#but !!!!!! it turned out really good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[em1i2a3]

I Wanna Get Lost With You

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 18,416 (…Wow)

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

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

And today? You hadn’t said a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stepped towards Bob then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Fine…You win.” He muttered.

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

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

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

”Off? You don’t take days off.”

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

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

“It’s just for me, that’s all.”

——————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So she relented.

And now… Here it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You leaned into it immediately.

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

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

“Anytime,” He replied, equally soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No promises.”

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

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

Bucky nodded, glancing over his shoulder.

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

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

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

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

———————

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

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

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

That got a ripple of muffled laughter from the group.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only knew this because he had seen it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reached forward slowly, and grabbed his hand.

Then everything slipped.

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

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

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

And there he was.

Your father.

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

He was dying.

And you were nowhere near him.

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

You had walked away.

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

Your chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t a memory.

This was your shame.

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

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

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was crying.

Pepper leaned in and whispered something too quiet to hear.

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

The memory ended like a door slamming shut.

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

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

Bob didn’t say anything at first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You exhaled.

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

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

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

You paused, blinking away the weight behind your eyes.

“For putting up with me.”

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

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

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

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

“No promises.”

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

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

“Very much.” You replied with a smile.

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

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

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

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

“I figured.”

Then, you looked at Bucky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written in your slanted, slightly chaotic handwriting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t need to turn on a light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then–without warning–he leaned into you.

Not cautiously. Not halfway.

Fully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t.

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

Your lips found his.

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

But you didn’t.

You kissed him again.

And again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bob’s breath hitched.

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

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

And then there was the necklace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”C-Can I look?” You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

You curled your fingers into his hair, watching him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kissed you again.

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

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

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

And then his knee shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze just a little.

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

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

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

And then you both moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Bob’s hand moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

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

“Let me,” He whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bob groaned, low and guttural against your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

It was too much.

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

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

And he watched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That one motion nearly undid you.

It wasn’t restraint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment he pushed in, your bodies stopped breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you reached up.

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

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

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

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

His whole body stilled.

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

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

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

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

And you wanted that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your body trembled.

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

And that was it.

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

And then–seconds later–you followed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lifted your arms in front of you.

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

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

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

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

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

[b0kevi]

Okay so I loveddddd your writing of the let’s make out headcanons!!! Can you do a version where the character says it to the reader? Your writing is so good and you write the characters reallly well!!

the house wardens + jamil saying “let’s make out” every time YOU do something hot

summary: every time you do something attractive the housewardens can’t help but say ‘let’s make out’

trope: established relationship, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort, reassurance

info: name calling, cursing, self doubt, they/them pronouns, gender neutral reader, not proofread

characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, jamil, vil, idia, malleus

w/c: riddle: 373, leona: 398, azul: 346, kalim: 338 jamil: 366, vil: 424 idia: 424, malleus: 388

a/n: tysm! I always get worried i’ll mischaracterize someone but I really appreciate that <3 also sorry this took so long! I started a new job

Riddle

doesn’t know how to ask, will make up an excuse

gets shy and full on blushes

“we should make out.”

“w-what?” you accidentally painted the leaves instead of the rose.

“rule 879 states to make out with your partner when the sun is facing east after the first set of painted roses.”

you blinked. you were still working on the first bush of roses, you only painted three while there was still a lot more to go.

“we haven’t finished yet.”

riddles ears slowly turn pink. “it’s practically done.”

you could tell it was a lie but he looked so cute trying to justify his reasons.

“y’know you don’t have to make up stuff for us to make out, you could just ask.”

his whole face starts to turn a different color, “I did not make that up! it is the queens rules and I must follow them!”

riddle would never admit he was in fact making it up because you looked absolutely stunning, he loved spending alone time with you. the two of you were painting the roses, riddle was going to reward you with dessert but he couldn’t wait. you just being there, painting was making him flush and wanted to kiss you badly.

you laughed then grabbed him by his bow tie, pulling him closer to your face.

“well then, who am I to question the house warden? go on, you’re not going to break a rule aren’t you riddle?” you smirked as you fiddle with the ends of his bow tie.

riddle moved forward before he could process anything. his body moved faster than his brain so he lunged back, flustered.

“w-wait! ahem. it’s also the queens rule to do it in private… someone could see…”

“hmm what if it was the rule to do it in public? would you do it?”

“absolutely not! I don’t want to hear it from ace or trey… please let’s just go inside before I change my mind…” riddle was already rushing inside hand in hand with you, using his other hand to hide his red face.

“you’re the one that said it was a rule, you’re going to break that rule now mr. roseheart?”

he sighs, you’ll be the death of him.

Leona

nonchalant king

it’s not a suggestion, you ARE making out right then and there

there’s nothing more attractive to leona than you claiming him as your own.

he’s always been second to everyone and everything. but seeing you like this?

“we’re going to make out.” it’s not a question, he’s demanding it.

leona was waiting in the botanical garden for you, enjoying the quiet when he started hearing students near by. he tried to ignore it but he suddenly heard your voice, he wasn’t super interested in the conversation until he heard his name.

“you’re really dating leona? I bet he buys you whatever you want right?”

“what a gold digger. you’re only dating him for his money. plus he’s a prince, you hit the jackpot.”

“too bad he’s the second prince, not much going on. you should have tried for malleus.”

leona was getting pissed, he was going to march his way over there until he heard your booming voice.

“you’re lucky I don’t slap the shit out of you two. it’s none of your business, but for the record I am not dating him for his money. I couldn’t care less and he’s still a prince who has more class than you.”

your face darkened as you stalked close to them

“I’m dating leona for him, he’s the most sweetest and thoughtful person I know, and he knows how to treat people right instead of taking out his jealousy on other people.”

you were defending him, leona knew you could defend yourself but you were also defending him.

leona could have easily stepped in before the whole situation started but seeing how things played out, he’s glad he didn’t.

“is there a problem here?” leona was towering over the two as they were about to continue. shutting them up they shook their heads and left with a scoff.

“babe I’m sor-“

“we’re making out. now.” leona tugged you behind a tree, leaning down to attach his lips to yours, leaving you no room to deny, caging you in his arms.

leona is acting like a starved man by the way hes devouring your lips, leaving you no time to think.

“that was kind of hot herbivore.” it was extremely hot to him but he’s just going to show you how attractive he found you defending him was. just wait until you get back to his room.

Azul

full of bull

also will make an excuse, says it’s his payment for doing smth for you

“y/n dear, could you meet me in my office to discuss something.”

what did you do now… you don’t remember doing anything wrong.

you were helping out in the lounge since it was busier than usual.

once azul closed the door shut,

“I propose a deal. we make out right now and later.. and I’ll give you the day off tomorrow with some of our newest drinks that i know you love.”

honestly, azul has been stressed all day and is just throwing out random ideas to have an excuse to make out with you.

he’s not going to just straight up ask, this is a give and take world.

“uhm, but it’s still pretty busy out there—“

“I assure you they’re capable of running things for a few minutes. or hour..”

you were his escape and he needed it badly, it was a madhouse out there. he usually could handle it but it also didn’t help how attractive you looked while taking peoples orders, persuading them into buying more than what they came for.

“please my pearl, remember that time I babysat grim? you still owe me for that.”

that one time that happened two months ago that you’ll never let happen again.

you remember azul used that the last time he wanted to make out with you, but you weren’t going to rain down on his parade just yet.

you knew azul was just going to keep persuading you until you agreed. he would never outright say he wants to kiss you no, he has a reputation to uphold.

you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and smashing your lips against his.

he let out a squeal from shock, he didn’t expect that.

his face flush from that embarrassing noise he made but held you close, deepening the kiss as he felt his stress melt away. he’s not planning on letting you go anytime soon, the outside world can wait and deal with themselves.

Kalim

he just loves kissing you, you don’t have to be doing anything and he’ll still say it

will get pouty and pepper you with kisses until you agree

“let’s make out!”

"kalim... we're supposed to be studying right now."

"we have! don't I get a reward for studying? sometimes once I finish jamil gives me a treat!" kalim has been staring at you for the past 20 minutes.

you promised jamil to study with kalim and make sure he gets his work done but its not going so well.

"okay but you only answered two questions then started staring at me."

"you look so pretty! your serious face is so cute, how am I supposed to focus when you look like that! I want to make out with you!” he doesn’t give you time to say anything, kalim is already pouting and putting his best puppy dog eyes while peppering small kisses across your face.

“pleaassseee, just a small break then i’ll do my work! i promise!! pleaseee let me kiss youuu” he whines as he wraps his arms around your neck, practically on top of you while leaving sad kisses on your cheek.

“I need my daily y/n kisses or I can’t make it throughout the day! i’ve been deprived for so long…”

“I gave you a morning kiss, a kiss when I saw you, a kiss when you asked for one, a kiss when I left…”

kalim furrowed his eyebrows, “that doesn’t count! I need my daily make out kisses, completely different!”

you laughed at his kicked puppy look.

how could you say no to that face?

sighing you state, “alright. just for a minute then if you get an answer right i’ll give you a reward.”

“kisses reward?”

you nodded, “kisses reward.”

he giggling as he won, he slams his lips towards yours. playing with your hair as he deepens the kiss, he smiles every time you make little noises. kalim absolutely loves to kiss you silly and will do it every chance he gets.

Jamil

he just needs a break

usually says it at his breaking point so it’s really rough and quick sometimes

“let’s make out.”

it caught you so off guard. Jamil had pulled you into a storage room, you were carrying some paperwork you had to turn in but they soon were scattered from how quickly jamil pulled you in.

“w-what? babe I-“

“please, it will be quick I just…” his hand cupping your face as his lips brushed against yours, muttering against them

“I need this.” he murmured breathily before pressing his lips firmly while running his fingers through your hair.

“you looked so hot earlier,” he pushed you against the wall, gently squeezing your hip while traveling down kisses to your jawline

you didn't know how to react. it was rare when jamil showed pda especially this passionate in public. well you two were stuck in a closet but still anyone could walk in at any moment.

“you putting kalim and the others in their place.. you were so assertive.” his lips never leaving an inch away from you, “very hot of you.” he smirked as he looked up at you through his eyelashes.

he loves seeing how flustered you get because of him. he may not show much interest in public but that’s just because he’s a private person and loves teasing you when you two are alone.

he loves your little reactions.

“I-I just wanted them to give you a break”

“I appreciate you so much.” jamil sighs between your lips, rubbing circles on your hip while deepening the kiss.

jamil knew he should get back to his things but you were so addicting. how could he leave you right now?

he groans as he pulled away to look at you, smirking at your blown out expression

“let me show you how much I appreciate you, later tonight.” he winked before getting one last kiss then picking up your papers, leaving the room to turn in your work as if nothing happened.

jamil was completely unfazed unless you looked real close but you were red the rest of the day, clearly not thinking straight.

you will never get used to this side of jamil.

Vil

hear me out, he's secretly a freak

stress reliever

“are you sure it looks good?”

“my dear.. we’re not going out. we’re making out. right now.”

“w-huh?? but my outfit… is it not, or my makeup?”

the two of you were getting ready for date night, you had bought a new outfit for this occasion that you really liked but now you weren’t so sure if it looked good now.

vil on the other hand couldn’t look away. you looked absolutely radiant and you’re over here having second thoughts? please, he obviously needs to show you how good you look.

“my love you look stunning, there’s no need to worry.” vil was kissing you all over, you had some lipstick stains but he wasn’t going to tell you about that yet.

“baby.. we’re going to be late to our reservation..”

“we can reschedule or go somewhere else.”

vil couldn’t care less, he needed to make out with you now and show you how much he loves you.

“v-vil you’re going to mess up our makeup…”

he leans down, leaving more stains scattered across your neck and collarbone as he smirks against your warm skin.

“good. you look even more divine like this.”

he guides you to his bed not once breaking the kiss as he sets you down

“you’re perfect love, this outfit compliments you so well and you’re makeup looks even better now~” he smirks, caressing your face looking at you longingly

you turn to look at yourself through the mirror to see all the lipstick stains he left. you blush over how much of a mess you look.

“v-vil! I can’t go out like this! it’s going to take another 40 minutes to take this off and redo it.”

“why not? I think you look breathtaking, why not show everyone your beauty?” he mused, still trailing kisses over you.

“vil your makeup is messed up too” you state as you try to fix the smudges around his lips but he keeps diving back down into you.

“does it look like I can right now darling? right now I need to show you how much you mean to me. we can go out another day, I have all I need right here.”

vil cages you down before roughly yet gracefully devouring your lips.

he’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel comfortable in your own body just as you make him comfortable enough to look like an absolute mess in front of you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Idia

he would mumble it, thinking you didn't hear it

he didn’t mean it! (he totally meant it he just doesn’t know how to ask)

"we should totally make out..."

"okay."

"wh-HUHH?? y-you heard that?? I-I didn't mean it!”

you were helping out idia with some equipment he needed to fix. you picked up a couple things from watching him tinker plus this was a great opportunity to spend time with him.

idia wasn’t in the best mindset today so he kept messing up and getting frustrated when it still wasn’t working right so you wanted to give it a try to help him out. you fixed it just like that in seconds.

he watched you in shock. not only did you fix in on the first try but the face you make when you’re focused was just too much for him.

a strand of hair fell in front of your face, he wanted so badly to tuck it behind your ear but that would be totally cringe otome vibes.

“idy you can ask if you want to, I won’t judge.”

the tips of his hair are pastel pink as he fidgets with his sleeves.

“w-what the… can I exist and restart.. there’s gotta be an autosave before this…” he murmurs mostly to himself under his breath

even when he really wants to kiss you, he still gets in his head so even when he wants to, you have to initiate it.

you hold onto his hands and kiss his cheek. “no need to restart. this route is perfect.”

he gasps while looking at you with full blown out eyes, staring at you like you just deleted his saved file.

“you’re an ultra rare SSR…”

you laugh as you place your lips to his. you couldn’t get enough of this dork.

idia fiddles with the ends of your shirt as he ease into the kiss. you’re too good to him, he doesn’t know how or why you picked him but he’s beyond grateful.

and just like that something flipped inside him, he curled his hand around your neck before taking the lead. he still has self doubt so he’ll slip up but when you encourage him he grows confident.

leaving you two breathless with his hair full pink with blue accents. he smiles at you before kissing your temple then diving back into your lips, holding your hand with his free one to ground himself, letting him know this is okay and he’s doing good.

“I must have crazy gacha luck to have pulled you..”

Malleus

you breathe and he’ll say he wants to make out

100% whip, simp, yearning man

“child of man. I believe we should make out.”

“hmm?”

the two of you were taking a nightly stroll that you usually do mostly every night when you can.

it was a peaceful night, you would share things that happened during the day or whatever popped in your mind as you held hands.

the conversation soon died down into a comfortable silence as you took in sight of the night sky.

malleus was too busy staring at you to appreciate the night. the way the moonlight hit your face just right making you eternal which made his face feel warm.

he wanted nothing more than to take your breath away if you’ll let him.

“I would very much like to kiss you. I want us to have a make out session and leave you breathless to show you how you make me feel every time I lay eyes on you.”

your face heated up with every word malleus spoke.

you stopped walking to process his request. malleus is a gentleman so will only make a move if you’ll let him, if you don’t want to he’ll understand. he will get pouty but wants nothing more than for you to be comfortable.

he waits patiently but has that longing look in his eyes with a hint of desire.

“o-okay.” you nod, still flush as malleus steps closer, one hand caressing your face as if you’re a piece of glasswork then dipping down to capture your lips.

he pulls back to see your face then dives back in. each time becomes longer than the previous kiss. he sure was making you breathless.

you finally had to pull back to get some air but malleus goes down to nuzzle your neck, occasionally leaving kisses.

“you are absolutely ravishing child of man. what you’re feeling is how I feel every time you’re near, and I adore it. I would want nothing more than to leave you sweet kisses and show the world my queen.”

you don’t know what makes you more breathless, malleus’s words or his kisses.

“you sweet talker, get over here.” you needed to shut him up before you exploded. you pulled him down and smashed your lips to his.

malleus was in paradise.

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

a/n: that scenario has been on my mind for leona but the others idk what to do T-T sorry if this is short! have a great day/night !

[cherie-doll]

LADS: When You Don't Give Them A Kiss

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier loves his goodnight kisses. Won't be able to sleep right if you don't give them to him. Which is why he immediately frowned the moment you turned away from him after only saying good night. He had already leaned in closer for you to kiss him when you had cut him off. He's frozen in place, surprised at seeing you laying your head on your pillow without a care in the world; ready to drift off to sleep. But how can you do that to him? Surely you aren't forgetting something? I mean, it's custom by now, you do it every night. It's embedded in his brain to do this, so why are you suddenly being so forgetful. He hesitates but eventually moves in closer, nuzzling into your neck as his arms come around your waist. You complain that it's too hot for him to be doing this, but his response is something along the lines of "too bad". You forgot something important to him so now deal with the consequences; he'll be all up on you throughout the entire night.

