#bob barnes imagines

[senka-mesecine]

beseech You about fluffy Barnes, It's such a rarity to read something like this, I love you madly, you're the reason I'm opening my phone'

Close Quarters.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

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wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

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The patrol culminates in rain and thunder.

At 0200 the drenched, tired reconnaissance team wordlessly halts in the bosom of the overgrown bush fenced off from all sides by colossal tree trunks as a natural borderland, rain coming down hard, pelting and pawing at the foliage, the thumping sounds of a shower downpour dancing pins and dots on the grass leaving a haze of heated mist behind, the greenery, needles of water ricocheting off the meaty surface of Monstera and overgrown, towering Alocasia leaves when the signal is silently given sometime after three hours of continuous movement westwards, through the valley about to be hit with the prelude to the early monsoon season announced by a cacophony of crickets, frogs, the squeaking of Tokay gecko lizards and the repetitive chirping of the Blue Eared Barbet bird, one hand held up to signalize; the Lieutenant and Sergeants raising their arm to the square, palm forward, fingers and thumb extended; you've slept in the wild during the rain before, sure, hauling equipment, backpacks, the fatigues on your own exhausted spine, the air so humid and stifling even at this late hour, almost like the pitch black, cloud-heavy sky overhead was pressing down on the warm oxygen, trapping it between the jungle and the atmosphere not unlike a hydraulic press, that the quiet past-midnight storm was almost welcome in a strange way --- a rare bit of fresh, breathable air in an oven --- washing you down like an overly heated piece of plate gets sprayed down by a hose from somewhere overhead. He never slept. Part of you wondered how that was even humanly possible. Or at least, nobody has ever seen him do it; no doubt, he viewed it like some act of inherent, profound vulnerability he didn't wish to be outright witnessed by human eyes; a soft-belly man with shut off senses with his tender neck bared and exposed to the world, unbecoming, like somebody asking to be jumped --- you wouldn't put it past Robert Barnes to sleep hidden, in the rare off chance he did get shut eye once his usual battle-pumped adrenaline wore off, somewhere up in a tree like a panther or a tiger maintaining watch over perimeters in the night with unblinking eyes as blue and as fluorescent as a hunting tom-cat's gaze, or in some forest cave not unlike a wild hog, emerging only once the break was done, without anyone knowing where he was in the brief second it took for them to turn their heads.

He ain' never sleep, Rhah Vermucci's fervent, impassioned words come to mind.

Does a machine need sleep? Huh!? Yeah, bah, only once its battery is bepelted and once it's depleted, you just replace 'em and the machinery keeps'on runnin' smooth as can be, day in, day out. That's Barnes! Lids open, body upside down, like a nocturnal bat! Yeah.

You were offended by those words then; silently, privately.

Like any and every man's lover undoubtedly would anyhow.

Gaze framed with lashes dripping with the salt of sweat and rainwater searching for Barnes's form in the chaos of wilderness even now as you found some tucked away place, intending to catch your Z's, or at least pretend to and rest your eye lids and your body on the bare, wet soil, your oily green, knee-length rain coat the only thing between you and the elements as your rucksack stayed firmly attached to your shoulders by its belted straps, knowing he was somewhere close by, M16 in tow, inspecting perimeters while everyone else in the infantry settled down in their own respective chosen resting corner, about to lay low until the first crack of dawn. Maybe why you shiver so suddenly when you catch the sound of barely audible movement sashay from behind your back, thinking for a second that you stupidly, carelessly laid down on a snake's hovel, a red ant's nest or a VC hole, tactically covered by shrubberies and branches, ready to bayonet you from underground. No, no. Barnes. It was him. On a hip. Already settled next to you as your heart hammered away fast. His presence as quiet as the air itself. The sleek fabric of his raincoat occasionally flashing with a dim sheen faced with the distant flash of lighting, elbow leaned up against the thick, vein root of a Banyan tree that served as natural roofing against the rain, his firearm wrapped in protective cloth against the moisture propped up beside him like an extended limb, watching you as you instinctively turned your position, facing him; wasn't the first time you lounged in close quarters like this either, under the cover of night, when nobody was likely to see or question why two soldiers were having each other's backs; the schedule of one resting and the other keeping vigil an intended pairing of practicality. The first time he ever did it was startling but you didn't question it --- you assumed it was the nature of things that the strongest in the unit naturally paired up with what was the weakest link, an auxiliary nurse hauling equipment, slow and often overburdened, to avoid the needless casualty of being shot during an unexpected ambush. The second time he's done it? The third? How about the fourth? You came to expect it almost; this knowledge that when you'd halt and put down gear, Barnes would be close by, appearing wordlessly like a shadow in the abyss, halting and putting down gear too, magnets moving and dragging the other along.

You shuffle on your side, suppressing a sigh and a groan.

Underground, soil-covered stones, pebbles and roots digging into your body.

Cheek against the ground still radiating the extinguished anvil of daytime's warmth.

Fetal position intending to make you small on purpose; the less noticeable, the better.

Strategically crawled in between the grass and the foot of the strangler fig, all tangled, hanging, branch-supporting roots and thick curtains of hanging, Spanish moss, face to face with each other, you only barely withhold a gasp when his unfolded sleeping roll slides over you like a wing, shrouding you in total darkness for all but a second, having him cover you in it in one swift movement while his other hand never let go of his firearm, pulling the camping blanket over your head, adjusting it over your hair covered by the hood of your raincoat, tightened and tied into place by an elastic thread, the rain pelting down on the compression straps of the waterproof nylon instead of your body while he lay there as wet as the jungle itself; his head wrapping drenched and darkened along with the whisps of hair peeking through its edges, scattered across his covered forehead, scarred, leathery skin covered in a soaked gleam, the corner of his jaw, starting from his temple, down his cheeks, dripping with the drizzle. Yet he cared, you figured, in his own way, that even though you were already soaked to the bone you don't continue being bolted down by the rain for the rest of the night if he had any say in it, creating a makeshift refuge of relative dryness and shelter; a solitary island in the darkness --- wordless ways he looked out for you.

-"Thank you."-

You mouth without making sounds, the words merely oxygen.

Barely audible.

He knew what you meant; you continuously thanked him the same every time.

And his eyes always followed the movement of your lips, reading signs.

Mutual silences being an ingrained way of communication out in the jungle.

Now laying so very close you practically feel his breath on your face.

A hair's inch between you as he scoots nearer on his side.

The tip of his nose nearly pressing into yours.

No moon outside, no source of light.

Regardless, you nearly see yourself reflected in the center of his stare.

He doesn't kiss you even though his presence is right there, going by the mantra of all business, no pleasure, at least not while in the open bush, ever the consummate professional and disciplinarian, the discoloration of his meaty, full mouth where once upon a time the shrapnel of a bullet hit his face visible, a layer of flesh peeled off from the edge of his lower lip like the skin off a bruised peach, revealing the dark layer of crust that formed the crater of a wound and you watch him and he watches right back, taking in your face, lids hanging low and the blue of his eyes steady on the horizon of his sockets, having you cornered in from all sides by the protective wall of the looming tree, his sleeping roll blanketing you over, effectively hiding you, and his own body, the tips of two noses slowly brushing each other in the mimicry of a caress, not unlike one of those Eskimo kisses, the contact leaving a wet imprint on your face --- not quite an embrace, but close enough, torsos pressed together to the degree you could feel the low rumbling of his insides, the rhythm of his breathing, in and out, in out, heart hitting a steady beat, filling your nostrils with the musk of him, thigh against thigh, hip against hip; the outdoors forged aroma of sweat and tobacco smoked while at base, the freshness of rain, something almost leaf-like, briefly reminiscent of pine even though there wasn't a single one in sight this side of the continent, his closeness calm and steady, yet heavy, like a living rock covering you, keeping you safe as you nestled, using the hollowness of a muscular shoulder you knew was covered in scars underneath layers of fatigue and equipment as a pillow --- a warm, wet place to carefully, tenderly lean the outline of your hooded, sweat soaked scalp, his raincoat crinkling slightly as you set down your head to be able to gaze at him at even closer proximity until two faces were almost one, the side of your cheek smushed against the scarred, left side of his, fitting together like a solved puzzle, feeling every crater, every nook, every cranny, every dent imprinted on your own skin certain to leave faint, pale sleeping marks by you by morning, making you reflections of each other; a closeness held at back only by the presence of the ground your heads were on. Even now, Barnes's lids never flutter shut even in the make belief of sleep while all his other senses were alert; no, his eyes always open. Always scrutinizing. Always searching yours, stern, serious, focused, intense.

The distant sound of thunder rumbles on and you knew he intended to watch.

You knew he intended to wordlessly, quietly watch while you recuperated.

Sleeping bag off of his shoulder and every hour of rest out of his eyes ---

Purely so you could have yours.

In absolute gratitude, your lips touch the mangled scar of his, not kissing, never breaking that protocol bit of contract, not out here anyway where a moment of negligence could come with a high cost, but merely lingering, a parted caresses as you close your weary eyes, feeling instant relief once you do, fully awake, ears on alert, limbs ready to jump at any moment, but your eyes subsiding in their burning sensation on the precipice of being awake and being asleep, halfway rested and halfway aware, even if it was for a minute, ten, half an hour, under the defensive hill of blankets he's made for you, shielding you, not unlike an umbrella, as the relentless rain kept crashing down hard and heavy, beating against his body as rigid and as unmoving as a boulder while you lay there, soundly, the windows of your lids blissfully closed, mouth against his face prickled with the faintest sensation of a fresh shave around his scars, feeling the warm, tender flesh cushioned beside you, laying watch; your own personal guard.

No, Barnes never slept.

At least not when anyone was likely to see.

Observing you do it instead, leaving you with the knowledge that when you wake?

Hit with the earliest cracks of a dawn bedashed with the aftermath of a storm?

He'd still be here watching.

[lovebugism]

How about something smutty for the Thunderbolts headcanons 😳 Like how each of them would react to you making them cum in their pants

thank you so much for requesting and feeding my hyperfixation!! below you will find four separate baby blurbs for bucky, john, yelena, and bob. each section will have it's own summary, warnings, and whole lotta smut! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you're with him in wakanda when he's cured of the trigger words in his head. he's able to touch you for the first time without feeling scared of himself. (established relationship, post-cacw | 1k words)

Bucky Barnes can’t remember the last time he felt this free. Maybe sometime in 1942, he guesses — before he got drafted, before Hydra captured him, before they put those goddamn words in his head. It feels weird that they’re gone now; to be without the dark cloud of impending doom that, at any moment, someone could utter the words and he’d just snap. 

But now, freshly cured and living on the Wakandan countryside, he can touch you for the first time without being terrified of himself.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles as his vibranium hand trails up the expanse of your bare back. He keeps his flesh one on your thigh, smoothing his thumb over the plush skin there, and tilts his scruffy chin to smile up at you. He’s got you straddled over his lap, barely clothed and bathed in golden candelight, like some kinda angel brought to life.

“You’re pretty,” you correct with a lovesick grin, raking your hands through his silky, growing locks.

Bucky leans instinctively into your touch. “Don’t make this about me,” he says, squinting.

“It is about you,” you remind him with a giggle, ducking down to kiss his neck. “I’m supposed to compliment you—” Your lips brush his pulse in a chaste kiss. Bucky fights back a shiver. “—Supposed to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Bucky sighs a contented moan, pulling you further into him. “You always do…”

His vibranium hand curls up your back and towards your shoulder. His other one holds tightly to your hip. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck until your bare chest is flush with his scruffy one — until your clothed cunt brushes his cock, half-hard and throbbing within the confines of his boxers.

A moan rumbles in Bucky’s throat. You feel it against your lips when you press them to his adam’s apple. “Do you want to?” you murmur against him, voice low like honey. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you want to.”

Bucky’s head is too clouded to respond properly to your teasing. He just nods his heavy head and flexes his hips beneath you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pulsing ache in his boxers. You let him, and with his consent, begin to rock slowly over his lap. 

“Say it,” you whisper in his ear.

“Want it,” he pants in yours. “Want you.”

“You have me, Buck,” you slur, trying to peer at him through the haze in your vision. Your panties drag over his stiffening cock and leave a damp spot at the center of them. You find yourself chasing your high just as much as Bucky’s. 

You snuck a few sips of alcohol to quell your worry before watching Ayo recite the wretched words back to the man haunted by them. You feel the consequences creeping up on you now and find yourself rambling before you can stop it, half-deluded with pleasure. 

“‘M already yours. My pussy’s already— shit,” you whimper in time with Bucky’s groaning when your clit drags over his lap. Through pants, you beg him, “Say you wanna fuck me. Please. Don’t wanna cum ’til you’re inside me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whines, face screwed and eyes shut tight. He tries to form the words in his head, but all he can think about is how wet you are — and how his leaking cock has left a damp spot in his underwear — and how the combination of both makes the friction between you so dizzying. “I wanna… fuck—” 

“Uh-huh,” you tease with a slow nod when you sense he’s getting close. “You can do it, Buck. C’mon. There you go.”

He can’t tell if you’re trying to coach him into saying the words or push him headfirst into an orgasm. He hopes it’s the latter, ‘cause he feels himself bursting into his boxers a second later.

“Fuck!” he blurts when he cums, half-muffled and half-whined, like it pains him. 

He holds your hips in both hands, keeping you still above him in a crueler grip than he means to. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of crackling candles and his groaning. He tilts his face to the ceiling and moans into the golden darkness with his eyes squeezed shut. The sudden orgasm racks through his body in so many shivers up his spine, three warm ropes spit into the confines of his boxers.

“‘M sorry,” he pants when it’s done, still slightly airy from the aftershocks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you promise with a soft laugh as your own building pleasure begins to subside. You cup his scruffy face in your palms and try to kiss him through the smile on your lips. “You deserve it, Buck,” you whisper against his mouth, between your delicate kisses. “You deserve everything.”

Bucky shakes his head between your palms and smooths his fingers over the bruises he unknowingly stamped into your skin. “Don’t care about everything,” he murmurs lowly. “Just you.”

Your eyes narrow in a sarcastic squint, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Do you think we can get Shuri to erase the cheesiness from your brain, too?”

“Sure,” Bucky scoffs, smiling still, as he shoves you playfully onto your back. You giggle when you hit the mattress, caging your smile between your teeth as the man crawls back between your legs. He lies flat on the mattress, face-to-face with your clothed pussy. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, obviously sarcastic. “Mhm. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll just go get her then,” Bucky murmurs, punctuating his quip with a kiss to your inner thigh as he spreads them apart. You shiver when his scruff scrapes your delicate skin. “Tell her to put me back under the ice—”

Your feet lock behind his back to keep him against you. Bucky laughs and curls his arms around your thighs as you prop yourself on your elbows to shoot him a death glare. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant Barnes.”

And, truth be told, Bucky’s exactly where he wants to be.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john hates when valentina pairs the two of you on missions together. until he doesn't. (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker can’t stand you most days. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to put yourselves in situations that might kill you. He hates that Valentina paired you together just as much as he hates that he cares so much about your well-being.

He knows it’d be easier to let you get yourself killed, to have one less thing to worry about, but he somehow ends up kissing you instead.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he grumbles through labored breaths, with your spit still shining on his swollen mouth. He cages your body between his larger one and the unforgiving wall behind you. The men guarding the vault outside surely won’t mind the sexual tension rising inside it, seeing as they’re half-dead already.

You smile in the face of his anger until the fresh cut on your mouth starts to sting. “But you can fuck me?” you pant, eyes glazed over as they dart back and forth between his dilated ones. “I mean, you want to, right? ’S why you locked me in here, isn’t it?”

“I locked you in here because there were three guys outside trying to kill you, if you forgot.”

“Two,” you correct in a witty deadpan. “I killed the third one.”

“And I killed the other two, who gives a shit—”

“You’re obsessed with me, Walker,” you grin, pulling him close by the belt loops on his suit. 

Despite his near palpable rage, he melts into you with ease. The blonde man stumbles closer until he’s towering over you — hair messy from his helmet, face bruised, ocean eyes staring daggers into you.

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he gripes.

“I don’t think it is,” you lilt lowly and nudge his clothed crotch with your thigh. 

You watch the words of an argument form and dissolve on his tongue all at once. John exhales hard through his nose as his eyes go glassy. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until you pressed yourself against him — how sensitive he was — how long it had been since he’d had any sort of release.

“Admit it—” you whisper, pulling him closer until his stiff cock is pressed between your bodies. He smells like cologne and copper pennies, likely from the blood darkening his navy blue suit. You’re almost sure you’d be able to feel his racing heart from here, if it weren’t for the thick layers separating you. “—You love me…”

“I hate you,” he corrects, though his dark eyes cloud with lust.

Your smile widens. The cut on the corner of your mouth begins to weep all over again. John reaches for your jaw without thinking, cupping his palm there and swiping the crimson away with his thumb. 

“No, you don’t,” you coo with a shake of your head. The room goes quiet then, filled only by John’s heavy breaths and the clinking of his belt as you undo the buckle. You keep him close with one hand around his belt loop while the other creeps around the front of him. His breath catches in his throat when your fingers dip beneath the hem.

You don’t think he realizes how he’s rocking himself against your thigh. Or the way he subconsciously shakes his head in agreement. 

“You’ve always thought about this, haven’t you?” you continue mercilessly, grinning when your fingertips meet the coarse thatch of hair above his cock. 

John nods his heavy head and leans further into you, propping himself on the wall as his eyes flutter shut. He deserves this, he tells himself, for saving your ass a hundred times over. You owe him one, really.

“I know you have,” you whisper in his ear. “I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of me a thousand times.”

Again, John nods in response without ever really noticing it. Just like he doesn’t really notice the release building within him — like a creeping hand up his spine, or a tightening knot in his lean stomach. He just keeps rubbing himself against you, chasing a high he barely knows is there.

“But I think when you imagined me making you cum…” you trail off and smile when John moans against your pulse. “…You always thought it’d be inside me.”

John tenses at the thought of fucking you. He’s left trembling above you as a sudden orgasm racks through his body. The quiet room fills with his poorly heldback groans and your giggling while he cums in his pants. He feels the evidence, warm and wet, blooming in his boxers — just like the red-hot embarrassment exploding in his chest. 

He pulls away to find you grinning like the devil.

“Told ya,” you monotone and pull your hand from his boxers, only slightly mourning the fact that you never actually got to touch him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

John scoffs, like he has any room to be ambivalent after humping your thigh like a dog. He zips up his pants, belt buckle clinking as he fastens it again. “You ruined my suit,” is all he can think to say as you walk past him.

You roll your eyes and wrench open the heavy door to the vault, stepping over the bloody bodies littered on the other side of it. “Bill me,” you call over your shoulder.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena is full of adrenaline after a mission, and you only know one way to calm her down (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw for very brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

Yelena Belova has you flat on your back. The rest of the Avengers tower is dark, quiet, and asleep — each of you recovering from the latest mission in the sanctuary of your bedrooms. The blonde Russian girl is too full of adrenaline to rest, though, never mind how much she could probably use the sleep. She’s a relentless force on top of you — because of the adrenaline, of course, and not because she nearly lost you.

She tugs your pants down your legs with a pair of merciless hands, bruised knees digging into the foot of the mattress across from you. The mattress squeaks with each of your movements, and you fight back a laugh. “Be gentle, Belova!” you scold in a whisper. “Walker’s gonna hear.”

(John had the misfortune of his bedroom being one story below yours. And the floors were surprisingly thin. Or so he says.)

Yelena scoffs, face screwed. “I don’t care,” she mutters, voice accented and low like honey. “Let him hear.”

She makes a big show of climbing back over your body, moving much more violently than normal over the worn bed frame, so it creaks louder beneath her. “Yelena!” you snap quietly through gritted teeth, but hold her gently by the hips when she straddles you just the same.

“What?!” she exclaims, louder than necessary for the late, late night, as she tugs her shirt over her head. She throws the fabric to the side, discarding it with the rest of your pajamas littered on the floor — leaving both of you in mismatched sets of old, cotton underwear.

“God, you’re such a child,” you grouse and cross your arms beneath your head.

Yelena grins. “Stop flirting with me,” she lilts lowly and ducks down to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut when her plush lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “We should rest, Lena…” you tell her, sighing when her teeth scrape your pulse. “We’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

You feel her mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “I hope so.”

“Child,” you repeat.

Yelena gets relentless rather quickly, feral in a way only a previous world-class assassin could be. She forgets about the exhaustion and the bruises that ache to the bone, littered across both your bodies. Her head fills only with thoughts of making you feel good, touching you like it could be the last time she ever gets to.

“Lena, Lena, Lena—” you echo, reaching for her wrist where her hand’s shoved into your panties. “Slow down,” you laugh.

“Why?” she whines.

You find her pretty face contorted in a girlish pout when you cup her cheeks in your hands. “Because we have all night,” you coo, smoothing your thumbs over her flushed jaw. “We don’t have to rush.”

Your words strike something deep in her chest. She refuses to let the vulnerability show. 

“I know that,” she scoffs, trying to look unbothered as you smooth the top of her tank top down her chest. You tuck it beneath her breasts, and her pink nipples perk when the cool air hits them.

“Good,” you hum, lifting your head to take her left breast in your mouth.

“I just— I wanted to make you feel good—” she whines in her low Russian accent, voice cracking when you nudge her clothed cunt with your thigh. “—Oh…”

You smile into her chest, teeth scraping her sensitive nipple. Yelena keeps you pressed against her with a hand on the back of your head. Your arms curl around her back to keep her flush to your thigh. You feel the warmth of her cunt against your skin, and the wet spot slowly forming there.

The stubborn girl turns into a puddle above you, in more ways than one. You feel her shuddering as she buries each of her moans in your hair. Your mouth leaves her nipple with a quiet pop, and a thin string of saliva threatens to connect you when you pull away.

“Are you gonna cum, Lena?” you coo, swollen mouth curling into a soft smile. “I’ve barely even touched you—”

Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleads in a broken voice.

You return to her chest, sucking on her sensitive nipple until she keens. She exhales a hoarse moan above you, flexing her hips over your thigh to keep her clit flush to your skin. She lets out several pretty “Uh, uh, uh”’s before tensing suddenly above you. 

Yelena holds her breath, grips you tight by your shoulder and the back of your neck, and begins to tremble over your thigh. “Oh, shit…” she moans, then sighs. “Oh, shit—” 

It comes out more disappointed the second time, as she pulls back from you to flash you a girlish pout. “What?” you laugh, mouth shining with spit, as you smooth a rouge blonde tendril behind her ear.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” she whines, Russian accent sounding deep in her mouth. “I had it all planned— I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yelena’s frown curls into a more devilish grin at your words.

Neither of you get any sleep that night. Walker, included.

ROBERTY REYNOLDS X READER — a year after the void nearly destroyed new york, you're still teaching bob that it's okay to feel good (new-ish relationship, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Robert Reynolds is still getting used to touching you. He’s spent nearly every day with you since you found him — learning how to use his powers for good, how to touch you without hurting you, how to be human again. It’s been a year since then, and he’s starting to get the hang of it. But sometimes he thinks you have more faith in him than he does in himself.

You kiss him hard enough to bruise him on the center of the living room couch, with Sunset Boulevard playing quietly on the large TV behind you. Bob’s anxiety is only partly quelled by the rest of the Thunderbolts’ absence, but he’s still slightly scared of himself — what if The Void returned and swallowed him whole again? Who would be there to stop him from hurting you if it did?

You don’t seem half as panicked about the whole thing as your lips stamp wet kisses up and down the expanse of his long neck. “You’re so pretty, Bobby,” you murmur into his warm skin. “Such a pretty boy…”

Bob swallows hard at your praise, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you on the sofa when he feels his cock twitching in the confines of his sweatpants. There’s a need for release inside of him that he can’t ignore, but he cares more about keeping you safe. Safe from himself.

You pull back, mouth swollen from your assault on his neck. “Can I…?” you smile and trail off, hands sliding down his clothed, lean chest to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bob doesn’t know what you’re planning. It excites him as much as it frightens him. His mouth opens and closes like a fish until he finds the words. “Oh. I— I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammers through an awkward chuckle.

You shrug despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“It’s not that!” Bob blurts, rushing to hold you by the waist when you threaten to move off him. (He forgets, for maybe the first time ever, to be scared of touching you.) He swallows hard at the look you give him, blinking wildly with glassy eyes. “I just… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you assure him with a pretty laugh. “You don’t even have to touch me.”

Bob’s brows furrow. “What?” he wonders aloud.

You don’t answer him with words. You just flash him a mischievous smirk and shift on the couch until you’re no longer straddling him. You press your lips to his — once, twice, and then a third time — in a silent reminder to relax before your mouth trails down his neck once more. 

You move past his jaw, to his pulse, and down towards his collarbone, sinking further onto your knees as you kiss down his body.

Bob exhales a shuddering breath and tilts his heavy head towards the back of the couch. He feels his hands start to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists, instead.

“Relax, baby,” you murmur between the kisses you press to his clothed sternum. “Let me make you feel good.”

Bob tenses beneath you when your hands brush his cock, growing harder in his boxers by the second. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the need swelling inside him. “Um… Maybe we should…” he stammers, voice shaking. “Maybe we should, like, slow down?”

He covers his desperate plea with a wavering half-smile.

You nod, now fully on your knees between his spread thighs, and give him a kind, tight-lipped smile in return. “‘Course. I’ll go slow. Promise.”

You feel Bob trembling beneath your hand when you lift the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush the fine hair sprinkled on his lean stomach as you press chaste kisses to every inch of revealed skin. He takes in a shaking breath, burning red hot under your touch. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you how sensitive he is — how, if he thinks about you and your soft touches for too long, that he’ll explode. So he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about anything other than the way you’re making him feel just now.

“I’ll take care of you, Bobby. I promise,” you slur between languid kisses, holding his shirt up with one hand while your other teases the hem of his boxers. “I’ll make you feel so good—” Your lips brush the coarse hair peeking from his waistline. You flash him a pair of glassy, mischievous eyes. 

“And maybe—” A kiss. “If you’re real good—” Another, a bit lower this time. “I’ll let you fuck me—”

Bob face twists. His brows furrow, his eyes shut tight, his nose scrunches at the bridge. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, growing so tense beneath you that it makes him tremble. 

You just freeze, frightened that you might’ve done something wrong. You did just promise to take it slow, after all — and here he is now, cumming in his boxers. 

He feels the warmth of his orgasm wetting the plaid fabric and sticking awkwardly to his skin. He fails to stave off the pang of embarrassment searing his chest.

“I’m sorry,” both of you blurt at the same time.

Bob’s eyes snap open, still slightly glazed over. “You’re sorry?!” he gapes. “What are you sorry for?”

You falter for a moment. “I don’t know,” you answer and start to laugh. 

The pretty sound fills the quiet tower, and Bob can’t help but laugh along with you. He tilts his heavy head back against the couch as you rise from your knees, straddling him once more and avoiding the sensitive mess in his pants. 

“Did it feel good, at least?” you ask, smoothing your palms over his trembling shoulders.

Bob nods and swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “I haven’t— Haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I guess you could say I’m… a little out of practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you coo, ducking down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Even with his eyes closed, he can hear the smile in your voice as you whisper, “I’ll whip you back into shape in no time, Reynolds.”

[romanoffshouse]

POV: Your camera roll if you're a part of the Thunderbolts*

[em1i2a3]

When The Sun Hits

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are starting to test the waters among rampant growing suspicions from the rest of the team (This is a continuation of “Carry The Zero”)

Warnings: AHEM! 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts just because of Bob’s involvement (there’s no mentioning of the plot from Thunderbolts or anything just character involvement ex. Bucky, Yelena, Alexei, Walker etc.), Fluff, References to Sex and/or Sexual Acts, Bob…Is a warning lol. There’s a little bit of self-depreciation in this, talking bad about oneself, but nothing too extreme on that front.

Smut Warnings: Grinding, Teasing (kind of on the brink of edging?) Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap it up y’all…Or Y’know…Take precautions at least lol), Oral Sex (fem receiving), Fingering, Spit Swallowing, Handjob, Praise/Worship Kink. Soft/Submissive Bob (if you squint) (Hopefully I didn’t miss anything),

Author’s Note: I got this out as soon as I possibly could, thank you so much for the activity on the last post :) y’all are frickin awesome. I hope you enjoy this new part of this story, because I’m going straight to horny jail *boink boink* lol (also whoever made this gif you deserve all the fucking flowers <3)

Word Count: 16,150

Two weeks later you found yourself on the training mat, slicked with sweat, and out of breath.

You wiped your forearms across your forehead, chest rising and falling as you rolled your shoulders to relieve some tension that seized up your back, steadying your stance again, angling yourself carefully so your sight was trained on both Yelena and Bucky.

“Ready?” Yelena asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, her curtain bangs bobbing with each movement, preparing herself to pounce.

“As I’ll ever be,” You muttered, exhaling hard through your nose, tasting the remnants of blood that you had spit out two rounds ago after taking a pretty hard slap to the face. You kept your mind clear though, because if you focused on anything else in that moment, you’d lose miserably, or get hurt again, which was something that you didn’t want at all, especially after you were benched for a week after you injured your shoulder.

It was two against one today, which was entirely unfair, but also part of the challenge. Bucky called it ‘awareness training.’ Yelena called it ‘fun.’

They flanked you like wolves attacking a wounded animal. Yelena moved first, sharp and precise, going for a low sweep with her leg. You jumped and dodged it easily, pivoting to avoid Bucky’s right hook. He was heavier on his feet, but that didn’t mean he was slower in any sense. You ducked beneath his next swing and caught Yelena’s wrist before she could even capitalize on your evasion, using her own momentum to send her stumbling back, giving you some space to breathe.

”Not bad,” She huffed.

”Not done yet,” Bucky growled, before charging at you again. You anticipated him this time, moving back just enough to throw him off rhythm. He came at you with a series of jabs, but you blocked them all, even the ones that were enhanced by his vibranium arm, which surprised you even. You parried with a side kick that landed square against his hip, catching him off balance. This granted you a window to turn back towards Yelena, who had just regained her footing.

She came in full force and you barely had time to register her moves. You raised your arm to shield your face from her fist, feeling the impact ripple along the muscle just below your biceps, before striking in the open space she left, right at her ribs, which made her take in a sharp gasp of air.

You didn’t mean to, but a little satisfied smirk played on your lips, like you had the upper hand, like you were finally going to win…Then Bucky swept your legs out from under you with a move so clean you barely noticed the impact.

You hit the mat with a hard exhale, the wind knocking out of your lungs as your back hit the floor. The fluorescent light shined down into your eyes, almost blinding you, and in a blink, Bucky was standing over you, looking down with his hands on his hip.

”You got cocky…And let your guard down for the third time.” He muttered, with a small grin plastered on his face.

”That…” You breathed, trying to recoup the air you lost from slamming into the mat, “Was a cheap shot,” You added, blinking up at him, seeing the way his hair framed his face as he shook his head at you. Without another word, he extended his hand out to you, and you took it, fingers gripping his forearm as he hoisted you to your feet in one swift movement. You staggered slightly when the room tilted for a split second, your balance thrown from the impact you took that still surged through you with little aftershocks. Bucky steadied you instantly with a firm hand on your elbow, eyes scanning over your face.

”You alright?” He asked, with concern lacing his voice, trying to determine whether or not you needed another med bay visit. You gave him a nod.

”Yeah, yeah, just a bit dizzy from that slam, but I’ll live.” Right before Bucky was going to respond, Yelena cut in.

”Alright you two. Water. Now. Before I pass out from sweating so much.” She didn’t wait for either of you to agree, she just turned toward the bench on the far side of the room, and snatched up three water bottles from the crate nearby, which were already chilled. She tossed one to you and to Bucky, beckoning the both of you to join her in a nice break.

The three of you dropped down onto the bench with soft grunts and groans harmonizing the air, as you dragged the back of your arm across your forehead to wipe the beads of sweat off it. You were beat, that was for certain. You could already feel a new set of bruises forming on your body, especially where you had landed on your ass just moments ago, and that was just another thing you were going to have to tend to for the next few days.

You twisted the cap off your bottle and took three large gulps from it, feeling your chest go cold from how quick you chugged. Your sweat-slicked shirt clung to your spine, but the introduction of the drink was finally managing your body temperature, as your pulse began to slow down, easing the rhythmic thumping that echoed through your ears. You put the cap back on, and placed the bottle against your forehead with a sigh, watching your teammates settle down–Yelena beside you, Bucky on the bench across the way. That’s when you felt it…The subtle tension in the air, the silence that lingered just long enough that it made you suspicious.

Bucky lifted his brows sharply at Yelena, like he was daring her to speak first, like they had been planning on asking you questions all day but didn’t know how to approach the subject. She shook her head just once, staring at him with pointed daggers, almost like she was saying that it was his idea so he should be the one to say it. He let out a defeated sigh.

“So…Uh…” He started, scrunching his nose like the words that were on the tip of his tongue tasted weird in his mouth, “How’s it going with Bob? Y’know…Rooming with him and all.” The question caught you off guard, but the awkwardness from Bucky gave off the sense that he was asking this more because everyone else around him was talking and making up their own theories, and he just wanted to get the answers once and for all.

That didn’t mean the question didn’t spike your heart rate again though. Just the mentioning of Bob made you immediately go on defence mode, not just because of what was going on between the both of you, but because you both wanted this to be private until further notice. Neither of you were prepared for the team to know about your late night rendezvous, or how deep the connection really went. It was your little secret and you preferred to keep it that way.

“It’s okay…” You answered, trying to cover up the stutter in your words, “He’s definitely one of the easier roommates I’ve had to be honest. Super quiet, keeps to himself. It’s great.” You avoided Bucky’s gaze, your eyes focusing on the water bottle in your hands before glancing over at Yelena, who was already squinting at you.

”Super quiet, huh?” She repeated, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards, like she didn’t quite buy what you were putting down. You looked over at Bucky too, now seeing that he was watching you as well with one elbow propped up on his knee so he could rest his chin on his fist.

“Yeah, super quiet, he just reads and sleeps basically, nothing more, nothing less. What’s with this line of questioning? You two roleplaying as detectives or something?” Bucky huffed through his nose, a mix between a laugh and a sigh.

”We wouldn’t have to be detectives if you weren’t so secretive…” You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, attempting to hold onto your fake innocence, trying to make it seem like they weren’t somehow onto you, even though there was no possible way they could know anything that was going on in your shared room…Not unless there were cameras, but that was definitely not the case…Because you looked for them.

“Me? Secretive? I don’t understand how I’m being secretive, I’m answering your questions, aren’t I?” Yelena made a small humming sound beside you, sipping from her water bottle, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

”Okay then, Miss Transparency…” She started, setting the bottle on the bench gently, “What about the window?” You froze, and instantly your brain spiraled with questions on how the hell she found out about the window. You kept your cool on the outside, while the rest of your internal organs were twisting and malfunctioning on the inside trying to figure out how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

”What window?” You asked.

”The one in your room,” Yelena responded, leaning forward just a little bit to crowd your space, “Maintenance said you put in a request to fix it three days ago because there was a crack in the glass. He said it looked like someone took a sledge hammer to it. Kinda weird, yeah?” You blinked at Yelena, keeping your expression blank, like you were thinking.

“Ohhhh…That window.” You said, as if you had just remembered what she was talking about. You waved your hand vaguely, letting out a shaky laugh, which did absolutely nothing to cover the tension that began to seep through your muscles, “Yeah, no, it’s not that weird. I, uh…Accidently pushed my dresser drawer closed a little too hard and the wood slammed into the glass, kind of a freak accident if you ask me.” Yelena stared at you flatly, watching you flail while trying to come up with something believable off the top of your head. If you had time to actually prepare for the grilling you would’ve at least thought of something as back up, but this was just totally unexpected.

It’s not like you could’ve told them the truth anyways, because it just wouldn’t have sounded good, and it would’ve just put Bob under the spotlight once again, and he didn’t deserve that at all. Not when he was trying so hard to get along with everyone, which he was doing very well at until this point at least.

So you just laughed it off again, muttering something about needing to be more careful, before tipping the bottle of water to your lips to shut yourself up.

But your mind was already drifting back to that night, and you couldn’t stop it.

——————

Four nights ago was movie night.

Alexei had insisted on it—insisted being the operative word, because no one had really agreed to it in the first place.

He said movie nights were a “sacred ritual” from his youth, a tradition that brought people together, made them stronger, and unified the soul. And when someone offhandedly mentioned that Bucky had never seen Rocky IV, that sealed everyone’s fate.

“It is masterpiece,” Alexei declared, standing in the center of the living room with the case held high like a relic. You were surprised that he even had a DVD of it, but then again he had mentioned in passing it was one of his favourite movies.

“American propaganda, yes, but still…Very good representation.” He exclaimed, moving around the living room to locate the video player, as you all watched him.

So Rocky IV became the night’s reluctant feature, and any protests were quickly steamrolled under his booming enthusiasm.

The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and the only glow in the room came from the TV screen—icy blue and gunmetal gray as the film’s opening credits began to roll. Everyone had found their spots. Yelena curled into one corner of the sectional while Walker was on the other, Bucky sat low in a beanbag chair with his arms crossed, Alexei sat right in front of the television with the reverence of a man watching live theatre…

And then there was you.

You tucked yourself into the corner of the couch with a blanket draped on top of you, leaning against a pillow for support because your shoulder was still giving you a little bit of trouble. Bob was beside you, but he was not close enough to raise suspicion as the both of you had separate blankets and weren’t really touching at all…Not yet, at least.

