#flash sentry x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Lovers

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: The Thunderbolts go to a club downtown for the night, and while there Bob and Sentry are having a tough time watching you flirt with a guy.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, and Jealousy (the spicy triforce). Bob and reader are both aware of each other's feelings but want to remain friends to not ruin the team dynamic in case things go sour. Sentry is extremely jealous in this, and we love jealous Sentry I say…He’s also a bit possessive but…That’s him lol, Bob is just trying to be a good guy and keep things calm, but Sentry is really ripping into him for fumbling the ball.

Smut Warnings: Semi-Public Sex (happens in a private washroom, but it’s inside a club), Unprotected P in V (hahahaha…please wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), and a Praise/Worship Kink cause Sentry and Bob are pleasers just trying to stake their claim lol, there’s also light choking, and some dirty talk….And Overstimulation to a degree. And some aftercare.

Author’s Note: Jesus lord, I loved this request, and I loved the ideas that came from it, and thank you so much for requesting it! It was so fun to write this possessive type of Sentry, and I loved writing the clashing dialogue between Bob and Sentry too. Whew, thank you again @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok for such a fun little thing!

Word Count: 10,244

The music was thrumming like a heartbeat Low, slow, and thick with heat. Everything in the club was moving like smoke–dark, senseless, and breathless. The lights stuttered across the floor like strobe-starved lightning, painting bodies in quick colourful flashes of red, violet, blue, and green.

But Bob wasn’t looking at the lights, or the crowd, or the Coke Zero he hadn’t touched, or even his teammates–who were scattered around the booth behind him, too caught up in cheap liquor, bottles of beer, and loud conversation to notice the slow-motion train wreck unraveling across the club floor.

His attention was on you, and it felt like he was two minutes away from being pronounced dead.

You were standing at the bar with your back turned slightly to him, talking to some guy with a drink in his hand and too much confidence in his stance. It looked like he had forgotten to button his shirt up completely and his chest was puffed out and exposed like he was a bird trying to perform a mating call of sorts. It was easy to spot how he was flirting with you, he would lean in close and say something, and you would return the favour by doing the same. Bob swore every time you moved closer to him it felt like the world was shifting beneath his feet.

Because your dress was–

”God made flesh.” That’s what Sentry had called it the moment he saw you walk out of your room tonight, and he hadn’t shut up since.

It was satin, maybe. Something dark and indulgent and soft. It hugged you like heat and spilled ink–clinging to every line of your body like it had been painted there. The hemline flirted with your thighs as you shifted your weight, fluttering like it was in love with your legs.

And those legs–Bob was going to have a stroke. They were crossed casually at the ankle, and the muscle of your calves were perfectly defined in heels that made your whole stance shift in the kind of way that rewired his brain chemistry. They pushed your hips out just enough to make his breath catch. Your waist cinched so elegantly it looked like it had been sculpted. And your skin–which was shimmering in the club lights–looked like something a god would ruin themselves to touch.

And that’s exactly what was happening.

“Look at her,” Sentry hissed from somewhere behind Bob’s ribs. Every syllable was thick with acid, and pure, unobstructed worship, “She’s glowing…And so fucking open tonight. She should be at our side. In our lap. Not fawning over that little man-child with mousse in his hair.” Bob’s jaw clenched at the rage that echoed through his head.

”S-She’s not fawning,” He muttered under his breath, his knuckles going white around the glass of Coke Zero he was holding, “She’s j-just being friendly.” He added, fluttering his lashes in the strobed haze.

“Look at her. She’s leaning in! He touched her hip when she laughed, did you happen to miss that part?” Bob let out a huff.

”I didn’t miss anything.” He replied, bringing the rim of the glass up to his lips to cover the way his mouth was slightly moving.

“Then explain why you’re sitting here doing nothing while he tries to take what’s ours.” Bob exhaled through his nose, slow and shaky, taking a fake sip of the carbonated beverage, feeling his grip tightening around it slightly, like he was going to possibly break it. “You made the choice. Not me. I would’ve taken her in our bed by now. I would’ve lit the fucking sky gold with the sound of her voice.” Bob dropped his hand to his thigh, fingers digging into the loose denim of his jeans–the ones you had convinced him to buy–like he could claw the heat out of his skin.

Across the club, you tilted your head back to laugh. That kind of laugh. The one Bob had heard a hundred times–but never when it wasn’t his words that caused it.

And you looked–God, you looked like every dream he wasn’t allowed to have anymore. One hand resting lightly on the bar, nails painted in something subtle that caught the colored lights like stardust. Your other hand gestured as you spoke, animated and bright, your shoulder dipping as you leaned in again, saying something to the guy–who took it as an invitation to move closer. He was smiling. He was saying something back.

You nodded at him, smiling with the widest one you had, and tapped your glass against his before taking a sip.

Bob’s eyes followed the movement of your throat as you swallowed, his heart beating too loud in his ears.

“She’s not even thinking about us.”

“S-Shut up,” Bob hissed quickly, but it was loud enough to make Walker glance over briefly before going back to his beer and the conversation the rest of the group were having behind him.

“You think you were noble, don’t you? Waiting, respecting her and the team…You think that means something when someone else can just step in and touch her like that?” Bob wiped the sweat off his brow, as the heat began to curl within him, but it didn’t seem to help. He could feel it–the static under his skin, like something golden and furious was trying to claw its way out from inside him.

“You said no to her. You told her she was too important to risk. Now look at her.” You pushed your hair out of your face with a laugh and turned just enough to give Bob a partial view of your profile. The lips gloss he watched you apply at the beginning of the evening in the reflection of someone’s car window glistened. The lights behind the bar lit up your eyes like candlelight through amber glass, and you still didn’t see him looking.

That hurt worse than anything.

He shifted in the booth, uncomfortable in his own skin, and burning hot. His foot tapped against the sticky floor beneath the table, a stuttering rhythm that matched the beat of the music–or maybe it was matching his panic.

“This is when I wish I had my own fucking body,” Sentry growled, “At least then I could make my own decisions instead of running them by a human who’s afraid of his own fucking heartbeat.” Bob flinched. It was small. Barely a tremor across his shoulders. But the heat that followed was almost unbearable, as it sunk into his bloodstream. It pulsed beneath his skin like magma, like light trying to find the cracks in his weak mental armour. His fingers twitched against the table, then he curled them into a fist before dropping it into his lap, trying to hide the shaking in his hand.

“She should be with us,” Sentry snapped, “I’d be on my knees every night for her, I’d hold her in my arms and love her the way she deserves, and she certainly wouldn’t be pressed against some arrogant fuck like that.” Bob’s eyes flicked back to you, just in time to see it. The guy’s hand moved to your waist, sliding around to pull you in closer. His mouth was way too close to your ear, and your face tipped slightly toward him, smile still soft, lips parted.

And Bob–snapped.

His body lurched forward like something had yanked him by the ribs, and the booth creaked. The table shook when his knee slammed into the bottom of it.

Walker and Ava both turned their heads at the sound, but Bob didn’t move forward again.

He sat back down, hard, chest heaving. His elbows braced on the table. His hands pressed flat to the surface to steady himself, shaking. And the golden light beneath his skin flickered–just for a second–visible, crawling like electricity beneath his veins.

“Bob?” Yelena’s voice cut through the haze like a blade. Her brows were drawn, beer still in hand. She leaned across the table. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer, he didn’t even try to look up at her. He was staring at the floor, like it was safer than looking back up at you.

“Tell her to back off. Tell her we’re in the middle of planning out how to quietly rip the arm off that guy touching Y/N…”

“Bob.” Yelena’s voice sharpened, knocking on the table in front of him, “Hey.” His jaw clenched.

”I’m fine. I-I’m fine.” He responded, feeling a bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

”Bullshit.” She shot back. Then she was moving around the table, boots scuffing the floor. Bob tried to avoid her, turning his face away, but she caught him by the jaw fast, fingers sharp and rough, twisting his head toward her. The moment her eyes met his, she immediately connected the dots.

”Oh Jesus Christ.” She hissed, realizing his eyes weren’t just blue anymore, they were streaked with little tendrils of gold exploding in the irises and hazing over the pupils.

“Let me take it from here,” Sentry whispered, “Clearly you’re not handling it.”

“I-I said I’ve got it.” Bob groaned, squeezing his eyes shut like he could shove Sentry back down by sheer willpower.

“Got what?” Walker called from across the table, leaning his arm along the backrest, “What’s going on with him tonight?” He asked, motioning to Bob. Yelena didn’t answer. She was too busy calculating how far they were from the nearest exit. Bob rubbed a hand over his face, trying to cool the flush from his cheeks, trying to breathe through the pulse climbing in his throat.

”I’m controlling him,” He muttered, “He’s pissed but I’m controlling it.” Walker leaned forward a bit, catching the gold that began to shimmer even more in Bob’s irises.

”Doesn’t look like it,” He commented, eyes narrowing at the shimmer that caught in the strobe lighting, then slowly Walker's gaze drifted across the club, over the pulsing bodies, and past the sharp glow of the bar lights–landing on you.

You were still tucked close to that guy, still laughing, and still glowing in that dress, like the universe was trying to punish Bob through you. Walker’s face twisted in understanding, his lips twitching up with cruel amusement.

”Oh,” He drawled, “Ohhhhhh.” Yelena didn’t even look up to him, she kept her eyes trained on Bob.

”Walker, I swear to god.” She warned, already hearing the chaos brewing in his tone.

“You guys look parched. I’m gonna get another beer,” He said, grabbing a spare glass off the table, “And maybe a water for Bob before his brain starts draining out of his ears.” Walker added, pushing himself up from the booth, stretching like he had all the time in the world.

”Walker!” Yelena snapped, but it was too late, he was already moving.

“Oh good,” Sentry crooned inside him, smug and mocking, “Walker. A real man. Watch and learn, Bob. A simple waltz up to the bar, a charming line, a hand on her arm–easy extraction.” Bob let out a long, agonizing groan, pressing a trembling hand to his temple to try and ease the headache that was starting to bloom.

Meanwhile, Walker was on the move. He weaved through the crowd with a practiced ease, long strides–relaxed in the most approachable way possible–glass in one hand, beer bottle in the other. The lights flickered across his white t-shirt and a few girls near the edge of the dance floor gave him lazy once-overs as he passed. He smiled–small, effortless–and tipped his head in greeting, before continuing his journey. He didn’t stop until he was directly beside you.

You didn’t notice him at first, you were too wrapped up in whatever your bar companion was saying. But the moment Walker’s shoulder nudged yours gently, you turned–surprised–and the guy’s arm slipped from behind your back, falling away like it had never belonged there to begin with.

”Hey,” Walker said casually, setting the beer and the empty glass down on the bar, “Fancy seeing you still upright. Thought you’d be buried in that guy’s awful smelling cologne by now.” You raised an eyebrow at him, confused and slightly amused.

”Excuse me?” You said, watching Walker lean in just enough for the crowd and the music to blur around you both, his voice low and loaded with too much amusement to be harmless.

”You might want to ease up on the flirting…Bob’s halfway to going supernova back at the booth.” He said, propping his elbow onto the bar. He smelled like strong wheat from the beer he was nursing, but he still seemed levelheaded enough to know what he was saying to you.

“Bob?” You questioned.

”Yeah,” Walker nodded toward the table, where Bob sat with his head in his hands. From where you stood you could see the faint glow of the veins in his forearms, like someone had poured sunlight into them, with the crown of his hair fluffed and messy–probably from him ruffling it in his hands. “You know–your broody golden retriever…The one who’s got the sleeper build of a house?”

“He’s not–“ You huffed, “He’s not mine…” Walker snorted at the comment.

”Could’ve fooled me. Pretty sure you own at least seventy percent of his emotional stability and sanity at this point.” Your eyes narrowed at him as you took a sip from your diluted tequila pineapple.

”We agreed, okay? It was mutual. We said it would be a bad idea–if things went wrong–“ Walker held up a finger.

”Right, right. Let me stop you there, Professor Logic. Because right now Bob’s glowing like a fucking star over there and Sentry has been pacing inside his skull, dying to come out. So clearly this little ‘mutual’ agreement is not really holding up.” You stiffened.

”He hasn’t;’t said anything.” Walker laughed under his breath.

”Of course not. It’s Bob. He’d rather implode than inconvenience anyone. But maybe you should go get your sight checked, sweetheart, because you’re acting absolutely blind if you think feelings just vanish because you both agreed to not ‘ruin the team’.”

“Hey, that's not fair.” You muttered.

”Isn’t it?” He shot back, standing a little straighter, “You’re over here flirting up a storm while Bob’s swallowing the sun god. He wanted you. He still wants you, and just because he respects the boundaries you two have, it doesn’t mean y’all are fully over things. Get what I’m saying?” You glanced again toward the booth–just in time to see Bob brace his hands against the table like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane of existence. Even across the room, you could see the way his chest was rising and falling too fast. The light beneath his skin had intensified–glimmering like heat lightning under the surface of his forearms.

Your voice dropped low. “What do you expect me to do?”

Walker blinked at you, incredulous. “I don’t know, go over there and calm the guy down? Maybe take him somewhere private and talk to him before he fucking levels the building?” He leaned in a little closer, his tone dropping into something more serious, less flippant. “Y/N, it’s Sentry. He doesn’t particularly have a track record for waiting or being nice about things that don’t go his way…God complex. Remember?”

You swallowed, nerves climbing up your throat like vines. “And you think I have that kind of power?”

Walker didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk. He just looked at you with the flattest, most terrifyingly honest expression you’d ever seen on him.

“I’m very sure you’ve got his soul in your hands by this point,” He said, voice sharp and quiet. “Now go. Before the floor starts vibrating.”

You hesitated, looking back at Bob again–he was shaking. Hands trembling like static was crawling up his arms, light flaring under his skin in pulses that didn’t sync to the music anymore. His jaw was clenched. His whole body coiled like a live wire seconds from snapping.

Walker’s hand landed briefly on your shoulder, grounding. “Go, Y/N.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else.

You set your glass down with a soft clink, the condensation from the cup already dampening your fingertips. Then you moved–shoulders squared, eyes locked, heart racing harder than the music pulsing through the club’s foundation.

The crowd pressed around you like water, dense and shifting. Heat clung to your skin, sticky with sweat and perfume–an overwhelming blend of cheap gin, sugar-rimmed cocktails, body spray, smoke, and that faint metallic tang of overstimulation. Neon light sliced through the dark like a broken kaleidoscope–flickering greens, bleeding reds, and deep violet strobes that stained everything in shadow-glow and fleeting brilliance.

You pushed past a couple tangled together mid-dance, the woman’s laugh sharp and high-pitched, her partner’s cologne a cloud of amber and pine that made your nose twitch. Your heels stuck momentarily to the floor in patches–spilled beer or soda underfoot–but you didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Because you could see him now.

Bob.

He looked like he was breaking open.

Yelena was still in front of him, tense and braced with her arms folded, her whole body coiled like she was trying to intercept a detonation. You reached her, placed your hand firmly on her shoulder. She looked up at you, eyebrows already drawn–but one glance at your face was all it took. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, jaw tight, and stepped aside to return to her original spot in the booth.

And then–Bob.

His head lifted, slowly.

And when his eyes found yours–it was like gravity halted in his mind.

The gold in his irises was brighter now, sparking outward like little sunbursts, threads of molten light veining toward his pupils. But it was the look on his face that undid you. The moment he realized it was you, standing there, reaching for him. All of that raw, volatile tension melted into something that looked like disbelief. Like hope.

His shoulders dropped a fraction. Not relaxed–no, he was never fully relaxed when he was like this–but the storm behind his eyes shifted, just enough to make room for something else. Something softer. The glow faltered like a candle wick flicked by breath, almost like it was a display of relief.

Slowly you reached forward–not grabbing, not pulling, but touching–and let your fingertips drag over his forearms, before your hands found his wrists. You could feel his skin burning, damp from sweat, and his pulse was bounding against your touch, as if something was ready to snap beneath the surface. You curled your fingers around his wrists with deliberate gentleness, and leaned forward.

The light behind you turned gold for a moment–just a flare, like the universe was echoing the chaos inside him. Then the shadows returned, and it was just you in front of him, wrapped in heat and pulse and light. Then your scent hit him–it wasn’t perfume in the traditional sense. Not heavy. It was perfectly you.

It was citrus first–sharp, bright, alive. Like cracked-open blood orange rinds in summer. Zest clinging to skin. Tangy and awakening. Then came the softer notes. Something warmer underneath. A trace of sugar and salt and skin–like sunlight on bare shoulders and the faintest whisper of crushed mint leaves. It was dizzying. It was you. The way you always smelled when you were flushed and warm and a little too close. Bob inhaled like he was starved of it, and Sentry sucked it in like it gave him a new life source.

Then you leaned even closer.

Your body was just shy of touching him, but he felt the heat of you radiating off your skin. Like you were burning through your dress, through the space between you. He could see the outline of your shoulder rising and falling with each breath–too fast. Just like his.

Then–your voice.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was spoken directly into the space beside his neck, close enough that he could feel the shape of the words before he could understand them. Your breath was warm, and carried the scent of alcohol on it–sweet, sharp, sticky.

Pineapple juice. Cool and sugary. The bite of cheap tequila clinging to the edge. And something cooler than that–mint, from whatever cocktail you’d been nursing. It made the air between you feel electric.

“Come with me,” You said, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear, voice low, tight. Bob’s pulse stuttered. His mouth parted on instinct, like he wanted to say your name, or please, or thank you, or yes, but nothing came out.

Only a nod.

His whole body moved like it wasn’t his own–shoulders curving toward you, the heat in his veins recalibrating, his spine straightening just enough to stand.

You didn’t let go of his wrist as you pulled him through the crowd.

He followed behind like a shadow tethered to your spine–quiet, massive, burning with a light that wasn’t fully human. Every step sent heat crawling along your skin, your grip on him like a lifeline.

You moved fast, past the dance floor and toward the back hallway lined with faux-industrial brick and flickering sconces trying too hard to mimic candlelight. The music was muffled here, pulsing through the drywall like a heartbeat trapped behind ribs.

The private washroom door stood at the end of the hall–sleek, black, and marked with a gold “STAFF ONLY” plaque. You didn’t hesitate. Just reached for the handle, shoved it open, and dragged Bob in after you.

The door shut with a click that sounded louder than a gunshot. Then the lock turned under your fingers–decisive, final.

It was dim inside.

Not in the way that suggested filth or neglect–but in a way that almost felt…deliberate. The club had clearly spared no expense here. There were soft amber bulbs tucked behind frosted glass sconces, casting a faint, honeyed glow that made the marble counters shimmer faintly. The walls were a deep slate gray, matte and textured, broken only by a massive, ornately framed mirror that stretched across the length of the main wall above the sink. The countertop was pristine, black quartz polished to a gleam. A vase of dried eucalyptus sat beside the soap, filling the air with a clean, herbal sharpness that cut through the lingering sweat and smoke on your skin.

The moment you turned to face him, Bob was already braced near the sink, one hand gripping the edge like he needed it to keep standing. His chest was heaving. The golden veins beneath his skin were glowing more than ever–flickering like wire left too long in the fire.

You crossed the room, slow but steady, until you were standing just in front of him–barely breathing–with a bit of space between the two of you so you weren’t crowding him.

“What the hell is going on with you tonight?” Your voice was a mix of caution and heat. Not cold. Not scolding. But demanding in a way only someone who knows the truth of a person could manage.

Bob didn’t answer. His eyes flicked up to yours, and for a second, it wasn’t just him.

It was both of them. Bob and Sentry.

That glow behind his irises was too alive. Too bright. His jaw was locked, his pulse hammering visibly in his throat, the cords in his neck drawn tight like wires on the verge of snapping. When he didn’t speak, you stepped closer.

“I thought we agreed,” You said, softly. “We said it was a bad idea. That it could ruin everything.”

Bob finally opened his mouth, but the voice that came out was not fully his.

“That wasn’t my agreement.” His tone was deeper. Not menacing, but vast. Like something old and radiant had peeled up from beneath the surface of his soul. His shoulders twitched like he was trying to contain something stretching underneath his skin.

You stared at him, mouth parted slightly.

“I didn’t get a say,” Sentry added through him, his tone thick with restrained hunger. “He locked me out of that conversation. Said it wasn’t safe. Said you deserved better than both of us. But I’ve been watching him crumble over you every night since…And it’s not fair to me that I need to watch that when I have no choice but to follow whatever he says!” Bob jerked his head slightly, like he was trying to shake the voice off, but you saw it–the way his pupils dilated, the way his hand on the counter tightened until the stone cracked faintly under his palm.

“That guy–” Bob’s voice finally surfaced, raw and hoarse. “T-The way he touched you–your waist–your shoulder–” His throat bobbed. “I couldn’t breathe.”

You stepped closer to him, still not enough to invade his space.

“I wasn’t going to do anything with him.”

“That doesn’t matter,” He croaked. “Y-You were smiling like that. You were laughing. Not at my words. A-And he got to touch you.” His hands curled, trembling, and you realized then: he wasn’t angry at you. He was in agony.

“Bob…” You breathed.

“I told myself I could handle this. I thought–I thought staying away w-would make it easier,” He whispered, forehead bowing like he was seconds away from collapse. “But then I s-saw you tonight, and you were just–fucking perfect–and all I could think was how badly I-I wanted to touch you. Not Sentry. Not the god. Just me.”

Your breath hitched.

The air in the room shifted–less like breathlessness now, and more like a burn. A shared ache. The kind you only ever get from not touching someone you need.

“You think I don’t want you too?” You whispered, eyes locked on his, not daring to move. “You think that was easy for me either? You think I don’t go back to my room every night and have to lie in a bed that smells like you from your laundry detergent leaking into my sheets?” Bob’s breath hitched–his whole chest trembling with it. His lips parted like he might say something, but he didn’t. He just stared at you with that look. Like you were the only thing keeping him stitched together. Like if he blinked, you might vanish.

Your next breath barely made it out. “I want you. Even when I try not to. Even when I say I don’t.” There was a long pause in the room, just the sound of your breaths and the thumping bass of the music outside the enclosure of the washroom.

Then suddenly, Bob moved.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t even rough. But it was immediate. Like something inside him snapped loose and came tearing to the surface. His hands were on your face in less than a second—big and hot and trembling at the edges. One cupped your cheek, the other cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as his forehead dipped to yours. The air between you ignited.

And then he kissed you.

It was not sweet.

It was not soft.

It was desperate–an open-mouthed, spine-scorching, knee-buckling kind of kiss that tasted like panic and longing and gold-lit hunger all poured into one unsteady breath. His mouth slanted over yours like he was trying to carve your shape into his bones, like he was afraid he’d never get another chance. And God, he kissed like he needed you to keep existing–like he’d die if he didn’t.

You gasped into it, just once–surprised not by the kiss, but by the heat behind it–and the second your knees gave a tremble under your heels, Bob caught you.

He growled low against your mouth, not Sentry, not quite Bob–just that middle place where desire lives. His arm locked around your waist, and he spun you with frightening ease. Your back hit the cool edge of the quartz sink counter, and then his hands were everywhere–gripping your hips, dragging them flush to his, his fingers digging into the hem of your dress like he couldn’t figure out whether to lift it or tear it.

You moaned into his mouth–quiet, bitten off–and he groaned back, kissing you harder, deeper, messier.

It was sloppy. Wet. Your lips sliding together again and again as your breaths came sharp and heated. His tongue brushed yours and it felt like fire jumped between your ribs. You couldn’t even think. You were clinging to his shirt like it was the only thing holding you upright.

Bob pulled back just a fraction–just enough to pant against your lips, his breath catching on every syllable.

“You’re not stopping me,” He whispered, voice shredded with disbelief, “You’re not telling me to stop–”

You kissed him again before he could finish, grabbing his jaw, tilting him into you, dragging your teeth across his bottom lip as his hips pressed tighter against yours. And God, the way he reacted–his fingers twitching against your waist, his hips stuttering forward like he couldn’t help himself.

“G-God,” He hissed, and the heat of it pulsed out of him like an aftershock.

His hands dropped to the backs of your thighs, slowly despite the chaos. His palms swept up your legs–warm, wide, shaking–until he was holding you just beneath the curve of your ass. Then he lifted. You gasped as he hoisted you effortlessly up onto the counter, the cold stone biting against your skin through the dress, the sensation making your spine arch.

Bob stepped between your knees and immediately pressed himself against you again, lips finding yours in a kiss so deep it tilted your head back. His hand slid up the column of your neck, cradling your jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath your ear like he needed to memorize every inch of you.

And then–he moaned.

Not loud, but raw. Pained. Like the taste of you was killing him and healing him at the same time. His tongue swept into your mouth, slow and slick, and your hands tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan again–deeper this time, almost guttural.

His hips rocked once into yours, slow and hot, grinding into the space between your thighs, and you gasped against his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders. It felt like every part of him was begging for contact, like he was trying to melt into your skin. His fingertips dug into your waist as he pressed his hips forward again, slower this time, savouring the way your body responded to him, how your thighs widened even more to cradle his body.

Your fingers untangled from his hair, reached down to curl your fingers around the wrist of the hand that held your waist, guiding him toward the skin of your thigh, skin to skin–your dress had ridden up high enough that he could feel the heat of you radiating through the minimal barrier you still wore. His breath caught. You pulled back from the kiss just enough to whisper.

”Touch me.” The syllables broke him open immediately. He didn’t ask if you were sure. Bob’s hand slid upward–slow, shaking–and then it was there. The pad of his fingers brushed the damp, sheer fabric stretched over your aching core, and he gasped so sharply his forehead thudded softly against yours.

“Oh–God–” He whispered, voice breaking on the edges. “You’re already–J-Jesus, you’re so wet.”

You whined, head tilting back slightly, lips brushing his jaw, and Bob nearly lost it right then.

“Is it for me?” He breathed, fingers still resting there, just barely pressing into the heat between your legs. His voice trembled, and it wasn’t just Bob anymore. Sentry laced every syllable with awe and hunger.

“Tell me it’s for me,” He begged.

You nodded, lashes fluttering, as heat crept up onto your cheeks. “Always for you.”

He let out a noise–half groan, half prayer–and his hand moved. Gentle at first, like he was afraid to break you. His thumb found your clit through the soaked fabric, rubbing in slow, languid circles. Just enough pressure to tease, not enough to satisfy. Your thighs tensed around his hips, your fingers curling into his shirt.

“Oh my god, Bob–”

That shattered him.

His mouth dropped to your neck, open and hot, breath thick against your pulse as he worked you with growing intensity. He mouthed at your skin–kissed and nipped his way up to the underside of your jaw while his fingers kept moving, pressing deeper now, sliding the soaked fabric aside with a gentle kind of desperation. His fingertips met your slick heat, and the soft, wet sound of it made him moan like he was being touched instead of you.

“Y/N,” He rasped, “You’re d-dripping… I h-haven’t even done anything to you yet–Jesus”

He slipped two fingers between your folds, not inside–just gliding through the mess you’d already made for him. His thumb resumed its rhythm on your clit, and your whole body jolted in response, a soft cry leaving your lips. Bob was panting.

“I wanna drop to my knees. I wanna taste you. Right here. Right now. Please.” The words were guttural. Frantic. Worshipful. Sentry was behind them, clawing upward like holy fire, but Bob was still there–guiding him with restraint, grounded by the weight of your body in his hands.

You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him towards you, crashing your mouth into his again. He kissed you like he was drowning and your breath was the only oxygen that could save him.

Without breaking the kiss, without warning, two of his fingers slipped inside you–slow, thick, and deliberate.

You gasped into his mouth–sharp and shuddering–your spine bowing against the sink as your thighs clamped tighter around his hips. The stretch made your legs tremble. You fluttered around him, hot and soaked and so desperate for him it almost hurt.

Bob groaned like the feel of you was enough to knock him out cold.

“Oh–God,” He hissed against your mouth, his forehead dropping to yours as he stilled his hand for just a moment, overwhelmed by how tight and wet you were. “Jesus Christ… You’re so perfect inside. So warm–clenching around me like you need it.”

His fingers curled inside you.

You moaned–loud and broken–your body jerking in his grip. The sound echoed in the marble and tile of the washroom, obscene and beautiful.

“Y-Yes,” You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder blades, “Don’t stop–Bob–please don’t stop–”

His mouth kissed down your jaw, hot and open, and his other hand slid up your throat–giving it a gentle squeeze, holding you steady like he didn’t trust anything else in the room to support you. His fingers began to move inside you–deep and slow, keeping them curled just right, searching for that perfect spot. His thumb stayed at your clit, rubbing in firm, tight circles, coaxing more slick from your body with every grind of his palm. Every stroke was deliberate. Precise. Designed to make you fall apart for him.

“So good for me,” he breathed against your neck, his voice cracking with need, “So fucking pretty like this. Dripping for me, clenching around me—fuck, baby, you’re singing for it.”

You whimpered again, your thighs shaking.

“I knew you’d be like this,” He groaned, thrusting his fingers deeper, harder now, the wet sounds of it nearly enough to make you come on their own. “So fucking sensitive. I bet you could come just like this–on my hand–if I kept going. You want that? You wanna soak my fingers?”

You couldn’t even speak. You nodded, breath hitching, your mouth open in a silent plea.

Sentry surfaced again in his voice–darker, deeper, reverent.

“She was made for this,” He growled from behind Bob’s teeth. “For us. Look at how she falls apart–so soft for us. So fucking holy between her legs–”

Bob kissed your cheekbone, your temple, your jaw, between every ragged syllable, his fingers never stopping their rhythm, driving deeper, stroking harder.

“I’d worship you every day if you let me,” He whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “I’d wake you up with my mouth, I’d pray at your thighs–I’d give up the sky if it meant I could die with you wrapped around my fingers like this.”

Your breath hitched violently, knowing it was still Sentry projecting through Bob’s mouth.

He kissed the hinge of your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth, his thumb pressing firmer against your clit as he felt you start to pulse harder around him.

“Y-You’re close, aren’t you?” He panted, his voice breathless and holy, “I can feel it. God, I-I can feel it. Let go for me, Y/N. Let go–come for us–please.”

And with a soft, choked sob, you did.

You shattered around his hand, back arched, mouth parted in a desperate cry as your orgasm slammed through you like a wave of white-hot electricity. Your walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers as your thighs shook and your hands clawed for purchase against his shoulders, his chest–him.

Bob groaned like your orgasm was something he could feel.

He didn’t pull away.

He kept his fingers deep inside you, slowly working you through it, coaxing every last tremor from your body with soft murmurs against your throat.

“That’s it…You’re such a good girl.” He rasped. The voice had shifted–richer now. Darker. It vibrated behind your ear like a drumbeat made of light and thunder. Reverent. Possessive. Starved.

Sentry, of course it was him.

You barely had time to react before his hand slowly slipped free from you–slick, trembling, and soaked. You gasped as he dragged his fingers up, just enough for the cool air to kiss your wetness and make your thighs twitch. And then–

He lifted them to his lips.

He licked you off himself with obscene patience, tongue flattening to savor the taste, eyes fluttering shut for just a second like he was drinking in divinity.

A low, broken moan rumbled in his chest. “Mmm–fuck, you taste like you were made for me.”

When his eyes opened again, they weren’t just Bob’s anymore.

Still blue–but ringed in a molten glow so vivid it felt like looking at the edge of the sun. Gold flecked and shimmering. Two forces inside one gaze, breathing in sync. Worship and hunger, restraint and ruin.

Both of them.

“You feel that?” He murmured, pressing his forehead to yours as his still-wet fingers traced the curve of your jaw, smearing your slick along your cheek like a mark. “That was you. That light in me. That burn. You’re what keeps us sane.” Another kiss–softer, gentler, but so hot it made your breath hitch.

“I need more,” Sentry groaned, voice rasping like smoke and lightning. “I need to taste it from the source.”

You swallowed thickly, still panting, your thighs twitching as aftershocks rolled through you. He kissed the corner of your mouth again, and then dropped his lips to your throat, mouthing at your pulse point as he whispered, “Help me. Help me take these off you.”

Your panties.

His hands were already sliding beneath the hem of your dress, brushing along the backs of your thighs as he began to drag the soaked fabric of your underwear down inch by inch, reverent as a priest unwrapping holy cloth. It clung to you–drenched, ruined–and Sentry groaned when you lifted yourself up slightly so the fabric slipped past the curve of your ass. You wiggled around, as he slid the underwear off you completely, crumpling them up in his hand, like he was planning on holding them the entire time–or to steal them so he could have them as a keepsake to remember this night.

He dropped to his knees in front of you like a man possessed, the dress bunched up at your hips now, your bare thighs spread on either side of his broad shoulders.

The sight of him down there–gold-flecked eyes wide, flushed lips parted, hair wild from your hands–it was nearly enough to make you come again.

“You’re the altar,” Sentry said, voice low and trembling with need, “And I’m the fucking disciple.”

And then his mouth was on you.

No hesitation.

No teasing this time.

Just devotion.

His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your dripping slit, and he moaned–loudly–like he was finally allowed to breathe again. Then he latched onto your clit with a kind of desperate reverence, flicking it, sucking it, licking it in the exact rhythm he’d found with his fingers.

His hands slid up your thighs–warm and huge and trembling–and gripped your hips, holding you in place as he worshipped you with his mouth. Every movement, every wet sound echoed in the marble air. His groans blended with your broken moans, his tongue devouring you like he was starving.

You threw your head back, one hand flying to the counter behind you, the other tangling in his hair.

“Sentry–Bob–fuck…Both of you…Please–”You begged, panting like you were in heat. Your voice only fueled the hunger.