₊ ೀ Zayne has a strict routine as a doctor. He wakes up early despite having prepared everything the night before, and as organized as he is, he cannot leave without first feeling your lips on his. It's literally his number one priority every morning before he leaves. He can go the day with forgetting his lunch, or even combing his hair properly, but can no longer wait until he gets to you later that night. Sometimes you'll sleep in and not wake up to give him a kiss and he'll try hanging back hoping you awaken before he has to walk out the door. He's sat at the edge of the bed, his work clothes on and everything ready but just clinging to the hope you remember. And no he won't wake you up, he isn't careless and he'll feel bad if he does. As a hunter, you need that rest and he prioritizes that before his selfish desires.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel will actually do his job for once and go to an art exhibition that Thomas has arranged for him if you give him a kiss. Sort of like a good luck type of thing that makes him feel like things will be tolerable if he remembers the warmth of your lips on his. But this time he's stuck waiting by the front door, tapping his foot against the floor as he impatiently waits for you to return. He brings out his phone to reread the message you had sent, you had gone out and were expected to come back in time to accompany him to art exhibition. But it seems you're running late and Rafayel isn't in the mood to meet up with you there. You call him and are immediately greeted by his attitude. You can hear the slight whine in his voice when he asks why you're not there yet. Truthfully, you feel a little bad to hear him be so distressed. Perhaps you'll make it up to him later.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus isn't letting you off the hook so easily. You came up to him while he was relaxed to tell him you would be going out. As usual, you come up to his spot on the couch and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You tell him you'll be back later and he hums, acknowledging what you've said. But he furrows his brows, his smile disappearing when you just leave to grab your bag. He looks up from his phone to see you ready to take off when you catch his gaze. Oh, if he were more gullible he'd believe that "what's wrong?" face of yours. But he knows you better than that. You can sense the amusement in his voice when he asks "Aren't you forgetting something?". You cock your head trying to keep up the act a little longer before you give in. He had a smug look on his face, knew you wouldn't actually dare to leave his place before properly saying goodbye to him. Plus you would never hear the end of it if Luke and Kieran found out.

❦ Caleb would probably believe your act for a minute max before realizing you're teasing him. After not seeing each other for a couple of days due to your busy schedules, surely a hug isn't all he's getting... right? Your bright smile won't distract him from what he's really after. You feign confusion when you realize his grip on you isn't loosening as you try to pull away from his embrace. You call out his name, annoyed as you make more of an effort to push him away. You're secretly fighting a smile from forming when he only pulls you closer. You huff, telling him to stop teasing you, but he swears it's you who's doing the teasing. He sways side to side with you in his arms, you think about how ridiculous you must look and catch some people staring and hear them exclaim about what a cute couple you two are. Finally, when you no longer want to deprive him you stand as straight as you can to reach his face and give him a kiss. He lets you go after and looks at you, "was that really so hard to do?"

[iydiamartinx]

DINNER WAS NOT SERVED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 842 synopsis: Dick had one goal: to seduce his girlfriend. He forgot the part where he should check for unwanted guests first and narrates his plans in very, vivid detail. warning: talk of sexual themes

Dick Grayson practically bounced through the door. After a brutal day at work and a rare night off from his more nocturnal duties, he was beyond ready to spend the night with you—to the fullest.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it—keys flung onto the counter, boots kicked halfway off, jacket tossed somewhere near the coat rack. His hair was tousled from the wind, and that boyish grin was plastered across his face like he’d just won the damn lottery.

“Babe?” he called out, already unbuttoning his shirt to reveal that smooth, unfairly sculpted chest. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

You glanced up from the couch, eyes widening in horror.

Too late.

“Been thinking about that mouth of yours,” Dick continued, blissfully unaware of the audience. “You saying my name, choking on it… You better not have eaten yet,” he smirked, prowling closer. “Because tonight, I’m the only thing on the menu. And if you’re really good, I’ll make you my dessert before tying you up like you asked—”

You opened your mouth—something, anything—but the words got stuck somewhere between your brain and your mortified soul.

Dick wasn’t done.

“—And if I do it right, baby,” he added, voice dropping into something criminal, “you won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

“Please,” Tim begged, his voice hollow—like something inside him had just broken. “Stop.”

Dick screeched.

His head snapped up like a man slapped by God himself.

Jason was sprawled across the other couch, mid-bite of pizza, now frozen with a look of stunned horror.

Tim was slouched in the armchair, pale as death and clutching a throw pillow to his chest like it might protect him from the trauma.

Dick flailed like a man caught with his pants around his ankles—and spiritually, he was. “I—You—WHY ARE YOU ALL HERE?!”

Jason stood up slowly, face blank. “No. Absolutely not. I’m done. I’m leaving. My ears are bleeding. I need holy water. Maybe therapy. And a priest.”

Tim slowly turned to you, deadpan. “You asked for that?”

“I didn’t know he was going to narrate it like a damn porn script!” you hissed, trying to wedge yourself deeper into the couch cushions as if you could disappear entirely.

Damian sat cross-legged on the floor, one eyebrow twitching in confused revulsion. “What… what do you mean by that?”

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he stumbled backwards as he realized his youngest brother was here too. “Oh my god.”

Jason made a sound like he was dying. “He means sex, Damian! Dear God, why do I have to be the one to explain this?!”

Damian blinked. “…Then why are they the meal?”

Tim looked like his brain had short-circuited. Again.

Jason threw his hands up. “Nope. Not walking him through this. I’ve done my time.”

Dick, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, turned to you helplessly. “I swear I thought we were alone.”

You glared at him, mortified. “You described yourself as the entrée,” you snapped. “And me as dessert!”

Damian, still thoroughly lost, narrowed his eyes. “But neither of you are edible. That would be cannibalism.”

Jason grabbed his keys. “I’m going to pretend this never happened and go directly to the manor. If anyone ever speaks of this again—I swear—I’ll shoot them.”

Tim trailed after him, defeated. “I’m going to need a drink. And bleach. And maybe a lobotomy.”

The door slammed behind them, leaving only an awkward silence—and Damian, staring between the two of you with narrowed eyes.

Damian, still staring between you and Dick like you were an unsolvable puzzle, slowly tilted his head. “Is it… normal to talk about being consumed before intercourse?”

You made a strangled noise and grabbed the nearest throw pillow, mashing it to your face.

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could physically wipe away the humiliation. His voice was low and exhausted. “Damian. Leave. Before Jason drives off without you and pretends it was on accident.”

Damian huffed through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Tt. As if I would lower myself to ride with him.”

Still, he stood up and brushed the invisible lint from his trousers. He shot you both one last perplexed glance, muttered something in sharp Arabic—definitely a curse this time—and swept toward the door without another word.

The click of the door closing behind him echoed through the now silent apartment.

Dick finally turned to you, face still beet red, hair a mess, shirt half-open and forgotten. 

“So…” he began, voice sheepish. “Not the night I had planned.”

You hurled a couch pillow at his head.

He caught it easily, the bastard, flashing that boyish grin that somehow still managed to be charming after all this.

“Still love me?”

You pointed at the door. “Ask me after they recover.”

He winked, his voice dipping back into that sultry purr. “Bet I can make you forget about it.”

You paused.

“…Shut up and lock the door.”

That grin of his widened as he rushed to do as you said.

[nezuscribe]

hmmm thinking about being in love with gojo satoru ever since you were children.

so undeniably and uncouthly in love with him that it was a wonder he never found out. that nobody really found out, for that matter.

you met on the playground, after you fell off the monkey bars and he helped pick you up. it’s been you, him and the little boy he introduced a few days later, geto, since then.

you love the way he smiles, the way his lips crinkle up in a sort of smug pout whenever somebody has the honor of making him laugh. you love the way he brings you food even when you don’t ask for it, love the way he makes you giggle by telling stupid stories. you’re in love with his eyes and pink cheeks. you love everything about him and everything you don’t know about him.

which is why it makes it so much harder when you find out he’s in love with somebody else.

you introduced your trio to a friend you made in college your freshman year, suki. she was in your political ideologies class and you really found yourself liking her and thought the guys would like her too.

if only you knew how much.

you knew it from the moment gojo saw her that he fell head over heels. you couldn’t blame him, suki was the epitome of perfection. she was so smart and kind, and her beauty was one that made heads turn. you weren’t jealous of her, never, but a longing and angst filled your chest when you realized that the boy you’d been in love with for fourteen years was never really yours.

so as college continued and your group continued to expand, you decided to put it on hold. it really would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine if not for a simple drunken error one night.

you found yourself giggling with suki, explaining to her all about your childhood crush on one of the boys and she drunkenly giggled back saying how much she finds them utterly annoying.

to your horror, gojo overheard, but perhaps even worse misconstrued your words entirely.

he pulled you aside after that, a plan already devised as he hushed you and your clammy palms down.

“i heard what you said to suki,” he explained hurriedly, your eyes wide as saucers as he continued quickly, “you’ve got a thing for geto, right?”

you swallow.

a friend. he thinks the friend you’re in love with is geto.

you look at him, but he takes that as a silent agreement.

“you know i want suki, i know you want geto. i have a brilliant idea that will help us both out.” his smile is radiant, you wish it wasn’t.

“…what?” your mouth is so dry you feel like if a match were tricked on your tongue it would start a fire.

“we pretend we’re dating!” gojo exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing.

you felt your heart drop.

“we make them so jealous of us that they try to get what we have,” his blue eyes were shimmering with joy while yours were shinning with tears, “and when they do, we’ll split apart and reap the soils!”

you blink.

“deal?” he asks, face brimming with an expression you’d never seen before. you try not to let his hold on your arms sway your judgement, or his idea tempt you into anything you know you’d regret, but there’s no use.

you’ve never been good at controlling your heart from influencing your brain.

you nod slowly, licking your chapped lips.

“deal.”

[bluukive]

This is my first time actually making a request/ ask of any kind because I feel like such a pervert 🫣 but could you possibly write how the JJk guys would react to a reader who’s a surprise squriter? -🦎

!MDNI: Surprise? - JJK

an - I actually know nothing about sqwuirting so this might be unrealistic? Ty for the ask tho <3

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

Starts crying

Like he's so dramatic about it, lower lip jutted out as he thinks 'Oh, shit. My girl's a supersoaker???', all whilst he's staring at your twitching body below him.

Tries giving you a high-five, ignoring the fact you're boneless right now. You can't really blame him, he's beyond excited. Probably just ends up slapping your thigh.

He's brought back into reality when your pussy refuses to let him go almost, gripping him like a vice.

Says he needs to see you do it again for 'scientific purposes' - he's got his phone out with the flash on, recording from all angles possible as his fingers slide in and out, curl up inside you with his face as close to your pussy as possible so that he can throw a cheeky wink at the camera.

Non-stop yapper after, like... worse than usual. He's laying on his belly in bed, legs swinging as he goes on and on about how flattered he is and how you must love him so much

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Quiet when it happens. He just stares for a while before exhaling and pulling his cock out of you. Suguru's head is tilted as he admired his still pulsing length. It as hard as ever, but the only difference now is that it's glistening with your release.

Slaps his cock against your clit, smirking when you curl in on yourself due to overstimulation. Will also whisper about how nasty of a slut you are, getting his dick wet like that

He restrains you (consensually ofc) with whatever he can. Suguru wants to see you frustrated, so he'll use anything to edge you, whether that be his tongue, fingers, toys. etc.

Dare I say when you finally orgasm and squirt again, he comes untouched too. He developed a fascination with edging just because it made that final release all the more satisfying for you both

All cuddles and praise after, but he's thinking of different ways to make you do it again

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

Nearly stops completely, cursing as his hips falter. You've been folded in half when it happens, and the spurts of your release hit his aps, coating them in a glossy sheen that he's staring down at. Feels his heart thumping in his ears, Toji's that turned on

Smug as hell once he's recovered (acting like he didn't pull out and squeeze his cock slightly to prevent himself from cumming on the spot)

Runs his entire hand down both his abs and chest and makes you lick it all clean after staring at it. You swear it looked like he was rebooting, and you mentally log it in your head to tease him about it later.

Once that's all done, your knees are practically by your ears as he pushes your legs back even further (idek how that's possible, my fatass could never). Toji's swearing to wring you out like a damn towel, determined to make you do it again

You both end up overstimulated, Toji just couldn't stop himself from getting hard whenever he saw your pussy gush all over him

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

Mr. Short-circuit pt 2 yessir. Starts saying stuff like 'Did I do that to you?, 'Was that because of me?', and he knows damn well it was all him.

You squirt for the first time when he's eating you out, actually. His glasses are covered in stray drops of your orgasm, and he politely wipes them clean, all whilst taking a moment to smile privately. He's made you do that, no-one else. Nanami's face is a pretty pink throughout it all.

First makes sure you're okay. After all, your comfort is Nanami's priority above everything else. He wants verbal confirmation that you felt good, a nod isn't good enough.

Once you give him that shaky 'yes', something shifts in Nanami. He's borderline clinical with how he touches and inspects your pussy after. His glasses are off, and his eyes remain trained on your pussy whilst he's fucking into you.

A thumb stays on your clit throughout it all, and he's changing the pace of the focused digit. When Nanami feels like you're close to orgasm, he slows down. He's unintentionally edging you, but neither of you are complaining when your back arches off the bed for the nth time that night

Thanks you when you squirt, for trusting him this much

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Pretends that it's an inconvenience when you accidentally squirt on him. He's actually hiding how obsessed he is with you at that moment

Grabs your face, practically snarling when he degrades you. Sukuna's hissing out commands, talking about how you've soiled him. It's apparently now your duty to squirt again with ONLY his permission

It's become a challenge for him to make you soak his body over and over, and he's dragging his tongue all over your cunt when it happens (even if that means he has to pull his cock/s out of you)

Calls you weak multiple times. Frankly doesn't care if you're crying, he'll just lick the tears right back up. Time to recover from an orgasm is practically non-existent

Develops a need to have you ride his thigh at least once a day whilst he's on his throne. It's a way for him to humiliate you, making you buck your hips like you're in heat until he can feel the wetness coat the thick muscle.

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, no warnings apply for this chapter.

A/N: A multipart series?? From me?? who would've thought. We'll have to see where this goes and whether I'll keep it up lmao. Let me know what you think!

Read it on AO3 Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - Sitters NYC

1.9K words

“You said babysitter, I get a babysitter, problem solved!” Alexei exclaimed. The girl pinched the skin between her eyebrows, taking a few breaths before turning back to Alexei. 

“I didn’t mean an actual babysitter! I meant a trained professional! Or at least someone with a background check.”

This had been going on for about 5 minutes, ever since you’d arrived at the penthouse of the rebranded Avenger’s Tower. 

“Look, there’s clearly been a misunderstanding here. I can just, you know, leave,” you shrugged to the elevator, slowly picking your bag back up to leave. 

“No, no! You don’t leave. Just wait here,” Alexei insisted. You put your bag back on the floor, unsure of what to do next. 

You should’ve known as soon as the man contacted you through the Sitters NYC app that it was a bust. Who even has kids that need sitting in a place like this? You could still go back to Mrs. Lowinski, go back to cat-sitting the woman’s 17 Sphynx cats. But the lingering cat smell… Not to mention the fact that naked cats get their skin oils everywhere... No— this was a safe bet. 

The duo argued some more before the girl, Lena?, turned to you with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you’re very nice and that my father offered you good money, but we had a bit of miscommunication about how to solve a problem. I’m really sorry.” 

“It’s okay, really. Thanks for the generous offer, anyway, Alexei,” you thanked the man with a thin smile, once again picking up your damn bag and heading for the elevator. 

Alexei yelled after you again to wait, but it was clear the man wouldn’t get his way, unfortunately for you. You gave him a sad wave and pressed the button for the elevator. As the doors opened, someone was about to step out when you were about to step inside. You did the awkward side-shuffle to get out of each other's way before he laughed and let you go first. You turned to stand facing the doors and caught a last glimpse of the man’s unruly brown hair before they closed.

✶

“Who was that?” Bob asked as the doors closed. 

“Your babysitter, if it was up to Alexei. We’re trying to find a reliable person who can stay here with you when we go out on missions, but Alexei took it upon himself to get an actual babysitter. For kids. Or cats. Or birds, apparently,” Yelena sighed. 