Somewhere near the halfway point of the movie–just after Rocky’s training montage–Bob shifted slightly beside you, adjusting himself with a slight turn of his hips. It wasn’t a big move, but it was noticeable enough to draw your eyes to him, then you saw his hand sliding beneath his blanket ever so slowly, paying attention to the others in the room, hoping that none of them would turn around.

Even through the terrible lighting you could see him beginning to flush, his pale skin becoming a gentle hue of pink which spread all the way down to the collar of pale green sweater, and below it. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, seeing how he tried to keep his profile composed, as he moved his hand with quiet purpose, sliding beneath your blanket in one quick movement, knowing that once he was under there nobody would know any better what was happening.

His fingers found your thigh beneath the covering, completely bare for him because of the flannel shorts you were wearing. The first touch was delicate, almost like it wasn’t even there, though you could feel the heat radiating off his skin as the pads of his fingers ghosted over the wide plane of your flesh. He was waiting for you to pull away, to signal to him you didn’t want him to do this here, but when that moment didn’t come, his hand finally settled against you.

He took everything slow, and moved with such care and purpose that you felt like you were going to melt into the sofa . His palm molded gently to the outside of your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, drawing goosebumps up to the surface of your skin. The touch wasn’t lewd, nor needy…It was intimate in one of the simplest ways possible. Just the grounding press of his hand against you, soaking up the heat of your body, letting it mingle with his own.

You felt your pulse begin to hammer in your ears, and your eyes flickered to the rest of the team, checking if they were still transfixed by whatever was happening in the movie, which they were. Nobody was looking. So you took this as an opportunity for yourself to make a move now too.

It was a gentle shift, just enough to let your blanket drape a little farther over the space between the both of you, until it overlapped with his. You ripped a page out of Bob’s book and slipped your hand beneath the threshold of the covering, before moving it towards him with the same stealthy patience he had just moments ago.

You found his thigh easily, resting your hand against the soft checker-patterned sleep pants he wore. The fabric was light and thin enough to allow you to feel every flex and shift of muscle beneath your touch, the way it twitched at first contact and relaxed when you dragged your palm against it. He cleared his throat gently, trying to mask the noise that was about to slip out of his throat unwillingly.

His thumb on your thigh had stilled completely in those moments, like you had pulled the plug on all his motor functions by just settling your hand on him in the most gentle way possible. Over the past week of being holed up together during your Bucky mandated break from training, you had learned that gentleness was the key thing that unraveled Bob faster than anything else ever could.

Your fingers slowly dragged upward with the lightest graze over the thin fabric, tracing the line of muscle you could feel there. You didn’t press hard, there was no need to, because you could already feel that he was burning under your palm, coming undone, shifting in his seat, like he wanted to get closer to you but couldn’t.

He was trying so hard not to breathe loudly, or to draw attention to himself by making an unnatural noise. His hand tightened on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze, like he was pleading for you to continue, but for you to also take it easy on him because he didn’t know how much he was going to be able to handle. He felt like he was going to turn into a puddle on the sofa, and the sweating and flushing that he was doing was only a prelude to that. You could feel the tension in his body, the way it practically vibrated through him, and it only made you want to touch him more.

You smoothed your thumb over the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, where he flinched. He sucked in a breath and immediately turned it into a cough, low and forced, like he was trying to dislodge something that was stuck in his throat–even though you knew it was just him trying to stifle a sound that he didn’t dare let out–squeezing your thigh again like it was anchoring him to whatever stability he had left.

You didn’t need more than this. You just enjoyed every morsel of connection you got from him, and revelled in the excitement that coursed through your veins from the small things you learned about him, like how easy he was to read, or how flustered he got from such little contact. Or how touch-starved he was despite all the late nights and quiet mornings you two were sharing up until this point. He was learning how to let himself go, but that didn’t mean he was used to it just yet.

By the time the end credits rolled and Alexei stood to stretch with a complaint about how Americans don’t know when to end a movie, Bob was already clawing at the opportunity to make his grand escape. His hand left your thigh, and reached for his blanket–not to fold it, not to hold it when he stood–but to clutch it, to replicate the grip he had on your skin moments before. You slowly removed your hand from him as well, making sure you discreetly brought it back into your area without anyone noticing.

Every motion he did was methodical, almost exaggerated in its effort to present itself as casual, like the both of you weren’t just touching each other's thighs beneath your communal blankets. You watched from the corner of your eye as Bob adjusted the covering over his lip, gripping the hem carefully as he shifted on the couch, leaning slightly forward.

He was shielding himself.

You could tell by the blush that began to deepen around his neck, and the way he couldn’t seem to look at anyone in the room–not even you–that he was trying very hard not to be obvious about the problem that was currently occurring below his waist. The one you had caused with just the gentle stroking of his thigh.

The realization made you heat up, but also smirk.

”I’m gonna…Uh…” Bob cleared his throat, attempting to cover up the way his words buckled under his voice “Head to my room…Start getting ready for bed and stuff, I had a good book I was getting into before…C-Coming to watch the movie.” He added, standing from the couch, keeping the blanket bunched in front of him with a practiced sort of shuffle that only he could execute with pure awkwardness. He said a vague goodnight and everyone responded in their own little way, as he moved towards the corridor that led to the makeshift bedrooms.

Your eyes followed his movements, watching when he made it out of everyone’s line of sight. He turned around, knowing that your eyes were already on him and mouthed a very light “please hurry,” before rushing down the hallway to seek refuge in the privacy of your room.

You waited exactly thirty seconds, which was long enough for the heat in your limbs to settle so when you stood up you didn’t have shaky legs, or draw attention to any of your actions, even though nobody was really paying attention in general.

Yelena was half-sleep, eyes barely open while she nursed what was left of her electrolytes. Walker had his head tilted back, and was snoring loudly. Bucky was sprawled out in the beanbag chair, and Alexei was still rambling, only now it was about how Ivan Drago’s story in Rocky is just misunderstood. So you took the opportunity to stand, and let out an exaggerated yawn, rubbing your eyes for added effect.

”Think I’m also going to head to bed too. I’m exhausted.” You murmured, which earned a small wave from Yelena, a grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky, and a pause from Alexei.

”Did you not like the movie?” He asked, and you smirked.

”Yes of course I liked it, I’ve just seen it a few too many times, but tomorrow you can give me the footnotes on how misunderstood Drago’s story is, for now though I’m off to bed.” He gave you a wide smile, and as you moved away from the living room you could hear him mumble something about you actually being interested in what he had to say.

You quickly made your way down the hall, feeling your heart racing as you made your way towards the room. You tried your best to not make yourself look suspicious but the anticipation was eating you up on the inside.

The second you entered your shared quarters and closed the door behind you, you felt it–that shift in the air, like the moment right before lightning strikes a tree, the static that ebbs and flows through the atmosphere, like a warning to those who are around. The only light that glowed in the space was the desk lamp, which casted golden shapes across the walls, and once you locked the door and turned around, your eyes fell on him.

Bob stood by his bed, the blanket was long discarded, and his sweater was removed, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. His hands were fidgeting uselessly with the tie of his sleep pants, and when his eyes fell on you it was like he lost all the thoughts that were running through his head. The flush of pink on his cheeks hadn’t faded, if anything it had gotten worse between the time he left the couch and now, like the warmth had fully rooted inside him.

He didn’t say anything right away, he just opened his arms slightly, silently offering himself to you.

In a few quick steps, you crossed the room, taking up the space between his arms, pressing your hands gently to his chest, feeling the way his heart galloped beneath your palm. He cupped your elbows first, tentative and shy, looking down at you with those shimmering blue eyes that you had come to fawn over in secret, before letting his hands slide down to your wrists. You gave him a soft smile, tilting your head back a bit so he could lean forward to kiss you.

His mouth brushed yours once–tentative and silent, like he was asking a question–then again, with more confidence when you didn’t pull away, before fully pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you like he thought he would never get the chance to do it again. Like he was memorizing the shape of your lips, or the way you sighed into him like you’d been holding your breath for hours while waiting for this moment to come. His hands left your wrists, you slid up to your jaw, the tips of his thumbs barely grazing the corners of your mouth

And you melted into him.

You’d been doing this dance for the past few nights now–experiencing these careful, burning moments together that never quite tipped over the edge–and neither of you seemed to mind. You didn’t need the act of sex to feel intimate with him, even though you still had those thoughts that raced through you from time to time.

Every night you got to learn something new about him–how his breathing changed when you kissed his throat, how the muscles in his stomach twitched when you trailed your fingers ever so slowly under the hem of his shirt, and how he arched subtly into your touch like he was too afraid to vocalize that he wanted more.

It was explorative, patient, and gentle, and that’s all the both of you needed to have a good time.

The kiss continued to deepen, as his lips parted for you, letting your tongue through the threshold. He tasted like fresh breath mints, like he had swallowed a few before you came into the room, which wasn’t an out of place thought at all–he typically did small things like that.

His hands skimmed down your neck, and over your shoulders, travelling down to your hips to anchor himself against you. He put a little more pressure into the kiss, feeling your body press flush into his, causing a small gasp to escape and vibrate against your lips from him. He pulled back for a moment, as your arms slid around his neck, guiding him down even more so he could bury his face briefly into your shoulder. He breathed in deeply, letting his lungs fill with the various scents that radiated off of you– the vanilla from your shampoo, the lavender from your perfume, and the sage that constantly stayed on all of your clothes in general–before exhaling shakily, tugging you closer to him.

He guided you backward with a quiet sort of urgency.

”Come here,” He whispered, the words came out so softly it barely made it past his lips.

He led you to his bed, with his hand pressed low at your back, fingers splayed out like it was steadying the both of you. When the backs of your legs met the edge of the mattress you let yourself sit, eyes still locked on his. He was still watching you closely, like you were ethereal, something that shouldn’t exist for him.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling how swollen it was just from the one kiss that you got, and brought your fingers to the hem of your shirt, slipping them under. Bob felt his chest heave for a moment, the beating of his heart only becoming more frantic, as he hung on your movements like it was a sacred text.

You peeled the top off slowly, revealing the curve of your waist, your chest, your shoulders in small increments–it was more than he’d ever seen at once from you. Once you riddled yourself of the article of clothing you threw it to the side, which left you in just a plain white, cotton bra.

Bob’s gaze swept over you modestly, almost like he was too shy to linger on one part of you for too long, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. You saw the way he struggled to swallow for a moment, gulping loudly from the way his throat closed from all the tension that was building up in the room, then you saw his hands move down to the hem of his own shirt.

He awkwardly shimmied out of the fabric, tugging it over his head, messing up his light brown mane of hair in the proces. You could feel your chest tighten, and your mouth dry up, seeing the expanse of skin that was exposed to you.

It was the first time he’d allow you to see him like this.

And god–he was beautiful.

His chest was broad and lean. He was dusted with freckles that went across his shoulders and collarbones, like they were constellations begging to be traced. There were a few scars too–old and pale, stretched and softened with time, because they certainly weren’t fresh. You wondered about each of them. Not necessarily the stories, but how they shaped him as the person you were falling for more and more every day.

He was flushed from neck to navel, the pink hue blossoming over his ribs and all the way up to his ears. His arms hung at his sides for a moment, allowing you to drink in the image, even though he was visibly curling in on himself a bit. You reached out for him, beckoning for him to come closer to you, watching as he sheepishly moved into your space now. Your fingers skimmed gently over his ribs, dragging slowly up the plane of his stomach and across the center of his chest. You looked up at him with a smile plastered on your lips

“You’re breathtaking Bob…” You whispered, seeing the way his eyes softened, hearing the sincerity that laced your voice when the compliment fell from you. He felt lightheaded from it, as you leaned in to kiss the skin just above his navel, your smile shadowing against the flesh.

“I think I’m gonna die.” He responded, choking on his own breaths.

”Now, now…Don’t die yet…You haven’t kissed me again.” That is what unraveled him, seeing you pull away from his stomach, looking up at him with those lust filled eyes that he had seen night after night.

He leaned down slowly this time, and when your lips met, it was warmer than before, like a supernova had exploded between the both of you. It started soft, like the last one, but it built. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence that made your toes curl into the carpet beneath you. His hands skimmed down your sides, thumbs brushing along the soft slope of your waist as he kissed you deeper.

Then one hand drifted lower, tracing over your outer thigh. He paused just for a second to look at you, and when you gave the smallest nod, he gently urged you backward.

You let him guide you down until you back pressed into the mattress as he hovered above you, bracing himself on one elbow beside your head while the other stayed on your thigh, as you bracketed his hips with your legs. You could feel how hard he was trying to rein himself in, watching his shoulders tense when you brought him closer to you.

”A-Are you sure this is okay?” He whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the thin space between you.

”Bob,” You murmured, tracing your fingers along the freckles on his collarbone, “If I wasn’t sure, I would tell you.” His eyes fluttered shut for a beat, the words sinking into him like a weighted blanket, before he leaned forward to kiss you again, savouring the contact.

You felt the way he trembled just slightly above you, the way he braced so carefully against his arm, like he was scared of putting too much weight on you, or doing something wrong. His lips dragged over yours, warm and open, letting you taste the cool mint again as his tongue flicked out to meet yours when you deepened the kiss.

His breath stuttered as he exhaled sharply through his nose, attempting to keep up, but you could feel how overwhelmed he was already. Your hands slid over his back, fingers tracing along the soft lines of his muscles beneath skin that practically burned beneath your touch. You felt every ripple, every twitch of control that he tried to maintain, and the thought of it–of him holding himself back for you–made you want to pull him even closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, almost like it was bordering on a whimper.

“Jesus…You feel so good,” He whispered suddenly, like he couldn’t keep it in, like it was something he had been wanting to say all week and it finally burst free. His voice cracked slightly with the confession, and his cheeks burned as he buried his face against your jaw to hide the heat crawling up his neck, realizing how stupid it must’ve sounded.

”S-Sorry, I just…I just-“ You hushed him for a moment, slipping your hand up his back slowly before curling your fingers into his hair.

”Bob…Don’t apologize. You feel good against me too.” You had barely let the words settle between the both of you, when you hooked your legs a little tighter around his waist and gently guided his hips closer to yours.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat.

His jaw slackening and his lips parting in tandem with one another, as his eyes locked onto yours like he was trying to decipher something written across your irises. You could see it in his face–the unraveling, the awe, the absolute vulnerability of someone who wasn’t used to being wanted like this. And yet, he was burning from the inside out.

“What…What are you doing?” He asked, his voice thin and shaky.

Instead of answering, you ground your hips up against him in one slow, aching press.

The noise he made was soft and strangled, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then snapped open again, and you were able to see the dazed glassiness that shimmered over them. You could see the way the new sensation tore through him, as a full-body tremor made his shoulders tense and his thighs flinch.

He didn’t move at first–he couldn’t. But when you tugged gently on the back of his hair and pressed your lips to his neck, he let go.

His hips rocked forward, not with force but with aching, desperate need, mirroring the movement you’d given him. Your bodies slotted together in a slow, tender rhythm, each motion sending a wave of heat in your abdomen. It wasn’t frenzied or rough—it was exploratory, intoxicating, and so deeply charged you felt like your bones were shaking.

You kissed your way up his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. His hand was trembling against your thigh, while the other one gripped the duvet beside your head. You felt the shudder in his breath again, and the way his hips pressed a little harder this time, a little more urgently. You could feel the outline of him pushing against the thin fabric of your cotton shorts, and it left you breathless, just the thought of being so close almost made your heart stop.

The moment swelled around you–timeless, heavy, and sacred.

Then your fingers trailed down, slow as molasses, brushing over his abdomen and dipping lower, finding the waistband of his sleep pants.

The reaction was instantaneous.

His entire body went rigid, and his eyes snapped open, bright and wide—and in that split second, you saw it. That flicker of gold in his irises. It glinted like sunlit honey, like lightning flashing beneath the surface of a lake.

Then–CRACK.

A sharp, unnatural noise split into the room, and both your heads jerked toward the window, seeing the fracture that had webbed across the glass. It kind of looked similar to when a rock hits a windshield at full speed, only there was a larger impact point. You both blinked at the damage, before your eyes returned to his, seeing that the gold was gone, and he was back to his normal shimmering blue irises that you were enamoured by.

His mouth moved to speak, but no sound came out, then he looked down at himself, and froze. You followed his gaze, seeing a wet spot blooming across the front of his pants.

Then everything happened all at once.

He scrambled off of you, nearly toppling sideways off the bed in the process, and you sat up immediately, reaching for him.

”Bob…Hey…” You said, trying to get him to calm down a bit, but he was already moving.

”Crap…I’m-I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, as he grabbed his shirt off the floor, pulling it on with frantic hands like he needed to shield himself from you, from the world, from his own embarrassment that floated up into his chest, causing him to shake a bit. He tried to cover up the wet patch as his skin turned a cherry red, spreading all the way over his face and neck. He opened his drawer so fast that it nearly flew off the track as he collected the first pair of boxers and sleep pants that he could find.

“Bob, it’s alright.” You murmured, watching him rush towards the door,

”I-I just…I need…I just need a second.” He whispered before bolting out the door so he could tend to himself in the privacy of the bathroom.

You sat on his bed, still breathless from the closeness, from the way his body had moved against yours, and from the crack in the damn window. But mostly, from the way he looked when he realized what had happened—like the sky had fallen on him. Your heart was aching in the way he reacted, and now that you were sitting alone everything felt amplified.

Your eyes drifted to the window again, staring at the crack that shimmered faintly beneath the golden wash of the lamp–splintering like lightning. Curiosity pulled you from the bed, as you shuffled closer to it, wanting to get a better look.

The fracture was intricate, jagged at the center with spider web veins splitting outward like a slow explosion. You reached up, hovering your hand in front of it.

No air came through, no whistling of wind, and no change in temperature.

You furrowed your brow and pressed your palm against the surface, feeling the cool solidity of the glass. It didn’t flex, nor did it crack even more with the pressure you placed on it, which made you even more perplexed.

You stepped back slightly, squinting at the window. It definitely wasn’t a regular one, it was industrial, reinforced, maybe even bulletproof. The thought made your lips part a little, as you tried to reconcile the softness of Bob–the sweet, awkward, blushing man who mouthed please hurry to you because he wanted to be so close–with the person who had just cracked fortified glass because he was so overwhelmed by your touch.

You huffed out a breath that was caught between awe and amusement, as you continued to stare at the jagged impact, until you saw movement in the glass, noticing Bob trying to sneak in, like you wouldn’t see him. You turned on your heels.

He stood against the door, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as you looked him over. He had changed into navy blue sleep pants, and his hair was clinging to his forehead–you assumed it was from him splashing water on his face to freshen up. He was holding onto a bundle of clothes–the ones he had changed out of–as his eyes scanned over you before dating away. You glanced down at yourself, suddenly remembering that you were shirtless, standing in your bra still.

His face flushed again, but this time it was threaded with much more than just embarrassment. There was remorse in there, maybe even a little bit of fear, like he was worried that you wouldn’t look at him the same because of what happened.

“I…” He started, voice hoarse, “…I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to just…Leave like that, I just–” He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. Or, I mean–you did, I guess, but–God.” He laughed breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut for a second. “I’m making this worse.” You shook your head gently, cutting him off before he spiraled any further.

“It’s okay Bob…Trust me you don’t have to apologize.” You said quietly, stretched out a hand towards him, “Now, come over here please.” Bob glanced down at the gesture, returning his gaze back up at you, hesitating for only a second before stepping forward, dropping the bundle of clothes on the floor. His movements were so timid, like a wounded animal coming over to look at the mess it made.

When he was close enough you leaned forward and wrapped your hand around his wrist. His eyes were wide and glistening as you tugged him toward you even more, his lashes trembling with the weight of remorse. Not just for bolting from the room or leaving you half-dressed and flushed on his bed, but for losing control…For being too much.

“I see those cogs turning in your head. Your brows are furrowing. Stop thinking for a second, and just look at me Bob.” You said, breaking through the thoughts that kept racing through his head, wrapping your arms around his waist. Bob let out a soft sigh, bringing his gaze down to yours. His hands hovered over your back for a moment before slowly coming to rest against your skin, holding onto you like he was afraid you were going to crack.

“…I truly didn’t mean to do that…” He murmured, motioning to the window, “I didn’t even think about it...It just happened.” You turned slightly in his arms, glancing back at the window for a split second, then returning your gaze back to him. You tilted your head up, brushing your lips softly against the underside of his jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble.

”Pretty sure it’s bulletproof glass too, by the way.” He blinked down at you, his cheeks flushing a deeper red, confused at the statement, and at the way you were smirking up at him, “I must’ve really gotten you going.” You added, trying to lighten the mood. A groan caught in his throat.

”Please…Don’t say that.” He whispered under his breath.

”Why not? It’s kind of hot.” Bob’s eyebrows raised at your comment, letting out a quiet laugh–embarrassed, and flustered, but undeniably touched by the way you were trying to make light of the situation.

”You know…I think you should actually be a little freaked out by this at least,” He stated gently, pulling back just a little bit so the both of you could comfortably look at each other, “I mean…We didn’t even…Do anything and I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, as he ran his hands along your back, “I’m just saying if I lost that much control just f-from grinding against you, what’s going to happen when we have sex?” He added, his voice laced with worry. You traced your fingers along his spine as you listened, feeling his chest rising and falling against you, the panic simmering underneath all the tension in his muscles. You leaned into him a bit more.

”Well…You don’t really use your powers all that much, Bob.” He raised his eyebrows at you, surprised by what you were possibly suggesting. You continued, gently brushing your thumbs along the hem of his shirt.

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. You’ve been bottling all that energy up without giving yourself a way to release it. Maybe you need to exhaust your powers a little–practice, push yourself in a safe space so you can figure out where the edges are. Then maybe…” You paused mid-sentence, reaching up to him to push his hair off his forehead, “You won’t have to worry about breaking any more windows.” He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling your fingertips trailing down the side of his face to hold his jaw.

“Or…” You added thoughtfully, “We could try some small exercises together. I know there are grounding techniques for people with telekinesis or energy-based mutations–things to help hone it and redirect it before it builds up too much.”

Bob was staring at you now like you were the only stable piece of land in a world that kept shaking under his feet. You ran your thumb along the slight roughness of his jaw, taking in the warmth of his skin.

“Either way,” You said, “We can figure it out together.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Together,” He repeated, almost like he was testing the weight of the suggestion in his mouth, making sure it was real. His hands gripped you just a little tighter, like he didn’t want to let go, admiring the fact that you were even sticking it out with him.

“And maybe next time,” You whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You’ll crack something a little less expensive.”

That made him laugh for real this time–a breathy, bashful sound as he rested his forehead against yours. “No more windows,” He whispered. “I promise.” You swayed in your spot for a moment relishing in the silence, as your hearts thudded against each other like it shared the same rhythm.

“…Maybe just the bedframe,” He mumbled a second later–so quietly you almost missed it.

There was a pause.

Then his eyes went wide, his entire face lighting up scarlet as the implication hit him a split second too late. “Oh my god,” He breathed, “I didn’t mean—shit—I mean I did but I—”

You broke into laughter, the sound bursting out of you like sunlight, catching yourself against his chest as your shoulders shook. “Robert Reynolds,” You gasped through your giggles, “I didn’t take you as a person to make a sex joke like that…I like it.”

——————

Yelena snapped her fingers in front of your face.

”Helloooo? Earth to Y/N…You’ve been zoned out for like ten minutes, are you concussed or something?” You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your trance, noticing your palms were sweaty, and your pulse was pounding in your head.

”Sorry…I’m fine, I was just thinking about that last round in my head. Trying to figure out how I let my ass hit the mat again.” You lied, grabbing your water bottle, attempting to cool yourself down.

”Uh-huh…” Yelena muttered, clearly not buying it.

Bucky was watching you as well, his expression unreadable as usual, his elbow still propped on his knee. His eyes were sharper now, completely focused.

”Maybe we should wrap it up for the day, I’ve got to go pick up a few things from my old apartment anyways, the renters are getting mad that I haven’t swung by yet.” You looked over at Yelena, who stretched her legs out with a low groan.

“Alright, that sounds fine to me.” She responded, getting up from the bench, cracking her neck before walking to the lockers, leaving you and Bucky alone. You let out a soft exhale, grateful that the plug had been pulled. You were too distracted to go for another round anyways.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You glanced up at Bucky, your eyes meeting his gaze. There was no judgement in his face, just quiet concern. You nodded.

”Yeah, I promise, I just spaced out.” He watched you for just a moment longer, like he was trying to see if you had any tells of a lie.

”Alright,” He said, turning to grab his towel from the bench, “But if you ever want to talk, you know where I am.” You gave him a soft smile.

”Thanks, Buck.” He lingered for a second longer, then gave a quick salute and headed off after Yelena, leaving you alone. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, gathering your thoughts and swatting around the brain fog that clouded your mind, before finally standing, feeling your muscles groan in protest.

You collected your things and caught a quick shower before making your way back to your room, expecting to divulge the line of questioning that Yelena had for you to Bob, but when you opened the door he wasn’t there. Your brows furrowed in disappointment as you stepped into the room, noticing a little note on his bed. You dropped your bag on the floor, picking up the scrap piece of paper that had his messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“Meet me on the roof, wear a sweater.” You were confused about the sweater part, but you still dug around for one, slipping it over your head once you found one that wasn’t already worn.

———

The rooftop greeted you with silence, except for the low hum of wind and the muffled buzz of distant traffic below. You stepped out slowly, your sweater wrapped tight around your arms, the door clicking shut behind you.

Bob was already there, standing near the edge, hunched slightly, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders curled in like he was bracing against the cold—or maybe against himself. The soft yellow glow from the rooftop security lights carved gentle shadows across his back, catching in his wind blown hair.

“You okay?” You called out, walking towards him, gaining his attention instantly. A small smile came up on his lips, as he wrung his hands together, like he was excited about something.

“I am now,” He responded, meeting you halfway. There was something different about him tonight, he still had that shy uncertainty about him, but it was like he was pushing it off a bit, replacing it with something more…Confident, “I wanted to show you something, if that’s alright of course.” He added stepping into your space, now close enough that his breath was fanning over your face. You tilted your head at him, squinting playfully.

”Are you going to crack all the windows from up here?” Bob let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head as a pink flush creeped up the sides of his neck.

”I promised you I wouldn’t break any more windows, and I will keep my word.” Before you could press further, he stepped closer, closing the last inch of space between you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back. It wasn’t hurried or anything, just grounding, and it was done with intention. You inhaled against his chest, the scent of cold air and warm cotton surrounding you as he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your lips–soft, and gentle, yet brimming with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He pulled back for one moment, before adding one more peck against your lips, a smile draped across his mouth.

His arms hadn’t loosened around you, and you could feel the steady thumping of his heart under your hands where they rested against his chest.

”Okay…” You murmured, brows lifting at him, feeling your cheeks growing hot under his stare, and from the gentle kiss he had given you, “Now you really need to tell me what’s got you in such a chipper mood. You’re smiling like you’ve got a secret, and it’s starting to freak me out.” Bob’s grin widened–shy, crooked, but deeply earnest. You squinted at him a bit, catching little flecks of gold sparkling in the blues of his eyes.

”Just hold still,” He whispered, voice hushed and warm, “And I’ll show you.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he tightened his arms around you, like he was locking you into place against his chest.

Then you felt it.

A strange, delicate lift in your stomach, similar to how it feels when you’re descending on a roller coaster, only just a little more tolerable. The pressure in your knees disappeared, your weight lessened…And your boots weren’t on the rooftop anymore.

”Bob…?” You said, your voice filling with panic.

”Shh, I’ve got you,” He murmured, eyes fixating on yours, “Just trust me.” He whispered. You took in a sharp breath, and nodded. The movement wasn’t fast or jarring. It felt like being exhaled by the Earth–like rising through a warm, invisible current. The wind tugged gently at your sweater, and your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively brought yourself even closer to him, not daring to look down to see how high up you were.

“Holy shit Bob, we’re flying…” You said, your voice shaking, caught between fear and awe.

”Well technically I’m flying, and you’re just one of my lucky passengers. My first and only to be exact.” He corrected jokingly, you smirked at him, continuing to look over his face. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, as the air around you thickened, warming against your cheeks despite the altitude change. You felt like you were suspended in a dream–held against him, hundreds of feet off the ground, with only starlight above you, and a glittering city below.

“How does it feel?” You asked softly, seeing Bob blink down at you, eyes soft and uncertain, “To have all this power…” You added, your hand slowly unraveling from holding onto his hoodie, splaying it across his chest instead, rubbing along the warmth with a soft smile draped on your lips, “To be able to do this–to lift me off the ground, to break windows without touching them, to float above the world like it’s nothing…” The way you looked up at him–half curious, half lust driven–made something buzz in his bloodstream, something golden and chaotic, and desperate for attention as he felt your fingers trailing up the side of his neck.

Bob swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around your waist even more, his breath hitching as he let out a faint nervous laugh before glancing down at you, seeing your face glowing softly from the city lights that reflected in your eyes.

”It’s…Intense. I constantly have this noise in my head, like it’s trying to break out, and I’m always on edge trying to suppress it…But when you’re around, and you’re able to block it…I have those moments of peace, and I love it…So much Y/N.” He emphasized, as your fingers curled gently into the collar of his hoodie, while your other hand cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

”You know…I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” You whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the night, “The way you handle everything, the way you care about being gentle, the way you hold back even when you could easily just let go…” You went on, looking up at him with such admiration it made him gulp down the lump that was forming in his throat, “You’re just incredible Bob…And I wish you believed that more often.” Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he needed to steady himself from the weight of your words, and when he opened them again, they shimmered with something so raw and fragile it made your heart ache.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just disbelief. “It feels like…You’re seeing someone I want to be. Someone I wish I was.” You reached up with your other hand now, pressing it against his cheek.

”You already are.” You whispered, a soft smile coming up onto your lips, as your eyes trailed over his face.

Bob leaned forward, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warming your skin as it mingled with the air that kissed your face. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, he just held you close, taking in the night for what it was giving him so far. His fingers twitched against your lower back, like he was trying to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Can I ask you something…Kind of dumb?” Your lips quirked at his words, blinking up at him.

”There’s no dumb questions…Go ahead and ask.” He let out a nervous breath of a laugh, pulling his forehead off yours so he could get a better look at you, shaking his head a bit as if he was trying to psych himself up.

”I’ve been…Thinking for the past couple of days…And if it’s too soon or too much just–just tell me okay? I can handle it, I promise.” He started, stuttering through his words.

”Okay, “ You whispered, already feeling your heart climbing into your throat, seeing the way he looked at you with such hope, terror, and utter sincerity. He glanced away for a second, feeling his cheeks flushing hot.

“I was wondering if maybe–if it’s something you’d want–if I could, um…” He cleared his throat, then bit the inside of his cheek, finally whispering, “If I could make love to you tonight.” When the words fell from his mouth it felt like the sky was going to split open and swallow him whole, but he meant every word he said, and you could tell it was something that he wanted to make sure you wanted as well.

”I’ve been wanting to ask that for a while now, but I didn’t want to ruin anything or scare you off, or…” His voice faded, as he stopped himself from embarrassing himself any further, “God, I sound like an idiot.” He whispered. You shook your head, cradling his face in your hands, gently tilting his head down so you could look into those soft blue eyes.

”Bob…” You whispered, “You don’t sound like an idiot at all…You sound like someone who cares about me. A lot.” His lips parted like he wanted to protest, but the words never came. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, “And that’s never something to be ashamed of.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he trembled from the gust of wind that blew by the both of you, and from the nerves that prickled throughout his body.

”I just…” He started, swallowing another lump that began to form in his throat, feeling like he was on the brink of tears, “I’ve never done it like this before…Where it actually means something…Where I feel…So much that it scares the crap out of me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, removing one of your hands from his face.

”Hold me with one arm, I want you to give me one of your hands.” You instructed, and he obliged immediately, keeping you flush against him and giving you his other hand like you requested. You took it and brought it to your chest, laying it gently over your heart.

”Do you feel that?” You whispered, watching him nod slowly, his palm splaying flat over the pounding rhythm the shook the cavity of your chest, “That’s how I feel when I look at you…When you smile at me, when you hold me…When you ask me things like this, with all these nerves going through you…And that’s also how I’m going to feel when we make love tonight.” You added, feeling Bob’s breath hitch in his throat, and for a second he didn’t move. You thought you put him into shock, but then his fingers curled ever so slightly against your skin, like he was tethering himself to you.

”I wanna be good for you.” He replied, his voice breaking around the edges, “I want to be everything you deserve…I want to take my time…I want to see what you look like when you fall apart because of me, and I want to memorize every sound you make and every place you like to be touched and–and I want to hold you through all of it.” Your eyes softened at his words, feeling your heart folding at the edges from the way he said it with such trembling devotion, like he was offering you everything he had without knowing if it would be enough for you.

”I wouldn’t want it any other way Bob…” He breathed out slowly like he’d been holding it for minutes, like your answer reached someplace deep inside him he didn’t know was waiting to be filled. A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

“Okay,” He whispered. “Okay.”

You felt his arms shift, the weight of the wind returning to your skin, and together—slow and gentle—you began to drift back down. The city lights rose to meet you, the rooftop coming back into focus beneath your boots. He didn’t let go. Not even once. His hand stayed tucked between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, like he didn’t trust gravity alone to carry you safely.

The moment your feet touched solid ground again, you didn’t speak. You just stood there for a second, forehead still brushing his, eyes locked and dazed with something fragile and full and beautiful. And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed–it wasn’t even desperate…It was just full. Full of promise. Of understanding. Of anticipation humming low in both your bellies. His hand cupped the side of your face so delicately it made your knees weaken, and when he pulled back, you didn’t have to say a word. You just reached for his fingers and laced yours through them.

“Come inside with me,” You said quietly.

And he followed instantly.

————

You left the light on before you went up to the roof, so when the both of you stepped into your shared quarters, the soft yellow hue of the lamp greeted you with open arms and warmed your skin almost instantly.

Bob closed the door behind him with a soft click, the quiet thud echoing between your beds like a held breath. You stepped into the space between them, turning to face him slowly, your hands sliding up to push your hair from your face. His eyes followed the motion, catching every shift of your body like he didn’t want to miss a second, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his hoodie.

“H-How do you want to start?” He asked quietly, his voice threadbare with nerves. All confidence from the roof had dwindled pretty quickly once the reality of the situation really settled in, and now he could feel his chest tightening from the thought of what was going to come next. You could see it in the way he fumbled with whatever he could get his fingers on, it was the most obvious tell of his. You stepped toward him carefully, and held your hand out like you normally did with him.

”Come here,” You whispered. Bob didn’t hesitate this time around, taking a few steps towards you until you could curl your fingers around the hem of his hoodie, slipping your hands under the soft fabric so you could touch his burning skin. His jaw clenched for a moment at first contact, his lashes fluttering at the featherlight touch you always used with him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky breath against your mouth.

”We don’t have to start any particular way,” You murmured, “Just be here with me…” Bob gave a slow, trembling nod, bringing his hands to your waist. You leaned forward a bit, pressing your lips against his, taking his breath away in one quick moment of time. You could feel his shoulders loosen a little, as he sighed into you, his fingers squeezing your clothed flesh gently, pulling your body closer to his. You broke the kiss first, removing your sweater quickly because you were growing warm extremely quickly, just like Bob you ran hot, but only when you were anticipating something, and this was definitely something you were looking forward to.

You threw the sweater to the side with a sigh, pushing your hair out of your face again as you adjusted yourself, seeing Bob’s eyes following your movements, and tracing over the skin that was revealed to him. The light camisole you wore hugged your figure just enough that he could make out the subtle shape of your breasts beneath it, and in the dimmed hue of the room he could see the way your nipples pebbled against the fabric. Before he could even stop himself, his fingers curled under the hem of the covering.

”Can I…?” His voice trailed off, looking down at you with dazed eyes. You nodded immediately, raising your arms up slightly, feeling the way he peeled the fabric up gently, wanting to drink in every inch of newly exposed skin. He slipped the camisole off you, throwing it to the side to join your sweater now, as his eyes returned to your bare chest.

For a second, it was like he didn’t breathe. His mouth parted slightly, and a stunned silence stretched between you before he managed to snap himself out of the trance your breasts had put him in, clearing his throat.

”You’re so…Beautiful. I mean–I already told you that, but seeing you like this–“ He cut himself off, looking down at himself, flustered, “Makes me feel overdressed.” You let out a small giggle, seeing the blush that crowded his face turn an even deeper red.

”Definitely overdressed.” You agreed, keeping your tone light, coaxing a nervous laugh from him. He ducked his head with a shy huff of breath, his hair falling into his eyes.

”S-Sorry. Didn’t mean to get ahead of myself, I just–“

“Hey,” You interrupted, reaching up to cup his face with both hands, forcing his gaze to stay on yours–his pupils already blown out from seeing your bare chest– as you ran your thumbs along his cheeks, “It’s okay…I like when you know what you want and ask for it. I also don’t mind being underdressed in front of you anyways. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” His lashes fluttered at you, as the tension in his shoulders melted just a little.

“Okay…” He whispered back, giving you a small nod, glancing down at himself. He pulled away from your touch, and with shaky hands, he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, tugging it down before peeling the garment off his arms and shoulders, letting it land in the soft pile of clothes that began to grow at your feet. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he hesitated for only a second more before pulling his plain grey t-shirt off as well, letting it join the abyss below.

The second the fabric cleared his torso, your hands were on him–warm palms pressing against bare skin, tracing up along his ribs and over the planes of his chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch, before bringing them up to rest at his neck. You pulled him down to you, fingers curling into his hair gently, as his lips met yours. The kiss this time was deeper–hungrier and desperate. He opened his mouth to you, feeling your tongue slip in, as your bodies aligned with each other again.

