained—Congrats, Thumbelina. You’re now the proud owner of a six-foot trauma-soaked heat-seeking murder puppy. Mazel tov.”

You sigh.

He hangs up.

You push open your bedroom door and slip inside, flicking on the lamp with a soft click.

The light spills across the room in a warm wash—cream walls, soft bedding, a shelf of books you haven’t had time to finish. It’s a safe space. Your space.

The Soldier follows.

And pauses.

Like an animal entering unfamiliar territory.

You move to the dresser, trying not to act weird. “I’m just getting ready for bed. You can—um… you can sit? Over there?”

He stands by the door. Watching.

Every mirror, every shadow, every flicker of movement, he tracks it all. Head snapping slightly, expression unreadable.

And then JARVIS speaks.

“Good evening, Miss. Shall I dim the—”

CLANG.

You whip around just in time to see him move—smooth and deadly, like a switch flipped inside his skull.

Arm raised, metal hand snapping toward a wall panel like he’s going to actually rip JARVIS straight out of the drywall.

“Shit—No!” you squeak, rushing forward.

He throws a glance over his shoulder—tense, locked in—but the moment his eyes meet yours, the storm stalls. His breathing is shallow. Pupils blown wide. JARVIS had startled him.

“Room compromised,” he says, clipped.

You place a hand on his arm—his flesh arm—and slowly ease him back.

“That’s just JARVIS. He’s… he’s like a ghost that lives in the walls, okay?”

He blinks. “...Ghost?”

You smile nervously. “He won’t hurt anyone.”

Slowly… so slowly… he lowers his arm.

But his eyes never stop moving.

You set your clothes down for the morning and glance over to find him standing in the corner, half-shadowed, metal hand flexing subtly at his side. Not speaking. Not relaxing.

Just watching.

“Do you… do you want to sleep?” you offer gently. “I could make a spot—on the wee couch, or…”

He doesn’t answer. But when you climb into bed, turn off the lamp, and settle under your blanket, you hear the smallest creak of the floor.

He moves.

He sits in the corner.

Back against the wall.

Facing the door.

Soldier on guard.

Watching.

Protecting.

Sometime in the night, you wake to a strange stillness.

The room is dark, but you can feel his presence.

Eyes heavy with sleep, you lift your head and see him still there—knees drawn up, eyes open.

He hasn’t moved.

Not once.

You whisper, “You can rest, too, you know…”

He says nothing.

But for the first time, his head tilts.

The soft hum of Stark Tower fills the silence like a heartbeat in a hollow chest. The skyline glows faint behind your blackout curtains, and somewhere distant, JARVIS murmurs about internal diagnostics.

But inside your room, there’s stillness.

You’ve long since drifted off to sleep, curled beneath layers of blankets, your breathing steady and quiet.

Across the room, seated in the corner where he’s kept watch for hours, Bucky or 'Soldat' is also asleep.

Or… trying.

His back is pressed against the wall, legs drawn in tight, arms rigid across his lap. He hadn’t meant to sleep. Hadn’t wanted to.

A whimper broke the silence. Bucky's head thrashed from side to side, his long hair flicking across his face with the movement. His metal fingers twitched and clenched.

But the moment his eyes had closed, the nightmare came.

His breath hitches.

It starts in his chest like a tremor, then takes hold—harder, faster. Metal fingers twitch. His jaw tightens. In the dark, his eyes move behind closed lids.

Russian words tumbled from his lips as his movements grew more agitated. Sweat beaded on his forehead as whatever nightmare has him in its grip tightened its hold.

Restraints.

Cold.

Hands.

Falling.

Needles.

The chair.

Pain.

The voice.

Pain.

That voice.

Pain.

"missiya" mission.

He jerks upright with a sudden violent inhale, like he’s surfacing from deep underwater. For a heartbeat, he’s not in Stark Tower.

He’s not in your bedroom.

He’s back in Siberia.

You jolt awake instantly—some part of your brain registering the shift in energy before your eyes even open.

But it’s too late.

The weight of a body is over you, the cold wrap of vibranium fingers tight around your throat.

He’s straddled you before his eyes even fully focus, breath ragged and guttural like a wolf mid-attack. There’s no recognition in his face—just movement.

You can’t breathe.

Your hands claw instinctively at his wrist—not to hurt him, just to get air.