“You ask for trained professional with background check. We don’t even pass background check!” Alexei shouted. He did have a point, there. 

Bob was about to argue he didn’t need a babysitter, but he probably actually did. He couldn’t be left alone with his thoughts for too long, or he’d spiral real fast. Not good. 

“I mean, besides the company I really don’t think I need someone with much experience or training,” he shrugged. 

“See! Bob agrees. Sitter is sitter,” Alexei grumbled. 

“We’ll talk about this over dinner with the rest of the team,” Yelena spoke, and it was the final word. 

✶

You walked out of the grocery store enlightened. That’s where you’d seen the father-daughter duo before. The Wheaties box. They were part of the so-called ‘New Avengers’. It had been a few months since The Blackout, but you remembered it well. One second you’d been filling the 17 food bowls in Mrs. Lowinski’s kitchen, the next you were back in your childhood home.

You unlocked the front door and loaded your groceries in the cabinets and fridge. You sighed as you sat down on the couch, ready to call Mrs. Lowinski for your job back and to get back on Sitters NYC for more part-time work you could combine with your online classes.

Manhattan - Full-time 3 Children, aged 4, 6 & 9

Brooklyn - Part-time  4 Dogs

Queens - Au Pair 2 Children, aged 5 & 7 1 Cat

Manhattan - Part-time 3 Birds 1 Dog

Manhattan - Part-time 1 Child, age UNDISCLOSED

Ah, Alexei hadn’t taken the ad down yet. He’d been so nice, too. From what he’d described, you figured it was an older child, possibly a teenager, even, who needed someone to spend some time with every now and then. Not allowed to go out by themselves too much, irregular schedule, possible overnight stays. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Too bad it had been a misunderstanding. 

You walked into the kitchen and got ready to prepare dinner for one, again. One day you might put yourself out there. ‘Find someone real nice to take care of you,’ as Mrs. Lowinski had insisted. God, you had really spent too much time with the elderly woman. 

✶

“It really doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Ava spoke as she munched on some broccoli. 

“It’s not a bad idea, per se, it’s more that there’s factors we need to account for that Alexei overlooked. Like the fact that Bob is essentially a weapon that could be taken advantage of by the wrong person if we let them get too close,” Yelena had a point. 

“I’m not that naive…” Bob chimed in, but everybody knew he was easily influenced. Not to mention he couldn’t control The Void, and where The Sentry was, The Void followed. They couldn’t risk it. 

“I ran a background check, she’s just a college student. We can try it out with the next mission and see if Bob likes her. That’s the most important part, after all,” John argued. He grabbed the pot of potatoes and loaded a pile onto his plate, never satiated. 

“Bob, be like John, eat loads of potatoes. Good for strength,” Alexei’s mouth was full as he spoke. Bob gave him a small smile in acknowledgement, raising his fork which had a potato on it. 

“What does Bucky think?” Ava asked. The man rarely joined them for dinner, usually ‘too busy.’ 

“Haven’t spoken with him about it yet. I’ll call him after dinner to discuss. We need something if we’re gonna be as busy as Valentina is implying we’ll be,” Yelena sighed, stuffing her mouth with chicken. 

“Bob, can you pass me the salt?” She asked, mouth full. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

They finished dinner and Bob went to clean up as usual while Yelena called Bucky on speakerphone, still at the dining table. 

“I mean if she passed a background check I see no issue with at least trying it out. It’s not like we have many other options. He doesn’t need an actual caretaker. At least she’s somewhat his age, right? Maybe a little younger?” Bucky’s voice boomed from the phone and filled the room. The man was so up to date with technology, yet was still convinced he needed to talk louder if he was on speaker. 

“I guess. I’ll have Alexei call her back. But it’s NOT my fault if this all goes wrong!” Yelena made it very clear. She was not about to be blamed if this ended in disaster. Best possible outcome; the girl did fine, blended in and spent time with Bob. Worst possible outcome? Who knows. 

✶

”Are you really sure this time?” You asked Alexei over the phone. You’d been down this road with him before. 

“Yes, Yelena asked me to call you herself. You come by tonight to meet the team and meet Bob. Will be fun!” 

“Alright, I’ll be there by 9,” you confirmed. Who named their child Bob in this day and age? 

“See you at 9!” Alexei boasted. The man hung up and you stared at your phone bewildered. He better be right. You better not be going back there for nothing again.

If you wanted to be on time, you’d have to leave soon. You put your shoes back on, grabbed your headphones and bag and ran back out the door. You locked it behind you and sped down the stairs of your building. 

You walked to the subway station and put your earbuds in. Luckily the tower was only a few stops away, or this whole ordeal might’ve been more of a nuisance. The lights flickered irregularly as the metrocar shook through the underground. It seemed as though it was having more trouble than usual, but your trip was short, it didn’t matter as long as you got to your destination. 

The car shook some more as you got off, but it was no longer of any worry. You ran up the stairs of the station and were once again met directly with the entrance to the tower, the second time today. 

You walked back in and pressed the button for the elevator to come down. You sighed and got on, pressing the button for the penthouse and waited for the doors to close. The last thing you saw before they closed was the glass entrance of the tower being shattered. You flinched on instinct, but the elevator was already taking you up and away from the danger. Your heart thrummed in your chest. Was it just an accident, or was something bigger going on? 

Your question was soon answered by an announcement over the intercom. Everybody below the top twenty floors had to evacuate the building. Not you, then. Still, you were worried. 

The elevator came to a halt at the penthouse, doors sliding open agonizingly slow. You were met with a ruckus of people walking around yelling at each other. 

“Babysitter is here!” Alexei yelled as he tugged a red mask over his face. 

“Well that’s great timing, I guess,” Yelena spoke as she sheathed a few knives. She turned to look at you. 

“Bob is in the kitchen. You just need to keep him company for now while we go deal with whatever is going on on the street. We’ll explain everything when we get back. Whatever you do, try to keep him happy, distracted and away from danger. If anything happens to him, your funeral.” The instructions (and threat) were clear. 

Several people with an assortment of weapons bustled around you as you found your way to the kitchen. You looked around for a child, but there didn’t seem to be one in here. The only person you found was the guy you saw getting off the elevator earlier today, with the comfy outfit and tousled hair. He was seated at the breakfast island, watching as the others got ready for what you assumed would be quite the fight. 

“Uh, hi?” It came out as a question unintentionally. He turned to you, your first time catching a good look at his face. 

“Oh! Hi, uhm, you must be the, uh, sitter?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. You nodded, putting your bag on the counter and looking him over. You looked around again, no child or teen in sight. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, getting ready for battle?” You mimicked a fighting pose. He chuckled and shook his head. 

“No, it’s usually best to keep me as far away from those kinds of situations as possible…” He looked away, obviously not proud of the fact.

You sought out eye contact and reached out your hand. He looked at it before looking back to your eyes, tentatively reaching out. You introduced yourself and stretched your hand out further, encouraging him to take it. He was like a skittish kitten.

“I’m Bob,” was all you heard before your vision was delved in black and you returned to a memory from a past life left behind.

CHAPTER 2

[genshin-impact-updates]

Let hymns of praise cast the winds as my ode

"To resolve disputes between citizens, laws both fair and just must be laid out. I'm afraid we can't approve of Dahlia... dragging disagreeing parties to the tavern to settle affairs via drinking contests, without any talk of wrongs done... Does turning enemies into drinking buddies really solve the problem?"

— Jean

◆ Name: Dahlia

◆ Title: Ode and Oblation

◆ Herald of Barbatos

◆ Vision: Hydro

◆ Constellation: Cantus Choralis

Many Mondstadters believe that Dahlia has the Anemo Archon's favor, and that asking him for guidance is a reliable path to answers from Barbatos himself.

That is why those who desire succor often congregate around the Deacon, pouring out their troubled hearts to him.

However, such behavior has never perplexed Dahlia. If anything, he seems to enjoy it. He is drawn to the disturbances and troubles of the world, like a dandelion seed chasing a bustling breeze.

On days when the believers do not come to him, he often goes to them instead — leaving the Cathedral and strolling through Mondstadt's streets to look for trouble he might get involved in.

Obligation to spread the good word? Hardly — he does this out of personal interest.

"After all, that's how one of the prayers goes: 'Let the wind lead.'"

[smutmind]

Caught Pink Handed

IVE Wonyoung X Male Reader

“Oppa?”

You froze mid-stroke, heart stalling. Her voice wasn’t surprised. Just curious. You turned slowly—hand still half-wrapped around yourself—and there she was.

Wonyoung. Nineteen. All legs, lush hair, candy-colored top riding high on her ribs. That denim skirt brushed her ankles as she stepped inside like she owned the place.

"Didn’t your mom teach you to lock doors?" she asked, one brow raised.

You fumbled for your blanket, too slow. Her eyes were already on the laptop screen—your folder open. Her photos. Her in that low-cut tank last summer, the bikini on your roof deck, the mirror selfie she’d posted and deleted in under five minutes.

“Seriously?”

She laughed. Not cruel—worse. It was soft. Disbelieving. Almost flattered.

“Holy shit,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You were actually jerking off to me.”

You couldn’t speak. She tilted her head, watching your shame crawl over you.

“That’s what you do when we hang out? Sneak photos? Save them for later?”

Her tone was sugar-laced poison. She came closer, the heat of her body brushing yours without touch.

“I come over all the time,” she whispered. “Your sister trusts me. And you’re just here, like some sad little perv, getting off in your gamer chair.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands stayed limp at your sides.

She leaned in. The scent of her was everywhere—floral shampoo, warm skin, something bubble-sweet under it all.

“Did you ever think what would happen if she found out?”

You shook your head, throat dry.

Wonyoung smiled, slow and terrible. “No, you didn’t. Because all you were thinking about was my tits, right? My ass in this skirt?”

She stepped between your knees. Her hand landed on your thigh, fingers feather-light.

“Look at you,” she said. “Still hard.”

She leaned closer until her lips hovered beside your ear.

“You don’t deserve this,” she said. “But maybe I’ll let you have it anyway.”

You stared at her, stunned. She stepped back.

“Clean up. Sit down. Don’t say a word.”

And then she curled onto your bed like it was hers, phone in hand, not even glancing at you.

The silence stretched like wire.

You knew this wasn’t over.

She lay sideways on your bed, scrolling like nothing happened. One knee bent, heel bouncing. That skirt rode up her thigh just enough to torment.

You sat in your chair, half-hard, half-humiliated.

Then came her voice. Casual. Sharp.

"Come here."

You stood, slow, still not meeting her eyes. She patted the mattress beside her.

"Closer."

You knelt on the floor. Her gaze flicked down.

“Good boy.”

Wonyoung shifted, planting both feet flat, spreading her knees just a little. The hem of her skirt drew tight. You tried not to look. Failed.

She smirked. "You really couldn’t help yourself, huh? All those times I bent over in front of you. All the outfits I wore just to mess with you…”

You blinked. “Wait—”

“Oh please,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You think I didn’t know? You’re so easy to tease, oppa. That little twitch you get when I suck on a straw? The way you stare at my legs when I kick my shoes off?”

She ran a hand down her own thigh. “You don’t hide it well.”

Then she paused. Her smile dropped, just enough.

"But this?" she said, nodding toward your desk. "This was pathetic.”

Silence.

Her voice softened. “You wanted me without asking. Like I was just a thing you could play with when you’re lonely.”

That landed hard.

She leaned forward, touched your cheek.

“I should be pissed,” she whispered. “I should tell your sister.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But I won’t.”

Relief. A breath caught in your throat.

“Not if you listen,” she added, sitting back, legs spreading wider. “Not if you do everything I say.”

You nodded. Too fast. Too eager.

She laughed.

“Strip.”

You hesitated.

“Now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You obeyed—shirt, pants, everything. She watched like it was a show she’d paid for.

Then she lifted her foot and tapped your chest with her toes. “On your back. Floor.”

Cool wood against your skin. You lay there, exposed. Waiting.

She stepped over you. That skirt hovered above your face as she straddled you, her panties damp, pressed against the fabric.

She crouched lower, letting her heat ghost over your lips.

"You want to taste what you've been jerking off to?"

You nodded.

“Then beg.”

“Please,” you breathed.

“Please what?”

“Please let me taste you, Wonyoung.”

She smiled. “No.”

She stood, turned, dropped onto all fours above you. Her ass now hovered over your chest, the cotton clinging wet between her cheeks.

“Here’s what you get,” she said, yanking her panties aside. “You make me cum. I decide if you get anything.”

You grabbed her hips. She slapped your hand.

“No touching. You work with your mouth only.”

Then she lowered herself. You moaned against her—she was soaked, warm, slick and tangy. You licked, desperate, your tongue exploring every fold, flicking her clit until she twitched.

“Fuck, oppa,” she gasped. “You eat pussy better than I thought.”

She rocked against your face. Hair fell like a curtain around your head. Her moans came sharper now, louder.

“Keep going—don’t you dare stop—"

She stiffened, thighs clamping, then shuddered hard. A whimper escaped her lips.

She didn’t move right away. Just breathed heavy, panting above you. Then she sat up and twisted to face your flushed, aching cock.

“Now you get your reward,” she said, grinning like a devil.

She straddled your thighs, hair falling around her face as she dipped her head low. Her lips found you, slow at first—tongue teasing under the crown, then sliding down, swallowing you whole with a messy, greedy hum.

You groaned, fists bunching the sheets.

She came up for air, her chin glistening. “You moan so pretty, oppa.”

Then she leaned in, her chest brushing your lips.

“You want these too?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She reached down and slapped your cock lightly.

“Say it.”

“Yes—please.”

She smirked and pulled her shirt up, baring soft, full breasts tipped in pink. You sucked one into your mouth, her skin warm and flushed, her nipple hardening instantly.

“Good boy,” she whispered, grinding down onto your cock with her soaked panties still between you.

She rocked against you like that, hips rolling, nipples in your mouth, her breath catching every time your teeth grazed. Then she lifted, reached back, tugged the fabric aside.

“Condom?”

You shook your head, dazed. She laughed.

“Course not.”

She sank onto you bare—tight, dripping, so warm it made your back arch. Her hands found your chest as she bounced in slow, deliberate thrusts.

“God,” she panted, “you’re so fucking deep—”

Your hands gripped her waist. Her tits bounced with every movement, your mouth catching them when you could. She leaned in, kissing you wet and fast, tongues tangling.

A sudden beep—she glanced at the digital clock on your shelf.

“Five minutes,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “Let’s make them count.”

She climbed off and flipped forward onto all fours, looking back over her shoulder, hair falling in waves.

“Come get what you’ve been dreaming about.”

You knelt behind her, drove into her hard. She yelped, then pushed back into you with every thrust.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back, oppa—fuck me like you mean it.”

Your hands gripped her hips. The slap of skin echoed, loud and obscene, her moans rising higher, then breaking into whimpers.

“I’m gonna cum again—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

She spasmed around you, mouth open in a silent cry as her body jerked. You barely held it together. She collapsed forward, then twisted onto her back, eyes wild.

“Finish on my face,” she demanded. “Do it now.”

You knelt over her. She opened her mouth, tongue out, eyes locked to yours.

You groaned, cock twitching, and came hard—ropes of white striping her lips, chin, cheeks, even her collarbone.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Just in time.”

She grabbed her panties from the floor and wiped her face quickly, licking her fingers clean between swipes. Then she pulled her shirt down, smoothed her skirt, and darted into the bathroom.

You barely had time to tuck yourself back in before the doorbell rang.

Wonyoung peeked out, cheeks flushed but clean.

She mouthed one word before she opened the door:

“Oppa.”

[exhaled-spirals]

« "Oh, I've always sucked at maths!"

I’m getting a little blasé. This must be at least the tenth time I’ve heard that remark today.

Yet this lady has been here at my stall for a good fifteen minutes, standing with a group of other passersby, listening attentively while I describe various geometrical curiosities. That’s how the conversation started.

"But what do you do for a living?" she asked me.

"I’m a mathematician."

"Oh, I've always sucked at maths myself!"

"Really? But you seemed to be interested in what I was just talking about."

"Yes… but that’s not really maths… that was understandable."

I hadn’t heard that one before. Is mathematics, by definition, a discipline that can’t be understood?

It’s the beginning of August, in [...] La Flotte-en-Ré, France. In [the] small summer market, I have a pop-up – there is henna tattooing and afro braids to my right, a mobile-phone accessory stall to my left, and a display of jewels and trinkets of all kinds opposite me. I’ve set up my maths stand in the middle of all this. Holidaymakers stroll peacefully by in the cool of the evening. I particularly like doing maths in unusual places. Where people aren’t expecting it. Where they are not on their guard…

"Can’t wait to tell my parents I did some maths during the holidays!" a high school kid says to me, after stopping by my stall on his way back from the beach.

