——————————————————————————————————

Blood dripped from your busted lip as you looked up from your knees, another blow snapping your head to the side. Your assailant loomed above you, fists still clenched, breathing heavy. You laughed at him, knowing that even after his efforts and all that he's putting you through, he is either going to walk away without the information he's in search of, or he's not going to be able to walk away at all. 

"I'm asking you one last time, bitch. Where is she?"

"Go to hell," you sneered, your voice dripping with malice. 

Before he could react, you surged upward, slamming your shoulder into his gut. He stumbled back with a grunt— off balance just long enough for you to twist, swing your leg out, and sweep his feet from under him. He hit the ground hard, and you didn’t give him time to recover. You dropped your weight on his chest, drove your knee into his ribs, then slammed your forehead into his nose with a sickening crack.

He yelled, tried to shove you off, but you were faster— rolled to your side, hooked your tied wrists under his chin, and yanked back with everything you had. His head snapped back. The struggle was short. One last jerk, and he slumped beneath you, out cold.

You sat there for a moment, breathing hard, blood on your tongue and your pulse roaring in your ears. You managed to free your hands, the binds falling away. Instinctively, you brought one hand up to rub at the angry, red mark circling your opposite wrist— thumb pressing into the sore skin as you exhaled through your nose, steadying yourself.

Slowly but carefully, you staggered towards the dresser and pulled out the burner phone you had stashed away, to be used only in case of emergencies. You called the only other number on the phone, your voice strained but low. 

"Yelena. We have a problem." 

——————————————————————————————————

"Mac and cheese? I make really good mac and cheese."

"No, Yelena. I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

You sat at the counter of your kitchen, icing your split lip. Yelena rummaged through the pantry, letting out a satisfied 'a-ha' when she found a box of Kraft mac and cheese tucked all the way at the back. You know, the usual routine after you get rid of a body with your colleague from ages ago. 

"So, is now a good time for you to tell me why a guy broke into my apartment asking for you, or..."

"You sure you don't want my mac and cheese? Trust me, it's really—"

"Yelena." 

"Alright, fine. I may be on the run from the Ranskahov brothers."

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face, jaw tight and eyes closing in defeat. "You're what?"

"It is no big deal, I can deal with it."

"No big deal? Yelena, a man broke into my apartment at midnight and we just got rid of his unconscious body."

"Your point being?"

"Wh— This is a big deal!" you exclaimed, unable to comprehend how she was so relaxed about it.

"Relax, Sunshine. I got this under control, I promise."

You stared at her, slack-jawed. “Clearly, you don’t. I just took a punch to the face in my own apartment because of your mess.”

She shrugged, unfazed as she stirred the mac and cheese with a wooden spoon. “Well, technically he was already in your apartment. You were just... surprised to see him.”

You set the ice pack down with a thud. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, grinning. “What happened to that sharp reflexes, stone-cold killer, don’t-mess-with-me energy? Getting soft?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You think I’m out of touch?”

Yelena tilted her head, weighing it. “You’ve been... domesticated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

She considered you for a beat, then gave a small, amused nod. “Alright. Point taken.”

You leaned back, arms folded. “Let’s end this. You and me. Whatever's left of the Ranskahov crew— we shut it down.”

Yelena raised her hands in mock surrender. “Your words, not mine. I’m just here for emotional support and cheese.”

Then, a beat passed. She stirred the pot idly, quieter now. “You sure you're up for this?”

You gave her a look.

“No, I mean really,” she said. “You're not worried about the lawyer finding out?”

You froze, just for a second.

“It’s been, what— five, six months?” Yelena added, not unkindly. “You think he’s gonna notice if you disappear for a day or two?”

You glanced down at the counter. “It’s not about him noticing.”

Yelena shrugged. “So what is it?”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence between you filled with the soft bubbling of the stovetop and your pulse in your ears.

“It’s just... different now,” you said finally.

Yelena gave you a knowing look. “I mean, no one’s gonna know. It’s what we do, isn’t it?”

You looked up at her.

“Ghost in, ghost out. We finish what we started.”

“Let the record show,” you said, getting to your feet, “I’m helping because you nearly got me killed. Again.”

“Let the record also show,” she said, sliding a bowl across the counter to you, “I did not ask for help.”

You took the bowl, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself— soft, almost reminiscent. There was something familiar about the moment. The crappy mac and cheese. The bruises. The adrenaline still fading from your bloodstream. For a second, it felt like the old days. Like the good parts in between the hell you went through. 

Yelena caught the look immediately. “Aha,” she said, pointing the spoon at you. “You missed this.”

“Shut up.”

——————————————————————————————————

The next afternoon, your shop smelled like cinnamon and dust— paperbacks piled on mismatched shelves, the old ceiling fan overhead rattling faintly in protest. In complete contrast to your past, you had made quite a home for yourselves at a cosy little corner of hell's kitchen, snuggled right next to the Nelson & Murdock office.

Matt sat across from you at the little table in the back corner, his cane resting against the chair, his jacket draped on the back of it. 

The two of you had made a habit of lunching here once or twice a week— sometimes with food, sometimes with nothing but stubborn cases and terrible coffee. Today it was takeout from the Thai place around the block.

You pushed your noodles around with your fork, watching him sip his tea like it wasn’t hot enough to melt steel.

“So,” Matt said casually, “about tonight— I was going to ask if we could rain check.”

You blinked. “Oh— yeah. I was going to say the same thing. I’ve got some errands to run."

He nodded. “Foggy dropped a mountain of files on my desk this morning. I’ll be chained to the office most of the night.”

He said it too neatly. No stammer. No sigh. No frustration about the files. Just a clean, compact sentence, tied with a bow.

Your eyes narrowed— just barely. There it was. That was his tell. You almost knew it by heart now. He didn’t fidget, didn’t shift in his seat. He stilled. Too polished. Too calm.

He was lying.

You smiled like you believed him.

“That’s a shame,” you said lightly, taking a sip of your water. “I was kind of looking forward to it.”

“I was too,” he said, and he meant it— just not the way he said.

You nodded and changed the subject, let it drop between you like nothing had happened. If he noticed anything off in your tone, he didn’t show it. Eventually, he gathered his things and stood.

“I’ll call you later?” he offered.

“Yeah,” you said, standing with him. “We’ll pick a better night.”

He reached for his jacket, adjusted the fold of his cane, and turned to leave— when the bell above the door jingled.

Yelena stepped inside, sunglasses perched in her hair, a paper bag in one hand and a too-innocent smile on her face.

“Aw, look at this. My two favorite nerds.”

Matt paused mid-step. “Yelena.”

“Mr. Murdock,” she said brightly. “Fancy seeing you here. Hope I’m not interrupting any... legal bonding.”

You deadpanned. “You are. But don’t let that stop you.”

Matt chuckled under his breath. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You watched him leave— pausing just long enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips, quick and warm, like punctuation at the end of a long sentence. Then he was gone.

Yelena waited a full beat after the door shut before turning to you with a look.

“You lied to him, didn’t you?”

You picked up your half-finished drink and took a long sip. “Only because he lied first.”

Yelena looked thrilled. “Ohhh, this is gonna be fun.”

——————————————————————————————————

The docks reeked of salt and rust, the fog rolling in heavy over the water like it had something to hide. Yelena crouched beside you behind a stack of shipping containers, her braid pulled tight, her knives already slick with someone else's blood.

"Four more on the upper level," she said, voice low and steady.

"Two by the crates, one pacing by the boat," you added. "Third’s probably on lookout.”

Yelena grinned. “Just like Budapest.”

“I’m not reminiscing with you while hiding and smelling like fish.”

You were already moving— silent, efficient. Two guards down in under a minute. A third turned, startled, just in time to catch Yelena’s elbow in the face.

You were halfway to the second stack when a thud hit the ground behind you. A figure in red.

You turned, ready to strike.

"Easy," came the familiar voice.

Your heart skipped once. Just once.

Daredevil.

Yelena straightened beside you, blade still in hand. “Dude. What the hell.”

“I’m not here to get in the way, I swear,” Daredevil said, tone even, unreadable. “We could work together.”

You exchanged a look with Yelena. Her brows lifted, daring you to call the shots.

"Fine," you said. “Just, don’t slow us down.”

He nodded once, readying himself— then tilted his head slightly in Yelena’s direction.

“She's new. Who’s your friend?”

Yelena smirked, stepping past him with a gleam in her eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And then you moved— no time for anything else.

The fight was fast, chaotic— muffled grunts, broken bones, steel against skin. You worked like you'd never left the field. Knife, fist, elbow. Yelena at your side. And Daredevil... flanking, striking, always just in the right place at the right time.

But that was the problem.

He was too good.

He moved like he didn’t even need to look at the layout. God knows if he can even see anything through that mask. Dodged a swing from behind without looking. Tilted his head slightly every time someone approached, like he heard them coming—

And when you shouted, “Duck!” mid-sweep, he reacted a beat faster than sight could manage.

Your chest went cold.

Blind. Bruises. Lies. His voice. Your eyes locked on his masked face mid-spin and suddenly, everything clicked.

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

Matt.

You didn’t miss a beat— kept fighting, didn’t let it show. But you knew. And he didn’t know you knew.

And Matt? He was noticing things too.

The precision in your hits. The way you landed without sound. Your balance. Your calm. The way your heartbeat never spiked, even in the thick of blood and noise.

He’d heard it before— more than once, in quieter moments. In the space between conversations at your bookstore, when you handed him a cup of coffee and your fingers brushed his. In the office, when you laughed at something Foggy said and tried to hide it behind a file. He’d memorized your rhythm without ever meaning to.

And now, in the chaos, it was unmistakable. His chest clenched mid-fight.

You.

The realization hit him like a punch to the ribs, followed by an actual punch to the ribs. He quickly recovered and retaliated, still lost in his thoughts.

That was you moving beside him— calculated, silent, lethal.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be like this. But you were. You moved like someone who didn’t just know violence— you had lived in it. Adapted to it. Survived it. He could hear it in the way you breathed, the way you anticipated hits like you'd studied the fight before it even started.

It clicked halfway through the second wave of men— when you threw your body in front of his and took a hit that should’ve been his. You winced, gritted your teeth, and kept moving like nothing happened.

He ducked under a pipe and drove his fist into a man’s gut, head spinning now for a different reason. You weren’t just the girl next door with the most cozy bookstore in the world.

You were trained. Conditioned. Deadly.

Widow, he thought. Of course. Of course, you’re a Widow.

The realization didn’t slow him down— if anything, it made him faster. He pivoted to cover your blind side just as you lunged forward to disarm the final gunman. Back-to-back, two silent protectors tangled in a storm of fists and steel and fury.

The last guy went down hard. Silence followed. Heavy breathing, the clatter of a gun skidding across the dock. You turned to look at Daredevil—

But he was already gone. Just like that.

Yelena jogged up behind you, wiping blood off her knife with a rag. “Okay,” she panted. “That was not part of the plan, but it was less of a shit show than I expected." 

You stared at the empty space where he’d vanished.

Your heart was still racing, but for a very different reason now.

“I… I think I know who that was,” you murmured.

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You turned to her slowly, wide-eyed.

“Dude,” you said breathlessly. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————————————————————————————

You slammed the door behind you, tossed your keys into the bowl by the entrance, and stood there for a second, wide-eyed and winded.

Matt. Murdock. Was. Daredevil.

You turned slowly to look at Yelena, who was flopped dramatically on your couch, one boot already off, the other halfway dangling.

"Okay," you said, pacing. "Okay. Okay."

Yelena raised a brow. “That’s a lot of okays.”

“He knows. He knows it’s me.”

"Did he say that?"

"No. But— he was there. Fighting next to me. You don’t just forget a person’s rhythm like that.”

“Alright, Mr Miyagi, calm down,” Yelena muttered. “Did he see your face?”

“No.”

“Then he doesn’t know,” she said with finality, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl she'd found somehow. “But you know he’s Daredevil?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well... that’s fun,” Yelena said. “Kinky. Do you guys roleplay in the suit?”

You threw a cushion at her.

She ducked it easily, grinning. “Relax, Sunshine. He doesn’t know. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

The next morning

You woke up to a single text on your phone.

Matt: We need to talk.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the screen for a full minute, then looked at Yelena, who was eating cereal out of your favorite mug like it was her house.

“He knows,” you said, voice flat.

She peered over the rim of the mug. “About the Widowing or the lying or the whole knife ballet by the docks?”

“All of it.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a man. I promise you he noticed nothing.

——————————————————————————————————

He didn’t knock.

You looked up from the counter of your shop just in time to see Matt step through the door— coat slung over one arm, jaw tight, his whole presence coiled and deliberate like he’d been rehearsing this confrontation all the way over. Your chest tightened. Behind the mystery section, Yelena dropped into a crouch like she was on mission.

“Hey,” you said cautiously.

Matt held up his phone. “Got your message.”

You blinked. “I didn’t—”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Right. That message.”

He moved to the counter, leaning forward just slightly. Trying to keep it civil. It wasn’t working.

“You lied to me.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Fair enough,” he said flatly. “Last night. The ‘errands’ that somehow involved you taking out the entire Ranskahov crew with a very familiar blonde.”

Yelena’s voice drifted from behind the shelves: “Rude, I was extremely subtle.”

“You stabbed someone while humming Toxic, Yelena,” Matt said flatly.

“It’s called multi-tasking,” she shot back. "Wait, how'd you know I am blonde?"

