fearlessreid

[fearlessreid]

The way I become this every time I see this man…

[fearlessreid]

“And these ladies are hot. They’re so very hot.”

[fearlessreid]

If I may add another

[fearlessreid]

“bob is five apples tall”

He did meth.

[fearlessreid]

bring me to life | E.M.

Summary: Eddie has had many dark days in his life. Until he meets you. Until he starts sharing his days with you– filled with late-night drives, shared smoke sessions, and laughter that feels like safety.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!Reader

Warnings: Smut (protected p in v), oral, mentions of drug use, hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count: 10.2k

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Eddie had only set his eyes on you once. When he put on a show at the cafeteria in front of the entire school. When Jason Carver called him a freak, you couldn’t help but snort at Eddie's demeanor. Your reaction made him snap his head directly at you with a sly smile. You've never exchanged glances after that.

He likes to sit on the bench in the middle of the woods, where he usually gets to sell his shit. It's his spot for that, no one ever goes there unless it's for buying. At least that's what he always told himself. It's just him and the trees, this time. The weather is slicing cold. Whenever he breathes, the fog leaves his mouth dramatically. He's looking at his lunchbox, his trembling fingers tapping incessantly against it.

He doesn't want to use it. He swore to himself he would never try anything else rather than weed. He's done it before and it didn't feel good. Well, he wasn't supposed to mix drugs with alcohol, but he was too overwhelmed that week and he needed to cool off. His friend offered him LSD and he didn't deny it at the moment.

Eddie never used it again. He preferred weed. But now, everything else just feels irrelevant. He's almost failing school again, the town thinks he's a major freak. Not only just a freak, a cult Satanist who apparently likes to summon demons or whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. His name is stained. People look at him weird. Chrissy doesn't even acknowledge him anymore, even though they had dated in the past. It's been only a year. Now she's dating Jason. He huffs– of course. They're perfect for each other.

He opens the lunchbox and picks up the plastic bag. It's ketamine. He knows he's not supposed to overtake it. He knows only a small amount is enough to get him to feel numb. It's the numbness that makes him get through the days. His friends, Jeff and Gareth, have no idea what goes on in his head. He never tells them. Eddie never tells Wayne. Or Dustin. He doesn't think it's going to make any difference anyway.

His hands still shake as he raises the plastic bag and looks at the Special K. He only ever sells it. He's never even tried it. Eddie knows it's easier and faster to kick in if he injects it, but he would rather just snort it. He licks his lips, feeling his blood rushing and his heart racing.

He just wants to feel peaceful. He just wants the numbness.

Until his thoughts are interrupted by a rustling sound among the trees. You suddenly appear, but you don't see him right away. He hurriedly shoves the plastic bag into the lunchbox and closes it, trying to nonchalantly pretend he wasn't about to take Special K. You're wearing headphones, holding a book in your hands, completely unaware of your surroundings.

Eddie watches you carefully, amused to see the way you're so distracted that you still don't notice he's sitting right across from where you take a seat. He doesn't say anything at first, but he doesn't want to scare you, so he wiggles his fingers in front of you. You're startled at first, quickly pulling your headphones off and placing your book over the table.

"Jesus, you scared me."

He huffs a small laugh "Sorry, didn't mean that."

You close the book and pause the tape in your walkman, glancing up at him.

"You okay?"

There's something about him that is intriguing. He seems too loud, too smooth and too confident at school. The moment he leaves the door, he's a whole different person. You have never talked, but you have noticed it before. The way he tries to avoid social interaction even with his friends. The way he seems to always be too distant, always smoking a cigarette looking into nothing.

He shrugs. It's a lie of a shrug. Nothing about him is okay. You look at him for a long time, eyes narrowing a little like you're trying to read a language he doesn't speak anymore.

"You're not" You point it out.

"I didn't know anyone would be out here. I come here when I want to be alone" You say a little shyly.

"Same" He says in a low, rough voice.

You nod, as if you understand it. You pull the sleeves of your hoodie in discomfort, like you're trying not to feel awkward.

"Want me to leave?" You ask, trying not to stare into him for too long.

He opens his mouth and then closes it.

"No, stay" He mutters.

You nod again, and silence fills the air. It stretches for several minutes, you don't know exactly what to say and he's not in the mood to talk. Even though he tries to make sense in his head why the hell you are still sitting here, even though you asked if he wanted you to leave. You were never like the other people who glare at him. You don't judge him or look at him differently, even though you don't know each other well. You're genuine, and you don’t see him as broken.

You don't know what he carries in the lunchbox, but he seems to be staring at it so intently that it makes you wonder just why the hell he's doing that. You don't ask him, though. But somehow, for the first time, he doesn't feel numb. He feels seen.

You offer him to listen to the music in your walkman, he shades your music taste and you start an argument about it. It's not a fight, it's just a conversation. It makes him get so distracted that he forgets what he was supposed to do minutes before you got there. He laughs when you say things so naturally. Eddie looks so much more like the person you see at school, even though you know people don't actually like him.

Eddie left the woods with you on his side, he offered you a ride to your house, a place you share with Robin. You invited him for dinner because you knew he was having a hard moment before you stumbled upon him, but he denied it. You had offered him to have dinner with you too many times, you tried to convince him it was fine, that Robin wouldn't mind. He didn't want to. He didn't feel welcome.

He started inviting you to smoke weed with him in his bedroom instead of spending his time alone. At first, he's kind of nervous to have someone else inside of his personal space, but he wanted company. He wanted you to make him company. It was the first time you were actually witnessing him having fun after so long.

He glances up at you with a crooked little smirk "You ever smoked before?"

You raise an eyebrow at his question "What kind of question is that?"

He shrugs "An honest one. Could go either way with you."

You toss a Froot Loop at him. It bounces off his chest and he catches it midair with his mouth, triumphantly.

"Well?" He coaxes.

You hesitate just a second too long "A few times. Nothing major."

He grins as if that was the answer he'd been waiting for and reaches under his bed to get a wooden box that looks too beat up, with Metallica sticks that are faded and almost peeled off at the sides "Wanna get a little high with me?"

You chew on a rainbow-colored loop thoughtfully, then nod "Yeah. Okay."

"Cool." He says it casually. 

But there's a flicker of something else behind his eyes. Excitement, maybe. Nervousness, definitely. You shift on the bed, bouncing your feet as you watch him roll the joint slowly, with a care you didn't expect, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips while he focuses.

"You do this a lot?" You ask.

"Not as much lately" He licks the paper to seal it, and the action suddenly makes your stomach flutter "But… sometimes. When the noise gets too loud upstairs."

He is referring to thoughts in his mind, and you understand what that means. And the only way to make it easier is to read a book in the middle of the woods. Or to spend time with Steve.

Shit, Steve. You were supposed to meet him earlier that day and you completely forgot about it. You wince when you think about him, about the way he must have been worried at first, and then probably mad after calling your place and finding out you were not there.

He lights it and takes a slow drag, then hands it to you without ceremony. You take it between your fingers, inhale cautiously, feel the slow warmth spread down into your chest. It's smoother than you expected. Softer.

"See? "You're a natural" He says with a grin while watching the smoke leave your lips.

You exhale toward the ceiling and give him a lazy smile "I think I'm just trying to impress you."

He laughs and leans his head back against the dresser with a satisfied sigh "Shit. You already do."

There's a long silence after that, but not awkward. It's quiet, intimate. The kind of silence that makes everything else fade out, like the hum of the fridge down the hall. He feels weird after saying something like that out loud, and curses himself for talking too much. 

You take another hit and pass it back, his fingers brush against yours.

"Y'know, you being here... it's kinda weird" He says as smoke curls out of his mouth.

You glance down at him, surprised. "Weird how?"

He shrugs, his eyes moving to follow the trace of smoke "Just– I don't usually hang out with people like this. In here. It's my little cave, you know? Most people don't stick around long enough to see it."

You look around his messy room, his bed is unmade, there are faded posters on the wall and too many guitar picks spread on his night stand. Somehow, you're glad they weren't condoms.

"I like it here" You say honestly.

His eyes flick to yours and his brows crease "Yeah?"

You nod "It's… you."

He looks away again, suddenly shy, and hands you the joint "Be careful. Say things like that and I might start thinking you mean it."

"I do mean it" You say quietly, taking another drag. "I'm not here out of pity, Munson."

He grins without looking at you after a beat of a moment passed "Yeah, well. You'd have to pity yourself too, being seen in this disaster zone."

You laugh, curling up tighter on the bed, starting to feel the high settling inside of you "You're not that much of a disaster."

"Oh, I absolutely am" He says as he climbs the bed and dramatically flops down beside you with a sigh "I'm a walking tornado of long hair, bad decisions, and emotional damage."

You nudge him with your knee "You forgot 'kind of sweet sometimes when you're not looking.'"

He goes quiet at that. Eddie turns his head on the pillow to look at you, a soft look in his eyes "You think I'm sweet?"

"You say that like it's something impossible" You reply.

He stares at you for a second like he's not sure what to do with that. Then he looks up at the ceiling "Shit. I'm so high right now."

You laugh, and the sound makes his eyes flick back to you again, like he can't help it. He reaches out, like instinct, and gently tugs on the hem of your sleeve.

"Thanks for being here tonight" He says a little quieter.

You nudge your foot against his "Thanks for asking me."

You just lie there, even though the joint is nearly burned out, just side by side. Not touching, but close enough to feel each other's warmth in that moment. He keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye. 

And you pretend not to notice.

You really needed to have a conversation with Steve at this point. You've been turning down every invitation to go out with him. Either it was something you had to do, or simply because you wanted to stay with Eddie instead. But it wasn't fair to him, even though you didn't have anything serious going on. You slowly became distant, like you were avoiding him, and he started to notice the way you kept giving him excuses. 

And you didn't know why, you didn't know how. It felt like a magnet kept pulling you back to Eddie.

You get inside Benny's, sliding into the booth across from Steve at the same spot you've always been to. The sunset crosses the table and catches the rims of his sunglasses, as he pushes them up into his hair. He's already got your order waiting, the same as always. That used to mean something. At least to him. 

You sit down and smile at him and he does the same. Although, there's something different about the way his lips curl and it makes your stomach flinch. 

"Hey, you made it" He says gently and you nod. 

"I did" You pick the fries and dip them in your favorite sauce. 

"So, how's Eddie?" His voice is light, somehow. 

You blink "Eddie?"

"Yeah" He leans back in the booth, arms crossed, but not in a mean way. He just seems closed off "The guy you've been with every day for the last, I don't know, three weeks?"

Your heart does that uncomfortable flip with guilt, mostly. But also something else, something you're not sure how to name yet.

"I didn't realize it was that obvious" You murmur.

Suddenly the fries didn't seem very appetizing for you anymore. 

Steve just gives you a half-smile "You forgot to meet me the other night. Remember?"

Your stomach turns again.

"Oh god. Steve, I'm so sorry. I completely spaced, I thought it was next Thursday."

You didn't space, you were getting high with Eddie that day. Or maybe you did space a little bit.

You cover your mouth with your hand and sigh. 

"Shit. That's not like me. I didn't mean to–"

"I know you didn't. I know" He says quickly. 

You look at each other as silence between you sharpens, as he looks down at his own dish for a moment. 

"I'm sorry I've been a shitty friend" You reach out for his hand and Steve glances up at you with a small smile on his face.

"Yeah you were, a little bit" You scoff and swat his hand away, ripping a chuckle from his mouth. 

"I'm gonna have to make it up to you, don't I?" 

He tilts his head, rubbing his chin theatrically. You roll your eyes "Yeah, pretty much. But don't worry, I won't be mean."

You both chuckle as you look at each other for a moment. He reaches for your hand again and you take his hand, your fingers grazing his skin. The softness of his hand has always been one of your favorite things about him. It made you feel wanted, it made you feel safe. But maybe it could still make you feel safe, even if not in the same way as before. 

"So, Eddie…" He drags, stealing a few fries from your plate. 

"What about him?" 

"You two are pretty close" He says nonchalantly, like he can see there's more to it than you'd ever admit.

"He's a good friend, it's nice to have someone as crazy as he is around" Your voice almost – almost – sounds like syrup. Like it gives off something more. 

Steve hums and starts bombing you with questions about Eddie, your friendship, your small encounters in the woods. Where you listen to music, where Eddie spends his time judging your music taste all the time. 

He listens to you ramble and notices the way your eyes sparkle with affection when you talk about the metalhead.

You get a ride back home with him, you wish you could invite him inside and stay with him for the rest of the night. But it didn't feel right anymore. Something inside of you kept screaming back saying that it wasn't what you really wanted. Not with him, at least. So you give him a kiss, the last one. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart race, but he knows it's temporary. He knows it's not what you really want. 

Steve knows he's not the one you want to kiss, and he also knows this was never meant to be something. 

That day, you were all invited to Reefer Rick's house party. Eddie picked Robin and you, told you to stay with him at all times and demanded you don't take any drugs from anyone. You both nodded, giggling at the mother-like figure, amused. You spent the whole night together, drinking and smoking his weed.

He had never felt more alive before. He missed his friends, he missed playing in the band. He had distanced himself because he didn't feel like himself anymore. It only happened because of you. Because you showed up before he made a decision that would change his entire life.

You're lying on the grass, chatting, laughing and making jokes that don't make sense. Whenever Rick showed up offering something different you would make a fuss about it and mock Eddie for telling you to not accept drugs from strangers. A few things changed that day. You had become closer, he and Robin became best friends.

He had finally gotten to know Steve, realizing the former jock wasn't a douchebag anymore. He was kinda nice, and funny. He was really close to the teens and that seemed to have made a difference.

It was the first time he actually got inside your house. He slept on the couch, woke up early– before you two. Made you breakfast, watered your plants. Eddie made you listen to the radio he usually likes to listen to. He made fun of yours and Robin's music taste. He even forgot he was hungover from drinking and smoking weed. Things seemed to have been pretty decent for him, he forgot why he was so upset in the first place.

But you noticed that crack between reality and fantasy he had suddenly created after you started hanging out. You noticed the subtle change of humor out of nowhere, the way his eyes would momentarily flick from happiness to sadness when no one was looking. You wanted to pull him aside and actually ask him how he was feeling, what was intriguing him.

You know he's not exactly the town's favorite person, you know people liked to scrutinize him in order to see if he was actually a devil worshiper. He's fucking far from that.

You would see the way Eddie would drop his gaze every time he and Steve were together. Like he was less important, like he wasn't worth being a friend. As if he was the outcast who people pitied. He didn't wear fancy clothes or colognes, he didn't have expensive cars. He didn't have a beautiful face and a good reputation. He wasn't a girl's magnet, and god– he had never wanted that anyway.

But you would never notice the way he looked at you when you smiled or laughed. Or when you made him breakfast or dinner. Or when you made stupid jokes just to make him laugh. The way he called you "sweetie" all the time for a reason, and maybe he knew he would never actually have you more than just a friend.

He couldn't stop looking at you. At school, he had to ground himself, otherwise he would spend the entire break in the cafeteria just gawking at you. He did it like a fucking hawk. When you would leave school with Steve or Robin, he would wonder what you were doing that day. Whenever you spent the days apart from him, he just stared into his bedroom wall thinking what it would be like to just sleep you.

And he means sleep, not sex. Obviously, he wanted to have sex with you, he's miserably in love with you and it hasn't even been that long since you've actually met each other properly. He's head over heels for you and he feels lame for that.

Because why on Earth someone just like you, would want to have anything to do with him?

The answer he doesn't know is: everything. Your eyes would always look for him at school. You would always check if his van was parked, even thought he'd told you Wayne also uses it every once in a while. You keep checking the woods, and when you see him sitting on that bench, your heart would start racing.

It was ridiculous. It felt like you were 12 years old. It felt like you had never been there before. And you did, once. It wasn't the greatest thing to ever happen to you though, but you had been in love before. Probably not like that.

You didn't know, but this one was ravishing. If you two weren't together, it was like the world just didn't function.

And when Eddie sees you with Steve? God, he just wished the ground beneath his feet would just open and swallow him. He got nothing compared to the former jock. Nothing.

Little did he know, you weren't sleeping with Steve anymore.

You were helping him wash his van. It was a spring afternoon, the sun was burning upon your heads. He didn't put on sunscreen and you know he was going to get sunburned, he was just too stubborn.

"Lift the hose a little more, so I can get the dust off" He asked, stepping onto a plastic chair.

He was wearing only shorts, and his body was covered in tattoos that stretched from his neck down to his waist, even across his stomach. You had rarely seen him shirtless before, and it made you feel flushed. Your cheeks burned, but you weren't sure if it was from the sun. 

As he scrubbed the top of his van, you held the hose up.

"Sweetie" He says, pulling you out of your thoughts "You're almost soaking me!"

You look at him as water sprays from the hose, nearly drenching him. You giggle and splash water into his face with your arm. He scoffs, quickly steps down from the chair, covers his face, and drops the sponge he was using.

"You menace... You're gonna regret that!" His tone is playful and you laugh at him, your hand moving to cover him with water again "You're lucky it's hot!"

He steps toward you and you squeal when he wraps his arms around your waist.

"Eddie, no! Eddie–" He easily pulls the hose out of your hand and soaks you. You feel the goosebumps from the coldness, but it feels refreshing to be wet.

You try to snatch the hose from his hand, but he's stronger than you. The more you attempt to rip it out of his grasp, the more he holds you. Water sprays wildly as you both tumble slightly off-balance, landing in a puddle of water.

His arms wrap around you instinctively to keep you steady, and when the laughing starts to die down, he notices he's still holding you. Still flushed from the sun, from the chase, from something else that hasn't been said yet. He doesn't let you go. He doesn't want to let you go.

Eddie locks his eyes on your lips, it lingers there. He swallows harshly, feeling his heart thumping against his chest, his ears ringing. He hesitates, like he always does when something matters. He doesn't want to ruin things between you, he doesn't want to lose you. You're the only good thing that happened in his life. Well, Robin too. And maybe Steve. But you, you're different.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly on your waist, his breathing is shaky, but he doesn't move. As if he's afraid of messing it up, as though kissing you might burn him. But you do it first. You don't overthink it, you lean in and press your lips against his. Slowly and gently. His breath catches in his throat and he holds back the urge to grunt, he doesn't want to sound greedy. 

And then he melts into it. His hand slides up to your back, into your wet hair, and his mouth moves against yours like he's been waiting a thousand lifetimes for this. He kisses you like you're both made of glass, careful to not break the moment. You have to pull back to catch your breath and he's staring at you like you just remade him entirely. Like he's in another universe.

"Holy shit" He whispers, ripping a giggle out of you.

"Yeah."

