#vampiricteeth

Hazel Callahan (Bottoms) x Reader

Ramble: I’ve recently watched Bottoms and was exposed to the most beautiful masc I’ve ever seen- Hazel !!!  I’ve been obsessively reading x reader fics pertaining to her character and felt like we needed more whereby her note-taking habit is exercised, so here’s my interpretation <3 (As I’m writing this, it just feels so good to write about girls- I needa write more about girls-) Alsoooo, I love that 50% of the voters voted for this- I love you lil gay peopleeeee <3

Note: I’m so not American- Where I live, we call football “rugby”, hence I’m may fumble a bit through the fic- Furthermore, I’m not accustomed to sport itself- I’ve felt myself not inclined to the violence evoked from rugby itself- So, if I fumble with terminology and other pertaining factors, I’m only ever so slightly sorry as I literally cannot imagine sport without some man commentating some bullshit like, “He was meant to go on the FUCKINGGGG left butt wing, not on the north-east ditch. That’s just basic knowledge.”

-

The world melted into an orange-yellow haze as the more affectionate parts of a summer’s afternoon decided to reveal themselves. The field’s rarely untrimmed blades cradled backwards and forwards, celebrating their literal growth. The lack of maintenance was due to the football season concluding to accommodate the final exams that were yet to loom over you and Hazel. Hazel possessed more than enough revision time due to her habitual notetaking. Her hands were over-exercised in your mind and that made you love her even more. You were already well-revised. Despite her habit of brutal noting of everything and anything in a written format, she felt herself the need to verbally affirm. Upon the benches, she’d always pace upwards and downwards, reciting work that once seemed so bland yet now seemed like poetry once leaving her lips. Today wasn’t that sort of day.

During one of your “sleepovers”, as Hazel and you pondered the night away after an overdose of physical expression, you had recommended the idea of stealing away the empty field for your anniversary. Your brother sulked about no longer having football as an excuse to be an ass in class and at class, this prompted the idea within your mind. Hence, you two now laid in the blanket of natural greenery, facing one another with ritualistic infatuation. Her eyes, in this fiery light, were of a cool green most stark. You had always enjoyed the various shades of her eyes and were grateful for an addition within your internal library. Her shagged dark waves had grown past what was a normality for her, yet she decided to be experimental this year which brought upon an idea of yours that raced within your mind.

“Haze, you know you could dye the ends of your hair and cut if off once the hair decides to become dehydrated. I did that a few years ago. That’s solely if you’d like. I just thought of your goal to be a little more experimental this year. Also, I did notice you practically yanking at the long strands in the club the other day.” Your hand reached for a strand of her hair. It felt as though a task as the wind tossed the waves about, yet your finger caught ahold and had begun to redundantly twirl the captured strand.

“That’d be a good idea. What colour would you suggest?” Her lips shaped into a smile that’d eternally comfort and excite your skin simultaneously.

“I think cooler shades of green suit you best. I mean your eyes are quite literally the best shade of green ever.” Your “ever” dragged out in emphasis, evoking mellow laughter from Hazel.

Her arms wrapped themselves around your middle. Her words were whispered into your skin, “You’ll get as you wish then.”

Your laughter released in a nervous exhale. Despite your relationship durating for a year and the shared physical contact durating for longer than that, it felt solely natural to be flustered around Hazel Callahan. Her thumbs massaged against you as you spoke.

“I’ll be expecting you to have the array of materials needed for this very serious task upon your bathroom-sink ready for tomorrow afternoon then.”

“I’ll make note of that, pretty.”

“Of course.”

“Speaking of which…” Her words softened as she sat-up, grabbing her black backpack covered in various badges and pins she collected herself alongside being gifted some from the fight-club upon occasions such as Galentines, her birthday and for Christmas. You couldn’t resist laughter at noticing the ones referencing her interest of bombs or deeming her mad scientist. It amused you every time which entailed you being entertained daily.

Her hands unzipped the bag and grabbed her notebook. She quickly scribbled a possible reminder regarding tomorrow’s hair dying session and then she did something that puzzled you. Hazel had signed off the book with her signatures possessing a lighting bolt replacing the “z” within her name. In response, you sat-up.

“I hope you’re not creeped out, but I thought it was possibly sweet. This notebook,” her hands tapped against the sticker-consumed cover, “it solely pertains to you. Well, us. But mostly you- I had thought to keep one for solely us as I wanted to ensure that I knew the difference from my typical notetaking and wanting to know more about you. With my parents not being the best example of romance and all of that, I didn’t have an exact reference point. I mean, there’s naturally you. You emit love so freely, platonically and romantically. Yet, I wanted to figure that out for myself, so I used my tendencies for the better. I used this as a guide to aid me in well, loving you. Not that it’s hard, but it gave me a basis. Now I see it as more than that. It’s almost like those photo albums couples make, except this has awful doodles and a sense of doctor’s handwriting I’m lucky you can transcribe. So, I present this to you…as a uhm, a gift.”

“You’ve kept a notebook just for us?” You questioned, not believing in the reality whereby somebody, your somebody, would devote an entire book to record a year’s worth of occurrences of your life and theirs.

“Do you take it as a bad thing?” Hazel asked, taking your question as a sign of you being possibly uncomfortable despite knowing you kept a box filled with all sorts of gifts from her. Her insecurity told her what was most vulnerable and personal was a curse. She could blame her father and his side of the family for that.

“Haze…I’d not at all take that as a bad thing. In addition to you, this is one of the best things in the world. Heck, in the universe for that matter.” Your hands gloved her fisted ones that still rested upon the notebook in disbelief. Your fingers languidly traced over her knuckles still recovering from Monday’s club session.

A softer smile laced itself across her lips. The motion demanded a kiss; hence, you pressed your lips against hers. Hers complied ever so devotionally. Her arms wrapped around your lower-back, holding you closer than close. Yet, despite how much you wanted this, you pulled away to offer her a gift of your own.

“Wait- I have something for you too.” You stretched as much as you could to grab your bag without losing her touch. Your hands tossed about as they attempted to find the box containing miniature love letters amidst the chaos within your bag. Your hands felt the grainy texture of a glitter mess and immediately pulled the box out. You settled your bag aside without much care and then placed the box upon your lap.

“So, I have something for you too. I just couldn’t leave my most favourite girl in the world without anything special upon this amazing day,” you gently ruffled her hair which evoked laughter most alive from Hazel, “I thought of writing a super long letter to convey my feelings and everything I adore and appreciate about you. But I thought of it and realised it’d be never ending…so! I wrote a few letters based upon how you’re feeling or if you’re just in the mood to hear me rant away. Furthermore, I know your preference in candy varies. So, like when you’re mad or filled with adrenaline it’d be something sour or when you’re happy you like something sweet but too not sweet otherwise that just kills your vibe. Thus, I’ve attached miniature candy bags to each letter. I did use stronger paper so it wouldn’t rip, and you could salvage the letter from the staples. So, yea- That’s what I did.” You caught your breath before concluding your speech, “I hope you like it.”

Hazel’s eyes consumed the sight of you. Their intense staring encapsulated warm affection and stellated amazement. Her mouth was slightly agape, ready for a kiss yet remained in extreme disbelief that you had spent hours upon curating something so eternal for her.

“I love it…I love it and you…so so much.” She tugged you closer, using her kisses to paint your face in blush. The motion evoked uncontrollable laughter from you, hence inviting her to continue just to hear the sound for longer.

Once she required a breath, Hazel pulled away. Her hair being tossed about in the polite winds and the isolated sound of her rapid breath made the moment ever so romantic.

“Happy Anniversary, Haze.”

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Click here for all chapter links of this series!

Word Count: About 3.7k...that's just part 1, btw-

Summary: After Valentina uses a group of former assassins (and Bob) as a PR stunt to salvage her career, you and your co-workers now become roommates through being "gifted" the tower. The group tries to adjust to a space most unfamiliar. Their adjustment proves smoother due to your former roommate habits taking over. Bob feels immensely grateful for your effort and things go from there... <3

Warning: Slight cursing, Reader’s powers are stipulated (yet you can input your idea of a power- I just needed the idea of somebody’s response to work and hold significance), Reader emulates mom/dad-friend core and I’ve attempted to make Reader as gender neutral as possible (Do lemme know if I’ve went “eh” somewhere- Do so kindly though, please <3).