His hand slid up along your side, tracing over your ribs, until it found the curve of your breast, cupping it gently within his large palm. You let out a small moan of approval, your hips shifting slightly at the sensation and shivers that twinged up your spine. His thumb dragged over your nipple, circling it slowly before giving the flesh a soft and careful squeeze, not wanting to be too rough at first, drawing out a hum from you, and another gentle pull of his hair.

Bob pulled away from the kiss with a shaky smile, before peppering kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, carving out a wet path all the way to your chest, going to the breast that he wasn’t kneading with his hand still. His lips brushed over your nipple, testing, and teasing, waiting until you leaned toward him to close his mouth around it. A soft moan escaped the both of you, his breath warm and uneven against your skin as he sucked gently, his tongue moving in slow circles before fluttering along the peak. His other hand continued to palm and knead the other one, fingers teasing until both nipples were stiff beneath his attention. He switched sides, not wanting to neglect the other one, which earned another shocked gasp, feeling how more needy he was growing as he greedily sucked and nibbled. Your fingers laced deeper into his hair, trying to ground yourself when you felt your stomach somersaulting from the sensation of his tongue and mouth working in tandem together. Your words spilled out before you could really think–

“Jesus, Bob…” The moment you spoke he froze, pulling off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, lips shiny and slightly parted as he looked up at you. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes–God, his eyes–were wide and hazy, like he was drunk on you and the taste of your skin.

“Are…Are you okay?” You nodded immediately.

”More than okay.” You replied, as your fingers slid out from his hair to trail down his chest, moving with slow precision as you found the tie at the waistband of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze locked on his. You made quick work of it, undoing the knot in one swift pull before pushing at the fabric so it shifted down his hips, exposing more and more skin to you. He straightened up a little, taking his hand off your breast to push them off his legs completely, kicking them off to the side before mirroring your actions–going for your sweatpants too.

He bent down slightly to push them down your legs, and you took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from him, catching him off guard. The both of you broke into soft laughter, easing your nerves a bit. Once the sweatpants hit the ground you kicked them off your feet, letting them be banished with the rest of your clothes.

Now in just your underwear, the air between the both of you was thick with anticipation. Your breathing slowed, and deepend, syncing with his as he took you in–really absorbing every inch of skin he could see, battle wounds and all–his gaze lingering everywhere. You let your gaze fall for a moment, catching the shape of him beneath the soft cotton of his boxers. His erection was unmistakable, full and straining against the fabric, the outline was thick and defined, which made you nervous, but also excited. The image alone sent a pulse through your belly, and made your toes curl.

When you looked back up at him, he wasn’t staring at your body anymore, he was watching your face. His expression was so open, so filled with awe and admiration that it nearly made your breath catch in your chest. He reached out, his fingers gently cupping your jaw, his thumb running over the skin, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips, savouring the moment with a sigh.

Then, without saying a word his hand slipped from your face and slid around your back, while his other arm slid under your thighs, lifting you to him with ease. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carried you the short distance to his bed, throwing the duvet down to the foot of the bed, before lowering you down onto the cool sheets, letting the mattress form around your figure, pushing you up a bit so he could get on top of you.

Bob settled between your thighs with the softest exhale, like he was afraid to ruin the moment by moving too quickly. His knees sank into the mattress, feeling the way your legs guided him closer to you. His hands remained gentle–one braced beside your head, the other holding the side of your hip, absentmindedly tracing circles along it with his thumb.

You tilted your face up to him, and he dipped his head to meet your lips once again. The kiss was slower this time, deep with care and tenderness. You kissed him back with the heat of a thousand suns, your fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him a little closer as your body arched up into his. His hand on your hip drifted up your side, tickling your ribs with the ghosts of his fingertips, letting the intimacy of the moment wrap around you like a second skin.

Then, he pulled back slightly, just far enough to look at you–eyes searching, lips still parted, breath uneven against your mouth. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing idly over your ribs before he finally spoke.

”I-I want to go down on you,” He said quietly, as if the words were sacred to him. His voice was shaky, but you could tell it was just from the nerves that were pulsing through him in those moments, “I want to…Take care of you first…Want to show you how much I’ve been thinking about this…How much I’ve been thinking about you…If that’s okay?” Your heart thudded so loudly in your chest you swore he could hear it. The look on his face–open, vulnerable–was enough to make your breath catch. His words wrapped around you with such warmth that it rooted deep in your body.

You reached up, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as you whispered.

”That’s more than okay.” He swallowed hard, and then nodded, giving you a small kiss, before drifting down your skin, his lips reaching every inch of you, peppering wet little marks across you, committing every detail to memory. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, brushing across the solid muscles of his back. He kissed your chest, then your ribs, all the way until he reached the edge of your underwear. He paused, lifting his gaze to yours again, just to be sure.

You gave him a small nod, watching his fingers hook under the fabric. He pulled the fabric down your hips, and thighs, as you helped him by pulling each leg out for him. He let out a sigh, looking at your completely bare figure beneath him now, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth for a brief moment before returning to where he was moments ago, putting your legs over his shoulders.

Bob leaned forward, brushing his mouth along your inner thigh, peppering kisses along the skin, memorizing the taste of your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him the most. By the time he reached your core, you could feel your whole body pulsing against him, thrumming with anticipation and desperation.

When he finally brought his mouth to your core, he slowly licked upwards, wanting to savour the first time he got to actually taste you. The feeling of it caught you off guard, which drew a soft moan from your lips–broken and boarding on a whimper. His hands tightened at your thighs, holding you closer to him as he licked you again–more firmly this time–his tongue parting you gently, working up to circle around your clit without touching it quite yet. You closed your eyes tightly, reaching down to lace into his soft brown strands of hair. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every reaction that he coaxed out of you. When his mouth finally closed around your clit, your fingers in his hair tightened, hips rolling into him with a gasp.

“F-Fuck…Bob.” You choked out, and that was all he needed.

He groaned softly in response–just hearing your voice sounding so wrecked like that almost destroyed him–and he settled deeper between your thighs. He dragged his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, curling it just right at the tip, then flicking it softly against you until your legs trembled around him. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue with practiced rhythm, giving you just enough then pulling back slightly to tease again, letting you chase the pressure.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

”You…Holy fuck Bob…” You whined, not being able to find the words in your vocabulary because your brain was melting from the intense pressure that was building in your stomach. The way you said his name had him clutching at your thighs tighter, grounding himself as he buried his face against you more, like a man starved. He moaned softly, sending another wave of heat through your core, the vibration making you gasp. His tongue flicked, circled, and flattened, lavishing you with such deliberate devotions which drew you closer and closer to the edge.

He shifted slightly, and took one of his hands off your hip, bringing it between your thighs as he adjusted his other hand so it was splayed out along your belly. He traced his fingers through your wetness, dragging two of them along your entrance, teasing for just a second before gently slipping them inside. You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you looked down at him, seeing how focused he was on pleasing you, his eyes glistening with such intensity that you felt like you were going to die.

His fingers moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the slight stretch they provided, before curling them slightly, finding the spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed, crying out as your legs tightened around his head. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, he just groaned again, like your pleasure was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Oh my god–Bob–Bob please don’t stop…Don’t stop.” You begged, your voice breathless, and trembling on every syllable. Your fingers gripped his hair even tighter, as you felt the orgasm cresting with a pressure so intense it stole the air from your lungs. Your body was unraveling, and your muscles were tightening like a wire drawn taut. He felt it–he felt the way your walls began to pulse around his fingers, the way your hips started to jerk–and he doubled down, curling his fingers harder, sucking your clit in time with your shattering moans.

“Come for me,” He whispered against you, voice wrecked, barely audible but so sure. “Please. I want to feel it.” You broke apart beneath him with a cry, your thighs clamping around his head as your body seized, pleasure rocketing through you in waves so intense they left your limbs shaking. Your core pulsed around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out the release, breath stuttering through sobs of ecstasy.

Bob held you through it, fingers still moving slowly inside you as his mouth gently eased off, switching to open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, grounding you, kissing you through the aftershocks. He watched your body tremble beneath him, his own breath ragged with awe.

Finally, when you dropped back onto the mattress with a long, shaky sigh, he pulled his fingers from you slowly, kissing your hip one more time before crawling up over your body. His skin was flushed, his mouth was wet and glistening with your arousal, and his eyes were glazed and dark with want–but there was so much tenderness in his face that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before pulling back to caress your cheek, his thumb running just below your eye.

”Are you okay? Did I–“ You cupped his face, and pulled him back down to you, kissing him again, interrupting the words that were about to fall out of his mouth. He let a soft moan against your lips, before you slowly pulled back.

”You did…Absolutely amazing Bob. So fucking amazing.” Bob’s breath hitched the moment you said it, and you watched the praise ripple through him like a tide, flooding his expression with something raw and deeply earnest. He looked almost overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of affirmation, but he was appreciative of it regardless.

You gave him a second to breathe, brushing his hair back gently from his flushed forehead as he hovered over you, gaze still fixed on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then you tilted your head toward his ear, your voice soft and steady.

“My turn.”

Bob blinked, his lips parting slightly. “Y-You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” You cut him off gently, placing your palms on his chest and guiding him down onto his back. “I really want to.”

He let you maneuver him without resistance, collapsing onto the pillows as you crawled over him, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate movements that kept his eyes trained on you. Your fingers trailed down his torso, grazing the firm lines of his chest and stomach, watching as his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

When you shifted lower, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, he let out a sharp breath.

“Wait—” He said quickly, sitting up on one elbow, using his other hand to catch your wrist. “I–shit–I want you to just–just use your hands, okay?” You blinked at him, a little surprised by the request and the sudden interruption.

“Why?” You asked gently. His face flushed harder, eyes dropping to the sheets for a second before he met your gaze again, voice low and a little sheepish.

”Because I’m gonna end up finishing too fast if you use your mouth..And I don’t want to finish unless it’s inside you.” He admitted, his breath unsteady. Your thighs flinched at his words, leaving you staggered. You weren’t expecting it, not from him. Not from soft-spoken, anxious, stammering Bob…But then again he had just given you the best orgasm in the world…So he did have a bit more of a wilder side to him that evidently he only reserved for you at this point.

”…Okay.” You whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more, before easing down his body again. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers, and you eased them down his hips, eyes never leaving his as you exposed him to the cool air. His cock was thick and flushed, twitching slightly with need, already glistening at the tip with precum. The sight of him made your mouth go dry, and your stomach turn. You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, watching the way his jaw tightened at your touch, his head falling back against the pillow with a soft moan. Your hand moved in slow, steady strokes, twisting gently at the tip, your palm slick from how worked up he already was.

“Oh…Oh god you’re going to ruin me.” He rasped, breathlessly. You leaned over him, your free hand braced against his chest as you shifted to straddle his thighs properly. The weight of you over him made his eyes flutter open again. His hands went to your hips, as if just having you there made him feel steadier. Then without warning, he looked up at you with glassy eyes and spoke.

“C-Can I sit up against the headboard?” His voice was rough with need, but still gentle—like he didn’t want to disrupt the closeness, only deepen it.

You nodded immediately, helping guide him as he adjusted, both of you moving slowly so nothing between you was rushed. You cradled his shoulders as he shifted upward, his back settling against the cold wood of the headboard with a relieved exhale. The lamp’s soft glow painted his chest in gold, and his hair was a little messy from where your fingers had run through it, his mouth still parted as he looked at you with awe.

You straddled his lap again, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of him as he pulled you closer again. His head tilted forward and he pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, lips finding your breast again like he needed it, sucking gently over the flesh, making sure to leave a mark before pausing to let his breath fan across your skin. All the while, your hand kept moving—slow, slick, steady. You felt him throb in your palm, the heat of him pulsing like a second heartbeat. You could hear him panting, but he didn’t tell you to stop, so you continued until he pulled back from your chest completely, his pupils blown wide with something molten in his expression.

”Y/N, spit in my mouth…” He whispered, “I want all of you…I want everything. I want you in every part of me…Please.” He added, his voice on the edge of a whimper. Your breath caught at his words, not from surprise or shock but from the vulnerability the words had to them. His need wasn’t crude…It was devotional, like it was the only way he knew how to show you how dedicated he was.

You nodded once, slowly, with your eyes locked on his. Your free hand came up to cradle his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye before gently tilting his head back, exposing his throat to you. He kept his gaze on you, wide-eyed and trembling as you leaned over him, still stroking his cock while doing so.

With your lips parted and breath warm, you let a slow, steady thread of saliva slip from your mouth–down past his lips and onto his waiting tongue. He didn’t flinch, he just accepted it with a shuddering breath, swallowing it right when it made contact. A flush bloomed even more across his neck and chest. You smiled down at him, seeing how satisfied he looked. He took a deep breath, then surged forward, one arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you, open and warm, with his lips parting against yours like he wanted to thank you with his whole body.

You deepened the kiss, your chest pressing flush to his as he held you in his lap, the heat of his body radiating against yours like a shell. His hands roamed over your back, your waist, everywhere he could reach, but it wasn’t frantic—it was gentle and slow, like he was memorizing you by feeling alone. And then you pulled back, just enough to speak, your lips barely brushing his.

“I need you inside me.”

The words left you in a whisper, but they hit him like a lightning strike. Bob’s breath stuttered, and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours—glazed, dazed, and swimming in something so deep it made your spine curl. He nodded, a little frantic, the motion jerky as he grasped at your hips again, steadying you, grounding himself.

“You sure?” He asked, drawing his brows together, his voice hoarse, wanting to be sure you were on board with this completely. You nodded, kissing him one more time.

”Never been more sure.” You adjusted your hips with care, steadying yourself as you guided him to your entrance, the tip of him hot and slick against you. Bob’s breath hitched, his fingers flexing hard at your waist as he tried to hold himself still, trying not to rush you. You watched his jaw tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you slowly began to sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

The stretch made your thighs tremble and your breath catch, and Bob let out a strangled groan that vibrated through his whole chest. His head fell back against the headboard with a soft thump, eyes fluttering closed as he murmured something that sounded like your name paired with the words oh my God. You sat there a moment, your hands planted on his chest, letting your bodies adjust, feeling the twitch of him inside you, the way he was already pulsing with restraint.

And then you began to move.

It was slow at first, just the tiniest grind of your hips forward and back, your slick heat stroking along his length. His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brought his hands to your hips, guiding you gently, letting you take what you needed at your own pace, and in your own way.

You moved together like a heartbeat–slow, steady, with increasing intensity.

Bob’s hands slid up your back, then down again to cup your ass, helping you ride him deeper, pushing you just enough to make your breath hitch with every descent. His moans became more frequent, low and helpless against your skin, and he whispered your name like a prayer, again and again, until it bled into the rhythm of your bodies.

“God–you feel so good–so so good,” he rasped against your neck. “I don’t think I can–oh shit–”

Your hips were moving faster now, desperation threading into every motion. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your quiet moans, and his ragged breathing. You felt like you were both on fire—burning, blindingly alive.

And then, suddenly, Bob shifted.

Without warning, he gripped your thighs and flipped you, your back hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before you could say anything, he was there—above you—sliding back into you in one fluid, aching thrust. You cried out, your hands gripping his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, pulling him in closer.

Bob moaned softly, burying his face into your neck as his hips snapped forward with more force now, losing the gentle rhythm he had from before, exchanging it for something deeper, and more primal. One of his hands found yours and squeezed it tight, pressing it against the pillow beside your head, while the other shot out grip the headboard so he could brace himself.

And then the sound hit.

CRACK.

You barely registered it at first–you were too lost in the crescendo building inside your body, the way he filled you so perfectly, the way your name fell from his lips like he was worshiping you with every thrust. But his body shuddered on top of you, his hips jerking erratically now, the pace stuttering as he reached the edge.

“Oh God–God–Y/N–”

He moaned loudly, something close to a gasp punched from his lungs as his hips slammed into you one final time, and his whole body locked up. His hand crushed the top of the headboard–literally splintering the wood under his palm as he came inside you with a broken, breathless cry. You felt the wave of it, the way he pulsed deep inside, the warmth of him spilling into you, and it sent you hurtling over the edge too, your climax crashing through your limbs like a wave snapping every nerve awake. You cried out beneath him, your nails dragging down his back, your body seizing around him.

Bob collapsed, trembling, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot and wild against your collarbone. His hair was a complete mess, damp and tangled and wild across your skin. He was heavy and shaking, still buried inside you, both of you locked in the aftermath–too breathless to speak. You could feel his heart pounding against you–where his chest was pressed against yours.

Then slowly, you felt him lift his head from your shoulder, his cheeks a complete crimson now, lips parted as he gazed down at you with those shimmering blue eyes again, like he was trying to comprehend what just happened.

In those moments he leaned forward and kissed you, like he was saying thank you, or maybe he was trying to determine if this really was happening. You kissed him back with the same softness he gave you, your fingers pushing his hair back from his face. He sighed, and pulled back from your lips, his gaze raising slightly. You could see his mouth drop open slightly, and his eyes went wide.

”…What?” You asked, your brows drawing together in confusion. He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently reached up and tilted your chin, guiding your gaze upward–and that’s when you saw it.

A clean, jagged split ran right down the center of the wooden headboard. Splintered and cracked like lightning had struck it from above. Your mouth parted in shock, and for a beat neither of you said anything.

Then you laughed.

It started soft–with disbelief and surprise–but quickly turned into full, breathless giggles that made your body shake. Bob buried his face in your neck again, groaning quietly.

“At least we still have my bed to move to,” You teased, stroking his hair to calm him down from the embarrassment he was probably feeling. “But maybe we should…I don’t know…Get things that don’t break so easily?”

Bob groaned again into your skin, and you could hear the shy smile behind it. “Y-Yeah…Yeah, maybe,” He mumbled, barely audible.

You could feel the heat creeping back into his cheeks.

“Though…” He added after a pause, voice muffled and sheepish, “If sex is always gonna be like that… I-I don’t think it’ll matter what it’s made of…” You smirked, pushing him off his shoulder so you could look at him–and the adorable way he immediately avoided your gaze. Your heart swelled.

“Sounds like a good time to me,” You whispered, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

Eventually, you cleaned yourselves up, and shifted to your bed, sliding in under the fresh sheets, tucking yourselves into each other. Bob curled around you protectively, your bodies bare and warm together, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, nose buried into your hair. You fell asleep like that–saturated in the safety of each other, breath syncing, hearts still fluttering.

——————

The morning sunlight slipped gently into the room, illuminating the soft gold glow of the lamp you’d forgotten to turn off.

You were the first to stir.

Bob’s arms were still locked around you, holding you like he thought you might disappear. You turned in his embrace, resting your palm against his chest, letting your fingers trace lazy circles along his sternum, and the little scars that he had around that area that were barely noticeable. His eyes fluttered open not long after, blinking slowly until they found yours.

“Morning,” You whispered.

“Hi…” He whispered back, his voice gravelly from, as one hand moved to push your hair out of your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “Of course I am.”

He returned a smile back to you, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in to kiss you–sleepy and sweet, his soft lips barely moving, while his nose brushed against yours. He pulled back slowly, letting his thumb trace your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it, with a sweet smirk.

”I could stay like this forever,” He murmured, trailing his touch down to the side of your neck, taking in the image of you in front of him, making sure he would remember this moment. You tilted your head into his hand, staring up at him with your heart pounding against your chest.

”Me too.” He grinned, just a little. The kind of grin that was half love-drunk and half processing the events that happened last night, then you remembered what you were going to talk to him about yesterday when you came back to the room, before you found his note.

”Hey I was actually going to tell you something when I came back to the room,” You began, already laughing at the story, seeing the way his attention was on you, hanging off of every word “During training yesterday evening, Yelena and Bucky gave me the third degree abo-“ Just as you were about to tell him you heard Yelena’s voice coming from an already opening door.

”Y/N, missed tra-OH MY GOD! HOLY CRAP!” You jolted, the covers pulling up to your chest as Bob yelped and scrambled to sit up behind you, wide-eyed and clutching the sheets. In the doorway, Yelena stood with her hands over her eyes, then immediately turned and bolted out again.

”I KNEW IT! BUCKY I TOLD YOU!” She yelled. The both of you glanced over at each other.

”…I’m assuming they gave you…The third degree about us?” Bob asked, finishing the sentence you were about to say before the interruption.

“Yeah…” You whispered under your breath, trying to suppress a laugh.

[scarletmika]

Kiss Me Again : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

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

Summary: A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

Warnings: SO much fluff, shy Bob (I would be too), pining, age gap (inevitable when one of them is a literal Goddess), probably some very incorrect Norse Mythology but it's fanfiction people, SPOILERS kinda for Thunderbolts*, female reader description

Word Count: 4,727 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: this was an anon request and the second I read it I said "I must write this right now" and then I ran with it

PART TWO Kiss Me Forever : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

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

“So, Winter Soldier…when you say ‘otherworldly visitor’ do you actually mean ‘otherworldly’ or is she just very…you know…beautiful in that entrancing sort of-”

“Oh my god, Alexei, when he says ‘otherworldly,’ he does mean ‘otherworldly,’ why is that so hard to understand?”

Bob was nothing short of confused throughout the entire conversation playing out before them. Bucky had called a meeting of the entire group, stating an ‘emergency,’ and gathered them all in the meeting room that Valentina had designed for staging before missions. It wasn’t a room that Bob was in often, still yet to have gone on a mission with the team as he worked to find a way to use his powers without losing control of himself, but even being in there for less than 5 minutes, he could tell why his friends hated it so much.

The A/C in the conference room was terrible, and as someone who ran hot naturally because of the ‘medical trial,’ it wasn’t doing Bob any favors in the summer heat of New York City. The table was entirely too large for the small team, judging by the way that Bucky had to practically shout down the table to where Alexei sat at the head of it, claiming it was the best seat and the most important. All in all, Bob hated it, though there was a lot about the newly renovated tower that everyone hated, given it had all been Valentina’s design work.

“Look, can we forget about the ‘otherwordly’ comment for two seconds? If either of you says it again, I may just carve out my own eardrums,” Yelena made a show of holding her freshly sharpened knife to her ear, giving Ava and her father a blank look, before turning her attention back to Bucky. “Wherever she may or may not be from…why exactly have you invited some woman to the tower?”

“To train him,”

Bob’s head shot up when it got quiet in the room, realizing that Bucky’s finger was jabbed in his direction, and all eyes were on him. His own eyes went wide, and he himself thought they might fall out of his head, as he pointed at himself.

“T-train…me?”

“You said you were ready to begin learning to fight, that you had a pretty good grasp on the…other sides of you,” Bucky explained as Bob shifted uncomfortably at even the mention of the other parts of him he wished to keep locked away. “There are three super soldiers in this room, and we all got our asses handed to us by you months ago in this very tower. Trust me, if anyone can train you and keep up, it’s her.”

The team gave one another skeptical glances, turning to Bob who looked just as confused. Yelena hung her head, rubbing at the sockets of her eyes with the palms of her hands as she turned back to Bucky.

“And who in the hell could possibly be strong enough for that?”

“...the Goddess of Strategy-”

“EXCUSE ME?”

The room erupted into absolute chaos as Bucky uttered those three simple words, hanging his head with a groan that resounded through the room as the team yelled over one another, their words impossible to decipher.

Bob, on the other hand, was frozen. He’d kept himself entertained in the attic of his childhood home with many, many books on Norse Mythology stolen from the local library. He’d grown up reading the myths of Thor, Loki, and the likes, only to learn years later that those gods were, in fact, real.

Yeah, Bob knew exactly who you were. He couldn’t decide if the flush quickly crawling across his skin was due to the yelling in the room or because he’d harbored a crush on you, his favorite Avenger, since he was a literal child.

“If you think Valentina will allow this-”

“When have I ever cared what Val thinks-”

“Are we glossing over the Goddess aspect of this-?”

“Please, she could probably break little Bobby in half with a look-”

“FRIENDS, MY WONDERFUL TEAM, LOWER YOUR VOICES!” it was a very contradictory statement for Alexei to be shouting, standing on top of the rolling chair at the conference table, which the entire team was shocked wasn’t buckling under the pressure. It did the trick, though, the ceaseless arguing and shouting coming to an end as everyone looked to the older man expectantly. “I trust the Winter Soldier’s judgement, but this old Russian only has one question…who is this Goddess?”

These days, Yelena seemed to always be groaning around her father and anything he said, and this was no different. She muttered something in Russian under her breath, which most of the team by now had come to learn meant something along the lines of “shut him up before I do.” Bucky attempted to do just that.

“She’s-”

“Thor and Loki’s sister, daughter of Frigga and Odin. Goddess of Strategy, has a sword formed at Nidavellir that she’s- she’s kind of deadly with, but it’s really cool because it can summon the Bifrost. She was uh, trained in sorcery by Frigga, was an Avenger…” Bob hadn’t even realized that he’d gone on a tangent, interrupting Bucky and info-dumping everything he could about the myth that was you before his brain could stop him. He could see Yelena’s smile quirk up into a smirk as that red flush he’d already had deepened as he realized what he’d just done. “I just uh, I-I think I must’ve- I read that somewhere…once…a long time ago. A really-really long time ago.”

There was quiet in the room for a moment before Walker laughed, slamming his hand down on the table as he gestured between Bucky and Bob.

“Nice one, Barnes! Seems the student has a big ‘ole crush on the teacher you found for him!”

If the blush on his cheeks could get worse, it did. Bob avoided making eye contact with anyone at the table, gaze entirely focused on his hands as he wrung them together in his lap.

“Alright, lay off. Fact of the matter is, Bob needs a teacher that’s not easily breakable, and she’s the best of the best,” Bucky side-eyed Bob for a second, catching his eyes for just a brief moment. “I sent a message to New Asgard, they got it to her, and she said she’d do it. So bury your crushes, get your teasing out now, because she’s arriving tomorrow and I’d like if we could act like the Avengers and not the Avengerz for once. This woman did save the world…multiple times.”

Bob tried to do just that, he really did. There was endless teasing from John the rest of the day, and while Ava and Yelena didn’t directly contribute, they didn’t try to stop John’s comments either. Bob did his best to ignore them and brush them off, too busy giving himself a pep talk all day that he could do this. It was a harmless crush on a literal Goddess he’d had for years; it was nothing. He was an Avenger now, he could do this.

His pep talk had been great the night before. But it couldn’t prepare him for the moment you actually arrived at the tower in a stream of color.

The Bifrost was a sight in itself, but seeing it before your own eyes, as Ava muttered under her breath, was like its own separate wonder of the world.

The stream of colors dissipated before their eyes, leaving that same etched pattern it always did into the helicopter landing pad of the Tower they now called home. A conversation that it was decided Bucky would get to have with Valentina. When the colors were gone, you were left standing in the Bifrost’s place.

Bob hadn’t prepared himself for what it would be like to see you in person. Somehow, you were prettier than he even thought was possible.

The Asgardian armor you’d donned for years was still shiny, the light of the sun reflecting off of it. It was almost an exact copy of Thor’s own armor, though entirely blue and gold, billowing blue cape hanging from your shoulders, flowing in the wind of the city. Bob could see Styrkr, your sword, sheathed across your back, glinting in the sun as you stalked toward the group, a smirk that Bob thought could rival the sun itself on your lips.

You were beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal. There was no shortage of words that Bob could use to describe you in that moment as you stopped in front of Bucky.

“Well, Barnes…you look better than you did years ago, that’s for sure,”

Even your voice had the flutter in Bob’s stomach threatening to eat him alive from the inside out.

Bucky laughed, quickly pulling you into a hug that you eagerly reciprocated.

“I’d make a comment about how you haven’t aged a day, but I don’t think I need to point out the obvious,”

“Isn’t the longevity of Asgardians so fun?” you both shared another laugh, Bucky’s arm thrown over your shoulders as he seemed to give you an affectionate squeeze, a history of fighting and the semblance of a friendship clear between the pair of you. Your gaze drifted over the team beside him. “So…this is the New Avengers, huh? Still weird that you’re living in the tower I once called home.”

Bucky was quick to introduce the team to you. Yelena and Ava were nothing but respectful, while John still seemed to carry that ‘entitled arrogance’ as Ava typically called it in his greeting to you. Alexei had the entire team wishing that he just…knew how to be normal, for once. Loud, boisterous, but it brought a smile to your face nonetheless.

“I’ve got to say, you remind me a bit of Volstagg and Fandral if we mixed them into one person. I think you would’ve gotten along well with them,” the comment seemed to make Alexei surge with pride, even as he leaned over to his daughter and asked loudly ‘who the hell were those people.’ It was when your gaze finally made it to Bob that he felt his heart was going to stop. “So…that means you must be my indestructible, ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ student.”

All eyes were on Bob in that moment, and he was struggling…hard. He tried to speak, to remind himself of his pep talk from last night and to portray confidence, but he was a stumbling mess of words.

“I uh, I’m-I’m Bob. That’s uh, that’s me…exploding suns and s-stuff. I’m the n-new student…yay. And I-I know who you are…b-big Norse Mythology fan…”

Bob could hear the snickers of his teammates, not entirely subtle about them, and could see the grimace on Bucky’s face. But not you.

Your smirk had softened into the sweetest smile. Your head had cocked to the side, eyes almost the tiniest bit brighter as they trailed his form up and down, and Bob could feel the sweat forming as he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, knowing you seemed to be assessing him.

“Bucky…you failed to warn me how cute my student was,” Bob’s breath had caught in his throat as you sent him a wink. “You know what they say…it’s always the quiet ones.”

You were going to be the death of him, Bob had decided in that moment.

You requested to spend that first day alone with Bob in the training room of the tower, gauging his comfort level in any form of fighting in the slightest. The team respected that, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t all found reasons to take turns walking past the training facilities in hopes of eavesdropping on conversations and catching glimpses of this training that they all thought was going to end terribly.

Bob’s eyes were locked on you as you removed the heavy armor plating you wore, laying it out on one of the benches until you were left in the form-fitting undershirt and pants that sat below your armor. Yeah, this was going to be absolute torture for him.

“Do you want to see it?”

Shaking himself out of the stupor that Bob seemed to put himself in, his eyes went wide as they focused back on your face. He was confused until he glanced at your hands, seeing that you were holding your sword, Strykr, out toward him.

“O-Oh! Oh uh, I don’t know-”

“She doesn’t bite,” you joked with a slight laugh, taking a step toward him and holding it out. “You said you liked Norse Mythology, so I figured you’d want to take a look at it before we get started.”

You were right, but Bob didn’t need to say that. With a shaky hand, he reached out and took the sword in his own hands, and he could almost feel the power flow through him just from holding it. 

It was heavy, but not too heavy, a strange lightweightedness to it while still feeling like it took godly strength to swing. He realized, holding it up close, that the sun glinting off of it wasn’t what he’d seen earlier on the helicopter pad. The sword itself had a faint glow to it, almost pulsing, a power he could only assume came from the fact that it was forged in the heart of a dying star.

“It’s beautiful…” Bob managed to say without stuttering through it, probably because he hadn’t taken his eyes off the sword as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. “It ’s-it’s almost like-”

He hadn’t realized how fast he’d swung it, unused to the lightweight feel of the sword that was, most definitely, heavier than it looked. Your hand caught the blade easily, not even flinching, as it swung toward you, simply eyeing him with a curious look and a genuine smile.

“Well…never seen that before,”

“I-I’m sorry!” Bob dropped the hilt immediately, sure his cheeks were going to be permanently flushed red after spending time with you. You’d only let out a light laugh, catching the hilt easily, swinging it quickly in your hand before placing it down next to your armor. “I didn’t mean to! It’s just so…it’s so l-light.”

“It’s actually not. For most normal people, even for super soldiers like Bucky, it’s quite heavy,” you replied with a smirk as you rose back up to your feet. “Guess that’s a better explanation for your strength level than the bullshit ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ shit Valentina came up with.”

Bob laughed lightly, wringing his hands together as his eyes followed you. Taking your place across the sparring mat from him, ten feet between you both, you stood ready for a sparring session. Bob…he stood as if he was in fight or flight mode.

“So…uh, how d-do we do this?”

“Depends. Bucky says when it comes to training you…don’t have much,” Bob nodded at your comment, watching as you tilted your head curiously. “You want to take it slow, or you want me to throw you in the deep end?”

“Uh…w-what’s the deep end entail?”

Bob had barely finished his sentence when your hands flicked, tendrils of navy blue magic wrapping around his waist and tugging him across the mat in your direction. A gasp left Bob involuntarily at the motion as the magic dissipated, leaving him barely on his feet in front of you. A single swipe of your leg had him plummeting to the ground on his back, landing with an ‘oof’ as your foot came to rest on his chest, barely pressing him into the mat.

“Y-you…” Bob was speechless, staring wide-eyed up at you as you simply smirked down at him. “T-that’s cheating!”

“No, that’s called the deep end,” you laughed wholeheartedly, reaching down to take his hand and tug him back to his feet, and he knew you didn’t miss that now signature red flush on his cheeks. “And that is why we’re going to start slow.”

“...why’d y-you even offer the deep end, then?”

“Girl’s gotta have some fun from time to time. Come on, let’s start with basic stances,”

Those training sessions started as once a week, before quickly evolving into twice a week, and before the team knew it, you essentially lived in that tower once again, there all day, every day. None of them minded, loving the stories you’d tell them over dinners of your adventures with your brothers when you were young, of the pranks that Loki enjoyed playing on Thor but never played on you, and even stories of everything that had once happened in the very tower the team now called their home. The more you were around, though, the more the rest of the team managed to find a way to tease him relentlessly when you weren’t in the room over his ‘obvious’ little crush.

Those moments of domesticity around you were what Bob loved the most, especially when it somehow managed to just be the two of you.

For weeks, even when you began to visit more and more often, the pair of you sparred together for hours, and that was the end of it. Bob, though, remembered the day it changed like it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it. The rest of the team had been sent out on a mission by Valentina, but you’d still promised you’d have your usual training session that day, even without them lurking around.

You’d thrown a punch that Bob managed to quickly dodge, even if he stumbled slightly on his feet afterward. Thinking of everything you’d been teaching him, Bob managed to steady himself, lock his feet into position, and throw a punch back at your ribcage. It connected, even though you hadn’t even flinched. You’d spun away from him, circling him with a smile on your face.

“Good! Next time, though, actually hit me,” Bob’s eyes widened, realizing what you were saying. You’d been trying to get him comfortable with his own super strength for weeks now, and that was the one thing he was still struggling with. “You have it, so use it. Don’t let it use you. Focus on it, channel it, and use it. You can do this, Bob. Don’t think, just do.”

Bob closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back on everything you’d been teaching him. Being the Sentry meant potentially letting that dark side of him overtake him, so he’d blocked off the Sentry. He’d blocked out his own powers, but he couldn’t. He had to accept that the Sentry and the Void were parts of him, and he didn’t need to be them in order to channel their strengths. He just had to be Bob, and when you were the one teaching him that, he seemed to understand it.

You charged forward, and he could see the magic encasing your fist as you threw a punch. Bob managed to duck, switching places with you. Your smirk quirked up as your leg came flying up at super speed. With a deep breath, Bob’s hand managed to catch it, not missing the way your eyebrows shot up. He threw your leg back to the ground, taking in a sharp breath as he thought about everything you’d taught him, and threw a punch toward your ribs, this time channeling the power surging through his veins that he tried so hard to block out in fear of losing control.

A gasp left your lips the second his fist connected, your body dropping to the ground as you fell on your knees, hand immediately holding onto your side. Any confidence surging through Bob in that moment dissipated in a second, and panic overtook him.

“O-Oh my god! I’m s-so sorry. I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that, I-I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

You laughed, and that laugh was enough to stop Bob’s incessant rambling of apologies. His gaze met yours as you looked up at him, and there wasn’t a trace of malice in it. There was pride, and something else buried beneath it that had the constant fluttering of his heart beating erratically once again.

“That, Bob, was perfect. Now…you want to get dinner together?”

From that day on, many of those days in the tower didn’t even consist of training. 

You’d introduced Bob to the shawarma restaurant in downtown Tony had dragged you all to all those years ago, watching as Bob fell in love with the food. That became a typical Thursday outing for you both for lunch. In that time, simple walks around Central Park became more common than not. Bob enjoyed the peacefulness of the park, the contrast it had to the bustling city around it, and he found tranquility in walking through it. He didn’t leave the tower much, terrified of losing control, but when you were with him, he felt like he could do anything.

Moments in the tower with you were still his favorite. He could listen to you for hours on end, and he had, as you walked with him through the tower and told him stories upon stories from your years spent here with the people you’d called family for so long. There was a story for almost every room. And eventually, when those days turned into you crashing in one of the spare bedrooms Valentina had set up in the tower for the night, you’d both found yourself watching movies in the common room until the early hours of the morning before Bob’s insomnia would let him sleep, even if the others weren’t joining you.

The team had noticed. It was hard not to. The Bob they’d known, the one who often shied away from long conversations with them but could still throw out a snarky remark, had grown more comfortable. He’d left his shell, but only around you.

“Did you anticipate this?” Yelena questioned Bucky one day, who was comfortably sitting at the island counter of the tower’s kitchen. He’d followed her gaze to the common room, seeing you laughing on the couch at something Bob had said while yet another movie droned on in the background.

“To this extent? No,” Bucky shook his head, before glancing back at Yelena with a smug smirk. “But I hoped it might go this route. I’m taking credit for it.”

Yelena found herself watching you both again, and Bucky followed her gaze.

“Do you think she likes him…like that?”