You look into each other like the rest of the world doesn't matter. But the hose splashes water across both your feet and you laugh, leaning your forehead against his. You feel the way he squeezes your waist like he doesn't want to let go of you, not yet.

Eddie pulls his van up on your driveway and kills the engine. His fingers grip the wheel a little too tight for his liking, because he doesn't want to let go of you, not yet. He's afraid that, if he does, you won't ever come back. And he doesn't want you to slip away from him.

His jaw tightens and his lips press together firmly. You unbuckle the seatbelt and turn over to look at him.

Your shirt is still clinging to your back, damp from the hose, and your hair is a mess. Eddie's fingers drum against the steering wheel like he's trying to keep himself calm.

You look at him and he's already looking at you.

There's a faint blush on his cheeks, the kind that doesn't match the usual bravado he carries around. His curls are still damp, one of them is stuck to his jaw. He looks half-boy, half-wrecked, like that kiss cracked something open he's not ready to put into words yet.

"You want me to walk you to the door?" He asks quietly, wincing at the question immediately.

What kind of question is that? You don't ask someone, you just do. He thinks.

You smile "You trying to be a gentleman now?"

He shrugs bashfully "Maybe I just want a reason to stay longer."

The sentence sits in the air between you. It's soft, but heavy at the same time. Your stomach keeps fluttering at the sight in front of you.

"I don't have to go in yet" You say simply.

He looks up at you, surprised. Then his whole face softens, like you just gave him the answer he needed.

"Okay. Cool. Yeah. Okay" He breathes and you chuckle at his nervousness.

You sit there like that, just… being. Your left hand rests on his bare knee and he hesitates. Should he take your hand between his and just leave it there?

"Can I ask you something?" He says suddenly.

You nod.

"Did you want to kiss me before I kissed you?"

"I kissed you" You correct, smiling.

He grins, looking down "Right, that. You know what I mean."

You squeeze his hand gently and he seems more flushed than before "Yeah, I did."

He glances at you through his lashes, something flickering in his eyes, something that's not just attraction. Something deeper. Something like relief.

"Good. That's good" He gives you a soft, but timid smile.

You both just stay quiet again. The sun starts dipping into the horizon, behind the tress, casting an orange glow in the sky. Eddie eyes you a little nervously, before scooting closer to you. Your legs both separated by the gear shift knob. You tilt your head and purse your lips, anticipation bubbling inside of you for what's about to happen again.

He lifts his hand and cradles your face, smacking your lips together a little too tenderly. When his lips part, yours follow, and your tongues meet in a soft sweep. It's tender and intimate this time, it's the kind of kiss that makes your heart squeeze and your lungs forget what air is like. His fingers tighten slightly along your jaw, digging into your skin.

He exhales into your mouth, a quiet sound that sends goosebumps trailing down your spine. You shift a little closer, and your knee brushes his.

He pulls back just a breath away, his lips still hovering over yours.

You can still taste the bubblegum he had earlier, right after having lunch. His breath hits your skin and it's like you're frozen in time. Eddie, on the other hand, seems frazzled. As if his mind had been working to funcion ever since he noticed his feelings for you.

He walked you to your door, kissed you again, waited until you locked it and walked to his van. It took him a couple of minutes until his soul came back to his body and he finally took in what just happened. He drove back to his trailer with a smile on his lips that wouldn't slip away, his cheeks started to cramp.

That night, he laid in bed and close his eyes. He saw flashes of the day he spent with you like a movie. His skin shivered at the thought of you under him in his frontyard, all soaked and smiling. Your face a little sunburned. At the thought of your lips against his in a wet kiss.

He groaned and shoved the pillow against his face. He was fucked up, he knew that.

~•°☆

He suddenly became absent. After your kiss, at least. You wouldn't see him that much around at school, and when you walked to the spot in the woods, he wouldn't be there. Jeff and Gareth were seeing him less and less as well, and it left you wondering what could've happened. You didn't feel intimate, for some reason, to ask him what was happening. Steve said he hadn't seen his friend either, and neither did Dustin.

Eddie didn't want to tell anyone how bad he had been feeling. He didn't own anyone explanations of his whereabouts. Something inside of him just bloomed when he saw how close you and Steve were. How he would hover around you during class breaks, how you would crack at whatever the fuck he'd be telling you.

He felt as though he'd been used. Like you felt sorry he probably had only kissed one girl in his life.

You started to feel worried about him, about his well-being. It didn't take you more than a week to finally follow him when you saw him leaving school. He wasn't driving that day, so you tried to hurry your way up to his trailer and actually wait for him. You had met Wayne before- he liked you, he wouldn't mind if you waited there. He knew Eddie can be quiet and often shut everyone out.

You waited for him. You've waited for several hours, you had to tell Robin where you were because it was getting too late. Wayne had to leave for work, it was already 1 a.m. when he left. Eddie arrived an hour later. You were glad he wasn't driving, because he was drunk. He tripped over the steps of the trailer before getting in, not seeing you first until you almost gave him a heart attack from your yelling.

"Where the hell were you?" You asked, your voice too loud, stunning him the moment he closed the door behind him.

He dropped his keys, clutching his chest and squinting his eyes "Jesus Christ."

Eddie looked at you through his hazy eyes, his body unbalanced from the whiskey he had.

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?" He slurred.

"Wayne" You roll your eyes "Where were you, Eddie?"

You help him walk to his bedroom, where you had been only once, and sit him down on his bed. His body was completely uncoordinated because of the alcohol. You help him remove his shirt and his jeans, not caring if he was almost naked in front of you.

"Eddie–"

"Why do you care? You all pity me! You all feel bad for me, I can take a fucking hint" He lashes out all of a sudden and it startles you "You feel bad for me, you feel sorry for me. Poor Eddie must have never kissed anyone in his life, so maybe I'll kiss him just so he can die a satisfied, not a virgin-kiss man!"

"What?" Your voice trips and you feel the tension and the pressure building up in your chest "I have never felt bad for you, Eddie. Not once in my life, not even when I didn't know you!"

He chuckles, putting on his shirt but it's inside out. The label of the fabric is in the front. He almost stumbles over his backpack and he curses when he can't even put his pants on.

"Let me help you" You offer, but he lifts his hand up in denial.

"I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help. I'm a lost cause and a fucking failure! Why did you even kiss me in the first place?"

He didn't make any sense and it stung. Because he thought you only kissed him out of pity.

"Because I wanted to, you idiot! You're not a failure, Eddie! Don't let what other people say get into your head, please. You're a nice person, you're kind, you're funny. You're special, you make us laugh, you make us have a good time. We love being around you, I love being with you!"

Eddie slumps down onto the floor, his back hitting the foot of his bed. He shoves his face into his hands, his arms on top of his knees. He starts crying, and it surprises you because not once in your life did you see him cry in front of anyone.

He sobs and he's not even ashamed, his chest rumbles from the weeping. You bend down, placing a hand over his hair, pulling the strands of his bangs out of his face. He doesn't look at you, he's not even sure he wants to look at you.

Because he's afraid of seeing that face. The face of someone who feels bad for him.

"Eddie... Please look at me."

He doesn't. He shakes his head and cries into his hands. He starts rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherent words you can't make out.

"Eds, it's me" You place your hand on top of his, carefully trying to pull it back. Trying to bring comfort to him.

But he's shocked when he hears his nickname roll out of your tongue. You've called him that before, he always liked it. He always liked the way you called him that. But it's different this time, it hits deep within.

He lifts his head up and meets your eyes. Your caring, loving eyes. His eyes are bloodshot red and puffy, just like his lips. His cheeks are flushed and wet, there are still tears streaming down his face. He leans into your touch, your thumb swiping away his tears.

"I've never felt sorry for you. I've never felt bad for you, I don't see you as a lost cause or a failure, or anything for that matter... Eddie, you're the most important person in my life. You're the most genuine person I know..."

He sniffles and diverts his gaze. He thinks back to the few times he saw you hanging on Steve's neck, even after he had met you. He lets out a huff, looking down at his knees.

"I'm sure you feel the same way about Steve. But the only difference is that he's not a fucking loser."

You pull back only a few inches, scanning his features. Is that jealousy? Was he jealous of Steve the whole time? But you were not even together.

"You're not a loser. And I love Steve, he's my friend."

He laughs this time, and even though his face holds that weird laugh, he still manages to cry.

"Who fucks their friend?"

It comes out bitter and his tongue weighs a hundred pounds for saying that. You raise your brows, scoffing.

"We're not hooking up anymore, Munson. And we've always been friends, even then."

Eddie feels like a bucket of ice had been dropped on top of his head. He should've known. He hasn't seen you around each other like that anymore, but maybe he refused to believe that. Maybe he wanted to believe he wasn't interesting enough for you. Maybe he wanted to see what felt right for him.

But he was wrong.

"I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry, sweetie" He starts crying again, and this time, you pull him in for a tight hug "I'm a fucking mess."

"It's okay, Eds. You're not a mess, stop saying things like that."

You rest your chin onto his head, your fingers curl between his hair and he tries to ease his anxiety, but it only worsens when he thinks about the things he wanted to do until you showed up.

"You're going to hate me, sweetie. You're going to hate me when I tell you what I was about to do that day we met. You'll want to leave me, I know you will."

You glance at him and see the way he's looking at you. He's afraid. He's fucking afraid. He's desperate to get it all out of his chest, to get it over with. Because you deserve to know he was getting worse and worse.

"Eddie, I would never do that" You place a kiss on the back of his hand and he softens "No matter how bad it is. I'm always here."

He tried to hold back the tears that kept soaking his shirt. He stuttered the words out, he rambled and the whole time he told you about it, he couldn't stand looking at you.

"I just– I thought it would be a distraction. I'm so fucking tired of being judged for doing nothing" He mumbles in his crying and you stroke his hair.

"I never told you what I was doing out there in the woods the day we met."

He doesn't look at you when he speaks, and you go still. 

"I had it in my lunchbox. Special K. That's what they call it, right? Ketamine."

You don't say anything. Not yet.

"I wasn't… I wasn't gonna do anything dramatic, or permanent, or anything. I just…" He shakes his head, feeling his jaw clench "I wanted to not exist for a while. Just float away and feel nothing. Like the weight would finally shut up."

Your heart aches for him.

"I didn't even think it through. I just took my lunchbox and went there. The woods would be quiet enough, far enough. No one would see me wreck myself."

He gulped, trying to focus his eyes on something else.

"And then you showed up. Headphones on, reading a fucking book like you were walking through Narnia."

You try to smile, but your throat is too tight.

"I remember thinking…" Eddie lets out a shaky laugh "God, I remember thinking 'of course this beautiful girl just waltzes into my overdose like it's a goddamn indie movie'."

You press your hands quietly over his and he doesn't pull away. 

"I didn't take it. Because you looked at me like I wasn't invisible. You waved, you smiled. You sat down and just… stayed."

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it.

"I never thought anyone would" His voice breaks again "Not after all the shit with Chrissy. The town, the hiding. The guilt, the loneliness. I didn't think anyone should."

"Eddie" You whisper, tightening your fingers over his hand "You didn't deserve any of that. None of it was your fault."

"I know" He says quietly "Now, I do, sort of. But back then I was so tired of trying to prove I wasn't poison."

His words hit you too strongly. You don't see him like that, you never did. Not even back then at the cafeteria, not when you saw him hurrying out of the school to be alone. 

"I'm really glad you didn't take it" You whisper.

"Yeah. Me too."

You take both of his hands and kiss his knuckles. Your eyes glued to his brown red-rimmed ones that are still glassy. Eddie watches your gentleness and sighs, trying to compose himself. You drop your hands for only a moment, pulling him closer to you for a hug. You cried for him, you cried with him. You couldn't help but feel bad for him because he deserved more than just pain.

"You have me. You have your friends from Hellfire, even Robin. And mostly, you have your uncle. Just promise me you won't ever do that."

"Shit, sweetie. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to bring you into this mess."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad I'm here with you now. We'll get through this, together. I'm always going to be here for you" Your voice is low, gentle and caring.

You hold him up, help him change his clothes and sit him on his bed. After that, you head to the kitchen to make him some tea. The warm drink helps calm him down; he stops crying, and the stress seems to dissipate. 

It was almost dawn when you both went to bed and just laid there. You kept smoothing his hair while his head rested on your shoulder. His arm was wrapped around your waist, and his cool, ringed fingers grazed your skin underneath your shirt.

It was the first time you actually slept with him like this, and it felt so good.

You spent the entire weekend together. You took him to your house and you watched movies with him, while Robin stayed at Vickie's. He didn't want to leave you. He kept clinging to you as if you were to disappear. He snuggled against your neck, placing kisses over your skin. You danced to the songs playing on the radio even if they were metal songs.

Eddie wanted to know more about you. He asked about your situationship with Steve, and you told him you ended things only a few weeks after you had met him. He giggled quietly, he knew why. He just couldn't believe it. And maybe you knew that too, but played cool just to see what his reaction would be.

After the weekend, when you told Robin how it went, she couldn't stop gasping. Because she noticed the way you would turn down Steve's offer to have sex every time he had the chance. He asked Robin a few times if you were seeing anybody else and just didn't want to tell him, she said no. When she finally realized the way you and Eddie became too close, she figured it all out.

"Oh my God! You had a crush on him!" She said loudly and you furrowed your brows "You're so slow, Jesus."

"It wasn't a crush, I just liked being around him!"

"Exactly. Because you have a crush on Munson" She pointed at you playfully with a smug face.

"... Maybe"

Your cheeks blushed and she giggled, giving you a hug.

Steve met Eddie at The Hideout for a few drinks. The metalhead himself invited his friend out, he wanted to become closer. He wanted to fit in, he wanted to give himself a chance. Steve might have looked at him differently in the past, but he's grown fond of him.

The former jock mentioned your fling, the way you would give him excuses every time. And all those times you denied his invitation were the times you spent with Eddie. It clicked right then and there. He put two and two together.

Steve laughed.

"Robin would tell me she was with you. Guess I figured why" Steve said, taking a swig of his beer.

Eddie felt a leap in his heart, a tug in his chest. A warmth that kept spreading across his face.

"Sorry I stole her from you."

"Nah" Steve shrugged "It was never serious. And I can see how happy she is with you. And how much you have changed since you met her."

He couldn't fight the grin. Eddie wasn't sure you had a crush back then, but it all makes sense now. Back then, it was just a friendship for him, surprisingly.

"She really likes you, man. We all like you" He bumps his shoulder against Eddie's, a lipped smile on his face.

They've been sitting in comfortable silence for a while.

And then Steve says it, not like an accusation, or even a joke. But with a careful tone that lands too soft, which surprised Eddie.

"So… you kissed her."

Eddie doesn't answer right away, he just drags his head back against the wall behind him with a low groan.

Steve smirks "I'll take that as a yes."

"Shut up" Eddie mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

Steve watches him playfully "Was it good?"

Eddie exhales, like he doesn't have another option but to tell Steve "It was… yeah. Yeah, it was more than good."

Steve nods once and smiles, tapping him on the thigh. He takes another sip from his can "You love her?"

Eddie blinks "That's… I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

Eddie groans "I hate how smug you sound."

"I am smug. I knew from the second you started showing up to hangouts late, and looking all... floaty."

"Floaty?"

"Yeah. You had that look. Like your heart was full and your brain had left the building."

Eddie shakes his head "You're the worst therapist."

Steve shrugs. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong."

The metalhead figdet with the hem of his sleeve, staring down at the floor. His friend doesn't say anything either, letting the quiet stretch a little longer.

"I'm actually scared" He says.

Steve furrow his brows and becomes more serious "Of what?"

"That I'm gonna ruin it. Or that I already have."

"You didn't" Steve says without hesitation. "You were honest. You let her in, and that's the hardest part."

Eddie doesn't answer, but his shoulders unroll at ease.

"Hey" Steve adds, nudging him with his foot "For what it's worth? I'm glad it was you."

Eddie looks up at him, a little startled "What?"

"With her" Steve clarifies, like it's obvious "You were a mess, but you still showed up. You care. That's the only thing that matters."

Eddie stares at him "You're really gonna let me off the hook that easy?"

Steve smirks "No. You mess it up, I will kick your ass. But until then… yeah. I'm rooting for you."

Eddie lets out a slow, shaky breath, and nods. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he lets himself believe it.

I like her too. I like her a lot. I actually love her. He wanted to say.

He felt a strange sensation inside him that he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was happiness. It was acceptance. He was no longer alone.

~•°☆

You would show up at school with Eddie tangled in your arms. He didn't care that people gave you the weird looks, the glaring. He also didn't want to cause a commotion, so he would only stop by to kiss you during class breaks. He would sit with his friends at the cafeteria and throw you a few glances. Whenever he did that, your heart would race and you would feel your legs numb.

Oh, the young love.

Eddie started pulling you into the janitor's room. Lock the door behind him, dig his fingers into the small of your back, kiss you with lust. His tongue would do things to you. Not only when you kiss. He always slips his tongue across your skin, licking your pulse point, then leaving a spit trail until he reaches your ear lobe. He bites into the spot and rips a moan out of your mouth.

He didn't know how he would make it to the other classes without busting in his pants. Maybe he became an expert at putting weird thoughts into his head. He would lose his boner immediately after thinking about Mrs. Click. Worked every time.

Eddie takes you on simple dates. He's not fancy, he doesn't like fancy. When you say you want something like that, he does it only to please you. But you never bothered going to a simple diner or a cafeteria. Or bowling. Or karaoke. Or even The Hideout. You always have the most fun there, either way. You'd drink until you feel tipsy, get home and just spend the rest of the night kissing.

He takes his time with you. He wants to fuck you, he wants to make love to you. He wants you in all honesty, but he doesn't want to ruin it. Even though you've done it before. Multiple times. With Steve. He can't compete, but he doesn't want to compare himself to another man. He knows you like his tattoos, he lets you kiss them all over. He feels smug every time you look at his bulge and your eyes flicker with pleasure.

Robin is once again out. You had just arrived from Rink-O-Mania after too many attempts at standing on your feet and failing every time. You're both laughing too hard, talking about your day. Something snaps in your head and you lead him to your bedroom, and he thinks "finally".

You being the one to lead it to sex is something interesting to him. You push him onto your bed, straddling him. You spread kisses all over Eddie, all over his tattoos. You take his shirt off, your mouth lingers on his sensitive spot between his sternum. He shivers when you press your tongue flat on his skin.

He pulls your hair carefully, almost lifting his body to feel you even more. One of your hands goes down to his jeans, unbuckling his belt and unzipping the fabric. His heart is hammering and he almost can't hear anything. He's too stunned, he's too fucking stunned. Your fingers graze his boxers and stroke his cock through the damp material, making his lips leave a grunt. You keep stroking him up and down, your mouth finds his and he latches onto you. His tongue swipes against yours in a way that makes your core heat up even more.

