parker-barnes-af

[parker-barnes-af]

Masterlist

Hello lovelies it’s been brought to my attention that masterlists would be nice so here is mine :)

I’ll go back and add different warnings later bc I’m at work rn and couldn’t get too detailed since I’m using my phone but it’ll look different soon ❤️

* smut

* fluff

Clark Kent x Reader

Movie night *

Late night *

One room one bed *

Christmas in July *

Fake boyfriend *

New Years Kiss *

Teasing *

Red Sun Phenomenon *

Jealous *

Shattered Secrets *

Strangers in a Bookstore *

Lover Girl *

Smallville, USA *

I knew it *

Yoga *

Naughty list *

Unspoken *

Blind date part two **

Lightning Strike *

Heat rises *

Coconut lotion and betrayal *

Powerless *

Wedding Plus One *

Take me home *

Form Check *

[parker-barnes-af]

everyday superheroes | c. kent

Pairing: Clark Kent x coworker!reader

Tags/warnings: sfw, female reader, use of y/n, pure fluff, falling slowly, confession of love

Word count: 5.9k

Note: Pure fluff, you find out that Clark is Superman. i felt so soft writing this, he's so sweet

FRONT PAGE CONTEST

FIRST PRIZE, TWO WEEKS PAID VACATION

Write the best article to land the front page, due at the end of this month. Your article should…

The three of you crowded around the bulletin board, lips moving as you read with furrowed eyebrows. Lois stood to your left, arms crossed with a coffee in one hand, resting her weight on one leg. Jimmy, to your right, used his finger to read along with the words in disbelief. 

“2 weeks…” you broke the silence.

“Paid vacation. Am I dreaming?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide at the paper.

Around the simple A4 paper were various documents of importance such as tax forms, police reports or school transcripts, but at that moment they were insignificant. That simple contest paper brought hope and longing as you all went back to your seats, dreaming of what you would do during those 2 weeks.

“I think I will just stay on my couch. I won’t get up for the entire two weeks.” Lois said, leaning on her desk and taking a sip of her coffee. “I’ll order takeout, eat terribly, and catch up on all the shows I’ve been missing.”

“That sounds lame,” Jimmy interjected “I’m going traveling.” He pointed his thumb at his chest. 

“This big guy will be resting on the beach. In this hand, a pina colada,” He held up one hand to mimic holding a drink “in the other, the sunscreen I’ll be reapplying over and over again as I spend all day at the beach.” He mimed rubbing sunscreen up and down his arms, making you and Lois laugh.

While the three of you judged if takeout or the beach was better, Clark sneaked into the room. Well, as much as a tall and big man could sneak. But the three of you didn’t notice, debating which show y’all would watch. He set his bag down on his desk, listening in to your conversation. He didn’t really know what you all were talking about, but he loved listening to all the laughter.

“Oh! Clark there you are.” Lois said, finally greeting the gentle giant.

“Hey guys.” He meekly said. Jimmy came over and turned him around, shoving him towards the bulletin board. 

“Go check that out, big guy.” He returned to his spot as Clark made his way to the board. “Y/n, what about you?”

“Me?” you questioned. “Oh gosh, it could be a lot of things. I like the sound of the beach or chilling at home…” You trailed off, considering what you would do with two weeks. Clark read the paper on the wall before straining his ears to listen to your answer.

“I think I'd like to go back to my family's farm, help them around the farm.”

“Labor? On your two weeks off?” Lois looked at you dumbfoundly. Your cheeks turned red at the attention.

“I think it’s a great way to turn your brain off. You know exactly what to do and what the result will be. I till the field, crops will grow successfully. I give feed to the chickens, they will eat it. It’s the exact opposite of here.” You defended.

You didn’t notice Clark walk back over, so many questions for you on his tongue. He didn’t know that you grew up on a farm, you never talked about your home. He found himself leaning closer to you to hear your next words. His attention on you was interrupted by Jimmy.

“Smallville, what about you? Would you go home as well?” 

He tore his eyes away from you, a faint blush running up his neck. He nodded, not trusting his own voice. Lois scoffed, turning back to Jimmy to argue Love House was a better tv show than 60 Day Fiancee. You listened, easily forgetting about the discussion. You let yourself join in, instigating the conversation to get the two to fight, laughing when they did.

When you all were packing up at the end of the day, your conversation returned to the contest. The four of you talked about what would be worthy. The mayor’s current scandal was brought up, as well as the oil spill across the country, the flood in the subway system, or the corruption at the UN. But the conversation always turned towards one subject.

“Well, Superman will always get front page.” Lois mentioned, popping some gum in her mouth. “And he only ever interviews with one reporter.” 

Lois held up the latest newspaper. The front page had a picture of Superman smiling at a little girl who was giving him a beaded bracelet that spelt out ‘Superman’. Underneath the photo read Clark Kent. The three reporters turned to give a pointed look at Clark, who cowered under their stares.

“What I wouldn’t give to interview him.” You sighed wistfully. “I bet he gives such clear, honest answers. I’m tired of interviewing politicians.” 

The conversation turned to other topics as you all walked down the hallway. When it narrowed, you fell in step beside Clark. After a few steps, his comment was quiet, but rang loud in your ear.

“I could get an interview for you.”

You stopped, your hands rushing to cover your open mouth in shock. Clark stopped next to you.

“But, don’t tell anyone!” He quietly ushered, stepping in front of you to cover your reaction from the others, who hadn’t even noticed you both stopped.

“Could you really?” muffled behind your hands, but the surprise rang true. You, interviewing Superman? It was a dream come true.

“I can’t promise anything, but I can always ask.”

You squealed and jumped up and down, throwing your hands around him. He stiffened underneath your touch, his hands awkwardly out in the air. You repeated your thanks in his ear, pulling away to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise!” You smiled brightly at him before running off to catch up with the others, a jump in your step.

Clark looked at your retreating form in awe, a hand coming up to softly press his fingertips on the place your lips touched. His stomach twisted in knots at the simple action, and he couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on his face. Hesitancy was replaced by excitement as he considered the interview, his ears picking up your delightful giggle from the end of the hallway.

At midday the following day, you slowly wheeled your chair over to Clark’s desk. You rested your elbow on his desk and your cheek in your hand as you watched him type. Your gaze felt warm on his skin.

“I don’t want to rush into anything,” you whispered “but do you know when Superman might be free?” Your eyelashes batted at him, a soft smile on your face.

“Uh, I haven’t seen him since we talked last night, so I’m not sure.” He watched your face fall, and quickly added “But you’ll be the first to know!”

For the next few days you did small things for him to show your appreciation, and it made Clark fluster at the attention. You made him lunch, spoke up in meetings to defend his ideas, and gave him a fresh pack of pens - the kind with the fast drying ink and small nib.

It was a good excuse to treat him as he should be. You never wanted to make your crush obvious and put him in a difficult position, but this presented a new opportunity. Your kind actions were seen as repayment, not flirting. Kind compliments and small gifts for the interview he would secure you, not that you wanted to hold his hand and call him yours.

You were alone in the copy room when you heard the door behind you open and close. 

“Sorry, I think I jammed the printer. We may have to call mainten-” 

“I got you the interview.”

You whipped around, looking at Clark’s hunched form in the doorway. His hands nervously fidgeted at his side as his eyes found yours and darted away. An excited laugh left your throat as you bound over to him. Your hands grasped his, bouncing on the balls of your feet and looking up at him.

“Really, really, really? I’m going to interview Superman!” You said a little too loudly.

“Shh! I don’t want other people hearing.” Instinctively his hand covered your mouth, muffling your laughter. You could feel your cheeks warm at his action. The two of you stayed still for a moment, Clark feeling your breath on his palm and you feeling the weight of his hand. After a moment he pulled away, offering an apology.

“When do I get to meet him?” You changed the subject, trying to hide your embarrassment. 

“He offered tomorrow night, 8PM, on top of the Pearl apartments.”

You gasped, a hand covering your mouth. Clark’s stomach twisted as he remembered his hand was just there and pushed down the thought.

“That’s my apartment building!” You exclaimed in a hushed whisper, looking at him with a bewildered look.

“That’s just lucky, I guess.”

“Just my luck! Oh, this is the best day of my life. Thank you so much Clark, I owe you a big one!” 

Your hands wrapped around his torso, leaning in close so your head was on his chest. His chest rapidly rose and fell as he looked down at you. His arms found their way around your shoulders as his mind raced with the thought of meeting you tomorrow but as Superman, and he wondered if you would see right through his lie.

The next day went by in a whirlwind. You had a brightness to you, smiling all day and being extra nice. You hummed a sweet melody as you bounded back to your desk from the printer, organizing the papers and marking the questions that are most important.

“Okay spill.” Lois called from next to you with a quizzical look. “What’s got you all cheerful? You got a hot date or something?” 

She laughed at her own joke, but stopped when she noticed you giggle. You hid your wide smile with the papers in your hand, scrunching your face before trying to play it off cool.

“Wait, really?” Lois stood up and walked over to you, holding her hand out as if it held a fake microphone.

“Miss, miss! Can you comment on your hot date tonight?”

“No comment.” You giggled again, unable to hide your childlike joy. At this point Jimmy had wheeled over, pestering you about your date.

Clark was still at his desk, his back turned towards you. However, he was not doing any work, instead paying close attention to your conversation. Your laughter caressed his ears and found home in his heart, making it flutter at the sound. You hadn’t denied it was a date. Did you not want to tell them?

“I’m heading out early.” You said, swinging your coat over your arm. Lois and Jimmy groaned at the lack of information they were getting from you.

“Enjoy your date!” Jimmy called after you.

The rest of the night seemed to crawl. You had already taken a shower, eaten a light dinner, rehearsed your questions over and over again, and checked your makeup multiple times. Even with all the prep, you were still nervous. So nervous that you felt like throwing up. Or running a marathon. Either way, your nerves were shot.

You were about to interview Superman. The Superman. The charismatic, cool headed, handsome Superman. You felt incredibly lucky to interview him, especially since he only ever chooses Clark. Your mind turned to the man who gave you the opportunity. What should you do to thank him? Would a nice dinner suffice? It would be an excuse to be with him alone. The thought had you nervous in other ways. Although you had joked that this was a date at the office, you were hoping that Clark would say something. Was it childish, trying to inspire jealousy? Maybe it was, you cringed.

The clock ticked by slowly, steadily, until it read 7:55PM. You grabbed your notebook, recorder, and a pen, before heading to the roof. The rooftop of your apartment building wasn’t cosy, but it would work. Scattered chairs lay about, making you wish you brought a rag to at least wipe some down. You wondered if Superman would sit during the interview.

“It’s okay, it’s just an interview,” you spoke to yourself, wiping some dirt off of chairs with your jacket. “Just get through your questions like you had planned. Be kind, but firm. It’s no one special, it’s just Superman.”

“Just Superman?”

You spun on your heel and looked over the side of the building. Superman hovered slightly above the building, looking at you with a small smile.

“I’m hurt. I thought this was a date?”

You could feel your cheeks grow red as you stammered, trying to think of anything to say.

“A-a-a date? No! Where did you hear that?” You laughed. You made a mental note to confront Clark about telling work conversations to Superman. Embarrassment flooded through you.

“Please! Sit!”

You were overenthusiastic. So much for the pep talk. Superman gently brought himself to the building and landed on the roof, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt pinned under his gaze, as if you were being observed.

“I really, really appreciate this interview. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you, or if I’m not as talented as Mr. Kent.” You rambled slightly, gesturing for him to sit in the chair as you assumed the other seat. As he walked to the seat opposite you, you watched how his broad shoulders were adorned with the cape, flapping gently in the wind. You pulled your eyes away.

“Not at all, Clark has told me great things about you. He said you were one of the best reporters, and that I am in good hands.”

Well, maybe you won’t be too hard on Clark.

The interview went by smoothly, with Superman being honest and open. A few times you noticed yourself losing attention as your eyes wandered his form, or focused on the way his mouth formed words. You forced yourself out of it, not noticing the small smile on his lips.

Your finger pressed the stop button on the recorder as you closed your notebook.

“Thank you so much, Superman. I really appreciate you taking the time to be interviewed by me, it was truly an honor.”

“The pleasure is all mine, miss.” A wide smile adorned his face. “Is there anything you want to personally know? Off the record?” He offered.

Clark was good at donning a certain persona of his work self. Meek, quiet, not in the way or anyone. While Superman was closer to his actual personality, he found himself slipping into habits of his work personality. One was getting nervous at everything you did, even hanging onto every breath you exhaled or words that left the tip of your tongue. This was one of those times. He watched you chew your lip in thought. 

“What is it like to fly?”

“To fly?”

“It seems like it would be fun! I mean, if you wanted to grab a croissant from Paris it would only take you 20 minutes-”

"7 minutes.” he interrupted quietly with a shrug of his shoulders, as if bragging.

“Or a fur coat from Russia in no time at all.” you continued, not listening to him “and I bet traffic is never an issue for you, and to see the stars from another angle.” Your eyes drifted upwards with a sigh, looking at the clear night.

Clark's eyes stayed on you, observing the wistful way you looked at the sky. He didn’t mean to say it, and has never offered it before. It’s almost like another being forced him to stand, to outstretch his hand to you.

“Would you like to see them up close?”

You looked at his outstretched hand, then back at him. From this view he looked angelic, as if offering this to you was nothing other than offering a child a toy. Wordlessly you slipped your hand into his, standing up. He pulled you in closer.

“Is it alright if I carry you?” He asked, his arm hovering above your waist. 

You nodded, feeling the weight of it around your waist as he maneuvered you to hold you in his arms. He picked you up in a princess carry like it was nothing, a small surprised noise leaving your throat. This caused a hearty laugh from him as he looked down at you. Your breath felt like it was stolen as you looked at his face, the moonlight bouncing off his curls.

“I won’t drop you, I promise.” Superman said, and you believed it. There was a weight to his words, a hero's promise.

“Should I… should I be holding you?” You asked, unsure what to do.

“Nope,” he grinned, “just try not to scream too loud.”

Before you could even blink, Superman and you left the apartment roof, flying upwards through the air. A surprised scream left you at the sudden change before you buried your face in his chest, the wind whipping around the both of you. Clark tried not to go too fast, but enjoyed the close feeling of you pressed into him. He wasn’t going to go too far up, but just enough to get away from the light pollution and give you a good view of the city. Once he got to his desired height he slowed to a stop.

"Alrighty, you can open your eyes.”

You did as you were told, looking at Superman with wide eyes. He looked up, prompting you to follow his gaze. You gasped at what you saw. While stars were visible in Metropolis, it wasn’t like this. More stars than ever were visible, with barely any of the dark sky to be seen.

“Is that…”

“Yes, that’s our galaxy.” Superman finished your thought. The night sky shone brightly, the milky way shining brilliantly. “It’s peaceful up here, isn’t it? Sometimes after a fight, I like to come up here and admire the stars in the silence. At this height, all my problems seem so small.”

He looked down at you, watching as the stars seemed to reflect in your eyes. Clark's heart tightened, a familiar ache settling in his chest. He had thought that an interview would be fine, that his feelings would be fine, but they seem to increase every time he’s with you.

“It’s beautiful, Superman.” You said, still taking in the wonders.

“Kal-El.” He responded. You turned your head to find him already looking at you.

“Kal-El.” You said, and Clark thought he would die at the way his name fell from your lips. “It’s beautiful, Kal-El. Thank you for showing me.”

The moment seemed too beautiful, too perfect. You never wanted it to end. Your body betrayed you by shivering, and Superman began your descent down.

When his feet touch the rooftop, he held you for just a second too long, not wanting to let you go. When your feet touched the rooftop, you looked up at the sky, unaware of Clark's inner battle.

“Wow! I don’t know how I can ever look at the sky the same again. That was truly a once in a lifetime experience.”

Say the word and I’ll take you up there, or anywhere Clark wanted to say.

“I am happy I did this interview with you, miss.” 

You turned back around to Superman, embarrassed you turned your back to him.

“Thank you again for doing it, and for letting me experience that. I’ll never forget it.” The air was thick between the two of you. “The article will be posted soon.”

“I am eager to read it. Get home safely.” Superman wished you goodnight before taking off, leaving you breathless in your spot.

You spent all night writing the article to make it front page newsworthy. While Superman had given you a lot of great information, your mind kept going back to being in the night sky. It was a comforting feeling being with Superman, and you understood why everyone had good things to say about him. He felt like a friend, comforting and familiar, and the way that he spoke to you was as if he knew you. He spoke with sincerity and truth, and he listened intently, as if trying to remember every word you say. You blushed thinking of the intensity he showed you.

The next day you went straight to Perry’s desk, demanding he look at the email you had sent him last night. The quick look over turned into a long meeting with a few edits, discussion of the article and its impacts, and a declaration that you had won the contest.

The energy you carried seemed to infect everyone that day. You hadn’t told anyone you won, and everyone assumed it was because your date went well. You wanted Clark to be the first to know. As soon as you saw him walk out of the elevator, you rushed over to him. Your hand fell onto his arm, dragging him into the copy room. A deep blush fell on his face as you closed the door and pushed him against it.

“W-why am I against the door?” He asked as he tried to shrink himself smaller.

“You’re bigger than me, no one will push you aside.” You said hurriedly “but that’s not why I brought you here!” You were practically bouncing, a wide smile on your face. 

“Is it because of your interview?”

“Yes!” Clark let himself smile a little at your response “Perry said I got the first page!”

Disappointment took root in his chest. He thought maybe you would talk about your time with him yesterday, not that you won the contest. He watched as you did a small happy dance before your hands latched onto his upper arms.

“Will you let me take you to dinner? To thank you?” You stood up on your tippy toes to bring your face closer to his “Pretty please?”

Clark was surprised at the sudden ask but nodded, his throat dry as he swallowed hard. You grinned, talking about good restaurants in the area. All Clark thought about was your meeting yesterday. In fact, it’s all he’s been thinking about since he left your apartment building last night.

“How was the interview?”

His question interrupted your planning. You looked at him and blinked in response, processing his question. How much did you want to tell Clark? It felt intimate, and you’re not sure how close they are.

“I’ll tell you all about it at dinner tonight. 7 PM, at Riggios?” you asked, more focused on the dinner you were planning. Clark nodded in response, a forced smile on his face. He desperately wanted to know what you thought, if you felt the same emotions he felt last night. 

“Can’t wait!” You smiled, grabbing the doorknob and twisting.

Riggio’s was a quiet restaurant that had dim lighting and candles on each table. It felt intimate, away from the rush of the crowd, each table holding quiet conversations. When you entered the restaurant, you saw Clark already seated. His large hands fidgeted with the small napkin on his lap. His head rose as if he sensed you approaching, and stood when he met your eyes.

“Hi.” He breathlessly said, eyes quickly scanning you.

Clark took quick steps to your chair, pulling it out for you to sit. You thanked him, sitting down when he pushed your chair in. He resumed his position across from you. You made light conversation, talking about the day, or traffic, or weather, or whatever came to your mind to hear him talk. You tried not to stare at the way his sleeve was pushed up his arm, or the way his hand rested on the table near yours.

“So… how was your interview?” Clark asked you, taking a sip of his water.

“It was… very pleasant.” You said, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Just pleasant?” He asked, digging for more information.

“Well, he was much more charismatic than I thought.” Your fork stabbed at your salad, not making eye contact. “Very different from you. That must be the whole ‘opposites attract’ saying.” 

He softly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears turned pink.

“Did you both just talk? What did you think of him?”

Well, you thought, he is handsome and I liked talking with him, and he was kind. But why does it feel like you were cheating on your crush to Clark?

“It’s obvious why people are drawn to him. He’s very authentic, earnest, and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.”

“So you like him?”

“Well, sure, everybody does.”

“He made you feel special?”

“Not any more special than you make me.” You put a piece of lettuce in your mouth, meeting his eyes.

You had said it so matter-of-factly that it took him by surprise. He balked, the words he had prepared leaving his brain. The words he never uttered to anyone was on the tip of his tongue, begging to escape and tell you. Begging to tell you that he’s Superman, that he is the man of steel, that he is the one you interviewed. Begging to share everything with you. And yet, the words got stuck in his throat.

“I’m just saying,” you tried to fill the silence “you are also a real life superhero. A lot of people are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Lois is a superhero in the way she always helps with projects when she sees me overwhelmed. My neighbor is a superhero when he grabs my mail for me without asking. The random person who paid for my parking meter is a hero to me, as was the barista who helped a little boy who spilled coffee on himself.

“I don’t think you have to be a meta-human to be a superhero. Superheroes are anyone who does nice things without expecting anything in return, just to help the other person feel ease and safety. Superman proved that to me in the interview. He didn’t focus on the small ways he’s saved people, despite the numerous accounts of people who say he has helped them get a cat out of a tree or move a fallen tree off the road. To me, that has a much better impact than defeating big monsters.”

Clark watched you talk, eyebrows furrowed in awe at your admission. He didn’t realize that someone could look at him that way, as someone small. Not in a bad way, but in a normal way. Small like other humans, doing human things. For a long time he has felt like the ‘other’, but you didn’t see him that way. You saw Superman in your neighbor, in the barista, or the stranger on the road.

“Do you like me?” The need to tell you everything was overwhelming, all consuming.

The question took you by surprise. Silence stretched between you two. The whole restaurant seemed to wait for your answer, despite no one paying attention to you.

 “What?”

“I like you.” Clark said rushed, like he wanted to get to your answer faster. “I like you a lot.”

You felt your cheeks warm and your chest swell. Your crush was admitting he liked you? Your throat went dry. The palm of your hands felt clammy, your heartbeat jumped. Clark could sense these too. You couldn’t really open your mouth to speak, so you opted to nodding your head. Slightly, barely noticeable. But he saw, he always does.

He smiled wide before standing up. Clark dug his wallet out of his jeans and pulled out some cash, placing it on the table before grabbing your hand.

“Follow me.”

You looked at the back of his head as he led you out of the restaurant and into the cold Metropolis air. You would follow him anywhere, you realize. 

The air whipped around the both of you as Clark led you down the road, his hand intertwining with yours. A giggle left your throat as your feet struggled to keep up with his pace, and he just cast a big grin at you.

Clark stopped in front of an apartment building. You looked up at it before glancing back at him.

“You dragged me here just to get me to your apartment? I didn’t realize you had that big of a crush on me.” You nervously laughed. Clark shook his head.

“Just trust me.”

Clark guided you to his apartment. When you entered the apartment, you were met with a smell that was so Clark. Leather and stale coffee filled the room as you took in the messy state of it. It wasn’t that it was messy, per se, but rather an organized chaos.

You wandered into the living room, looking at all the things on his shelves. A photo of him with his parents, you assume, sat on his shelf. Little Clark wore a t-ball uniform, smiling so big his eyes were shut. His dad had him in his arms, kissing the side of his cheek. His mom was on his other side, her hand resting on his arm.

You scanned the shelf. A “best journalist” award adorned the space. An old camera. A dog collar. Numerous punch cards from different coffee shops. A beaded bracelet that spelt out “Superman”. A dvd collection. A beat up leather notebook.

Your eyes tracked back to the bracelet, picking it up. Your thumb smoothed the bracelet, trailing over the tiny letters. This bracelet, you had recently seen it. It was on the cover of the newspaper, a young girl gifted it to Superman.

“Why do you have this?” You quietly said, still studying the bracelet. Maybe Superman gave it to Clark, but that doesn’t make sense. The impression Superman gave you told you that he wouldn’t give those things away.

You heard Clark behind you. His large hands grabbed your arms and turned you to face him.

“I need to tell you something.”

Your heart dropped, expecting the worst. Was he going out with Superman? Was Superman maybe not that good of a guy? Did Clark steal it from him, and that’s how he gets his interviews?

“I am…” He swallowed. “Superman.”

You blinked at him, not really processing the words. Maybe you had missed a part of the sentence.

“What did you say?”

“I am Superman.”

A beat passed. Another passed, just looking at him. He was nervous, his hand coming up to ruffle his hair. You stared at him, and then began to laugh.

“Here I thought something bad had happened!” You laughed, hitting his arm softly. “That’s a good joke, Clark.”

“It’s not a joke, y/n…” he sounded like a wounded child.

“Clark, no offense, but you’re nothing like him. You look nothing like him.” Your eyes scanned his hunched over frame, his meekness, before landing on his glasses.

“For instance, you wear glasses and he doesn’t. Maybe if you were to take these off you would look a little more like-”

Your hands moved and took off his glasses, making your speech pause. You blinked a few more times, adjusting to the change. Glasses don’t change someone that much, do they? But it seemed like his face changed entirely.

Clark slowly stood taller, his shoulders rolling back. He looked down at you, still with a soft gaze, but it had hardened slightly. It was like he changed into a whole new person. The nervous, shy Clark had been transformed into a confident man.

“What is happening…” You asked, taking a step back. You began to feel yourself getting scared, the person you knew and liked changed in front of you, and it made you nervous that he wasn’t who he said he was. But then he smiled, and it was almost like the old Clark came back.

“Nothing is happening, you're just simply seeing the real me.”

He took a step and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You stared into his eyes, the same eyes you saw every day, but they seemed clearer. More steadfast.

You got jolted out of your thoughts when you felt the ground give way beneath you. Embarrassingly, you let out a small yelp, too which he let out a hearty laugh.

“I won’t drop you, I promise.”

The scene played out exactly like the interview with Superman. He lifted you from the ground, the two of you slightly hovering above his living room floor. Your hands found purchase on his shirt, gripping it as you got closer to him.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked, looking down at you. 

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked, the question nagging in the back of your mind.

“You see me for who I am, y/n.” He said it so straightforwardly, so sure of the statement.

“But I didn’t, you’re Superman!”

“But you see Superman for who he is, for who I am. A lot of people are in awe of me, or think of me as a threat. There’s some who revere my presence as if it was an act from a God, or who believe I came to destroy Earth. But you see me for who I am. Someone who is here to just help people, no strings attached.

“And I’ve wanted to tell you. I’ve had a crush on you from the moment you walked through the front door. Your hardworking, you have a great eye for projects, and you’re not afraid to defend the stories that you believe should be told. It’s courageous, and brave.”

The two of you were still suspended in the air. Something blossomed in your chest at his words. You felt vulnerable at how he saw you, but in a good way.

“Oh my goodness, I interviewed you as Superman.” You facepalmed yourself, feeling his laugh rumble through his chest.

“And you were great at it. You weren’t afraid to push on hard questions and get a straight answer.”

One of his hands came up to remove your hand from your forehead, cradling the side of your face. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, an almost pleading look on his face.

“Please understand. I want you to know all of me, and I want to know all of you if you’ll let me.”

The air around you felt suspenseful, waiting. You decided to answer him by closing the gap, your lips finding his. It was hesitant, and he didn’t respond. You pulled away, a little hurt at his response. The feeling didn’t last long before his hand pulled your face back, kissing you firmly.

The kiss wasn’t heated with passion, but rather with an unspoken affection and understanding. It felt as if the universe sighed, like it had been waiting for this moment. The world felt like it was just you two as your hands went around his neck as if grounding yourself, telling yourself that this was real.

He slowly lowered you two to the ground, pulling back to look at your lips. The lips he was just kissing, slightly red, were now smiling brightly at him.

“I can’t believe I just kissed Clark Kent.”

Not Superman. Not a superhero. Just Clark.

He smiled back at you before kissing you again.

[parker-barnes-af]

TOO GOOD FOR ME ★ CLARK KENT

꩜ pairing ━━ fem!childhood bsf!reader x clark kent

꩜ summary ━━ everytime you remember your life, clark is always there, and now after everything came crashing down, clark thinks he has loved you from the very start.

꩜ content ━━ 3.3k words | angst, fluff, confessions, reader is a bit oblivious, clark calls her 'honey', ma and pa call her 'peach', they grew up together in smallville, LOIS AND CLARK AREN'T DATING, lois kinda have feelings for clark but she didnt do anything with it, i just wanted to put an extra pov!

꩜ a/n ━━ HI!!! introducing my fav trope, i loved writing this so much i hope yall like it as much as i do <33

as always comments are very deeply appreciated ♡

masterlist | navi | buy me kofi <3

You and Clark are really close. 

No one really asks how close but even from a distance you can tell. 

Growing up together is Smallville with a superhero as a best friend was not the easiest, but, oh, you would not change it for the world. 

Because it’s Clark. 

The first person who stood up for you in front of bullies, who shares his lunch because ‘sharing makes the food taste better', who was your first ever best friend, who picked you up with his parents’ truck after you got shitfaced at a party, who entertains your weird ideas on how he can use his superpowers. Clark, who shows up.  

Okay, maybe you are thinking twice right now considering that you almost got stuck in a portal to a pocket universe. 