I do have to catch them unawares. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. This is one of my favourite moments: observing the expression on the faces of people who thought that they had fallen out with maths for good at the instant when I tell them that they have just been doing maths for fifteen minutes. And my stall is always crowded! [...]

No matter how much this amuses me, on balance I find it upsetting. How has it come about that we need to hide from people the fact that they are doing maths before they can take some pleasure in it? Why is the word so frightening? One thing is certain: had I put up a sign above my table proclaiming ‘Mathematics’ as visibly as ‘Jewels and necklaces’, ‘Phones’ or ‘Tattooing’ on the stalls around me, I would not have had a quarter of the same success. People would not have stopped. Perhaps they would even have turned away and averted their gaze.

And yet, the curiosity is there. I observe this every day. Mathematics may scare people, but it also fascinates. Many, who don't like it, would like to like it—or at least to be able to peep at will into its murky mysteries. Many think it is inaccessible. But this is not true. It is perfectly possible to love music without being a musician, or to like to share a nice meal without being a great cook. Then why should you have to be a mathematician, or someone exceptionally clever, in order to be open to hearing about mathematics and to enjoy having your imagination tickled by algebra or geometry? It is not necessary to delve into the technical details in order to understand the great ideas and to be able to marvel at them. »

— Mickaël Launay, It All Adds Up: Humans and Mathematics From Prehistory to Modern Day

[an-abysma1-0bserver]

pleaseeeee can i request thunderbolts!bucky barnes x reader where they basically just act like bobs parents. maybe even a bit of bucky saying “now can daddy get some alone time with mommy”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: After the events with Sentry and the Void, the Thunderbolts* (New Avengers)—Yelena, Bucky, and reader, especially—are trying their damndest to look out for Bob. But what happens when Bucky and reader want some alone time while on Bob duty?

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI). Smut! Allusion to unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it). Mentions of bodily fluids. Oral (f and m receiving). Brief handjob. Language. Established relationship. Possible spoilers for Thunderbolts*. Spelling and punctuation mistakes. Bucky is a warning 👀. Anything else I missed.

Author’s Note: Thanks, @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf, for being my first request! I hope you enjoy this story.

I don’t own the MCU or Marvel Comics in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owners. Similarly, I don’t own any of the gifs or pictures I use for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas (unless otherwise requested).

Word Count: 1,341

Masterlist

Buck let out a shaky breath. His fingers were tangled in your hair, curling gently, giving a soft tug. Your face was buried in his lap, his hardened length in your mouth and your head bobbing. It all happened so fast, so unexpectedly. You and Bucky were on Bob duty while Yelena and the others were off on a mission—someone had to stay behind and keep him company. You’d been injured during the last mission: a few stitches and a mild concussion. You were feeling better now, but Bucky was adamant you sit out of missions for the time being.

Bucky, on the other hand, graciously offered to stay behind and look after you and Bob—purely out of the goodness of his heart, of course. Certainly not so the two of you could finally act on all that pent-up tension—no, never that!

You were in the common area when the team left. Bob was curled up in his reading nook, a book in hand as he tried to keep himself occupied. Bucky had spent most of the morning and early afternoon training. It wasn’t until after your phone buzzed that your stomach did a somersault—Bucky wanted to meet you in your room. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, then turned to Bob. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you said. “Do you want me to grab you anything before I go?”

He gave you a small smile and shook his head. It was classic Bob—always reluctant to trouble anyone with his own needs. The gesture made you hesitate for a moment.

“I’m fine, really,” he said with a shrug. “If I need anything, I’ll get it myself.”

You have a small nod. “Just let me know if you need anything—I’m here.”

Bob gave another, slight nod, murmuring a quiet good-bye as you turned and headed to your room.

You didn’t even make it into the shower. Not that you were going to take one to begin with.

The moment you stepped into your room, you saw Bucky sitting at the edge of your bed. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and his hair was equally tousled and damp. His eyes were dark, his face slightly flushed—and the instant your eyes met, he was on you before you could blink.

Lips met in sloppy, heated kisses as teeth grazed skin and hands clutched each other with urgency, fumbling to shed layers. Bucky broke away just long enough to yank off his shirt, his gaze locked with yours the entire time. His chest was flushed, a light sheen of sweat highlighting every contour. You took a moment to admire him openly before slipping off your own shirt, leaving you in an old bra and sweat pants.

Bucky wasted no time admiring you either. His eyes raked over you before trapping you in another heated kiss. His arms wrapped around your middle and pulled you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as your hands cupped his face. He carefully laid you down on your bed and pulled away from the kiss. His fingers tugged your sweats and underwear down, leaving you exposed to him. Your skin prickled, a soft hum escaping you. Resting on your elbows, you watched as Bucky nudged your legs apart with his vibranium hand. His eyes seemed to darken even more when he saw your glistening core. He looked up at you, almost akin to a predator, wanting to devour you whole. You gave a slight nod.

Bucky gripped your thighs with both hands, spreading your legs further apart. Bucky kissed up your inner thighs; you fell onto your back, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. You felt his breath at your core, his ragged breaths and the heat he radiated. Without so much as a warning, Bucky began devouring your cunt like a starved animal. His tongue licked and thrusted into you. He’d occasionally suckle on your clit. Your back arched, whimpers and moans escaping you.

You could feel your release crescendo within you—a steadily rising build in the pit of your stomach. Your breath hitched when you felt Bucky’s fingers along your entrance, teasing you before slowly pushing in. You let out a low whine, your legs trembling as he started a steady rhythm.

“You’re doing so good,” Bucky growled. His mouth was coated with your arousal, eyes wild. You whimpered at the sight, shivering at the almost animalistic look he had. “So fucking gorgeous…”

His mouth latched back to your clit, suckling it, causing that crescendo to peak and teeter on the edge. Bucky’s fingers curled within you, brushing that sensitive spot that had you seeing stars. Your back was arched, hands gripping your bed sheets tightly, looking for some kind of anchor, until you felt that tension snap within you. You let out a cry, your body trembling as a gush of release coated Bucky’s hand. He groaned against you, the vibrations making you moan as you continued to ride out your high.

After a moment, you felt Bucky pull away. You hissed at the feeling, at the emptiness that washed over you. Slowly resting against your elbows, you watched as the former assassin worked to take off the rest of his clothes. You could see his erection straining against his pants, thick and heavy. As Bucky’s pants fell, you hummed at the sight of his member—reddened tip already leaking, the veins and thickness making your mouth water. Maneuvering onto your knees, you pushed Bucky onto the bed. He watched as you clamored off the bed and moved his legs enough for you to kneel between them.

���Doll, you don’t have to—” he started. Your hand wrapped around the base of him, stopping Bucky’s words in his throat.

“I want to,” you murmured, your hand slowly pumping along his length. Bucky let out a low groan, his head falling back. You used his pre-cum as lubricant, working him the way you know he loves. Your pace switched from slow to quick, feeling him twitch in your hand as you edged him to his own release.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he groaned. “I-I—You’re so good—Oh my God—”

You hummed. “You’re so big,” you sighed. You gently licked the tip of his cock. He hissed, twitching in your hand. You dragged your lips down his length, continuing to pump him until you reached his sac. It was heavy, full. You gave it a gentle lick, your lips wrapping around it and began suckling. The sounds Bucky let out were borderline pornographic. His thighs tensed, heart jumping in his chest as you brought him so close to the edge.

You released his sac from your mouth. Bucky gasped. You kissed and licked up his cock until you reached his tip, licking the bead of pre-cum off before slowly taking his member into your mouth. Bucky moaned. Your head bobbed, hands gripping Bucky’s thighs like a lifeline. His vibranium hand tangled in your hair, gently tugging on the strands. It didn’t take long for Bucky to feel his balls draw up, his body tensing as his release built up. You could feel it too—the way his vein felt more prominent, how he twitched and tensed beneath you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunted. His hips thrusted up into your mouth, his hand holding you in place as he sought out his release. “Take it—fuck, you’re gonna take it—”

With one final thrust, rope after rope of his cum spurted in your mouth. Bucky gasped and groaned, his hand pushing your face as far as it could go. Your nose nudged against his pubic hair, tears welling in your eyes as he kept cumming. After a minute, he released your hair and you slowly pulled his softening member from your mouth. Wiping your eyes, you swallowed what he gave you with an appreciative sound.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. You?” He nodded. “You still up for…?”

“You know I am.” A smirk came across the super soldier’s features. “Just let me catch my breath first.”

[stevenose]

night moves (18+)

inspired by that slutty slutty shoot joe did for coup de main (that pic of him in the chair… you know the one)

contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina and breasts; reader is referred to as ‘good girl’ etc several times through this fic; teasing!!!; oral (m receiving); cock worship; some scent kink; silly but also stern steve trying to teach u a little lesson about patience. also robin gets laid 🤍

steve looks good. this isn’t an unusual occurrence - he always looks good - but tonight’s outfit has you reeling.

he never wears black levis, but he’s shown up with a pair on tonight. tight enough to see his goddamn cock through, the curve of his ass emphasized. you’re dizzy over them, but the terracotta button-down that he’s wearing makes your thighs clench together. it’s unbuttoned enough to truly be considered slutty, and the sleeves are rolled up, pretty veins and hands on display. and he’s wearing a goddamn leather jacket, too. you didn’t even know he owned one of those.

“what’s this all about?” you ask, tugging at the soft leather.

“family heirloom,” he explains hesitantly. “why? is it weird?”

“no,” you say quickly. “you look incredible tonight.”

steve leans in a little, his sunglasses sliding down the straight slope of his nose. you can see his eyes, going from milk chocolate to dark chocolate. “you really think so?”

“know so,” you breathe, taking a step back, because you might kiss him stupid - or faint - if you don’t.

and it must be obvious that you’re reeling. steve’s arm cradles your waist tightly, keeping you close to him all night. this whole thing is new - being in public with him for the first time as a couple. you’re sweating, face perpetually hot, the scent of his fig cologne sticking to your skin.

and every time he faces you, you feel more and more ridiculous. his cock is practically shouting at you. all you want is to be out of this stupid bar, on your knees for him, his thick length stuffed into the back of your throat.

you take a deep breath to steady yourself and sip on your cocktail, to give the impression that you’re a normal person and not ridiculously horny.

“something wrong?” he asks, lips tickling your ear. you can hear the smug smile in his voice.

“you drive me crazy,” you say softly, voice just above a whisper.

you’re sure he can’t hear you over the loud music of the bar, but he must be a lip reader, because he smiles wide.

“you look good tonight too, y’know,” he says, his hand moving from your lower back to the back of your neck. he slides a finger under your sleeve, and fiddles with your bra strap. his breath in your ear makes you shiver. “can’t wait to get you alone.”

you turn to look at his pretty face now, his hair all tousled, his cheeks pink.

“we’ve been here long enough, don’t you think?” you murmur.

steve tuts. “eddie’s gonna think you’re rude if we miss his set.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “there’s a bathroom.”

he shakes his head, beaming, finishing the last of his drink. “uh-uh. you’re a good girl. you can be patient for me, can’t you?”

you want to punch him. he does it to tease you, because he knows how much you like it when he talks to you like that. a little condescending, a little mean. you glare instead, now biting your tongue, irritated.

“i love it when you look at me like that,” he says, taking your empty glass and heading to the counter to get you another.

you can finally breathe, though you’re still suffocating. eddie’s band hasn’t even set up yet. and you don’t get why steve wants to stay to listen to music he doesn’t like for a guy he only quasi gets along with. robin’s here somewhere - and with jealousy, you realize she’s probably finger-banging her girlfriend in the restroom right now.

steve’s back at your side, still grinning, handing you another drink.

“got you the sweet kind,” he says, then leans in. “not sure if you should be drinking, though. afraid you’re gonna try to fuck me right here if you get drunk enough.”

his jawline is incredibly defined as his head leans back, another jack and coke at his lips. if you were stronger, you’d drag him outside, or at least into the men’s bathroom.

“keep it up and you won’t get fucked.”

steve scoffs, wraps his free hand around your waist and pulls you into his chest. “then what’ll you do, huh?” he asks quietly, his nose almost touching yours. “gonna touch yourself in my bathroom all alone?”

“maybe i won’t spend the night,” you say, voice wavering. you’re very unconvincing. “maybe i’ll go home and use a toy.”

he grins again. “you gonna suck your dildo before you ride it?”

your eyes widen at the debauchery. steve’s got a mouth on him, but he doesn’t typically use it outside of the bedroom.

“yeah,” he says, shit eating grin widening. “you’re droolin’, baby. wanna taste my cock so bad, yeah? wore these just for you. know how much you like seeing it.”

he grinds himself into your hip bone. you almost drop your goddamn glass.

“you think i don’t want to take you to my car and make your brain melt?” he continues. “i do, baby, but i’m patient. you gotta learn.”

your mouth is dry.

at your lack of response, steve’s shoulders drop. “too much?”

you shake your head quickly. “no,” you insist, “i like this version of you.”

he relaxes a bit more, presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “good girls get rewards,” he murmurs.

there’s a sudden bang! behind you. you whip around to see the drummer beginning to set up on the stage.

“we gotta stay after, too, y’know,” steve says, lips ghosting over your neck. “say congrats and all. maybe get some food.”

your head whips back around so you can glare harshly at him. “we are not going to dinner after this.”

he can’t stop grinning, his teeth gleaming in the low light. “don’t be selfish, honey, we don’t all have something to eat later.”

you sort of wonder what he would do if you fought back. would he chase you if you said you were leaving? would he give in?

you don’t have time to contemplate, as robin finally emerges, chugging a water with a red face. her girlfriend’s all blissed out, leaning on robin for support.

“gross,” steve says, stepping away from you. his body parting from yours makes you feel cold.

robin grins widely, cocking her head at him. “oh, so you hate gay people?”

they argue - steve can’t take a joke sometimes - but you block them out. you sip absentmindedly on your drink, watching as eddie finally emerges on stage to set up the amps and pedals.

“third stall in the girl’s bathroom,” robin’s partner says, nodding and giving you a thumbs up. “pretty cushy in there, if you guys need a space.”

“thanks,” you say weakly.

you’re tense when eddie’s band starts to play, finally, and the drinks aren’t helping. you’d like to relax like steve is now, a third drink in his hand.

what’s really infuriating is that steve has the audacity to nod his big head along to the music and act like he really cares about it, when you know his vibe is the eagles and queen, not this.

he finally looks at you, still smug. “not polite to stare.”

“not polite to tease.”

he scoffs again, throwing a hand out to gesture towards the stage. “what are you talkin’ about? i’m havin’ a great time.”

your eyes follow his strong biceps and you want to sink your teeth into the flesh and muscle desperately.

he opens his mouth to make a comment about it, but you reach into his glass to fish out the cherry that came with it. you stare him down as you bring it to your lips, your teeth sinking into the cherry instead of him.

he watches you, eyes darkening, hooded, his fingers flexing around the glass. tart juice spills down your chin and you make no attempts to clean it up.

“want the stem?” you ask, holding it up.

steve leans forward to wipe the sweetness with his thumb, then sucks it into his mouth.

you’re blown away. outperformed.

“you’re gonna get it,” he says lowly.

you force a smile, heart beating fast. “what i want?”

he laughs and leans back, eyes moving to the stage again. “you’ll see.”

there’s another half an hour after the performance where everyone shoots the shit in the ally behind the bar. you’re squirming the entire time while steve’s arm stays wrapped around your waist, holding you into him, trying to make you stop.

and when eddie asks if anyone is coming to the diner with the band, you brace yourself for steve to say yes.

instead, he yawns loudly and shakes his head. “we’re too tired, sorry.”

“you just hate me,” eddie says, waving him off.

“how’d you know?” steve says, then guides you to turn around, moving towards his car. “we’ll see you soon — vickie, drive safe, please.”

she gives him another big thumbs up and you try to remember her name for the next time you see her. you have bigger priorities right now, though, as steve walks silently beside you. your clit pulses between your thighs, the short walk nearly excruciating.

he gets the door for you - a gentleman, of course - and for a brief moment, as you sit, you’re at eye level with his dick.

steve doesn’t linger, though. he shuts the door and moves to his side. you stare at him, a little nervous to be alone after all that was said earlier.