You're soaking for him, your jeans are almost stained with your slick. You lower his boxers and finally pump him, feeling his thick cock around your fingers. Your fingers slip against his hardness, his tip leaks with precum incessantly, and the more you stroke him, the more he groans against your lips. He thrusts against your hand, he whimpers against your mouth.

Eddie is already a fucking mess and he really loves it. He doesn't care if he's loud, if he's greedy. He takes off your shirt and your bra, his thumb pressing your nipple in circles, rubbing your skin keenly. His fingertips dig into you as you bring him to the edge of his bliss. His cock twitches between your hand and you chuckle against the kiss. You pull back and give him a peck before making your way down his body, a coil inside his stomach kicks in as he glances at you.

Your eyes never leave him, even when you wrap your lips around his dick, but he can't hold back the moan. He throws his head back onto the pillow with a gruffed mumble, his hand flying down your hair as he pulls it back. You slide down his length, his tip reaching the back of your throat carefully. You almost gag on it and he buckles his hips forward.

When you finally adjust to his size, you suck him off, pulling your head up and down while you stroke him. He's whimpering and moaning and groaning, whispering your name and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

"Fuck, sweetie. This is so good–" He rasps under his heavy breathing.

You lock eyes with him, bobbing your head, licking his wetness and gently sucking his tip. Your cheekbones hurt but you love the feeling of getting him off. He pushes your hair to the side so he can have a better look, his hips buckling to meet your throat. Eddie is about to explode, but he wants to last longer. He wants to cum with you, he wants to cum inside of you so bad.

He pushes you back, hissing when the air hits his soaking cock. There's spit everywhere and he twitches at the sight. He glances at you, there's lust in your eyes, your lips are plump and red. Eddie pulls you into another kiss, not giving a fuck of tasting himself in your mouth. He turns you over and spreads kisses over your chest and your breasts, sucking on your nipples.

He grazes your skin between his teeth, his tongue rolling on it. You find yourself grinding against him, his warm cock pressing your thighs. He hums against your damp skin, tracing your stomach until he reaches for your jeans. He pulls it off along with your panties and he huffs.

"So perfect. So beautiful, sweetie" He muses you, his rough and calloused fingers trace your inner thigh gently.

He spreads your legs open and eyes you. The moment you lock eyes with him, he gives you a sweet, but sly smile before diving into your core. His heart beats too fast and he feels his hands trembling a little bit, but he tries to avoid thinking about that. He kisses your clit, ripping a moan out of you, your hips rolling in response. He repeats the action and uses two fingers to open your slit. Your legs immediately tend to close against his head and he chuckles, but his cock responds to it as well. You're breathing quickly, your hand lands on his messy curls.

The finally licks up a stripe of your pussy, sending shivers down your entire body. He presses his tongue against your clit and rolls it around your sensitive spot.

"Eds, this is so good" You whine, pulling a fistful of his hair.

He keeps grinning, licking you up, pressing his tongue flat onto your slit, sliding against your slick skin. You feel the tip of his tongue against your entrance, moaning his name every few seconds, a jolt of electricity running between your legs.

"Your pussy is so good, sweetie" He mumbles, eating you eagerly.

He takes in every drop of your juices, he tastes you. Eddie sucks your skin and pulls his head back with your clit between his lips and you cry out. You roll your hips against his face, his nose nudges your clit every time he licks your entrance. He slips two fingers inside of you, making you gasp. Making you feel breathless. He pumps in and out of you, with his rings still on his fingers, the cool metal touching your skin.

You can't hold back your moans, your hand pulls his hair back and Eddie groans against your skin. He savors your wetness with everything within him. He curls his fingers inside of you, just the way you like it. There's something different about him, even though you've fucked Steve before, something about Eddie makes you wet.

You're about to cum when he notices the way you start clenching around his fingers, so he retreats. You whine at the absence of him in your core, and you feel hot when you watch the way he sucks on his fingers. His eyes closed, his brows furrowing, his throat roaring.

"Fuck, you are so hot" Your voice comes out hoarse with pleasure.

Eddie latches onto you again, his lips smacking against yours. He slips his fingers between your pussy and starts stroking you, his hips rolling against your thigh so you can feel his cock. You can't stop moaning his name and he loves every second of it.

You only break apart when you open the drawer to pick a condom. He's still kissing your neck as you unwrap it.

"Do you mind?" You ask, holding the material in front of you.

"Fuck, no" He picks the condom from your hand and doesn't even waste another second putting it on himself.

You would have done that, but he's more greedy than ever and you don't mind it.

He straddles you, kissing you and your skin until he's on top of you. He grips his cock and aligns himself into your entrance, pushing carefully for you to adjust to him.

"Holy fucking shit" He groans, his biceps contract and he can barely support his own weight.

You kiss him again, heaving as he pushes further into you until there's nothing left. He's balls deep into you. His thrusts are slow at first. He can't hurt you. Eddie holds one of your legs up, he grips on your skin and starts thrusting faster. He digs his head on the curve of your neck, his breath hitting your skin. He grunts over your ear and you clench around him.

"Please, fuck me baby" He begs.

It's the first time he calls you that.

The pounds faster, his hand now slipping up to the curve of your breast. His thumb holds you in place as he comes back and forth. He starts to regret not tying up his hair. It's all sweaty and sticking to his skin. His cock slips in and out of you, his balls slap against your skin just as his hips.

"Yes Eddie, just like that" You shudder under him, your hands scratching the skin on his back. Your nails are digging into him.

He doesn't care at all.

He looks at you, he takes in the sight of you in pleasure. You roll your eyes when he snaps his hips into you once. He does it again, and again. His cock twitches and he knows he won't last much longer.

"I need you to look at me, sweetie" He asks. You struggle to open your eyes and when you do, you grind against him.

Your clit strokes against his skin and it's enough to take you out. You feel the pressure building up the most he splits you open, the more the tip of his cock hits your sweet spot.

You lock eyes and everything changes. He begins to lose strength when he feels the climax reaching its peak. But he doesn't stop, he keeps his eyes on you the whole time. You crease your brows and bite your lips.

"Cum with me, Eds" Your voice is like honey to him and he nods.

He pounds you roughly, not fast. It's about the way he does it, not how quick it is. It's perfect, it's enough for you to widen your eyes and leave a brutal moan. It's so loud, he smirks. Your legs tremble under him and you start shaking.

"Good girl."

He whispers. And another wave of pleasure immediately crashes and it's stronger this time. Your eyes roll and you convulse to his cock that's twitching inside of you. He's groaning "fuck" a hundred times a second, he shudders on top of you and almost collapses. He sputters inside the condom and falls limply beside you, his arm still wrapped around you. 

You both turn on your sides to face each other, his chest is still rising unevenly, but he's not feeling exhausted. He's thriving. There's a slight stunned kind of peace that follows a moment he never thought would happen.

There's a soft beat of silence. He's watching you like he's still trying to make sure this is real– like he's not convinced he didn't dream the whole thing. His eyes are wide and soft, still a little dazed, like he's memorizing the shape of your face. You reach up slowly, fingers brushing through his hair, and gently tug at the strands that have fallen into his eyes. His bangs are stuck to his forehead with sweat, curling just slightly at the ends.

"Your hair's a mess" You tease in a whisper.

He smiles, a real one, lazy and crooked and too full of affection "Yeah? You gonna sue me?"

You hum, brushing your thumb across his temple "I might. For emotional damage."

He huffs out a laugh "You're really here."

"I am."

He lifts his rough hand and trails his fingertips on your bare arm, as if he's drawing a path there "I'm glad you didn't leave me that day."

You nudge your forehead against his gently "I wanted to stay. I want every part of it, every part of you."

He goes still for a moment, before feeling the burning sensation in his core, like the last piece of armor has finally dropped. Like this is what it feels like to be safe. And when his eyes close, and your fingers are still tangled in his hair, you know that whatever this is, it's real. Not just the sex. 

And to him, you're the best part of his day. You've brought him to life again– and this time, he feels like life it's finally worth living. 

[fearlessreid]

seeing my man with his canonical love interest 💔💔💔💔

[fearlessreid]

Well yea duh

[fearlessreid]

I Wanna Get Lost With You

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

Summary: After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Spoilers for Thunderbolts because everyone from Thunderbolts is in this and is involved and there is events from the movie that are mentioned :). Fluff, a hint of angst (because of the reader having a rough night…and a rough couple of years in general), Brief Mentioning of Grief and Loss, Bucky is kind of a reluctant father figure to the reader, Bob is Bob and he’s a softie who’s seen it all, Reader and Bob have an established friendship, Smut.

Smut Warnings: Hot and Heavy Makeout Session, Grinding, Cuddling with Some ✨Spice ✨(ahem…Fingering and handjobs lol), Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all, you know the drill), Bob is a softie, reader knows what she likes (a bit of a soft dominant vibe but not really). This is like a mix of comfort sex, and like purely desperate sex, you’ll see, you’ll see. Lol, Aftercare (because that’s hot too)

Author’s Note: This request was given to me by @xlittlemissydjx and I just had to do it when I read it (I also accidentally deleted the request by accident lol). I really expanded the landscape of it though, but I hope it meets what you were looking for :). Thanks I know I have a lot of pending part 2’s of one-shots, but I really couldn’t resist the opportunity to put a little bit of everything into this story, Angst, Fluff, and Smut. The holy trinity lol. Enjoy :))

Note About Requests!!!: I’m working through them! I have about 14 things I need to do! So be patient! They should all be done at varying times within the next week and a half (I get in the zone enough to get two a day out so hopefully that can help!)

Word Count: 18,416 (…Wow)

You had been tossing and turning all night, and it showed the second you stepped into the kitchen that morning. It was written in the heaviness of your steps, the way you continuously readjusted your sweater as if it was too tight–even though it was two sizes too big–, and it was painted across your eyes with the faint smudge of exhaustion that clung to the corners of them.

You had your tells–the little things that gave it away, and the team knew all of them. They knew when you didn’t get enough sleep, or when you didn’t get any sleep at all. You didn’t even have to say a word to them, they could just gauge it from your facial expressions. If you weren’t your usual chirpy self–the version of you that compensated your sadness with jokes and filled the room with noise–they knew what they were in for.

And today? You hadn’t said a word.

The moment you walked into the kitchen though you were pulled into the chaotic scene unfolding in front of you, as the scent of scorched butter hit your nose.

“I told you to spray the pan, Bob. Did you spray it or not?” Walker’s voice rang out, sharp with his distinct signature brand of early-morning frustration. He stood by the oven, hunched over it with a spatula in his hand wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a “Grill Sergeant” apron. Bob stood a few feet away, sheepish and visibly wilting by the tone that Walker was taking with him. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his fingers were busy wringing the hem of his flour-streaked sweater–the nervous habit he hadn’t kicked.

Over the past few weeks, Bob had started volunteering for kitchen duty more and more–not because he was good at it, because unfortunately he wasn’t and everyone had learned it the hard way–but because he liked the idea of it. Of helping. Of contributing back to the compound as he was in his recovery process from his incident in New York. He had also mentioned to you in passing that it helped him feel like he was normal again, and it reminded him of the simpler times.

But now, with flour scattered everywhere, batter dripping down the front of the counter, and Walker looming over him with the interrogating questions, he was clearly second-guessing his life choices.

”I…I thought I did.” He mumbled, looking around the kitchen, “I could’ve sworn I had the can in my hand.” He whispered, confused.

”Then what happened, hm?” Walker questioned, “Did the damn thing disappear out of your hand or something?” You reached up to rub the tiredness out of your eyes, letting out a sigh, which got the room's attention almost instantly–like you sucked the air out of it.

“Walker, what have I said about taking it easy on Bob, for the love of God.” Your voice wasn’t loud, because it didn’t need to be. Even with being the youngest in the group, you were seasoned enough to be feared, especially by Walker–which was always surprising for the ones who would see the both of you interact.

Bob looked over at you immediately the moment your voice broke through the room–firm and quiet, how you always were–and just like that, his posture shifted. Not completely–he was still wringing the hem of his sweater and looking sheepish–but something in him softened.

You always did that to him. You walked into a room, and it was like the gravity in the room shifted. You were never loud with him, your energy was controlled, but even if you were the loud person that you were around the others, Bob still lit up, in the same way a quiet house lights up when someone finally opens the blinds. His breathing got a little easier. His shoulders dropped just a little lower. Like he knew–even without words–that if anything ever went wrong, you’d be there to shield him from the worst of it.

And you always were, since the day you met in the O.X.E Vault, the day things changed for you–for the better of course.

You defended him the way no one else really did. The way nobody else really could replicate. You caught every nervous tick he had, you knew when to pull him out of situations he couldn’t handle, and you filled in his silences when he got overwhelmed and went quiet, answering hard questions for him with that calm, dry tone that let everyone know there were lines that were crossed.

You didn’t baby him, but you stood with him.

And Bob–who had spent so much of his life being pushed to the side, forgotten, or abused–had never really known what it was like to be protected like that, and he paid you back in the only way he knew how; by being your constant. A little planet in your very tight orbit, always trying, always showing up, always offering whatever soft, steady care he could muster.

You would say you took care of him in public, and he took care of you in private.

You’d never talked about it–not in direct words–but the arrangement was understood. He knew when to slip a cup of tea into your hand on the nights when your hands shook too hard to make one yourself. You knew when to plant yourself between him and a room full of sharp voices. He knew when to knock gently on your door and ask if you’d eaten. You knew when to tug him by the sleeve and get him out of conversations that made his breath short and his voice crack.

‘Hey, there’s only so many ruined breakfasts a man can take before he snaps.” Walker replied, holding up the pan that had what looked to be a burnt pancake glued onto it, “Look at what he did. This is literally my last one.” You didn’t even flinch. You gave the pancake a passing glance, then turned your attention back to Walker, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

”And yet somehow the world keeps spinning, Walker. Why didn’t you take the harder stuff if you knew there was a possibility of Bob ruining your prized pan?” There was a long pause, until Walker held his hands up in mock surrender.

”Fine…Fine…You’re right. I’m sorry.” You raised an eyebrow.

”And apologize to Bob.” You added, watching Walker glance sideways at him.

”Sorry, Bob.” Bob gave a quick, awkward nod.

”It’s okay…” He whispered under his breath.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the interaction to be done, as you walked from the entrance of the kitchen and made your way toward the fridge, cracking the door open to grab a chilled bottle of water. The cold bit into your palm–and you lingered there for a moment, letting the cool air brush over your skin before closing the door again.

You stepped towards Bob then.

”You good?” You asked, voice low now, like it was just meant for him. He nodded, hesitating for only a breath.

”Yeah…I-I didn’t mean to screw things up so badly…I was just trying to help.” You let out a quiet sigh. The kind that carried the tail-end of exhaustion and affection at the same time, in equal measures, giving Walker a death stare, before reaching out to Bob, patting the side of his arm. It wasn’t too soft, nor too hard–it was just right to comfort him.

“Well,” You murmured, letting a touch of warmth back into your voice, “Go help by setting up the table, okay? I’ll order some food for everyone, and if you hear Walker screaming for his life, just ignore it.” This drew out a laugh from Bob–small and unguarded, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected it to break free from his mouth in the way it did. It wasn’t loud, but it was full-bodied and real, the kind that deepened the flush that was always on his cheeks. Walker furrowed his brow from where he stood.

”What was that?” You didn’t answer him, you were already pulling your phone from the front pocket of your father’s hoodie, tapping through the food delivery app with the kind of speed that only came from someone who routinely cleaned up the emotional aftermath of other people’s messes.

”Nothing, I was just telling Bob I’m ordering breakfast for everyone, hope you like hash browns.” You said flatly, your tone disinterested as your thumb hovered over your usual go-to breakfast place, the one that you used to go to on your birthday.

Bob, still smiling faintly to himself, took this as his cue to duck out of the kitchen without another word, moving towards the dining area with a new sense of purpose. Walker watched him for a second as he left the room, leaving the two of you alone together, before shaking his head.

”You’re too soft on him.” You didn’t look up from your phone as you added seven orders of bacon to the cart.

”I’m just going to give you a friendly reminder that he helped us out of the Void and bought us time to save him, and another reminder that he saved our lives at the vault too. We owe him the softness, and the stability.” Walker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to physically scratch the tension out of his spine.

”Still. The guy’s not made of glass. I think you forget that he beat the shit out of us in this very tower.” He shot back, which made you look up from your phone.

”That was the Sentry. You know that. And you only bring that up because you’re still butthurt that your shield hasn’t been fixed.” Walker grunted, caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant defeat. He shook his head again, slower this time, then dropped his spatula into the sink.

”Fine…You win.” He muttered.

”I always do,” You replied, looking back down at your phone to add three extra croissants to the order just in case someone got picky, going to check out.

”You gonna be in the training room later, thought we could spar together.” You paused for a second, glancing up at him for a moment, before processing your order and locking your phone, sliding it back into the hoodie pocket.

”No,” You said simply, turning the cap off your water, taking a quick sip, letting the coolness spread across your chest, “It’s my day off.” You added, which caught his attention immediately.

”Off? You don’t take days off.”

“I do today, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to see me take a day off anyways…So why is this such a surprise?”Walker furrowed his brow a bit.

”It’s just a bit weird, taking a random Tuesday off, what’s the occasion?” You met his eyes, almost annoyed by the line of questioning.

“It’s just for me, that’s all.”

——————-

After cleaning up everyone’s plates after breakfast, you collected your keys from the dish on the counter and slipped them into your pocket. No one questioned you. No one stopped you.

Bob had been in the middle of rinsing out the orange juice glasses, sleeves damp with his concentration fixed on the smallest marks, like he was trying not to think too hard. You gave him a soft pat on the back as you passed. He didn’t turn, but you felt the way he leaned into it, a silent acknowledgement.

You didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t that kind of day.

Instead, you made your way down the corridor, past the glass-paneled lounge where Yelena and Ava were arguing over something that sounded like movie night logistics, and past the half-lit training room where the mats were still scuffed from the week before.

The elevator greeted you with a soft ding, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the main lobby, knowing you had to make a stop before travelling into the heart of the city. The doors slid shut in front of you, sealing off the noise of the compound, and the silence that followed settled in your chest. The elevator hummed quietly beneath your feet, the numbers ticking down slower than usual, like it knew what kind of day it was for you.

When the doors finally opened, the lobby was quiet. You stepped out quickly, turning on your heel to go down the hallway that was right beside the elevator. It was silent, cleaner than the rest of the compound, and dimmer–there was less foot traffic so that’s why it was normally lit like a mortuary. The air down this hall always felt heavier, because it was the lead up to something you visited frequently.