Your heart is beating out of your chest, as you stared at the portal in horror. You could hear groaning from the other side, seeing Clark laying on the floor, heaving.

“Clark,” you rushed to him, hands softly placing itself on his cheek. His skin feels sweaty and he looks pale, there’s black veins emerging from his neck, “Kryptonite.” you whispered, hands cradling the sides of his face as his tired eyes try to stay on you. 

A lazy smile stretched on his lips, “Hi.” dazed eyes trailing over your face, “You here to rescue me?” 

Scoffing, you lightly shove his chest back, grin threatening to be released, “You’re lucky I like you, Kent.”

He smiles. Your heart calms down a bit.

Suddenly he springs up, body still weak as you try to keep him upright, “There’s more people being held prisoner in there.” he breathes out, “We need to go get them.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“Hey, hey,” your hands grabbing his bicep and torso, “Are you insane? You can’t even stand up.” you scold, holding him up from falling flat on his face. 

“Get him some place safe.” Mr Terrific turns to you and Lois, “Take the T-Craft.”

Nodding, Lois grabs the other side of Clark to help, the three of you walking towards the vehicle. “Krypto!” you call out, “Come on boy.”

Lois looks at you, surprised, “You know the dog?” 

You scrunched your nose, “Kinda.” looking to see if the fur baby is following, “He’s a menace tho, so be warned.”

The three of you enter the ship, dropping Clark onto the seat, “You know how to drive this thing?” you asked Lois, leaning forward to assess the countless buttons and levers. 

“Should be fine,” she looks up at you from the driver seat, “Right?” 

You give her a pat on the back, “I trust you.” 

A shaky smile was given, “Okay, let’s do this.”

.

.

.

The ride was shaky but everyone is still in one piece so that’s something.

You turned to look at Clark.

He looks awful. 

You don’t mean it in that way but he truly does.

His skin is all wrinkly and pale with black veins decorating the sides, his eyes tired and his body shivering. The sight makes your stomach twist in all the wrong ways. Not the usual way it does with Clark.

Lois was still driving, every bump and swerve of the vehicle made you more nervous than before.

“I’m gonna be fine.” the man beside you croak out. 

Your heart stutters, “I know.” sighing deeply, voice betraying any sort of confidence you have.

Clark coughs loudly, body shaking in his seat. You jump up, unbuckling yourself, “What’s wrong? You okay? Do you need water? I’m gonna get you water.” your nervous rambling trails off, moving with shaky legs as rummaged through your bag.

The sick man grunts, “Sit down.” he gruffly said, droopy eyes trying to stay on you as his hand reaches out, but the kryptonite poison is still very strong and the absence of the yellow sun made it worse in every way imaginable. 

His tiredness took over as his eyes shut and arm flails down.

You sigh, listening to his movements, your own hand reaching out for his. He immediately intertwined your fingers together while you still try to find a water bottle. You gave his hand a squeeze, his fingers weak and loose around your own, “Gimme a sec, yeah?”

He grunts. You take that as a yes. 

You unclasp your fingers, continuing to look through your very full bag and maybe this is your mind playing tricks but you could hear him let out a small whine with the absence of your hand. 

You didn’t even realise the curious look Lois sent to you both. 

“Found it.” you try to stand up but the ship swerves aggressively making you latch onto Clark’s seat to stabilise yourself, the man’s hand that was too weak to bring up, grips around your waist to steady you.

“Sorry.” Lois said from the driver seat, guilty for being distracted by the interaction between you both. 

“It’s okay!” turning around, you open the bottle of water, hand on Clark’s jaw to help tilt his head up, “Drink.” you softly said, bring the water to his chapped lips. His tired eyes flickered open slightly, and even from far away you could see how it softened at the sight of you. 

Obvious to everyone, but you, apparently.

The man ended up finishing the whole bottle, gulping it down so fast that he chokes.

You chuckle, “Slow down, Clark.” taking the bottle away, and putting it in your bag. You wipe off the stray drops of water that fell on his chin and neck, “Knew you were thirsty.” and shook your head, hands resting on his jaw, feeling his hot skin under your touch. Your heart sinks.

“’m gonna be fine.” he coughs out again, weak hands trying their hardest to latch onto your waist. His hold is not strong, but with the way his body is, you assume this is the strongest he can do. He tries as if he craves the contact, the feeling of you right here in front of him. Warm, soft, real. It brings comfort to him.

You bring comfort to him. 

“Still worried.” you say, sitting back down on your seat and buckling in. The worry never leaving your face. 

“Hand.” he quietly requests.

Your stomach flutters but goes went along, your hand reaches out to hold onto his. He’s still weak, his grip not strong but you can feel how hard he’s trying to reciprocate.

You would give him your hand as many times as he wants. 

.

.

.

The ride wasn't long but it felt like days when you finally reached Kansas. The whole time was filled with Clark’s shaky breaths and heaves, and it didn’t make you less at ease. 

The sight of the small town from the air tugs on your heart strings, memories of growing up flashes in your head. And every single one of them, Clark never fails to be there. 

Him, and his shy smile, dazzling dimples and his big heart. 

You didn’t even know what would’ve happened to you if he wasn't there.

The aircraft finally lands, you rushing to help Clark stand up, “Ma! Pa!” you frantically yell out, just as the door opens. Supporting one half of Clark as Lois helped with the other side, feet a bit wobbly with his weight, he was not light in the slightest bit and you can’t even remember the last time Clark was this weak.

You miss the way Lois turned to you, eyebrows scrunching, deep in thought. Ma and Pa? Really how close are you with Clark?

“Peach?” Martha comes rushing out, John following behind. 

“It’s Clark, he’s sick.” you beg tiredly, eye bags illuminating your worry. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes as everything comes crashing down. Kryptonite is not something to underestimate. 

Martha's eyes widened, as she nodded her head, “Okay, honey. He’s gonna be okay.” she softly said, guiding you all back to the house. 

The smell of the house reminded you of your childhood, good memories that you don't have time to dwell on. The four of you slowly lay Clark down on his bed, his hand immediately reaching out for yours, as he started to babble. 

“Ma, they sent me here to rule over. They sent me here to kill people.” he voice shakes. 

The sight shatters you. 

You look away and turn to John, “I’m gonna get some towels and water. Is it still in the same place?” 

He nods, “Yea, Peach.” 

You quickly walk to the kitchen grabbing the stuff as the parents crowded over their son in worry. 

Lois’ eyes survey all over Clark’s room, his childhood room. Posters, trophies, awards, pictures all filling in the space. Her eyes zeros on the Mighty Crabjoys posters, noticing the small frame picture on the shelf at the side. 

It was a undoubtedly a picture of the two of you. Younger versions. You're on Clark's back posing in the famous Superman pose with one arm out like you’re flying, as the boy carrying you smiled so brightly she could see his missing teeth as he carried you with pride.

“I got it.” you come back to the room with warm water in a bucket, towels already submerged and a cup of water in the other hand. You got to work, making sure Clark is comfortable as he absentmindedly nuzzles closer to you, head already lolling out of consciousness. 

Lois stares from the side, eyes softening when she realises how much stress you are in. She underestimated how close you were with Clark because this type of care must've taken years to build, to strengthen. 

Her eyes stray away to the bedside table, 2 picture frames neatly placed. One is his Ma and Pa and the other one is undeniably you. Just you. 

You look a bit older in this one, maybe 2? 3? years younger than you are now. Smiling like you won the lottery, you’re wearing an apron and the background looks like the kitchen she saw when walking in, your hand messy and so is your hair, there’s flour residue on your nose and you look…happy. That’s the only way that she could describe it as. 

So so happy. 

And Lois assumes only Clark can make you smile as big as that.

.

.

.

The morning sun feels nice on your skin. 

It had been a rough night, the constant worry if Clark will wake up healthy claws in your chest, planting seeds of anxiety. You had slept on the couch, waking up at random hours of the night to make sure his chest was still raising up and down.

When Clark woke up he felt like he had been reborn. He feels stronger, lighter, his vision is clearer and he’s breathing better. His eyes immediately met with the furball that laid comfortably on his chest. 

He sighs softly, hand reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “Hey bud.” after a few seconds of staring up at the ceiling, he slowly stood up, walking to the living room only to be met with the sight that made his chest ache. Your sleeping figure illuminates under the sunlight, creating a halo that makes you look like an angel.

And maybe that’s what you are to Clark. 

His guardian angel.

Feet pattered against the floorboard, he crouches down to be eye level with your head, fingers grazing along your cheek with such light touch you thought it was just in your dreams. 

“Thank you for looking after me.” Clark quietly whispers, staring at your features for a long second, eyes taking in everything. You look peaceful, he thought. Good. You deserve it.

He kisses your forehead, adjusts the blanket layered on top of you. He recognises the fabric immediately,l. It’s your blanket. The one in his house that’s stored and bought specifically for you when you would have a sleepover at the Kents. 

You’re intertwined in his life in so many ways. 

Now, Clark has changed into more comfortable clothes, a bowl of cereal in hand as he sits on the bench outside soon accompanied by his Pa. 

“That– that Luanne, she seems nice.” 

“Lois.” Clark corrected, “Her name’s Lois. Yeah, she’s- she’s nice.”

John nods, head turning to look at his son before a fond smile makes its way to his face, “You worried Peach to death you know?” 

Clark freezes, guilt gnawing at his ribs, “Yeah.” he pauses, “Sometimes I wonder how easy her life would’ve been if she didn't meet me.” his voice is low and scratchy. 

The older man furrows his eyebrows, “Oh, don’ be like that Clark. You guys are attached to the hip. Quite impossible to separate you two.”

Clark doesn’t meet his eyes, “I don’t deserve her, Pa. She’s too good for me.” hands nervously fidgeting as he thinks about everything he put you through. 

The silence stretches, and now John understands what Clark was putting down, “You’re a good man, Clark.” he starts, “I saw you both grew up together. Trust me son, no one in this world deserves her more than you do.”

Biting the inside of his cheeks, Clark sniffles, “I don’t know what happened, she’s my best friend and then I woke up suddenly and saw her, and I wanna be more for her.”

John chuckles, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? Everyone knows you have a crush on ‘er.” 

His cheeks went warm, “No, you guys don’t.” 

The door creaked open, “Clark!” you exclaim, running towards him. He whips his head around at the sound of your voice and stands up immediately, bowl forgotten as he wraps his arms around you, face nuzzling into your neck. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” you sigh, arms tightening around his neck. 

His arms reciprocated, lightly lifting you up from the ground, “I’m okay.”

For a moment you two stayed like that before the little bubble was popped by Martha’s news, “Clark there’s something on the box that you might wanna see.”

Clark furrows his eyebrows, looking at his Ma before turning to you. He detach you from his grip and walk back into the house with your hand in his securely in his.

It’s different from when he was on the ship. This time he’s more warm, his rugged fingers sending shiver down your back.

John stare at you both and roll his eyes, “Sure we don’t.” a soft smile on his face. 

.

.

.

You’re beyond exhausted. 

This whole week has been nothing short of stressful and the near-death experience on top of that made you want to curl up in your bed –that was lucky enough to survive the portal rip– and sleep for days.

You’re freshly out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, skin smelling like strawberry body wash and you’re drying your hair, towel in hand when the doorbell rings. You check your phone for any current messages, nothing new popped up making you confused. You pause the movie that was playing and look through the peephole.

Clark on the other side is sweating bricks, flowers tuck behind him as he stares down at your door. 

“Clark?” your voice lace with confusion, “What’re you doing here?” opening the door. 

The man coughs out his nerves, glasses perched up on the bridge of his nose, his hair looking soft and bouncy and he’s dressed in a sweater that makes him look huggable and warm. Your heart flutters. 

“Hey.” he mumbles, soft eyes casted downwards to you, “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was gonna show up but,” he brought his hands up, “I bought your favourite.” 

Your eyes lit up, only now recognising the familiar smell of chicken and pasta. Your stomach grumbles, “Oh, why didn’t you lead with that then.” snatching the paper bag from his hand and leaving the door open.

The man chuckles, moving into your space as you make your way into the kitchen. Now he has the time to fully take you in. You're humming in joy, pajamas making you look soft, eyes pretty in the kitchen light.

Clark could feel how at ease you are, and that makes him feel at ease too, “You look happy.” he teases. 

A selfish part of him was glad he’s the only one that can see you like this. He’d be damned if anyone else does.

You giggle, unboxing the food, letting out a happy shriek as the smell invaded your nostrils, “How can I not? My favourite person brought my favourite food!” your grin stretched out so big it hurt your cheeks. 

Clark swallows nervously. The flower that he’s been hiding behind him suddenly feels heavier. 

“I actually have something to tell you.” he walks closer, standing behind as he waits for you to turn around. 

“Hm?” you looked up to meet his eyes. Backing away slightly when you realise how close he was, “You okay?” the rustle of the paper the flowers were wrapped in took your attention away, “What’s that?” your smile teasing, “Is that for Lois?”

Clark groaned inwardly. For the smartest person he knows, you sure are pretty dense. 

He shakes his head, “No, these are for you. Why would it be for Lois?”

You tilt your head in confusion, “Why would you get flowers for me?”

If you weren't looking up at him so pretty right now he would’ve lost it. But you smell sweet, your eyes are shining and your cheeks are round and pink. He couldn't even be mad at you if he tried. 

“Honey–” his fingers press against his temples, “Just take the flowers.” 

You nod dumbly, “Oh– okay.” you take it from his grasp, a small smile on your face, staring at them in awe, “They’re lilies. My–” 

“Favourite.” Clark finishes your sentence, eyes staring at you earnestly.

“What’s really going on Clark?” you questioned, putting the flowers on the side. 

The tall man stopped fidgeting and let out a deep sigh, “You have been the most constant factor in my life,” he starts, “from when we were kids, teens and now adults. You have always been there. You believed with me when no one else will, you stayed by my side and I can’t imagine my life without you.” a pause, “And I love you.”

You melt, “I love you too, Clark.”

He groans, “No– I mean, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Goddamn it. I am in love with you.” he pants out, frustrated, “I don't know when it changed but according to Pa, I have always had a big fat crush on you and apparently everyone knows.” he shrugs, “And you’re so beautiful, your kindness blows mine away and I want to be there for you, always. Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

His speech spills out in nervousness, the back of his neck is hot and there’s sweat prickling his hands. 

You stand frozen, taking in his whole confession. A part of you cannot believe this is even real, the Clark Kent wants you. The person you have been harboring feelings for God knows how long, likes– no loves you.

“Clark, I– uhm,”

His heart drops, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I completely understand and respect that.”

“No! No, Clark, it’s just–

“I’m not trying to push or force anything on you or–” 

“I’m just new at this!” you explode, panicked eyes looking up at him, “I don’t really know how to do this, no one has ever really liked me let alone confessed.” mouth opening and closing as you try to find the words to say, “What if I’m bad at this? What if I make you hate me and you don’t wanna be friends anymore? I can’t live that life!”

Clark’s warm hands rests on your jaw, bringing your head up closer to him and he leans down, voice serious, “You’re gonna be great at it. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” your voice muffles as he squishes your cheeks together. 

He kisses your nose, “Because I love you and you’re great at everything you do. Especially being my girlfriend.” 

Giggling, you place your hands on top of his that are on the sides of your face, “So you made the decision for me, huh?”

He stutters, “No! I– I mean, do you– you want to? Be my girlfriend?” 

“Mhm.” you nod.

“Mhm?”

“Mhm!”

Clark laughs, gorgeous dimples making an appearance, “Kiss?” 

Your stomach fills up with butterflies, “Yes, please.” 

The moment your lips touch Clark is like a starved man drinking water for the first time in a while. He groans lowly, skin hot under the sweater. His hands are everywhere, gripping places he always dreamed of.

You are what he’s always dreamed of.

“My angel.” he whispers into your mouth, damn near whimpering when you pull his hair, “Wanna grow old with you. Wanna do everything with you.” 

You giggled, "Want that too." his stomach burns with need. Picking you up to the counter, situating himself in between your thighs.

Smiling lips press against each other, Clark can't help himself from feeling giddy as his big hands grip your thighs, "Can't believe I can have you all to myself. Been thinking about this for so long." he backs away, taking you in, your lips now swollen and red, "You're so pretty. All mine."

reblog for a superman style kiss 😘

[parker-barnes-af]

Lois knows everything about him, so he's in a very vulnerable position. He's madly in love with this woman and desperately wants her to understand him and appreciate him and love him back. — via Entertainment Weekly

[parker-barnes-af]

David Corenswet's Clark Kent Fic Recommendations II

drabbles

clark kent with a celebrity!gf by @jungkooklover777

clark being so big you have a belly bulge by @vemathie

nerdy clark kent eating you out with his glasses by @sadgirlily

mornings spent with clark by @fear-is-truth

clark eating yout out to the point of tears by @sweethartnett

aftercare with clark by @hearts4hughes

riding clarks abs by @innorality

headcanons

nsfw clark kent headcanons by @lacelottie

clark kent headcanons by @rotapathetic

clark nsfw kent headcanons by @kindnessistherealpunkrock

oneshots

sex pollen by @dearwalker

the space between friends by @hearts4hughes

who's calling my phone? by @prettypeeling

smile by @ggclarissa

old habits die hard by @heavenlybodies333

like sunset going down by @alwritey-aphrodite

cervix hitting, recording, slightly smug clark tehe by @murdrdocs

bad friend by @twiceasbright

you can hear it in silence by @thebestandworstdayofjune

good taste by @ilyasorokinn

kansas by @anon-188

unfold your love by @junleb

told you so by @hearts4hughes

period. by @ggclarissa

clark kent's love language by @ilyasorokinn

'til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours by @alwritey-aphrodite

three lies and half a truth by @fluentmoviequoter

mornings like these by @kryptoclark

starved by @anon-188

clark kent and lavender skirt by @luveline

in the silence by @cursedheartsclub

you deserve it by @blank-potato

the whole truth by @leaveonthelight

super-headaches at the daily planet by @luveline

we should kiss like real people do by @alwritey-aphrodite

to whom it may concern by @cursedheartsclub

you two need to fuck by @heavenlybodies333

fortress by @charmedntruer

gold rush by @goldenlikedayl1ght

guilt of the quiet one by @sillyswriting

time lost in a warm lap by @luveline

all makes sense by @musingsofheaven

copier talk room by @hearts4hughes

friends who fuck by @heavenlybodies333

be still, my foolish heart by @alwritey-aphrodite

smile like you mean it! by @ebodebo

silver springs by @thatfoxygrl

need a friend you can fuck, i can be that by @hanasnx

off the record by @sc3ptre

spider…man? by @se7entyrell

[parker-barnes-af]

David Corenswet fics

Okayy sooo Clark Kent has been my hyperfixation ever since the movie came out, and I think I’ve read most of the fics under his tag. But are there David Corenswet fics? Because I’m still not over their interviews during the tour, and it feels like an itch I can’t scratch hahaha

[parker-barnes-af]

" I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site."

Here you can find all of my work combined🩵

Happy reading xxx

Chris Evans masterlist

Benedict Bridgerton masterlist

Harry Styles masterlist

Franco Colapinto masterlist

Charles Leclerc masterlist

Lewis Hamilton masterlist

Max Verstappen masterlist

Lando Norris masterlist

Clark Kent masterlist

[parker-barnes-af]

Hey guys, these are just some Clark Kent/Superman fics I really enjoyed and wanted to share with all of you, if you love the character as much as I do, hopefully you’ll find something here to add to your reading list!!! xxx

mastermind by @auroralwriting

guilt of the quiet one by @sillyswriting

the less i know the better by @writingmeraki

everyone adores you (at least i do) by @rosesaints

you are in love by @auroralwriting

till i lose it by @fawnindawn

love, meteors, and clark kent's accidental flight by @stevebabey

immune by @ggclarissa

foolish hearts by @tw1sters

mysteries of our disguise revolve by @supershithits

you didn't kiss me goodbye. by @bodhiscurls

super-headaches at the daily planet by @luveline

chewing gum by @indouloureux

to whom it may concern by @cursedheartsclub

'til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours by @alwritey-aphrodite

the other man by @honeypiehotchner

the one with the ring by @ifyouweremine

kryptonite kisses by @a-romantics-guide-to-life

it's so hard being a pretty gal by @vitoriadior

free fall by @starksweasley

i like when you're jealous by @toxicflowergirl

not the usual by @amorwrld

told you so by @hearts4hughes

kiss me by @sunshine-lux

Please show these amazing writers some love! These are just the ones I’ve read recently, but I’m sure there are plenty more well-written fics out there, so don’t be shy, send them my way! xxx

[parker-barnes-af]

Keep talking, Clark

david corenswet!Clark Kent x reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Clark starts rambling, you decide to shut him up in your own way — or maybe not shut him up at all.

Warnings: suggestive content, heavy sexual tension, nerd!Clark, subby Clark Kent, crack treated seriously, Star Wars rambling, reader has zero chill, Clark talks nonsense mid-makeout, light humor, reader takes control, metaphors-for-days, fluff + heat, Clark is soft and hot and confused, Spongebob mentions??? sexual content (not explicit), reader on top, tension, innuendo, implied sex, clothed-to-unclothed moments, strong suggestive themes (16+ preferably)

You had no idea how the conversation turned into a Star Wars deep-dive.

Honestly, you just asked if he liked it and… well.

The answer was a loud, passionate yes.

“...because the duel between Anakin and Obi-Wan on Mustafar isn’t just action,” Clark was saying, his voice soft but fired up, eyes glowing behind those glasses that should not be allowed to look that hot on a nerd, “it’s pure tragedy. The music, the looks—it’s all this perfect build-up to…”

You bit your lip.

You were listening. Kind of.

But your focus kept jumping between how passionately he spoke—like the entire galaxy depended on you understanding that scene—and the way his lips moved. Soft. Full. Way too distracting.

Then there were his forearms.

The white shirt he had on had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and every time he gestured with his hands, the muscles in his arms flexed just enough to make the fabric stretch.

Unfair.

Who let a nerd look like that?

And those lips.

God, those lips.

He was so into it, so focused, that the heat between your legs felt almost ridiculous.

“…because deep down, Obi-Wan didn’t want to kill him. He begged him to stop. But Anakin was already… he was Darth Vader by then. There was no turning back…”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You slid over and settled gently in his lap, knees on either side of his legs. Clark blinked up at you, clearly confused, and you shut him up with a slow, deep kiss—one that said exactly what your words hadn’t yet.

He froze. Then exhaled against your lips.

“E-everything okay?” he asked, voice low and a little shaky.

“Keep talking,” you whispered. “I like the way you sound.”

Clark swallowed hard.

“Okay… okay… s-so the duel. When Obi-Wan says ‘I have the high ground,’ it’s because tactically… you know…” he stuttered, trailing off as your mouth found the side of his neck, “uh, it’s better to fight from higher ground because… of tragedy... strategy!. I meant strategy.”

Your fingers slowly started unbuttoning his shirt.

“And… and Padmé shows up in her ship—her ship from… uh… SpongeBob.”

Silence.

You pulled back just to look at him.

Clark blinked.

“No, wait. Not SpongeBob. Padmé shows up with… R2D2. Not… not Squidward,” he said, brows furrowed while you grinned against his now-bare chest.

“You sure it wasn’t Mr. Krabs?”

Clark let out a nervous laugh.

“No, no. Although… if Palpatine were Plankton, that would actually track.”

Your hands slid down his torso, slow, tracing over the tight muscle until you reached his ribs. He sucked in a breath.

“And then Luke… finds out Darth Vader’s his dad. Which is kinda like when Peter Parker… uh… realizes Tony Stark gave him a suit.”

You laughed quietly.

“What does Spider-Man have to do with Star Wars?”

“Nothing. Or everything. I don’t know,” Clark groaned, voice cracking. “You’re seriously messing with my brain right now.”

You rested your forehead against his.

“You’re doing amazing, Clark. Keep going.”

“…Okay. So. Spaceships. They’re important because… speed. Zoom. Pew-pew.”

He wasn’t even pretending to sound smart anymore.

Your lips brushed his ear, and he let out a low sound—half gasp, half whimper.

“Jedi aren’t supposed to, uh… have relationships, you know?” he mumbled. “It’s against the code. But Anakin did. Because… he was in love. And you’re very… close.”

“Close to what?” you asked, all faux innocence.

“To making me say something real dumb.”

“Clark, you’re literally talking about Spider-Man and SpongeBob in a Star Wars rant.”

“…Touché,” he breathed, right before crashing his mouth against yours.

Your hips started to roll slowly in his lap, finding a rhythm that was equal parts tease and promise—and it was killing him.

“And… and the Jedi Council wouldn’t… wouldn’t approve of this,” Clark said, voice breaking as you kissed down his neck. “But I don’t care. Kick me out of the Council. Whatever.”

You smiled against his skin.

His hands trembled on your waist like he couldn’t decide whether to hold on or surrender. Every part of his body was tight underneath you—not in hesitation, but in raw anticipation.

“Are you imagining yourself as a Jedi right now?” you teased.

“I’m trying not to pass out,” he admitted with a breathless laugh, especially when your nails skimmed down his stomach. “You’re… using the Force on me.”

“Maybe it’s the dark side,” you whispered.

Clark let out a strangled chuckle.

“I don’t care if you blow up the Senate. Please don’t stop.”

You found that perfect spot on his neck and kissed it slow—feeling him tilt his head back against the couch with a shudder.

And then…

You moved again. For real.

He let out this sound—half sigh, half plea—and his hands gripped your thighs. His shirt was wide open now, showing off that perfect map of skin under the soft apartment lighting.

It felt too real. Too vivid.

Clark tried to speak again. You heard him.

“I—In Clone Wars there’s this one scene where Anakin and… and Harry Potter—no! Wait…” he groaned, “I meant Ahsoka. Not Harry. Oh my God.”

You took his face in your hands, looked him dead in the eye.

“Clark Kent, shut up and touch me.”

His reaction was instant.

It was like every ounce of restraint shattered. His hands flew up your back like he needed to memorize you, like he was scared you’d disappear.

He didn’t push. He didn’t rush. But you could feel him under you—tense, burning, completely wrecked.

His mouth found yours again, harder this time. Hotter. Hungrier.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he shifted beneath you, trying to meet every move with one of his own. Like your bodies were trying to talk in a language older than time.

“You’re… you’re sure?” he whispered, barely able to breathe as his hand trailed up your side.

“I literally just told you not to stop. What part’s confusing?”

“The part where this isn’t a dream,” he admitted, smiling shakily as he helped guide your hips into another slow grind.

And then…

Silence.

That kind of silence that aches. The kind that only exists when clothes disappear, when breath catches, when eyes stay locked and the world melts into nothing but this.

Your movements were unhurried but deep, and they made him choke on every inhale. Like every brush of skin sent galaxies crashing into his ribs.

And even in that dazed, almost-gone state… he kept talking.

“I just… wanted to explain why Obi-Wan was right,” he gasped. “But now I swear the Force is literally between us. Right here. On this couch.”

You smiled with your eyes still closed.

“And what are you, a trembling padawan?”

“No,” he whispered, “I’m yours.”

You rolled your hips again—and the sound he made would live in your memory forever.

And then…

The whole galaxy seemed to tilt toward the center of the universe—right where you were.

Where he was.

Where this was happening.

Stars collided.

Breath turned into constellations.

You were rewriting every rule, every boundary, with nothing but touch and gravity and each other.

And still—still—he whispered, breathless:

“Wanna watch Rogue One after this?”

You laughed softly.

Because… yeah. Of course you did.

[parker-barnes-af]

SAFEHOUSE ⋆ CK !

pairing. clark kent x fem!reader genre. friends to lovers. sexual tension. smut.

after a brutal event leaves clark weak and poisoned by kryptonite, you follow strict orders to rush him to his parents’ home — the one place you’re certain no one would find him at. a safe house.

word count. 5.1k words warnings. men in pain !! men in pain !! sexual tension. clark worrying about oc. he smells and hears her arousal bc of his super senses giggles. smut. oral (fem!receiving) MUNCH CLARK. fingering. unprotected + rough sex. size kink. tummy bulge. he puts a fucking pillow between the wall and the bed frame. they have to be very quiet. BIG COCK CLARK. squirting.

✶ inspired by events from — SUPERMAN (2025).

ana’s notes. i know this isnt anything jungkook related but .. im going through something rn with this man. i shouldve never fucking watched this movie. some details are improvised bc i lowk dont know shit abt superman (i was always more of a marvel girlie) so if theres smth in here that doesnt make sense for his character .. please just PLEASE JUST DONT OKAY. okie !! enjoy ♡

Clark Kent was a very reserved man.

Even at the office, he rarely had much to say. If someone asked about his day, he’d answer with something short — a few words, never a story. He never flaunted his accomplishments or fed off the praise. Where most of the department reeked of overbearing bragging and egotistical bastards, Clark kept to himself. He was private. Content with staying out of the spotlight.