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration leaking through his carefully even tone. “I thought I could trust you.”

You blinked, surprised by the weight behind the words.

“I don’t understand why you’d lie to me about something like this,” he went on. “You disappeared for a night, showed up in the middle of a takedown like it was routine, and didn’t think I’d figure it out?”

You crossed your arms, jaw tightening. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Matt’s brow creased. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been lying to me for months, Matt,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “So forgive me if I don’t feel guilty for keeping one thing to myself.”

Yelena’s voice chimed in helpfully from behind the shelf. “Technically two things. You also said you were allergic to cats and we both know that’s a lie.”

Matt didn’t even look in her direction. “This isn’t the same, (Y/n).”

“No?” you shot back. “Because I remember you brushing off every bruise, every night you vanished, every time I found blood on your shirt. But when I keep something close to the chest, suddenly it’s a betrayal?”

He looked away for a beat, jaw clenched.  You stepped around the counter, folding your arms. “Yeah. So let’s not throw stones, Daredevil.”

Yelena raised a hand. “I’d like to throw one.”

“Shush,” you and Matt both said in unison.

“You really want to stand there and pretend like you’re on the moral high ground, Matt?”

Yelena popped her head up just long enough to say, “Oooh, he’s going to need ice for that burn,” then ducked back down.

Matt turned back toward you slowly, the fight draining from his posture, replaced by something quieter. Something closer to hurt.

“I’m not mad that you can handle yourself,” he said, softer now. “I’m mad that you didn’t let me in. That you didn’t think I could take it.”

You stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Funny. I could say the same thing.” 

Yelena coughed meaningfully. “Anyway, since we’re all being honest now, can I get a ruling on whether this is a breakup or foreplay?”

You and Matt both groaned.

Matt turned toward her. “Do you have to be here for this?”

“Yes,” you and Yelena said at the same time.

You exhaled through your nose, some of the tension bleeding out of your shoulders. “I didn’t keep it from you because I didn’t trust you,” you said, voice quieter now. “I kept it from you because I didn’t want to ruin this. Whatever this is.”

Matt nodded slowly, like he understood— because he did. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

A beat passed.  

“I just didn’t want you in this world,” Matt said after a moment. “Not this part of it.”

You sighed. “I know. And I didn’t want you to see that side of me, either. Not if I didn’t have to.”

A pause. Something gentler settled between you.

“So what now?” you asked. “We just… go back to pretending we’re two normal people who work too much and flirt in the office kitchen?”

Matt smiled faintly. “That wasn’t pretending.”

You mirrored it. “Fair.”

He shifted on his feet. “We’re both good at lying. Maybe too good. But I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“Me either.”

Another pause, not quite awkward. Just full. 

From behind the shelf: “Boring. Now either make out or fuck. I need to know what genre this is.”

You and Matt turned to her in sync.

“Get out,” you both said.

Yelena grinned. “Love you too.”

She made for the door with a dramatic little bow. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you muttered. 

After the door shut behind her, the silence felt warmer. Softer. Matt was still observing you, his expression a little looser now, the storm behind his eyes finally settling. You stepped into his space without thinking. His arms slid around you like they’d been waiting for exactly this. 

Your cheek pressed lightly against his chest. “Well,” you murmured, “now what?”

Matt’s hand traced a slow line up your spine. “She gave us options before she left.”

You glanced up at him. “Options? Sounded more like a to-do list to me.”

Outside there is peace, the noise of the night is just the crickets and some other whisper of the breeze but not inside you, there is no peace there, not now. The first number you score is John’s, not because he’s the eldest or because he’s the captain of your team. It’s because he was the one who first appeared on your contact list, sorbed the snot and felt the phone ring

one... two ... three .... Four and he replied

"hello ?" John’s snarky voice switched the speaker, your throat closed up and you couldn’t speak " who’s this ?" he spoke again, you had to speak if I wouldn’t hang you, you know he doesn’t see who’s calling him, at least not when he wakes up.

"mmmm John ...." your voice comes out in a trembling whisper, the excitement of the moment and the pain on your face don’t allow you to speak well," its amm... mm it’s me, sorry for calling " you were embarrassed to sound so weak, he shouldn’t be the one you call but you don’t have anyone else now, mom is in another country and dad was too

"hey" can you hear how her voice softens and moves on the sheets of her bed " hey honey are you okay? " damn he always knows when something is wrong You sobbed in silence, with pain in your chest

"John..." your words were stuck in your throat and you could already feel the taste of metal in your mouth, John didn’t speak while you were quiet but you could hear things that pointed him out, he scratched his beard, moved on his bed distraught at your crying

" honey what happens " her voice grew softer and lower "talk to me princess " shit, her voice destroyed you, you should receive that treatment every day and expect no less. You should never have settled for less

"you can come for me" at last you could let go, you cried again and looked in the mirror of your bathroom at home, your new house, and saw the deviation of your nose and the blood running through this from two different places "i hit myself with the window ..." You covered your mouth with your hand and cried again, demons always cried like little baby with John but now it was different "I need you John"

" are you at home?" he asked with a harsher tone, you hoped that he was not angry with you for bothering him, you could hear whining and murmured voices from the other side. You replied a little yes "Alright beautiful, we’ll be there in 10 minutes. " her voice sounded calm, but it was expressing concern

You finished the call and got into the bathtub to cry, Ben was in the room, you could hear him drop bad words and complaints. You had never seen him so angry, you hoped he wouldn’t break the bathroom door, you could knock him down yourself but the punch in your nose caught you off guard, leaving you feeling that you weren’t stronger than him. Same as previous months full of screams and things that crash against you or the walls nearby when he gets angry.

After 8 minutes you could feel the roar of an engine outside, your phone vibrated again, you replied quickly and now kyle’s voice is saying "hey beautiful" his voice as always so sweet reached your soul "we’re already down here, you need us to come in or can you open up" You replied that you were going down in a minute, he just nodded and hang up.

You walked out of the bathroom with light strides, were in your pajamas and barefoot, opened the door and met with kyle and johnny, as soon as you saw them both made a look be, john and simon were behind them and they both saw you and immediately knew something was wrong.

Hey ... - muttered Johnny as his hand caressed your face - a hard blow bonnie? - you nodded and began to tremble at the cry you felt ripping your chest, he just came up to you and hugged you carefully not to touch your nose, it was as if touching porcelain and glass. your scent flooded his lungs, it didn’t change despite everything, the same aroma with which you hadn’t woken up for years. The others shared a worried look as they watched the bruises adorning your skin. Ben threw a doorbell upstairs and shouted your name more angrily than before

“who the fuck is on my fucking door “ you trembled in Johnny’s arms when you heard him, which worried Johnny, you were never afraid of anyone, You were only scared of storms but you were the bravest person he knew.

Ben came to the top of the ladder and saw them, his face looked more angry “who are you? “ he came a little closer to you but stopped when he saw you in Johnny’s arms. John spoke in a low and dangerously loud voice “gaz, soap, get her out of here now “ his gaze didn’t take its eye off Ben, you may not have told him the whole truth but he knew it, I could see it on Ben’s hand, your scarred neck and broken nose.

He knew that your "boyfriend" hurt you, and I would make him pay for it Kyle and Johnny took you straight to the car, once you were with them nothing else mattered, you knew that Simon and John wouldn’t be subtle or gentle with Ben but maybe you didn’t care at all, not after how he behaved with you.

- Are you ... Ben, right? - John’s voice broke the silence, dangerous and deep, his cold gaze crosses the man still standing on the stairs. Ben observes as well, intimidated by the two large men standing in the darkness, there is a small dim light that allows us to see their eyes and the outline of their bodies.

- yes I am... Who are you? - Ben went down the stairs and stood a few steps away from them, he could tell the heavy breathing of both men - oh, we’re just the ones who care so much about y/n - John walked until he was standing in front of him and I looked at his hands - but friend Ben ... You made the biggest mistake of your probably very miserable life…

- you hurt her - Simon finished the sentence, Ben felt his blood freeze and began to sweat cold. when a light lit up Simon’s covered face, the skull looked more terrifying but what scared him most was his look

“ she didn’t... She shouldn’t have yelled at me when I was on a work call “ Ben’s voice trembled for a second “ I was being too upset with all that nonsense and wouldn’t shut up... it wasn’t my fault “Ben walking backwards towards the living room, but he hit the sofa, John could see the living room almost smashed to pieces, with obvious signs of a fight. Simon didn’t take his eye off Ben

“ Ghost, I think this boy needs a lesson “ John grabbed Ben’s hair and threw it on the floor. Ghost is looking for a chair and something to tie him with “ we shouldn’t be the ones who beat you up, boy, but she’s not feeling well enough to give you what you deserve “ John raised his hand and slapped him “ you think you’re very strong and little man, you think you could do stupid things like a little man without getting hurt…”

Simon came back with a chair and tape, John just looked at Simon and gave him the silent order to put him in the chair - what the fuck are they going to do to me - Ben ask scared , Simon just grabs his wrists very tightly and wrapped them in tape “ I’ll call the police “

“ for what you did to her, buddy? “ John reached over his beard and sighed “ because that’s too late, we arrived and we won’t leave until Ghost thinks you got what you deserve” . After that, John and Simon closed the curtains and covered his mouth with tape so that his screams wouldn’t be heard. They wouldn’t kill him, they’d just make him learn that no one messes with his girl

Kyle was driving at a medium speed, was heading to the nearest hospital, Johnny was texting John about where they would be and that as soon as they finished they will take you to a hotel if that's what you wanted . You were in the back seat looking at the street but all you could feel was a void, everything felt distant, didn’t notice the 15 times that Johnny turned to see you or how Kyle looked at you in the rearview mirror. As soon as they arrived, Johnny got off first and opened the door for you, you looked at him and I helped you down, you felt intimidated by how you were dressed, leaving your bruises in plain sight, Kyle noticed it and wrapped you in his jacket. At least you had long pants covering your legs and a short-sleeved t-shirt that only showed your arms

As soon as they came in, they gave you a form that Kyle took care of filling out. 15 minutes later, they called you to check you up.

“Good evening, miss, y/n “ the doctor speaks as she approaches you “ good evening gentlemen “ she greeted Johnny and Kyle who were in the corner of the room “ can you tell me what happened, darling?” the doctor checked your nose and neck, looked back at the boys

“ uhh... My... My boyfriend assaulted me “ you spoke in a low voice without looking at Johnny and Kyle, you couldn’t, you were dying of shame that they saw you like this “ they didn’t... They ... “ you quickly clarified to avoid misunderstandings

Johnny moved in place with his hands on his sweatpants “we are .... We are his friends “ the word felt strange in his mouth, but the situation did not make room for another comment.

“darling, I’ll give you a general check-up and then we can file a complaint against him. is that okay? “ the nurse gently took your hand, you looked at her and nodded “ gentlemen I will ask them to wait in the waiting room... “ before the nurse continued you interrupted with a drowned groan “ can they stay...? “ your eyes were filled with tears at the thought that they would be driven away from you, that if something happened to you they wouldn’t come to you again, again “ please “

the nurse looks at you and sighs “ only one can be here “ Johnny and Kyle looked at each other and in a quiet conversation decided

“ I'll wait outside “ Kyle dedicated a slight smile and warm eyes to you, he left but on his face you could see that he wanted to stay. Once Kyle got out, the nurse began to examine you carefully, checked the marks on your neck, your broken nose. The Nice nurse asked you to take a deep breath because he was going to settle your nose, Johnny moved next to you and gently took your hand, muttered some encouraging words beside you and tried to distract you from the nurse by pressing on your nose and settling it.

When she finished, Johnny stroked your hair while he was muttering "that’s good hen you did incredible" "my brave girl" a few tears fell but he rushed to clean them and kiss your hair.

The nurse gave you a few more tests and some questions until she prescribed painkillers and asked if you were going to report it, to which you replied that you would do so later. You didn’t want the police questioning your four special forces soldiers.

The nurse said goodbye to you and left, leaving you and Johnny alone. Your nose hurt but it wasn’t compared to the pain in your chest, Johnny kept looking at you like it physically hurts to see you in this state " you’ll be fine Mo ghràdh, I promise "

Your voice trembles " I didn’t think I’d get to this point "your look doesn’t dare stand on the, but he looks for your eyes with his own " I thought he loved me ..." You sob and cover your face with your hand letting the emotions come out of you.

He no longer resists and rises from the chair where he was and wraps you in his arms, leaving you to cry, some tears escape from his blue eyes but he wants to be strong for you.

After a while you’re already calm, but Johnny didn’t want to let you go. Kyle showed up at the door with a coffee and some things to eat " hello pretty, I didn’t know if you’d be hungry " I left the food and the coffee on a little table next to your stretcher. The three of them grabbed their respective drinks and drank them quietly, Kyle and Johnny would look at you every now and then, watching the faces you made while swallowing and when the IV bothered you to move. Kyle moved into his chair and I speak in a low tone " we can take you to a hotel if that’s what you want, one of us will stay to make sure you’re safe ..."

You wanted to say that they will take you to their house, your old home, but how could you even ask them for something, after all you decided to make another life after them, you decided to move on and never heard from them again. Also how could you, after they had to drag you out of your "perfect house" with your "perfect boyfriend" made a mess, with the broken nose and the vertebrae almost out of place. It was better to keep your distance, so you wouldn’t keep regretting being gone.