Your voice comes out as a whisper, a desperate plea.

“Soldat—!”

The grip loosens instantly.

His eyes go wide.

Recognition blooms like a bomb going off in his chest.

He scrambles backward, nearly falling off the bed as his breath hitches and catches.

You swear for a second he looks at you like he’s seen a ghost.

“Handler,” he breathes, voice hollow.

A beat.

Then—

"Awaiting instructions, doll."

Ok—that's new—what the fuc—

The endearment slipped out, seemingly without his awareness.

Wait.

His voice.

You freeze.

The accent—it’s... lessened.

Still there, still faint, but there’s a tremor of something else beneath it. Something almost American. Like muscle memory from a past self is bleeding back in.

You massaged your throat, watching him warily. "What did you just call me?" you managed, your voice raspy.

You look at him—he’s curled into himself now, pressed against the far edge of your bed like he wants to disappear into the wall.

“Cryostasis?” he mutters.

A tremor starting in his flesh hand.

You frowned, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Cryostasis? What's that?" you asked cautiously.

His eyes darted to your face, then away, as though even acknowledging the question might be a violation of protocol.

"Cold comes. Then nothing." His odd new accent stumbled over the clinical description.

You whisper, “It’s okay.”

His head shakes—once, hard. “No.”

“That is not going to happen,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer.

You reach for him—not fast, not aggressive. Just enough to brush your fingers against his sleeve. You’re shaking. So is he.

“I shouldn’t have woken you like that,” you whisper.

His eyes flash to yours.

“You shouldn’t come near me.”

He says it like a warning. Like he’s dangerous. A loaded weapon without a safety.

The morning light leaks into Stark Tower through sleek glass panels, catching dust motes in golden slants. The smell of coffee and toast drifts from the communal kitchen as the Avengers mill around in various states of half-awake bickering.

Tony is already three steps ahead, tapping away at a holographic interface while bemoaning someone using his milk.

You step inside, shoulders pulled in, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. Your neck is artfully concealed—layers of makeup, your hair tucked to one side, collar tugged high. You don’t want them to see.

Behind you, Bucky moves like a shadow—soundless but ever-present. His eyes never leave you. He doesn’t acknowledge the others.

“Jesus,” Clint mutters under his breath, low enough that only Natasha hears. “He’s still glued to her.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her eyes are locked on Bucky. Calculating.

Steve is seated at the far end of the room, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other—but when you walk in, his eyes lift over the rim of the mug. They soften. Then narrow.

Then shift to the Soldier.

Something is off.

Tony glances up from his projections.

“Morning, Thumbelina,” he greets, in that usual teasing voice he uses when pretending not to care too much. Then his gaze flicks to you again—and he stills.

You’re not quite fast enough with your coffee mug.

His eyes catch the edge of discoloration peeking beneath your concealer—faint, but unmistakable. A handprint, forming from throat to jaw. Not quite healed. Not quite hidden.

His expression drops.

“What the hell is that?”

You freeze mid-sip.

The room goes quiet.

Tony’s voice cuts the air like a blade. “That better not be what I think it is.”

Your throat closes. “Tony—”

“I knew it. I knew the 'silent Soviet scarecrow' routine was just a breath away from having a full-on Hulk-themed episode!”

Bucky reacts instantly.

The tension in his shoulders coils tight like a sprung trap. His jaw clenches, head snapping toward Stark like a weapon finding a target.

One step forward—fast. Direct.

“Back down.”

His voice is low, cold. His accent is faded but not gone—words flatter, more clipped. American ghosts clinging to Russian steel.

Steve’s head tilts.

Tony lifts his hands, mockingly. “Oh, look at that! RoboRambo speaks. Did they teach you that in murder school or is that the accent of a guy trying to remember who he used to be?”

Bucky’s fist tightens. Metal groaning.

Your hand shoots out, placing it on his chest.

“Doll,” he says instantly, like the word grounds him.

"Stand Down ... Please"

He nods.

But his attention doesn’t leave you.

Not for one second.

Steve stands slowly. Not threatening. Just observing.

“You hear that?” he says quietly to the room, gaze on Stark but words aimed at Bucky. “His voice. It’s… changing.”

“Changing into what?” Tony mutters, pacing slightly now. “The warm tones of someone who nearly crushed her windpipe in her sleep?”

Bucky flinches. It’s subtle—but it’s there.