Even as friends, you knew only fragments about him. How he liked his coffee — black, bitter, not even a pinch of sugar. That he didn’t have an Instagram, Facebook, or any kind of digital footprint beyond an email address. 

And then, of course, there was the part you hadn’t known.

That he was Superman.

He hadn’t wanted you to find out — you could tell by the way he stammered and lied through an explanation the night you confronted him about it. But Clark Kent was not nearly as subtle as he liked to think he was, and you were far too observant. He was conveniently missing whenever Superman was needed. Once could’ve been a coincidence, but every time? No way.

Over time, he was okay with you knowing. He trusted you.

You were his friend. And friends trust and help each other.

Which was why you had helped him get all the way here — to his parents’ home, a beautiful farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was quiet. Safe. 

You’d been to Clark’s apartment in Metropolis many times — a high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows, glossy black marble tiles, and simple, modern furniture.

It couldn't have been more different from the warmth of his parents’ farmhouse in Kansas. Here, the floors were scuffed wood, every step creaking faintly, and the whole house carried the scent of timber with a soft undertone of cinnamon. Memories were painted on the walls — framed photographs of smiles, family trips, and holiday dinners.

Clark’s parents were the kind of people who opened their home to you as if they’ve been waiting for you your whole life, their kindness effortless and genuine. It was a home that radiated comfort and care, and suddenly it made sense why Clark was so well-mannered and grounded. He’d grown up in the center of it all.

His childhood room was left untouched. Band posters and old movie prints clung to the walls, their corners curling. A shelf in the corner displayed trophies and figurines that had clearly been handled and loved. For all that he was, Superman, the man who could save the world and never expect anything in return, there was something disarmingly ordinary about this space. About him.

A low groan from behind you broke through your thoughts.

“You’re still here,” Clark murmured from the bed, his voice low and hoarse. He was lying down, one hand pressed over his ribs like the pressure alone could hold him together. The suit still clung to him, faint streaks of dirt and ash dulling the bright colors. The Kryptonite’s grip had loosened, his veins back to their normal color, but he was still weak. The sun was already setting. He’d be fully recovered by morning.

“Did you want me to leave?” you asked, turning just enough to meet his gaze.

“I- No!” His head lifted slightly, urgency in his tone. “I’m just… surprised.”

There was something behind that word. Not shock, exactly, but disbelief — like he wasn’t used to someone waiting for him to recover. Like he’d expected to wake up alone.

You crossed the room, the floorboards creaking under each step, and lowered yourself into the chair beside his bed. His eyes followed you, searching your face, as if he was waiting for you to change your mind.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask softly.

“Pain,” he replied, a faint, breathy chuckle escaping before his eyes slipped shut. The sound was quiet, but it still carried that small thread of warmth you’d learned to recognize in him.

“Holt said you should feel fine in the morning, once the sun starts coming out,” you told him, keeping your voice gentle, like anything louder might press against his headache.

His gaze flickered, something unreadable in it before he looked away. “I wish you’d stayed in Metropolis,” he murmured, his voice low but edged with frustration. “You’re safer there.”

You shook your head without hesitation. “No.”

“Yes,” he said, more firmly this time. The softness in his tone gave way to steel, the same voice he used when there was no room for argument. “You could’ve gotten hurt just by being seen with me. If something happened, I-“ His jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

You leaned forward slightly, catching his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t,” you said, your tone steady but gentler than your words. “Stop stressing yourself out, Clark. You’ve done enough. You should get some more rest.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted against the pillows, wincing a little. His hand fidgeted with the edge of his cape, eyes flicking to you and then away again.

“I, uh… I don’t…” He paused, licking his lips. “I don’t really like sleeping in the suit. It’s- uh- kinda uncomfortable. I was just… wondering if- if you could maybe… help me? Just with, y’know… the top part.”

“Y- yeah, sure,” you stammer, pushing yourself up and moving closer. Because you’re his friend. And friends help friends.

You help him sit up slowly, his breath hitching with a groan as his ribs protest the movement. Carefully, you reach behind to detach the cape, your fingers brushing the fabric with a softness that contrasts the roughness of the moment.

Then your hand finds the zipper at the back of his suit. You pull it down slowly, deliberately, revealing inch by inch of his creamy pale skin beneath — smooth, vulnerable, so human.

Clark’s eyes flutter open, meeting yours for a brief second before they close again. The silence between you stretches filled only by the soft sound of the zipper and his shallow breaths.

You help him pull the suit off his arms, the fabric sliding away to reveal his upper body — bare, exposed, impossible to ignore. His chest is broad and muscular, every line defined, almost unreal in its strength. The same goes for his biceps, thick and strong. Suddenly, your own nerves flutter, caught off guard by the closeness, the unexpected weight of this moment.

You steady the back of his neck as he leans back against the pillows, low groans rumbling from deep within him.

“You sure you don’t want me to… take it all off?” you ask quietly, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

If the room weren’t so heavy, if Clark wasn’t in so much pain, he might’ve thrown out a teasing, flirty comment about you trying to get him naked. But tonight, none of that comes.

Instead, he looks at you — eyes searching, silent, as if he’s trying to say something without words. Like he wants something he doesn’t quite know how to ask for.

“If you’re okay…” he murmured quietly, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, your fingers lightly tugging at the edge of the suit. He lifted his body as much as he could, every moment careful but willing — doing what he could to make it easier for you.

You kneel at the foot of the bed, fingers working at the heavy boots until they come off one by one with soft thuds against the floor. Then, with a firm grip, you take hold of the suit and give it a swift tug, the fabric sliding away until he’s left in nothing but his boxers.

On any other day, the situation might’ve been awkward — but tonight, he’s too worn down, too sore to care. His head stays against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, breaths slow and shallow.

You keep your gaze steady, careful not to linger, and carry the suit to his closet. The weight of it settles onto the hanger with a soft rustle, the deep blue and red now looking strangely still without him inside it.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, turning toward the door. But before your hand even reaches the knob, he calls your name. “Yes?” you turn back. 

“Don’t go back without me,” he says, his eyes pleading in a way that makes your chest tighten. “Stay here for now. With me.”

You look at him fully this time. His body is bare, save for the thin stretch of fabric covering his hips. You’ve never seen Clark like this — stripped of the cape, of any clothes at that. It isn’t weird in a seeing your family member naked kind of way. It’s… different. Raw. It makes you nervous in a way you don’t want to think too hard about.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clark,” you tell him softly. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

You reach for the door again, but he calls your name once more.

“Yes?”

His lips curve faintly. “Thank you.”

You smile back. “Of course.”

Because friends help friends.

Clark awoke with a start.

The pain in his side had eased to a faint ache, and the heavy fog of fatigue was gone. The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of the nightlight on the nightstand.

His mouth was dry. A glass of water sounded perfect.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he got up and reached for the robe hanging on his closet door. The soft fabric brushed against his skin as he shrugged it on. Then, with slow, careful steps, he made his way toward the door, moving quietly as he descended the creaking staircase.

He walked through the dark with ease — even half-asleep, his steps were quiet and calculated — but he flipped the kitchen light on anyway. The soft hum of the bulb filled the silence. He grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard, filled it from the fridge, and downed it in one long swig, the cool water sliding down his throat, washing away the dryness.

“Clark?”

Your voice was soft, groggy. He turned as you padded into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

And then he saw what you were wearing. His sweatshirt — the gray one, hanging loosely on you, sleeves dangling past your fingertips — and pajama pants cinched tight at your waist, the legs pooling around your feet.

“Hi,” he said, the word coming out softer than intended.

“Why are you awake? What time is it?” you asked, coming to stand beside him at the kitchen island, tugging the long sleeves of his sweatshirt — his sweatshirt — over your hands.

He noticed. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Almost three,” he murmured after glancing at the clock. “I don’t know — just woke up. Can’t sleep.” His sigh was low, weary, as he leaned onto the counter, elbows braced, thumbs fidgeting like he needed to keep them busy.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, searching his face.

“Nothing,” he said too fast. Then let out a small groan as he rolled his shoulders — and you caught the grimace of discomfort on his face.

“C’mere,” you said with a knowing smile, motioning him closer. “Let me help.”

He hesitated, a faint smile ghosting over his lips — as if to say you don’t have to do that.

But you were already moving behind him, resting your hand on his shoulder. 

The robe was loose, soft beneath your palms, parting slightly as he shifted. You could feel the heat of his skin even through the fabric. He was broad, solid, so much bigger than you; your hands looked almost delicate against him as you kneaded at the hard line of muscle beneath his shoulder blade.

“Yeah, right there,” he groans, throwing his head back as you press your thumbs into a stubborn knot in his shoulder. The sound is low, unguarded — almost inappropriate for something so innocent.

You press your lips together, heat rising in your cheeks. His robe has slipped just enough to bare more of that solid shoulder, warm under your palms. You feel every twitch of muscle beneath your tiny hands, every breath he exhales as he leans heavier on the counter.

“Better?” you murmured, digging your thumbs in a little deeper.

“Mhm,” he said, the sound deep, almost a growl in the back of his throat. His head tipped forward, giving you more access.

Your thumbs worked lower, along the edge of his shoulder blade, and you felt the faint shift of his breath — slower now, heavier. 

“You’re tense,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse, “you have no idea.”

You cleared your throat, swallowing.

“Alright,” you murmured, stepping back before you got carried away. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He didn’t argue — just pushed off the counter lazily and obediently. The robes knot at his waist had slipped slightly, a slight peek of his chest and the line of his collarbone. Your eyes darted down before you could stop yourself, and you snapped them away just as quickly — but not quickly enough. He saw you.

You turned on your heel, making your way out of the kitchen, pretending you hadn’t been caught looking. Behind you, his mouth curved, faint and knowing, and he followed behind you.

Clark could smell you. Not just the faint trace of soap on your skin, but something stronger, intoxicating — the subtle tang of arousal that hit his scent with every shift of your steps. His jaw tightened. You were just causally walking, but he could hear the faint, wet sounds between your legs.

“Here, come sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch,” he insists, acting like he didn’t know your dirty little secret.

“No, it’s fine-“

“Please,” he cuts you off gently, a quiet firmness in his voice. “Mom and Dad get up super early anyway. I wouldn’t want them to wake you up.”

You press your lips together, trying to argue, but his earnest expression makes it pointless. Finally, you sigh, smiling despite yourself. “Fine.”

His own smile is softer, lingering just a little too long. “I’ll walk you up.”

You climb the creaking stairs, Clark right behind you. Every step is weighted with tension, a quiet electricity that makes your pulse race. 

You reach the room and begin to speak. “Clark, I-“

But before the words can form, the door swings shut behind him. The sound echoes sharply in the quiet house.

Then his lips are on yours. Rough. Hungry. No hesitation. Your heart skips, your knees go weak, and the air between you shimmers with everything that’s been simmering for hours.

He pulls back just slightly, just enough to catch his breath, but the tension in his body is still taut. Pink lips, flushed cheeks, hair falling down his forehead, and those blue eyes darkened with something raw and hungry — lust, need, something you’ve never seen from him before.

He waits. Silent, expectant. Waiting for words you don’t have. Waiting for you to say stop, or a Clark, you’re reading me wrong — but none came.

Instead, your hands find the back of his neck, gripping him, pulling him impossibly closer. His lips meet yours again, feverish and demanding. Every inch of him pressed close, every gasp and low groan filling the space around you. You don’t pull away. You can’t.

He groans against your lips, words muffled but urgent. “Could smell how wet you are,” he breathes, “wanna feel it.”

You don’t pull back. “Touch me, please,” you murmur, guiding his hand. His fingers, much larger than yours, slither inside his your pants. He slides a finger up your folds, warm and slick, and you shiver against him.

“C- clark,” you moan, breath shaky, pushing your hips further into his hand.

The house is quiet, his parents asleep down the hall. Nothing exists outside the room — just the press of lips, the taste of each other, the wet, delicious sound of him touching your sopping pussy.

“Can I taste it, too?” he asks, lips and kisses trailing down your neck.

“Yes,” you moan, shivering. “Please.”

Without another word, he sinks to his knees, hooking a finger into the waistband of the pajama pants you’d stolen from him and pulling them down. You step out, bottom half bare, your panties gone in the washer with the rest of your clothes.

He looks up at you, holding your gaze, and then leans in closer. His tongue flicks out before he takes the first careful lick of your sensitive clit. His eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, as he tastes the sweet, wet arousal that’s been coating your inner thighs. You gasp, already hypersensitive, nearly collapsing at the slightest touch, knees weak from the rush of pleasure.

“So sweet,” he whispers against your clit, mostly to himself — but you can hear it, and can’t help smiling through your breathless moans.

Your fingers thread through his raven curls, brushing the strands from his eyes so you can watch his face. His brows are knitted tight in focus, lips and tongue working you over like he’s starving for it.

“Oh, god,” you moan, voice cracking. “Fucking hell.”

He hums low in his throat, the vibration shooting straight through you. His hands slide up, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth until his face is buried so deep it feels like he’s trying to breathe you in — like he wouldn’t mind suffocating there.

His eyes flutter open, locking on yours as his lips seal around your clit. The heat of his tongue makes your knees weak, and then — oh fuck — he moves one hand from your ass and slides a finger inside your sopping hole. Just one, but with how big his hands are, it feels like so much more.

You’re grateful for how wet you are; it lets him push in smoothly, his finger gliding in and out with ease while his mouth works your clit.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, breath coming fast.

“You like that?” he murmurs against you.

You nod frantically. “Fuck, M’gonna cum already, you’re so fucking good at that.”

He smiles against your clit, a low sound rumbling in his throat. Then, cruelly, his mouth disappears, his finger still stroking inside you but slower, lighter, just enough to drive you crazy.

“Clark,” you whine, breathless. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“Wanna hear you beg for it,” he says, voice low, almost a growl. His finger curls, hitting that perfect spot, and your legs tremble.

“Please,” you gasp, hips grinding down to chase his mouth. “Please, Clark- I need you-“

Instead of finishing what he started, Clark pulls back abruptly, sliding his fingers out of you — leaving you achingly empty. You whimper at the loss, hips lifting instinctively, but he’s already grabbing your waist and laying you down flat against the bed.

His chin glistens, but he doesn’t bother wiping it. The robe slips from his shoulders with a careless tug, revealing nothing but hard planes of muscle and smooth, golden skin. You take a shaky breath as he pushes your knee apart with ease, positioning himself between your thighs like he owns them.

You let out an audible whine. He’s taking far too long on purpose, and he knows it.

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, low and steady, sinking onto his stomach. His fingers find your clit with maddening precision, spreading your slick over every swollen inch before sliding back inside, stretching you deep. “Just wanna make you cum first… before I fuck you.”

His fingers start to scissor inside you, stretching you open, and you can’t help the moan that slips out — soft, but loud enough to make Clark cautious. Quickly, his free hand grabs the hem of your sweatshirt and yanks it up to your mouth.

“Bite down,” he orders, pushing the fabric between your lips. You obey instantly, teeth sinking into the cotton, your muffled sounds vibrating against it. “That’s it. So good for me.”

Then he’s back down, tongue sealing over your clit. The sensation is sharp and overwhelming, and your legs try to clamp around his head on instinct. He doesn’t let you — his arm hooks around your thigh, holding it wide open with effortless strength, practically hugging your leg against his head as he devours you.

You moan into the sweatshirt, muffled and ragged, hips bucking involuntarily into his mouth as your body trembles with need.

He groans low, mouth pressed to your clit, fingers pumping relentlessly inside you. The friction, the slick heat, the press of his mouth — it all coils tight inside you until you can’t hold back.

Your walls clench around his fingers, gripping him, legs instinctively squeezing shut as the heavy wave of euphoria crashed throughout your body. Your chest rises and falls wildly, and your moans spill out muffled but desperate, through the fabric he shoved into your mouth.

He drinks you up thoroughly before pulling back, lips glistening, dimples peeking through as he licks them. His fingers slip out, and he sucks them clean as well, tasting your arousal like it was the sweetest treat.

He climbs back up, pressing himself face to face with you, and carefully pulls the now-wet fabric of the sweatshirt out of your mouth.

“You’re a dirty man,” you tease, breathless.

“Didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago,” he replies, leaning down to press a quick, teasing peck to your lips. “You want more, or should we just go back to sleep?”

You bite your lip, suddenly shy, the memory of what just happened making your stomach flutter. “Want you,” you murmur, voice soft but certain.

He smirks before leaning down, kissing you so gently it has you weak, tongue exploring yours as if trying to memorize every curve. He pulls back with a final, teasing peck, holding himself up above you.

Then, with one swift tug, he strips off his last piece of clothing and tosses it aside. His cock bounces free — flushed pink, thick. and standing tall, almost smug about the way it makes your breath hitch.

Kneeling over you, he strokes himself slowly, eyes locked on yours. 

“Clark,” you say, voice stern but trembling.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, a soft moan escaping him.

“You’re so… big,” you admit, eyes wide.

“You can take it,” he replies, calm but commanding.

“No, I don’t think I can,” you whisper, heart hammering.

“Yes, you can. C’mon,” he urges, lowering himself closer, teasing the tip against your clit.

He pressed just enough to mix your slick with his pre-cum, dragging it along your folds, and the feeling in the pit of your stomach returns, sharp and insistent. You don’t even think about pulling back anymore.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

You hesitate, then nod anyway, heart pounding.

He smirks and taps his tip against your pussy a few times, making you jolt, before finally pushing it inside. Just the head slips in at first, the stretch sharp but addicting.

“Good?” he asks, voice low.

“Y- yeah… just- just go slow,” you breathe, fingers clutching the hem of your sweater like a lifeline.

Clark nods, obeying, easing inch by inch. The intrusion burns and thrills all at once. He’s not just long — he’s thick, every bit of him prying you open, molding your body to fit his. You’ve never taken anything like this, not even your little friend sitting in your drawer beside your bed back at home.

“You’re so warm and tight- fuck,” he groans, eyes fixed on where you’re joined, watching every slow inch disappear inside you.

Your hand slips down instinctively, pressing against your stomach as he bottoms out with a deep, shuddering breath.

“God, you’re gonna split me in half,” you manage, half joking, mainly serious.

Clark lets out a low chuckle, eyes squeezing shut like he’s hanging into control by a thread. “You got it. Just… give me a second.”

The thin layer of sweat on his body glows under the dim lighting, tracing every line of his chest, his abs, those massive arms you secretly wouldn’t mind being in a headlock by. You stare, unable to look away.

“You okay?” he asks, voice ragged.

“Mhm,” you hum, still pressing where you can feel him through your stomach.

You can feel him through your stomach.

“Alright,” he says, opening his eyes again, gaze dark and steady on you. “Gonna move now, okay?”

You nod frantically, fingers fisting the sheets on either side of you, bracing for what you already know is about to be the ride of your life.

Clark pulls out slowly, painfully, then eases back in with less resistance this time. You’re dripping, slick coating him, smearing over the tops of his thighs with every deliberate push. It’s so warm, so wet, every nerve screams at how good it feels.

“Go faster,” you breathe, voice shaky.

His eyes flick up to yours, brows raised. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you moan quickly, pressing your lips together, trying to stay composed.

He pounds into you harder, setting a faster pace, and the flimsy twin bed groans against the floorboards with every thrust.

You tug at the hem of the sweatshirt clinging to your overheated skin, desperate to peel it off.

“No,” he snaps, catching your wrists. His eyes are dark, hungry. “Keep it on. Wanna fuck you in this.”

He fists the sweatshirt though, yanking it up just enough for your tits to spill free. They bounce with every thrust, and his hand is on you instantly — rough, possessive — squeezing like he owns them.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy. “In my clothes. My bed. Taking my cock like you were made for it.” His hand drags slowly down to your waist as he leans close, his chest flush against yours. “Should just make you mine already, huh?”

You can’t even speak — he’s so big, stretching you to the point of insanity, every thrust knocking the wind out of you. It’s almost feral now, the pace, the way the twin bed screeches across the floorboards, springs crying out with every slam. The headboard keeps smacking against the wall, a steady rhythm.

Clark didn’t lock the door. If his parents wake up and come down the hall to investigate, you’ll both be caught — sweaty, naked, and guilty. The thought only makes your stomach flip harder.

“Fuck,” Clark grits out, suddenly stilling inside of you. One hand cradles your head as the other yanks a pillow out from under you. He shoves it between the headboard and wall, eyes flashing back down at you. “Pussy so good, gonna get me in trouble.”

“Clark, M’so close…” you whisper, breathless — too breathless to say it louder, or you’d scream it.

“Yeah? C’mon, baby,” he growls, rocking his hips rough and deep, “wanna feel you cum around me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens to something sharp, electric — not just release, something bigger, heavier. Your brows pinch together, sweat slick on your skin, and you bite your lip hard to keep from crying out.

“M’gonna cum- c- cover my mouth, cover my mouth!” you squeal, the words tumbling out high and panicked.

Clark’s large hand slaps a hand over your mouth, his palm broad and warm, and you grab his wrist instinctively, your fingers not even reaching around it.

Your body seizes up, clenching around him, so tight it nearly drags him under with you — and then it happens. A sudden rush, a warm spray, your release spilling out uncontrollably, soaking his stomach, his thighs, the sheets.

Clark chokes out a moan, eyes blown wide at the sight. “Fuck…” His hips stutter, fighting for control, watching every drop. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen — and he’s already thinking about how to make you do it again.

You scream, drooling into his palm, but he couldn’t care less — if anything, it spurs him on. He keeps pounding into you with a ruthless rhythm, chasing his own high. And when the squirting doesn’t stop, when your pussy somehow clenches even tighter around him, he finally pulls out with a guttural curse. His hand works his cock in rough, urgent strokes until hot ropes of cum spill across your stomach, getting on the sweater as well.

He pulls off of you with a long, ragged exhale, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I don’t want to boost your ego” you murmur, still catching your breath, “but that was my first time doing that.”

“Huh,” he breathes out, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Well,” you tease, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “No one can be hung like you are.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, a faint pink tint creeping across his cheeks.

“God, Clark,” you breathe, glancing down at the mess, “now it’s gonna be obvious when I change clothes.”

“Hey, you made a mess too!” he whines, tugging at the rumpled sheets.

“You think we were being too loud?” you ask, tilting your head as you watch him wipe away all the fluids with the sheets he was going to wash anyway.

“Definitely,” he says with a grin, voice teasing as he gets up and looks for his robe somewhere on the floor. “Maybe we should just leave now… save ourselves the embarrassment.”

You smirk, shifting on the bed. “You might have to carry me this time, though. Just got my world absolutely rocked by Superman down there.”

He freezes for a second, then chuckles, fumbling for his robe and tying it back around his waist. “You did not just call my dick Superman,” he says, shaking his head, still chuckling.

You only hum, shrugging the sweater off and heading to his dresser to find clean clothes that don’t have his cum on them!

“Uhm…” he starts, fiddling with his hands like he can’t decide where to put them. “I… I wanna make things right. The whole… hook up stuff isn’t really my thing. So, when we head back to Metropolis… I was wondering if you- like, maybe you’d wanna go out for dinner, or stay in and I could cook for you instead? Or, um, if not that’s totally fine, I get it! We can just stay friends, act like nothing happened-“

“Clark,” you cut him off, walking toward him. “You just fucked the living hell out of me, and now you’re all shy?”

He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but yours. “Sorry… so? What do you think?”

You nod, smiling. “I would love that. Honestly, I’d be pissed if you wanted to just stay friends after fucking me like that.”

He chuckles, sliding a hand around your waist to slap your ass. You squeal a little too loudly.

“Shh!” he hisses, leaning closer, smirk tugging at his lips.

You playfully swat him with the shirt in your hands. “You really underestimate your strength, you know that?”

© VOYTER 2025, all rights reserved.

[parker-barnes-af]

Kiss Cam : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: The San Diego Padres are saluting the U.S. Navy during their upcoming game, and the Dagger Squad has been invited to attend. Hangman's only goal for the game? Get you and Bob to finally act on your feelings and confess to each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), fluff, friends to lovers, pining, language, female reader, language, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no smut, some suggestive and steamy PDA that's borderline not appropriate for public spaces, Padres don't do a kiss cam but lets pretend, I'm a Pirates fan (please pity me) so maybe some incorrect descriptions of Padres games and Petco Park and San Diego

Word Count: 12,368 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

“There’s something about a Padres jersey that has our own last names on the back that’s kind of really cool,”

You’d shot Natasha an eye roll from across the room, catching the specially made Padres jersey with your last name stitched into the back when she’d tossed it your way. In turn, you’d grabbed the one lying on your bed, ‘Trace’ stitched into the back, and tossed it over to where she sat cross-legged on your bedroom floor. You tugged your tank top down over the pink, lacy floral bra you wore before plopping down on your bed with your jersey in hand.

“Is it bad that I kind of hate them?” Nat raised her eyebrow as you held out your jersey in front of you, examining the dark brown fabric and gold stripes, before laying it down on the bed next to you. “Not the jersey itself, but that it has our names. Kind of wanted to wear my Bogaerts jersey to the game.”

Nat hummed, dragging herself off the floor and throwing herself down on the bed beside you. You cast a glance down at her, just to see a cheeky grin on her lips.

“Dying to wear Bogaerts’s name on your back-”

“Please, Phoenix, we all know she’s dying to wear the last name ‘Floyd’ on her jersey,”

Hangman’s unexpected voice was not a welcome one, as he came strolling into your bedroom to lean against the doorframe with that signature smirk of his. His presence only garnered a groan out of you as Nat sat up, laughing at the comment.

“Right, almost forgot about her undying love for our teammate-”

“I don’t remember saying you could come in,” you interjected, sending Jake a pointed look, ignoring Natasha’s comment the best you could with red creeping up your neck. His grin only widened as he lifted his hand, dangling his truck keys in the air with a little shake.

“Perks of having the spare key to the ladies’ apartment. Your fault, you entrusted me with it. Best friend perks, and whatnot,” he waved his hand dismissively, before giving you a pointed look in return to your own. “I’m also your five-minute warning that the Bradshaw Bronco just picked up the pizza and beer for lunch and should be here soon, since neither of you likes checking the groupchat. Sometimes I wonder if you two have muted it.”

“I’m terrified that they somehow shoved Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in the back of that thing,” Natasha chimed in with a fake shiver, shooting Hangman a sly middle finger for his groupchat comment. Her actions made you laugh, nudging her shoulder with your own.

“True, those three are the most brutal during dogfight football. Lord knows what happens when they're in close proximity to each other-”

“Ladies, we have more pressing things to discuss!” Hangman interrupted, clapping his hands as he stepped toward the bed, standing directly before the edge with his hands resting on his hips. That alone had you and Nat sharing a look of amusement, but Jake Seresin was all business. “I’m determined to take ‘Operation Peob’ to the next level tonight…and by next level, I mean get you, our little flower, laid.”

You weren’t entirely sure if your brain was short-circuiting or if you’d actually heard your best friend right. Truly, though, knowing Jake as long as you had, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been speaking total nonsense. Judging by the pained groan that Nat let out at your side, you knew you’d heard him right.

“Operation Peob-?”

“It’s his stupid 1000-step plan to get you and Bob to fess up that’s not working,” Nat explained with a shake of her head. “He’s been at it for months. I’ve helped, obviously, because I’m sick of seeing you two pining after one another, but the mashup of ‘Peony’ and ‘Bob’ is just terrible.”

“That time we invited you guys out for drinks, but we both canceled last second, so it was just you and Bob? My plan,” Hangman grabbed your desk chair, wheeling it over in front of the bed to sit backwards on it, that shit-eating grin on his face that you just wanted to smack off. ���Or when I started that childish game of seven minutes in heaven to lock you guys in a closet? Or when I blamed that screwed up pre-flight checklist on you and Bob so you’d be held later together-”

“I’m sorry, you did what-?”

“Point is,” Jake quickly interjected, cutting you off midsentence. “I’ve tried every single trick in the book, everything I could think of, and you two are dense. Hell, it’s like trying to talk to two brick walls, you refuse to act on shit! So, I’ve got a foolproof plan in line tonight, even Nat thought it was a good idea.”

“True, might be his best one yet,”

You looked between them as they both looked at you expectantly. Natasha Trace, your best friend and roommate, one of your closest confidants. Jake Seresin, your childhood best friend, whom you, for some reason, followed straight into the Navy because you couldn’t bear to be without him. Two people you adored more than life…who sounded certifiably insane right now.

“Guys, I’m not in love with Bob-”

“You are,” they both cut in simultaneously.

There was no reason to argue. These two people knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes, so of course they’d picked up on it.