" Okay... I need clothes " you moved on the stretcher in front of both eyes

" we can go to... " Johnny got ahead of you when the word -house- didn’t come out of your mouth " It's fine, hen, Simon can bring us your things "

They both waited for you to finish your coffee to accompany you to put on your clothes again so that you could take you to a hotel. Back in the car you fall asleep feeling heavy, maybe because of painkillers or because you are more relaxed than a few hours ago.

John is smoking a cigarette in the living room with Ben in front, who was watching him as he moved in the chair. The ropes were tight and the jaw in his mouth barely let him move without feeling uncomfortable, Simon had hit him on the knee a few minutes earlier.

“You know what the problem is with you ben…” The smoke from the cigarette came to the face of the sitting boy who only trembled at the words of John "you are an idiot who pretends to be a very man just by raising your voice and hitting a woman who is with you even though you are... just a piece of shit "

simon approached him and hit him on the stomach as he heard John coming off the punch, then I raised my hand to stop him for a second " I’m going to give you options, boy, because even if I wanted to bury you alive I have to do it " another sippy of the cigar " I must do it because according to what is... it’s not worth it to stain my hands with your fucking blood " he got up from the chair and approached the young man in the chair the cigarette was almost consumed sank into Ben’s cheek who twisted himself

" you’re going to go somewhere else far away from here and mainly far away from her, do you understand me ?"

"bloody psychopath" growls Ben in anger as soon as Simon gets the gag from his mouth " I’m going to report you to the police, my father is a very important man..." his words were interrupted when John gave him a slap in the face

" I don’t give a fuck your daddy or the fucking money he has " his eyes found ben’s " if you don’t disappear by Saturday or the day after tomorrow, I will find you and you won’t breathe again " the voice made the young man warm again in front of him " and that either I or one of us finds out that you hurt someone else because otherwise " john let the young man answer

"You’ll find me" ben temple when I see the smile of John who was far from being happy or in a good mood

" good boy, ghost check the house and pack her things"John got straight and made his neck snap to release the tension " don’t call anyone kid not necessary, okay? " Ben moved again in the chair " just go and nothing bad will happen to you " John’s hands were pressed against his side " good night " and a fist crashed into the boy’s face to keep him out of the game for a while

Simon upstairs had taken off the mask as soon as he grabbed a suitcase that was clearly hers, baby light blue color and began to pack all her things, but surprisingly there were not many. Although he had been here for two years, he didn’t have as much stuff as he imagined, there were no summer dresses that she liked so much, no short pajamas, or any other kind of short or revealing clothes. Simon felt that vomiting was rising when he realized the situation exceeded only blows, the manipulation of your body was seen all over the place, it reminded his mother a little, no one deserved to live with a monster, he thought it was one before you left but he was wrong, and it was too late to open his eyes.

He kept every piece of clothes that was there, looked in the drawers and everything that wasn’t yours on the floor and stepped on it with his boots with contempt. Every perfume and the little makeup that was there were in a smaller bag. After storing all that, he look for your important documents and papers that were in a safe in the closet, but the key was not very difficult to get since it was stuck on the wall behind.

When he was going to close the closet, a flash was seen on the top shelf and he reached with his hand what had been illuminated. A stuffed animal that Kyle had given you for your birthday, each part of which had their initials embroidered.In the heart of the animal were your initials, the little one was full of dust but still Simon shook him and kept it with everything else to go down and leave.

John was at the backyard door seeing the small plants that had a nearly hidden sign saying "do not touch property of y/n" with hearts, he smiled and felt a tear fall down his cheek. his girl was hurt, they always hurt you, no matter what age you are, he’s the only one who knows your whole story, how they hurt you when you were a child and at all your stages someone betrays you or hurts your feelings, which are always pure and your soul so kind and gentle despite all the pain you have endured.

his hand flew straight into his face to dry the tears that fell out of control. would do everything in his power from now on to protect you, no matter what

He wouldn’t bury Ben, of course not, because he knows that as soon as Nikolai finds out, he’ll be at the door of the bastard, and he will hurt him however he wants, and that was enough. he took the phone out of his pocket as soon as Simon touched his shoulder, he turned to Simon who had a pair of keys for the vehicles that were there " I'll go in a moment " the voice of John came out snorting, Simon nodded and took both suitcases to the jeep outside, John took another deep breath and dialed the number on his phone, just for a minute so that a growling voice could be heard from the other side because of the dream "captain"

" nik, I need you to take care of someone "he look inside " I think you’ll enjoy it comrade "

When you and Johnny Kyle arrived at the hotel, you were sound asleep in the back seat, but as soon as some arms touched you, you woke up scared and ready to defend yourself, but all you saw was Kyle raising his hands in surrender. "hey hey hey calm down it’s just me" his warm and serene voice calms your heart that was running a thousand an hour.

"Where are we? " You don’t remember well whether what happened earlier was a dream or if it really was, you should be at home because you are here

" We are in a hotel in the city center, Johnny and I took you to the hospital " his calm voice explained patiently " you agreed to come to a hotel " his hand wrapped yours that was incredibly cold

" You’re right, I’m sorry " your voice came out a little hoarse again and you lowered your head in shame but he stroked your hand and said there was nothing to apologize for.

Johnny showed up behind Kyle with a card in his hand " I got the rooms " his smile made you calm even more " we left you the best for you little one " whispered Kyle near you and stretched your arms to carry you, which you agreed to since the painkillers were still present in your body and you didn’t trust your legs.

He takes care of you and waits for Johnny to close the car so he can start walking through the parking lot to an elevator nearby, because what Johnny had said was that the rooms were on the fourth floor.

In the elevator, Kyle's chest was warm and comfortable, even softer than you remembered. They arrived in the room and left you in bed to close the curtains and put the room in order for you to spend the night.

You felt your bladder contracted and asked you to go to the bathroom so you got up with difficulty, both of them moved quickly toward you but you raised your hand to stop them " I can, I just go to the bathroom " they both nodded but remained attentive to you outside the bathroom. As soon as you closed the door kyle’s phone vibrated on the TV table and he took it and answered.

You could hear Kyle talking from the bathroom, he wasn’t arguing but he wasn’t calm either, maybe it was John. You felt pathetic as soon as you pulled up your pants and got dizzy, the guilt sank down your chest, as soon as you got up you looked in the mirror and started to cry, everything was too much. You shouldn’t be here, bothering the boys either,you lean over the sink and let all your sorrows go out unchecked.

Johnny was on the other side of the door, listening to everything, his inner voice felt like breaking the door and holding you in his arms, but he knew that he should give you your space so he would go down to look for John and Simon who were about to arrive. Johnny still remembers why and when you left.

The mission had been a disaster, you risked too much, were hurt and John was furious about it. you did not listen when he told you that you shouldn’t go there, but he didn’t understand that you had done it for a group of girls who were adrift there.

As soon as you woke up Johnny and Kyle were with you but in the middle of love words came the cries of John who couldn’t stop shouting at you things that were hurting you. simon also said something he didn’t want to say. everyone was scared but didn’t know how to express it, they no longer wanted you to work with them, so as not to put you at risk, they knew that you were capable of anything the high comand proposed and that was the worst . the words they delivered hurt you more than any battle wound. The only thing that resonated in your ears were the words of John and Simon "we should never have brought you to the team" "this was never going to work," and clearly you thought they meant their relationship. The weeks that came after that were not easy, none of the four was talking to you, they weren’t at home either. And you heard Simon talking to Kyle one night " I knew we’d be in trouble because of her, we never should have trusted her like that " and that’s when you knew you had to leave. You never told the boys about your past because you didn’t want them to know, many secrets kept and that affected them, or so you thought.

The next morning you submitted your resignation from the unit and packed your things and when they were not at home you left. They looked for you, knew where you were, talked to Kate (your mother) to clarify things, and thought that maybe it was best for you to seek a normal life, away from all the evil of this job, of their lives. They stayed in the shadows watching you go ahead with someone decent.

Kyle was looking for a movie to see if you wanted it when you left the bathroom, your eyes and nose were red. He looks at you and speaks softly " hey " he left you a place in the bed " I put another blanket on you in case you want to go to bed "

" Oh thank you kyle " you smiled a little, you sat next to him and watched your favorite movie on TV. He saw how your eyes lit up and he smiled too. You stayed there watching TV for a while until someone knocked on the door and you startled yourself, but kyle grabbed your hand so you could calm down. look at you and he only got up when you gave him confirmation that you were calm. He opened the door and let Johnny go again, who entered the room took the card for the next room and gave you a kiss on the head before leaving again, both left the room this time leaving you alone with the noise of the TV. You decided to get up once more and went to the bathroom where you stripped off your clothes to get under the hot water.

You were transferred in a box.

Not literally, of course—but it felt that way. Blacked-out convoy. Shackled wrists. A one-way ride from the remnants of the Red Room to a Hydra-controlled facility somewhere in the Balkans. No name. No destination. Just cold metal under your thighs and a silence that felt worse than any scream.

You’d heard whispers of this place. Of him.

They called him the Winter Soldier.

Hydra didn’t send many female agents here. They kept you in Moscow, mostly—tight, quiet, obedient. But after your last handler died during a failed seduction op, you were labeled unstable. Too volatile. Too effective. Hydra saw potential where the Red Room saw disobedience. So they made a deal.

You became someone else’s problem.

The Hydra base was underground, cold as a morgue, walls humming with electricity and cruelty.

They didn’t assign you a name. They gave you a number: Agent 47.

Your first few weeks passed in silence. You trained alone. Slept under surveillance. But being from the Red Room you hacked the camera. Ate without speaking. No one told you why you were there. Not until you saw him.

They wheeled him out of cryo like a weapon being unsheathed.

You were at the edge of the training floor, bandaging your knuckles from solo drills when he appeared—broad, silent, wrapped in shadow and control. Long hair. Muzzle mask. That metal arm. He didn’t look at you. Not at first.

But you looked at him. And you knew.

He was just like you. A ghost in someone else’s skin.

You were paired together two missions later. No warning. No introduction.

They handed you a brief, said “You’ll go with him,” and shoved you toward the drop point.

You didn't ask his name. He didn’t offer it.

The first op was simple. A kill mission in Istanbul. You were bait, dressed like a party favor, coaxing the target toward a hotel balcony. Bucky waited in the hallway like a shadow. The kill was clean. Fast. He didn’t say a word the entire flight home.

You were used to silence. But his silence felt different. It was less about obedience, more about weight. As if words were too dangerous to carry.

You watched him when he wasn’t looking. The way his hand sometimes tremble after a kill. The way he stared at the wall like it was going to scream.

You recognized it. The fracture. The absence of self.

It took three more missions before he looked you in the eye.

Just a glance. After a messy clean-up in Kraków, blood is still damp on your collar. You were wiping a cut on your lip, sitting on the tailgate of the evac van. He stood across from you, face unreadable. Then his gaze flicked to yours.

Not curious. Not judgmental.

Just... knowing.

As if he saw you. Not the mask. Not the makeup. You.

Your fingers twitched.

You didn’t smile. Neither did he.

But something shifted.

Mission Location: Bucharest, Romania Objective: Eliminate asset defecting to S.H.I.E.L.D. Cover Story: Tourist couple at Hotel Beron

You hate hotels.

Not because of the sheets—they’re always clean, bleached, starched into fake softness. Not because of the lighting, though that’s usually cheap and flickering. You hate them because of what they mean: appearances. Playing and acting. Your body as a bargaining chip. Your face as a lie.

Tonight is no different.

You slip the gold earring into your ear with steady fingers, check your reflection one last time. The Red Room taught you to dress fast and fight faster. Hydra doesn't care what you wear, only that the target dies before he talks. Still, the dress they chose for you is low-cut and wine-red, tailored like a weapon.

Across the room, he doesn’t look at you. He’s adjusting the sight on a sniper rifle, calm as the grave.

The Winter Soldier wears a suit like a soldier wears a uniform—wrong, like it's just a disguise for the kill underneath.

You don’t speak. He doesn’t either.

That’s how it works between you.

The hotel bar is warm, glowing with amber light and careless laughter. You step into it like a ghost wrapped in silk.

Your heels click softly against the marble floor, your smile painted on with surgical precision. You're here to lure the target—a Hydra informant who decided to jump ship to S.H.I.E.L.D. You only have to keep him busy long enough for your partner to get in position.

You spot him at the bar. Older. Nervous. Talking too fast to a bartender who couldn’t care less.

You slide into the seat next to him like gravity pulled you there. A warm laugh. A brush of your shoulder. The same tired seduction dance the Red Room taught you at fifteen.

I’ve been a temptress too long.

He looks at you like every man does. Wants you like every man does. You feed it to him like honey over poison.

But as he starts to relax—fingers inching toward yours on the bar—you feel it: a prickle on your spine. The shift in air. The knowledge that he’s watching.

You don't need to turn. You know where he is.

Across the bar, tucked in the shadows near the back service door, sits the Winter Soldier. No mask. No rifle. Just a man in a suit too nice for the way his eyes scan the room—lethal and unblinking.

No one notices him. But you do.

He’s waiting.

The target gets comfortable fast. Too fast. He leans closer, asks if you want to go upstairs. You smile and say yes.

Your earpiece crackles with static, then his voice—cold, barely there.

“Level 5. West hallway. Blind spot in 40 seconds.”

You don't reply. You don’t have to.

The elevator ride up is silent, except for the elevator music and your heartbeat.

The hallway is dim. Carpet muffles your steps. When the door to 509 clicks shut behind you, you let the man touch your arm. You don’t flinch. You’ve played this role before. You already know how it ends.

