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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Note

If you take requests or suggestions, i believe that you would execute a bob reynolds fic with this plot ✨perfectly✨

I literally LOVE all of your bob fics. They’re my comfort reads before i go to bed at night!

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

Summary: You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, and there’s quite a bit of sexual tension. The reader and Bob both have feelings for each other and they’re both well aware of the mutual interest (secretly of course), she takes this as an opportunity to tease.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much and I immediately started writing it because I was so excited to give it a go! So So Fun! Thank you for the submission! :) (also credit to the artist who made the drawing too because it’s fantastic)

Word Count: 3,362

You gave every drug store lipstick display a run for its money with the collection you had laid out across the bathroom sink. An entire rainbow of tubes was scattered in a controlled type of chaos–organized first by shade, then grouped meticulously by brand. Reds on the left, mauves and berries in the middle, and neutrals off to the right like a little modest army. You had even gone so far as to lay a folded white towel beneath the lineup like a staging mat, saving yourself from scrubbing stains off the marble countertop. The air smelled faintly of your makeup remover wipes–sweet and sterile–and your forearm was streaked with half-dried swatches, but it just wasn’t good enough.

This was all in the name of finding the lipstick. The one that not only matched the dress you were wearing to the PR gala tomorrow, but one that was also smudge-proof. You didn’t want feathering, or fading, and you certainly didn’t want it transferring onto napkins, glasses or people.

You wanted security.

You knew you should’ve started this task earlier in the week, but between back-to-back recon debriefs, endless intel meetings, and mediating three separate team arguments that nearly ended in Walker and Yelena actually strangling each other, the lipstick trials had fallen to the bottom of your to-do list.

Now there was less than twenty-four hours to go, and you were elbows-deep in swatches and stress.

You capped one more tube with a dissatisfied sigh and reached for the next–

Only to pause at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Y-Y/N?” Came Bob’s voice–muffled, hesitant and laced with that familiar nervous warmth. “I-I need to come in and get my brush. I forgot it after my s-shower…” You froze, mid-reach, one hand hovering over a berry toned satin finish tube. Your lips curled into a slow smile.

Perfect timing. For you, anyway. For Bob? That remained to be seen. You crossed the small tiled room in a few barefoot steps and swung the door open with a grin.

“Excellent! You’re just who I need.” Bob blinked at you like a deer caught in LED headlights. His shirt–black, baggy, and soft–was damp around the collar, clinging to his skin and chest in a way that made it impossible not to look. His light brown hair curled at in little waves at the ends, still damp from his shower that was still kissing the walls, and the navy sweatpants sitting low on his hips were hugging him far too well for a man who clearly didn’t see himself in the way you were seeing him in.

”…Wh-What?” He asked, brows furrowed, gaze daring from your eyes to the mess of tubes on the counter.

“Come in,” You said smoothly, reaching out and tugging him gently by the wrist, guiding him over the threshold with ease, “Sit on the toilet lid, and hurry up with the hair brushing…I need a test subject.” He obeyed-but only in the way someone might follow a siren calling them to certain doom. He moved like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a trap or a daydream.

”L-Last time I heard the words ‘test s-subject’ I ended up getting injected with a sun god…” He mumbled, grabbing the brush from the hanging organizer on the shower door. You laughed, warm and low at the comment.

“Relax. I’m not injecting you with anything. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Bob sat down slowly, brush limp in his hand as his gaze swept across the counter again, scanning over the contents that you had lined up with such care.

”S-So what is all of t-this?” You turned slightly towards him, unscrewing a velvet-matte red as you spoke.

“I’m trying to find the perfect lipstick for the gala tomorrow,” You said matter-of-factly, swiping the colour gently across your bottom lip, “It has to match my dress and it has to be smudge-proof.”

Bob tilted his head, watching your quick movements intently, “Smudge-proof?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be constantly running to the bathroom to check for fading or fix transfer stains. I want to actually enjoy the night. Have a drink. Maybe dance. You know…Breathe.” He gave a thoughtful little nod, bringing the brush through his damp hair.

”D-Didn’t really think about that, a-actually…” You turned away from your reflection to look at him, a coy smile peeling onto your lips.

“Most guys don’t.” But Bob wasn’t most guys of course, and as expected, a beat later he added to the conversation again…

”…W-Wait…Why does it have to be completely smudge-proof though? I mean if you’re just–“ You shrugged, letting your gaze flick toward the mirror, while your lips pressed together, transferring the color over to the bare one above.

”You never know,” You said casually, “I might be planning on kissing someone.” Bob froze like someone had yanked all the oxygen out of the room. His cheeks–already pink from the post-shower warmth–turned a deeper, rosier red in seconds. It bloomed across his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears, and spread like a sunburn. His mouth opened slightly like he meant to say something, but all he managed to get out was:

”O-Oh…” He choked, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. The brush in his hand was still mid-motion through his damp locks, but it had stopped moving entirely. You smiled at him.

”Alright,” You started, twisting the lipstick down and putting the cap back on with a soft click, “First one. You ready?” He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t trust his voice. His eyes tracked you as you stepped forward–deliberate and unhurried–until you were standing directly between his legs.

His brush lowered slightly, and then the wave of your scent hit his nose.

Your perfume was warm, and sweet, with a hint of plum riding off of the tail end of each inhale he took. Beneath the main notes there was something tropical–maybe coconut from your makeup remover, or the vanilla-tinged balms you always wore when your lips were bare.

But now your lips weren’t bare at all. They were red, and bold, and smooth, just like fresh velvet. He looked up slowly, through his lashes, and found you were already staring down at him. You tilted your head, smiling, the curve of your mouth smug in a way that made something tighten in his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you reached forward–fingers brushing gently along the side of his jaw, your thumb just beneath the hinge of it. He let you tilt his head more toward you like he was made of clay and you were the ceramicist.

He dropped the brush into his lap, forgetting about it completely.

Your face hovered near his and he could feel his breath hitch audibly. You leaned in slow enough that he swore he could hear his own heartbeat ringing through the room.

Then your lips pressed to his cheek.

Warm, firm and lingering. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Not an innocent brush. It was a kiss.

You lingered just long enough for him to feel the curve of your mouth, and the faint stick of product with the pressure of intention behind it. He could smell the stain now–berries and heat, sharp pigment and your sweet breath that had a faint scent of strawberries from the gum you chewed on. If he was a sailor and you were the siren…He would be dead at sea.

When you pulled away, he swore the room was spinning a little. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the mark you had left just above the apple of his cheek. A bright, undeniable red, plastered on his pale tone.

“Hmm,” You said thoughtfully, “Definitely transferred.” Bob sat in stunned silence, skin still tingling from where your mouth had been–he didn’t know whether it was because he was allergic to the ingredients or because it was just him buzzing from all the adrenaline, though he would find out in due time. You dabbed at your own lips with a tissue saturated in make-up remover, wiping the colour clean.

“Not a keeper,” You mumbled, “It’s a shame–it was a really good match.” He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find words, nor could he find a way to breathe. He didn’t even know how he was still alive at this point, all he knew was he saw you reach out again.

You selected the next shade carefully.

A sultry plum–deep, and elegant, with just enough bite to stand out. You rolled the colour across your lips in smooth, practiced strokes, then blotted once on a folded tissue before turning back to him.

Bob still hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting frozen on the seat, brush limp in his lap, his shimmering blue eyes flickering between your mouth and the floor. The cheek you had kissed was flushed a bit deeper now.

“Test two,” You announced gently, stepping into his space again, until the hem of your t-shirt brushed against his thigh and he had nowhere left to look that wouldn’t betray him in some way. Your hand came up to his jaw again–just two fingers this time, soft and easy, tilting his face the opposite way.

His lashes fluttered under the feeling of your breath brushing over them as you kissed him again. This time it was just below his temple, closer to the hinge of his jaw–closer to where his pulse was throbbing faintly beneath his skin. You pressed a little firmer this time, letting your breath fan against his ear.

Bob inhaled a quiet breath through his nose, attempting to keep himself calm, but in reality he was gripping the fabric of his sweatpants between his fingers like it was the only thing holding him back from collapsing. When you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, you just kept your focus on the mark.

”…Transferred,” You murmured, brushing your thumb lightly over the stain–making sure it was more of a caress than a swipe. You didn’t move back this time, you just grabbed another makeup wipe and removed the color before reaching for another.

It was a dusty rose this time, it was softer, and much more muted than any of the other colors he had seen you in.

Once you had applied it, you leaned in–closer now–and kissed the slope of his cheekbone, just beneath the curve of his eye. Your lips barely grazed the skin there–it was as if you did it to see if he would flinch or move.

Bob’s jaw tensed under your touch, and you were hyper aware of his breath hitting your skin in short, warm bursts, his chest lifting against you. He hadn’t said a word–but his hands had now left his lap and were gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled in anticipation.

You reached for the next tube–something far more delicate than the dusty rose before it. A pink so faint it was almost nothing at all. A whisper of colour. You applied it, blotted it, then turned again. Bob had somehow managed to get a handle on his breathing in the moments you were applying the next colour, but it was too controlled. You could practically feel the storm building beneath his skin, golden and humming, and desperate to stay still.

Your thighs brushed the inside of his knees as you tilted his head up to yours again, looking at the way his skin was flushed and warm, beneath the shades of pinks and reds…A gradient of restraint. You leaned in, and this time your kiss landed just beside the corner of his mouth, not touching it, but close enough to tease.

Bob made a sound. It was barely audible. A sof, helpless little nnnnh in the back of his throat–like a gasp that had gotten stuck on the way out. You didn’t say anything. You only bit back a knowing smile, and pretended not to hear it. You just wiped your lips again and moved on to the next shade–a creamy nude gloss, with just a hint of peach.

You came back in and kissed beneath his jaw, where the stubble was soft and patchy and tender. The spot made him twitch, his throat working under the weight of the kiss, like he was trying to swallow air.

His breathing changed then and became heavier and shallower.

And when you came close to him again, in a different shade–this time pressing your lips right onto his Adam’s apple–Bob’s head tipped back instinctively.

Like he was offering himself up to you–surrendering himself completely.

You continued to kiss him, moving progressively lower, marking him up with various shades. Then suddenly you found yourself at the hollow of his throat, just between the lines of his collarbones. His chest was rising faster now, with flush traveling beneath his shirt, like it was echoing the trail your mouth had carved against his skin.

You pulled back slowly, lips hovering about the damp collar of his shirt, bringing your hand up to brush over the fabric.

”Oops…” You murmured softly, putting on a teasing tone beneath your words, “I think I’m running out of room.” Bob looked down at you with eyes that were no longer blue. You hadn’t even noticed he had his eyes closed tightly for the majority of this until now.

There was gold flickering at the edges. Sentry was just barely cresting the surface–quiet, curious, and turned-on by the proximity. He was enamoured by what was happening, and Bob was allowing him to watch through his eyes because he was too focused on trying to keep himself together. The air around Bob was shimmering faintly, vibrating with tension like he was lighting up the room.

The sensation of your lips had done this…You had done this, and you were proud of it.

Your nails dragged gently down the front of his shirt, tracing a circle around the fabric.

”I think you may need to take this off…To give me more space of course.” You whispered, watching as his brain seemed to short-circuit. His eyes were still half-lidded, heavy with heat and something distant and flickering gold. But when they opened fully they met yours with the softest, most terrified kind of care, glancing down at your mouth just as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth…And that’s what did it for him. That was the punch of encouragement to the gut.

He gave you a small nod, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled slightly from the kind of overstimulated shyness that lived just under the surface of his flesh, in the space between ‘I want this’ and ‘I don’t know what to do with all of it.’ He peeled the black shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, dusted with freckles and pure heat. There were a few scars here and there. A mole right near the dip of his sternum. A faint sheen of sweat that bloomed across his chest and shoulders from the heat in the room–or from the heat of your lips…Possibly both.

The fabric came over his head, messing up his semi-brushed hair in the process, and he folded it carefully in his lap like he was going to get up to put it on display or something. You let yourself stare.

At the freckles on his collarbones, the ones on his biceps. The soft stretch marks that feathered under his arms and the little curve of his ribs as they flared gently with each nervous breath he took. You wanted to map everything with your mouth.

So you did.

You leaned in again, with a fresh colour on your lips–deep pink this time, and kissed just beneath his collarbone, then a little to the right, then down the slope of his chest–right over where his heart was pulsating beneath its shield of flesh.

Bob made a quiet sound, something soft and strangled that never made it fully out of his throat. His hands were still in his lap, his thumbs gripping the hem of the shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from grabbing yours. Every part of him was vibrating–his jaw clenched, chest rising, shoulders tense–and still he let you do it, staying perfectly still.

You changed shades, kissing higher, then lower.

A sheer gloss that glimmered under the light as you kissed just below the curve of his pec. A matte brick red as you moved toward the center of his chest. Then you put on something soft again, something nude and barely there, as you pressed your hands against his thighs for a bit of leverage while your lips found the inside slope of his ribcage. You could’ve sworn you felt his knees buckle under your hands.

By the time you reached the underside of his pectoral muscle, you heard the faintest breath catch in his lungs, like he couldn’t even take full breaths anymore. And then you kissed just above it.

One final, perfect kiss.

You pressed your lips down and held them there–longer, slower, firmer–fighting back the urge to mark the skin with something that wasn’t lipstick. You felt the flutter of his pulse beneath it. And when you finally pulled away, you let your lips ghost against him, your eyes trailing down to where you had kissed.

“Ooooh. This one’s good…I think we found it. No transfer!” You announced, looking up at Bob, seeing the ruined look plastered on his face.

His eyes were heavy, shot through with blue and gold. His mouth parted. His skin was flushed a deep red and marked in soft lip stains, all across his chest, neck, jaw, and face. The air shimmered around him like static clinging to the atmosphere, and he was breathless. He let out a sigh.

”P-Perfect,” He whimpered, so dazed his words barely had shape to them. His body shifted, like he was meaning to stand–maybe to retreat, maybe to run cold water over his steaming body, maybe just to breathe–

But you didn’t let him.

Before he could even try to get up, you surged forward and kissed him on the lips. Hungry, wet, and deep. You kissed him like it was the conclusion to a story you had been telling in colour across his skin. Bob let out a muffled, desperate little moan into your mouth, as his hands found your waist, then your back, then your hips–grabbing, pulling, and holding. He crushed you to him, allowing all his restraint to unravel all at once, letting what little control he had slip through his fingers.

You kissed him like you had wanted to from the very start. Like all the kisses around his whole body led to this one final one–this overwhelming, messy, and utterly perfect one.

He kissed you back with awe. With the kind of pressure that said ‘thank you, please don’t stop, I’ve been waiting.’

You pulled back just enough to breathe–barely. Your foreheads bumped, and the air between you was heat, electricity, and trembling silence.

Bob’s lips were swollen now. Kiss-bitten, and wet. But when you looked…

The colour on your lips hadn’t transferred onto his. You smirked, and reached up, gently swiping the faintest trail of spit off his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, tilting your head to the side.

”Fantastic,” You whispered, leaning forward just a bit, “It’s definitely kiss-proof.”

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xjulixred45x · 3 months ago

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Imagine an adult Yuu who arrived at Twisted Wonderland PREGNANT.

This could be considered part of the Yuu! Parent variables (?). Perhaps the poor woman was returning from an early ultrasound (at 2 or 3 months old) when the black carriage hit her, scaring her to death upon her appearance in TWST. She must have thought she was about to be sacrificed to a cult.

I can definitely imagine the Squad characters being much more understanding/soft of this Yuu, especially Ace and Deuce. Ace wouldn't be so malicious at the beginning of the game (I'd like to believe that not even he would be capable of laughing in the face of a pregnant woman), and instead feels obvious guilt because Crowley has entrusted her with a mediocre job.

Deuce, my sweet boy, will set off all his alarm bells. He's the most outraged that the headmaster is forcing a pregnant woman to work ALONE, and if his dorm leader hadn't been so strict in the beginning, he definitely wouldn't let Yuu sleep in a dorm that's falling apart. Has Crowley gone crazy? Does he have no shred of decency?!

Grim probably thought at first that Yuu had eaten her baby, haha, and had to receive the wonderful "birds and the bees" lecture (much to Ace's amusement at Grim's horrified reactions). Let's just say Grim now insists on standing sentry in case Yuu decides to do anything too "dangerous for the baby" (humans are fragile even with magic; he has to take care of his minion!).

Jack, bless him, also tries to help make the ramshackle dorm safer alongside Epel, whether by removing the most rotten parts of the structure, helping clean, assisting with Yuu's errands, etc. Especially when she starts showing more of her bump.

GOD, IMAGINE THE DORM LEADERS!

Riddle was probably the only one who didn't realize Yuu was pregnant until the events of the Savanaclaw episode. And when he found out he almost seriously hurt a PREGNANT WOMAN? Trey and Cater practically had to keep him from banging his head against a wall for half an hour out of embarrassment and shame. He also drafted a LONG apology for Yuu, which was delivered with a giant strawberry cake (and one of those exaggerated bows I KNOW Riddle would do).

Thanks to his mom (for once in his life), Riddle is the most knowledgeable about useful pregnancy stuff! Whenever Yuu goes to Heartslabyul, she has access to calcium- and iron-rich meals (prepared by Trey), and teas that boost her immune system and combat morning sickness. Riddle is careful not to give her things like black tea or rosemary tea, knowing they could have negative effects (if it were up to Riddle, Yuu probably wouldn't walk unaided).

Leona is much more respectful to a female Yuu, we know that, but I don't think he has the energy to be rude, or be especially , well, Leona, to a PREGNANT woman. This ends up bringing out a side of Leona no one thought existed: an almost delicate side. Sure, he's still lazy and sarcastic, but he doesn't say no to Yuu when she asks for help with something, whether it's bringing something to her dorm or dealing with a difficult situation. he dosent even COMPLAIN. what did he do to the real Leona??

We all know Crowley doesn't give Yuu and Grim enough money to live comfortably, let alone considering they could soon have a new member on ramshakle. Yuu is now surprised to find extra money in the dorm after certain visits. Not that he'll admit it, but it makes everyone feel more at ease.

Again, I want to believe Azul wouldn't be capable of leaving a pregnant woman homeless, at the very least he offered her a place to stay in Octavinelle. It turns out the twins (especially Floyd) quickly took a liking to Yuu.

A cute scenario I came up with, when Yuu already has a prominent baby bump, is that she tries to joke with the Leechs that the nickname "shrimpy" doesn't suit her anymore, and that maybe they should change it to "whaley."

AND FLOYD IS LIKE, "Why are you saying that, Koebi-chan? :( Is someone calling you that? Come on, tell me :)"

I think the Octavinelle folks genuinely don't know how human pregnancy works, so they're surprisingly gentle and caring with Yuu (even when the baby is born, I can see Monster Lounge having a kids' menu for them).

Kalim, my god, Jamil is going to have to stop him from giving Yuu a completely equipped nursery for both her and the baby. Ironically, the one who's the most normal about pregnancy (the guy has 30 younger siblings, so he KNOWS about these things) and genuinely knows some home tricks that helped his mother when she was pregnant.

offers to organize a baby shower/gender reveal party! The bad thing is that it ends up being a whole festival with all of Scarabia participating. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

There's no way Yuu, who's already 6-7 months along, will wear the school uniform simply for comfort, so if you need help finding comfortable AND cute clothes, Vil will gladly help! Obviously, he's not as strict or harsh with Yuu due to the circumstances, but he still wants the best for her. Who knows, maybe they can pick out some clothes for the baby in advance.