He growled into you, the vibration sending another jolt through your spine, and his hands tightened on your hips.

“I can’t get enough,” He groaned between strokes, voice wrecked and thick. “I could die here. Right between your thighs. Heaven and hell, all at once.”

You felt another orgasm building–fast, blinding–your breath catching with each wet circle of his tongue, each drag of his mouth over your clit, each filthy moan he spilled against your folds like worship.

And just before you shattered again, he looked up at you.

Eyes glowing gold. Lips soaked in you. His voice broke the last thread of restraint you had:

“Come for me again, goddess.”

And you did.

Violently. Beautifully. Every nerve ending setting alight with the crash.

You cried out his name–or maybe both their names–as the pleasure crashed through you, seizing your thighs around his head, dragging his mouth deeper as your body gave out.

But he didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, past it, deeper–drinking from the source like he’d promised, moaning like your taste rewrote his soul. When your body finally slumped against the mirror, still trembling, still slick and wide open for him, he rose slowly from his knees.

His lips were red. Glossed in your slick. His breath was heavy.

And when he leaned in again, cupping your face with one hand, you leaned into his touch like your neck had melted, jelly-soft and pliant beneath his palm. Your body still trembled in the aftermath of your orgasm–nerves frayed, thighs twitching, your breath a ghost of what it once was. His touch grounded you, burned you, and worshipped you all at the same time.

His gaze drank you in—lips wet, pupils blown wide and gold, voice dipped into something low and wicked as his mouth ghosted the edge of yours.

“What a great introduction, hm?” he murmured, the words dragging across your pulse like velvet-wrapped sin. “You’ve never really met me before… not like this.”

The tone in his voice was soft. Sweet, even. But beneath it was the weight of something divine. The kind of reverence that made your spine ache and your thighs twitch all over again. He kissed you before you could respond–slow and consuming, dragging the taste of yourself across your tongue as if to remind you what he’d just done.

You whimpered into it, and he smiled against your mouth, a low hum vibrating from his chest.

“But I’m not done yet,” He whispered into your lips–so soft, so sensual, it made you clench reflexively around nothing. His hand slid from your cheek to your throat again, not to grip–just to feel your pulse. To feel how hard it was racing beneath his palm.

“I’ve barely begun to show you what it’s like,” He added, nuzzling his mouth along your jaw, the edge of your ear. His voice was molten honey, golden and dripping into every breath. “To be worshipped by a god.”

His hand on your thigh curled inward again, slowly dragging up the bare, damp skin until his fingers slid between your folds once more. You gasped, your hips twitching against the marble counter as he stroked you lazily, like he was testing to see just how sensitive you were now. His lips ghosted over your jaw, kissing along your cheek until he reached your temple.

“You’re shaking again,” He murmured, tongue peeking out to taste the salt-sweet sweat clinging to your skin. “You gonna fall apart for me one last time, sunshine? Hm?”

You nodded without hesitation, breathless and dazed.

“Good,” He breathed, curling his fingers over your thigh again, dragging your legs open wider. You were still trembling when your hand reached down between your bodies, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

He hissed quietly, the sound a shudder against your skin as you worked it open. The clink of the metal was deafening in the quiet of the washroom. You felt the tension in his body ripple the moment the leather slid free of the clasp—his hips pressing forward involuntarily as you popped the button of his jeans.

“W-We’re still in the club,” you whispered against his mouth, panting lightly, tasting yourself on his tongue. “People are gonna wonder where we are… I–we should deal with this and then go home. You can fuck me properly at the compound. I’ll let you take me apart in the shower. You’ll have me screaming your name all night, Bob, I promise–”

But he shook his head before you could finish.

One hand came up and cupped the side of your face, the other curled under your thigh again, holding you open with trembling reverence. He leaned in–kissed you hard, deep, so full of hunger it felt like he wanted to swallow your words down and burn them into ash.

“No,” He breathed against your lips. “No more waiting. We’ve waited long enough.” You felt the bulge in his jeans throb against your thigh as he growled, low and full of restrained power.

“I’m gonna fill you right here,” He whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, then lower–your cheek, your throat, your collarbone–every word pressed into your skin like a brand. “I’m gonna fuck you so slow and so deep, you’ll be leaking with me when you walk back out into that club.” His fingers brushed your jaw again, holding you steady, trembling. “And you won’t be able to do a thing about it.” You gasped as he said it, your fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxers, finding the velvet heat of him–hard, pulsing, so heavy in your hand.

“I’ll make you wait to clean up,” He murmured, kissing beneath your ear now, voice dark and golden, “Let you walk around soaked in me until we get back to the compound. Then I’ll take you again in the shower. I’ll fuck you slow under the water with your thighs shaking around my hips, and I’ll do it just to remind you…”

He kissed you–hard. Deep. With teeth clacking together, and tongues battling, before pulling back.

“…Who you belong to now.”

The words sent a sharp, hot pulse through your spine.

You could barely breathe.

He nudged his jeans down just enough, and you helped–sliding the fabric down over his hips with frantic hands until he was free. The thick length of him brushed your thigh, hot and pulsing, and when you looked down, your breath caught.

The tip glistened in the light from the pre-cum dripping out of it, the head was flushed a blush red as if it was dying to be inside you. He looked unreal–godlike–and you were dizzy from the sight of him alone.

Your thighs spread wider, instinctive. Wanton.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” He whispered hoarsely, his hand gripping the base of himself, guiding the tip to your slick folds. “So many fucking nights. I thought I’d die with the taste of you on my tongue and never get to feel this.”

And then–slowly–he pressed in.

The stretch made your breath catch, your spine arch, your thighs tighten. He was careful. Controlled. Like the act of entering you was a ceremony. You whimpered, body pulsing around him as the thick head of his cock breached your entrance, and then more. Inch by glorious inch. So slow it hurt. So perfect it made your eyes sting.

“Dear l-lord…” Bob groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the sensitive flesh there. “You’re–God–you’re gripping me like you were made for this…” You cupped his jaw, pulled his face up to look at you as he sank deeper, until your bodies were fully joined. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

And that’s when you saw it.

His eyes.

The constant battle.

Blue–bright, tender, full of reverent awe. But flickering beneath? Gold. Liquid fire. Sentry. The god…Aching for more. Needing to lose control again. And for a moment–just one–Bob blinked like he was trying to hold them both together for you.

“Bob…” You whispered, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks. “I see you.”

He choked on a breath. His hips rolled, slow and trembling, dragging himself out an inch before sliding back in–smooth, deep, deliberate. His eyes fluttered shut and then open again, barely able to hold your gaze. You cupped his face tighter, grounding him. His body shook with restraint.

“You’re both here,” You moaned, barely audible. “And I want all of it.”

Bob groaned into your mouth and kissed you–so slow this time. Like he was memorizing the shape of your lips with his own. Then his hips began to move again. Long, fluid strokes. Deep, sensual. Every grind sent heat coiling through your belly, and every time he slid inside you, the air in your lungs thinned.

Your legs wrapped around his hips.

Your hands held his face like prayer.

And his thrusts grew stronger.

Still aching.

But with that edge.

That divine, desperate edge.

The god was surfacing through every roll of his hips, every whispered groan, every broken syllable of your name. You could feel it in the way he filled you–perfectly. Over and over. Each time deeper. Each time just a little more heated. His body coiled like a storm, the breath behind his moans glowing brighter with every thrust.

“Mine,” He groaned, forehead pressed to yours, “You’re mine. Always been mine…”

You nodded, clinging to him. “Yours.”

His hands gripped your hips tighter.

And the light in the room began to flicker.

As if the whole club could feel what was happening in the dark.

In the holy quiet, where gods and mortals broke together.

His thrusts became less measured–still deep, still slow, but trembling at the edges with something close to ruin. The kind of surrender that came from months of restraint finally breaking. Each roll of his hips ground deeper into you, filling you so completely you swore you could feel him in your chest. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting echoed in the marble air, obscene and beautiful.

You clung to him, fingers dug into the muscles of his back, your thighs tightening around his hips with every thrust. Your foreheads pressed together. Noses brushed. Breaths mingled.

And then his mouth found yours again.

You gasped into it–sharp and high as a particularly deep thrust hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl–and Bob moaned into your mouth like it tore something sacred from him. His tongue slipped between your lips, slick and hungry, tasting you with a reverence that made your chest ache.

You kissed him back like you were trying to memorize every second.

Tongue against tongue. Teeth catching lips. Moans swallowed between gasps.

“Y-Y/N,” He groaned, barely audible. “You feel so good. So fucking good around me–so tight. You’re pulling me in like you want to keep me forever.”

“I do,” You whimpered, voice cracking with need. “I want to keep you. All of you.”

And that broke something in him.

His thrusts deepened–slower, but harder now. Grinding into you so completely you could barely breathe. The counter beneath you shook. The mirror behind your spine rattled faintly with each rhythm, like even the room couldn’t hold this kind of heat.

You could feel him trembling–every muscle drawn tight beneath your hands, his hips beginning to stutter with every roll forward. His breath came out in harsh bursts against your cheek, and when he buried his face in the crook of your neck again, he let out the rawest moan you’d ever heard from him.

“I’m close,” He gasped. “Y/N–I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fill you–fuck–I wanna know that you’re going to be dripping me all night.”

You cried out, tightening around him. Your own orgasm was on the brink again–high, searing, right there at the edge.

“Do it,” You begged, voice breaking. “Come inside me, Bob. Please–need to feel it. Need to feel you lose control.”

His hips faltered–just once–and he groaned through gritted teeth, his body coiled like it couldn’t decide whether to detonate or dissolve.

And then–he reached between you again, his thumb finding your clit one last time.

“Come with me,” he whispered, voice burning gold and low and full of promise. “Let go, sunshine. Let go with me.”

You clung to him. Kissed him.

And you shattered.

Your cry tore from your mouth and into his as he kissed you again–hot, open, gasping. Your orgasm hit hard and fast, convulsing through your body as your walls squeezed around him like you never wanted to let him go.

And that’s when he followed.

His hips stuttered, slammed in deep one last time, and then he was moaning into your mouth–loud, guttural, his tongue still tasting you as he spilled inside you. You felt every thick, hot pulse of him, the way his body shook against yours, how he trembled through it like the pleasure was too much, too full, too holy.

You stayed like that.

Locked together.

Mouths still joined, breath shallow, bodies twitching in the aftermath.

When he finally pulled back just an inch, his lips ghosted over yours. His forehead dropped against yours again, and you felt him shake–every exhale breaking against your cheeks.

”J-Jesus…I-I think I was blacking out during that.” Bob laughed softly–still breathless, still inside you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck like it was the only place he knew how to breathe. You could feel him twitch inside you, still hard, still so achingly present even in the aftermath of all that heat. His breath was warm and sticky against your throat.

You laughed, too–just a little–low and shaken but real.

“I couldn’t tell who was in control,” you murmured, dragging your fingers gently through the sweaty strands at the back of his neck. “Hopefully he’s not mad I called him Bob.”

Bob pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, lips curling in a crooked grin that barely held together at the corners. He kissed you once–soft, quick, like a punctuation mark–before resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sure h-he doesn’t care,” He said, voice hoarse and honey-warm, “He’s definitely shut his mouth now…H-He’s been talking my ear off all night. Especially when you were with that guy.”

You smirked, brushing your thumb along the curve of his cheek. “Sentry… The god of jealousy.”

Bob hummed a low, amused sound in his throat. “We were both jealous. He just…H-Has a really bad w-way of handling it.”

Then he turned slightly–still inside you, and you gasped at the movement—his body shifting as he reached out and slapped the silver button on the paper towel dispenser with the side of his palm. The mechanical whir filled the room in a way that felt both hilarious and wildly surreal.

“What are you doing?” You asked, brows furrowed in amused disbelief. Bob grinned, pressing a kiss to your neck, then leaned forward again to turn the faucet on with one hand.

“Making sure we don’t stain that pretty little dress,” He murmured, grabbing the paper towel and wetting it under the warm water. “It’s p-probably already ruined…But we shouldn’t make it worse, and w-we should at least do some damage control on it…I’ll pay for the d-dry cleaning.”

You laughed–really laughed this time–and he smiled into your skin like it was the best sound he’d ever heard. Bob gently wrung out the warm paper towel over the sink, his body still braced between your thighs, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. The faucet murmured behind him as he turned it off, and the only other sound was the distant thud of club music vibrating faintly through the floorboards beneath your heels.

Then he leaned back slightly, his hands moving to rest lightly on your hips as he looked down between your bodies to assess the aftermath.

He sucked in a quiet breath, eyes narrowing slightly. “Huh.”

You blinked at him, trying not to laugh. “What?”

Bob tilted his head, considering. “It’s not t-too bad,” He said, voice still rough and fond, “But I might have to ask you to c-clench a bit when I pull out–just so I can press this t-there and stop the cum from dripping out before you get your underwear on.”

Your brows lifted. “Sounds like a plan…Speaking of my underwear though…Where are they?”

Bob glanced around like he was replaying the last thirty minutes in his head, then leaned over your shoulder and reached for something just behind the soap dispenser.

“T-Thought they got lost,” He muttered with sheepish relief as he picked up the damp, balled-up fabric, still slightly warm from your skin. “Thank goodness t-that’s not the case… Would’ve been pretty bad if it w-was.”

You bit back a grin, your voice teasing. “Would’ve had to walk back out to the club bare underneath this dress, huh?”

Bob groaned softly, burying his face in your neck for a beat. “Don’t t-tempt me.” Then he pulled back again, lips brushing your cheek as he met your eyes. “Ready?”

You nodded once, steady, and clenched instinctively around him–tight, holding him for one last second. Bob hissed quietly at the sensation, groaned, and then slowly, gently pulled out.

The loss of him made you gasp–a subtle ache, a sudden emptiness–but he was already moving, already bringing the warm, damp towel between your thighs with a kind of reverent tenderness that made your breath hitch. His touch wasn’t clinical or rushed. It was slow. Careful. Like he was scared he’d hurt you if he moved too fast.

You watched him.

Watched the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth as he wiped you clean with the warm wet paper towel. It brushed between your folds with gentle pressure, catching his release as it began to spill out of you. He dabbed and swept delicately, making sure not to press too hard, his other hand holding your hip, grounding both you and him to the moment.

And the whole time, he was glancing up at you, watching your face–checking, silently, for any sign of discomfort.

Your chest swelled.

The intensity of it hit you like a fourth climax, softer this time–emotional instead of physical. This was Bob. Always Bob. The way he cared, the way he noticed, the way he never made you feel like you were too much.

You reached up, both hands rising to cradle his jaw as he finished, and his gaze flicked up to you just in time for your mouth to catch his.

You kissed him slowly–no hunger, no urgency. Just tenderness. Just that aching, quiet thing that had been living in both of you for months.

When you pulled back, your voice was hushed, but it carried all the weight of truth behind it.

“So…” You whispered, brushing your thumb over the very very light stubble along his jaw, “I guess we’re throwing that whole ‘no dating for the team’ thing out the window, huh?” Bob’s lips curled into the softest smile, something crooked and reverent and completely undone.

“S-Seems like it,” He murmured.

And then he kissed you again–gold-lit, warm, and entirely his.

3K notes · View notes

scarletmika · 1 month ago

Text

Let Me In : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

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

Summary: Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

Warnings: angst, fluff, acquaintances to friends to lovers, some language, mentions of death, SPOILERS for Endgame and Thunderbolts*

Word Count: 4,603 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

“You’re leaving me off the mission?”

The bite in your voice wasn’t surprising to anyone, they’d all become used to it over the last few weeks since settling into the Tower (per Valentina’s request). Yelena, Ava, and John were plenty used to the attitude that rolled off you, having had it since the second they’d met you down in that vault, eyes wide as they got a good look at your face and realized who exactly they were trapped underground with.

“It’s nothing personal-”

“Just like my grandparents’ deaths, right, Barnes?” you’d sneered, jabbing your finger into his chest, barely shoving him back a centimeter. The tension in the room was clear, the hurt that flashed across Bucky’s eyes gone in a second, as he took hold of your wrist and removed your hand from him.

“You aren’t a child anymore, Stark, quit acting like one,” the tone of Bucky’s voice had dropped considerably after your comment. Hands at your sides, clenched into fists, Bucky turned around to address Alexei, John, Ava, and Yelena, ignoring you. “Should only take a day, maybe two, for this one. Slight recon needed, then it’s get in and get out as quickly as possible. Wheels up in twenty.”

This was the second time in the last month, since being officially stationed in the tower as The New Avengers, that Bucky had left you off of missions. You were plenty capable of taking care of yourself, with and without your suit, and yet he’d found excuses somehow to claim you weren’t needed. Your resentment was growing toward the super soldier, who still somehow saw you as the young girl he’d met back in 2016 instead of the capable young woman you were now.

You’d been through enough shit in life, you were plenty capable of whatever missions Valentina had assigned your team.

The jet had taken off for the assigned location just an hour prior, and the bitterness had seeped through every part of you by now. The kitchen was silent, except for the quiet music playing off of your cell phone on the counter, as you hacked away at the vegetables on the cutting board in front of you.

“Did…those t-tomatoes do something to you?”

The knife in your hands clattered to the countertop before you, sucking in a breath at the voice behidn you. You whipped around to face the kitchen doorway that led out into the main hallway, exhaling and trying to calm your erratically beating heart.

“Shit, Bob! Don’t scare a woman wielding a knife…or sneak up on a woman in general!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he held his hands up in innocence, taking a few cautious steps into the kitchen before tentatively sliding himself into one of the bar stools at the island counter. You shook your head at him, picking the knife back up and continuing to prepare the dinner. “I-I didn’t mean to scare you, I j-just saw you very…angrily chopping tomatoes.”

“You didn’t scare me, you just came close to having a knife lodged in whatever part of your body I might manage to hit,”

If you asked anyone on the team, they’d say that Bob was the only one you were at least semi-friendly to most of the time. At least, he was the only one you hadn’t thrown sarcastic and borderline rude comments toward at any point in time since meeting that day in the vault. And it wasn’t that you talked either, or that you considered him a friend, because you didn’t. None of them were your friends, they were simply your coworkers.

Bob was the only one, though, with a chance of holding a conversation with you without leaving with a bruised ego.

“That would hurt,” Bob had meant it as a joke, though his awkward delivery wasn’t doing it any favors. You glanced up at him for a second, raising an eyebrow, as he fidgeted, realizing his joke hadn’t landed how he wanted it to. “Why uh, why aren’t you on the mission?”

“I wasn’t invited,”

“But you’re, like, more of an Avenger than any of us-”

“Don’t call me that,” there was an edge to your voice as you looked up at him this time, pointing the knife in his direction. That sharp edge you’d taken on faltered as you saw Bob slink back in on himself, letting out a deep breath and resuming the chopping of your vegetables, looking away from him for a moment. Bob didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that. Just…just don’t call me that. Please.”

Bob hesitated for a second, watching you focus diligently on the task at hand, before speaking again.

“W-why?”

Bob saw the way your hand froze, the faraway look that seemed to enter your gaze, as if you were stuck in your own mind, stuck in memories you’d never wanted to relive. You’d already done that once, to save Bob’s life, and you didn’t want to do it again.

“My father was the Avenger…not me,” your gaze drifted back up to Bob as you placed the knife down on the counter, gripping the edges in your hands. “Look, Bob, we’ve all got regrets. We’ve all done bad things, but me? I had no reason to become what I did. I…he was a hero, not me. Now, if you’re done playing twenty questions, come help me prepare dinner so we don’t starve without the rest of them.”

He’d done as you asked, albeit hesitantly at first, joining you at your side. You turned on the stove, directing him to simply watch the water and put the box of noodles in once it was boiling. You, in turn, went back to the vegetables before you, chopping away.

There was silence in the kitchen between you both, which was unsurprising to either of you. Neither of you talked much to one another, but that wasn’t on purpose. Most days, you were holed up in the lab that you’d essentially forced Valentina to add to the tower for you, getting most of your social interaction from speaking to FRIDAY all day.

Bob never really got the chance to talk to you…but he wanted to. He heard the way the others spoke about you, but he didn’t want to believe it. You’d thrown yourself in harm's way to protect him multiple times when escaping the vault, you’d jumped into the endless rooms of shame to save him from himself. Bob knew there was no way you were as terrible as the others made it seem at times.

“N-nice shirt,”

It seemed that Bob had decided to end the silence between you both, finally. You glanced down at the old Black Sabbath t-shirt you were wearing, the way the ends reached almost to your knees, fitting you more like a dress than a shirt.

“Was my dad’s,” you commented back, taking a quick glance back at him before adding the chopped tomatoes into the salad bowl in front of you. “You know, if you’re trying to play twenty questions with me, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to get a turn.”

Bob froze for a second at the stove, unsure if you actually meant that you were in fact playing along with this little game that he hadn’t really meant to start.

“U-uh right, right…you can ask me something?”

“Okay…why are you so interested in me?”

Your eyes were on him, eyebrows raised in question as you walked past him to grab something else from the fridge to add into your salad bowl.

“Oh, I uh, I just…” Bob stumbled along, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Walker, he uh…he sometimes calls you mean. Or a hardass.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

There wasn’t much in your tone to give away any feelings you might have had, but Bob caught it. That small hint of vulnerability, that small inflection in your voice that suggested you did care what others thought about you. As someone who cared deeply about what others thought of him, Bob knew it when he heard it.

“I-I think they just don’t know you,”

You huffed, shaking your head as you walked past him again.

“And you do?”

“No…but i-if Walker thinks you’re mean then y-you can’t be all that bad. He deserves it,”

There was silence for a moment before you let out another huff, this time laced with laughter. Bob was frozen for a second, never having actually heard you laugh before, until you turned to him with a small smirk on your face.

You looked just like your father like that.

“I underestimated you, Bob, you’ve got jokes,” you nodded, gesturing him to your side to help you. He followed your movements, holding onto the salad bowl while you added in the dressing and olives you’d grabbed out of the fridge moments before. “You want to know me? Really know me, Bob?”

“Yeah, I…I do,”

“Then you should know that I hate it here,” the water was boiling on the stove now, so you quickly walked past him, dumping in the noodles and giving it a stir. “I don’t want to be here.”

“W-with the team?”

“In this tower,” he’d followed your hand movements as you gestured around the room. “This was his, then it was theirs, and now it’s supposed to be ours. They can call us the Avengers all they want, but we aren’t them. We’ll never be them. This place is crawling with memories of my childhood, and after what I’ve done I just…I can’t be here.”

It was the most vulnerable you’d been with anyone on this new team of yours before. It was everything you’d been dying to get off your chest for so long now, and in front of Bob it was all simply pouring out now. He watched you, head cocked like a little puppy in a way that you couldn’t admit to yourself was kind of adorable.

“What…what did you do?”

“I lost it, Bob. Why do you think I was in that vault that day?” you laughed bitterly to yourself, shaking your head. “Throw enough grief on one person, and eventually they lose it. My mother, half the world, my friends, my father, the Avengers themselves. I snapped, and I tarnished my father’s legacy.”

“We’ve all done bad things…” Bob tried his best to comfort you with his words, but comforting someone else wasn’t something he was well adept at. “I-I don’t think anyone judges you for that. We’re…we’re all here for you.”

You eyed him for a moment, shaking your head with a short laugh as you moved past him.

“I think I’ve said enough. I’ve ruined my ‘bad girl’ reputation already enough tonight. Letting any of you in means caring about you, and I don’t do that anymore,”

Bob worried for a moment as you moved past him again, afraid that the little work he’d done in order to get you to talk to him was going down the drain in a second. His hand shot out, grabbing onto yours, as you spun to look at him the second your hands connected, as the room was bathed in black for a split second.

The scene around you both changed in an instant as Bob looked around, trying to discern where you both were now. You hadn’t even turned your head, but you knew where you were. You could smell the gunpowder and dust in the air, you could feel the heat that still trickled through the breeze.

The worst moment of your life played out right before Bob’s eyes.

Rhodey’s hand fell from his best friend’s face, and tears were already streaming down his cheeks. Tony Stark looked at him the best he could, the burns across his right side shooting pain through every inch of him, but he was too numb to it all to notice the pain.

“...dad?”

With every bit of strength he could muster, Tony’s head lulled back to the side, just as you’d dropped to your knees in front of him. Your armor was dirty, dented, and pieces of it were broken off. Dust and blood covered your face, splotches of it stained on the purple and gold of your suit, but none of that mattered as your armor-covered hands came up to hold your father’s face.

“Love…you…”

“Shhhhh, shhhh it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re fine,” you were hyperventilating now, trying desperately to hold in the sobs that threatened to claw their way up your throat. “It’s okay, I-I love you too, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay, daddy, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

Pepper’s hand was the one to grab your shoulder first, trying to back you away before you lost control of yourself. You cried out, clinging to your father, mumbling apologies over and over and over again in hopes that he’d hear you, that he’d believe them.

It took Steve Rogers to tug you away, to hold you in his arms as you sobbed violently, eyes never straying from your father as the light of his arc reactor finally went out, a hush coating the battlefield around you.

Bob was back in the tower suddenly, and you were still in front of him, hand still lying in his own. This time, though, there were silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Bob was shaking his head, lip quivering after realizing the weight of what had just happened. He’d done that, he’d brought you there, he’d made you relive the worst moment of your life. “I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t trying to- sometimes it just, it takes control and I-I can’t stop it-”

Your hand squeezed his, and you gave him a small smile even as you silently cried before him. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever been in front of any of them, but especially in front of Bob. he realized in that moment how beautiful you looked, even as you cried, and he wanted to make sure you never cried again.

“It’s okay, I know. I…I lost so much that day. I lost my dad, I lost Natasha, I lost Steve…and then I lost myself,” your other hand came up to wipe away your tears. “Eventually, you learn that if you just stop caring, if you stop letting people in, you can’t get hurt anymore. Other people learn that, too, once they see you’re just damaged goods.”

Bob’s fingers twitched around yours, around the hand still resting in his own that you didn’t seem to be moving anytime soon, as you watched you carefully.

“I…I had a girlfriend once. Before…all this,” Bob spoke softly, a faraway look in his eyes for a moment as he seemed to reflect on his memories. “I left her because I thought she deserved better than me. I-I was just some high school drop out, some meth addicted loser…damaged goods weighing her down. She deserved better than- than someone so-”

“Broken,” your whispered voice finished his sentence for him. “Someone so broken…who didn’t think they deserved anything good.”

It was unseen, but an understanding seemed to pass through both of you in that moment, a shared moment where you both seemed to realize just how much you maybe did have in common. That there was someone else who understood the battles you fought inside your own head.

There was silence for a few more moments, before you spoke up again, a crack evident in your voice as you tried to hold it steady.

“He left me…he left me, he left Pepper, he left my little sister, and I haven’t been able to pick up the pieces. He left me full of this darkness that just won’t go away…how selfish is that?”

Darkness. That word had Bob tilting his head, his grip on your hand tightening.

“Y-You can’t push the darkness down, you have to spend time together with others. It makes it lighter…Yelena taught me that,” Bob paused, but the small smile on your face encouraged him to continue. “I…I want to be there for you, i-if you’ll let me.”

You hadn’t said yes that night, but you also hadn’t said no. And the second the rest of the team arrived back from the mission two days later, they could feel something had shifted in the tower.

They walked on eggshells around you for a bit, before you shocked them by starting conversations with them yourself. Now, you hadn’t changed all that much, still carrying the signature Stark snark and witty comments in every conversation, but something about you seemed lighter. You didn’t bite their heads off in the same way as before, you even managed to laugh at their jokes from time to time.

Eventually, in the coming weeks, you’d even dragged yourself out of your lab and to the weekly movie nights that Alexei had insisted upon. All eyes followed you the second you’d joined them that night, but they didn’t question it for fear of you running off and changing your mind.

In all of the ways you’d changed, they’d noticed one more thing: you and Bob were almost conjoined at the hip. It didn’t matter the time of day or what either one of you was doing, but you were always together. And when you were together, there always seemed to be a smile on your face, one that mirrored his own.

Locked in your lab one day, focused on an idea you’d had to upgrade the blasters and rocket boot functions of your suit, you were in your own little world.

The suit was hanging from the ceiling above you as you slid around below the suit on a rolling board. AC/DC was, of course, blasting through the speakers as you worked, taking you back to the better moments you could remember, of sitting on a desk in the lab back in Malibu as you watched your father work, or even the moments you got to help him and Bruce in the tower.

Through the music and the noises of your own tools against, somehow you were able to make out the sound of a throat clearing. Sliding out from under your suit and throwing your protective goggles off, you smiled at the sight of Bob standing a few feet away, shooting you a shy smile.

“Made you dinner,”

“My hero,” you joked with him, climbing up to your feet to hop up on top of one of your work desks, happily taking the plate from him with the burger that lay upon it. “Careful, people will start getting ideas around here if you keep making me dinner.”

There was an instant flush to Bob’s cheeks at your words as you laughed, bumping your foot against his knee as he stood in front of you with his own plate, sending him a wink. He took a seat on the desk chair in front of you, turning to look up at the suit hanging beside you both.

“Whoa…I-I’ve never been down here while you’re working on this,”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” you were grinning to yourself, admiring your handiwork as Bob turned his attention to watch you instead. “This is a newer model than what you’ve seen. Decided it was time to take after dad and try out nano-tech instead, so far I quite like it.”

“Did he make you your first one?”

“Nah, I made that one in secret. About gave Pepper a heart attack one day when she walked into Dad’s lab and saw me with a blaster on my hand,” you watched him with a grin as he laughed at your story from your childhood. “Isn’t it movie night? Shouldn’t you be up there?”

Bob only shrugged, taking a bite of his own burger as he spoke through a mouth full of food.

“R-rather be with you,”

It wasn’t the first time that an off-handed comment from Bob had brought heat to your cheeks, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore those little moments.

“Why?”

Bob swallowed his food, looking at you and giving you just a small shrug, before placing his plate down next to you, getting up to take a closer look at your suit.

“That darkness…I have it too. Y-You make mine lighter,”

It was such a small comment, but the effect it had on you was profound. It knocked the wind out of you, it had the feelings you’d been trying to bury and ignore for weeks now threatening to crawl out of you and spill out into the open.

And through it all, Bob didn’t even realize how much lighter he was making your own darkness.

Bucky had seen the change the most out of the team, probably because your snark and attitude usually ended up directed toward him. He took it, he understood it. You needed someone to hate, and for the Stark family, he was an easy target.

“Hey…”

The super soldier was sitting alone at the kitchen island counter, flicking through mission files that had been sent over by Valentina. Behind him, the rest of the team sat in the common room as Alexei screamed out something about ‘NASCAR being the greatest American sport of all time.’

It was you who appeared across the counter from Bucky, shooting him a nervous smile. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, eyeing you curiously and cautiously.

“Hi…”

“I…owe you an apology,” you managed to say after a beat of silence. “For what I said weeks ago, before that mission. For the way I’ve been acting since…since that day. It’s not fair to you.”

“You were grieving. You needed someone to hate-”

“And it shouldn’t have been you,” you cut him off earnestly, and Bucky could see how hard it was for you to have this conversation, to be this vulnerable. “You didn’t kill my grandparents, HYDRA did, and I know that. I’ve always known that. You’ve been there for me since that day, checked in on me over the years, and I repaid you with being an ass.”

Bucky was, frankly, a bit stunned at your words. He’d never truly expected it, he was content to let you hate him for the rest of your life if it made you feel better inside.

“I mean, knowing your father…the behavior didn’t shock me,”

You laughed, shaking your head lightly.

“Yeah…yeah, he really knew how to be an asshole, didn’t he?”

“He did…but he was a good man. Thank you, though, it does mean a lot to hear you say it,” Bucky’s head cocked a bit to the side. “What’s made you have such a change of heart these last few weeks?”

The super soldier didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked past him for just a moment to the common room behind him, before returning back to give him your full attention.

“Because someone taught me that it’s okay to let people in, that it’s okay to care…that they can make that darkness feel a little lighter,”

Bucky knew exactly who you were talking about, and you knew that he did. His eyes glanced back over to the common room, focused in on Bob as he sat in a chair across from the rest of the team, laughing at yet another comment from Alexei.

“He’s good for you,”

“I know,” your voice came out as a whisper. “That’s what scares me.”

“You did bad things, kid,” Bucky said, grabbing the files from the counter and rising up. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve good things. Your dad would want you to be happy.”

Bucky’s words stayed with you the rest of that day, and there was a tiny little voice inside you that was beginning to believe them.

When you reentered your floor that night and walked into your bedroom, you weren’t surprised to see Bob waiting for you. It had become a nightly routine between you both, staying up and admiring the few stars that you could see in the sky through the New York City light pollution, talking about everything under the sun. It was comfortable, it was sweet, it made you feel at home to have someone like that in your life again.

Tonight, you were more nervous than anything.

“Hey! T-The stars are actually kind of bright tonight!”

You hummed, joining him by the large windows, glancing up at the sky for just a moment, but your gaze inevitably came back to Bob. You took in every detail of his face that you could, illuminated by the lights of the city reflecting through the window, and that bedside lamp you kept on every night to ward away the nightmares.

“Bucky said something to me earlier,”

Bob turned back to look at you instead of the sky, and almost instantly, he could feel the shift in the air. His nerves were suddenly on edge as he looked at you, the anxiety written across your own face as you watched him.

“What uh…what did he say?”

“That just because I did bad things,” your hand came up, moving one of those stubborn pieces of hair out of Bob’s face so you could see him clearly, not missing the sharp intake in his breath at the motion. “Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve good things, too.”