Your boots echoed against the polished tile, until the corridor opened into the memorial wing. A long, curved hall with framed photos and holographic projections lining both sides–names etched into the glass like ghosts.

The “Hall of the Fallen,” they called it. A name you hated to say out loud, because to you they were your people.

The entire wing had only come to be because you forced it into existence. During the final round of renovations, when Valentina wanted the east wing reserved for press briefings and high-tech sparring simulations, you had walked into her office, dropped a folder full of lawsuit drafts onto her desk, and told her plainly that if your father didn’t have a place in this building, neither would you. You knew you sounded out of line, but because the tower used to be his, you thought the leverage would be something to hold over her head.

“I will sue you into the sun,” You had said calmly, “And I’ll have Pepper on the line within the hour to back me.”

So she relented.

And now… Here it was.

Each section of the wall was backlit in soft amber light. Not cold and sterile, but warm–like candlelight. Like the kind of lighting your dad always insisted on in the Tower because he said it was more comforting and less lab-like.

Your eyes tracked instinctively toward the far right. You never had to look for it, because you knew exactly where he was, call it a daughterly instinct.

The large framed photograph of Tony Stark stood in front of you. No helmet, no Iron Man suit. Just him, in a slightly crooked tie and a hand resting on your shoulder. The image had been cropped, but you remembered where this was taken. He’d been giving a press conference and you snuck up beside him mid-speech. He had rolled his eyes and laughed, pulling you into the shot like it was nothing.

You slowly stepped forward, putting out your hand to reach for him, but before you could, you noticed someone already standing near the center of the hallway, facing a different frame.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, hair slicked back like he was going for a meeting…Bucky.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your steps. He didn’t have to. He knew you would be here. It was the anniversary of your fathers death after all.

He was standing in front of Steve’s photo–head slightly bowed, jaw clenched, like the weight of all the memories he had with him had curled itself around his spine and wouldn’t let go.

You approached him slowly, your boots muffled now by the soft carpet that lined the central arc of the memorial wing. Bucky hadn’t moved, his eyes were locked on the image of Steve–clean-cut, square-jawed, with his warm smile forever frozen in time. You stopped beside him to stand shoulder to shoulder.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, you just stared at the photo, breathing deeply, in reflection of the moments you all got together. After a minute you cleared your throat, pushing the lump to the side so you could speak.

”You missed breakfast.” Bucky let out a slow breath through his nose.

”Didn’t really feel like having pancakes today.” You cracked a small smile.

”Wasn’t pancakes…Bob ruined Walker's last pan by burning them.” His lip twitched just a little.

“Sounds like I didn’t miss much then.” He said, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth before fading again. The silence between you returned, but it wasn’t empty–it was heavy. Full of everything neither of you had ever needed to say out loud.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of Steve for a moment, before shifting sideways to study Bucky instead. He looked older in this light. Not tired–just…Quieter. Softer around the edges in a way that only grief can carve into a man.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked.

”About thirty minutes, I had a meeting today actually so that’s also why I missed breakfast.” Bucky shifted his weight slightly, eyes still trained on the photo, “Didn’t think I’d end up staying this long, but you know…Memories make you lose track of time.” You nodded slowly, getting a bit closer to him, slipping your arm into his, feeling the coolness of his vibranium radiating through his jacket. He let out a slow, steady exhale, letting your hand rest there, and in that small gesture, you felt the quiet return of the role he’d carved out between the both of you–it was reluctant at first, but unshakable now.

”You know…” You murmured after a beat, “He would’ve been really proud of you.” Bucky didn’t speak right away, but you could see his jaw clench at your words, before nodding.

”Tony would’ve been proud of you too.” That made you scoff, but softly. You looked down at your boots, your fingers curling slightly around the curve of his arm.

”Definitely not,” You said with a dry laugh, “I don’t think he ever intended on me being on a team like this…Or carrying on his legacy at all, really. Especially not with how I started this…With Val and everything.” You added.

”We all do stupid things sometimes, but now you’re a part of something bigger than yourself. I’m telling you…He would’ve been very happy to see you in action.” You looked down at your feet, with a soft smile coming up on your face before nodding.

It hit you again–like it always did this time of year–that Bucky had become the closest thing you had left to family. Apart from Pepper and Morgan, he was the only one that truly stood by you. This year was different of course, especially with your new teammates, but it made you think back to how far the both of you truly came.

Because it never started that way. In fact, you didn’t think Bucky would’ve offered you the protection he did. He was quiet and watchful, always keeping people at arm’s length. But something changed at your father’s funeral.

He found you that day–after the speeches and the silence, after Pepper had walked Morgan inside of the house to make her some food and Rhodes offered his condolences. You were standing by the water, not crying, just looking out onto the way the sun was setting, wearing one of Tony’s old jackets because it still smelled like his aftershave.

You didn’t even hear Bucky approach until he was beside you, and when he spoke, it was the only thing that had cut through the fog in your brain that day.

“If you ever need anything…” He said, quietly, like it wasn’t a promise he had been planning to make, “Anything at all…I’m one phone call away. No questions asked.” You had looked up at him, surprised that he was even talking to you, especially after everything that had happened between him and your father, but all you did was give him a nod, and a thank you.

Then, four years later, when you found yourself stuck in the desert with Walker, Ava, and Yelena, after escaping the death trap that was the O.X.E. Vault, and witnessing Bob turn into a human asteroid, you had pulled out your phone and dialed his number.

You remembered the look on Walker’s face as you pulled out your phone and started dialing.

”Who the hell are you calling in the middle of the desert?” You looked up at him, shielding your phone away from him.

”My emergency contact…Someone who’s not going to let us die out here.” You muttered, putting the phone to your ear. It only had to ring once, before he picked it up.

”Y/N, hey, you think I can call you back in a few minutes.” He said, like he was in a rush, like he was packing.

”Bucky, I’m in trouble.” Walker’s face had immediately dropped, his mouth opening slightly. Yelena had seen the look, and she had whispered something to him, not understanding the visceral reaction.

“Bucky!?” Walker exclaimed, you looked over at him confused, pressing your finger to your lips–afraid that his voice would echo through the open space and gain some sort of attention possibly.

”…Y/N…Was that John Walker's voice that I just heard?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“Y-Yeah. Listen, we don’t have time to go into details because I need to conserve my battery, but we are in a desert in Utah, and we’re lost. I need you to help me…Will you please help me?” He had already been packing his motorcycle to start making his way over after receiving a call from Mel with her coordinates, and immediately he started connecting the dots that you were somehow involved. Before the line of questioning even left his lips, he remembered what he told you at the funeral and reluctantly spoke.

”Okay. I’ll track your coordinates and be there as fast as I can, just…For the love of God stay safe.” You nodded.

”I will, I’ll see you soon…Thank you Bucky.” Then you hung up the phone.

”How the fuck do you know Bucky Barnes?!” Was the first question out of Walker's mouth.

Then all the details were out in the open for everyone to know; how you knew him, how you were Tony’s daughter, how you joined Val’s list of operatives because you felt like you wanted to do something and she offered it to keep you busy. You were surprised that your identity wasn’t known to the group, so it was a relief when they quietly gave a nod to you almost as if to say they were sorry for even asking. Then the unplanned limo pickup from Alexei had happened, which intruded on the plans a little bit and ended with you having to reset your own shoulder, but to be reunited with Bucky Barnes was a heaven sent.

“Been watching you on TV at those congress hearings, congratulations by the way.” He let out a soft laugh at that comment, adjusting your shoulder into the proper position.

”Yeah well…I guess a lot of unexpected things have happened over the past couple of years.” He said, still a bit concerned with the details on how you somehow got wrapped up in all of this. But once again, he said no questions asked and he stuck to it.

Now as you stood side by side today though, it was easy to say that he was like a father figure you never thought you would have again, and you were grateful for all of it, regardless of how it fell into place.

”…I sometimes wish he got to see me with you guys too…” You whispered, breaking the silence. Bucky glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

”I’m telling you, he would’ve liked it. Sometimes when I see you at briefings you have the same mannerisms he had, same attitude and stuff. I was never really around him but I heard stories from Steve. It’s like you’re a carbon copy of him in female form.” That drew a soft laugh out of you.

“While I do appreciate being compared to him, I can never be as good.” There was a pause, and he sighed.

”There’s no ‘good’ kid…You’re doing the best you can with the cards you’ve been dealt. And I’m proud of you, we all are, even though none of us really say it often enough.” Bucky’s words settled into your chest like something warm and grounding, something heavy in the best possible way. You blinked a few times, swallowing the knot in your throat before it could turn into something embarrassing, and that’s when an idea popped into your mind.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment longer, just breathing. Just being.

Then, slowly–almost uncertain–Bucky shifted, and his arm moved around your shoulders. He didn’t pull you in abruptly. He didn’t force the moment. It was gentle. Intentional. Like he was offering the hug, not giving it. It was something Bucky rarely did, but in a moment where comfort was needed he would push the discomfort off for you.

You leaned into it immediately.

Your arms came around his middle, anchoring yourself to the familiar weight of him. You didn’t close your eyes, but you let your cheek rest against his chest and took a breath. He smelled like leather and clean soap, and the faint trace of a piney cologne he always insisted he didn’t wear. You both stayed like that for a few beats–just enough to feel steady again.

“Thanks Buck,” You mumbled, your voice quiet.

“Anytime,” He replied, equally soft.

You pulled back, brushing your sleeve against your face subtly wiping a small tear that was forming in the corner of your eye as you stepped away.

“Alright…Enough with the sappiness…” You sighed, your tone turning a bit lighter now, “I’m heading into the city to do a bit of shopping therapy…” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

”Shopping therapy huh? Guess it’s better than drinking. And you’re going without your second shadow?” You looked at him confused.

”Who?” Bucky gave you a look, one of those deadpan, all-knowing stares.

”Bob,” He responded, “You think he’s not going to notice that you’re gone for the whole day?” A guilty grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. Everyone knew how close you were to him, but Bucky was the one person to know how deep it truly went, how much Bob actually knew about you, down to the little details, and the darkest parts.

”I slipped out while he was rinsing the glasses, I figure I’ll have about an hour of radio silence until someone calls to tell me he’s looking for me.” Bucky huffed a dry laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I’ll shoot let him know of my whereabouts in a bit…Don’t worry.” You promised, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Just wanted a little time to myself. Got an idea I need to run with, and I think it’ll help.”

He didn’t press for more. He never did. That was the good thing about Bucky–he could read you like a book, but he only turned the pages when you were ready.

“Well,” he said after a moment, adjusting the collar of his jacket, “Don’t get lost in any candle shops.”

“No promises.”

You turned to go, but paused halfway down the hall and glanced back. He was still standing there in front of Steve’s photo, hands back in his pockets, eyes distant. You softened.

“I’ll be back later tonight. Might be close to dinner, maybe after. But tell the others not to start movie night without me.”

Bucky nodded, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll wait,” He said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You offered him a small smile–one of the rare, real ones–and gave a little wave as you turned and headed out.

The elevator doors closed behind you with a soft ding, and for the first time that day, you felt the flicker of excitement hum through your chest. You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for yet–but you were going to find something for each of them. Something thoughtful. Something that said thank you for being here, for staying, for putting up with me.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

———————

You had returned that night thirty minutes after dinner was wrapping up. Everyone was still mingling in the kitchen, the remnants of takeout cartons and half-eaten desserts scattered across the island, but when the elevator dinged, every head instinctively turned toward the hallway.

When the doors slid open and you stepped out–flanked by two interns struggling with your overflow of tissue-paper-filled bags–you didn’t even get a full step before you called out.

“Everyone stay in the kitchen! No peeking!” You warned, your voice commanding but playful. “I’m serious, if I catch one head in that hallway, I’m throwing dessert in the trash.”

That got a ripple of muffled laughter from the group.

“You act like we don’t eat dessert before dinner,” Yelena shouted back.

Despite your warning though, Bob didn’t get the memo.

You barely made it halfway to the living room, with the interns trailing behind you, when the sound of socked feet came pattering rapidly around the corner.

Bob appeared, cheeks flushed, his light brown hair a little mussed, his eyes wide and brimming with unfiltered concern. He wore a pair of black sweat pants and an oversized dark grey sweater that covered his broad frame, it made him look fragile and small–even though beneath his clothes it was far from the image he was trying to portray. You had caught glimpses of his body in little increments, sometimes by accident you would walk in as he was pulling on his shirt and you’d catch the lean muscles on his back flexing, once you saw his abs when he reached up to grab something, and once in a while you’d catch him with his sleeves rolled up, and you’d see the cool blue veins that rose from the planes of his forearms. Sometimes you wished you’d see more of him, but you were fine with what you had the privilege of seeing. He looked like he’d been waiting by the kitchen threshold all evening, just listening for the elevator.

“Hey—are you okay?” He asked, his voice already rushing. “I—I remembered what day it was, and I didn’t know if you wanted space or if you wanted company, but then you left without saying anything and I didn’t wanna crowd you but—”

“Bob!” You cut in quickly, spinning around to shield the bags with your body. “Close your eyes!” He startled like someone had set off a firecracker behind him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He blurted, immediately slapping his hands over his face. “I didn’t see anything! I swear…I only saw you, not the-uh-the stuff-whatever the stuff is…”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head as one of the interns behind you adjusted their grip on a delicate gift bag.

“Here,” You whispered to them, handing off what you were holding. “Take these into the living room...And thank you again for the help, oh and make sure the box is put in my room okay? First on the right.”

“No problem.” The intern nodded, already moving with the caution of someone who had been thoroughly briefed with the other intern trailing behind.

Once your hands were free, you turned back to Bob. He stood perfectly still with his palms mashed over his face like a kid in a surprise party gone wrong–lips pressed into a worried line, shoulders a little too rigid. You let out a soft sigh, stepping towards him–knowing you scared him a bit– and reached up for his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face slowly.

”You can open your eyes now…I didn’t mean to scare you…I just have a surprise for everyone. Sorry…” You said gently, watching as his lashes fluttered open, his eyes instantly meeting yours, with that all too familiar look–soft and worried and wired, like he had been on the edge of his seat waiting for your return.

”I-It’s okay…I was just…I was w-worried about y-you. I remembered what today was after Walker mentioned to me that you took the day off…And I felt like such an idiot f-for not che-.” Bob’s words halted immediately when your fingers touched his lips–just two of them, soft but still–to quietly tell him to stop talking. His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the way his shoulders tensed under your touch, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes went wide, and then slowly his cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red, blooming from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

It was the kind of color that told you everything without a word.

You didn’t tease him for it. You didn’t move your hand right away either.

You just held his gaze, steady and gentle, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant murmur of the others in the kitchen. “Really.”

His brows drew together just slightly, like he didn’t believe you entirely, like he was still cataloguing every detail of your expression for proof. But your hand stayed right there between you, steadying the weight that always seemed to pile up in his chest when he couldn’t fix things, or make you feel better.

You felt him breathe in–and that tiny shift, that barely-there exhale through his nose, was the signal that he heard you. That he believed you…Even if just for now.

You slowly dropped your hand, the warmth of your fingers leaving his skin with the ghost of your touch. He blinked, like coming out of a daze, and looked like he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Okay,” He said quietly. He was still flushed, avoiding your eyes, knowing that he just had to take your word for it, even though he knew how much this day was a dark reminder of what you were most ashamed of.

He only knew this because he had seen it.

In the O.X.E vault, after you, Walker, Ava, Yelena, and Bob had barely escaped the incinerator, you had all collapsed into a breathless heap in one of the elevator areas., sweaty, and rattling with adrenaline. No one celebrated. It was too soon for that. Tension still clung to the air like smoke, and the five of you were still strangers.

You had sat against a wall, jaw clenched, blinking through the pain that was radiating from your ribs. The quietness was deafening.

Yelena hadn’t moved much. She sat cross-legged on the far end of the room, her elbows on her knees, and her sharp eyes trained on Bob–who was pacing a few feet away, muttering under his breath. His hands trembled slightly, and his voice barely registered above a whisper, like he was listing something he didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but just watching him pace in that mint green scrub set, made you tense up, there was just a feeling in those moments that something was wrong.

That’s when you noticed Yelena’s expression. Not skeptical. Not calculating. Just…off.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing as your ribs protested, and made your way toward her. She didn’t look up until you crouched beside her.

“What’s going on?” You asked, voice low, “You hurt or something?” Her eyes didn’t leave Bob, when she shook her head at your question.

“I need you to touch him.” She whispered under her breath.

“Touch who?” You asked, shifting on your feet a bit, confused at what she was saying to you.

“Bob.” Her voice was even, but her brows furrowed. “I saw something…But I need to know if I’m just going crazy or if it was real.” You could feel yourself grow more and more concerned just by how shaken up she looked.

”Yelena…What did you see?” She shook her head at you.

”Can you just go do it? Please.” You stared at her for a second longer, then nodded. You didn’t understand it, but something in her voice had pulled up, like she was scared of something. You stood up and dusted your palms off, turning around to approach Bob, who was still pacing back and forth, taking four steps before turning and doing the same towards the other side, whispering to himself still.

Walker and Ava were still talking, strategizing how you were all going to get out, and neither of them noticed when you moved past them. Bob didn’t hear you coming either, he was too wrapped up in his own storm to even see your slow approach.

”Hey,” You said gently. He startled almost immediately, his eyes snapping to you like you had dropped him in a pot of ice cold water, “Do you mind coming with me for a second?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” He replied quickly, a reflexive panic in his voice, like he had done something bad, and he was afraid of being punished. You gave him a soft smile though, almost like you knew you needed to make yourself a little less aggressive, especially after he had seen you go head to head with Walker over something so minor you couldn’t even remember..

”I know, I just want to check something, okay?” He looked down at you with such hesitation that you honestly thought he was going to say no, but even back then he had a distinct soft spot reserved for you. His eyes were an odd shade of blue that day, and you had seen distinct little flecks of what seemed to be an off yellow peering through. Back then you chalked it up to being the lighting.

”…Okay.” He whispered. You gave him a little smile, and took hold of the sleeve of his scrub top, leading him towards the side of one of the concrete pillars, just far enough to shield you both from the rest of the group. The tension in Bob’s shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, being pulled away from the others made him more rigid, as if you were going to reprimand him.

“You hurt anywhere?” You asked, nodding toward his chest, his ribs, his shoulders.

“No…No…I mean, not really j-just some scratches and stuff b-but I’m okay, r-really.” You squinted at him, and you could see the way his breath hitched in his throat a little, like he was nervous or trying to hide something. Your eyes scanned over his dust covered face, watching him shift uncomfortably, as if being under your gaze felt like he was being smothered.