“you,” he says, pointing a finger at you after turning the key, his eyes equally playful and serious, “have a lot to make up for tonight.”

steve spreads his legs wide, still clothed (with that jacket), hair tousled. he’s spread out in a chair at his place, the room lit dimly by a lamp in the corner. it makes you sleepy but you’re convinced his bulge has hypnotized you.

he looks at you like he’s disappointed. it’s all a rouse, of course. he’s doing all of this because he saw how hot it made you earlier, and he had told you as much before sitting down.

“strip,” he finally says.

you don’t hesitate, of course. you’ve been waiting to get your damn clothes off all night. like a palette cleanser, one of these nights plays softly in the background, spinning on the record player.

“underwear too?” you ask.

he hums. “keep ‘em on.”

you do as you’re told.

steve stares at you for what feels like forever, sort of squinting. “give me a spin, baby,” he says, spinning his finger.

you do, nice and slow, letting him look. look at what he’s missed out on all night, what he could have had in the bathroom or the ally or his car all night. when you’re back to facing him, he beckons you over.

“come here.”

you like him like this. you like him when he’s goofy and soft, too, but this is new and exciting.

you stand between his thighs and he moves his hands to your ass, gently cupping it. he’s gorgeous below you. his hands roam, hands squeezing almost a little too roughly, but never making you wince. you’re giddy about it, his eagerness showing through with every handful he takes of you.

“on your knees.”

you drop down so quickly it hurts, your knees throbbing, but you don’t complain.

steve leans forward to cup your cheek. “gotta teach you a thing or two about patience, don’t i?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face and landing on your lips.

“mhm,” you agree.

“i’d tell you not to act like that again, but i really liked it,” he admits, smiling softly at you. “like knowing how much you need me.”

“i really do,” you breathe.

“i know.” he kisses your forehand gently. “so here’s the deal. i’ll let you have what you want, but there are two stipulations: you can’t touch yourself, and i’m going to draw this out as long as possible. how’s that sound?”

you try to be cute. “am i going to cum tonight, stevie?”

he hums. “no way, baby. this is all about patience, remember?”

you know how much he’s obsessed with pussy, so you don’t take his threat very seriously.

“no cheating,” he instructs. “no clenching your thighs or anything.”

you bite your lip. you’re still trying to be cutesy. “and what if i do?”

he grins and leans down to touch the tip of his nose against yours. “if you want my cock so bad, baby, you’d better play by the rules.”

he finally kisses you, soft and slow. it’s not heated like it usually is when you’re with him. it clicks that he’s taking his time, and you really wish he wouldn’t. not just because of your eagerness - it’s also two in the morning and your head hurts from all the heavy metal.

he pulls away from you slowly and leans back in his chair. “go ahead,” he says, a finger tapping his belt buckle. “slow.”

it takes three minutes to get his tight jeans down his thick thighs at a pace that he likes. you leave the briefs on. you‘ve already mapped out what you’re going to do.

there’s a sizeable stain of precum where the tip of his cock rests. you’d like to make a comment about it but you abstain, knowing he’d drag this out for longer.

“wait,” he says.

so you do.

one of his hands sneaks down to palm at his erection. his head falls back and he lets out a breathy moan as he touches himself. you don’t know where to look - his big hand on his cock, or his pretty face twisting softly with pleasure.

“maybe i should just jerk myself off, huh?” he rambles. “make you wait even more.”

you almost whimper.

“‘s okay,” he assures, “i’m not that mean.”

but he does keep touching himself while you stare at the stain of precum grow. you spread your legs far apart but you’re definitely still cheating, your cunt clenching and unclenching.

you’re just about ready to beg when he finally stops, moving his hand back to the armrests.

“slow,” he repeats, like you’re a dog, and you really don’t mind.

your hand replaces his. he’s hot to the touch, even through the cotton. your thumb swipes against his head and he groans softly above you. his pre transfers to your thumb and, just as he had done with the cherry juice, you suck it into your mouth.

“copy cat,” he breathes, pupils blown.

you smile up at him, then lean forward. you maintain eye contact with him until your lips reach his cock, and you mouth at him through his briefs.

“jesus,” he groans, hands gripping the chair.

you take your time with it like he told you to. kissing him through the fabric, getting a taste of him — really him. his musk is intoxicating, and you make him gasp like a prude when you inhale deeply.

“wanna worship it?” he breathes, hips bucking, his cock grinding into your cheek. “this what you wanted all night?”

you nod, mouthing at him more.

steve shakes his head, perhaps in disbelief. you haven’t been quite so needy before.

your spit mixes with his precum, the fabric sticking to his cock. he finally relents, gently ordering you to pull his underwear down.

his cock springs up, almost hitting his stomach. you pause, feeling hypnotized again, before pulling them down to meet with his jeans at his ankles.

his cock’s so pretty. pink at the tip, a pronounced vein running down the underside, and big enough to make your jaw ache.

you’re not thinking as you lean forward. steve’s hand stops you, his palm pressing against your forehead.

“thought you were learning.”

“i am,” you whisper.

he holds his palm out. “spit.”

he makes you watch as he jerks himself off, your spit helping his hand slide up and down the shaft. your thighs twitch towards each other as you stare at him, brows furrowed.

you want him so badly. want to climb up into his lap and kiss his pretty face stupid. he bites his lip, moans breathily sneaking out as he keeps stroking himself slowly. he concentrates on you, a strand of hair falling into his dark, hooded eyes.

you bite your tongue so hard it almost bleeds. your pussy works like it has a mind of its own, helplessly clenching, your clit aching horribly. you’re certain you’ll scream, one queuing up in your throat. he has about ten seconds before you throw a tantrum like a baby. he’s so beautiful that it makes you forget yourself.

“go on,” he says eventually, leaning back again.

you’re relieved, almost to the point of tears. you move a little closer and press soft kisses to the inside of his sensitive thighs. his cock kicks near your forehead as you move nearer and nearer. you let your tongue flick out against his skin, smiling when he sighs.

if you weren’t so impatient, you’d make him wait for it.

you move up, up, up, but not to where steve’s expecting you. instead, your lips place a gentle kiss to his sack.

he sort of sits up, brows furrowing hard. so you continue, your tongue laving over his balls gently.

“oh my god?”

it isn’t a protest, so you continue. you mouth at them, too, licking and sucking gently. one of his hands tangles itself in your hair and he moans loudly above you. it goes straight to your clit, of course, and at this point you’re once again near tears at the ache.

you lick your way up his balls and to the base of his shaft. you place a chaste kiss there before continuing upwards, licking a long stripe up to the head. you make sure to run your tongue along the aforementioned vein and he shivers.

his voice cuts the silence. “worship, baby.”

you kiss the head of his cock, the salt of his precum laying heavy on your tongue. you make out with it, using your tongue, doubling down every time steve groans. his hand stays in your hair and he gently moves you down to kiss the rest of him.

steve’s free hand grips the base of his cock and he pumps gently as your tongue flicks against him. after a long moment, he pulls you back, crowding your space again.

“can i say something?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

you watch his throat bob as he swallows hard. “i want to use your mouth.”

you gasp breathlessly, happily. “please, steve.”

so he stands, kicking off his jeans, keeping his grip tight in your hair. he pumps himself still, keeps you at eye level - again - with his leaking tip.

“hands on my thighs,” he says softly. “pinch me if you need me to stop, alright?”

you nod, hands resting where he’s instructed.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises. “still need to finish our lesson, right?”

you nod again.

he gently kicks your thighs apart with his feet. you hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten to pulling together.

“my pretty girl,” he coos, leaning down, pulling your head up. he kisses you much more fervently this time, but shorter. “i’ll give you just what you want.”

[dragonsondragons]

Self Care - Jack Abbot x Resident!Reader

Summary: Jack’s new girlfriend takes self care really seriously given the line of work they’re in. He starts to observe these habits and some of them rub off on him.

Tags: Super fluffy, no use of y/n, implied age gap, suggested sexual activity, no real smut just Jack feeling you up a little, beekeeper!Jack

Author’s Note: Why am I obsessed with beekeeper!jack. There may be more where this came from because I had so much fun with this one– perhaps Jack and reader gardening (wink wink) while in their garden? Leads to sweet and slow stoned sex? Let me know what you think or if you have any requests! I’m always looking for more ideas. 

You do your little stretching routine after you wake up and you ask him if he wants to join you. He gives it a try, reluctantly at first. Then he starts to realize how good it makes him feel and does it with you every time. 

“What's this pep in your step you got going on here, brother?” Robby notices one day at hand-off. “Something to do with your favorite resident? Or should I say…new lady friend,” he does a little jazz hands.

“I regret ever telling you about us,” Jack rolls his eyes at lady friend. “But yeah, actually. She’s got me stretching when we wake up,” he explains.

“Ah. She’s got you whipped is what you mean.”

Jack chuckles under his breath. “Fuck off, stretching is good for you. And being whipped isn’t so bad either.” ____

You have a little garden that you tend to in the morning as the sun’s still rising right when you get off shift. It's cathartic, to take care of something that can't puke or bleed on you. Can’t punch you in the face. 

Both you and Jack had worked last night and it was a tough one. One of those nights where it felt like you lost more than you saved. You asked Jack to come back to your place after the shift ended, just wanting to be near him after your hell of a day. 

It was still early in your relationship, you had only spent the night at Jack’s place. This was his first time coming to stay at yours. 

You could tell he was so exhausted that you offered to drive home and he eventually accepted. He sat in the passenger seat of his Tacoma with his eyes closed as you drove, envisioning a shower, you looking soft in a ratty old t-shirt, and eating take out on the couch before going to sleep.

Instead, after you made two mugs of tea and set one before him on the coffee table, you headed to the backyard, slipping through the sliding glass door with a quiet “be right back, have to take care of some stuff real quick.”

After you’re gone more than 10 minutes and he almost dozed off twice, he started to wonder what this stuff was. He peeks out the glass door, seeing you knelt down at the edge of a garden bed peeling weeds out of the ground around your plants. The garden hose was on, filling up a big watering can to your left.

He comes to stand next to your kneeling form, placing a tender hand on the crown of your head and lightly running his fingers through your hair. “What are you doing, baby?”

“Checking on the plants. It helps me clear my mind from the day.” You smile softly up at him, see his free hand rub at his weary eyes. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, I’ll be right in," you promise. He nods, turns to head back inside. 

He couldn’t believe you wanted to be pulling weeds and lugging watering cans after a shift. But when you trailed in a few minutes later, joining him under the spray of the water, he could see the way your shoulders were looser. You were more peaceful, at ease. It made him feel more calm too, just knowing you felt a little bit better. 

He started lugging bags of soil for you the following mornings. Dug up trenches to lay a new irrigation system for the crops. This time of spring brought so many birds tweeting around in the morning air, the perfect sound track to your calming moments together in the garden.

It was a peaceful endeavor, one Jack never thought he would find himself doing but turns out he absolutely loves it. After you tell him about the benefits of pollinators he really wants to start keeping bees (Jack Abbot is beekeeping age). He does all this research about it to make sure he doesn’t fuck with the bees, wants to do it right. Gets the whole mesh suit which you can't stop laughing at the first time he puts it on. Names his hive Beetopia. He's serious about these bees and you find it so endearing. You love that he's meshing into your life like this, making his own niche in something you both do together.

Sometimes when there isn’t much to be done he’ll make breakfast while you tend to the garden. He will always try to utilize the fruits and vegetables you grow as well as his self-harvested honey whenever he can. You eat it out on the patio, admiring the work the two of you have done. Your own little paradise. ____

Out of all the self care tactics that you have brought into his life, the bubble bath is definitely one of his sleeper favorites. His house had a huge bathtub in it that he never once used. One of the first times you stayed over, you went to use the bathroom before going to bed. His eyes were already closed when he heard you squeal in the en suite attached to his room. 

“How did you not tell me about this!” you yelled out to him. 

“What, the bathroom?” he responded half asleep and confused. You came back into the room and jumped into the bed next to him, resting your chin on his chest. He peeked his eyes open as he rubbed up and down your back.

“No! That massive tub, genius!” He was surprised. Hadn’t thought once about that thing since he moved in. 

“You like it?”

“I don't like it, Jack. I love it. Baths are so soothing and rejuvenating. I always feel like a newborn baby when I get out of the bath. And I don't have a tub at my place.”

“You’re welcome to use it anytime you want, honey.” He shifted you to your side, cuddling into you and kissing your cheek. 

“You’re too good to me. And as a reward I’m making you get in there with me.” he lets out a breath of a laugh as he drifts off to sleep with you in his arms. ___

You both had the next day off, for once. So there was no time like the present to christen Jack’s bathtub. He was nervous about getting in, not being able to wear his prosthetic to keep him stable, but you got in first and held onto him tight as he stepped over the edge and eased himself down into the water. You settled in front of him, letting out a breath as you melted back into him. 

You thought you liked baths already, but this was pure bliss. His strong body against you, your breaths synching up. He washed your hair and you washed his. The warm water soothed his achy back and the overcompensating muscles in his leg. 

Safe to say, baths become a regular occurrence for you two.

You get him a matching fluffy robe with a hood because one time he said he was jealous of how cozy you looked in yours after a bath. Once, Shen stopped by to drop off the butterfly portable ultrasound that he had borrowed and Jack answered the door in said robe. 

Jack had his stoic work face on, the grumpiness only enhanced by the fact that Shen’s visit was interrupting his time with you.

“Ha, you look like a Sith, Abbot,” Shen teased him, butterfly in one hand and a half drank Dunkin’ in the other. “Robe’d up and about to cut my hand off.” He took a loud sip of his coffee as Jack just glared at him. 

“Get out of here before I actually consider it.” He tugged the Butterfly from Shen’s grasp, about to slam the door in his face. 

“Oh c'mon Jack, that’s not very nice.” You ran up to the door and opened it further to reveal yourself. 

“Sorry John, he didn’t mean that.” 

“Yeah right.” He takes in your appearance beside Jack, wearing the same exact fuzzy robe. “Like the matchy matchy, very cute you two.” Shen pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before either of you could even process it. “That’s totally going in the group chat, dude,” he laughed. 

“Not making a good case for yourself here,” Jack muttered. Shen couldnt stop laughing, and at that you moved your hand off the door jamb and let Jack slam it shut. 

He turned to you then and let out a little chuckle at the whole ordeal. “He’s a piece of work.”

“Thought he was your favorite resident?”

“No, you're my favorite resident.” ___

Besides stretching to start the day on a good note, taking soothing baths, and tending to your garden you also do yoga sometimes to turn your mind off and tune into your body after a hectic shift. He’s still reluctant to try that one, and likes to give you your space to do the things you enjoy on your own sometimes. So he doesn't join you for that, but he loves watching you as you get ready to head to the studio. 

You always wear these skin tight, colorful matching workout sets that drive him crazy. He doesn’t mean to keep you from getting to class, but sometimes he just can’t help the temptation.

“Baby,” he draws it out in a long groan. He crossed the room to you, grabbing your hips and ghosting his hands up and down, reverently. You were trying to gather your keys and yoga mat to head out the door. “You’re killing me here with the powder blue.” The leggings hugged your ass just right. God, he was about to start drooling.

You try to squirm out of his hold to put your shoes on, but he won't budge. “Get a good look, Jack, because I gotta go. Gonna be late if I don't leave right now.” 

“Oh no, you're gonna be late already? Maybe you should just stay here with me,” he pouts suggestively. 

“Already paid for the class. Actually you did, your card’s on the account.” With your resident salary, Jack liked to treat you to things like a membership to a fancy yoga studio with free green smoothies. He loved ‘providing’ for you, even though you both knew you could be just fine by yourself. 

“Even better. I don't care about losing 30 bucks right now. Because you look way too sexy in those leggings to leave me here all alone.” He pecks your lips, then down your neck, sucking the spot where he knows will draw out a moan from you. You grasp your hand into his hair, getting lost in his efforts to entice you. 

“Let me peel these off of you,” he begs, running his fingers under the waistband of the leggings. His hands travel lower, kneading at your ass and pulling you tighter against him. “Just let me worship your beautiful body, sweetheart.”

How could you say no to that? Maybe you would miss your class, but this was a form of self care as good as any.

[bruisedboys]

dead of the night — bucky barnes

bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he’s got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you’re too in love with him to say no. SPOILER WARNING!! set during thunderbolts so big plot spoilers

note: I’m honestly not sure how good this is but I’m posting it anyway we ball! disclaimer I totally made some stuff up to make the scenario make sense lol hope u can forgive me

thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader, fluff, kissing, one bed trope, 4k words

You wake to the shrill sound of your phone ringing. At first you think it’s your morning alarm, and wonder why it feels like you’ve only been asleep a few hours. It takes blinking yourself awake to realise it’s still dark out, the street outside your apartment dead quiet. Your phone continues to ring, piercing through the quiet of the night, the screen lit up and flooding the corner of your room in white. You groan. Who on earth is calling you in the middle of the night? 