“H-He’s right…you deserve the world,”

There was a flutter in your chest at his words, one you’d tried to ignore for so long, but there was no ignoring it this time. You didn’t want to anymore, because maybe Bucky was right. Maybe you did deserve good things.

Your hand quickly cupped his cheek as you dragged him down to you, placing yourself on the tips of your toes, as you pressed your lips to his. It was sweet, it was hesitant, and there was a shake to your body as you tasted the sweet vanilla flavoring that coated the chapstick you’d seen him use everyday.

His hands tentatively found your waist, his grip firm but not overpowering, giving you enough freedom to back away fully if you needed to, if you wanted to, as he pressed back into the kiss.

It took every ounce of willpower you had to pull away, even for a split second, and Bob was already chasing back after you. The tip of his nose bumped with yours, his breath ghosting over your lips and fanning out across your skin, his hands gripping you just a little tighter for a moment. Your eyes were half fluttered closed, a breathy laugh escaping you in the moment as your hand found the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You terrify me, Robert Reynolds,” the whisper was just loud enough for both of you to hear in the quiet of the room. “I let you in, and now you occupy a space in my heart that I thought I’d keep closed off forever. You helped me pick up some of those pieces by just…being there, and if I lost you now too I…I don’t think there’d be any repairing it-”

Bob barely let you finish speaking before his lips were back on yours, as if he were a starved man and you were the first sip of water he’d taken in weeks. This kiss was harder, it wasn’t as gentle, it was desperate and messy and so awkward Bob had almost lost balance and sent you both toppling to the floor in a heap of laughter.

It was so him. And you adored him.

You’d let him in, and there was no way you were ever letting him back out.

1K notes · View notes

marvelouslymarly · 19 days ago

Text

I'm your Huckleberry [Bob Reynolds x female Thunderbolts!reader]

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x female thunderbolts!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Bob wants to surprise you with dinner but things go wrong, so the of you end up having a movie night instead (among other things xD)...

Rated: E for explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Requested? No

CW: angst (struggles with depression), fluff, half of this is smut MDNI ([are we even surprised at this point?] fingering, handjob, oral (female receiving), squirting, dry humping, unprotected piv (be responsible, peeps <3), denied orgasm, needy Bob (i kinda feel like, at this point, this is a given?)); as usual: mild spoiler warning for Thunderbolts*; second half of this is not beta-read...

Word count: 12.3k

[A/N: This took longer than expected, so...] feeback and reblogs appreciated!

You turned the water off and slid the glass screen open, stepping out of the shower. The cold air of the bathroom hit your body and made you regret not turning on the little space heater before. Quickly snatching the towel hanging on the rod next to the shower, you wrapped it around your body tightly before you wiped the condensation off the mirror to look at your reflection. The bruises from the last mission were gradually fading, turning all kinds of shades of brown, green and yellow, some still a little bluer than others. The tear in your bottom lip was slowly closing, the scab having come off during your shower, but there was still a faint pink line where the skin had split after the punch to your face. You had a few more wounds covering your body than before going on the mission, but you’d told yourself that they were nothing a few stitches and painkillers couldn’t fix.

The smell of burning food filled your nose and then there was a loud clattering sound, followed by Bob’s angry screams echoing from the kitchen.

You wrapped the towel tighter around your body and ran out of the bathroom, worried about what you’d find in the kitchen. When you reached the origin of the commotion, you looked around frantically, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. There were splatters of food all over the kitchen, pieces of pasta and sauce stuck to the cabinet fronts, the wall on the opposite side of the room, broken pieces of the baking dish with even more remnants of what Bob must have tried to cook.

And then you saw him… In the middle of it all was Bob, cowering on the floor, his hands in his hair, pulling at his locks. His gaze was fixed on the mess before him, and you could see him fighting the tears that had started to cloud his vision. He was muttering words to himself that you could barely make out, but by the tone you detected, you were sure they weren’t words of praise and appreciation. He was slowly rocking back and forth, his thumb coming up to his mouth before he started biting at the skin around his nail. He hadn’t heard you enter the room yet, too caught up in his own thoughts, and you were contemplating your next move, not wanting to scare him in this state.

“Are you okay, Bob? Did you hurt yourself?” you asked softly, approaching him one careful step at a time, trying to stay clear of any pieces of broken porcelain. When he looked up at you, his eyes flashed in a faint grey and then he closed them, shifting away from your approaching figure, his hand coming up to hide his face.

“I’m fine,” he sneered, his voice darker, rougher than he usually sounded, and then Bob cleared his throat. “I’m sorry… yes, I mean… No, I didn’t get hurt”, he amended, his voice softer this time but still hard-pressed as to stop from breaking.

You stepped over the broken dish on the floor, and crouched down next to him. Being closer to him now, you could hear parts of what he whispered to himself, making out “waste of space” and “only making everything worse”, and felt your heart breaking a little.

You’d seen him having an episode before several times by now, you’d hold him after waking up from a nightmare. But this seemed different. There was a dark air around him, his finger tips had started to turn black, the darkness slowly creeping up towards his palm. Bob didn’t seem to notice.

“Bob…”, you tried, putting your hand on his shoulder. He jerked away and you pulled your hand back, unsure of what to do.

“It’s okay. I don’t wanna hurt you, love,” you started again, and his eyes were on you again, anger pulling his features into a grimace. “What happened?”

The grip on his hair got harder, his knuckles turning white, and you went for his hand, putting yours on his and not letting go of it this time. You pried his fingers open carefully and then took his hand in yours fully, intertwining your fingers and inching closer to him.

“Talk to me, please,” you begged him and cupped his cheek when the tears started to run down his face. “I’m not mad at you, Bob. Please just talk to me?”

He leaned into your warm touch and closed his eyes for a second, more tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft whimper leaving his lips. He took a moment, trying to calm down his erratic breathing and turning his face into your hand to place a soft kiss to the inside of your palm. This had become somewhat of a habit of his whenever he felt overwhelmed. Once, he had told you that it helps him stay grounded in the moment, to realise that he wasn’t alone and that you were there. Your touch quieted his mind and kissing the inside of your hand was like using his mouth for good. His mouth wasn’t just for saying mean things about himself, it was also for peppering kisses on your skin, for worshipping you. For being close to you like no other person was.

“What happened?”

You searched his face, not sure what you were looking for but also scared that if you let him out of your sight, he’d disintegrate and be gone the next time you’d look at him. His locks were standing up at odd angles from him pulling at them and there were deep lines on his forehead. You couldn’t see much of his lower face with it hidden in the palm of your hand, but the left corner of his mouth was turned down, his chin quivering fighting back the sobs that were trying to come out.

“I burnt the lasagna,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear and when his eyes opened, they seemed to hold the pain of the entire world in them.

The blue in his eyes had turned dark and cloudy, the thick unshed tears lining his lower eyelids catching the cold light in the kitchen. You sighed softly, your heart breaking even more at the sight before you. He no longer looked like an adult but like a kid, standing in the door to his parents’ bedroom after waking up from a nightmare, begging them to let him sleep in their bed for the night.

“I wanted to surprise you… To make dinner for us, to make myself useful,” he went on, wiping his eyes and then the tip of his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You know, since I can’t help you guys on missions…” His bottom lip quivering and his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “And I fucked up…”

He sobbed loudly, covering his face with his forearms, falling backwards against the bottom cabinets with a loud thud. Bob’s head almost hit the drawer handles if you hadn’t let go of his hand and put yours out to lighten the blow.

“I’m sure, it’s not that bad, honey,” you offered, looking at the deeply burnt top of what you now recognised as the remnants of an attempt at lasagna. “I bet it would’ve still tasted worlds better than whatever Alexei cooks whenever it’s his turn.” You sat down next to him, then, stretching out your legs and pulling at the towel to readjust it a little.

“Man, I really do not know how he survived as long as he did on his own,” you added, a chuckle falling from your lips.

You shook your head at the thought of the last – absolutely disastrous – dinner extravaganza, as Alexei liked to call it. I make best food from my home country, like no other. He had a point with that. You were sure there was no one else cooking quite like that.

For a second you weren’t sure if you’d made Bob feel worse or not but when you looked over to him, you could see his shoulders bop up and down in laughter.

“Yeah, that… borscht was really something,” he agreed, sniffling into the sleeve of his sweatshirt again. There was the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips and when he looked at you for a second, you saw a glimpse of the man you were falling in love with. The kindness in his eyes and the softness of his features.

“Also, I think lasagna is like, really hard to master, you know? Sometimes, you just burn the lasagna, babe. I’ve tried soooo many times and I can never seem to get it quite right, either.” you poked his side playfully and his shoulders slumped a little again.

“But I made a mess… Not just making it,” he said sorrowfully, looking around at the state of the kitchen.

There were cans of tomato puree stacking in the sink next to pots and pans, the cutting board still on the counter, the knife precariously close to the edge.

“I was just checking something in my room when I realised that I had forgotten to set a timer… God, how stupid am I to have completely forgotten about setting a god damn timer?!”

“Honey, that happens to the best of us.” you smiled at him and wiped away his tears, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Have I told you about the time I almost burned down my apartment back in D.C. because I accidentally turned on the wrong stove top and left my kitchen towel on it?”

This earned you another small laugh from him and you smiled proudly at being able to elicit this beautiful sound from him.

“Look at you, smiling again. God, I love it when you smile.” You poked his cheek and grinned at him, the air around you feeling a little lighter already.

His cheeks turned pink, and he chuckled a little, quickly averting his gaze and running his fingers through the locks that had fallen into his face. Then, his shoulders slumped and he started playing with the soaked cuff of his sweatshirt, pulling it over his fingers and letting go again and again. “I’m sorry, [y/n].”

“What for?” you asked and took his hand again.

“For being such a mess.” He looked at you with an unsure look on his face, shrugging his shoulders and scratching the back of his head, more tears rushing into his eyes. “You deserve to be with someone who has his shit together…”

“We’re all a mess sometimes, Bob. That’s part of being human,” you told him, intertwining your fingers with his and putting your head on his shoulder, caressing the back of his hand gently. “You’re allowed to be a mess, and it’s ok to make mistakes, sweetheart.”

“But I…” you could hear his voice break again, his shoulder starting to shake underneath your head a little. “I make so many mistakes,” he sobbed, his eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown before continuing: “I just waste everybody’s time… Yours most of all…”

Pulling back a little to get a better look at him, you shook your head vigorously in disagreement to his statement.

“Bob, you’re not wasting anybody’s time.”

You made to stand up and pulled him up with you before wrapping your arms around him into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around your body instinctively, digging into the soft fabric of the towel still wrapped around your body, and he put his head on top of yours and turned it sideways a little.

“I am so glad to have met you in the Vault that day,” you mumbled into the embrace, turning your head to make it easier for him to hear your words.

“While I feel a lot of hate for Valentina and everything she has done to us… I will forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe put you in that box in the vault with us.”

“You don’t mean that, surely,” he grumbled, the disbelief in his voice prominent, and his grip on the towel loosening when he pulled away from you again.

“No, I do,” you assured him, your gaze not leaving his. “I really am so incredibly thankful to have you in my life and to be with you every single day.”

Bob didn’t say anything to that, just gulped and then looked down at the floor again, kicking his foot at an imagined rock.

“You know what? I’ll put on some clothes real quick,” you started and then looked around the room. “And then we, uhm, order some pizza and clean up a little in the meantime. How about a movie-night after?”

He bit down on his lip to calm down and then shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to do than to spend your evening with me?” He was playing with his sleeves again and you quickly took his hands, angling your face and making him look at you.

“What in the world could be better than spending the evening with my incredibly hot boyfriend? While everyone else is gone on a mission? Better than watching a film and eating some tasty pizza? Maybe even getting some cuddles in?”

You smirked at him, caressing the back of his hands with your thumbs.

“I think I’ll take cuddling with you on the couch any day,” you added and then got up on our tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips.

He melted against you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer, one of his hands buried in your wet hair and the other placed on the small of your back. You grabbed a hold of his shirt and held onto the back of his neck, trying to get more stable. He noticed, his right hand leaving its place in your hair and, with the other hand, moving down over your ass to grab the back of your thighs. Bob picked you up and then broke the kiss for a second, making sure he was putting you down on a clear spot on the counter before continuing to kiss you hungrily. You wrapped your legs around his hips and pressed up to him, your fingers playing with the locks at the back of his head.

His fingers danced up the side of your thigh and moved up under the towel to rest on your naked hip. His soft touch sent sparks up your spine, and you could feel your body reacting to him with that familiar, warm glow in your core. You ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip and Bob moaned softly, giving you access to his mouth. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and met his, dancing with it masterfully. Then, Bob’s right hand moved up the side of your body to where you had tied the towel around your frame, and he pulled the fabric from the fold, making the towel drop and pool around your hips. Bob broke from the kiss, looking down at your naked form. At how your back was arching into his torso, your tits perky and nipples hardening from the sudden loss of protection from the cold air.

“Oh, god…” He bit down on his bottom lip and then met your eyes again. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Now, it was your turn to blush, still not entirely used to having him look at you like that. His eyes darkened with lust and his kiss bitten lips a little fuller. His locks standing up at odd angles from your fingers running through them. His lips parted, shallow breaths flowing in and out while he took you in. There was something so primal, yet so loving in the way his eyes drifted over your figure. Like he wanted to burn the image of your naked form into the inside of his eyelids, to have it there whenever he closed his eyes.

“How do I deserve you?” He asked, running his fingers over your clavicle and down your breast, his hand cupping it while the pad of his thumb brushed over your pebbled nipple.

“Because you’re a good person, Bob,” you breathed, your mind a little hazy from making out and from his hand on your breast. Your hand went up to his cheek and you caressed the soft skin, brushing away a lonely tear. “Because you deserve to be loved.”

You ran the heel of your foot up the back of his leg and moved in closer, placing your lips on the slope of his neck, peppering the skin with kisses. You stayed at his pulse point, sucking on his delicate flesh, your tongue darting out and over the spot every now and again. Knowing there would be a bruise if you kept going, you stopped and brushed your fingertips over the spot in soothing circles.

“You deserve all the good things in life, my love,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear, and nibbled on his earlobe playfully.

His grip on your breast got a little tighter, when your hand ran up the front of his leg and then over his growing bulge, a low whimper escaping his parted lips. Your hands did quick work, grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pushing it up his torso before pulling it over his head. You dropped it onto the floor and then your nails dug into his skin on their way down his chest, appreciating the rise and fall of his abs flexing under your touch.

“[y/n], we should probably clean the kitchen before we…” He shook his head, trying to free his mind of the thickening fog of lust and cleared his throat but his hips betrayed him when they bucked into your touch squeezing his growing erection through the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Why clean up a mess if we’re just gonna make another,” you purred, your lips parted and lids hooded. There was no innocence left in your words anymore.

You met his gaze once more and bit on your bottom lip, your hand undoing the little bow he had tied the string of his sweatpants into. You pushed down his sweatpants, the fabric pooling around his ankles, and then placed your hands on his still covered asscheeks, squeezing them a little.

His jaw dropped, surprise and eagerness playing at his features, and he could only nod in agreement, before you kissed him again. The kiss was hungry. Tongues meeting like the waves crashing into the rocks during a storm. Lips bitten. Hands roaming the other’s body. Your fingers slipped into the front of his boxer briefs and a harsh gasp fell from his lips when your hand ran down his length and then cupped his balls. Bob’s lips left yours as his head fell back, his right hands gripping the edge of the countertop tightly. You played with them for a second before moving back to his dick, wrapping your hand around it and pumping it up and down slowly.

“Fuck, baby…” His head fell to your shoulder, eyes closing tightly, while his left hand danced up the side of your right thigh. Your thumb swiped over the tip of his dick, sticky precum clinging to the pad of your finger. Bob’s fingertips pressed into your flesh, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, a muffled but guttural groan escaping him at how delicious your touch felt.

“You like that, love?” You wrapped your fingers around his chin and made him look at you through his lashes, pleasure pulling his eyebrows together and his bottom lip between his teeth. He whined, grinding his hips into your hand, and his eyes rolled back when you let go of his chin and slipped your hand into his boxers to work on his balls again.

“Touch me,” you begged, your lips at his clavicle. Your tongue ran up the curve of his throat and you placed a few kisses along the underside of his throat before moving on to his lips again. Kissing you back hungrily, Bob’s hand left its place on the edge of the countertop and moved to your left hip, angling you back to gain more access to your pussy.

His fingers slipped over your thigh and ran up the inside, slowly, tentatively, knowing exactly what he was doing. Your breath hitched when the tip of his finger dipped against your clit, lazily pushing apart your folds and he smirked against your lips, feeling the slickness pooling between your legs.

“So wet… Just for me. And I haven’t even done anything yet,” His voice was barely louder than a whisper against your lips, but the lustful darkness vibrated through you, adding to your arousal. The ball of his thumb brushed against your clit as his finger slid further through your folds and slipped into you. Bob curled his finger on the way out and you could hear a wet squelch when he pushed his appendage back into you. “God, listen to you.”

After a few more slow thrusts of his finger, he pulled out and worked on getting another finger covered in your arousal. Your hands were still working on him and you could tell that he was trying to fight his orgasm, his breaths shallow and deep concentration making lines on his forehead appear. His hips were moving with your hands, the precum leaking out of him helping with making your hand slip up and down his member more easily. But then he stilled, the fingers on your hip digging into your flesh firmly, and a deep moan fell from his lips as his head fell back. Looking down at where your hands dipped into his boxers, you saw the petrol fabric darken as his climax overtook him. His cum flowed over your hand, seeping in between your fingers and you kept pumping your hand up and down, purring into his ear about how much you loved seeing him cum. See the wave of pleasure wash over his face in furrowed brows and his jaw going slack. Hearing the string of curses fall from his parted lips like a prayer to the goddess that you are.

He kissed you hungrily and just as his tongue slipped into your mouth, he pushed two of his fingers into you quickly and knuckles-deep. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to the way his fingers filled you, just pulled them back out and curled them, brushing up into that spot that has you seeing stars, before thrusting them back into you. The pad of his palm brushed against your clit and you whined into the kiss, the sensation of him touching you like that too good to be true. The noises filling the kitchen were obscene and you were thanking the gods that you had the Tower to yourself when his name fell from your lips.

“You say my name so sweetly, love. Makes me go crazy every time,” he groaned, his breath hot against your ear.

His lips connected with your pulse point, and Bob sucked on your skin, the sweet sting clouding your mind. He sank his teeth into your neck and then licked over the sore spot. You whined wistfully when he broke away from you and dropped to his knees, your sticky hands running over his chest. He pulled you closer to the edge of the countertop, your hips practically hanging in mid-air, and then wrapped your legs around his neck, telling you to lean back on your elbows before burrowing his head between your legs.

Eating you out was his favourite way to worship you. Feeling your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands when his tongue brushed over your clit in that way that had you calling out his name. Tasting you on his tongue, sweet and salty and so delicious he’d tell people the taste of you was his favourite. Feeling your thighs strain against his head, quivering from your climax cursing through your body. Covering his hand in a mixture of his own spit and your arousal while pumping his fingers in and out of your slick pussy.

This time was no different. His eyes were fixed on you as the tip of his tongue ran through your folds, watching your chest rise and fall quickly, your head fallen back, mouth hanging open with quiet moans on your lips. Bob put his lips on your clit, sucking on it gingerly, and let his fingers slip back into you. Your fingers ran through his hair and buried themselves at the back of his head, as you already felt the familiar knot tighten in your lower stomach. You grinded your hips into his face and he chuckled at how eager you were, the vibrations of his voice pulsing through your core and right up your spine.

“Oh, fuck, Bob. You feel so good,” you exclaimed when he’d found the perfect pace for his fingers to move inside of you, eliciting obscene moans from you with every thrust of his middle and ring finger. Your mind was getting fuzzy around the edges and your eyes rolled back, feeling him push you closer to the edge with every swipe of his tongue against your sensitive clit and every brush of his fingers against your g-spot. You could feel the pressure building deep inside of you and chuckled, your head spinning with pleasure.

“Come for me, baby. Be a good girl,” he coaxed, pushing his fingers in even deeper, and lapped at you, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit.

“Oh, Bob, yeah, right there,” you cried and felt the knot burst in your core. Your orgasm washed over you and with it came a release you’d never felt before, your juices squirting out of you and covering his hand and mouth. Your thighs clamped around his head and you arched your back, pleasure raining down on you and washing the last bit of composure away. He hummed against you, making sure to get every last drop of you, and rode out your climax, his fingers slipping in and out masterfully.

Laying down on the cold countertop, you put your arm over your eyes and tried to catch your breath, chuckling in absolute awe of just how good Bob had made you feel a moment ago. He pulled away from you and you looked at him from under your arm, a big grin on your lips as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was a dark glimmer in his eyes and he licked over his lips as he brushed his hands off on his briefs.

“Fuck, babe… I think I need a shower before we clean up the kitchen.” His thumb ran over his bottom lip and he scratched the back of his head, looking at how you were lying on top of the counter, your legs still spread and dangling over the edge, your pussy glistening. “Wanna join me?”

His fingers danced up the inside of your leg and he kissed you softly when you pushed up on your elbows. His arm wrapped around your back and rested on the small of your back, pulling your chest into his. Your arms snaked around his neck, knowing that he’d hold your weight, as your legs wrapped around his waist, hooking in the back.

“Ready?” he asked against your lips and held onto your leg with his free hand. You nodded, pulling from the kiss, and put your head on his shoulder, turning your head to have your face burrowed in the crook of his neck. You could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs feeling weak. “Here we go, babe. Hold on tight.”

You cuddled up to him tightly and he picked you up from the countertop, grabbing your towel before making his way out of the kitchen.

~~~

Bob set you down on the bathroom floor carefully, his hand on the small of your back while you took a second to find your footing. He, then, ran his hands through your hair and leaned down, kissing you softly, a small smile playing on his lips. It was the softest of kisses, innocent and almost endearing in the way his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the freckles dusted there. The swipe of his tongue was tentative, shy even, asking for permission to slip into your mouth rather than a demand. Your tongues danced together for a moment, before he pulled away from you again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Hey.” His eyes wandered over your features and then Bob smiled at you lovingly, soft lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“Hi,” you chuckled at him and felt your face split in a big grin.

You looked at each other for a second then, basking in the intimacy of the moment. You looked at the locks curling at his temples, at the way his head turned into your hand when it came to rest on his cheek, at the sparkle in his blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt like you were sixteen again. In love for the first time in your life.

“I love you,” he mumbled and pushed a lock of hair behind your ear.

It was the first time any of you had said it. And it sounded like it was the easiest thing he’d ever said. Like he’d said it a thousand times before. And he had. He had said it over and over in his head. Every time he caught a glance of you from across the room. When he heard you laugh at something Yelena had said. But especially when it was you who was telling the team about something you thought was funny and your face would split into a grin before you even got to the best part and how you would try to keep going, saying whatever it was you wanted to say between heaps of laughter. The words had rolled off his tongue so smoothly like they were made especially for him to say. Like it was second nature. And they set a fire ablaze inside your chest. A fire that quickly consumed all of you, heat rolling over your arms and legs, sending butterflies to your stomach and you felt your cheeks heat.

“God, I love you so much and I just needed you to know that,” he blurted out and then gulped at your surprised face. You didn’t know what to say, all words blown from your brain, the rushing of your blood everything you could hear. You had hoped to hear him say these words just as many times as you wanted to tell them to him and now that he had said them, you were so blown away and flustered that you couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

His face fell when you didn’t reply, and he took a tentative step back, suddenly feeling the need to cover himself. His eyes fell to the tiled floor between you and then he ran his hand over his face, while you tried to work through the pure disbelief.

“But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, you know,” he muttered, turning away from you and looking for his bathrobe hanging on a peg on the wall.

“No, Bob. It’s not that…” You walked up to him, putting your hands on his arm and his cheek, making him look at you again. He tried to avert his gaze but when his eyes met yours, you could see that there were tears forming and on the verge of rolling down his cheek.

“It’s not that I don’t feel the same,” you started and smiled at him encouragingly. “I love you, too. So much.” Your thumb brushed away the lonely tear that had escaped and you kissed him gently. “You just kinda took me by surprise, right there.”

“You do?” he asked, his voice so low and haunted that it sent a pain right through your heart. His eyes flitted around the room but then met yours again and you nodded, your eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“I do. And I will make it my life’s mission to make you feel loved everyday,” you promised and he took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening out a bit. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love, Bob.”

“Oh, don’t go quoting Adele on me, babe,” he laughed and your heart grew lighter at hearing your favourite sound. He wrapped his arms around you and spun you around, earning himself a highpitched squeal from you. You clung to him, laughing wholeheartedly at the butterflies in your stomach, and buried your head in the crook of his neck. He walked over to the shower and when you heard the water turn on, you looked at him, your eyes wide with suspicion.

“Bob, no! My hair, please, I’ve just washed them…” You tried your best to get out of his arms, kicking your feet and squirming. “And you’re still in your boxers! Don’t you dare,” you begged and his face split into a big grin, before he stepped into the shower, the cold water raining down on the two of you. You let out a shriek and slipped down his body, pulling at his torso and trying to get him to shield you from the cold. “God, you are so evil. It’s so cold.”

You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, trying to get as far away from the stream of water as possible, and swatted at his arms when he tried to pull you back to him.

“No, turn on the warm water first,” you told him, pointing your finger at the tap, while the water was running down his face and body, his drenched locks sticking to his forehead. He pouted at you playfully and then sighed dramatically, mumbling a ‘you don’t love me anymore, be honest’ under his breath.

“Yes, I do. But look, your boxers are all soaked now.”

“Well, they already were before, so…” He shrugged and then bent down, pulling his sodden boxers off and tossing them into the other corner of the shower, before putting his arms out by his side and presenting himself to you for a second. “Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, and turned to switch the warm water on.

You let your eyes travel over his body, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and nodding half-aware, a quiet ‘yeah’ leaving your mouth. Turning back towards you with a confident smirk on his face, he brushed the hair from his face and motioned for you to come over to him. You obliged, stepping up to him again, and followed a bead of water down his torso with your finger.

“Can I wash your hair?” you asked under your breath, your eyes flicking up to him under your lashes and he cocked his head, an amused look on his face.

“Your wish is my command,” he accepted and turned around, bending over to get the bottle of shampoo that rested on the tiled step in the corner. Taking the chance, you slapped his ass, a surprised chuckle leaving his lips as his hand moved to the tap and he accidentally cut off the warm water. Ice cold water flooded from the overhead shower and directly onto you and you screamed as he turned back to you.

“Oops, guess I turned off the warm water. My bad,” he laughed and wrapped his arms around you, pushing you to the tiled wall. He kissed you in between chuckles and you swatted at his arm, your body shivering from the sudden change in temperature.

“Asshat,” you muttered under your breath and glared at him, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Oh, and you love it,” he purred into your ear while his hand trailed up your leg and up your side.

“I’m starting to regret it,” you lied, a playful tone in your voice, as you tried to grab the shampoo bottle from his hand.

Bob stepped away from you, his arm in the air, and pushed his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “Take that back,” he cried out in fake-shock and held out his hand to keep you away from him. You looked at him for a second and then intertwined your fingers with those of his outstretched hand.

“Ok, I’m sorry, I would never regret loving you, Bob.” You tugged on his hand and asked him to come back to you.

“No, I don’t believe you.” He turned up his face and fought the smile daring to split his lips.

“Do you want me to get on my knees and prove it to you?” you asked and started to drop down, his eyes watching you closely. You could see him debating his choices for a second, trying to keep his face hard but then he smirked, a puff of air leaving his flared nostrils.

“No, it’s ok, I believe you.” He grabbed your elbow and pushed you up on your feet, handing you the bottle of shampoo before turning off the water altogether. “We’ve got enough time for that later.”

You took the bottle of shampoo from his hand and squirted some product into your hand while he got on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you with bright eyes and a loving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, wrapping his hands around your thighs to get a bit more stability. After putting the bottle aside and rubbing your hands together for a second to build up some lather, you buried your fingers in his wet hair and started massaging his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut at the soothing touch and you bent down to his face, pecking his lips, your fingers still working on spreading the shampoo in his hair.

“Ok, I think you’ll have to wash my hair from now on, babe,” he said, a satisfied hum following suit as you found a particular good spot. You let your fingers stay there a little longer, drawing circles on his scalp, and then ran your hand through his ends, excess foam dropping to the floor with wet splatters. Brushing off some foam from his brows, you placed kisses over his face, starting at his forehead and then moving on to his closed eyes. When you’d reached his lips, you kissed him softly before pulling away from him and getting the hand shower. Bob looked at you from the corner of his eyes, a thick swoop of foamy hair on his head and the softest gaze in his eyes, as you turned on the water again and held your hand into the stream, making sure it was neither too hot nor cold.

“Close your eyes and put your head back,” you instructed and stepped behind him, holding his head gently. “Tell me if the water is too hot, ok?” You moved the shower head over his hair and ran your fingers through his locks, making sure to get everywhere.

“This feels nice,” he mused and put his thumb up.

When you’d finished washing out his shampoo, you took the bottle of conditioner that stood next to his shampoo and went on repeating the same process you’d just worked through with the shampoo.

“Ok, so, we should probably leave this stuff in before washing it out,” you explained, looking at the back of his conditioner, while scrunching his hair a few times.

“Can I get up from my knees?” he asked and opened one eye cautiously, his hands resting on the small of your back for balance.

You nodded, putting the bottle aside, and washed the residual conditioner off your hands while he was getting back up on his feet next to you. Your eyes followed his body and you smiled to yourself.

“Like what you see, hm,” he teased and turned from side to side, offering you the whole view and you rolled your eyes at his antics, chuckling softly.

“Would it be so bad if I said that I do?” you asked him, running your fingers over his jaw and pulling him down to kiss him. Bob shook his head against your lips and deepened this kiss, one of his hands cupping your cheek while the other rested against the wall behind you. You pawed at him, pulling him closer, and moaned into the kiss when he pressed you up against the wall. You hooked your leg around his and he slipped his tongue past your lips, while the hand on your cheek moved down your body, his fingers loosely following the drops of water running down your figure. Your hips rolled into his and you let your hand run up his other thigh, testing the limits.

“How long do we have to leave this stuff in because… uh, I don’t know if I can stop if you keep going, babe,” he panted, out of breath from the last kiss, and rested his forehead against yours. His eyes had darkened with lust and you knew he was serious because you felt his dick growing hard against the inside of your thigh.

“Uh, I think it should be fine to wash out by now,” you stumbled and nodded, a little light-headed yourself. You ran your hand through your hair and tried to suppress the urge to grind into him again, your eyes travelling down his chest and to where your hips met his.

“I’m begging you, stop looking at me like that or I will have to take you right here,” he whined desperately, holding your hips tightly to keep them from moving. His eyes flitted to your lips, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and then you closed your lips around his finger, sucking on the fingertip a little. His eyes closing tightly, he shook his head and sighed: “Please, I don’t wanna risk breaking your neck slipping on these tiles.”

You let go of his thumb and it slipped out of your mouth again with a popping sound. Your leg slid from around his hip and you made to stand up straight again, the corners of your mouth dropping slightly.

“God, you’re gonna make me regret trying to be the responsible one for once…”, he sighed, and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a second. “Let’s make a deal, babe…” He pulled away from you and grabbed the hand shower. “We’ll finish up here and then clean the kitchen real quick…” He thought about how he’d go on for a second, turning on the water and waiting for it to heat up to the right temperature. “And then, we can go back to what we were doing? Unless you really wanna watch that movie. Whatever movie.”

You pursed your lips, considering his offer for a moment and then sighed, crossing your arms in fake-protest. “Fine,” you muttered disgruntledly and added: “I guess that works, too.”

He watched you for a second, before grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. Bob squeezed your hand a little, getting you to look in his eyes, and he smiled softly.

“Hey, I love you.”

Your features softened and you cocked your head, a smirk on your lips.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

~~~

You were just drying your hair with one of Bob’s towels when he popped his head in from the bedroom. Your gaze met his through the mirror and you stopped for a second, a smile on your lips.

“Wanna borrow one of my shirts or should I get you something from your closet?”

He had put on some clean sweatpants and a sleeveless top, his broad and muscular shoulders on display. His hair was still a little damp from your shared shower, curling at the ends beautifully.

“I wouldn’t mind borrowing one of your shirts. Oh, and maybe one of your boxers?”

He nodded and then vanished in his bedroom for a second, before returning with a stack of his clothes. Bob walked over to you and set the folded clothes onto the vanity next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded and tugged at his shirt when he turned to leave for the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to you, an expectant look on his face.

“I’ll get started on tidying up the kitchen, come and join me when you’re done, ok?”

“Kiss me?” you asked and pouted at him with big puppy dog eyes. His face brightened and he leaned down, cupping your cheek and kissing you gently. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kept him there, deepening the kiss. The hand resting on your waist slipped down your side and stopped on the back of your thigh, Bob’s other hand moving between your shoulderblades before he tipped you back swiftly. You held onto him and chuckled into the kiss, your heart skipping a beat. When he put you back on your feet, you ran your fingers through his hair and then put your hand on his cheek, your cheeks burning brightly.

“Was that good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, a little out of breath, and nodded your head. “That was a good one, love.”