Ramble: I do hope I’ve portrayed Bob well- I know I do possess opinions regarding particular interpretations of him. I just really think he doesn’t stutter every sentence. He’s more of a taking a pause guy. Also, he’s witty. That’s literally canon. That scene of him naming John an “asshole” while titling his head? OHHHH, he’s witty- Furthermore, he’s a grown-ass adult- I just need to remind people of that, UGHHH- Also, he reads books, so he knows big-ass wordsss (totally not projecting).

-

Your practically corpse-like body felt irritation at every singular second spent within this elevator. It wasn’t due to the proximity of the team’s bodies beside yours. Formerly that did evoke less than humane feelings within you. Forming a sort of human web to climb through a random, almost inescapable cylinder and compressing yourself between the most infuriated individuals in existence upon a different elevator trip up proved too much of task then. However, the combination of an unexpected and much needed group-hug alongside being given control over one of the country’s richest (and cruellest) resolved your more devilish feelings. When the commercial sound of a “ding” caught your attention, you immediately spilled out the elevator by force of yours and the pushy individuals behind you. Your eyes surveyed the area, beginning with intense analysis.

The interior felt intentional in its design, yet its bland and boring nature made it feel as though it were a basic luxury apartment template in some life simulator game. The sole particular intriguing the eye was the leakage of sunlight leaving little space to be left in the dark. You thought it was beautiful until you realised it was a sign of luxurious real-estate manipulation. The sunlight could beautify the most dull and impersonal deco.

Get home-like plates, mug and everything belonging in a kitchen soon.

That circular couch, most attention-grabbing, felt too formal to be a proper place for late night conversation and movie nights.

Get non-corporate pillows soon.

The lack of conversation behind you suggested exhausted awe at the space. A place of promised and contractual stability relieved the collective stress of everyone. This was the sort of stability the team needed, individually and together.

“Are we in agreement that we’re all in awe for the view and not the clean tackiness of this place?” You offered a conversation starter, hoping to not sound ungrateful.

“It’s a good base. A good one for teamwork. You know the intense planning with documents scattered and whiteboards shielding one’s sight? That kind,” Alexei responded. He sounded excited. You thought he deserved such excitement. He finally had the space, situation and people to pursue his heroic goals. Even if it was funded by a rich person who should be imprisoned.

“We are going to work with electronic devices,” Yelena scoffed. She seemed far too annoyed at the idea of using whiteboards and physical documents for planning. You couldn’t blame her. Every time you worked with physical media for planning, a firelighter would always ignite a warehouse containing said media. It was the firelighter’s fault within your mind.

A collective hum of uncertainty was shared in response to her words accompanied by a groan most characteristic of Alexei. You decided to wander off and figure out where the bedrooms were. You knew you were going to be the one who’d take the unwanted one. You always were.

“People, start thinking about where you’d like your room. I’m not fighting about room delegating with you guys ever, so do think. Think really hard. Like more than the typical.”

“Well, I need mine closest to the entrance, so I can maintain my daily jogging streak. That’s how I maintain these gains.” John demanded as soon as you were done instructing. His hand tapped against his knee for emphasis.

“Oh please. Anyways that means if a serial killer wanders in here, you’re to be their first victim. Lovely,” Ava remarked. Her comment earned exhales of laughter. “So, I’ll take the one closest to the room allocated for our suits. I can’t be permanently dematerialising now.”

“Cool. I’ll take the one next yours then. It seems practical to be closer to the suits than the kitchen,” Yelena added.

Bucky made a sound suggesting disagreement. His eyes flickered to his arm, providing reason before explanation. He then referred his attention back onto the kitchen.

“Why?” Bob and you stated synchronously. Your eyes immediately caught him staring in terrified wonder at you. You offered him tease with a playful eyebrow raise. His staggered laughter promptly responded to your ridiculous expression.

“Ignoring the witchcraft in that question, I…well, I use the dishwasher to clean my arm. My arm is mostly my suit, so I tried to subtly disagree. Now think I wasn’t subtle enough.”

“Yea, Bucky. You gotta learn the art of facial expressions.” You stated, accepting the reality whereby Bucky Barnes used a dishwasher for a metallic limb.

“Yea, Bucky could learn from you.” Bob complimented, still amused by your expression. You could tell he was as he stood quite still in the rightwards corner of the living room.

“Are we just dismissing the fact Bucky treats his arm like a dish?” Yelena questioned. Her “like” was emphasised by disbelief.

“I think we’re far too deep in this hero stuff to be startled by that. That’s practically normality.” John commented, attempting to join the conversation with fabricated ease.

“See, you guys are starting to think like heroes. Now you shall be heroes.” Alexei encouraged. Your eyes followed his journey to the open and massive security system waiting to be explored.

-

“John is first due to taking his morning jogs like a proper millennial. Bucky is second as he needs his arm washed by that really good dishwasher. Alexei, you’re in the middle as you want be our leader even when we’re sleeping. Hm, that room isn’t taken. Anyways. Bob, you’re in the fifth room. You like the ease of a number that should be even. Can’t blame ya. Yelena occupies the sixth room, second closest to the mostly favoured suit room. Ava occupies the last room.” Your thoughts trailed off before giving conclusion to the expectant faces before you. “Awesome. I’ll take the fourth room.”

“Isn’t there like a pole by the window, blocking it from opening?”

“Yea, and I already hear the birds chatting and sitting on it.”

“It’s a glamourised cell. Better than what I’m used to.” Apparently, your euphemism solely earned reactions of despair and doom, hence you turned to reassurance. “I’ll be fine. I…uhm, it’ll force me to go outside and breathe the lovely, charred oxygen. Heck, if you ever feel concerned, I’ll accompany you guys on runs and stuff.”

“You’re going to wake up at four am just to accompany me?” John teased. His more mellowed expression suggested appreciation for the fact you attended to everyone else. It felt…unnatural yet needed for John himself to express himself beyond egotistical humour, even if it wasn’t verbally.

“No, I don’t intend to run while blood rituals occur in the streets of this city.” You shook your head.

Laughter now lively was shared. It already made the place feel like home. You just needed a few stupid animal pillows to really solidify the atmosphere.

-

Once most scattered into their respective rooms, you headed to the kitchen. Your hands scribbled notes with the hefty silver pen upon lined paper containing too many brand deals stipulated upon the bottom of each page. You then took to browsing the fridge. It was entirely stocked, yet you noticed some of the products didn’t pertain well to particular dietary requirements or preferences of the group. Throughout the while you’d spent with Yelena, Bucky, Ava, John and Alexei, you had noted of their eating habits and rejections when you guys had stopped at a random burger-joint upon the journey to save Bob. John demanded it as he required his “protein”. Though, you did hear his stomach practically howling so that was probably a cover-up. Yet, you were grateful he said something because the noise unsettled your skin. However, you realised, you didn’t know of Bob’s.

You turned around, ready to struggle with how to knock upon his room-door politely as possible. Yet, he stood ready and so near to you.

“Fuck- Oh my gosh, Bob.” You clasped your chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- I meant to tap your shoulder and then I sorta over-thought it. So, I just stood near, not knowing.” He took a few steps backwards, providing you with room to gain oxygen after the shock.

“It’s okay,” you exhaled harshly, “just let me know. Just say my name or a hey.” You settled the notepad and pen upon the kitchen counter.

“I will.” He nodded languidly as his eyes tossed themselves between the ground and you.

“Good.” You offered him a smile. The action seemed so easy around him. It was almost as though you didn’t have to force one to settle upon your features just to be deemed “pleasant to be around”.

“Oh, I need to ask. Do you have any dietary requirements or food that is just not pleasant to you? I’m asking because I know of the others’ tastes and needs mostly, yet I still haven’t discovered yours.”

“Well…I think eating meat makes me sad sometimes. Not all the time, but there are some days. Then I mostly prefer potatoes, because you can do anything with those guys.”

“Got you,” you scribbled away.

“What about you?”

The question crumbled your hyper-focused state. The concern regarding your preference seemed so peculiar and new. It wasn’t the bad sort of peculiar or new. This was the kind that made your skin feel electric and easy.

“I, uhm, eat almost everything. Except…things not containing that much flavour. I need flavour. Spice fixes everything.”

“I would agree, but sometimes I do prefer the boring and bland things.”