You count down in your head.

Three... two...

The window explodes inward.

A blur of motion. Shattered glass. You duck before you even register the gunshot. The target stumbles back, screaming—blood blooming from his throat like a second collar.

You look up through your own hair, breathing hard.

He’s standing in the broken window frame.

Wind whips through the curtains. Gun still raised. Eyes locked on yours.

The Winter Soldier.

Back in the extraction van, it’s silent as always.

Your dress is ripped at the hem. There’s a scratch on your collarbone that stings. You can smell the powder burn still clinging to his jacket beside you.

You glance at him. His gaze is forward, unreadable.

But something about the way he watches the road—jaw clenched, fingers twitching—tells you he didn’t like what he saw in that room.

Not the blood. Not the kill.

You.

You wonder if he saw through the act.

You wonder if he saw how your hand shook when the man touched you.

Give me a reason to be a woman, not just a weapon.

He doesn’t speak. But just before the van turns, you feel it—his hand, brief and accidental, brushing yours where it rests on the bench.

He doesn’t pull away fast enough.

The building smells like antiseptic and cement. Cold, old-world concrete, retrofitted with modern surveillance tech and the stench of fear.

You haven’t been back in months. Not since the transfer.

The Red Room occupies the eastern wing; Hydra’s Moscow cell lives in the west. Where steel doors outnumber smiles and most conversations happen under cameras.

You walk the hallway beside him in silence.

The echo of your boots and his heavier tread match in rhythm—military, precise. You glance at his shoulder once, just once. The black tactical coat fits over the metal arm too cleanly, like it was sewn around the violence.

Neither of you speak until you’re summoned.

Inside the glass-walled debriefing chamber, the temperature drops by several degrees.

Your superior sits across from you—Director Volkov, thick-fingered, well-fed, and always two steps away from cruelty. Behind him, an aide prepares the recorder.

“Садитесь,” Volkov says without looking up. Sit.

You and the Winter Soldier obey in unison. Side by side. Chairs too straight to relax in.

Volkov doesn’t waste time.

“Доклад,” he says, motioning lazily with one hand. Report.

You glance once at Bucky. He stays still, metal fingers twitching once before stilling.

You begin.

“Цель устранена. Враг не передал информацию Щ.И.Т.,” you say clearly. Target eliminated. Enemy did not pass information to S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Свидетели?” Witnesses?

“Нет. Один охранник — был устранён.” No. One guard—eliminated.

Volkov raises an eyebrow. Then turns his attention to Bucky.

“And you?” he says in Russian, but slower. As if testing him.

Bucky’s voice is low, sharp like ice cracking.

“Всё прошло по плану.” Everything went according to plan.

His accent is almost native. Almost. But there's something strange in the way he says it—mechanical, hollow. Like he’s repeating words pulled from an old program.

Volkov watches him for a beat too long.

Then: “Хорошо.” Good.

But his gaze slides to you.

“Ты выглядишь усталой, девочка.” You look tired, girl.

Your jaw flexes.

“Я выполняю свою работу.” I do my job.

He leans back, smirking. “Иногда ты больше, чем просто работа.” Sometimes, you're more than just a job.

The edge behind his words makes your stomach tighten. A test. A threat. You don’t blink.

But you feel it.

A shift beside you. The faintest sound—leather glove tightening around a fist.

You don’t look at him. But you feel the Winter Soldier bristle, just for a second.

He heard it. He understood.

Volkov notes the silence like a man lighting a match near gasoline. He lets it burn a moment. Then shrugs.

“Свободны,” he says. You’re dismissed.

You both stand without hesitation.

But as you turn to leave, he speaks again.

“Солдат.” Soldier.

Bucky stops.

Volkov doesn’t look up as he says it.

“Девушка — хрупкая. Не дай ей сломаться.” The girl is fragile. Don’t let her break.

You look over your shoulder.

Bucky doesn’t respond. Doesn’t twitch. Just walks out, silent as death.

You follow.

In the elevator, no one speaks.

Not until the doors close and the security light turns green.

Then, in Russian—so quiet it almost doesn’t reach you—he says:

“Ты не хрупкая.” You are not fragile.

You stare straight ahead. Your heart stutters once behind your ribs.

After a long pause, you whisper back:

“И ты не только оружие.” And you are not only a weapon.

Location: Hydra Training Compound, Belarus Objective: Infiltrate and surveil ex-Hydra weapons broker operating under a NATO-aligned cover Alias Names: Alina & Ivan Morozov Cover Story: Married couple visiting from Kaliningrad for black-market tech negotiation

The base is colder than Moscow.

Not in temperature—though it’s frigid at dawn—but in design. Gray walls. Glass panels. Doors with no handles unless they want to be opened. The kind of place where every hallway feels like a test, and every reflection in the steel has eyes.

You stand in the armory, adjusting your tactical vest, eyes on the mission file. The photos are grainy, black-and-white. Surveillance stills of a man named Konstantin Mirov, former Hydra quartermaster turned freelance weapons broker.

Your job? Get into his meeting. See who he’s selling to. Get out without making noise.

No seduction this time. No backless gowns or hotel bar whispers.

This one’s quiet. Careful. Married couple traveling for business, Hydra’s handler had said.

You’d snorted. The Winter Soldier hadn’t reacted at all.

Now he enters the room, dressed not in his usual black ops gear—but something more civilian. Dark gray slacks. Black sweater. No gloves.

You glance at the arm.

He doesn’t bother to hide it.

Bold.

Or suicidal.

You zip your coat, grab your compact pistol, and glance at him. He’s adjusting his earpiece, expression unreadable.

Your handler enters with a clipboard and two forged passports.

“Your aliases are Alina and Ivan Morozov,” she says, Russian clipped and cold. “You’ve been married for five years. No children. No friends. You’re a quiet couple from Kaliningrad who want to buy access to Mirov’s smart-tech vault.”

She hands Bucky the ring box like it’s a threat.

He opens it.

Two simple wedding bands inside.

You stiffen. “Is this necessary?”

The handler smiles, teeth like knives. “You’ll be staying in a private villa. Shared bed. If Mirov suspects you’re spies, he’ll kill you. Or worse—he’ll sell your location to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

You take the ring.

Bucky slides his on with mechanical ease.

You follow.

Infiltration Point: Moldova border, safehouse en route to Mirov’s estate

The drive is quiet. Trees blur past the windows, and you feel the weight of the silence settle between you like fog. The radio crackles occasionally—local news, rain reports, nothing useful.

He’s driving with one hand, the metal one. The flesh one rests on his thigh, fingers tapping once, twice, in thought.

You speak without looking at him.

“Are you comfortable with close contact?”

He doesn’t respond right away.

Then: “I don’t need comfort. I need control.”

You glance at him. “That wasn’t the question.”

He doesn’t answer.

The Estate — Mirov’s Private Villa

By the time you arrive, the act has begun.

You’re greeted by a security detail with mirrored sunglasses and thick accents. They scan your car. Search your bags. But they don’t find the tracker tucked beneath the spare tire, or the bone mic embedded behind your left ear.

Inside, the villa is all excess. Marble floors. Velvet drapes. Surveillance in every corner. You walk in like you belong.

Your room is on the top floor. One bed. No cameras inside, but you know better. Hidden mics, pressure sensors under the floorboards.

You wait until the guards leave before speaking.

“You take the side near the door.”

He nods once. No questions.

You unpack. Slowly. Deliberately. The room is small. Every time you turn, he’s close. Too close.

You kneel to unzip your weapons case and find yourself eye-level with the holster strapped to his thigh.

He doesn’t move.

Your fingers brush the hem of his coat as you reach for your knife.

He still doesn’t move.

Your heartbeat spikes—briefly.

I’ve been a temptress too long.

Now I just want to be human.

But I don’t know how to be near him without wanting something I shouldn’t.

Later That Night

The mission recon begins at the gala in Mirov’s garden.

You’re dressed in black. Minimal makeup. Armed with a compact camera hidden in your pendant. Bucky wears a suit again—same fit as Bucharest—but this time, you’re on his arm.

For show.

You link arms. Skin to skin.

He is warm.

You keep your smile fixed and your eyes on the crowd. Inside, you whisper:

“Three o’clock. Red dress. That’s the American buyer.”

He leans in slightly—lips brushing your temple in a way that makes your stomach knot.

“She’s carrying,” he mutters. “Ankle holster. SIG P365.”

You smile and laugh, loud enough for Mirov’s man to hear. Just two lovers sharing a joke.

But when you turn away, his hand on your back doesn’t drop right away.

You feel the heat of it through your dress.

You don’t speak on the walk back to the villa.

The guards let you through without questions. One of them gives you a knowing smirk, like he expects you to fuck as loudly as you kill. You offer him the barest smile in return—just enough to keep him stupid.

Inside, the bedroom light is low. Amber and shadow and the faint buzz of some generator humming through the floor.

You unclip your earrings and place them on the nightstand.

Bucky’s already unbuttoning his cuffs. No words. No wasted movement. Just a slow, methodical undoing of the man he pretended to be tonight.

You glance over.

He hasn’t looked at you once.

But his jaw is tight.

You strip off your dress with your back to him. No flourish, no invitation. Just routine. Your spine is bare and littered with scars in the mirror. You catch his reflection when he finally turns.

His eyes flick to yours, just once, before dropping.

He looks away like it hurts.

You slide on the black sleep shirt. One of the few things in your duffel that’s actually yours. Cotton. Worn thin at the collar.

Bucky changes into a pair of Hydra-issued sweats and a black t-shirt. The metal arm gleams under the soft light, all tension and symmetry and weaponized restraint.

He takes the side nearest the door, just like you asked.

You slide under the covers beside him.

The silence is too loud.

The bed dips beneath his weight but doesn't move again. He’s still. A wall of heat and control.

You close your eyes.

And then—after several long breaths—you whisper, in Russian:

“Ты не расслаблялся ни на секунду.” You haven’t relaxed once.

He exhales through his nose.

Then:

“Слишком опасно.” Too dangerous.

You open your eyes. The ceiling is textured with shadow.

“Мне казалось, ты был другим, когда мы танцевали.” You seemed different when we danced.

He doesn’t answer.

But he’s listening. You can feel it. His focus, always so sharp in combat, is now centered entirely on you.

You turn on your side, facing him in the dark. His profile is a study in contrast—scar and softness, human and not. The kind of face built for silence.

“I forgot who I was for a minute,” you murmur. “On the balcony. When you touched my back.”

His jaw tenses.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says.

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t want you to stop.”

The air between you thickens. Warmer now. And dangerous in a different way.

This isn’t flirtation. It's a confession. Two ghosts pressing against the skin of the living.

You feel his fingers move—just barely.

Then:

“Why are you telling me this?”

You don’t know.

Maybe because it’s dark. Maybe because he saw you undressed without leering. Maybe because when you kissed him in Bucharest, he didn’t pull away—he just stood there, stunned, as if you’d woken something up.

“I want to know if you felt it too,” you whisper.

His voice is a thread of breath:

“I don’t let myself feel things.”

You reach for his hand under the sheet. Not the metal one. The other.

Your fingers find his fingers.

And he lets them.

He doesn’t pull away.

You fall asleep like that. Not tangled. Not pressed together. Just a point of contact—skin to skin.

A line crossed.

And neither of you can go back.

Location: Hydra Training Compound Day Three Post-Mission

They call it “recalibration,” but it feels like punishment.

Mission successful. Mirov neutralized. Intel secure. And still, they’re back on the mat like it means nothing. Hydra doesn’t reward precision. It doesn’t reward loyalty.

It rewards silence.

You’re already in the training gear—black compression top, reinforced leggings, bare feet on the polished floor. Your knife is strapped to your thigh even though it won’t be used today. Just a habit.

Across from you, Bucky stands shirtless, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair damp from the shower.

His metal arm catches the light like a warning.

You circle each other in silence. There’s no music, no overseer today. Just the distant hum of the base and the scuff of movement on the mat.

Then, in Russian:

“Готова?” Ready?

You nod.

He lunges first—fast, controlled, mechanical. You drop low, sweep a leg, and he pivots instead of falling. His movements are brutal but beautiful, like clockwork designed to hurt.

You block a palm strike, twist under his arm, shove your elbow toward his ribs.

He lets you connect.

Not full force. Not enough to bruise.

Just enough.

You both freeze.

Your breath hitches.

He stepped into it—on purpose.

Why would he let me land a hit like that?Why does it matter that he did?

You disengage fast, roll back onto your feet. He stays still, watching.

Eyes unreadable.

Then, quieter:

“Ты теряешь фокус.” You're losing focus.

You sneer. “Ты проиграл.” You lost.

He steps forward again—slow this time. Less like a soldier, more… man. His chest rises and falls in an even rhythm.

“I let you win,” he says.

There’s no arrogance in it. No mocking.

Just a fact.

You bristle. “Why?”

His eyes flick to yours—then lower. Just briefly. Enough to notice the slight swelling on your lip from the earlier blow he did land.

“Because you’re tired.”

You swallow, throat tight.

He noticed. And he cared. Not because Hydra told him to. Not because it helped the mission.Because it’s me.And that scares me more than it should.

You don’t reply.

You rush him again, but this time it’s sloppier. Emotion leaking in through the cracks. He catches your wrist mid-strike, and for one heartbeat, you’re just… there. Trapped in his grip.

His fingers tighten—then loosen.