The super soldier pondered it for a moment, but there was no mistaking it. Not with the way you smiled at Bob, no matter what he was saying, that glint in your eyes. He knew you well enough to know it was written clearly across your face.

“Yeah…she’s not very subtle. Then again, if you’ve met her brother, neither is he. She looks at him like Steve looked at Peggy, and that’s all I have to know,”

Bob was in deep, and he knew it. That crush he’d harbored was long gone.

He was in love, and god was it terrifying. To fall in love in general was a scary thing. Bob had lost enough in life; falling in love just meant there was another thing in his life he could lose. It complicates everything more when he’d gone and managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess.

It had been months of training, but something in the air this time was different. Bob couldn’t focus, couldn’t pull his eyes from you, and you seemed to know it. Every time you turned away, his eyes locked on you, but you always managed to glance back and catch him with a small smile.

His head felt fuzzy, that flutter still in his heart when he looked at you, and paired with that weightless feeling in his stomach, he knew being around you would never be easy again from this day forth. He was so mesmerized by the simple idea and sight of you he almost didn’t see your smirk as you entered fighting position, ready to spar again.

You were on him in seconds, this time with a knife in your hands. Both of you knew it couldn’t hurt him, but he also knew even if it could, you never would hurt him with it.

Bob sidestepped, but his mind was blank, the simple scent of your perfume sending him over the edge as he lost his entire train of thought. You’d taken advantage of the opportunity, knocking him down to his back on the ground.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to staddle him, knife pointed directly at his neck as you smirked down at him and the wonder written across his face.

“I win…”

Bob’s breath was caught in his throat, he didn’t know what to do. But you seemed to have him exactly where you wanted him. Your smirk shifted, a soft smile replacing it, as your hand rested gently on his chest, over the undershirt he wore to these sparring sessions. He knew you could finally feel the erratic beating of his heart reserved just for you.

“I’ve been teaching you for months now to fight. To be confident,” your voice came out in a whisper, and there was nothing for adoration laced through it. “I’ve spent enough time with you, Bob, I know you. So be confident…and tell me the truth about your racing heart.”

Maybe it was the way you always had a way of calming him, or maybe it was the training you’d been giving him for months, but something clicked in Bob. He sat up, leaning back on his hands until he was completely sitting straight up on the sparring mat, you still perched in his lap. A tentative hand came up to your waist, lying on it, and squeezing it gently. Your hands followed suit, running up his arms until they rested around his neck.

“You…” Bob tried to find the words, but his nerves were clear in his voice. “Y-you make me nervous.”

You hummed, hands finding the hair that curled at the nape of his neck.

“In a good way, or a bad way?”

“G-Good way,” he’d managed to get out, leaning is head back into your touch. “Good but…but scary.”

“Why?”

“B-because loving you means…I c-could lose you,” once the words started flowing out of him, they couldn’t stop. He’d held it inside for weeks now, and the weight on his shoulders was finally lifting off him with everything he said. “And I’ve lost enough. I…I don’t want to think a-about losing you, about you…not feeling the same way.”

You cocked your head at that, one hand trailing to his jaw as you caressed it beneath your fingers.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“B-because why would a Goddess…want a broken man like me?”

He could see it clearly, the sadness that seemed to flood your gaze at his words. You opened your mouth as if to speak again, before shutting it in a moment of contemplation.

Then, you’d surged forward and kissed him.

Bob’s heart could barely be contained in his ribcage the second your lips met his, and he pressed back with a surge of confidence that only you could give him. But it was a kiss that held so much more in it than what someone on the outside might see.

Your magic was woven into the kiss, into the feeling of your lips against his, and he could feel it. He could feel your emotions, your memories, flashing before him in every move of your lips against his. From the moment you’d stepped out of the Bifrost and looked at him, he could feel the twin flutter he’d had that had moved through you. The affection, the adoration, the love that poured off of you in every moment, from Central Park to movies on the common room couch.

Feelings that he believed could never be reciprocated, not for a man like him. Your magic-infused kiss told him the entire story of how you fell for him, just like he fell for you. There was no denying it.

Your lips parted from his, but they didn’t stray far. The space that hung between them was non-existent, and your lips brushed over his faintly with every word you spoke to him in a hush.

“Do you believe me now?”

“I…I don’t know. Y-you…you might need to kiss me again.”

[starktonyx]

Would you still love me if I was a worm? - Bucky Barnes x reader

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Word count: 1k

Description: A stupid little question turns into a makeout session. Your teammates hate to see it, except for one.

Note: Bucky is an absolute menace in this one. Tower fics are so back, enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist / John’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Your question startles Bucky from his half sleep state.

Bucky’s body is stretched out across the Watchtower's living room’s couch. You're half splayed on top of him, your cheek against his chest, and your fingers playing with the chain of his dog tags.

You can feel his beard grazing your temple, and his vibranium arm is slung over your body, pulling you tighter to him like he can't stand even half an inch of your bodies being apart.

"What?" He asks, in amused disbelief. His voice is rough, he’d been at the brink of falling asleep.

"Yeah" You lazily mumble, tracing the edge of one tag. "What if you woke up and I was suddenly... a worm?"

His soft laugh vibrates against your ear. You feel his hand twitch against your back, like he's resisting the urge to check your temperature or look for a possible concussion.

He ultimately decides it's probably just you being silly.

"Just like that? In our bed?" He asks, eyes wide with mock concern. "I would probably roll over and crush you. Then cry about it for the rest of my life"

He pinches your side playfully.

"Bucky!" You gasp, laughing into his chest.

God. You don't even know what that laugh does to him.

"Come on, be serious" You whine. "Just answer the question”

"It's not necessarily a serious question, doll"

"Still needs an answer" You lift your head to glare at him. "Or else."

"Or else?" He playfully mocks, eyebrows rising in feigned shock. He throws his head back, shaking it, and his mouth curls into a teasing smirk. "Hell of a threat coming from a worm"

You narrow your eyes at him.

He chuckles, and the way he smirks is different now. You know it meant he was onto something. 

"Fine, doll" He says, no longer mocking. "You really wanna know what I would do?”

In one fluid motion, he flips you beneath him, pinning your back to the cushions. His metal arm beside your head holds his weight as he leans down, lips brushing your jaw.

"I'd be real fucking sad, doll" He mumbles against your skin "Because if you were a worm, I couldn't do this…“

His mouth travels to your neck.

You gasp under him as his beard tickles your skin, his lips trailing hot kisses down your throat. He sucks a spot just below your ear and you whimper, an involuntary, needy sound that he easily pulls from you.

“See, doll?” He mumbles against your skin. “I wouldn’t hear those sweet sounds of yours”

Your hands get lost in his hair, tugging, trying to keep yourself grounded. But it’s no use. He’s all over you.

“Bucky…” you say in a haze, already forgetting what you were even talking about.

He knows you’re melting under his touch, but it’s the only way he can get his point across.

“So yes, I’d still love you” he mumbles, his voice is low and smug “but I couldn’t love you right, doll”

His vibranium arm slips under you, lifting your hips closer to his.

“You feel that, doll face? you wouldn’t be able to take me like this, couldn’t wrap your body around me, couldn’t—”

“BUCKY”

The chorus of disgusted voices and grunts calling him out crashes into you like cold water.

You freeze on the spot. Bucky immediately pauses and closes his eyes for a second.

With heat all over your faces, you peek over the back of the couch.

There in the open kitchen, John is leaning over the counter, with Ava sitting across from him. Yelena lounges beside her with a bowl of popcorn they’d been sharing.

“The stupid worm talk was kinda entertaining” Yelena says, flicking a handful of popcorn at you “But now you’re just being disgusting”

Bucky blocks the kernels with one arm.

“Do you have to get freaky every time you’re in this room?” John complains.

“We’re literally right here” Ava makes a gagging noise.

“We weren’t even doing anything” Bucky says innocently, then grins like the little devil he is. “Yet”

You smack his arm and shove his chest to get up from the awkward position. Bucky groans theatrically but stands, running a hand through his tangled hair like he’s proud of the mess you made.

He offers you a hand up, but when you take it he pulls you back against him the moment you’re standing, pressing a kiss to your neck, eyes locked with them like it’s a challenge.

That horny little bastard.

“Okay, that’s our cue to leave” Ava stands abruptly, the stool screeching across the floor. Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

John follows with the popcorn bowl in hand, muttering “It’s literally every damn week”

“Always the same with these two… at least have some shame” Yelena sighs, shaking her head like a disapproving church aunt before trudging after them.

They vanish down the hallway.

“Alone at last” Bucky whispers over your ear. He gently tucks your hair behind it, then lays another warm kiss against your neck.

You’re just starting to melt again, when the sound of the flick of a page makes you freeze again.

You both whip around to find Bob, still curled up in his reading chair in the corner, legs crossed, his left foot bouncing. He’s been there this entire time, and his expression was calm.

Too calm.

“Bob” Bucky squints at him. “You okay over there, buddy?”

Bob blinks, just noticing you. “Huh? … Oh! Yeah yeah. I’ve had roommates who were way worse. If you don’t mind me, I don’t mind you.”

He shrugs, then slips on his noise canceling headphones and continues reading, completely unfazed.

You stare at him horrified. Worse roommates? What on earth has he seen?

You look at Bucky, whose face mirrors your horror.

“Okay… this got weird” he mutters, shaking his head. But almost instantly, he catches your eye, lips curling. “Unless…”

He looks at you, with that devilish smirk he only does when he knows he's out of line.

This time you smack him harder.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you did not just suggest that we …”

You couldn’t even finish as you break off in a chuckle when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, completely unbothered.

“Yeah … whatever, doll. You know those headphones wouldn’t have helped Bob once I had you screaming into the cushions”

You groan, one hand covering your face as the other grabs him by the belt to drag him towards the elevator.

He just lets you, very happily.

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comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[navybrat817]

Game Nights

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Game nights in the tower are unpredictable.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Humor, mentions of violence, the team loves trolling on John, kissing, implied smut, team bonding (kind of), Thunderbolts spoilers, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Silly headcanon set in the same world as Not Exactly a Secret and part of my Tower Shenanigans. I'm not at all sorry. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Game nights typically take place on Saturdays since Fridays are reserved for movie night. Snacks and drinks are a must, but there is a drink maximum, so things don’t get too crazy or emotional. 

Bucky purposely gets John the generic brand when it’s his turn to go snack shopping and tells him to deal with it since the quality is just as good. Everyone else gets the name brand of whatever they want. 

There's a huge board with all of your names and the games listed. The tally marks are in various colors, and sometimes names are erased and replaced with affectionate nicknames. 

When John demanded to know who changed his name to “the man with a punchable face”, Bob was ready to confess, but Bucky took the blame, followed by Yelena, you, and Ava. It was a real “I'm Spartacus!” moment. 

Anyone caught cheating is on clean-up duty. You and Bucky have both cheated on the same night so you could clean up together. 

There are occasional tournaments complete with medals and trophies. The gang insisted that participation ribbons were not allowed, but you found a funny last place trophy that you had to get and everyone agreed.

The gang tries to switch it up between classic games, video games, and children's games to keep things interesting. No matter what you play there is a level of competitiveness. 

You try not to rub it in when you win a game, but you will have a subtle smirk on your face when you catch Bucky’s eye. Alexei, on the other hand, loves to yell, “In your face!” while doing air thrusts and Yelena has come close to banning her dad from game nights because of it.

If it’s girls versus boys, the girls win almost every time. The boys can't figure out how, but it might have something to do with John and Alexei both trying to be the leader, Bucky being done, and Bob just wanting to have fun. 

Bucky picks you for any game that requires a partner or teammate outside of girls versus boys, even if there is someone better suited. He doesn't care because he always wants you by his side. 

Bucky also picks two-player games for the two of you to play while the rest of the gang plays something else. Yelena often does the same thing with Bob. 

Weapons aren't allowed. That rule should've been enforced from the beginning, but John insisted after Bucky threatened to stab him during a game of Uno. 

To be fair, John kept playing Draw 4 cards and everyone knew it was a dick move. Even John knew it. 

Bucky will switch to Russian when he gets frustrated or really into a game. He didn't realize it until Yelena and Alexei replied in Russian. 

Hide-and-Seek is banned. Ava kept phasing out of her hiding spots, and you and Bucky got caught fooling around in the coat closet. 

Truth or Dare is also banned. Too personal with the questions when it was meant to be a fun night and Ava kept daring you and Bucky to kiss each other, which you did.

Bob got nervous the first time you all played Among Us, but Yelena assured him it would be fun. It ended with a chair flipped over, which is considerably tame.

Bob also goes into any shooting game prepared to lose because look who he’s playing with? He still has fun with it.

You once sweet talked Bucky into playing Dance Dance Revolution and he did well, surprising no one. So did Yelena and Ava, and not a single one of them cracked a smile while they danced.

John takes Pictionary way too seriously, and you threatened to break the easel and stab him when he raised his voice at Bob. Bucky fell in love with you a little bit more. 

Ava encouraged you to flash Bucky once when he was winning at Mario Kart. You did and he looked, but he still managed to win. 

Yelena argues with Alexei during Jenga. She doesn't need him to tell her which block to move or distract her. 

You and Bucky always end up choosing each other's cards during Cards Against Humanity. You just get each other, and you love getting a laugh out of him every time he reads your card. 

Alexei insists that karaoke should be considered a game and he always wants to sing first, which embarrasses Yelena. He once serenaded you and Bucky because, well, he’s one of your biggest supporters. 

Card games are tense and Yelena usually ends up with the most money by the end of them. She prefers Poker to Blackjack. 

Bob was so happy the first time he won Clue that he almost cried. Everyone hugged him, knowing he never got the chance to have fun game nights growing up. 

John recently made a casual comment about wanting to play games like these with his kid. No one gave him a hard time because everyone could see how much he longed for it. 

Some game nights end with yelling and broken furniture, but more often than not they end with smiles, laughter, and a sense of normalcy. It’s a nice change of pace from some of the horrors you’ve faced, and a great way to bond. 

But Bucky will still find a way to stab John if he can if only to keep him on his toes. 

BAHAHA. What do we think? Any other games? What other shenanigans do we think they get up to in and out of game nights? Let me know! Love and thanks for reading.

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[rhaenyrathecruell]

Me getting ready to hit refresh on the thunderbolts x reader tag

[allhailbuckybarnes]

the love confession

summary: bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try ;)

warnings: fluff/smut, longing, pining, some use of y/n, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, dirty thoughts, tension, body worship, bob is down bad, bob is a MAN, you are just as down bad, yelena is number one supporter, idiots in love, confusion, jealousy, a pinch of angst, just playing: so so much angst, possessive bob, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, reader gets hurt badly (more on that later), bob is not okay, fear, love, please just kiss alr you two

monday (chapter one)

Bob wakes up early this morning. Rolling over to take a drink of water. His first thoughts, as always, are about you. Your hair in the morning, what you were doing, if you had already fixed your coffee. He throws on sweats and a t-shirt, stumbling around so he can see you sooner. A sticky-note on his door read:

“BOB- do not forget, therapy on Mondays and Thursdays at 4:30 pm!! DONT MISS IT AGAIN! - ur fave :)”

He smiles dumbly and walks out, shutting the door behind him. As he enters the common area near the kitchen, he sees you wondering around the cabinets. He smiles, there you are. You looked as if you were about to burn the kitchen to the ground.

“What’s up?” He asks, settling behind you and sitting on the counter.

You groan, slapping your hands to your forehead and running them down your face. “Bobby, I swear to god if Walker eats my cereal again, I’ll cut his dick off and feed it to Yelena’s rat thing,” you grumble.

He laughs out loud, “Oh cmon now, you can’t do that to Yelena’s guinea pig. Besides, I have a secret stash, just for you.” You flip around, gripping his shoulders in a very serious stance, eyeing him. “Bobby. You. Are my hero.” His smile falters slightly at the closeness of your faces. What feels like a minute passes as he stares at your lips. He can just barely feel your breath on his chin. You’re too pretty.

You remove your hands, “well? Lead the way!” He grins again, hopping off the counter and showing you the faulty crack between the fridge and microwave, “tada!" He waves little enthusiastic jazz hands at you, handing you the box. You smile, a big, beautiful smile, and slap his shoulder.

“I’ll have to keep you around I suppose Robert Reynolds.” His name rolls off your lips like sin. He rolls his eyes to mask the tightness in his chest, “sure Y/n, sure.” You mock a pouty face and he laughs.

You giggle and stroll over to the bowls, a pep in your step at the promise of your favorite cereal. Bob had thought of you again, it made your ears and cheeks burn red.

He was always extra thoughtful of you, whether that meant your snacks were always stocked, your dishes were the first he worried about cleaning, or the way your stories always seemed the most interesting to him. You always thought it was just him being mindful of your sensitive feelings.

Little did you know, he was trying to show you everything he felt for you in every glance, action, and gesture. To everyone around you it was obvious. The rest of the team had pools on who would finally have the balls to tell the other first. Neither of you did, it seemed.

~~

Eating your cereal together, you don’t have to say much. Each other’s presence is enough. Bob mindlessly made your coffee just the way you liked it as you prepared the cereal bowls. It was clockwork, it was normal. Some might even say it was domestic.

You relay your plans for the day to Bob, “I need to workout, seriously. Even though I’ve got the same serum you do mr. god, I swear my bones are aching. Also, I was thinking about going to the bookstore, do you want to tag along to either place? I was thinking it’d just be us, almost like a da-…” you cut yourself off, mortified.

You often didn't think as you rambled, always just speaking your mind. It's not like you two hadn't hung out before... but it had always seemed coincidental, the right place at the right time. You had never asked him with the intention you had just now. Or almost asked...

Bob sputtered: did you want to go on a date with him? No, that’s not possible. You just saw him as a friend. His cheeks turned pink. His body felt on fire.

“Wow okay, I’m not offended at all,” you quickly reply at his reaction, taking your bowl to clean it. You frown, goddamn it. I pushed too much. He doesn’t see me like that. Stupid! Your heart pounded in your chest.

“No, wait what? Y/n, of course I want to go with you.” He chases after you, grabbing your wrist, taking the bowl from your hands slowly, and rinsing it. Your lip pulls to the side, “it’s okay if not. I just thought it would be something we would both enjoy. I had a book recommendation lined up and everything, but I didn’t even ask what your plans were, I'm sorry...” Bob put a hand on your shoulder, “hey, you’re starting to sound like me, quit it,” he smiled. “I always want to hang out with you Y/n.”

Your halfway serious grin returned and you punched him in the shoulder. “Then don’t almost spit up next time! You had me worried I overstepped a boundary in our heart warming friendship.”

Not that word again. Both of you cringed in your mind at the thought of just being friends. Neither of you wanted to just be friends. Bob smiled anyway, "You could never overstep. You know that, right?"

Your smile lessened at his tone, and you touched his shoulder again, grazing it with your hand, a serious look on your face. "I know."

It was a silent plea for physical reassurance. You often thought about curling up to Bob, taking your worries and your fears, and letting him take over. He always talked to you first about nightmares, he always held you then, in the quiet of the night. It was always innocent. That was an easy conversation for you to have together, having gone through the same trials. He just got you. You pulled away.

It meant everything to Bob that you touched him.

~~

You were sweaty and tired, training had worn you out. The sparring with John took way too long, so you ran back to your room to shower and change quickly. Stepping in, the hot water washed away all the physical exhaustion, but the mental side never truly went away.

You just simply had too much on your mind. Everything with Bob, constant life-threatening missions, the pressure of the press, your serum trauma. It was always so much to carry.

It would help if you had someone to help you carry it, but the one person you want is your best friend.

You couldn't mess that up, you wouldn't lose Bob. Just the thought of scaring him away by your feelings kept you from telling him the truth.

That you wanted him. That you pictured it, everything with him. From date nights, to lingering touches, to a home, all the way to wrinkles.

You step out, drying yourself off. Maybe one day, when things calm down. When Val isn’t breathing down your neck constantly. When you have more control over your emotions, over your new powers. You would tell him.

Putting on a sweatshirt and shorts, you throw your hair into an easy style, curl your lashes, put a little extra effort into your makeup and jewelry for the ‘date,’ and head down to meet Bobby by the cars.

You take the elevator, staring and dreaming of how to make it known that you like Bob, knowing that you wouldn’t dare. But just his company was enough for know.

Bob is leaning against a Cadillac, waiting for you when you walked up. He looked up from his phone, “Oh hey! Um... Wow, are we only going to the bookstore?” He swallows.

You look down at your outfit, “yeah? I’m only wearing sweats.”

Bob chuckles and runs a nervous hand through his hair, “well, it’s just. You look good—um. You always look good.”

You smile on instinct, blushing hard. “Thank you.” He leans forward enough to brush a stray piece of hair away. Every touch felt electric, wanting, right. You leaned into his touch. A slam of the door behind you both startled you, Bob dropping his hand.

Alexei greeted each of you with a hug, running up and yelling, “EYY! My favorite Avengerz.”

You each pat his back awkwardly and greet him. He grins, “finally going on a date? I told you Bobby, she’s a good one.”

Bobby looked stunned and blushed firmly, staring at his feet. You quickly cover, patting Alexei's shoulder and pulling Bob towards the car, “no, no Alexei, we’re just going out. Thanks for the compliment though.” You would never assume anything. You murmur, "I'm sorry" to Bob as you each get in. He assures you it's okay. You know better.

With a reaction like that from Bob, you felt grounded. Back down to Earth. He didn’t want you like that, he cared about you, but it wasn’t anything more than family- sister and brother. Even thought you dreamed of more, something more like teammates against the world and lovers... you still had him. Robert. That was all that mattered.

Besides, it was impractical.

You understood, it was a dangerous risk to fall.

Each of you stayed silent on the drive to the bookstore. Bob had let Alexei's words get to his head and it was obvious. You had noticed, and spent the entire drive trying to find the right words to comfort him.

When you parked, Bobby went straight for his seatbelt, but you stopped him. "Hey, I know what he said bothered you. But I appreciate you coming anyways."

His eyes squinted and he looked frustrated, "it's just... that's not how I wanted things to go. Not how they should go," he painfully admitted. Your heart winced at his words, of course that isn't how he wanted it, he doesn't want that. Why can't I just accept that.

"Let's just go inside, yeah?" You ask, trying to hide the storm brewing inside your head. He looked at you. For a beat, words you wish each other would say, hung in the space between you. The only thing holding you back was yourselves.

~~

The bookstore was quiet, slow, and steady. Each aisle was littered with old, new, torn, and worn books. You had already found a poetry book on your tbr list and immediately added it to the stack you each had compiled. You would swipe Val's card on your heart's desires any day of the week. She deserved it.

The tattered books you held reminded you of each person on the team.

A pristine covered novel, with poorly hidden rips and markings inside - Walker

A short, honest, and used memoir with a broken spine - Ava

A thick, very beaten book, which you couldn't tell if it'd been well loved or torn apart on purpose - Bucky

A gleaming fiction of a story of glory which ended in disappointment - Alexei

A series book, contained to its beaten holder with its fellow victims who had all been through beatings together, torn apart - Yelena

A hopeful manuscript with dried tears on it's pages, not yet finished - Robert

And you, a soft cover, written over in ink and tears, full of empty meaning, alone.

You needed a drink.

After your selections, you checked out, the cashier seemingly satisfied with the absolute library you were taking home, gave you a free tote to haul them in. You and Bob always shared books, so there was no reason to split them into piles. You would read his margin notes, and add yours nearby.

Bobby seemed off on the ride home. He obviously had something on his mind. You silently willed for the words Alexei had said to roll off his shoulders. The more it bothered him, the more worried you became about your feelings.

They could become a real problem if you didn't shake them. If you couldn't let go of this, then it would effect your work, your safety, his safety. It could not get to that point.

It was time to end your crush on Robert Reynolds.

God you have no idea what you'e doing.

~~

Dinner was good. Yelena made something with pork and stew, her own recipe. It was delicious, but dinner had been ruined for you when Bob turned in extra early, blaming it on his desire to read a new book. Your unhappy attitude had been noticed fairly quickly. But nobody dared say anything.

You retreated to sulk on your own soon after dinner. Passing Bob's door and opening your own, you heard the shower on. You two had to share a bathroom, which connected your suites. Sometimes, it was torture when you'd accidentally almost see him naked.

Lord had the serum been kind to him. His body looked amazing, he was the rugged, but subtle kind of ripped. The freckles across his chest made you want to tear him apart with your lips. His veins, leading down to his long fingers, made you want to be fucked stupid with his hands choking you. It was embarrassing, but it was true.

You laid in bed with a book in your hands, carelessly reading the same lines over and over again, willing your head to focus. But you couldn't, you needed to talk to Bob.

After abandoning the book, you stood, trying to convince yourself to be brave. To face what you felt.

You knock on the door on his side of the bathroom, and after he mumbles, "One sec!" You hear a tumble and a small curse. He finally opens the door a crack after a minute. "Yeah?" He croaks, his hair a mess. He looks sweaty, has he been working out or something?

"I'm sorry if I interrupted, we can talk tomorrow," you quickly whispered, and turn to go. He catches your wrist, "no wait."

His hand was sweaty, almost moist. You looked down at the contact. Bob's adam's apple shifted up and down as he swallowed the tension. "I, I should apologize," he speaks lowly.

"I was so quiet, I had to have made your head spin. I was just thinking about what Alexei said, and I-" You interrupt bringing your hand to his cheek, "I get it, I knew that's what it was."

Bobby's brows furrowed, and his mouth opened to speak, but he hesitated. Why were you avoiding his opinion so much? Had he upset you? Why were you touching his cheek and not fucking kissing him with those lips. He wanted you. You dropped your hand, so he pulled you in for a hug. God this is too friendly, you both thought.

"Listen, if I hurt you by my reaction it was not meant. You know that I care... about you." He whispered, his lips barely grazing your hair. When had you changed the scent of your shampoo? It was incredible. Fuuuuuck.

You didn't dare meet his eyes, keeping your face buried in your friend's neck. But a soft hand guided your chin, tilting you up to meet his eyes. "You get some sleep, and we'll figure it all out tomorrow, mkay?" He strains. Your touch was too much after his previous activites. His cock was gonna burst. You nod, slowly, and your eyes flicker down to his lips for a second.

That split second made Bob so hard it hurt. He brushed a piece of hair back behind your ear, and you silently retreated to your room, stunned and wet as hell.

Each of you laid in bed, restless, thinking the same thoughts.

What the fuck.

I want her

I'd fuck him right now

Maybe tomorrow. But for now, you each needed sleep.

Bobby dreamt of your new shampoo and you mouth around his cock. You dreamt of his hands around your throat again, and a wrap-around porch with his hand in yours, reading books.

For now, you were each content.

~~

tuesday (chapter two)

[endofthelinegang]

sleepy

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this is literally just how i believe introducing how someone thinks and interpts a character should be done. so i don't send someone into shock when i write for these characters.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ robert "bob" reynolds x fem! reader, james "bucky" barnes x fem! reader, john "stfu" walker x fem!reader, ava starr x fem! reader, yelena belova x fem! reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  how the thunderbolts act when they are sleepy.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i never know what to do put here, i guess curse words?

yelena belova does not believe that she is ever tired. black under the eyes, yawning does not qualify at all. but all of that being said this is exactly what happens:

"I am not tired." Both of you sat on the couch. With a smile, you nodded your head and rolled your eyes, taking off the blue hoodie that had been helping keep you warm all evening. The inside was so fluffy that when you put it in the dryer, pieces would float around onto the other laundry for days. It was perfect bait.

"What are you doing?" Yelena was squinting but not daring to move her head down and forward off the back of the couch to face you as it would most certainly make her dizzy and that would make her yawn even more.

"I'm just a little warm." With a small smile, you place the hoodie on your lap and just let it sit as the TV played some reality tv that the two of you had been spending the late evening judging after dinner.

You closed your eyes and pressed your head back to mimic what she was doing. The moment she could sense you not staring at her, she moved and yawned as silently as she possibly could before taking her boots off with her feet. They thudded to the ground as she slowly dragged the clothing you had taken off closer to her until it was no longer sitting on you at all. Rubbing her eyes with all of her makeup still on she wiped her hands off on her pants before adjusting the hoodie to go over her head and onto her body.

"Fine, we can crash on the couch." Secretly, you did not hate crashing on the couch, but letting her believe that and watching her get all excited was just too cute to pass up.

With some quiet humming, you sat forward while she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and onto the two of you as you stayed sitting up she pulled the hoodie over her head and got ready to lay down.

"Wait. You are not sleeping?" She side eyed you as she held part of the blanket covering her in her hands running her fingers over the plush material.

"No I am, just like this." You propped your feet up on the coffee table and kicked the blanket to cover your socked feet. Putting your head back in place with a nod.

"What? No, that is not comfortable at all." Before she could continue her rant, you lurched in her direction and pulled her down onto your lap, her head resting on your thigh and the length of the couch now hers.

"Goodnight star starfish." You mumbled eyes closed still feeling her tug and pull at your arm and the blanket to get in the optimal sleeping position.

"Starfish?" For a moment, she smiled and thought what a cute nickname, then it hit her, "I DO NOT SLEEP LIKE A STARFISH!"

A moment of silence followed. she had placed your arm so that your hand was touching the opposite side of her jaw. In order to keep this from becoming an entire discussion, you pet her face gently like one would to a baby who was fighting sleep.

"If a starfish loses all its arms, is it just a really confused circle until it grows them back?” Yelena mumbled under her breath as her head finally became heavy against you, and her breathing slowed and deepened. As follows, a leg came off the couch, as did an arm. A starfish.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bucky barnes will straight up be passing out doing something, he is like all of a sudden on the floor dead asleep, which is great to try and time:

"What? What are you doing?" Slipping the knife from his hand you sat it down on your bedside table with a small clang.

"You're falling asleep with a knife in your hand, or you were anyway." You watched as he sat with his mouth slightly opened looking at you with a deep offense.

"I was not. I was working on something." He tries to reach over you but you put a very gentle hand on his chest.

"Where's the cloth?" You watch as Bucky mumbles and opens his hand to show you nothing. To which he starts fluffing the comforter, hoping that it would float up and he could say he just dropped it. The smell of his cologne wafted in the air, unlike what he was looking for. You laughed at him as he incredibly slowly turned his head to reface you.

"Witch." He glared at you without even having to look, you pulled the cloth from the side of your bed. It dangled in between your fingers as his eyes flickered between you and the damn barely dirty treacherous object.

"Wanna tell me what we were just talking about?" Matching his glare he took in a deep breath that turned into a yawn he tried to hold inside of his mouth.

"It's only nine o'clock." He rubbed his flesh hand over his eyes as he looked over at his old-fashioned alarm clock that you insisted he keep because it was so useful and reliable. Not wanting to possibly be wrong about what was said earlier or what had actually happened.

"So late already, man, I thought it was seven!" You began quickly turning off your lamp and climbing over top of him to turn his off.

"You think I get sleepy at seven?" Bucky's head thudded against his soft pillow as you manhandled him to get him to fully lie down.

"What were we doing at seven?" You placed both hands down on his chest now looking at him as he batted his eyes slowly not even trying to think about what you had just said to him.

"Oh, cmon, I don't need to be tucked in, I'm a grown man." He groaned as you rolled off of him and began bringing the blanket on top of him up to his shoulders.

Bucky let out a puff of air as you trapped him with your body and blankets, basically giving him a go-to-sleep treatment. Truth be told, the second he was warm, he totally passed out flat on his back exactly the way you placed him.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

john walker did not believe in naps or bedtime, let alone possibly resting anywhere that was nice in soft, but even the best need to rest:

"WHAT THE FUCK JOHN!" You jumped back and screamed with your hand clutching at your chest, now looking down at the floor. It was literally four o'clock in the morning, and you had just gotten up to get a damn ice pack for the migraine you had all evening thanks to a storm. But what you had came across was John sitting on a bar stool drinking a cup of coffee in silence.

"What the fuck you." He gestured in your direction, not taking his eyes off of the coffee cup sitting in his hand.

"What are you doing up?" With a roll of your eyes, you walked over to the freezer and slid the door open to grab an ice pack from the deep freeze where you kept the ones you used.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He scoffed and sipped some more. He had to have been sitting there for quite some time. You noticed the coffee pot was freezing cold, and he was in training clothes. He had been wearing earlier.

"Yes, John, that is typically why someone asks what someone is doing." You wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel before pressing it to your temple and leaning forward on the bar.

"You wouldn't understand." He finally looked up at you, not with his whole head, but just his eyes moved. Circles were incredibly dark, and you knew right then he had not yet even tried to sleep.

"Why did we give you a bedroom if you just weren't planning on ever sleeping?" You joked shaking your head the littlest bit you could manage.

"Hilarious." He picked up the cup with the shakiest hand you've ever seen on someone under ninety. The veins in his hands popped out, and his knuckles were white as he brought the cup up to his mouth.

Fuck me I am going to be nice to Walker

"Hey, can I ask a favor since you're up?" You knew he was going to give you shit and bitch and make jokes about it regardless.

"What do you want?" He was now fully looking at you and you took in a deep breath and puffed it back out through your nose.

"My head is killing me, like seriously killing me, and I would really love to get some sleep. I can't hold this ice pack and sleep at the same time because if I lay it on my pillow, even with it wrapped, it will eventually leak and get my pillow all wet." You tried your best to come up with something stupid that made enough sense for him to fall for.

"You want me to sit and watch you sleep while I hold ice on your head?" He summarized what you had just given him before rolling his eyes and getting up off his stool, "You coming?"

"Tell a girl, Walker, tell a girl." You mumbled as you walked to catch up with him as he made his way towards your bedroom.

He opened the door and let you walk through it before closing it behind himself. You handed him the ice pack and jumped in bed, getting all comfortable and curled up before he took off his shoes and got in bed, sitting on top of the bed.

"You can get under the blanket." Waving a corner of the blanket at him he took it roughly and covered himself up to his torso. Holding the ice pack on your head you switched your lamp off and dozed off. Needless to say Walker followed soon after and the ice pack ended up across your face and onto the floor.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

ava starr is happy to get some rest when she can, in fact finding her asleep is not uncommon when there are days she feels she can just be at peace:

You find her in the hallway, slumped against the wall just outside the room you're sharing.

Not ghosted. Not flickering. Not phasing in and out like she does when she's upset or startled or fighting the hum in her chest.

Just still.

Her legs are pulled up like she sat down with the intent to rest for a second and then forgot how to move again. Her head tips to the side when she notices you, a small, exhausted blink like she’s dragging herself back into her body.

“Ava?”

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “Sorry. I meant to come to bed. I just... stopped.”

You crouch beside her, gentle. “Rough day?”

She huffs out a breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Rough year. Rough life.”

You don’t push. You just sit, shoulder against the wall, close enough that she can lean in if she wants. You wait.

After a moment, she does. Slowly, her head tilts, coming to rest against your shoulder. She exhales, and it sounds like something deeper than air. Like permission. Like surrender.

“I’m so tired,” she murmurs.

There’s no dramatics in her voice. Just simple truth. She says it like it’s a fact: the sky is blue, water is wet, and I am so tired I could disappear.

You reach over and gently thread your fingers through hers. “Then come to bed.”

“I don’t want to move.” Her voice is smaller now. Not scared, just fragile. “I just want to be... still. For a little while.”

You nod. “Okay. Then we’ll be still.”

So you sit there together, on the floor, in the quiet. Her head against your shoulder. Her hand in yours. The baseboards are cold and the hallway light is too dim, but none of it matters because she’s here and breathing softer now. Less like she’s holding her breath. More like she’s starting to believe she doesn’t have to.

“Do you think it’s stupid,” she whispers, “that I want someone to tell me I can rest?”

You shake your head. “No. I think it’s human.”

She’s quiet again. Then: “Will you say it?”

You squeeze her hand. Thumb brushing her knuckles. The kind of touch you know she can actually feel.

“You’re allowed to rest, Ava.” You feel her lean into you a little more.

Something in her unclenches.

You help her up, slow and easy, no rush. She doesn’t protest when you guide her to bed. She collapses into the mattress like she’s been underwater for years. You settle in beside her. She doesn’t usually like to be held when she’s vulnerable—but tonight, she turns toward you. Finds the crook of your arm. Tucks herself in there like she belongs.

“You’ll stay?” she asks quietly.

“Always.”

She falls asleep with your shirt clutched in one hand and your other arm draped over her back, her breathing finally even. No flickers. No phasing.

Just Ava. Resting.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bob reynolds was so happy to have a peaceful, safe place to rest that he was happy to use it:

You were fucking exhausted, there was simply no other way to put it. It was a cold and cloudy day that had dragged on; every single hour felt like seven. You had just spent fifteen minutes looking for Robbie when it finally made sense. He’s already in bed, waiting for you, knowing you've had a long day. When you open the door, you see him stretched diagonally across the mattress like he’s trying to occupy every possible dimension of comfort.

One leg hanging off the side. One arm flung dramatically over your pillow. Half the blanket was tangled around his waist, the other half already on the floor. He blinks up at you when you open the door, slow and heavy-lidded like a cat in a sunbeam. His hair is sticking up in five different directions, and there’s a content, sleepy smile tugging at his mouth.

“You look cozy,” you say, amused. Dropping your shoes you had carried in, not wanting to dirty up the floor he had cleaned earlier.

“I am cozy,” he mumbles. “But I’d be cozier if you were here.”

You laugh and climb into bed beside him. He is so warm that you can feel the energy before you even get to touch him. The smell of a slightly salty vanilla was woven into your bed sheets from him lying there. The second you settle under the blanket, Bob instinctively shifts, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, slinging a long arm over your waist like it’s second nature. Which, at this point, it kind of is. His fingers tap at you gently, feeling you breathe.