Idia is afraid to get close to Yuu, not only because of social anxiety, but because of the thought that he might "ruin" the baby in some way. He needs a lot of support from Ortho and Yuu to even allow himself to have normal physical contact with Yuu, and just as he does, the baby kicks. Idia's heart is gone (everyone wants to feel the kicks now, especially Ace, Floyd, and Malleus).

They probably use some STYX or Ortho equipment for some of the baby checks, and he even gives an approximate due date, which feels bittersweet. Even if everyone does their best, Yuu still hoped to have his baby at home, but he doesn't complain when the boys do all this for them. It feels like Home.

Malleus is another who doesn't fully understand human pregnancy and is incredibly intrigued. It doesn't help that Lilia's answers to his questions are even more confusing, so he ends up going straight to the source of his intrigue, Yuu. Malleus is completely mesmerized the first time he hears the baby's heartbeat, completely fascinated by what human life is like compared to fairies/dragons.

That said, he proceeds to "scold" the baby when it kicks Yuu for "hurting its mother," not quite understanding the concept, but he has the spirit. Malleus is very scared of the idea of childbirth once he's educated on it (WHERE will the baby come out? HOW!?) and will probably try to improve his healing magic SOLELY because of that.

All I can say is that if the baby is born in Twisted Wonderland, they'll have a wide array of adoptive siblings, father figures, babysitters, and weird and eccentric uncles who will take very good care of them and its mother. So you can rest easy.

__________

(ESPAÑOL)

Imagínate una Yuu adulta que llego a Twisted Wonderland estando EMBARAZADA

Esto podría considerarse parte de las variables de Yuu! Parent(?)Talvez la pobre mujer estaba regresando de un ultrasonido de los primeros meses (2 o 3 meses) cuando el carruaje negro le paso por encima, dándole un susto de muerte cuando apareció en TWST. La pobre mujer debio pensar que estaba a punto de ser sacrificada a un culto.

Definitivamente puedo ver a los personajes del Squad mucho mas suaves con esta Yuu, especialmente Ace y Deuce. Ace no sería tan malicioso al principio del juego (digo, quiero creer que incluso el no seria capaz de reírse en la cara de una mujer embarazada) y más bien siente una obvia lastima de que Crowley le haya metido en un trabajo mediocre.

Deuce, mi dulce niño, le disparan todas las alarmas. Es el más obviamente indignado de que el director haga trabajar a una mujer embarazada SOLA, y definitivamente si su líder de dormitorio no fuera tan estricto al principio, no dejaría que Yuu durmiera en un dormitorio que se cae a pedazos ¿¡que acaso Crowley perdió la cabeza, no tiene el mínimo de decencia?!

Grim probablemente al principio pensó que Yuu se había comido a su bebe lol, y le tuvieron que dar la maravillosa charla de las “aves y las abejas” (para diversión de Ace por las reacciones horrorizadas de Grim). Solo digamos que ahora Grim insiste en actuar como centinela en caso de que Yuu se le ocurra hacer algo demasiado “peligroso para él bebe” (los humanos son frágiles aun si magia ¡tiene que cuidar a su secuaz!).

Jack, bendito sea, también trata de ayudar en hacer el dormitorio destartalado mas seguro junto a Epel, ya sea quitando las partes mas podridas de la estructura, ayudando a limpiar, ayudar con los mandados de Yuu, etc. Especialmente cuando empieza a mostrar mas la panza de embarazada.

DIOS, IMAGINENSE LOS LIDERES DE DORMITORIO.

Riddle probablemente fue el único que no llego a darse cuenta que Yuu estaba embarazada hasta los eventos del capítulo de Savanaclaw ¿y cuando se enteró que casi lastimo gravemente a una MUJER EMBARAZADA? Trey y Cater tuvieron que físicamente detenerlo de que se golpeara la cabeza contra la pared por media hora por la vergüenza, también redacto un documento LARGUISIMO de disculpa a Yuu, que fue entregado con una gran tarta de fresa (y una de esas reverencias exageradas que SE que Riddle haría).

¡Gracias a su madre (por una vez en la vida), Riddle es el que sabe más de cosas útiles para el embarazo! Cada vez que Yuu va Heartslabyul, tienen acceso a comidas nutritivas en calcio y hierro (hechas por Trey), Tés beneficiosos para el sistema inmune y para combatir las náuseas matutinas, aparte de que Riddle es cuidadoso de no dar cosas como Te negro o romero, sabiendo que podrían tener malos efectos (si fuera por Riddle, Yuu probablemente no caminaría sin ayuda).

Leona es bastante más respetuoso con una Yuu mujer, eso lo sabemos, pero no creo que tenga la energía para ser grosero o especialmente, bueno, Leona, con una mujer EMBARAZADA. Esto termina sacando un lado que nadie creía que existía de Leona, un lado casi delicado. Claro, sigue siendo perezoso y sarcástico, pero no le dice que no a Yuu cuando le pide ayuda en algo, ya sea llevar algo a su dormitorio o con una situación difícil.

Todos sabemos que Crowley no da ni de lejos el dinero suficiente para que Yuu y Grim vivan bien, mucho menos pensando que PODRIAN TENER UN NUEVO INTEGRANTE PRONTO, por lo que Yuu ahora se sorprende después de ciertas visitas, aparece algo de dinero extra en el dormitorio. No es como que lo vaya a admitir, pero todos están más tranquilos de esa forma.

De nuevo, quiero creer que Azul no sería capaz de dejar sin hogar a una mujer embarazada, aunque sea le ofrecería una estancia en Octaville, ya que, además, resulta que los gemelos (especialmente Floyd) se encariñaron con Yuu muy rápido.

Un escenario lindo que se me ocurrió, ya cuando Yuu tiene una panza de embarazada prominente, es que ella trata de bromear con los Leech de que el apodo “camarón” ya no le queda bien, y que a lo mejor tendrían que cambiarlo a “ballena”

Y FLOYD ESTA COMO “¿Por qué dices eso Koebi-chan?  ¿alguien te está diciendo asi? Vaaaamos, dímelo ”

Creo que genuinamente los de Octaville no saben muy bien cómo funciona el embarazo terrestre, por lo que son sorprendentemente gentiles y cuidadosos con Yuu (incluso cuando nace el bebe, puedo ver el Monstre Louge teniendo un menú infantil para ellos).

Kalim, dios mio, Jamil tendrá que detenerlo de regalarle a Yuu absolutamente toda una guardería completamente equipada tanto para ella como para el bebe. Irónicamente el que es el mas normal al respecto del embarazo (el man tiene 30 hermanos menores, el SABE de estas cosas) y genuinamente sabe algunos trucos caseros que le sirvieron a su madre cuando ella estaba embarazada.

¡ofrece organizar un baby shower/ fiesta de revelación de genero! Lo malo es que termina siendo todo un festival en el que participa todo Scarabia. Pero hey, la intención es lo que cuenta.

No hay forma en la que estando ya en los 6-7 meses Yuu use el uniforme de la escuela por simple cuestión de comodidad, por lo que si necesitan ayuda en encontrar ropa cómoda Y bonita ¡Vil le ayudara con gusto! Obviamente no es tan estricto ni duro con Yuu debido a las circunstancias, pero sigue queriendo lo mejor para ella. Quien sabe, talvez puedan elegir algo de ropa para él bebe de adelantado.

Idia tiene miedo de acercarse a Yuu, no solo por la ansiedad social, sino por la idea de que podría “arruinar” al bebe de alguna forma. Necesita mucho apoyo de Ortho y Yuu para siquiera permitirse tener contacto físico con Yuu de forma normal, y justo cuando lo hace, el bebe patea. A Iidia se le salió el alma del cuerpo (ahora todos quieren sentir las pataditas, sobretodo Ace, Floyd y Malleus).

Probablemente usan algo de equipo de STYX o Ortho para algunos controles del bebe, incluso el da una fecha aproximada de nacimiento, lo cual da una sensación agridulce. Aun si todos hacen su mejor esfuerzo, Yuu esperaba poder tener a su bebe en casa, pero no se queja cuando los chicos hacen todo esto por ellos.

Malleus es otro que no entiende el embarazo humano completamente y esta increíblemente intrigado, no ayuda que as respuestas de Lilia a sus preguntas son aún más confusas, por lo que termina lleno a la fuente de su intriga, Yuu. Malleus se queda completamente hipnotizado la primera vez que escucha los latidos del bebe, totalmente fascinado por cómo es la vida humana en comparación a las hadas/dragones.

Eso sí, procede a “reprender” al bebe cuando patea a Yuu por “lastimar a su madre”, no entendiendo bien el concepto, pero tiene el espíritu. A Malleus le asusta mucho la idea del parto una vez que se educa al respecto (¿Qué el bebe saldrá DE DONDE? ¡¿COMO!?) y probablemente trate de mejorar en magia curativa UNICAMENTE por eso.

Solo puedo decir que si el bebe nace en Twisted Wonderland, tendrá un vasto abanico de hermanos adoptivos, figuras paternas, niñeros, tíos raros y extravagantes que lo cuidaran muy bien a él y su madre. Así que pueden estar tranquilos.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

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scarletmika · 2 months 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

starrbishops · 18 days ago

Text

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.”

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you.

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him.

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock.

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

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banquetwriter · 1 month ago

Note

sorry if your requests aren’t open (this is my first time requesting so it will probably be bad) but if they are. Could you possibly write something about Bucky and John walker fighting over reader who is oblivious and them finding out she was dating Bob the whole time? If not that’s fine :)

୨୧ Jealousy ୨୧

pairing: Bob Reynolds ♡︎ Fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ allusions to self harm/ sort of explicit self harm (not with a blade of any kind tho), jealous bob :/, walker being an ass man, bucky being a little shit, some angst and talk of depression and anxiety, bob has minor suicidal thoughts, NOT EDITED

summary: ʚ bob doesn’t believe he’s good enough to love you, but you’ve never been happier ɞ

Words: 3.7k

A/N: sorry love this took so long to write but dw dw your request was perfect !! i decided to change it a little bc i don’t think bucky would be the type to fight over a taken person he’s very old school as far as that goes but i hope you love it :)

A bead of sweat dripped down the spine of your back, rolling swiftly down to the waistband of your workout leggings. Walker huffed in front of you, raised his eyebrows practically begging you to strike again. Your leg flies faster than your mind can allow. His hand catches your ankle, your breath hitches preparing for the impact.

With a solid thump you land back into the mat, Walker’s heaving form above you. his hands held your wrists down preventing you from moving. “You suck.” you quip as he sits up, resting on his knees, hands placed on his thighs.

You shimmy forward only to see Walker’s hand offering to help you up. Not wanting to provoke him any, you accept his hand. His super strength picks you up with ease. “You know you're actually getting better.” he says re-adjusting the green faded wraps on his knuckles,

You smirk as you unscrew your water bottle lid off, the cool air of the water freezing your face and mouth as you gulp the liquid down. “Thanks Walker.” you say raising your hand up. With the gesture the cap to your water bottle falls. “Oops.” you mutter, not even thinking twice about bending over to pick it up.

As you bent over John’s eye fell over your figure. Not in some pervy weirdo way, just one human being noticing another human. Bob, however, does not understand that. His fingers laced with each other as he picked the skin around his nails raw. He watches as Walker’s eyes flick away from your form, not missing the way his eyebrows raise.

Bob’s stomach felt like it sunk to his feet. It wasn't your fault your butt was nice to look at. Still, it killed him slowly that no one on the team knew. ‘It was better this way’ you'd always say. Bob knew it was true.

Knowing Val she’d turn it into a PR opportunity. It didn't stop the insecurities that he worked so hard to remove slowly creep their way slowly back into his mind. Thoughts came like cavities, rotting his soul away. Of course you’d catch the attention of a super soldier.

Bob stood in the doorway of the sparing room, a mournful expression. His head hung low as he decided it was best if he left you alone. “Wanna go again?” Bob heard Walker’s voice through the walls (curse sentry serum hearing) he felt a solid wave of nausea hit him.

What his enhanced hearing didn't pick up was your response. “Aaahh, no thanks buddy. I'm supposed to hang out with Bob here in a few.” you said screwing the cap on tightly. Walker just hummed. “Well I hope you and your boyfriend enjoy whatever it is.” the blonde man said, holding his hands up in a defensive position. Was it obvious you loved him?

Probably.

You just rolled your eyes, setting out of the room and off to find Bob. As you walked down the stairs to the main room, it was empty. No Bob here. As you turned to enter the hallway that led to a sector of personal spaces you saw a small white blob towards the end of the hall.

You cocked your head to the side as you approached the blob to reveal a rather large white cat. “Hello…” you whispered as the feline padded up to you meowing. You reach for the collar of the cat reading the name tag ‘Alpine’ flipping it over to see Bucky’s name and number- you'd have to talk to him later about that-

You stood up grabbing the fluffy pearl cat into your arms and peeked into Bob’s room- also empty. You frowned, pulling your phone out quickly, sending Bob a text that you loved him and to head to his room, when he was ready, so you could finally see him after such a long day. You give the cat a few more head scratches and attempt to place her down.

Alpine had other ideas because as soon as you sat her down she ran quickly up to you and stood on your training shoes to meow, yell, at you to pick her back up.

“She's a clingy one huh?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the shuffling of you picking up the cat again. You huff not even hearing the man walk up. His silent entrance most likely leftover from his winter soldier days…

The cat slowly blinks at the man meowing for him to give her all the pets and head scratches she wanted. He had a rare smile plastered on his face as he scratched under her chin. A quiet intimacy wrapped its loving arms around you both as you shared a quiet happiness in that hallway. Bucky couldn't help but let his eyes drift to you.

Your happy expression caused his eyes to rack over every feature. Taking in your delight. His tongue licked over his lips slightly. The cat had settled into your arms nicely, it was a domestic feeling Bucky hadn’t felt since before his best friend became a superhero.

A different kind of feeling was happening across the tower. Bob sat huddled into your blanket, tears streamed down his face. The image of John staring at you was making him sick.

“You will never be worthy of her.” the void’s voice cut through his mind. The constant reminder that no one on the team knew you were dating him. You were dating Bob. NOT Walker. The blanket was pulled over his head hiding him from the rest of the world. Your scent filled his nostrils as he tried to calm down.

Your shampoo, body wash, perfume- everything tangled his throat. Bob was never one to cry, usually let alone sob like he was now. After the worst of his outburst was done the sound of his phone chiming caused the sniffling man to poke his head out and check.

It might have been Val’s team updating him on mission stuff… not like he went. That was something you had pushed for, adding him to the group chat. To make him feel included.

You were always doing that… going above and beyond to comfort him. He felt around for his phone the blinding light burning his bleary eyes. It took a few seconds before he could read the text you sent.

It felt like Bob’s heart stopped. No beats, just a pause. Then as he re-read and kept re-reading your text.

‘Hey honey I'm done with training, I love you so much and miss your cute face… I'm going to shower in your room so come over when your ready ;)’

His tears illuminated by the phone screen light as he shot up like a well-watered plant. He rubbed his sweater sleeve hand over his face trying to dry and remaining tears. He sniffles hard as he tries to clean himself up.

Opening your door he borderline sprints to the elevator, going up to the floor that held HIS room. He couldn't contain how excited he was to see you. He walked past the living room, his legs working faster than his brain as he rounded the corner to the hallway that held several rooms including his own.

The sight before him stopped him dead before he made it into the hallway. You had a white cat cuddled up into your arms, Bucky was standing close, too close, to you. His vibranium arm petted the cat on its head.

Bob watched as you laughed, honest-to-goodness laughed. The crinkle of your mouth and eyes. If Bob felt nauseous with jealousy earlier this was way worse than anything that happened earlier.

You both didn't even see him, he was as always invisible. Bob pulled back out of view. He was too tired to cry anymore.

“You will never make her happy.” the voice cuts him like a whip. He takes a sharp breath. He needed to escape. Again he found his feet carrying himself, his brain unable to think about anything other than how much he wasn't worthy of you.

It felt like water filled his lungs, unable to breathe he found the fire exit that was located behind the movie theater no one ever used.

You and Bob had found it one night as you were… looking for a change of scenery, let's just say.

The fire escape led to a stairwell, and that led to the very top of the building too. Not much of a fire escape…

No one on the team had even used it in weeks. It was used mostly in the warm summer evenings but as the Fall fast approached it was left unused.

Not tonight however. His feet brought him to the rooftop faster than lightning. He felt shaky-wobbly. What was wrong with him? Why would you ever think he'd be enough for you?

He felt his stomach churn as he saw just how high up he was… a thought flickered across his mind…

If he… fell… would he die? Would the Sentry serum stop the inevitable?

Was it inevitable?

He took a sharp breath in. ‘It’s ok. You're ok.’ a new voice said. It was yours. It was the same voice that calmed his nervous system down almost instantly. He steps away from the ledge physically and metaphorically. He trotted back to the wall with the door leading into the tower.

He slid down it, his eyes tired. The sky had turned a beautiful pink-orange hue. The breeze chilled him even through his fuzzy sweater.

————-

“You know you should not be putting your number on this cat's collar.” You murmured, setting the cat down once and for all. The man looked down at his cat as she rubbed up against him. “No?” He asked, placing his hands on his hips. “No.” You confirmed trying to remove the copious amount of cat hair off of yourself.

“I’m sure Steve told you to not put your phone number out into the public…” you said softly bringing up his old friend. Bucky looked around, “This,” he gestured around. “Is not the public.”

You huffed, “No but if that cat-“

“Alpine.” He cuts you off.

You take a deep breath in. “If Alpine- gets out someone could have your personal number.” You inform him. Who knows what people could do with that. “That’s sort of the idea,” he counters, still not getting your point. You rub your temple slightly with your fingers. God you missed your boyfriend. “Whatever man.” You mumble hand landing on his door handle, you turn it almost making it into Bob’s room.

“Hey.” He says, causing you to turn back to him. “Thanks kid.” He says, you do nothing but give him an over enthusiastic smile holding your thumb up. He rolls his eyes before trodding after his cat. You close the door to your boyfriend's room. It was dark and messy and not very personable. There were a few little trinkets placed around his room, little reminders of his personality you suppose.

Sometimes you wish you could just tell the team. It had only been two months but it was getting exhausting to hide. Plus you were certain that everyone sorta knew already. You did make it pretty obvious how much you loved that man. It wasn’t your fault he was so nice to look at.

You open his drawer to his wardrobe and rummage around until you find a pair of pants and a shirt to steal. You walk into his bathroom, even less evidence of life there. A toothbrush and a few other necessities and that was all. You didn’t mind though, he spent most of his time in your room nowadays anyways.

You turned the hot water on letting it heat up as you stripped your old training gear off. You plunged under the water, cleaning yourself with his shampoo, body wash etc… It was so romantic and intimate. The whole room had a thick cloud of steam that wrapped around you like a blanket as you rinsed off and stepped out of the shower.

You dried and dressed yourself fully expecting to see Bob waiting on his bed. So when you stepped up your hair in a hair towel you dawned a look of confusion. You were starting to worry. Bob hadn't had a ‘bad’ day in a while but that doesn't mean they were gone…

You decided to check your phone, no texts from him. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you assessed what to do. You sighed before opening another app on your phone. It was a location sharing one… not that you were some creepy obsessive girlfriend.