You sit up dizzily and grab for your phone. You stare blankly at the bright white screen, blinking hard until your eyes adjust and you can see the name that pops up. 

Bucky Barnes. 

You blink at your phone. Your boss? Well, he’s not really your boss, but you are his assistant, and you’re not really sure whether you’re friends or something else entirely, so he might as well be. 

You hit the answer button. 

“Bucky?” You’ve long passed the stage of calling him Congressman Barnes. Besides, any ounce of professionalism left between the two of you has probably now turned to dust, given the ungodly hour of his call.

“Hey.” He sounds tired, his voice strained. “Hey, I’m so sorry, doll, I know it’s late.” 

No kidding. You ignore the fact that he’s called you doll, ‘cos if you think about it too long you’ll be here all night. ”What’s the matter?” You ask. “It’s one in the morning, Bucky.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. I need your help.” 

His words make you sit up straighter. Bucky’s been, for lack of better words, distracted lately. On edge, like he’s been waiting for something to happen. He’s been continuously disappearing at important events, and he keeps taking mysterious calls in hushed tones. You hope this has got nothing to do with the call he got from Valentina’s assistant (Mel, you think her name is) last night. He only told you about it because he’d wanted you to cover for him today while he “took care of something,” in his own, ominous words. He’s been MIA all day and you haven’t heard from him until now.

Somehow, you think this has got everything to do with the call from Mel. 

“Are you okay?” You ask on instinct.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off. “We, uh.. we just need somewhere to hole up for the night.” 

Your brain ticks. “Hold on, we?” 

You can almost hear him wince on the other end of the line. As if on cue, you pick up some muffled voices in the background. A man’s rough voice followed by a woman’s smoother one — and is that a Russian accent? What has he gotten himself into? 

“There's, uh, five of us,” Bucky says, like that makes it any better. 

There’s a long beat of silence. You sit in the dark, still half foggy with sleep, waiting for your brain to catch up with what he’s telling you. He … wants to bring strangers to your place? To what, hide? From who? You’re dumbfounded.

“I— what?” Is all you can manage. 

There’s another short silence, and then Bucky must realise how ridiculous he sounds, because he starts to backtrack. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have called, I’ll just—“ 

“No, wait,” you interrupt before you can stop yourself. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you find yourself wanting to help. You trust him, and know he’d never do anything to hurt you. Whoever these people are who’re with him must really need your help. And who else can he call, anyway? “It’s alright, I can help. Come over, okay? How far away are you?” 

Twenty minutes, as it turns out. You spend the time making your apartment and yourself look somewhat presentable, less for your visitors’ sake than your own, and because it’s Bucky.

Bucky, who’s been to your apartment three times now. Once when he got you flowers for your birthday. Another time when you’d mixed up your laptops, and accidentally come home from the office with his instead of yours in your work bag. (He’d come round to pick it up and you’d cleaned the whole place, even though he only stood in the doorway for five minutes.) And the most recent time, when you’d gotten too drunk at the bar after work, and Bucky had walked you home, deposited you in your bed, and locked the door behind him. You don’t remember most of it, but you do remember feeling so so in love with him it made you feel sick. Or maybe that was the whiskey. You doubt it. 

You’re tossing the trash from your takeout dinner in the bin, and trying not to think about how you felt that night, when there’s a knock on the door. Your phone dings on the counter, a text from Bucky. 

It’s me. 

You laugh to yourself. He can be so accidentally ominous sometimes. You cross the living room to the door and open it. 

Five people stand behind it, all in varying states of disarray. Bucky’s at the front, probably the least beat up looking, though his jacket seems to be torn in some places. Two women (girls? They don’t look very much older than you), one with a blunt blonde bob, and one brunette with pretty eyes, both looking a bit worse for wear. One very tall, older man in a red getup that makes him look like Santa Claus - it’s absurd, but somehow you feel even more absurd in your plaid pajama pants. And bringing up the rear is… John Walker? 

“Um, hi?” You say to the group at large. When Bucky said we, you didn’t expect John Walker, of all people, to show up. You try not to stare. “What can I do for you?” 

The blonde girl opens her mouth, looking amused, but Bucky beats her to it. “Funny,” he says bluntly. Then, softer, “Can we come in?” 

You share a look. Bucky has a very intense default gaze, but it seems to soften whenever he looks at you. And right now, he’s looking at you like I’m tired, I need help, just let us in please and I’ll explain. 

You step back with little objection. Something about the way he seems to say trust me with just one look — it gets you every time. If he was a serial killer, you’d surely be dead by now. 

“Alright,” you say. “Wipe your shoes, please.” 

Everyone files into your living room. It’s not a huge space but it’s enough. Walker closes the door behind them. No one sits down. 

“Who is this, again?” The brunette girl asks Bucky, breaking the silence. You assume she means you. 

“We work together. She’s my assistant,” Bucky explains, throwing you an apologetic, somewhat strained, look. “Y/N.” 

“Hello,” you say awkwardly. 

They all just stare at you. You know what they’re thinking. Why on earth would Bucky, former winter soldier, avenger, and now congressman, bring them to his assistant’s place in the middle of the night as if it was a safe house? You’re asking yourself the exact same thing. 

“Y/N, this is Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John.” Bucky names them off, pointing them out to you as he does. “They— I mean, we just need a place to stay until morning.”

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just go to yours?” Walker pipes up, addressing Bucky. You hate to agree, but you were just about to ask the same question. 

“Valentina’s watching my place,” Bucky explains. “She knows by now that I’ve got you guys with me, she’ll have her people on us in no time if we go to mine.” 

This only confuses you further. Valentina is … watching his house? This is not what you signed up for when you applied for a job as an assistant — it seems both you and Bucky are in over your heads. Though maybe you should’ve expected it, Bucky being a former Avenger and all.

The others seem to understand Bucky’s explanation far better than you do, and they all look to you expectantly. 

You look at the group of strangers, then at Bucky, then back at the strangers. They’re all standing there rather awkwardly. At their best, they’d probably be the toughest looking group you’ve ever seen, but right now they look dead beat, covered in bruises, dark bags under their eyes, and you suddenly feel very sorry for them.

“I— yeah, okay,” you say. They’re already in your living room, already know where you live, what’s it matter now? “You can stay for the night. Make yourselves at home, guys. There’s water in the fridge and the bathroom is down the hall to the left.” 

The brunette — Ava, Bucky called her — gives you a tight smile. “Thanks,” she says, and collapses on your sofa. 

The others follow suit, though Walker stays standing with his arms crossed. 

Pleasantries over, you grab Bucky’s arm and tug him down the hallway. He follows willingly, though you don’t give him much choice. You end up in your bedroom, where you corner him. 

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You whisper harshly.  “Who are those people? Why would Valentina be watching your place? And why is John Walker here?” 

You’re so busy bombarding him with questions that you don’t notice the way he’s holding his arm, not until you’ve finished speaking. Your eyes drop to his forearm. The fabric of his jacket has been slashed open, and there’s blood all over the sleeve. 

“Oh,” you say stupidly, then even more so, “Bucky, you’re bleeding.” 

Bucky grimaces. “I know, doll.” 

You grab his arm, forgoing politeness, and hold it up to your face. 

“It’s looks bad,” you say, forgetting you’re not supposed to care about him as much as you do.

You look up and find your face inches from his, his arm clutched between you. You suddenly feel very hot.

“Let’s, um,” you flounder for a few seconds, flustered not only by everything that’s happened in the last half hour but also his closeness, and the look on his face. “I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, I think. Come on.” 

You guide him out of your room and across the hallway into the bathroom. You forget to ask why he’s bought a hoard of what look like trained assassins into your home, and force him to sit on the lip of the bathtub, pushing him down by the shoulders. He scrapes hair out of his face with his metal arm and looks up at you where you’re rummaging through the cupboard above the sink. 

“Y/N, I’m—“ 

“Don’t say you’re fine,” you interrupt. He shuts his mouth and you go on, “Are any of your friends hurt?” 

Bucky pulls a face. “They’re not really my friends,” he says. “And no, none of them are hurt, they’re just tired.” 

You nod, accepting his answer for the meanwhile, even though it only opens up about a million more questions. A moment later you finally find what you’re looking for, a red and white first aid kit tucked away at the back of the cupboard, collecting dust.

You move to stand in front of Bucky, opening up the kit and setting it on the toilet lid. 

“Show me?” You stick your hand out for his wounded arm and he gives it to you with no objection. 

You hold his wrist and carefully push his sleeve up over the wound, revealing a harsh cut across the length of his forearm. On closer inspection, it’s not horribly deep, the blood only makes it look that way. 

Still, you frown. “How did you manage this?” You ask him. 

Bucky looks for a second like he’s reliving whatever happened to cause such an injury. He searches for the words, then, “I sort of flipped a truck?” he says. “Long story.” 

Flipped a truck? Whose truck? You raise your eyebrows at him but ultimately decide it's fruitless to keep asking questions, at least until he decides to explain what’s going on. 

“Right… I’m gonna clean it, okay?” You drop his arm to pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, unscrewing the lid and dabbing the liquid onto a cotton pad. “It might hurt.” 

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m tough, doll.” 

You clean his wound as best you can. You only sort of know what you’re doing, a half remembered first aid course you took in college sitting at the back of your mind, but Bucky doesn’t protest. Actually, he doesn’t make a sound at all, just watches you with those dark eyes. It makes you nervous, like he’s looking right through you and reading all your inner thoughts. The worst part is, he’s always looking at you like this, like he can read your mind, to the point where you’re pretty sure he knows all your secrets. Like how you’re desperately in love with him and have no idea what to do about it. 

You continue your work, quiet. The silence is heavy, a sort of unspoken feeling floating between the two of you like a white hot star. You want to reach out and grab it, see if Bucky will follow, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You’re unraveling a roll of bandage to wrap his arm when you finally speak. “So, are you gonna tell me why you brought a bunch of assassins into my home In the dead of the night?” You laugh at your own joke, but the look on Bucky’s face stops you short. “They’re… they’re not assassins, are they?” 

Bucky purses his lips. “Well, you’re not very far off…” 

He launches into an explanation, finally. First, of what Valentina’s really been up to. Project Sentry — putting a gold ribbon and a promise of a better life on a special super serum, and testing it on the most vulnerable subjects she could find. Then, how she rushed to eliminate all proof of the project, including the four people in your living room (who turn out to actually be trained assassins, though Bucky promises none of them will hurt you), and Bob, one of the test subjects. 

Then he tells you about how he tracked Mel’s phone to a site in the middle of nowhere, where he found Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei in a “predicament,” and “saved their asses,” as he puts it. He spares you the details, but it's how he sliced his arm open, and why they’re now retreating to yours to regain their strength before going after Bob. Bob, who’s vulnerable but much stronger than he probably knows, and who Valentina now has in her clutches. 

By the time he’s done explaining, you’ve realised how much bigger this is than just you and Bucky. For days this has all been happening without your knowledge and Bucky has been dealing with it all. You’re not annoyed, you get why he didn’t tell you. Still, you wish he’d asked for your help earlier. 

“So, you’re going after Bob?” You ask, carefully tucking in the end of the bandage. You spent half of his explanation just staring at him, hardly believing what he was saying, and the other half wrapping his arm, trying to believe what he was saying, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. 

Bucky nods. “I guess so. He could be dangerous in Valentina’s hands, you know?” 

You nod back. “Yeah, I get it. Won’t it be dangerous, though? Going after him? 

You say it before you’ve thought about it. You realise right after that it makes you sound like you care far too much about the man sitting in front of you, who’s really just the guy you file documents for. You don’t owe him anything. 

Bucky smiles. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ve got four assassins on our side, five if you count me.” 

You frown. “You’re not an assassin.” 

You don’t care what he’s done in the past, you can’t see him as anything else but lovely. He’s brave, kind, and so thoughtful it aches. 

Still, Bucky shrugs. “Used to be.” 

You pack up the first aid kit and put it away. Bucky watches you, his gaze like a burning fire on the back of your head. When you’re done cleaning up, he stands up and crosses the room, meeting you by the sink. 

“Thank you,” he says, earnest though his voice is rough from exhaustion. “You make a good nurse.” 

For some odd reason, butterflies erupt in your gut at his words. You look up at him. He’s very close now, only a step or two away from being chest to chest. You manage a grin. 

“That’s me,” you say, faux casual. “Best nurse and assistant you’ve ever had, huh?” 

You might be imagining it, but you’re pretty sure Bucky’s eyes flicker to your lips. He’s distracted as he murmurs, “Uh huh.” 

A beat of silence, and then Bucky takes a step closer. Your chest burns. He raises his vibranium arm, and you watch as his silver fingers close around your forearm. You can’t feel it through your sweater, but you can imagine how smooth the metal would feel on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. 

“Mm,” he hums back. He’s definitely looking at your lips now, and moving closer by the second. “What, doll?” 

You blink rapidly. He’s so close now you can smell him, sweat and dust but underneath that something heady, a bergamot cologne you’ve smelled on him before. 

“I— what are you doing?” You whisper, starting to panic. 

Bucky looks at you, this intense look of yearning in his eyes, like he’s being pulled towards you and can’t stop, and you almost melt into the bathroom tiles. 

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, so quiet it’d be impossible to hear him if he weren’t this close. “Can I?” 

You sort of guessed as much, but to hear the words coming from his mouth is something else entirely. You find yourself nodding. You don't know why. Well, actually, you know exactly why. You like him a lot, and you’ve imagined this moment a million times over in your head, though in your imaginations he certainly wasn’t bleeding out in your tiny bathroom.

“Okay,” you manage, heartbeat turning frantic. 

You see a flash of his smile before he’s pulling you gently forwards by the wrist and then kissing you. It’s chaste, gentle, but you can almost feel him holding back, his grip on your wrist tightening as he moves closer still, almost like he can’t help himself. The pressure of his kissing pushes you backwards a half inch — your back hits the edge of the sink and you don't care, you really don’t, because Bucky is kissing you and his thumb is rubbing a rough circle into your inner forearm, and his lips are so warm they leave yours buzzing.

Too soon, Bucky pulls away. 

You blink at him. He’s still agonisingly close to your face, and still looking at you like he wants to eat you. Your heart’s a riot, worse when he reaches up with his freshly bandaged arm and tucks a rogue piece of hair behind your ear. 

His hand lingers at your jaw. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused and rough, but he touches you like you’re made of starlight. “Is it okay that I did that?” 

You nod. “Yes,” you manage. Even to your own ears, you sound breathless as anything, but you’re so dizzy that there’s no space to be embarrassed about it. “I— yeah.” 

Bucky smiles, but it’s not smug. If anything, it’s achingly fond. “I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I just … didn’t have anyone else I could call.” 

You shake your head. You won’t say it, but right now you’re infinitely glad he called. Even in the dead of the night. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky strokes your jaw with his thumb, slow and intentional. “No one will hurt you while I’m here, okay? And we’ll be out of here before you even wake up, I promise.” 

You nod around his hand. It’s hard to digest anything he’s saying while he’s touching you like this, and looking at you like that. You think you get the gist, though. 

“Okay,” you say. You desperately want to kiss him again, but you’re much too shy to ask. Before you can work up the guts, he’s moving away. 

“I think you should get back to bed,” he tugs his phone from his jacket pocket and checks the time. “It’s past two.” 

“Right,” you nod, not wanting to, but you’re too dizzy and too tired to protest. 

You and Bucky leave the bathroom together. You follow him still half in a daze, not understanding how he can be so nonchalant when you literally feel lightheaded as a direct result of the kiss. You suppose he’s just better at hiding it, or maybe you’re just very sick in love. 

You and Bucky step into the living room to find probably the most absurd scene to ever grace your living space. Yelena and Ava, both knocked out on the couch, Ava’s head on Yelena’s shoulder, drool falling from the blonde’s open mouth. Alexei sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, snoring like a bear. And Walker sitting at your kitchen table, bent in half with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, fast asleep.

Both you and Bucky seem to realise at the exact same time that there’s nowhere other than a much too small chunk of floor for him to sleep. You turn to each other. 

“Do you want to—?” You start. 

“I can sleep in the—“ he says at the same time. 

You both pause. 

“Sleep in the what?” You ask him, incredulous. 

Bucky grimaces. “The car?” He at least has the decency to look guilty as he says it. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re absurd. Come on, you can sleep in my room.” 

It’s ridiculous, you know, but the words leave your mouth before you think about it. The truth is, you’re both dead tired and you’ve got no other option. Besides, you don't see how this night could get any more ludicrous. What’s it matter if Bucky sleeps in your room? He’s just kissed you, hasn’t he? 