He releases you.

Your skin burns where he touched it.

You step back.

“Again,” you say.

He hesitates. Just a flicker.

Then nods.

You spar for thirty minutes. No talking. Just the sound of bodies hitting mats, of breath caught and released, of two people pretending not to feel what they feel.

And after the last round—when you’re both on the floor, sweating, chests heaving, his arm braced beside your shoulder—

You ask, quiet:

“Why are you different with me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it:

“Because you don’t look at me like I’m a weapon.”

You look at me like I’m still human.You look at me like I deserve to be one.

You could kiss him right now.

You don’t.

You just stay there, breathing next to him.

Neither of you moves.

The sparring is over, but it’s still clinging to you—under your skin, in the beat of your pulse, in the shallow ache of your left wrist.

You sit on the bench in the armory locker room. Shirt discarded. Wrist tender. It throbs in waves now that the adrenaline’s worn off.

Hydra’s med supplies are cold and clinical: gauze, antiseptic, wraps. No painkillers. No comfort.

You’re wrapping the bandage sloppily, one-handed.

“Дай мне.” Let me.

His voice is low. Behind you.

You flinch, but you don’t stop him when he kneels in front of you.

You offer your wrist.

The metal hand holds it steady. Too gentle. The human one does the wrapping.

He’s meticulous. One layer. Then another. His breath fans across your forearm.

Your voice is soft:

“Ты заботишься.” You care.

He pauses.

Then—barely above a whisper:

“Ты не должна была заметить.” You weren’t supposed to notice.

You study him as he works. Down here, kneeling, close like this—he doesn’t look like a ghost. Or a soldier. He just looks... tired.

And young. Younger than you imagined, when he’s not under command.But you’ve seen his file. You know that doesn’t make sense. Unless something’s been taken from him.Time. Memory. Self.

“What do they call you?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t look up.

“They don’t.”

Not a name. Just a directive. A ghost.Winter Soldier. Asset. 

You nod once. You won’t ask again. You’ve done worse to people with names.

When he finishes the wrap, he doesn’t let go right away.

His thumb brushes the edge of the gauze. Not by accident.

Your breath stutters.

He touches like he’s afraid he’ll break you. Like no one taught him how to be soft, but he’s trying anyway.And you… you need it.God, you need it.

“You stay too long after the others leave,” you whisper.

He looks up at you. Those eyes—gray and still and far away.

“So do you.”

You pull your wrist back, slowly. His hand follows for a second longer than it should.

You rise.

He doesn’t stop you.

But before you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder.

“What's on your mind,” you say in Russian. “Just one thing.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Like he’s trying to remember what counts as real.

Then, finally:

“Я боюсь забыть, каково это — не быть один.” I’m afraid of forgetting what it feels like to not be alone.

You don’t speak.

But something inside you breaks.

And you don’t fix it.

There are nights when the base goes too quiet.

Not silent—because no Hydra base is ever truly silent. There’s always the dull hum of the server banks, the pressurized hiss of sealed doors, the echo of boots in the corridor above.

But this? This is quieter. Hollow. Heavy.

You can’t sleep.

Your bed is too narrow, your bones too wired. There’s a tremor in your hands you can’t shake. Not fear, exactly. Just… residue. From training. From life.

From him.

You slip from your quarters, barefoot. In a tank top and soft black shorts. You don’t bother to put boots on.

The halls feel colder at night. You glide through them like smoke.

Down one floor. Then two.

You know where he’ll be.

There’s a small chamber near the weapons lab—an auxiliary control room that no one uses after hours. No windows. Just a slatted steel vent near the ceiling where moonlight slices in, pale and ghostlike.

He sits there in the corner, on the floor.

Back against the wall.

Awake.

He’s always awake.

You don’t speak when you step into the doorway.

He lifts his eyes. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rise.

Just looks at you like he knew you’d come.

You sit across from him, knees pulled up. The cold seeps through the floor into your skin.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

But that’s never mattered. Not with him.

The quiet between you has its own language.

He finally says, “Ты тоже не можешь спать?”

You can’t sleep either?

You shake your head. “Слишком много шума.”

Too much noise.

He nods.

You don’t mean the base.

You mean the static in your blood. The ghost-thoughts. The bruises that don’t bloom until morning.

You watch him. The way he sits so still. But you’ve seen him move—he’s lethal in motion, but now, in this shadowed room, he’s just… there.

Like a monument to some war no one ever won.

You speak again.

“Do you remember who you were… before?”

His jaw flexes. Not anger—hesitation.

Then he says, “No.”

Just that. One syllable that splinters something in you.

“I think I was someone else, too,” you whisper. “Before the Red Room.”

And maybe neither of you can get back to that person.

Maybe that’s what this is. Two weapons sitting in the dark, trying to remember how to feel like people.

You shift a little closer. Not touching. Just near.

“I think about it sometimes,” you say. “What it might feel like. To live outside these walls. Outside orders.”

He doesn’t respond. But his eyes are on you like he’s trying to see that world through yours.

You whisper, “Give me a reason.”

His brow furrows.

You search his face in the low light.

“Give me a reason to feel like a woman again. Not a tool. Not a weapon.”

A pause.

Then he leans forward—barely, barely—and says, so low you almost don’t hear it:

“Because when I look at you, I forget I’m a weapon.”

The air between you crackles.

But neither of you reaches across the space.

You just sit there, two shadows in the dark, a heartbeat apart from ruin.

But after a while sitting on the hard floor gets uncomfortable so you rise up slowly.

You guide him by the wrist—his flesh one, calloused and warm—and not his metal one. That’s on purpose.

He follows you without a word, boots silent on concrete. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching you. You always know when he’s watching.

Your room’s a concrete box. No windows, no comforts. Just a cot, a gray blanket, a single lamp. But it’s private. It’s yours. And he’s never been here before.

You close the door behind you, fingers slipping the lock into place.

“C’mere,” you whisper, and he does.

He’s quiet, always quiet. That’s how they trained him. But he looks at you like you’re the only real thing in the whole damned place. Like your hands are the only ones he trusts not to hurt him. You pull him close, let your forehead rest against his chest. The cool metal of his arm touches your back as he hesitates—then wraps it around you.

He doesn’t know how to ask. But he wants this.

So you climb onto the cot, pull him down with you. No words, just breathing. The way his nose presses into your neck. The way his body curls toward yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You pet his hair. His breathing slows. You feel the tension drain from his body, even if only a little. You fall asleep like that—his arms around your waist, your hand over his heart.

But sometime in the dark, you feel it.

A slow press of his hips against your ass. The warm breath hitching against your neck. His hand twitching on your belly, the tremble of restraint in his thighs.

You shift, just slightly. You feel the outline of him—hard. Needy.

You whisper into the dark quiet of the room: “Soldat.”

He flinches like he’s been caught doing something wrong. But he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t deny it.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbles, voice rough and ruined with shame. “I— I didn’t mean—”

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching back to touch his thigh, grounding him. “It’s okay.”

He goes still. Like he’s waiting to be punished.

You turn over in the narrow bed, face to face now. You tuck his hair behind his ear. “You want help, soldier?”

His eyes widened—blue and glassy and desperate.

“You sure?” you ask, your fingers brushing down his bare torso, over the soft ridges of his abs. “We don’t have to if—”

“Yes,” he breathes out, like it’s been torn from him. “Please. I don’t… I’ve never…”

That makes your heart ache. But it also makes heat twist low in your belly.

“Let me take care of you, then.”

You kiss him first. He doesn’t expect it, but melts into it like he’s starved for it. Like he doesn’t even know how to kiss back but he’s trying so hard it hurts. His metal hand grips the edge of the bed; his flesh one grabs your hip like he’s afraid you’ll float away.

You straddle him slowly. He’s shirtless, boxers straining against his hard length. His breath shudders when you grind down, rubbing against him through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut. “It feels… s’good. Don’t stop.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whisper, dragging your lips down his jaw. “Just let me.”

He nods, breathing hard. He’s so worked up already, hips twitching under you.

You take your time. Slide your fingers beneath his waistband, and he gasps when you wrap your hand around him. He’s hot, flushed, leaking already. You stroke him slowly, watching him fall apart.

His head tips back against the pillow. His thighs tremble. He whimpers when you twist your wrist just right.

“You like that?” you ask, voice dark and honey-sweet.

“Y-yeah. Shit. Don’t stop—please.”

You press kisses to his chest, his neck, then whisper against his ear, “You wanna come like this? Or inside me?”

He chokes on air, like his brain short-circuits.

“I—inside,” he groans, eyes pleading. “Please.”

You slip your shorts off. Tug his boxers down. You don’t tease. You just line yourself up, wet and ready, and sink onto him slow. He shudders beneath you, fingers digging into your hips.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, brow furrowed, chest heaving. “You feel—god, you feel so warm, so tight—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you murmur, rocking gently. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

He whines at the praise. Whines.

You ride him slow, deep, keeping your forehead pressed to his, your hands in his hair. Every thrust makes him gasp. Every grind makes him moan, softer than you thought a killer like him could.

You rub your clit, and he watches, eyes glassy and wide like it’s the most intimate thing he’s ever seen.

When you tighten around him, he loses it.

His whole body locks up, and he spills into you with a broken cry, hips bucking helplessly. You don’t stop. You work yourself over him until you come too, clenching tight around him, panting into his mouth.

You collapse on top of him. He wraps both arms around you—flesh and metal—and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the Winter Soldier.

He just looks like a man who’s finally been given something he didn’t have to earn.

The room is quiet again.

You’re both breathing hard, chests pressed together. His skin is slick with sweat, still flushed from the high. But his hands haven’t moved—still holding you like he’s afraid to let go, like the second he does you’ll be taken from him.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice hoarse against your neck.

You shake your head slowly, nuzzling into him. “No.You were perfect.”

He lets out a breath, shaky and full of disbelief. You reach up and brush his hair back, gentle fingers gliding over his cheek. You don’t need to say anything else. You don’t need to tell him how good he was, or how beautiful he looked begging under you. He’s still figuring out how to believe those things. But you’ll show him. Again and again, if that’s what it takes.

You shift off of him gently, and he lets you go, reluctantly. You feel him twitch at the loss of contact.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over both your bodies. “I’m not going far.”

He blinks up at you, eyes glassy in the dim light. “Can I… hold you?”

“Of course you can.” You curl into him, tangle your legs with his, tuck your head beneath his chin. His arms tighten around you immediately—strong and possessive and scared.

You kiss his collarbone. His breath hitches again.

Neither of you says anything for a while. You just lay there, wrapped around each other. Listening to the hum of the base outside the door, far away from this little world you’ve built.

Eventually, his voice breaks the silence, soft and so vulnerable you almost don’t recognize it.

“I didn’t think it could be like that,” he murmurs.

“Like what?”

“Like it meant something. Like I got to feel good. Like… you wanted me.”

You tilt your head up and meet his eyes. “I do want you. Not just this.” You brush your fingers over his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath your palm. “All of you. Even the parts they tried to erase.”

He closes his eyes. A tear escapes down his cheek, but he doesn’t wipe it away. You do it for him.

“I don’t want this to be the last time,” he says.

You rest your forehead to his. “It won’t be.”

“You’ll stay?”

You nod. “As long as you’ll have me.”

That does something to him. His jaw trembles. He doesn’t speak. Just tugs you tighter into his chest and buries his face in your hair.

Eventually, his breathing slows again. You feel his body finally begin to relax beneath you. His grip loosens—not because he’s letting go, but because he trusts you won’t leave.

You fall asleep like that, curled around each other in a narrow cot in a concrete room under Hydra’s nose. But none of that matters. Not now. Not here.

For once, he isn’t a weapon.

And for once, you both believe—just a little—that maybe this, whatever this is between you, could be real. That maybe you’ll find freedom not just from Hydra, but from the cold, lonely lives they built for you.

Together.

Using what little strength he had, Johnny put his whole body in pushing the figure off him. They let out a grunt and Johnny froze. It was hard to see, but there was something familiar about the moves his attacker was throwing at him and the familiar grunt that echoed in his ears. Then he caught a glimpse of their side profile thanks to the moonlight flickering in from the living room blinds.

‘Oh fuck…’ 

Johnny scrambled up and he heard her do the same. But whereas he raced to the light switch, she went to the coffee table and Johnny felt his blood drain. Thankfully he reached the switch first, flicking it on right as a dreading *click* filled the space. 

“Baby!” his hands waved frantically, matching the tremor in his tone. “It’s me, baby! It’s Johnny!” The gun trained on him hesitated, and Johnny let out a breath of relief when he saw the instant recognition in her face. The relief only lasted a second though, because then he winced as it was replaced by fury. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!! I could’ve killed you!!” Her scream echoed off the walls and matched her eyes full of wrath. “What the fuck did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?!” 

“I know! I know--I’m sorry!” his hands stayed up, threatening to fall down but he didn’t want to use any sudden movements knowing she was pumped full of adrenaline. Judging by the sweats and tank top she wore plus the wildness of her hair, she had to have been asleep and heard him come in. Sending her into agent mode. “I--I was distracted and I forgot to shout. I didn’t know if you were--I don’t…I don’t…” the words struggled to fall. His mind, fogged with fatigue, was racing with thoughts making it difficult for Johnny to get a grasp on them. 

Plus, his heart was pumping from nearly being shot by his girlfriend. 