“Ugh, we’re going to have to live oceans apart now.” Your words grumbled in sarcasm, evoking his typical and irregular paced laughter. You truly adored hearing the sound.

“As long as you travel back to serve me spiced potatoes once every while, I don’t mind.”

“Right. I’ll book a flight monthly just for that.”

“I’ll hold you up to that.” His eyes squinted with playful tease.

“Before I return to my room, I just wanted to say thank you. I can tell that everyone, including myself, is super grateful for letting them have their most wanted room. That’s what I wanted to tell you when I came here. And also, thanks for asking about my awful taste in food. It means a lot.”

“Of course. I just have a tendency for this sort of stuff. I’ve had more roommates than most, so it’s habit to consider all these little things.”

“Well, you must be the best roommate they ever had.”

“If a former villain in hiding is one, sure.”

“Those are usually the best kind.”

“That’s true.”

The silent floated comfortably. Though, Bob did know you probably wanted alone time after everything. Everything that he could remember at least. He offered a shy wave and wandered off to his room. Once he closed his room’s door, Yelena poked her head out of hers. Her eyes, now without smudged blue eyeliner, and eyebrows offered playful suggestion indicating something you weren’t ready to confess – not even internally. You mouthed the politest curse words you could find within to have her leave you in solitude without a reminder of…whatever that was. She snickered, holding up the most used finger of mankind and retracted into her room.

-

“You two are so domestic. It makes me forget all the horrors of this world,” Yelena remarked with a whisper. Her hands wrestled with the much-too-springy tongs above the bowl of salad.

“How about you forget about the domestic stuff too?” You used a fork and spoon to wrestle leaves of lettuce upon her plate.

“So, there is something.”

“To a fool like you, yes.”

“For once, I hope you’d call yourself a fool.” She shoved your shoulder in order to engrave further suggestion within your mind and to have you move a bit to the side. You were occupying the most ideal spot to grab as many pieces as possible of garlic bread one could consume.

“Ugh, no. If I were a fool, I would’ve bought tongs like that.”

“Valentina is not going to be happy with that…Makes me proud.”

You scoffed ever so amusedly as your eyes ruminated over the two pasta options before you. You barely recall the preparation of either one and took a bet upon whichever one had the most wine laced into its sauce. Exactly like your grandmother had taught you. Your hands crawled about upon the counter, attempting to find a spoon. Once you did, you took a sample of the dish to your lips. You immediately tasted the wine that made the sauce a deeper red than a sauce should be.

“Guys- This one has wine. Be warned.”

“It’s day one and you’re making alcoholic dishes. We’re so damned for.”

“We’re damned regardless of what we do, Bucky.” Ava reminded, joining you and the Yelena in the kitchen in an attempt to lessen the parasitical hunger.

“That’s a lot of freedom,” Bob murmured. The lower of his face pressed against the couch’s back in order to absorb the activity in the kitchen. Your skin felt scorching at the sight of his waves ruffling against the sofa. You loathed how you began to enjoy the domestic feeling. You shoved your feelings into a metaphorically poor hinged casket in order to comply with the need to contradict Yelena and not ruin a good team dynamic.

“Bob knows a lot already.” Alexei nodded approvingly. “Yelena, do leave some steak for your dear father, please.”

“And for me.” John added.

“Guess a little more wouldn’t hurt.” Yelena plucked the largest piece of steak off the plate.

“I already have roommates so cruel.” John slouched into the couch.

“Hey, you all aren’t even in the kitchen right now. Those who are first get the good stuff they deserve.” Yelena countered, defending her act of harbouring steak for herself.

“Exactly,” Ava affirmed.

-

The undressed windows allowed the night to blanket the apartment. The city lights temporarily remedied the longing for a starry sky as they were scattered about ever so pleasantly for the eye. The lack of noise eased the mind into an almost sleepy state. At least for you. John, Ava and Bucky aided with the dishes in response to feeling appreciation about the amount of energy it probably took for you to make something so beyond good. Having beared witness to Ava’s and Bucky’s sarcasm countering John’s ego felt so cruelly satisfying. You did so while peering over the couch alongside Bob and Yelena. The two surrounding you had conversation you could imagine yourself listening to for an infinite number of nights. Once Alexei grew tired of John’s and Bucky’s attempts to nail one another, he revolted into a mode most fatherly and created a system for the three. Bucky was upon cutlery duty; John was upon plate duty and Ava was to settle each given item in the dishwasher. After the mechanical process of a couple grumbles and the sound of glass almost breaking, most retired to their rooms for the night.

Despite the help and the night being so near to witching hour, you decided to do research upon the nearest grocery, home decor and furniture stores. You balled into a corner of the couch and typed away at a computer you found within your room’s desk. You wrote names and contact numbers. When you were a roommate for the first time, you learned calling to inquire about stock possession proved better than making a pointless trip to the actual location. It was safer too. You didn’t have to wear a clearly false wig and an overdose of makeup to make it past security or sometimes even the vulture-like police.

Upon finalising your list, you had begun searching online for components that’d mimic your prior computer system in your old apartment. However, a voice satisfyingly soft and rasped due to the day’s effects interrupted your browsing.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hi.” You stated as you turned to focus upon Bob. His waves seemed uneasily tossed. His hands fidgeted with the loose treads of his sweater that he had worn in the attic too. Your mind noted of how the attire he practically retrieved from his mind still possessed oddities. It was as though Bob believed, even through mass suffering, he deserved minor problems to deal with.

“You told me to say a hey or something in order to not scare you. Did it work?” He looked into your eyes ever so directly. His eyes weren’t demanding of confirmation. They possessed a sense of unknowing hope.

“Yea yea…take a seat, Bob.” You instructed to which he immediately complied.

“You’re up.” His statement appeared more like a question. Upon taking a seat, his body remained stiff. He avoided being perhaps too close to you. Even the space between was a boundary he didn’t want to cross

“That I am. You too?”

“Well, with all the episodes and blacking out, I get insomnia.”

“I’ve been there. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like you to just be, if that makes sense. I think you need the break.”

“I do.” The realisation simmered into your skin. The familiar feeling of responsibility departed from your skin, leaving you most exhausted. Your head took to resting upon the couch’s headrest. You fully sunk into the all too stark white fabric.

Bob offered a thin smile as though weary if he was allowed to feel satisfied upon seeing your comfortability. He adjusted himself from his formerly rigid position. He anchored his arm upon the headrest, aiming to see the sight of your features despite the kitchen being all to selfish to share its light with the living room. His fisted hand rested against his cheek. Bob looked so ready for conversation and perhaps more than that, yet that felt too close to touch. Quite literally.

“So, how does finally resting feel? Even if it’s been one second.”

“The best second I’ve had in a while.”

“Awesome.” His lips pressed themselves inwards before shaping themselves into a soft smile.

A mellow, relaxing silence was maintained by the focus of both of your minds being to observe the other. You could already note of the questions conjuring within his mind. It was the manner in which his eyes flickered between you and his lap.

“You don’t have to answer this, but I’m curious about this. In the vault or whatever somebody wants to call it, I noticed you minorly winced or frowned when somebody got injured or fell. I do know your powers absorb energy and reuse it. Does it absorb painful energy too?”

“Any sort of human energy really. It’s rather strange, but some scientist had an idea and used me to materialise it. The project’s focus was for their subject to absorb energy from those they were connected to. Naturally said subject wouldn’t develop a connection instantly, hence they developed those gloves you saw and those little tags my gloves inject into another’s skin. So, as long as I wear those gloves, I absorb the energy of whomever has those tags within them. It’s quite a lot. I’m probably not gonna wear them much now. Unless we’re to go upon missions, then I’m going to feel the mighty force of Yelena, John and Ava combined,” you sighed. “I do feel bad about that, but a promotion was a promotion at that stage. Anyways, I was used as a test subject for duels done in labs across various countries. At least I got to travel much, but whatever. Uhm, well- I felt myself absorb both the attacker and the victim’s energies. They had always thought I winced because oh no, violence. The idea of all sorts of energy being transferred left their scientific brains apparently. I think they believed energy solely is derived from the attacker. But it was more than that. I wasn’t going to give them that.”

“I’m glad you realised that. Nobody should take from you more than what you offer them.”

“Okay, Mister Wise Guy.” You laughed below your breath.