No, it was because you left for missions and Bob slept a bit safer at night knowing where you are or where your phone was. Bob would never admit it to you but sometimes he wouldn't sleep just stare at the phone watching you. Again not in a creepy stalker wta just… it calmed his heart to see you were safe.

The little icon of Bob showed he was still in the tower, that was good. You zoomed in to see his was up and to the right of you. In your heart you knew where he was. You turned your phone off and slipped it into your pocket. Pulling one of his jackets on you slipped quietly to the back entrance to the roof. Jogging up the stairs and out onto the roof.

You didn't see him anywhere but a small voice behind you made you turn around. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, staring up at you. Your head whipped around to see him huddled up against the wall sweater sleeves pulled over his hands.

“Honey…” you said crouching down to his level, plopping next to him in the walk. “I could ask you the same thing.” you whispered. He didn't meet your eyes. Embarrassment burned in his body. His silence was enough for you to understand what might have been going on. His mind became a war zone sometimes. You tried your best to pull him out of it.

“You wanna talk about it?” Your voice was quiet but strong. Bob finally looked at you, his puffy eyes and tear standing cheeks made your heart hurt. You didn't immediately reach out for him, just stared, letting him have control of the conversation. Because if there was something Bob hated more than himself it was pity.

He opened his mouth but the right words didn't come out, how was he supposed to explain to you what he was feeling?

You didn't say anything, just stared out at the beautiful sunset that stretched the whole sky. Your head slowly dropped to his shoulder. That made him feel even more guilty. “Have you been up here the whole time?” you asked, still just staring out at the sky. He took a shaky breath. “No.” he said his voice was coarse.

He cleared his throat a little then spoke more, this time more clear. “No… I was in your room earlier,” he admitted, and while he knew you'd never say this for some reason he waited for you to get mad. Call him a creepy perv for hiding in your room. Instead you chuckled at the parallel.

“I went to your room earlier when I missed you.” you said softly buzzing against his shoulder slightly. This made him turn around to face you. You lifted away from him slightly to see him properly. “You- you missed me?” he asked, his voice was barely above a whisper but it had the power of a roaring wave.

“Of course, I haven't seen you all day. And I didn't really get to see you yesterday because if these stupid new training Val is having me do- and don't get me started on Walker. I love the guy like a brother but Jesus is he dense.” you mutter wiping your hand with your hand.

He felt a little better with your words. “I missed you too,” he paused for a second looking out at the fading sunset. “I'm sorry your tranjgnd are hard. I wish I could help.” he said with a small smile. You waved him off. “Don't stress yourself out about it.” you quip. He smiles wider.

Your hands interlace with his but as your hands slide over his, you notice his torn fingertips and your face falls. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. “I'm sorry.” his defenses started to come up. You shake your head holding his hands tighter, “Don't say you're sorry, just tell me what happened.” you said your gaze was sad but soft.

“I-” he stops himself trying to find the right words. “I saw you and Walker earlier- it's stupid but he- he looked at your…” his voice trailed off. He suddenly felt so embarrassed by what he was saying. You squeezed his hands encouraging him to continue. “He looked at your butt and it made me all jealous.” he said waiting for your reaction. You opened your mouth but he opened his faster. “And I know your going to say you'd never be with a guy like Walker but- it just reminded me how much I don't des-” he stops again squeezing his eyes shut.

“How much I FEEL like I don't deserve you. And-” he sighed looking into your beautiful eyes. You continued to stay quiet letting him rant his feelings. “And then I saw you with-with Bucky and I just.” He gestures with his hands before he sighs. “You just looked so happy. I don’t want to drag you down. You deserve to love someone… who's… not me.” He says finally. You sigh, it hurts you to think he isn't worthy of your love.

”We don’t always understand love. I don't understand why someone as incredible as you would ever love someone like me.” you said but he shook his head not believing you. “I'm not going to sit here and tell you how great you are and how much I love you, I'm going to sit here and tell you that you have not been given real love before. Real love is not conditional. My love will not stop when you're having a bad day, when I'm mad at you, my love for you doesn't stop.” you tell him holding his hands tightly.

“And while other people can stare at my ass, none of that matters because I am going to be staring right at your ass.” you said poking his chest, Bob let out a small giggle, “yeah? My flat ass is really doing it for ya?” he asks with a tired but real smile. “Oh definitely. And if it makes it better I was only talking to Bucky to yell at him about outing his phone number on his cat's collar-”

“Oh that's not smart.” Bob said, shaking his head slightly. “That's what I said!” you said smiling. The tension slowly rolled back into the cracks of silence. “The next time you feel like this I need you to tell me, even if we can't do anything about it at the moment I need to be there for you Bob.” god did your voice sound so good saying his name.

You bring his hands up to his view. “And this? Thus has to stop my love. I'm going to be here every step of the way ok? But you can’t hurt yourself baby.” your voice made tears prickle at his eyes. “I'm sorry I can't help it sometimes.” He whispers, he wanted to hide his hands away from yours. He doesn't, he just lets you hold him.

“Don't say sorry baby.” your voice was gentle, the breeze didn't feel so harsh anymore, and the sunsetting was beautiful. Life didn't feel so scary anymore. “Thank you honey,” his words made you beam. You were always going to be here for him. Always.

Eventually you pulled him through the door. His body caged you against the wall, his mouth exploring yours. His hands crept up your torso, he pulled his mouth away for a second. “Is this my shirt?” he asked his hand roaming your body. “Maybe.” you answer.

“It looks better on you,” he murmurs before kissing you again. His soft lips making your head feel fuzzy.

“Ahem.”

The noise makes you both whip your heads around. Buckh stood with his hands on his hips staring at you both with a content expression. ”knew it.” he quips walking away. Your hand flies to your mouth as Bob stares eyes wide. “Fuck.” he mutters running and anxious hand through his hair… This was bad! This is the exact thing you wanted to avoid.

Bob’s mind began to speed through every negative thought he could. You were only out there because of him… “It's fine. Who cares if Bucky knows? He won't say anything.” you say with a reassuring smile. “You sure?” he asks. You nod your head with a smile. “Positive.”

————

You yawned as you patted out to the kitchen as John made breakfast. Bob and the rest of the team were already munching away. Your body is still sore from last night's… activities. “Morning.” you chirped to your family, immediately heading to the coffee station. “Morning,” John said unusually giddy. You make your coffee and turn around to see everyone is staring at you. You furrow your brows taking a sip of your drink.

“So…” Yelena started poking her fork into her food, “how long?” she asked with a satisfied smirk. “Mm?” you asked confusedly, rubbing your thumbs along the cup. “You and Bob. How long?” Ava reiterates. You turn to look at Bucky who has a shit-eating grin. You flick your eyes to Bob whose cheeks are burning red and breath is starting to quicken in pure fear.

You take a moment before deciding what your play was, you could either deny it and keep the nosey lot on their toes or admit to it and ruin their fun. You take a long sip of your coffee allowing the caffeine to fuel your system.

“2 months.”

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob x reader #bob reynolds fluff #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds smut #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x you #lewis pullman x y/n

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tfatwsbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

honey, where is my shield? | john walker

summary: you’re the fixer upper of weapons for the new avengers and want to do something for john walker’s upcoming birthday

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k

content: silly short fluff. walker has a bad attitude briefly, swearing, bed rot with self wallowing, kissing and illusions to sex if you squint

a/n: oh no 🧍‍♀️i’m forming into a 🧎‍♀️john walker apologist 🐀

"Has anyone seen my shield?" John Walker strolled into the Watchtowers Living Quarters with his hands at his side, perplexed whilst the rest of the unorthodox team unwinded separately.

He stopped at the foot of the sofa that Yelena Belova was sprawled across with a bowl of popcorn tucked under her armpit. Hands on his hips, she looked to him and he expressed impatience.

"That tin taco?" A cheek full of mushed popcorn, Yelena snorted and fed her guinea pig a piece of red pepper she had prepared on the side, "No—I haven't seen your shield, Walker. You should take care of that thing. Or, throw it in the garbage disposal."

"Agreed. It's a heap of junk." Ava added along to Yelena.

"OK. Thank you for the unsolicited advice." Walker sneered and turned on his heel to find Bob to see if he had located his shield. As he turned, Yelena snapped her forefinger and thumb together in a Eureka! moment.

"Yes. I have seen it!" Yelena proclaimed and Walker ushered her to complete her thought, "Miss Fixer Upper has it."

Of course. Walker swore under his breath. Of course, you had taken it.

The Watchtowers esteemed colleague that wasn't apart of the New Avengers, but essential to the team. Their handywoman. You had been recruited by Valentina after a number of occasions where the team would come back from their missions with their items that were key in their protection, crumpled up like a piece of paper. That, or, Bucky Barnes arm needed reworked after temporarily disarmed by his opponent.

You were a kind little thing. Worked hard until your fingers had peeled many layers, sleepless nights sat with your miniature spotlight zoned into one of the New Avengers equipment that had to be fixed by that morning. Everybody sung your praises — hell — even John Walker liked you even when you had taken it upon yourself to remove his shield from his personal area and fix it.

The elevator dinged to the level you were on, John grimaced at the decor Valentina Allegra de Fontaine had curated for the Watchtower. It was an eyesore leading up to your workshop at the backend of the hall.

He didn't even knock as he burst through the door, making you jump the height of yourself in your seat, hands flying to your chest — your eyes magnified through the magnifying headset you were wearing.

"Oh—John!" You huffed as his eyes went to the very thing he had been ransacking his room for.

It was propped up against a stand, the exterior faced you, the metal still tattered and warped but it seemed as if you had managed to pry it back into a circular shape again. There was something metaphorical about his second shield not fracturing at the seams when up against The Sentry, John Walker didn't want to deep dive into that therapy session. But, it made him upset. You fixing a problem that didn't need to be fixed.

Two strides and he had snatched it off of the stand upon your worktop. You reached for it, your equipment clattering as you stood, "No, no, no! The paint hasn't dried yet!"

He felt the wetness of the paint smudge beneath his fingers and to prove a point with his jaw tightened, John stared at you before his hands bent it back into the taco shape it had originally been prior to your non-consensual repairing. John was just adding flare to the dramatic stroke, wedging the shield back onto his forearm.

"Ever heard of, if it's not broke, don't fix it?" He seethed without reason.

You mulled over your answer, "I mean—It, it kind of was broken, John. I was doing you a favour. You know how many pliers I went through to bend it back into shape?"

"Don't touch my stuff again."

He slammed the door, shutting you off in your little cubbyhole and leaving you utterly gobsmacked at his behaviour. No. You wouldn't stand being spoken to like that. Having had your fair share of quips when attempting to help these supposed heroes and their reckless need to destroy their possessions, John had yet to be added to that list.

There was an obvious knowledge of his bitter attitude, the rest of his team made shallow remarks at his expense, but you hadn't been one to dogpile onto that. He was sweet on you in particular moments, holding the door open for you, catching you at the elevator before your days work began — hair frazzled and eyes heavy — whilst he took the boxes of supplies from your arms and helped you to your workshop.

John had even invited you out for a friendly drink that you politely declined as you looked back at the mountain of work Valentina had left in her wake.

He was — no — had, been having an exceedingly hard time in regard to his personal life, not that you meddled too deeply but you wanted to do something nice for him. A surprise for his birthday which had been circled in red on your Bricky Gervais calendar that he had gifted you for Secret Santa after he thought you were an architect.

Even then, the calendar was in reference to construction workers.

Nevertheless, you pushed yourself out of your seat, magnifying glasses still in position which made it hard to identify how close things were, but you had worn them enough to figure it out. John had made it to the end of the corridor when you swung the door back open, your feet stormed across the marbled floor; hand drawn back before you launched your attack.

The pencil in your hand hit his forehead with the softest of smacks and paint smeared fingers rubbed the red mark that began to flourish.

The air grew thick with silence. The kind that had you suddenly regretting your childish actions against a serum enhanced vigilante.

“Don’t speak to me like that again.” You feigned confident pride, arms folded over your beating heart whilst John bent at the waist to pick your pencil up.

Dwarfed in his hand, John stepped into your space, his lips retained a humoured smirk from the absurdity of the situation. You counted your blessings that a man like John Walker had a softened spot in his heart for you. Pencil gifted back to you, he turned on his heel without another word; the elevator dinged at your level and he stepped in.

As the doors slid across to connect, John looked down at the paint smeared shield, his eyes narrowed at some chicken scratch that rounded with the curve of the shield:

You’ll never walk-er alone :)

His head rolled back and he sighed.

Now he felt like an asshole.

That continued through the night. It was a rarity, but John had a day-off from pummelling said enemies into the concrete with his fists. After his divorce, there wasn’t much of anything on his list to do when he had a gap in his crammed schedule thanks to Valentina. Fuck, he hated that woman after the Captain America comment.

He went grocery shopping for himself, a few extra items added to the basket to make a batch of Cactus Juice for himself and anyone else who took a fancy to it. Once returned, he packed his small section — compared to Alexei’s — of perishables in the fridge and returned to his room. John didn’t want to spend time with anyone in the group; and the feeling was mutual.

Fingers slotted between each other on the slow rise and fall of his stomach, John had laid for hours and stared up at the ceiling like he was doing time in solitary confinement. He eventually snapped out of it, after thinking about the downfall of his marriage. . . And his failure toward his son and Lemar Hoskins.

Eyes shifted to the corner where he kept his shield propped up as if it were a trophy. A tragic one, but still a prized possession. His eyesight had dwindled, even with the serum, but he could still see the bespoke white writing you had etched into his shield. Close to it were the smeared fingerprint evidence of John’s premature anger inflicted upon you. He had hoped you didn’t take it too personally, Walker was trying to work on that flaw, he really was.

John liked you. A lot, if he thought about it too hard. He had wondered for a long enough time if he only liked you because you weren’t launching vituperative insults in his direction. And, when you did insult him, John seemed to like it? He wasn’t sure. Things were complicated and he harboured guilt for looking at you in a certain light when he was finalising his divorce with Olivia.

Still. He had to make things right.

Knowing your ability to work overtime, John shifted off of his bed and pulled a white tee over his head to protect his modesty. Although — obnoxiously — he did think you may have thanked him for a shirtless moment. He worked hard for his lean physique.

Door opened, the blonde male almost body slammed you who had been on the other side carefully protecting the small flame lit from the pink candle atop of a sloppy red velvet cupcake you had made. Your alarm was voiced into a squeal, your shoulders quick to deflate once you had noticed that the flame had been blown out by the swift movements of John.

“Fuck sake, John.” You mumbled, “That was the last of the lighter fluid.”

John stared at you, “What are you doing?”

“It’s your birthday, duh?” Finger pointed to the clock that had struck twelve to signify the roll into the next day, which coincided with John’s birthday. You turned back to him and whispered, “Happy Birthday. You already spoilt your present from me.”

That was his birthday present?

“Your present to me, was to fix my own shield?” He sounded more ungrateful than he meant to. Actually, his tone was in disbelief that you were stood at his bedroom door in Hulk slippers and a large tee that read: Take a shower, I just did you dirty. You looked silly.

He really liked it. And you.

“Don’t make it sound like such a terrible idea. Bob said it was a good idea for someone that nobody knew what to get.” You waved your free hand in the air to defend your own honour and John just listened.

From the way your eyes shone from the warm glow from the lamp on his bedside table, the slope of your nose and down to your lips that were moving at a million miles per hour as you talked the ear off of him about his tendency to shoot first and ask questions later, resulting in him spoiling his own birthday gift; physically and figuratively.

Man, he was down bad.

He nodded along to your vexed words, taking the hit as he stepped closer to you, his hand unmistakably smoothed over the small of your back, head dipped as he reigned you in. His apology formed in the action of pressing his lips against yours — words muffled and soon snuffed out.

So, you hadn’t expected that type of response. Eyes wide as your lips warmed against John’s, your breasts pressed into him as he practically inhaled you in the corridor. Sure, there was an inkling of a crush on the Big Bad Wolf of the New Avengers. You hadn’t really tapped into it much aside from small acts of service that John didn’t seem to reciprocate. It was your love language after all, maybe it didn’t stretch to his.

To add to that, you didn’t want to be branded the other woman so to speak. It was a grey area when it came to a person in the finalisations of a divorce, and with this new group of heroes heavily saturating every front page of New York newspapers, you couldn’t imagine the guttural punch it would cause for his ex-wife to see him prancing around with another woman. If he liked you, that was.

But, you weren’t in the public eye. You were stood in a dark corridor, wrapped up in the troubled John Walker. And, you took your chances.

His hand came to yours, where you were tightly grasping the cupcake made especially for him. John’s fingertips plucked it from you and tossed it to the side which earned a pull back from you and he chased your lips.

“I worked really hard on that.” You warned at the discarded cupcake that spread it’s cake matter across the flooring.

John watched you, “It made a thud when it hit the floor. It would’ve broken my teeth.”

“I know. It was intentional after your little outburst in my Workshop, Walker.” You heard the grumble in his chest before he returned his reaction in the form of more kisses.

Hands smoothed to the meat of your thighs, John lifted you up with ease and turned to lead you both into the bedroom with a kick of his heel to shut his door. The cupcake long forgotten as he showed you how much he appreciated your efforts on fixing his shield that had dwindled in the shadow of his own ugly behaviour.

bonus:

"Honey—?" You lifted your head to the call from your fiancé. Feet up on your desk, you had been admiring the way the new jewel on your ring finger caught the sunset that dipped below the horizon. John stumbled from the bedroom, hair in all directions from yanking his original attire off and back into his U.S. Agent gear.

Oh. Absolutely not.

"Have you seen my shield?" He asked through panted breaths.

You blinked at him innocently, the corners of your mouth pulled downward into a frown as you shook your head.

"Why? Do you need it?"

He gawped at you. Look at him! Of course he needed it! "What—Yes, baby. I need my shield, please. Have you seen it? The guys are waiting on me" John begged before he dipped back into the bedroom, the scene in disarray as he clawed into every corner to try locate it.

You slowly stood from your chair and rounded the table, your sweet time was taken to meet him in the bedroom. Shoulder rested against the doorframe, you folded your arms as you watched your fiancé dissolve into a flared panic with profanities leaving his mouth.

The thing was, it was your birthday. And, John Walker had gotten on his knees in front of you and promised that the third birthday spent in a relationship with you — now newly engaged — would not be spent alone whilst he sped off to gallivant with his Thunderbolts, no, New Avengers esteemed co-workers.

As observant as ever, you had overheard Bucky Barnes speak about a minor incident they would have to step into the day prior, and, well, you took that opportunity to misplace John Walker's slightly out of shape shield, the old writing of yours faded but still present on the curve.

John turned to you, frantic, "Honey, we are talking about the greater good here." His muscular back turned on you.

"Greater good?" He halted his movements, his posture straightening when he took a deep inhale — eyes closed as he connected the dots. You scoffed, "I am your fiancé, I am the greatest good you are ever gonna get."

Blue eyes met yours. Stern and telling that he was cemented in his decision. You stood your ground, expression stoic, making sure to have your ring finger exposed enough to remind John Walker who he was devoted to.

It lasted all of forty seconds at most. Then you deflated like a balloon, arms to your side and surrendering to his face.

“Fine. It’s where you never look.” You admitted. You watched as the cogs turned in John’s head before he sprinted down your shared hallway and into the laundry basket brimmed with fresh clothes that needed to be folded; the idea of your birthday dinner a distant memory.