He saluted you and then turned to the bathroom door before marching off.

~~~

“You’ve got everything?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at Bob who was holding two glasses, a supersized bottle of coke and a bag of buttery microwave popcorn. He nodded after checking again, and then you turned off the lights to the kitchen with your elbow, balancing two giant boxes of pizza in one hand, while the other held onto packets of peanut M&Ms and sour patch kids. Trying your best to not let the top box slide off the other, you made your way over to the living room and put the pizza boxes and snacks on the coffee table.

“What do you wanna watch?” You looked up to Bob, taking the bag of Popcorn and plopping down on the couch.

“I’m open to whatever you suggest as long as I can cuddle with you.” He sat down next to you and slung his arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple gently. You leaned over, getting the folded throw blanket, and put it over your and Bob’s legs before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

“Oh, you know what I haven’t watched in forever?” Your eyes went wide and you looked at Bob with an excited grin on your face. He cocked his head, asking you to enlighten him, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.

“Tombstone.”

“That Western from the ‘90s?” he asked, a chuckle falling from his lips, while he bent forward to get a slice of pizza.

“You mean ‘that absolutely iconic Western from the ‘90s’? Yes, exactly that one!” You nodded enthusiastically and looked the film up. “Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday is simply something else!” You looked at him looking at you and your smile faltered a little. “But… we don’t have to watch Tombstone if you don’t wanna.”

Bob shook his head and grabbed your hand to kiss the back of it. His eyes turned soft and he intertwined his fingers with his.

“Oh, no, babe. Like I said, I’m down.” He slumped against the backrest again and took a bite from the slice of pizza. “I just love when you’re excited about something,” he told you in between chews, his free hand covering his mouth. “Whenever you get really excited about something, your eyes sparkle and then that dimple pops on your cheek and…” He leaned over and ran his thumb over your cheek, his eyes falling to your lips, before he added: “Man, I love you so much.”

He kissed you passionately, dragging you closer, and you put your hand on his chest. His muscles flexed under your touch and Bob pulled you into his lap, the blanket slipping off of your legs straddling his hips. Your fingers were in his hair, tugging at his locks, as his hand slid up your naked thigh. His palm stopped on the small of your back, his other hand still cupping your cheek, keeping you close to him. In the background, the intro to Tombstone started playing, setting the scene for the plot but you didn’t catch a word of it. Too lost to the way Bob’s lips felt against yours. How his tongue would dart over your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. How his fingers felt against your scalp and poring over your back. How your chest brushed up against his when you took a deep breath mid-kiss.

When the cowboys started shooting up the wedding, you pulled away from him, breathless and your mind a little hazy. You slipped off of his lap, throwing your legs over his lap, and then leaned over to get one of the pizza boxes. Putting the cardboard box in your lap, you picked up a slice and handed it to Bob, whose eyes had followed you the whole time.

“What?” you asked, biting off the tip of the slice you’d grabbed for yourself a second ago, squinting at the TV screen from the corner of your mouth.

“You really went back to watching the movie, just like that,” he chuckled and took a bite of his slice of pizza.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss the entire beginning. Let’s try and make it at least through the first 40 minutes.” You finished the first slice of pizza, suddenly realising how hungry you were, and picked up another one, guiding the sloping tip into your mouth with your other hand. By your side, Bob’s jaw tensed while he readjusted the way your feet rested on his right thigh, trying to hide the fact that it wasn’t the pizza he wanted to taste. What he didn’t know, however, was that he wasn’t the only one who was left insatiated after what had happened in the kitchen and then almost happened in the shower…

You didn’t quite make it through the first 40 minutes of the film. You really tried, your eyes glued to the TV screen while you watched Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday reunite in the titular town. When the two of you had finished the first pizza just as Josie Marcus and Mr. Fabian got into town, Bob took the empty cardboard box from off your lap and put it aside, his fingers dancing up your legs. A few minutes before, he’d started drawing loose patterns on your skin, his eyes flickering from the TV screen to you. Every now and again, his gaze would stay on you for a little while, mesmerised by the way your lips moved as you recited the dialogue. By the way the corners of your mouth would bop up and down a little in a silent chuckle when one of the Earps or Doc said something funny. Every so often, he’d shift in his seat a little or exhale a little harder, a whine falling from his lips. When you felt his eyes stay on you longer than before, you glanced at him, his eyes still glued to your lips and his bottom lip between his front teeth.

“Bob, you’re not even trying,” you laughed and threw a pillow at his head. He caught it easily and put it aside, a smirk on his lips while his eyes never left yours.

“Well, who can blame me when the most beautiful woman sits next to me and we’ve got the whole tower to ourselves?”

He moved quickly and trapped you beneath him, his arms next to your head while he tried to not put all of his weight on you. Bob shifted a little, his hips slotting between your spreading legs, and then he dropped his head to your neck, blocking your view of the TV. He started placing kisses all over your throat and the slope of your neck, his hand running up your side underneath your shirt. Your arms snaked around his torso, one hand burying in his hair while the other moved down his lower back. You let out a moan when Bob cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. The soft squeeze sent shocks down your spine and your back arched into his touch, begging him to keep going.

“And seeing you in my clothes, too,” he purred into your ear, his voice darker than a second before. “You know, this is torture…”

His hips rolled into yours and you gasped, feeling his erection rub up against your core. Bob looked at you, his blown pupils filled with lust, and then he kissed you hungrily. The kiss was messy, lips crashing into each other, teeth clinking softly as your tongues pushed through them. His hand was on your jaw while his hips grinded into you, a meek whimper leaving his mouth.

“God, watching you mumble the lines under your breath has me wanting to make you forget every word you’ve ever known,” he told you, no hesitation in his voice. Bob pulled away from the kiss and you weren’t surprised to see his eyes glimmer golden for just a split second. His words knocked the breath right out of you, your jaw dropping slightly as heat rushed up your neck. You could feel the arousal pool between your legs as his hips continued rolling into you, the friction of the layers of fabric against your clit adding to the pressure that was slowly building in your core. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you rolled your hips against his, meeting his movements perfectly.

“You like that, baby?” He asked, his lips brushing against your ear lobe. There was something animalistic in the way he had uttered the words, a deep growl in the back of his throat. You just nodded, your breath caught in your windpipe while his hand travelled down your side again, hitching your leg higher.

“Bob, feels so good,” you whimpered, feeling the first sparks of your nearing orgasm shoot up the base of your spine with every time his clothed erection brushed against you.

“You know, I thought I’d get used to just how badly I want you… That this constant need to feel you, to taste you would just… get better with time…” He held onto your jaw, making you look at him while the words left his mouth, his hips rolling against your clit with every thrust. “But it just gets worse every day,” he added, his eyebrows pulling together in pleasure. His jaw went slack and he stopped for a moment, his grip on your chin growing stronger. “This isn’t working…”

He pulled away from you, running his hand through his hair. You pushed up on your elbows and looked at him confused, your eyebrows raising in silent questions.

“What do you mean ‘this isn’t working’?”, you asked, your eyes wandering over his body and then staying on his face, trying to find any signs of what had just happened to make him change his mind.

“I… I can’t do this… Not again,” He bit down on his lip, not in a lustful way but with a nervous edge. He started fidgeting, his fingernail scratching at the skin on the side of his thumb, his other hand adjusting the way his briefs and sweatpants sat on him.

“Bob, you’re scaring me, a little… Did I do something wrong?” You sat up, your hands coming up to him, one trying to stop his left hand from fidgeting while the other cupped his cheek.

“No, you didn’t do anything, love.” When you made him meet your eyes, you could see that the self-assured glimmer in his eyes was gone, replaced by sheepishness. His left thumb came up to his mouth and he nibbled on the bit of skin he had scratched at before.

“Then what is it?”

“I wanna feel you… Wanna come inside you.” His voice was a whisper, so low you almost couldn’t make out what he’d said over the applause coming from the TV. “I need you.”

“Love, you can have me. All of me.” You moved onto your knees, kissing Bob’s cheek, hoping he’d wrap his arms around you again and go back to what you’d just been doing.

“Not here… Or not like this. I don’t want to have to worry about the couch getting messy.”

You had to put your hand over your mouth to hide the smile that had started to spread on your lips at his sudden innocence, a warmth spreading around your heart. You hadn’t even stopped to think about anything getting on the couch, every thought in your mind about Bob and how good he felt. How good it felt to feel his lips against your lips or on your skin, his fingers rolling your nipple and squeezing it so deliciously… His hips bringing you closer and closer and closer to your climax.

Coming up with a solution to your problem, you got up from the couch for a second and picked up the blanket that had long been forgotten, spreading it over the spot you’d just laid in before. When you nodded, satisfied with yourself, Bob’s eyes moved to where you were standing in front of him, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, now we don’t have to worry about the couch getting messed up because we can simply wash the blanket.” You cupped his face with one hand, the other one brushing away the stray locks that had fallen into his face again, and straddled his legs. Closing the distance between you, Bob kissed you once, his hands moving up your thighs. His fingers wrapped around your hips and then he turned, laying you down on top of the blanket, your hair fanning out around your head in a halo.

His gaze traversed your body before he moved down, his fingers hooked in the waistband of the boxers he’d lent you. Bob stripped the fabric off your body, letting it fall to the floor and then spread your legs, a coy look on his face.

“Are you sure about this?” The question came while he got himself situated between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs and putting them over his shoulders. He looked up at you through his lashes, pulling you down a little before placing a kiss first on your left inner thigh and then the right one.

“Yes, baby.” You ran your fingers through his hair and nodded encouragingly, your chest rising and falling steadily while you were resting on your elbows. He let his head sink a little and blew a breath on you, keeping his eyes fixed on you. A chuckle fell from your lips at the sensation and you bit down on your bottom lip, your head falling back. He started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on your skin, moving from your pubic bone to the point where your leg melted into your hip and then closer to your core with every subsequent kiss. The anticipation and need to feel him where you wanted him most had you pulling on his hair, eliciting a snicker from him that sent vibrations up your spine.

“Ever so impatient,” he scolded you, his eyes on you again.

He put his lips around your clit and sucked on it, the tip of his tongue circling the ball of nerves slowly, expertly. Your breath hitched and the grip on his hair tightened, tugging at the roots. A low hum echoed from him, as he put his tongue against your folds and then pushed the tip through them in an upward motion. His laps were slow, reverent and your mind was growing hazy while more and more arousal pooled at your core. You could feel the point of his nose bury between your folds while his tongue circled your cunt, slipping in every now and again. You whined at his slow pace, growing more and more desperate with every passing second.

“What’s up, baby?” He kissed your clit, his lips wrapping around it again and your mouth fell open, an obscene moan leaving your mouth when he sucked on it harshly.

“I need you,” you breathed desperately and grinded your hips on his face once, twice, three times.

“What do you need me to do?” Another kiss to your hipbone, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin stretched over the bone there.

“I wanna feel you inside of me.” Your eyes met his and there it was again, that golden glimmer. His lips jerked up in a smirk and then Bob ran a finger through your folds, getting it nice and slick with the mix of arousal and spit.

“You mean like that?” His finger ran down through your folds again and then slipped into you. He slowly pushed into you until he was knuckle-deep and then pulled his finger out just as slow, curling it to brush against that spongy spot in you. You nodded, the feeling of his finger slipping back in making goosebumps rise over your arms and legs. When he’d found a torturous rhythm, he lowered his head again, his mouth moving back to your clit.

“Bob, please… faster,” you begged, your hips trying to meet his movements, rolling into his fingers and mouth. He obliged, pumping his finger in and out quicker, every thrust accompanied by a wet squelch from deep inside of you. You could feel your arousal mixed with his spit run down your perineum every time he pulled his finger back and felt your cheeks heat at the fact how wet you were for him. Bob stopped sucking on your clit for a second, releasing the nub of nerves with a soft popping sound and then lapped up your juices as if he’d read your thoughts.

“You think you can handle another?” He asked, moving up to your face and placing a kiss to your cheek. His lips were sticky, covered in the mixture of his spit and your arousal, and you ran your thumb over them before kissing him hungrily. When you didn’t answer his question, he broke from the kiss and put his forehead against yours, asking you again. “I’m not gonna go on unless you tell me to.”

You gulped, your throat a little dry from all the quiet moans he had coaxed from you. Closing the distance between you, you kissed him eagerly, pushing your tongue past his lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it sent you into overdrive, your fingers digging into his back while you pulled him down.

“God, please Bob. Go ahead already,” you begged hopelessly, pushing his hand down between your bodies.

He chuckled against your cheek, the ball of his thumb brushing past your sensitive clit while he pushed his fingers through your folds. Your head turned to the side a little, your eyes rolling back, the thrill of his touch leaving you breathless. When he felt that they were sufficiently lubricated, he thrusted them into you, your mouth opening in a satisfied ‘o’ at the way his fingers stretched you. After a moment of letting you adjust to the size of his fingers inside of you, he started moving them again and you slipped from your elbows, your back now on the blanket underneath you.

“Just look at you.”

Half-dazed by your approaching climax, you let your hands wander to the front of his sweatpants, and pulled at the strings to undo the bow. Your finger slipped past the waistband and into his briefs and you hummed when you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing cock. Bob groaned into your ear and his hips bucked into your touch, eager for some attention.

“Fuck, babe, I need you,” he muttered, his dick twitching in your hand as your thumb brushed over his tip. “I don’t know if I can last long enough if you keep touching me,” he added, his head resting on your shoulder while you pumped his length.

“Fuck me then,” you whispered into his ear, the nails of your free hand scratching over his lower back. He slipped his fingers out of you and then pushed down his sweatpants, kicking the fabric off his legs. Your legs spread a little more instinctively, making more room for his hips to fit, and then you let go of him, his own hand taking over and covering his erection in your arousal. Slotting his hips between yours again, he guided his dick through your folds and then stopped, the tip of his erection at your cunt.

His eyes flashed up to you, silently asking permission, and you nodded, pulling his face closer to yours and pressing your lips to his. You both broke from the kiss when he pushed into you, filling you slowly, inch by inch. It didn’t matter how often you’d slept with him before because every time you felt him sliding into you, stretching you so well, you were convinced that there was no better feeling in the world. Bob stopped, pulling back out and then angling your hip a little before thrusting back in painfully slow. That time, his length slid in deeper, his balls flush against your ass as he bottomed out.

His brows were pulled together and you could see him struggle, trying to give you time to adjust to having him this deep inside of you before pulling his hips back. Your thumb ran over his cheek and you kissed him softly, your leg hooking around his hip.

“Don’t hold back, Bob,” you told him, your gaze fixed on him and he gulped, his eyes flashing to where your bodies melted into one.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He leaned down on his elbow next to your face while his other hand moved to the leg wrapped around his hip.

“You won’t.” You winked at him playfully and rolled your hip into his.

His jaw clenched as he slowly pulled his hips back, leaving just his tip inside of you and then his eyes searched yours again.

“You sure?”

You just nodded, your thumb caressing his face again, and then he thrusted back into you, not holding back this time. You yelped a little and closed your eyes tightly, relishing in the slight pain you felt from his thrust.

“Keep going, I’m ok,” you assured him and he repeated what he’d done before, pulling out almost completely before thrusting into you and bottoming out, his balls slapping against your ass. Your head rolled back in pleasure and your jaw dropped, a high-pitched moan falling from your lips. Seeing you like this was the only prompt he needed to keep going, plowing into you again and again, pushing you closer to the edge with every brush against your g-spot. Your vision was going hazy at the edges as your eyes locked with Bob’s, his mouth hanging open, panting breaths and curses escaping him.

“M-hm, Bob, just like that,” you cooed as you felt his hand rub on your clit, the pad of his thumb circling it expertly.

“Fuck, you look like an angel taking me so well,” he groaned, his lips sucking on your pulse point delicately.

You could feel your orgasm crawling nearer by the growing pressure in your core, tiny sparks rushing through your body with every perfectly timed thrust of his hips. And Bob didn’t seem to be far behind, the grip on your hip tightening with every time his hips rolled into you. His movements were picking up in speed, growing erratic even. Your lips were just about to brush against his ear lobe, telling him that you were close, when you heard laughter in the hallway.

You sobered up immediately, recognising the signature Eastern European drawl that clung to Yelena’s voice.

“Bob, stop,” you whisper-shouted and your hand came to cover his mouth, anticipating him wanting to ask what was wrong, when Bucky’s voice echoed through the hallway, making the footsteps stop for a second.

“You know what? You go ahead to that bar. I’m gonna meet up with Sam, talk to him about this whole lawsuit again.”

Bob’s eyes went wide as he pulled out of you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness inside of you.

“What are they doing here? Weren’t they supposed to come back tomorrow at the earliest?”, he asked, his voice on the verge of breaking from the shock of almost being walked in on.

He clambered off of you and started gathering your clothes, throwing the pair of boxers you’d worn over to you before he hastily tried to get back into his own sweatpants. You shrugged, slipping into his boxers, and tried to pull the blanket over your legs in an attempt to hide any wet spots. Running your fingers through your hair, you hoped to fix any signs of sex-hair and looked at Bob with a questioning look, who was still struggling to get both the sweatpants and his briefs on at the same time. When he finally pulled the fabric up to sit on his hips, he leaned over to you and flattened out your hair, bringing some of them over your shoulder, covering the darkening spot on your throat. You could feel heat rush up to your face and put your hands up, hiding your face as you started laughing silently.

“What’s so funny?” Bob asked, embarrassment making his cheeks flash red while he plopped down on the couch a good distance away from you so as to not draw any further suspicion on you.

“Sorry, I just can’t help it,” you laughed, turning your body to face back to the TV and trying to swallow any laughter when you heard footsteps coming down the hall again.

“[y/n]? Bob? Where are you?” Ava asked loudly and you sank in your spot on the couch, trying to look as comfortable as possible.

“We’re in the living room,” you yelled back and then looked over the back of the couch just as Yelena, Ava and Alexei reached the door.

“Surprise! We’re back early,” Yelena yelled, putting her arms out at the side and shaking her hands excitingly.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you laughed with her and then let your eyes wander over the three of them, looking for any signs of major injuries.

“The mission was an absolute bust, so we figured we’d go out and get some drinks,” Yelena explained and you nodded, your heart still thumping in your chest quickly.

“We’re just each gonna take a shower before we leave, wanna join?”, Ava asked and looked at Bob, who was sitting in the corner of the couch, his back awfully straight and his stiff arms at his sides. His hands were clasped over his lap, hiding his raging erection from showing through his sweatpants.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna stay in today. I’m kind of tired from working out.”

Bob choked on his spit next to you and everyone looked at him, his face turning even redder from coughing.

“Is he ok?” Ava chuckled and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Wait, are you watching Tombstone? Oh my god, I love that movie,” Alexei exclaimed, his eyes trained on the TV behind you. “Kurt Russel as Wyatt Earp is so good.” He pushed through Ava and Yelena and made his way over to the couch, a sixpack of beer under his arm. He plopped down on the end of the U-shaped couch and looked over his shoulder at the two women standing in the doorway.

“I think I will stay home, too. Catch movie with Bob and [y/n],” he told them and then his eyes moved to me. “Is that alright with you?” When you nodded, he looked over to Bob and grinned at him. “What about you Bob?” Bob, who had just recovered from his coughing fit, nodded and sank deeper into the cushions, mumbling a strained ‘sure’ while looking like he was hoping for a hole to open up and swallow him whole.

“Wonderful! And look, you even have pizza!” Alexei leaned over to the pizza the two of you had forgotten about and grabbed a slice, stuffing half of it in his mouth and letting the other half slope down over his chin as he ripped through the cardboard of his sixpack. He pulled out a bottle and then slammed it into the edge of the coffee table, the bottle cap flying through the air and landing next to Bob with a soft thud.

“What perfect timing, just in time for the shooting at the OK corral!” Alexei shimmied his hands while pronouncing that last part, spilling some of his beer over the carpet with his exaggerated gestures.

When they’d left in the direction of their respective bedrooms, you looked over at Bob, who had half of his face hidden behind a hand. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes and then readjusted his sweatpants a little. You mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ to him as Alexei laughed loudly at Doc Holliday’s iconic “I’m your huckleberry” line.

“Dad, please be careful. Walker will have your ass if you get the living room dirty,” Yelena groaned and you looked at her from over your shoulder, just as she ran her hand over her face. She turned to Ava and then motioned for them to go on. “Come on, we should get going before it gets too late.”

419 notes · View notes

callsign-fox · 2 months ago

Text

Hard to Measure - Bob/Sentry

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

No warnings! Sentry meets his match, some tension.

So many more to come...have any ideas? Let me know HEREx

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

Bob slammed into the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the pavement.

Not because he landed.

Because someone put him there.

The world tilted for a second, sound ringing in his ears like a struck bell. Smoke curled into the air. His ribs throbbed with a deep, unfamiliar ache. He blinked through the haze, dazed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then came the laugh — light and amused.

“Seriously?” a voice rang out. “That’s Sentry? I was expecting more.”

Bob groaned before looking up to see her.

She descended slowly, feet touching the ground softly. She was surrounded by a shimmer of telekinetic energy that warped the air like heat off asphalt. Dressed in radiant white, her cape-skirt billowed, gold shoulder armor resembling wings. Power crackled at her fingertips like it had always belonged there.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, rising slowly.

She grinned, all teeth and trouble. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His brow creased. “Bucky didn’t mention you.”

“Funny, that,” she said with a lopsided smile. “He tends to underestimate me.”

She vanished — then reappeared behind him like a ripple in the atmosphere. Bob spun too late, caught midair by an invisible force that yanked him upward like a marionette.

“Okay,” he grunted, straining against the hold. “When I get out of this, you’re in for a lot of pain.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Is that a promise?”

A golden flare lit across his body — radiant and sharp. With a thundercrack of energy, he shattered the telekinetic grip, blasting free. Trees tore from the ground, the shockwave rippling outward. He hovered midair, golden eyes locked on her now, focused and alert.

“You’re strong,” he said.

She gave a casual shrug, unimpressed. “You’re slow.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

This time, he moved first — a blur of light and speed. His fist connected midair, a clean strike that sent her tumbling through the sky. She righted herself quickly, laughing under her breath as she rubbed her ribs.

“There it is,” she said. “Was wondering when you’d finally ask me to dance.”

“That was a punch.”

“Same thing.”

She vanished again — reappearing above him. Her boot slammed into his stomach, driving him into the pavement hard enough to split the asphalt. She pressed her heel to his chest, pinning him in place.

“How’s the view from down there, golden boy?”

He groaned, half-laughing. “You’re fast and flirty. Dangerous combination.”

She lifted her boot and stepped back, light crackling around her. “I’ve been told to back down. Lucky you.”

He stood, brushing dust from his suit, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve probably had more practice than me. I’m still getting used to this body.”

“Me too,” she said, flashing a grin and a wink.

Then she was gone — vanishing in a rush of displaced air, her voice trailing behind like an echo:

“Try to keep up.”

Bob stood there a moment, golden light still flickering faintly around him. A hundred thoughts swirled in his head, but only one made it to his lips — a slow, amused smile tugging at the corner.

Bucky definitely left her out on purpose.

The road cracked as Bob landed beside Bucky and Yelena, the impact sending a ripple through the dust and debris. Golden light still shimmered faintly around him, but his jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the spot where Sam Wilson stood — waiting for her to appear.

“You good?” Yelena asked, casually scanning him for blood. “You look like you got hit by a meteor.”

“She hits hard,” Bob muttered, rolling his shoulders with a wince.

“I told you to be careful,” Bucky said, flexing his metal arm. “Didn’t think she’d reveal herself this soon.”

“You could’ve at least warned me.”

Yelena smirked. “Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

“Look, Buck,” Sam called over, his tone half-apologetic. “We can talk more about this Avengers thing later. I didn’t mean for your new guy to get his ass handed to him. Hope he’s alright.”

Bucky shrugged, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice. “Define ‘alright.’”

Before anyone could answer, a shimmer sliced through the air — heat warping reality — and she appeared beside Sam with a grace that made gravity look like a formality.

“Speak of the devil,” Bucky muttered. “Nice to see you, Y/N.”

“Likewise,” she said smoothly. Her eyes locked onto Bob. She didn’t blink.

The atmosphere shifted — subtle, quiet — but undeniable. Everyone felt it.

Bob stepped forward. His posture was easy, but the power still hummed beneath his skin.

“I’m not used to being surprised,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“No one’s ever caught me off guard like that.”

“No one’s ever kept up with me,” she replied, the edge in her voice wrapped in velvet and steel.

Walker strode over, arms crossed, jaw clenched like always. “You’re supposed to be stronger than all the Avengers,” he said, nodding at Bob. “Avengers-level-plus, right? What the hell happened?”

Bob didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her. “She’s not exactly easy to measure.”

Y/N glanced down at her boots to hide the smirk, but he caught it — and his chest burned a little warmer.

Yelena raised a brow. “Also, she’s not technically an Avenger.”

Bob shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I never said I was,” Yelena replied sweetly.

Bob huffed a dry laugh, then stepped a little closer to Y/N, his voice dipping just for her.

“So what are we, then? Even?”

“Not even close.”

He tilted his head. “You planning to settle the score?”

“Do you think you can handle a rematch?”

His grin was slow, a little wicked. “Sweetheart, I’m hoping for one.”

“You ready to get knocked on your ass again?”

He leaned in, voice like a spark just before the fire. “Depends. Are we still talking about fighting?”

She held his gaze. “You tell me.”

His eyes moved over her — not crude, not shy — just present. Interested. Deeply, recklessly interested.

“You’re lethal when you flirt,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t flirting,” she said. “Yet.”

The silence crackled — taut and electric, like the moment just before a storm breaks.

Sam glanced between them, then leaned in to whisper something to Joaquin.

Bob tilted his head, gold flickering behind his eyes. “Then I should warn you — I won’t be holding anything back.”

Y/N’s lips curved. “Good,” she murmured, brushing past him. “I like it rough.”

He watched her go, a rare mix of awe and amusement tugging at his features.

Bucky, who had definitely been listening, muttered to Sam out of the corner of his mouth, “This is gonna be a nightmare.”

Technically Part 2 - Over My Head

609 notes · View notes

controld3vil · 1 month ago

Text

letting them pick your weapon

pairings: yelena belova, bucky barnes, john walker, robert reynolds/sentry, ava starr/ghost, taskmaster (comic ver.), alexei shostakov/red guardian x gn!thunderbolts!reader

synopsis: The fact that you value their opinion catches them off guard.

notes -> working on requests rn, but inbox’s still open !! I WANNA WRITE MORE tags/cw: inaccurate characterization/have not seen the film, minor scene mention (it’s in the trailer!), descriptions of weapons (flash bombs, bucky’s grappling hook, retractable shield, emergency teleporter, static boots, weapon gauntlet, combat enhanced gloves) headcanons can be read as platonic/romantic

YELENA BELOVA

-> believed you were joking at first. her? you have lost your mind if you thought she would be a good idea to offer advice to. but because it’s you, she’s willing to consider your preferences and style of combat. most of the team already use guns, tactical knives for hand-to-hand combat. you’re a great candidate for any challenge, so she’s not going to pick something easy. if you wanted easy, you would’ve asked someone else.

“Well, I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” The former Black Widow turned to you with a delighted grin slowly spreading across her face. It’s obvious how smitten she is after your suggestion regarding the weaponry. Valentina had experts for those kinds of things: weapons, gear, and training. Yet, you sought her out for her opinion. Yelena rarely swoons at compliments, but you make her feel lighter on her feet on rare occasions.

“Is it so wrong not to?” you jest with a smirk. You continued down the hallway of the Tower. The armory is built with a fingerprint pad at the end of the hall. Once you are allowed access, the bulletproof doors open.

“You’ve got quite the selection,” Yelena notes, her eyes scanning the close-combat display. A few new additions catch her eye – one’s she’s certain weren’t there last week. It’s obvious you favor hand-to-hand combat over long-range, but she has no intentions of making this easy for you. Yelena knows you enjoy pushing boundaries, not just with weapons, but with strategy, roles, anything that keeps you one step ahead. “You’re still positive you want my advice?”

“Of course!” You beam, scanning down the aisles of the collection Valentina has managed to grab for the team. This was something you wished you had, and not just a temporary use. Still, you’re unfazed by Yelena’s pondering. “You’re one of the best I know of.”

“That you know of,” She corrects, placing her hands on her hips. She’s thinking carefully now. What to give you. Would you like what she suggests? It shouldn’t matter as much, but Yelena now considers your combat style. The way you navigate around the battlefield, how you look both ways before crossing an alleyway. You’re very meticulous when it comes to closed operations, which is why she works so well with you.

You see her grab something from a barrel, close to the heavy weapons. She holds it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. Her palms bounce the spherical object up and down as if it were a baseball and not something to be messed with. Yelena seems satisfied, as you can tell by the glint in her eyes when she turns to you. Her grin is devilish as she picks up a few more and lays them out in her hands.

“Flash bombs, huh…” Your expression is neutral, studying them like an ancient artifact. You rarely use them, as it really depends on the mission. If it were a search and rescue, you wouldn’t think to use flash bombs. But then again, it’s slowly that you realize how typical your preferences are. “Never used them.”

“Exactly the point,” the ex-assassin beams with a lighthearted jab. “We rarely use flash bombs– makes it more fun when we do.”

“So you’re suggesting them because you think they’re fun?” You crossed your arms, a smug smile tugging at your lips. You knew better than to expect Yelena to take your request seriously. She was trying to make peace with a past she rarely spoke of. But still, she had a way of making her life a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Flash bombs are like party tricks–best when no one sees them coming,” she said with a pout, holding one up like it was a priceless treasure.

BUCKY BARNES

-> question your mental fortitude. are you serious? but then he listens to you spouting about his days as the Winter Soldier. he doesn’t think highly of those days but the way you boast about his expertise is almost bizarre. do you admire him? that makes him feel oddly appreciated and conflicted. however because of your persistent pleas (you said please once!), he complies and leads you to his room.

“Where did you think we were going?” The team leader grumbled, eyes fixed ahead as he passed Walker’s door without so much as a glance. There was a hint of playfulness in his voice–subtle, nearly invisible–but you caught it. You always did with him.

He didn’t look at you. He rarely did when he was in one of these moods. Still, you followed close behind, practically on his heels like a loyal, overly eager puppy. And you couldn’t have looked more pleased. Because the truth was, you never expected to be allowed into Bucky’s room.

“I mean no one’s allowed in your room,” you said, your voice light, stating the obvious.

That made him stop.

Bucky turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. To anyone else, he probably seemed annoyed–grim even. But you had spent enough time watching the subtle gestures to notice the truth. The slight droop in his eyes. That flicker of something softer.

“Well– you’re the leader,” you added quickly, voice quieter now, “and out of respect, I just… never thought I’d be invited.” Now he looks at you even more deeply. Great, now he looks like a kicked puppy.

“I mean, I appreciate the kind assumption, but really–” he pauses, eyes locking onto yours with surprising intensity. “You’re always welcome. If you need anything, that is.”

You nod, taking in the quiet sincerity in his words. For a moment, it felt like you two had cleared the air. The weight of the conversation felt lighter, more comfortable.

When he opens the door, he steps aside to let you enter first.

Bucky’s room is nothing out of the ordinary. It was plain and expected, maybe, but not without hints of the man who lives there. A few photos hang crookedly on the wall. Clothes are scattered on the floor, like they were left there in a hurry or maybe forgotten. He doesn’t spend much time here, but it’s undeniably his space.

“Sorry for the mess.” He passes by you and heads to his closet. You watch as he grabs a case, pulling it down with the kind of care that says it’s something important. You have no idea what’s inside, but you can guess. What screams Bucky Barnes? Probably a custom-modified handgun. Maybe a combat knife with a story behind it.

“Here it is,” he says, setting the case down on the bed. You stare at it, curiosity buzzing as he unlatches the safety lock. His gaze flicks to yours for a split second before he opens it. And when you finally see what’s inside, you can’t help it.

You laugh.

Bucky turns to you, almost abruptly. “What’s so funny?”

Your eyes cross his. “Is this the grappling hook you used to destroy that military vehicle when you were chasing us?” Recognition flickers in his face. The realization hits him–it is the same one. And for a moment, his expression is as unforgettable as the day you first saw him, tearing across the empty drylands on that motorcycle like something out of a war film.

“Oh… right,” Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck, guilt creeping into his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly plan that part out.”

“It’s alright…” You said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. The light streaming through the window catches the gleam of his metal arm, making it shine with an almost haunting beauty. “We're past that now.”

His eyes held a longing, a deep, mysterious intensity that you couldn’t quite figure out. He glances back at the grappling hook, it’s been since the beginning of your journey together as a team. He hasn’t used it since then, storing it as a keepsake, but now he’s looking at you.

“It’s yours now."

JOHN WALKER

-> gives you a skeptical look. you know yourself best, why would you go out of your way to ask him? doesn’t turn down the suggestion, but will constantly ask you why. He's been in the military, served two tours in Afghanistan. All he’s ever good for is punching things and shooting. And now, Valentina has given him a mediocre shield in place of Captain America’s. It’s safe to say he doesn’t choose his weapons, he earns them.