“Thank you, but it’s not mine. I stole it from my seventh-grade teacher.” His eyebrows raised, expecting criticism for not providing credit when he had first said it.

“What subject did they teach?” You continued the conversation. His eyes widened in subtle shock as he didn’t expect your question.

“Well, she taught History and English.”

You felt yourself melt. The subjects suited Bob quite well. Your lips slightly pouted in consideration.  

“Would you teach History or English? Perhaps both?”

“English. Literature entails History.”

“Now that’s your own quote, I bet.”

“Indeed, it is.” He exhaled out his laughter. The sound appeared steadier this time.

“Now you’re like extra Mister Wise Guy.”  You teased, not noticing how little space existed between now. Perhaps conversation about a lack of sleep, an awful past, school subjects and quotes could do that.

“That’d be a terrible hero name.” He lightly shook his head.

“Speaking of so, what hero name would you pick? I know Sentury was Valentina’s choice.”

He felt himself melt into couch further. It was awfully easy to do so around you. His mind felt electric knowing you had asked for his preference once more. It felt refreshing to be cared for, even in the most minor of ways. Bob, in the moment, believed that if comfortability were personified – it’d be you and he hoped it’d always be you. Yet, it felt too soon for so. Hence, he provided you with an answer to focus upon something or rather someone other than the buzz within is mind.

“I know it sounds weird but Alter. Perhaps? I think it’d allow me to differentiate between me, Bob, and my possible hero form. It’d provide me with this identity I can show to the world before I can show them who I really am. I wouldn’t like if they merely knew me as “Bob” or “Sentury”. I think Alter would have meaning to not just me, but as to what I want to do. I want to change the way the world works. For the better. I’d have to…well, alter the world for that to occur.”

“I believe Alter is more than possible,” you affirmed him.

“Well, not right now.” He mumbled into his fisted hand.

“That’s natural. You’re still working all this stuff out. I mean none of us thought we’d even meet each other in the past few hours. Also, heck- Look at us in this overly expensive tower. This was possibility we didn’t even know was possible. Thus, I believe in Alter. He already exits, even just by name. Some day the future will be a today of ours and Alter has already changed the world. For the better.”

“You mean that?”

Warnings: Mentions of addiction.

Note: I've been so intrigued by him...He (and the other wonderful Thunderbolts) has revived my Marvel obsession <3 Please note that these are my own thoughts, therefore you're not obliged to agree <3 Thank you, next-

I believe Bob has a few minor tattoos, either from compulsively doing them intoxicatedly as a teenager or wanting something to make his life more thrilling. Perhaps both.

I've seen many others state he'd possess a sweet-tooth and I totally agree! I think he'd love an extremely chewy gummy candy or an extremely sour candy.

(Kinda introduced this in a fic of mine, but...) Bob sometimes prefers bland food upon days whereby the world doesn't make sense. Sometimes it's bland ass mashed potatoes or an improperly cut vegetable. (Totally not projecting... <3)

I believe he'd have rings, particularly those fidget ones. Yelena got him some as a birthday present upon noticing how torn the sleeves of his sweaters looked due his habitual tugging of their loose threads (I adore how we all agree upon this habit-).

(As per a fics I've read...awesome stuff btw) Some of Bob's bleached streaks would remain to haunt him. He'd get Yelena to dye them to the most fitting shade of brown they could find. I'd like to imagine Ava watches them as the process occurs and offers her thoughts here and there.

He definitely conversates with Bucky during nights he can not seem attain sleep. Bob's feelings of isolation would be immensely reduced upon in-taking Bucky's personal experiences. (Side-note: Upon my initial watch of Thunderbolts*, I was like, "Bucky's gonna totally see himself in Bob-").

He loves an unoccupied playground or park at night. His ass loves cradling upon the swings.

As per the above, as a kid, he hated monkey-bars or having to climb about playground equipment. In recess periods, he'd pretend the little rocks he finds are running away from aliens and stuff.

I feel as though he'd like RNB. He'd naturally be open to other genres like pop, but sometimes the randomised and up-beat noises would agitate him.

If he's feeling not so tempered, DPR IAN's music proves as a reminder that he isn't beyond attaining a sense of normalcy.

He finds himself going down YouTube video rabbit-holes when the team is off for a mission.

Bosco Leroy x Reader

Click here for the next and final part!

Ramble: I've decided to STOP over-thinking and just publish some of the hibernating pieces within my files. This doesn't form part of the current Bosco fic I'm writing, YET I thought this'd be fun. Furthermore, Bosco is the reason I'm into this franchise, so he deserves not to be left in the drafts-

Notes: Established member of the Main Three. Makeup-artist!Reader. This occurs during the "Heart" heist. This is part ONE of something I'm yet to publish, so it'd be considered a duo-shot in my brain. I do apologise for any errorssss- I'm publishing this LATE at night due to the whims of my heart and human nature.

-

“Woah, hold still.” The vowels of your words dragged out in uneasy demand. In response to Bosco extreme fidgeting, whether that was on purpose or not, you grasped onto his jaw to hold his head still. You solely had half an hour to compile this disguise, and his glued-on beard was dripping off his face. With your free hand, you used a thin-tipped brush to plaster on an additional layer of glue. You just couldn’t have your villainous target, Veronika, noticing a sinking beard. It would piss off Atlas more than her.

“C’mon, we still have thirty minutes left. Besides, I think the red undereye does our interpretation of little Marc justice.” He leaned further back into his seat, allowing you further room between him and the temporary vanity. His legs encapsulated one of yours between, providing you with further means of balance.

“Oh, and how we would defend his melting beard?” You dragged the brush across his cheeks, ever so desperately.

“Cosmetic surgery gone wrong, hence the use of a temporary beard.” His smile held malicious amusement. The kind he’d be famous for if he were starring in a thriller film.

You rolled your eyes as your hands laid the brush down upon the vanity. You wanted to darken Bosco’s brows to really sell the look, hence you used an angular brush and dipped in into a peculiar powder.

“Hey, nobody’s seen the guy without that forest upon his face. Hence, if the glue loosens, my youthful face shall do him justice.” Each syllable became more emphasised as he spoke. “He’d become the muse instead of the photographer.” His arms extended outwards and gestured about as though it’d solidify his point.

“Actually, you’d become a prisoner instead of a free criminal.”

“Says the complying criminal themselves.” His legs tightened arounds yours as you leaned forward, layering thin strokes across his brows. The passion of skill took control of your body more than your mind did, hence you didn’t notice how you practically concealed his sight from anything but you.

“Hey, I’ll just be observing. I’m the backup over here.” You hummed out, lips tightened in focus.

“What shall you do if someone were to attack me?” You noted of his personal use of “me” instead of “us”. However, you didn’t notice his eyes intaking your physical detail for the while that he could.

“I’ll use your deck and slice their vision with the cards.” You teased, resting the brush between your lips as your eyes gauged your work.

“Hey, I’ve had that one since college.” His rather stiff suit made tense ruffling sounds as his arms crossed his chest.

“You’ve had me since just a little after that. I’m just trying to avoid imprisonment.” Your head tilted as your eyes finally focused upon him. A playful smile conjured your lips. He just didn’t understand how one looked satisfying with some brush in their mouth.

“I rather keep you then,” he leaned forward to emphasise his whispered words, “You know? I need someone to purchase me a new deck.”

“Ugh. You’re awful, Bosco.” You pulled away, already organising the products into their respective compartments in your hefty makeup bag. It wasn’t a small carry-on. It was more of a suitcase rather.

“You can blame that one upon Schreiber.” His fingers rubbed against the faux beard in even more faux thinking.

-

J. Daniel Atlas x Reader

Note: Loki, I thought of this scenario upon my FIRST day of school- How insane am I? I think this abstract noun has no end for me- Regardless, I thought I should articulate it into something to post (despite, the short length of this piece-) <3

-

You truly adored your job at the publishing house. A singular written word would evoke your inner analyst. A compilation of written words would have you sat and discerning the diction. Despite your love for literature, the Horsemen’s performances captured your mind as you drove home. The individual excitement they must have felt when performing, let alone their collective excitement, must be devouring. That’s probably why they were so passionate about their craft. You knew your boyfriend was. Daniel didn’t discuss the thrill much, but it was conveyed in his eyes as he summarised every performance for you. Due to your job and the mass popularisation of writing as a hobby, your company had assigned you to interview candidates which meant you couldn't attend the Horsemen's shows. Most of the candidates spoke of fantasy while others described modernising their childhood which entailed ending their poetry with “babe”. You really tried to comprehend their words, yet their spoken sentences using “like” excessively bored you.