Robert “Bob” Floyd, the bane of your existence. Not really, because you knew if he wasn’t in your life, you’d probably spend your entire life somehow searching for him. Your other best friend, who had somehow claimed that title in the few short weeks leading up to that Uranium mission. The man who, when you started sobbing as you held him in the hospital hours after the bird-strike during training, you realized you were falling head over heels in love with. 

But that was months ago, before your special detachment became a permanent squadron in San Diego. You weren’t falling anymore, you were in love, and if you had to watch him do another round of push-ups during Maverick’s drills while his arms strained and sweat in the California heat, you were going to, quite literally, gnaw the bars off the enclosure you’d closed yourself into in your mind.

“It’s not my fault he’s so hot in such a fucking nonchalant way,” Nat and Jake laughed the second you dramatically threw yourself backward on your bed. “Seriously! Sure, he stutters when he’s nervous, and he’s got those stupidly cute glasses, but Jesus Christ, if he’s not the most adorable man. But, then you, Hangman, manage to piss him off and he gets this-this fucking air of slight confidence around him, he gets so quick and witty with his comments and I’m, like, two seconds from climbing his tall, slender ass like a fucking tree.”

Word-vomit, but you didn’t care. There was no use lying anymore. Jake and Natasha were silent for only a moment before Nat’s laughter finally managed to escape her.

“Wow, you have it worse for Floyd than I thought you did!”

“I seriously don’t even think he realizes how hot he is,” you shouted, completely exasperated as you threw your arms out toward the ceiling. “He thinks girls don’t pay him any attention, meanwhile I feel like a total ass the way I’m eyeing him like a piece of meat everytime his shirt rides up on the beach. Then–the worst part–he’s out here holding doors for me, brought me a bouquet of flowers for my birthday, texts me good night and good morning every day–a thing that COUPLES DO–even makes sure he walks on the outside of the sidewalk when we’re all in downtown. He’s, quite literally, driving me insane because he’s the definition of the perfect man. As if he crawled straight out of my childhood diary.”

No one else could get a word in before the doorbell rang, and you froze. Natasha laughed again, grabbing onto your arms and tugging you back into a seated position on the bed before climbing off of it herself. Jake had already put your desk chair back across the room and was halfway to the door before he shot you a wink over his shoulder.

“No, you’re driving yourself insane by not just jumping the man’s bones, given that he’s clearly just as obsessed with you as you are with him. But have no fear. Trust in Phoenix and me, and Operation Peob will go just perfectly tonight-”

Nat gave him a shove to the back, pushing him out of your bedroom.

“Give her a damn minute, I think she’s still processing the fact that she just finally owned up to her crush. Just go get the door…and think of a new name for this dumb operation of ours on the way there, too,”

They were gone in seconds, and you could hear the unmistakable sound of Rooster announcing himself the second they opened the front door. You? You were stuck in place, thinking back over all of those moments Jake (and subsequently Natasha) had thrust you into over the last few months.

That dinner hadn’t been awkward in the slightest with just you and Bob. Honestly, you’d stayed there for upwards of four hours just talking and laughing about anything and everything like you usually did. He’d let you drink, picked up the bill without letting you even reach for your purse, and drove you home. That childish seven minutes in heaven game wasn’t even awkward. They’d shoved you both into a hallway closet in Rooster’s apartment, you’d wrapped Bob in a hug, and just laughed about your friends' antics in the dark of the closet. No one was even surprised to see you wrapped around one another when the door finally opened: the second Bob had gotten comfortable around you, the pair of you were attached at the hip like that all the time.

You loved him, but you could never tell where he was at when it came to your blurry relationship, so you always danced on the edge of wanting to say something and biting your tongue. But if Hangman was this insistent, could he see something you couldn’t? Did he know something you didn’t?

“Any chance I could get some help with these pizzas?”

And suddenly, there he stood. Tall, lean, sandy blonde hair still perfectly swept to the side on top of his head, balancing three boxes of pizza in his hands, along with the box of garlic bread and mozzarella sticks (a special request from you). Your eyes betrayed you, straying from his face and down his body. 

Shorts, an item you didn’t get to see quite often on him, but man, did he look good in them. A white t-shirt that clung to him just enough to drive you insane, his dog tags lying directly in the center of his chest. Overtop of that was his own personally designed Padres jersey, gifted to the entire team for Navy appreciation night at the ballpark, but unbuttoned in the front so that it lay at his sides…and, god, were you having thoughts about running your hand down his chest and over those abs you knew he was hiding-

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you glanced back up to meet Bob’s eyes and caught sight of the blush clearly embedded into his skin, and shot out of bed.

“Jesus, Bob, were they not going to help you at all?” you asked incredulously, taking two of the boxes from him as you tried to rid yourself of the inappropriate thoughts you were having of your best friend. He only laughed, shaking his head at your question.

“I mean, they at least took the beers,”

“Of course they did,” that comment got another laugh out of him. Easily, you joined in on the laughter, kicking his shin lightly. “Let’s go, dork, you know where the kitchen is.”

Like it usually was once a week, you and Natasha’s Southcrest apartment were overrun by the loud sounds of the men you called family, your squad, all gathered in the living room. This time, it wasn’t for game night or movie night, but instead in preparation for the San Diego Padres game later that afternoon, one the organization had personally invited your squadron to be recognized at for their Navy appreciation night at the ballpark. An opportunity to stand on the field during the pre-game festivities, the chance to watch Maverick throw the first pitch, lower-level seating on the third baseline, and your own custom Padres jerseys to wear to the game. A sweet deal, all around, that your squad was more than happy to accept.

“So, a baseball game,” Bob managed to speak, standing at your side in your tiny galley kitchen that two people could barely fit in. You were taking boxes from his hands, laying them out on the small bit of counter space you did have. “I-Is this a bad time to say…I’ve never been to a baseball game?”

“Never?” you questioned him, raising an eyebrow at him as you took the final pizza box from his arms. You couldn’t help the way your lips quirked up as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know Montana doesn’t really have a team, unless you just root for the Rockies, but you never went during basic? Not a White Sox game, or a Cubs game?”

“Nope,” Bob accentuated his word with a little pop of his mouth, leaning back against the sink behind you while you squeezed past him, grabbing the plastic plates you and Nat had picked up for today the last time you went grocery shopping. “I’m relying on you to show me the ropes.”

“Depends what I have to work with here, baby-on-board,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him with a gleam in your eye as he rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname. “You know anything about the game at all, or did you really grow up under a rock?”

With everything laid out, you flipped around, leaning back against the counter behind you with Bob directly across from you. A mistake, in that tiny galley kitchen, the lack of space making the position feel more intimate than it needed to be. Bob’s legs seemed to instinctively spread slightly without a word, allowing you to stretch out your own between them.

“If you’re in the field, don’t let the other team score. If you’re hitting…score,” Bob smiled as you laughed at his explanation. “Pretty basic stuff, but I get the gist of it, Peony.”

“Yeah, it’s a very basic understanding of the fundementals, but I can work with it,” you assured him with a grin of your own, catching your eyes flicking down for just a moment to those dog tags resting against that white shirt that had no reason to look as hot as it did on him. “Should take you home with me sometime to a Rangers game, that’s where I really shine. And it's how I ended up with my callsign-”

“Your favorite flower,” Bob chimed in immediately before you could finish your sentence, your eyes catching on the way his Adam’s apple throbbed for just a moment after he said it, his eyes averting from yours and instead to the fridge, as it was the most interesting thing in the kitchen. “How Hangman started dragging you along to games, and you fell in love with the game. But then, every time you went together, they won, like you were the secret good luck charm of the team. And when he learned that peonies just happened to represent good luck…it all fell into place.”

You desperately tried to fight off your blush when he looked back at you. You and Jake had told that story about your callsign months ago, way back during the start of training for the Uranium mission. You didn’t want to think too hard about the fact that he remembered every detail of it, instead choosing to clear your throat with a very over-exaggerated nod.

“Yeah, see…you know the story. Promise you, though, Rangers games are a thousand times better. You’ll have to come home with me sometime, when we get time off,”

“Would…your family like me?”

Yeah, in your rant to Natasha and Jake, you’d forgotten to mention moments like this. He held the door, he bought you flowers, walked closest to the road on sidewalks, texted good morning and good night, and then sometimes he just…said things. Things that just came out of left field. Comments that felt like they were straddling the line of friendship and something more, too afraid to commit to one side or another fully, as if afraid to make the leap.

His eyes held something in them you couldn’t place; you could only describe it as uncertainty. Your eyes betrayed you once again, glancing at his lips where he was just barely biting into his bottom lip, before glancing back to those blue eyes you adored so much, hidden behind those glasses that were just so him that the thought of them kept you awake at night.

“Yeah. Too much, probably,” you settled on, though there was an unmistakable air of nervousness in your tone. The air in the entire kitchen had shifted with just a single sentence, the heaviness tangible, and you felt like you were going to suffocate looking into those piercing, soft blue eyes. “They’d probably never let you leave. You’d be stuck with us.”

“I-Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” your response came quickly, still laced with nerves, just as his was. But the whole time, neither of you looked away. “I’d choose you to be stuck with.”

He’d straightened slightly at that comment from you, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms in front of his chest, the jersey lying around his shoulders tightening around him at the movement. Your eyes watched, tracked every little movement as a pang of heat flashed through you at just the sight of the muscles strewn through his biceps and forearms stretching with the movement. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. You followed suit, then stopped yourself. An invisible line was still drawn in the sand between you both, no one quite sure enough to take the leap and talk about it all. To talk about the tension, or the heated stares, or even the softer looks exchanged when you both thought the other wasn’t looking.

“Hey, my two favorite brick walls! You two somehow making love in a 75 square foot kitchen against the fridge, or can we eat some pizza with these beers?”

If there was anything that could break a moment, it was Jake Seresin. His over-confident tone shouted out from the living room, and you could hear the unmistakable sound of Natasha hitting him and the rest of the squad laughing.

With a groan and a roll of your eyes, you looked back at Bob. He wordlessly passed you the paper plates you’d set down on the counter, avoiding your eyes, even as his fingers brushed yours for a moment longer than they needed to.

The moment might’ve been ruined, but the ‘what ifs’ still hung heavy in the air like they had been for months.

“Shut it, Seresin, before I call your mother! Come get food, you hooligans, I know what you’re all like hangry and I’m not in the mood for it today,”

With pizza and beer distributed around the group, everyone found themselves seated around the limited seating that you and Natasha had in your living room. Rooster and Coyote were already taking up two-thirds of the couch, Payback and Fanboy were fighting over the beanbag, Nat had taken her favorite spot on the floor in front of the coffee table, while Bob took his usual place on the loveseat. With a beer in hand and pizza loaded up on your plate, you made your way over to the last spot on the couch. Hangman, being his typical annoying self, practically vaulted over the backside of the couch, almost knocking Bradley’s beer out of his hand as he let out an indignant ‘hey!’ at the action.

The wink Jake gave you, and the laughter that Natasha tried to cover up, were enough to tell you that this was definitely planned.

Without even sparing a glance at Bob, you took a seat on the other end of the loveseat, as far away as you could given that little moment in the kitchen not long before. You ignored the wiggling eyebrows that Jake was sending your way as Rooster scrolled through the various streaming services on your living room TV, trying to find something to watch to fill the time.

“We’ve got time for one movie; my turn, since Javy picked last week on movie night,” there was a collective groan through the room at Bradley's choice, ‘The Shawshank Redemption,’ simply because it was his usual choice during movie nights. “First pitch is at 4:10, but Mav told me they need us ready to go by 3:45 for the opening ceremony stuff. He said to meet him and Penny by the home plate gate, and someone from the home office would meet us out there.”

“I’ll take the ladies and Bob in the truck,” Jake threw in, with a sly wink sent your way. “The rest of you boys can ride with Rooster. Figured we could park in that garage off Tenth Ave since we wanted to hit up Tom’s Watch Bar after the game. Hope you ladies are cool with us crashing here tonight, because I’m not in the mood to drive home later.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sure our landlord will love a noisy, drunk group of fighter pilots staying here,” you’d shot back at your best friend, garnering another round of laughter from the group. “Nat and I aren’t sharing our beds, and we’ve only got the one air mattress, so fight amongst yourselves for sleeping arrangements. Now start the damn movie before we run out of time.”

With how often Bradley chose Shawshank during his pick on movie nights, there was barely any watching of the movie actually occurring. Payback and Fanboy had taken to giving dramatic renditions of the dialogue in terrible accents, leading to laughter throughout the room for every second of the movie.

Barely half an hour in, with pizza and sides finished off, your phone buzzed. A notification that you were added to a new group chat called ‘Operation Peob’ was the last thing you were expecting to get.

At this point, you shouldn’t be surprised. Especially with Jake. He’d been this way since high school, always butting into anything that had to do with your love life and trying to give you a push, so his meddling here wasn’t surprising. Natasha’s willingness to help and agree with Hangman, of all things, had you thinking that maybe this pining had gone on for far too long.

You and Bob were close; you sat close plenty and had been in enough semi-intimate settings with one another. What could it really hurt?

Tearing your eyes away long enough to glance at Bob for just a moment, you swore you could see his eyes dart away from your legs crossed underneath you and back to his phone in his hand, but chalked it up to seeing something you wanted to see. What you could see was that blush coating his skin. So, with a small boost of confidence, and the knowledge that Nat and Jake were definitely watching with renewed interest out of the corners of their eyes, you swung your legs out from under you and draped them across Bob’s lap without a word, bringing your eyes back to the movie screen to ignore your own skin’s flush.

You weren’t the only people in the room, but god, in those few short moments afterward, did it feel like you were. The movie felt quieter, the laughter of your friends was drowned out, and the only thing you could force yourself to think about was the fact that your bare legs were resting over Bob’s own bare legs. How warm his skin was, how it felt against your own, and you let your mind wander to how you’d give anything to feel any other part of-

Then, Bob’s hands were on your legs.

Holy shit, Bob’s hands were on your legs. And you were frozen in place.

Gentle and yet firm all the same, it was clear just in his touch how big his hands truly were as they seemed to engulf your skin. One found its place just around your knee, skin warm to the touch and igniting a fire under his touch, and what you wouldn’t give for that hand to rest just barely higher above your knee and on your thigh. His other hand rested itself right around your calf, and there only seemed to be a moment of hesitation before his fingers began to knead little circles into your muscle that had you biting the inside of your lip to keep back a noise you’d never utter in the presence of your squad.

You’d spared a quick glance at Bob out of the corner of your eyes, but his gaze never moved from the TV screen. So, you’d averted your own gaze to the movie too, but not before catching yet another obnoxious wink from Hangman and an impressed look thrown your way from Natasha.

Even as the movie had ended, and everyone was putting their shoes back on and unplugging their phones from their chargers in order to head out the door to the game, neither you nor Bob brought it up. Not once as you’d gotten off the couch, or as he’d let you use his shoulder for leverage to slip your beat-up tennis shoes on, or even as he climbed into the backseat of Jake’s truck, taking your hand in his own to help you inside.

Even in that short, barely ten-minute ride to the stadium, that heat hadn’t left your skin, and those thoughts refused to purge themselves from your head. You could only hope the same thoughts and feelings were running through Bob as he kept his gaze focused on the San Diego streets out the window.

“How did we manage to beat Rooster here?” Hangman complained the second that his truck was parked on the third floor of the garage, popping his front seat forward so that Bob could exit, helping you out as well just as he helped you in. “We left at the same fucking time, it’s not that hard to get here.”

Your hand slipped from Bob’s with a grateful, albeit nervous, smile that he reciprocated the second your feet landed on the ground of the garage.

“We took National Ave, they probably took Ocean View and hit some traffic,” Natasha shot back, rounding the truck before setting her sights on you. “You have the sunblock, right? I don’t feel like being burnt to a crisp today.”

You tossed the bottle from the back of the truck over to Nat before it was passed around to all of you, though Hangman swore he ‘didn’t need any’ and that he’d just get even more tan in the sun. He lost that argument when you, once again, threatened to call his mother.

With Rooster arriving just moments later with Coyote, Fanboy and Payback packed into the Bronco, parking beside Jake’s truck, the Dagger Squad was on the move toward the stadium.

It was barely a walk to the stadium, your chosen parking garage not even a street away, as your group made it’s way down the sidewalk in the direction of the home plate entrance. You and Bob brought up the rear, and you were barely a few steps down the sidewalk before his hand found the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine, and easily switching places with you so that he walked along the edge closest to the road.

“Why do you always do that when we’re walking somewhere?” you ventured to ask him, bumping your shoulder lightly with his as you crossed one of the main roads heading toward the stadium. Bob shot you a soft smile as his hand found your back once more, guiding you slightly out of the way as a group of rowdy teenagers went barrelling past you all.

“Roads can be dangerous, just…don’t want you getting hurt is all,” was all the answer he offered, his hand finally leaving the small of your back after lingering for a moment longer than it needed to.

God, he really was a gentleman. That smile seemed to be etched perfectly into your face until your eyes glanced at your teammates in front of you, and the jerseys all bearing their last names hanging from their shoulders.

“Fuck,” Bob glanced over at you as you groaned, rubbing at your face. “I left my fucking jersey back at the apartment. Mav is going to kill me.”

Barely a second later, Bob’s jersey was bunched up in his hands as he presented it out toward you as you walked. Your eyes shot open as you looked at him, shaking your head, but his grin only widened.

“Take mine-”

“Bob, Mav specifically told us to wear our jerseys tonight, he’s going to be pissed at you if you don’t have yours on,”

“He’ll go easy on me, it’s fine,” he tried to assure you, lips quirking up slightly more into a smirk. “He’s still pissed about that argument you and Hangman had mid-flight the other day, he won’t go easy on you.”

Part of you wanted to argue, but there was something in the look in Bob’s eyes and the flutter it sent through your chest that had you taking the jersey from him without another word.

The first thought that ran through your mind was that it was bigger, much bigger than your own jersey that was still bunched up on your bed. You were trying desperately not to think about the fact that those biceps you found yourself distracted by almost every night you guys were at the Hard Deck, in civilian clothes or in your khaki uniforms, had been hugged by this fabric just moments prior.

The second thought was the smell; unmistakably his cologne. Bob never tended to wear a ton of it, but you’d been in close proximity enough to him to pick up on it over the last few months. Cypress, a woody smell that felt like the definition of lying in nature, surrounded by pine trees, and a hint of bayberry, another woody scent that brought a hint of sweetness to the smell.

The final thought that crossed your mind the second it was slipped over your shoulders completely was the fact that you were, quite literally, wearing his name on your back. When you’d turned to look at him again, breathless just from the idea, you swore you could see his pupils almost darken just a touch as he licked at his lips, his eyes flickering away from the back of the jersey and to your face again.

“Thanks,” you’d managed to speak as it felt like heat was coursing straight through your veins. Bob nodded, and you couldn’t help but notice the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Of course,” the lower tone to his voice had parts of your body that you were not willing to think about in public practically aching with the need to touch him. “It looks good on you.”

Bob could’ve meant the jersey looked good on you, or he could’ve meant the name ‘Floyd’ looked good on you, but boy, were you hoping he meant the latter. Unfortunately, you’d already made it to the home plate entrance without even realizing it, and Maverick didn’t look particularly happy with how long he’d been kept waiting while Penny chatted with the woman from the front office there to lead you through the ballpark.

“I said we needed to be on the field by 3:45, that didn’t mean show up at the gate at 3:40,” Maverick shot at the group, before his eyes found Bob hiding in the back next to you. “Bob…push-ups after the next round of training, I said everyone needed to wear their jerseys today. We’ll discuss how many later.”

The eyes of every single one of your friends seemed to shoot back to both of you. Judging by the smirks on everyone’s faces, they all knew for a fact that you hadn’t been wearing your jersey when you’d all left and Bob had been.

“It’s nice to see you’re all here!” the woman from the front office greeted them all, and you were mentally thanking her for saving you from an embarrassing confrontation with your team. “We’re on a time crunch now, so please quickly follow me so I can get you guys to the field before the opening ceremony begins…”

As you all followed her through the gates of the ballpark and down toward one of the sections that would allow you access to the field, Hangman fell back into step beside you and Bob for just a moment. He leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear so he could speak only to you.

“Step two was to somehow get you in his jersey, but you both beat me to it. At this rate, you’ll be fucking by the fourth inning-”

You attempted to land a punch to Jake’s shoulder, cheeks blaring red, but he’d dodged it with a laugh, falling back into step ahead of you with Natasha and Coyote. It took everything in you to avoid killing him, or looking at Bob, as you made your way through the crowd of Padres fans toward the field.

“So,” Bob chimed in after a moment, his hand catching onto your forearm lightly and tugging you to his side before an already drunk older man could spill his beer on you. “You ever been on a professional field before?”

“Once, back in high school,” you answered him, cheeks still burning as Bob’s hand didn’t leave your arm, keeping you at his side as you squeezed through the crowd of the sold-out, late afternoon game. “Globe Life Field, it’s where the Rangers play. We took a field trip, got to see behind the scenes, and take photos out on the field.”

“I assume there wasn’t a huge crowd of almost 40,000 when you were on the field, though,”

“Not in the slightest,” you laughed, glancing back over to Bob as he laughed with you, though you could hear the nerves in his voice. You raised your hand, placing it over his on your arm with a little squeeze of comfort. “Don’t worry, it’ll be just fine. We just have to stand, listen to ‘God Bless America,’ watch Mav hopefully not mess up the first pitch after the National Anthem, and then we can go enjoy the game.”

Your reassurance seemed to do the trick as you walked through the gate at the end of section 114 and onto the field. The woman who had walked you down was positioning you all in a line around home plate, telling you each where to stand, while entertaining whatever it was that Hangman seemed to be animatedly telling her. You watched as she seemed to think something over for a moment, her eyes flickering toward you, before it looked like she agreed with whatever Jake had said, getting a fist bump out of him.

When you met his eyes with raised eyebrows, he’d only sent you a wink and took his place in line beside you.

Though your squad had just barely made it to the field on time, things had gone off without a hitch. The stadium announcer had introduced your squad to the crowd for Navy Appreciation Night with thunderous applause from the sold-out stadium. The local man singing both ‘God Bless America’ and the National Anthem was perfect and got his own standing ovation. Maverick’s ceremonial first pitch…could’ve been better, given how far in the left-hander’s batters box it ended up. You were all thankful that Penny was standing off to the side to get it on video for blackmail at some point.

“Section 116, row D,” Maverick informed the entire group once everyone was off the field, crowded back near the concessions as the first pitch of the game was thrown, and the Padres versus Mets game was officially underway. “Penny and I will go find seats, one of you bring us back a nice tray of nachos!”

Nat was quickly swept up by Hangman, Rooster, and Coyote, dragged off in the direction of one of the local pizza shops that were set up within the park, while Payback and Fanboy darted in the direction of a local beer company not far from that pizza joint.

“Well, baby-on-board,” you teased, spinning around to stand in front of him with a grin. “Ready to have some real ballpark food?”

Bob laughed, hand once again finding the small of your back even though there was a much small amount of people littering the walkway now that the game was underway, and he set you down a grin that had you ready to kiss him on the spot.

“I’m ready for the full experience, flower,”

That’s how, barely a minute later, you had Bob over at one of the self-serve food stations as you loaded your arms with food. A giant tray of nachos with cheese for Mav and Penny, two footlong hot dogs for yourself and Bob, and two comically large waters balanced on top. Bob was laughing again, trying to hold you steady so you didn’t drop any of the food on the way over to the checkout area.

“The footlong hot dogs are a necessity at any ballpark you visit- don’t laugh at me!” more laughter bubbled out of you as Bob shook his head with a grin, taking items out of your arms and scanning them through the self-checkout. “I’m giving you the true baseball experience, including the over-priced food. Nachos are a staple, too, Mav has good taste. And we can’t forget the water, this San Diego sun is brutal.”

Bob picked up the small packet of peanuts still left in your hands, shaking it with a raised eyebrow in your direction.

“And peanuts?”

“Another ballpark classic…I also know how much you love them, you’re always eating them at the Hard Deck,”

He looked at you for another moment, his smile almost visibly softening, before he shook his head and turned back to the checkout in front of you both.

“God, you’re adorable,”

You weren’t sure Bob had meant to say that as loudly as he did, given the flush crawling up his neck directly after, but he had. And that simple statement had you frozen in place, just watching him as he paid for the food without a complaint. Even as you both moved to the condiment station, slathering ketchup and mustard over both of your hot dogs before gathering the supplies and heading toward your seats, that little comment had you almost on autopilot.

“Finally, you two missed the entire first inning!”

It was Bradley’s voice that finally shook you awake. It was true, the Mets had gone down easily in three batters, just as the Padres did, and the second inning was already well under way. With a fake laugh, you shot Bradley the middle finger that had everyone laughing, before passing the nachos off to Maverick and moving toward the final seats in your row for your team.

They’d shoved you and Bob off on the end of the row toward the middle, placing you right between Coyote and whatever random group had unfortunately been stuck beside you all.

“Okay, I feel like I have to see what’s so damn good about these things now,” Bob announced one you both were seated, leaning over to ‘clink’ his hot dog off the side of your own with a shared laugh with you. You held off on your own, simply watching him and the way his face contorted slightly after a single bite. “It’s…it’s not terrible, but I think I’ve had better just from Bradley on the grill. Not worth the price.”

“No, but you’re paying for the experience,” you reminded him with another giggle. Ketchup and mustard were plastered to the side of Bob’s face from that one bite alone as you grabbed one of the napkins from his lap, reaching up to wipe it away. “Game has barely started, and you’re making a mess of yourself, Floyd.”

It wasn’t until you locked eyes with him that you froze, realizing how intimate a position that simple action put you both in. Just barely a few inches away from one another, close enough that you could see the faint smudges on the lenses of his glasses and study the exact shade of blue his eyes were. Close enough to, once again, watch the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, to get a glimpse of that flush in his cheeks that never seemed to leave. Your throat went dry instantly, but you couldn’t look away. Your tongue darted out to lick at your lips, and for once, you didn’t miss the way Bob’s eyes darted down to the action, lingering on your lips for a moment longer than needed, before finding your eyes again. It was hard to miss the way his pupils dilated the second they met your eyes again, or even the slight catch in your breath at that action.

“Hey! Didn’t Mav say something about acting professional today? Ballpark is no place to be eye-fucking each other, you two,”

If Hangman interrupted another moment with Bob today, you were personally going to bury him in the ground. His mother would forgive you; she loved you. Even so, you tore yourself away from Bob and the ruined moment, focusing on the game as you sent a blind middle finger down the row toward him as Mav lectured him about swearing with children around while the others laughed at the antics.

The game managed to go off without another comment from Hangman for a few innings. It was an evenly matched game, for the most part, both the Padres and Mets having some errors that led to runs that shouldn’t have been scored. At one point, on a blown-out call at second base, you jumped from your seat, screaming at the umpires just like many in the stadium were. When they’d finally set it off for review and corrected the call you returned yourself to your seat, shooting Bob a sheepish smile as he watched you in amusement.

“Sorry…grew up going to games with my dad, and with Jake. I get a little intense sometimes when they don’t call things right,”

Bob smiled and seemed to hesitate for just a moment before he stretched his arm over the back of your chair, his fingertips just barely brushing over your shoulder as he focused back on the game.

“It’s okay…it’s cute, seeing you all passionate,”

Bob Floyd was, once again, driving you insane. This time, you had no idea if he realized he was or not. 

By the seventh inning stretch and a crowd performance of ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’, your group had participated in three rounds of the wave, Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy had gotten up and given a fantastic rendition of Sweet Caroline along with the crowd that had gotten them projected onto the scoreboard. And Bob? His arm never moved from it’s place, and every so often he’d lean over toward you to mutter a question about the game right into your ear.

“Wait,” he’d leaned over for another question, and you could feel his breath ghost over the shell of your ear. It was hard to tell if you were hot because of the sun or because of Bob’s proximity at this point. The seventh inning had just ended with an out on the Padres runner at first, and they were slowly transitioning over into the eighth inning. “Why did the Mets throw to first to get that runner out when there was a guy on second?”

Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the scoreboard in left field. It’s time for the Petco Park eighth inning…KISS CAM!

“It wasn’t a forced out,” you explained to Bob, ignoring the cheers of the crowd over whatever announcement had just been made as you pointed toward the field to explain. “Since there was only a runner on second, he’s not forced to move because there’s no one behind him. If they want to get him out, they have to tag him with their glove and the ball.”

“So why not do that?” Bob questioned, glancing away from you and toward the scoreboard as the crowd continued to go wild, and you continued to explain.

“It’s not a guarantee that they’ll get him. With only two innings left, plus the score being tied, you want to throw down the runner on first and give yourself the best chance of an out. You want to end that inning as soon as possible, and while the runner is already in scoring position at second base, his chances of scoring increase greatly if he reaches third base, and you give him a chance to do so if you don’t get that runner at first out-”

“U-Uh…Peony?”