“I thought Yelena would be the one to ask, not you.” Walker doesn't seem just mildly annoyed; no, he’s genuinely in disbelief. No one’s ever asked him for a weapon before, and while his options were somewhat limited, he’s beginning to think that with the super serum coursing through him means he’s capable of more than he used to be. But his go-tos have always been the same: his shield and gun.

“You’re a strong guy,” you shrug casually, stripping off the protective gear you’d brought along. The two of you had just finished an operation, and the exhaustion was settling in, yet you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that spurred your suggestion. “I trust your instincts.”

Walker just stares at you, the look on his face speaking volumes. Seriously? He’s caught off guard. After everything that’s happened, now you’re asking him? But you can see he’s weighing your words, even if it’s only for a moment.

“You should trust your intuition,” he says, his tone softening just a little, though the faint skepticism still lingers. “Choose whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Comfortable?” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “Well, if comfortable means picking a weapon that might get me killed, then… sure, I’m all in.” You smile, as if this were no big deal, even though deep down, the weight of your decision isn’t lost on you. “I trust you enough to make it interesting.”

The former soldier exhales, clearly irritated, though mostly with himself. You weren’t going to give up, and he knew it. If he let this go now, you’d just come back tomorrow with the same question. You were rarely this persistent, but when you were, there’s no way of convincing you out of it. He could either make a decision now or risk you asking him again later.

“Fine,” he muttered, scanning the armory.

As you busied yourself, putting away gear and organizing supplies, Walker moved around the racks, his eyes flickering over the options. But the more he looked, the more he found himself caught in a mental loop.

The rifle? Too heavy. That pistol? Not enough range for someone with your skills. That polearm? Too awkward for you to wield efficiently.

Finding a weapon that matched your needs, something that fit your style, was proving to be harder than he anticipated. He muttered under his breath, his frustration slowly building. Then he stole a glance at you, assessing. His eyes narrowed, running through the possibilities. He paused. The mission… in that moment. He remembered how you struggled to dodge the bullets while also taking down some thugs. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he sighed and reached for something on a high shelf.

Before he makes it down, you’re already by his side.

“Whatcha got there?” You look eager, excited by the fact that Walker was this tolerant of your persistent pestering, that he’s willing to go through with his promise.

“A retractable shield.” He removed the cover, and there it was. The shield was smaller compared to Walker’s, but confident in size to contract in and out like a gadget. It had a charred black matte finish, with dark silver lining across the edges. It had an adjustable cuff. It resembled similarly to a Wakandan shield, which Bucky saw during his time there. It was beautiful. “It was a prototype Valentina had ordered for me, but I never used it. I got this one already,” he gestured to his shield, clasped behind his back.

“If you like, you can keep this one.”

“Wait—really?!”

“I mean— I don’t use it, so it’s all yours,” he says delicately, placing it into your hands. “I can teach you a few tricks, too, if you like.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS/SENTRY

-> extra extra nervous. you asked the guy who doesn’t need weapons or any kind of gadget to fight. if any of the members were in the room, they would be looking at you like you were crazy. bob’s first answer is no, but after seeing you pout at his refusal, he’s quick to please you. but then again, he has no idea what he’s doing.

“Okay! Knives, guns—uh, what are you looking for?” You appreciate the effort of his trying to act like he knows what he’s doing. But he’s trying desperately to meet your expectations. Bob looks nervous, like a lamb to the slaughter in the weapons room, jumping from cabinet to cabinet, looking at all of the variety.

“Just something new to try out,” You grin, letting his nervous energy follow him around. You stand by the doorway and watch as Bob tries to analyze each piece of equipment.

“Uhm—are you looking for something practical or—“

“Bob,” that startles him, making him freeze momentarily before meekly turning to face you. He was expecting you in mad rage, yet you weren’t. You just had a cute, goofy smile on your face. “Pick something with your heart. I know whatever you choose will be fine.”

It’ll be fine. He thinks to himself, before nodding, allowing his nerves to slowly subside. Bob takes a deep breath, and in slow strides, he reaches out to something.

When he turns, your gaze follows, all innocent and cute.

“Ahh, an emergency teleporter!” You’re in awe because it was something you didn’t think Bob would pick as his first choice. There were plenty of gadgets you thought of— force fields, bulletproof vests, iron-plated brass knuckles.

“Thought it might come in handy,” he nervously laughs, fiddling with the device, not knowing what to do with his hands. “Uhm— you know, in case you have to go on missions with me— and I don’t know— if something were to happen—“

You could practically see his thoughts unraveling from where you stood, Bob always rambled when he was anxious. But the fact that he was worrying about your safety left a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest.

“Hey– I get it,” you say gently, taking the teleporter from his hand. Only then does he realize he’d been speaking out loud, not just thinking it. He freezes, suddenly stiff and wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. Embarrassed and tense. You offer a reassuring smile, one that says you don’t mind if anything, you appreciate it.

“It’s smart to have a backup plan,” you add. “And hey, maybe once this mission’s over, we’ll use it to teleport straight to that pizza place.”

AVA STARR/GHOST

-> pokes fun at you. jokes about all the possibilities of how you’ll slip up with whatever item she picks. obviously you don’t take it to heart, but ava’s light-hearted nature is a breath of fresh air— after so many grueling missions, her jokes are something that keeps you motivated for the next. need advice on using the element of surprise? she’s your gal!

“I mean, come on–sneaking in with suppressed pistols but still blowing the whole operation?” Ava giggles, clearly enjoying herself while you look away, pretending to be interested in the horizon.

“It was one of my first missions, okay?” you snap, pouting as a hot mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbles up inside you.

“Yeah, yeah—amateur,” she teases, ducking her head and biting back another laugh.

“Oh, like you didn’t have any screw-ups when you started?”

“Don’t even get me started.”

You raise a brow. “Well? I’m listening.”

“I’m not telling you,” Ava says with a teasing hum as she strolls toward the armory, already scanning the gear selection menu. You trail after her, fuming.

“I just told you my most embarrassing story, and you won’t even share yours? That’s not fair!” Steam practically pours from your ears. You’d laid bare your humiliating failure, and Ava–cool, composed Ava, refuses to give even a scrap in return.

But instead of responding, she flashes a sly smile. “Because I got you something better.” She stops in front of a reinforced gear locker, a sleek metal container stacked with tactical essentials: vests, gloves, helmets. Everything you’d expect. But apparently, Ava has something different in mind. You pause, watching as she places her hand on the scanner. With a soft click and mechanical hiss, a hidden shelf slides out.

It gleams. Brand new. Sleek like fresh sneakers out of the box. Ava hums before she accesses the armory, heading to the gear selection.

“For when you’re trying not to sound like a herd of elephants,” she smirks, nodding to a pair of matte-black static boots. She leans casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised in silent amusement.

You blink at her, deadpan.

“Seriously?”

“I mean, I can hear you walk from your bedroom to the kitchen–from my room,” Ava says, casually shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You blink. That’s new information.

“Wait… I’m just a loud walker?” She gives you a pointed look, and suddenly it all clicks. “That explains why Walker’s always giving me weird looks,” you mutter, half to yourself. “Guess my feet have a mind of their own.”

Ava snorts. “No, love–you just have really bad shoes.”

TONY MASTERS/TASKMASTER

-> looks your way in deep silence. for how long you’ve known each other, you’re starting to believe tony chooses not to talk. he expresses much more with his actions, such as offering you extra bullets, or medical tape if things go south. tony is an experienced man with many talents, he’s able to copy and replicate his opponent’s moves. he’s done the same with teammates, with you when training, allowing you to point out the mistakes you hadn’t seen there before. sometimes you think he knows you better than yourself.

“A weaponized gauntlet, huh?” you say, not even pretending to be surprised when Tony hands it to you, seemingly out of thin air. No trip to the armory, no formal request. Apparently, Tony knew you were going to ask him about this and waited for you to ask.

You study the gauntlet closely, fingers tracing its sleek design. Every button, switch, and panel feels deliberate. Precise. You press one. Click! A retractable blade slides out with satisfying ease. Another press–a grappling line. Then a short-range stun charge. Then a blinding flash ejector. You can’t help it. A grin creeps across your face.

This was so him.

Tony embodied versatility in his work. He didn’t rely on brute force–he struck with speed, precision, and timing. This gauntlet? This gauntlet was just like him: tactical, efficient, and sharp.

“Thank you,” you say softly, still a bit in awe as you reset the device to its default mode. Your eyes are locked on the gauntlet, taking in every detail. But Tony’s? His eyes haven’t let you once.

If the circumstances were different, you might’ve mistaken this moment for something romantic.

“It’s pretty neat, has everything I need,” you say, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. You don’t mind the quiet, not really, but sometimes the stillness between you feels too heavy not to break. Tony doesn’t reply. Not verbally, at least. But you can tell his focus has shifted, drawn in closer. He’s leaning slightly toward you now, just enough for you to notice the space closing.

You feel compelled to try the gauntlet on. As you unfasten the straps and slide it onto your wrist, it clamps down, not tightly, threatening. More like a perfectly fitted bracelet. Secure and purposeful. There’s a subtle hum as the device calibrates, adjusting to the shape of your hand. The pressure eases, and it begins to feel more like a part of you than an accessory. Almost like a second skin.

Tiny scanners flicker along your fingertips, mapping them precisely–each digit now linked to a specific function, a silent promise of the power you had. You lift your pointer finger, and almost instantly, a blade slides out with fluid precision.

“This feels like straight-up nanotech…” You murmur, raising your wrist toward the ceiling light, eyes wide with wonder. You probably look like a kid on Christmas morning. If a civilian saw you now, they might assume you’d completely lost it.

“Where did you even get this?” you ask, unable to hide your curiosity. Tony tilts his head, deliberate and unreadable. You already know he won’t answer, but that never stopped you from asking him pointless questions anyway. It’s become a quiet repetition between you.

You lower your arm, bring the gauntlet down to chest level–just enough to create a sort of invisible line between you and him. A barrier, but a playful one.

“If you ever need it,” you say, mimicking his earlier head tilt with a smile, “just ask.”

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV/RED GUARDIAN

-> very excited. so excited you asked him! alexei is really a lovable guy— even though he often doesn’t use any weapons or gadgets, he thinks of his teammates whenever he goes out window shopping. he sees a new brand Glock 19 by the window? yelena would love it! an energy stabilizer on the dark web? bob’s gonna flip! but you? good old you get special treatment because he’ll personally get you whatever you want.

“When I heard you needed a new weapon, I was so happy!” Alexei beams as the two of you make your way into the living room. His accent thickens with excitement as he waves a hand. “Not in a bad way, of course, but it’s good, da? Trying something new!”

“You get me, Alexei,” you say, arms crossing instinctively. Apparently, you weren’t the only one picking up on your growing restlessness. Same weapons, same tactics, and same rhythm, it all started to feel stale. You figured switching things up might help you see things differently.

Everyone on the team had their niche. Alexei, with his brute strength. Bucky, his guns, and that metal arm. Ava could phase through about anything. Everyone had their thing. And you? You’d been stuck in the same position for far too long.

“That is why I was so excited when I found this,” he says, crouching to pull a box from under the couch with a mischievous grin.

Your brows lift, your curiosity piques. “What’ve you got?”

“Close your eyes!” he orders, and you obey, hands outstretched like a kid waiting for a surprise. Behind your closed lids, you hear the ripple of tape, the crinkle of bubble wrap, and then clank... a solid metallic sound, followed by the stretch of fabric. Then something is gently placed into your palms.

It’s lighter than you expect. Smooth and flexible, but as your fingers trace further, you find the contrast, the cold, hard metal beneath the fabric.

“Open your eyes!” he announces, barely able to contain his excitement.

You do. And you’re impressed.

Combat-enhanced gloves, sleek Kevlar-weave across the surface, making your hands feel impossibly light and agile. Carbon-titanium plates reinforce the knuckles and strike zones, and the inside? A smart gecko-grip polymer, designed to boost grip on any surface.

You stared, stunned. Not just by the gloves, but by the fact that Alexei went through the trouble to find them. Valentina might have gotten you something, if she wasn’t constantly ranting about budget cuts. But this? This came from someone who genuinely wanted to help.

“You really are the best,” you say, laughing softly as you wrap your arms around his neck, the gloves still clutched in your hands. He lets out a big, satisfied huff of a laugh, and when you pull back, his smile nearly outshines the room.

Who could hate him? You hadn’t known Alexei that long, but somehow he already understood you better than most.

“I know you like your shooting and whatnot,” he says, mock innocent. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab to the shoulder.

“But I also know,” he grins, “you really like punching things. So I thought–'Hey, you know who’d love combat gloves?’”

You can’t stop smiling. It actually hurts a little, but you don’t care.

“Then I saw them, just sitting there in the market! I couldn’t believe it. Like the universe wanted me to buy them for you!”

“Universe said received,” you say, voice bubbling with gratitude and affection. You look down at the gloves, then back at Alexei. You’ll get him something too. Not because you owe him, but because it’s rare to be known like this. And his gift?

It’s perfect.

414 notes · View notes

myinconnelly1 · 17 days ago

Text

What's Mine

Pairing: Bob Reynolds (Sentry) x Reader

Word Count: 1245

Warnings: SMUT, breeding kink, mania, degradation, breeding kink (yes because that is all this fic is) No use of Y/N

“Jesus, Bob,” John shouted as Bob’s bedroom door slammed shut. The team was on the lookout because Bob had been acting strange for the past couple of days. He actually asked to go pick up the pizza with Alexi the night before and had spent all morning cleaning his room. “Is your hair blond again?” John asked as he looked from the table and Bob disappeared from view into your bedroom. “Yelena?!”

“Hey babe,” you said absently as Bob entered your room. You were lying on your stomach headphones on, working through your incident report for Valentina. “What’s up?” you asked not hearing anything to follow up his new presence. Bob was generally quiet, so it was not unusual for him to just lie down next to you.

“You’re such a pretty little slut,” he murmured against your back. The words sounded awkward coming from his mouth. He was definitely not used to saying them, and you were definitely not used to hearing them. His body was warm as he kissed along your back, feather-light, lifting the material as he went.

“What?” You gasped as he left a little nip on your hip. You could feel him rut against the bed at your noise.

“I said you’re a little slut. My little slut,” He licked up your back to your shoulder then nibbled your neck up to your ear. Your back arched and you moaned against him as your eyes fluttered closed. “You’re wearing too many clothes, slut.” He pulled your shirt the rest of the way off and pulled you to your knees leaning your back against his chest.

“What has gotten into you?” You let your head lull back against his shoulder while his hands grabbed your tits and rubbed them in a crushing grip. It was almost painful, and you tried to squirm away slightly.

“Don’t try to run away,” he growled as one of his hands dropped to your belly to hold you tight against him. You could feel his erection straining against your back. “Don’t try to keep what’s mine from me.”

You hadn’t encountered this side of Bob before. He was strong and ardent, rocking his hips against you in short desperate bumps. His fingers were kneading your stomach, and you could almost hear the gears grinding in his mind as he worked through whatever fantasy he was having with you.

“Gotta knock you up,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. He punctuated the statement by grinding his bare erection between your legs. You couldn’t have contained the small pathetic whimper that left your lips if you had tried. It snapped something in Bob and he flipped you onto your back. Your laptop clattered to the floor near your bed, and Bob had pulled your pants off faster than your ass could hit the bed. He was bare between your legs, your arms instinctively grabbing his forearms to steady yourself. He was chiseled, defined, and blond as light echoed in his eyes.

It wasn’t a violent flash like when the Sentry was using his powers, but you could see the energy was there. Fear and arousal coiled deep within you, as you realized that you were absolutely at Bob’s mercy. You could never overpower the Sentry, even if you had all your clothes on.

“Wait, Bob…” You cried out as he bent his head to take one of your nipples between his teeth. His fingers sought out your core and made light work of spreading your juices. You planted one of your feet, as you moaned from his ministrations.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking tight,” He groaned as he curled his finger within you. “Gonna have to work you open so you can take all my cum.” You squealed as his thumb pressed against your clit, and he used his free hand to press your legs apart.

“I’m gonna cum,” You gasped as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the speed of your orgasm.

“Hurry, come on my fingers,” his lips were pressed against the skin of your chest as he babbled and worked your body with his fingers. “I need to see you stuffed with me.” Your body could only obey him, covering his fingers with your slick. Slick that he promptly stocked over his cock before lining the head of it up with your entrance.

You wanted to beg him to slow down, to wear a condom. But all you could do was pant and gasp and moan as he pressed into you. You would never get used to his size and the stretch from him as your fingers clawed into his forearms and shoulders.

“Mark me up, honey,” he babbled as he stared at where he was sinking into you. He was transfixed by the sight. “Gonna mark you, make sure everyone knows you’re my little slut,” He huffed and inhaled quickly as you clenched around him. “Just a little more, I know you can take it.” He groaned as he finally bottomed out.

“Please, Bob,” You whined as you adjusted to the intrusion.

“My needy little bitch,” He chuckled rudely. But you couldn’t care less as he started to pound into you. “I knew you needed me. Were ready for me to blow my load in you. Fuck do you think you can take it all?” He sounded absolutely wrecked as he fuck you. He seemed oblivious to your second orgasm, which hit you like a freight train, as he chased his own release.

“Wanna try,” You gasped as you drenched his cock.

“Tight little cunt like this, probably not,” He grunted. “Probably gonna waste it.” He pulled you up on your knees, spreading you over his lap.

“Need to make a mess on your cock,” you panted. He licked your lips and into your mouth as he started to kiss you. He held your hips so that you couldn’t pull away, getting deeper with each sloppy thrust.

“I’m cumming,” his body shuddered as you felt the hard length of him pulse deep. “Fuck, I want a boy,” He shouted wrapping his arms tightly around your back and leaning you back. He was still coming as he continued to thrust into you. You could feel it dripping down your legs as he fucked you faster. “Or a girl, shit both, all of them,” he groaned as he climaxed again and dropped you onto the bed and his head onto your chest.

You ran your fingers through his hair as you tried to catch your breath. His knees were under you holding your hips at an incline, and your back was starting to ache from the awkwardness of the position. This was the first real chance you had to see him. His hair was blond, not the golden that Valentina had managed to get when she convinced Bob he was a god, but definitely lighter than it had been just yesterday.

“What was that all about?” You asked cautiously. You didn’t want to ruin the bliss you were both still riding out.

“Just feeling really good, like I could do anything,” He sighed against your breast as he kissed it languorously. “But all I want is you.” His words warmed you but you recognized his mania and tried to stop your heart from wanting the babies he was begging for. “All I want is you, again and again and again,” he muttered against your skin as you felt his cock stiffening again.

#bob reynolds #Sentry #bob reynolds x reader #x reader #john walker #Sunny & Honey

247 notes · View notes

https-bobreynolds · 26 days ago

Text

enter the sun and the spell

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds/sentry x enchantress! reader

summary: wouldn’t be a part of a superhero team without dramatic, grand entrances.

author’s note: AAAAAAAA I ABSOLUTELY LOVE ACTION SEQUENCE FICS!!! let me know if i should do more of it🥺

everything’s chaos.

ava is down, shorting out and twitching. alexei is half-buried under a collapsed steel beam, protecting yelena beneath him. walker shielding himself with the last flicker of his strength, teeth grit.

red light flashes from every direction. sirens screaming. drones whirring overhead. and in the center of it all, a towering mech-god hybrid bristling with stark-grade weaponry, absorbing every hit like it’s nothing.

“we could use a little help here.” bucky growls into comms, ducking behind a crumbling pillar as plasma sears past.

another blast hits. the concrete buckles.

he mutters, “where the hell are-“

THUNDER.

not from the sky but from the air itself. like the world just inhaled.

crack. the clouds ripple apart.

light splits open the sky like a curtain tearing in reverse, golden, searing, white-hot, as a figure descends from the clouds at terminal velocity.

THE SENTRY.

glowing like a second sun. a comet wrapped in fire.

his landing impact cracks the street, sends shockwaves through the block. cars rattle. the mech stumbles. dust spirals. a sonic boom follows an instant later, late, like the world needed a second to catch up.

from the rubble, yelena groans, shielding her eyes.

walker mutters, “show-off.”

bob sentry lifts his head, eyes blazing pure energy. “heard you guys were in trouble.”

ava starts, “and where the hell’s-“

green lightning splits the ground.

it starts as a low hum, a spell igniting in the marrow of the world. runes spiral across cracked pavement in a circle, glowing from beneath.

the mech rears back, some internal system detecting something wrong, before you rise from the glowing runic seal like mist made solid.

cloak fluttering. eyes lit green-gold. hair lifted in wind that isn’t there.

your boots hit the ground with a light click.

you lift a single hand.

a chain of burning sigils erupts from your palm, wrapping around the mech’s limbs mid-strike, not restraining, but binding, with magic that whines like a violin at its limit. arcane energy threads through the metal plating like vines through stone.

the thing roars.

you cock your head slightly.

“shh,” you murmur. “the adults are talking.”

with a twist of your wrist, the bindings explode, taking both arms with them.

yelena stares. “okay, how did she just…”

“she’s channeling her,” sentry murmurs, stepping forward beside you. “just a fraction of her power.”

“yeah, well,” bucky pants, “someone better tell the bad guy it’s just a fraction, cause-“

before he finishes, you leap.

a golden platform blooms under your foot midair, you vault off it, conjure another beneath you, dancing across sigils in midair as you rain enchanted fire down from your palms. green bolts crash into the mech’s core. you flip backward through burning smoke and land beside sentry.

the mech lurches, failing.

sentry floats up again, his voice low, “you wanna finish it?”

you nod, breathless. “together?”

he offers you his hand.

magic coils around your forearm as you take it. his energy glows hot and gold.

and in one perfect motion, you and sentry lift into the sky like a rising myth, and on his count…

“now.”

he hurls you like a spell itself.

you’re a streak of emerald fire across the sky, spinning, brimming with wrath and elegance, before slamming down into the mech’s core, carving a runed spear from your palm midair and driving it straight through.

impact.

time slows.

the mech goes still, then detonates inward in a rush of imploding magic and machine.

silence.

the dust clears.

the rest of the thunderbolts* stagger to their feet.

you’re standing in the crater, one hand extended, panting, glowing. your eyes slowly dim. the runes fade. the storm calms.

and then, “still a show-off.” walker calls, brushing dust off his jacket.

you smirk as sentry lands beside you. “wouldn’t be me if i wasn’t.”

he glances at you, smiling. “you okay?”

you nod. “i didn’t burn out. not this time.”

his hand brushes yours, a moment, subtle.

“good,” he says, quietly. “i like seeing you light up the sky.”

you don’t say anything back. but your fingers curl into his just enough.

the others gather, limping, groaning, swearing.

and from the wreckage, the team walks off slowly, war-torn, victorious.

part two

tag list:

@lovetoalll

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #lewis pullman x reader #thunderbolts #fanfic #lewis pullman #x reader #thunderbolts x you #thunderbolts reader insert #sentry #sentry x reader #sentry x you #sentry x y/n #robert reynolds #robert bob reynolds

224 notes · View notes

platonicaxaxe · 2 months ago

Text

Deathtrap & Bob

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: When Yelena's ex assassin friend meets Flustered Bob

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

The mission had gone south—fast.

Electric ropes sizzled and crackled around the wrists of the new Avengers, rendering even Ava’s phasing abilities useless. Sparks danced around them with every movement, sending sharp zaps up their arms if they dared to tug too hard.

“W-What are we going to do?” Bob Reynolds muttered, panic starting to creep into his voice. His eyes flicked around the warehouse, scanning for options—but the restraints were advanced, alien-tech fused with Stark-grade modifications.

“Can't you go Sentry for now? We could use a little assistance here, Bobby,” Alexei grumbled through gritted teeth, his thick Russian accent making his frustration sound even harsher.

“Sh*t!” John Walker spat, violently twisting against his binds. “We're sitting ducks!”

In front of them, the masked assailant—an ex-HYDRA enforcer with too much pride and too many weapons—paced smugly, twirling a blade in his gloved fingers. His voice dripped with arrogance.

“The new Avengers,” he sneered, circling like a predator. “You look less like a team and more like a failed science experiment. Tell me—who's going to save you now?”

That’s when Yelena caught it—a whisper of movement, a shift in the shadows behind him. Her eyes narrowed, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Her,” she murmured.

Without warning, a figure emerged from the dark—fluid, silent, and lethal. Before the attacker could register the threat, a black boot cracked into his jaw, sending him stumbling back. The woman moved like smoke and fire—her strikes deliberate, precise. She was dressed in tactical black, a utility belt slung low on her hips, two daggers flashing at her sides.

Bob’s eyes widened.

She didn’t just fight. She danced. A whirlwind of kicks, elbow strikes, and dodges followed. She ducked beneath a wide swing, catching the attacker’s wrist mid-air and twisting it with a sharp snap. He cried out, but she didn’t stop—she pivoted, slamming her knee into his ribs and finishing with a spinning back kick that knocked the wind out of him.

Steel met steel as he managed to draw a blade and slash toward her. But she caught his arm, redirected the momentum, and drove his own blade into the floorboards beside him. Her movements were liquid grace and coiled danger—like a panther stalking its prey. The attacker growled in frustration, throwing wild punches now, desperate to regain control.

But she was faster.

A dodge. A sweep. Another elbow strike. Then she spun behind him and wrapped her arm around his throat in a brutal chokehold, whispering something in his ear before slamming his head into the wall. He collapsed in a heap.

Bob stared, absolutely stunned.

“Wow,” he breathed, the word slipping out of him involuntarily.

Everyone turned.

Yelena grinned. John raised an eyebrow. Alexei chuckled and gave Bob a knowing nudge.

“She’s Y/N Y/L/N. Former Widow. Dangerous. Deadly. Looks like Bobby’s got a crush, eh?”

Bob blinked, caught somewhere between awe and flustered embarrassment.

“I—uh—no, I just… she’s really... efficient.”

Y/N turned toward them, finally locking eyes with Bob. For a moment, everything else faded—the electric ropes, the ruined mission, the jeering villain on the floor. She gave him the smallest nod, eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let’s get you out of those ropes,” she said coolly, already pulling a slim blade from her belt.

Bob’s heart was hammering harder than it ever did in battle—and for once, it wasn’t because of the Sentry.

The last crackle of the restraints faded, and freedom surged back into the group’s limbs. As the team shook off their bindings, Y/N had already crossed the floor and pulled Yelena into a tight, familiar hug. They clung to each other like war-weathered sisters—battle-hardened but still breathing.

“It’s been a while now, huh?” Yelena murmured against her shoulder, her voice cracking slightly despite the smirk tugging at her lips.

Y/N pulled back with a chuckle. “Too long. You still keeping that pet fox alive?”

Yelena scoffed. “He’s not a fox, he’s a man. But close enough.” She jerked her thumb toward the others. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the circus.”

Y/N turned, arching an eyebrow as her eyes scanned the misfit team of modern heroes. “This your new crew? You’ve got upgraded.”

She gave Bob another lingering glance that made his chest tighten.

Yelena motioned with both hands, giving a mock-formal bow. “Everyone, meet Y/N Y/L/N. Codename: Deathtrap. We worked together in the Red Room.” She lifted her fingers in sarcastic bunny ears around worked. “She’s the reason I have scars on three ribs and a deep trust issue.”

“Guilty,” Y/N said with a small smirk. “But she gave as good as she got.”

Alexei raised his brows. “Deathtrap? Now that’s a name.”

John Walker gave a low whistle. “That explains the takedown back there. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I don’t have a good side.”

Bucky stepped forward, giving her a long, assessing look. “James Barnes,” he said calmly. “Or Bucky. I’ve read your file. Didn’t think I’d meet the Deathtrap in person.”

“Flattered,” she replied, shaking his hand with a solid grip. “Though most of that file’s probably blacked out.”

He nodded once. “The interesting parts usually are.”

Ava Starr, who had been inspecting the still-sparking remains of the electric ropes, stood up and joined them. Her expression was unreadable, eyes narrowing slightly at Y/N. “Ava. Ghost. I’ve heard of you. We’ve almost crossed paths—Germany, four years ago.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Ah. That intel extraction. That was you phasing through the safe house walls?”

Ava gave a small nod. “You left a knife in my exit route.”

Y/N’s smirk deepened. “You dodged it. I’d say we’re even.”

Ava blinked, then let out a reluctant chuckle. “Fair enough.”

Bob, meanwhile, had been silently watching the exchange like someone hypnotized. Every time Y/N spoke, his brain seemed to shut down a little more. When she finally turned her attention to him again, his heart almost launched out of his chest.

“You’re Bob, right?” she asked, stepping closer, arms casually folded.

He stood straighter, instantly awkward. “Uh—y-yeah. Bob. Bob Reynolds. That’s me. Um, well, most people just—uh—call me Sentry. Sometimes. When I'm... you know, doing the thing.”

Y/N looked amused. “The thing being flying through the sky or tearing through cosmic threats with your bare hands?”

He laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah. That one.”

“You were the one who said ‘wow’ earlier,” she said teasingly, the corner of her lips twitching upward.

His face went crimson. “I-I mean—yeah. But I wasn’t—uh—it was just—you were—very effective.”

Bucky coughed into his fist to hide a grin. Ava rolled her eyes but didn’t try to hide her smirk.

Alexei snorted. “He’s malfunctioning.”

John leaned toward Bob with a smirk. “You alright, man? You look like someone short-circuited your brain.”

Y/N stepped even closer, her tone dropping just slightly. “You blush like someone who hasn’t seen a woman throw a punch before.”

Bob blinked rapidly. “I’ve seen lots of women throw punches. Just—yours are... different. Not in a weird way! In a good way. Great way. You’re... really cool.”

Y/N extended a hand toward him, eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, ‘cool’ is a first. Usually I get called terrifying. I’ll take it.”

He shook her hand quickly, his palm a little clammy. “N-Nice to meet you... Deathtrap.”

Her grin widened. “Likewise, sunshine.”

Yelena leaned over to Ava and whispered with a knowing smile, “This is going to be fun.”

Bob Reynolds wasn’t exactly built for New York.

He tried to follow Bucky’s advice. Take walks, breathe real air, let your senses ground you. But New York wasn’t calm—it was chaos on caffeine. Car horns. Footsteps. Shouting vendors. The city was a living, breathing entity, and to someone like Bob, who kept a literal god lurking behind his ribs, that energy didn’t soothe. It poked at him.

He wandered anyway, shoulders hunched beneath his hoodie, hands buried deep in his pockets. The buildings towered over him, and his thoughts did the same. Every footstep was a distraction from the storm in his head. The Void, the therapist had said. Give it a shape. Name your tension. Understand what triggers it.

But Bob wasn’t sure how to explain to a civilian therapist that the black hole inside him could shatter worlds.

Then he saw her.

Through the dusty window of a modest music shop on 12th and Avenue B, her silhouette moved with casual grace. She looked... normal. In a city of noise, she was the only part that seemed silent. Y/N stood by a vinyl shelf, fingers dancing over the records with the same precision she’d used to break bones and disarm threats just weeks ago.

He froze.

It was her.

Deathtrap.

The woman who haunted his thoughts ever since she rescued him and the others like it was just another Tuesday. But here, she wasn’t the assassin. No weapons. No tactical gear. Just jeans, a sweater, and a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She looked like someone you'd pass on the street and never think twice about.

He did, though. He stood outside that shop long enough to draw glances before finally dragging himself away.

But the next day, he returned.

And the next.

It became a routine—his own little ritual.

She always followed the same path. Groceries from the tiny mom-and-pop market with faded signage. A short stop in the music shop. A fruit vendor tucked behind an old brick building. Then down a narrow alley where she’d vanish without a trace.

Yelena had warned him. “Her location will never be found, Bob. She lives in shadows. It’s what we were made for.”

But he couldn't help it. Something about her presence grounded him more than any therapy or Sentry-enhanced meditation ever had.

On the fifth day, he timed it just right.

He kept a quiet pace half a block behind her, head low, hood up. Her steps were confident but unhurried, like someone who’d memorized every crack in the sidewalk. She stopped to buy a few apples. Talked briefly with the vendor, who clearly knew her by name—“Miss Y/N, the usual?”

Bob smiled faintly. Even Deathtrap had a usual.

Then came the alley. He watched from across the street as she turned in and—

—vanished.

No sound. No trace. Like a ghost slipping back into the shadows.

He approached slowly. The alley was narrow, grimy, flanked by fire escapes and stacked crates. But when he stepped inside... there was nothing. No door. No gate. Just a brick wall at the end and the wind weaving between trash bins.

Bob frowned.

She was gone.

His pulse ticked faster—not out of fear, but out of fascination. She’d disappeared the way she lived: clean, quiet, and deliberate.

Back in the open street, he exhaled and shoved his hands back into his pockets. His mind raced.

Maybe she was just a habit now, like his morning coffee or the way he checked every dark corner before entering a room. But the truth was simpler, and more dangerous:

Y/N wasn’t just a fascination.

She was a comfort he didn’t understand. A calm in his storm. The first person who made him forget—for even a moment—that he was Sentry. That he was The Void.

She made him feel like just... Bob.

And that scared him more than anything.

Night had passed like a restless whisper. Bob tossed and turned, the plan echoing in his mind: Tomorrow, I’ll say something. Just talk. Be normal. Human.

So the next day, he found himself in the music shop again, pretending to browse through vinyl records. His fingers hovered over an old David Bowie album he didn’t recognize, heart pounding as the little bell above the door rang.

She walked in like she belonged to the place. Like the world was hers and no one had noticed yet.

Bob turned a little too fast. “O-oh, you’re… Y/N, right?” he said, the words tumbling out like broken piano keys.

She glanced up from behind her sunglasses, and a sly smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Hey, Mr. Sentry Guy.”

Bob’s face lit up pink—noticeably so. He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. “That obvious, huh?”

Y/N stepped closer, casually thumbing through a rack of jazz vinyls. “I know you’ve been following me.”

The world stopped for a second.

Bob’s heart slammed against his ribs. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything. I just… I saw you. And then kept seeing you. And I didn’t know how to… stop.”

She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable, yet not cold. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you into that alley and snap your wrist.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “T-totally fair. Would’ve deserved it.”

A beat passed.

Then she gave a light shrug. “But you didn’t exactly hide it. And you kept your distance. So, either you’re really bad at surveillance or really curious.”

“I—I guess I’m both,” he said sheepishly.

Y/N tilted her head, examining him for a moment. Something about his awkwardness was... honest. Genuine. A rare find in her world of veiled intentions.

“You wanna go somewhere?” she asked, slipping a record under her arm.

Bob blinked. “U-uh, sure! Yeah. I mean—as long as you don’t, you know, kill me.” He gave a weak laugh, clearly trying to lighten the tension.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “No promises.”