“Mind if I check?” He looked like he wanted to say no, like he wanted to tell you he was fine again so he could go back to his pacing, but instead, after a beat of hesitation, lifted his arm up slowly to you, with his palm up.

You reached forward slowly, and grabbed his hand.

Then everything slipped.

The world around you–the gritty concrete, the stale air, the faint hum of the vault’s broken systems–all vanished in an instant, replaced by heat, light, and the faint crackle of fire.

Your body didn’t move, but your heart slammed like it was being punched. You knew this place. The ruined battlefield. The shattered husk of the Avengers compound after the snap had been reversed. Twilight bleeding across rubble. Smoke curling in the air. The air was so thick it clung to your skin like regret.

You saw them–Peter, Pepper, Rhodey. All of them gathered around the figure on the ground.

And there he was.

Your father.

Collapsed. Barely breathing. The right side of his face blistered from the energy surge of the Infinity Stones. His arc reactor flickering like the dying heartbeat it had become. His mouth was slack, his breathing shallow.

He was dying.

And you were nowhere near him.

But you had been. You remembered it clearly now, clearer than ever–how you had stepped forward when they pulled him from the wreckage. How you’d seen him, gasping for air. How you’d started walking toward him and then–froze. Stopped in your tracks.

You had walked away.

The grief you’d locked down in the deepest corners of yourself–boxed and buried for years–rushed back to the surface with the brutal weight of tidal force. Your knees hit the ground in the memory, even though your body in the vault hadn’t moved.

Your chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t a memory.

This was your shame.

The moment you’d never told anyone about. The moment even Pepper didn’t know. The moment you abandoned him because you couldn’t watch the man who raised you die.

And now Bob—Bob, who you barely knew at the time—was seeing it too. Sucked into the deepest darkest secret you had. You tried to pull away, but the memory gripped you like a vice.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was crying.

Pepper leaned in and whispered something too quiet to hear.

And you–you were nowhere near him. You had your hands over your mouth, hiding behind a crumbled slab of wall, like a coward. Crying silently, too ashamed to show your face.

The memory ended like a door slamming shut.

The vault came crashing back into view. Cold. Harsh. Fluorescent.

And you stumbled backward, your hand jerking away from Bob’s as if it had burned you. Your back hit the pillar, hard, and you bent over, one hand gripping your ribs like they were splitting open. You were breathing heavily, but holding back the tears, because you needed to remain strong, you had to or else you weren’t going to get out of the vault alive.

Bob didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, his hand still half-raised like he hadn’t realized you’d let go. His chest rose and fell unevenly, not with fear, but with something more fragile—remorse, maybe. Guilt. A kind of stunned softness that only existed in people who had never been given permission to hold something that delicate, and now had to live with the knowledge that they did.

He didn’t look at you right away. He was staring at the spot where your hand had touched his, like it still lingered there.

“I-I’m sorry…” He whispered, which caused your head to snap up at him. You had been expecting confusion. Denial. Questions, maybe. But not an apology.

“I-I don’t know how to c-control it. I didn’t mean to do it.” He said under his breath, kind of like he was muttering it to himself. The strangest thing about it all though was that you didn’t feel angry. You should have. You should’ve been furious that he’d been pulled into something so private. But there was something in the way he looked at you now–like he understood you in a way–that made your breath catch.

“Just…Don’t tell anybody about this.” You said hoarsely, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, as you pushed yourself up off the pillar to recover.

”I-I won’t,” He said immediately, “I’d n-never do t-that, I-I promise.” He added, and you believed him.

Even though the moment passed, even though Walker barked something from across the room and Ava told everyone to regroup, even though Bob turned to leave first to give you space–you knew in your gut that it had shifted something.

And now, standing in the present day, in the quiet hallway outside the kitchen, you realized that he really did keep that promise he made all those months ago…But that just spoke to who Bob was, and who he had always been.

——————

The lights in the compound’s living room had been dimmed for movie night, the projector humming softly behind the couch as the team shuffled in with snacks in hand.

You stood in the middle of the chaotic scene of bags and boxes, arms crossed, eyeing them as they made their way over to their designated spots that they typically claimed during movie nights. Yelena kicked her feet up onto the coffee table like it was her birthright. Walker was already grumbling at Ava for stealing the corner seat he liked to stretch out in. Alexei lumbered over with a bowl of popcorn that definitely wasn’t for sharing, and Bucky, as always, took the spot by the far armrest, the one with the clearest view of the exit. Bob lingered near the back of the couch, waiting–always waiting–until he was sure everyone else was settled before choosing a spot closest to you.

You cleared your throat, but it barely registered above the chatter that was happening around you.

”Hey!” You exclaimed, and that’s when heads turned. Walker paused mid-bite. Yelena glanced over her shoulder. Bob straightened immediately like someone had called his full name in school. Even Bucky looked up, one brow arching in curiosity. The projector hadn’t started yet, but the anticipation for the movie had everyone on autopilot. Until now.

“I, uh…” You started, then immediately hated the sound of your own voice. Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, and tried again, “Before we start the movie, I need to say something.” They sat in anticipation, thinking that you were going to announce something either tragic, or shockingly happy. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you took a breath, the hush in the room now bordering on tense.

“Today’s always been a shitty day for me,” you said simply, and the honesty of it settled over them like dust. “Most of you probably figured that out. Some of you knew… or saw more than you were supposed to.” Your eyes flicked briefly toward Bob, and then back.

“But this year felt different. I didn’t want to sit with it by myself. I didn’t want to spend the day pretending it wasn’t happening just to make it easier to breathe.”

You exhaled.

“And I didn’t want to feel alone. So instead… I went shopping.”

There were a few scattered smiles at that. Ava smirked. Yelena tilted her head. Alexei made a noise that sounded like a chuckle and a snore at once.

“I got you all something. Nothing huge. Just things that made me think of you. Things I thought might make you smile. Because whether you like it or not, you’re my team now. You’re my people–my family. And I wanted to say thank you. For being here. For staying.”

You paused, blinking away the weight behind your eyes.

“For putting up with me.”

There was silence. But the kind that meant something. The kind you didn’t want to break too fast.

Then, you turned to the bags behind you and grabbed the first one.

“Ava,” you said, walking it over. “Noise-cancelling headphones and a pass to a rage room. Because, let’s be honest, we annoy the shit out of you.”

Ava cracked a genuine smile. “They better let me bring my own bat.”

“No promises.”

Next: “Yelena.” You passed her a smaller black box. “New utility belt. And some custom knives and batons I had made. Not saying you need them. But I also didn’t want to find out what would happen if you didn’t have them.”

Yelena grinned, flipping the latch open immediately. “You do love me.”

“Very much.” You replied with a smile.

“Walker,” You said, tossing him a medium-sized box that thunked heavily into his lap. “New pans, and a mini travel sized grill.”

“Thank God,” He muttered, already tearing the paper. “And they’re even better quality than the last ones.”

“Alexei.” You handed off two heavy bottles wrapped in tissue paper. “Vodka. The expensive kind.”

“Oh…Oh this is not going to survive night,” He replied, already cracking the top open.

“I figured.”

Then, you looked at Bucky.

“For you,” You said more quietly, stepping over and handing him a neatly wrapped parcel, “A metal polishing and cleaning kit, so you can stop using the dishwasher on your arm. And I got you an appointment for a bike detailing. Full job. New coat of black, too.”

He blinked slowly, surprised. “You remembered that?”

“You yelled about it for thirty minutes. I’d have to be concussed not to remember.”

He smiled. It was the small kind, but it stayed on his face longer than you expected.

You turned to Bob last, and something in your chest fluttered a little harder than you were ready for.

He was sitting upright, hands folded in his lap, trying not to look too eager, but his eyes flicked up to yours like he was bracing for impact. You walked over slowly, cradling the last item with more care than the others, and stopped just in front of him.

“This one’s for you,” You said gently, and handed him the book.

It wasn’t wrapped. No fancy paper, no ribbon–just a hardcover in a matte finish, with The Creative Act by Rick Rubin printed across the front in clean black letters.

Bob’s eyes flicked down to it. His hands moved slowly, reverent almost, as he turned the book over, like he wanted to feel the weight of it first before opening it. He ran his thumb along the edge before he finally slipped the front cover open–and there it was, tucked just inside the front page.

A handwritten note on a small square of folded paper that you had taken from Bob’s desk when you snuck in just before the movie.

Written in your slanted, slightly chaotic handwriting.

’The real gift is in your bedroom.’ Just the words alone affected him immediately.

His ears flushed red at first, before blooming down to his cheeks, and over his neck like a fire that couldn’t be put out. His eyes darted up to you, then back to the page, like he was checking to make sure if he’d read it right.

Then, with a bit too much urgency, he shut the book. Yelena was already leaning over from her seat to look at him.

”What’d you get?” She asked, her voice laced with amusement, seeing the deep blush that continued to burn on his cheeks.

”Yeah, let’s see,” Walker added, craning his neck, “It didn’t even have wrapping. What is it?” Bob shook his head quickly, holding the book close to his chest like it might be pried from him if he held it out too far from him.

”It’s…It’s j-just a book.” Everyone exchanged glances at one another, then looked over at you, then Bob.

”You’re turning that red over a book?” Ava raised an eyebrow. You watched as Bob sank slightly into himself, clutching the book like it was something far more scandalous than a hardcover on creative philosophy.

“You didn’t even open it all the way, you just opened the cover.” Yelena added.

”I-I don’t have to,” He stammered, adjusting the book in his arms, “It’s o-one Y/N and I saw at the b-bookstore a while ago that’s all.” Now all eyes turned to you. You gave a small, innocent smile.

“It really is just a book guys,” You said simply, meeting their suspicious looks with a calm ease, “Like Bob said…We saw it at the bookstore a while ago and he didn’t buy it. So I just got it for him now. No big deal.” Then you went to the couch to take up your space, looking back at Bob who was already coming to sit in the space that was available beside you. “Now…We can commence movie night.” You added, feeling Bob adjust beside you slightly, bumping his knee against yours almost like he was giving you a nudge, before settling in completely.

——————-

Eventually, everyone fell asleep in their spots apart from you and Bob.

The projector had long since gone dark, the soft white glow replaced by the quiet hush of breath and shifting limbs. The living room had become a patchwork of tangled limbs, half-eaten snacks, and drooping blankets. You and Bob sat in the warm silence at the edge of it all, knees still brushing where they’d been for the past hour.

He hadn’t opened the book again–not since that first flustered glance. But his fingers never stopped grazing the edges of the cover. He was still holding onto it carefully, like it might slip through his hands if he blinked too fast. You leaned toward him slightly, just enough so that your shoulder nudged him to get his attention.

”Hey,” You whispered. He glanced over at you, like he’s been waiting for you to say something because he was too scared to do it himself, “Wanna see your real gift now?” You asked, a small smile appearing on your lips. Bob could feel his heart pumping out of his chest as he began to overheat like a furnace.

“Y-Yeah…I mean…Y-yeah if you’re ready to s-show me.” You rose slowly, careful not to kick over a stray popcorn bowl or stir anyone from their half-snoring sprawl. Your eyes flicked briefly over the room to make sure no one was stirring—Yelena had curled into a blanket cocoon, Walker was snoring like a truck engine, and Alexei’s head had slumped against the back of the couch, drool threatening the upholstery. Bucky’s eyes were shut, but you could tell by the slight twitch in his jaw he was only pretending to sleep, which was typical for him. Turning back to Bob, you extended your hand toward him, palm open, wrist loose.

“Come on,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Just make sure to be quiet cause if they wake up we’ll never hear the end of it.” He nodded–one firm, terrified little nod–and slid his fingers into yours. His hand was warm and clammy, but you didn’t mind the feeling. Quite honestly, you wished he did this more often, because it gave you this ease, the kind that only he truly provided. You squeezed his hand gently before tugging him up onto his feet, and he followed like you’d cast a spell over him.

You led him carefully through the living room, toes skimming across the floor like a cat, weaving between bodies and blankets until you reached the edge of the wing that led to your rooms.

The hallway was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the soft golden hue of the floor runners and the faint spill of moonlight through the high windows. You padded down the hardwood floor hand in hand, every step muffled, every breath shared. Bob stayed impossibly close to you, so close in fact that you could practically feel his breath on your neck, as if putting too much space between the both of you might make the whole moment disappear.

When you reached his door, you stopped just short of the frame and turned to him with a look that was half excitement, half warning.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to cover your eyes.” You whispered, looking up at him with one of the soft smiles you always gave him when you needed him to do something for you.

“W-What? Why?” He asked quietly under his breath, still holding onto your hand, only it was a little tighter now, probably from the nerves that were clawing away in the pit of his stomach.

“Just trust me…You won’t regret it.” Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh–more like a whimper, really–and gave you the softest, most defeated sigh, like his heart had already left his chest and he was just trying to keep his limbs from shaking.

“A-Alright…” He whispered, leaning just a little closer to you, close enough that you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks, “Just…Just don’t let m-me trip or walk into something…Please.” You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Hasn’t happened before, and I’m not planning on letting that happen now.” You teased, before softly adding “Now…Close your eyes.” Bob obeyed, raising his free hand over his face with careful fingers, blocking his vision as if you were leading him into a sacred place rather than his own bedroom. You nudged the door open with your foot and gave his hand a gentle tug, leading him across the threshold.

You didn’t need to turn on a light.

His room always felt a little like stepping into a different plane of calm. The kind of space that knew quiet in its bones. Moonlight fell in soft silver lines across the floor through his half-open blinds, slicing the darkness into gentle pieces. The windows of his room were quite large, which was the reason why everyone assigned it to him, because if he ever had an episode and didn’t want to come out of his room, he would at least get some sunlight.

His bed was unmade, but it was clean, it always was–Bob didn’t like messes too much, and the comforter was crumpled in a way that suggested he hadn’t been able to stay still for more than a minute. His nightstand had a glass of water and a half-melted candle that still smelled faintly like lavender, which was something that he had learned calmed him through you. There were books stacked under the window. T-shirts folded too neatly on the open shelves. A jacket draped on the chair in the corner.

His room was basically a manifestation of things he picked up from you and bits and pieces of himself that he couldn’t shake. It was a perfect balance, especially when he was too scared to go to your room when you were out on missions–when he was missing you terribly.

And then–right there in the center of the room, illuminated perfectly by the soft glow spilling through the curtains–was the record player.

Matte black, sleek, minimalist. Quiet in its confidence. It sat on a low wooden console table that you had bought pre-assembled. Beside it, propped open just slightly, was a padded carrying case–and inside there were three of your records that he had constantly put on whenever he would end up in your room: Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, Last Splash by The Breeders, and Elton John’s Self Titled.

On nights like these–when you had nothing to do–Bob would come and listen to a record with you while lying on your bed. The both of you would stare at the ceiling and talk, usually it was about anything and nothing at all, that’s just how it had always been. Sometimes you guys would touch, hold hands just as a source of comfort, but it never went further than that, because neither of you wanted to possibly put the friendship in jeopardy.

Tonight would be one of those nights that you would be able to lie with him thankfully.

You looked up at Bob who was still shielding his eyes even though he was clearly trembling with anticipation. You gave the hand that was intertwined with yours one last squeeze and leaned close enough that your arms brushed.

”Alright,” You whispered, “You can open them now.” Bob’s hand dropped from his eyes like he was lifting the lid on something sacred.

And the second his gaze landed on the record player, his entire face changed.

His shoulders softened, his chest lifted like he’d just taken the first real breath in hours–and then came the smile. Wide, radiant, boyish. One that reached all the way up to his eyes and cracked something open in you.

He stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching something precious. His fingers hovered above the turntable for a moment before he crouched down in front of it, knees tucked in, head tilted with something like awe. The soft light haloed around him, catching on the strands of his hair and the curve of his jaw. You saw his lips part slightly, saw the way he swallowed thickly.

Then his sleeve came up–quick and almost sheepish–and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the back of his wrist. He thought you wouldn’t notice if he did it quickly but you knew his tells, and you knew when something was wrong with him. When he let out a small sniffle, you were at his side in an instant.

“Bob?” You whispered, dropping to your knees beside him, voice soft, uncertain. “Hey…What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on the player.

“Nothing–Nothing’s wrong,” He said quickly, but his voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just–God–this is…It’s too much.”He whispered to himself, pressing a trembling hand to his eyes again to wipe off another set of tears.

Your brows knit together, and you lifted a hand instinctively, hovering just above his shoulder but not quite touching.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I just–”

“I love it,” He interrupted gently, finally turning to face you. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed, and there was that dazed smile again, wide and aching. “I love it so much.”

You let out a soft, quiet exhale, the kind you didn’t even know you were holding, relieved that you didn’t do anything wrong.

And then–without warning–he leaned into you.

Not cautiously. Not halfway.

Fully.

Bob wrapped his arms around you with all the care and all the weight of someone who had wanted to do it for a very long time. One arm slid around your lower back while the other curled protectively around your shoulders, tucking you against him like you were the only thing he could hold onto. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch against your neck.

You froze for just a second–stunned by the sheer intensity of it–before you melted into him. Your arms wound around his back, your hands gripping at the soft fabric of his sweater. You closed your eyes and held him, not just because you were trying to comfort him, but also because you needed it just as much as he did.

Bob breathed in deeply, inhaling your warmth, and your sweet scent–a mixture of iris and clementines. He said you smelled like summer to him once, and he stuck by that even to this day, because it was intoxicating to him, and it was you…That’s what he liked most.

Your hand drifted up slowly to the back of his neck, letting your fingers brush through his hair with a tenderness so natural it almost startled you. He didn’t flinch, or shy away, instead you felt him melt into you just a little more, like your touch was untying the knots that were within him.

“I-I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “I-I didn’t mean to cry…No one’s ever gotten me something t-this nice before.” You let out a soft huff against him, pulling back just enough so you could look at him, your fingers curling gently so you were cradling the back of his head.

”Bob…” You whispered, then smiled with a soft ache, “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m glad it means something to you…” He looked up at you with wide, glassy blue eyes, still watering slightly at the corners.

”It really…It really does…It-It means everything to me Y/N…” He replied.

A silence settled between the both of you in that moment, not awkward but charged–thick with feelings that were just cresting on the horizon. You brought your other hand up to his face, letting your thumb brush along the curve of his jaw before you dropped it to rest over his chest, right where you could feel his heartbeat drumming just under the fabric of his sweater. When you pressed a little harder you could feel the muscle flex against your touch,–a reflex from Bob.

“So…Uh…Does this mean I c-can’t come to your r-room anymore to listen to vinyls?” You raised an eyebrow at that comment, leaning in just a little so your noses were almost touching, as you allowed the edge of your voice to dip playfully.