You start to pull him towards your bedroom, but he stays put. 

“Y/N—“ 

“You said you wouldn’t let any of them hurt me,” you say firmly. “How’re you gonna do that from the car?” 

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. 

“I… don't know,” he mumbles lamely. Then, at your I told you so look, “Are you sure?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s too gentlemanly for his own good. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.” 

You pull him towards your bedroom, much too tired now to be flustered about it. In the dark of your room, Bucky insists on sleeping on the floor. You let him, because he’s stubborn, and because you think if he were to sleep in your bed, no matter the distance you know he’d put between you, you’d be much too consumed with nervous energy to even shut your eyes, let alone sleep. 

It’s half past two when you finally crawl back into bed, Bucky lying on a stack of pillows on the floor at the foot of your bed. Though you can't see him, you feel his presence like a weight over your chest. 

You settle down on your pillows, already feeling the tug of sleep behind your eyes. Before you can fully succumb, Bucky speaks up. 

“Y/N?” He sounds just as tired as you, but you can't ignore the way he says your name like it's something special. 

“Yeah?” You hum back. 

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. You suppose he’s thanking you for everything from housing a bunch of strangers, to letting him kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

A pause in which you think about how to respond. Then, 

“With a pay raise?” You joke weakly. 

Bucky sighs loudly, but the smile in his voice is evident when he murmurs back, “Whatever you want, doll.” 

You grin to yourself. Now that’s something you can fall asleep to. 

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[gloomwitchwrites]

you've done 'in the rain'...what about "snowed in"?

I know snowed in during a mission is a pretty popular trope...but what about also a 'snowed in' while on base and everyone else is out or while on leave together.....or like neighbors who decide to keep each other company while they wait it out

Could be platonic, romantic or even a teammates who didn't get along till they actually talked kinda thing?

Jokes on you! I made the whole thing naughty! Sometimes, I really cannot help myself, and the idea of being "snowed in" with the 141 made the smutty gears turn. Some of it is cute and romantic, some of it borders on dubcon. Either way, this was completely self-indulgent.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: 141!reader, apocalypse au (Ghost’s), making out, dry humping, unprotected piv, intimacy, hurt/comfort, friends with benefits, neighbor!Price, oral sex, dubcon (Ghost), creampie, shower sex, mechanic!Gaz

Word Count: 3.1k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

“Stop your banging!” you shout as you wrap a blanket tightly around you. “I’m coming!”

Someone is at your front door, their knocking insistent and loud, stirring you from your mini-coma on the sofa. It’s late in the evening, bordering on bedtime, and there’s a goddamn blizzard outside. A brutal one that’s knocked out the power.

Flipping the deadbolt, you yank the front door open, ready to berate the person on the other side. As your eyes adjust to who stands in front of you, every snarky remark evaporates into the air like steam.

“John,” you breathe, startled that it’s him.

John Price.

The man who lives next door.

The man you’ve been hooking up with but aren’t actually dating.

Without asking—or even speaking—John steps forward, forcing you to move back as he enters. Grasping the edge of the door, John shuts it behind him. Closing out the cold does little to warm you. The power has been out for hours and all the head in the house has evaporated.

“What are you doing here?” you stammer.

John tugs on his scarf, revealing his mouth. “Came to check on you.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you murmur, stomach flipping over in excitement. “Thank you.”

He glances around, frowning. “It’s bloody freezing in here,” he mutters.

“Powers out,” you reply.

“It’s out for the whole damn neighborhood.” John returns his attention to you, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “You should come to my place.”

“I’m doing good on my own.”

John continues like he didn’t hear your passive rejection. “That’s where we’re gathering.”

“We?”

John turns away from you, heading for your entryway closet. “Where’s your coat?” he asks, reaching for the handle.

“We, John?” you prompt.

“The street,” he replies, peering into the closet. “Johnny and Simon have been going door to door. Taking people to my home.”

It makes sense. John’s home has several fireplaces and a large backup generator. No one needs to try traveling in this weather to a warming center.

“Hopefully the power won’t be off for long,” you muse.

John holds out a large coat. “This the one?”

“It is,” you answer.

He offers it to you with silence. This isn’t an optional request. He expects you to go with him.

The coat is taken, the two of you braving the blizzard together. John might be next door but the wind is brutal, creeping in to freeze your bones. By the time the two of you make it inside, you’re shivering. Inside, dozens of people loiter in the front room and kitchen, bundled up in blankets. Snow-damp coats, jackets, gloves, and scarves hang near the roaring fire to dry. On the coffee table is an arrangement of food that people pick at.

“You weren’t joking about the whole street,” you observe, fingers reaching to undo the front of your coat.

John beats you to it. “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, opening your coat and helping you out of it. “You should shower.”

You smile at him. “The power is out. Your water heater won’t work.”

He leans with a sly smile. “Hot water is a luxury I can’t live without.”

“It’s hooked up to the generator, isn’t it?”

His smile widens, and you nearly jump with joy.

It’s a sprint upstairs with John following. You don’t even care that you’re not dating him, or that there are people downstairs. The clothes come off quickly, and when you’re bare, you reach for him, urging him to join you with gentle tugs.

The hot water is delicious, but it’s John’s kisses that truly keep you warm. Pressing you against the shower wall, John holds you by your throat, seeking demanding kiss after demanding kiss. Your pussy aches with the desire of wanting him inside you. Grasping his cock, you stroke until he’s hard in your hand. John groans, nipping at your neck.

With a little shift of your hips and a lift of a leg, you guide him to your entrance. John grasps your waist, and pushes forward, sinking in until your bodies are flush. Pinned to the wall, you’re at his mercy, taking his cock as he rocks his hips forward and back. At this angle, his pelvis rubs against your clit. You keep kissing him, seeking tongue and lips, whimpering his name as John’s thrusting increases.

“Can I come inside you?” he growls against your mouth. He sounds desperate. Needy.

“Yes,” you breathe, surrendering to him.

A few more thrusts, and then John grinds forward, sealing your bodies together as he empties inside your pussy.

He goes in for a kiss. Another. Eases his cock from your body.

As the water starts to cool, John shuts off the tap, but you’re no longer shivering from the chill.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Can—can you help me?”

Your voice stutters in time with a shiver. A burst of cold air hits Kyle in the face as he opens the door wider, allowing you entrance into the shop’s small lobby.

Minutes ago, Kyle flipped the deadbolt, intent on closing up. A snowstorm rages outside, and all of his mechanics are stuck at home. He sees no reason to keep the place open in these conditions. But here you are, shivering and stranded, your broken-down car smoking slightly in the parking lot.

“Thank you,” you stammer, rubbing your arms. You’re not even wearing a coat, just a threadbare hoodie. “My phone is dead. I can’t call anyone.” You shake your head, clearly frazzled. “I pulled in here hoping someone would answer.”

“You’re lucky,” replies Kyle. “Planned on leaving.” Not that he has to go far. His house is attached to the car shop. “I have a phone you can use.

“And my car,” you gasp, pressing your hand to your forehead.

You’re a pretty thing, especially with the half-melted snowflakes covering your lashes.

Kyle offers a gentle smile. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring it into the bay.”

At the moment he might be a one-man show, but Kyle manages all the same, rolling the vehicle into the bay. It’s no longer smoking, but perhaps it wasn’t to begin with. There isn’t a burning smell that Kyle can detect. With how bad the wind is, it’s possible that the smoke Kyle glimpsed was just a trick of the eye.

While you stay wrapped up in blankets and warming your toes in front of the space heater in the lobby, Kyle checks the car over. Everything appears fine until he checks the oil level.

“When did you last get an oil change?” he asks as he takes a towel to his fingers, rubbing at a bit of grease.

“A what?”

Bloody hell.

Kyle tucks the towel in his back pocket. “Won’t take me but half an hour to do one. Should be fine after that.”

Your face falls. “I—I have no way to pay you.”

Kyle might think you a sweet thing but he’s not going to take advantage. You’re stranded and cold and he has nowhere to be.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replies gently.

“Are you sure?” you ask, standing, moving toward him.

“Positive.”

“I can’t…make it up to you?” You lean into him, batting your eyelashes.

Oh. Kyle’s in goddamn trouble.

“You don’t—”

“But I do,” you croon, gaze roaming up and then down his body.

Blood rushes straight to his dick. How long has it been since he’s fucked something other than his hand? And you’re willing?

“Sit down,” you murmur, and Kyle doesn’t need to be told twice.

As he settles into the chair your just occupied, you allow the large blanket to slide off your shoulders, revealing nothing understand.

“Fuck,” he whispers as you kneel on the crumpled blanket before him. His legs spread and you settle between, hands sliding up his thighs to toy with the front of his jeans.

A quick tug. A pop. And then you’re reaching inside, fingers wrapping around his hard dick. Kyle groans. Your fingers are no longer cold from the storm. You’re warm, and it feels fucking good.

Kyle’s eyelids flutter, head tilting back as you stroke him. But it’s your mouth suctioning around the head, tongue lapping over his slit that forces his attention back on you. The snowflakes on your eyelashes have melted, leaving behind wet lines that make it appear like you’ve been crying.

You swallow him down, and Kyle’s ball tighten.

Grasping the back of your head to ground himself, Kyle watches your lips, how they move up and down his length, how to the vein disappears and reappears with each bob. It doesn’t help that you’re completely fucking naked, or that your hand is between your legs playing with your pussy.

You slowly ease your lips upward. Kyle’s dick pops from your mouth.

“You want to come inside me?” you ask, but Kyle can tell that you’re begging—that you want this too.

“Fucking know I do,” he growls.

With a lusty smile, you place your hands on his knees using them as leverage to stand up. Kyle takes in your naked body, and then your gorgeous backside as your turn around. Leaning forward, and spreading your legs just a tad, Kyle receives a clear view of your pussy. It’s glossy with arousal.

He grasps your hips, shifting you back, lining himself up, and then you’re sinking on him. Kyle watches as his cock perfectly pushes in, disappearing into warmth and snugness.

“Fucking hell,” he gasps as you take every fucking inch of him.

You rock back, and Kyle thrusts up, both of you groaning loudly. He doesn’t give a fuck that you’re a stranger—that he doesn’t know your name. Your pussy is perfect, and the snow is thick and raging.

Kyle’s release rises. His fingers tighten their hold, digging into your skin. You try to move, but he holds you fast, sealing your bodies together, filling you with his cum. As you keep still, fingers teasing your orgasm from you, Kyle knows that you could easily stay for the evening.

No one should be driving in this weather.

And he can do the oil change tomorrow.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost finds you in a net, snow-covered and half dead.

When he cuts you down, you hardly move. It’s a shift of the eyelids and a little puff of breath that tells Ghost anything. He puts you on his sled beside the stag he’s downed, traversing the cold and knee-deep snow back to his cabin. The years have melded together, becoming one continuous understand. Ghost hasn’t come across another human in ages. He hasn’t used his voice at all. He’s not even sure if he still knows how to talk.

Not that there are many humans left in the world.

Ghost hangs the stag in the shed behind the cabin, securing the door to keep out any hungry scavengers. You he brings inside, stripping you down until you’re naked, placing you in front of the fire on a nest of worn blankets. He wraps you up, taking extra care to look after your toes and fingers. Though your limbs are cold, you appear to have staved off frostbite.

It’s a lingering quiet where Ghost holds vigil as you warm.

And when you open your eyes, you peek out from your sanctuary of blankets.

You do not scream. You do not scuttle back and away like a beetle. There is…curiosity. Ghost’s cock twitches, wanting attention, liking the way you peer at him. It’s a staring contest, the two of you watching the other without speaking.

Another human. Life. Warmth.

The tips of Ghost’s finger twitch. He reaches out, but you do not flinch. His hand slips beneath the blanket, cupping your bare breast, fingers teasing the nipple. You remain calm, gaze fixated on Ghost. The nipple between his fingers hardens. Ghost moves to the other.

But you surprise him, finally moving, grasping his wrist.

Ghost stills, but you do not draw his hand away. Instead, you bring it down, down between your thighs. You guide his fingers to your pussy, thighs opening slightly to accommodate him.

Ghost strokes, teasing your clit. Dipping into your pussy, he spreads the growing slickness around, returning to your clit. Your eyelids flutter, mouth parting slightly. A shiver runs through you, and your thighs quiver against his hand. He’s already shoving his pants down, opening the blanket to come above you.

You blink slowly, shifting onto your stomach, resting your cheek against the blankets. Ghost settles, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy. Without ceremony or warning, Ghost thrusts deep. The only sound you make is a small gasp.

Ghost grunts above you, hips snapping, your ass bouncing with each thrust. He loses himself in the warmth and tightness of you. With his face pressed to the back of your head, Ghost pins your wrists above you.

His pace increases, the need to finish a rushing, pulsing shiver beneath his skin. You spread your legs a bit wide, giving him better access.

He doesn’t ask—only grinds his hips against your ass, his cum oozing out around his dick.

The wind kicks up, rattling the covered windows.

A storm is brewing.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“He’s not coming.”

“Willing to put money on it?” asks Johnny, his mouth quirked into a sly smirk.

Matching his energy, you present a few pound notes. There’s a handshake. A verbal agreement. If Captain Price isn’t here by midday, he’d not coming in. And why would he? It’s a bloody blizzard out there. No one is driving in this.

“Without Price around to give orders,” muses Johnny, slowly counting the cash you handed him. “How should we…occupy our time?”

Johnny says occupy slowly—almost deliberately as if he already has something in mind.

You tilt your head to the side as if in deep thought. The two of you will have the run of base for the rest of the day, possibly even the next if the predicted snowfall is correct. You and Johnny can do whatever you want while everyone else is stuck elsewhere.

The soft smile on your lips widens. “I have a few ideas.”

Ideas can be foolish. Spontaneous. Silly.

Neither of you grab your coats. It’s a simple burst of speed and sheer joy as the two of you go rushing out into the blizzard with only your fatigues on. Snow crunches under your boots, and the wind kicks up white waves that stick to your clothes and soak in until the cotton adheres to your skin.

With a screech of glee, you dive into the snow, scooping up a massive clump. Hurriedly, you shape it into a ball. Turn. Hurl it at Johnny. It strikes the back of his head, and he stumbles forward.

“Fucking shit!” he laughs, launching a snowball right back at you.

This one you dodge, giggling hysterically as the two of you dart and dance in the falling snow, slinging heaps of it at each other.

When your fingers grow cold and your cheeks burn, you somehow manage to drag Johnny inside with you. Snow-covered and shivering, it’s all warm smiles, a hot shower, cards in the rec room with the kettle on. It’s shitty jokes and board games with missing pieces. It’s an old television with poor satellite reception and a communal oven that doesn’t want to hold temperature.

“It’s a ghost town out there,” observes Johnny, glancing out the window.

There are no moving cars. No planes or helicopters taking off. All is silent and still. It’s odd really, like the two of you are locked in a snow globe.

“Yes,” you agree, shuffling the deck of cards.

With a heavy sigh, Johnny walks over to his bed, flopping down onto his side. The neat stack of cards explodes, scattering everywhere.

“Really, Soap?”

“I’m bored,” he replies, falling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Your only response is a muted grunt. Johnny turns his head to look at you directly. “Want to make out?”

You freeze; fingers just shy of lifting some of the scattered cards. “Do I what?”

With a mischievous grin, Johnny turns on his side, leaning on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Just a snog. Won’t mean anything.”

You flick a card at his face. Johnny retains that flirty smile.

“Come on,” he croons. “Just one.” You roll your eyes, then give him a quick kiss on the forehead. “Not what I meant, lass.”

As you draw back, Johnny grasps the back of your neck, tugging you to him. At first, you resist, but then Johnny’s lips meet yours, and you realize it’s not so bad after all. It’s slow and sweet. No tongue. No shoving. It’s passionate but with a hint of restraint.

“Like that,” he murmurs against your lips.

Oh. Oh fuck.

You don’t resist when Johnny goes in for another, or when he pushes you onto your back. The fatigues are gone, replaced with sleepwear. Johnny’s fingers slide beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He pebbles one nipple and then the other, eliciting a little moan from you as he seizes yet another kiss.

There is nothing gentle about these. Johnny demands, and you surrender, allowing him everything. Boredom is melting, turning into lust, turning into panting heat. Shirts are gone, and then pants. His lips move down to taste and tease. Your thighs fall wide, and Johnny kisses your pussy before tonging it. Your fingers thread through his mohawk, and Johnny groans as your nails scrape across his scalp.

The snow falls in thick sheets outside, crusting everything in a damp cold.