Bob swallowed hard.

“But if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it past day two of following me,” she added smoothly, already walking toward the door.

“Right. Comforting,” he muttered, trailing behind her like a very confused golden retriever.

As the door closed behind them and they slipped into the blur of New York’s streets, Bob realized something unsettling yet thrilling

Y/N straddled her matte black motorcycle with practiced ease, kicking the stand back as the engine gave a low purr. Her helmet sat loosely under her arm. She looked at Bob over her shoulder, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Come,” she said simply, as if this wasn’t the most normal request in the world.

Bob blinked. “Y-you know how to… do this?” he asked, stepping toward the machine like it might bite him.

Y/N’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You think I’d own it for show?” She patted the seat behind her.

He gulped, awkwardly climbing on. The bike shifted slightly under their combined weight, and Bob flailed to balance himself, gripping the seat for dear life.

Y/N turned her head, her voice amused but firm. “Hold on, Bob. Or you’re gonna fall.”

“O-okay,” he mumbled, frozen in place. Okay, okay, okay. After a moment’s hesitation, he carefully wrapped his arms around her waist—tentatively, like she was made of glass.

But she wasn’t. She was made of steel and sharp corners, and she felt real. Her jacket was worn leather, warm from her body, and the second his hands touched her, his brain short-circuited.

Her waist was small.

His face went hot like a furnace, his ears nearly glowing red.

Y/N revved the engine and didn’t say a word about it. But the tiniest smile ghosted on her lips as she took off into the blur of the city, the wind rushing past them.

Bob, behind her, hugged tighter out of instinct, his heart hammering wildly against his chest. He was sure she could feel it.

He smiled—like an idiot, like a schoolboy, like someone who had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky.

He didn’t know where they were going. But for once… he didn’t mind.

The motorcycle rumbled up the winding path, gravel crunching beneath the tires as they reached the top of the secluded hill. City lights blinked in the distance like scattered stars, far enough to feel free from it all, but close enough to know the world still spun.

Y/N killed the engine with a smooth twist, the sudden silence almost startling. Bob sat still behind her for a second longer, his hands still gently around her waist until he realized—and practically jumped off the bike.

“Right—sorry—got carried away,” he muttered, stepping away and rubbing the back of his neck like it would hide the heat rising to his cheeks.

Y/N slid off gracefully, removing her helmet and shaking out her hair. “You didn’t die. I’m impressed.”

Bob chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, well, that’s new for me.”

They stood there for a moment, a breeze ruffling their jackets. The night air was cooler up here, filled with the scent of pine and distant rain. The hill overlooked a slice of the city—silent, glowing, unreal.

Y/N walked toward a flat stone near the edge of the slope and sat down. Bob followed, settling beside her, his legs crossed, hands fidgeting in his lap.

“You come here a lot?” he asked, glancing sideways.

“Sometimes,” she said. “When I need to remember I’m not just muscle memory and ghosts.”

Bob didn’t know what to say to that, but somehow… he understood.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. The wind whispered through the grass, and the city below seemed impossibly far away.

Then Y/N spoke again, her voice softer now.

“I know what people think of me. Deathtrap. Widow. Assassin. Most days, I don’t even correct them. It’s easier that way.”

Bob looked at her, really looked. Her profile against the moonlight was sharp yet tired. Like someone who’d built armor out of necessity, but never learned how to take it off.

“I don’t think that,” he said quietly.

She turned to him, eyes searching. “No?”

He shook his head. “I think you saved us when no one else could. I think you’re smart and terrifying and… kind, even if you try to hide it.”

That caught her off guard.

She blinked, then scoffed lightly. “Kind. That’s a new one.”

“Well, you didn’t kill me. That’s a start,” he teased.

She smirked, but it quickly faded. “Why do you keep following me, Bob?”

He hesitated. The answer was simple but heavy.

“Because when you walked into that fight… I couldn’t stop watching. Not because of the way you moved, though yeah, that was incredible—but because you were fearless. You moved like someone who had nothing left to lose… and somehow, you still chose to help us.”

Y/N’s eyes lowered. Her fingers traced the edge of the stone beneath her.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to see another team get slaughtered,” she murmured.

“Maybe,” Bob said. “But I think… you wanted to feel needed. Even just for a second.”

That silence again—but heavier.

Then she whispered, “It’s dangerous, letting people need you. It always ends the same.”

Bob looked at her, heart twisting a little. “But… what if it doesn’t this time?”

She didn’t reply right away. Just stared out at the horizon, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she turned to him.

“Careful, Bob. I break things.”

He smiled softly. “So do I.”

And for a moment—just a moment—their eyes held. No hero masks. No code names. Just Bob and Y/N. Broken, maybe. But not beyond repair.

They sat in silence for a while, letting the night settle around them. Bob had never felt so calm and nervous at the same time. Y/N, usually so composed and unreadable, seemed a little more human tonight. A little softer around the edges.

The wind tugged gently at her hair as she looked down at her hands, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on her glove.

“Do you ever feel like... you’re two people?” she asked quietly. “Like there’s the version of you that everyone knows. And then the one no one sees… not even you sometimes?”

Bob swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Every day.”

She glanced at him, her expression thoughtful.

“I wasn’t always 'Deathtrap', you know. I used to be a violinist. Ballet, too. My mother loved the arts. She wanted something gentle for me.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “Then the Red Room took that away.”

Bob’s brows furrowed, the weight of her words settling heavy between them.

“They turned me into a weapon,” she said. “Taught me how to kill without blinking. I was twelve the first time I—” She stopped, jaw tight. “Anyway. I survived. Barely. I escaped years ago, and since then… it’s just been survival. No towers, no team, no second chances.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “You deserved more than that.”

Y/N gave him a look that said you don’t know me well enough to say that. But her eyes weren’t as cold as they used to be. There was something breaking through.

“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head. “What’s it like being the guy with the golden glow?”

Bob exhaled, chuckling humorlessly. “It’s… a nightmare, sometimes. Sentry’s not just power—it’s chaos. I don’t even fully understand him. Sometimes I think he’s protecting people, and sometimes I feel like he’s trying to erase me.”

Y/N turned fully to face him now, brows drawn. “Erase you?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s like I’m just a shell for something cosmic. When I’m Bob Reynolds, I’m anxious. Shaky. I can’t sleep without seeing all the things I’ve done… or could do. But when I’m Sentry? I’m unstoppable. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “Because you don’t want to lose control.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispered. “I’ve done things I don’t remember. Things I don’t want to remember.”

Their eyes met again—two people made into weapons by forces beyond their control, now trying to live in a world that only sees the surface.

Y/N reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small music player—old, scratched, and obviously used for years. She offered him an earbud.

“I don’t let just anyone hear my playlists,” she said lightly.

Bob blinked, surprised, then took the earbud with a quiet “Thanks.”

The music was soft. Classical. A violin piece—melancholy, haunting, but beautiful. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the music wrap around him.

“This was yours, wasn’t it?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s what I play when I need to remember I was more than just… Deathtrap.”

He looked at her, really looked—past the guarded eyes and the calm exterior. And she let him.

For the first time, they weren’t Sentry and Deathtrap. They were just Bob and Y/N.

Two people who had been through hell, finally finding a moment of peace—together.

#bob reynolds #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #buckysam #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #sentry #bob #sentry x reader #sentry x you #marvel x you #marvel x reader #thunderbolts #fanfic #fandom #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob thunderbolts

343 notes · View notes

authorchariot · 19 days ago

Note

smut clingy bob reynolds please 🥺

CORRESPONDENCE: huuuuuu 🥺🥺

> ENTRY: TUMBLR_SPECIAL_004

TITLE: yours, always

RATING: explicit

CATEGORY: thunderbolts* (2025)

PAIRING: bob reynolds x afab!reader

EST. READING TIME: 4m 51s

INDEX TAGS: creampie, established relationship, not beta read, pov second person, vaginal sex

He's already touching you before you've fully stepped into the bedroom; large, warm hands at your waist like he needs you anchored to him.

"Don't go anywhere." He murmurs into your hair, voice low, desperate. "Please."

"I'm right here." But that isn't enough, not tonight. His grip tightens just a little, fingers curling against your hips possessively.

"Say it again."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bob." You tell him, clearer this time, one hand sliding into his hair. "I promise."

It's the only cue he needs.

He kisses you like he's trying to melt into you; like if he doesn't get skin-to-skin, he might just breakdown completely. He pulls you in, backs you toward the bed, mouths open and wet, breathing each other in. He's warm all over. Barefoot, in a worn t-shirt and boxers. Tonight, he's just Bob. Not the Sentry. Not the Void. Just Bob. Your Bob.; the one who bruises easy when it comes to love.

"Want you." He murmurs, like it hurts. "So bad. All the time. Don't know what to do with it." You cup his face, guide him onto the mattress with you, and he follows. He's over you in a heartbeat; kissing your chest through your shirt, gripping your thighs, touching like he's already mourning every second that slips by. "Take it off." He mutters against your stomach, tugging at the neck of your shirt with his teeth. "Wanna see you. Need to— Need to feel you. Please."

Your clothes are shrugged off as fast as you can and his follow shortly after. Once his skin meets yours, every part of it is slow, not because he's teasing but because he's savouring. You're the only thing that keeps him grounded and present and human.

"You always let me be soft with you." He says, kissing your shoulder, your wrist, your stomach, the inside of your knee. "Everyone expects me to be some… But you actually treat me like a person, like a man."

"You are a man, honey." You breathe, hand in his hair, hips arching into him. "And not just any man; you're my man. Just remember that, okay?" He shivers and groans, fitting his hips between your thighs, nestling close, wrapping his arms tight around you, feeling the weight of you, the warmth.

"Fuck… Love you so much. So, so much. Hurts sometimes." He pushes inside you with a kind of reverence, shifting to hold your hands above your head, fingers laced into your own. God, he feels amazing; stretching but not to the point of pain. Just a nice, comfortable burn, where the friction is just right. He sets a slow rhythm, deep and steady, pressing his forehead to yours with every dip of his hips, lips barely brushing your mouth, breath hot on your face. "You're so perfect." He whispers. "You're so good to me. Don't deserve you."

"You do, honey." You whisper back, almost a gasp. "You do. God, you deserve the world." His breathing stutters. He clings to you harder, shifts his angle just right so that every grind hits you just right. His brows knit slightly, your words and the closeness of your body doing more than the drag of his cock inside you.

"Don't leave. Please." He says, voice cracking, hips never stopping. "Not allowed to." There's a brief flash of gold in his eyes, you nearly miss it. But you don't. You see it. See him. His fingers tighten around your own before he eases up, releasing you to plant his hands either side of your head. "Can't lose you."

"You won't." You promise, over and over, fingers curling around his biceps. "You won't, honey, I'm here. I'm here and I always will be." It unravels him.

His pace falters for a second before he doubles down, rutting into you desperately, and he starts praising you with every breath, whispering it into your neck as his hands burn tracks along your skin.

"God, you're so perfect… Dealing with all my… My bullshit… Feels like home… You're my whole world… Can't let you go… Not ever…"

You're close too. So close… And he knows it. He knows the signs; the trembling in your knees, the curling of your toes, the rolling of your eyes. He slips a hand between you, rubs gentle circles with his thumb in tandem with those deep, deep thrusts. It's like he's trying to crawl inside you skin. He wants to be with you always; holding your hand, kissing your skin, protecting you at all times.

His breath stutters, catching for a moment in his throat. "Cum with me." He pants out, voice thick and trembling, sweat beading across his brow. "Please."

You do. You can't help yourself. You clench down around him, fingers finding purchase at the angles of his shoulder blades, wrapped in each other, your body shivering beneath his as you come apart under his hands, around his cock, with his name on your lips. He follows right after, groaning your name, collapsing against you in a tangle of limbs and breath and heat. He stays inside you, soft and warm and safe.

You stay like that a long while; bodies tangled, skin damp, his arms curled tightly around you like he still thinks you might vanish. "I don't say it enough." He whispers against your shoulder. "That you mean everything." You turn your head and kiss the crown of his head.

"You say it like this." You murmur, carding your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "That's enough for me." And he sighs; relieved, loved, peaceful.

When he falls asleep on your chest, all you can do is hold him through it. Through the aftershocks of being god and man and something in between. You wouldn't leave him. You could never do that, especially not when he looks so sweet, snuggled up against you, holding onto you like his life depends on it. You love him. So you'll stay right where you are.

taglist: @ingoldthewizard @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

#afab!reader #lewis pullman #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #ask #tumblr ficlets

234 notes · View notes

aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 months ago

Text

Everything’s Fine | Pairing: Thunderbolts x Reader x Robert Reynolds/Sentry/Void | Warnings: ED themes, Mental Spiral

They call again.

Your phone buzzes against the cracked kitchen counter, the screen flickering weakly like it’s as tired as you are. Another call — another name flashing. Bucky this time. Or maybe it’s Yelena. Maybe it’s Ava again. You’ve stopped checking.

You let it ring. You always do. Because everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Bob just needs time.

Your reflection in the window says otherwise.

Hollow eyes. Skin tight against sharp bones. Bruises blooming dark and sickly along your arms, your ribs — marks of walls hit in your sleep, fists slammed against doors when you were trying not to scream.

Your hands shake as you clutch the phone. Don’t answer. Don’t let them come. Don’t let them hurt him.

Void is watching.

You feel him even now, a shadow curling at the edges of the room, a low thrum in your skull. His voice — deep and poisonous and soothing all at once — whispers: "They’ll take him from you. They’ll destroy what’s left. Only you can protect him. Only you understand."

You swallow hard. You haven’t eaten in days — not really. Nibbles here and there, just enough to stay on your feet during training. But your body is screaming now, muscles weak, stomach gnawing itself hollow.

And still, you whisper back: "I can do this. I can be strong. I can fix this. For Bob."

It’s been a week. A week since Robert vanished inside himself, swallowed by the Void. A week since you last saw the golden flicker of the Sentry in his eyes. A week since you locked the doors of the old Stark Tower and told the world outside that everything’s fine.

The Thunderbolts have been patient. Too patient. But today they stop waiting.

The knock at the door isn’t a knock — it’s a battering ram of authority.

You flinch so hard you drop your phone, heart slamming against your ribs.

Void growls in your ear: “They’re here to take him from you. Are you going to let them? Weak, pathetic little thing. You couldn’t even hold your own in training — always second-best, always failing. You’ll fail him too.”

Your hands clamp over your ears. “Stop. Stop—”

But the door crashes open before you can sink deeper.

They see you.

Ghost. Bucky. Walker. All of them — frozen in the doorway as they take in the wreck you’ve become.

The once-proud Siren, shining and strong, now gaunt and gray-skinned, trembling in too-big clothes, dark circles so deep they look like bruises. Your lips are cracked. Your cheeks are sunken.

And still you smile weakly at them, voice hoarse as you croak: "Everything's fine. Bob’s just… he just needs more time. Don’t fight. Don’t make this worse—"

But your body betrays you. Your knees buckle and Yelena lunges forward to catch you before you hit the ground. Your pulse is weak. Your skin is cold.

And when she pulls you close, she can feel the fine tremble of someone who’s been running on empty — no food, no sleep, just adrenaline and sheer willpower that’s finally running dry.

"Where is he?" Bucky’s voice is sharp and cold. His jaw ticks.

You try to answer, but the shame chokes you — thick and heavy.

Void curls around your spine, hissing: “Look at you. A disgrace. You call yourself a Siren? You’re nothing but bones and failure. Couldn’t even beat your class. Couldn’t keep him safe. Couldn’t save your own damn self.”

Your hands claw at your chest as the spiral starts — ugly and familiar: "You’re worthless. You let them down. You let Bob down. You let yourself rot away because you thought if you just got smaller if you just got better, it would fix everything—"

"Hey!" Yelena snaps, voice cracking through the storm. She grabs your face and forces your glassy eyes to meet hers. "Stop it. Come back. Don’t let him do this to you."

Somewhere in the shadows, Void snarls — the presence flaring so dark and cold it makes the lights in the room flicker.

"You don’t touch what’s mine," the Void rumbles, using Bob’s voice but twisted, guttural. "She belongs to me."

The team braces, weapons out. And you — shaking, crying, bones aching — still try to stand between them and the Void.

"Please… don’t fight… he just needs time… I can fix this—" But your body gives out.

You collapse into Yelena’s arms, sobbing, the weight of a week’s worth of starvation, bruises, failure, and love gone toxic finally crushing you down. And that’s when they know. This isn’t just about saving Bob anymore. It’s about saving you, too. Before the Void swallows you both whole.

"Don’t touch her." The Void’s voice slithers out from the darkened corners of the old Stark Tower, slick as oil and cold as space. Black tendrils pulse and writhe, the air humming with that low, oppressive static that makes your skin crawl.

Your body is deadweight in Yelena’s arms — but it’s not Yelena this time. It’s Ghost, Ava, her glitching form flickering as she crouches beside you, whispering sharp, fast words you can barely process.

"Focus. Breathe. He’s in your head. Fight back."

But you can’t. Your chest is tight. Your stomach is empty. Your throat is raw from nights spent sobbing into your own shaking hands while the Void crooned lies about love loyalty and sacrifice.

Above you, the Thunderbolts fan out like wolves.

Bucky’s metal arm flexes, gun already aimed dead center at the biggest tendril. His mouth is set in a hard, grim line — soldier mode. Zero tolerance.

Yelena flips her baton in her hand, eyes sharp as razors. She glances at you and flinches — just a little — at the sight of how wrecked you look.

Red Guardian cracks his knuckles, broad shoulders rolling back. "We take Void down, we take Bob back," he grunts. "Simple." But his eyes flicker toward you too, and there’s a flicker of something pained behind all that bravado.

And John Walker — US Agent — is already itching for a fight. "About damn time we shut this thing down," he snaps, shield slamming against his forearm. "Look at her. She’s falling apart. You let this thing keep her like some goddamn hostage? Not today."

"You’re weak." Void's voice spikes again, cruel and coiling, directed at you. “Couldn’t even finish your training. Couldn’t even keep food down. All that power they promised you — wasted. Useless. Not worth saving.”

Your breath hitches. Your fingernails dig into your palms, so hard you feel the sting of broken skin. Not worth saving. Not worth saving.

Yelena’s voice cuts through like a blade. "Get up."

You blink through tears. She’s standing over you now, her baton crackling with electricity, gaze locked on yours — sharp and merciless.

"I said, get up." she growls. "You are not dying here. You are not letting that thing keep you down. You are Siren, yeah? Then act like it."

Ghost’s hand clamps around your wrist, grounding you. "Breathe. In. Out. You know how. Come back."

Bucky’s voice, gruff but steady: "We’ve got Bob. You get you."

Void shrieks — the walls shudder. Black energy lashes out, slamming into Red Guardian, who grunts and stumbles back but stays standing.

"You can’t save her. She belongs to me."

John Walker’s had enough. He charges, shield-first, slamming into the tendrils with brute force. "Get the hell outta here, freak!" he snarls. "She’s not yours!"

And something breaks inside you.

Because for the first time in a week — after starving, breaking, crying yourself raw —you hear someone say it: You’re not his.

Your breath shudders in. Your hands flex weakly.

Yelena sees it. She crouches down, grabs your face roughly, cheeks hollow and bruised under her grip. "You hear me? You are not his. You are ours. Thunderbolt. Fighter. You get up now, or I swear to god I drag your bony ass up myself."

Above you, the Void roars. "Lies. Lies. She’s mine—"

Your voice cracks, hoarse and trembling but yours: "No… I’m not… I’m not yours—"

Bucky fires. The shot slices through a tendril, black mist hissing as it evaporates. Red Guardian wades in, fists swinging, bellowing curses in Russian. Walker slams his shield again and again, driving the Void back with sheer stubborn violence. Yelena doesn’t let go of you. Her fingers dig in harder. "Get. Up." she snarls.

You scream. A raw, broken, ugly sound — all your shame, all your failure, all the self-hate Void fed you — ripping out of your throat. And you push yourself up. Shaking. Crying. But standing.

"Bob—" you gasp. You can feel him now, buried deep under the Void’s storm, small and flickering like a dying ember. "Bob, come back—"

Void lashes out, enraged — but the Thunderbolts are already on him, battering down every inch of black with fists, batons, bullets, and shields.

Yelena shoves you forward. "Call him back. Now!"

Your voice breaks again as you scream through the static: "ROBERT REYNOLDS—COME BACK TO ME!"

For a heartbeat — everything stops.The Void freezes. The tendrils flicker. And then—gold light. Faint. Weak. But there. Behind the black.

"…Y/N?" His voice. Small. Cracked. But Bob.

You fall to your knees, sobbing, as the Thunderbolts keep fighting, buying you those precious seconds to reach him — to drag him back from the dark.

"Please, Bob—please—come back—"

Void howls — but you don’t hear it anymore. Because for the first time in a week, the gold light gets brighter.

The Void shrieks as it breaks apart. Like tar peeling off burning gold.

Your knees hit the floor hard — but you barely feel it. You’re too busy clawing through the dark with your voice, hoarse and cracked and desperate. "Bob—please—come back—"

And then—light. Not blinding, not golden, and godlike like he used to be. But soft. Flickering. Human.

Robert Reynolds collapses out of the storm like a broken angel. Face pale, sweat-soaked, trembling. Blonde hair matted and tangled, golden aura flickering weakly around him.

His eyes open — blue, dazed — and the second they land on you, they shatter.

"Y/N—" he croaks, voice breaking. And then louder, panicked, raw: "Y/N—oh my god—"

You flinch. Instinct. Too used to pain, too used to the Void’s voice crawling down your spine. Your body, thin and shaking, tries to curl in on itself like you can disappear.

But Bob is already scrambling toward you, crawling on his hands and knees like a man on fire.

"No—no—look at me—" His hands grab your face, gentle but shaking as if he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he squeezes too hard.

His eyes take you in, the sharp bones under your skin, the bruises blooming like wilted flowers, the way your lips are cracked and bleeding because you chewed them raw trying to stay silent.

"I didn’t know—" His voice breaks on a sob. "I didn’t know he was doing this to you—"

Behind you, the Thunderbolts stand down. Walker’s breathing hard, Yelena turns her back, giving you privacy. Bucky lowers his gun. Red Guardian mutters something soft and bitter in Russian, but even he looks away. They give you this. Because they know this is your moment.

"I’m sorry—" Bob sobs, pulling you into him. His body shakes so hard it rattles your ribs. "I let him—I let him get into your head—oh god, Y/N—"

You’re crying, too hot, messy, choking sobs that scrape your throat raw. Your hands clutch at his shirt, thin fingers knotting in the fabric like you’re drowning.

"You left—" you sob against his chest. "You left me alone—I—I didn’t know what to do—"

His arms crush you tighter, desperate. "I’m here—I’m here now—I’m sorry—I didn’t know—I swear—"

His fingers map over your battered body like he’s trying to count every bruise, every scar, every rib poking out from weeks of not eating.

His voice cracks again: "You’re so thin—what did he—god, what did I—"

Your knees give out completely. But he holds you up. Both of you shaking. Both of you crying. Both of you broken. But together.

You don’t even notice the others moving — Ghost pressing a protein bar into Bucky’s hand, and Bucky quietly, carefully, setting it down next to you.

Walker grunts. "We’ll handle clean-up. You two… fix this." Yelena just mutters: "Idiots." But her voice is rough. Emotional.

Bob cups your face again, and presses his forehead to yours, golden light flickering weakly between you like a dying flame trying to catch.

"You didn’t fail." His voice is soft but fierce now. "You didn’t fail me. You didn’t fail yourself. You fought. You stayed."

You hiccup through tears. "But I—I couldn’t eat—I couldn’t sleep—I thought if I just got smaller—if I just waited—"

His sob chokes out. "No—no, baby, no—you don’t have to do that—you never have to do that—"

His hands tremble as they cradle your head. "We get better now, okay? Together. I’m getting you help. I’m staying. No more Void. No more lies. No more hurting yourself for me. Please—"

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Your voice is barely a whisper: "Don’t leave me again."

His answer is instant. "Never."

He kisses your forehead, tears dripping onto your skin. "Never again."

Behind you, the Thunderbolts give you that space. They know the fight is over —and the healing begins now. Messy. Slow. Painful. But real. Because this time… you’re not doing it alone.

218 notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Entombed

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of your night with The Void is weighing heavy on you and things start to change. (This is a continuation of ‘Test Drive’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as there is Bob in this…And The Void There is Angst, Smut, and Fluff in this. There are dark elements/themes in this that are explored. Bob and the reader are going through it, and it’s quite rough. There is a lot of emotions and tons of tension happening in this story and honestly it was a whole lotta fun writing it because jeez, there was so much that could happen in the aftermath of this! The Void is obsessed/bonded to the reader, and there are elements of the supernatural in this we lean into it just a bit but it’s not a huge part of the story (y’all will see, I kind of took a little bit of lore from the comics but nothing too crazy). Guilt and Regret kinda plays a role in this too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up my peeps please), Body Worship/Praise Kink, Reader is in Control (not in a dominant way), Cockwarming, Grinding, Heavy Makeout (which involves a lot of heavy petting), Very Light Choking, Marking/Biting/Reclaiming, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Super Intimate Sex, Aftercare Galore, Discussions/References to sex

Authors Note: Well, I hope this part 2 satisfies, I made some choices here that leave things open for a part 3 if people truly want it but hopefully y’all enjoy this one first :)) I was on the fence on where I wanted this to go but hopefully my creative decisions paid off.

Word Count: 16,464

Peeps Who Wanted To Be Tagged For Part 2: @millercontracting @avengersinitiative2012 @dark-silhouette @kurayamifairy @houseofaegon @vanguardlady @sentryluvs @simp-sentral @impoeticbeauty

Bob loved watching you train.

It wasn’t the flash of your skill set or the brutality you were capable of unleashing when pushed. It was your agility. The grace that was threaded into every step, every twist, and every perfectly executed takedown. You moved like you were born for the fight–but never to dominate. You weren’t the kind of person that demanded attention. You were the kind that earned it, silently, relentlessly, and over time.

That’s what had first drawn Bob to you. Not the danger, but the discipline. Not the strength, but the control…And the way you smiled, soft and easy, when you would push your hair back and look over your shoulder with a quiet little smirk that said ‘watch me’.

He could watch you for hours.

But today…Today you weren’t moving. You weren’t even training. You were sitting on the edge of the mat, sweater drawn tight around your shoulders, sleeves swallowing past your wrists, with your legs tucked up in a way that didn’t look relaxed. You looked…Small. Uncharacteristically withdrawn, and it worried him, because from the viewing deck all he could think about was how you were acting at breakfast.

You hadn’t smiled once this morning. Not when Ava made a dumb joke about the broken coffee machine. Not when Alexei spilled hot sauce on his shirt and cursed in Russian. Not even when Bob had caught your eye–or tried to–and offered you that quiet half-smile you usually returned without hesitation. It was like you were actively avoiding him, you didn’t sit beside him, and you didn’t even look at him.

It was like watching someone wearing your skin–your gestures, your face–but none of you was there. And now, down on the mat, wrapped up in your pool of clothes, you looked like you were trying to disappear.

The clang of a metal clasp echoed as Walker dropped his sparring gear. Ava stretched, rolled her shoulders, and tossed a half-empty water bottle across the room, nailing Alexei in the chest. Training was winding down with the usual noise and chaos, but none of it touched you–it looked like you had been released from prison.

You stood slowly, stretching out your back, and Bob caught the faint grimace that flickered across your face as your body resisted the motion. You winced–barely–but it was enough to make his chest tighten. He thought maybe you were injured, or that you pulled something yesterday during your high intensity training. That would explain the sitting out. Maybe even the outfit. But it didn’t explain the way you’d barely spoken to anyone that morning nor the way you looked through him at breakfast like he was a piece of glass. Like he did something…

You turned toward the hallway, and immediately he moved towards the exit.

He came down from the observation deck, taking the stairs two at a time. His hoodie sleeves were bunched at his elbows and he wiped his palms on the sides of his sweatpants, the nerves were pulsing through his skin. He wasn’t good at this–at confrontation, even soft ones–but the ache in his chest told him he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was wrong.

“H-Hey,” He called gently, catching up to you just as you reached the doorway to the locker rooms. You paused, and he could see the way your shoulders tensed at his voice before you turned to him. You wrapped your arms over yourself, almost like you were bracing for something.

”I, um…” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting between your face, then away, “C-Can I talk to you for a s-second.” Instantly you could feel your heart begin to race, the idea that he might have actually remembered last night almost made you ill, you could feel the bile begin to rise in the back of your throat, as you forced yourself to answer.

”O-Okay.” You were bracing yourself.

”I just–“ He fumbled for words, “I wanted t-to check in…You’ve been acting k-kind of…Distant t-today. At breakfast, d-during training…Even right n-now. I thought maybe s-something was wrong…Or I-I did something.” You swallowed hard, a little too hard to have it be unnoticed. The sound caught in your throat like a stone, and you could feel the weight of his worry pressing into the narrow space between you. Bob wasn’t loud. Wasn’t pushy. But the way his voice trembled, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve–it was enough to make your chest cave in.

You shook your head before he could finish his next sentence.

“No,” You said quickly, “You didn’t do anything.”

His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to ask if you were sure, but he didn’t. He just nodded, brows still knit in concern.

“I…I just didn’t sleep well,” You added, hoping it would sound casual, feeling this dread slowly building up inside of you, because all you could think about was his hands, and his lips, and his mouth, or the scratch marks on your back that were burning as you spoke to him, almost like they were calling for your attention.

“O-Oh…” He replied, softly, “O-Okay…I just t-though maybe you were upset with m-me or something…But I-I know you would d-definitely tell m-me if that was the case…” You offered the smallest smile, feeling your throat tightening at the way he was speaking to you, like he knew what happened last night but he was waiting for you to say something.

“We’re okay…” Bob nodded at your weak reassurance–we’re okay–but he didn’t look convinced. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, like there was something else he wanted to say, something gnawing at him. But instead, he cleared his throat and forced a smile.

“R-Right,” He murmured. “I was also g-gonna ask if, uh…If we’re still doing our little b-bodega thing? I figured we could g-get your usual, sit by the fountain like always…” It was your routine. Quiet and private and safe. After training, just the two of you would head down the street to that tiny corner bodega with the cracked tile floor and the sleepy cat in the window. You always got the same thing–egg salad, extra pickles, Bob always forgot to ask for napkins–and then you’d walk a block over and sit by the fountain near the old courthouse. Sometimes you talked about training. Sometimes you talked about everything else, or you just watched people and mumbled about what they must be doing or where they must be going.

During these times it felt like he was yours.

And now?

You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I don’t think I can today…” You said quietly, your voice barely carrying over the hum of the hallway light. “I think I may just go to my room after I change... To lay down.”

His expression flickered–something between worry and disappointment, but not the selfish kind. The kind that hurt because he cared. Because he knew there was something wrong, or that you were hiding something from him at the very least. Because he didn’t understand why it suddenly felt like you were slipping out of his hands and he couldn’t stop it.

“Oh. Y-Yeah. Of course,” He replied quickly, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie to stop them from fidgeting. “That makes sense. You should rest. That’s good. Rest is–good.” You offered him a faint, aching smile–like something carved out of stone.

“Yeah…Should help a bit.” Your voice was so soft, and gentle he could barely hear it.

“Can I…D-Do anything for you? I could bring you some tea? O-Or I could just stay close, in case you–”

You shook your head before he could finish.

“No,” You murmured. “I just need to be alone.”

He nodded again. Slower this time. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you later, then.”

You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and quickly slipped into the locker room without another word.

Once the door clicked softly behind you, it felt like you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding since breakfast. But the exhale didn’t bring relief–it only left you emptier. The weight in your chest didn’t ease; it tightened. Pressed in. Like your ribs were folding inward. Like your lungs were trying to collapse around a scream you couldn’t afford to let out.

Tears gathered before you could stop them.

Hot. Stinging. Blurring your vision before they ever reached your lashes. You tried to blink them away. You clenched your jaw until it ached. But the pressure building behind your sternum was too sharp, too real, too loud. The ache had dug in sometime between last night and now, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

You weren’t sure if it was regret. Not in the traditional sense. Because it hadn’t felt like a mistake in the moment–it had felt like inevitability. Like gravity. Like a need that had grown too large to hold back. And the way he had touched you–reverently, ruinously–had shattered something you didn’t even know was intact.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d made a deal with the devil in the dark and woken up in someone else’s skin.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, nails digging into the sleeves of your sweater.

The guilt crawled in like rot. Not loud. Just constant. Creeping through your bones. Worming into the cracks between your thoughts. Because the worst part wasn’t what he’d done.

It was that you let him.

You’d let the Void in.

You invited him.

And maybe that would’ve been survivable–maybe–if it had been just about you and him. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Because now Bob…Sweet, trembling, gentle Bob–your Bob…Had no idea what had happened. He had no memory of what his own body had done. Of what you had allowed. Of what he’d whispered in your ear in that almost-voice that sounded so much like him your heart broke under it. And that was the part that was ripping you apart.

The betrayal wasn’t his.

It was yours.

Because it felt like you’d taken advantage of a piece of him he couldn’t control–used a part of him he’d been trying to suppress. And now you were walking around with the memory of him in your skin, in your bones, in the place where he’d left something behind–and he was walking around clueless. Still smiling at you like he would do anything to protect you. Still offering to bring you tea. You pressed your hand to your abdomen as the guilt twisted deeper, sharper.

Because even now, a part of you was aching for what happened. Craving the touch. The voice. The power. And that was the cruelest truth of all.

You hadn’t just said yes. You’d wanted it.

You sniffed and wiped at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater, but it didn’t help. The tears had already left hot streaks along your cheeks, and your mouth tasted like metal–like the guilt had started seeping in from the inside out.

And then, suddenly, it burned.

It wasn’t sharp. Not like a cut or a bruise. It was deep. Molten. Like someone had sunk hot iron into your spine and lit a match inside your skin. Your whole body jolted. You reached for the edge of the bench to steady yourself, breath catching as the burn surged again–up your back, down your hips, around the sides of your ribs.

You grabbed at the hem of your sweater and yanked it over your head with a shaky, desperate motion, casting it aside onto the bench like it was soaked in gasoline.