You glanced at Bob as he interrupted your explanation, tilting your head quizically at him. He glanced back at you, eyes wide and jaw slack as he pointed to the scoreboard, and you finally followed his gaze.

The Kiss Cam, broadcasted right on the scoreboard for the entire park to see. And the camera? Centered directly on you and Bob.

In a rush, the cheering of the entire stadium came straight back to you as you and Bob sat frozen in your seats, just staring at the screen as the camera stayed locked on you both. You spared a glance down the line at your friends, you squad, and they were all on their feet cheering for you both. Even Maverick and Penny were cheering.

“KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!”

The entire stadium was cheering and chanting, and it didn’t look like the camera centered just a few rows down from you both was leaving anytime soon. At least, not without what it came for.

Slowly, you turned back to Bob, eyes still wide and words caught in your throat. He was still leaning in toward you, arm still on the back of your chair. But there was a smile on his lips; nervous, but with a faint hint of something else in the quirked edges. Something that felt a lot, in your head, like hope.

You? You were terrified, but knew that you had to make a split-second decision, one that could potentially change everything…for the better or worse.

But one more second looking at those gorgeous blue eyes, or at the way his tongue peeked out to just run over his bottom lip, had you mumbling ‘fuck it.’

Your hand wound around the back of his neck before you could stop yourself, tugging the handsome WSO closer and brushing your lips against his like you had dreamed of for months. 

Even though the cheers around the stadium, practically from your friends, got louder in that moment, it was all drowned out in your own ears the second you had Bob Floyd’s lips on yours.

Gentle, polite, even a little unsure at first, was what that kiss felt like. Just the smallest touch, but the biggest leap over that blurry friendship-or-more line you’d been dancing along for so long. But the feeling, the softness of his lips, the leftover taste of vanilla chapstick, and the fluttering in your chest had your hand gripping his neck just the slightest bit harder, tugging him closer as your other hand grabbed onto the armrest between you both as if to keep you grounded. That seemed to be all Bob needed to respond in kind.

His hand left the chair behind you, curling around your shoulder to hold you as close as he could, given the awkward positioning the ballpark seats allowed. You swallowed the groan that left Bob’s lips almost involuntarily with your own mouth as his hand gripped your shoulder as tightly as it could for just a moment. While at once it was gentle and unsure, those insecurities were long gone. Bob’s lips moved against you clumsily, desperately, just trying to memorize the feel of your lips against his.

As quick as it had happened, it ended. The cheering stopped, the camera disappeared, and you and Bob pulled away from one another. A simple kiss, no more than five seconds, broadcasted for the entire stadium to see, but it had wrecked you. Inside and out, that mere moment had solidified that you were hopelessly in love with Bob Floyd, and there was no one else you’d rather be in love with. And, given the blown pupils, the heavy breathing, and the flush etched into Bob’s skin, you were praying it had solidified the same thing for him, too.

“And THAT, Dagger Squad, is how you finally get two brick walls of human beings to figure their shit out!”

You didn’t want to look away from Bob, not at all, even as the baseball game before you finally resumed play for the eighth inning. But you stole a glance behind you to Hangman as he leaned over everyone, ignoring his lecture about swearing from Maverick again, shooting you a wink as the rest of the squad looked toward you and Bob happily.

“The office worker, when you were talking to her earlier…did you plan the kiss cam?”

“I told you I had a foolproof plan for tonight, and it worked! Operation Peob can officially be labeled a success, in my eyes. At least, partially,”

“Operation Peob?”

Your attention was brought back to Bob as he asked that question, a dopey smile on his lips as his fingers kneaded into your shoulder comfortingly. You breathed out a laugh, hang sliding from his neck to rest over his chest, right on top of his dog tags like you’d thought about so many times before.

“Hangman’s terrible nickname for his plan to…get us together,” you dug your phone out, flashing him the groupchat from earlier as he let out a breathy laugh at the contents of the messages. “Nat was in on it, too.”

“Guess, she was playing double agent, then,” Bob dug his own phone out, opening another group message and flipping the phone toward you to read with a grin.

There was nothing you could do, nothing you needed to do, after seeing those messages besides laugh. Bob laughed with you, your forehead falling against his forearm as you both shook with laughter, the game behind you on the field long forgotten.

“Well, if there’s one thing I know for certain now, it’s that our friends suck at coming up with ship names,” you pointed toward his phone incredulously. “I don’t know what’s worse, Peob or Boney!”

“Boney is at least a word, I’d argue that Peob is worse. Given that Hangman came up with it, too, it makes sense,”

You laughed again, before finding yourself just completely lost in those blue eyes you’d fantasized about for so long. Bob was looking at you, too, as if lost in a daze where the only thing he could see was you. That dopey smile that refused to leave his lips was sending yet another flutter through your chest and heat to places that you didn’t need to be thinking about in public.

“So…how long?”

It was Bob’s turn to pause, thinking over your question. His arm moved from the back of your chair as your hand slid off his chest. His hand, though, only found a home right on the skin of your thigh, exactly where you’d wanted it to rest just hours ago. The feel of his skin on such a sensitive part of your body, the pressure of his grip into the muscle under his hand, had another bolt of heat shooting down your spine as your body leaned into his touch, practically begging to be touched by him.

“The first time we met, at the Hard Deck. Hangman was being a dick to me, as he so often can be, and you took his ego down with a single story from your middle school dance. I knew the second you did that…that I was utterly fucked. It only took Phoenix and Rooster a day to figure it out, too,”

If it were possible to love him more, you did in that moment. Your hand came to rest on top of his, squeezing it as the crowd cheered for the home run that had just been hit by Xander Bogaerts. Your entire attention was on Bob, though, just as his was on you.

“I realized it after the bird strike, even though I think I was already feeling something before that. To see you all scratched up, to not know if you were okay until we got to the hospital, and then the way I just broke down crying when I saw you…it was hard to ignore after that,”

Bob’s smile only widened, giving your leg an affectionate squeeze.

“We wasted a lot of time being too scared to do something about this, didn’t we?”

“We did,” you gave him a small nod, thumb tracing circles onto the back of his hand as he gave you another squeeze. “Why did you never tell me?”

“Well, at first, I was sure that you and Hangman were a thing,” he couldn’t contain his laughter as you let out a fake gag at the thought. “Trust me, after one day of training with you guys, I realized that was ridiculous. After that, we became friends, and…I got nervous. You made me nervous, like, beyond comprehension. Still do. I tried sometimes to make it obvious, with the flowers on your birthday or when I’d ask if you wanted to get dinner.”

“And to think, I was just complaining to Jake and Nat this morning that those little moments were driving me insane,” you laughed at yourself, letting your head come to rest on his shoulder as you let your eyes focus back on the ending of the game. “I was nervous, too, you know. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

There was silence between you both for a moment, just the cheers of the crowd around you, before Bob’s lips pressed to your hairline. In that moment, you were cursing yourself for not having said something sooner, for depriving yourself of being Bob Floyd’s for as long as you had.

“I’d wait again if it meant I got you in the end,”

Even in a crowded stadium, it was like you and Bob had found yourselves nestled into your own little world. As the game ended and the crowd dispersed to the streets, your group waiting until you were some of the last few to leave, you still stayed wrapped up in one another. Bob’s hand easily found yours as your fingers intertwined with one another on instinct, tying yourselves to each other as you moved with your friends out of the stadium. While the snide comments from the team thrown back your way had both of you blushing, neither of you dared to let go of one another.

The second you hit the streets outside of the stadium, fully able to observe the fast-setting sun, Hangman was leading the charge around the stadium in the direction of the bar he had mentioned hitting up after the game. He was met with no protests from the group, everyone wanting to celebrate the Padres' 8-6 win in the ninth, and also the ‘culmination of months of pining’ as they’d all glanced back toward you and Bob in the back of the group.

That’s where you both stayed in a comfortable silence with one another, simply watching your friends act like absolute psychos on the sidewalk in front of you. Bob placed himself closest to the road again without even asking, your hands never unlinking as they swung between you both.

“So, since we already kind of beared our souls to each other in those uncomfortable ballpark seats,” your smile only grew at the laugh Bob couldn’t help but let slip over your comment. “Where…does that leave us?”

He glanced over with that adorable smile, the one that was making you weak in the knees, and brought your hand up to his lips to leave a gentle kiss right to your skin.

If he wasn’t careful, you were going to get arrested for jumping his bones in the middle of the downtown sidewalk. Bystanders be damned, your need for this man was outweighing just about every single rational thought you had.

“This leaves us at me needing to take you out on a date like a proper gentleman, first,” was his response, letting your hands fall back down between you both. Your eyes didn’t leave the side of his stupidly handsome face, and your mind couldn’t help but wander to those late night thoughts that invaded your mind about him, or the way that white t-shirt looked entirely too good on him right now, or how you wanted to just grab him by the dog tags and tug him closer-

“Does being a proper gentleman mean you won’t fuck me before the first date, too?”

As your cheeks reddened, eyes quickly turning back to your friends ahead of you, you decided that you were going to blame Jake for that little outburst. How was it his fault? No idea, but you’d been blaming things on him since you were a child, so why not continue that trend into adulthood.

There was a yank on your hand, your body spinning until it collided with Bob, who had stopped right in the middle of the almost empty sidewalk. It didn’t take a second for your eyes to meet his, and you swore you could feel your knees wobble just at the look in his eyes: pupils blown and a heat dancing through them. He looked as if he wanted to devour you here, in the middle of the sidewalk, and the feeling was mutual. His large hand slid around your waist to your lower back, dipping under his jersey and barely pulling your tank top up so that his hand could rest against your bare skin. You knew in that moment that you must look absolutely wrecked.

“Yeah, a proper gentleman would at least buy you dinner first,” his tone had dropped incredibly low, a sound that nearly stopped your heart, and his grip right on your hip tightened. “But my patience is wearing a bit thin, especially when you’ve got my name sprawled across your back.”

“Well,” with your hands lying against his chest, you allowed your fingers to curl around his dog tags just like you’d thought about so many times today, tugging him toward you with a smirk on your lips. “Guess it’s a good thing my patience is wearing thin, too.”

Bob’s smile quirked up as he leaned in, just as you leaned up to him- until two arms wrapped around your waist and practically tore you from Bob’s arms, landing you over a broad shoulder with a yelp.

“Baby-On-Board, Peony! I expected more from you two!” Seresin. Of course fucking Jake Seresin had to ruin everything again, holding you over his shoulder like a scolded child as he let out a ‘tsk.’ “Public displays of affection can make people very uncomfortable!”

“Jake, you’re going to be lucky if you ever step foot in an F-18 again when I’m done with you,” there was murderous intent in your tone as he turned on his heel, continuing the walk toward the bar with a laughing Penny, Mav, Coyote, and Payback surrounding you both. You hit him once on the back with your fist, not that it did anything to him, before speaking just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re the one who was bitching at me to get laid!”

“Not in the middle of the damn sidewalk, though, little flower,”

“I wasn’t going to fuck him on Park Boulevard, but damn, at least let me kiss him! This is what you wanted!”

“Step one was the legs, step two was the jersey, step three was the kiss cam, and now welcome to step four: more tension. Have some faith in me, and our little baby-on-board is going to be begging to fuck you before you’ve even had a drink,”

You grumbled something along the lines of ‘castrating’ him before accepting that he wasn’t going to put you down anytime soon, at least not until you got to the bar. Resting your chin against your hand popped against Jake’s shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile as you watched Bob. Rooster was at his side, arm slung around his shoulder as he muttered something that had a blush coating your WSO’s cheeks, Phoenix and Fanboy laughing beside him. When Nat met your eyes, a smirk crawled across her own face.

“Comfortable up there, Peony?”

“Just peachy, Nat. Trying to calculate how hard I have to swing my leg in this position to take away Jake’s ability to breed,”

With more laughter from the group, your eyes found Bob’s, and he was already looking at you with the softest smile you’d ever seen that had your heart racing like it always did around him. Annoying friends or not, as long as he kept looking at you like that, you’d put up with it all.

By the time Hangman had trekked all the way around the stadium and across Gallagher Square to the sports bar he wanted to visit, the sun had set. The inside was already packed from what you could gather through the windows as Jake finally set you back down on your feet.

“We’ll go get a tab started,” Coyote announced, most of the group following in after him. Jake nodded in his direction, holding the door open for your group as he glanced down at you with a smirk. Your glare hadn’t softened at all toward your best friend.

“You ever pull that shit again, and I will tell the story about how you fell off your horse when you were eight,”

“Damn, pulling out the deep cuts,” his tone was indifferent, the cocky bastard just choosing to shoot you a smirk and a wink as he stepped inside the bar door as well. “It’s packed in here, go see if there’s some outdoor seating.”

Yeah right, like you gave a shit what Jake wanted at that point.

An arm snaked it’s way around your waist, hand resting against your stomach as a pair of lips you were slowly growing accustomed to the feeling of pressed to the side of your head. You didn’t hesitate to lean back against Bob, craning your neck to look him in the eyes as he smirked down at you.

“Enjoy your ride?”

You huffed, elbowing him lightly with no malice what-so-ever.

“No, especially when there’s another man I’d rather ride,”

Even as your cheeks flushed at your own confident statement, you didn’t look away from Bob, giving you a full view of the way his eyes darkened at the comment. He glanced to the bar entrance, before behind you both, before his hand wrapped itself around yours and tugged.

“Come on,”

The bar did have an outdoor patio, but given the raging humidity still in the San Diego air as night time set in, everyone at the bar had opted to sit inside with the air conditioning. Bob wasn’t stopping at the patio, though, guiding you around the bar tables and out past the patio to the secluded section behind the bar, hidden from the main walkways with trees blocking the view in from Gallagher Square.

Nervous giggles left you in those moments once you were well and truly along, just barely illuminated by the string lights hanging on the patio just a few feet away. Those giggles ceased, your breath catching, as Bob stalked toward you as if he was the hunter and you were the prey, backing you up until your back was flush with the brick wall of the building covered in darkness.

Then, he was on you.

It’s hot, its messy–its the kiss of two people who have been starving to get their hands on one another for months. You practically unravel, putty in Bob Floyd’s hands, those same hands that are caressing up your bare thighs and to your waist then back down once again, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your fingers were threaded through hsi sandy blonde hair, tugging at the strands with every movement of his lips against yours and every swipe of his tongue just along the edge of your own, leaving his taste lingering in your mouth as you craved more. 

One of his hands trailed down the back of your left thigh, gripping into the flesh and tugging it up around his waist, holding it there as he ground his hips toward your core as a breathless moan tumbled from your lips.

“I-In the interest of, uh–oh god–of putting it all out there,” you barely managed to get your words out, fingers tightening their grip in Bob’s hair as his lips trailed across your jawline and down your neck, nipping just enough at the skin that there were sure to be little marks left in the morning. “You…you realize I’m hopelessly in love with you, right?”

“I hope so, because I-I’m in love with you, too,” breathy, wrecked Bob Floyd was testing every ounce of your patience left, his words ghosting over your neck as he nipped at your skin once more, accentuating it with another roll of his hips. “If we’re being completely honest, then…can I say something?”

“As long as you don’t stop touching me,”

His laughter vibrated against your skin, his lips trailing back up your neck until they hovered right in front of your own, giving you the perfect view of his lust blown gaze. If you even had breath left to catch, it did, as the hand on your waist moved to the front of your jean shorts, fingers just barely dipping past the waistline and ghosting over the skin of your lower stomach.

“These shorts,” he snapped them back against your skin, the other hand still holding your thigh tight around his waist squeezing tightly for just a moment. “Have been killing me for hours. The legs on my lap? Nice play by Hangman, I’ll admit. You’ve been driving me insane for hours.”

“You think seeing those biceps and forearms in this t-shirt hasn’t been driving me insane?” your gaze flickered to said shirt and dog tags before returning to his eyes. “But…just hours?”

“No, for months,” he was quick to counter, leaning in an stealing another bruising kiss from you, barley pulling back so that his lips still brushed yours as he spoke. “When it’s hot out on the tarmac and you unzip your flight suit, and I can see the sweat dripping down your chest. Today, wearing my name on your back like it’s your own. But the one that never leaves me…when we all went up to the the Mission Beach Boardwalk. You wore that little maroon sundress, the one that barely comes to your knees. And I don’t know why, maybe you wanted to kill me o-or maybe it was one of Hangman and Phoenix’s stupid plans, but you didn’t wear bike shorts that day. You bent over to look at something in one of the shops, and I saw them clear as day: pink, lacy, covered in flowers, and barely covering an inch of your skin. I haven’t stopped thinking about them since.”

Desire coursed through every inch of you at his words, at the memory of that day. To know that Bob really did think of you in the same depraved way that you did him only had your want–your need–for him increasing tenfold.

The ghost of a smirk crossed your lips as one of your hands left his hair. He watched it as your fingers trailed over his shoulders, down his bicep as your nails dug into the skin just slightly, down his forearm as your nails traced his veins, before settling over the hand still gripping to your shorts. Hooking a finger around his, you dipped it fully below the waistline of your jeans as you heard his breath catch, looping it around the edge of your panties and tugging them upwards until they were just barely visible: pink, lacy, and covered in flowers.

“It’s a matching set,” you whispered in a sultry tone, his eyes finally finding their way back to yours with a newfound heat in them, and you swore you could see a thin layer of fog overtake the lenses of his glasses. Leaning in just barely, you caught his lower lip between your teeth, biting just barely enough for a groan to elicit from somewhere deep in his chest, another shot of heat going straight to your core, espeically as his hips once against ground forward as if they had a mind of their own, and there was no mistaking the size of the rigid bulge pressing against you now. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Floyd.”

“It will be when you’re finally under me,”

“You’ve got me pressed up against a wall,” you managed to joke breathlessly, hand finding it’s way back up to his hair. His fingers stayed dipped past the waistline of your shorts, slowly finding their way around to the back, his whole hand almost dipping lower now as the heat of his hand spread out across your entire ass, squeezing just hard enough for you to stutter out another gasp against his lips. You felt his lips curl into a smirk at the sound. “I-Isn’t that good enough?”

“Baby, I’m not fucking you against a wall with our Captain probably thirty feet away. No, when I finally get to fuck you, I’m taking my time until you’re ruined,”

Yeah, fuck anyone on this team that joked that Bob Floyd must have been vanilla in bed, or that he’d be awkward and stutter his way through any sexual encounter. He had you willing to put your entire career on the line for a misdemeanor just to finally feel him like you did in your dreams.

“Damn…I leave you two alone for ten minutes and baby-on-board looks like he’s two seconds from whipping it out,”

Jake Seresin was a dead man. Worse than a dead man, not that you even knew what could be worse, but the second you could get your hands on him you were going to strangle him. Or beat him. Or hold a pillow over his face until he finally stopped breathing and you never had to hear hid stupid voice again.

Your head fell to Bob’s shoulder, hands still wound in his hair and refusing to leave. He let out a soft, but you could tell embarrassed, chuckle against the side of your head, the hand on your ass slipping back to your waist, his other hand finally letting your leg drop back to the ground.

“Something you need, Bagman?”

“Was just seeing if my hunch was right and you two wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off one another,” you tilted your head against Bob’s shoulder in order to fully look at your best friend, your death glare doing nothing to deter his smirk and wink. “As usual, I was right, given that you were well on your way to a misdemeanor. I think you two should be thanking me, this is all thanks to my brilliant foolproof plan for the day-”

“Seresin, I know you like hearing yourself talk, but if you interrupt me one more time I’m going to ride Bob right in front of you just to make sure you’re scarred for life,”

It was Bob’s turn to laugh, squeezing your waist gently with another kiss to the side of your head. Jake’s smirk only widened as he took his hand out of his pants pocket, tossing something in your direction. You let one of your hands leave Bob’s hair to catch what he’d thrown, both you and Bob looking down at your hand: Jake’s truck keys.

“No scratches, that’s all I ask. And no sex in the truck,” Jake sent another wink in your direction, shuffling backward toward where he’d come from. “Rooster is designated driver, Phoenix and I will just squeeze in with them. I’m sure I can keep them busy here for three…maybe four hours, if that’s enough time for you jackrabbits to get rounds 1 through 5 out of your systems. Just wrap it, please, I don’t feel like calling your mom and informing her that you’re pregnant anytime soon.”

You and Bob could only stare at the place in which Jake had just been standing for a moment in shock, trying to process what had just occurred. Then, you laughed, spinning the keys around in your hand.

“He’s a dick, but I guess he’s a good wingman…at least on the ground. Remind me to thank him-”

Bob’s hand was on your chin, tugging your face back to him as his lips moved headily against yours, swallowing the moan you didn’t even try to suppress as that bulge nudged against your thighs once more. Lust, love, adoration, need, it was all prevalent in the heated kiss as Bob pulled away, hot breath ghosting over your lips.

“Thank him later. I’ve waited long enough to fuck you, flower,”

[parker-barnes-af]

Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

PART TWO OF Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: The Best Man and the Maid of Honor...you and Bob Floyd fell in love in the most cliché of ways, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, it's your turn to say 'I Do.'

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, established relationship, language, Hangman is Hangman sometimes, female reader, reader is very creative and can dance, UCSD info might not be accurate I don't go there, suggestive and steamy but not explicit, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol), a part two that you'll def need to read part one to understand at times

Word Count: 14,328 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

"My Siren, my Ikea...my best friend...will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

It had only been a year since that fateful night of Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, but Bob Floyd had known before he’d even had the chance to kiss you that he wanted to marry you.

Smooth, comfortable, loving, there was no shortage of words Bob had to describe what getting to be with you, what getting to love you, was like. Good morning and good night texts that had him blushing at his phone, random little texts in the middle of the day, just to check in and make sure he was safe in the skies. Mornings where he stayed over at your place, or vice versa, were some of his favorites: to wake up with you curled around him, right where you belonged, just to haul yourselves out of bed 30 minutes later to dance around the kitchen making breakfast. Being with you was everything little Bob Floyd had once wished on a star for.

He’d already known he wanted to marry you right there in the middle of Natasha and Bradley’s vow ceremony. All it took was one month-long deployment, only 2 months after becoming official with you, to solidify it in his heart and his head. 30 days without you, only able to talk through emails, had him dragging Natasha off to the local jewelers the second they were back on the mainland to buy the ring.

It was fast, but Bob had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Now, here you stood in the Hard Deck surrounded by the pilots that had become family to you both, a year after he’d finally kissed you and confessed his love for the first time. Down on one knee in the same place he’d ever seen you for the first time, diamond ring sparkling in his hand as he looked up at you, your hands covering your mouth and tears already streaming down your cheeks as you nodded feverishly.

“Yes…Bob, yes!”

The cheers that rang out through the Hard Deck were familiar, the second engagement to happen here in just 2 short years, as Bob hadn’t wasted a second in sliding the ring onto your finger. 1.5 carats, oval cut, sitting on a gold band that wove like vines while holding smaller diamonds along it. Perfect, stunning, and everything Phoenix said you’d always dreamed of your engagement ring being.

Bob barely got to kiss you long enough, though to him, there was no such thing as a long enough time to kiss you. Natasha had already pulled you away, and just like you had at her own engagement party, there was no shortage of jumping and screaming in circles, especially when Penny and Amelia joined in, trying to get a look at the ring.

“Got to hand it to you, baby-on-board,” it was Hangman that saddled up to Bob’s side first, smirking down at him, but there was a fondness laced within it. “You did good, locking this one down.”

“Please,” Rooster scoffed, joining Bob’s other side with a grin, arm wrapped around his best friend’s shoulders. “He bought this ring over six months ago. If it were socially acceptable, they’d already be married with a whole brood of kids running around.”

Bob could only shake his head, fighting off the red rising in his cheeks at the thought of the pair of you with children. Nope, not an appropriate thought to be having in the middle of the Hard Deck at all.

The second Nat had let you go, you were slotted back into Bob’s arms, not that he had any qualms with it. Tucking you under his arm that was wrapped tight around your waist, your left hand resting right on his chest with the ring sparkling in the light, you both knew there was no better place to be than surrounded by your dearest friends.

“To the two of you and this next chapter,” Maverick was the one to start the toast, drinks passed around to the entire Dagger Squad, and you and Bob. Penny was tucked under his one arm, and Amelia at his other side, as he raised his glass to you both. “I think it’s time Bob got a callsign update, because our baby-on-board is getting married!”

Laughter, stories, and simply just a night together was the best way to spend the moments after your engagement, and that’s what they got. Bob watched from the sidelines as you won a game of pool against Hangman, who was now zero for 12 in pool games against you since meeting, high-fiving Payback, who you’d subbed in for to beat Jake. And every so often, Bob would watch as you looked down at the ring on your finger and smile, and he’d smile too.

The sun had set hours ago, the night winding to an end, when you’d caught Bob’s eye again after delivering a new round of shots to the pilots. He gestured toward the door that led out to the string-light lit back deck of the bar, overlooking the ocean, and you quickly nodded and followed your now fiancée outside.

Long before you, and even as he was falling in love with you, Bob Floyd had been an awkward man. He knew he was attractive, at least a little bit, but flirting and being overly forward had never come easily to him. With you, now, Bob was an entirely different man.

You both had barely been outside for a second before Bob had you pressed up against the railing of the deck, hands splayed across your hips and tugging you into him as his lips hungrily devoured yours as if he were a starved man. There wasn’t a single word of protest from you, not that he expected one, arms finding their usual position around his neck and fingers instantly carding into his hair as you kissed him back with the same passion.

“Well, hi there, Robbie,” a smile couldn’t help but stretch across his lips as a giggle fell from you as you spoke, his grip on your hips tightening as he stole another kiss from you.

“Hi to you, too, future Mrs. Floyd,”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, bumping your nose against his with a permanent smile etched onto your own lips. “Think we can skip the ‘future’ part and just make it happen?”

“Say the word, and we’ll be at the courthouse first thing in the morning, darling,”

You threw your head back laughing like a little kid for a moment before pulling yourself back up to look at Bob, who was only laughing. He watched you as you swatted him playfully on the shoulder, but there was no real bite to it.

“Don’t tempt me. No, we’re doing this right,” he nodded along with you, simply smiling just from watching you and holding you, squeezing your hips once more in his hands just to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming. You were his. “We’ve got to make the guest list, pick the venue, find vendors, I have to wedding dress shop- Bob, I’ve never even met your family!”

“I haven’t met yours either!” another laugh was shared between you both as Bob simply shrugged in response. “It’s fine, we’ll find time to get both the families down here to meet. They’ll love you, I swear it. My sister already does, and all you’ve done is FaceTime her.”

“That’s because I promised to call some friends and snag her some Broadway tickets,”

Bob shrugged once again, finding himself stuck just watching you, just looking at you. There was nothing left to memorize from looking at you; every piece of you had been committed to Bob’s memory from the first time he’d ever looked at you here in this very bar, but you were Bob’s favorite work of art to admire. Now, he gets to do it until the end of time.

“There’s one more thing we have to add to your list,” you hummed in question to his statement as Bob leaned into your hands as they tugged slightly on the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’ve got to move in with me.”

He watched as you seemed to pause, head tilting as you watched him in silence for a moment, trying to gauge the level of seriousness in his statement. Bob simply kept an innocent smile on his lips as he watched you.

“...Bob, what did you do?”

“Well,” the smile on his face was slowly forming into a smirk. “My lease ends at the end of this month, and I remembered there was that townhouse over in Mission Valley you fell in love with on Zillow the one night-”

“Robert Floyd, shut up, you did not-”

“It’s ours,” one of his hands left your waist as Bob curled it around your cheek, cradling it in his hand as his thumb swiped over the skin of your cheek delicately. “Well, technically mine since I signed the lease, but ours if you want to. I know I should’ve asked you first, but y-you fell in love with it on the app, the price was amazing, and it’s the perfect distance between UCSD and the Naval Station here on Coronado. And I know your lease was ending at the end of this month, too-”

You’d cut off his incessant rambling with a passionate kiss, hand tugging the back of his neck until his lips crashed into yours. Bob would never get over it, never get over the feel of simply kissing you and holding you, being the only one who would ever get to have you like this.

“Yes, a million times yes,” there was a smile on your lips as you spoke against his lips, and one spread across his own as well as he pulled you back in for yet another heated and feverish press of lips against lips. “Now, I know they’re all in there celebrating us, but can you do me a favor?”

“Anything you want, whenever you want-”

“Take me home and fuck your future wife, Bob Floyd,”

“...yes, ma’am,”

That night was how Bob found himself, barely two weeks later, standing in the living room of your brand-new townhouse. After seven grueling hours filled with the entire squad unloading, driving to reload, and unloading the rented out U-Haul over and over again, the furnishings between Bob’s old apartment and your own had finally been consolidated and brought to the appropriate rooms. 