A sleepy yawn left your lips as you parked your car in the garage. All you could think of was eating leftover fried chicken for dinner and possibly calling Daniel before sleep took you for its own. You grabbed your worn laptop bag from the backseat and instantly headed inside. As per habit, you left your shoes upon the shoe-rack by their entrance. To your surprise you found a pair of brown leather boots in place of where your sneakers would typically settle. Perhaps he had left them here when he visited prior, but that wouldn’t make sense. What shoes would he have left with? You rubbed your hazed eyes to confirm the sight before you. His shoes remained untouched.

You observed the living room. You instantly found quite a pleasant sight. Daniel was cosied into your navy velvet couch. His head laid its entirety against your comically large grey pillow and his legs languidly lingered above your carpet of purple and black stripes. There was something so humorous about seeing him surrounded by a bunch of star-shaped pillows as he slept.

He must have snuck in.

You settled your bag into its regular place upon your oak shelf that consisted of your personalised library. The closer you walked towards him, the more adorable you found his resting state. His rough and shagged waves blanketed his eyes chaotically. His lips were in a pout more prominent than when he had a sly comeback conjure in his mind. His arms were folded against his middle, bringing all possible warmth to his skin. You then decided to lay a blanket upon him. You chose the one of many feathers to be funny and you could excuse it for attempting to keep him warm.

Upon laying the blanket upon him, a gentle hold so familiar took your arm and politely tugged you towards the couch.

“So, you’re awake.” You laughed against his chest, your arms instinctively consuming his shoulders to be solely yours.  

“Partially. I heard the door open and waited for your response.” His chin settled upon the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“So, this scene of you resting is purposefully curated?” Daniel felt your smile against his skin. His immense affection motioned his arms around your waist.

“Just for you.” He supplied your head with a kiss.

He returned to resting and you followed. This rare domestic moment was a dream before a night’s sleep, and you were going to absorb it. With this, you rested entirely upon him and listened to his heartbeat as though some lullaby.

-

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Click here for all chapter links of this series!

Word Count: About 4.4k...yay!

Summary: You've assumed the role of "baby-sitting" Bob as John calls it. To you, it's merely caring for your fellow "co-worker" and roommate while avoiding a mission of champagne socialisation in London. Bob has overheard John's less-than-kind words and feels moody. You decide to turn a week of supposed baby-sitting into something Bob deserves and something you've perhaps needed.

Warning: Slight cursing, Reader emulates mom/dad-friend core and I’ve attempted to make Reader as gender neutral as possible (Do lemme know if I’ve went “eh” somewhere- Do so kindly though, please <3), a little mention of Harry Potter (I'm a literal Marauders fan, so I obiviously don't support JKR-).

Ramble: I got 60-something-likes upon the first part...UGHHHH, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! HSHSHSHSH- I do apologise for the secondary part being uploaded this LATE...uh, thanks exam season? Also, I'm a bit "eh" about the book-store scene. It feels LENGTHY-

-

After months of Valentia defusing rumours, whether true or too ridiculous to be true, about the “New Avengers”, the team finally had a new mission. However, for precautionary purposes, Bob was instructed to remain at the Tower. This meant that it was obligatory for somebody to monitor him. It wasn’t much needed as he was proving himself to make progress weekly through regular therapy and training that was less regular. The sessions had always turned into the team contemplating which weapon would be easiest to have him train with and which weapon wouldn’t scar him, even if he had self-healing powers. Minimal injury, as agreed by everyone, was a sign that a weapon was being used well enough. Yet, Bob’s progress could be deemed progressive due to possessing other humans around him. This particular mission entailed an entirety of week away in London for some purpose you could care less about and that was because you ever so willingly occupied the spot to “babysit” Bob as John called it.

The week of having the rest of the team gone had begun. Your eyes browsed the penthouse. Your attention immediately directed itself toward Bob’s tower of books. It was of greater height than the shelf beside it. Bucky placed variating cat statues (somehow brought home each time he returned from a nightly walk) upon each layer of varying wood. Valentina insisted the shelf was an antique and rare piece, rarer than that security system Alexei messed around with. However, her insistence wasn’t taken to heart. The shelf had odd size chips. Most of those chips could be credited to Bob. Despite the training, he still possessed strength not within his control. Sometimes meaning he’d  accidentally fling the TV remote to the antique piece instead of Yelena who asked for it. You sighed out your laughter upon recollection.

Your eyes traced across the area and found the Lego sets Alexei and Yelena built together. Every time the team deemed their building to be “bonding time”, Yelena would refuse the idea extensively.

Your focus then shifted to admire how the colourful and patterned pillows, that you had purchased, were finally settled according to your preference. With most of the team not around due to the mission, you found satisfaction in the intended arrangement. You especially liked the blue fluffy star-shaped next to the rabbit with fur inspired by the moon. It made the couch feel less corporately intimidating. You then took to observing what was nearest to your sight - the yellow flowers as a housewarming gift from Mel. Their lively vibrancy could be credited to Ava’s care. Your fingers traced the indentation of the glass vase until they halted in response to a voice. A voice that appeared to be far too consumed by sorrow.

“Hey,” Bob barely greeted. His body dragged itself to the kitchen.

“Morning.”

His body moved around in a ritualistic manner. He first grabbed a box of cereal from the cupboard. Once placing the box down, he opened the fridge for milk. After opening said milk, he poured the milk into the bowl and whisked. Typically, he’d continue to whisk while inserting cereal flakes, yet once he opened the fresh bag – the contents scattered themselves across the kitchen area and upon your clothes. Without word from your part and with whispered plural apologies from his part, you two had begun cleaning.

You swept the crumbs into your hand. You took to frequently flickering your eyes between the cereal-decorated floor and Bob, naturally to solely avoid clashing with him. His eyes caught yours for a second. Bob had a thought. A thought he imprisoned within his own mind for a while. You knew this from his eyes wavering between darker shades of blue while his brows furrowed with forceful intensity. By the use of expanding your eyes to lure him into confessing, he finally let what he truly felt loose.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know?”  

“Did Walker say something to you?” You asked, throwing a handful of picked-up flakes into the nearby bin.

“No, but I…overheard.” He sighed out, harsher and shakier than the typical.

“Then what did I say in response?”

“It’s not babysitting.” He grumbled out, tossing a collected pile of his own into the bin.

“Exactly.”

“Then what is it to you?” He stated with more bite than intended. You did not take offense. You knew that sometimes Walker’s commentary was more harsh than humorous.

“Keeping you company. That’s if you want it. I can be completely out of your space if you wanted tha-“

“No, I wouldn’t want you out of my space.” He paused until he let his irritation simmer away. “I’d like you to keep me company…Thank you.” His eyes rested upon you as yours did upon his. Their inconsistent midnight blue shifted to a shade lighter, yet it wasn’t quite Bob yet. You felt an inclination to resolve his doubt instantaneously.

Once gathering all the remaining crumbs and pieces with a bunch of paper towels and by the usage of a portable vacuum you’d bought after realising most of the habitants of the penthouse ate too many granola bars all around the living space. You observed as Bob whisked his cereal routinely. An offer conjured in your mind.

“Wanna head to the grocery store with me?”

“Really?”

“Yea, we need to stock up. Besides there’s a bookstore nearby and I think it’d be cool if we head there afterwards. I need to read whatever you’re reading.” You then pointed to his isolated seat facing outwards. “You make me all curious while sitting there.”

“How so?” Bob asked through chewing. You appreciated how he was polite enough to place a concealing hand over his mouth while doing so. Your eyes accidentally caught sight of John and Alexei not doing so sometimes. The only thing you felt in such moments was mental disturbance.

“Your brows compress until you finally comprehend what I believe is resolution. You sometimes smile or frown. I just find that amount of expression while reading…intriguing.” You had begun picking the little cereal flakes from your hoodie. Once you collected a pile of flakes, you tossed them into your mouth. Bob shook his head in response. This was accompanied by a smile softer than the typical.

“Any sort of life beyond mine is intriguing.” He commented prior to downing the milk left in his bowl.