Y/n, taking in his appearance fully for the first time since their unorthodox reunion, frowned and clicked the safety on the gun, tossing it on the coffee table where it’s usually hidden. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that without confirming--.” Johnny gently cut her off.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” His arms fell to his side as he moved to ease his body on the armchair closest to him. Every muscle in him screamed, and while the fire that consumed his veins helped, it wasn’t enough. “It’s one in the morning. You were probably asleep and I knew better than to just walk in and expect you to know immediately that it was me. After all,” he grunted with a wince, watching as she moved to the kitchen to flick on the kettle before approaching him. “We were supposed to be back two days ago.”

“Yeah I figured something went wrong when Sue refused to answer my calls,” her body crouched down so she was level with his knees. “I was tempted to come after you guys.”

“Why didn’t you?” he leaned forward with a wince, smiling sheepishly at her look at disapproval. He obviously wasn’t great at hiding his pain from her. 

“Because you always have everything under control. You’d pull through,” she assessed his features, glowering at the cuts that marked his skin painted with dried blood. The splotches on his suit and slight tears in the fabric. “Looks like this time you had a little more cut out for ya.” 

Johnny chuckled, “you could say that.” The whistle of the kettle sounded, and Y/n got up to begin making Johnny a cup of herbal tea. Handing him the steaming mug before squatting once more. The heat of the cup was comforting, and thanks to his powers Johnny didn’t have to worry about burning his tongue when he took the first sip. “Thank you, darling.” 

Her hand came to his cheek, making him lean into her touch as she pressed a kiss to his temple that was free of blood. His bottom lip was bruised with a small abrasion, so she refrained from kissing his mouth and instead left one on the corner. Laughing when he tried to catch her lips, but she pulled away causing him to groan. 

“Wait here and drink your tea while I go run you a bath,” she squeezed his knee as she started to stand. 

“Wait, no, no, no, baby--I don’t need a bath.” His hand snatched hers before she could walk away. Y/n let him hold her in place, but her brow raised with a knowing look. Johnny gave her his best puppy dog eyes, “The shower is perfectly fine and you have training in the morning. You go back to bed--I’ll be fine.” 

Y/n scoffed lightly, “Bold of you to assume I’m not taking the day off, Johnny Storm. You just got back and I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least three days.” His face flushed red, causing a smirk to appear on her. “Plus, as if I need training. You and I both know it’s really for my sparring partners. Not me.” 

“Which is why--,” he pulled her forward, letting his chin rest on her stomach as he tilted his head up. Sighing when her hands cupped his cheeks. “They are counting on you. You’re the best person for the job, Widow.” 

“I’m off the clock,” Y/n smirked at the name, fingers going up to his hair to smooth it out. “That name only works on me when I’m on. Now stop trying to switch the subject.” She scolded, stepping away despite his refusal. “You’re going to drink this tea, get out of this suit and have a nice hot bath. Then you’re going to bed and sleep the rest of the day. Got it?” She left no room for argument, and Johnny wasn’t going to attempt, nodding with a tired yawn.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she leaned down to kiss his temple one last time. “Don’t move till I tell you to.” The response she got was a lazy two finger salute, and Y/n retreated to their bathroom. As the water filled the tub, she went to Johnny’s drawers to remove a t-shirt, sweatpants, and boxers, placing the clothes on the countertop before grabbing a packet of Epsom salt, bottle of bubble bath, lavender oil, a fluffy towel, a face towel and some candles from the cabinet. She also made sure to grab the first aid kit hidden beneath the sink. 

She poured the bubble bath liquid once the water reached about ⅓ of the tub. Then lit the candles and placed them on the stained-glass windowsill. Shutting the water off when it got just below the brim of the tub, Y/n poured a cup of the Epsom salt and let it sit for a minute before returning to the living room. 

“Alright, pretty boy, let’s get you cleaned up.” The smile on Johnny’s face was enough to light up a galaxy. If someone would’ve told him when he first gained powers rivaling the sun that his heart would be captured by a woman with deadly skills like the spider she’s named after, he’d say they had lost their mind. But the universe had a funny way of proving him wrong. 

Carrying the brute of his weight, Y/n’s left arm went over his shoulders while the other wrapped over the front of his waist. Encouraging him to lean on her as she helped him off the chair and to the bathroom, “Baby, we’ve been over this before, you’re not going to hurt me,” she grumbled when he tried to keep himself steady. 

Eventually they made it to the bathroom, perching Johnny on the edge of the tub where Y/n unzipped his suit and got it down to his torso before turning to allow him some privacy while he removed the rest and eased into the water. 

“All good?” she asked, opening the first aid kit to retrieve bandages and alcohol pads. 

“Yeah,” he moaned, welcoming the hot water as it hugged him. Instantly soothing the strained muscles that were already relaxing. Yeah the shower would’ve been a bad idea. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do for putting you down when you were already,” Y/n’s tone was apologetic, and Johnny gave her a look. Silently telling her to stop being sorry for the incident ten minutes prior. Y/n dismissed his look, bringing the wipes and bandages over as she took a seat on the stool beside the tub. “Also, how many times have you done this for me?” Now it was Johnny’s turn to smirk.

“A few, give or take.” More like a dozen. Y/n’s returned back from missions covered in blood and bruises so much that Johnny’s already got the bath set when her jet lands. 

“Exactly,” she says with a hum, bringing his face toward with one hand while the other gathers water on the face cloth. “Now let me take care of you.” 

For the next 40 minutes, Johnny soaked in the bath as Y/n wiped the blood off him and tended to his wounds. She washed his hair while he relayed the details of the mission. Telling her how he came to be all battered and bruised thanks to an explosion he didn’t anticipate, too close to the line of fire. With the lavender oil Y/n massaged his shoulders and back, paying careful attention to the bruising so as to not hurt him any further. 

When she was all done, Y/n pressed soft kisses all over his face. The contours of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the space between his brows. His temple, his jaw, the corner of his lips. By the end of it Johnny was begging for her mouth on his. He craved it. Going as far as to murmur, “Please, baby,” when she pecked his chin. Eventually Y/n caved in. Meeting his plush lips for a shot, but sweet, tender kiss. There was a bit of pain on Johnny’s end due to the cut, but he didn’t care. He needed this. 

The water remained warm due to his elevated body temperature, but once satisfied Johnny got out of the tub and dressed while Y/n put everything back in its place. The two then left the bathroom, Y/n flicking the lights off on their way out and led Johnny to the bed. “Oh,” he moaned just like the bath, relishing the feeling of the plush mattress gave him. It felt like laying on a cloud. “That’s so nice.”

Y/n laughed, urging him further into the bed so she could pull the comforter over his torso. Practically tucking him in before moving around to her side, joining him under the covers. Instantly Johnny pushes himself onto his side to curl up against Y/n, who laid on her back and welcomed him with opened arms. As he tucked his face in the area by her shoulder and neck, one hand went to her stomach to sneak his hand beneath her tank top and rest it on her waist. 

“You know tonight reminded me of the first time we met.” He spoke after a minute, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of her fingers move to card through his blonde hair. The action made him shudder, pressing himself further into her side.

Her chuckle made his body move slightly, a teasing tone in her reply, “You mean when I tried to kill you?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it caused his own to appear.

Johnny remembered it like it was yesterday. He and the Fantastic Four were on a mission to locate a highly dangerous radioactive substance that could level an entire country. Recovering it was crucial God forbid it landed in the wrong hands. So they should’ve expected they weren’t the only ones after it. 

Something they found out the hard way. 

During the extraction, Johnny found himself face to face with the barrel of the gun in the hands of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Dressed in a black tactical suit with too many weapons for him to count and a stare enough to send him to the grave. Johnny felt a bunch of emotions at once. From fear at having a gun on him, to confusion at the red hourglass on her belt. 

The encounter ended with Johnny getting a taste of what he would come to know as the widow’s bite. An electroshock weapon via gauntlets on her arms. Strong enough to put Johnny on his ass allowing her to escape with the package. The next day during the Four’s debrief, they discovered her identity. 

Her name was Y/n L/n. A highly trained and enhanced assassin of the now disbanded and classified program, the Red Room. Called the Black Widow, Y/n was an expert marksman, master of weaponry, professional in hand-to-hand combat and possessed equipment the Fantastic Four had never seen. The files indicated she’d been a key part in the dismantling of several European governments and linked to a dozen political assassinations. The records alone were enough to make their skin crawl. And frankly the Four were confused as it was common knowledge that when the Red Room disbanded, they killed all the Black Widows under their command to prevent their secrets from getting out. 

Turns out, they missed one. Who happened to be their best asset ever produced. 

Why was she after a radioactive substance? They didn’t know. But whatever it was they needed to find out fast and locate her before whoever she was working for got it. 

Their answer took weeks to uncover. And when they did the events following resulted in Y/n turning on the man she initially stole the package for and aligning with the Fantastic Four to bring him down. Initially they were suspicious, naturally so. Y/n was a spy, breaded and forged to become the best Black Widow the Red Room had ever produced. She was formidable, highly intelligent. A weapon in her own right. 

But she was their best chance at beating the guy. She knew his weaknesses. Knew his plans. It was an unlikely alliance, but the odds were against them. 

That was years ago. Now after saving the world too many times to count and nearly losing their lives, the assassin turned agent laid in Johnny’s bed in their shared apartment of Baxter’s Building. Holding him in her arms with a softness that took his breath away. The complete opposite of the threatening aura she possessed in the field. 

“I love you, Y/n,” He breathed into the night as sleep overtook him. Succumbing to the exhaustion as his heart fluttered at the feeling of her lips attached one last time to his forehead. 

It was a quiet, calm night, beside the light rain hitting the widows, the heater making noises, and Nina's quiet snores.

Absolute peace, for now.

Carlos stared down at your sleeping form. His eyes seemingly holding guilt for something. He knew Chris was coming for Nina. To protect the baby from the government, but he knew you’d rather die than have a stranger take Nina. You’d care for her as your own so far, even if it was hard, and you knew nothing about baby’s or how to raise them. It wasn’t what you were made for.

That’s when he heard it. The pounding against the door, the sounds of footsteps hurriedly coming from the door. You instantly jolted awake from the noise and from instinct, but also because the noise was loud, even making Nina stir.

Carlos got out of bed, as did you with your gun from your pillow, but you were confused why Carlos didn’t have his.

“This is the BSAA! We have the building surrounded!”

“Shit! Carlos, start packing Nina’s things, and get my bag—” You froze mid panic, watching as Carlos stood by the door, looking insanely guilty. His hand was on the door knob before he finally opened it, letting the soldiers in and making your stomach drop.

You shot two bullets, before they hit you down, one of them hitting the back of your neck, almost knocking you out fully as your gun clattered on the floor and out of your hands as they twisted your arms behind you.

“We have her, Captain. Oliveria kept his word.” You heard another voice speaking through their comms.

Nina began crying hysterically, and her little hands clenched as she tossed and turned. You wanted to go over there and comfort her, but how could you, being detained and held back.

Soon, another man showed up, dressed in all black, with his combat boots practically stomping as he went towards Nina’s crib.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” You shouted, trying to lunge at him through the tight hold of being held back, but it was no use. You were weak right now. They were stronger, and Nina was already in the arms of the stranger. Her crying making your heart clench.

The man stared at you for a split second before giving his orders, “We’ll start her back to base for questioning and then have the cargo secured on a separate route.”

“You can’t take her! They’ll take her back if they find her!” Your voice raised again, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“We know.”

You froze for a second at his words, not knowing what to think. Your guess was Carlos, who most likely explained everything to these bastards. Carlos wasn’t even looking at you, just staring at the man who was holding Nina.

His voice was then heard, trying to talk the Captain the down, his voice was unwavering, but his eyes were telling a different story, “Let her go. She’s different from back then, Chris.”

“Like hell she is. Do you know how many good men she’s killed?” Chris’s voice was stern loud, his eyes never leaving your face as you stared at him with hatred, “She’s lucky not to be arrested. Take her back to base for questioning.”

“I’ll kill you, you bastard—” you shouted before you got cut off by the butt of a rifle hitting the back of your head, knocking you out. The last thing you were able to hear was Nina still crying, and Carlos arguing with the man you now knew was Chris.

Yeah, Chris.

You’ll definitely remember that name.

“Your assignment is to retrieve a virus before the government gets there hands on. You see anyone, kill them, no witnesses.”

Those words echoed in your head from base, til drop off, til now. The assignment was easy. Nothing you haven’t done a thousand times before. It was honestly funny. Umbrella was gone, but still left it’s mark in certain places, a virus here, a virus there, and they always sent you or you and another agent to get it, if it wasn’t already taken.

Especially with the BSAA, or DSO, or other government factions always there. They definitely didn’t like you from how many times you’ve killed their men and women. Even though they didn’t know exactly who you were, just your code name, and that they thought you were a mercenary, like certain Ms. Wong.

You knew you’d probably run into someone, little did you know how much this someone would change your life.

“Freeze! Hands where I can see them.” A deep voice spoke, his rifle trained on you, freezing you mid step.

Slowly raising your arms, he walks closer to you, “You’re an unauthorized to be here. You will be taken in for—.” You quickly spun around, kicking his weapon from out of his hands and catching him off, but quickly dodged your next attack when you tried to use a dagger from your belt to slit his throat.

“Maybe ask me out first before going for my throat, yeah?” He teased, as you both throw attacks at each other, almost if you were dancing but fighting. Til he finally got you pinned to a wall, his own dagger at your throat, and your hands pinned above your head by his hand.