And then you turned to the mirror.

Your stomach dropped.

The marks were worse.

So much worse.

What had once been faint purpling around your hips, vague red lines across your shoulder blades, were now vivid. Raised. Angry. Like they’d grown. They were more defined–claws, unmistakably. Four long, precise gouges across your back, etched in perfect arcs like someone had gripped you and dragged you down to hell.

The bruise on your collarbone had deepened into a bruise-black imprint of teeth. Not sharp like fangs. Just possessive.

There were fingerprints on your thighs, your waist. His fingerprints.

But worse–

They were pulsing. The skin around each mark glowed faintly. Subtle. Like an ember tucked just beneath your flesh, blinking with your pulse.

“What the fuck…” Was all you could manage to say, as your fingers traced over the marks.

The mirror flickered, and you froze.

The overhead lights stayed on, but the mirror–just for a second–shivered like a ripple passed through it. The color leached from your reflection, and the air shifted. Heavier. Sharper.

Then, that voice.

“You must be pretty confused right now, hm?” Your mouth parted and your throat went dry.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to, because he was there.

In the mirror.

The Void stood in the glass like a phantom with substance, wearing Bob’s shape again like it was tailored for him, but darker–more real than anything had a right to be. His jaw was sharp. His shoulders held the same broadness as Bob's, only he stood confidently. His eyes…The ones you had looked into last night when you had called him by Bob’s name…The twin void stars. He looked like a dark hole in the middle of the room. Your lips parted.

“I…” You blinked. “Bob’s awake.” The words came out flat, panicked. A statement of fact–as if saying it aloud would force the universe to correct itself. “He’s awake. He’s walking around. He–He talked to me just a few minutes ago. He–he was right outside. You’re not supposed to be here…How the fuck are you here?”

He smiled at you through the glass, and you saw teeth.

Not sharp. Not jagged. Worse.

Perfect. Like the kind of teeth a man shows when he knows the whole room belongs to him. It looked almost the exact same as last night, only it was clearer now, more visible to your eye.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He purred, stepping forward–closer to the edge of the mirror. The room didn’t darken, but your reflection dimmed behind his, as though you were no longer the main inhabitant of your own body. “I don’t disappear that quickly.”

A chill bloomed across your shoulders.

You hadn’t moved. But your breath hitched.

Because you felt it.

The air shifted behind you. The warmth of your skin turning ice-cold–just behind the base of your neck. Like someone was standing inches from you. Like someone was breathing against your spine.

Your voice trembled. “You lied to me…”

The Void’s smile widened.

From the mirror, he watched you–head tilted, eyes glowing.

“Now, now, I didn’t lie,” He murmured.

And then–

His breath touched your skin, and your whole body locked.

You felt it–real, present, inside the room now. The cold exhale that brushed the nape of your neck like silk. Your shoulders flinched inward, but you couldn’t move away. Not from him. Not from the thing that had touched you from within the dark and now moved around you like a ghost in daylight.

“I just omitted information,” He finished softly, like it was the punchline of a private joke. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your hands trembled at your sides.

“W-What did you do to me?” Your voice cracked.

The Void didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he stepped closer in the mirror again, and your body moved–not of your own accord–tilting slightly toward the glass. Your reflection leaned forward. But you hadn’t moved. Your reflection wasn’t matching anymore. The air behind you felt too dense now, like you could reach behind yourself and grab a fistful of it–thick and chilled and humming faintly like static against your skin. Your knees nearly gave out when you felt it again.

A touch.

Not a full press of fingers. Just the brush of ice sliding along your spine–right over one of the claw marks, as though retracing his own work.

In the mirror, the Void tilted his head.

“Don’t assume I did something permanent,” He said softly. There was a mocking gentleness in his voice, like he was humoring your panic. “Please…I’m not that evil.” You watched your own mouth tremble in the glass. Your reflection was still not syncing to your movements–there was a subtle delay, like a puppet lagging behind its strings.

“Though,” He continued, dragging his fingers down your back again as if he was petting you, “I really could’ve done worse…” Your breath hitched when his nail grazed the base of your spine, and the marks pulsed, almost like he was slowly bringing something to the surface of your skin.

“But…Let’s just say,” He drawled, his smile deepening, “I’ll be around for a little while longer. Just until you…Recover from our little night together.”

You turned your head slightly–not fully, not enough to break eye contact with the mirror–but your voice came through hoarse. “It doesn’t make any sense…I still don’t understand h-how you’re even here?”

The Void gave an exasperated sigh, like you were being deliberately naive.

“I’m an entity, sweetheart. A force.” He stepped closer, and your reflection blurred again, feeling his chest gently pressing against your back. “Not a man. Not a ghost. Not a shadow. I tether to people. I’m tethered to Bob permanently…But…” His voice dipped, curling against your ear like a gust of wind, “You let me in. You let me finish inside you. Did you really think there wouldn’t be some sort of…Consequence?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sperm,” He murmured, almost lazily, like the word itself was a spell. “Can live for…What is it… Three to five days inside a reproductive system, give or take?”

Your knees buckled, and you gripped the counter in front of you to stay upright. The burn across your back flared again, and your skin felt too tight, too hot, like it was struggling to contain something underneath.

“Give it time,” He whispered, dragging his fingernail over the topmost mark. “After that… I’ll be gone. Probably. Unless you invite me in again.”

He hummed, amused by your silence, and his fingers–impossibly cold and real–smoothed gently along the curve of your ribs, ghosting over bruised skin like it belonged to him.

“Only you can see me, by the way,” He added kindly. “So maybe keep your voice down a bit when you answer me…Hm?” You were just about to say something–anything–when the door behind you banged open.

The sound crashed through the room like a gunshot, and you flinched violently, heart seizing in your chest.

“–I’m telling you, it was the worst latte I’ve ever had,” Ava’s voice carried in before she even cleared the doorway, followed closely by Yelena’s sharp scoff of agreement. “It tasted like someone put chalk in a sock and let it steep for twenty minutes–”

They both froze.

The silence that followed was instant, sucked tight like vacuum-sealed air.

You turned toward them too slowly.

You could feel their eyes on you before you even lifted your head–feel them taking in the angry red claw marks that wrapped around your ribs, the bruises blooming like warpaint down your sides, the purple-black bite mark stark against your collarbone.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice was clipped. Low. Already shifting into something sharp and protective.

Ava blinked once. Then twice. “What the actual fuck?”

You tried to move–tried to step back or grab the sweater or explain something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because he was still there.

Still behind you.

Still breathing cold down your spine like a promise.

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena stepped in first, boots hitting the tile hard, like she was ready to start a fight with whoever did this. “Who did this to you? Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”

“I–I’m fine.” You said it too fast. Too flat. It didn’t sound like you.

“No, you’re not,” Ava said, her voice unusually steady as she followed behind, crouching slightly like she was trying to check your balance. “Y/N, that’s not a training injury. That’s…That’s not even human-looking. That’s…” Her eyes flicked to the claw marks, her brow creasing. “Were you attacked?” You could feel the nerves building up in your chest.

”N-No! I wasn’t attacked.”

“Gotta be a little better at lying to your friend's sweetheart.” The Void whispered mockingly, as you felt his fingers on your back again.

”Shut up!” You exclaimed out of nowhere, catching what you had just done the moment it happened. Yelena and Ava both froze in place at your sudden outburst.

The echo of your voice clapped back off the tile, too loud, too frantic–and too obviously directed at someone who wasn’t there.

You watched their eyes shift. Not just to the claw marks. Not just to the bruises. But to your face now–your wide, panicked eyes. Your trembling mouth. The sweat clinging to your hairline.

“Y/N…” Ava’s voice softened, like she was approaching a wild animal. “Tell us what’s going on.” Yelena didn’t say anything. Not yet. But she took another step forward, slow and steady, like she was preparing for you to bolt. Or break.

“Who did this to you?” Ava asked again, her eyes flicking back to the bite mark. “Was it someone on the team? Because if it was, I swear to God–”

“It wasn’t anyone on the team, I–I wasn’t attacked. Not like that.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Then what happened?” You stared at them both. Ava with her brows knit, hand twitching like she wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. Yelena looked like she might murder someone if you gave her a name.

”And start from the beginning.” Ava added.

–––––––––––––

The water ran hot.

Too hot.

It scalded down Bob’s back in long, blistering sheets, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, braced against the shower wall, head bowed under the stream, letting it burn. Letting it wash over the tension twisted through his spine like a knot of wire.

His hands twitched every now and then–restless, nervous, like they were searching for something they couldn’t find. Something they swore had been there before.

Something soft. Warm. Familiar.

He blinked slowly, eyes hazy beneath the steam.

After he spoke to you in front of the locker room images had begun to flicker in and out of his brain. Not memories exactly. But…Something. Echoes. Flashbulb imprints behind his eyes. A mouth. A sound. Nails biting across his shoulders. A voice–soft and breathless, gasping his name like it was a sin.

”Bob.” It was you–or your voice at least. He could feel his breath stop in his throat. It felt like a dream. But the kind that lingered. The kind that pressed fingerprints into your skin and refused to fade.

He exhaled and reached up to scrub at his face, hoping the pressure might clear his head. But then–

A sting.

Sharp and sudden. Low on his shoulders.

He winced.

His hand dropped to his shoulder, then curled around the top of his back. His fingers traced lightly–grazing over his skin until–

He froze.

Marks.

Four of them.

Long, raised lines carved into his shoulder blade. He twisted toward the mirror just outside the glass shower, blinking steam away as he leaned, trying to see over his own shoulder. It wasn’t easy, but when the fog cleared, he caught it.

Four scratches. They were faintly red, like someone had dragged their nails across the ridges of his shoulder blade. His stomach turned at the sight, and there was a cold weight that settled behind his ribs.

“What the hell…” He muttered, voice hoarse from the heat and whatever this was.

The scratches didn’t look accidental. They looked like grip marks. Like someone had clawed at him, held on tight, dug in as if riding out–

His stomach flipped violently.

He hadn’t had sex. He would remember that. Right?

Right?

The back of his neck prickled with cold, even as the water beat down on him, too hot.

And then–

That voice.

Slick. Amused. Familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

“Wasn’t that a great dream you had last night?”

Bob’s entire body went rigid.

He didn’t respond at first–didn’t even breathe. Just stood there, eyes wide, steam curling around him like mist curling off a cliff, and that’s when things began to slowly fall into place.

The dream…The dream he had of you last night.

“…No,” He whispered eventually, shaking his head. “No, no, no…”

“Oh come on,” The Void drawled. “Don’t be shy. You liked it. That little fantasy with her chest against yours, riding you, moaning your name like a hymn. She looked so pretty when she came, didn’t she?”

Bob’s vision swam. He gripped the edge of the shower wall so hard his knuckles turned white.

“It wasn’t real,” He said through clenched teeth. “It was just a dream.”

A low, velvet chuckle unfurled in the base of his skull.

“Sure it was.”

The water suddenly felt too loud–like static screaming in his ears.

Memories weren’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t supposed to echo in his skin, or pull on the muscle of his thighs like a ghost still touching him. He felt raw–stretched thin from the inside out. His breath came ragged now–short, sharp gasps that barely made it past his lips as flashes began to tear across his mind like lightning, split-second visions, and sensations.

Your thighs bracketing his hips, your voice breaking around his name, your tears streaming down your cheeks. The way your back arched towards him.

His eyes snapped shut and he stumbled backward, one palm flying to the wall like it could keep him upright. But the weight was inside him now. The wrongness. The knowing.

“No,” He gasped. “No, I didn’t–I wouldn’t–”

“You didn’t,” The Void answered smoothly, his voice curling inside Bob’s skull like smoke through a vent. “I did.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Bob staggered back against the shower wall, blinking against the sting of hot water and bile rising in his throat.

“She said yes, you know,” The Void continued. “Every time. She said your name while I was inside her. Cried for you. Pretended it was you.”

Bob’s stomach lurched. He pressed a hand over his mouth, like that could keep the nausea down. “Stop. Just shut up–”

“You think she didn’t know it wasn’t you?” The Void whispered. “She did. She just wanted you so badly, she was willing to close her eyes and let me wear your skin. And you know what, Bob?”

A pause.

A cruel silence.

“She loved it.”

Bob let out a broken, wounded sound. Something between a sob and a growl. His body was trembling violently now–his breath a stuttered panic trapped in his lungs.

“You’re lying,” He choked.

“You don’t feel it?” The Void murmured. “The tension in your shoulders? The ache in your hips? The ghost of her still gripping you? I don’t dream, Bob. But you do. And I left you the best parts.”

Bob staggered out of the shower, dripping and wild-eyed. He stumbled, half slipping across the wet tile, as he reached out and wrapped a towel around his hips while the other scrambled for the edge of the counter. His knees hit the floor hard, but the pain didn’t register–not over the white-hot coil twisting in his gut. He lurched forward.

The sound that came out of him was ugly–guttural and gasping–as he vomited into the basin. His body convulsed, throat straining, the acidic bile burning up his esophagus. His arms shook as he braced himself, knuckles whitening on the marble.

It felt endless.

Each heave dragged something deeper out of him–not just from his stomach but from somewhere more primal. Something soul-level. Shame. Horror. Guilt. The knowledge that something had been done to her. With his body. While he was unaware.

His chest heaved with dry sobs now, water still dripping off his hair and jaw, his face flushed red from the heat and the nausea. He clutched the edge of the basin and lifted his head slowly, eyelids fluttering.

And froze.

The steam on the mirror had cleared just enough to reflect two figures.

His own…

And him.

The Void stood to his left–closer than he should’ve been. Closer than Bob could feel, and yet, somehow his presence pressed into the room like a second atmosphere. His arms were folded loosely, one shoulder resting against the bathroom wall as if this were casual. As if he had every right to stand there, real and solid, in Bob’s space. In Bob’s skin.

“Don’t feel too bad,” The Void said lightly, tilting his head as if studying his twin in the mirror. “I was good to her. Tender, even. You should’ve heard the way she begged. So soft. So sweet.”

Bob’s fingers curled into fists on the edge of the sink.

“Stop talking,” He rasped. “Just fucking stop.”

“You really think I’m lying?” The Void arched a brow, a little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Then go talk to her.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

The Void pushed off the wall now, taking a step forward–not menacing, not fast, but slow and deliberate. His reflection moved with him. His voice softened with mock sympathy.

“I’m sure if you ask her gently, she’ll tell you the truth. What she felt. What she saw. What she said.”

Bob shook his head. “She didn’t know. She couldn’t have–”

“She did.” The Void’s tone sharpened just enough to cut. “And if you’re still not convinced…”

He paused in front of Bob–so close now Bob could see the way the light gleamed off his collarbone, the faint shimmer of something bruised beneath the skin–and slowly lifted his hand.

One long finger tapped just beneath his throat, where his jugular notch was–or is– supposed to be.

“Check right here on her…I left a little something there.” Bob didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the part that shattered him wasn’t the evidence. It wasn’t the dream, or the bite, or even the voice curling like poison through his mind.

It was the truth he already knew.

He had felt it.

In his skin. In his bones.

In the aching echo of a night he hadn’t lived–but now he had to carry with him anyway.

“She trusted me,” He whispered, barely audible. “She trusted me to protect her from you.”

The Void tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mmm. And you did such a good job, didn’t you? You didn’t warn her how convincing I would be, hmm?” The Void’s grin widened.

It wasn’t malicious in the way monsters grinned in stories–it was worse. It was familiar. Worn like skin. Like something Bob might’ve seen in the mirror if he were just a little colder, a little more broken, a little more hungry.

“You didn’t warn her,” He repeated softly. “Not about the way I move. The way I sound. The way I feel.”

Bob’s breath stuttered. His knuckles were white against the sink.

“You manipulated her…” The Void let out a soft laugh.

“How did I manipulate her?” The Void’s voice was velvet now. Soothed, indulgent. “She wanted you, Bob. So I gave her that. I gave her what you never had the courage to.”

“I would never–” Bob choked, eyes burning, voice cracking around the protest.

“You wouldn’t,” The Void agreed, stepping closer until he could look directly into Bob’s eyes through the mirror. “You’re too good. Too gentle. Too afraid. You keep saying she trusts you–but she was starving, Bob. And I knew exactly how to feed her.”

Bob swayed on his feet.

He didn’t know how he was still standing.

Didn’t know how the ground hadn’t already cracked open beneath him.

The Void tapped the mirror glass once–right where Bob’s reflection was trembling–and leaned in, his next words a breath against the shell of Bob’s mind:

“If you want answers, ask her what she saw when she looked at me. Ask her whose name she really used when I was fucking her to the point of tears, then ask if she liked it…Or better yet…Asked why she liked it…Then maybe you’ll realize…It really wasn’t me who she wanted…It was you the entire time.”

Bob’s stomach twisted so violently he thought he might be sick again.

But there was nothing left to throw up. Only the bile in his throat, and the grief coiling around his ribs like iron wire. He gripped the edge of the sink harder, shoulders hunched like he could fold in on himself, like he could collapse inward and disappear entirely.

The Void’s final words lingered in the air like smoke, choking, clinging, true in a way that made Bob feel like a thief in his own skin.

It really wasn’t me who she wanted…

It was you the entire time.

Bob let out a sound–broken, wet, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His reflection looked ruined. Face pale, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes bloodshot and glassy. The marks on his shoulders stung like accusations. The steam around him had started to dissipate, but the chill that slid down his spine was internal now. Bone-deep. Then before he could say anything else…

The Void was gone.

Of course he was…Because he always left the mess behind for Bob to clean up. Bob stood there for a moment longer–motionless, towel clinging to his hips, breath hitching with the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty at all. It felt like the aftermath of something horrific.

Like an echo waiting to settle into bone.

Eventually, he moved.

Slow.

Mechanic.

He reached for the toothbrush on the counter, fumbling the cap of the toothpaste like his fingers didn’t belong to him anymore. He brushed his teeth with shaking hands, hard enough to make his gums sting–desperate to scrape away the taste of bile, the phantom flavor of everything that had just spilled out of him.

Bob spat into the sink. Rinsed. Again. And again.

He swiped at his mouth with the towel and turned away without looking at the mirror.

Back in his room, the air felt heavier. Dimmer. Like the walls were holding their breath.

He shed the damp towel, grabbed the first pair of sweatpants from his drawer–charcoal gray, worn thin at the cuffs–and pulled them on with sluggish hands. His skin still felt too hot in places and too cold in others, like his body couldn’t decide if it was sweating or shivering.

A navy sweater came next. One you’d once teased him about because the material was so soft and gentle. It smelled like detergent and memory. He yanked it over his head and stood there for a second, hands resting at his sides, eyes unfocused.

Then he moved out the door, making his way down the hall quickly.

The floor was cold under his bare feet, but he barely felt it. The lights overhead buzzed low, flickering once–barely noticeable–but it was enough to make his stomach clench.

He stopped in front of your room.

The door was closed, and he stared at it for a moment.

His knuckles hovered just shy of the surface. His breath trembled out of him. He didn’t know what he’d say. Didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know what you would see in his face.

But he had to see you, and he had to know.

–––––––––––––-

Inside your room, the world was steeped in dusky gold.

Sunset spilled through the sheer curtains like liquid amber, casting soft lines across the ceiling and walls. The sky beyond was fading into a bruised gradient–lavender, orange, blue–and it painted your skin in light that didn’t feel like yours to hold. You were lying on your back, one arm draped limply across your stomach, the other resting palm-up beside you like you were waiting for something. Your eyes were locked on the ceiling, unblinking. Still.

The blankets were tangled around your ankles. Your shirt clung to your side, damp from sweat, collar askew. You hadn’t moved in hours. Couldn’t. Not since you, Ava and Yelena spoke about what happened last night, and you came back to your room with the weight of that discussion on your shoulders.

You’d told them everything, every detail about what happened, what he looked like, what he sounded like., what he felt like, what you let him do…And you told them why.

Because you wanted him so badly it hurt. Because The Void allowed you to picture Bob’s face and his voice and his gentleness for one night… Just so you could let yourself pretend.

You told them how he held your face when you came. How he kissed your chest like it meant something, how he promised that Bob would never find out…But now you were riddled with guilt and it was eating away at your mind. You also told them that The Void was there with all of them listening, but only you were able to see him.

Yelena hadn’t said much, not at first. She just listened, jaw tense, thumb tapping restlessly against her thigh, she thought the situation was unbelievable, she chalked it up to a vivid nightmare...But the more details you divulged, the harder it got to believe that assumption. Ava had crouched in front of you, brow furrowed, voice soft.

“You need to tell him,” She said. “You have to tell him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You already did,” Yelena said bluntly. “Not telling him only makes it worse.”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were honest. Like a bone being set back in place. It stung. But it was necessary.

“You don’t have to confess to be punished,” Ava added gently. “You have to confess to be free. If you keep hiding this, The Void wins twice. Once for using you…And again for keeping you.”

You didn’t argue.

Because they were right.

You weren’t afraid of Bob hating you. That would’ve been easier.

You were afraid he’d understand. That he’d forgive you. That he’d still want you after everything–and that you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

You rolled onto your side slowly now, breath shallow, as the golden haze across your bedroom began to fade deeper into blue.

Then there was a knock.

You didn’t need to ask who it was, because it was evident that it could only be one person.

“…Come in,” You said, and the door creaked open slowly.

Bob stood there–backlit by the hallway’s sterile overhead glow. Dressed in his usual getup of a sweater and sweatpants. His light brown hair was still damp and fluffed from a quick towel dry. His eyes were rimmed red. His posture was stiff, like he didn’t trust his legs to carry him if he stepped too fast, and he looked at you like he’d been walking through hell and finally found the fire’s source.

You sat up slowly, your mouth parting–but no words came.

Bob lingered in the doorway for a second longer, like stepping into your room might unmake him.

Then–quietly–he closed the door behind him.

The latch clicked with a finality that made your chest tighten.

His eyes swept across the room once, slow, heavy. And then–without meaning to–they landed on your legs. Bare. Tangled loosely in the sheets. Skin kissed by amber light and bruised shadow.

He blinked. Looked away.

“W-We need to talk,” He said softly. His voice cracked at the edges.

You swallowed. “Okay.”

His eyes found yours again–shining but unreadable–and then he asked, “Can I… S-Sit?”

You nodded.

And he crossed the room.

Every step felt measured. Like he was walking through something sacred or cursed, you weren’t sure which. His hand brushed the edge of the mattress as he sat, careful not to get too close, sinking onto the same spot where The Void had touched you last night.

The same place where you’d said yes, where your fingers had curled into that blanket, and his hair as your hips lifted off the bed in pure ecstasy. Where you had clung to The Void and screamed Bob’s name in pleasure as you pictured him instead of the vantablack shadow that was invading you and your senses.

Now, in a tragically poetic way, Bob sat there, in living colour. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms slowly together like he was trying to warm himself from the inside out. He didn’t look at you yet.

“What happened last night?” He asked finally, turning his head towards your figure. When his eyes met yours everything in him stilled. There was something in your face that made the air in the room feel sharper. Like it had teeth. Like even breathing might cut too deep. Your eyes were glassy like you had been on the brink of tears for hours, and your lips were parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t find the start of it. Your body was tense, and curled in on itself like you were bracing for impact…And right then and there…He knew.

Bob’s eyes searched your face for a long moment, but whatever he was hoping to find there–certainty, relief, understanding–wasn’t present. Just the quiet tremble of your shoulders. Just the way your fingers picked at the hem of your shirt like you were trying to feel something real beneath your nails.

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper this time.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, slow. Shallow.

Your throat moved like the word was caught halfway up.

“No,” You said finally, “He didn’t hurt me…” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

His whole body had stilled–like even the breath in his lungs was holding itself hostage, waiting for what you’d say next. And you could feel it–the trembling edge of his restraint, the desperate ache of a man trying not to crumble.

“Then…” He asked, quieter now, like the words hurt to push out. “Then w-why didn’t you tell me?”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to stop the sting from spilling over your waterline. When you looked back at him, your voice came out raw. Truthful. Like it had been scraped up from the bottom of something buried deep.

“Because I wanted it,” You whispered.

Bob flinched.

Not because he misunderstood. But because he understood too well.

You kept going. Slow. Careful. Like the words were glass you were trying not to shatter between your teeth.

“He said…He said he could let me experience you. Just once. Without you knowing. Without consequences. Without ruining everything.”

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

“And I…” Your throat closed up again, but you forced the words through it. “I took the deal. Because neither of us were brave enough to say anything. Because I didn’t want to cross the line and destroy what we had. Because I knew you were still healing. I knew you weren’t ready and I didn’t want to push you.”

Bob’s face twisted slightly, like something inside him was breaking not from anger–but from love.

You pressed your lips together hard before continuing, voice barely audible now.

“But I was selfish, and I wanted you so badly it made me stupid…And he…He made it so easy. He let me pretend, and when I closed my eyes all I could see and feel was you…” Bob swallowed thickly.

”Was that enough though…?” A tear slid down your cheek.

”No…Not even close.” You whispered. Another pause plagued the room. This one was longer. Bob didn’t reach for you yet, even though he was desperate to comfort you. He just watched you like you were saying the words he had been afraid to hear his entire life.

“I thought I could live with it,” you said. “But this morning…When I saw you walk out of your room… It was the real you. And I realized I didn’t have that last nightI had a shadow. A performance. And my imagination.” You shook your head, voice breaking, “And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what I did. About how it’ll never go away now, and the guilt is…It’s fucking crushing me Bob…And I’m so so fucking sorry…I’ve destroyed everything.”

The corners of his mouth trembled slightly like he was trying not to cry. Then slowly, he reached out and slid his hand across the bedspread. His fingers brushed against yours, then gently curled around them. It wasn’t a bold gesture. It was reverent. Anchoring. Like he wanted you to know he was still here.

“Hey,” He murmured, voice rough. “You didn’t destroy anything.”

You blinked at him, vision swimming again, and he gave your hand the faintest squeeze.

“I swear,” He said just above a whisper, “You haven’t ruined a single thing I feel for you.”

That was when the air in the room shifted.

A low, familiar voice rippled across the space like smoke.

“Well isn’t this tender…”

Your eyes snapped to the corner of the room. Bob flinched–he hadn’t said a word out loud, but you both reacted the same way.

“Shut up,” You and Bob snapped in unison, turning to each other immediately, startled–and then frozen–because the surprise in his eyes was a perfect mirror of your own.

”Did…D-Did you hear him?” He asked, his voice hoarse, you nodded.

”Since this morning in the locker room.” There was a long beat of silence between you, thick and charged, like the air had stretched tight between your bodies and dared either of you to move.

Bob’s eyes searched yours again, more carefully this time–like he was trying to read something between the lines. You didn’t flinch away from it. You didn’t have it in you anymore. Not after everything.

“He didn’t really give me a fine print to that deal he offered…” You said dryly despite the ache in your chest, “Apparently the aftereffects of sleeping with a dark entity include…Temporary tethers of the psychic kind…Or something like that. Whatever bullshit he told me I don’t know at this point.” You exhaled, rubbing your face with your free hand, “Point is…I can hear what you hear evidently.” Bob let out a slow, shaky breath–like he’d been holding it in all day. Maybe he had. Maybe this was the first time his lungs could even remember what air felt like.

”And you’re sure it’s temporary?” He asked, almost not believing it. Like he needed you to say it again just to be sure, as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

”Yeah…Ava thinks it’ll fade in a few days…Maybe sooner. Once everything is passed, I won’t be able to hear him anymore, or feel anything else he left behind.” Bob’s jaw clenched, not in anger–just in quiet relief. Like something in his chest finally let go.

“I-I didn’t know he c-could do that,” He admitted softly. “Then again… I-I’ve never been around when he’s having s-sex…” He hesitated, then offered a sheepish, almost self-deprecating shrug. “M-More because I haven’t had sex in a long time…But I-I guess that doesn’t matter a-anymore somehow…” Your brows lifted, but only slightly. The tension between you had shifted–not gone, but thickened, warmer now, laced with something else. Something closer to awareness.

“Guess we both crossed new frontiers this week,” You murmured, a sad smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Bob huffed out a dry breath that might’ve been the start of a laugh if it weren’t so exhausted.

“But seriously…Hearing him yap all day has definitely made me admire you more. I mean, you put up with that on a daily basis?” You gave your head a slight shake. “He’s quite the character to deal with constantly. And honestly? It’s really weird interacting with him when there’s actual light in the room. Just feels…Wrong.” That earned you a real smile. Small, but there. The kind that pulled one side of Bob’s mouth higher than the other. Bob leaned his weight more fully into the edge of the bed, his thumb brushed over your knuckles once–nervous, tender.

“Well,” He said, voice low, rough with the remains of grief and disbelief, “O-On the bright side… A-At least you got a preview of what it’s like if you w-wanted to date me. C-Comes with crippling guilt, a psychic parasite, a-and an eternal inner monologue that sounds like a B-Bond villain.”

You blinked, and then, somehow–despite everything–you laughed. Just a breath, just a flicker of sound, but it cracked through the tension like sunlight behind storm clouds. You shook your head, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“That’s not what dating you would be like.”

“O-Oh no?” Bob asked softly, a ghost of amusement tugging at his lips. “What w-would it be like, then?” You held his gaze for a beat too long. Your voice dropped to a hush, vulnerable and real.

“It’d be kind,” You said. “It’d be quiet and steady. You’d make tea without asking, and hold my hand even when we weren’t talking. You’d fold your sweaters next to mine and leave post-it notes with dumb facts on my mirror just to see me smile.”

Bob’s breath hitched, and you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. The tips of his ears flushed, soft pink blooming beneath the collar of his sweater.

“You’d hold me like I wasn’t fragile but precious,” You added, voice thick now, “Like I was worth something. And when you kissed me, it wouldn’t feel like you wanted to own me–it would feel like you’d been waiting your whole life to give me that part of you.”

His eyes darted away, shy and overwhelmed, but they drifted back slowly–like gravity had pulled them to you. He let out a shaky breath, a soft huff through his nose that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully stunned.

“S-Shit,” He murmured, almost under his breath, eyes dropping to your joined hands. “W-Why does that s-sound so much better than anything I-I ever thought I’d be worth?”

You leaned forward slightly, scooting yourself closer to him, almost getting into his space. You could feel his hand twitch in yours, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold tighter or let go for your sake. You made the decision for him, lacing your fingers together and tugging them gently into your lap.

“You’re worth every part of that and more.” You whispered, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that…It could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble…”

Bob blinked rapidly, a quiet tremor in his chin before he exhaled and gave a small shake of his head–half in disbelief, half in surrender

“It’s m-my fault…I-I should’ve seen it coming,” He replied back. You opened your mouth to speak, but he shook his head before you could.

“No, I–I should’ve seen it. Felt it. I could tell he was…L-Lurking more than usual. I-I knew he was pushing, I could feel it in my bones, I just didn’t know why. D-Didn’t know he was waiting for the right moment to…To use me a-against you like that.” He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked on the next line. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You trusted me to keep you safe. To protect you from him. And I–” He blinked fast, like he could flush the images from behind his eyes. “I keep seeing pieces of it. Bits. Flashes. Your voice. Your tears. Your legs around me. I didn’t even get to choose to look–I just saw. And I can’t even imagine what else I did.” You inhaled slowly, lips parting to soothe, to reassure–but your voice caught on a different thought. A softer one. An honest one.

“He said…” You began, hesitating for only a second, “He said it was a lot of stuff you’d fantasized about.”

That made Bob go still. Really still.

The kind of stillness that wasn’t absence, but weight.

His breath came slow and uneven, his lashes lowering just slightly before he whispered–

“Yeah…Well, that could mean a lot of things.”

You searched his face, but he didn’t lift his eyes yet. His hand stayed in yours. His thumb rubbed along the dip between your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he could map out penance across your skin.

“What kinds of things?” You asked, gentle but deliberate. Not teasing–just present. Open. Wanting to hear the truth from him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath through his nose.

“I’ve thought about you,” He said, voice barely more than a breath. “I’ve thought about you on top of me more times than I care to admit. But it was never just about what you were doing–it was always about how you looked doing it. Like you were letting go for once. Like you were safe. Like you trusted me with that.”

You blinked.

He kept going, because now it was pouring out of him.

“And I used to think–if I ever got that close to you, if I ever had you like that, I’d earn it. I’d work for it. I’d deserve it. Not…” His voice hitched, his jaw tightening. “Not like this.”

You reached for him with your free hand, your palm resting against his cheek. He leaned into it instantly, like he hadn’t realized he’d been starving for touch until that very moment.

“You still deserve it,” You said quietly. “We just…Got lost along the way.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his breath catching, and you felt the tremble run through his whole body. Your thumb brushed the edge of his jaw.

“I didn’t want him,” you whispered. “I wanted you. And I still do. All of you. Every version. Even the parts you think aren’t safe.”

He exhaled, and it sounded like a prayer. His hand came up to cover yours on his cheek, pressing it closer, grounding himself in your warmth. His eyes fluttered shut beneath your touch. For a second, it was just silence between you. That stretched, heavy kind–the kind that holds the breath of something inevitable.

Then he whispered–

“We shouldn’t do this…Not right now.”

The words stung more than they should have. You felt your hand hesitate slightly on his cheek, just a tremble of doubt. Your breath caught in your throat as your brows drew inward.

“…Why?” You asked, voice barely audible.

Bob opened his eyes again. They were glassy. Gentle. Fractured in that soft, self-protective way he always got when he thought he was saving someone else by denying himself.

“B-Because you went through e-enough last night,” He murmured. “And I don’t–I don’t want to be one more thing you have to recover from.”

You searched his face–every line of tension around his mouth, the delicate tremble in his voice, the way he still hadn’t pulled away from your hand.