Hangman and Rooster had argued over the positioning of the living room couch until Phoenix had knocked her husband on the head, begrudgingly agreeing that Jake’s layout made more sense, before moving off to the rest of the heavy furniture. Maverick had used Coyote and Fanboy as his assistants, mounting the living room TV on the wall and setting up the internet throughout the home. Bob had only gotten glimpses of you throughout the last few hours as you passed by the kitchen in a hurry with Natasha, Penny, and Amelia hot on your heels, moving boxes of decorations throughout the home. He and Payback had been relegated to organizing the kitchen.

Now that he was getting a chance to stand in the living room, your living room together, Bob couldn’t help that he was getting slightly choked up. It was his couch in the living room, the one you both had so often fallen asleep on many times watching movies after long nights at the Hard Deck, but decorated with the multitudes of throw pillows and blankets from your apartment that Bob had a habit of stealing on cold nights. The bookshelves on either side of the expertly mounted TV were a combination of both of you, a mixture of your countless romance novels and the many astronomy books that Bob had since he was a child. A finished LEGO set of the Up house took up an entire shelf (something you’d insisted you build together after Bob cried one night watching the movie for the first time). Multiple bouquets of LEGO flowers decorated the other shelves (a staple item that Bob loved buying for you, seeing how much you adored flowers).

Countless photos sat on those shelves, too. Photos of you when you were younger, latched to Natasha’s side, beside pictures of a young Bob, taken from science fairs and even countless school dances. The side tables on either side of the couch held the photos of you and Bob: one of the entire wedding party at Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, one sneakily taken by Coyote of the two of you on Coronado Beach, and then a photostrip you’d both barely been able to keep your composure for during a trip to the San Diego Zoo. You’d thankfully listened to his one request, and that was to hang the photo of you at the Tony Awards red carpet (a photo that Bob adored and his sister was incredibly jealous of) years ago next to the frame holding the playbills of the numerous Broadway shows you’d been a part of.

It wasn’t just a place to live, it was a home. It was your home, together.

The second arms wrapped around his midsection, a head pressing against his shoulder blades, he knew it was you.

“It’s our home,” Bob turned in your arms to tug you into his chest instead, hands cradling your head as he pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” you’d look up, chin on his chest, and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he laughed down at you. “Where are the others?”

“They’re making use of the fire pit in our backyard already. Bradley ordered pizza, said he and Nat would go pick it up along with some beers for a proper welcome party,”

“Not surprised,” he’d laughed again as you extracted yourself from his arms, walking around the living room and just silently observing the decorated space. “Though, I could think of a thousand better ways we could celebrate…alone.”

All this time later, Bob could still simply listen to you laugh on repeat. His grin never fell as you shot a look back at him, shaking your head with a tiny roll of your eyes.

“What happened to my awkward and charming WSO, huh?” you commented as you returned to his arms, Bob pulling you in and spinning you around for a moment as you laughed again. “You’re turning into a mini Hangman.”

“I resent that statement. If I ever get even close to Seresin levels of confidence, please whack me over the head,”

You shoved him off playfully with another eyeroll, stalking toward the dining room he’d yet to look at as you called over your shoulder.

“Oh yeah, my parents called earlier. They’re going to come visit next weekend, so I called your sister, and she’s going to bring your parents out that weekend too!”

That was news to Bob. His eyes grew wide as he hurriedly followed you in the direction of the dining room.

“We have a week to plan a literal engagement party?”

“Don’t worry,” you were sitting on top of the dining room table when Bob finally rounded the corner into the room. “Nat said she’d handle everything, we just have to let her ‘beautify’ this place as she sees fit.”

Whatever comment Bob had died in his throat as he looked at you, sitting on top of the dining room table with a teasing smile on your lips. It only clicked in his head when he finally looked down at the table itself, unable to control his laughter.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the ‘GRÖNSTA.’ My mortal enemy,” you shared in his laughter, arms finding their place around his neck as Bob slotted himself between your open legs, pulling you closer to him by the belt loops of your pants. He gave the table an affectionate pat before raising an eyebrow at you. “Thought we agreed we were keeping my table, not yours?”

“Didn’t feel right to abandon this one, honestly. It all started for me with dropping this table on you, after all,”

There had been so many moments over the course of being with you where Bob Floyd knew he was in love, that he would never be able to love someone else the way he loved you. There was the time he’d brought you lunch, weeks after making it official, during one of your classes where your students teased you endlessly until your cheeks were as red as the shirt you were wearing. Or the night when he’d woken up at almost 3 a.m. to see you sitting on the balcony of your apartment, wrapped in a blanket, just staring up at the stars until he’d joined you, naming off little constellations for the rest of the night. 

He’d never forget the day before the team had left for deployment, how you’d been there to see them off. You’d held yourself together to hug Coyote, Hangman, Maverick, and the others, barely held yourself together for Bradley, and then started to break when you pulled Natasha into a hug neither of you wanted to let go of. Then, you had fully broken the second you were in his arms, muttering ‘I love you’ like a prayer and making him promise to come back. Bob knew then that, as long as he knew you were waiting for him, he’d find any way possible to come home. San Diego wasn’t home, you were.

“T-Thank you…for loving me,” the playful atmosphere in the room dissipated as Bob’s hands cupped your jawline, cradling the most precious thing he’d ever had in his hands. “For choosing me.”

“I didn’t choose you, Bob. I didn’t have to,” was your response. “From the moment I started to fall, there was never going to be another choice for me.”

Well, when you put your love so eloquently, what more can Bob do besides kiss you? Slow, but firm, full of every ounce of love he could muster in his body, and vice versa. Your teeth pulled at his bottom lip just barely, tongue ever so slightly brushing past his lips as your own lips swallowed the groan Bob let out without even realizing it. One of his hands immediately found your waist, pulling you straight to the edge of the table and flush against him as he-

“BOBBY, SIREN, IF YOU TWO ARE STARTING THE BABY MAKING PROCESS ALREADY, YOU BETTER GET THOSE CLOTHES ON-”

“Hangman, knock it off!”

What a strange, sometimes annoying, family you’d both gained with this eclectic group of pilots. But god, did you both adore them all, even in their most annoying moments.

Thankfully, they’d elected to leave the two of you alone for the entire week to…’settle in’ as they called it. Hangman had joked every morning for the entire week about Bob seeming ‘more sluggish’ or that he ‘looked a little sore,’ and the rest of the group had only laughed along with the comments. It didn’t help that Bob never denied them, only shook his head and turned his attention back to basic training.

The crew didn’t need to know that their ‘innocent baby-on-board’ was far from innocent when not in the public eye, or at least, when he was with you. You managed to make him throw every inhibition he had out the window, especially since that night of Rooster and Nat’s ceremony that was permanently burned into his brain forever.

Innocent…what was so innocent about how he’d claimed to you that one of the perks of moving in together meant christening every surface of your new home? You may not have believed him when he said ‘every surface,’ but by the time Friday rolled around and Natasha was running around your house preparing for the engagement party the following day, you knew never to underestimate how much your future husband wanted to worship you ever again.

“Zip me up?”

Now, if Bob ever said no to that request, he’d have to ask Rooster to personally bury him in the ground.

Natasha and Bradley were fussing around downstairs, ordering the rest of the squad to make sure everything was set up exactly as they’d planned for it to be. Poor Sydney, the receptionist from the college that you’d grown close to, was roped into the fray, too. All for good reasons, given that the Floyd family was seconds from arriving, as was your own. 

You and Bob were in your bedroom (god, he was never going to get over saying that: YOUR bedroom, together), putting the finishing touches on your outfits.

A sleek, navy colored button down tucked into a pair of Bob’s nicest jeans, and topped off with the cowboy boots that he’d been wearing for years sitting right beneath the bottom edge of his jeans. Put together, fancier than anything he ever wore for work or even to the Hard Deck, but you were the vision in his eyes. The prettiest white, v-neck dress that hit just above your knees and showed just the appropriate amount of skin. Intricate pink flowers were woven into the bodice, sleeves fluttering down your shoulders and out around your elbows, with matching white pumps to pull it all together.

Radiant. Entrancing. Classy. Tasteful. The most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, and you would soon be his forever. Bob would never stop thanking God for making this dream of his come true.

He didn’t answer you, just simply appeared behind you. His fingers delicately held the zipper on the back of your dress, dragging it up the back as his fingers just barely brushed over your spine. His eyes never left yours in the full-length mirror you both stood in front of, simply smiling as he watched a small shiver run through you at his touch. The second the dress was secured, Bob’s arms encircled your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, and you both heaved out a sigh, knowing what awaited you downstairs.

“Did we have to have an engagement party?”

“Yes, because you didn’t think ahead like Bradley and just get everyone at the Hard Deck to celebrate as you proposed,” he knew you were just joking around with him, but Bob still pinched your side for the comment, drawing a small laugh out of you. “I’m kidding! Yes, love, we have to have an engagement party. Your sister threatened that if our families didn’t meet, she’d personally ‘throw hands’ with me.”

“She would never hurt you, she knows I love you too much,” your head turned to look at Bob as he leaned in, stealing a sweet kiss from you that ended all too soon for his liking. It could’ve lasted just a tiny bit longer if not for the squealing of Natasha ringing through the house from the living room, drawing a laugh out of both of you. “Judging by Phoenix’s scream, I’m going to assume that means your family is here.”

“Yes, probably celebrating getting to see their ‘second daughter,’ as they’ve always called her,” laughter was shared once again as you spun in Bob’s arms, adjusting the collar of his shirt for him before stealing yet another kiss. “Let’s go get this show started, Lieutenant.”

Watching your parents excitedly embrace you as your mother gushed over the ring on your left hand, had Bob’s anxiety through the roof for the first time in days. He’d just barely said hello to them over FaceTimes over the past year, but that was the extent of it, and you hadn’t been back to visit your hometown since moving to San Diego. In short, their daughter had moved to San Diego, gotten a boyfriend within 6 months, and was now engaged and newly living with her fiancé, whom they had never met, barely a year later…Bob was on edge. And the ‘reassuring’ looks Bradley, Fanboy, and Hangman were shooting him across the living room were not doing anything to help him.

“Oh, is this my future son-in-law? Finally, I get to see this handsome pilot!” your mother’s demeanor, on the other hand, was enough to calm his nerves. You were the spitting image of her, same little wrinkle around your eyes as you smiled, that same award-winning smile that he adored, it was a gift in and of itself to meet the woman that had given him you. He easily let her pull him into a tight hug, not a single argument from him.

“Weapons Systems Officer, technically, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs-”

“Absolutely not, you’re about to be my son,” yeah, you were your mother’s daughter in ways beyond just your looks. The stern, yet playful glint in the older woman’s eyes as she pulled away to point a finger at him reminded him so much of you, he couldn’t help but let his smile grow even larger. “Just call me Amy, and my husband here is William.”

William. Your father. That was what intimidated Bob the most, especially as the man simply grunted and stepped forward, holding out his hand. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, taking your father’s hand in his own with a firm shake. Your dad only responded with another simple grunt and a nod, but when he glanced at you and the little thumbs up you gave him, he knew that was all the approval he needed.

“Hey, baby-on-board!” Hangman’s voice cut through the house, drawing the attention of everyone lingering around the living room toward the front door. “I found some Floyd stragglers outside the door, they belong to you?”

“Baby-on-board?” Bob had heard your father mumble to himself before Bob’s older sister was practically launching herself into her brother’s arms with a laugh.

“Alright, alright, Sophia, relax!” Bob laughed out, quickly able to separate his older sister from his arms, just for her to immediately hit him on the shoulder. “Hey-! What was that for?”

“For not letting me come here sooner and meet my future sister, optical wonder,” he rolled his eyes at the old nickname from their childhood, swatting her hands away as she tilted the glasses on his face. She let out a gasp, practically shoving him to the side, when she’d finally caught sight of you. “MY SISTER!”

Sometimes, he really wondered how they’d gotten such starkly different personalities. Bob liked to think that Sophia just sucked all the extrovertedness out of his mother when she was born that she’d left nothing over for him, leaving him the awkward, introverted man he was today. But he was thankful for her extrovertedness, as it seemed to immediately calm down whatever nerves you had as you tightly hugged his sister back as if you were childhood friends. In reality, your actual childhood best friend was currently hugging your parents as if they were her own.

“It’s so nice to finally see you outside of screens!” you’d laughed when Sophia finally let go of you enough to take a step back. “Oh, I called a friend from New York the other day! He said to let you know that whenever you plan that New York trip you want to take, he’ll hook you up with tickets for whatever show you want to see.”

“You know, if I didn’t already know my brother was so in love with you he’d cry if you ever left him, I’d marry you myself just for that. Now, you have to let me pick your brain later about what it was like to be in the original cast of The Great Gatsby…”

Bob could’ve watched the interaction for the rest of the night between you two and died happily—two of the most important women in his life, his sister and his future wife. But, alas, one of the OTHER most important women in his life was tugging him into a tight hug, tearing his eyes away from you.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Robert,” his mother sounded as if she was crying as she hugged him tightly, and Bob didn’t hesitate to hug her back just as tightly. “You picked a good one with her, I can tell.”

“Thanks, ma. And yeah, I know, I’m not sure what I did to deserve her,” Bob said that sentiment often to himself, and he still couldn’t believe it. When she’d finally let go, his father had pulled him into a similarly tight hug with a pat on his back. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, bucko. Why don’t you introduce us so we can get this party started?”

Natasha and Bradley had managed to steal Sophia away after you’d introduced her to your own parents, promising to go and introduce her to the rest of the squad she’d heard so much about. So, when Bob turned with his parents, you were already waiting with a smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” like your mother had with Bob, Bob’s mother was quick to bring you into a hug and wave off your comments.

“Please, just call me Carol Anne, darling. And this is my husband, Joseph,” you’d been passed off to Bob’s father for a hug as well, before Bob was quick to pull you back into his side, hand finding its place on your waist where it belonged. “Oh, you two just look so darn perfect together! Like it was meant to be. Just wait until I get a few drinks in me, I’ll be telling all your friends here stories about my little Robert. Did you know he tried to build a model volcano in the seventh grade once, and it exploded so badly they had to call the fire-”

“Please, any story but that one,” Bob groaned as your laughter filled the air, your hand similarly around his waist, giving him a squeeze in comfort. Your mother was the next to step up and laugh, gaining Bob’s parents' attention.

“You think Robert was bad? Natasha’s mother and I once had to go bail our girls out of getting expelled because they decided to try and hack their teacher’s computer to pull a prank on him!”

Carol Anne Floyd had laughed loudly at that snippet of a story from your mother, Amy, while your father was passing off a beer to Joseph Floyd. The men shared a small nod, engaging in light small talk while your mothers became best friends almost instantly, leading their husbands through the house as they swapped stories back and forth.

With most everyone in attendance having migrated to the kitchen or the backyard, Bob and you were left in a comfortable silence for a moment, before you both turned your heads to look at each other.

“You and Phoenix almost got expelled?”

“You blew up a volcano?”

“Darling, that’s objectively not as bad as almost being expelled,” you could only laugh, leaning your forehead down on his collarbone as he pressed a firm kiss to the crown of your hand, hand gently rubbing at the back of your neck. “Hey, the worst part is over. They met and they like each other!”

You peeked your head up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And they’re about to drink so much alcohol and tell so many embarrassing childhood stories that Hangman can hang over our heads AND Nat’s head for the rest of time,”

“...point taken, l-let’s go cut them off before they even start drinking,”

Cutting off the alcohol from them did nothing. By the end of the night, Hangman had so many stories of you both as children that you both knew you would never hear the end of it.

Those stories, though, were overshadowed the second you handed a soccer ball to Natasha in the middle of dinner in the backyard. She stared, confused, until she read the Sharpie writing on the side of the ball.

I’ll let you be my Maid of Honor, as long as you promise not to hurl one of these at my head at the wedding like you did in Kindergarten.

A sweet sentiment, and a cute idea, until Nat had almost hurled it through the glass of the window leading back into your home. Bob would have to remember to thank Coyote for the excellent diving save he made to protect your home that you’d barely been in for a week.

Natasha had sobbed, just like you had when she’d asked you the same question over a year prior, repeating the simple phrase of ‘yes’ until you assured her that you’d heard her the first time.

So, when Bob handed a pair of new aviators over to Bradley with a sticky note attached to them, it wasn’t shocking to Bob that his best friend managed to get choked up almost immediately, realizing what was happening.

You told me that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love…and you were right. I’d want no one else to be my Best Man on my special day.

It was an immediate yes, both men trying to hide their tears at the fact that they were able to be there for one another in this way. The tears didn’t stop, though, as Bob handed another pair of aviators over to Fanboy, asking him to be a Groomsman as well, which was met with another resounding ‘yes!’ from the man.

That was met with an ear-splitting scream from Sophia Floyd when you handed another soccer ball to her. She hadn’t even had to read the words, already tossing the soccer ball into the air (another thank you to Coyote for yet another stellar diving catch) and throwing her arms around you with cries of joy.

Natasha Trace-Bradshaw, Bradley Bradshaw, Mickey Garcia, and Sophia Floyd, the four who would get to stand by your sides on the greatest day of your lives.

Now, when you and Bob were the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, you had a lot on your plates. But being the Bride and Groom this go around? It started to sink in for you both just how much you really had to do in order to prepare an entire wedding.

“What if we just go back to your last idea and head down to the courthouse and make it official?”

Bob laughed from his place on the couch in your office, simply lounging back on it as he enjoyed the lunch he’d brought you both on another one of his rare days off. Hunched over your laptop, you shot him a look for his laughter, which only managed to get another small laugh out of him.

“Darling, you’re the one who said you wanted to do this right-”

“And I do want to do it right, but we’ve been looking for two months and haven’t found a venue that we like!”

The frustration was written clearly on your face as you huffed, turning your attention back to your laptop. Bob felt the frustration, too, it had been extremely difficult to pick a venue. 

There was the pretty rooftop in La Jolla that was accentuated by the ocean in the background, but La Jolla just felt too local for both of you, like it was a safe option. Bob had joked multiple times that he only planned to get married once, so there was increased pressure to make sure the venue was everything you both wanted it to be.

There was a pretty ranch located outside of San Bernardino with views of the San Gorgonio Mountain in the distance. But, for as gorgeous as it had been on the walkthrough, it felt huge in a way that neither of you had liked.

For a moment, you’d both almost chosen the beach club located north of Los Angeles. Perfect views, gorgeous indoor venue, and the price hadn’t been half bad. But a single comment from Fanboy about how he’d love to play some dogfight football right where the ceremony would be held, Bob and you had quickly realized that giving any of your fighter pilot friends access to the beach would probably not end well.

“Come here,” Bob’s voice was gentle as he beckoned you over, and you hadn’t hesitated. His eyes tracked you as you closed the door of your office, flipping your sign to signal to your student that you were ‘out’ for the time being, before practically crawling into his outstretched arms.

Bob smiled to himself as you slotted like a puzzle piece into his side, leaning back against the armrest as you essentially lay half on top of him, leg slung over his own, and head nuzzled into his chest. He didn’t waste a second in letting his fingers tangle into your hair, nails gently scratching into your scalp as you hummed, letting the peaceful silence envelop you both for a moment.

“What was your dream wedding when you were little?” Bob glanced down at you questioningly as you broke the silence.

“My dream wedding?”

You nodded, shifting so your arms rested on his chest, chin sitting atop them so you could look at him. Bob let his hand travel down your back, resting along your hip with a squeeze and a soft caress of his thumb along the skin exposed at the end of your shirt.

“Yeah, your dream wedding. Come on, everyone has one. Natasha and I had Pinterest boards of ours, though I’m sure most guys weren’t that crazy about it,”

He’d laughed, silence settling over the office again as he was lost in thought, only the faint sound of your favorite playlist playing off your laptop in the background.

“This ranch back in Montana,” he’d spoken quietly after a moment, his other hand coming up to swipe a stray strand of hair out of your eyes as you watched him in silence, a tiny grin spreading across his face as he spoke. “Was in the Rockies, near Flathead Lake. I was there in high school, one of my older cousins was getting married. Said her vows right out in the field, next to this little pond, and the mountains behind her. But the reception was in this pretty barn, not too big but not too small, and I remember thinking…this is what I want. The beauty of nature that came with a ranch, with those warm, yellow string lights hung around the barn,”

One of your hands reached out for the one cradling your cheek now, as Bob watched you bring his palm to your lips, leaving a small kiss directly to the center with a smile.

“It sounds beautiful,”

“What about your dream?”

“I brought Nattie along to this wedding of a fellow castmate of mine back in New York years ago. It was over off the Long Island Sound, so they had plenty of money to blow on whatever they wanted,” soft laughter escaped you as you shook your head, and Bob only watched with a loving smile. “Anyway…it was at this gorgeous vineyard, but the best part was the house. It was just a house, set on this gorgeous vineyard. They got married right on the back deck, overlooking the vineyard, and we partied the night away inside the house. It was rustic, in a way, while still having this modern elegance. It was intimate in the best ways. Nat had to watch me update my entire ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board the entire Uber ride back to our hotel that night.”

“So, what I’m hearing is we need to find a rustic-type house with an intimate feel on a ranch,” Bob let out a short chuckle as you playfully swatted at his chest. “I’m serious! There’s how many wedding venues that are scattered up and down the California coast? There has to be something close to that.”

Bob adjusted himself as you sat up, bringing him back up to rest against the back cushions of the couch as well, throwing your legs over his lap before bringing out your phone. He tucked you back into his side, hand coming down to rest over your jeans overtop of your calf as he kneaded circles into the muscle.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to give it a look,”

There were ranches, alright, many of them. From San Diego to San Francisco, it seemed like there wasn’t a single stretch of a few miles without a ranch in the area. But it was in looking that both of your eyes landed on one ranch in particular, tucked just an hour North of North Island.

An old, Spanish-style ranch house, tucked on its own private ranch. Beautiful trees overhang the home, the ceremony area, and large expanses of flowers running up and down the sides of the houses, bringing a pop of color. A reception area decorated in those same warm, yellow string lights Bob had mentioned, and not to mention a view that encompassed everything beautiful about nature.

It only took one look between you both to know that this was the place. It also only took a single minute on the property, flanked by Bradley and Natasha for extra support, for all four of you to know it in your hearts: this was where you’d get married.

Bob thought back on that moment a lot in the coming weeks, of visiting the home he’d get to marry you at in a few months, for the first time. To watch you stand beside Phoenix in the same spot that a pastor would join you together forever, to know that someday soon, he’d see you standing there beside him in a white dress as he would inevitably cry over the sheer joy of knowing he was lucky enough to love you.

The younger version of himself was still pinching himself. To think that Bob Floyd, who’d grown up being labeled the little nerd among many of his classmates, who’d worked so hard to prove himself and better himself as he joined the Navy, who’d flown countless dangerous missions in his job, had somehow managed to get the girl.

The smile on Bob’s face was a permanent fixture when he was with you, as his fingertips just gently held tight to your own as he spun you around your living room. The coffee table had been pushed to the side, the remnants of dinner left discarded on the top of the little wooden table, as one of the songs Bob had coined as ‘your song’ (a staple on the playlist he’d made to always play in the car with you) played softly from the speakers.

For I can't help falling in love with you.

“I-I’ve been dying to ask,” Bob’s voice was low as he spun you back into his arms, hand not wrapped in your own finding its way to settle along your waist. “This song…was a bit of an ironic song to play when you were teaching me to dance that day. Was that on purpose?”

You’d laughed, leaning up to bump your nose along the edge of his own with a playful wink.

“I was maybe, sorta, subtly trying to make a point. Or plant a seed, whatever you want to think. But yes, definitely on purpose,”

“So I was just blind?” Bob joked as you giggled once more, stealing the glasses right off his face to slot onto your own, giggles only getting louder as he squinted his eyes to try and see you properly.

“You figured it out eventually. Though I still had to make the first move and tell you I was waiting for you to ask me out,”

Bob rolled his eyes, stealing back his glasses and slotting them back into place so he could see you properly again.

“I-I asked you to dance! Took a pep talk from the bride and groom, but I technically got the ball rolling that night,”

“Alright, I concede,” you’d thrown your hands up in fake surrender before Bob had stolen them into his own hands, tugging you back into his chest. “Speaking of our darling friends, they still won’t tell you what they have planned for our bach trip, will they?”

“Just that it’s combined like theirs was, but they’re being tight-lipped about it,”

“I’m hoping whatever it is, there will be a chance to get more blackmail on Seresin. Especially now that he knows all those stories about us,”

“See, I knew I loved you for a reason,”

Bob had terrible timing when it came to getting turned on, but there didn’t seem to be a single thing you could do that WOULDN’T turn him on at this point. But the teasing lit to your voice, that spark of mischievousness in your eyes, and that burning desire to make fun of Hangman any chance you could get was something he adored. That adoration, right now, was sending his mind on a trip of thoughts that included carrying you off to the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed, before dropping directly to his knees-

“Cabo San Lucas,”

If there was anything that could break Bob out of the horny, schoolboy thoughts invading his mind in that moment, it was that.

“Cabo-?”

“You left me in charge of the honeymoon choices, and I think I’ve decided on Cabo,” you quickly ran off from the room, coming back with a folder of printed off papers from the dining room as Bob just watched on with a little smile. “It’s relatively cheap compared to other places I’ve looked, and gorgeous. We can see the El Arco, those geological formations- we can even go whale watching! Not to mention the beach, there’s scuba diving, dining is all included with the suite and the flight is only two and a half hours, meaning we could leave right after the reception-”

Bob could’ve listened to you talk for hours on end, but kissing you sounded better. Truly, no matter what he was doing, kissing you was always the better option. He barely even had to look, snatching the papers from your hands and tossing them toward the chair in the corner of the living room. His large hands encircled your waist, sliding up under the edge of your shirt to ghost along the heated skin of your back and up your spine, pressing you into him as his lips slanted around your own, swallowing your words and the moan that followed them.

It was like lighting a spark when the two of you kissed, the way every anxiety and insecurity seemed to melt off of Bob Floyd in waves, replaced by an overwhelming sense of confidence rooted in love. You tried to speak, but his mouth pressed to yours harder, a feverish clashing of lips that conveyed every ounce of passion Bob carried in his body for you.

The backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch as he brought you down with him. But your time above him in the seat of control lasted for just a second before he had you pinned beneath him and the first few buttons of your blouse unbuttoned in less than a second. His eyes trailed over the flush of your skin, the redness that started in your cheeks and trailed down your neck, disappearing into the swell of your breasts and lower to places he’d seen more times than he could count, parts of your skin he’d worshipped for nights on end. Like a starved man, his lips attacked your neck, latching onto the spot just under your jaw that always drew such a delicious moan out of you. It only took a second for that moan to make it’s presence known, your body arching up into his as one of his hands found your hip, locking you to the cushions below you.

“I-If I’d known talking about Cabo, Mexico would-oh god-would get me this I-” the little breath you did have hitched, and Bob could hear your heart hammering out of your chest as his lips trailed their way down to your collarbone, leaving a mark just above the bone, before continuing their descent at a sinful pace. “I would have-Jesus Christ, Bob-I would’ve suggested it months ago…or every day.”

That elicited a laugh from him. That sense of humor that had gripped him from the moment you’d stepped into the Hard Deck so, so long ago, joking with him to take half the credit for keeping Natasha safe in the sky. Or the night you’d put Hangman in his place, the first time of many, asking Bob to be your partner in pool. God, that snarky little sense of humor you had, the very thing that could manage to break him out of every introverted thought he had and made him want to sing your praises in front of the world.

He’d pulled away from your skin, hovering over you. Breathless. Slightly sweaty. Flushed beyond belief, just as you were, and all he could do was smile down at you in a way that he could almost physically see the flutter that was sent through your chest.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” his words for airy as he looked down at you, almost in disbelief. “You said honeymoon and it just-it made it seem so real. I-It’s like I finally remembered…I get to marry you. I get to marry my best friend, and I-I get to do every day of the rest of my life with her by my side. Cabo-that’s great, whatever you want you can have, darling. I’d steal a jet and fly you halfway across the world if it made you smile.”

It was your turn to pull Bob down into a kiss, this one lighter, sweeter, but just as passionate in your own way.

“Well, in the wise words of my favorite singer…you knew what you wanted, Bob Floyd, and boy, you got her,”

You’d barely finished your words before laughing, Bob’s head falling against your chest with a tiny groan as he nipped at the exposed skin.

“Don’t ruin the moment with song lyrics,”

“Too perfect an opportunity, Robbie. Besides, you love me,”

Yes. Yes, he did.