”Actually…It’s an excuse for me to come in here once in a while.” He was taken aback by your comment, but it had hit him like a lightning bolt.

His mouth parted slightly, eyes locking with yours as if you just upended gravity. You could see when it fully clicked for him–what it meant, what you wanted it to mean. The warmth in his face scattered deeper now, but this time, he didn’t look away.

”W-Well then…I-I think you should use that e-excuse…A-All the time then.” You tilted your head a bit, a smirk coming up on your lips, realizing what he was giving back now.

”All the time hm?” He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to yours, his pupils dilating slightly to adjust more to the darkness, and to take more of you in.

”A-As much as you want Y/N...Every n-night even i-if you want.” Your heart fluttered–too loud, too strong–but you didn’t let it show except for the little smile that cracked wide across your face. You slid your hand up to the collar of his sweater, your thumb running along the thin skin on his neck.

“Well,” You said, leaning in, “Why don’t we start now then…” Bob didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the second those words left your lips–why don’t we start now then–the air between you changed. Like it folded in on itself. Like the gravity in the room evaporated completely and every ounce of tension that had lived in stolen glances and almost-touches finally snapped tight, pulling the two of you together like you’d never really meant to be apart in the first place.

Your lips found his.

Soft. Certain. Slow at first–just a press. Just a whisper of something that had been waiting so long to be real. Bob shuddered under you, like every nerve in his body had lit up at once. His hands came up instinctively, almost blindly—one settling on your waist, the other cradling the curve of your back like he was afraid you’d vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Breathing into each other between the spaces. Your mouths never fully parted–they just shifted, adjusted, and learned. His lips moved with yours like he was starved for the taste, like he had imagined it so many times but never dared to believe he’d ever actually feel it. You felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, felt the way he tensed, and then eased, melting into it like he finally believed it was happening.

When you moved closer to him Bob let out the softest gasp into your mouth, it was barely a sound, but it still hit you like an electric current. You deepened the kiss, tilting your head as your hands slid higher into his hair. You gripped at the soft strands and gave them a gentle tug, just enough to guide his head back just a little–earning a low, breathless sound, stealing it straight out of his chest.

With trembling strength, Bob shifted, pulling you with him slowly until you were in his lap, your knees sliding on either side of his thighs, straddling him. His hands gripped at your hips, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your shirt like you were something holy to him. When your weight settled over him completely it made Bob feel like the world had gone totally quiet–like he could live in this moment and never need anything else for survival.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his as your fingers brushed his flushed cheeks. Bob’s lips were still parted, his breath coming in soft, stuttered exhales that fanned across your mouth. His hands had stilled on your hips, still holding you like he was scared to grip too tightly, like if he held too hard you might vanish again.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, voice low and weighted with something deeper than just desire. Bob nodded immediately, so fast it was almost a flinch.

“Y-Yeah,” He breathed, “Y-Yeah, anything you want–just–God, I want you to take whatever y-you want.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his briefly, before leaning back enough to sit upright on his lap. Bob’s hands stayed where they were, unmoving, as if he was afraid to go any further unless you guided him. And you would. Because this was yours to take if you wanted it–and he had already given it so freely.

Your hands slipped to the hem of your shirt, and you pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric whispered over your skin as it came off, and you dropped it onto the floor beside you without looking away from him.

Bob’s breath hitched.

You were wearing a thin, slate-colored bra–and barely anything between your body and the chill in the air. The moonlight caught on the curve of your breasts and the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, but it also revealed more than just your skin.

Faint, jagged lines kissed across your ribs and shoulders. Scars from old missions, burns, nicks, remnants of the life you’d led before this–before the Thunderbolts. Each one a story you rarely told. Some puckered. Some silver. A few newer, still healing. They caught the light and glimmered in ways they never had before–because now, someone was really looking at them. You saw Bob’s eyes flicker down over them like he was cataloging each one with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that made your throat tighten.

And then there was the necklace.

Stark tech. Thin chain. Sleek design. The pendant was small, flat, shaped like a coin and glowing faintly from within–pulse blue, soft as breath. It had been a gift from Tony. A prototype for a fail-safe, disguised as a keepsake. Only a few people in the compound even knew it wasn’t just jewelry. You never explained it, never offered context. But you didn’t move to hide it now

His eyes lifted again–tentative, trembling–and met yours. You saw the way he swallowed hard, saw the way he tried to stop himself from looking lower, like he didn’t want to disrespect the moment. But his gaze dropped again anyway, helpless against the gravity of you. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He looked stunned.

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, like you were trying to soothe the bashful panic behind his wide-eyed stare. “It’s a lot.”

“No–n-no, it’s not–” Bob’s voice cracked as he tried to sit up straighter, his hands tightening a little on your hips. “You’re–God, you’re beautiful, and it’s e-everything I imagined.” You tilted your head to the side, a teasing glint blooming behind your eyes as you traced your fingers slowly up his arms.

”You’ve imagined this?” You asked, voice light but thick with hea, watching Bob’s entire face turn a deeper shade of red in the moonlight, like he was caught committing a crime. His lips parted as he scrambled for a respectful response, but you didn’t give him a chance. You leaned in, lips hovering just above his, your breath slipping into his mouth as you whispered, “What else have you imagined?” Bob exhaled shakily, the sound brushing your mouth. His hands flexed unconsciously on your hips as though trying to ground himself–like if he didn’t hold onto you, he might drift right out of the moment.

“I’ve…” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the heavy breathing the both of you were doing, “T-Thought about touching you…Like t-this.” He began to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving a trail of heat and wetness from his lips all the way down to your neck, before he opened his mouth against you, right below your ear, placing a lingering kiss that made you push your chest against his with the heat that curled around you.

“I’ve t-though about what your s-skin would feel against m-mine,” He murmured, trembling as his lips traced the column of your throat, “And how you would sound i-if I kissed you h-here…” He added, placing a kiss against your pulse point, listening to the small sigh that escaped your mouth.

His breath was shaky against your neck as his lips lingered at the little patch of skin that thumped against his touch, his nose brushing against the soft dip of your throat while his hands remained firmly planted on your hips–too still, too solid, like he didn’t trust himself to move without falling apart.

But then, as if pulled by some gravitational force he could no longer fight, one of his hands slid upward. Slowly. Tentatively. Fingertips brushing over the hem of your bra, skimming your ribs, following the curve of your waist until they reached the delicate strap resting on your shoulder. His knuckles trembled, but his touch was impossibly gentle, as if even the fabric you wore deserved to be worshipped.

He kissed your jaw again–open-mouthed, soft–and then you felt the light tug at your shoulder as he slipped the strap down. The fabric eased across your skin with a quiet drag, and you shivered beneath it, watching the way his eyes followed the path like it was sacred scripture.

His lips returned to your skin, grazing over the hollow of your collarbone before whispering into it–so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

”C-Can I look?” You nodded.

”Yes…Of course.” You whispered. His hand twitched where it rested at the curve of your spine, and then, with a sort of hesitance that nearly broke you, he slid his hand up to the clasp of your bra, his fingertips brushing clumsily along them, missing the latch twice. You couldn’t help but smile at the fumbling, as he let out a breathy, nervous laugh against your skin, while his forehead dropped to your shoulder in a sheepish show of surrender.

”I-I swear I’m trying,” He murmured, the corners of his lips curling up. You laughed with him, soft and unhurried, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I’ve got it,” You said, reaching one arm behind yourself with practiced ease. The clasp gave one tiny click and you slid the loose straps down your arms, letting it join your t-shirt that was beside you. When you straightened back up, bare now in the soft glow of the moonlight, Bob didn’t move at first, he just stared.

Not in a greedy way, not in the way you were used to being looked at, it was with such desire and want it made your stomach turn. Like he was trying to memorize the details of your body so when he closed his eyes he’d be able to picture it.

His hands slid up slowly from your waist, palms wide, cautious, and trembling just slightly as they moved to trace along your ribs. His thumbs brushed upward–barely skimming the outer swell of your breasts–before he let out a long, shaky breath and leaned in. His lips pressed to the curve of your breast, just above your heart, and you felt the sigh leave him as he held you like you were something holy.

You curled your fingers into his hair, watching him.

“Bob…” You whispered, but it was barely a sound.

He lifted his head just long enough to meet your gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips already kiss-bitten and pink.

“I-I’ve imagined this so many times,” He said softly, almost apologetically. “But it never felt like this. I-It never felt this real.”

And then his mouth returned to your skin–this time lower.

He kissed across the top of your breast, then the underside, open-mouthed, so gentle you almost whimpered. His tongue barely grazed, only enough to tease, to taste. You felt the warmth of him, the way he held one breast up in his hand with delicate fingers while he mouthed softly at the other. You gasped when his lips closed over your nipple, sucking gently, and your back arched toward him without meaning to.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of his sweater, then under his shirt, fingers meeting hot, bare skin. He jumped slightly at the sudden contact, pulling back from your chest just enough to pant softly against it.

“C-Cold hands,” He whispered breathlessly, grinning faintly against your skin even though his whole body was burning with heat. “Or maybe I’m j-just really warm…” You laughed again, low and soft.

“You are, I think I can even feel your blood boiling.” You joked, keeping your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing across his back and up over the planes of his stomach and chest. You could feel how solid he was beneath you–not just strong, but sensitive, pliant, like he wanted to give all of himself over to your hands, your mouth, your gaze.

And he did.

Bob went back to your breasts, now kissing them between worshipful sighs and breathless, choked words.

“You’re so…So soft,” He murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your sternum. “So warm… I didn’t know it could feel like this. I-I didn’t know it could feel this good just…Just to be close to you...”

You felt a swell of something tender and aching crash into your chest.

You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he’d look at you. And he did with red-cheeks, wide-eyes, and lips that were still shining faintly from the saliva that coated them. And then you leaned in again and kissed him—deeper this time. Slower. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting him, letting him taste you.

His arms wrapped tighter around your waist again and this time, he moved.

“C-Can I…” He panted into the kiss, “Can I bring you to t-the bed?”You nodded against his lips.

“Yes, Bob. Please.” He stood slowly, hands steadying you as he rose, and then–without any real effort at all–he lifted you into his arms. You clutched at his shirt as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, a soft gasp leaving your lips.

”Jesus, sometimes I forget you’re a superhuman basically…” He laughed–nervous but proud that he surprised you with his strength.

”I d-don’t really show it off, so I don’t b-blame you for forgetting.” He murmured, as his skin continued to heat up against you. He walked the two of you the short distance to the unmade bed and lowered you gently onto the cold sheets.

But instead of climbing on top of you, he slid in beside you, curling close–not out of hesitation, but intimacy.

You turned onto your side, your body instinctively seeking him, and hooked one leg over his hip, bringing your thigh around him and pulling him in. The moment he was close enough, you kissed him again–your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers threading through the soft brown strands at the back of his head.

Immediately, he melted into the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth–barely audible, but it vibrated through your chest, and curled low in your stomach– where the tension began to build. Your lips moved against each other in a rhythm that felt like it had been written in the marrow of your bones, like the both of you belonged there together in that moment.

And then Bob pulled back–just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, eating away at the lush blue, his lips were wet and parted as he breathed shallowly, trembling slightly.

”I-I wanna feel everything,” He whispered.

Then with a move that felt bolder than anything he’d ever done, he pulled at the collar of his sweater, pulling it off. The hem dragged over his head, catching slightly on his hair before he tossed it aside, his t-shirt following soon after–slightly rumpled and damp from how hot he was getting.

The moonlight etched the shape of him–slender but strong, pale skin kissed splashed with little drops of freckles and barely-there scars. You saw the muscles move under the skin of his stomach when he breathed in, saw the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying to stay steady in a storm of want.

He slid his arm under your neck and around your shoulders, pulling you close, gathering you into the crook of his body like he needed every inch of contact. Your leg stayed hooked over his waist, your hips now pressed firmly together, heat and need blooming where your bodies touched.

His hand slid slowly down your spine, palm wide, curling gently around the dip of your lower back.

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed. It was molten. Deep. Slow and desperate.

You could feel the way his lips moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t want to consume you–it wanted to worship every inch of you.

As your tongues brushed, you shifted your hips, rolling gently against the line of his thigh. His breath hitched, a surprised little gasp breaking the kiss.

And then his knee shifted.

He tilted his leg slightly between yours, giving you the perfect angle to move against him–and you did. Slowly at first. Just the press of your body rocking into his. You moaned softly against his lips as you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself along him with just the right amount of pressure. It wasn’t loud, but it vibrated between your mouths, slipping into him like a secret you wanted him to feel in his bones.

His lips barely touched yours now–just ghosting–warm and open and trembling, like he was terrified to break the moment. You breathed in at the same time he exhaled, your lips parting in tandem, and it felt like you were drinking each other in. Breath passed between you in small, shared gasps, heat curling where mouths nearly met, where words became vapor.

“Bob…” You whispered into him, and his name felt like silk on your tongue.

The air between your mouths wasn’t even air anymore. It was communion. Heat. Exchange. Like you were tethered by the sheer force of needing each other. His nose brushed yours. Your foreheads pressed together. His breath hit your tongue before it hit his own lungs.

And still–you craved Bob’s touch even more.

You reached between your bodies, your fingers skimming over his wrist before curling around it gently. His pulse jumped under your touch.

You guided his hand down until his knuckles met the waistband of your sweatpants. His breath faltered.

“I need more…” You whispered, voice raw and low–on the brink of begging, “Please…”

Bob didn’t speak at first. He just nodded, quickly like that word please had been carved into him. Then, with trembling fingers, he tugged at the tie of your sweatpants, undoing the bow with care, like he was unwrapping something sacred.

As he did, your fingers slipped down to the tie of his–mirroring him. Equal.

He froze just a little.

“W-What…What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking like a matchstick in the dark.

Your hand kept working the knot, lips hovering over his, your nose brushing his as you breathed:

“I don’t want to be the only one being touched like this.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tightening, chest rising as he tried to hold himself together. But your voice–your need–had undone him completely. He nodded again, slower this time, gaze trailing down to where your hands were now at each other’s waistbands.

And then you both moved.

It wasn’t graceful–no art to it. Just need. Just fumbling, frantic hands pushing sweatpants down over hips, wriggling out of the fabric together in a tangle of half-laughs and sharp breaths and grazes of skin.

Your legs kicked the soft fabric off the edge of the bed and his did the same.

And then you were back–wrapped around each other again. The arm beneath your head pulled you in slowly, as his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, fingers curling slightly like he needed to grab onto something to keep him in the moment. Your thigh returned to his hip, locking yourself into him, and the kiss you shared was now pure fire. It was teeth and tongue and breath and a low, desperate sound torn straight from his throat.

You kissed him like you couldn’t get deep enough. Like you’d climb inside his chest if he let you. And he would. He would.

His hand slid up the back of your neck and into your hair as your mouth’s finally slowed, pulling back slightly to breathe. Your lips stayed apart for him, letting a whisper of space between you.

Your noses touched. His forehead pressed to yours. And when you opened your eyes, he was already staring–flushed and wide and wrecked in the most beautiful way.

Then Bob’s hand moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

He brought it to your mouth, two fingers extended–not tentative, but gently.

“Let me,” He whispered.

You nodded, opening your mouth just a little more for him. You took his fingers in without hesitation, wrapping your tongue around them, wetting them with slow, deliberate passes. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath shaking as you sucked softly–just enough to coat them in warmth.

When he withdrew, he immediately slid his hand down. Beneath your underwear.

And when his fingers found you–hot, wet, already aching for him–he moaned into your cheek.

“Oh, God…” Was all he could choke out, as he slid through your arousal, slow and careful, dragging every drop of slickness to your clit in gentle circles. You gasped–your whole body arching forward into him, closing your eyes at the sensation of his fingers against you.

Your hand moved too now–down his chest, over the soft lines of his abdomen–until your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He hissed at the contact, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You found him hard and hot in your hand, thick and twitching under your fingers as you wrapped around him, stroking slow. Just once. Just enough to feel him jump in your palm.

Bob groaned, low and guttural against your skin.

You both moved together, hands working in tandem–your touch on him firm and steady, his fingers stroking you in slow circles until he dipped one inside. Then another. Stretching you gently, curling just enough to make your breath catch, your thighs tremble.

The bed creaked softly beneath you as the both of you writhed beneath each others hands

Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. You moved together like a tide pull–rocking, gasping, fingers slipping and sliding against one another.

Bob adjusted himself slightly, pressing closer to you, before moving his fingers quicker now–they were still gentle, but there was more purpose to his movements. Like he couldn’t help it. Like your body had hypnotized him into doing exactly what you needed him to do, and his only job was to listen. The pads of his fingers pressed and curled inside you, while his thumb circled your clit with more pressure than before, and the sensation that came from this change bloomed in sharp and immediate trembles.

You gasped–high and sudden–your head tilting back into the solidness of his arm that was wrapped around the back of your neck. Your hand that was wrapped around him, stilled. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

It was too much.

Your free hand flew to his shoulder, fingers digging in, nails curling against the slope of muscle. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, to the moment, to yourself.

Bob’s breath caught as he felt you seize around him, as he watched your eyes flutter and your mouth part in a soundless moan that finally broke into a quiet, desperate whimper. His name left your lips like a secret you’d never told anyone else–torn from the center of you. He could feel it, the way your body trembled against him, the way your muscles clenched around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses.

And he watched.

He watched you come undone with a look of sheer awe painted across his face. His lips parted slightly, eyes fixed on yours, and then on your mouth, like he couldn’t decide what was more beautiful: the way you looked when you fell apart, or the sound of his name when you did.

Your brows furrowed with the force of it, your thighs tightening around his hips, your breath breaking apart like waves crashing on rock.

Bob didn’t stop—not until he felt you ride the last crest of it, your body softening again beneath him. And when you finally blinked, eyes unfocused and lips still parted, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek. Reverent. Almost trembling.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to startle you after such a fragile, shattering moment. You shivered at the loss, and he whispered something into your skin—too soft to make out. But his breath was warm. His lips were warm.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

His hand hovered between you, the slick still glistening faintly in the low light. But he didn’t wipe it away. He just looked at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen.

“C-Can I take these off?” He asked, his voice thick with longing, with excitement, with the weight of everything he was holding back.

His hand ghosted over the band of your underwear, waiting.

You nodded slowly, still breathless, still catching your bearings.

”Yes…Yes please…Please just do what you want to me Bob…I’m already yours.” The moment those words left your lips, one thing inside Bob snapped like a wire that had been wrapped too tight. It wasn’t in a wild, unruly way though. No–this was quiet, controlled, but powerful.