Your head titled, feeling the weight of his not-so-subtle yet poetic self-deprecation. Your heart felt a particular urgency to ensure he had a life better than what he had in the past. An idea or rather a challenge consumed your thoughts.

“I have a proposal.” You offered him a napkin to dab away at the residue upon his lips. Not that you were looking though.

“Hm, go on.” He took it and wiped almost too harshly at his skin.

“If I can make this week exciting for you, I’ll buy you any book.”

“Any…book?”

“Any book, Bob. I promise. Any.” You dragged out the “y”. Your excitement was fuelled by his expression of his own excitement and optimistic disbelief.

“I’ve been interested in Russian classics. So…the Brothers Karamazov? Please.”

You were about to affirm him, yet he soon explained himself further.

“I’ve been hearing Yelena and Alexei mumble Russian phrases so often that I’ve found myself curious. I’m just saying because I think it’s an odd request. You don’t have to do it-“

“I want to do it.”

“You…sure?”

“I haven’t been this sure about anything in a bit. The last thing I was certain about is buying everyone different pillowcases with Valentina’s card.” You two exchanged laughter. “Also, here. I pinky promise.” You extended your pinky finger to him. He felt a sense of child-like wonder at the gesture. He wrapped his own finger around yours. You cradled your interlocked hands together to emphasise the promise.

“I’m not that hard to impress either. I’d say I’m too easy.”

“Then congrats on already getting that book.”

-

The grocery store was an orchestra of chaos. The mostly censored radio songs blared too loudly across all the aisles. Toddlers cried over being denied their right to an overly sugary treat. Couples, married and unmarried, argued over which cleaning products would actually clean their dishes and clothes. Adding to the circus of noise was the rough trolley you were pushing around while Bob tried his best to not accidentally disturb your path. Your concentration was something far too stark to break in this aisle of beverages. He felt rather overstimulated which you didn’t notice until you heard a wince in response to a voice upon the speakers demanding that someone clean up upon aisle seventeen.

“You good, Bob?”

“Yea-“ You furrowed which lured the truth out of him. “No,” he sighed out.

“Tell me next time, okay?” You offered him a pair of headphones that were once laced around your belt somehow.

You halted your shopping journey to browse upon your phone for a song.

“Any requests?”

“I’m good with anything at this point.”

You had played the most mellow thing you could think of – Cigarettes After Sex.

“Are you fine with the volume? I still need you to hear me.”

“Yep, it’s good. Everybody else, but you and this guy with a good voice, is gone.”

Your lips were consumed by a grin. You found it easy to adore how he described most things.

You turned around, thus resuming the journey. Bob hummed along to the music subconsciously, supplying you with better background noise than the guy ranting to his girlfriend about a boss of his cheating on his wife of ten years with a co-worker who solely joined less than five weeks ago. The vivid description about the “occurrence” within the printing room sent thick shivers down your skin. Not that the overdose of air-conditioning in this place aided with that. Once Bob noticed the bumps trailing across your arms, he tapped your shoulder without hesitation.

“You cold?” He adjusted his pace to walk beside you.

“A little.”

“You can take my sweater. I don’t mind.”

“Aren’t you going to feel cold then?”

“Nope. I don’t get too hot or too cold. Not after the mutations.” Bob whispered the word “mutations”. You didn’t blame him. You just never knew who was listening. Even if you were both wore disguises of baggy pants, black glasses and beanies. Totally not suspicious.

“I’m wearing a long sleeve underneath. If that assures you.”

Once you two made it to final aisle of pet products, he monitored his surroundings before tugging the sweater off. His arms extended the woollen item towards you. You smiled your thanks before sliding yourself into it. Your skin felt warmth instantaneously.

“Are you naturally this warm?” You tossed your hair trapped by the neckline outwards, freeing yourself from being irritated by the barely brushed strands.

“I think my body now adjusts its temperature as per the environment I’m in.” Your eyes then focused upon his body now exposed through the well-fitting black long sleeve of his. Your silence lingered just long enough for Bob to know the topic of your thoughts, even if said topic weren’t verbalised. His left-hand latched onto his right-hand’s wrist which indicated possible discomfort or so you thought. A faux cough escaped you before returning to push the trolley.

“It’s a bit stuffy in this aisle. So, I’m heading to another. I just need to browse for some cleaning products.” You shook off the new and improved shivers your body felt.

“No worries.” Bob affirmed too softly to be heard. His mind wanted to focus upon the romantic lyrics he heard through the headphones, yet they felt too relatable within this moment. The atmosphere couldn’t resist abstractly materialising itself to become utmostly intimate and affectionate. You were wearing his sweater, and he was wearing your headphones. He was wearing your headphones listening to a playlist of yours. The thought could be lyrics themselves and that’s what he indulged in, even if it was solely felt upon his part.

Once reaching your desired aisle, you turned to him without making direct eye contact.

“Which scent of softener do you like? There’s this soapy vanilla one. Or there’s lavender. Oo, that’s new. Lemon.” Your body shifted every few to stand next to each varying type as per the description you offered him.

“Which one do you prefer? I know you’ve been wearing this particular perfume the past few weeks, so which one is closest to that scent?”

Your eyes finally made contact with his. After transforming from a murderous minion to being one of the city’s protectors, you felt pretentious for wanting to indulge in self-maintenance. Even if it were a scent of minor vanilla with overriding notes of a subtle and soft wood. Bob noting of something that was embarrassingly yours made you feel confident and provided you with warmth beyond the fabric of his sweater.

“Vanilla. You okay with smelling like vanilla?”

“It smells great upon you, so I’m honoured to even smell almost like that.”

“Thank you.” You sung out as you settled the product next to three packs of dishwashing sponges. The unreasonable number of sponges could be credited to your fear of a dishwashing machine and its tendency to stop working when towers of dishes awaited to be cleaned. Yet that wasn’t what concerned you within the moment. The object of your focus was Bob’s hands upon the trolley’s handle.

He felt himself assured and grateful. He wanted to showcase his appreciation for your consideration of him in regard to something as simplistic as softener, hence he felt the need to display said appreciation in a rather helpful way.

“I’m right behind you.” Bob attempted to offer a smile not too intense, yet the bliss of the moment tugged at his lips to express himself entirely.

“Off to the checkout we go.” You added, with an uncontrollable smile of your own, before initiating the path to freedom in order to depart from this rather problematic grocery store.

-

The scent of paper perfuming the air was addictive. It was so addictive to the point whereby the two of you had already spent an hour in this bookstore. Its interior left no space to be unexposed as every inch was buried in a shelf or a stack of wooden crates. If the floor could be overly carpeted in books, it would. But for practicality’s sake, it was not. The lack of music made the environment surprisingly refreshing. The sole sounds to be heard were frequents creaks of aching wooden furniture (most offered by the shelves themselves), the store’s owners who were an elderly couple (Mister Vincent Bradely and Mister Addam Bradley) and their banter alongside Bob’s whispered recommendations. Bob followed closely behind you. He felt overwhelmed and amazed at the literal library surrounding him. He additionally felt excited to introduce the world of classics and his childhood favourites to you.

“Oh, there’s a good one.” His arm rested upon your shoulder as his pointed to a well-loved copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. You two made your way to the shelf, ever so aligned in movement.

“May you hold the pile just for now, please?” He cradled the extensive number of chosen books against his chest.

“Of course.” You let the weight of the stack fall into your arms.

“It’s a bit up there, so excuse me.” He stood to your right and ever so close. You didn’t even shift from your position. You couldn’t resist in-taking the sight of Bob reaching that high. It most peculiarly…alluring.

Once you retrieved the bruised novel, he shoved it a little too close to your face. The accidental gesture was faulted to his excitement.

“Shit- I’m so sorry. I got…overly excited.”

“No worries. Do rant about this one, please.”

In the likes of his rambles regarding Harry Potter, Bob provided a verbalised academic essay about how he identified with the novel and as to why you should give it a try. He overly justified his inclination to the main character, Charlie. Not because he wanted to be the main character, of course, but he felt well pertained to the desire of wanting to escape less than ideal circumstances. Naturally he wouldn’t want to manage a factory using labour of such nature as Charlie ended up doing, yet he wanted to have something great given to him. Even if it were just by the means of chance. Chance is all he felt like he had.