He came back, folded shield in hand and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips that followed with an ‘I love you’. Or, more along the lines of: I love you, I might die at the hands of my enemies or my co-workers. The lines are blurred on that, but I love you. And, then, you blinked and he had gone whilst the dust settled amidst the sudden chaos.

You sighed and retreated to your bedroom.

John made sure to bring you home a red velvet cupcake and a pink candle to match.

#🔖 koolie writes #whilst also waiting for the season finale of tlou #john walker x reader #john walker x fem!reader #john walker x you #thunderbolts fic #thunderbolts #the new avengers #john walker

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trainer-from-unova · 2 months ago

Text

contagious

english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ 𝄞

ship: robert reynolds x oxe nurse afab!reader

summary: bob will not hurt anyone if you stay at his side, so you stay with him even if you don't want to

au: canon divergence, oxe experimented on bob inside the vault, bob is a superhero, bob obeys val, sentry living homelander's life but without a team

c/w: the dove is alive and you can eat it but have in mind that there's a dove, horrible day at work for poor y/n, kidnapping and stockholm syndrome but not really but the vibes are there, you're his trophy ...and maybe much more, forced bonding and relationship, nurse/patient, boss/assistant, minor character death, light angst, mentions of mental illness and instability, open happy ending, humor, consensual sex, piv sex, unsafe sex, semi-public/bathroom quickie

a/n: his hair isn't described so you can imagine him blond or brunette, and english isn't my first language so sorry if something's weird expressed and even if you read it here kudos in ao3 are appreciated

word count: 4169

She was checking the wounds of a serviceman when she heard a commotion that caught her attention, a crowd of able-bodied servicemen heading towards her. For a moment she thought maybe they were going to bring her more patients, ask about the condition of their comrades or something like that. She didn't expect them to come after her, leaving her no time to react and try to resist, handcuffing her feet, hands and even a muzzle like Loki after the famous battle in New York.

It had probably been the craziest and most intense night of her life, and she was sure it had been the craziest and most intense night of the others, especially the military she was assisting. She had hardly slept, eaten or drank — but at least she wasn't hurt, she was just too busy ...and worried. Not for her in particular, but for all the people who had been injured, and those who might be injured in the future by him and 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

It's as if her mind had been read, because while she was wondering what was going on and why she was being treated like that, Mel appeared and approached her to inform her, not very enthusiastically:

"He* wants you... I'm sorry."

She wished she could have slept on the helicopter flight to New York, but it was so short and she was so confused, nervous and scared that it was impossible. All that was compounded when she arrived at her apparent destination: The Watchtower.

When they helped her off the helicopter they made her walk across the helipad to the inside of the penthouse. To her surprise there was Valentina, and next to her was Bob, completely changed — he looked like someone else. The place was turned upside down, with broken glass on the floor, broken furniture, bullets and some traces of blood. She guessed what had happened, and all the aforementioned sensations were further aggravated. She looked worriedly at Bob as he slowly approached her, reaching up to remove all the handcuffs and muzzle with his telekinetic powers, causing them to fall to the ground.

She had the option to speak now, and she had many questions on her mind — so many that she didn't dare ask any of them out loud, as she didn't know where to start.

"It's time for you to go," he said raising his arm, looking at the soldiers behind her and to her sides.

"No!" she said worriedly, stepping forward. "Please don't hurt them."

"Yeah, listen to her and behave yourself," said Valentina a few metres away from them, in front of her and behind him. She looked at her, just as she looked at Mel standing next to her. "That was the deal."

At first she thought it was Valentina who wanted her, but now she was seeing that she was completely wrong. She looked back at his arm, which was still raised, but now, instead of being in attacking form towards the soldiers, he was holding out his hand for her to approach him and merge with him in a grip.

"What do you want from me?" she asked with bated breath.

"Everything," he answered, very sure of his answer. She had never seen him so sure.

Being a nurse she'd had enough of a run-in with him, you could say they'd grown fond of each other (even though she knew she shouldn't feel that way about him for many reasons) and had a good bond. It shouldn't surprise her that someone as traumatised, disturbed and lonely as he was had fallen in love with her when he was under her care. She knew of many cases of patients falling in love with nurses and viceversa, it was like Stockholm Syndrome.

"You won't hurt anyone?"

"If you're next to me."

She wasn't thrilled with the idea, but did she have any other choice...? He was out of control, mentally unstable, and her freedom had to be the sacrifice. Maybe she couldn't change him, but she could control him so that he wouldn't hurt anyone.

"...Then so be it," she said as she approached him and accepted his hand, causing him to smile sweetly and shyly at her. She knew herself well and always knew she was very helpful, but she never imagined she would be so helpful. That's why she became a nurse — it was vocational, she always wanted to help.

"And I now pronounce you man and wife," said Valentina rolling her eyes. "But the honeymoon has to wait, the press is waiting downstairs," she said pointing behind her, turning to head for the lift with Mel.

"There's a bed upstairs, take a rest, okay?" he reported as he stroked her hand with his thumb, before releasing it and going to the other two women's side.

She couldn't, or rather, shouldn't be surprised at such a change of mood. She nodded doubtfully and watched him walk away as she listened to Mel inform Valentina that the cleaning service was on its way to clean up the mess. She stood there, processing it all and feeling his eyes on her until the lift doors closed. The military stood there, and wanting to be alone and rest (if only physically) she took Bob's advice, going upstairs and into the bedroom there. She knew that, military or not, she had no way to escape, and if she did she would probably make the situation worse and not be able to run far.

The decor was sparse and the lighting horrible, but there was a television, so she turned it on to watch even a little of the press conference while she looked around the bedroom, full of hairdressing tools and fashion designs. She browsed the hangers on the dressers and the papers she found while occasionally glancing up to look at the screen, but always paying attention to what was being said. When there was nothing more to look at she lay back on the bed, watching Bob on the screen.

If he didn't excuse himself then she would excuse him: she knew that all this wasn't his fault, that he was only a victim of his circumstances, just as she was now. He was alone and needed company, and above all love. She didn't have the feeling that he was going to treat her badly in any way, but she was shocked and nervous about how her life was going to change from that moment on, so she couldn't help crying. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, exhausting her further and causing her to fall asleep.

Maybe to say that she was kidnapped was too strong a word, but she was very limited and watched over by Bob, Valentina and her employees. And unfortunately no one missed her, as she had no family left and the few friends she had could be counted on the fingers of one hand, apart from the fact that for work and personal reasons she had lost contact and trust with them. They were the typical friends who only met every few months to catch up over a drink.

So much studying nursing for nothing... But she was still getting a salary, a good one. Now her job was to live with Bob, and as unstable as he was it was sometimes difficult, but she always tried to be loving and put on her best face. She had to raise his self-esteem when it was too low and lower it when it was too high. She had to calm his delusions of grandeur, reminding him why he took the serum to convince him to do good and not to kill anyone, especially Valentina. She always wanted ______ to be present whenever she met with him, even for boring marketing meetings.

But she was a heroine, in her own way. Part of her felt useful and satisfied to know that by being by his side she saved many, and apparently himself as well. She couldn't help but begin to feel special that she was so loved by a God, however prefabricated and mentally unstable. Besides, he told her she was a Goddess — his Goddess.

Luckily it wasn't all bad. Now she lived for free in the penthouse of a skyscraper with incredible views of Manhattan, she had maid and kitchen service that did everything for them, and Bob didn't force her to do anything that made her uncomfortable — he just wanted to hold hands, hug her, cuddle with her, have her stroke his hair... At most he dared to kiss her on the cheek and look at her lips too much.

But touch makes affection. As time went on, and in the moments when he was mentally stable and cheerful, she couldn't help but begin to find him adorable. Nothing was a lie anymore, nothing was forced anymore: the hugs, the cuddling... Even holding his hand was now natural, and she had even started to kiss him on the cheek as well. The first time she dared to do so, she couldn't help but laugh when she saw his surprised face, and how shy and blushing he became. She also blushed when he dared to compliment her, and the instinct to protect him intensified.

At first she had told him to go on dates as an excuse to get out of the tower, now it was because she really enjoyed his company. And to be honest, she didn't feel so lonely anymore. Bob had filled a big void in her life, and she even missed him when she was away from home on a mission. She used to go to museums and other places alone, now she went with him, holding his hand.

"It's beautiful," he whispered looking at the painting in front of them, a romantic scene between a couple from several centuries ago.

"You know," she said in the same tone, catching his attention. "When I was a kid I thought people in the past were very serious, because they posed like that in pictures in Victorian times. Then I found out that they posed like that because they had to stand still for a long time to get the picture right, and seeing pictures like this you realise that they actually loved just like we do, which makes sense, because we're all alive because two people loved each other."

"It's a very romantic way of looking at things," he said looking at her with a touch of tenderness. One of the many things he liked about her was her way of looking at life. Knowing her he understood the meaning of the word "kind".

"Yeah, well," she said, blushing slightly, "I suppose."

"Excuse me," said a female voice behind them, and they both thought it was some fan asking for a photo, since he was a public figure. They both turned and saw a girl, teenager or young adult, with a small sheet of paper in her hand, offering it to them. In the other hand she was holding a small notebook. "I've drawn you," she said shyly.

"Oh my God!" she said, taking it. They both stared at it, amazed and touched. The drawing was done in charcoal pencil and showed them with their backs to each other, holding hands in front of a vertical rectangle that symbolised a painting. "It's the most beautiful thing I've seen here today," she said, and both he and the girl laughed.

"No way," said the girl, blushing.

"It's beautiful, really!" said Bob. "Thank you very much."

"Can we keep it?" she asked, curious and hoping for a positive answer.

"Yeah, of course!" replied the girl.

"Thank you," smiled Bob.

"You haven't credited it," she said, turning the paper over to see if there were any credit behind it, "don't you have an art account?"

"Oh, yeah," she said shyly, "but..." She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, you should. Could I follow you on Instagram, if you have one?" she asked, handing the picture to Bob to hold while she pulled her mobile phone out of a pocket.

She said yes and told her her Instagram art account. She followed her and then the girl asked if she could take a picture with him, just him. She laughed, because of course she wanted a photo with him. She didn't take it badly, she understood her because if she came across a celebrity with its partner she obviously wouldn't want to take a photo with the partner in it. She took a picture of them together with her mobile phone and the girl left the room where they were. The picture ended up on the fridge in the attic with a magnet.

But was she his partner? For most people, yeah. She wasn't a public figure, but she went everywhere with him so everyone, from press of all kinds to internet users and other workers in the tower, assumed she was his assistant or his partner or both. For Valentina she was, for Mel she was, she had told her few friends that she was (because the truth was too embarrassing and complicated and she didn't want any trouble)... Even for him it was, and even if she didn't have a choice and there were couple things they didn't do (yet) she also started to consider herself as such. She knew she shouldn't feel that way after all she had been through and sometimes she felt annoyed with herself and even with him inside herself, and although she tried to curb that feeling in the end she let it flow, knowing that it was probably the best option whether or not it was a defence mechanism in her brain. With him she discovered that Stockholm Syndrome was contagious.

"You'll be fine," she reminded him, holding his hands to keep him still and comfort him minutes before an interview, waiting for the press to finish setting up. He kept pacing back and forth and adjusting his suit wristbands.

"I'm tired of so many interviews," he said, annoyed and weary.

"People want to meet you, it's only natural..." She shrugged her shoulders. "Show them the man I love," she said, smiling sweetly as he tightened her grip on his hands.

"...What?" he asked confused and surprised. In this relationship he was the only one who said such things to the other, until now. At first he knew she didn't love him in the same way he did, but he knew she was fond of him and trusted that she would love him back in time. He couldn't have imagined it would happen so soon, it had barely been three months since their relationship began. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Really?" he said looking at her lips for a microsecond.

"Really," she said still smiling in the same way, releasing him and placing a hand on one of his shoulders and the other on one of his cheeks as she stood on her tiptoes, removing what little distance there was between them and fusing their lips together once and for all.

It was hard for him to react at first, but in the end, as expected, he kissed her back slowly to make the moment last as long as possible while holding her by the waist. He had to pull away from her, but not for lack of air.

"I've waited a long time for this..." He said in a whisper, his breath hitching as his gaze went from her eyes to her lips and from her lips to her eyes, over and over again. "But now really is the worst time because I'm going to get an erection."

"Fuck- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" she said, surprised and blushing but trying not to laugh, putting a hand to her mouth. "I just wanted to cheer you up, but yeah, I should have thought of that," she said embarrassed, "sorry."

"No no, don't worry, it was wonderful," he said as he shook his head, still holding her close to him.

"Cross your legs or use the cape as a blanket, I'll deal with it later."

"Really?" he asked again in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you'd better fuck me later," she said in a whisper, so light that if she had lowered her voice any further he would have had to read her lips. She looked at him seriously but smiling, trying to make him see that she was sure and that she wanted it as much as he did.

"I could do it right now," he said, his voice deeper and his eyes hungrier. "Fuck the interview," he said trying to pull her closer to him if possible, to make her feel how impatient he was, but even though she was looking forward to it as much as he was, she had to be the voice of reason.

"No honey," she said with a laugh. "It's too late to cancel, and you must do it. The sooner you finish it the sooner we can... Okay?"

"All right," he said as annoyed as a small child, which again made her laugh.

They parted but only briefly, for he took her by the hand to go with her to where the interview was to take place, so that, as usual, she would be present behind the cameras. And the interview was hilarious — she couldn't help but laugh every time she saw him settling into the seat where he was sitting, closing his legs, covering himself with his hands as discreetly as possible, trying to use his cloak as a blanket as she had advised... You could see how nervous he was in his hands and eyes, and she didn't know if it was because of the interview or because of what had just happened and what was going to happen soon or both, but it made the situation worse when their gazes connected in the moments when he wasn't looking at the interviewer. At those moments they both couldn't help but blush and had to try to hold in their laughter, even though it was an interview that wasn't being broadcast live.

"Excuse me, where's the bathroom?" he asked a worker as soon as the interview was over. "It's urgent," he clarified, and as soon as he was answered he went straight in her direction to take her hand again, leaving and going to where he had been told as quickly as possible.

"You should be more discreet," she said embarrassed but at the same time laughing as she slung her bag over her shoulder. The situation was surreal.

"I can't be in this outfit!" he replied, just as her.

And when they reached the bathroom he had to restrain himself from blowing the door off with his powers. A man standing there, pissing into a chamber pot, was startled to see them enter because the door burst open, because it was him (and looking like that) entering the place, and accompanied by a woman, who shouldn't be there as it was a male bathroom.

"Uh- Sorry!" she replied embarrassed. "It's just that I have to help him get undressed..." she laughed nervously as they walked towards a cubicle at the end of the room, but she wasn't really lying and just by looking at him you could tell it wasn't an easy suit to put on or take off.

As soon as they were locked in the cubicle he had chosen he put her against the wall, leaning over to kiss her passionately with tongue included while she tried to make as little noise as possible by holding her moans in her throat and taking her purse off her shoulder. Luckily the toilet seat was down and she was able to drop it on the lid, almost throwing it over it. Then she tried to pull his cloak away from his back with her sense of touch in search of the zip on his back. Also luckily that man was soon gone, but Bob's phone, which was in her bag, rang. They both ignored it.

"See why I hate this suit?" he said as they parted, to let her breathe. She nodded anxiously as he reached down to her trousers to pull them down, including her panties. And then her mobile rang, in her pocket. You didn't have to be very smart to know who it was. They both looked at each other annoyed by the situation, but she decided to pick it up, not to answer but to ask not to be disturbed any more as he tried to remove his bracelets.

"Where are you!?" said Mel, stressed as she grabbed them from him and put them in her bag with her free hand. "Val-"

"Too busy!" She said annoyed, motioning for him to turn around to help him unzip his back. "Honeymoon! Give us ten minutes!"

"Ugh-" and they both hung up at the same time.

If they had ten minutes, five were to help him get out of his suit, and he couldn't even get it all off. As soon as he was able to undress his crotch, revealing his muscular pecs and arms (and more parts of his body), they stopped trying to undress him. Good thing he wasn't wearing boxer shorts (because they would wrinkle and show too much, according to the fashion department better to just show off his pack). The top of the suit fell in front of his legs, on the floor.

They would have preferred to do it sitting down or with him holding her buttocks and legs against the wall, but the quickest option was to do it from behind, with one of her knees on the toilet seat and holding on to the cistern while he grabbed her hips.

They would both have liked the situation to be more romantic, comfortable, slow and intimate, but Bob wanted to make her completely his once and for all, he couldn't wait any longer, he'd had enough patience for months and the amorous confession and kiss earlier had provoked him too much, so he grabbed the tip of his cock and brushed her wet lips to make his way in without much decorum.

They both tried to choke their moans in their throats as he filled the void inside her, and she tried to hold on tighter. Instead Bob's hands gripped her waist to ram her, back and forth, watching victoriously as his cock disappeared inside her. He had daydreamed about it many times, in the company of his dominant hand.

He rammed her hard and fast, and she rested her forehead on her hands as she bit her lip, making a great effort not to moan, more and more. But she couldn't help moaning as her orgasm came, arching her back and spasming, but he gripped her tightly to keep her still and from slipping away, feeling her throbbing insides clinging to him.

That he was invincible and powerful meant he couldn't get tired, but it didn't mean he could hold back his orgasm if he was too aroused. Instantly he had to pull out of her, cumming on one of her buttocks as he groaned. He would have preferred inside, but he loved the sight of her bare buttocks with his semen as she tried to catch her breath and craned her neck to look up at him with narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks.

He reached out to grab toilet paper from the dispenser to wipe her and himself, but when he noticed the cardboard cartridge with no paper at all he panicked.

"There's no paper," he said nervously in a whisper.

"Wait..." she said opening her bag between the back of the toilet and her knee to find a small packet of wet wipes. She handed it to him and he opened it, wiping her first and then him. "Thank you."

When she got up from the toilet she pulled up her panties as she turned around, pulled up her trousers and then helped him get dressed. When they were ready to leave the cubicle she grabbed her bag to put it on her shoulder again, but suddenly he hugged her. She was so taken by surprise by the gesture that she laughed quietly, but she also returned the gesture with a smile on her face as she stood on her tiptoes to catch him, resting her chin on one of his shoulders.

"I know this hasn't been the most romantic first time, but... I'll make it up to you," he whispered in her ear.

"Tonight?" she asked in his ear, tossing out the idea.

"Tonight?" he asked surprised but pleased with the idea as he pulled away from her to watch her facial expression. She laughed, put her hand on his cheek to stand on her tiptoes again and give him a quick kiss on the lips as they both grinned from ear to ear.

* I imagined and wrote this originally in Spanish and in Spanish that phrase doesn't indicate the gender of the person who wants her... Hence the mystery and the revelation later.

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callsign-fox · 2 months ago

Text

Comfy Cozy - Bob/Sentry

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

No warnings xo

Thanks for all the love! <3

Avengers Tower was unusually still—the kind of quiet that only came late at night, when the city’s hum faded into a distant murmur and most of the team had long since turned in.

She sat curled up in the corner of the couch in the common room, a thick knit blanket draped over her legs and a worn paperback resting in her hands. The book had been her escape for the evening—something calm and grounding, far removed from the chaos their world often brought.