Just who exactly was this guy?

He was trained, obviously, but your eye caught the BSAA patch on his shoulder sleeve. Of course, it's not like you were surprised, but still, you were just slightly impressed that he could take you down.

“You shouldn’t hesitate to kill me. I wouldn’t.”

“No, but I think it would be better if you were punished for your crimes.” He grinned, making you roll your eyes. Great, a goodie two shoes, “Working for terrorists? Not exactly a great look for lovely lady like yourself like yourself.”

Was he flirting with you? Oh, he was definitely trying to flirt with you.

Right when you were about to say something snarky back, you heard groans coming from the left hall, making you both turn your heads. Using the quick distraction, you knee him in the thigh, making him let go, and then you elbowed him in the chest.

The groans got louder as you saw a small group of infected. You kicked his rifle back to him, making him look at you with confusion.

“Try not to die. I would love to see you again, soldier.” You blew him a kiss, not really meaning anything by it, then went in the shadows (Batman) while he called after you.

“Hey! We’re not done here! Damn it.” Carlos let out a heavy sigh, watching you disappear, “Definitely getting fired.”

God, your head hurt. It's not like those annoying voices talking helped.

What happened? The last you remember was the BSAA breaking in, and Carlos and some guy named Chris taking Nina. Wait… that fucker took Nina!

“No! Nina!” You jolted awake before groaning in pain from the headache. Whoever was talking finally stopped.

Til a soft voice, full of concern, a girl began to speak, “Woah. Slow down. You had quite the accident.”

Accident? What accident?

“Holy shit, she’s actually alive.” Another person spoke, a man?

“Of course she is Nero! Didn’t you see her chest going up and down. She was breathing.”

Two men? What was going on?

“Why would I be looking at her chest, Dante?”

“Enough! Both of you! She just woke up, keep it down. She’s been through enopugh already.” The girl spoke again, stern, and shutting the two men up, thank god.

Nero raised his hands up in defense, “Right, Kyrie. Sorry, babe.”

Dante just rolled his eyes with a huff, before going to the other side of the bed, which you just noticed you were laying on, and as you slowly opened your eyes, he was directly in your face.

“Damn. Don’t you have gorgeous eyes. How’d you sleep, sleeping beauty.”

Kyrie gave Dante a small shove, making him lean away from your personal space, “Get out of her face, Dante!” She turned her attention to you as you propped yourself up, trying to make sense of the chaos that just happened in a short amount of time. “Sorry about that. They’re idiots, mostly Dante.”

You turned your head to him, looking him up and down in slight disgust, “Clearly.” Then it hit you, Nina was taken, Carlos let it happen, and that fucker, you couldn’t wait till you got your hands on him.

“Gotta find Nina…” you groan, getting up a little too fast and making yourself dizzy, stumbling before Dante helped you steady yourself.

“The ladies gotta stop falling for me.”

Kyrie rushed over to check on, her face full of concern, “You need to relax. You were stabbed with metal when Vergil found you. Lost a lot of blood.”

You tried to stand but winced, finally feeling the wound. Right now, you really didn’t care. You just wanted to find Nina.

“I need to find her.”

“Nina, right? Your girlfriend or something. You were mumbling her name while unconscious.” Dante said, completely unbothered while still holding you.

“She’s my… daughter.” You snapped back while Kyrie helped you sit on the bed, “They took her.” You whispered the last words softly.

“We’ll help find your daughter, but you need to heal first.”

Dante had his arms crossed before leaving, mumbling something about needing a stress pizza. Nero followed after him, calling him an idiot, and Kyrie just sat next to you, playing doctor. You could tell she was genuinely kind and trying to help you, but you couldn’t care less about life and more about Nina’s.

She was right though however. You needed to heal, too stay alive, so you could save Nina and kill Chris, and yeah, you remembered his name.

a/n: got this part done. kinda cringy… ngl.

“Let me know if you need backup, doll.” Bucky says.

“I will. The same goes for you, baby.” You say with a smile.

Like every mission, you and Bucky give each other a good luck kiss before the start of the mission. This mission, you and Bucky are with the rest of the Avengers at a HYDRA base to get information. Everything was going great until someone grabbed you from behind. The person covered your mouth with a cloth and took your ear piece and crushed it in pieces. You passed out by inhaling whatever chemical was on the cloth.

“Doll, I found what we needed.” Bucky informs you.

Bucky frowns, expecting you to respond back. Usually you respond to him within a few seconds, but you didn’t.

“Doll, you there?” He asks.

Bucky waited a few seconds, but you still didn’t respond. He assumed the battery on your ear piece went out so he looked all over the base for you, but he couldn’t find you. Then he thought you already got back on the quinjet so he went that way. You weren’t on the quinjet when he got on it.

“Have you guys seen Y/N?” Bucky asks the Avengers.

“I thought she was with you.” Steve says.

“She was, but now I can’t find her. I looked everywhere.” Bucky says.

The Avengers knew what that meant, but they didn’t want to upset Bucky.

“What do you guys know that I don’t know?” Bucky asks.

“Buck…” Steve begins softly.

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Y/N knows how to fight. She would’ve gotten away easily.” He says.

“Y/N is an incredible fighter, but maybe not in this case.” Steve says.

Bucky knew what Steve meant. He just didn’t want to believe it.

6 MONTHS LATER…

6 months go by and there’s still no sign of you since that day. Bucky, Steve, and the Avengers looked everywhere for you, but they couldn’t find you. As much as they hate to even think about it, but they assumed that you’re dead, except Bucky. He refuses to come to terms with you being dead. He knows you’re alive and still out there somewhere.

Bucky hasn’t gone on a single mission since that day. He hasn’t gone to meetings for upcoming missions either. Sometimes, he goes to the gym to punch the punching bag till it rips and sand is leaking out of it. Mostly, he stays in yours and his shared bedroom. He’s also been drinking a lot, but it’s not doing him any good since he can’t get drunk due to the Super Soldier serum. Steve and the Avengers are always checking on him and try to get him to leave the bedroom, but he doesn’t budge.

“Buck, you need to get some fresh air.” Steve says softly.

“I’m fine right here.” Bucky says.

“Y/N wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.” Wanda says.

“What am I doing to myself?” Bucky asks.

“Not taking care of yourself.” Steve says.

“I’m trying, ok?” Bucky said. “I’m too drained and tired to do anything besides sit here.” He says.

Steve and Wanda could hear the tiredness in his voice, along with sadness. They didn’t want to keep pestering him about getting out of bed so they just left him alone.

Later that week, the Avengers, minus Bucky, went on a mission to a HYDRA base. The same base where you were kidnapped during the last mission Bucky went on. Getting inside of the base and roaming the halls was the easy part. Steve and Natasha could sense that something was off. They just couldn’t figure out what it is. Then they froze when they heard a low growl followed by a whimper.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asks Natasha.

“Yes. Is it a dog or something?” Natasha says.

“It’s not a dog.” Steve says.

Steve and Natasha stared at the tiger walking towards them. There was blood on the tiger’s mouth and paws. They didn’t move a muscle. The tiger stopped just a few feet away from them.

“Why isn’t it trying to kill us or eat us alive?” Natasha whispers.

“I don’t know.” Steve whispers.

Steve and Natasha froze even more if it’s even possible when the tiger walked closer to them. Steve noticed a collar around the tiger’s neck. He furrows his eyebrows as he stared at the collar. There’s a name on the tag of the collar that says “Y/N”. That’s when Steve figured it out. You’re the tiger.

“It’s Y/N.” Steve says.

“How?” Natasha asks.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He says.

The tiger sat down and stared at Steve and Natasha as if they were about to give it a treat.

“Y/N?” Steve says softly and cautiously.

You tilted your head when you heard your name.

“It’s Steve.” He begins. “You don’t need to be scared.” He says.

You kept staring at him as he continued to talk to you.

“Do you remember Bucky? Your boyfriend?” He says. “He misses you. He’s not doing well.” He says.

You tilted your head like you understand everything he’s saying. You continued to stare at Steve as he slowly and cautiously approached you. Usually, someone approaching you sets you off, but you sensed that Steve is a trusting person. You head butted his hand, making you smile. You let out a small whimper like you’re trying to communicate with him.

“I’ll take you home to Bucky.” Steve says softly.

You head butted his hand once more before standing up and walking beside Steve and Natasha to the quinjet. The rest of the Avengers were already on the quinjet.

“Where the hell did you guys find a tiger?” Tony asks as Steve and Natasha got on the quinjet with you.

“It’s Y/N.” Steve says.

“How is that Y/N?” Sam asks.

“Her name is on the collar and she knows who I am.” Steve says.

The Avengers didn’t ask any more questions. Steve’s only priority right now is to get you home to Bucky. To the Avengers surprise, you’re very obedient as a tiger. They weren’t scared of you at all. Steve got you set up in a room before going to get Bucky.

“Bucky, I have amazing news for you.” Steve says as he walks in yours and Bucky’s bedroom.

“If it’s not about Y/N, I’m not interested.” Bucky says.

“Y/N is here.” Steve says.

“That’s not funny, Steve.” Bucky says.

“I’m being serious.” Steve says.

Bucky sat upright and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N is here?” Bucky asks, making sure he heard him right.

“Yes, but I should prepare you.” Steve begins. “She’s not her normal self.” He says.

“No one is their normal self after being tortured by HYDRA.” Bucky says.

“There’s that, but that’s not what I’m talking about?” Steve says.

“Then what do I need to be prepared for?” Bucky asks.

“It seems that HYDRA somehow gave Y/N powers to make her turn into a tiger.” Steve says.

Bucky’s jaw clenched at the thought of HYDRA experimenting on you.

“Where is she?” Bucky asks.

“Downstairs in the lab.” Steve says.

“Please tell me you guys didn’t chain her up.” Bucky says.

“We would never do that to her.” Steve says.

Bucky took a deep breath, preparing himself. He stood up from the bed and went downstairs to the lab. He stopped in the doorway of the lab, his breath hitching when he saw you in tiger form.

“Doll?” Bucky says softly.

Even as a tiger, you recognized your boyfriend’s voice and the nickname he always calls you. You turned your full attention to him. Bucky walked towards you and held his right hand out to you. You backed away until you walked backwards into the wall, thinking that Bucky wouldn’t love you the same way as he did before.

“Doll, you can trust me. You know I love you.” He says softly.

You stared at him for a moment before slowly approaching him. You head butted his hand, making him smile. Bucky crouched down to your level so he could hug you. You immediately melted into his touch and started purring.

“I’m so sorry, doll. I should’ve looked harder for you.” Bucky says softly, his voice cracking.

You could sense that he’s upset. You rested your chin on his hand and started purring like you’re trying to tell him that you forgive him.

“We’ll get this figured out and get you back to your human form, babydoll.” He says.

You gave him a kiss on his cheek in response, making him smile.

Bucky called Shuri and told her what happened to you and got her to the Avengers compound to help you get turned back to your human form. The Avengers are helping too. Bucky stayed by your side. He made himself comfortable on the floor in the lab by you. Your head was resting on his lap.

“You know, you’re cute as a tiger, doll.” Bucky compliments softly as he gently rubs his hand against your back, making you purr.

Shuri and the Avengers worked together to figure out something that’ll turn you back to your human form.

“This should work.” Shuri says, walking over to where you and Bucky are on the floor.

“What is it?” Bucky asks, staring at the syringe.

“It’s a medicine concoction that’ll turn her back to her human form. It’ll turn her back to her human form after I inject her with it.” She says.

“Do it.” He says.

Bucky made sure to keep you calm as Shuri injected you with the medicine concoction she made. You made a small whimpering noise when the needle pricked your skin under your fur.

“You’re ok, doll.” Bucky whispers.

It took a few seconds for you turn back into your human form. Bucky smiles, happy that it worked on the first try. He found a blanket and wrapped it around you.

“Bucky?” You asked softly.

“It’s me, doll.” Bucky almost whispers.

“I missed you.” You say, tearing up.

“I missed you too.” He says.

Bucky took you to yours and his bedroom to get cleaned up. You relaxed in the bathtub while Bucky cleaned you up. He saw marks on your arms from the time HYDRA experimented on you and red marks on your neck from the shock collar HYDRA put on you when you weren’t listening.

“I remember everything HYDRA did to me. They didn’t wipe my memory. All the needles and experiments hurt. They put some kind of shock collar around my neck and electrocuted me when I wouldn’t listen. I hated everything they did to me, Bucky.” You spoke softly, your eyes tearing up.

Bucky’s heart broke for you as he listened to every word you said. He wants nothing more than to kill every single HYDRA agent who experimented on you and hurt you. That’s the furthest thing on his mind. His main priorities are to protect and take care of you.

“You’re safe now, babydoll. They won’t hurt you anymore.” Bucky almost whispers.

Bucky helped you out of the bathtub and helped you dry off. You put on clean clothes and laid down on the bed. It feels good to be laying in a bed instead of a hard concrete floor for the first time in months. Bucky laid down behind you and protectively wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him.

“The reason why I backed away from you earlier is because I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” You say.

“Why would you think that, doll?” Bucky asks.

“I’m a freak now.” You say.

“Never say that about yourself again. I love you no matter what, babydoll. You’re still the same woman I fell in love with when I came back from Wakanda.” He says.

“You don’t mean that.” You say, your voice cracking.

“I do mean it.” Bucky almost whispers.

You turned your head to look at your boyfriend. Bucky leans in and kisses you softly and passionately.