“Well, look at you now. You’re the Charlie of this universe. You live within a building not most considered for housing. Furthermore, you live in better conditions with a family of sorts. Even if we’re still getting to know one another.”

His features softened at your words.

“Over the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about all the possibilities that could’ve happened with the us- I mean, the team- The one I’ve been most considering is if…Valentina was taken to court as Bucky would have it, hence we wouldn’t have this tower. If we didn’t have this tower, I think I would’ve liked to live among everyone regardless. I don’t how we would’ve done it, but I think it’d be great regardless. That’s the sort great thing I’ve always longed to be given by chance. I mean the tower is great, but you guys are…greater than that.”

Your body felt consumed by tender affection. His words articulated the less-than-professional care you felt for the team. You had been considering alternative outcomes and realities as well. It was a product of being in disbelief about your actuality. Your constant choice of alternative outcomes had always been to choose the Thunderbolts or New Avengers or whatever society would have it. Society could give you a name, yet you were grateful the universe had for once favoured you and had given you the family you always wanted. Naturally a group of former assassins wasn’t something you thought of as the isolated teenager you once were, yet each of the members made you feel loved in a manner that wasn’t too much or too little. That’s what you wanted. You felt glad the feeling was mutual even with solely one of six other people. You felt even gladder that you possessed such mutuality with Bob.

“You’re great too, Bob.” You would’ve used the word “greatest” to be entirely confessional, yet that literal feeling of something being too close made you soften the degree of your compliment. In response, his eyes lowered, absorbing you and your affectionate statement for as long as the moment allowed for. Bob knew such moments didn’t last. Eternity kept its immorality for itself while everything else existed to solely become a forgotten memory. He wasn’t going to let your words become forgotten. He was going to earn being perceived as a great. Being perceived as great by you.

“Thank you.” He whispered below the beating of your chests.

The lack of space between didn’t provide you with extensive choice. Your sight had to either absorb the very obvious detail of his chest or his lips. Not that you’d want to do anything at all with his lips or yours. It felt forbidden to break the intimacy of the moment, yet your maintained formality demanded that you create distance. Your mind told you that risking the ruin of the team was of more severity than the action being merely forbidden. It was selfish. Your chest felt your heartbeat too well. It made you lose focus upon the supposed nonsense your brain went on and on about. That was until a voice behind you two had startled you.

“I found this copy of...oh, I do apologise. I didn’t realise I scared both of you,” Vincent chuckled as though jump-scaring others proved to be as normalised as drinking water. Bob inhaled and exhaled his shock behind you, leaning his chest into your back to remain steady. His shaking hands dropped the world of Charlie and bratty children to the wooden floor. You would’ve picked it up, yet your hands gripped onto the stack of novels with as much as possible. It’d be another jump-scare to let the weight of the books crash against the fall.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was too shaky to be believable.

“As an apology, let me take these from you. This pile looks too extensive to bare while browsing.”

“Thank you.” You dropped the pile into the man’s arms. “We’ll actually be heading out now, so we’ll follow right behind you. Right, Bob?” You had received a pained hum behind you as confirmation and went with it. You felt relieved at the opportunity to leave. Not because you’d ever want to leave a place that allow for an easy escape from reality, yet the store’s narrow design proved risky with Bob around.

As you followed the man to the check-out, you checked up upon Bob.

“You okay? That scared me a lot too.”

“I’ll be honest, no.”

“Be honest once more and tell me what you need.”

“Just…just talk, please.”

Through the maze of shelves and crates, you had ranted about your most preferred recipe for warm beverages. You firmly believed more than two teaspoons for sugar was hellish and that pure coffee without a drop of milk or a grain of sweetener was as though mixing boiling water and soil. Bob hummed in agreement and allowed himself to scattered laughter. He felt regulated again. Knowing that had brought you relief.

Once you three had finally escaped and found the check-out, Vincent settled the stack of books upon the check-out counter. The setup was rather old fashioned. He had a physical notebook and pen to tabulate the chosen novels and their costs. For the while he was tabulating, the man took to politely intruding into your lives.

“How long have you two known each other?” He instantaneously asked.

“A few months.”

“My husband told me that he thought you two knew one another throughout many lifetimes.” He remarked to then command. “Don’t mess this one up. Do just affirm Addam’s spiritual collection of thoughts. Just add another lifetime to his collection.”

Bob and you shared a fascinated look before you vocalised a seemingly shared thought.

“Just add another? How does one do that?”

“It takes two.”

The advice prompted you to both nod in agreement with pleased expressions until you both realised the implications of that statement.

“Two? We’re not…”

“You two can be whatever you want, but it’ll be good for you to stick with one another. Actually, not just stick. Attach yourselves at the hip if needed.”

“Did you do that with Addam?” Bob asked. Within his mind, taking advice from an elderly couple seemed smart. Not even just for romantic purpose. He wasn’t thinking of that, of course, yet his desire to know another for decades in the likes of many others had him curious.

“We’ve locked ourselves away in a bookstore.” Vincent widened his eyes in exaggeration before resuming the tabulation process.

You and Bob laughed. Vincent smiled as the sound evoked memories of his youth. He didn’t mind being old, yet it was rather nice to be that young once. Any age is the time to exist.

A figure who called out for Vincent sped his way past the two of you and added a copy familiar to the eye upon a side table. The side table was consumed by peeling leather journals and creased sticky notes. Now the table bared the additional weight of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

“I noticed this upon the floor.”

Bob had begun offering profuse apology until Addam interrupted him while he said his third version of “sorry”.

“It’s okay. I just didn’t want you to leave without it. I heard you talk all sweet about it, so here it is. Since I do know Vincent over here loves becoming the humanised version of haunted house around our strange customers, not strangers, you can have it for free.”

“Oh, no- That copy was probably so expensive to acquire. I couldn’t.”

“But I could.” Addam grinned, raising his eyebrows in playful offering.

“Thank you…thank you so much. More than that actually.”

“Yea, this stack is taking some capital off of you two, so this is the least we could do.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Our boss bares the cost.”

The couple shared laughter. Their individualised sounds blended into something full and lively. They sounded so…complete. Before your longing turned into an unbearable sting upon your shoulders, Bob mumbled a compliment into your shoulder. “You made the subject of Valentina actually funny.”

“Well, I suppose I’m talented with facial expressions and creating humour out of barren material. They should put me on SNL.”

“Oh, we’ll get you on there.” His teased was felt in breath against your neck.

You extended your hand past your shoulder, waiting for him to shake it in agreement. He did as so without question.

Once Vincent and Addam were done offering their wisdom and humour and you and Bob were done with prompting them to say more, the couple greeted their goodbyes with pleas to visit them again and again. You both waved, holding a fair number of novels within each of your arms. As you and Bob journeyed to the overly geometrically looking black car, you two had struck conversation of your own.

“Which book do I read when I settle for early evening tea?”

“The Outsiders. It’s a rapid read but absolutely heart-wrecking.” Bob made an immediate recommendation despite his hair baltering about upon his face. The city’s cruel winds didn’t seem to halt you both. The occurrences of today fuelled infinite interaction between you and Bob.

“Then what shall we watch through dinner to cure the heart ache?” You asked, attempting to blow a troubling strand of hair that itched away at your nose.

“SNL. Just so you can begin writing scripts in your head for them to compensate for the areas they’re currently lacking in.” Bob used his barely free hand to open the backseat door. You mouthed your gratitude and slid in.

“Harsh…I like it. Gonna need you upon my mental writing team.” You stated, after settling your stack of books down. You shifted uncomfortably across the leather seats, creating more space for Bob.

“I’ll be there.” He resumed a seat, settling his pile upon his lap. He could’ve settled it between your bodies, yet the windy weather demanded that you two sat close to keep warm. To keep you warm primarily.

Bosco Leroy x fem!Pop Star Reader

Click here for the rest of the chapters!

Note: The prologue’s prescribed location does NOT follow the location/setting in this chapter- I literally felt so unmotivated when writing using that particular location, hence I took to a new one. I think one we all shall appreciate. Furthermore, I felt it added more to our pop-star reader <3 I do apologise for not uploading the LITERAL ACTUAL start of this fic sooner- I’m currently upon holiday and after all my assignments, I practically felt no need to sit at my computer to merely type away as I did for my literal academic work- I do now feel the need to revive the Bosco madness, so here I go-

Ramble: I do feel as though this chapter is slightly unpolished and "eh", yet it's been a MONTH since this fic's introduction, so...I'll post it and see if I'll make revisions- (I'll probs indicate it in the title or subtitle of this post). I do apologise for any current and unnoticed errors though.