“Mm. Yep. There it is,” he sighs, already sounding drowsier. “Perfect.”

You run your fingers gently through his soft hair. “Rough day?”

“Not even,” he says. “Just… long. Have you ever gotten that kind of tired where your bones feel floaty?”

You smile. “Only when you talk like that.” His voice sounded deeper and softer than usual like how a cat has a deeper purr when ready for a nap.

“Poetic,” he insists, eyes closed now, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m floaty-tired. Just need to melt.”

“You’re halfway there.”

You feel him grin. His hand finds yours under the blankets and laces your fingers together, thumb stroking lazily across your knuckles.

Everything about him in this moment is soft. His body, warm and loose against yours. His breathing slowed to match yours. The weight of his arm, the scratch of his stubble, the little hum he makes when you kiss the top of his head.

“This is my favorite,” he murmurs. “This part. Just you. Just now.”

You press your lips to his hair again. “Mine too.”

And for a few minutes, neither of you says anything.

You just exist there—tangled limbs, warm skin, the quiet comfort of being with someone who doesn’t need anything from you but to be near. Bob’s breath deepens. His grip on your hand loosens just a bit. You think he’s fallen asleep, but then—

“I hope you know I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep.

Your chest tightens, but in the best possible way.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I love you too.”

And this time, when he melts into sleep, it’s with a smile on his face and your heartbeat under his ear.

[eufezco]

DINNER WITH FRIENDS𓂃 𓈒 ❀

thunderbolts*!bucky x fem!pregnant!reader

synopsis – when bucky returns home he's not alone and a quiet evening turns into a full house. seven months pregnant and unprepared, you're caught off guard but family is family.

a/n – this is just a little scenario that crossed my mind when i got out of the cinema after watching thunderbolt* for the fourth time. pleasee send me bucky requests i want to write for him but i have like 0 ideas. writing this i realized that i've oficially fallen for the john walker propaganda 😞

fluff

it was later than usual and bucky stil hadn't come home.

rebecca was in her room, playing quietly as she waited for her dad. you were in the kitchen. dinner was already done so with nothing else to do, you found yourself rearranging things on the counter, trying to distract your mind from the worry. you rubbed your seven-month pregnant belly as if it were a magic lamp and you were wishing for him to return. and then you heard the front door creak open.

—bucky? —you moved quickly out of the kitchen but you stopped on your track when you saw he wasn't alone.

—yeah, it's me.

—oh my god, —you breathed before he could finish talking, your hand flying to your chest. you weren't expecting five people with him. their faces familiar yet you'd never met them in person.

bucky stood in the middle of the group, his lips pressed together in a guilt line. he knew full well you weren't expecting this and that he should've warned you beforehand, but he hadn't known they'd all need a place to drop by on the same night after the same mission.

he'd hesitated, worried about adding more stress when you were already seven months pregnant. but then he thought of home and you and rebecca and how it might be the one thing that could soften the edges of everything they'd been through that day. and god help bucky, you'd told him a million times you'd love to meet them.

so here they were. on your doorstep. in your hallway.

—hi, —you said to them. you blinked, caught between surprise and disbelief.

bob waved his hand. yelena, ava and john pressed their lips together.

—oh, hi john —you knew john. he and bucky had caused each other a lot of headaches in the past, but you were glad that at least now they tolerated each other. john showed you a little smile.

alexei made his way through the group and approached you with open arms. you raised your eyebrows and just let the big man cover you in a hug. he smelled like vodka and leather but surprisingly, he was really careful with your belly as he hugged you.

—mrs. barnes, the wife of the soldier, oh, it's so nice finally meeting you, —he said with a rough russian accent. —behind every great man is a great woman, they say. a greater woman, may i add.

as he held you, you caught all the other faces around the room, all rolling their eyes. you giggled when he finally released you, alexei was just as dramatic as bucky described him. —thank you, alexei.

—you know my name, she knows my name! —he turned to tell the others. they gave him plain nods and lazy smiles.

—of course, everyone knows your names now. plus, bucky talks about you five all the time.

bucky closed his eyes and ava grinned and nudged him with her elbow.

—yelena, right?

you approached the blonde girl standing next to bucky. she had the same stormy look in her eyes as him, she could definitely be his little sister. she looked at bucky a little unsure when you called her name, almost as if for reassurance. she hadn't wanted to come at first, she didn't want to cross that line, didn't want to step into something as private and sacred as his home.

yelena nodded to your question. you softened your expression and offered a warm smile. bucky caught her hesitation and he gently pressed his hand to her back, giving her an encouraging push. you opened your arms and puller her into a hug before she could think too hard about it. she tensed for a moment but then her arms came high around you, as if she was afraid of even brushing your belly.

you hugged ava, careful not to press against her delicate suit. you'd heard enough from bucky to know how sensitive the tech could be and how guarded ava was underneath it.

bob was so ready when you hugged him and welcomed him to your house. he'd seen bucky's photos of you, the lock screen on his phone. he knew how after every operation, buck's first texts were always to you, checking in, making sure you were safe and letting you know that he made it out alive. if bob had the power of one million exploding suns, he was certain it still wouldn't match how fiercely bucky loved you. and that gave him hope.

you smiled before you hugged john. he wasn't sure if you'd want him in your house, after all, he'd been a pain in bucky's ass but hey, in his defense, bucky had been just as much of a pain in his. still, you welcomed him.

and the best for last. as the rest inspected your living room, looking at the photos and tripping over rebecca's toys, bucky stood with the most exhausted expression on his face. he stepped closer and let his head fall against your shoulder. one of your hands went to the back of his head, fingers slipping into his hair.

—long day?

bucky just hummed.

—how was yours?

—good. the baby barely kicked after last night, —in that moment you felt bucky's hands come to rest on both sides of your belly, his thumbs rubbed slow circles, up and down, protective, telling the baby he was finally home, taking care of his mom. —and rebecca drew alpine. with eight legs and no ears. she's very proud.

he breathed a laugh, —sounds about right.

bucky's friends were busy, the five of them around a photo frame on the wall. the only photo you had of bucky from 1940s, stiff and young in his uniform soldier, eyes still full of something bright that hydra hadn't yet extinguished.

he lifted his head from your shoulder and you cupped his cheek, your thumbs brushing over his rough beard. you pressed your lips softly against his, as if you were trying to transfer all the calm and love he'd missed during the day. as you pulled back, you noticed his shoulders dropped, releasing the tension, but the worried expression remained.

you reached up again, brushing your thumb over the line of his cheek as bucky's arms wrapped around your body, resting on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him, carefully, until he could feel your belly pressed against him, a connection between the three of you.

—talk to me, —you whispered.

he sighed, —didn't want to bring the day home, but they needed a place... and i couldn't leave them on the street. i didn't want to add more into it, not in your state.

you smiled. so it was that.

—you did the right thing, buck. they're family. if they needed somewhere to go, then they're welcome here. they'll always be.

bucky pressed his lips together. his two families. the one he fought beside and the one he came home to.

he'd never called them that before, not even in his head. they cared about each other in the quiet, protected one another during missions and watched each other's back in battle. they stood between each other and the line of fire and carried each other when the mission left someone too hurt to stand.

it doesn't matter if bucky never said the word, they were his family.

he slowly nodded at your words, —it was supposed to be just bob... didn't expect all of them to show up at once.

—well, neither did the couch, —you teased, getting a soft laugh from him.

ava caught both your eyes as she turned from the wall where she'd been quietly observing young bucky's photo.

—you were so clean-shaven, it's almost like seeing you naked.

you burst out laughing just as bucky groaned beside you, head dropping on your shoulder again like the comment physically wounded him.

—look at that jawline, it could cut glass, —bob said, squinting his eyes at the photo, hands on his hips.

—sharp enough to be a war crime, —you kissed the top of bucky's head. he lifted it slightly, oh so you were joining them now?

—were there toothpaste ads back then? because you sure look like one. fight fascism and fight plaque.

—that's the image of a man! of the soldier! a hero! —alexei boomed, gesturing toward the photo like it belonged in a museum.

—yeah, a man that gave speeches on liberty bonds or punch hitler.

—i did punch hitler, —bucky said flatly, barely looking up.

—how many times are you gonna bring that up?

—as many as it takes, john.

—you should put that on a t-shirt, —john continued, —i punched hitler and all i got was this brooding personality.

you noticed yelena's attention was on the rest of the photos. the teasing in the room faded to a hum behind her.

her eyes moved from frame to frame, pausing on each one. a photo from your summer in wakanda, bucky with his hair tied back, sunlight turning the metal of his arm into gold as rebecca sat on his shoulders, his hands steady at her ankles. next to that was a shot of the hospital room, bucky still in scrubs, circles under his eyes, holding his daughter for the first time. all memories you'd been building through the years. not all of them were easy, not all of them looked like picture frames. it was what yelena had been looking for all her life.

—bucky, —yelena called him, getting everyone's attention. the teasing died down completely when everyone looked to the stairs.

rebecca stood halfway down, clutching her uncle sam captain america's plushie, her socked feet fidgeted against the step like she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back up or keep coming down. her thumb hovered near her mouth the way it only did when she was unsure of something.

—damn, she definitely is your daughter, —yelena said to bucky.

the little girl was a small version of bucky. blue deep eyes, brown hair that curled at the ends in soft waves, the way she looked at everyone without saying a word, just like bucky always did. she had that look on her face just like his, the one where even though she wasn't talking, it showed that her mind was moving fast, watching everything and everyone.

mostly, she looked overwhelmed. strangers filled her living room, standing loud, tall, unfamiliar in the space she knew as home. until she saw bucky. her bucky. she didn't hesitate. she ran down the stairs, her little feet pounding against the steps. without hesitation, she threw herself into her dad's arms, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck. bucky lifted her effortlessly, smiling big as he held her close.

—oh, you definitely ate all of your veggies today, bug, you got stronger, almost knocked me off my feet.

rebecca's giggles filled the room. the others stood nearby, watching the scene, unsure how to react to seeing bucky all soft. even alexei, who rarely blinked at anything, went unusually still. you rubbed your daughter's back as she tucked her face in bucky's neck, her little fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, when she realized all eyes were on her.

—she's a little shy at first, but when she gains a little confidence, you'll be begging her to stop talking, —you explained to the group, half apologetic, half proud. they all nodded and smiled, understanding. —'becca, these are dad's friends. they're here just for tonight. you okay if they stay a little while?

she gave the smallest nod, still hiding her face in bucky's neck. he turned, holding her against his body, toward the rest of the group.

—boss says you can stay, —bucky announced.

yelena let out a yay, bob mumbled a sweet thank you.

rebecca peeked a little from the crook of bucky's neck, her eyes finding john first. he offered her a small, friendly wave. she hesitated but she ended up lifting her hand a mimicking the motion.

—out of all of them, —bucky murmured, more for john to hear than to her, —you had to wave to walker first?

john of course heard it and rolled his eyes.

in that moment your feet started to hurt more than you realized. too much standing for a seven months pregnant. you shifted your wight, trying to ease it, but even the small movement sent a bolt of discomfort up your spine. one of your hands instinctively moved to the curve of your belly and the baby fluttered under your palm, not a kick, just a little roll.

bucky noticed, but not just him, everyone in the room did.

—you okay? —ava asked.

—you should sit, —yelena added.

alexei immediately grabbed the nearest chair to him as bucky carefully lowered rebecca. —okay, bug, let's help mama, —he approached you, wrapping his metal arm around your body and helping you sit carefully.

rebecca stood, clutching with her captain america plushie tightly as her eyes flicked between john, bob, yelena and ava. none of them knew how to respond to her watchful presence, except for john, who caught her gaze again and with the little experience he had with kids, knelt down to her level, making himself less intimidating.

—why don't you guide me to the kitchen and we'll get your mom a glass of water?

she blinked, thinking about it for a second, then slowly nodded. john stood, not expecting her to wrapped her small fingers into his hand as she lead the way. to say that bucky was freaking out would be an understatement.

in the kitchen, rebecca pointed at the cupboard where the glass where kept. john took one of them and filled it with water from the tap. then, she gave him her captain america plushie so she could grab the glass, was this kind of bad joke? john followed her, still holding the plushie like he wasn't sure if it was meant to curse him or recruit him.

yelena and ava huffed a laugh when they saw him carrying the plushie.

rebecca carefully approached you, then gently handed over the glass. bucky gave john a grateful nod. you smiled warmly, taking a sip, —thank you, sweetie.

—my sister makes mama sick sometimes, —rebecca explained to everyone. the room was still, hearing her voice for the first time like it was something sacred.

—but you take good care of her, —bob said, his voice gentle.

—yeah, you sure are doing a great job, kid. i couldn't have brought that glass of water better myself, —john added.

rebecca showed a little smile, proud. with extreme care, she placed her tiny hand on your belly, her fingers splaying and she waited, hoping for the smallest kick from her baby sister. bucky kissed the top of your head.

—i made dinner, but i only expected bucky...

a chorus of don't worry, not hungry, i'm okay, i ate earlier, happened before you could finish talking. you looked around them all, tired, boots dusty from whatever roads they'd taken today, and hungry. no matter what they said.

—so we could order something, —you finally suggested.

bucky thought it was a great idea because there was no way he was going to let them go to bed with empty stomachs. while he made the call to the pizzeria, rebecca marched to the kitchen, ava and walker behind her like shadows as she pointed out the drawer with the cutlery.

back in the living room, you stood up from the chair. yelena, alexei and bob didn't let you out of their sight for a second. bucky, still on the phone, caught your movement and gave yelena a sharp nod, a silent command to keep you from doing anything else and to get you to the couch. you assured that you were fine, but it was no use.

at least alexei was no bore, he talked nonstop, about everything that came to his mind, most of the times embarrassing memories of little yelena. and rebecca had abandoned ava and walker to their luck in the kitchen and sat down next to bob with her notebook. you heard her mumble a wanna see my drawings? and the boy, as the sweetheart he was, couldn't deny. she explained every detail to him, not even letting bob get a word or ask a question.

ava helped bucky spread the tablecloth and john placed carefully the plates and glasses on the table.

—so, —ava said, looking at bucky with a teasing smirk, —another girl? you're the ultimate girl dad.

—yeah, three girls plus you and yelena. keeping me on my toes.

ava didn't say anything but she felt a little warmer at the way he'd included her and yelena in that count, like they were a bigger part of his life. he hadn't said it with any special emphasis, hadn't even looked at her when he said it but still, it stuck with her.

and the dinner was nice. so nice. bucky sat close by your side, his fingers gently holding your free hand over the table. rebecca was between yelena and ava but she was laughing at something walker had said to her, something funny enough to light up her whole face. bob had a soft blush on his cheeks. people laughing, sharing stories, the clink of plates and glasses, it almost felt unreal to him.

bucky leaned to kiss your cheek. you absolutely had no idea where all these people were going to sleep. the couch, the floor, a few air mattresses if the closet still held them, but definitely not enough beds. but looking at all together, sitting around the same table, full and happy, it didn't seem to matter at all.

[senka-mesecine]

Wanna see reader bringing home a baby deer to hills! Barnes 🦌

Bambi.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

It bleats when you find it.

Knee-deep in a shallow, marsh water creek the skinny fawn stumbles about on thin, unsure, wobbly legs as slender and as shivering as four twigs in the shimmering, green bosom of the overgrown, boggy river, ears bending backwards, aware yet careful while a pair of shiny, black eyes stared at you, almost in a way that would be pleading if an animal could outright plead with an expression once you reach out, crouching on the grassy, forested bank of the waterbed peppered to the top in dried, yellowed floating leaves, making your body and presence small, inviting the cub in, finding it receptive and swaying directly towards you on shore, unsure for all but a second, halting an inch or two away from your fingers almost as if contemplating the prospecting right before allowing itself to be scooped up, having nothing else on hand but your own jacket and the fur lining inside as you lifted it up, finding it struggling and jerking for a second right before calming due to the shock of human closeness, pacified and tamed by the sudden warmth, her legs dripping wet with the river's water dried and absorbed by the interior fabric of your outerwear --- you found a fawn in the forest, trembling and quivering vigorously in your embrace. Nothing some warm milk from a bottle and a basket filled with old quilts doubling as a makeshift bed for a pet couldn't fix. -"Hello, little one. Hello. You all alone out here?"- You coo once she settles entirely, letting you cradle her, breathing heavy, the thumping of her heart so loud you could practically hear it echoing through the fabric of your jacket. Couldn't have been hunters; you heard no gunshots. So, she must've strayed into the woods, losing her way, unable to go back to her herd; whatever siblings she might've had. In whatever hideaway further up the mountain, somewhere beyond the barrier of the clouds. Where there's wolves. Bears. Anything and everything far larger; far more capable of devouring. Especially around this time of the year, in around late autumn. You just hoped the small creature won't catch a cold. -"Where's your mamma? Where's mamma?"- You soothe her mid-stride, bouncing her in your hug only just a little like a newborn, finding that she didn't mind as you moved further back up the slope of the hill, straining for breath, but arms busy and unable to hang unto branches and the occasional boulder for balance, nearly stumbling and catching your balance the last moment --- the cabin within sight; a roof peeking out from the edge of the pine tree riddled vista.

-"Robert! Bobby!?"-

You shout; you could swear, man had the ears of a seasoned hound dog.

You were certain he'd hear you from about a mile away.

Was it bad you were too excited for words? That you couldn't contain it and had to practically holler, as he would put it, from across the valley and towards the house before you were even close to stepping into the front yard and by extension, the porch? No, you supposed it wasn't bad. When you find him, he's crouching down in front of the heating stove, the metal lid open and illuminated with an interior hue of golden-orange light as he tosses the occasional the occasional splintered log inside of it to stoke the fire --- with as much wood as he cut up for the oncoming winter, you two would be set for six months straight with no worries as to the warmth of this place. Or in this case, the three of you as of today --- as of right now. One house pet included.

-"Bobby, look what I've found!"-

You announce, practically busting into the kitchenette.

Holding up your jacket --- the timid little bundled up body inside still shaking.

All that peeks out are its ears and Robert's eyes are steady, scrutinizing.

His neck turned sharply, expression just as sharp with displeasure.

Oh.

-"Why in the everlovin' fuck did you pick that up?"-

He murmurs, the flames outlining one side of his body in a bright bronze.

He...wasn't happy, that's for sure.

Well, you knew he wouldn't be throwing around confetti.

Wasn't in his nature. But, still ---

-"She was lost."-

Reading the room, you press the jacket and the fawn back to your chest.

-"Would've died."-

You add, diminishing under his stare, feeling the need to explain.

Wrapping your arms around her protectively.

-"Her mom was nowhere to be found."-

You shrug, awkwardly lingering for a second before continuing.

-"I'll keep it and I'll tend to it."-

There's a soft, polite little bit of finality to that statement, you knew, like you weren't asking for permission or opinions, rather stating your stance and holding your ground on the matter while Robert looked at you, kneeling in front of the fireplace, hand still gripping the metal door behind which the heart crackled. You knew he wasn't one for sentimentalities. He once regaled you with a story how he fought the prospect of being given painkillers and Morphine when they were operating on his face. He was of the belief, both then and now, that if he couldn't endure the pain he didn't deserve to live anyway and that he was seldom as angry in life as he was when the medical staff forcibly injected him. -"Yeah. Eh."- He waves his hand dismissively at you and the wide eyed fawn. -"You'll get the house shit fulla tics an' lice, is all you'll be bound to do. Y'go leavin' the cabin for two hours and ya immediately come back with sum sorta urchin creature or other to play foster-mama to."- He tilts his head standing up, slamming the lid shut and you feel the pang of pain coiling around in your chest, unable to deny his taunting hurt. You open your mouth. Closing it. Then opening it again. Contemplating what to say. -"But ---"- Instead, you merely trail off, words halfway caught in your throat, as heavy as a lump stuck in one place, refusing to go up or down. You felt something about this decision was going to end up being a clash of philosophical points of view and the next time he moves his scarred lips to speak, your predictions are entirely confirmed. How well you knew him. -"If it was meant to die maybe you shouldn't have gone an' disturbed the natural order of shit. Let what the wild intended for it happen."- His eyes loom from under his lashes and his eyes are cold and icy underneath their shadow; about a foot taller than you, give or take, Barnes towers --- his distorted silhouette splattered large on the wall behind him, elongated by the light of the fire. You wrap your arms around your pet --- yes, your newfound, adopted pet, even tighter. -"Survival of the fittest."- He adds firmly. Blankly. Almost challenging you. Yeah, no. -"I don't believe in that sort of thing."- You retort, not unkindly, but with enough conviction to let him know you meant it. In fact, every time he needed help with an injury, every time he was wounded, shot, bleeding, you were glad it wasn't nature that did its course, rather, the helpful kindness of outside factors intervening --- medicine, injections, rescue, medevacs, operations and pills. -"It'll survive because I'll help it survive. That's fit enough for me."- You remark, an unflinching decision made up in your mind.

If Robert needed help, staggering somewhere in woods, well ---

You'd help him too, at any cost, by any means necessary.

Drag him, if you had to, fifty pounds heavier as he was than you.

This deer would survive.

-"Don't go 'round countin' your chickens before they hatch, darlin'."-

He takes a step back, standing still, only to move, leisurely.

One step at a time.

Circling you so slowly you scarcely even realize that's what he was doing.

At least not until he was standing on the threshold behind you.

His voice brushing against the lobe of your ear.

Hot breath and all.

-"These things drop like flies the first week they go bein' exposed to domesticated house conditions."-

He breathes, sending shivers down your spine.

Almost like there was a cruel, self-content, smug edge to his words somehow.

Like he relished in the notion of a weaker being dying.

Setting you up for failure.

No.

You mentally dig in your heel.

Sauntering towards the kitchen counters, looking for a bottle. Some milk.

You'd hand feed the deer, wash it, bathe it, clean it of ticks, do whatever it takes.

-"You know, I'm used to my kindness being looked down on occasionally."-

You say, more to yourself than him, feeling his eyes following you around unblinking, propped up on your tip toes, searching the cabinets, your fawn still underarm, your joints and muscles aching at this point, the small creature still wrapped in your damp jacket.

-"But, I'll be kind anyway."-

---

Robert Barnes remembered the first ever time he's ever been to a cinema when he was barely big enough to be outta his nappies and it was when his ma' and pa' went down to Gaitlinburg for a monthly stock up of things, spendin' daddy's slight raise in wages thumping away at the railroad seven days a week and as a bit of a pick-me-up they took him to see a moving picture because he supposed they were havin' a particularly sunny disposition that particular moment in time invigorated by the extra income, bless their hearts; They were showing Bambi at the fleapit movie house downtown in 1942. and even then, at that tender, formative age where most people could barely even form clear, cohesive memories least of all be properly influenced by them, it was the faceless, nameless hunter on the silverscreen shooting the fawn's mamma who he related to the most. It's who he wanted to be. Supposed that's exactly who he ended up becoming, even before the Nam was ever even a thing or a thought on anyone's mind. Heck, most folks couldn't even point to the damn place on the map in those days, the world feelin' smaller as a whole.

That whole trip down to town being prophetic.

Indicative.

Foreshadowing.

A cozy, commonplace Friday at the time it was happening --- but now?

Thinkin' back to it?

He understood his path was set for him long before he ever even knew it.

Cleaning his Winchester at the emptied dining table, thighs spread out on the chair beneath him, ashtray next to him, he ponders the notion --- well, he figured people were born precisely and exactly who they were always meant to be, 'cept it took time for them to grow into it --- like a well-used Sunday suit some folks inherit from they older brother or pa' that stands in the closet for a decade before its one's own time to wear it --- a good, solid, reliable hand-me-down that's slouching in certain places and a coupla sizes too big only to fit just right, like a glove fits a hand, better than any other suit one could buy regardless of much they might fight the bequeathed piece at first in favor of any other. None of this blank sheet or free will bullshit. Robert Barnes was always the hunter. That was reality. Part of him was even prone to believing that if he didn't earn the scar on his face back in Ia Drang because some piece of shit downright blasted him in the mug his own mamma would've gone and created him just like this, the way he was now, birthed into this life with a big old birthmark on the left side of him because there was no runnin' from oneself --- a man takes himself with him, everywhere and always and the ugly, mean and the bullshitters were always ugly, mean bullshitters.

And now? This man, the ugly mean bullshitter had fuckin' Bambi livin' under his roof.

The old polishing cloth slides over the smooth, brown walnut stock balanced on the dip of his shoulder, working fingers travelling further up, towards the jet black, metallic receiver, across the beech bolt and landing on the wooden fore-end --- the barrel already shiny, casting a long, thin shadow across the table's surface, reflecting the orange hue of the kerosene lamp flickering away on the windowsill, framing you on its other end like a mounted wall picture, tinkering away before the gathering dusk in the garden, back hunched, turned away from the house, but still perfectly within his sights --- Barnes clears his throat of phlegm once he finds the polishing cloth dry, moistening it back up with his spittle, finding it a good a tool as any to do a simple job. Were his firearms. He was using them. Could spit on them if he liked to. The slight thump of soft hooves cause his eyes to jolt up momentarily from the weapon --- a slight bit of bleating follows, more of a pathetic meep than anything else, really --- right from the direction where you set the wicker basket up a week before, next to the crackling stove of the fireplace --- nature's liability has woken up, stirred by the noise stemming from his saliva filled throat, no doubt. There's more from when that came from; this was no hotel. He spits, he cusses and sometimes, he'd listen to the radio too. So what then? Barnes holds the animal's gaze as it stands there uncertain, on the floorboard, laying down at one point, unsure, it's stick thin legs folded underneath it making it look like a spotted lump of bread covered with short, brown fur, staring at him with doe eyes like shiny buttons on a rag doll's face, remindin' him of every gook child, gook baby, gook youth and gook woman's he's ever seen. Ever killed. Reminding him of someone else too, yet he couldn't quite point his finger at it, cigarette hanging askew from his mouth, pressed into place between a mouth sitting firm, enveloping the fawn from afar in a veil of mist. Bambi, he named the thing in his own mind --- that's what he named it day one, when you first brought it home and even now, a week later, while you were still pondering names you never realized he long since had one.

Bambi, like in them old 'toons.

-"What'chu lookin' at --- lil' sack of shit? I ain' your peepaw."-

He mutters, raising his chin, throwing it out, tauntin'.

A shiny black nose and a pair of nostrils flare and sniffle softly.

Thing could hear him, almost like it was quietly bargaining with him.

Givin' him the choice of either-or, recognizing the master of the house.

That's why certain animals just lay down when a predator in the bush catches up with them and let themselves be eaten while a tiger has their paw around them, playing with them for a moment before gettin' down to business --- the smaller one doesn't fight it, just lettin' it happen; knowing the struggle is futile and that this is the circle of life. Reality. Barnes aims his Winchester for a second; tasting the sensation, holding the fawn sitting on the floorboard at aim, right in his crosshairs, finger on the trigger and the click of the cartridge resounding with a click as he feeds it a bullet out of the box next to his ashtray, contemplating himself the prospect of a red, juicy venison stakes for supper, causing him to instinctively lick the inside of his cheek at the notion, not minding the idea of eating it bloody and raw, not minding the possibility of pressing a knife to the animal's neck like a butcher would --- cutting and letting the splatter hit the parquet for you to see and understand precisely the type of man he was, the silence heavy to the degree he could downright hear your tools scraping along the cultivated, soft soil of the garden outside and then just as abruptly, the shiny, doe eyes flicker at him and he knew just who they also reminded him of.

Bottomless, pitch, innocent --- filled with God's own kindness.

He goddamn nearly turns the rifle on himself then, pressing it against his chin.

No fear or uncertainty behind the act, just cold, calculated will.

By the time you return inside, the twilight settled on the cabin's front porch, your fingers and nails blackened with the excretion of work and your smiling cheeks flushed red with sweat and exhaustion, pressing an eager kiss to the top of his head, the deer's back in its basket having itself a nap by the fire, the Winchester's been put away into its vitrine on the wall and he's poured himself a drink --- a good, heavy one --- while you cleaned up and prepared supper.

---

The first snow mingled with rain drizzles through the chill stillness of the air.

The night framed through the window's peppered with a falling fog of shimmering whiteness and his hand holds the edge of the curtain for a second, bed pressed up against the wall, letting the old drapery his ma' brought in as dowry at least half a century ago fall limp while he lay sprawled out on the mattress, waiting for you to return from a midnight trip to the bathroom --- the lingering warmth of your body still soaking your side of the bedsheets, causing him to trace your absence there, your heat mingling with the alarming coolness of the fabric, feeling you and finding he was missing you even when you were gone for all but five minutes. Times like these he goes cravin' a late night smoke and has him shooting up from the bed, sitting at its edge, feeling restless, lingering in the dark, the place where the lively stove stood pitch black and empty, nothing but the basket you arranged there and a small, hill-like shape huddled underneath them quilts. He stands up slowly, being even more quiet than he usually was even though walkin' 'round the house barefoot without his boots caused him some measure of distress, he looms large over where the fawn slept, only a pair of ears peeking out and he scoots over, slowly collecting it in his arms, eliciting a tiny whimper out of the animal --- it's easy work, grabbing the feeding bottle where you've left it and pressing it to the babe's snout, letting it suckle and eat in a couple of shivering, eager gulps, bringing it with him, back to bed once its done, sitting the animal down on his chest, letting it curl up there like a seasoned housecat, Barnes his hand hovering it first right over that tiny skull that couldn't have weighed more than an average little rock, right before he allowed himself to set down the open palm of his hand against the fawn's fur, nuzzling it there. If a thing was yours, he could care for it. Maybe...maybe...Kill for it. Die for it. Yeah. Fact was, a great many things only ever had worth to him through you and he didn't care who knew it. He hears you when you leave the bathroom. He hears you as you standing on the threshold of the bedroom, breathing, illuminated by a ribbon of light crashing through the window. Watching. A gesture he returns, settling his arm under his head as a pillow, his other hand holding the animal. He knew you could see him because he could sure as heck see you.

-"Will you look at that!"-

You exclaim surprised, gasping, voice halfway hushed, tiptoeing towards the bed.

-"You two have reconciled! Well, I am glad!"-

There's a trace of warmth in your tone as your neck bends, head tilting to watch your pet sleep, it's nimble twig of a spine heaving up and down serenely, at peace --- he really needed to get to work and put a baby inside of ya so you didn't have to go 'round pickin' up forest orphans no more and that was a given. -"You know, I've been thinking of names and ---"- You begin and he immediately shuts that shit down as you settled down next to him, on your side of the bed. Already had a name. -"Bambi."- He says matter of factly, staring up at the ceiling as the mattress underneath you bent and creaked --- your presence as welcome there as the skin on his own bones. -"What ---"- You trail off and he interjects yet again, head turning on the pillow, resting on the scarred side of his cheek, gazing at you in the dark, only the outline of your face visible. -"Name's Bambi."- He announces and your breathing steadies, mouth agape, lashes fluttering as you searched his expression. -"Bambi."- You mouth that, like someone savoring each letter, weighing it in on your tongue not unlike an unsung lullaby. Truth was, in the time he decided on that name and chose to make it known to you just know, somewhere in the intermissive weeks he became more prone to calling the animal by your name, at least in the private recesses of his mind --- had your eyes --- might as well have your name, leaving him figuring that's the only way he could show a living thing absolute, guaranteed bias and clemency against his better judgement and habit; is he gives it your personhood, steadying his own hand through it. Just like that hunter in the old 'toon, except it's you he hunts. Spotting you in the forest clearing and lowering his rifle at the sight of you, your pretty doe eyes blinking at him. Maybe he was always supposed precisely and exactly what he was and there were no two ways 'round it, his nature a settled, ingrained thing long before he ever knew you or himself entirely, but he could tell himself no by adorning all things with your visage. Shit, maybe a random ass pine tree in the forest anywhere on this giant of a mountain could elicit a bullshit emotion akin to sympathy out of him one of these days if he imagined you'd enjoy sitting under its shade one day.

-"Yeah...I like that! I like Bambi!"-

You whisper, content, nuzzling into his shoulder; fawn fast asleep on his chest.

The snow outside keeps falling; he'll have plenty to shovel in the morning.

[lovebugism]

Thunderbolts prompt: fake dating with them oh my lordy

ty for requesting :D below you will find four separate blurbs for the thunderbolts (bucky, yelena, john, and bob), each with their own separate summary and warnings! enjoy!!

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you pretend to be bucky's wife to help his image during the election (friends to lovers, pre-thunderbolts but also kinda canon divergent | 0.8k words)

Bucky Barnes never lets go of your hand. He never stops smiling either, at the sporadic camera flashes that threaten to blind him while the elevator doors squeak to a close. Only when the two of you are finally alone, away from the leering eyes of the press, can Bucky take his first good breath of the evening. Only then does he let go of your hand.

You migrate to opposite sides of the small lift and bathe in the welcome silence after a too-long night of shaking hands and people pleasing. Bucky sighs and tips his head back against the wall. “I’m sorry about this,” he mumbles beneath the ding-ing elevator. “Again.”

Despite the ache in your feet from a long night in heels, you manage a small, tired laugh. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, Bucky— Valentina put me up to his, alright? Not you.”

“No, I know, I just…” he trails off with an awkward chuckle, loosening the knot in his tie with two fingers. “I just know you’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here, you know, with me. I know how boring these things are, trust me.”

He tilts his head to flash you a tight-lipped grin, ocean eyes dark and weighed down with a visible fatigue. You give him a much more apologetic look in return.

“Actually, I’m kinda happy I’m here,” you correct and avert your gaze. “I know Valentina did all… this,” you wave your hand vaguely between the two of you. “But if pretending to be married helps you get elected, then I’m happy to do it. I seriously think you could do some good— like, world-changing good, so… I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

Bucky’s chest warms with an unfamiliar feeling. Something fuzzy, like television static or crackling embers — the kind of feeling he only gets whenever he’s holding your hand. It feels strange now, not to be touching you after spending a whole evening at your side.

He flexes his flesh hand and tries to ignore the ache while the numbers on the elevator continue to rise — 27th, 28th, 29th… 

“I know neither of us wanted to be here, but… Out of everyone Valentina could’ve picked, I’m glad it was you.”

“I’m sure you are,” you quip, trying not to be as vulnerable as you feel. “Considering her first idea was pairing you and Walker to go on, like, pretty public missions together.”

Bucky’s face screws. “No, it wasn’t...” he groans.

“Yeah. Like, saving kittens out of trees— Real serious stuff.”

He makes a pained, grumbly noise in his throat. “Well, now I’m extra glad it’s you.”

The two of you exhale soft laughs and stare ahead at the closed doors before you; more specifically, at the bright red numbers above them — 41st, 42nd, 43rd — praying silently that they’ll slow down.

“And even though Valentina did all those for show… You know, the whole married Avengers thing…” Bucky trails off and clears his throat, trying to find the words to say. “Every time we kissed, every time we pretended to be in love… It was real to me. It was always real to me.”

You exhale a heavy breath. Like his words have physically punched you in the stomach. 

“And if you don’t feel the same way, I get it. Okay? I do,” Bucky rambles, preparing himself for an inevitable rejection. “But when all this dies down, whether it gets me elected or not, I’d like to take you out on a real date.”

“No press?” you ask, peering at him from beneath your lashes.

Bucky shakes his head in agreement. “No press.”

“Even if you don’t get elected, and all of this ends up being for nothing?”

“Well, it… wouldn’t have been for nothing.”

You exhale a breathy laugh. “You know, despite what Walker says about you, you still know your way around women, Sergeant Barnes,” you quip beneath the ding of the elevator. 

Bucky’s brows furrow in confusion as the elevator doors whir open. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he calls to the back of you as you step out onto the fifty-third floor.

He doesn’t follow you — equal parts because he feels like his feet are glued to the floor and because his real room is a floor above the one Valentina booked for Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. 

You flash him a look over your shoulder, eyes dolled up and magnetic like a siren’s gaze would be. “It was real to me, too, Bucky,” you murmur, so quietly he barely hears it, then remove every ounce of vulnerability from your being. “Now, do you wanna come in for a night cap or what?”

You walk off before he can answer. Bucky catches the closing door with his vibranium hand and rushes to follow behind you.

You share a bed that night, like many nights before, but this time with the knowledge that everything will be different when you wake up the next morning.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena wants to show her parents that she's doing okay after the death of her sister, and recruits your help to do so (friends to lovers, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Yelena Belova’s trying to prove that she’s okay. Alexei and Melina were worried that Natasha’s passing had ruined her, which it had — and that a life without her sister had left her all alone, which it did. But, in an attempt to stave off the weepy conversations and squishy-eyed gazes, Yelena decided to bring a companion to the family dinner. 

You were her teammate, first and foremost, and the only one she could tolerate long enough to pretend to date for a night. And, besides, you were too soft for your own good to deny her of anything.

You were too perfect a choice, turns out, ‘cause her parents end up taking to you like a third daughter.

Yelena groans with her head in her palms when Alexei returns from the bathroom, modeling his original Red Guardian supersuit like he does every time they visit Melina’s country house. The spandex gear was created in the early eighties and smells like it, too. The thing gets tighter every time Alexei shoves on it, but he wears it with a bright smile on his bearded face anyway.

“Still fits!” you exclaim kindly from the kitchen table as the older man poses in the doorway.

“I told you it would!” Alexei slurs in his deep Russian accent. “Forty-one years old, this is! Can you believe it?!”

“Yes, I can,” Yelena mumbles into her shot glass before swallowing its golden brown contents in one go.