Bradley and Natasha had managed to keep all the details of your joint bachelor and bachelorette trip under wraps, neither of you had a single inkling of what they had planned for everyone. But like they had for the Bradshaw trip, the couple had gathered you both in their car for the trip, while Hangman had been put in charge of picking up the stragglers (including Bob’s sister, who Bob had to warn Hangman a thousand times to please NOT flirt with, but he was only met with a fly wink).

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really thanked you, Floyd,” Natasha had said to him, somewhere about four hours into their drive. Bob was leaning against Rooster’s Bronco as the tank filled up at a rest stop along the highway, watching with a smile as you and his best friend argued over snacks through the windows of the gas station. He’d turned to look at Natasha, raising an eyebrow at the girl who he considered one of the four most important women in his life.

“For what?”

“Loving her the way you do,” Phoenix bumped her shoulder with his, chuckling at the blush that instantly formed on his cheeks. “For taking our advice at the reception, for just…being everything I’ve ever wanted for my best friend.”

A small smile crossed Bob’s lips as he bumped her shoulder back.

“Thanks for letting me love her,”

“Bob Floyd, even if I wanted to, there’s no stopping that girl once she wants something. And, boy, did she want you,”

Bradley and Natasha had forced the pair of you into blindfolds soon after getting back on the road, saying it was all in the name of surprise. That left he two of you pressed to each other’s side in the back of the Bronco, whispering your conversations to one another through the darkness of your blindfolds, Bob’s hand resting comfortably on the bare skin of your thigh as he rubbed small circles into the skin.

“Alright, alright, both of you just stand right here-”

“You know, ‘nix, they’d probably appreciate if you took the blindfolds off-”

“Seresin, no one asked you! Okay, both of you just stand still for a second,”

Neither you nor Bob moved, Bob’s hand wrapped around yours as your best friends positioned you in front of the Bronco. The air was hot, the sun beating down on you all, as you both waited slightly impatiently to see what they had planned.

“Alright, welcome to your trip!”

The second the blindfolds were off, Bob could instantly feel himself get choked up. And with one glance at you, he could see you struggling to do the same.

That gorgeous home, nestled in the desert by the Colorado River, sat before you all. It was just as stunning as the first time you’d seen it, when you’d been here on the same trip for Bradley and Natasha. Bob could only watch as your hand flew to your mouth, tears welling in your eyes as you turned to look at the grinning husband and wife standing in front of you both.

“What-how did-”

“On the last night here, we were sitting out on the deck looking up at the stars,” Natasha told you, tears evident in her own eyes, and Bob could remember the moment like it was yesterday in his head. The moment he’d realized he loved you. “We were sitting there, talking about anything and everything like we always do, and you dropped the bomb on me that you were in love with my back-seater.”

“And not even twenty minutes later,” Rooster chimed in, shooting a wink toward Bob. “It was you at my door telling me that you were in love with our little Siren over here.”

“Long story short, what I think the lovebirds are trying to say,” Hangman chimed in front the front door of the home, where he stood flanked by Coyote, Fanboy, Payback and Sophia, that typical Seresin smirk on his lips. “Is why not walk you two down memory lane and relive this moment? Don’t worry, the married couple over here planned some brand new activities for the week so that it doesn’t feel like deja vu.”

“And!” Fanboy chimed in, jabbing his thumb back toward the house. “We already claimed rooms and made sure to leave you guys in the same room as last time. You know, nostalgia purposes and whatnot.”

Bob made a mental note to himself to buy Rooster and Phoenix several rounds of beers next time they were all that the Hard Deck for the most thoughtful trip they could’ve possibly thought of. It really took all his self-control not to cry just at the thought that went into this for them.

“It really does look just like it did all that time ago,”

You were right, that bedroom where everything had changed for you both looked exactly the same. The same quilted comforter, the same curtains, and the same people, just not the same relationship they had the last time they were in here.

Bob barely let you put the bags in your arms down before his own arms were encircling your waist, head buried in your neck as you giggled, the air he blew into the nape of your neck tickling your skin.

“You know, t-that night I told you that you were my best friend…what I really wanted to do was tell you I loved you,”

You spun around, fingers splayed across the nape of his neck as you pulled him into a quick peck, one that he chased after in hopes of making it last longer.

“I know. I was really hoping you would,”

“I got there eventually,” he’d quipped, pressing a kiss to your temple as his fingers flexed along the small of your back. “There’s no more secrets left to keep this time, I can do and say what I want…I can fuck you in this room like I wanted to so long ago.”

That flash of heat, that burning desire, was evident in your eyes just at his words alone, just like he knew it was in his, too.

“Well, Lieutenant, I’m pretty sure we’re sharing a wall with Fanboy,” you quipped with a smirk overtaking your lips. “Do you think he’ll mind if we keep him awake like we did at the Lafayette-”

“I CAN HEAR YOU BOTH LOUD AND CLEAR, HANDS TO YOURSELVES YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!”

If the first week he’d spent in this house was full of memories he’d never forget, Bob wasn’t prepared for what their best friends had in store for them for their own party.

Two full days were spent on Lake Mead, one on the shore and another on a cruise around the lake. What Coyote was dubbing the ‘Second Annual Dogfight Chicken’ games had commenced almost immediately when you’d hit the beach, a grueling few rounds of knocking one another off each other’s shoulders. But for the second time, you and Bob had come out victorious, even if the others complained that you’d won twice in a row now (though that sneaky move on Hangman to attack the single spot you knew was ticklish to give you an opening to shove him off Rooster’s shoulders was dubbed the ‘play of the game’).

Bob hadn’t been as distracted by your thighs on either side of his head this time, or at least, not as distracted as he had been last time. Besides, he spent enough time buried between them whenever he could be.

The second day hand consisted of a day trip to see the Hoover Dam, something Bob sheepishly admitted was on his bucket list of places to see that they’d conveniently skipped over last time. His dream trip didn’t originally include Payback and Fanboy trying to argue if you could survive jumping over the edge of the dam, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. The sunset cruise around the lake was the first time you’d all dressed up, and Bob groaned the second you’d put on the same slit dress you had worn to Vegas last time. Judging by the wink you’d sent his way, you knew exactly what that dress did to him, and you were doing it on purpose. It was all worth it for the free champagne shoveled your group's way by the entire staff of the cruise, the second it was announced that you were both engaged.

Las Vegas was a must, but this time it included an off-Broadway production of ‘Mamma Mia.’ A day and night well spent in Bob’s eyes, just to see the smile on your face as simply being around a stage, your hand excitedly grasping his and squeezing it throughout the performance, mouthing all of the words to yourself. Bob found himself watching you more than the musical that night, not that he’d complained.

You had vehemently tried to convince Hangman to go to another Magic Mike show, which ended in an embarrassing twenty minutes for the pilot as you showed Sophia Floyd every single video you’d taken as blackmail last time.

No matter what they’d done every day, between little hikes through scenic places like the Valley of Fire State Park, or even the days spent inside together, watching Coyote and Natasha almost fist fight over an intense game of Uno, were moments Bob would never forget. He’d cherish them forever, because you were wrapped under his arm for every single moment.

That’s where you found yourselves on your final night, on the deck of your rented home, sitting directly between Bob’s legs on top of the picnic table with a blanket wrapped tightly around you both, admiring the stars above you. And if you looked close enough with the naked eye, Bob swore you could see hints of the Northern Lights streaking through the light pollution-free night sky.

“When we get home, everything changes,” it was you who broke the comfortable silence between you both finally. “We’ll be in the home stretch. In just a matter of weeks, I’ll finally be Mrs. Floyd.”

God, he’d never get tired of hearing that, of imagining you with his name. He didn’t have to imagine it for much longer.

“You’re already Mrs. Floyd in my eyes, we just need the piece of paper that says you are,”

You’d laughed, like you did at all his jokes, swinging your legs over to the side so that you could sit sideways and see his face. Illuminated by just the moon, the stars, and the little porch light somewhere behind them, Bob wondered how it was possible you got more beautiful every time he looked at you.

“Everything will be confirmed, I’ll get my dress. Our families will all arrive, we’ll walk down the aisle and say ‘I Do’, then we’ll dance the night away before we jet set off to Cabo,” your head leaned against his shoulder, eyes never leaving his own as you spoke. “Then comes…the rest of it.”

“The rest of our lives,” Bob tacked on as you grinned back up at him.

“Full of bills, and I’m sure some petty arguments here and there,”

“Don’t forget babysitting our friends at the Hard Deck for eternity,”

“Hmmm…then there are kids,”

“Kids?” you’d had the conversation before, briefly in the past, so the little statement didn’t shock Bob. If anything, it sent that familiar flutter he’d felt for months as he was falling in love with you shooting through his ribcage. His eyes were locked on yours as your smile turned sheepish.

“Three, that’s my max,” your voice had become a whisper now, but still loud enough to be heard in the silence of the night surrounding you both. “Ideally, two girls and a boy. Not like we have much of a choice there.”

“Hmmm, then I hope the boy is older,” he’d shot back with a shy grin of his own, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “Let him look after his little sisters. We have to throw in a dog, too.”

“But none of those little dog breeds,” you shook your head, lips eternally morphed into a smile. “No, we have to have a big dog. I love big dogs.”

“German Shepard, maybe a Golden Retriever,” Bob nodded along in agreement. “Have to get them at the same time we have the kids, that way they can grow up together. Watch them run around the backyard together, grow up being best friends.”

“Teach them responsibility young, make sure they grow up with a good head on their shoulders. Can’t have them turning into their Uncle Jake,” that brought a laugh out of both of you. But as the laughter dissipated, Bob could see the change in your eyes, the softness that seemed to enter them. “Our own little family.”

Bob could feel it, his own features soften, as his hand reached up to cup your cheek, ghosting his lips over yours in a kiss. His words came out in a whisper next, fanned over your lips.

“Our perfect little family,”

Neither of you were privy to the fact that the entire Dagger Squad was lurking through the glass sliding door, taking as many sneaky pictures as they could. Or of Sophia, crying into Hangman’s shoulder as she continuously murmured about how happy she was that her brother had found you.

Alas, peaceful moments such as a trip out to the desert would always have to come to an end. And with your peace coming to an end, the final wedding preparations were finally underway. And those final weeks were more stressful than any of the weeks that had come before.

The guest list was completely finalized, the caterers from the venue were notified of the number of guests, and the menu for the night was set in stone. The photographer had confirmed themselves for the day. The cake order was in, a split chocolate and vanilla tiered cake, since you and Bob were so indecisive on a flavor. The flowers were set, Natasha and Bradley had taken care of ensuring the decorations were all prepared with the venue, and they’d meticulously checked to ensure that your chosen wedding colors of various shades of blue were accurately represented. Everything was falling into place.

You’d flown back to your childhood home with Natasha to pick up your dress that you’d flown out and chosen months prior, while Natasha was picking up her own dress as well as Bob’s sister’s. Bob, of course, hadn’t seen the dress, but was informed by his mother and sister that they’d instantly cried the second you’d walked onto the platform in front of them in it. He knew that was an indication that there was no way he was getting out of crying at the altar.

It was the twenty-four hours leading up to the wedding when everything seemed to finally sink in.

The guests were all in town, the venue was set, and the entire Dagger Squad and your families were at your side at the venue the day before, as the manager ran you through the rehearsal.

You weren’t even in your dress when you walked down the aisle toward him, listening to the instructions that the manager was giving about how this would all go down. You were in jeans, a favorite pair of his that hugged you in every way that made him want to swoon, and an old t-shirt of his that he noticed you gravitated toward wearing in every anxious moment you had.

Bob would’ve married you right there in that outfit if the pastor had been there to perform the ceremony.

The venue walked you through where you’d exit, where the Dagger Squad would be able to perform the Arch of Swords, and through the seating for dinner and the reception. Pizza, cooked by the venue staff, was served to you all for the rehearsal dinner, while everyone laughed as Hangman and Coyote gave fake speeches, prepared just for the night.

Your hand had never left Bob’s, and Bob’s had never left yours. You were in sync with one another, and the anxiety radiating off of you both was clear as day.

It only grew worse when it was time to part ways, both of you agreeing to stick to tradition and spend the night before your wedding apart. Bradley and the boys waited across the driveway of the ranch for Bob, while Natasha and Sophia were waiting patiently by her car, everyone knowing you both deserved one last moment with each other before everything changed.

“The next time I see you…you’re going to become my wife,” Bob tried his best to keep his emotions in check, but he knew tears were forming in his eyes as he looked down at you, the most precious thing that had ever been his and would ever be his.

“And you’ll be becoming my husband,” you were doing a less fantastic job of keeping your emotions under wraps, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you held Bob’s hands in your own, squeezing them as tightly as you could. “You’re my best friend, Bob Floyd…just don’t tell Nat that.”

He laughed, as did you; those familiar words he’d told you so long ago felt like a hug right now. You didn’t need to say ‘I love you’ in this moment, because that little line had said it all and more.

“You, Ikea, are my best friend too…just don’t tell Bradley,” a lump formed in his throat as you smiled up at him, words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “You…you’re sure, r-right?”

Even in that moment, where you were professing your love to him in a way that only he could understand, Bob couldn’t stop his insecurities from talking to him, for taking the lead. You were a million miles out of his league; he’d known it from the moment he met you. It felt like imposter syndrome, knowing that he’d gotten this far, that you were just hours from being his forever.

You knew him, he knew you did. That’s why he knew you could see his anxiety talking, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks as you brought him down into a kiss that sucked the air straight out of his lungs.

“I wish I could accurately articulate to you how much I love you, but all I can say is…people spend their lives searching for exactly what I found in you,” you’d choked out through your own tears, wiping a stray one from his cheek as you spoke. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Robbie, than I am of loving you. I don’t think there’s a single thing that could stop me from walking down that aisle tomorrow.”

Bob didn’t waste a second before pulling you into another kiss, the salty taste of both of your tears on your lips as he tried to convey every ounce of love he carried in his body for you through that single kiss. It would never be enough, though; there’d never be anything he could do or say to accurately explain it to you.

“Alright, Prince Charming and Cinderella, the princess needs to run along before she turns into a pumpkin!” Hangman’s voice called out across the driveway, pulling you both away from one another. “Hell, baby-on-board, we aren’t currently being shipped off to war right now, it’s a night apart. She’ll be all yours after tomorrow!”

You both laughed, as did all of your friends, and you both knew it was time to go. With a finally whispered ‘I love you’ shared, Bob had rejoined the boys, and you had joined your bridesmaids, and the first domino was finally falling on the day you’d both been waiting for.

Bob Floyd didn’t find himself wearing his Navy dress whites often, but this was the most nervous he’d ever been while wearing them.

The Groom’s suite was just him, Rooster, Fanboy, and his father, but Bob still felt like he was suffocating as he adjusted his uniform, ensuring there wasn’t a single thing out of place. It was the only thing he could think to do, it was distracting him from the thought of you on the other side of the house, getting into your wedding dress with the help of your mother, his mother and sister, and Natasha.

Holy fuck, Bob Floyd was getting married.

“Alright, bucko, it’s almost time,”

Bob turned to his father, the easy smile that sat on his lips, and he finally let out the nervous breath that he seemed to be holding in the entire time.

“Dad…respectfully, how the hell did you get married to Mom?”

The older Floyd laughed, clapping a hand down on his son’s shoulder with a grin.

“Truthfully? I was as nervous as you were, until your uncle forced a shot down my throat. Even then, I was nervous until she was standing in front of me at the altar. Then…the nerves just melted away,”

“And I might have pretended to be nice and confident for you and Hangman,” Rooster chimed in as he slung an arm around Bob’s shoulders with a grin. “But god, I was trying not to shit myself. Had to remind myself that Nat would’ve killed me if I had.”

The three laughed before their gazes turned to Fanboy. He simply held his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t plan on doing this for a long time. Unless that cute friend of Siren’s from work, Sydney, is interested,”

Another round of laughter was shared, and that seemed to be all Bob needed to give the three standing around him a nod of his head.

“Alright…let’s do this,”

Bob’s anxiety was still at an all-time high as he stood at the altar, the rest of their squad sat in one of the front rows, directly next to Mav and Penny. His family sat directly before him on his side, while yours sat on your own side. Now, all Bob had to do was wait, and pray he could remain calm.

He wasn’t kept waiting long.

That familiar music he’d heard a thousand times, in real life and in movies, kicked in as the guests all rose to their feet. Bob’s hands wrung together before him as Fanboy in his dress whites and his sister in a gorgeous light blue gown took their first few steps down the aisle.

Bob couldn’t help but smile the second he saw the dresses. If there had been a single doubt in his head, it was gone now: the dresses almost matched his eyes perfectly.

Natasha and Rooster followed right behind them, bright smiles on their faces as they looked to Bob. Rooster and Fanboy quickly took their places beside him, patting him on the shoulder for confidence, as Natasha and Sophia took their places opposite the men.

Penny’s daughter, Amelia, led Bob’s little cousin down the aisle, both holding the little pad for the rings as well as throwing the petals down on the aisle to ensure his little cousin didn’t drop the rings. It garnered a laugh from the entire room as they took their places.

Then the music changed, and you stepped out on your father’s arm, and Bob couldn’t hold himself together.

He’d seen this exact dress, one saying under your ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board, and he always thought you would be the most gorgeous thing to ever grace this earth in it. And he was proven right. A billowing white ball gown, a sweetheart neckline with little off-the-shoulder sleeves you’d gushed about on so many other dresses, and a veil that shimmered like it was made from stars hanging from the top of your head.

A smile meant just for him, and a single tear slipping down your cheek that your father was quick to wipe away.

The older man handed his daughter over to Bob without a single fight, just a smile and a nod, and suddenly Bob was standing face to face with the love of his life, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d barely heard a word the officiant had said the entire time, until you handed your bouquet off to Natasha and took Bob’s hands, preparing to recite the vows you’d written yourself over and over again.

“I moved to San Diego for a job, and it just so happened that my best friend came as a package deal with it. I have so many things to be thankful to this city for, but I will never be able to repay it for the fact that it gave me you,” you’d swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to contain yourself in order to move forward, while Bob was slowly falling apart before you. “I’d never thought I’d find what so many of my friends over the years had found, too engrossed in my work and what I loved doing. But then you, this six-foot, awkward Naval Weapons Systems Officer, stumbled into my life, and I dropped a table on you, and I knew I was a goner. I vow always to be your biggest supporter, to be the most loyal partner you could ever hope to have, and to spend the rest of my life making jabs at our friends at the Hard Deck in your honor. In every universe…I hope it’s you that I’m standing across from to make these vows.”

Bob didn’t hesitate to reach out and wipe a stray tear from your cheek, gaining a slight laugh out of you that he couldn’t help but smile at. But it was finally his turn to speak, and Bob’s nerves were back in full force.

“You…you gave a speech at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and at the end you said something that stuck with me: “They say love is just a friendship that caught on fire,’ and I swear you looked at me after you said it. It might’ve been meant for our best friends, but that was for us, too,” he wiped away another tear that escaped down your cheek, the room laughing at the action. “I told myself that schoolboy crush I’d managed to gain on my best friend’s childhood best friend was nothing…then you dropped that table on me. I have never been more thankful for Swedish furniture than I was that day, because that put us here now. I promise to support you in everything you could ever want, to love and cherish the ground you walk on day and in and day out, and to give you the life that you deserve more than anything. For so long, I had no idea what I needed in my life…then you showed up, and now I don’t know how to live in a world without you.”

The officiant’s words were a blur. Bob barely remembered uttering that familiar phrase: ‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ or that you’d said it back. He didn’t remember saying ‘I do,’ he barely registered the ring that now would forever sit on his left hand. There was only one thing he remembered.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

Bob had barely waited for him to finish, his hand taking you by the waist and pulling you into a kiss that had the entire room erupting into cheers, the unmistakable crying of Natasha in the background that could be heard clear as day.

“Hi, husband,” you whispered against his lips, eyes half lidded as they looked up at him. Bob couldn’t help the way his own stretched into a smile, looking down at you as he pressed you back into the kiss for a moment.

“Hi, wife,”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Robert Floyd!”

Surreal was the only word that Bob could use to describe the moment, and every moment after. It was like having an out-of-body experience as you’d walked under the Arch of Swords, as you’d been whisked off through the ranch with your wedding party in tow for an abundance of photos, the entire Dagger Squad dragging Maverick along for even more group photos. Bob’s eyes never left you, and not a single word needed to be said between either of you besides the smiles you shared.

They’d announced you both into the reception, and the hollering that Rooster and Hangman were doing had the entire room in laughter. Just like he had many, many months ago, Bob held his hand out to you, palm facing the sky, and you took it without a second thought, the music chosen for your first dance echoing around the trees of the outdoor reception air, lit by the warm, yellowed string lights all around you.

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say…take my breath away. My love, take my breath away.

The same song that had played that night, on a dance floor similar to this, where everything had taken its definitive turn. Where you’d confessed to each other, where months of pining had finally reached its pinnacle, and where your lives together had started.

Bradley and Natasha's joint speech wasn’t something either of you was expecting when you’d been sat for dinner among your friends and family, but it didn’t disappoint.

“I’ve had the privilege of being best friends with our lovely bride, our Siren, since I chucked a soccer ball at her head in Kindergarten,” Natasha started, giving an innocent shrug when the room laughed at the story. “And when I got reassigned to North Island, back to Top Gun, I was given Bob as my backseater, not knowing he’d become one of my best friends.”

“And truly, when I watched Bob give our buddy Jake the nickname of ‘Bagman’ during a training exercise, I knew he was going to be my best friend,” Rooster shot a wink toward the two of you, who laughed along with the rest of the room. “And it took introducing these two just once for my wife and I to go home and say…man, they’d be great together, wouldn’t they?”

“To be fair, I’d had an inkling for months about it,” Nat made sure to interject. “I remember showing her photos of our nerdy little WSO, and suddenly she was very interested in learning more about him. And anytime I show him a photo of the girl I call my sister, his skin flushed so red you probably couldn’t tell the difference between him and a tomato.”

Bob shook his head with a groan as the room laughed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment as you pressed a kiss to his temple before Bradley continued.

“So, my wonderful wife and I devised a plan. Throughout the entirety of our engagement and wedding planning, since these two already had to spend so much time together, we were going to force them to spend even MORE time together until they got together. Come to find out…we didn’t even need to meddle, they found one another without any help,”

“And we are…so happy that you found each other,” Natasha was trying to hold in a sob as Bob reached over, holding your hand tightly in his as you too tried not to cry. “You’re our best friends, and we knew that we were going to have high standards for whoever our best friends fell in love with. But you fell in love with each other-”

“And I’ve never seen two people deserve each other more than you both do,” Rooster interjected, shooting Bob a wink. “They do say that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love, and they were right this time.”

“We love you both, and we can’t wait to witness your lifetime of happiness together, wherever it takes you,”

Bob thought he’d cried all the tears he could seeing you walk down the aisle, but apparently, a sentimental speech from your best friends was enough to bring him another round of tears.

You’d eaten together, you’d laughed, and then you’d danced the night away with every person you both held near and dear to you surrounding you on the dance floor. Bob’s eyes never left you, he never left your side, so when you’d both snuck off the dance floor to grab another drink and Bob held out his hand for you to take, you didn’t waste a second in trusting him.

Like two teenagers sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, he’d led you through the twists and turns of the ranch until finally finding what he’d found the night before at the rehearsal dinner: the private deck, well enough away from the hustle and bustle of the dance floor and the bar, surrounded by flowers and even more warm lighting.

“Couldn’t wait to get out of there?” you’d teased as Bob turned back to look at you.

“No,” he shook his head, taking a step forward and taking your face in his palms. “Just couldn’t wait to do this.”

Intense. Passionate. Loving. Full of desire. There was no shortage of words that could be used to describe what Bob felt as his hands trailed down to your waist, clutching you to him as if you were the last bit of oxygen left in the world, his lips moving against yours as if he hadn’t just kissed you not so long ago at the altar, claiming you as his forever.

You weren’t any better than him, though, one hand curling into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging on it, swallowing the groan Bob involuntarily let out with another kiss to his lips. Your lips, the nude lipstick sitting on top of them hanging by a thread from how passionately you kissed him, moving them down to his jaw, and leaving a lingering kiss just beneath his jawbone by the hollow of his throat, elicited yet another delicious groan from him that had you laughing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Bob just barely managed to get out, breathless as he tugged your face back to look at him, an innocent smile on your kiss-bitten lips, and your teeth bit into your swollen bottom lip for a moment..

“Excuse me, you’re the one who dragged me out here to make out with me, Lieutenant!”

“Yeah, and I’m one more lip bite from you away from throwing you on top of that table over there and fucking you,”

Did Bob know where that sudden burst of confidence came from to utter something so sinful? Absolutely not, but that was just the effect that you always had on him—the effect you’d have on him for the rest of his life, now.

You’d only laughed, hands coming back to drag his face back to yours in another kiss. Softer. Gentler, but still just as passionate and full of love and desire as it had been moments ago. Then, you laughed, lips still pressed against Bob’s, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so funny?”

You pulled away, and Bob could’ve swooned just by the look in your eyes. The pure love that shone in them, the adoration, as you chose your next words carefully with a gentle smile.

“The Best Man and the Maid of Honor fell in love…and now they’re married. How did we possibly get even more cliché, Mr. Floyd?”

Bob smiled, and suddenly he was back in that room at the Lafayette, your naked body lying under him for the first time as he’d kissed you for the first time. And he’d loved you properly, like you deserved, for the first time.

And then, he spoke.

“Somehow, we did. But…I wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Floyd,”

[parker-barnes-af]

Perfection. 🙌

Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, insane amounts of pining (my god I couldn't stop), maid of honor and best man trope, kind of friends to lovers, language, Hangman is Hangman, female reader, reader is very creative and can dance, UCSD info might not be accurate I don't go there, suggestive and steamy but not explicit, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol)

Word Count: 13,515 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

PART TWO - Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

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

“Natasha Trace, my best friend…will you marry me?”

The Hard Deck erupted into a chorus of excitement the minute that Natasha told Bradley Bradshaw yes through a curtain of tears. Bob was cheering right along with them, elated for his two best friends and to know that Rooster had pulled off the proposal he’d been stressing over for weeks now.

The couple had made the rounds in the moments after. Maverick and Penny were the first to congratulate them both, and Bob could’ve sworn he saw tears in their Team Leader’s eyes as he hugged Rooster. Hangman had a snide remark under his breath, but gave the couple both his heartfelt congratulations, followed by Fanboy and Payback.

“Couldn’t have done this without you, Bobby boy,” Rooster clapped his best friend on the back, bringing him into a tight hug before letting Natasha hug her back seater. “Bob’s been helping me plan this for weeks, making sure everyone would be here tonight for the engagement party. The greatest future best man a guy could ask for!”

“Bradley, it can’t be an engagement party without our families,” Natasha had quickly argued back, shooting Bob a bright smile. “But thank you, Bob. It means the world to both of us.”

“It’s what you both deserve,” he’d told them wholeheartedly. “Seeing my best friends happy is all I want.”

“Going back to your engagement party comment,” Bradley cut in, shooting his now-fiancée a cheeky grin as he gestured behind her. “Don’t think I didn’t think of everything.”

Bob laughed along with Rooster the second Natasha turned around, shouting in glee at her family standing directly behind her. She’d thrown herself into her mother and father’s arms, given her sister a tight hug, and a whole new round of tears had sprung as they admired the ring on her finger. Bob nudged his best friend with a grin.

“You did good, Rooster,”

“Oh, this is just the beginning,” Natasha’s attention was turned back to Bradley the second she heard him say that, raising an eyebrow as she missed the sneaky smiles on her family’s faces.

“What else could you have possibly pulled off tonight-”

“Give your man props, Nattie. He knew if he proposed to you without me in attendance, one of us would likely kill him,”

It wasn’t the first time Bob had ever seen you, but it was the first time he’d ever seen you in person. Natasha had shown him many photos of herself and her childhood best friend, the girl she considered more of a sister than anything else, many times before in all their time knowing each other and working together. He’d seen the elementary photos, the awkward middle school photos, the prom photos, and the intermittent photos taken throughout adulthood, anytime the pair of you could find time to see one another.

He hated that, based solely on photos and stories of you, he’d grown the most schoolboy crush in the world on you. He wasn’t sure if there was an “unspoken” code about crushing on the childhood best friend of one of your own best friends, but he felt like it definitely crossed a line.

Rooster was laughing from Bob’s side as you and Natasha practically bounced around in circles together, talking a mile a minute as you admired the ring sitting snugly on her left hand now. With arms wrapped around one another, you’d both turned back to the boys as Bob watched you flash a smile in Rooster’s direction.

“Bradley, nice to finally see you outside of FaceTime screens. And nicely done with the ring, I’m glad you took my advice,”

“Who was I to question the advice of the master?”