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The theatre lacked any breath or motion. Its sole sound emitted from the almost humming vents. Within the rusted metal above, loose material would frequently whine or creak. The lobby was carpeted by the regular red-carpet theatres were obliged to use and a thick layer of dust. You were grateful of your ritualistic wearing of boots. As you treaded forward, you noted of footprints. They headed beyond the ticketing area  and directed themselves to the snack bar. You followed, careful to not ruin the prints formed of plagued dust and flawless execution. Upon your journey, your mind couldn’t comprehend the unnaturally balanced spacing and outline of each footprint. It appeared far too intentional. You clasped upon the handle of your pocketknife with more effort than when you entered.

A sagging board with faded lettering indicated that you finally located the snack bar. Well, it solely possessed the letters “s” and “a” now, so it clearly wasn’t an obvious indicator. Regardless, you analysed the now bare counters. It felt quite eerie to see no popcorn or ridiculous combo prices at all. However, upon the counter a few sticky notes laid. The paper was the same size and colour as the note found in your pocket the day prior. The arrows upon them were drawn with exhausted and annoyed effort. The arrows directed your eyes towards theatre room “four”. You let out unstable exhale before continuing your journey faulted to the misuse of curiosity.

The footprints halted before the room’s entrance. The room was consumed by shadow, hence you took to using your phone as a flashlight. You took a rather rapid walk in the hallway. You felt it’d be awful to be trapped in that confined of a space. Your feet then practically skipped beyond the staircase and immediately took to the stage. Perhaps it was an artist’s habit or survival instinct, yet it eternally felt better to be upon the stage than trapped in any seating area. You just never knew who was going to be an ass and appear right next to you. You stood in what you estimated to be the centre. Upon the instant you settled, a sharp bark of sound was to be heard. You turned around, holding the knife’s handle to your chest in preparation. Your eyes in-took the content upon the saturated and tattered screen. A singular eye symbol displayed in the midst of a benighted background. Its animation allowed it to blink a few times before flickering in transition. A symbol appeared. It was familiar to the eyes but not the mind. At least not within the current moment. The sound of a voice through a microphone startled you. The voice emitted within the theatre room’s walls, not the speakers.

“Welcome. We do not mean you harm. So, settle that knife down.” You spun around in an attempt to identify any sign of someone watching you, yet you couldn’t. The screen had its limitations with the outreach of its light; hence this left your search incomplete.

“Do as your told, even though there aren’t necessarily consequences.” A different voice offered conviction.

You dropped the knife to the ground, allowing the bang to notify your unknown viewers of your compliance. Yet, with your foot concealed in the shadows, you motioned the knife to rest below your shoe. You knew your blind-spots as well as your viewers, thus you knew they wouldn’t notice this.

“Ah, that’s good. Now, look to your right.” Another voice instructed. You did as you were told.

A thick spine of a book rested upon a table of chaos. A few pins, pens and other stationary items laid in disorder. You could already assume the task.

“As soon as that projector goes off, you’ll be given ten seconds or even less to steal away that book and replace it with its copy. As for the copy, it’s somewhere. You just gotta find it. Good luck.” A voice unalike the rest instructed.

You took a breath as you watched the screen. After the anxious seconds of waiting, the projector switched off. Your body took light yet rapid patters in step to the table. You knew you’d be “disqualified” for any slight noise. Before removing the book, your hand fiddled under the table’s cloth, patting underneath the wooden body. With a singular trace using your finger, you discovered a space large enough to fit that book was a bit loose. You took a pin and loosed the area. The wooden plank dropped into your palm. You lightly tugged upon the book which fell on top of the plank. Once your arm was free from the cloth, you used your free hand to flip the plank and book around. You settled the faux copy of the book onto your lap. You then took the real copy of the book from the table’s surface and settled the faux copy upon the table as properly as one could in impossible darkness. You then shoved the plank into its former place and stood up with the book in hand. Your let your foot glide as smoothly as possible until it found the knife. You assumed your prior position and hid the hefty object away. After 2 seconds, the projector turned on without its bark of sound.

The screen transitioned from the prior symbol of three horizontal rectangles accompanied by a singular line. It now held congratulatory…memes?

“Turn around,” somebody whispered too close to your neck.

You complied; however, your body decided upon taking a few steps back. Your alarmed mind recognised the three who stood upon the stage’s end in a line well-practiced and linear.

The alleyway…

“You? Yesterday…I- You’re the one who snuck in the note.” Your mouth professed faster than what your own mind could comprehend.

The girl nodded. She wore a leather jacket alongside an apologetic smile. Contrasting her awkward expression, her eyes possessed an overdose of amazement and wonder. “I’m June.”

“I’m so mad and so…impressed,” your laughter choked out.

“Why would you be mad?” The boy you practically memorised the day prior questioned. His arms were crossed against his shirt. From the folds, you could tell the character upon it was Daffy Duck. Upon becoming self-aware of your intense analysis of his shirt, your eyes tossed their focus between the seats behind him.

“I felt stupid the moment I walked in here. I thought today was going to be my end. It still could be…I don’t trust you guys entirely yet.” Your foot positioned itself closer to the pocketknife, ready to flick and catch it as per practice.

“Look. We’re not here to harm you. If anything, it’s quite the opposite.” The boy next to June assured. “I’m Charlie by the way.” His voice appeared less sure than his companions. You found his rings that he fidgeted with quite cool.

“And I’m Bosco. Anyways, what you did there was a test. You did pretty well- Besides that, before I even continue, do you know of the Horsemen?”

“Of course. I used to watch their performances online ritualistically. Though, it’s been forever since I’ve heard someone even mention them.” As you spoke, your brain finally recognised the logo formerly present upon the screen. Your thoughts felt as though they were racing around with no end in sight.

The three looked to their right and focused their eyes upon what you assumed was a camera. Bosco’s sly smile and squinting eyes shared tease. Charlie rolled his eyes and bumped Bosco’s shoulder to get him to focus upon you again.

“Right, so you’ve basically passed a test to be one of the Horsemen.” He stated casually. Your head titled in confusion as though it couldn’t bare the weight of reality in the current.

“Well, almost. I would regard your display as enough. It was truly cool, yet we need you to do one last thing for us.” June stepped slightly forward. “Show us where you’ve hidden the book, please.”

“Charlie. Bosco. Look at the floor between you two.” A smile of devouring pride took your lips. The former familiar feeling of a good performance felt addictive. It made your skin feel lighter and ever so alive.

The two synchronously peered at the floor. Bosco’s eyes widened in bewilderment as he scoffed out dry yet impressed laughter. Charlie crouched to pick up the book. As he scanned the pages, his lips extended into a smile themselves. June observed their reactions. Her face melted into an expression of “I told you so.”

“Welcome to you.” Charlie’s syllables dragged out in thrill.

“Thank you.” You nodded, attempting to shake off your childish excitement.

“We’ve been instructed to inform you of our plan immediately, so follow along if you’d like.” Bosco offered as he jumped off the stage. Charlie followed along, mumbling his thoughts as he attempted to keep up with Bosco’s pace.

“You did awesome,” June whispered as her arm motioned an instruction to follow her.

“Thank you.” You laughed. The adrenaline of the moment made your smile into something of near permanence. You two jumped off the stage together. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be at home and all lazy upon my couch…I can’t believe it- I’m a part of the Horsemen.”

“You so deserve it. All your performances in the past were…art. Truly,” June complimented, treading up the staircase.

“Do you have favourite?” You immediately regretted the ask. It felt egotistical. As a product of the overbearing embarrassment, you took to walking all sloth-like behind her.

“A favourite? No, I just couldn’t.” She halted in her step, turning to face you. Shame took your skin for its own selfish purpose. “I’d say I have a collection, if I could put it like that. I’ll tell you in the car if you’d like?” She bit her lip nervously.

“Of course.” You smiled, relieved that you weren’t a self-absorbed asshole.

“Let’s go then.” She resumed her walk. You followed behind ever so eagerly. It felt good to alive. Alive as a performer again.

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