His breath shuddered in his chest as he surged forward to kiss you harder this time, deepening it almost instantly. It was desperate but gently, like he needed to pour all the feelings he couldn’t say into your mouth, into the space between your teeth and tongue and breath.

As he kissed you, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the last barrier down slowly, reverently. His knuckles skimmed your thighs, your hips, the swell of your backside. The fabric clung slightly, then surrendered, pooling around your knees before you helped kick it away.

Bob’s hand dipped next to his own waistband, and you could feel the moment he slid his briefs off. The subtle lift of his hips. The faint brush of heat and bare skin against yours. He was pressed close now–every inch of him.

And when you looked down between your bodies, when your eyes caught the sight of him fully bared–his length flushed light red and thick, curving slightly, the tip glistening with need–you felt heat flood every nerve in your body. The moment was more than just physical. It was overwhelming. He was ready, so ready, not just in body but in soul, in the way he looked at you like you were gravity and breath and sky all at once.

Bob swallowed hard, as if he could feel you seeing all of him, as if the intimacy of being witnessed so completely was almost too much to bear.

But he didn’t look away.

Instead, he shifted–slowly, carefully–until he was over you. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of your body, muscles tense as though he were anchoring himself to the world. You welcomed him with a soft sigh, parting your legs wider to cradle his hips, letting him settle into the space that had always been meant for him–since the day you realized you wanted him like this.

He leaned down first–pressing a kiss to your chest. Right between your breasts. Then another to the slope of one, then the other. Then higher. His lips grazed your sternum, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was warm, slow, and sacred.

By the time his mouth found yours again, you were breathless from just the journey of it.

He kissed you with everything. Not just hunger, but reverence. Like your lips were a language he’d studied for years but only just learned how to speak.

And then–without a word–he reached for your hand.

You let him take it easily, watching the way his long fingers wrapped around yours. He brought it up gently, pressing it down into the mattress beside your head, his grip secure but soft–like he wanted to hold you in place but never trap you.

That one motion nearly undid you.

It wasn’t restraint.

It was his way of closeness. The kind that made you feel tethered to him, like your bodies weren’t just aligned–they were entwined, they were marking. Like they were made to be this close. Built for this level of intimacy for only each other.

His forehead rested against yours again. You could feel every exhale fan across your lips.

“I wanna go slow,” He whimpered, voice breaking like dusk light through the curtains. “I wanna…Wanna feel all of you…Every second of you…”

You reached your free hand up to his face, and your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, slow and tender, like you were tracing the edge of a secret only you were allowed to know. His skin was warm beneath your touch–warmer than it had ever been–and you could feel the tremble in his breath as he waited, eyes searching yours like they were the only compass he had left.

“And I want you to lose yourself in me.” You replied. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment he just breathed like your words had cracked something open in his chest. When he looked at you again, there was something new behind his expression–like awe and fear had melted into devotion.

“If anything becomes too much, you have to tell me…” He said, voice almost broken with the weight of care. You nodded, but your hand tightened in his.

”It won’t…But I promise if it does I will tell you.” He dipped his head lower again, as if he couldn't bear the space between your mouths any longer, and pressed a kiss to your lips again absorbing the softness of them, the warmth. Your hand threaded through his hair, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him so he was pressed right against you.

And then–his hand moved down between your bodies. You felt the slow drag of his palm against the outside of your thigh, then the careful slide of his fingers as he reached down and guided himself to you. He breathed out when he felt you coat him, your wetness catching on every ridge of him as he slid himself against your entrance–once, twice, gathering all of you onto him. His body twitched with restraint. His jaw clenched. He pressed his forehead harder against yours as if the contact was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

The moment he pushed in, your bodies stopped breathing.

Your mouth parted with a gasp–sharp and soft–as he sank into you slowly, inch by inch, until you felt your body stretch and adjust to every curve of him. Bob choked on a breath the second he felt your warmth take him in, his face screwing up in something between a sob and a moan. His forehead pressed harder against yours, like if he moved any other way he’d fall apart.

“God–oh, God…” He whispered, voice ragged and frayed at the edges. “Holy…You’re…You’re so” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too overwhelmed by the feel of you wrapped around him, every pulse and tremble drawing him deeper into the haze of you.

Your hand clenched tighter in his, and you felt the way his fingers locked with yours, grounding himself with your grip as he bottomed out. A low, aching sound slipped from your throat and caught in the space between your lips, and you felt it shake against his mouth as he kissed you again–slow, reverent, his tongue barely brushing yours as he tried to breathe.

“You’re doing so good,” You whispered into him, your voice like silk over fire. “Just stay right there. Just let me feel you…”

He whimpered at that, a broken noise into your mouth, like the praise undid him. He didn’t move–couldn’t, not yet at least. He was just holding himself there, buried inside you, feeling the way your body fluttered around him.

“I-It’s like…Like you’re pulling me apart,” He said, breathless. “And putting me back together all at once…”

His hand left yours slowly, reluctantly, fingers sliding down your wrist with a feather-light touch as he reached for your thigh. You felt it happen in stages–the way his hand cradled the back of your knee, the way he gently guided your leg up higher on his waist, opening you up further, angling himself deeper.

The shift made your breath catch. He slid in even further, the new position sending a wave of pressure right through your core, and you gasped into his mouth. Bob groaned–breathlessly low, lost—and his hips jolted forward once, like he couldn’t help himself.

You could feel him trembling above you, his hand still gripping your thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“I need…” he murmured into your neck, voice barely coherent, “Need to be closer—need to feel all of you.”

“You are,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “You’re already in every part of me.”

He rocked into you, slow at first–agonizing in its care–like he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made when he moved. Your bodies stayed pressed together, chest to chest, lips to jaw, gasps shared like breathless secrets.

And then you reached up.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, until your fingers slid gently into his mouth. Bob’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and stunned–and then he groaned, low in his chest, as he closed his lips around them.

You watched him–watched his lashes flutter, his breath hitch, the way his hips stuttered forward harder now, more desperate, like the taste of you on his tongue had undone something deep and buried inside him.

You moaned at the sight of it–at the way he sucked your thumbs, not rough, but with such reverence you almost passed out, on the brink of obedience.

You slipped your thumbs from his mouth slowly, watching the glossy string of saliva stretch and catch in the moonlight like silk spun from reverence. Bob’s lips stayed parted, his breath hot against your fingers, his tongue brushing the edge of one thumb as you pulled it away. And then, without breaking the contact, you trailed the damp touch down his jaw–soft, deliberate, leaving a glistening line in its wake.

His whole body stilled.

You felt him twitch inside you, felt the sharp inhale he tried and failed to control. And then your fingers tilted his chin up.

“Look at me,” You whispered, your voice low and rich with everything you couldn’t say with words alone. His eyes lifted to yours like he was coming up for air, like your gaze was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the moment completely. He looked wrecked–beautifully so. Lips kiss-bruised, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears, pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes completely now. You could see every flicker of awe in his expression, every ounce of need, of surrender. You brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, then swept them up into his hair, pushing the sweat-dampened strands from his forehead with aching tenderness. His breath caught when you did it, like your touch alone unraveled something buried too deep for him to reach.

“You’re doing so good…You feel so good inside me, Bob.” You whispered, voice like velvet as your thumbs stroked the sides of his face. His hips stuttered forward—once, then again. A trembling gasp slipped from his throat as he sank in deeper, the pace no longer slow but no less careful. It was desperate now. Steady and aching. Each thrust felt like it was pulled from the center of him, like he was trying to carve himself into your body—leaving a part of his soul there.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room in soft, rhythmic slaps. Your breathing hitched with each one, your legs tightening around his hips to pull him in, to keep him close. You could feel how badly he was trying to keep control, how every movement was threaded with reverence and restraint. But his body–his need–was beginning to override his fear.

And you wanted that.

“Don’t hold back,” You said between soft gasps, brushing his hair back again, curling your fingers against his neck. “I want you to give it to me. Everything.”

His face twisted like he was going to cry. He dipped down and kissed you hard, and sloppily, like he was already too far gone to keep it clean. His tongue slipped into your mouth, searching for yours, and when he found it, he moaned into the kiss like he’d been starving for it. He fucked you through it–deeper now, faster–his hips rolling in a way that had your head falling back onto the pillows.

“Oh God…Oh–fuck–Bob,” You whined, your nails raking lightly down his back. He gasped at the sharp drag, chasing the friction because he liked the burn it brought him.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” He choked, voice breaking as his thrusts grew uneven. “I can’t—I can’t slow down—I n-need—”

”No…Fuck. Don’t apologize you feel so fucking good. Please––Please don’t fucking stop.” You interrupted, desperate now, feeling your stomach twisting into knots. He dropped his forehead against yours again, lips brushing yours with every breath, and drove into you harder. Deeper. Each movement was more desperate, more pleading, as if his body was trying to reach some part of you his words couldn’t. The bed shifted beneath you, the frame creaking, but neither of you noticed. Not when it felt like your souls were colliding.

You felt everything building again, fast–hot and coiled and pulsing at the center of you.

“Bob…” You whimpered, your voice cracking with need, “I-I’m close, I’m so close…” His eyes met yours again–blown wide, glassy, nodding.

“I-I’m gonna come too,” He panted, and then the question tumbled out of him, desperate and ragged–“Where—Where do you want me to…?”

Your body trembled.

“In me,” You breathed, cupping his cheek again, pulling him close, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Inside me, Bob. I want to feel it dripping out of me all day tomorrow.”

And that was it.

Bob cried out–barely a sound, more of a broken whimper–and buried himself to the hilt inside you. His hips stilled with a violent shudder, and then he came. You felt the heat of it, the way his body jerked as he pulsed inside you, moaning your name like it was the only prayer he knew. His arms locked around you, trembling as he held you through it.

And then–seconds later–you followed.

You clenched around him as your body went tight, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting in a soundless cry that turned into a whimper of his name. He felt you come around him, fluttering, pulsing, your legs tightening around his waist as your body shook with the force of it.

He kissed you through the aftershocks–soft and slow now. Like a thank you. Like an apology. Like he was still trying to give you more even after he’d already given you everything. Then he collapsed into your arms, chest heaving, lips brushing against your throat with such tenderness you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much he truly cared about you.

And then–out of nowhere–you laughed. It wasn’t loud or mocking. It was soft, breathy, and stunned.

“W-What? What did I––Did I do something?” He asked, lifting his head quickly, eyes wide and flushed with concern. You reached up, still giggling as your fingers gently swept the hair off his forehead.

”No,” You said with a smile so wide your cheeks ached, “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just…I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” You could see the relief in Bob’s eyes when you said it, as he let out the softest laugh. A breathless, giddy kind of noise.

”I-I was so scared to mess the friendship up…” He admitted, his nose brushing yours again, voice low and shy, “But I’ve wanted you for so long…” You nodded.

”I know,” You whispered, kissing his cheek, “Me too Bob.” He let the moment linger for a heartbeat longer, then shifted slightly, wincing as he carefully pulled back. You gasped quietly at the sensation of him slipping out, a hot flutter leaving your core in the wake of it. You tightened your thighs reflexively as you sighed, and Bob caught the look on your face instantly.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned now, pushing your hair back from your forehead.

”Just a bit sore,” You admitted, cheeks flushed, “It’s been a while since I…Y’know.” Bob nodded, slowly getting up from the bed, pulling on the boxers he had on before.

”I’ll be right back–I’m gonna grab a warm washcloth, okay?” He said gently, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips, “Don’t move.” You smiled at him.

”Okay.” You whispered, watching his silhouette pad across the room and disappear into the bathroom, as he turned on the pale white light. You could hear the gentle rush of water, the sound of the towel drawer sliding open, and the rustle of cloth.

He returned a minute later, stopping at his dresser to pull a pair of boxer shorts and one of his old, soft t-shirts, before making his way back to you.

“A-Alright,” He whispered, setting the clothes beside you as he kneeled back onto the bed, “You tell me if anything hurts…Okay?” You nodded, watching as he eased your thighs open. You winced slightly at the sting, but bit back a gasp. He brought the cloth between your legs and cleaned you carefully, delicately, like every part of you was sacred. The warmth helped a bit with the soreness thankfully, so now all you felt was the euphoria of the come down.

Once he finished, he set the cloth on the bedside table, then helped ease the boxers up your legs. They were soft and loose around your thighs, a simple comfort, as you lifted your hips slightly to help. He then tugged the shirt gently over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with a kind of tender concentration like he was worried he might do it wrong.

When it was all done he let out a soft sigh, one full of warmth and the heavy pull of contentment. You were blissed out, sore in a way that felt good. And he was still looking at you with such admiration it made your heart race.

You lifted your arms in front of you.

The motion was simple–gentle, slow, but deliberate. An offering. A request. And Bob’s entire body reacted to it like it was instinct. He didn’t say anything–didn’t need to. His shoulders dipped forward as he crawled up into your arms, letting himself be folded against your chest, nuzzling in like he was coming home. He was careful, even now–making sure his weight didn’t press too much into your legs, tugging the thin top sheet off the corner of the bed before wrapping it loosely around both of your bodies.

He laid his head on your chest, just over your heart, and you felt him exhale fully for what might’ve been the first time all night. His arm slipped around your waist, his other hand curling loosely over your ribs as he pressed his cheek to the center of you, listening.

You held him close, your arms winding around his shoulders, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing slowly along his scalp in lazy, thoughtful strokes. He hummed–barely a sound, more of a breath–but it vibrated softly into the shirt you wore.

The sheet was thin, barely a whisper of fabric between you and the cooling air, but you didn’t need more than that. Not when you had this. The weight of him. The heat of him. Bob tilted his face slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the fabric at the underside of your breast, where your heartbeat fluttered near the surface. You smiled at him, your hand stroking down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melted into you even further.

“Y-You’re amazing Y/N…” He whispered, “And I’m so…So in love with you.”

[fearlessreid]

Destiny or Not : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Witch!Reader

Summary: As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive but NOT explicit, soulmate-ish trope, TOTAL idiots in love, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, feminine description of reader, it's Bob (implied mental illness there)

Word Count: 3,015 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: A request involving a "soulmate" type connection that I can easily turn into a witch reader? I'm sold. Shout-out to my friend Junie for the extra revisions on this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

It had started randomly one night. Months after Tony Stark had sacrificed himself to save the world, after you and billions of others had been brought back from the blip. After your mentor had accidentally enslaved an entire town out of grief, after she’d let the power of the Darkhold consume her. When you looked Wanda Maximoff in the eyes as she held The Book of Vishanti in her hands and destroyed it. After you’d tried desperately to save her from herself that day on Mount Wundagore and failed.

Back in your apartment that night, you’d cried for the loss of your mentor, until there was a flicker of red magic across the room. Sat at your desk was The Book of Vishanti, lying there in tact, with a simple note scrawled in Wanda’s handwriting. 

I’m sorry for everything. Your destiny lies here, but sometimes knowing is worse than not. It’s in your hands, now.

You’d elected to never look, to never see your destiny, but almost every night from the moment you touched that book on, you dreamed of him. The man with soft brown hair, blue eyes that seemed to peer into your soul, and powers unlike anything you’d ever seen.

The first night you’d awoken in your dream, you were lying in bed beside the man. He peered at you, reaching out with his hand hesitantly to cup your cheek, as if afraid that you would run away.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know?” you’d teased him, your grin only growing at the faint blush that quickly spread across his cheeks.

“You…you make me nervous,” he’d muttered back to you in embarrassment. Your hand had found its place resting against his bare chest, against the skin that you’d come to learn ran unusually hot, and you felt his heart rate quicken.

“Good, because you make me nervous too,”

You’d kissed in that dream, that dream that felt all too real at times. It felt like deja vu as you kissed the man before you, but it couldn’t be. You’d never met him before, and you’d certainly never been kissed before. Being thrust into work with the Avengers from a young age, being taken under the wing of a witch that barely understood what she was herself, it hadn’t lent itself to many romantic moments over time.

When the kiss had ended, your dream self had flipped over, the man’s unusually warm body pressing to your back as the pair of you drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms. But the sight before you, the room you could see, you knew it: it was the former Avengers tower in New York, you knew it for sure.

The dreams continued for almost two years. Sometimes you dreamed of him every night of the week, sometimes just once or twice, but no two dreams were ever the same. 

Some of them were sweet, just like the first one. You were in the former Avengers tower, which you knew for certain. But there were always people around you, like Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' old best friend. Or a girl you’d only ever heard in stories, Yelena Belova, the younger sister of the Black Widow. There were movie nights shared between you all, there were private picnics on the terrace of the tower with just you and your mystery man with the shaggy brown hair, anything you could imagine.

Then, there were the ones ingrained in fighting. Battles waged, so many that you couldn’t keep track. In some, you didn’t seem to be any older than you currently were, while in others, you seemed to be much, much older than now. In every single one, you fought at the man’s side, the Witch and who they called the Sentry, an unstoppable duo that was feared and respected across the world and the galaxy.

The steamy ones were the ones that had you waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, desperate to take a cold shower and relieve yourself of the feelings you hadn’t ever felt before. There weren’t many of you and the man when you were young, but the times there were, it was like watching two inexperienced idiots fumble around the room together. He’d lifted you up onto the counter of the tower’s kitchen once, underestimating his strength and slamming your head off the cupboard behind you. You’d laughed it off as he apologized profusely, both of you flushing red as Bucky walked into the kitchen with a simple shake of his head. There was another one that stuck vividly in your mind as you’d randomly pulled him into your bedroom one day, trying so desperately to undress yourself that you’d managed to fall flat on your face on the floor.

The steamier dreams where you’re older…those were ones you tried not to think about. Those brought heat to your cheeks immediately.

The problem was, in all of these dreams, you’d never learned his name. It was like anytime someone tried to say his name, it ended up censored, so you would never know. You had nothing to go on to learn if this man was even real.

It wasn’t until, through contacts that you’d gained from your connection with the former Avengers team, that you’d gotten your lead. There were rumblings of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine working on her version of a serum that could create the ultimate superhero: The Sentry Project.

You knew you couldn’t be mistaken; that was him. The fluffy brown hair you’d spent your downtime playing with and running your fingers through, the arms you’d spent countless dreams entwined in, and those soft brown puppy-dog eyes you couldn’t forget. It was the man from your dreams. 

Under the guise of “working for Valentina,” you’d been trying your hardest to find out more about the Sentry project, but it was a secret that Valentina kept closely under wraps. You’d never gotten the training from Wanda and the Avengers that you truly needed, though, and you wore your heart on your sleeve. It didn’t take long for Valentina to learn that you were trying to learn more about her secret project, which is why she knew she had to send you into the Vault that day.