Bob Reynolds wandered the room like a restless shadow. He didn’t know what had drawn him out of bed—well, that wasn’t true. He did know. The Void was stirring again. Whispering. Pressing against the corners of his mind like a storm trying to seep through cracks in a windowpane.

He stopped when he saw her.

She looked peaceful, completely absorbed in the pages of her book, brow faintly furrowed in thought. The soft light from a nearby lamp lit her face in gold. Bob felt the tension in his chest ease just a little.

He crossed the room slowly. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that broke the silence without shattering it.

She glanced up, surprised to find him there but not at all displeased. “I could ask you the same.”

Bob offered a small smile and nodded toward the spot beside her. “Mind if I sit?”

She shifted, making room. “Not at all.”

He sank onto the couch, his body still taut with unease, but less so now. Being near her always had a calming effect—like a tether to reality, to the light he kept fighting to hold onto.

“What are you reading?” he asked, leaning just a bit to catch the cover.

She tilted the book slightly so he could see. “One of my favorites—The Hobbit. I figured my brain needed a break from… everything.”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve never read it.”

She turned back to the first page and read aloud, “In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

“Are you going to read the whole book to me? Because I could listen to you all night,” he said, adjusting himself and propping his legs on the ottoman.

“If you ask nicely,” she replied with a smile.

For a moment, silence settled again—this time, companionable. She stared down at the book, unmoving. Then, quietly, he turned toward her. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

She gave him a side glance. “Just thinking about what comes next.”

He frowned slightly, not out of worry, but recognition. “Big thoughts for a cozy night.”

She shrugged, slipping her thumb between the pages to mark her place. “I think the quiet makes room for them. When everything stops moving, it’s hard not to wonder what’s waiting around the corner.”

Bob nodded slowly. He knew that feeling all too well. “Yeah. Sometimes the quiet’s worse than the noise.”

A beat passed.

“You know, you think better when you’re comfortable,” he said after a moment, voice low. “My shoulder’s available, if you want it.”

“Bob,” she said softly, smiling. “You can just say you want to cuddle with me. I’ll say yes.”

“Fine.” His cheeks grew warm, but he said softly, “I want to cuddle with you.”

She laughed, the sound soft and warm, then gently reached for his arm, guiding it around her as she nestled closer. Her head found its place against his shoulder, and with a content sigh, she shifted again—stretching her legs out and draping them across his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t move, just let it happen, as if he’d been waiting for her to do exactly that. His hand came to rest lightly on her knee, and for the first time that night, everything felt still in the best possible way.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

Her eyes drifted shut. “Yeah. It is.”

Bob wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, cocooned in quiet warmth and the soft flicker of lamplight, but for once he wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of the blanket as her breathing evened out, calm and steady beside him.

“You’re really good at this,” she murmured after a while.

“At what?” he asked, voice low.

“This. Being here. Letting everything feel... safe.”

Bob let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Safe isn’t usually the word people associate with me.”

“Well,” she said, turning her head just slightly to look up at him, “maybe they just don’t know you like I do.”

Her words made something flutter behind his ribs—an unfamiliar softness, a warmth he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. He glanced down at her, eyes catching hers, and everything else—the weight of the Void, the world outside, the chaos always waiting in the wings—just faded.

“You make it easy,” he said quietly.

She smiled, shifting her legs slightly on his lap, toes brushing against the side of his thigh. “I don’t think that’s true,” she teased. “I’m very high maintenance. Just ask Sam.”

Bob smirked. “You’re a menace. But you're my favorite kind.”

A playful glint lit her eyes. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Reynolds.”

He tilted his head, the smile on his face turning lopsided. “Maybe it is.”

“Guess I should warn you,” she said, voice softening, “I tend to flirt back.”

She was so close now, and Bob didn’t need heightened senses to notice the shift in the air—the quiet magnetism of a shared affection finally acknowledged. He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek before tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze

“Then I’m definitely not stopping,” he said.

And then—slowly, giving her time to pull away—he leaned in. Her breath caught just slightly, but she didn’t move, didn’t look away. Their lips met in a kiss that was gentle, unhurried, warm. A kiss that felt like the start of something real.

When they pulled apart, barely an inch between them, she smiled—soft and a little shy.

“I was hoping you would do that,” she said.

Bob looked at her for a moment, like he was memorizing everything—her eyes, her voice, the way she looked at him.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” he said quietly.

She reached up, her fingers brushing his. “Me too.”

And in the silence that followed, there was no doubt—whatever this was, it mattered.

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woantohae · 5 months ago

Text

Powerful || (Bob "Sentry" Reynolds x Polaris! oc)

Summary: After forming as a team, the Thunderbolts* plan to confront Valentina about what happened. On the way to what used to be the Avengers tower, Bob seems to be interested in Y/N and her powers.

What they did not expect is that the harmless Bob has turned out to be more powerful than they thought.

《tags: angst, fluff, violence, Sentry, The Void, Bob being a sweetheart, jealousy, bucky having a "past history" with Y/N》

After the explosion, everyone reached an agreement—luckily—to talk to Valentina about it.

Yelena had made a call to a trusted person who took no more than 30 minutes to arrive with a red suit on and a shield in the passenger seat to where they were and take them to the Avengers tower. Or what used to be the Avengers tower.

The tension still hung in the air, everyone looked at each other from the corner of their eyes and no one could fully trust the other. Bob was sitting upright in the back seat of the van with his hands in his lap, looking at Y/N's profile next to him and looking out the window.

"I'm Bob. Robert Reynolds," he tells her suddenly, watching as she looks back at the boy warily.

"Y/N Maximoff" she replies. He smiles and shakes his head.

"I know," she frowns slightly. "I've heard about you and your sister, Wanda Maximoff. You guys are awesome."

The black-haired woman settles into her seat and feels the gaze of the rest who remain silent.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes immediately. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable...."

"You didn't," she mentions, "And thank you." Bob smiles slightly.

He fiddles with his fingers in a nervous manner.

"I have to admit, I think your powers are cool," he says quietly. Y/N raises an eyebrow, looking at him amused.

"Yeah? Not everyone thought like that," she admits.

Bob frowns slightly. "Why is that?"

"Because I haven't exactly used them for good." Yelena watches her in the rearview mirror, while the rest listen attentively.

"What have you done?" Ava asks.

"Something that not many would be proud of, but I couldn't say the same"

Bob watches her carefully, feeling something that makes him interested in the girl. He doesn't know if it's compassion, empathy or complicity.

"Is it too bad?" Alexei asks from the pilot's seat. Then he lets out a laugh "I'm not one to judge others."

Y/N smiles sideways. Before she can answer, they hear gunshots from behind the car. Bob is startled as Y/N turns her head to look outside.

"We have company," she announces, "And not the good kind."

Everyone becomes alarmed as soon as they see the shots closer and the danger lurking around them. Yelena is in charge of shooting some men who are riding a motorcycle.

"Yelena, daughter, don't worry" says Alexei as he accelerates "I have everything under control"

The shooting continues and the man driving does nothing to calm the situation.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take care of it?" Y/N asks, watching them approach.

"No, I have everything under control!"

Suddenly, the sound of a new motorcycle is heard and everyone watches. He looks familiar, Y/N thinks.

"Is that Bucky?" John squints his eyes to get a better look at him.

Alexei laughs frantically and victoriously.

"It's the Winter Soldier," he exclaims as he continues driving. "I told you everything would be under control."

Bucky rides the motorcycle and stops for a moment to pull out a large gun and point it at our car.

"That's not good" Yelena mentions.

"What is he doing?" Ava asks.

"Oh, shit" Bob whispers next to the black-haired girl.

Suddenly, he shoots and releases a rope that is caught under the moving car and in an instant he stops them abruptly, turning the car around.

Y/N tries to ensure that the vehicle does not end up crushing them, with her powers she removes the car doors with a movement of her hands to escape with the others. She helps Bob out and suddenly a dark gas begins to form in the air, emitting a strong smell.

"Shit. What is that smell?" Alexei asks complainingly.

Y/N's gaze becomes blurred and she notices how the rest struggle to stay standing, while in the distance she sees the figures of men approaching them. She coughs and tries to use her powers, but her vision blurs.

"Shit, it's sleep gas," Yelena says. She falls trying to keep her eyes open.

Y/N falls to her knees and notices Bob approaching her.

"Hey, it'll be okay..." Bob says. The black-haired woman struggles not to close her eyes and the last thing she sees is how Bob is carried by men to a truck.

Then, some boots interfere with her vision.

"It's good that you woke up. I was already starting to wonder when I would have to do it by force."

Y/N opens her eyes and finds Bucky.

"Bucky, what are you doing here? Why do you have us tied up?" John asks "Are you with them?"

"Those are a lot of questions, Walker. I only have one answer," he says calmly. He looks at each one until he reaches Y/N, who looks at him amused "Y/N."

"James" she answers.

"Do you know each other?" Ava asks, looking from one to the other.

"Let's just say that we were fighting against each other and then next to each other" Y/N answers simply. Suddenly, remembering when they fought alongside against Thanos.

"Something like that," Bucky murmurs.

"Wait, that means she used her powers on your metal arm?" Alexei asks interestedly.

Y/N nods satisfied and Bucky shakes his head, rubbing his eyes.

"I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea," he mutters.

"Would you answer the question that you can answer for us now?" Yelena asks.

He looks at her and sits back up. "You are here because I need your help to settle some issues with Valentina"

"Wow, that's new," Ava says sarcastically.

"Valentina seems to be very famous these days," Yelena says, then motions for him to continue.

"Where is our friend Bob?" John asks, looking around.

"That's what it's about, actually," Bucky continues. Y/N watches him with a mix of confusion and surprise on her face.

"What did they do to Bob?" she asks.

"His name is Robert Reynolds. He was a former soldier who broke into a laboratory to look for something to get high with," Bucky begins to say, as he approaches them and begins to untie the ropes that surrounded his hands. "Apparently, he found the Super Soldier serum and mistook it for a drug. He consumed it and gained powers from it."

"So? Just like the one they gave you and me," John says casually.

"This serum is a thousand times more powerful than the one we have in our blood," Bucky says seriously, untying the black-haired girl. "It has the power of 10 suns."

"What does he have to do with all this?" Y/N asks, caressing her wrists. "He was with us when the explosion happened."

Bucky sighs.

"He works for Valentina" he responds. Everyone frowns "They keep experimenting with him to make him their own puppet and weapon against everything they think should be eradicated"

"Geez, Bob," Alexei murmurs.

Y/N feels something in her chest.

"You were also with Valentina. Why are you telling us this information now?" Ghost asks, standing next to Taskmaster.

"Because I ran away from her as soon as I found out her true plans," he explains, standing with his arms crossed and hardening his face. "She doesn't want to protect the city. She wants to control it. And with Sentry.... she can do it"

"Sentry?" Yelena asks.

Bucky smiles sideways.

"Her weapon" he answers "Bob"

Everything is silent for a brief moment. Yelena thinks about what is going to happen now, while Y/N reflects on the new information. Bob looked harmless and seemed to doubt his own actions, so why would he work with Valentina?

"What do we do now?" Ava asks in a firm voice.

"I'd say get ready to visit Valentina," Bucky answers simply.

"It smells like a trapped cat to me," Alexei mentions.

"Yes. Because she is waiting for us" Yelena responds as if it were obvious "We must be ready"

"So what? We work as a team?" John asks, laughing mockingly "We are not heroes, we can't fly and we don't have the strength to fight if we have to fight Bob."

"I can fly," Y/N shrugs.

"How cool," Alexei responds.

"If things get messy, we could hold him back as long as we can," Y/N offers. Bucky looks at her nodding.

"So..? Are you in on this or not?"

Yelena rolls her eyes. "We have no other option. Do we?"

The group went up the elevator, although it was not easy at all.

They had to fight against the tower guards and Valentina's team. When the elevator opens, they enter with a slow but sure step, watching as Valentina greets them from the bar with a calculating smile, while she pours herself a drink.

"Oh, how wonderful. Teamwork," she says as she approaches them with a superior air. "I must say, I didn't have faith in you, but you guys look so adorable together."

"Eat shit, Valentina" Yelena intervenes without playing along.

"My little Yelena, you should watch your language," she says, laughing and taking a sip of her drink. "I think we all know why we're here, right?"

"Apparently so," Bucky replies. Valentina watches him without her smile fading.

"Oh, James. Now you betray your own?" She puts a hand on her chest, feigning indignation. "I expected you to be more honorable and with values. Like your friend Steve."

Bucky clenches his jaw.

"Cut the crap, Valentina," Y/N says. "Tell us why you wanted to get rid of us if you were the one who called us."

Valentina smiles at the black-haired girl and approaches her. "Let's face it, darling" she catches up with the girl. "Didn't yourself come for your own reasons, or should I remind you that you wanted to know information about your dead sister?"

Y/N freezes.

"What did you say?" She asks under her breath as she moves her fingers to start choking Valentina's neck with the necklace she was wearing. She begins to choke, releasing the cup from her fingers, which falls to the ground shattering, while the rest tells Y/N to stop.

"Your precious sister is dead" Valentina says in a choke. And the girl doesn't want to believe that.

It's not possible.

"Y/N, stop," a cautious voice orders her.

The group along with her turns to see the individual, who is wearing a gold and blue suit in all its splendor. The man approaches them with sure steps and stands next to Valentina while Y/N stops using her powers.

"Nice, move. Bob," John spits. Bob looks at the soldier with a hard look and then passes it to Y/N who does not take her gaze off of him. Valentina laughs.

"Dear Bob is going to help me protect the city from future threats," she says, catching her breath. "The Avengers are no longer there. There is only us."

"The only thing there will be with you will be destruction and chaos" Bucky snaps, going firmly to Valentina.

Bob, sensing the danger, stands in front of it and faces it.

"Bob, you better stop them before they start making a mess," Valentina asks.

She starts to leave and everyone tries to stop her. Ghost appears next to her, but Bob throws her across the room with a wave of his hand. John and Yelena go to stop Bob, but he beats them.

The man tries to defend himself with the shield, but Sentry bends it with one blow. It's a miracle he didn't destroy it. Taskmaster begins to shoot, but is thrown to the other side, crashing into the wall, falling unconscious to the ground. Y/N tries to lift a metal table and throw it at Bob, who avoids it by moving, giving her a look before confronting Bucky. The black-haired man gives him the first blow with his metal arm, but the blonde stops him with his effortless strength.

"You think you can save the rest, but you can't even save yourselves," Bob spits and rips Bucky's metal arm off, throwing him across the room.

Alexei screams and lunges at the blonde, who throws him out the window, causing the bearded man to fall from the top of the tower to the street. Yelena screams when she sees him.

Suddenly, something changes in the environment. Or rather, inside Bob who seems to fight against something that consumes him slowly. Y/N watches him along with the rest, seeing how his suit, which was gold, begins to darken completely, turning black. Bob's timid eyes transform into darkness and pure coldness.

"You poor scumbags" he spits. "You can't defeat me"

Y/N uses her powers, but the new entity stretches out its arm and the girl feels how it draws her close to the air until it chokes her by the neck. He smirks at the girl in his hands.

"I see why he likes you," the man mentions with darkness in his tone.

He turns to the rest and smiles evilly. "If you excuse us, I'm going to take her with me"

The rest try to stop him, but it is impossible.

The Void disappears with her into the shadows it creates in its wake.

....

Part III

#sentry #polaris #bob reynolds x oc #fanfic #thunderbolts #marvel #comics #yelena belova #bucky barnes #fluff #angst #the void

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fanfic-ya-know · 3 days ago

Text

Not Everything Ends

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+ content (Minors DNI), not beta read, reader is afab, non-sexual nudity, light wound description, pet names (Golden Boy, baby), smut – body worship, oral (f!receiving)

AN: This can totally be read as a stand-alone fic, but it’s technically the sequel to Everything Ends.

I was having major writer's block, so I rewatched Thunderbolts* today and completely forgot that it was going to make me cry… oh well.

Bob was the greatest partner you could’ve ever asked for. He was patient and kind and appreciated you in ways that no one had ever done before.

Before him, before the Thunderbolts, you had been so alone. Everyone you had ever loved had either left or been taken from you. You’d get home from work – whatever odd job Valentina had you doing – and sink to the floor of your kitchen, just sitting in the light from the fridge, and cry.

That all felt like a lifetime ago. The shell of the person you were was no longer hollow. You’d been filled with warmth at the first sight of human connection, and you had every intention of holding on to it. Bob was the source of a lot of that warmth. He brought out the best in you. Now, the only times you cried were in relief or from laughing.

You loved him. You could feel it in your chest, and you told him as often as you could. More often than that, you showed him. You did so every day, but when you returned from a mission, you took extra lengths to make sure he felt loved.

When the team had been sent on a particularly difficult job, returning covered dirt and dried blood, you quietly took Bob’s hand in yours and led him to your bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and you took his face in your hands to look at him. Molten gold still burned in his eyes – he still had the power of a million exploding suns coursing through him.

“Sentry,” you said firmly, but still gently. “It’s time to let go.”

His expression softened. Every version of Bob loved you – even when it seemed like he wasn’t fully himself. His chest was tight, breathing deeply, like he was trying to calm himself down. You moved your hands from his cheeks to trail down his arms, reaching for his hands that were clenched into tight fists at his sides. Your gaze never left his as you forced his hands open, placing his warm palms on your hips, and returned yours to cradle his face again.

“I want my Bob back.” You brushed your thumbs across his cheekbones, waiting for his irises to return to their deep blue. You both stood there in silence for a moment, just breathing in each other’s air while you watched the gold fade from his eyes. “Hi,” you whispered with a smile once the man you loved returned to you once again.

Bob took a shaky breath, still recovering. “H-H-Hi,” he breathed back.

“Wanna go get cleaned up with me?” you asked softly. Bob simply nodded and followed you into the bathroom.

You unzipped the front of your suit and peeled the top away from your skin, letting it hang around your waist while you helped Bob out of his. Starting by unclasping his cape, you helped him work his way out of his golden armor. Every piece of it was perfectly tailored to his body, so working the material off of his muscled shoulders and arms was often a two-man job. You certainly didn’t mind helping, getting an up-close view of his gorgeous body – pale, but still golden-hued, and decorated with freckles that you often liked to count with kisses.

Once he was able to get to the lower portion of his suit, you did the same. You kicked off your boots and worked the remaining fabric down your legs. You winced when it snagged on a cut on your thigh. It wasn’t deep, just fresh, and Bob’s eyes shot up to you at the sound of your pain.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I promise, it’s not that bad. I’ll take care of it after we shower.”

Bob seemed satisfied with that because he wordlessly returned to trying to remove his suit. He stood back to his full height, waiting for you to finish. When you were both left in only your underwear, you reached into the shower, letting the water warm, and turned back to face him. His breathing had slowed, but his eyes were still clouded with concern.

“Bob,” you said, pulling his attention back to your face and away from the cut on your leg. “I’m fine.”

He nodded again. “I know.” He grasped at your hips again, anchoring himself to you.

You reached for the bottom of your sports bra, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Bob tucked his thumbs under the waistband of your panties. It wasn’t sexual, not teasing, just intimate. You nodded, giving him permission to push down the fabric. It pooled at your ankles, and you stepped out of it, closer to him. You mirrored his action, fingertips grazing the top of his underwear. Bob whispered a soft “okay” against your temple, and you pushed the material off of his hips.