You shake your head with a polite smile. “You don’t look a day over thirty, Alexei.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” the man chuckles from the depths of his round stomach, then deflates with a realization. “Ah, drisnya— I forgot the, uh… the…” He trails off, motioning vaguely around his head as he searches for the English word. “The helmet. I just— I ruined this whole thing…”

Melina smiles at the pouting man she used to call her husband (and still does, on occasion). “No, you didn’t, my love,” she coos, voice low as honey. “You look great.”

Alexei shakes his stubborn head, swiping a calloused hand through his long, greying locks. “No, I have— I have to do it all over again. Just… wait. Wait here, da?” he scurries back down the hall, searching for the helmet he’d left behind.

Melina deflates with a sigh. “We’re going to need a lot more alcohol than this,” she mumbles, rising from the table and taking the half-gone bottle of whiskey with her.

“Maybe something a little stronger?” you quip.

The older woman smiles down at you. “Now, you’re speaking my language, solnyshko.” 

You wait until she’s left the room to lean over to Yelena, “What’s sul-nish-co?” you whisper.

“It’s solnyshko—” she corrects in perfect Russian. “—And it means sunshine.”

You smile, warmed by the term of endearment. “That’s nice…”

“Don’t get used to it,” Yelena scoffs and takes another shot. (Her tenth, or maybe hundredth of the evening).

Your brows furrow at her words. You flinch slightly, like they’ve physically pained you in some way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means this isn’t real,” she says, motioning wildly between your bodies. “But those idiots think it is, and they’re getting attached— which means they’re going to wonder why I don’t keep bringing you around— which means I didn’t solve any problems, I just made a new one.”

She points an accusatory finger at you. You blink back burning tears.

“You invited me here, Yelena… I don’t deserve the blame for this…” You turn to your own shot glass, which has been sitting on the table ahead of you for some time now, and finally find the courage to take it. “…Whatever this is.”

Yelena watches with an apologetic look in her eyes as you down the whiskey in one swallow. She can’t help but smile softly to herself when you grimace at the bitter taste.

“You’re right. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry,” she mumbles, so quiet you barely hear it, as she rakes her fingers through her chopped, box-dyed locks. “They’ve just been so worried about me since ‘Tasha died… I wanted to prove to them that I still had someone who cared about me. Even if it was just pretend.”

You smile at the sullen Russian girl. “It’s not pretend, Yelena. You have people who care about you— The entire team would’ve shown up if you asked them.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look in return, doe eyes shadowed with smoky liner.

“Well… Maybe not Walker,” you correct yourself, gaze flitted to the ceiling. “Or Ava… Or Bucky— But Bob definitely would’ve been here, and you know it!”

“Exactly,” the blonde girl says with a soft, gravelly laugh. She fails to meet your piercing gaze and fidgets nervously with her empty shot glass instead. “You’re the only one who cares enough to pretend to like me.”

You feel her tense when you put a soothing hand on her denim-clad thigh. She peers at you beneath her lashes with a shy ocean gaze, chest warming something fierce when you smile. “It’s not pretend, Yelena…”

She falters, unable to tell if your words are some kinda confession or if you’re still just being nice. Her eyes dart across your features, like she’s looking for an answer inside them. Before she can find one, Alexei stumbles in from the bedroom.

“I thought we agreed, no PDA,” the grown man whines, still in his too-tight suit but now sporting the matching helmet. “It’s nasty, ‘Lena, I can’t stomach it.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t stomach you,” the girl retorts instinctively.

You smile in the face of their banter. “You were right, Alexei— It definitely needed the helmet.”

“I told you!” the man exclaims, voice booming as loud as his wide smile. “I told you it made the outfit better— In your face, ‘Lena!”

Yelena shakes her head, but can’t help but smile to herself. 

She figures she could get used to this.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john takes care of you after a mission gone wrong, like the doting husband he's pretending to be (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker is just trying to survive — or, at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Valentina pairs the two of you on a mission nothing short of life and death. “You’ll draw less attention as a couple,” the woman smiled, passing you an envelope with a forged marriage license and two golden wedding bands inside. “Trust me. You guys are pros at this— What could go wrong?”

The answer to that question was easy: everything.

It was good until it wasn’t. John posed as a business exec Monday through Friday, nine to five, where he would then return to his ‘house’ in the suburbs with a cold beer and a home-cooked meal waiting for him. White picket fence, rose garden, backyard with a pool — the whole nine yards. As far as he was concerned, the only problem was having to share it with you.

You pretended to be his housewife. You went to book clubs, pilates, and over-priced grocery stores, all in the name of fitting in with the rest of the Stepford wives around you. While John got close to the bigshot CEO that Valentina wanted dead, you played nice with his wife — pretty, a little stupid, and satan reincarnate. 

It went on like that in an unforgiving cycle. You received intel in the name of petty gossip and found ways to busy yourself until Walker got home; you had parties, get-togethers, and barbecues to blend in with the community, pretending to love each other all the while.

It was nothing short of your own personal hell. 

The mission was inevitably a success, though not without a couple casualties. You and Walker managed to make it out with a couple scrapes, a few bruises, and only a single gunshot wound — which isn’t so bad, all things considered. 

You think you’re taking a bullet to the stomach much better than your faux-husband is.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot,” John mumbles under his breath as he stitches your weeping wound with careful hands. 

He only managed to stop panicking when he got you to the safe house. Before then, you thought he might cry. You would’ve made fun of him for it if you'd stayed conscious long enough on the ride here.

“Wow,” you scoff, tilting your heavy head against the pillow to glare at him. “Your bedside manner is impressive, Walker. Truly.”

John’s face twists with a palpable irritation. “You don’t get to make jokes right now, alright?” he grouses, snipping the remaining thread from your sutures.

You laugh despite the stinging in your side. “Why not? I think now’s a perfect time, honestly—”

“Because you almost died!” John shouts over you. 

“What the fuck do you care?”

“Uh, because we’re married,” he monotones like it’s obvious, flashing the wedding ring on his left hand, now stained with your blood. 

“No, actually, we’re not—” You wince when you try to sit up. John reaches for you on instinct, helping you prop yourself on the pillows he’s piled beneath you. “—And I’m totally divorcing you when we get home. Just, by the way.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” he deadpans, towering over you as he wipes the blood from his hands on a towel. “But we’re probably gonna be stuck here awhile. Valentina’s not getting in a hurry to send any backup, so…”

“What a fucking bitch…” you sigh and tip your head against the bedframe.

“We only have to play husband and wife for a few more days. Think you can handle that?”

“It wasn’t so bad…” you shrug, eyeing John with lidded eyes as he rounds the mattress to the right side — which had, over the course of eight months, become his side. He sits down gingerly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might hurt you. You melt into his warmth on instinct, leaning your shoulder against his broader one. “…Until you got me shot, anyway.”

“Hey, you did that yourself— No one asked you to protect me.”

“Sorry for saving your life, you idiot.”

“I’m a super soldier!” he laughs. “I can take a hit! You can’t!”

“I think I took it pretty well, actually,” you scoff, face screwed in offense.

“Yeah…” John sighs despite himself. “You kinda did.... Just don’t let it happen again.”

“But I like watching you dote on me,” you joke, tilting your head on his shoulder to see him better. 

Your noses nearly brush at the proximity between you, which would border on romantic to virtually anyone else. But, for the two of you, it’s your job — and you’ve gotten used to playing your role to perfection. Being close to him now is like muscle memory. 

“You don’t have to almost die for me to take care of you,” John chuckles. “You know that, right?”

You shake your head. “No, actually. I didn’t.”

“Well…” John shrugs. “Now you do.”

It’s just as much of an admission of love as the blood on his hands from patching you up, or the bullet fragments in your side from shielding him from gunfire. All the rest of it goes unsaid.

ROBERT REYNOLDS X READER — you and bob pretend to date because it's easier than trying to convince everyone you're just friends (friends to lovers, post-thunderbolts | 1.2k words)

Robert Reynolds didn’t want to be alone, and neither did you. The decision to attend Valentina’s wedding together was as mutual as it was unsaid, just like most of the time you spent together. 

You haven’t been apart since the day you found him in New York. At first, it was just babysitting — making sure he didn’t turn half the city into a shadow again — but then you grew rather fond of his company. And eventually, neither of you could stomach being without the other. So you never were. Ever.

It was all completely, utterly, and unequivocally platonic, but the rest of the team convinced themselves otherwise. After a year or more of constant prying, it just got easier to let everyone else believe what they wanted. And, besides, pretending to have a boyfriend got you out of a ton of unwelcome social interactions. 

The team wants to get a beer after a mission that totally drained your social battery? Oops, sorry, I have to get home to Bob before he thinks I’m dead.

Old acquaintances from high school want to hang out with Bob now that he’s quote-unquote famous? I wish I could, but my girlfriend’s super sick. Maybe another time?

You and Bob were best friends and nothing more. But sometimes pretending otherwise had its benefits.

“Isn’t wearing black to a wedding bad luck?” Bob mumbles as you enter the elaborate dining hall side-by-side. (Valentina’s wedding had only two rules: all guests must wear black, and absolutely no kids.) It made Bob nervous, as most things tended to.

“It’s her fourth marriage,” you shrug. “It’s basically a funeral, anyway.”

You’re bombarded on entry by Alexei, who by the looks of it, had already pre-gamed in the Avengers Tower before coming.

“Ah! It’s the lovebirds!” he shouts, voice booming over everyone else’s. He turns to a total stranger passing by and motions to the two of you. “Aren’t they cute?” he asks the strange man, who just gives him a weird look in response. Alexei smiles anyway. “See? He agrees with me.”

“I don’t think he does…” Bob murmurs sincerely.

“It’ll be your turn next, eh?” Alexei chuckles, hitting the boy hard on the shoulder. Bob flinches under his tattooed hand despite being the most powerful Avenger the world’s ever seen. “Getting married. Being all… married.”

Bob hesitates, looking to you for an answer ‘cause he’s never been the best liar. You just smile, like it all comes too naturally to you. “Only if you promise to officiate the wedding,” you croon and wrap your left arm around Bob’s right one.

Alexei’s smile ebbs into a look of shock. His eyes go soft around the edges, filling with tears at the kind gesture.

“There would be no greater honor—” he tells you, Russian accent deep in his throat as he takes a step closer. He holds Bob’s wrist in one hand and yours in the other, shaking them for emphasis. “—Than uniting the two of you in marriage.”

You realize how seriously he’s taking it and start to flounder. “Well, you’ll be the first one we tell, Alexei,” you mumble awkwardly and slide your hand from his grip. “I promise.”

You’re dragging Bob away before the man can go on another half-drunken rant about a faux relationship and a wedding that will never happen.

You weave through the bustling crowd, hands instinctively entwining to stay together. 

“Do you think anyone would notice if we left?” Bob mumbles, nervously adjusting his tie with the hand not holding yours.

You look around, then shrug. “I don’t think I care.”

You end up sneaking into the kitchen before cocktail hour even starts, stealing a tray of sweets on your way to the wine cellar. Bob trails behind you like a lost puppy, distantly fearful of getting caught (because his omnipotence has yet to cancel out his perpetual anxiety.)

He paces back and forth while you try to pry the cork out of a vintage Merlot.

“I’m starting to feel bad,” Bob blurts suddenly, sweaty hands wringing into knots.

“Why?” you scoff with your mouthful, chewing through a tart chocolate-covered strawberry. “It’s just wine. No one will even know it’s missing—”

“No. About… lying to everyone.”

You freeze with half a strawberry still wadded in your cheek. “Oh…” you mumble, then swallow the rest of it down. You adjust the wine bottle between your anxious hands and stammer for a response. “Do you wanna… Do you wanna stop?”

The concept of stopping is slightly foreign to you. You've gotten so used to pretending to date him that sometimes you forget you're not actually dating.

Bob pauses his pacing to shift his weight on his feet. He shakes his head and answers honestly, “No. I don’t wanna stop, I just… don’t wanna lie.”

It’s a confession, albeit a vague one. He eyes you with a wide, attentive gaze and prays you get the hint. He can tell, by the sudden fearful look on your face, that you do. 

Your eyes flit to the ceiling as you smack your lips against your teeth, as though deep in thought. After a moment or more of silence, filled only by the distant swelling of violins, you nod. 

“Okay,” is all you say as you spin on your heel and turn away. You can’t face the vulnerability, so you choose to pick your battles and search for a cork screw for the impossible-to-open wine.

“O-Okay?” Bob stammers, nearly stumbling over himself to follow behind you.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I mean, we were already kind of doing it, so… We’re basically halfway there anyway, right?”

Bob’s sigh of relief comes out like a laugh as he leans against the counter beside you. “I just… I didn’t think it’d be that easy,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to still his racing heart. “I would’ve asked you out forever ago if I did.”

The cork exits with a low, smoking pop. You inhale the scent of bitter grape as you bring the heavy bottle to your mouth. “How long have you been planning this?” you wonder with a laugh before taking a lengthy sip.

“Not long,” Bob insists with a shy shrug. “Maybe about… a year?”

You nearly choke on the dry wine. “So… Since we met?” you press, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Uh—” Bob trails off, voice an octave higher than usual, as his eyes dart to the ceiling. He tries to do the calculations in his head, but the days have all blurred together since the Sentry Project. All he knows is, at the very least, that he’s been in love with you since the day he met you. “—Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“Here,” you blurt, offering him the too-expensive bottle of wine in your hand. “I think you need this more than I do.”

You can’t help but falter at his admission — that all the time you spent together wasn’t just pretend. Not entirely. 

Every time you held hands in front of the team, cuddled on couches during movie nights, pretended to make out beneath the blankets so that whatever unfortunate team member was sent to recruit you for an early morning mission would leave the two of you out of it — some of it was actually real.

You can rest easy now knowing that you weren’t the only one who’d somehow fallen in love along the way. 

It was all Bob’s fault, really. 

But he’s more than happy to take the blame.

[ang3ltine]

"𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠" - Robert ("Bob") Reynolds x freader x platonic thunderbolts

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

a.n - Ava was sick of seeing you and Bob dance around eachother like puppies in love, so she does something about it

warnings - mention of mental illness, lovesick Bob! minor spoilers and major fluff!!

"Remember to call us if you need anything ok?" You were currently on the quinjet, ready to leave for a mission. But there was a problem, Bob had to stay in the tower by himself.

Bob nodded hurriedly before ushering you back onto the ship, but you hesitated when he turned to leave. You grab his arm rather quickly, which prompted him to look back at you with wide eyes.

"Be safe," you whispered softly so that it falls in his ears only.

Both Ava and Yelena heard the couple from a distance and snickered to themselves.

"I.. I will," Bob stutters before giving you a tight-lipped 'bob' smile. He stepped back so that he wouldn't delay your mission.

The hatch to the ship closed as you peer down at the small figure waving at you. Yet, you could almost feel the smugness of the duo behind you.

"Be safe," Yelena says with sickingly sweet tone while Ava butt's in afterwards. "Oh I'll be so safe."

You give them a deadpan look before responding with crossed arms. "Can you guys stop?"

"But how will that keep us safe?" Ava retorts sarcastically while Yelena falls into her arms dramatically. "I'll be safe once you kiss me."

You knew the two of them were mocking you for having a soft spot for Bob. Ever since you guys took him in after his 'incident' as Sentry. No thanks to Valentina ofcourse.

"Can you girls stop gossiping? It's annoying." John grunted while adjusting his suit.

The team was split into two for today's mission. Boys vs. Girls to make matters worse, but you guys didn't want to lose to John Walker.

So you tried your very best to complete your part of the mission as quickly as possible. An old hydra base had been spotted a few weeks ago so Bucky wanted to check it out and gather intel, just in case.

The location was in the snowy mountains of Slovakia and it was a mission based on stealth. Something that John struggled with, and Alexei, so he was left in charge of the jet. Much to his disappointment.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me..." John mutters as he spots you from a distance with a smug smile on your face.

"Hey asshat, how's the taste of being a loser feel?" You quipped while happily walking out of the building, after successfully infiltrating it.

John on the other hand had failed his part and the others had to step in while he sat in the quinjet with minor injuries.

He puts his hands up in defence before sighing. "Fine, you win this time."

Internally he was fuming, but he wasn't ready to admit that.

"Relax I was just kidding." You mused while passing by him with a quick pat on his back. John knew that you were joking, but it was reassuring to hear the words himself.

"You think Bob's doing ok?" You mumbled while putting on your seat belt.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he's curled up on the couch thinking about you." Yelena let's out a coarse laugh while she takes her seat next to you.

" Oh 'lena what would I do without you?" You say sarcastically while she links her arms with yours. "You'll be lost...and unsafe."

The last comment made you roll your eyes before finally laughing along to the joke. As the rumble of the quinjet signalled it's takeoff sequence, so you got ready to take a nap on the journey back home.

What you all didn't expect was to find Bob standing on the helipad, with a pillow in hand. It seemed like he was anticipating your return since he was sort of giddy when you got off.

"Ahh look your boyfriend was waiting for you after all," Ava makes the comment while walking past you swiftly. You shook your head unamsingly before making your way towards the awaiting brunette.

"Were you waiting for us?" You sighed while reaching up to fix his hair. It had gotten messy due to the blast of wind from the quinjet engines.

"Oh well...I sort of had another episode while you were gone...so I thought I'd wait out here until you returned." It was hard to make out what he was said on the last part but nonetheless, you pull him into a warm embrace.

"You wanna talk about it?" You whisper into his hair before running your fingers through the dark brown locks. Bob shook his head as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Not wanting to push him, you just stood there while holding him until he was ready to go back inside.

What you didn't notice was how fast Bob's heart was racing while you two hugged.

Deep down he was glad that you didn't, he would be too embarrassed to ever admit that he secretly liked you. For now, it was better for you not to know.

"You got that right?" Ava asks while squinting her eyes to get a better view from the hanger. The sound of a click from a camera could be heard before Yelena answers with her phone in hand.

"Got it." Yelena snickers mischievously.

"We need a plan to get these two idiots to confess."

"What do you have in mind?" Yelena turns to Ava while she thinks of something.

"Ok... I think I have one."

"Is...is this ok?" Bob asks while showing his bowl full of cake batter. You leaned in slightly to see for yourself, and to your surprise, it was perfectly light and airy.

"Wow Bob! The batter looks perfect!"

Bob breaks into a wide grin at the compliment as the rush of giddiness returned. He observed the way your mouth was moving while you talks and was seemingly under a trance, that was until you pulled him back to reality.

"Bob sweetie are you ok?" You say in a gentle tone as you wave your hands infront of his face. He blinked at few times , seemingly lost before nodding. "Uh.. yeah I'm good."

"Aww you call him sweetie now?"

You sighed and hung your head low at the sound of the familiar voice. " 'lena don't push it."

You two had been dancing around each other for about 2 months now. Every day, it seemed like you were closer to getting Bob out of his shell. Whatever you did worked because he was able to start training with you all without the worry of the 'void' returning.

Speaking of Bob, he was in the kitchen having his dinner with Ava's company. It was late and well past midnight when the group had finished their training.

Her plan was beginning to unfold when you rushed into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your shoulder.

"What happened? Is there any emergency?!"

Your hair was slightly damp from the shower you had just taken. Bob recognised the top that you were wearing and almost choked on his food. You were wearing his blue t-shirt that he had left behind a few nights ago.

"There's no emergency is there?" You sighed as you shift your gaze towards the woman near the refrigerator. She simply shrugged before taking a chug of cold milk.

Bob had completely forgotten about the shirt and to make things worse was that you look absolutely gorgeous with it on. Not to mention, your thighs were exposed since your shorts were hidden underneath the gigantic top.

"Bob...! I didn't know you were still awake," blood rushed to your cheeks when you realised Bob was staring directly at you with wide eyes. You had no idea he'd be here, thinking that everyone else had gone to sleep already.

Bob cleared his throat and swiped his bowl to the side. His dinner now forgotten about and directed his attention towards you. You felt like a deer caught in headlights.

You were planning on giving his shirt back but you kept on delaying up until now.

"Oh uh --...hey love." Bob stutters slightly while he drinks in your appearance. Which was very out of character for him, even making Ava stop dead in her tracks from the sudden pet name.

The muscles of your cheeks began to rise as you felt yourself smile at the sweet nickname that he had given you. Bob on the other hand? Felt himself swoon whenever you gave him that smile of yours.

Yelena returned from the pantry with a bottle of water in his hand with a shit eating grin on her face. Giving knowing glances between the two of you.

"Its good to see you too 'lena," you sighed before making your way towards the counter.

"How's your day been beautiful?"

Bob was caught offguard by hearing Ava giving you a pet name as he blinks at her in confusion. Was there something going on between you and Ava that he didn't know about?

He became even more jumpy when he noticed your form taking a seat right next to him.

You fought back the urge to smile again when you noticed the tips of Bob's ears turning red. He looked like a puppy begging for attention. Nonetheless you turn back to Ava to answer her question.

"My days been eventful, to say the least. I mean I made some new adjustments to my suit so it could take in more volts of energy-"

Ava nodded and promted you to carry on. You spoke about the drills you had done with John and Bucky aswell.

Bob had tuned out of the conversation. He rested his head on his palm as a lovesick sigh escaped his lips. He followed the way your mouth moved while you talked and the way your hair would bounce slightly from every gesture you'd make.

Seeing the way your eyes would sparkle whenever you'd talk about something you're interested in.

Bob considered himself lucky to be in your presence and the way the light above them gave you a warm glow. He didn't even notice the conversation dying down as you, Ava and Yelena turned their heads towards him.

You looked at him with concern while Yelena muffled her laugh behind her hand. She saw how smitten her best friend looked which only convinced her more to get you two together.

"Bob hon', are you ok?"

Ava let out a choked laugh at the nickname. You gave her a light glare as she calmed herself down.

Your body was fully facing the now flustered Bob, he almost flinched out of instinct when your cold hand met his burning cheeks.

"Geez Bobby you're burning up, are you feeling ok?" You started to get worried, thinking maybe he had gotten a fever.

"Mmh? I'm feelin' fine though." Bob murmured as he looked like he was going to collapse right there in your arms. Getting absolutely drunk from the attention you were giving him.

"I'd say otherwise," Ava mumbled to herself in amusement as she excused herself, also dragging Yelena with her despite her protests.

She believed that the two needed some privacy so she had the fabulous idea of locking you two in.

"Seriously guys?!" You yelled when the shut the door on you both. Knowing that there was no use in chasing after them, you turn to face Bob again.

Bob saw the way your mouth was still moving but he couldn't focus on the words that you were saying. If this was anyone else, he wouldn't even let them touch him. Depending on the person ofcourse, like Yelena.

But it was you. The woman that had the ability to make his heart hurt from how lovely you were. He'd never felt so much love for someone in a long time and it kind of scares him.

You were still patting his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stuble beneath your skin. You also moved stray hairs out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. He wanted to say something but no words came out.

"Maybe we should head to the med bay to get yourself checked out." You were about to get up to leave until you felt a strong grip on your arm as Bob made you sit back down again.

"Do you not want to go?" You asked in confusion as you tilted your head. Bob froze as he tried to figure out what he should do next.

His hands slowly reached up towards your cheeks and gently caressed them with his thumb. He was impossibly close now, his nose practically touching yours.

You were surprised at how bold he was being but you weren't one to complain. But still, you waited to see what he would do next.

The faint scent of your shampoo and conditioner fills his nostrils. Your peer into his deep blue eyes, his pupils were dilated but oh so full of love.

You hesitated, and rightfully so. Bob had the tendency to fluctuate his mood so you weren't sure whether you should take advantage of the situation.

Bob brushes his lips against yours, testing the waters. Not knowing if you wanted this or not. Without a second to waste, you pressed your lips fully against his.

They molded together perfectly, you don't know why you waited so long to feel this, to feel him.

His lips were like you imagined, soft and plump with a hint of cinnamon since he just started eating his dessert.

But a distant voice at the back of Bob's head made him pull away.

You noticed the way his eyes filled with worry, knowing something was bothering him. He lets out a shaky breath as you feel a slight shift in his demeanour, as if trying to hold something or someone at bay.

"Would you... want someone like me? I mean -... you don't think I'm...pathetic?" A hurt laugh escaped his lips as he mentions the last part.

"Darling, is that the reason why you're so hesitant?" Your heart hurt squeezed at the thought of him even thinking of being unworthy of love.

You lift his chin up so that he'd make eye contact with you again.

"You know...I fell for you for a reason, Bob. That means every part of you, including your insecurities. Because... that's what makes you human, just like us."

He couldn't help but smile brightly at your statement as all his worries leaving him in an instant. The voice that was nagging him not a moment ago, vanished. As if it wasn't there in the first place.

You pressed a chaste kiss on his lips to start off, causing Bob to become even more giddy than usual. Then turning into laughter as you pepper his face with kisses before pressing one last kiss on his now pink lips. Due to the excess tint from your lipbalm.

"Thanks for believing in me..." Bob whispers against your lips as he peers down at you through his lashes.

"Always," you whispered back in a slightly quieter tone while brushing the stray hair away from his eyes.

You silently ask for Bob's permission with your eyes, which he answered with a firm nod before leaning back in once again.

He lets out a surprised gasp against your mouth when you took a seat on his lap for better access. Taking the chance to show him how much you truly loved the man beneath you.

The rest of the world faded around you as you both got lost in time. It was beginning to get hard to breathe as he pulls you against him to deepen the kiss. You felt a butterflies deep in your stomach that you never felt before with anyone.

Bob could taste the slight hint of strawberry on your tongue from the candy you had eaten just before taking a shower. In another bold act of gesture, he takes the opportunity to fully immerse himself in the kiss and sucks lightly on your bottom lip. Wanting to taste more.

His hands were all over you and he had a hard time keeping himself under control. Giving your hips a gentle squeeze while you sat on his lap.

He whimpers against your lips while you gently prod and nibble on his bottom lip, the soft muscle becoming swollen.

Literally, anyone could walk in and see you two, but clearly that wasn't on their mind at the moment.

But eventually you both had to pull away for air, your cheeks were flushed but you were content. Smiling softly down at the adorable brunette below you. Bob lightly nuzzled his nose against yours while both your breaths became foggy due to the cold air in the kitchen.

"So Sunshine....can I finally call you mine?"

Before he could answer you hear the sound of muffled talking in the hallway and they were headed straight towards the kitchen.

You two quickly scrambled off eachother and tried to act casual. Bob picked at his now cold food while you rummaged through the fridge.

"Cut the act you two. We already know what happened." A teasing voice called out. "By the way, we have pictures as proof."

You internally groan as you turn to see Ava with a smirk on her face with Yelena having the same amused look.

"So, are you two dating now?" Ava asks while she looks between you and Bob.

You huffed as you made your way over to Bob, who was already standing up from his seat and stood beside the chair awkwardly. You reached his height by tiptoeing slightly and placed a firm yet soft kiss on his cheek.

Bob's face turned almost bright red while Ava and Yelena both looked at you in disbelief.

Which only made the situation all the more amusing. They didn't expect you to be so bold.

"I guess we are," you respond with a doting smile as Bob shared the same look he'd always had.

Lovesick.

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @starktonyx @perdidosbucky-yyo @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @starstruckfirecat @adventure-awaits13

[tashames]

Affection | Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: You're always extra affectionate with Bob but he thinks you're like that with the rest of the team until the Thunderbolts tell him that's not true

Word Count: 2.9k words

Content: fluff, confessions, physical affection

A/N: I started this 2 days ago and I was still writing while working so hopefully it's good for y'all:) Let me know what you think!

Bob had always thought that your affection towards him was the way you were with everyone. He had seen the way you smack John's shoulder when he says mean jokes to him. Or the way that you would hold Yelena's arm when you both would beg Alexei for something. But he thought that when you held his hand or brushed your fingers through his hair or even cuddled, it was just because you did it with everyone else. But you display of affection towards him was much more than everyone else's.

One early morning in the Tower, Bob had woken up to make some coffee. As he does usually. He hummed himself a little tune, peacefully making the coffee.

Waking early was part of the contract of being a New Avenger. Although you hated it, it was just the way of life around here. You got up sleepily, just wanting to head back to bed already. Shuffling your feet out to hallway, unable to muster the energy to lift them, you end up going to the kitchen first. Seeing Bob standing in front of the coffee pot made your heart swell. You crept up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face on his back.

"Good morning," you said tiredly. Bob smiles to himself, feeling your warmth combining with his.

"G-Good morning," he responds back. Every morning was the same. He makes coffee while you come up from behind and hug him, not letting go even when he's moving around the kitchen. You won't let go until he gives you a mug with coffee. This morning was the same.

Yelena walks in, seeing the same thing every morning. She smiles to herself and sits down on the stools behind the counter.

"Can I get a mug also? After you give little miss leech hers," she calls out as she sees you hugging him tighter.

"She's not a leech. She just like that", Bob defends you, already pouring two mugs with coffee.

"Leeches stick like that. To every move, like her. A leech", Yelena points out. You just huff in annoyance, pulling away and headed over to the stool next to her. Bob's smile faltered a bit when he felt you pull away. He never wants to accept it but he just wants to hold onto you and never let go. Have you wrapped in his arms and holding you close to his chest.

You sat down on the stool, reaching for your mug and taking a sip. The hot liquid hitting your lips and sliding down your throat as the aftertaste stays on your tongue. You moan at the taste of it, closing your eyes shut. Bob darts his eyes at you, a blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. Yelena sips, eyeing both you and Bob.

"You always make the best coffee Bob," you sigh out, placing your mug back on the counter.

"I always do it for you," Bob replies back, sitting down next to you with a mug in his hand. You put your foot with his and swing it a bit. Bob had learned by now that no matter where you two are or whats going on, you will always find a way to be touching him. Either it's both your knees touching or you're leaning your head on his shoulder. You always show affection towards him.

After finishing up your coffee, you head back towards your room to shower and change. Bob headed back towards his, to do the same but also to hide the fact that his heart was racing. His mind was always being occupied by you. Every little touch you gave him, his heart would race. Mind filled with thoughts about you.

Today, you were going to train with Bucky. Although you were a S.H.E.I.L.D agent that got injected by Hydra with the solider serum, you still had to practice. Especially with Bucky. He was always pushing everyone to train.

"You have to keep pushing forward," Bucky says, dodging your punches as if he knew exactly where you were going to hit. You were getting annoyed by the minute. Not hitting Barnes meant a longer training. Just as Bucky is about to throw a punch, you dodge down and kick him in his abdomen with all your force. Bucky stumbles back a bit, holding his side.

"We can uh take a quick break", he coughs out as he walks over to the benches and sits down. You walk towards him, picking up your water bottle before sitting next to him. Shoulders barely touching. Both of you just drinking and breathing hard from the training.

"Do you think we can get pizza later today? I've been craving it since last week", you ask as you turn to look at him. Bucky leans his head against the wall.

"Yeah, we could. It's been awhile since we've had pizza", he responds back.

"I mean last time we had pizza, Alexei threw it to John and it ended up on the ceiling for a week", you laugh out. Bucky chuckles a bit, remembering that day.

Unbeknownst to both of you, Bob had been seeing your interaction. Seeing that you don't lean into him like you do to him. Bob walks away, thinking.

____________

After Yelena had come home from a mission, she had decided to paint your nails, as well as Ava’s. She had found the ‘prettiest blue’ during her mission that she took it and wanted to try it out. Yelena had practically dragged you and Ava out of your rooms and into the living room to start on the nails.

“See, isn’t this the prettiest blue you’ve seen. It’s all shimmery but not sparkly,” she says, holding up the bottle to show you and Ava. Ava had rolled her eyes, but was getting her nails ready to be painted by Yelena.

“I don’t see what the point is in painting our nails. They get chipped and ruined during our missions or trainings anyways,” Ava huffs out. She had already put her hands on Yelena’s lap first. You had started to organize the nail polish that Yelena has been keeping so far, putting them on display for her to pick and choose from quicker.

“It helps enlighten our mood seeing our nails like this. Plus we’re women, we have to embrace our feminity sometimes and we can do that with painting our nails, so which color do you want Ava,” Yelena asks, looking down at the line of nail polish bottles.

“I guess we can do white,” Ava responds back, blowing a piece of hair away from her face. You grab the white bottle, handing it over to Yelena. She opens it and starts to do the process of painting Ava's nails.

“Can you braid my hair for me? I can’t at the moment,” Ava asks, looking at you as she blows another piece of hair that fell onto her face. You nod excitedly. Ava doesn’t let anyone touch her hair unless if she gives them permission or it’s a death-life situation.

You head behind Ava, grabbing her hair from the front and pushing it out to the back. You comb through her hair with your fingers, feeling how smooth and healthy it is. You start from the top of her head, grabbing small pieces of hair and pulling out towards the back. As you start to braid her hair, Yelena had started to talk about how her and Natasha would always paint each other nails when they were younger.

“After school, we would come home to see Dad had bought us new nail polish. We would throw our book bags down and rush to sit at the dining table. Natasha would always paint my nails first then I would paint hers. Although I would always have different colors on each fingers, Natasha would always paint them without ever complaining about my color choices. But she would only go for one solid color for all her fingers. I always thought on how weird it was that she didn’t want to have fun colors on her hands. But now, I understand. Too much colors can be too much for the eyes.” Yelena smiles, remembering her childhood before the Red Room took her away. You and Ava were just sitting and listening peacefully, not wanting to interrupt her memories.

Finishing up Ava’s braid and tying a hair tie at the end, you sat back and admire your work. Your fingers ran down her braid lightly, feeling the bumps.

“Finished with your braid, Ava,” you say as you sit back down on the floor, next to the table where the bottles of nail polish are.

“Thanks. I like to keep it in a braid so it won’t get too messed up when I’m fighting,” Ava says while looking down to her nails.

“That’s why I cut mine. Too much damage and it gets in the way sometimes,” Yelena speaks out, pointing at her hair. You nod slowly, understandingly. Yelena finishes up on Ava’s nails and shoos her away. Already grabbing the color bottle that you want, you hand it over to Yelena before sitting down where Ava just was.

“Wow this is a pretty color too, Nice choice,” Yelena smiles at you, opening the bottle. She grabs your hand endearingly, not wanting to mess up and paint the sides of your fingers with the nail polish.

You can see the way she brings the brush over your nails, almost filling up your nail completely with the color, only going over twice. Her face steady with concentration. It’s already been 9 months since you have first met Yelena but now she feels like an older sister to you. The way she would stop John from pestering you to when she would bring you a bowl of sliced fruit to your room saying ,”We all need fruit in our systems, it makes us stronger.” Even Ava would sometimes just hand you a water bottle during training without saying a word. Being in a tower where it was mostly men walking around and coming along to guide you during missions, it was nice knowing you had two more women around you that had gone through similar experiences. Sticking close to each other was a must at this point, especially when the men living with you ask if it’s that time of month. More specifically, John.

“And finished, now it’s my turn,” Yelena says, closing the bottle and already opening up her new nail polish. You look down at your fingers, seeing how beautiful the color looks. You smile to yourself, maybe Bob would like this color.

Yelena already has her hands down on your lap, getting ready for her nails to be painted. Gently grabbing her hands, also trying not to ruin your freshly painted nails, you start on painting her nails. Doing the same motion as she did before, filling her nails completely with color.

Yelena looks up from watching you paint her nails and sees Bob standing in the kitchen, making himself something.

"Bob what are you making?" Yelena sits up straight and extends her neck, trying to see over you.

"Just some fruit," Bob answers. He starts to take out 3 more small bowls, placing them in a line. He cuts some fruit and places them into the bowl with a fork in the bowl. Carefully, he grabs them and makes his way over to the living room.

Ava looks up to Bob and sees him giving her a bowl. She takes it and thanks him, picking up the fork and sorting out the fruit. Bob looks over to you and sees you holding Yelena's hand. His eyebrows furrow.

"You can place them on the table. We're almost done here." Yelena point over to the table while blowing in her nails to make them dry faster.

You look over to see him doing what she said, gently placing down the bowls. Just as your finishing up her last nail, Bob sits behind you. He peers over your shoulder, seeing your work. You can feel his warm breath on your shoulder. His fingers slightly touching your waist.

" All done." You grin, seeing Yelena looking down at her nails. You lean into Bob, putting your back against his side and sigh. You feel him tense under you for a second.

"You can relax Bob, I'm just trying not to let the paint get ruined on my nails right now," you giggle as you show him your hands.

"W-Wow. They look pretty," Bob complimented. You can feel Bob move for a bit until he finally settles in. He wraps his arms and legs around you, trapping you with his body. Bob brings his hands to yours, grabbing them to look closer.

Both Yelena and Ava turn to each other and share a look. They both get up at the same time, picking up their bowl of fruit.

"I'm just gonna head to my room now." Ava smiled towards us and walked off, phasing away.

"I'm going to go see what Dad is doing cause last I heard, he was teaching John how to play goldfish." Yelena rolled her eyes and winked at you before leaving.

It was quiet but yet peaceful. Bob had been holding you for the past 10 minutes, his head buried in your neck. You had been eating your fruit while watching a show. You love being held by Bob. His warmth felt like a sunny day at the beach. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell back down when breathing. The minute Bob would touch you, you stopped everything and paid attention to him.

Finishing your bowl, you leaned over to place it back on the table but Bob's hold on you tightened.

"Bob, I'm just going to put it back on the table. I'm still going to be here." You turn your head back slightly. The grip on you loosens, letting you finally place the bowl on the table. Once the bowl hit the table, you feel yourself get pulled back into Bob's chest. A smile forms on your lips. Slowly you rubbed his arms, letting him go into a peaceful sleep on you.

___________

Bob had been woken up by the screeching sound of a chair being pulled out. He opens his eyes and looks around. He sits up from the couch and rubbing his eye.