“I love you so much, doll.” He whispers.

“I love you too, Bucky Bear.” You whispered back.

———

Now that you know how to shapeshift in a controlled way without being harmed or experimented on, you sometimes walk around the compound in tiger form. You mainly do it to protect Bucky and the Avengers.

Bucky lets the Avengers know ahead of time that you’re going to shapeshift into your tiger form so they don’t get startled. He doesn’t tell Sam just to mess with him. Right now, Sam enters the lounge room and gets startled by you in your tiger form on the couch.

“God damn it! I told you not to scare me like that!” Sam says, putting his hand on his chest where his heart is.

Bucky was laughing his ass off. Sam narrowed his eyes at him.

“I hate you sometimes.” Sam says to Bucky.

“Sorry not sorry.” Bucky says, still laughing.

Bucky stopped laughing after a few seconds and took another few seconds to catch his breath from laughing.

“Come on, doll. Let’s go train the recruits.” Bucky says.

You jumped down from the couch and walked alongside Bucky to go train the new recruits. The recruits didn’t really seem scared of you. They were pointing at you and gossiping about you.

“Is there a reason why you guys aren’t training?” Bucky asks in his Sergeant voice.

“We were wondering why you brought your pet to work with you today.” One of the recruits said, making everyone laugh.

“First of all, never call my girlfriend a pet. Secondly, you guys are going to wish that you didn’t say that.” He says.

“Why?” The recruit asks.

“Doll.” He says, looking down at you.

You walked closer to the recruits like you were hunting prey and growled in a scary way at them. The recruits eyes went wide and they didn’t dare to move a muscle. You stopped scaring them after a few seconds and walked back over to Bucky and sat down on the floor next to him.

“That’s my girl.” Bucky smiles down at you, rubbing his hand against your head, making you purr.

But this, this was what was going to crack the former brainwashed assassin, ex winter soldier. A three foot tall miniaturized version of you, looking up at him with chubby little cheeks, a big bright smile and his blue eyes, wearing a princess dress and her Bucky bear -a gift from Uncle Sam- tucked under her arm. She had her little hand up, nails painted sparkly pink -like mommys- making a ‘gimme’ motion. Why was she doing this, because mommy needed a coffee from starbies -he’s pretty sure that’s what she said anyway- and apparently the coffee here wasn’t good enough. 

The funniest part of this whole display as you listened about ten feet away was you didn’t even mention wanting Starbucks, you had been making your iced coffee and huffed because someone -James- used the last of your ‘too sweet coffee creamer’ in his coffee. And your endearing little girl took it upon herself to rectify the situation and well if mommy got starbies, she would get her little pink drink -non-caffeinated of course- and a cake pop and we would probably go to the TJ Max that was across the street. She was learning very quickly how to get what she wanted. The biggest problem with that was the fact  her daddy couldn’t say no to that adorable chubby cheeked toddler. He had an easier time saying no to you, a feat in itself. 

He caught your eye, your smile hiding behind your hand, sparkly pink nails matching their tiny terror and your wedding rings glinting in the sun from the window. He looked torn, almost betrayed thinking you set their precious baby up to go and ask for Starbucks. Which was frankly ridiculous because he and you both knew if you wanted it, you’d go get it. You figured this was coming from her watching you always let Bucky know you were going and where, and in her toddler brain that meant asking daddy for permission and monies as she called it. It was incredibly adorable. You shook your head, shrugging. As if to say ‘this is all her,’ and he let out a defeated sigh. 

“Here baby,” his card was laid in her tiny hand and she triumphantly cheered and turned, running up the hall toward you, you crouched and scooped her up. “Looks mommy, we’s gots daddy’s monies, we can get starbies now!” She cheered, proud of her negotiation skills, your heart swelled at her endearing little face. Your eyes filled with happiness. 

Who knew two former assassins could find this kind of love and normalcy in their life. 

And yes, you got Starbucks, she got her pink drink and cake pop. And you went to TJ Max and bought some fun nail stuff for you guys to try.

The hallway felt huge and cold with nothing hung on the wall. Bob moved to the kitchen. The stovetop lamp was on. Not surprising, Bob had come to notice Walker always left it that way when he went to bed. It seemed to bring the soldier comfort and Bob did note it was a soft gesture.

Bob grabbed a small cup from the cabinet and filled it from the sink. He always forgot about the fridge water; never grew up with it. He leaned against the cold counter like it was a comfort. His breathing had slowed but he felt far from okay. He was completely wired and exhausted at the same time.

Bob was fine. In fact it was practically impossible to even hurt him. It didn’t matter to his mind that was already fighting him every day. In some sick way he felt a relief that he was no longer dreaming about his POS dad.

“Hey,” said a voice from down the hall. Bob turned to see you slowly walking in. His eyes skimmed the long oversized sleep shirt and ankle length socks. Ever since he had met you months ago, he’d had a sweet spot for you but had ignored it. No matter that Yelena had heavily hinted that you were single. That’s great but Bob was a little occupied by his mind.

The sleep in your eyes was evident and you yawned loudly. You grabbed a cup and poured yourself some water. “Cheers,” you said before gently touching the cups together. He could smell a soft scent, likely lotion or soap on you. It was nice.

You sat on the marble counter beside him and Bob noticed fine silvery lines across the skin of your thighs that denoted you as a warrior. Bob eyed lateral scars across your wrist and he wondered if you had gotten those from work or from something else.

“So why are you up?” You asked after a minute of quietly drinking water.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, looking down at his water cup. He looked so young when he curled in on himself. His soft brown hair covered his eyes.

“Hmm,” you agreed with a nod. “Insomnia or nightmares?”

Bob looked at you a little surprised.

“I can see the signs of PTSD clear as day. We pretty much all have it,” you replied to his unasked question. “Fight long enough- hell, help people long enough and you’ll get it. I don’t know if we’re meant to see so much violence, so much pain.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. He shrugged. “Im not fighting-“

“Bullshit,” you replied not unkindly, sitting the cup down. Bob looked up quickly. “I saw your shame rooms. You’ve been fighting since you were little, Bob. Your messed up dad, drugs, whatever else brought you to Malaysia. You’ve fought for probably as long as you can remember.”

Bob looked away. His mannerism was so young but his eyes looked older, battle scarred. His fingers moved along the hem of his shirt, fidgeting.

“Im not trying to be an ass. I’ve been there. I just- I don’t want you to feel alone. That’s the worst part, in my opinion,” you continued.

“If you ever need to talk,” you started.

“It’s stupid. Im invulnerable to pretty much anything. You’d break a knife if you stabbed me,” Bob blurted out. It was like he needed to say that. You watched him pull at the sleeve of his sweater. He worried a hole in the fabric.

“I shouldn’t be scared. My dad is dead and I can’t be shot,” he said. It was like he was telling himself that. You nodded.

“True. But you’re still human,” you countered. “Fear is natural. You’ve seen some fucked up shit.”

You softly placed a hand on his shoulder and Bob looked up. “You’re a good man, you know that, right?”

He tried to look down. “I don’t know about all that,” he muttered turning pink with a self deprecating smile. “I’ve fucked up a lot.”

You cupped his jaw and he let you turn his head towards you. “We all have. Especially here. Especially this group. I’ve done things I can’t take back, that I won’t forget; especially as a widow. But the fact that you’re trying makes you a good person, Bob.”

He looked at you without speaking. Bob didn’t know what to say. You looked at his face before glancing down to his lips. Bob was barely outside of the space between your legs that dangled from the counter you sat on. You could feel the warmth of his thigh against yours.

“What if I’m not good? What if the other guy is evil?” He practically whispered. There was a desperation in his voice that he needed your approval.

“You’re not evil and neither is he,” you insisted. He leaned into your palm and you guided him closer until your faces were a breath apart. “Can I kiss you?” You whispered. His mouth fell slightly open.

“Yeah,” was all he said before feeling you gently press your lips against his. He pressed into the kiss like it was a lifeline and he was drowning. He gripped the countertop beside your thigh.

He wasn’t desperate but earnest. He matched all of your actions eagerly. You pulled back just enough to press your forehead against his. Bobs breath was quicker than before.

“Can you take me to bed?” You asked, indulging in a way you usually didn’t afford yourself. Bob nodded before you had finished talking. He ever so gently moved between your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He lifted you up and slowly walked towards his room.

He cradled your back as he laid you down on the bed as delicately as he could as if one wrong move and you would leave. Bob’s eyes never left yours. You squirmed under his gaze. The shirt had moved up exposing your plain black panties and soft legs. He gently ran his hands down your thighs.

“You’re so pretty,” he said in a hushed reverent tone. “Can I kiss you more?”

“Yes,” you breathed before pulling him down. Bob’s lips were warm and soft.

He couldn’t remember the last time he made out with someone much less had sex. Definitely before Malaysia. That’s a long time, he thought before every thought left his mind. You had pulled on a knot in his hair as you ran your fingers across his scalp.

“Fuck,” he gasped almost silently as want pulsed through his body.

“You okay?” You asked and he nodded quickly. He readjusted his arms holding himself up and started kissing you some more. Your hands ran under the soft material of the undershirt he wore to bed. Bob’s stomach muscles contracted at your touch. His skin was soft but the muscles were strong, unyielding. It was easy to forget how powerful he was. You shivered at the thought.

He pulled back.

“So how far are we taking this? I just need to know,” he added. You cupped his cheeks fondly and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I’d love more but are you okay with it? I’ll leave it up to you,” you answered. Bob closed his eyes trying to control himself.

“Can I- can I finger you,” he ask.

“Yeah,” you breathed and you could feel a faint throb to your clit. Bob bent down and kissed your lips again before running his fingers along the seam of your panties. He was simply exploring and feeling you but it felt like teasing on your skin.

“Fuck you’re wet,” he muttered under his breath. His long fingers rubbed gentle circle over the wet spot while he watched your face. You bit your lips and he played with you so seriously.

“Want them off,” you said shoving your panties down your thighs. Bob helped you pull them off. He turned his attention back to you.

“You’re so pretty.”

He gulped before running his fingers through your wetness. He watched for the way your eyes closed when he rubbed his fingers across your clit. He focused circles there.

“Bob,” you moaned softly. His gentle movements were infuriatingly perfect. There’s no way you would have taken this time on yourself and certainly no other guy you’ve ever been with.

“I’m gonna use a finger inside, okay?” He said.

“Yes,” you moaned. He smiled a little. One of his long fingers ran in your wetness before pressing in. You surged up to kiss his jaw. He treated you so delicately. His finger moved rhythmically but slowly causing you to throb.

“More,” you said. He pressed in another finger and you gasped a little. You were embarrassingly receptive. Bob loved it. Your hips rocked in rhythm with his thrusts. He smeared your wetness across your clit with his thumb. You shuddered and Bob’s hips moved a little as his cock throbbed with hardness. He ignored it.

You didn’t. You cupped him through his pants.

“Off,” you said and Bob leaned back and kicked them off. You stared him unabashedly. The sentry project had been kind to him in looks. He was lean and strong without looking bulky. And his dick was just pretty. You could write poetry and about the nice size and shape with the same color as the blush high on his cheeks. You bit your lip while you stared.

“You gotta stop looking at me like that,” he groaned.

“Why?”

“You’re making really hard to not fuck you,” he admitted.

“Bob, I’m naked underneath you. Please fuck me,” you replied amused. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

“I’ve never had to ask someone twice to fuck me,” you said after a bit. He nodded quickly before climbing back over you. You kissed into his mouth messily. Bob ground against your skin and you could feel precum smear against your skin. You reached down and jerked his cock. Bob groaned into it.

“Stop, you’ll make me cum,” he admitted.

“Then we’ll go again,” you said with a particularly cruel twist running your thumb across his tip before lining it up to your core. “Bob, I won’t ask a third time for you to fuck me.”

He nodded quickly and pushed in eagerly. His shaky inhale when he bottomed out was beautiful. The muscles in his abdomen clenched as he attempted to control himself.

“If I don’t last it’s because it’s been a while,” he admitted. He slowly started thrusting. At first it was gentle and delicate movement. But once Bob could see you liked what he was doing, his thrusts got harder and deeper. They weren’t faster. The pace was infuriating but you could feel your orgasm building.

You wrapped your legs around his waist. Bob fell to his elbows.

“Fuck, sorry,” he breathed but didn’t stop. You let out a beautiful filthy moan as his pelvis rubbed against your clit in the new position.

“Right fucking there,” you gasped. You kissed into his mouth as if all finesse had left your body. You throbbed and started to clench around him. “Im gonna cum.”

“Me too. I want yours first,” he replied. You could see sweat on his skin and the flush of his face, his eyes half closed with pleasure was so fucking beautiful. He grabbed one of your breasts in a squeeze.

You gasped and writhed beneath him as you came. He shuddered and whines as he filled you up. “Oh my god,” he muttered. His hips pressed into you deeper, as deep as he could. You rocked together in pleasure.

Bob finally stopped moving and laid on you. His breath came out in pants against your neck. You hugged around his back keeping him close. You kissed his cheek. Bob looked almost asleep as you rubbed circles on his back.

You hated to ruin the peace but a few minutes later you tapped him. “Gotta get up.”

Bob stirred and looked at you. “Do we have to?” He asked before rocking his hips against you. “Round two?”

“I’ve created a monster,” you laughed into a moan as he thrust. You could feel the wetness and cum from the previous round as he moved.

“Your monster,” he whispered in your ear.

“Mine.”