You walked backwards again, pulling him with you, and reached into the shower to check the temperature of the water. Then, you stepped inside, and Bob followed.

The water came down over the two of you in warm sheets, soothing your aching muscles. You let it wash over you before you reached for your body wash and squeezed a dollop into your hand. You spread the cool liquid between your hands and pressed them against Bob’s chest. You lathered the soap over his broad musculature, working your way down his body. The water beat against your back as you kneeled in front of him, making sure to cover his legs with the suds.

“Turn,” you said, looking up at him.

Bob followed your instruction, and you made your way back up his legs and back. You lightly massaged the muscles of his back, pressing your thumbs into the knots, as you cleaned him.

“Okay, Golden Boy,” you joked, playfully grabbing his ass. “You can rinse.”

Bob laughed as he turned back to face you. He stepped forward into the water, forcing you back against the wall. Once he washed away all of the suds, he reached for the bottle you had set aside.

“Your turn,” he said with a soft smile that you mirrored, knowing he had returned to his usual self.

He pulled you towards him, and you stumbled into his chest, one of his strong arms wrapping around you to steady you. His head dipped, catching your mouth in a perfect kiss as he turned to shield you from the water.

Bob released your lips, pulling back to squeeze some of the body wash into his hand. He copied your ministrations from before, ensuring that you were covered in the sweet-smelling bubbles and carefully working his way around your body, trying not to look at the scrapes and bruises for too long.

The feeling of his large, soft hands eased the tension in your body, his fingertips pressing into all the parts of you that ached. A low groan rumbled in your chest, and Bob chuckled lightly at your reaction.

“Feel good?” Even though you had closed your eyes, you could tell he was smirking, pleased with the effect he had on you.

“Mhmm,” you hummed.

Bob maneuvered your body under the water, rinsing you off. Then, he followed you under the spray, pressing the front of his body against your back, and you leaned into his warmth. His head dipped to where your shoulder met the curve of your neck, placing an open-mouthed kiss on the heated skin.

“Bob,” you groaned. “I still gotta wash my hair.”

“I know,” he murmured, and you could feel the smile on his lips as they moved down the slope of your shoulder. “Just let me love you.”

You sighed in submission, not that you’d complain. When his mouth reached the edge of your shoulder, he moved to kiss a trail across your back, reaching the other shoulder and working his way up the other side of your neck. Each kiss was searing hot yet perfectly gentle.

“Okay,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, and he turned you to face him. You thought he was going to kiss you again, the way he was still leaning towards you, his eyes dark and half-lidded, mouth parted. But he just reached past you and picked up the shampoo bottle.

“Fucking tease,” you said as you pushed at his chest and then tipped your head back to wet your hair, and you could hear Bob’s low laugh. You looked back to him and took the bottle from him, squirting a little into your hand.

Bob stepped into the water while you lathered your hair with shampoo, getting his own hair wet. Then things moved quickly, wordlessly, passing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner back and forth, moving in and out of the stream of water, running your hands over each other.

Finally, when you were both sufficiently clean and worked up from the anticipation, you turned off the shower. You both stepped out and wrapped yourselves in the large fluffy towels waiting on their hooks.

As you dried off, your eyes trailed over to Bob. You looked at the man before you, the god, and you released a shaky breath. You reached out to him, hand landing on his abs, fingertips tracing the tense muscles.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, getting lost in thought. You instinctively moved closer, flattening your palm against him. “I don’t deserve you.”

Bob’s cheeks flushed at the praise. “S-Sure you do,” he choked out, clearly taken aback. “You deserve the world.”

That made you smile. You tucked your towel securely around you, freeing both of your hands to hold him, one resting on his hip while the other moved up his chest, landing where you could feel his heart thudding steadily.

“That’s the thing,” you said, looking up at him, “you are the world. You help so many people, Bob – not just by being a superhero, but by being you. You make everything better.”

His heart was pounding in his chest. It looked like he was going to cry, and then he reached for you. His hands grasped the sides of your face, pulling you into a desperate kiss, forgetting completely about the towel he had been holding tightly.

You arched forward, your hands moving to brace against his shoulders. Your own towel dropped to the ground, joining his at your feet. He moved to grip the backs of your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly and wrapping your legs around his waist.

He carried you, and you thought you’d end up back in your bedroom, laid out on your sheets. You were surprised when he placed you gently on the cool countertop, still in the bathroom. Bob kept kissing you, not giving you room to ask what he was doing. Instead, he opened the medicine cabinet next to you and pulled out your pack of bandages.

Finally, he pulled away from your lips, just enough to mumble out a rough “fix it” before attaching his lips to your neck. That’s when you remembered the small wound on your leg.

You let out a whimper at the feeling of his mouth on the sensitive skin just below your ear and took the box in shaky hands. You found a bandage big enough to cover the cut, making a mental note to wrap it more thoroughly later, but you just needed a quick fix for now.

When you were finished, you half-heartedly tugged on his damp hair, pulling him away from your neck. “Done,” was all you needed to say before he kissed you again. Bob pulled you back into him, ready to properly take you to bed.

He laid you delicately against the duvet, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed as he knelt between them. He peppered kisses down your body, paying special attention to the areas that made you whimper. He nipped at your collarbone, palmed your breasts before lowering his mouth to each nipple, giving them equal treatment, swirling his tongue around the hardened buds and sucking at them gently. Then, he moved lower, running his tongue along the sharp angles of your hip bones. It was deliberate, worshipful, the way he touched you, like he was trying to prove to you just how much you meant to him.

You were propped on your elbows, watching him. Both of you were bathed in the amber light streaming in from the window, but Bob was glowing from the inside out. His mouth was heated on your skin, like the warmth of the sun behind each one.

He lifted slightly, detaching his mouth from you, pulling a needy whine from your throat. You could feel his warm breath fan over where you needed him most as he chuckled.

“Bob, please,” you choked out. You didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched, corner tugging upwards for a moment, at the sound of your voice. That’s when it dawned on you, seeing the flicker in his eyes, that he needed this just as much as you did, and he needed to hear you say it. “Don’t stop.”

He lowered his mouth again without hesitation, but he still moved slowly, deliberately teasing. Eyes locked on yours, he licked a thick stripe through your folds. A guttural moan, a broken sob tore through you at the contact.

“Fuck!” Your arms were quivering, struggling to keep upright, but you’d be damned if you broke eye contact. The sound prompted Bob to continue. He lapped at your wet center, his tongue flicking perfectly against your swollen clit. “Keep going, baby… feels so good. You’re so – god – my god!”

You were panting, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping the duvet beneath you.

“I’m your god?” he asked huskily, his face still buried in you, eyes dark and hungry.

The vibration of his words sent a jolt up your spine. You knew he was trying to tease you, to get you to correct your own babbling, but you nodded, sharp and shaky.

“Yes,” you rasped. He raised a brow at you – a silent challenge to keep talking, to explain yourself – as he dove back into you, nose brushing your clit while he fucked you with his tongue. “You are. You’re a god, a savior – oh fucking hell – you’re everything. I-I love you… gonna – Jesus – gonna love you forever.”

You were getting close, and Bob’s grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open, as they tried to clench around his head.

“Gonna cum,” you warned with a breathy cry.

“I know,” he said, voice rumbling into your sensitive core. “Cum for me, Y/N.”

The mixture of command and desperation in his voice and the feeling of his words into you pushed you over the edge. You came with a wanton moan, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. You fell onto the bed, exhausted and incapable of holding yourself up any longer.

Bob lifted from between your legs, his chin glistening with your release. His eyes were clouded with ardor, pure love, and admiration as he appeared above you. He kissed you softly, and you could taste yourself on his lips.

Still reeling from your intense orgasm, you lifted a trembling hand to his hip, moving towards his throbbing member. Bob was always so good about taking care of you first, and you wanted to give him the same attention. You were surprised when he stopped you, his strong fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“Later,” he breathed into your open mouth. “I just wanna hold you for a minute first.”

“Okay,” you nodded, touching your forehead to his.

Bob moved up the bed, pulling you with him. When he reached the pillows, he settled into them and tucked you into his side. You curled against him, laying your head on his chest, one hand moving to rest on his pec, and one of your legs draping across him. He held you in place, fingers splaying across your lower back. He kissed the crown of your head, then rested his chin there while he toyed with the ends of your hair. You fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Sometimes I think you’re my soulmate,” he said finally. “Like you were made for me.”

“I was.” You smiled and pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his chest before shifting to look at him again. “I begin and end with you, Bob. Nothing before you matters.”

“You end with me?” he asked, raising a brow in that way that you loved. “When does it end?”

“Never.”

#bob x reader #marvel #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob x reader smut #bob reynolds x y/n #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #mcu #lewis pullman #bob smut #robert reynolds #sentry #Spotify

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prettyboypistol · 1 year ago

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How to Seduce the TF2 Mercs

Scout

Pay attention to him. Give him genuine compliments and honest feedback. He wants to feel loved and like he's worth someone's time.

Kisses and physical affection. Mans thinks about the time you put your hand on his shoulder for weeks.

Just say you love him, man. He's been overlooked his whole life.

Soldier

Take him seriously- don't belittle him or make jokes about how he views the world. He knows he's a little crazy but he is genuinely trying his best to make the world a better place.

Defend him!!! If someone shit talks him, punch that motherfucker in the jaw!!

Honest discussions with you asking a lot of questions, take the time to get to know him and you'll have a defender for the rest of your life.

Pyro

Much like with Soldier, defend them and take the time to get to know them.

Gifts, gifts, gifts!!! Give them gifts!

Be a little flirty ;> don't baby them! Treat them like the adult they are!

Demoman

Bro just ask to fuck. He'll probably say yes.

He loves a bold mf that knows how to take what they want. Come on to him, buy him a drink, and ask if he's got any company for the night.

If you're going for something a little more long term, just remove the sleeping aspect. Just say you're interested in getting to know him you'll most likely get a date and see how things go.

Engineer

He's a sucker for practical use gifts (i.e. mechanical oil, a new wrench, etc) or sentimental gifts (photograph of you two, love letters)

Call him handsome! Call him pretty and a gentleman! Appeal to that cowboy energy and treat him all respectful like and you'll definitely catch his interest.

If you're not the type to do all that song and dance, go the opposite route. Stump him with a logistic problem and tease him about it. He'll nonstop think about you for months and bitch about you to his sentries.

Heavy

Mikhail likes hotheads and determined people, someone who's not afraid to fight if the situation comes to it.

Ask him about general things and slowburn that mf about nice conversations until you two can talk about personal things.

Ask him to help you clean your guns! Ask him weaponry questions about what would suit you better in the field!

Medic

GET THIS MAN SOME ORGANS. GET HIM SOME FUNDING!!!! get him a lil lovebirddddd

Take the time to get to know his birds and if the birds like you, Medic automatically likes you more.

Take an interest in his medical discoveries and his life! He's a prime yapper and wants to t a l k. That's why he never shuts up when doing surgery.

Spy

Romance him traditionally, to be honest. Keep it classy and court him like the romantic he is. Roses placed in his locker, prime dinners delivered to his door, BE A ROMANTIC ABOUT IT.

If you can't dance, ask him to teach you "for a mission" (He will know that you're the one behind all the flirtatious gestures bc he's SPY)

Butter up that man like he's a piece of toast. Handsome young man who captured your heart and holds it hostage. Classy gentleman that could get away with world domination with gorgeous eyes like that.

Sniper

Don't come on too strong, he's a bristly one. Be calm and casual. Hit him with that friends to lovers.

He's more of a tough nut to crack and insecure of if you actually like him, so be sure to flood his mind with ambiguous hints when you think you see signs of him showing interest in you.

To really seal yourself in his heart, spend a lot of quality time with him! Go camping, hunting, fishing, driving, anything that gets the both of you alone and quiet.

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em1i2a3 · 21 days ago

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Only Human

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

Summary: You have been staying with Bob every night since the incident with The Void in hopes to prevent anything like that from happening again. Much to your surprise though, he slips out of Bob to see you one night. (Sequel to ‘The Dark Side’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Angst, Fluff, Smut, and like Hurt/Comfort kind of?, Mentions of Injuries that occurred in the first part, Just as a Reminder Reader has the ability of Power Negation (rendering them unable to be Voided or sent into a shame room) and Telekinesis, There is some references to supernatural things (we are dealing with The Void here, so it does need a bit of a warning I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️), Reader and Bob are not in a relationship (not at the moment), but they do have feelings for one another.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up please lol), Sensual Touching, The Void is Touch Starved (what can I say?), Fingering, Squirting, Mutual Masturbation, Biting, Praise/Dirty Talk (kind of?), Little Bit of Supernatural Elements to the sex, Hopefully I didn’t miss anything.

Author’s Note: People really liked my portrayal of Soft-ish Void in ‘The Dark Side’ and truly I wanted to kind of expand on that and take the story just a bit further too. Writing Soft!Void was so fun and odd, but it was so nice to be able to do it. Hopefully y’all enjoy! Thank you for readin <3 (P.S. Yes I said Soft Void. Don’t worry, normal Void shenanigans will be back soon.)

Word Count: 9,702

“You really don’t ha–have to keep doing this…” Bob’s voice broke softly through the silence like a crack in still glass. It wasn’t really a protest, it was more like a quiet plea laced with guilt. He lingered just inside the doorway, his tall frame half-silhouetted by the dim hallway light that glowed behind him. His tone trembled, stretched thin by exhaustion, “I’m…I’m sure you want to get more sleep than ju-just an hour or two.”

You were already under the covers of his bed, leaning against the headboard with your legs drawn up beneath the thick comforter, shoulder relaxed but eyes wide open. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily lately for you–not with everything still so raw with worry and concern–but being here, in his room with him, had become a kind of comforting ritual for you. A place where you stood guard, and soothed.

The chaos that once wreaked havoc over his bedroom–the splintered furniture, shattered glass, dented drywall–was gone now. Cleaned. Patched. Rebuilt from the ground up basically. The entire team had taken on the task to make everything right again, to erase the brutal traces of The Void’s presence. Even the scuffed floors had been sanded and polished, though some of the deeper gouges remained, hidden beneath the new rug Ava insisted on buying.

You had spent nearly every spare hour of the past week in his room–sorting through broken remnants, salvaging what you could. Bob’s framed photos of the team had been the first thing you tackled: cracked glass removed, splinters of wood from the frames glued back together, and new little pieces of plastic placed against the photos to replace the glass. You sat cross-legged on his floor, each picture spread out before you like fragments, before putting everything back together. You had also tried to salvage some of his mugs, but only two had been saved–Bob was grateful that you even tried to do it anyway.

Then came the dresser. A new one that you ordered from IKEA, that was delivered in a box that was too heavy for you to haul into Bob’s room on your own. You got Alexei and Walker to help you with that, but you stayed behind after they left, kneeling on the carpet beside Bob, helping him screw everything into place and go through the instructions. He had insisted on doing everything himself, even though his knuckles that you had patched up had begun to bleed through the gauze.

When things settled, everything looked very close to normalcy–eerily so. There was familiar furniture positioned back into place, books reshelved in the same order, and picture frames perched in the same areas. But it felt different. Lived in again…Touched by healing hands.

And Bob noticed.

He thanked you feverishly every time you finished a picture frame or replaced something–even when you handed him a cup of tea. He thanked Walker for lifting the headboard, Ava for the rug, Yelena for restocking his little trinkets. He must’ve said those words a hundred times within the week. You could tell he didn’t think it was enough. That it gnawed at him–how much everyone gave, and how little he felt he could return.

Now, he stepped into the room slowly, closing the door behind him with that same soft care he had throughout the entire week, his shoulder rising and falling with a tired breath as he crossed the room toward his dresser. You watch him from your place under the covers, silent, observant.

His movements were slower than usual. Careful. Painfully so. You saw it in the way he unzipped his hoodie with trembling fingers, the bandages frayed slightly at the edges, stained faintly with ointment from earlier. Your eyes followed every shift of his hand–the one you’d held steady days ago as you pulled a splinter from beneath the nail, listening to him suck in a breath and tell you, “It’s okay, I don’t even feel it anymore,” even though he clearly did.

“Trust me, Bob,” You said softly, your voice breaking the stillness in the room, “I’m okay. I don’t need as much sleep as you think…And regardless of that…I’m the only person that can control him if he comes out again. I need to be here.” He paused, halfway through shrugging off the hoodie. His jaw clenched for a second, then he slipped the rest of the fabric off, folding it slowly and neatly, hands still trembling slightly, before placing it on the dresser. You saw it in his face–there was something haunting him again. A question. A thought he hadn’t dared speak aloud until now. He didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“…You never told me how you go-got me to come back,” He mumbled, voice quiet, strained, like it was raw just thinking about it. He stared down at the hoodie for a beat longer, rubbing the soft fabric, before wordlessly reaching for the hem of his shirt, turning on his heel to face you. He peeled the shirt off, the gauze clinging slightly to the inside of it. The amber glow of the bedside lamp casted long, soft shadows over his body, bathing him in warm light that didn’t hide a single thing.

The bruises and bandage were in plain sight again.

You had noticed them when you were patching up his hands after you calmed him down that day, but under this light they looked worse. Deeper. Like violet clouds blooming beneath the surface of his skin. The bruising stretched across his ribs, wrapping over his sides and spilling faintly along the edges of his abdomen, as though he’d been caught in a collapse and had barely crawled out from under it. There were a few patches of gauze as well, from where splinters of furniture had scraped and cut him.

He had told you, through clenched teeth, that The Void had made him hurt himself. That in the haze of it all–in the fog of darkness and sadness–he had taken the pain out on himself instead of the furniture around his room. He punched himself, or at least Bob said he did.

It hurt to hear, and it was even more painful to see, yet you still patched him up with such gentleness that Bob felt like he was going to pass out.

Seeing them again made your throat tighten.

He didn’t seem to notice your expression. He was too focused on the motion–folding his shirt with such neatness before throwing it into the hamper. Like it was the only thing he could really control.

”If I told you…” You began softly, your voice low, hesitant, “You wouldn't believe me, Bob.” He paused. Looked over at you, brows drawn in quiet confusion. His concern was already building, you could feel it.

“Tr-Try me,” He said after a beat. You bit the inside of your cheek, gaze dropping to your hands where they rested on top of the blanket. Your thumbs brushed against the constellation of beauty marks scattered along your skin—small, quiet things you’d never thought much of before. But now…

Now, they burned.

Not in pain, but in memory.

You thought of what The Void had said. What he knew.

How Bob looked at them when he thought you weren’t watching. How he had memorized them–every last one. How they marked where your soulmate from a past life used to kiss you. That stupid piece of folklore you’d only ever half believed–until you saw what your kisses did to him.

The way the freckles had bled through the Void’s form like stars. Tiny galaxies lighting up the dark. One at a time. The shoulder. The spine. The base of his neck. His jaw. The more you kissed him, the more the darkness split open and Bob began to return–like you’d traced a map across his skin and led him home.

How were you supposed to say that out loud?

How were you supposed to tell him the most impossible thing you’d ever done felt like instinct? That somehow, without understanding how or why, your body knew the way back to him even when his mind didn’t?

So instead…You looked back up at him.

His eyes were on you, soft and waiting, concern already building in the faint knit of his brows.

“It’s really…” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, “…confusing, Bob.” That crease in his forehead deepened just slightly as he took a cautious step forward.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, once, immediately.