"Did I fall asleep on the couch last night," he asks looking behind him to see everyone except you at the table. Already eating.

"Yeah, you and your other half did," John responds while chewing on his food.

"O-Other half?" Bob gets up from the couch, stretching his arms up. His shirt rides up, exposing his v-line.

"Don't play dumb. You know who. Who else would be cuddling with you?" John goes to drink his coffee while eyeing Bob.

"Well she cuddles with everyone, doesn't she?" Bob walks over to the table and sits down at one of the open chairs, looking over the food options.

"No. She only does that with you Bob. All the holding hands, looking at each other with love eyes, cuddling with each other and the rest of the lovey-dovey shit, that's all you two. She doesn't do that with us," John clarified, rolling his eyes.

Bob looks to everyone, seeing them nod in agreement to what John had just said.

"I just thought thats how she is with everyone," Bob says, remembering the past week of how you barely give physical affection to anyone else but him. Soon his cheeks started to heat up. His heart was pounding rapidly.

"Bob," Bucky says, his voice stern. Everyone stops and looks at Bucky. His arms are crossed against his chest, showing off his biceps.

"Everyone in the whole Tower knows that you two are in love. We can see it very much. Just ask her our already. And don't give me that 'oh what if she doesn't like me' bullshit. She does, trust me." Bucky huffs out.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, he feels hands come up to his shoulders and a kiss on his head. He looks up to see you smiling down to him.

"He's not wrong you know. Since the moment that we first moved in and you helped me with decorating my room, that's when my feelings started to develop," you admitted. A blush coming to your cheeks. Just staring into Bob's glistening eyes. A beautiful dark brown that you can never get enough of.

"Ugh just kiss already," Ava rolled her eyes and continued eating.

"KISS! KISS! KISS," Alexei started to shout out, banging the table hard that it started to make it jump. Everyone else tuned in with him, chanting it.

You close your eyes, leaning down to Bob. Your lips meet his, a soft but yet loving kiss was placed on his lips. Just as your about to pull away, Bob's hands come up to the your face and pulls you back down. He connects to your lips again. This kiss had a more exciting spark in it. Everyone around you shouted in excitement.

"Finally!" Everyone yells as you smile against Bob's lips.

Pulling away from each other, Bob smiles genuinely.

"Do you want to be mine?"

"I'm already yours."

[scarletmika]

My Person : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

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

Summary: Neither you nor Bob ever dared to fully cross the line of friendship or more, walking it like a tightrope instead. All it takes is one undercover mission for that tightrope to snap.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, might be a slight hint of a breeding kink in there, slight bit of superpower usage), porn with a LOT of plot, fluff, friends to lovers, lots of pining, sort of a fake marriage trope, one bed trope, language, some mental health talk, female reader, alcohol consumption, some Agents of SHIELD spoilers actually, Thunderbolts spoilers obviously

Word Count: 16,400 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: special thanks to @briseisgone for checking my French in this!!!!

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

"W-Wait...you want to send Bob and me on an undercover mission?"

Valentina let out an aggravated sigh, the same one she typically gave her rag-tag team of new Avengers. She stood at the head of the conference room table, perfectly manicured hand, as always, tapping incessantly on the glass tabletop. The look in her eyes displayed boredom, maybe even a hint of exasperation, as she looked directly at you.

“God–am I speaking Russian? Have I been spending too much time around the mall Santa over here?” her hand gestured out in the direction of Alexei. When no one spoke up, she continued. “Yes, Viper, I’m sending you and the man-child on this mission.”

“An undercover mission, that’s the part you’re glossing over that I-I really don’t think you should be,” you tried to reason with the woman, but she simply held her hand in the air to stop you.

“It’s the fastest mission of your life, Viper, it’s a single day: get in, get the information, get out. And if I remember correctly–well if Mel read the paperwork correctly–it was you that signed off on Robert’s combat forms and said he was fieldwork and combat ready,”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. That was your signature on those papers, signing off to approve Bob Reynolds for actual combat with the team on missions. You had been the one to hand-train him yourself for months on end, three hours a day in the training center, helping him to understand that his powers were a part of him and that he didn’t need to play the part of “The Sentry” to use them.

Hand-to-hand combat and the power of a thousand exploding suns were vastly different from undercover field work, though.

“Valentina, you’re missing the part where you’re sending them on an undercover mission,” Yelena chimed in, leaning her elbows forward on the table next to you as she voiced your own concerns out loud. “He’s combat cleared, we’ve taken him on small missions here and there-”

“He was very helpful with the gang problem last month!” Alexei cut in with a boisterous laugh. “They were such funny little men, looked like they were fake Russians. He made quick work of them, even if he apologized when he sent that one flying across the room-”

“The point is, undercover work is different,” it was Bucky who cut in this time, sitting directly across from you and Yelena, looking around at the group before his gaze cut back to Valentina. “Undercover work takes a certain level of care. It’s a lot of quick thinking in fast-paced environments, and it requires the ability to remain calm and adapt to anything that could happen. I just…I don’t think Bob is cut out for that kind of work yet.”

You hated agreeing with your team, but they were right. Bob brought a value to this team that sometimes couldn’t be accurately quantified, and you didn’t like talking down on him in any sort of way. He was valuable, he was helpful…he was your best friend, but he just wasn’t cut out for undercover work, at least not right now.

Valentina took one look around the room, scoffing with a mutter of “unbelievable” under her breath. With a snap of her fingers, Mel was by her side in a second to pass her a manila folder, shooting the rest of you an apologetic look as she stepped away. Valentina flicked the folder open, gaze rising to settle on you.

“Oh, look what we have here: SHIELD Special Agent 19, codename Viper,” the deep sigh you let out was inevitable as Valentina paced the front of the conference room, reading straight from your file. “A liaison for the original Avengers, looks like you did some work with Yelena’s sister. Let’s see, notable missions–ah! Project TAHITI, Project Deathlok, a mission to Puerto Rico that ended in the deaths of three HYDRA leaders. Need I list off more?”

You mumbled something under your breath about how much you loved this “walk down memory lane” that drew a short chuckle out of Yelena, before Valentina continued to read through the file.

“Over 37 different undercover missions spanning the likes of Berlin, São Paulo, Mumbai, and even Osaka: all successful, by the way. There’s even a review section about your superb skills with an FN SCAR-H, MGC M-16, and your favorite, the Nemesis Arms Vanquish. Oh, and your lethal little twin daggers, all coupled with this glowing review about how you were one of the best agents to ever step foot in SHIELD,” Valentina flipped the manila folder closed, tossing it onto the table with pursed lips. “Let’s not forget that all of that? Yeah, it’s all personally signed off by Nick Fury.”

“I love reading time with Valentina, it’s so fun,” Walker huffed out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair with arms folded behind his head. “Can you read my file next? I’m dying to relive my short few weeks as Captain America.”

As much as Walker could be a dick at times, his humor in moments like these was much appreciated. Except to Valentina, who only shot him another glare.

“My word is final. I have one of SHIELD’s best special agents on my team, and I’m using her. And yeah, you’re taking Robert with you,” with a snap of her fingers once more, Mel passed her another manila folder that was slid in your direction. You had barely stopped it under your hand before Val had slid the large pair of expensive sunglasses on top of her head over her face, shooting a fake grin around the room. “Now, I have a meeting with the Senator, followed by a stint on a beach in Fiji. I trust you all can handle this: try not to call!”

The sound of her heels clicking against the linoleum floor echoed through the room, before the large conference door swung shut with a heavy click.

Silence hung in the air between the team for a moment before all hell broke loose.

“He’s just not cut out for a mission like this. I’m sorry, I have to say it,”

“Bobby apologized to that gang member last month when he threw him across a room. We want to send this guy undercover?”

“Ah, but he is The Sentry! He is most equipped to protect our stabby-stabby friend, Miss Viper,”

With another sigh, you flipped the manila folder in front of you over. With a quick skim down the page, you got the gist of the mission: HYDRA, possibly regrowing, attempting to get their hands on Adamantium.

Just the word HYDRA had a pang of hurt hitting you straight in the chest. Great. Just great.

“We can argue as much as we want, but we aren’t the ones assigned to a mission with him,” your ears perked up at Yelena’s voice, turning your head to look at her. She was already looking toward you. “Do you think he can handle this?”

“Personally? I’m terrified that undercover work is going to be a lot on him. He’s gotten more comfortable with letting his Sentry powers show at times and with hand-to-hand, but undercover is different,” you explained, treading carefully around what you said. “It’s taken months for him to feel comfortable on his medication, especially after Dr. Kim changed his dosage at least four times. Undercover work…it’s intense, I don’t want him to get overwhelmed.”

Ava leaned forward on the table, drawing your attention to her.

“Viper, while it’s a valid concern…Valentina hasn’t left us with much of a choice,”

You sighed, flipping the manila folder closed once again.

“No. No, she didn’t,”

You didn’t speak another word, and the team took it as the official end of the meeting. All but Yelena, who stayed behind even as the conference room doors shut again. She sat quietly for a moment before speaking.

“So…you’re totally not nervous about being alone with Bob, right?”

“Why would I be?” you questioned, and Yelena just looked at you expectantly. “Oh god–Lena, don’t start this again–”

“The heart eyes you two give each other make me sick,” she faked throwing up, laughing as she dodged the kick you sent toward her chair while shaking your head, trying to rid yourself of the heat crawling into your skin. “Always looking at one another, he’s always stumbling over his words–more than usual–around you, always being so touchy touchy together, and so on and so forth with the cuteness overload day in and day out.”

She took the manila folder from your hands, skimming over the mission details as you scoffed in her direction.

“So we spend a lot of time together, so we can be a little touchy, what’s wrong with that? Friends are like that all the time!”

“Um, except Bob is notoriously not touchy with anyone, given the whole interconnected shame room incident,” Yelena simply stared at you, blinking multiple times in succession. You stared back, before she simply threw the manila folder down with a sigh. “Fine, fine, don’t listen to me and solve the glaringly obvious romantic–and slightly sexual–tension, wallow in it for all I care. I wish you luck in Paris, of all places, ignoring that.”

The mission weighed heavily on your mind later that night. Yelena’s thoughts lingered, too, in the back of your head.

The tower’s kitchen was quiet, except for the playlist currently playing out of your phone’s speaker from where it sat plugged in on the counter. The sun had already set, and the team was all off on their own set schedules. 

Walker was finally making a supervised visit with his estranged wife and child, like you’d been hounding him to do for months. Ava had said something about catching a movie at the theater down the road, while Alexei had roped Yelena into ‘father-daughter bonding’ at a Broadway show (you were sure they’d be home soon and Alexei would somehow get them kicked out). Bucky had simply retired to his room, leaving you to your own thoughts in the kitchen.

Two pots were boiling on the stove. You had just added the spaghetti sauce into one and half of the box of noodles into another, humming under your breath as some song that Tony used to play around this very tower played off your phone.

“S-Smells good,”

You jumped slightly, heart rate spiking, before you turned. The sight of Bob leaning against the kitchen doorway, clad in a white t-shirt and one of his many pairs of grey sweatpants, had your guard back down in a second. With a quick stir of the noodles, you pointed the now-soaked utensil in Bob’s direction with a grin.

“Haven’t you been warned not to sneak up on dangerous agents anymore? After the last time Yelena almost stabbed you?”

The blush coating his cheeks at the simple mention of the incident had you laughing, nodding your head toward him to beckon him over. He crossed the room without hesitation, feet shuffling across the cold floor until he was leaning on the counter next to the stove.

“Well…you’re different. I-I hope you wouldn’t try to stab me,”

“On purpose? No. Scare me like that again? Maybe,” you added the rest of the box of noodles to the boiling water without having to ask, not missing the tiny quirk of his lips as you did.

Without having to ask, he took another large spoon from the utensil holder, lazily stirring around the sauce in the pot next to him. You shot him a grateful smile, keeping your eyes on the noodles in your own pot.

“Homemade garlic bread?” Bob questioned, gesturing down to the lit oven below you both. You could see his smile stretch just the tiniest bit wider. “You know I-I love your homemade garlic bread.”

“I know, that’s why I made it,” you teased him, bumping your hip lightly against his own as he let out a short laugh. “I figured you would come crawling out of your room eventually and get hungry tonight.”

The kitchen went quiet for another moment. Bob backed out of the way, letting you open the oven to a rush of warm air and check on the bread.

He took your spoon from you without having to be asked, stirring the noodles and the sauce as you crossed the kitchen to the fridge. With a wine glass and a normal tall glass placed before you, you poured him a cup of water before pouring yourself a generous amount of sangria from your favorite bottle in the fridge–it still had a sticky note on the side to tell Ava to keep her hands off of it.

“I had a dream last night. B-But…I think it was more like a memory,”

Bob’s sudden comment had you pausing, placing the wine bottle back down on the counter carefully, and turning. His back was to you, still focused on the stovetop, but even you could see the tension suddenly riddled throughout his body, in the subtle flex of his arms.

“What was it?”

“New York, the…the incident,” he struggled to explain that day, but you knew what he was talking about. “D-Do you remember what you said to me that day? When you…pulled me out of there?”

Of course you did. You remembered the shame room incident like it was yesterday. Reliving the day you thought you lost your mentor, the crumbling of SHIELD, the comforting hand of your mentor on your shoulder when you learned the man you thought you loved and trusted had really been-

You remembered Bob. Jumping into those shame rooms to find him, to break through every wall until you found Yelena, and until you both found Bob. Wrapping him in your arms after fighting tooth and nail across the room until you got to him, holding him as he cried.

I’ve got you. I’m not leaving, not now, not ever. You don’t have to carry it alone; I’ll carry it with you.

With both glasses in hand, you placed them on the island counter. You placed two plates beside them before you rejoined Bob’s side. He handed you back your own utensil without a word, and you took it, fingers just barely brushing his. You could see those little bumps rise on his skin where you touched him, and it brought a soft smile to your face.

“That I wasn’t leaving, that I’d carry your burdens with you,” you spared him a glance from the corner of your eyes, and he was already looking at you. “It was a memory, Bob. That’s what I told you, and I meant it.”

God, when you said you would carry his burdens with him, did you mean it. Every therapy session Valentina had ordered for him, you were at his side–at his request, of course. He refused to sit through the first few without you, and after that, he was just too used to you being around for them.

Those therapy sessions turned into late-night conversations on the couch when his insomnia took over. Walks around Central Park in the middle of the day. Visits to his favorite local bookstore to find something new to read. 

It was hard not to become someone’s person when you spent every moment with them.

“Okay, good. Would be kind of awkward if it was just a dream,” you sputtered out a short laugh, leaning into his side with another small nudge to his hip. “You know, t-the same goes for you, right? That I’m here, that uh…that I have your back. Especially if we’re, you know, on missions or something…”

In the middle of stirring your pot, you hung your head with an audible sigh.

“Let me guess, Yelena told you about the mission we’re assigned?” he gave you a small nod. “I promise I was going to tell you, probably after dinner, after I had time to fully think about the logistics of it all.”

Bob took the pot off the stove as you switched it off, swinging it over to the sink and helping you empty the contents into the strainer, the excess water rushing off down the drain.

“She wanted to warn me, given that it’s undercover and all,” Bob explained, putting the empty pot back on one of the burners that was cooled off as you shook the rest of the water from the strainer. “I just…I want you to know that I-I can do this. That I won’t let you down o-or make it worse.”

Bob’s negative self-talk always caught your attention. Even when it wasn’t as glaringly obvious, when it was just hidden in his little comments, you always picked up on it. He seemed to know you did, already looking at you when you turned to give him a knowing look.

“Bob-”

“Yeah, I know, ‘replacing my negative thoughts with positive thoughts will lead to positive results’ or whatever it is Dr. Kim keeps telling me,” Bob tore the spoon stirring the sauce out of the pot and waved it around, flinging little bits of sauce everywhere. You couldn’t help your laughter as some of it splattered across his face, but he paid no attention to it. “I-I know undercover work is different from the little work that I-I have done, but I can do it, especially if it’s with you. I know I can.”

There was a beat of silence before you reached forward, fingers just barely grazing along his skin to wipe the little bit of spaghetti sauce from his cheeks. It was noticeable, the little way that Bob leaned into your touch, the only touch on the team that he actively allowed and didn’t shy away from all the time.

One strand of that dark brown hair fell in front of his eyes as he leaned into you, and you didn’t hesitate to swipe it back. Those striking blue eyes never looked away from you, and you found yourself lost in those ocean-like eyes and the softness they held. They were beautiful…Bob was beautiful, inside and out, and you had always known it. That flutter of your heart and that warm feeling that pooled in your stomach all but screamed it at you.

“I just worry that it could overwhelm you, bring up negative memories, that’s all. But I trust you. So, if you say you can do it, then I believe you. As long as you promise me that you’ll tell me the second something doesn’t feel right, if you feel overwhelmed.”

Bob’s smile quirked just slightly into that slightly smug little smirk you’d seen just a few times before, mainly when he managed to make a dig at Walker that always set the super soldier off. He held his hand up, pinky outstretched, and you laughed wholeheartedly before wrapping your own around his.

“I promise I’ll tell you,”

“Good. Do we need a secret code word if it comes up?” you teased.

“I mean…’cucumber’ works for many moments,”

You both laughed, pinkies still intertwined.

“Cucumber it is,”

❤︎

“The mission basics are simple: it’s been confirmed that remnants of HYDRA are still scattered across the globe, and they’re trying to regroup and gain momentum again. Somewhere in that rebuild, they’re trying to get their hands on Adamantium, that metal harvested from that Celestial body in the ocean. Intel suggests their plan is to get it from a French arms dealer by the name of Damien Jacquemin. His company runs out of the United States; it’s based somewhere in Texas, but he conducts his personal business as far from his company as he can. Not a guy we want to tussle with, Stark knew him well back in his heyday of weapons manufacturing,”

Valentina’s team had recreated the old SHIELD and Avengers quinjets fairly accurately, with their own additions. The cockpit was separated from the rest of the jet to offer more privacy, a more spacious backend area than what you were used to in the past. A large conference table sat in the middle of the room, big enough to seat your team of seven around. Bob was sitting at that conference table now, flicking through the holopad you’d set in front of him, while you paced the open space behind him as you spoke.

“He’s hosting a one-day conference of sorts in Paris, but it’s a ruse to distract him from meeting with his potential HYDRA clients. This conference will consist of high-profile arms dealers and investors from around the globe,” you leaned down over Bob’s shoulder, flicking the holopad to the next screen. “He’s rented out this entire little hotel for the conference. It’s a boutique hotel, only 25 rooms, so the guest list is small and the conference room is small, meaning this is going to be an intimate event. It’s at least got nice views of the Eiffel Tower, so at least we have a view.”

“Okay…” Bob breathed out the word, sitting up straighter in his chair as he turned around to face you. You couldn’t help but smile at those eyes that were as wide as a deer’s in headlights, his hand tugging at the collar of the white button-down he was donning, tucked into his black pants. “S-So what are we doing?”

“We are guests of the conference, much like all the others in attendance. This conference is only a day long, so we have a short timeframe to work with to get this information,” you crossed the room over to the expensive designer purse waiting for you, digging out the fake passport and license for each of you, and passing Bob’s over to him. “These are our identities. If you can’t remember, just let me do most of the talking. Our job is to avoid as much direct contact with Mr. Jacquemin as we can, as he is the most likely to sniff us out as undercover. We are to determine which guests are the HYDRA agents in disguise, and be close enough to determine if a sale of Adamantium is happening and where it will happen, so we can alert our team. All while…not getting caught, of course.”

Bob examined the passport and license in his hand, and you could see the tiny shake in them. It brought a frown to your face as he turned it to you, smiling just a bit.

“M-My name is Mr. Aidan Gray?” you laughed lightly, seeing Bob look between you and that terrible photo of him with his hair slicked back for the fake ID.

“For this weekend? Yes,” you flashed him your own ID and license, before stalking back over to your purse to put them away where they’d stay safe. “You’re the extremely wealthy son of a former American arms dealer, Russell Gray, who did work with Stark Industries back in the day. Now, you own Gray Enterprises. I’m your loving and adoring wife, Mrs. Eloise Gray.”

“W-Wait, we’re…we’re married for this?”

You paused, cheeks heating up as you remembered that little, yet big, detail of the mission. Turning on your heel, Bob was now standing from his seat, eyes blown wide again and cheeks flushed the deepest shade of red you had ever seen on him.

“W-Well, statistically, these missions go smoother when marriage is used as a cover,” you stumbled a bit, trying to find the right words to explain a decision of the mission that had been entirely your call. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with this-”

“No! No y-you didn’t,”

Something hung in the quiet space between you both just then, something you had been avoiding for months. You avoided it in every therapy session when Bob took your hand in his, in every late-night talk on the common room couch while rain pattered against the tower windows until you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, and in every look and gentle touch you exchanged.

The brush of hands, Bob’s hand always brushing against your lower back when he moved past you, the times when he’d wake up after you in the morning and wrap himself around you from behind in the kitchen in greeting, never fully understanding his actions so early in the morning with sleep still in his eyes. All moments that fluttered your heart in ways you tried to ignore.

“We just have to play it up at the conference, is all,” you reassured him, hands gliding down the sides of your dress as if brushing off non-existent dust. 

Bob’s eyes were still blown wide, but he couldn’t help but let laughter flow from him, still slightly breathy. You quirked your head, smiling nonetheless at his actions, shoving that stupid heat pooling within you away.

“I-It’s just funny…Walker always jokes that we act like a married couple. Now he’s, like, k-kind of right,”

Okay, maybe Yelena had a point. There was a glaringly obvious rope of romantic tension that was hanging between you and Bob. It was a feeling you were aware of, that you tried to ignore for many reasons, but in moments like this it was more prevalent and obvious than usual.

That softness in his eyes, reserved just for you. It conveyed trust, complete and total trust, something Bob didn’t feel with many people. You were one of the lucky ones, if not the only lucky one.

The red light by the door to the cockpit blinked twice, illuminating the room: the signal that you would be landing. A secure location just outside of Paris, where an arranged car would pick you both up and transport you to your hotel.

“Well, you know how Walker can be. Always joking,” you did your best to laugh, even if it was slightly strained. An awkward smile crossed his lips before you walked past him, giving him a quick pat on the arm. “Get ready, we’re landing in a moment.”

The landing went off without a hitch, the sleek, black car awaiting you with Valentina’s personnel picking you up without an incident.

The drive into Paris city limits took an hour, a quiet hour. There was some channel playing through the car, a revolving slate of French songs. But neither you nor Bob spoke.

You watched him instead, as the sun set throughout the drive and the city lights lit up. The way the yellow of the lights reflected through the car windows, painting Bob in their soft light. The way the yellow reflected off the blue of his eyes, reminding you of the gold that shimmered through them when the Sentry serum took hold. 

That tiny smile on his face, those wide eyes as he took in every street, every building, every group of people lining the street. It took a lot to stop the flutter of your heart at the sight.

“Bienvenue à Paris, Monsieur et Madame Gray! Nous attendions votre arrivée, veuillez me suivre,” the young man waiting in the lobby of your hotel greeted you enthusiastically, accent heavy, the second you and Bob stepped through the doors. Bob’s hand was wrapped in yours, and the second you were greeted in a language he couldn’t understand with fake names, you felt his grip tighten. You gave him what you hoped was a comforting squeeze back, giving the greeter a kind smile as you fell into step beside him, your bags taken by the bellhop at Bob’s other side. “Souhaitez-vous être accompagné jusqu'à votre chambre?”

“Non, mais merci de votre offre,” you responded in kind, the language rolling off your tongue with a practiced ease. You could see Bob’s head shoot up to look at you from the corner of your eye as you waved the greeter’s offer to escort you both to your room off. “Mon mari et moi avons eu un long vol, nous voulons juste nous reposer.”

“Bonne nuit, Madame,”

The keycard to your room was passed to you with another kind smile from the man. Bob stepped into the elevator first, pulling you along with him, before the bellhop placed your bags in the room with you and pressed the fifth floor button for you both. He bid you both another goodnight before the doors shut, leaving the two of you alone once more.

“Y-You speak French?”

There was a smirk on your face as you glanced at Bob, who looked astonished and impressed by what he had just seen.

“And Spanish, they were both taught to us during my SHIELD special training,”

“I liked the way you spoke it,” Bob’s voice dropped just slightly lower, slightly softer. “It…it was pretty.”

Heat was crawling through your skin as you slipped your hand from his, wiping it along your dress with a nervous laugh.

“W-Well, like they say…it is the language of love, and whatnot. Elegant and…all that,”

Silence fell between you both again as the elevator doors swung open on your floor. The room, 512, was just barely down the hallway, opening with a single flick of the keycard. Bob went to take a step forward, but you placed a hand on his chest, pulling him back and stepping into the room first, pulling the concealed gun from your thigh holster with a practiced ease as you did.

“First step of undercover, Bob: always assume you’re one step behind so that you never walk in blind,”

The hotel room was small: a tiny door that led to the bathroom to the right of the main door, a king-sized bed spread out along the entire wall with just enough space for the dresser, and floor-to-ceiling windows that opened up onto the skinny balcony.

A quick sweep of the room and the typical spots confirmed that it wasn’t bugged and that no one besides housekeeping had stepped foot in there within the last few hours, so you gave Bob a nod to enter the room as you slotted your gun back into its holster.

“N-Never been in a hotel this nice,” Bob muttered as he entered the room, looking around the room with a look in his eyes that you could only compare to childlike glee. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, letting out a sigh as he fell back against the quilt and practically sank into it. “Or a city so pretty.”

You smiled to yourself, moving to lock the door to the room. Reaching into your purse, you slid a small, circular device onto the door, one that would alert you if there was any unauthorized breach of the door. You reentered the main room, placing a similar device beside the window to the balcony, this one scrambling outside interference with the room so that anything said within your four walls would stay private information.

“You went to Malaysia, I’ve been there. It’s a beautiful country,”

“I went there to score drugs, I-I wasn’t staying in five-star hotels like this one,”

Bob sat up on the bed as he spoke, looking over to you. You leaned against the wall by the window, arms folded over your chest as you watched him, laughing lightly at his comment.

“Alright, you got me there, Reynolds. Fair point,”

Silence hung for a second before Bob finally looked around the room, glancing down to the bed under his fingertips before looking up at you with wide eyes once again.

“Um…t-there’s only one bed?”

“Oh…”

Yeah, oh. That thought hadn’t exactly crossed your mind when Valentina’s team sent you the booking for the room, or when you did the initial sweep of the room moments ago.

Okay, this wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of pillows, and you could easily make up a place to sleep on the floor. This also wasn’t your first rodeo with an undercover mission; you had done plenty in the past and made do with a lot less to work with. Sleeping in a bathtub wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing in the world, depending on the size of it-

“We could…we could share?”

That comment snapped you out of your thoughts. Bob looked at your sheepishly, his hands wringing together in a way you’d come to know well, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. Something that looked a lot like hope.

Your teeth gnawed at your bottom lip, the thought flickering through your head, before you gave him a hesitant nod.

“As long as you’re okay with it,”

“W-We fall asleep sitting on the couch together all the time. This is the same thing, just…horizontal,”

Bob may have hated his social awkwardness, but you were thankful for it. Especially in moments like this, where it broke tension so effortlessly. A laugh sputtered from your lips as you quickly covered it with your hand, and a tiny grin stretched across Bob’s face at the sound.

“Well, how can I argue with logic like that? Let me just…get changed,”

You spent too long in the bathroom, and you knew it. You had changed ten minutes ago into your sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt that you had stolen from Bucky weeks ago after he’d stained one of yours during a Walker and Ava-initiated food battle in the middle of dinner over a pointless argument.

The ten minutes since changing had been spent staring into the mirror in the pristine bathroom, trying to ground yourself.

Bob was right, you had essentially slept with each other multiple times before. This time, though, was different. Yeah, as Bob so expertly put it, you were horizontal this time, but you were in a bed and alone in Paris, not on a couch in the middle of the tower common room where any of your early riser teammates could walk in unannounced. It was such a mundane thing, sleeping next to someone, when you thought about it, but a much more intimate thing for Bob to feel comfortable enough to let you do with him.

He trusted you, completely. You tried to remind yourself of that when your mind drifted to how much or how little clothing he possibly wore to bed, or the fact that his body naturally functioned like a furnace because of the serum running through his veins. Or the impure fantasies that flicked through your head late at night when you were alone in your room in the tower, imagining how his lean and taut muscles and soft skin would feel under the touch of your wandering hand.

Bob was already tucked into one side of the bed by the time you finally entered the room. Just the bedside lamp remained on, bathing the room in a tiny bit of a yellow glow. You didn’t look at him directly as you shut the curtains to the balcony, but you could see the hint of bare skin peaking just above the covers from where he lay.

Without a word, you crawled in beside him, tucking yourself in with your head resting on the soft pillow on your side. You turned on your side, gaze trailing over the side of his face and his jawline, before Bob turned to face you too.

Nothing was said for a moment. You could faintly smell that body soap that Bob used, that hint of rosemary and sage invading your senses. His feet were moving back and forth under the covers, as if fidgeting when his hands couldn’t, and his body heat was prevalent in the sheets and in the air between you.

“S-Sorry,” he mumbled out, glancing down just barely at his own torso as you tried to keep your eyes trained on his face. “I run hot–you know that–and if I uh, if I wear shirts to bed I usually sweat r-right through them.”

“It’s okay,” was all you could manage to reply.

“I’ve never done this before,” Bob spoke again, vulnerability laced in his tone. “Never…slept in a bed with someone.”

You shifted, pulling your pillow down further as you tucked your hands under it.

“Never? Not even with a girlfriend?”

“Well, there was a girl…once,” Bob seemed to hesitate for a moment, but you didn’t push him. He’d come close to telling this story once before, about this girl, in therapy, but always stopped himself short. “I-I was younger, it was sometime after I dropped out of high school. Things were good, but she…she didn’t realize I was an addict. Once she knew, that was it. S-So, no, no bed sharing for me.”

“Well, I’m glad the first time you’re sharing a bed with someone, it’s with your wife,” the comment lightened the mood almost immediately, a genuine laugh tumbling from Bob’s lips. Your own pulled into a smile at the sight, seeing the tension that had been strewn throughout his features at the memory of this girl dissipating almost immediately. “It’s been a while since I’ve shared a bed with anyone, too. A long time.”

“How long?”

“Years. Way before Thanos, that’s for sure,” you chuckled to yourself. Bob watched you intently, hanging on your every word. “He was a SHIELD agent, too, a few years older than me. We were here in Paris…haven’t been back here since.”

You knew the melancholy was clear in your tone, memories flickering back to you in pieces. Bob shifted just slightly on the bed, his body moving just slightly closer to yours.

“What, uh, what happened to him?”

“He turned out to be HYDRA. My mentor killed him, so don’t worry, he’s a distant memory now. Became a full-time liaison for the Avengers after that all went down,”

“W-Well…it all worked out, didn’t it?” there was a hint of a sheepish smile on Bob’s face. “I…don’t think I would’ve met you if you didn’t work with them.”

Bob Reynolds didn’t make it easy. Whether the comment was meant to be flirty or just sweet in general, it had your stomach twisting in knots and heat flaring in your cheeks.

“Yeah…I guess everything works out for a reason,” you turned away from him then, back to him, as you flicked the bedside lamp out, plunging the room into darkness. “Goodnight, Bob,”

“G-Goodnight,”

The silence in the dark had only lasted for a few minutes. You hadn’t shut your eyes once, simply staring at the curtains covering the window in front of you, listening to the sound of Bob’s breathing fill the room. Any ounce of sleep that your body needed had evaded you suddenly, your body and mind wide awake.

“Can…can I ask you a favor?”

“Always,”

The bed sheets ruffled for a moment as Bob moved himself around.

“When I sleep, I tend to…I-I usually hold something. Like, my pillow. Do you–you can say no–but do you think-”

“Come here,”

You said it without hesitation, before you even fully realized what you agreed to. You didn’t need to think about it, though, because Bob Reynolds could ask you anything, and you weren’t sure you could ever really tell him no.

The sheets shuffled around again, before that warmth radiating from his skin was more prevalent than it was before. Gently, as if you were some wounded little animal he was scared to spook, Bob’s arm slowly slid around your waist from behind. His hand lay against your stomach, splayed out on top of the fabric, before his body molded to the back of yours.

One shaky breath left your lips the second his body was fully molded to the shape of your own. His other arm slid under the pillow beneath your head, and you could feel the heat from it on the other side of the pillowcase. Bob’s fingers twitched back and forth, as if hesitating, his warm breath ghosting over the back of your neck. In this close proximity, the sage scent in his bodywash was stronger, a hint of his minty toothpaste wafting through the air along with it.

Neither of you moved for a moment before you finally sank back into him, letting yourself embrace the feeling of being wrapped in his arms for the first time. Bob let out another shaky breath, his arm tightening around you the second you relaxed, as if realizing that you weren’t going to run away from his touch. Suddenly, tiredness finally found you again, your body being lulled into sleep.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goodnight, Bob,”

As sleep finally overtook you, Yelena’s words floated through your mind once again.

❤︎

The dress Valentina’s team had picked was simple: a deep navy blue satin, floor-length, and column fit to hug you just right but provide enough mobility in case of a fight. The halter neckline tied around the back of your neck, the zipper up the back of the dress stopping right at your lower back, exposing the expanse of your spine in the cool air of the hotel room. A comfortable pair of black heels, ones easy enough to discard if, once again, a fight ensued. A single slit up the side of the dress, stopping right at the middle of your right thigh to barely hide the holster strapped to your upper thigh with your knives.

Simple, elegant, and befitting of a woman supposedly married to a rich and powerful weapons manufacturer.

“H-Here, let me help,”

Not a single muscle in your body moved as Bob stepped into view behind you, fingers taking firm hold of the dress’s zipper to conform it to your body.

Your eyes watched him in the floor-length mirror behind you, dressed up in a way you had never seen him before. His suit was a deep, rich brown color, with a matching jacket and dress pants with just a slightly darker shade of brown shoes on his feet. Bob’s hair was slicked back, held behind his ears with the pomade packed for him. It was strange, seeing him like this, but not unwelcome. It gave you the chance to fully see his face, no longer shrouded by stray strands of hair.

The zipper hooked into place at the top of your dress, Bob’s fingertips just lightly ghosting over your spine as a shiver ran straight through your bones and showed in the bumps along your skin. You turned on your heel, reaching out without a word to adjust the crinkled white button-up beneath his jacket so it lay flat. With the collar in place, you let your hand rest on his chest for just a moment, touch light, as you looked up at him. Bob’s eyes hadn’t left yours, nervousness written clear across his face, before you pulled your hand away to retrieve your clutch across the room.

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Gray need to have their stories straight,” you cleared your throat, explaining to him as you dug through your clutch, crossing the room back to his side. “In case we’re questioned on how we met, fell i-in love, that type of thing.”

Bob was silent for a moment as you continued to rummage through your clutch. As the silence stretched, you glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Bob, did you hear me-”

“Maybe…m-maybe we met in a bookstore. I saw you, but y-you were just too pretty to talk to. Then you came up to me, I was reading my favorite book, and you quoted it. And…the rest w-was history,”

Something about those words hit you like a hurricane, and suddenly, you were back in that Vault all those months ago.

“W-What exactly are you doing?”

“Rerouting power away from their security systems so they can’t get the drop on us,” Bob hummed in response to your comment, going quiet, but him being quiet worried you more than him talking. “Just stay behind me when the fight comes, okay? Because we’re going to have to fight our way out of here, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can help, though! At least, I-I want to,” there was enthusiasm in his words for a moment, before that negative self-talk worked itself back in. “The medical trial was supposed to make me better, so I don’t know, I-I feel like I could help.”

The wires were finally rerouted, the little blinking green light indicating power to their security system flashing red. Your dagger was placed back in its loop on your belt, the electrical box slammed shut, before you looked back at Bob with raised eyebrows.

“I thought you didn’t remember much about this trial?”

“I don’t, just that it was for people who wanted to make something of themselves, to be better. To do good,” your gaze dropped to his hands, partially obscured by the long sleeves of his hospital uniform, as his fingers twisted together. “I don’t know, I-I just feel like I did something…bad, if that makes sense?”

“We all have, that’s why we’re in this vault,”

“This feels different,” he gave a short laugh. “I-I’ve always had these episodes since I was a kid. There’s a…there’s a high, then there’s a big low, and then my memory just goes blank. This time, it feels like I-I did something bad. I don’t know, it just feels like every time I try to move forward and do something good, the past comes back to haunt me.”

There was a tug in your chest at the comment, like recognition in your soul for the way he hurt, for the pain he carried.

“And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” you shrugged a little at your own response, a splash of red coating your neck and cheeks. “Sorry, you just reminded me of this quote from a book I love about the past haunting you-”

“The Great Gatsby,” Bob’s smile was just a tad bit brighter now, and it tugged on your heart in a different way. “Y-Yeah, I know it. It’s my favorite book.”

“Mine too,” you offered him softly, with a smile of your own, before the lights flickered for just a moment before popping back on, indicating that Yelena’s plan had failed.

His own fake story for your fake relationship had traces of that first conversation you’d really had with him strewn throughout it. You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at the thought.

Suddenly, your head was back in bed this morning, just hours before. Wrapped in his arms as if it were the most usual thing in the world, his heat wrapping around you and shielding you from the cold of the room. The way his arms tightened around you the second you tried to leave the bed, his subconscious holding tighter to you even in the quiet of the morning.