But your blood is heated, and Johnny is warm.

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[imagines-all-day-everyday]

home.

summary: after *yn* loses those closest to her in the battle against thanos, she decides to escape from any reminder of her past life as an Avenger, including Bucky. it was all going to plan, until an unfortunate encounter with a group of outcasts brings her back to him

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS!!!

notes: um this is weird. hi. I'm back. please enjoy <3 p.s thank you bucky for making me come out of retirement

A few years ago if *yn* was on a mission, she would have had an extraction team waiting for her, or a state of the art covert getaway vehicle or - if push really came to shove - a hammer wielding god who could pick her up like she weighed nothing and fly her to safety.

Now here she was in the middle of the desert, crouched down in the back of an offensively red limo being driven by a crazy Russian Santa, with a bunch of people she probably would have apprehended during her time as an Avenger all while being shot at by employees of her old boss.

Yeah, this was a new all time low.

"For the love of god please make this hunk of junk go fucking faster!" She shouted as she took a brief respite from firing at the vehicles behind them.

"How dare you. My beauty is no hunk of junk!" Alexei retorted back, his Russian accent heavy as he swerved to avoid a pothole.

*yn* rolled her eyes before poking her head up over Walker's shield and fruitlessly shooting at the windshields behind them.

"Someone better do something or we're fucked." Walker yelled as he curled himself over *yn* and Ava as the front vehicle opened fire again.

"Yelena hand me my vodka!" Alexei demanded as Valentina's men inched closer.

"You cannot be-"

"Vodka! Now!" Alexei roared. Yelena shut her mouth and grabbed the bottle of vodka from the dash.

*yn* watched as Alexei ripped the cap off and took a large swig. She opened her mouth to protest but left it open in shock as she watched him assemble a molotov cocktail and toss it through the sunroof before she could blink.

The limo fell silent for a brief moment as time slowed and the group watched the flaming bottle flip through the air. It landed cleanly on the windshield, flames licking up the sides of the glass.

Just like the flame, she felt a brief ember of hope flicker inside her. But just as quickly as it had emerged, it was immediately snuffed out as she watched the flames begin to sputter out.

"We need another- shit!" Walker exclaimed as the closest vehicle suddenly exploded. It flipped over and crashed in a fiery wreck to the side of the road.

"How is that possible?" Ava asked as everyone peered over the backseat through the shot out back window.

A rev of a different engine answered back.

*yn* felt her stomach lurch at the sight of an all too familiar motorcycle appearing from behind the envoy.

A glint of a metal hand wrapped around the front of the motorcycle caught her eye. The metal led a trail up to a pair of black sunglasses, framed by dark tresses of hair. A chiseled jaw set in a grimace was next to greet her.

Bucky.

"Oh my god it is Winter Soldier! My Russian brother!"

Cheers chorused through the limo as *yn* turned around and sunk back into the fraying seat.

It seemed that things could indeed get worse.

"Bucky come on, can't you see we're the good guys now."

"Yeah come on Bucky let us out of here."

*yn* tuned out the loud voices of the others as they spoke over the top of one another and struggled against their restraints.

Her whole body was throbbing from the impact of the limo flipping over thanks to Bucky's decision to plant a bomb underneath it.

Speaking of Bucky, she could feel his eyes on her as she blinked slowly, staring up at the rusting beams of the abandoned warehouse.

"Why is *yn* tied up anyway, she was an Avenger after all." *yn* couldn't control the visible flinch that contorted her body at Ava's question.

"Yeah, aren't you two pals? You wouldn't shut up about her in Munich."

John's words were all it took to shatter her resolve. Her eyes involuntarily flitting to where Bucky was standing. Those steel blue eyes found hers instantly. It felt like he was staring right through her and rummaging around through her soul.

She swallowed and cooled her features as she quickly averted her gaze from his. Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.

"I'm taking you all to D.C to testify against Val."

Protests erupted from the rest of the group.

"What, like now?" Yelena queried incredulously.

"Yes, like now."

"You can't. You don't know what Val has done, Bucky." She fired back. "There's this guy Bob who Val is using for something she’s calling Project Sentry and she's turned him into this unstoppable, unstable machine and it's only a matter of time until-"

"I'm sorry, did you say Bob?" Bucky raised a brow.

"Yes, Bob."

"Bob?"

"Bob!" They all confirmed in unison.

*yn* stole a glance at Bucky again to see the disbelief written across his face.

"Listen to them Bucky." Her voice was hoarse as her vocal chords finally stretched out.

His attention was fixed on her immediately and for some reason, when those eyes locked with hers, an unexplainable rush of rage coursed through her.

"Sorry, or is it Congressman Barnes now?" Her tone could not be described as anything but a sneer. Even she was surprised at the vitriol laced through it.

She didn't have a reason to be angry at him, not really. She supposed that she was just angry at the world. At herself.

His face hardened the second the words left her lips. Not too dissimilar to the way his face used to glaze over when he was fighting his Winter Soldier urges, or when a particular memory would come back to him and he tried not to show that he was effected by it. She could always tell when it was happening. And it happened alot.

"I need to talk to you." His tone was firm and authoritative as he marched over to her.

The rest of the group had seemed to somehow make the correct judgment that this was not the time to make a stupid remark. They all watched in silence as he cut through the rope wrapped around her abdomen.

"Alone."

She tucked her chin as she brought her arms in front of her, flexing her stiff wrists and fingers now that they were finally free of the binds. She glanced up at him to see him towering above her. He was studying her, like he was almost expecting her to tackle him.

She knew better than to engage in a fight with him right now, especially in her current condition.

"Fine."

She pushed herself off the floor and didn't spare the rest of the group a glance as she followed him towards another room.

A storage room, she realised as she stepped through the door. Bucky shut the door behind them, encasing the room in silence. It was surprisingly soundproof.

The rest of the group watched them mutely as they disappeared into the room.

"So did they date or what?" John remarked the second the door shut behind them.

"Yes there is much tension there." Alexei chimed in.

Yelena stared at the door as conversations she'd had with Nat climbed back into the forefront of her mind. She had heard about the stolen glances, the pining and the self sacrificing they'd each try and do every time the other was hurt on a mission.

"God those two, they make you want to bash their heads together. But they're kind of cute. You'll see what I mean if you meet them." Nat chuckled as she took a sip of her beer.

"I don't understand." Yelena's brow furrowed. "Why don't they just tell each other how they feel?"

Nat laughed at her sister and shook her head. "If only it were that simple. Not everyone is as straightforward as you, y'know. People are... complicated." Nat sighed as she gazed out the window.

"But *yn* and Bucky-" She cut herself off and shook her head. "I don't know. I'm a cynic, but... it'll happen. It might just take something big for them to see it."

Yelena pressed her mouth together firmly at the memory of her older sister.

"Worse." Yelena finally answered the group.

What was probably only a few moments of silence, stretched out for what felt like an eternity once the door closed behind them. *yn* turned her back to him to look out the grimy window at the sprawling desert that encased them.

"You look like shit."

*yn* snorted at his remark. She turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. His gaze was still steely, his expression unreadable as he studied her.

"Well being in a vehicle when it gets blown up certainly doesn't help appearances."

Their brief interaction had given her a little bit more confidence. Like her body was starting to remember how comfortable she used to feel around him. She was most definitely rusty at this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper conversation with someone since this whole saga started.

Bucky watched her as she took a step towards him.

All it took was for their eyes to lock and he was back at the Avengers Compound, watching her chat animately with Steve on the other side of the living room. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes twinkling as she threw her head back in laughter. He didn't forget the way Natasha nudged him and gave him a knowing look either.

She did look worse for wear, that was true. She was gaunter in her face, her eyes rimmed with dark circles. But it was her eyes that had changed the most. They looked flat, defeated, almost lifeless. But despite all that, she was still just as beautiful as she had been when he last saw her four years ago. It still only took one look from her for his heart to start beating just that little bit faster.

"I didn't know you were in the car."

*yn* was caught off guard by his soft admission.

"I know."

He frowned as he moved towards her. Like he’d just snapped out of daze and remembered where they were. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

She averted her gaze at his question, her arms crossing back over her chest as if to form a barrier around herself.

"Don't tell me you were working for Val."

Just as Bucky got close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted, she took a step back and angled her body towards the window once more.

"Quite the fall from grace, huh?" She remarked dryly.

"*yn*." This time there was a hint of desperation in his tone.

She turned her head slightly. The sun shining through the window behind her cast an almost ethereal glow around her side profile.

"Where the hell have you been?"

*yn* had no idea how to answer that question. What was she supposed to say? That she'd spent the last four years in a downward spiral, wandering around aimlessly in an attempt to avoid the reality that half of her friends were either dead or had up and left after Thanos. And that when that stopped working, she finally succumbed to Valentina's offer to work for her in a last desperate effort to drive the last few years of her life out of her memory by shooting people and blowing shit up (which she had failed at, miserably).

Because that's exactly what she'd done.

She'd been a super soldier for her own country, raised in a lab and injected with some replica of Erskine's serum. Until she went rogue and Nick Fury recruited her for some secret project he'd dubbed 'The Avengers.'

Earth's mightiest heroes apparently, although they were more like Earth’s mightiest disasters. All of them were damaged in some shape or form, but they'd somehow managed to become a family. A very dysfunctional one, but still a family. The only family she’d ever known. Steve and Nat in particular had taken her under their wing, she'd been the youngest in the team. And that was how she'd met Bucky.

She'd been through Steve's side through all of it, realising Bucky was alive, the battle at the Triskelion, the civil war that his existence started, helping him heal his mind.

She'd been in love with Bucky for as long as she could remember. And there was a small part of her that thought he might just feel the same way.

And then she got blipped.

When she came back, her best friend Natasha was dead and she was thrown back into chaos with no time to grieve or process the realisation that she'd missed out on five years of life. And then Tony died. And then Steve left them, without even saying goodbye.

The family she'd known and loved crumbled right before her very eyes. Everyone else took off, dealing with their own traumas in one way or another, and she was left to try and pick up her own pieces.

And she couldn't.

Someone who was supposed to be an Avenger, who helped save the entire universe, couldn't get her shit together.

She had wanted to go to Bucky. Had thought that maybe in the dusk of all of the chaos, they could build something. Help heal each other.

Sam had told her that he'd been ignoring his messages. She'd elected not to tell Sam that she in fact, had been ignoring Bucky's.

So a few months after Tony's funeral, she'd plucked up the courage to go see him at his apartment. That was when she happened to glance through the window of a nearby restaurant to see him with a woman she did not recognise seated a table and laughing.

A date, there was no doubt about it.

She had felt like such an idiot for thinking that there might have been possibly something between them. That she'd read into all the times she'd caught him staring at her, or the way he would someone manage to appear beside her anytime she was in danger on a mission.

She went home, packed up what she could in a backpack, and didn't look back.

"*yn*." Bucky's gruff voice sliced through her haze of thoughts.

"We should get going. Bob's in trouble." She muttered, moving to step past him towards the door.

A breath caught in her throat as the cool metal of his left hand gently wrapped around her bicep, keeping her in place.

"*yn*." This time his voice was barely more than a whisper. "Please."

She properly looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. He was more tan since she'd last seen him. It was the same face she had fallen in love with all those years ago, with just a few extra lines that she'd not had a chance to memorise yet.

She pressed her lips into a line, feeling her chin wobble as she tried to keep her composure.

"What do you want me to say?" Her voice was hoarse as she tried to blink back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"You could have stayed. Could have carried on the Avenger's work."

She scoffed at that and pulled herself out of his grasp and put some distance between them once more.

"And done what exactly?" Her words were bitter as she glared at him. "Got into politics like you?"

"You think this has been easy for me?" His voice inched higher as he spoke. "That I don’t think about what I’ve done and how many lives I’ve taken every single moment of my life, even when I’m asleep?” He marched towards her once more so the pair were nearly chest to chest.

"Because I do.”

His words splashed water over the rage that was building up inside her.

"It wasn't you who did those things." Her tone softened as she spoke.

"Maybe. But it's my face who people remember."

Silence enveloped the pair as they studied eachother. Their minds racing through all of the trauma they've endured on their own and together.

"I'm weak. *yn* admitted after a few moments. It felt almost freeing to say those words out loud. Like she had taken the padlock off a chest that hoarded all of her deepest and darkest thoughts.

"That's why I ran. I couldn't handle it. The memorials, the biographies, the questions about who was going to replace them I-" She shook her head as the first few months after the battle against Thanos flashed before her eyes like a movie reel.

"Fuck I still can't handle it. I can barely even look at Yelena because-" Her eyes welled. Yelena and Nat didn't physically resemble eachother that much, but every so often Yelena would say something or look at her a certain way, and all she could think about was her best friend who never came home.

"Hey." Bucky's voice was gentle. A gloved finger crooked under her jaw and tilted her face up to lock eyes wit his. "You're not weak. You're human."

"They're all gone Buck." She quivered, tears running freely down her dusty cheeks. "And Steve left us without even saying goodbye." Metal fingers brushed her cheeks gently.

"And then you left me." Bucky was so quiet she almost thought she'd imagined it.

She felt her bottom lip tremble as she watched tears begin to pool in the corners of his eyes. Guilt wreaked havoc on her heart. She'd walked away from a man who had only known loneliness and pain for longer than she'd been alive.

"I'm sorry." She took a breath. "I guess I just thought no one would miss me all that much."

Her raw admission made Bucky blanch. He looked down at her in disbelief. How could anyone so radiant ever think something like that about themselves.

"I looked for you." A tear slid down his cheek as his voice cracked.

"For months. I looked for you."

There was a pause.

"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"You know why."

Her heart hammered in her chest at the way he looked at her. This felt like a fever dream. After years of anguish and pain, she couldn't possibly be about to have something good happen to her.

"No. I don't."

Bucky swallowed nervously as he brought a hand over to cradle her jaw.

"Are you really going to make me say it doll?" A breathless laugh passed his lips. For the first time in years, she felt herself lighten at the sound of his laugh. Even more at the sound of that nickname he’d always reserved just for her.

"Yes."

Bucky paused as he ran a thumb along her jawline, his eyes studied every single inch of her face.

"Because it's always been you." His admission made her weak in the knees. His gaze was unbreakable as he stared down at her.

Another dry chuckle emitted from the back of his throat, "and I'm too old to pine after you in the corner for another six years this time around."

"Bucky." She breathed out.

She was scared. So fucking scared. Because this was real. This meant that she had to open herself up to the possibility of even more pain.

But it was also the most alive she'd felt in years.

"If you don't feel the same way I-"

She leant up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. She felt like her insides were melting as he brought his other hand up to cradle the other side of her face. All those of years of anguish and heartache faded into the background as their lips moved against eachother. She felt warm and safe and protected.

He was her home.

The two pulled away after a few moments, their chests slightly more ragged as they studied each other.

"It's always been you." She whispered against his lips.

Bucky couldn't control the grin that spread across his face as he brushed a thumb along her lower lip.

"If Nat was here, she would be freaking out right now."

"So would Steve." Bucky answered. God knows he had never heard the end of it when he was still here.

"Although, he'd probably be disappointed in me that I didn't take you dancing first." The two of them giggled, their salty tears mixing together as they pressed their foreheads together.

"Guess you'll have to take me dancing after we sort this new mess out." *yn* murmured to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Speaking of...do you trust them?" Bucky's eyes looked over her shoulder, landing on the closed door that separated them from the others. She turned in his arms to follow his gaze.

"Well, they're all unpredictable, loud, have dodgy pasts and are incredibly damaged." She remarked. "But..." She trailed off as she turned to look up at him.

"So are we." He finished off her sentence.

She nodded. "So yeah, I guess I do. And Bob's a good person. He's unstable but he's.... he needs help."

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched up as he studied her.

"You're already attached to them, aren't you?"

"A little bit." She admitted.

God she couldn't believe that in such a short span that bunch had managed to get under her skin. But they had.

She really needed to get some friends.

"Which scares me. I can’t lose more people I care about again."

Bucky eyes softened at her confession.

"I'm with you on this. I'm with you on life. And I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled softly and buried her face into his neck, inhaling that familiar scent of pine and smoke. The pair stood wrapped in eachother's arms, enjoying the feeling of being together before they had to go back out there and face reality.

The pain would always be there, they were never going to forget the friends they'd lost. But this was their chance at a fresh start. To help heal each other and to choose themselves this time.

To build a home.

I apologise if I’m rusty, but I’m happy with how this turned out :) if you had told me a year ago I’d be writing again, I wouldn’t have believed you - but here we are!!! This has really made me realise how much I missed you guys. As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here x