“No,” You said gently. “He didn’t. He can’t. He’s weak when he’s around me.”

You watched him exhale, the motion shaking slightly through his chest. His shoulders dropped, but his eyes stayed shadowed with something heavier–dread, maybe. Guilt. You reached over and flipped the blanket open without a word, and with your free hand, flicked off the bedside lamp.

Darkness swept across the room like a curtain. Not suffocating. Not cold. Just soft. Gentle shadows broken only by the pale blue glow from the window, where moonlight cut through the glass in long, quiet angles and kissed the walls.

Bob stood there for a moment–hesitating. His fingers flexed slightly at his sides, his gaze cast low like he didn’t quite feel worthy of crawling into the space beside you. You saw it in the way he lingered. The way his mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. The fear wasn’t just about him. It was about you–what might happen if he let himself close enough to need this. To need you.

“I’m just…” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, “I’m wo–worried one day he’s going to come out…And he’s go-going to hurt you.” You saw it in his face then–clearer than ever. The helplessness. The guilt. The ache of someone who had come back from a nightmare and didn’t know how to live in the aftermath.

So you didn’t argue. You didn’t offer platitudes.

You just opened your arms.

“Come here,” You whispered.

And that was enough.

He sighed, almost like it hurt to exhale, and crawled into the bed beside you. His movements were slow, careful, like he was trying not to make a ripple in the space around you. Like he thought too much weight in the wrong place might send you drifting away.

You slipped down further against the pillows, welcoming him in without hesitation, your arms curling around his body as he eased closer–until his head found its usual place.

Right over your heart.

He settled there gently, cheek pressing to your clothed chest like he’d done every night for the past few days. His arm came up slowly, resting across your stomach, the other curling underneath you, tentative fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt.

And you held him.

Without fear. Without judgment.

Your palm found the back of his head and slid into his soft light brown hair, your fingers already stroking the strands in a rhythm you’d learned by heart–slow, grounding, gentle.

He exhaled. You felt the breath fan across the fabric on your ribs, warming them slightly.

“He would never hurt me, Bob…” You murmured, your voice warm in the dark, your breath stirring his hair. “Because you would never hurt me.”

A silence fell then–full of trust.

He didn’t say anything, but his body responded. You felt the way he leaned in closer, his grip tightening around your waist, his weight shifting until he was almost curled into your side completely. Like he wanted to disappear into you. Like you were the only solid thing he trusted to anchor him back to himself.

“You don’t have to worry about me…” You added softly, pressing your lips gently to the crown of his head. He let out a small, shuddering sigh at the kiss. It was quiet–barely more than breath–but it echoed in the hush between you. His fingers twitched slightly where they clung to the fabric of your shirt, and then he nodded once, slow and reluctant.

“…Okay,” He whispered, the word brittle and small. Like he wanted to believe it. Like he didn’t, but was choosing to anyway.

Then came the silence.

Thick and warm and filled only by the slow cadence of your breath and his. The soft weight of his body curled around yours. The bed creaked faintly as you both shifted, but nothing broke the stillness of the room. Just the hush of safety. The quiet rhythm of presence.

You knew the exact moment he drifted off.

The soft whistle of air from his nose told you. That tiny snore that only came when he was crushed into you like this–cheek against your chest, limbs tangled beneath the comforter. You smiled faintly and kept your hand moving through his hair, threading your fingers through in a slow rhythm. A grounding gesture, more for him than for you…But now, maybe it was both.

You lost track of time like that.

Until something changed.

At first, it was subtle. A coolness in the air under the blanket–not cold exactly, but different. A shift in pressure, like something holding its breath.

Your fingers stilled.

And then you felt it. The texture. The change in the strands beneath your touch. They slipped too easily between your fingers now–too smooth, too silent. They didn’t catch the way hair should. Instead, they moved like silk underwater. Alive. Shifting.

You looked down.

The crown of his head had gone black. Not just shadowed. Not just dimmed. Black. Lightless, hollow, impossible. The kind of darkness that felt sentient. The kind that could swallow stars.

You didn’t move at first. Didn’t pull away. Just stared as the darkness spread, slow and sinuous–crawling down the back of his neck, across his shoulders, seeping into his skin like ink in water. The soft light from the window did nothing to touch it. It just disappeared into him.

And then, he moved.

Arms curling tighter around your waist, the way someone clings to the edge of a dream they’re afraid to wake from.

“No…” The voice came low and quiet. “…No, please. Do not stop suddenly because of me.” The Void’s tone was different from the last time you interacted with him. No malice. No venom. No harsh edge of control. It wasn’t a hiss–it was something closer to a plea. Gentle. Almost unsure. You froze. Heart pounding.

He didn’t move beyond that. Just stayed pressed against you, dark and heavy and cool, his face buried in your chest like nothing had changed at all.

“You…” He began, breath catching faintly, “You have absolutely ruined me.” Your hand hovered inches above where you’d been stroking his hair just moments ago, watching as tendrils of vantablack shadows exuded from his skin and crawled up your arms. Usually they recoiled when you were around, but not this time. It felt like a breeze. Cool and featherlight. Not invasive. Not consuming. Just…Explorative. Your breath hitched as they danced across your skin.

“…I didn’t do anything to you, Void.” You whispered, Your voice trembled, not from fear–but from the weight of the moment. From the ache in your chest that this darkness–the same darkness that once tried to devour the man you loved–was now wrapped around you like something desperate to stay.

He didn’t reply.

So you looked down.

And you saw all of him.

His entire form was draped in lightless shadow, vantablack and consuming, the folds of it shifting like living ink where he breathed against you. But within that sea of black, the constellations built from your kisses remained. Brighter now.

Over his shoulder, at his neck, on the dip of his spine. Every place where you had laid your lips to bring Bob back to you was shimmering. You had branded him, and it was evident by the way he was speaking.

”Where’s Bob?” You asked cautiously. The tendrils continued to slip up your skin, going beneath the sleeve of your t-shirt.

”He’s asleep…” The Void replied, the words soft, almost careful, “I promise…I’m not hurting him.” The tendrils continued to move beneath your shirt, curling gently along your ribs like they were memorizing you–your shape, your warmth. Not with hunger. Not with domination. But with need, and you allowed it…Because they hadn’t done anything to hurt you yet.

“Then…” You started, feeling your heart begin to pick up in pace, “Why are you here?” A silence stretched so long you thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then, with the faintest voice:

“…Because I needed to feel you again.”

Your breath caught.

You knew he felt it–your pulse thudding wildly beneath his ear. His head shifted slightly, like he was adjusting to the new rhythm. Listening to it. Drinking it in. You felt his face press even closer to your chest, like he was trying to lose himself in it. The tendrils climbed higher now, curling up your spine, slipping out from beneath the collar of your shirt like silk, wrapping around your shoulders, your throat–soft and slow, like they were bracing him for the words he hadn’t let himself say before.

“You…” He began, voice cracking slightly, “…Have taken me and ripped me apart–and you have no idea that you’ve done it. You closed your eyes tightly, chest tightening beneath the weight of that confession.

“Void, I–“ But he didn’t let you speak.

“I have never had my skin kissed…”

His voice was low and hoarse, but not from anger. It cracked with something deeper. Wreckage and worship all tangled together.

“I have never been treated with such gentleness in my entire existence,” He continued, lifting his head from your chest.

The weight of him shifted slightly, and you felt the cold brush of ink-light against your throat as he rose just enough to look up at you. His face was still veiled in darkness–no edges, no shape, just a silhouette of pure, living shadow–but those eyes…Those pale white pupils glowed like moons in an eclipse. Twin lights in the endless black.

His gaze bore into yours, not with fire, but with something aching. Broken. Like looking directly into grief that had finally grown too tired to be cruel.

“You marked me,” he breathed, and though his voice was still low, there was something fraying at the edges–tightness, tension, a tremble you didn’t often hear from him. “You’ve claimed what’s rightfully yours.”

Your breath caught, lips parting slightly as his eyes bore into you—those eerie, hollow white pupils that somehow shimmered with heat despite their cold hue.

“You have burned yourself into me,” he continued, and his voice cracked on the word burned, the sound splintering like the edges of a dam giving way. “Do you understand that? Do you understand what you’ve done?”

You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, he moved.

His hand–shaped from shadow but solid, braced itself on the mattress beside your ribs, and he slowly climbed higher, crawling up your body with a grace that was too fluid, too precise to be human. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he shifted, his form inching up until you were face to face–your back sinking deeper into the pillows while he loomed above, haloed in ink and moonlight.

The breath in your lungs hitched sharply.

He was so close now that you could feel the coolness radiating from him, his form drawing heat from the air around you. His breath–if it even was breath–fanned over your mouth in chilled waves. And yet somehow, it didn’t make you recoil. It made your skin spark. Tighten. Ache.

“I…” You whispered, but it came out barely audible.

His hand came up to your cheek then–tenderly. Not the shadow-tendrils this time. A hand. Cold. Unnatural. But steady. His thumb grazed the apple of your cheek, stroking slowly.

“…I woke something in you,” You continued, your own voice so fragile it nearly fell apart between syllables.

His touch faltered for half a second, but then he pressed his palm more firmly to your skin, as if grounding himself in it. Like he needed to feel you to keep himself from dissolving.

“I am cursed with the memory of your warmth, Y/N…” He admitted.

The way he said your name–it sounded like reverence and devastation folded into one.

“It has been plaguing me since you did this…”

His free hand reached across his body, brushing at the shimmering mark glowing faintly on his shoulder–right where you had kissed him first.

“Because I…” His voice dropped even lower, raspier, more ragged, “…I belong to you. And all I can have are these moments to admit it. These stolen minutes in the dark. And I can’t–I can’t take it anymore.”

You felt the mattress tremble faintly beneath his weight as another tendril slowly crept beneath the hem of your shirt. It slid along your skin with that same impossible gentleness, settling cold against the softness of your stomach. You inhaled sharply, your ribs stuttering under the touch. He noticed

“Void…” You murmured, a tremor slipping through your tone. “You can’t just come here and admit this stuff to me.”

His thumb traced your cheek again, slower now, and you saw his jaw tighten.

“…Why?”

You didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. But your eyes searched his, desperate for something to anchor to in the swirling dark. And then, quietly, you said the only name that ever broke him:

“Bob.”

He froze.

Swallowed hard. You watched the muscles in his neck twitch.

And then he spoke, each word like glass.

“Do you think Bob isn’t the main cause of all of this?” His voice trembled–not with anger, but something closer to despair. “Do you think my feelings are just… conjured up out of thin air?”

You didn’t breathe.

“We are connected,” He went on, more broken now, desperate. “His thoughts plague my mind just like my voice plagues his. His dreams. His love. I feel it. Every second. Every heartbeat he wastes on you, I feel it like a wound that never closes.”

The tendrils at your throat–already wrapped softly there–curled tighter. Still gentle. Still featherlight. Like hands cradling something delicate. Like the hands of someone scared to lose you.

“I can’t ignore the truth anymore,” He whispered. “Not when he dreams of you the way he does. Not when I dream of you now too. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, even though your breath still shook.

Even though your heart still pounded in your ears and your body felt caught between dread and something far more dangerous–want.

His hand cupped your jaw, the coolness seeping into your skin like mist through cloth, and he lowered his face even closer–so close your noses nearly brushed.

“Say it,” He whispered.

You swallowed.

“What?”

“Say you know,” He breathed, voice shaking now. “Say you know what you’ve done to me.”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Then quietly–so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a prayer–you whispered:

“…I know.” He didn’t move at first.

It was like the words had knocked the air from his lungs, like they’d rendered something inside him too stunned to function. You watched his mouth part slightly–lips trembling, breath shallow–and his pupils, those glowing pale moons, flicked down to your mouth.

And then…He leaned in.

So slowly. So hesitantly. As if he were expecting the moment to vanish before it touched him. His lips hovered a whisper above yours–cold, barely-there, and waiting for permission he didn’t know how to ask for.

So you gave it.

You tilted your chin, parted your lips just a breath–and then flicked your tongue out and lightly licked the soft curve of his bottom lip.

A sharp, guttural sound escaped him.

It wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t a gasp. It was something more primitive–like something inside him cracked wide open. Like the memory of your warmth came rushing back all at once and hit him like a storm. His whole form shivered beneath your touch, like even that much gentleness was too much to bear.

And then you kissed him.

Soft. Delicate. A press of lips that felt less like hunger and more like offering. A sacred thing. Like you were silently giving yourself to him–trusting him.

The tendril against your stomach quivered, then spread upward, curling slowly up your sternum. The coldness traced the line between your ribs with aching slowness, pulling goosebumps to your skin like the aftershock of a spell. Another tendril wrapped firmer around your back, pulling you upward, into him, and your hands moved before you could think.

You cupped his face.

Both palms against his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones as though trying to soothe the trembling that had begun shaking through his body. And he melted into it–like his form wasn’t solid anymore. Like the sheer weight of being held like this was more than he could survive.

He kissed you back–slowly at first, uncertain.

And then again. And again.

The whimper that escaped him was so raw it sounded like it hurt. Not from pain, but from feeling. From the overwhelming pressure of being kissed like this–like someone wanted him, all of him, even the parts he thought were unsalvageable.

You felt him shift.

The mattress dipped again as he leaned in heavier, his body pressing down into yours, his chest brushing yours. His weight was cold and foreign, but grounding. Not crushing. Not claiming. Just seeking. Wanting to be closer than was allowed.

Your legs parted instinctively beneath the blanket, and you wrapped them around his waist–lightly at first, tentative, as though testing if this was still okay. But when your calves settled around him, he let out another sound–a shaky, broken breath against your mouth that might have been the closest he could come to a thank you.

He deepened the kiss.

Not rough. Not fast. Just more. His mouth moved with such aching slowness against yours, lips cold but desperate to memorize you. He whimpered softly into your mouth, again and again, like the sound was being pulled out of him against his will.

Your hands kept moving. One stayed on his cheek, thumb stroking in soothing circles, but the other slipped down–over his neck, his shoulder, down along his ribs.

You felt him tremble.

Not from fear. But from need. That wild, hollow ache of something that had been starved of affection for so long, it didn’t know what to do with it now that it had finally been touched.

The shadows around you shifted, curling tighter around your form, but they didn’t hurt. They held. They cradled. They tethered. As though The Void himself couldn’t bear the thought of losing contact. Of being separated by even a breath of air.

And still, his mouth stayed on yours.

Whimpering. Trembling. Kissing you like your lips were the only thing keeping him tethered to the body he’d borrowed.

He pulled back slowly–too slowly, like leaving your mouth was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

When you opened your eyes, his were still closed.

His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged and shallow as if even the act of kissing had drained him. He was trembling–barely–but enough that you felt it through every place your bodies touched. You opened your mouth to speak, but then you saw it.

His lips.

Flecked with tiny white pinpricks of light. The same ones your other kisses had left in its wake. You reached up with slow fingers, reverent fingers, and gently traced the outline of his lips. His breath hitched violently, and his head dipped toward your palm like he couldn’t help it–like he was starved for it. Your thumb grazed the soft swell of his bottom lip.

He whimpered.

The sound was raw. Desperate. Almost painful.

You stilled immediately. “Void…?”

His eyes blinked open slowly–dim moons, fogged and trembling. His voice cracked as he whispered, “It…It hurts.”

Your heart clenched. “Hurts?”

He nodded faintly, almost ashamed. “I don’t…I don’t know how to process this. Being touched like that. Being kissed like that. It’s too much–” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, then exhaled shakily, as if trying to hold himself together.

“I can stop,” You offered softly, your hand still cupping his cheek, your thumb now brushing beneath his eye instead. “Just tell me and I’ll–”

“No.” His hand caught yours–shadowed, trembling, cold. “Don’t.” Another breath. “Please. Don’t stop. I just…I need to feel it all.”

You nodded once, slowly.

Then, he shifted.

He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, your leg still wrapped loosely around his waist. You followed easily, pressing your chest to his again, the blanket cocooning you both in warmth while his shadows curled tightly around you like a second skin. Your face was just inches from his, your breath mingling with his cool exhale.

Your hand slid down his jaw again, trailing lower this time–down his throat, over the defined line of his collarbone. Your palm remained splayed across his chest, cool beneath your fingers, rising and falling in shallow, stuttering breaths. His shadows still curled around you—gentle, clinging, trembling with a hunger that didn’t come from destruction, but from longing. From need. From the aching vulnerability of a god on his knees, cradled in human hands.

You tilted your head just slightly, forehead still grazing his, voice low and warm as you whispered:

“Tell me how it feels…”

Your thumb traced a soft arc over the center of his chest. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

A breath hitched. A sound caught in his throat—like he was about to speak, but it took him a second to find the strength.

“…Please…” His voice cracked—barely above a whisper, “Please just…keep touching me.”

That was all he could say. All he could manage.

So you did.

You moved slowly like you were tracing stardust across him, like every motion was meant to tell him I see you. Your hand slipped from his chest and down along his side, curling around his waist to hold him closer. The other stayed between you, lifting just slightly to stroke your fingertips along the line of his jaw. Then his cheek. Then into his hair again–inky and cool and shifting beneath your hand like it responded to your touch.

He sighed, trembling, and his own hand came forward to find your thigh beneath the blanket. Slowly. Carefully. He rested his palm there, large and cool against the bare skin just above your knee, like he was memorizing the shape of you. He inhaled sharply at the contact, the breath catching at the top of his chest before shaking loose in a low exhale through barely-parted lips.

His thumb stroked once. Then again. Small, grounding circles against the inside of your thigh, before his fingers curled slightly and gave it a gentle squeeze.

You swallowed.

Then you leaned forward, lips brushing the curve of his collarbone.

A kiss.

Then another.

Slower.

Lower.

You felt the exact moment he gasped–the motion rattling through his chest and into your mouth as you pressed another kiss just beneath the hollow of his throat. Light bloomed beneath your lips–those same soft pinpricks of white, growing like starlight across his dark skin.

“Oh god…” He breathed, his head tipping back slightly, exposing more of his neck to you. Inviting more of you.

It was a prayer and a confession and a surrender all at once.

You kissed higher, toward the edge of his shoulder, lips dragging softly along the cool skin, your nose brushing his throat as you whispered gently:

“You can have this…” Another kiss. “As long as you want.”

A low, broken sound escaped him–something between a moan and a whimper. His hand on your thigh tightened again, not roughly–just anchoring. Needing. Worshipping.

You moved back just enough to look at him again.

His glowing white eyes were glassy now, lids heavy, lips parted slightly. He looked completely undone. Not from lust. But from being seen. From being held.

Your hand came up to his face again, fingers tracing the hollow of his cheek.

“You’re not too much,” You murmured, answering the question he hadn’t dared ask aloud. “You’re not too cold. You’re not too broken. You’re not a mistake.”

His breath stuttered again. He blinked. You saw something fracture across his expression–something soft. Something grateful. Like you’d just rewritten a truth he thought he had to live with forever.

“Touch me again,” He whispered, voice breaking. “Please…”

You shifted closer until your chest pressed to his again, and your mouth returned to his neck. Kissing. Marking. Soft worship. Your hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers splaying wide, grounding him again. He whimpered, and you felt the sound vibrate against your lips.

The shadows around you pulled tighter–still not hurting, still not threatening. Just holding. Like they were trying to remember this moment. To keep it somehow. Etch it into the fabric of reality before it could slip away.