There were three guns pointed at you, and then back at each other, before back at you. You’d settled for just your hands and your magic, forgoing any weapons, as wisps of magic danced around your fingers.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt any of you,” you’d nervously laughed, looking between the three in front of you. As your fighting ceased, it slowly dawned on you that standing before you was Yelena Belova, along with two people who had been in the background of so many of your dreams over the years. It was Yelena that cocked a gun in your direction.

“We’re all here to kill each other, so that doesn’t make much sense.”

“I-I don’t want to kill anyone!” you tried to reason with her, stuttering over your words for a moment as you waved your hands around, magic dancing through the air with them. “Look, it’s so complicated, but I don’t even want to be here! I-I just want to find out about Project Sentry-”

The man with the shield turned his gun on you next with a laugh.

“Project Sentry, huh? Sounds like some classified information someone would be sneaking in here to steal,”

You’d fumbled for a minute, unsure how to go forward now that there were multiple guns trained on you, and your magic flickered for a second as you faltered. You’d all spun on your heels toward the door, though, as the sound of another person coughing sounded across the room.

The man had barely crawled across the floor, hadn’t even looked up yet, but you could feel him. Like a tug on your soul, you could almost feel everything about him. And the second he looked up, his eyes locking with yours as his fidgeting with his clothing ceased, your breath caught in your throat.

“W-whoa…” he’d stuttered out, eyes wide as he pointed a finger in your direction, the other three mercenaries in the room simply watching in silence and confusion. “It’s…it’s you! From my dreams!”

Your hands dropped almost instantly as you let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Oh my god…you’re real,”

The name you’d wondered about for two years now was so simple, yet so him: Bob. You wished your first time meeting him had gone smoothly, that the next few days would have been simple, but they were anything but. There were moments scattered throughout that you’d dreamt of before, and he had too. When you’d protected him in the hallway trying to escape from the vault and Valentina’s team, when you’d refused to fight him at the top of the former Avengers Tower, or when you’d chased him through the Void, promising to be by his side and to help save him from himself.

Now, months had passed, and for the second time in your life, you were an Avenger again, but this time with a new team and no mentor to show you the ropes. Your new team, your friends, were sick and tired of you, though, because all you and Bob did was dance around one another.

You’d confided in Yelena and Bucky your dreams, the pull on your soul, and the connection you knew you had to Bob buried deep inside you, while Bob had confessed the same to John and Ava (though his confession was more coerced out of him than freely given). But for the most part, you danced around one another.

It was infuriating to see the way you and Bob were attached at the hip, but neither of you was able to admit anything to one another. Accidental hand brushes almost every day, matching blushing cheeks, and your inability to talk to one another without stumbling over your words. Alexei was groaning almost constantly, watching the pair of you dance around your feelings, feelings he claimed were “written in the stars.”

You and Bob had conversations here and there regarding dreams you’d shared, about how weird it was to experience them and know that they would potentially happen. But your conversations always skirted around the steamy dreams, the intimate ones, the ones that showed the connection you held that went far past platonic. But it was gnawing at both of you, the pull that you felt to one another every second of the day, that one day it finally came to a head.

“D-do you want to uh, to go up to the roof with me?”

You’d looked up from your place at the kitchen sink, arms deep within the suds as you scrubbed away at the dirty dishes left over from team dinner the night before. Warmth flooded your cheeks immediately as you looked at Bob, who wasn’t even looking at you but was fidgeting with the two sandwiches on the plate before him that he was making.

“O-oh, uh uh-yeah, sure. Any uh, any reason why?”

The flush that spread across his skin was evident from where you were, as she shrugged.

“Our friends, they’re uh…they’re loud sometimes. And you haven’t eaten yet, so uh, I made you a sandwich,”

You bit into your bottom lip, trying to calm the nerves dancing around the pit of your stomach and alleviate the tension that was pulling on the cord connecting the two of you.

“Yeah. Why don’t- why don’t you head up and I’ll meet you up there when I finish up the dishes,”

The dishes could’ve waited, but you needed the extra ten minutes it afforded you to calm down. There was some distant memory in your mind of that moment, a sense of deja vu flooding you as you felt like you’d dreamt of that exact conversation at one point in time. You did everything you could to put on a faint air of confidence to yourself as you joined Bob on the roof of the Watchtower.

The last time you’d been on this roof was to celebrate Alexei’s birthday a few months ago. He had desperately wanted to celebrate while looking over the skyline of “the greatest city in the world,” but the high winds that were experienced at that height on top of a skyscraper were…less than ideal. He’d enjoyed his birthday gift from you, which was an enchantment surrounding the rooftop garden of the building, blocking out the wind and allowing him to enjoy the party the rest of the team set up for him.

Bob was sitting cross-legged on one of the couches left behind on the rooftop from the party, hands wringing together in his lap as he looked up to see you walk out onto the patio area. He smiled, nervousness radiating off of him, as you took a seat beside him.

“I should come up here more often,” you softly told him, wringing your own hands together before busying yourself with grabbing the plate he’d left for you with your sandwich. “The sunset over the city…it’s beautiful.”

“I come up here sometimes to think,” Bob told you, taking a bite of his sandwich while glancing over at you. “I’m uh, not a fan of heights…but it’s still pretty.”

You’d both gone silent to eat your sandwiches, but you could feel the weight of the conversation hanging in the air, the one you knew would come someday. The tug in your heart every time you looked at him, the feeling in your soul that urged you to simply move closer to him, despite the elevated heart rate coursing through you.

“Bob-”

“Do you think about them?” his voice had cut you off, the words rushed out as he looked up at you, hugging his arms around his knees as his leg began to shake. “The…the dreams?”

“All the time,” you told him quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Since we met, though, we haven’t had any new ones.”

“What do you…think of them?”

“They’re…comforting,” was the word you settled on, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked away from Bob for a moment, admiring the colors of the sunset in the sky. “At first, they uh, they were weird. I’ve never really been with anyone…romantically, at least. So being myself in situations like that…they were weird. But you-you-you became this weird constant in my life. I enjoyed going to sleep, knowing that uh, that I’d see you in my dreams. That’s why I tried so hard to find you.”

There was quiet between you both for a moment as you came to terms with your own words, as you accepted the feeling that you were pretty sure was buried in your heart before you even knew about it: you loved him, you loved him before you even knew who he was. Truthfully, your love for him was probably woven into the seams of who you were and who you were going to be before you were even born. And somewhere, deep down in the connection tied between you both and laid out across the dreams you knew were more than just dreams, you knew he loved you, too.

Before you could voice any of this to Bob, he beat you to it.

“I like you!” the outburst interrupted the silence as you turned back to him, frozen in place as Bob stumbled through his words to find the right way to explain it all. “Well, uh, I think I…I think I love you, more so than like. And maybe- maybe I always have? It’s confusing. But since I met you, I…I always want to be around you and- and I can’t imagine ever being with anyone but you…”

Mustering even the smallest bit of confidence you could, you took Bob’s hand in your own, flashing him what you hoped was a comforting smile even as nerves flooded your system.

“After Wanda, my mentor, died on Mount Wundagore, she’d left me something: The Book of Vishanti,” you explained to him. “Wanda’s destiny was written out in The Darkhold, and she told me mine was written out in The Book of Vishanti. I decided never to look, that it was better never to know, and I’d let it play out instead. But I know if I did look…you’d be there. You’d be written across every inch of my destiny. And destiny or not…I-I think I’d fall in love with you all the same.”

It took a moment for the smile matching your own to cross his face, before his palm turned to face yours, your fingers intertwining with one another. You sat on that roof, smiling at one another like fools in love, before Bob let out a breathy laugh.

“How-how do we do…this?”

“Beats me, I’ve never gotten this far,” you’d laughed with him, shifting closer as the space between you both gradually shrank until it was nothing. “Our dream selves…they seem pretty adept at it, though.”

“Maybe it, uh…maybe it just takes practice?”

You both teetered on the edge for a moment before Bob made the first move, surging forward and pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. He’d pulled back sooner than you wanted him to, matching blushes coating your cheeks.

It was your turn, the ice already broken, as you surged toward him this time, pressing your lips back to his and refusing to pull away. That tug between you both seemed to lighten finally as 

that wall was finally broken between the two of you, laughter flowing between you both as you pressed kiss after kiss to his lips. Now that you’d finally known the feeling of his lips on yours outside of your dreams, you never wanted it to end.

Locked in your world together, neither of you were privy to the knowledge that Alexei was currently bolting away from the rooftop door and down the stairs, yelling out for Yelena and the team that “his ship was finally sailing.”

[fearlessreid]

[fearlessreid]

They mischaracterised me in an x reader

[fearlessreid]

saw a post that said “fanfic writers need to stop using dashes so we can tell which posts are ai”

i’m anti ai. in fact i despise ai

but you guys are gonna have to pull dashes from my cold dead hands.

also can we stop accusing writers of ai the second the wind blows wrong, it’s discouraging writers from posting and soon nobody is gonna be posting because people are throwing ai accusations like it’s the salem witch trials.

anyways this is my rant for today, take this with a grain salt, my comments are not open for arguments.

[fearlessreid]

BRO THIS IS SO ME ALWAYS??? Anyone else????

Found on a post by @fic-dumpster

[fearlessreid]

Uncharted Territory

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: During a study session that turns into something more, a simple kiss on the forehead unexpectedly leaves Eddie completely hot and bothered.

Tags: fluff, humor, teasing, implied praise kink, new couple, established relationship, first time, reader is sunshine incarnate, tender intimacy, virgin!Eddie Munson. No description of Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: This fic is inspired by this post by @sheneedsrocknroll92 , I thought it was funny and probably something that would happen to Eddie. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 1.8k

masterlist

You weren’t supposed to notice him.

Not in the way that mattered.

Eddie Munson knew his place at Hawkins High. Resident freak. Satanic panic poster boy. The kid teachers gave up on and parents warned their kids about. People stared, sure—but only long enough to whisper, then look away.

But you never looked away.

You smiled.

The first time was in the cafeteria. You were sitting with your friends, those pastel, soft-voiced types with glitter pens and locker decorations. You didn’t look like someone who would know his name, let alone say it. But when he passed your table, you lifted your head and smiled straight at him. Bright. Simple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He almost dropped his tray.

The next day, you waved in the hallway. He looked behind him just to make sure it was actually for him. You laughed. Said, “Hi, Eddie!” like you’d done it a thousand times.

He spent the rest of the week convinced someone put you up to it.

Except… you kept doing it.

You showed up near his locker. Lingered near Hellfire with a soda and a snack in hand. Laughed at his dumb jokes even when no one else did. It was like you orbiting around his life was normal, like he didn’t have to prove he was worthy of it.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Because you were sunshine in a person. The kind of girl people opened up to without meaning to. The kind who said things like “you look handsome today” with complete sincerity, not even knowing the chaos it would cause in someone like him. Eddie was used to being mocked, dismissed, at best tolerated. You were different.

The scary part was how fast he got used to it.

He started looking forward to you. Every hallway run-in. Every shared lunch on the bleachers. Every time you curled your fingers around his wrist like it was no big deal. And then, the moment that flipped his world upside down—you kissed his cheek and said:

“I like you, Eddie. Just putting that out there.”

Then you smiled and walked off like you didn’t just detonate a bomb in his chest.

It took him a week to build the courage. A week of sweaty palms and bad dreams and practicing in the mirror. Then he found you after school, heart in his throat, and said something completely idiotic like, “I also like. You. Like-you. You, I like.”

You just grinned, slid your fingers into his, and said, “Cool. Because I think we look good together.”

Like it was that simple.

And, god, maybe it was.

You made it easy.

Eddie had no idea what the hell he was doing. You were his first everything. First kiss. First girlfriend. First person to call him “baby” like it belonged to him. He thought he’d mess it up. He still thinks that, sometimes. But you’ve never once made him feel like he was falling behind.

You make him feel… like he could be good at this.

You play with his hair when he’s sprawled out on your couch. You cheer for him when he wins boss fights in Hellfire, even though you barely understand what’s going on. You bring him peanut butter M&M’s and wear his Hellfire shirt, even though it’s baggy on you and smells like his cologne. And you hold his hand like it’s just what people do.

He doesn’t always know how to respond. He’s still learning. Sometimes his brain fries when you lean into his side or call him “pretty boy.” But he loves the way you look at him when you do.

Like he’s something precious.

Like he’s not some loser hiding behind loud clothes and louder words.

And two months in, Eddie Munson is still stunned every single day that he gets to have you.

That someone like you wanted someone like him.

That maybe—just maybe—he’s not entirely unlovable after all.

It’s late afternoon and the sun is doing that lazy golden thing through Eddie’s window, casting long, warm streaks across his bed. The two of you are sitting cross-legged on the mattress, notebooks and worksheets spread in a hopeless mess between you. Eddie’s handwriting is still a disaster, half the math problems are half-finished, and somehow there’s a doodle of a dragon in the corner of the page.

You should be annoyed.

But instead, you’re beaming.

“Okay,” you say, tapping your pencil against your knee. “You didn’t totally flunk that one. That’s, like, a B-minus effort. Maybe even a solid B. I’m proud of you.”

Eddie groans, flopping back dramatically on the bed. “I got five out of twelve, sweetheart.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You got two right last week. That’s progress.”

He peeks at you through his hair. “Baby steps, huh?”

“Exactly.” You crawl closer, lifting a hand to brush the bangs from his forehead. He freezes beneath your touch, a familiar stiffness he still hasn’t grown out of. It’s not discomfort—it’s reverence. Like he still doesn’t understand how you touch him so gently, like you don’t think twice about it.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Simple. Sweet. Warm.

And that’s when it happens.

You pull back like nothing’s changed. But Eddie is suddenly dead quiet. His body tenses, his arms shoot around his torso like he’s guarding something, and before you can even blink, he’s curling up into himself like a human shield.

“Eddie?”

He lets out a strained noise. High-pitched. Embarrassed. “Yeah, no—I’m good. Just. Just need a minute. Maybe a few minutes. Don’t look at me.”

You blink. “Wait… are you—?”

“Don’t say it.”

“…Did a forehead kiss really just—?”

“Don’t say it,” he groans, pulling a pillow into his lap like it’s a weapon, dragging one of his old Metallica hoodies across himself in record time. His ears are bright red. His hair’s a mess from how fast he moved. He looks like he’s about to combust.

And you… start laughing.

Not cruel, not mean. Just startled, delighted giggles spilling out before you can stop them. Because this boy—this five-ten, metal-loving, D&D-obsessed chaos gremlin—just got hot and bothered over a forehead kiss.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes. “You poor thing.”

He groans again, flopping backward like he’s dying. “You don’t understand. It was too sweet. Too nice. My brain short-circuited. I didn’t even know that could happen.”

You slide closer, biting your lip to suppress another laugh. “Eddie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! You just kissed my head and now I’m having a hormonal crisis. That’s not normal. People don’t just do that.”

“Actually,” you say gently, brushing your fingers through his curls, “they do. It’s just that most people don’t feel everything all at once like you do.”

You duck your head until your forehead rests against his. “It’s okay, Eddie. I love that about you.”

He stares at you. Flustered. Overwhelmed. And still very much refusing to move his pillow.

“…Okay, but like, next time maybe warn me before doing something that affectionate.”

You didn’t stop smiling.

Even after his dramatics. Even after he tried hiding under the pillow like it was a shield from the embarrassment of having a boner caused by a forehead kiss. You just kept looking at him like he was the cutest thing in the world.

Which, unfortunately, did not help his current situation.

You leaned over him, voice light and teasing. “Y’know… this is kinda flattering.”

He peeked up. “You’re flattered?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, poking his ribs gently. “It’s nice to know I can wreck you that easily.”

Eddie let out a low, half-strangled groan. “You are so unfair.”

“I’m very fair,” you said, tilting your head. “I just didn’t expect forehead kisses to be your weakness.”

“It’s not,” he muttered. “It wasn’t. It—god, I don’t know, it felt like you were taking care of me.”

You stilled a little at that. Your voice softened. “Well… I was.”

He looked up at you.

You bit your lip thoughtfully, then reached down, brushing your fingers through his curls. “You know… I could keep doing that. Taking care of you.”

Eddie blinked. “Wh���what, like… now?”

You nodded. Your voice was calm, careful. “If you want. We don’t have to. But if you do want… I’ll be gentle. I’ll go slow. I just want you to feel good.”

Eddie swallowed hard, pupils blown, breath catching in his chest. He was pretty sure his brain had left his body a few minutes ago. You were so soft, so sweet, so stupidly beautiful, and you were looking at him like he was the precious one.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Yeah. I… want you to.”

You smiled at him like that was the best answer he could’ve given.

“Alright, baby,” you whispered, removing the pillow and climbed into his lap with slow, careful movements.

Eddie’s hands found your waist instinctively, holding you like you might vanish if he let go. You brushed your nose against his, pressing a light kiss to his lips first—then another, and another, deeper each time.

It started slow. Gentle.

Then his fingers tightened.

Then your hips rolled.

And by the time his head tipped back against the pillow, both of you breathless and warm, you were rocking slowly together, hips bumping in a soft rhythm, mouths never parting for long.

Your hands cupped his face.

His arms circled your waist.

And the world outside his bedroom melted away as you kissed him deeper—teaching him, guiding him, loving him like no one ever had.

Eddie was still staring at the ceiling when you flopped beside him with a satisfied sigh, your limbs brushing his.

There was a long pause.

Then, in a dazed voice, he mumbled, “I think I saw God.”

You burst out laughing, burying your face into his shoulder.

He turned to you, blinking slowly, curls a mess, skin flushed pink across the cheeks and down his chest. “Like. I’m serious. She looked just like you. But like—glowier.”

You nudged his side with a grin. “Are you trying to flirt with me after we had sex?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because now I really don’t want you to leave me.”

You laughed again, kissing the tip of his nose. “Baby, I’ve been your girlfriend for two months.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like I need to propose. Or like, write a ballad. Or get your name tattooed on my—”

“Eddie.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Unless you think the tattoo thing is hot. I’ll do it.”

You rolled your eyes, cuddling into his chest. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms curling around your shoulders. “Ridiculous and lucky.”

You smiled into his skin, fingers drawing slow shapes across his ribs. “You did great, baby.”

There was a pause.

Then, a groan. “Don’t say that again right now.”

“Why not?” you asked innocently, already giggling.

“Because last time you said that, I got bodily betrayed, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to recover twice in one night.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you rest… for now.”

“Threat noted,” he muttered, but he was smiling—broad and crooked and deeply in love.

And so were you.

[fearlessreid]

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

[fearlessreid]

Me feeling like Bella every night chossing which man I want to read hard smut about.

[fearlessreid]

richard harmon as alex wright in “grave encounters 2”