“Tony, please,” you whisper. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Oh, no, I forgot—brainwashing, programming, whatever. But forgive me if I don’t want my employees being used as a therapy animal for the man who can snap necks like breadsticks!”

Bucky stares blankly.

None of the names or faces mean anything to him.

But the tension rising in you—that registers.

He steps protectively between you and Tony.

“Neutralize the threat,” he says coldly.

“No, no—” Your hands are shaking. “Don’t do that. There’s no threat. Tony’s just… being Tony.”

“Irritating?” Clint offers, trying to diffuse the moment. “Yeah, he’s great at that.”

Steve crosses the room slowly.

“Bucky,” he tries.

The Soldier’s gaze doesn’t flicker. His expression doesn’t change.

There’s no flicker of recognition in those eyes. Only patience. Obedience. A mind made of shattered glass slowly piecing itself back together.

You guide him gently to the table. He lets you. When you move, he follows. When you speak, he listens.

But when others speak?

He blinks. No comprehension.

“Why doesn’t he know us?” Natasha asks softly. Her words are for Steve.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. “But the accent fading… that’s gotta be memory. It means someone’s still in there.”

Tony crosses his arms, looking you dead in the eye. “You need to be honest with us. If you’re in danger—”

“I’m not.”

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” you say. Your voice is small. “And he stopped the second he realized.”

“And then went right back to calling you ‘Handler,’” Tony snaps.

❝ 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗽. ❞ .⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊ stalker; bob Reynolds.

you're just like an angel.

His hands, gently calloused, cradled your face—admiring every feature sculpted in your peaceful slumber. Your room was cloaked in darkness, the somber night resting quietly—yet the moon peeked through your curtains, casting silver light upon you like brushstrokes on a canvas. You were the universe’s muse, his muse.

He knelt at the side of your bed, not out of mere admiration, but reverence. As if you were a Goddess—because to him, you were. From your words, your voice, your beauty, your soul—everything. You had this uncanny way of pulling him from the void and into something gentle. Something hopeful.

But who could have known—Bob Reynolds was a nobody. The world never gave him space to breathe. He was overlooked, shoved aside like a ghost wandering in daylight. His life whispered that he was no-good, a mistake, forgotten. All but you—you looked at him like he mattered. You spoke to him like he was seen. You made him believe that perhaps, for once, he wasn't broken. You were the light in the pitch. His clarity. His pulse.

His eyes roamed over you, not with hunger—but with awe, tracing the poetry in your stillness. Fingers brushed from your cheek to your hand. Your skin—soft, celestial. And in his mind bloomed the tender dream of you and him, where affection was mutual, and love was allowed. He longed to kiss you gently, to gift you with a thousand small devotions.

His eyes never sought anyone else. The first time you said his name, he memorized it like a hymn. It nestled in his memory like warm verses. Others said his name like it was a burden—but you, you spoke it like a song. Like it meant something. Your voice was heaven’s echo, even in sorrow. Especially in sorrow. Even when tears painted your cheeks and you trembled against him—he swore your voice could calm storms.

But truly, everything about you was like that—extraordinary.

And he wished—no, prayed—that maybe he could be special too.

But hell—who was he kidding? He was just a ghost in your orbit. The moon never shone for him. Even so close to you, light refused to grace him. And maybe that’s why his longing turned sharp, desperate. Because if he could not have the sun, he would become the night that holds it. If he could not bask in your light—maybe, just maybe—he could be the eclipse to your moon.

Creep, radiohead.

First time making a blurb, kinda nervous

I don't like the way I made this, not used to this kind of writing (which I believe is called blurb?? Educate me chat) and this was so rushed istg, I'm a really slow writer as u can see guys, so apologies in advance if this isn't good!!

After random disappearances and unmade promises, I'm back and will probably disappear again !! Feel free to critique me or give me ideas, I'll tryyyyyy my bestest to do it bbs.

Okay so— I’m writing this right?

And like I’m using “ you “ instead of “ I “ and it feels a bit awkward 😭

Are y’all okay that I use like— both I and You? Like POV switches in a way? Idk

Omg,,, that shit with graves ,,,

imagine you, a recently divorced person and Graves is working your case or whatever and feelings get caught in between 😩😩

I kinda wanna write this up now 🗣️🗣️

Edit ; it’s in the wips LMAO