“I don’t care,” You said, firm but aching. “I want the real thing. The real Bob.”

His breath stuttered. He looked at you like he wanted to believe you. Like he was afraid to.

“What about The Void…” he asked. Quiet. Uncertain. “He’s… H-he’s still in here with us. In me. What if–” You leaned in a bit, and he could feel your breath gently fanning over his face.

”He can watch for all I care.” Bob’s breath hitched hard. His whole body trembled like you’d cracked something open with just those words. Like the part of him that had been trying so hard to hold back finally didn’t know how to stay locked anymore.

You leaned in just a little more, tilting your head, your voice a murmur against his mouth now.

“I don’t want shadows anymore. I don’t want to pretend. I want you. All of you. Here. With me.” Bob’s eyes dropped to your lips like he couldn’t help it. Like gravity had shifted just enough to make every thought he’d tried to suppress pull straight toward your mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared–hungry and unsure and so visibly overwhelmed it made your chest ache.

His breath was shallow now. His thumb trembled just slightly over your skin. And then, softly, like the words were being dragged out of him from the depths of his chest:

“J-Jesus, Y/N…”

It came out like a prayer. Or a plea. Or maybe both. And then you closed the distance. His mouth met yours in an instant–desperate, shaking, unbearably real.

There was nothing slow about it. No tentative brushing or hesitant rhythm.

This kiss devoured both of you in lust and heat.

His hand slipped from your cheek into your hair as he pulled you in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t touch every inch of you at once. Your mouths moved against each other in frantic tandem–open, heated, relentless. Tongues brushing, breath tangling, his gasp lost against your teeth.

He kissed like a man unhinged by longing.

Like every second he’d spent holding back had become fuel for this very moment. You let out a soft moan against his lips as your fingers slipped from his hand and rose instead to his face, cupping both cheeks with trembling reverence, the heat of his skin branding your palms like something sacred. His lips parted around a gasp, and you kissed him again–rougher this time, dragging his mouth back to yours like it had always belonged there. Like you’d gone lifetimes starving for this one taste.

Then you broke the kiss–just barely–your breaths crashing into each other between parted mouths, lips grazing but not quite touching. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging gently as you leaned back against the mattress, guiding him with you, eyes never leaving his.

“Come here,” You whispered.

And Bob followed.

He moved like he was surrendering–like gravity wasn’t just pulling him down but into you. His forearms braced on either side of your head, the stretch of his sweater pulled tight across his back, the heat of his body pressing into yours as he hovered above you, trembling. His knees sank into the mattress and you felt him–all of him–settle over you like a stormcloud full of thunder barely held at bay.

Your hands gripped his jaw again, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and you surged up to kiss him once more. Hard. Wet. Desperate. Your mouth opened for him completely, and he didn’t hesitate this time–he gave you everything. His tongue swept into your mouth, slow at first, then with more certainty, tasting, taking. You moaned into him as your teeth scraped his lower lip, and he groaned like the sound was ripped from his spine.

He kissed like he was burning. Like he didn’t know what part of you to worship first.

You sucked gently on his tongue, dragging it deeper into your mouth with a low, aching moan, and that was when his hips moved.

Just once at first.

A tentative, trembling roll of his pelvis down against yours. He gasped into your mouth, eyes flying open only to flutter shut again as your thighs spread more beneath him, welcoming the pressure. You were both fully clothed still, but that did nothing to dull the heat–the drag of his hardened length against your core through thin layers of your cotton shorts and his sweatpants sent a shock through your body like lightning cracking straight through your ribs.

Bob’s breath stuttered against your mouth as your hand slid down, skimming over the slope of his side, fingertips pressing into the warm cotton at his waist. You felt him twitch above you, his whole body tensing as your palm curved over his hip and guided him–gently, deliberately–down into you again. The grind was slower this time, dragged out and deep, and it ripped a soft, guttural moan from somewhere inside his throat.

“God…” he whispered, voice wrecked, barely holding shape between panting breaths. “Y-You feel so–” His hips rocked again, caught in the rhythm you’d started, “–you feel so good…”

Your hand tightened slightly at his waist, grounding him, coaxing more friction with each press. The fabric between you was damp and thin and completely useless against the heat pooling low in your stomach. His forehead dropped against yours, nose brushing yours, breath catching as he whispered again:

“I–I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to dream about this… Us. Just like this.”

You whined softly at his words, dragging your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss, your lips parting wide for him as your tongue licked into his mouth again, shameless, hungry. He met it with equal desperation–messy and wet and gasping. When he broke the kiss next, it was only to drag his mouth across your cheek to your jaw, then lower, toward your neck. His nose brushed your pulse point before he whispered, almost reverently:

“Y-You’re everything. You’re everything.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at that, hips lifting into his in time with the motion he was starting to lose control over. His rhythm was breaking apart. Unraveling. He was grinding into you now with barely concealed desperation, hips jerking in small, needy circles, chasing the friction with soft, strangled moans caught in his throat.

You arched up into him, letting your other hand slide from his cheek to thread through his hair again. His lips grazed your throat as you breathed:

“Keep going, Bob… Don’t stop…”

He groaned at that, the sound guttural and hoarse, as he pushed against you harder. The pressure, the heat, the way his breath shook as he rocked against your soaked shorts–it all blended into a high, aching tension that pulsed between your bodies like a heartbeat.

Then kissed you again, sloppier now. His lips were swollen, spit-slick, and desperate. Your tongues slid together in a wet, dizzying tangle, and you sucked on his again, drawing out a sound so obscene from him you swore you felt it echo in your chest.

His hips jerked against yours again and again, more erratic now, and his hands were clinging to you–one tangled in your hair, the other fisted in the bedsheets beside your head like if he let go he’d fly apart completely.

“You have–you have no idea what you do to me,” He gasped. “You have so much control over me. I’d give you anything. I’d let you ruin me.”

“I’d never ruin you,” You breathed, threading your fingers through his hair as you guided another slow, hard grind into your core. “You’re mine.” Bob let out a broken noise at that–a sound torn straight from the center of him–and buried his face in your neck as he rocked into you again, harder this time. The friction was sharp, overwhelming, a storm with no space to breathe between strikes. He wasn’t just grinding anymore–he was rutting, trembling, gasping, desperate.

His breath shuddered against your neck as he ground into you again, and then–like he couldn’t bear not touching more of you–his hand slipped beneath your shirt.

It was slow. Almost reverent. The backs of his fingers brushed up the curve of your stomach, over the warmth of your ribs, and then he flattened his palm over your sternum, splaying his fingers like he needed to feel every inch of your heartbeat to believe this was real.

At the same time, your hand slid beneath his sweater, fingers finding the warm skin of his back, and he let out a gasp at the contact, hips stuttering as he pushed into you harder, needier. You dragged your hand higher, feeling the dips and contours of his spine, the slight tremble in his muscles. And then he pulled back just enough to look at you–eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving.

“We–We should…” He murmured breathlessly, fingers already curling around the hem of your shirt, “I wanna see you.”

You nodded, pupils blown wide, and reached for the hem of his sweater at the same time.

Clothes came off in a breathless tangle.

Your shirt peeled away with a soft rustle, and Bob’s sweater followed, pulled over his head in one quick motion. Both were discarded somewhere beside the bed, forgotten. But then–

Bob stilled.

Because he saw them.

The marks.

Long, thin bruises like fingerprints along your hips. A faint bite above your breastbone. The shadow of darkened skin on your ribs. Not violent… but unmistakable. The Void hadn’t marked you in rage. He’d marked you in possession. Claimed you like a canvas. A monument.

“Holy crap…” Bob whispered, his voice punched out of him like he’d taken a hit to the stomach.

His eyes moved over your skin slowly–no, not just your skin. The memory of what happened. The evidence of what he hadn’t done but had felt. And suddenly the weight of it was choking him.

You froze beneath him, heart lurching.

“Bob,” You said gently. Then again, a little firmer, fingers curling around his wrist, grounding him. “Bob…It’s okay.”

He blinked down at you, breath still stuttering, eyes wide with pain. You could see it–all the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to shape. The guilt, the disbelief, the raw ache of seeing you marked by something like The Void.

“Come back down here and kiss me,” You whispered, running your free hand along his chest. Bob’s breath hitched. His hand–still trembling–hovered just above your ribs, as if afraid that touching the bruises might make them worse. But when your fingers ghosted along his chest, steady and warm, he finally exhaled. A long, shaking breath, like the guilt, was something living in his lungs.

He touched one of the marks gently, his fingertip grazing it like it might dissolve beneath too much pressure. His eyes stayed on the shape of it, lips parted, voice low and cracking as he whispered–

“O-Okay.”

Then he leaned down, kissed you again–softer this time.

There was no desperation in it now. Only reverence.

It felt like an apology. Like a promise.

His hand cupped your cheek as his mouth moved against yours, slow and wet and open. He kissed you like he was trying to speak through it, like every flick of his tongue and every shared breath was meant to say I’m here. I’m real. I’ll never hurt you.

Then he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, lips brushing your jaw, “I’m gonna be more gentle than he ever was…”

His kisses trailed down to your throat. Slow. Patient. You felt them like electricity threading down your spine–each press of his mouth was careful, intentional. He kissed the hollow beneath your ear, your collarbone, the curve where your shoulder met your neck. And then–

“I want to take my time,” He whispered, voice thick. “I want to worship every inch of this body. I want you to feel safe with me, loved by me…And not used.”

Your breath caught.

His lips brushed over a fading mark near your sternum, and he paused there–kissed it once, twice, so softly it nearly undid you before returning to your lips.

“You’re in control,” He added. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “Everything is up to you. We go as far as you want. Nothing more. I just…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I just want to be close to you. I just want to deserve you.” Tears pricked your lashes. Not out of sadness. But out of how much he meant every word. You nodded, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead.

“I want this,” You whispered. “With you. However slow, however soft… Just don’t stop touching me.” Bob nodded, a quiet, trembling breath slipping past his lips like he was grounding himself in the gravity of your words. He leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you with a new kind of hunger–less desperate, more deliberate. You could feel it in the way his lips lingered, in the way he savored every brush, every breath, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.

Then he began to trail lower.

His lips ghosted along your collarbone–soft, reverent kisses that made your skin ache. His hand, warm and steady now, slid up from your ribs to the swell of your breast. He hesitated there only for a second, like he was asking wordlessly for permission, and when you arched into him, breath hitching, he exhaled like he’d been granted a miracle.

His mouth followed his hand.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your breast–slow and open-mouthed–and you swore you could feel it pulse all the way to your spine. Another kiss, lower now. Then his tongue flicked out to taste you, wet and soft, and your fingers curled in the sheets.

When he finally wrapped his lips around your nipple, you gasped.

It was tender at first–gentle suction, his mouth warm and soft as his tongue stroked slow circles over the sensitive peak. His hand cradled the underside of your breast, thumb stroking rhythmically across your skin. He moaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your chest, making your back arch, hips lifting off the mattress in a slow, unconscious grind.

“Bob,” You breathed, the sound broken and aching.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. He just groaned low in his throat and sucked a little harder, a little deeper, and your hands flew to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you held him close to you. His other hand came up to cup your free breast now, kneading it gently, carefully, like you were something too precious to rush. His fingers brushed across your other nipple, teasing it to hardness before his mouth left its twin and moved over–wet and hot and aching for more.

He gave the same attention to the other side, lips parting to take you in, tongue swirling around your nipple with languid strokes, then sucking deep, like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped again, legs shifting restlessly beneath him as your thighs pressed together for friction. You could feel the wet heat of your arousal soaking through your shorts now, the friction maddening, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Couldn’t. His mouth on you felt too good. Too right.

Bob moaned again as your hips lifted, and his hand slid lower, fingers tracing the soft dip of your waist before gliding up again to cup the side of your breast, massaging it slowly as he kept his mouth latched to your nipple.

When he finally pulled back, lips slick and parted, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered, voice wrecked, “So so beautiful…“ Your chest rose and fell under his praise, breath catching hard, and your voice trembled when it finally broke free.

“I need you,” you gasped, your hand sliding into his hair, tightening gently. “Bob–I’m so wet it hurts.”

His breath hitched. His eyes–already dark–dilated further, and you felt the shiver ripple down his spine.

But then he shook his head, slow and dazed, like he was in a trance.

“No,” He said, voice hoarse, almost reverent. “Not yet. I need to taste you first.”

You blinked down at him, heat coiling in your core so hard you thought you might come undone just from that alone.

“Please…Anything…” You whispered, barely able to say it.

He surged up to kiss you again–hungry, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that made your legs tremble around his waist. And then he pulled back just enough to press his lips to your jaw, your neck, your chest–leaving a wet trail downward, his hands sliding reverently over your hips. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and dragged them down slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed. When he reached the damp cotton of your panties, he paused–just long enough to press his mouth against the soaked fabric.

“O-Oh god,” He whispered, voice shaking. “You’re dripping for me.”

You moaned, hips twitching, fingers curled in the sheets.

Then–without hesitation–he dragged your panties down, kissing the inside of your thigh as they came off. He eased you open with steady hands, and the moment he saw you laid bare for him, his breath left him in a ragged exhale.

“G-God, you’re perfect,” He said, his voice thick with awe and hunger. “So p-perfect.” He kissed the soft skin there, just at the edge of where you ached, breathing in deep like the scent of you alone could ruin him.

Then he exhaled slowly, and leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue was gentle. A single, slow stripe from the base of your entrance to the swollen peak of your clit, wet and unhurried. You shivered violently beneath him, fingers already reaching for his hair. He groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your core. And then he did it again–slower this time. More deliberate. Tongue flat and warm, dragging through your folds with the kind of focus that made your toes curl.

He didn’t rush.

There was no frenzy in him.

Only patience. Devotion. Worship.

He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, barely-there touches that made your thighs twitch around his head. Then he flicked softly–once, twice–and looked up at you.

His eyes were already half-lidded. Glassy. Like the taste of you had undone something deep inside him. And then he closed them again, like savoring the feel of you was a prayer.

You moaned when his nose nudged your clit, the angle forcing it against the sensitive bud as his tongue dipped lower, gently licking at your entrance. You were soaked. Bob groaned at the taste, tongue working you open with trembling reverence, and you gasped, your hips bucking up without meaning to.

He pressed his hands to your thighs, holding you down firmly but not forcefully, his fingers splayed wide like he needed the contact to keep himself grounded. His mouth moved slowly, methodically, lavishing every part of you. When he dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit again and wrapped his lips around your clit for the first time, you cried out, head thrown back against the pillow, fingers tightening in his hair.

Bob moaned again–deep and low–as he sucked, gentle at first, then firmer. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. He moved with a rhythm that was impossibly focused, like he was studying you, learning every breath, every twitch, every gasp, and adjusting his pressure like a master of his craft.

You were panting now, whimpering, rolling your hips up into his mouth without shame. There was nothing detached or cruel in his touch. No domination. No edge of control. Just a man falling apart over the taste of you, letting himself be consumed by the act of giving.

He pulled back for a moment, lips glistening, breath ragged.

“C-Can I…?” he rasped, eyes blown wide. “Can I use my fingers too?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, yes–God, please–”

Bob didn’t waste a second.

His mouth dropped back to your clit instantly, tongue circling it again as two fingers slipped into your entrance. The stretch was perfect. The angle just right. He moved them slowly, curling deep inside you with a tenderness that had you keening.

And when he moaned around your clit as your walls fluttered around his fingers, the vibration shot through your whole body like lightning.

You were unraveling. Quickly.

And all you could think was this is what The Void could never give me.

Warmth. Presence. Safety.

Bob groaned into you again, pressing soft kisses between strokes of his tongue. His nose nudged your clit with every stroke of his mouth against your folds. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm–slow, deep, patient–curling up and stroking the spot inside you that made stars flicker at the edges of your vision.

You looked down through the haze of your pleasure and saw him.

Face buried between your thighs.

Lashes fluttering.

Cheeks flushed.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, like this was sacred. Like pleasing you was the only thing in the world that mattered. He sucked your clit into his mouth again, softly but completely, and swirled his tongue as he fucked you deeper, harder with his fingers–and you cried out.

“Bob–Bob, I’m–” You couldn’t finish. Your voice cracked on a sob of pleasure as your body seized beneath him.

Your climax hit like a wave crashing into shore. Your thighs trembled around his head, your hands fisted in the sheets, and your back arched as you came with a broken, shuddering moan. He didn’t stop. He slowed, easing you through it, his tongue moving gently now, soothingly, like he was kissing the aftershocks from your body one by one.

You collapsed back onto the bed, panting, fingers slipping weakly from his hair. Your body was humming, oversensitive, but sated in a way it never had been before. When Bob finally pulled back, his lips were red and slick, chin glistening. His eyes were wide and awe-filled. And he looked…Wrecked.

But in the most beautiful way.

“Was that okay?” He asked, voice hoarse, shy again now, like he hadn’t just brought you to heaven and back.

You laughed, breathless, tears of overstimulation prickling at your eyes.

“It was perfect,” you whispered. “So much better than anything I ever imagined. So much better than him.”

His expression softened, and he leaned up to kiss you. You could taste yourself against his lips–hot, slick, faintly sweet and obscene. It hit you like a jolt. The knowledge that he’d been buried between your legs only moments ago, devouring you like a man starved, and now you were tasting the evidence of it on his tongue. He kissed you deeper, filthier, letting you feel the way his mouth was still soaked with you. His tongue pushed past your lips, slow and deliberate, and you moaned into him like the sensation alone was enough to make you spiral all over again.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he groaned–long and low–as his hips bucked instinctively against you.

The thick press of his erection, still confined in those useless sweatpants, dragged against your bare, sensitive core. You gasped at the contact. He hissed between clenched teeth, rutting once, twice–shallow, desperate grinds that made you both tremble.

And then he broke the kiss.

Barely.

Foreheads pressed, his breath crashed against your lips as he whispered, voice hoarse, wrecked:

“I’m g-gonna take these off…”

He reached down with one hand, already tugging at the waistband of his sweats. The movement was slow, breathless. Then his voice dropped even lower–richer, rougher.

“…A-And you’re gonna get on top.”

Your breath caught.

His hand cupped the side of your face again, thumb brushing over your flushed cheek like he was grounding himself even now.

“I-I want you to do whatever you want to me,” He said, voice cracking with the weight of his need. “I just w-want you to be in control.”

You stilled.

Not because you doubted him–but because that sentence hit something primal. It was surrender in the truest sense of the word. The most powerful man you’d ever met–the man who could turn people into shadows and who held galaxies in his chest–was offering you everything. No fear. No condition. Just Bob. Letting you lead.

”I have to say…That’s so hot…” You whispered, your voice rough with awe and heat. A slow, shaky smile pulled at his lips, and his hands moved again—sliding his sweatpants down his hips and kicking them off. His cock was flushed, hard, thick where it curved up toward his stomach, tip already wet with precum. Your breath caught again.

Bob looked…Divine.

Raw. Unshielded. And still trembling under the weight of how badly he wanted this to be yours. Bob shifted back against the headboard, legs bent slightly, hands braced on the mattress at his sides. His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He looked ruined already. Completely at your mercy. And he liked it.

He watched you with parted lips, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The flushed curve of his cock stood proud between his thighs, wet at the tip, twitching with every heartbeat. But he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t even dare. He just waited.

For you.

You rose onto your knees and crawled toward him slowly, deliberately. Each movement was precise. Controlled. Letting him feel the weight of your intent with every inch you claimed. When you reached him, you straddled his hips and felt him go still–completely, reverently still–beneath your thighs.

Your knees bracketed his hips, bare and hot, and you sat up fully. Spine long, hair falling around your shoulders, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you steadied yourself. Bob looked up at you like you were holy. Like you were something he’d dreamed of for years but never believed he’d get to worship this way.

And then–eyes locked with his–you reached down between your bodies.

Bob gasped as your fingers curled around the base of his cock, firm but slow, and you gave him one long, aching stroke. His hips twitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat. But he still didn’t move. He was giving you everything.

You dragged the head of his cock through your folds–once, twice, again–coating him in your slick, letting him feel how wet you were. How ready.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, head tipping back slightly against the wood. “Y-You’re gonna kill me…”

You smiled, breathless. Then, without breaking eye contact, you angled him perfectly beneath you–and slowly, so slowly, you began to sink down.

The stretch was…Devastating.

Thick. Full. Hot.

You let out a broken sound from deep in your throat as you took him inch by inch. Bob’s hands gripped the sheets at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality. His head dropped forward to watch, pupils blown wide, chest heaving, a string of half-whispered praises tumbling from his lips.

“God, you’re–” His voice fractured, shaking, “–you feel so good, s-so perfect…”

You settled fully into his lap, and the moment you did, Bob let out a shuddering moan–quiet but guttural, like the sound had been lodged somewhere in his ribs.

He was buried deep inside you. All of him. The stretch still pulsed through your core like a heartbeat, throbbing and full, but you didn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, you reached for his hands.

“Hold me,” You whispered.

Bob obeyed instantly.

His hands slid from the bedsheets to your hips, then around your waist, arms wrapping tightly around you as if he could mold his body to yours. His palms splayed wide across your back, holding you so carefully, so reverently, like you might drift away if he didn’t anchor you down.

Your chest pressed against his. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

You could feel the way he trembled. The tension in his thighs. The shallow rise and fall of his breath as he clung to you like salvation. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his mouth opened against your neck, breath searing hot.

But still–you didn’t move.

You stayed seated fully on him, body wrapped around his, and just…Let yourself exist like that. Connected. Claimed. In control.

Bob whimpered.

Not from pain, not from frustration—but from the sheer intensity of it. Of being inside you, of being held still, of having to surrender to your pace. His cock throbbed inside you, twitching helplessly with every pulse of your walls, and he moaned when he felt it.

“This…O-Oh Y/N….Y-You’re so perfect.” He whispered, leaning forward so his lips could find your neck. He dragged his mouth over your pulse point, breath warm and uneven. He nuzzled the skin there, pressing one long kiss just beneath your jaw before scraping his teeth gently across your flesh.

You gasped.

He moaned.

“I love the way you taste,” He whispered, voice low and wrecked. “I’d mark you if you let me… Kiss every inch of your skin ‘til you couldn’t tell where I ended and you started…”

You pulsed around him again.

Bob choked on a gasp, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“I’d let you ruin me if it meant I got to stay like this. Inside you. Wrapped up in you. Y-You don’t even have to move, I’ll still come like this if you keep squeezing me like that.”

Your fingers found his neck, the column of it slick with sweat, the pulse there fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings beneath your palm. You held him gently—not tight, not possessive, just enough to anchor him. To guide him.

“Bob,” you whispered, breath brushing the shell of his ear. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, slow and trembling. His forehead lifted from your shoulder, lashes fluttering as he met your gaze. His eyes were blown wide, the deepest shade of blue, glassy and brimming. There was so much there—longing, awe, fear, surrender—and you held it all with your hand on his throat and your body wrapped around his.

You moved first.

It was a subtle grind of your hips, a slow press down and forward that sent his cock dragging deliciously against your walls and his pelvis flush against your clit. Your breath caught in your throat at the friction, the heat, the closeness. Bob gasped—his mouth falling open in a broken moan, hands tightening slightly on your back.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my God…”

You did it again. A slow, rolling grind that pressed you right there, and he felt every trembling inch of it. His head dropped forward with a choked sound, mouth brushing your collarbone.

“No,” you whispered, your thumb brushing his jaw, lifting his chin. “Keep looking at me.”

His eyes opened again, wrecked and obedient, and you gave him another slow, deep grind–your slick walls pulling around him as your clit rubbed in firm circles against the ridge of his pelvis. Bob trembled under you, his chest heaving, arms holding you tighter like you were the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

“I need you to stay right here,” You said softly. “I need to feel all of you.”

“I-I’m right here,” he choked. “I swear–I’m not going anywhere.”

You kissed him.

God, you kissed him like it was your last chance. Your mouth was soft and open, your tongue slow and sweet, like you were trying to breathe life back into both of you. And Bob melted into it—completely, utterly. His hands curved up your spine, not to control but to cradle. To keep you close.

Your hips found a rhythm. A deep, rolling grind that pressed you into him again and again—smooth and slow and so fucking full. You weren’t riding him for speed. You weren’t chasing anything. You were claiming him. Letting him exist inside you like he belonged there. Like this was always how it was supposed to be.

Bob’s breath hitched, and then–barely a whisper–

“I-I can’t believe you want me like this…”

“I do,” you said, voice thick. “So much.”

Your clit rubbed in perfect friction against him now with each roll of your hips. The wet sound of it was quiet but present, the heat building low in your belly again as you rocked in smooth, delicious circles. His eyes fluttered shut for a second–just one–but you gave a warning squeeze around his cock and he gasped, eyes flying open.

“Eyes on me,” You murmured, voice like velvet and lightning all at once. “I need you to see me when I come.”

Bob’s breath broke. He whimpered–a sound you’d never thought you’d hear from a man like him–and it made your walls flutter around him again. You moved your hand from his throat to cup his jaw now, brushing your thumb over the tear that had slipped free onto his cheekbone.

“Oh, Bob,” You whispered. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t—I can’t help it,” He choked, another tear slipping free. “I-It’s just… you’re so close, you’re right here, and I don’t deserve it, and I–”

“You do,” You said firmly, kissing the tears from his cheeks, one after the other. “You do. I promise you do.”

His arms tightened around you and he pressed his forehead to yours as your hips kept moving. Your clit rubbed harder against his pelvis now, your body slick and hot and trembling with the mounting tension. You could feel your orgasm coming–slow and powerful, cresting like a tide inside you–and Bob felt it too.

“You’re shaking,” He whispered, voice thick with awe. “You’re gonna come like this? F-From just…Grinding on me?”

“With you inside me,” You breathed. “With your arms around me. With you crying for me.”

Bob moaned, helpless and high. His fingers dug into your waist, but he didn’t speed you up. He let you keep control. And that was what made it so fucking perfect.

Your breath broke first.

A gasp. A cry. Your head tipped back as your orgasm swept through you, deep and slow and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around him and your clit rubbed perfectly against his skin as you rode it out, sobbing against his mouth as he held you tighter, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, whispering praise in a broken voice.

“So perfect, so perfect, oh my God, you feel like heaven–”

Then you felt him twitch inside you. His whole body locked, breath caught on a desperate moan.

“C-Can I–Y/N–please, I need–can I come?”

“Come inside me,” You whispered. “Let go, you’re safe.”

That broke him.

Bob cried out, shuddering, hips jerking once, twice, then grinding deep as he spilled inside you–warm and thick, pulsing against your walls as he sobbed into your neck. His arms held you tight, breath shaking like every part of him was unraveling in your hands.

And it was beautiful.

You stayed like that–wrapped around each other, trembling, kissed in sweat and tears and come–until the shaking slowed, until the only sound in the room was your breathing, synced.

Then Bob pulled back, barely, and looked at you.

His cheeks were flushed. His lips swollen. His eyes still wet.

“I love you,” He said hoarsely, like it was the only thing he had left. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Your heart cracked wide open.

And you kissed him again.

Soft. Tender. Final.

“I know,” You whispered. “I love you too.” His arms wrapped tighter around your back, his hand curling protectively over your spine as if to shield the last remaining fragments of you from the world outside your shared warmth. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled softly in your hair, holding you close to him.

”A-Are you okay?” He asked gently, and you nodded.

”Let’s just stay like this for a little while…Please.” Bob nodded, and buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in heavily. His body trembled under yours. Not from exertion now, but from something gentler. Something raw. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest in steady, staggering bursts. His cock was still inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you cared. The sweat between your skin clung like sealant. Like gravity. Like home.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek–just beneath the smudge of drying tear salt.

He didn’t speak again until a long, quiet minute later.

“…I didn’t hear him.”

Your breath caught.

“What?”

Bob pulled back just slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. His fingers brushed over your jaw. His voice was softer now. More certain.

“The Void,” He whispered. “I didn’t hear him… Not once. Not when I kissed you. Not when I touched you. Not even when I came.” His brow furrowed gently, like the realization had just fully settled in his chest. “He wasn’t there. Not at all.”

Your heart thudded so hard it hurt.

“…Me neither,” You replied, blinking. “I didn’t hear him either.”

You both paused.

Then Bob cupped your cheek and leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your mouth. This one wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t claiming. It was the kind of kiss that thanked you for every piece of what came before. The kind that whispered: we made it.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together again.

“I think he’s gone,” You said, voice shaking with disbelief. “I think–just for now–it’s quiet.”

Bob nodded slowly, eyes still closed.

“It’s just you in my head right now,” He said quietly. “You’re the only thing I hear.” You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t sharp. They didn’t ache. They flowed soft and steady as you pulled back slightly, looked him in the eyes, and brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead.

“Let’s clean up,” You murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Bob blinked slowly, then offered a dazed smile–half-exhausted, half-stunned.

“You just did.”

“I’m not done,” You said, gently shifting off his lap. He gasped quietly at the loss of contact, but didn’t resist as you helped him stretch out against the pillows.

You moved slowly.

Your body ached–in the best way–and you padded quietly across the room to retrieve a soft towel and the glass of water by your bedside. When you returned, Bob was watching you like he didn’t know how to stop.

You sat beside him and wiped him down with gentle strokes–starting at his chest, dabbing along the flushed trail of sweat down his sternum, then moving lower, cleaning his softening length with quiet care. His breath hitched when you did, but he didn’t flinch. He let you take your time.

When you finished tending to him, you leaned forward to press one last kiss to the center of his chest. His skin was still warm and flushed, the thudding of his heart echoing just beneath your lips. But before you could shift away, Bob’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait,” he murmured softly, eyes steady and shining. “M-My turn…”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Bob, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he whispered. “Please. Let me.”

There was a depth to his voice that left no room for refusal—soft, reverent, as if this was as important to him as any kiss or confession. You nodded slowly.

And Bob moved carefully.

He sat up with you, then gently coaxed you to lay back down, easing you onto the pillows with trembling hands. You watched him with quiet wonder as he reached for the towel you’d just used on him and dipped the clean edge into the water glass, wringing it out carefully. His movements were so tender, like touching you now required an entirely different kind of strength–one that didn’t come from the Sentry.

It came from love.

He knelt between your legs and brushed his fingers softly along the inside of your thigh, his eyes flicking up to yours. You gave a small nod, breath catching slightly, and let your legs fall open for him.

He swallowed hard.

The sight of you–still glistening from him, swollen and pink, your inner thighs kissed with the aftermath of pleasure–made him blink slowly like he was afraid he’d miss something if he looked away for even a second. You expected him to begin right away with the towel, but instead, Bob leaned in first.

And kissed the inside of your thigh.

Just once. Then again. And again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses trailed up the curve of your leg, each one slower than the last, lips warm and gentle as he nuzzled and worshipped the skin just inches from your core. Your breath hitched as his mouth pressed a kiss just beside your entrance–like he was blessing the part of you that held him, loved him, trusted him.

“Thank y-you,” He whispered, voice hoarse. “F-For letting me have this. For… C-Choosing me…After what happened…”

You reached down, hand threading through his hair, and Bob looked up at you as he finally brought the towel to your center.

He was gentle. So incredibly gentle.

The cloth was warm, and the strokes were slow–he cleaned you with the care of someone handling sacred glass, careful not to press too hard, not to rush, not to do anything that might make you flinch. You didn’t. Not once. If anything, your body softened further under his touch.

When he was done, he set the towel aside and pressed another kiss–right above your mound this time, reverent and trembling. Then he looked up at you again. His eyes were still wet.

“You’re perfect,” You whispered. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

Bob exhaled hard, like the words shook something loose inside his chest. Then he crawled back up beside you, pulling the comforter up and over your bodies with one hand as the other cupped the back of your head. He tucked you in against him slowly, protectively, until your cheek was resting over his heart.

You could hear it beating fast.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you murmured against his skin.

His fingers traced soft shapes along your spine. “Me neither.”

There was a silence that followed–but it wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Full of something new. Something unspoken. Something earned.

Bob kissed the top of your head, lips lingering like a promise.

And you closed your eyes against his chest, listening to the rhythm of a heart that, for the first time in a long time, was quiet.

No voices.

No shadows.

1K notes · View notes