His hand remained anchored on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles into the warmth of your skin like he was committing it to memory. You felt him shift slightly–closer, heavier. His mouth brushed against your cheek.

And then came the question.

“Can I touch you?”

It was soft. Wrecked. Almost reverent.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face–those pale, glowing eyes dim and unsure, shadowed by something fragile.

“Where?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

Instead, his hand slid higher.

Cool fingers brushing up along your thigh, along the hem of your sleep shorts, until his knuckles just barely grazed the waistband. He paused there, eyes searching yours—studying. Not demanding. Just waiting.

And you saw it again–the way his breath caught. The tremble in his touch. The restraint of a creature that could ruin you in a heartbeat…but didn’t want to. Couldn’t.

You nodded.

And he moved.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband.

You gasped sharply.

The cold was immediate–like shadow-dipped silk gliding against your heat. Not harsh. Not jarring. Just the opposite. The contrast made your body tense, then melt. He felt it—how wet you already were for him–and his breath stuttered, just once.

“Oh…” You gasped.

His other hand rose slowly, almost uncertainly, and came to cradle the side of your neck–his palm cool and steady as his thumb stroked under your jaw, grounding you again. The feel of his fingers below was almost unbearable now.

“You’re so warm, Y/N…” He whispered, and it wasn’t just awe in his voice–it was longing. Worship. “So…So warm…”

His fingers moved gently between your folds, slowly, like he was learning you by touch alone. His middle finger dipped lower, parting your slick with a trembling kind of care, until he found the delicate ache at your entrance.

Your breath hitched.

He stroked along it once–soft and teasing–and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. Your hips twitched forward, chasing the sensation, and he groaned low in his throat like the sound of your pleasure was more than he could bear.

“I want…” You breathed, voice trembling. “Guide me to you. I want to touch you too.”

There was no hesitation.

One of the tendrils–slow and patient–slid down your arm like ribbon, curling around your wrist. It coaxed your hand forward, easing beneath the blanket, through shadow and warmth and the press of his form, sliding beneath his waistband until–

You felt him.

Hard.

Straining.

Solid heat beneath impossibly cool skin.

You couldn’t see it. But you knew. The thickness. The weight. The need that pulsed there.

Your fingers curled instinctively around him, and he jolted–his whole body twitching with the contact, breath torn from his lungs in a raw, shuddering gasp.

“Oh god…” He whispered, barely coherent.

You palmed him gently, dragging your hand along the length of him, feeling a wet spot already forming at the tip. His hips flexed forward into your touch. The tendrils around your wrist tightened–just slightly–like they couldn’t bear to let go.

And still, his fingers moved.

He slipped one inside you–slow, so slow–and you cried out, arching into him.

“Void…” You moaned, your voice breaking. “Your fingers feel so good…”

His mouth dropped open at the sound, and he groaned into your neck–low and trembling and desperate. His finger curled inside you, and then another joined–his thumb pressing up, slow and steady against your clit in small, precise circles.

His fingers thrust into you with more confidence now, the earlier hesitation melting away as he felt your heat clench greedily around him. He groaned raggedly against your skin, the sound low and fractured as he buried his face in your neck. Your wrist flexed in rhythm, stroking the length of him with slow, coaxing pulls, and his hips twitched forward again, seeking more.

“Fuck–” He breathed softly into your throat, reverence and disbelief tangled in the single word.

The slick sounds between your thighs were unmistakable now–vivid, shameless, echoing beneath the blanket like they were announcing just how wet you were for him. Every time his fingers curled just right, your hips rolled down into them, grinding against his palm, chasing that pressure. You could feel yourself dripping–your sleep shorts were clinging now, damp and sticky, soaked through as he thrust deeper.

Then he did it–he nipped at your neck. Gentle, testing, like he wasn’t sure how much you could take. His lips grazed your pulse point, breath cooling the heated skin, and then–he latched on.

You gasped sharply, your whole body arching into him.

“V–Void–” You moaned, a tremble shaking through your voice as your hand jerked on his cock, stroking him with firmer, wetter pulls. “That…Fuck, that felt–”

You didn’t even finish.

He groaned at your reaction, grinding his palm up against your clit harder now, his fingers pumping faster, deeper, slicker. The cold contrast of him inside you made the heat coil impossibly tight in your core, and your thighs began to tremble.

You moved your hand faster, too. Dragging your fist up the thick, throbbing length of him, curling your fingers tighter at the base, and then slipping upward, smearing the precum across the tip with your thumb. You could feel him twitching in your palm, feel how much it wrecked him to be touched like this–reverently, intimately, possessively.

“Please–” He rasped, breath hot against your neck. “I can’t–if you keep touching me like that–”

You clenched around his fingers hard, your hips grinding down with desperate rhythm.

“I know…I know…But please don’t stop,” You whispered.

And he didn’t.

He fucked his fingers into you harder–faster–his wrist snapping with a precision that felt unfair. You sobbed his name into his shoulder, your hand jerking reflexively on his cock as your thighs spread wider, desperate to keep feeling him.

Then–his thumb pressed up again, harder, tighter, and you shattered.

It wasn’t a soft climax.

It hit like thunder.

You gasped–a sharp, breathless sound–and your thighs clamped down around his wrist as your hand spasmed and gripped his cock tightly. Your whole body bucked as your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and wet, your walls clenching wildly around his fingers as a gush of slick spilled into your shorts and soaked his hand.

“Oh, fuck–” He groaned, nearly collapsing into you, his voice broken with awe. “You–god, you just–”

Your hand slipped off him, limp with aftershock, and he kept his fingers inside you as you shook.

You were still gasping when he pulled back–just slightly–and looked down at you.

The mark on your neck pulsed dark in the moonlight.

He stared at it.

Then he leaned down again and bit you.

Not gently this time.

He sunk his teeth–sharp, deliberate–right over the place he’d already kissed, right over your pulsing artery. You gasped again, your fingers tightening in his hair as your hips jerked.

When he pulled back, you were panting–and the look on his face…

Pure, holy vengeance.

The bruise he left bloomed immediately. Deep, dark, and possessive. A perfect mirror to the stars you had carved into his skin with your kisses.

He gazed down at it with a look of worship and darkness all at once.

“That,” He murmured, his voice low and ruined, “Is going to be very hard to explain tomorrow.”

And the smirk that curved his mouth was slow, dangerous, and devastatingly beautiful.

You leaned in first. Pressed a soft, breathless kiss to his parted lips, catching the last remnants of that smirk and stealing it right from his mouth. Your lips brushed, warm against his cold, a slow drag of reverence and claim. Then you whispered against him:

“It’s alright. I’ll figure it out.”

He barely had time to respond before you kissed him again–deeper this time, with heat that made his hands twitch on your thigh. His shadows curled tighter around your hips, bracing for something neither of you could take back.

When you finally pulled away, breath caught in the space between you, your voice dropped to a sultry whisper:

“Lay on your back.”

His pale eyes squinted, caught between suspicion and arousal. “Why?” He rasped.

You leaned close to his ear, let your lips ghost over the shell of it, and whispered:

“’Cause I want you inside me.”

You felt him shudder.

Hard.

The kind of involuntary, whole-body tremor that pulled a sound from his throat–quiet, ragged, and guttural.

Without another word, he obeyed.

The mattress shifted beneath you as he slowly laid back, shadows slithering and curling beneath his spine like smoke. His eyes never left you–not once. Even as your thigh slipped from around his waist, even as you reached down, dragging your soaked sleep shorts down your trembling legs.

You peeled them off inch by inch, slow and deliberate, the cool air grazing your slick thighs as you bared yourself to him. Then your shirt followed. Pulled over your head, discarded to the side.

You were completely bare now–bathed in moonlight, glowing like the stars that had once kissed his skin.

The Void’s body shifted beneath you, shadows writhing like living breath across the sheets. You heard fabric rustle faintly, and then felt it–the brush of his length against your thigh, already slick with precum, already straining.

You climbed over him slowly.

His gaze followed every motion, those glowing white pupils wide and ravenous. His chest barely moved with breath, but his body was tense beneath you–cold and waiting.

The second your knees straddled his waist, his eyes dropped to your chest.

And he sighed.

The sound was deep. Hollowed out. Full of awe.

“Dear god…” He whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

His hands rose almost reverently and cupped your breasts. He gave one a gentle squeeze, like he was testing its realness, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, cool and soft, sending a rush of heat straight through your core.

Around you, the tendrils stirred again.

They slipped along your sides, brushing over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs. Cascading up your back and down your arms in slow, possessive strokes. Not gripping. Just…Holding. Just reminding you that he was everywhere.

You shifted above him, and he let out a low, ragged sigh at the feel of your soaked core dragging over the length of his erection. The contrast of temperature was almost unbearable–your heat against his endless cold.

His hands dropped to your hips, fingers splaying wide, grounding himself in the feel of you.

You rose up slightly, just enough to reach between you, guiding his cock with careful fingers. You lined him up with your entrance, already so wet and aching it made you whimper.

Then you began to sink down.

The stretch made your mouth fall open immediately–a burning, slow ache as your walls parted for him inch by inch. He was cold inside you. Not harsh. Not unnatural. Just…different. Like your warmth was the only thing tethering him to this plane.

He whimpered the moment your heat began to envelope him.

And god, it was a sound you’d never forget–wrecked and vulnerable, a gasp that trembled with disbelief.

You sank down slower, hands braced on his chest, shadows curling tighter around your back. The pressure built. The stretch deepened. The burn crawled higher. Your jaw went slack, eyes fluttering shut.

“F-fuck,” You choked softly, your voice breaking. “You’re…bigger than I thought.”

The Void whimpered again, trying not to move, hands gripping your hips like restraint was the only thing keeping him intact.

“You’re so warm,” He whispered hoarsely. “So tight. I–god, you feel like fire.”

You moaned at the way he filled you–deep and cold and aching. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him as you finally settled, fully seated on him, the stretch bringing on a delicious pulse between pleasure and burn.

He was still.

Too still.

Like if he moved too fast, this would all disappear.

So you leaned forward again, your palms sliding up his chest, your lips brushing his temple. He let out a low, airy sigh as you leaned forward again, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another to the ridge of his cheekbone. Another to the tip of his nose. You felt him shiver beneath you, his pale eyes fluttering shut like he couldn’t bear the sensation of it–like he didn’t know how to accept being touched so gently, so freely. But still, he held perfectly still. Breathing shallow, jaw slack, letting you do it.

And each kiss left behind a soft gleam of white light.

Tiny constellations bloomed where your mouth had landed–stars flaring into life against the shadowed surface of his face. They shimmered softly in the moonlight, and when you pulled back to admire him, the image took your breath away.

He looked…Ruined. Worshipped. Unmade by your love.

“I’m not going to be able to strike fear into anyone,” He murmured, voice hoarse and trembling, “If you keep kissing my face and marking me like this.”

You laughed–a soft, breathy thing that shook lightly through your chest. “Say it’s a birthmark.” His hands clenched at your hips in that moment–fingers digging in with involuntary need–and his hips shifted, just slightly, a subtle thrust upward from beneath you.

It was enough.

Your laugh caught in your throat and turned into a sharp gasp as he nudged deeper inside, your body seizing around him in a sudden ripple of tightness.

“Shit,” You breathed, eyes flying open, “you can’t do that.”

His eyes widened slightly–moons gone soft with remorse.

“I’m sorry,” He rasped, voice thin and stunned, hands relaxing on your hips like he thought he might’ve hurt you.

You shook your head immediately, one hand bracing against his chest, the other sliding up his jaw.

“No, no–it’s alright,” You murmured gently. “Just caught me off guard.”

Then you leaned in slowly, mouth brushing along the edge of his jaw, your breath warming the cool skin as you whispered, “But…Does this mean I can start moving now?”

His response was instant.

A nod. Wild and desperate. Then another–faster, almost frantic. His eyes locked on yours, pupils wide and glowing as he whispered, “Yes. Please. I need you to.”

You smiled softly.

And then you moved.

The first roll of your hips was slow. Measured. A gentle pull upward, and then a careful drop back down. The stretch flared again, sweet and biting, your breath catching as you sank onto him fully, the thick weight of his cock dragging deliciously along your walls.

Beneath you, he groaned–low and guttural and barely restrained.

His hands clenched again at your waist, not guiding you, just holding. Just grounding himself. Like the pleasure was too much and he needed your body beneath his palms to remember he was still here.

You rocked again.

A slow, rhythmic grind of your hips that pressed him impossibly deep, the angle shifting just enough that the drag of his cock against your walls made you moan. The pressure mounted with every roll–an intoxicating, needy heat spreading through your core as he filled you, stretched you, worshiped you without even moving.

And he just lay there–utterly undone–letting you take him apart.

“Fuck,” You breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel…So good, Void.”

He whimpered.

That same raw, involuntary sound he made every time your body clenched around him. His breath trembled. His hands flexed.

And then the tendrils began to move.

They curled along your back first–sliding up your spine, cool and slow, trailing over your skin like ribbons of silk. Then two more snaked down your thighs, wrapping around them just beneath your hips. Not restraining. Just holding. Guiding. Supporting you where his hands couldn’t reach.

They moved with you.

Rising as you lifted yourself. Lowering as you dropped down again.

Like they were learning your rhythm.

Your pace quickened slightly, each drop down onto his cock making your thighs tremble, each upward lift a delicious drag of heat and friction. Your hands pressed harder against his chest now, fingers splayed, nails curling slightly into the shadows that made up his skin.

And he was gone.

Eyes wide open now, lips parted in breathless awe, head tipped back into the pillow as he took everything you gave him. Every roll of your hips, every breathless moan. His eyes flicked down to your chest, to the way it bounced with every motion, and he groaned aloud–his hips twitching up into you for the first time in response.

You gasped.

“Void–” You choked.

“I’m sorry,” He rasped again, but there was no restraint this time. His voice was wrecked with need. “I need to–I need to feel you more–”

You leaned down and took his face in your hands again, kissing him hard, your mouth sliding against his with heat and hunger as your hips began to move faster. The sound of your slick echoing now–wet and open and filthy–as he fucked up into you with trembling precision.

The tendrils climbed again.

They ghosted over your breasts, curling gently around them, cool and reverent as they cupped your weight. One traced the curve of your throat. Another danced down the arch of your back, grounding you through every bounce, every roll, every stutter of your breath.

You moaned into his mouth.

He caught the sound and swallowed it–his tongue slipping into your mouth with the most delicate desperation, kissing you like he was starved, like he’d never get to do it again.

You broke the kiss only long enough to pant against him, your forehead pressed to his as you gasped, “Push me down onto you.”

His breath caught.

And he obeyed.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he braced you, holding you still against him–just for a moment–before he thrust up hard.

You cried out, the sharp pleasure of it shocking through your nerves like lightning. The tendrils cinched tighter, wrapping you in a cocoon of darkness as his pace began to build beneath you–slow but deep, precise, controlled only by the fragility of your body above him.

Your voice broke on another moan. “Don’t stop, please, I’m–I’m gonna–”

And then you shattered again.

Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, clenching tight around him, soaking him in wet heat as your nails dug into his shoulders and your head fell forward with a cry.

He gasped.

And then he came.

With a broken moan and a hoarse curse, his body convulsed beneath you, his hands yanking your hips down hard–burying you to the hilt–holding you there as he spilled inside you, cold and heavy and endless.

The tendrils trembled around you, tightening like a final embrace, like they were anchoring him to you while his body seized with pleasure. His mouth parted, breath ragged, eyes squeezed shut as his hips stuttered up one more time–and then he collapsed back into the bed, shaking.

You slumped over him, forehead resting on his shoulder.

Breathless. Glowing. Slick and ruined and full.

His arms came around you slowly, delicately–like he wasn’t sure you’d allow it. But you did. You melted against him, chest pressed to his cool skin, the soft weight of your body settling atop his as you began to breathe in sync.

Your exhales mingled. Your heartbeats echoed, uneven but slowly evening out.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, quivering waves beneath your cheek, and beneath the chill of his skin, you could feel his pulse–faint, strange, but steady. You rested your palm just over it, grounding yourself there, listening to the rhythm until it felt like your own.

The tendrils around you loosened only slightly–enough to ease the tension from your limbs without breaking contact. They kept stroking softly along your back, trailing up and down your spine with gentle pressure, like they were comforting you…Or comforting him through you.

After a moment, you finally lifted your head.

And you stilled.

Your gaze caught the faint white gleam scattered across his face. Dozens of tiny marks, scattered like freckles–no, constellations. Traced by your lips. Etched like a map across the bridge of his nose, along his cheeks, across his temple, haloing his brow. You couldn’t help it–you let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Jesus,” You whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone, “I really did a number on you.”

He blinked slowly, still catching his breath, then smirked faintly. “Can’t pass it off as a birthmark anymore, hmm?”

You shook your head, amused, gaze tracing every speck of light you’d left behind.

“No… definitely not.” Your fingertips danced over them again, tender, reverent. “But they’re really pretty.”

His mouth quirked upward into something close to a grin–more tooth than smirk this time. You saw the faint flash of his teeth, sharp but clean, like fangs made for something more elegant than violence.

“Lucky it doesn’t pass off to Bob,” He said, voice still low, hoarse. “He’d have even more to explain than you.”

You snorted softly and shifted a little against him, letting your forehead rest beside his. “He’d never live it down. Walker would never stop asking questions.”

“Or Ava,” Void added. “She’d try to scrub them off with a washcloth.”

You both chuckled quietly, the sound soft in the quiet hush of the room. The tendrils still moved slowly across your skin–trailing along your lower back, curling gently around your ribs, one brushing softly against the back of your knee where it hooked loosely over his hip.

“I think…” He murmured after a beat, “he’ll definitely be happy tomorrow morning though.”

You looked at him, blinking slowly.

“But you will have to talk to him about this.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

Then, after a beat of hesitation, you admitted, “The soulmate thing may confuse him though.”

The Void hummed softly, the sound vibrating deep in his chest beneath you. “Leave that out,” He murmured, tilting his head slightly. “I think it technically applies to only you and I anyway.”

That made your heart thump–once, hard.

You swallowed, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

A shimmer of light bloomed beneath your lips.

His whole body tensed.

Every tendril tightened slightly around you–not harshly, but as if the entire mass of shadows needed to hold you in place, needed to feel every second of that kiss, needed to memorize it.

You pulled back slightly and whispered, “Void…”

His head turned slowly toward you, that expression unreadable but open, mouth slightly parted.

“Yeah?”

You brought your hand up to his face again, palm cradling his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact, breath hitching.

“I was really wrong about you.”

His jaw tensed beneath your palm. You felt it–just for a moment–before he whispered, “It’s okay… I made multiple bad impressions and you had a right to dislike me.” He takes a moment, and presses his cheek into your touch. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You leaned in slowly.

And kissed him again.

Right in the center of his lips.

Another star flickered into life.

His breath hitched audibly this time, chest quaking beneath you, eyes still shut like he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in that moment. Couldn’t believe he was being forgiven.

You rested your forehead against his.

And whispered, “And I’m glad you weaken me…”

His eyes blinked open slowly, lashes brushing your cheeks from how close you were.

“…Because you make me feel a little more human.”

He didn’t answer.

Not aloud.

Instead, the tendrils coiled tightly around your back, around your thighs, around your shoulders–pulling you closer, tighter, until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

And for the first time, The Void didn’t feel like a monster at all.

He just felt like a man who finally knew what it was like to be loved.

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