The moments you had sat on the balcony, freshly showered in a bathrobe, enjoying a plate of fresh croissants and coffee. One hand flicked through the screen of your holopad, tapped into the security system of the hotel just down the street, monitoring the setup of the conference. But your eyes drifted back to Bob every now and then. The way the quilt rested around his hips, his slightly tanned skin and taut muscles visible in the smattering of sunlight that streamed through the window and painted his body in shades of gold.

“How’d we get engaged?” you found yourself asking after a moment, shaking yourself out of your head. Bob let out a soft laugh, hands wringing together in front of him.

“If I worked up the courage, ever…a picnic, by the beach. M-Maybe the sun setting in the background, little sandwiches, some music. I-I’d…I’d tell you that…you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Inside and out,”

If he’d meant it, if it had been a real marriage proposal, you would probably have said yes right in that moment without another thought.

Bob watched as you slipped your hand from your clutch, tucking it under your arm, before taking his left hand in yours. Your palm opened, two gold bands glinting in the overhead light.

“Sorry to rain on your engagement parade, but we’re in a time crunch. Looks like we have to skip straight to the ring ceremony,”

His shaky hand lay in yours as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a new kind of tension charging the air between you both. Bob took your hand next, and you could feel your chest tighten and your stomach flip a thousand different ways as his shaky hands slipped your own ring onto your left hand.

It all felt so right, so natural. But there was no time to dwell on it, as the mission was truly about to begin.

The streets of Paris in the late afternoon near your hotel weren’t overcrowded, but still busy. Bob had taken your hand from his arm, wrapping it in his own as he squeezed it firmly, but gently, twice. It was the same squeeze he would always give you in the middle of his therapy sessions when a moment felt like too much.

The rented hotel was just two streets away, and the wall of bodyguards standing outside was a clear sign that you were in the right place. You gave Bob’s hand a light squeeze back, leaning over so that your lips just barely brushed his ear.

“Tonight, you aren’t Bob Reynolds. You’re Aiden Gray, a wealthy CEO, someone people respect. They don’t look down on you, they respect you, because you are powerful and you are important. I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave your side. You can do this, I believe in you,”

Bob didn’t get to respond before you were standing before the front door of the hotel. The looming presence of the bodyguards waited until you pulled out the ornately decorated slip of paper from your clutch, flashing them your invitation with Damien Jacquemin’s personal signature. They looked at one another, nodded, and parted to let you and Bob enter.

The hotel’s ground floor was spacious, yet still small. Shades of blue, beige, and deeper browns coated the room from head to toe, matching perfectly with the deep brown wooden floors and the beige columns around the room. The ornate lights hanging from the ceiling glowed in a warm white, bathing the room in soft light. There were maybe fifty guests littering the room, leaning against walls or cocktail tables, or even sitting in plush chairs and couches, already locked into conversations.

“That man over there is Herman Schultz, a known associate of Adrian Toomes that got released from custody during the blip,” you whispered into Bob’s ear once more, gesturing with a single flick of your finger toward a tall man across the room, laughing with a group of women. You tugged him slightly, pointing in another direction at a table where a group sat. “Over there? That’s the head of Cybertek Corporation, they’re speaking with a distant cousin of Aldrich Killian, trying to restart his defunct company, A.I.M.”

“S-So a lot of really important and powerful people,” Bob mumbled back. You squeezed his hand once, bringing his nervous gaze to you, and shot him a teasing smile.

“Darling, you have the power of a thousand exploding suns. You could take them all out with a single look,”

Whether it was the pet name or the compliment, something about what you had said made Bob almost preen under your words. He straightened just slightly, shoulders squared back, an air with a hint of confidence filling the space around him.

“Where’s the host for the evening?”

Damien Jacquemin wasn’t hard to spot. He had a way of commanding a room with charm and poise, leaving no one any wiser to the fact that he was three steps away from stabbing you in the back to get what he wanted at all times. He towered above most people in the room, even Bob, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking out like a marker for him. He laughed at something the young men around him said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as a flash of the Rolex on his wrist glinted in the light.

“He’ll be giving a speech soon, followed by some other key presenters he has lined up. Keep your eyes peeled for our potential targets,” you muttered just low enough for Bob to hear, hand still grasping his as you found your way to a table seated on the edge of the room as Mr. Jacquemin moved toward the makeshift stage and podium, giving you both a vantage point of the entire room. “They’ll stick out: clothing not up to par with the rest of the crowd, shifty body language, maybe even an identifying mark.”

The clink of a glass across the room had those in attendance seating themselves, attention brought to the charming French man standing behind the podium, a wide smile shining over his guests, who clapped for him. Bob clapped along while you took the chance to survey the room as Mr. Jacquemin began his speech to welcome everyone into the conference.

As the speech droned on, as other speakers stood to address the crowd, your eyes continued to scan the room. If your HYDRA agents were hiding in here, they were blending in well among the sea of expensive suits, high-end perfume, and designer dresses.

The seat across the table from you and Bob was pulled out suddenly, a younger man in what you recognized as a Dior suit taking his place across from you both. He didn’t turn to listen to the speeches, though; his gaze stayed locked on you–hungry, like a predator watching his prey. You squirmed slightly in your seat as the man’s tongue dipped out to run over his bottom lip-

A warm hand placed itself on your bare thigh, uncovered by the high slit running up your dress. A shot of heat bloomed under the already warm touch, while a contrasting shiver shot straight down your spine. Your gaze flickered to Bob, heat pooling within your abdomen at the look stretched across his face.

Gone was that softness he always wore, or that slight blush that always sat in the apples of his cheek. His gaze had hardened, eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched as he fixed his sights on the man across the table. It was enough to force the man to look away, but Bob’s hand didn’t leave your leg. His fingers drifted further in, digging into the flesh of your inner thigh as he practically pulled you flush to his side. Still, then, his hand never left, his thumb drawing circles into your skin as heat bloomed under every inch of his touch, stroking the fire that was now blazing in your abdomen.

“Table by the front door. Two guys, they look off,”

His voice had dropped slightly. It was more gruff, akin to the way it sounded when he groaned and dragged himself from the hotel room bed early in the morning hours ago. Still Bob, still the man you adored, but with an edge to it–harder, almost protective. As if you were something that belonged to him, something for his eyes only, and the man sitting across from you had set him off. It had you swallowing the lump you hadn’t realized had even formed and following his directions to the table near the door, suddenly remembering the mission you were currently here to complete.

Bob was right. Young men, maybe their late twenties, seated at a table closest to the front door where bodyguards still stood on guard. They wore suits, but even from here you could see the wrinkles in the fabric, the knock-off watch on the wrist of one of them. One’s eyes shifted around the room every few seconds, never staying in one place too long. The other watched the podium, eyes shifting down to the table every other moment, his body shifting in his seat to readjust as if he couldn’t get quite comfortable.

“Good eye, think those are our guys,” you tucked your chin onto Bob’s shoulder with a grin on your lips, making it seem to the room as if you were simply speaking in hushed tones with your husband, while you whispered the praise back to him. The corners of his lips quirked at your praise, his hand giving your thigh yet another squeeze, before he settled back to ‘listen’ to the speeches at the podium. You tried to get a peek at his eyes, but he’d turned his head from you.

Those speeches droned on for two hours. A collection of talks on the importance of ever-evolving weapons in the current state of the world, fear-mongering over politics to push the need for enchanted weaponry, and more bullshit that had you wondering in your seat how Tony Stark used to attend conferences such as this.

Those speeches were hard to focus on when your mind was zeroed in on Bob Reynolds' hand that wouldn’t leave your thigh. The feelings that you had buried deep beneath your platonic feelings for your best friend had existed for a long time, but you never pushed them. Bob never seemed to be someone who would push boundaries such as this, too afraid to cross any lines with you. But this mission, this room full of important people, seemed to go straight to his head and fill him with a confidence that you had never truly seen him wear before, at least not to the extent that he’d willingly leave his hand splayed across your bare thigh for two hours drawing circles into your skin.

Part of you didn’t want him to let go, the other part of you was begging him to move his hand. The middle of a mission was the worst time for a coil of heat that you weren’t able to satisfy to be building in your core. Even when your meals were served, speeches continuing on at the podium, Bob hadn’t removed his hand once.

“I must say, I was not aware of Gray Enterprises. It seems you hold a good portion of the weapons market across the United States now. Tell me, did Stark Industries ending their weapons division help boost your market value?”

Champagne glasses had been thrust into your hands, though Bob had kindly refused his. A German arms dealer and his wife, Kaleb Hettinger and Rosalina Hettinger, had quickly crossed the room and pulled you both into a discussion the second that the speeches had wrapped up, dying to learn more about two of the few Americans littering the room.

“Well, my husband’s late father, I’m sure, was excited when the late Mr. Stark shut down his weapons division,” you gave a simple laugh, resting a hand on Bob’s chest. You could feel his own nervous laughter run through him, one of his hands curling around your waist to rest on your hip hesitantly, a stark contrast to how easily that same hand had gripped your thigh minutes ago. “Given the events of the last few years, including during the blip, we’ve found it most profitable to focus on enhanced weaponry.”

“Lord knows we need it,” Rosaline laughed, German accent thick, shaking her head at a thought of her own. “We all know those…New Avengers, I think they’re calling them, won’t be of much help. But besides that, I love seeing a powerful couple in our world! Tell me, how did you two meet?”

You went to speak, but Bob beat you to it, squeezing your hip just slightly.

“W-We were teenagers. I saw her in a bookstore, but…she was too pretty to talk to. She came up t-to me, quoted my favorite book…” Bob’s gaze turned to you, and you glanced up at him. “I-It was love at first sight.”

Something about those words twisted around your heart: the sincerity of it. The soft look in his eyes, the tiny smile coupled with that hint of truth in your first meeting…it felt real. His words felt real, like it was Bob saying it to you, not Aiden Gray saying it to his adoring wife.

“Oh, mein Schatz! Look at them! That’s true love if I’ve ever seen it,”

Rosaline’s voice cut through the air again. Heat bloomed across Bob’s face, and you felt it on your own, gazes averting from one another almost immediately. Kaleb let out a hearty laugh, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“Truly, it is wonderful to see a man love his wife like I love my own. I have a lot of respect for a man like you, Mr. Gray, who continues to shower the woman he loves in affection,”

There it was again, that straightening of Bob’s posture, the tightening of his hand at the comment, as if the words had gone straight to his head again.

“She deserves nothing but the best, and only I’m capable of offering it to her,” that usual stutter in his words was gone, replaced by an air of confidence as he turned his head, his lips ghosting over your temple in a gentle yet firm kiss. You tried not to falter under the notion, giving the pair in front of you the strongest smile you could, even as your stomach flipped upside down. 

Your potential HYDRA agents caught your eye once more, moving across the expanse of the room just behind the Germans standing in front of you.

“Oh, Mr. Gray, I think you would be very interested in this new design my company has been working on. It’s an addition that can be added onto solar panels–well, it makes more sense if I show you. I brought the blueprints, they’re just over here at our table if you would like to see?”

Bob’s head turned to look at you, catching sight of your gaze following those two men across the room. You turned back to him, giving him a short nod. He hesitated for a moment before nodding back to you, letting his arm slip from your hips as he followed the Hettingers back to their table just a few feet away.

It was like being able to breathe again, the second Bob was gone, even if you missed the feel of his arm sitting around your waist as if it had been molded to sit there. This wasn’t the time for hidden feelings; you were in the middle of a mission.

You moved across the room elegantly, casually leaning yourself against one of the beige columns on the edge of the room, passing smiles to those who passed by you. The suspected agents stood just on the other side of the column you were leaning against, speaking in hushed whispers. With a sip of your champagne, you strained to overhear their conversation.

“He won’t sell it to us here,”

“It makes sense, too many people. He give you anything else?”

“One of his assistants will send me the location soon. He didn’t want to risk sending it himself in the middle of the conference,”

A smirk spread across your lips as you took another sip of your champagne, a single word running through your mind: gotcha. Sometimes, they made it all too easy, especially HYDRA agents. So lazy.

“Regardez ce que nous avons ici. A beautiful woman, all alone,”

A chill ran through your blood at that French accent, your head whipping around. Damien Jacquemin stood at your side in all his glory, perfectly pressed and tailored suit. He stood way too close, the hint of alcohol wafting off his breath and invading your senses.

“Mr. Jacquemin, a pleasure to finally meet you,” you put on the lightest, airiest, most polite tone that you could while trying not to grit your teeth. This was the exact man you didn’t want to be alone with. In the interest of maintaining your cover, you held your hand out in his direction to clink your glass to his. 

Damien didn’t waste a second, whisking your champagne glass from your hand and setting both of your glasses on the tray of a server walking past. His hand enveloped yours: skin cool, nothing like the warmth of Bob’s. His lips pressed to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours: his gaze didn’t hold the warmth that Bob’s did when he looked at you, his lips didn’t leave a trail of tingling through your skin like Bob’s did.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Gray. S'il vous plaît, come and spare me a single dance,”

There wasn’t any place to argue with the man as he whisked you off into the middle of the hotel lobby without another word. Soft music played from the live string quartet the French arms dealer had hired for the evening, and couples here and there had cleared the middle of the lobby to fashion a makeshift dance floor.

Mr. Jacquemin pulled you in, a huff leaving your lips as your front was pressed to his. One of his hands splayed across your lower back, pressing you closer, while the other held your left hand up beside you both dancing you softly around the floor in circles.

The hand didn’t feel like Bob’s; it didn’t engulf your hand like his did, his thumb didn’t draw little circles into your skin. The hand on your lower back was firm, almost controlling; it wasn’t comforting like Bob’s touch. Even pressed to his chest, you couldn’t feel the inhuman warmth that Bob radiated, and it left you feeling cold without it.

You never knew just how much you craved that closeness with Bob, how much you craved his touch, until you’d felt it in the way you had only ever dreamed of feeling it. You had masked these feelings for months in the guise of platonicness, when in reality, you were as much his person as he was yours.

You didn’t want to be in this dance if it wasn’t with Bob.

“A beautiful ring you have, ma chérie,” his gaze was settled on the simple gold band on your ring finger, poking and prodigy at it with his own index finger as you both spun. “Very…simple, though, isn’t it? I expect more from a man such as Mr. Gray, though maybe his personality and taste matches the rest of him…painfully drab.”

The comment made you bristle in his hold. It didn’t feel like a jab at the fictitious character of Mr. Aiden Gray, it felt like a jab at Bob Your grip on the man’s forearm tightened, nails digging into the fabric.

“Well, I didn’t choose my husband based on the gifts he gives me,” you grit your teeth, forcing a smile as you shot the comment at him. “He may not buy me the flashiest of jewelry, but he’s worth more than anyone in this room in heart alone.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray, I’m sure he is. It’s hard to quantify you and your husband’s net worth, and the worth of your company, when there’s simply…not much to search about you online…”

In all your years of undercover missions, you’d never failed on. Your alibis, your identities for the missions, had always been airtight and remained intact. But Damien Jacquemin had found a crack somewhere; he’d found a missing piece in the concoction of Gray Enterprises, and he knew who you were. Your cover was blown. It felt as if your heart was going to stop: if your cover was blown, then so was Bob’s. Bob, who you had allowed to leave your side, who you couldn’t find from where you stood on the makeshift dancefloor-

“...I’m not surprised I didn’t find much, though. Your father-in-law seemed to do a good job of moving his dealings under the table and to the black market in the years following the collapse of Stark Industries' weapons sector. I’m, frankly, quite impressed by how you and your husband have managed to operate so under the radar. I’m quite interested in the idea of a partnership.”

It took every ounce of strength you had not to let out a relieved breath: he didn’t know. Your cover wasn’t blown. You were safe, Bob was safe, and that was all that mattered. You let out a slight laugh, brushing a strand of air behind your ear before resting your hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder again. He was none the wiser to the minuscule, circular device that you slipped under the collar of his suit jacket in the moment.

“Partnerships can be discussed, but with my husband, of course,” you managed to speak. “As long as your company isn’t engaging in any… under-the-table deals with unfavorable organizations, I’m sure a partnership can be on the table.”

He laughed, accent thick, as his breath brushed your ear and he whispered.

“Where is the fun in that, darling?”

Someone cleared their voice from directly behind you, a hand catching the forearm of Damien Jacquemin where you had been holding it before. That familiar bodywash scent invaded your senses in an instant: rosemary and sage.

“I believe it’s my turn to dance with my wife,”

Bob’s voice almost growled on the final word: wife. It had that cord of heat coiling up even further in your stomach. You could visibly see the wince in Mr. Jacquemin’s face as Bob’s hand on his forearm squeezed tighter and tighter every second, no doubt leaving indents in his skin as the veins running down the back of Bob’s hand almost throbbed.

The Frechman’s hands were off you within a moment, a tight-lipped smile sent your way, before he whisked himself back off through the room. It was like the little moment on the dance floor had never happened, a smile lighting up his face as he was whisked off into another conversation with investors.

Bob’s hand suddenly had a tight hold of your hip, spinning you around until your chests were pressed together, your body molded into his. You relaxed into that familiar grip, into the warmth it provided, your head placing itself on his chest. Bob took up the same position Damien had held moments before, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting your left arm into the air, dancing softly back and forth with you. His grip tightened over so slightly, the firm grip around your waist hugging you to him in a way that was just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I’m okay, Bob, you don’t have to hold me so tight-”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you,”

His words were so final, so precise. His tone was laced with a hint of anger, that same gruffness from earlier present again. It had you furrowing your eyebrows, glancing around the room as his grip tightened ever so slightly again.

“He didn’t hurt me, I promise, I’m okay-”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you because you’re my wife,” he snapped back. “He thinks he’s above me? You’re my wife, he should respect me.”

Respect. That word shot up a wave of red flags in your head, as well as the flicker of the overhead lights of the room that sent a murmur through the conference crowd.

You racked your brain for memories of every therapy session of Bob’s you’d been with him on, trying to find that missing puzzle piece. His depression, his anxiety…his delusions of grandeur. Suddenly, it made sense when you’d heard him talk like this before, where you’d heard this overconfident tone before: just once, in The Watchtower months ago.

You can call me The Sentry.

You pulled your head from his chest, craning your neck back to look at him. Bob’s eyes were already looking down at you, as if waiting for you to look at him, and that’s when you saw it: that sparkle of gold in the blue of his eyes.

His eyes didn’t leave you as you hand left his, curling around the back of his neck as you moved back and forth across the makeshift dance floor, holding his gaze.

“You should be respected…but because you’re Bob,” you kept your voice soft, just loud enough for him to hear among the murmurings and music in the room. “Bob Reynolds deserved to be respected.”

“I’m not-”

“You are. You’re my Bob,” the smile you gave him was as soft and full of affection as it could be. “My Bob, who always asks me to read his favorite book because he says he likes hearing the sound of my voice. My Bob, who likes it when the rain hits the windows of the tower late at night. My Bob, who doesn’t even realize the way he hugs me so early in the morning when he’s fresh out of bed. My Bob? I respect him. My person…my favorite person.”

It wasn’t instantaneous; it took a few moments of simply holding him, but that gold slowly faded from Bob’s eyes. His features softened, his lips pulled into a slight frown, and then those blue eyes were frantically glancing around the room. You watched as the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbed, before his eyes found yours again: frantic, nervous.

“...cucumber?”

You let out a short laugh, and nodded, taking his hands in your own and leading him through the crowds as quickly as you could. There was an unguarded door behind the concierge desk leading into a backroom, L-shaped hallway for employees. You quickly shut the door behind both of you.

Bob leaned against the wall, running his hands through his hair so many times that the gel no longer held it down, letting those soft brown strands fall in front of his face again. He tugged incessantly at the collar of his button-down, his frantic gaze catching yours.

“I-I can’t believe I just did…any of that. God–I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t ruin the mission, did I?”

You let out a soft chuckle, taking another step toward him to stand directly in front of him.

“I overheard our guys; they made a deal with Jacquemin for the sale and are waiting on details. Also, planted a tracker in his suit while he was dancing with me, so we’ve got just about everything we need to nail them. So, no, you didn’t ruin the mission,”

“O-Okay, good, good,” his Adam’s apple bobbed again, his breath coming out in short pants. “Is it really hot in here for you? I-I feel like I can’t breathe, like my chest is going to explode, a-and like everything just…hurts.”

“Bob, honey, I think you’re having a panic attack,”

“How do I stop having a-a panic attack?”

A single thought flickered through your head for a moment as you watched him, watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he almost clawed at his throat in a desperate plea for air. And before you could stop yourself, to think about your thought, you stepped forward.

Your hands cradled his cheeks, and you kissed him.

Bob’s lips almost trembled beneath yours with the first press, his entire body freezing up under that simple movement. Then, after just a moment of holding yourself in place, they moved. Slow, hesitant, but they moved.

You could taste the small remnants of the punch Bob had opted to drink in place of champagne on his lips. His lips parted just barely, letting your head tilt slightly to the side to let your mouth move firmly against him, pouring every ounce of feeling into the kiss that you could manage. You’d dreamt of this moment in secret for so long, and now that it was here, that coil of heat within you was seconds from bursting, and your own chest was the one tightening.

Bob’s hands found your hips, settling there–hesitant but firm, holding you close. His lips pushed back against yours finally, the pieces of hair broken free of the gel brushing against the skin of your cheek. The need for air rushed into your lungs as you reluctantly pulled away with a soft smack of your lips, leaving one another, almost breathless pants filling the air.

Bob Reynolds looked wrecked, more out of breath than he had been before. Those eyes you loved so dearly were blown wide, the blue almost sparkingly in the light. His lips were still parted, but slightly upturned on the side in what you could only assume was wonder.

“I-”

“You were having a panic attack,” you spoke quickly, voice like a whisper. “I saw it in a tv show once, that holding your breath stops a panic attack. And that…kissing can make you hold your breath.”

“...uh huh,”

“Did it work?”

“Um…not sure. I-I might be about to have a panic attack over something else,”

Laughter bubbled out of your lips at that, Bob’s smile growing, before you were frozen in place. Voices, down the hall and around the L bend of the hallway, getting closer. Bob went to speak again before you placed a finger to his lips, focusing to try and hear down the echoey hallway.

“Coordinates, time, and place. Should make this an easy sale,”

“Yeah, as long as we don’t forget the money,”

Back straightening out, remembering you were on a mission, you reached into the front pocket of Bob’s pants and tugged your clutch from it. Digging through, you pulled out a rectangular device that looked like a normal cellphone, tucking your clutch under your arm and taking Bob’s hand in your own.

You pulled the two of you to a stop right at the corner of the bed, waiting a moment, before swinging you both around. The pair of you crashed directly into your targets, cell phones and items in your hands crashing to the floor.

“Hey-!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, gentlemen!” you put on an overly fake voice, crouching down to the ground before either of them could. You grabbed your device, moving it discreetly over the top of both of the men’s cellphones, before gathering everything and rising back to your feet. The men basically snatched their phones back from your arms as you let out an overexaggerated giggle. “My husband and I weren’t watching where we were going! We were looking for the elevators, hoping to head upstairs and find a…private room.”

Both of the men muttered something in disgust, shoving past you and Bob without another word. You turned, watching them leave through the door you and Bob had come through with a triumphant grin, while Bob just watched you in confusion.

“Old Stark tech,” you flashed him the device in your hand. “I just swiped all the data off their phones without them even knowing it. Now, we know everything about this Adamantium sale.”

It was Bob’s turn to laugh, cocking his head at you with a grin.

“Have I mentioned that y-you’re kind of amazing?”

You grinned, and you pulled him back into another kiss without a word.

Sweeter, but still tender, laced with every bit of adoration and affection you held for him in your soul, that made the moment all the more intimate. Bob only hesitated for half a second this time before he pressed back into you with just as much force, his fingertips barely gracing the edges of your arms. You pulled back almost immediately, then, your brain finally caught up with your actions.

Well, you didn’t have any excuse for kissing him that time.

“Um…” you licked your lips, heat rising in your cheeks. “We…we should head back. Let the team know we got everything-”

“Right! Yeah, yeah, r-right, we should…do that. Finish the mission, and all that…”

The walk back under the cover of night was quiet. Those same soft yellow lights cast that same glow you’d seen before over Bob’s face, and your heart tugged in your chest at the sight.

But neither of you spoke. Not on the walk down the quiet streets. Not in the elevator. Not even when you entered the room together.

You could feel his eyes, watching you, burning a hole into your back as you secured the room. The silent alarm on the door, the device on the wall by the closed balcony window. They watched you still as you uploaded all of your information into the holopad, settled on top of your suitcase, transferring your information directly back to New York, knowing Yelena would likely receive the information in moments and alert Valentina of your successful mission.

Not a word was exchanged as you entered the bathroom like you had the night before, changing into a similar pair of sleep shorts. Discarded on the bathroom floor, though, was one of Bob’s white t-shirts, one he had slipped into early on that morning. You slipped it on without a second thought, wrapping yourself in the scent of that bodywash, before slipping back into the room.

Bob had already turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You slipped into your side of the bed without a word, your backs facing one another as you lay there under the covers in the dark, the only sound being the ticking of the analog clock on the wall across from the bed.

“When you kissed me,” Bob finally spoke, voice just loud enough to be heard in the quiet of the room. “It…it was to stop the panic attack, right?”

You paused for a moment, then spoke, “Yes,”

The sheets shuffled, and you could feel the shift as his body turned, facing your back now.

“W-What…what about the second kiss?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before you turned, too. You faced him now, mere inches away, looking into those blue eyes you adored.

“That one…was because I wanted to,”

Bob didn’t waste a second before leaning in, like your words had reassured him that he didn’t have to hesitate. Your lips welcomed the press of his, your body inviting the feel of his hand gripping at your waist–nothing hard, nothing too firm, but just present, grounding. His lips were as warm as the rest of his body, and they trembled just slightly as they moved just barely against your own, as if still unsure how to do this. So, you did it for him, hand wrapping around his neck and into his hair to thread through the strands, molding your body to his as you kissed him with every inch of passion you had been holding back for months.

Even as your mouths moved together, there was still a softness in their movements, no matter the growing passion. Even when they moved faster, when a broken moan slipped out of Bob’s mouth and a whine left your own when his hand tugged your hip even closer, it was still soft. Passionate but adoring, pouring every ounce of care into each movement as if to remind the other that this wasn’t just a moment of fun, this was the culmination of months of secret wanting, months of pining and hidden feelings buried underneath platonic words and affirmations.

You shifted just slightly, and a hint of confidence flowed through Bob. He used that moment to move, pressing your back flush against the bed as he hovered above you, his lips never breaking from yours for a second. Your legs fell open for him, inviting him into your space, and he took it without question.

As if it pained him, he tore his lips from yours, trailing them down your jaw and to your neck as he buried himself into the space. His kisses there were gentle, loving, but still burning with heat and passion. He kissed right above your pulse point, able to feel the fervent beat of your heart, and he groaned again into your skin.

“I-I think about you, like this, a lot,” he whispered into your skin. Bob’s arms were braced on either side of you, while one of yours placed itself on his bare chest, drawing shapes into the heated and flushed skin. “I’ve always thought of you like this. The prettiest girl, m-my best friend…my person. The one person who makes that darkness a little lighter. God, I…I love you.”

There it was. Those four little words that tore your heart open, that cracked open the cage that held every hidden desire of your heart locked up for months.

You pulled his face from your shoulder, fingers gently swiping at the silent tears that swept down his cheeks. You pulled him in this time, angling your lips against him, sighing into his mouth as you pushed every ounce of love in your body into him. He sighed back, practically putty in your hands, the weight of his body falling against you.

“I love you too,” you whispered against his lips like a promise. “I’ve always loved you. My best friend…my person.”

He didn’t get to speak before you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling every inch of his body against yours. A broken moan was choked out of his throat, breath ghosting your lips as his kiss swallowed the moan that left your own throat. Pressed against you now, you could feel it: thick, bigger than anything you’d ever had, and throbbing with heat and need.

With your words, with a confirmation of your love, Bob’s kiss grew more confident. Drowning you in every ounce of love, his hands roamed over every inch of you that they possibly could. Your neck, exploring the bare skin of your abdomen and leaving a trail of heat in every stroke of his fingers. You tugged the shirt over your head without another thought, leaving you bare to the world as you fell back against the pillows once more. You tried to tug Bob back to your lips, but he paused, eyes transfixed on your body, roaming every inch of it.

“Beautiful…” he whispered. His fingers traced lines from your abdomen to your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They traced right around the swell of your breasts, before he leaned in closer. “So beautiful.”

A cry of pure pleasure left your lips the second Bob’s curled around your nipple, teeth just barely grazing and tugging ever so gently. A heavy pant left your lips as your fingers curled into his hair, tugging ever so gently on his slightly dampened hair strands. The heat grew in the room, radiating off his body, and you could see the thin, sheer layer of sweat that coated his skin. His lips moved against your breast, tongue flicking out over the sensitive bud he was wrapped around as your hands tightened just barely in his hair, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Sorry,” he whispered again as his mouth popped off your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to the place he’d lavished in love. He placed a gentle kiss on your sternum, hands gliding down your sides. “Got eager. I-It’s been a while since I’ve…done this.”

“In all seriousness? I couldn’t tell,” he laughed, crawling back up your body till his face hovered over yours. Your hand left his hair, trailing down until it cupped his cheek, and he turned to press a kiss to your palm. “We don’t have to do anything-”

“I want to,” he was quick to answer with a shake of his head. “I-I’ve never wanted someone more. You’re all I want. Lying together on the couch, those trips through the city, sleeping next to you…I-I just want you. I just want to feel you. I want to be yours.”

His lips met yours again, the second his last word died on his lips. He peppered kiss after kiss to your lips, never lingering long enough, and you couldn’t help the breathless giggle you let out.

“I want to feel you, too,”

Your confession lingered in the quiet of the room. It was visible, the way Bob’s pupils seemed to dilate at those words alone. With one hand, he unhooked your legs from his waist, sliding back down the bed and taking the quilt along with him, bearing your bare chest to the cold air.

You watched with hooded eyes as his fingers trailed over the edge of your sleep shorts, barely dipping past the waistband. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your right thigh, and then your left, before leaning forward to press one right above the waistband of your shorts. Then, he tugged, just barely. They gave way without a second of hesitation, slipping down over your hips and over your thighs without hesitation. You just barely caught the soft whisper of “fuck” that fell from Bob’s mouth when you laid bare before him, panties forgotten in the haste of dressing for sleep.

Those shorts were discarded somewhere across the room, finding the small heap that your shirt was in, and Bob just observed for a moment. You watched the way his eyes trailed up your legs, to your hips, and back down again. His hands did the same, starting from your knees and splaying out over your hips, before going back down to your thighs. He pushed gently, and you followed, spreading your thighs before him. Your breath caught, choking back a moan as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss directly to your core, before trailing the kisses back up your abdomen.

“I love you,” he whispered with every kiss. “I love you.”

You leaned up, forcing Bob to sit up, before pulling him into another kiss, catching his bottom lip just barely between your teeth.

“I love you, too,” you murmured against his lips, before your hands trailed down his chest to the waistband of his boxers, and his breath hitched.

It was like throwing him into overdrive, reminding him of where he was. Bob tugged those boxers off in a tangle of limbs, stumbling slightly on top of the sheets. You laughed, smile giddy, as you fell back against the pillows, just watching the man before you as he rid himself of his boxers and threw them across the room. Your eyes trailed down, seeing his throbbing length for the first time, and that heat that flushed through your body screamed for his skin to be pressed against yours.

A thick cord of tension hung in the air as Bob kneeled over you, bracing himself around your head. His nose brushed yours, breath fanning over your skin. You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms back around his waist, tugging him toward you, as the heat of his bare length pressed against the heat of your bare core, a breathless moan falling from each of your lips in unison.

Bob rolled his hips forward just barely, throbbing cock dragging along the length of your core and ghosting over your clit as a shot of pleasure shot through every nerve on your body. Your hands found the back of Bob’s head, tangling in his hair once more and tugging him down into a kiss–messy, hot, and slick with saliva.

His hips rolled again, and you rolled back, his tip catching just barely against your opening before gliding through your lips once more.

“A-Are you sure?” Bob muttered into your lips. You nodded, kissing him once more.

“So sure,” you muttered back, hand tugging in his hair as your other trailed down his shoulder, his back, over his hips, before finally holding his heated and flushed length in your own hand. “Please, Bob–I need you–please.”

He nodded, catching your lips in another kiss, as you guided his cock down, catching the head against your opening.

You held it there, before Bob pushed ever so slightly.

Moans in unison fell from both of your lips once again as every inch of his heated, flushed, throbbing cock made its way into your walls, stretching you apart in a mix of part pain and pleasure. Your breath caught in your throat at every inch that pushed into your body, your name falling from Bob’s lips with every drag of your heated walls against him. Your teeth caught his bottom lip again the moment that his hips stuttered, pressing firmly against your hips, as every inch of him sat inside of you, buried within you to the hilt.

The lights of the entire room flickered on for a moment, glowing bright, before turning off once again. Your gaze trailed over them, as did Bob's, before you locked eyes once again.

“W-Well…” he choked out, a tiny laugh bubbling over. “That’s new.”

You laughed with him, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him down to you in yet another kiss, before you ground your hips up into his. A broken moan fell past his lips before he moved.

He set the pace, slow and sensual at first, dragging himself almost all the way out before pushing himself the entire way back in. Each time he settled deep within you, filling you out in every manner of the word, a choked moan spilled from your lips as you dragged them against his time and time again, nails scraping against his scalp.

Bob’s eyes met yours, dazed and glassy, filled with passion and every ounce of love he felt for you. Love, a look you’d seen in his eyes so many times when you looked at him, a look you’d ignored for so long. But there was no time to focus on it, not with every snap of his hips against yours, not with the feeling within your gut of fullness, and not with every ripple of pleasure that coursed through you with the feel of his heated skin molded to yours.

“You feel so good–oh god–so good,” he choked out against your lips. Your hands left his hair, trailing down his arms, but he took advantage of that. His hands caught yours, tugging your hands up above your head and holding them there, gripping you just tightly enough that you could feel the superhuman strength within him holding you down. “So, so, so good–Jesus–so perfect. So beautiful–my girl. Tell me, tell me that–my girl–tell me you’re my girl.”

“Y-Yours,” you stuttered out over every snap of his hips against yours, every slight scrape of his pubic hair against the sensitive bud of your core.

That simple word spurred him: yours. All his, always his. His hips snapped faster, harder, his lips trailing off of yours as he buried his face into your neck, teeth scraping just slightly over your skin as another moan broke through.

Desperation filled every snap of his hips against yours, your name falling from his lips like it was the only word he knew, like it was the only word he wanted to know. His ragged breathing, ghosting over your skin in hot waves. Your skin felt like it was on fire, burning beneath his touch, heat and want and need coiling with every throbbing drag of him against your walls–squelching and wet.

“I can’t-” Bob barely managed to cry against your skin, hips somehow driving into you faster than they had before, the pace in which his hips met yours and the superhuman force sure to bruise your skin, to leave you aching in the best way. “I can’t–please–I can’t hold it. You’re too good, you feel too good.”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, one of his hands leaving yours to grip onto the wooden headboard behind you. “It’s okay–God, you feel so good–it’s okay, Bob, let go-”

CRACK. SNAP.

You could hear it, loud and clear: the splintering of the wooden headboard. It took every ounce of your strength, rolling your head back to fully see the damage behind you. Bob’s hand was white knuckling the splinted wood, having dragged down through half the headboard, leaving splintered wooden pieces decorating the pillows above your head as his hips pistoned into you at a superhuman pace, one you were barely sure you could handle.

God, you didn’t think there was anything Bob could do to make him hotter in your eyes. Apparently, splintering an entire headboard out of sheer passion and need was something that could.

“I can’t–oh God–I can’t-”

One. Two. Three. His hips drove into you just three more times before that sat flush against your hips, pressing himself as deeply into you as humanly possible before he let go. A rush of warmth filled you, every drop of him filling you, gushing warmth through you, and your own floodgates flew open.

Your hands were freed from his hold, wrists sore from where he dug into them, wrapping around his neck, curling into his hair, and cradling him to you as you trembled and gushed in his hold. Your walls fluttered around him with every wave of pleasure, with every twitch of his cock still sitting within your walls, and his shaky breath ghosted over your skin.

The comedown was quiet, your shaky breaths the only sound filling the air. Bob collapsed on you fully, his heated and sweat-covered skin lying on top of yours. You welcomed the feeling, fingers carding through the sweat dripping strands of his hair, taking in the scent of the air: sex, mainly, with hints of your perfume and that damn bodywash of his laced in between.

Bob raised his head finally, a blissful smile on his lips as he looked down at you. He tried to move his hips back, to pull away, but your legs locked around him with a whine, holding him in place against you.

“Not yet,” you managed to breathe out, shaking your head with a giddy little smile of your own. “Too sensitive, and…I just want to feel you.”

“Okay,” Bob didn’t put up a single fight, his hand coming up to push the strands of hair that stuck to your face away. His eyes trailed, finally, to the destruction behind you, and they shot wide. “Oh–Jesus Christ, d-did I do that?”

“You did, but don’t worry, it was hot,” you both laughed at your comment, noses brushing in the quiet, intimate moment. “Don’t worry, Valentina bought the room. It’s her problem.”

“True…hey, d-do you think cucumber could be used as a safe word too?”

Laughter sputtered out of your mouth, lips brushing his, and Bob laughed with you. All you could do was look at him, heart bursting open with a love that you had kept quiet for so long, and pull him into another soft kiss.

37 successful undercover missions became 38 that night, but this one had been your biggest success. It gave you Bob, in ways you had only ever dreamed of having him…it gave you your person.