Bob felt his breath catch for a moment as your gaze finally turned to him, and he could see you fully for the first time in front of him.

God, you were even prettier up close than in your photos. 

“You must be the infamous Bob that I’ve heard so much about,” Bob wanted to melt under your smile as you flashed your attention toward him. “Thanks for keeping my girl safe in the skies.”

“Well- I’d say she keeps me safe more…”

“Team effort, at least take half the credit,” you’d joked to him, before Natasha had quickly pulled you into conversation once more.

It was stupid, Bob thought, to have a crush on a woman he’d never even met before. He couldn’t help it the entire night as he watched you talk and joke with Natasha’s family, the way you so effortlessly made conversation with the entire Dagger Squad, even though it was the first time you’d met them all. Through photos, videos, and stories alone, Bob had gained a schoolboy crush. But now, as you animatedly explained a story of you and Phoenix from your childhood, he could feel his crush growing from seeing your personality shine.

Thankfully for Bob, he’d barely have to see you. You’d fly home most likely the next day, and the next time he’d see you would be for wedding preparations. That’d be plenty of time to get over his dumb little crush on his best friend’s childhood best friend.

“I’m telling you, it was the funniest night of our entire lives!” Natasha was practically in tears, and so were the rest of the Dagger Squad members as you choked out your words through your own laughter. Bob had a hard time looking away from you as you spoke. “I’m up there on that stage, sold out high school theater guys, ready to give my really intense monologue, and suddenly the set wall just comes CRASHING down with Nattie here clinging onto it!”

“I warned them during set construction that the wall was just begging to fall down!” Natasha laughed, leaning back against Rooster with a shake of her head. “That was immediately the last time I let this one here talk me into helping with the school musicals. Never signed up again, no matter how much she begged.”

“And wait, this was opening night too?” Fanboy chimed in from his space beside Bob as both women gave him a nod. “That somehow makes it even funnier. I can’t thank you enough for bestowing us with the gift of these stories tonight.”

“Yes, yes, consider them a tiny gift for all of Nattie’s friends here tonight,” you turned away from the rest of the squad to look at your best friend, though. “It’s your engagement party, though, so I think it’s time that I gave you your gift.”

Bob could see the smirk on Rooster’s lips as he watched the pair. Bob, along with the ret of their friends, watched intently as well as you dug a key out of your back pocket, dropping it into Natasha’s hand without another word. Bob’s front seater cocked an eyebrow, examining the key in confusion.

“A key…how…nice?”

“Well, I have to make sure someone in this city has a spare key to my place,” Bob felt his breath catch for a second, catching onto your words before Natasha did, as you beamed at your best friend. “To my apartment, over in Logan Heights! If I’m going to be the newest Professor at UC San Diego, I’m going to need a place to live-”

If there was a contest for trying to break the sound barrier with a scream, or even how much one person could cry in a single night, Natasha Trace was pretty close to winning them both. Between her shouts of “YOU’RE MOVING TO SAN DIEGO?” and a lot of loud crying, as Rooster smirked, letting his friends know he knew about this surprise, Bob knew this night had quickly become absolute perfection in both of his friends’ eyes.

Bob also knew that now, his plan to squash his little crush on you had failed before it even had the chance to begin.

He’d managed to avoid seeing you for a few days, but that didn’t mean that Natasha had shut up about you. Every day, while thousands of feet in the air, he’d listened to her ramble on and on about how the pair of you had always wanted to live in the same city together once you were settled in your careers, and she was finally getting her wish. She’d also run about a thousand ideas for how to help you decorate your apartment by him, and somewhere in there had tricked him into agreeing to help herself and Rooster set up your apartment.

“I can’t thank you all enough for the help,” you’d told the three standing in front of you one early Saturday morning, giving them all thankful smiles, before turning to the multitudes of boxes stacked around your living room. “I…frankly have no idea where to start. The boxes are all stacked in their corresponding rooms, and there are a ton of IKEA boxes that need to be assembled in just about every room.”

Rooster clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder, bringing the attention of both women back to the two of them.

“Good thing Bob and I are masters of IKEA furniture,” Bradley put on an air of confidence as he said it. “When Payback and Fanboy got their apartment a few months ago, we were in charge of all the furniture assembly.”

“And given that we managed to build a bedframe upside down, I wouldn’t call us masters,”

It was the giggle you let out at Bob’s comment that brought his attention back to you, an involuntary flush spreading across his cheeks. You gave a mock salute to the pair.

“Well, how nice it is to know I have such capable young men on my side,” you gestured with your head toward the hallway behind you. “I’ll steal Bob for help with the dining room if Natasha, you and your man can handle my bedroom without putting my bedframe together upside down.”

With another laugh shared, Rooster and Phoenix were quickly moving down the hallway toward your bedroom, but Bob caught the over-exaggerated wink that Rooster sent his way before disappearing into what he assumed was your bedroom.

Trying to calm the blush evident on his cheeks, Bob joined you in the dining room directly off your kitchen. You’d already set yourself down on the floor, breaking into the IKEA box laid before you.

“Can you take that so I don’t lose it while getting all these pieces out?” you’d laughed, handing Bob the instruction manual. He took it from you with a nod, quickly flipping through the packet in his hands.

“A ‘GRÖNSTA’, because that’s not a mouthful,” Bob commented under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear as you laughed again. He took a seat on the ground opposite of you,, placing the packet off to the side and helping you take pieces out of the box, while also trying to calm the heat still prevalent in his cheeks. “Doesn’t help that the instructions don’t make any sense.”

“Right? You’d think the Swedes would learn that their pictures aren’t very helpful,” you both shared a laugh as Bob watched you flip open the instructions, grabbing the pieces needed for the very first leg of the table.

It was torture, almost, being around you with a crush that felt so middle school being harbored inside of him. He barely knew you, but every time you talked and joked, he knew he was already digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole.

“You said the other night you’re a professor?” Bob had settled on asking you about yourself. You were Natasha’s best friend, and now you lived here; getting to know you was going to be inevitable. You gave him a slight hum as an answer, intent on screwing in the leg of the table to the tabletop that Bob was holding in place. “What uh, what will you be teaching?”

“I’m a professor in the art department, there’s like a whole slew of classes I’ll be teaching,” you explained to him as Bob held the table steady so that you could screw in another leg. “Music, theatre, dance, and probably whatever else they throw my way.”

You passed the tools off to Bob as you stood, holding the table upright on it’s two legs so that he could screw in the last two from the ground below you. Truthfully, Bob was thankful for the table between you two, because the more he looked at you, the more he couldn’t stop thinking about just how gorgeous you were in person.

“Take it you’re a creative person, then?”

“After some lead roles in high school musicals, followed by a stint on Broadway fresh out of college…yeah I’d say creative is a good word to use,” Bob laughed, moving out from under the table slightly to grab the final leg from just a few feet away, glancing up at you.

“Broadway? My older sister is a big musical fan, she’d go nuts knowing I know someone who was on Broadway, now,”

“Well, you can tell her that I’d be happy to tell her all about it sometime. I’ve got a whole slew of fun stories from different shows,” you gave him another grin, still holding up the unbalanced table. “I’m surprised Nattie didn’t tell anyone about my Broadway stint; she talks about it like a proud mother to whoever will listen.”

Bob found himself locked in place as he laughed at your comment, fidgeting with the last table leg in his hands as he smiled up at you, finding himself locked in conversation easily. Despite his raging social anxiety that Rooster and Hangman desperately wanted to fix, Bob found it entirely too easy to talk to you.

“To be fair, when we’re thousands of feet in the air, we have a few things to focus on for the sake of our lives,” both of you shared a laugh at his comment. “She’d told plenty of stories about you, though. Showed a lot of photos and videos, too.”

“Good, because she’s told me plenty about you,” Bob could see your grin widen, no doubt because of the red flush overtaking his skin at your comment. “Her incredibly smart and kind WSO with raging social anxiety. Not sure I believe that last part, you seem to be doing just fine.”

“On the outside, maybe. Typically, on the outside and inside, I’m about as useful as a newborn baby deer,”

The laughter that you let out as his joke, Bob decided, was now one of his favorite things. He was so entranced by it that he hadn’t noticed you’d accidentally let go of the table until it had fallen back on him.

The gasp you’d let out rang through the room, but it was broken apart by the laughter that seemed to be flowing out of you even harder now. Bob took a second to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose before shoving the table off of him. Your laughter paused for a moment as soon as the two of you locked eyes, before you both devolved into a fit of laughter that had Bob almost curled in on himself.

“I’m so sorry!” you had finally managed to get out words after a solid few moments, wiping tears from your eyes as laughter still broke through your words. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

“Good, because I don’t want to explain to Maverick that I died because of a ‘GRÖNSTA’,” the pair of you devolved into laughter again as you held out your hand for him. Bob took it, despite the full-body flush he felt at simply touching your skin, and let you hoist him back up to his feet.

“Alright, next time I see you, I’m buying you a drink as an apology,” you told him with a pointed look as you moved past him to grab the instruction book.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Ikea,”

“Hey!” Bob laughed as you gasped at his comment, whacking him lightly with the instruction booklet as you grinned at him. “There’s no way we’re making that my nickname!”

“I promise it’s better than any call-sign Hangman will come up with for you-”

“What the hell is happening out here?”

Bob turned on his heel to face the hallway just as you did. Rooster looked lost at what was happening outside the bedroom, as did Natasha, but Bob could see the slightest hint of a smirk on his friend’s face as she looked at him. Bob turned to look at you, just as you looked at him, and you both devolved into another round of laughter that had Rooster even more confused.

Bob Floyd hadn’t stopped thinking about you after that night. He thought about you constantly, how your hand fit and felt in his own, about your laughter, and about that beautiful smile on your face. He was in deep, and he knew it. You never left his mind until he saw you again at the weekly Hard Deck hangout with the rest of the Dagger Squad.

“Well, well, well,” Hangman’s Texan accent was heavy tonight as he turned his gaze away from the pool table before him, and the meaningless game he was playing against Coyote. “Phoenix brought her shadow along tonight!”

Bob turned his head, a smile crossing his lips at the sight of you walking up with Phoenix, two beer bottles in your hands as you rolled your eyes at Hangman’s comments, but Natasha was the one who spoke first.

“I was more so her shadow growing up, followed this one everywhere,” she nudged your shoulder before taking a seat at one of the high tops next to Bradley, smiling widely as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Figured, now that she’s settled in, it was time to start bringing her around to the weekly night out.”

The conversation continued, but Bob’s eyes and grin were glued to you. You made a beeline for his side, leaning against the high-top chair he was seated on and passing him one of the beers in your hand.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant,” you teased him, clinking the top of your bottle to his own. “I did say I owed you a beer next time I saw you.”

“Thanks, Ikea, I’m sure it will numb the pain of that table falling on me,” Bob threw back, laughing as you lightly hit him on the shoulder the second he said that nickname. “Settled in well?”

“All thanks to you guys and that entire day full of furniture building,” you shot back at him, taking a swig of your drink as you turned to watch the pool game in front of you, still leaning against Bob’s chair. It had you close enough that Bob was overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume, and he decided in that moment it might be his new favorite scent.

He then scolded himself in his head for how weird that sounded. This crush was getting out of hand.

Coyote let out a groan as Hangman beat him once again, the latter letting out a loud whoop that had the rest of the Dagger Squad laughing. The pilot’s attention turned immediately to you, a frown appearing on Bob’s lips immediately as he recognized the flirty grin on Jake’s face.

“What do you say, little lady?” Hangman emphasized his accent even more, making a show of gesturing you toward the pool table with the pool cue in his hands. “Want to play a round?”

You hummed from beside Bob, leaning over him to place your own drink on the table as his face immediately flushed at the action. You didn’t seem to notice, stalking toward the pool table and picking up Coyote’s previous pool cue.

“8 ball or 9 ball?”

“9 ball, I’m all about making shots,” Hangman called back, gesturing toward his side of the table. “Payback can rack ‘em for us. What do you say, sweetheart? Ready to be partners with the greatest pool player Miramar’s ever had the pleasure of hosting?”

“Absolutely,” you shock back, and Bob paused in his sip of his beer as your gaze shot back toward him. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. You’re my partner.”

There was a collective laugh through the entire squad at the look of shock on Hangman’s face, that he quickly tried to wipe away and pretend as if your comment hadn’t affected him. Bob froze for a moment, but the inviting smile on your face drew him to your side within a heartbeat.

Hangman and Coyote were a good pairing, but somehow you and Bob managed to be just slightly better than them both. Bob let out a cheer as you sunk the final ball of the game, happily accepting the high five you sent his way as Coyote and Hangman groaned, having come so close yet so far from winning out.

“Nice shots there, Bob,” you shot at him, nudging his shoulder with your own as you placed your cue down on the table. Bob could feel the confidence he’d been feeling the last hour slightly fade at the close proximity to you, at the sweet smile you were sending up at him from your place next to him.

“Yeah uh- yeah, you too, Ikea-”

“Ikea?” Payback questioned as he and Fanboy hopped up to sit on the table next to the dejected Jake Seresin. He pointed between Bob and their newest friend. “Like…the Swedish furniture place?”

You laughed, your hand coming to rest on Bob’s forearm with a squeeze that had his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Inside joke, Payback, and it’s going to stay that way,”

Bob’s friend went to counter them with another comment when Natasha and Bradley returned to the group, an entire tray of beers in hand as Natasha whistled to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright guys, we’ve got another round of beers for the group,” most of them whooped and hollered as Bradley passed them all out, before Natasha turned to Bob and her best friend to hand them the two in her hands with a wide grin. “And two very special ones for our best friends.”

There was a beat of silence as Bob took his drink from Natasha, taking a swig before he felt something on the outside of the bottle. He turned it over in his hands, seeing a piece of paper barely attached by a thin strip of tape, Rooster’s handwriting scrawled across it:

You might be Phoenix’s back seater, but I want you to be my wingman this time: be my Best Man?

Bob almost felt tears in his eyes as he looked up at Bradley, who was waiting with a grin on his face. Overwhelmed with emotion, Bob simply nodded, standing up as he brought Bradley into a tight hug as the rest of the group realized what was happening before them and began cheering.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, YES!”

Bob and Bradley both turned to see you flinging yourself into Natasha’s arms, the pair of you jumping and crying together. His eyes trailed to your bottle, long forgotten on the side of the pool table, with a piece of paper bearing Nat’s handwriting taped to the neck:

It was always going to be you: be my Maid of Honor?”

“You know what they say about the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, right Bob?” It was Bradley’s voice mumbled into his ear with a hint of teasing laced through it, his best friend’s hand clamped down on his shoulder with a squeeze. “It’s almost inevitable that they fall in love.”

Bob never had a second to truly process Bradley’s words before Natasha was getting the attention of the entire group once again, with you still glued to her side.

“It might also be a good time to tell you guys we picked a wedding date…we’re getting married in six months!”

The cheering of the entire group ceased for a moment before everyone seemed to shout all at once.

“WHAT?”

Planning a wedding was hard enough on the Bride and the Groom, and it was hard on the Best Man and the Maid of Honor as well. But to somehow turn it around in only six months, especially when almost everyone involved was a Navy fighter pilot who spent most of their time thousands of feet in the air, it made it even harder.

It was even harder for Bob, as he accepted his ‘schoolboy crush’ had grown into a full-blown crush on you, maybe even borderline infatuation, not even a month later than that night at the Hard Deck.

Bob had been a stumbling, blushing mess when you’d given him your number that night after the announcement. It made sense, given that it was going to be up to the two of you to plan most of the festivities leading up to the wedding. It was hard because, besides Bob’s growing affection for you, he couldn’t get the thought of what Rooster had mumbled to him out of his head.

He’d yet, though, worked up the courage to text you regarding ANYTHING other than wedding festivities planning…which were all conversations you had started first.

“Hard Deck, 6 p.m., don’t be late!” Phoenix called out to Bob as she walked away, tucked under Bradley’s arm as they made their way toward the latter's truck. “Hangman insists on that pool rematch tonight!”

“Let a guy shower first!” Bob called back, waving goodbye to his friends as he climbed up into his truck, wiping sweat from his brow. Another day that ended with over 200 push-ups from Maverick, and he refused to show up to the Hard Deck without showering first. Before he could put his car in drive, his phone went off, and his heart skipped a beat as he read your name across the screen.

Soooooooooo, huge favor to ask you here, Bobby…

Bob did his best to calm the hammering that his heart was doing inside of his ribcage. It was just a simple text, that’s all, asking for a favor. He’d texted you before, and while this potentially may not be wedding-related, he could certainly text you again.

Anything, what’s up?

Anything? God, could he make his pining any more obvious? He didn’t get long to mull over his own words before you’d already typed back to him.

My car is in the shop, and a coworker gave me a ride in today, but she had to leave early. I know I promised Jake that pool rematch tonight…any way you could swing by and pick me up from campus?

I know campus is WAY in the opposite direction from the Hard Deck, it’s totally okay if you can’t!

Was Bob freaking out inside? Absolutely. He knew you worked on UCSD’s campus, but he’d never been to your office; he had no need to go there. The last time he’d also been fully alone with you was building furniture and dropping tables in your apartment, and picking you up meant being alone with you…plus, it wouldn’t give him time to go home and shower, and the last thing he wanted to do was put you off potentially because he was sweating buckets in the San Diego sun all day.

Before he could psych himself out, as if there was a little Rooster on his shoulder coercing him, Bob replied.

Of course, send me your office address.

About a half hour later, Bob was forcing himself out of his truck and up to the doors of the building housing the Department of Theater and Dance, frantically trying to fix his hair so he looked semi-acceptable. He’d already had to convince himself that a fifth layer of deodorant was not needed, nor was a second spray of the spare cologne he kept in his car.

Walking through the doors and into the building you’d given him directions to, Bob realized fairly quickly that he was absolutely lost and had no idea how to get to your office. Spotting a receptionist off to the side, Bob made his way over to her and cleared his throat, asking politely for directions to your office.

“I didn’t think Siren had any meetings on the schedule for today…” the receptionist trailed off as she raised an eyebrow at him. Bob let out an awkward laugh, glancing to her nametag and making a mental note that her name was ‘Sydney’, before answering her.

“Uh, no ma’am, sorry for the confusion. I’m a uh…friend of hers. She asked me to pick her up,”

Sydney’s eyes seemed to widen as she smiled, happily sitting up now in the chair once he’d explained himself.

“Oh! You must be the Lieutenant. Bob, right?” he gave her a nod as she typed something at her laptop before turning back to him. “Siren told me you’d be dropping by and would probably need directions- oh, and don’t mind the nickname, it’s just kind of a little inside joke around here that stuck. Take those stairs up to the second floor, the right side is dance studios, and her office is at the end of the hall to the left!”

With a quiet thank you, Bob followed her directions up the stairs and down to the left, though he could hear the music blasting from the dance studios down the hallway. At the very end of the hall, he saw your name on the plaque outside the one door ajar in the hallway.

With a light push to the door, so as not to freak you out, Bob leaned against the doorframe as he saw you working away at your laptop, singing softly to yourself as your own music played. He smiled softly to himself at the sight, even though inside he was still freaking out over the entire situation.

“So…Siren, huh?”

You jumped slightly at the voice until you turned, seeing that it was just Bob standing in the doorway of the office. He watched as you gave a slight laugh, beginning the process of packing your things up as you explained.

“God, of course, Sydney used that in front of you,” you turned, shooting him another smile as you packed your laptop away. “Context to this stupid inside joke probably helps, doesn’t it? I taught a salsa class my first week here, and this one student of mine thought I was such a good dancer she explained that my ‘dancing was so captivating, like a Siren’s song,’ and the next thing I knew the entire staff was calling me that.”

“Not a bad nickname,” Bob tried to reassure you as you joined him at the doorway with your things. “Better than your callsign being your name…or Hangman turning it into baby-on-board instead.”

You rolled your eyes, taking hold of his arm in your hand and dragging him lightly from the office doorway to lock up behind you, hopefully unaware of the frantic beating of his heart at even the slight contact.

“I’d rather get called that than get named after leaving my wingmen out to dry,” you gave him a pointed look that he laughed at before your features softened into something genuine again. “Thank you for being my hero today.”

“Anytime, Ikea,”

It was only halfway through the night at the Hard Deck when you’d let slip to Penny your nickname at work, and like vultures, the rest of the squad was dying to hear the story.

It was that night that, after living in San Diego for a month and a half, Bob watched the rest of his team officially induct you as an honorary member of the Dagger Squad with your very own callsign: Siren. You were officially one of them, even though you basically had been since the moment you’d arrived in the city.

From that day on, something shifted for Bob. He’d chalked it up to the ease he felt around you, the way you made him feel like he didn’t need to be flashy like Hangman to be liked, and he’d found it easier to finally branch out and text you about things NOT related to the wedding. And slowly, but surely, he was stopping by the campus on his very few rare off days from work to bring you lunch, simply talk to you in your office, or offer you a ride to the Hard Deck, knowing full well your car was parked in the campus lot. 

Bob spent the next weeks slowly, but surely, falling in love with you in every way imaginable, and he knew it. It terrified him how easily you’d secured a place in his heart, and you weren’t even aware you had. Phoenix and Rooster had tried to pry the information out of him many times, wondering why he was so engrossed in his phone all the time or why he was suddenly so smiley, but he kept his lips sealed.

Besides, how was he supposed to tell the woman controlling the fighter jet that could kill him that he was kind of falling in love with her best friend?

It was one of those very rare off days that Bob found himself cleaning out his truck in his driveway, knowing that there were a few jackets and extra pairs of shirts, and pants to change into after leaving base that needed to come out of the car and into the wash. What he hadn’t expected was to find your jacket.

You’d worn it the night before to the Hard Deck, actually needing Bob to pick you up since your car was once again in the shop. The temperature was predicted to drop drastically that night, and since Payback and Fanboy had the bright idea to do ‘late night dogfight football,’ you’d told him that you wanted to ensure you were warm. You must have left it in his car when he’d dropped you off that night.

Bob hesitated for half a second before climbing into the driver’s seat of his truck. What if you needed your jacket? It totally wasn’t an excuse to see you.

Sydney knew him well at this point, simply waving hi to him as he entered the familiar campus building. He’d waved back, giving his thanks as she called out that you may not be in your office at this hour.

She’d been correct, but Bob had been by enough to know you had your class schedule written out on the board by the door of your office.

Contemporary Dance, 11:30 a.m. Room 149

The signs were easy enough to follow, leading him down the hallway toward the area he knew held the multiple dance studios. Your voice was easy enough to pick out as he stepped inside the room, catching you leading your class in front of the full wall of mirrors. He’d never seen you dance until now, but it only took a second to see why they all called you Siren.

You moved in a way that was graceful yet powerful, commanding and yet gentle all the same. Bob had to adjust the way he was leaning against the doorway, cursing himself for the fact that he was enjoying your dancing way too much, and the dirty thoughts in his head were fighting to come to the surface. You deserved more than being thought of in that way. You deserved a proper date, maybe over a nice meal with a walk along the beach. You deserved chivalry, for him to always open every door and walk on the outer edge of the sidewalk to keep you safe. You deserved more than his boyish, improper thoughts. What you deserved was the world, and Bob would give it to you if you just said the word.

You’d locked eyes with him in the mirror as the song and dance with your students came to an end, and his heart soared at the way it seemed your face lit up simply at seeing him. You bid a quick goodbye to your students, ushering them out of the room and onto their next class, before it was just the pair of you left as music still played over the room’s speakers.

“You didn’t text me and tell me you were coming?” you questioned the man, moving through the room to fix things up and put away anything your students had managed to move in the process of the class.

“You forgot this last night,” he held up your jacket. “Just figured I’d bring it back, sorry, I should’ve texted-”

“Bob, you’re more than welcome here whenever you want to come,” you cut in quickly, gesturing toward the far wall where your purse lay. “Thank you, just toss it over with the rest of my stuff.”

Bob did as you asked, now fully in the room with you, as he watched you fiddle with things around the room, moving them back to where he assumed they were before class had started. His hands found their way into the pockets of his jeans, keeping himself from wringing his hands together or from fiddling with the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel over and over again.

“I’ve never gotten to see you dance before…I get why they call you Siren,” he swallowed the small lump that seemed to form in his throat, slowly losing his nerve around you like he typically did. “Wish I knew how to do…all that.”

“Well, thank you, contemporary was one of the dance forms I primarily trained in during college,” you shot back at him, spinning on your heel to face him now as you tilted your head. “And come on, anyone can dance, it’s not that complicated.”

“That’s because you’ve never seen me try,” Bob laughed at himself, sheepishly rubbing at the skin on the back of his neck as he looked away from you. “I look like I have two left feet when dancing. Who knows how I’m going to survive this wedding in a few months.”

There was silence in the room before Bob heard you move. His eyes trailed back to you, watching as you grabbed your phone for just a moment, before the sweet sound of Kina Grannis’ voice overtook the room. His eyes stayed glued to you as you came to stand in front of him, holding out your hand with your palm facing the sky as you wore the prettiest, softest smile he’d ever seen.

“Dance with me?”

Bob thought surely that was the moment his heart was going to decide to give out on him, but in gazing at your kind eyes and smile full of affection, he placed his hand in your own and let you lead him.

God, your hand fit in his like it was made to be there.

He silently watched you, allowing you to wrap his one hand around your waist, giving it a squeeze before trailing your other hand to rest on top of his shoulder.

“Take a deep breath,” he followed your instructions as you gave a squeeze to his hand, still wrapped in your own. “Just follow me, I promise it’s not hard.”

Bob found his eyes glued to your feet as you slowly moved him around the room together, mumbling apologies every now and again as he stumbled or stepped on your toes, but you only ever gave him a comforting squeeze to his hand or shoulder. He never dared look up at you, afraid he’d lose all his cool if he had to look you in the eyes in this close proximity.

When he stumbled once more, you gave a small laugh, hand moving from his shoulder to his neck, gently tilting his jaw upwards to look at you.

“I promise it’s much easier if you don’t watch your feet,”

His eyes met yours, and it was like the entire world went silent in that moment, but the music playing through the sound system seemed to get louder.

But I can’t help, falling in love with you.

“There are those pretty blue eyes,” you teased as a blush coated his cheeks in seconds. It brought on another smile to see a similar one on your own, though. “Did Bradley tell you about their bachelor and bachelorette party idea?”

“He said they had an idea, just hadn’t told me yet,”

“Nat told me they thought a big combined party would be best, given that this friend group is just one giant pile of pilots,” Bob laughed, missing the feel of your hand on his jaw as it moved back to his shoulder. “Guess you and I have to get planning.”

“Maverick said Cyclone made it work so that we can all have a week off for it, just have to let them know when,”

“Perfect. Know what else is perfect?” Bob shook his head as your grin widened. “You are dancing perfectly since you stopped looking at your feet!”

Bob’s eyes widened as he looked down at his feet for just a moment, realizing you were right, before looking back up at you. It was like the world was throwing every sign in the world at him as the music seemed to feel louder once again.

For I can’t help, falling in love with you.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat once again, Bob mustered the softest smile for you he could.

“Guess I just have a great teacher,”

The weeks passed, and the wedding was only a month and a half out. You’d flown home with Natasha to your hometown in order to wedding dress shop with Nat’s sister and mother, and every detail had been meticulously planned out for the wedding. The venue had been chosen, a gorgeous little venue in the heart of San Diego just big enough to house the 150 or so guests that had been invited, and just a few blocks walk for the wedding party and family members who would be staying at the Lafayette Hotel San Diego.

The Best Man and the Maid of Honor had finalized the plans for the joint bachelor/bachelorette trip: a week stay in a gorgeous home by the Colorado River and just an hour’s drive from Lake Mead and Las Vegas, plenty of options for relaxing and true partying, just as Bradley and Natasha wanted. It had taken a while for Bob and you to hammer out the details, many dinners had been held in your office after stopping by, and many phone calls that managed to devolve into late-night conversations having nothing to do with the party planning. But Bob wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was hopelessly in love, and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, Bradley had caught on, too.

“Let’s go!” Natasha called out to the boys as they hopped out of Bradley’s truck, already running through the parking lot toward the campus building housing your office. “I want to get on the road before Hangman and the others beat us there. I want the best pick of the bedrooms!”

“Sweetheart, we’re the Bride and Groom, I’m pretty sure we automatically get best pick,” Nat flipped off her fiancé as the boys both laughed. The second she’d turned around, Bradley threw his arm over Bob’s shoulder and tugged him in. “So…want to finally tell me what’s up with you and little Miss Siren?”

Bob shook his head, trying to fight off the flush on his cheeks. The questions from Bradley on the topic had increased tenfold over the last few weeks, and it was getting harder to lie to him.

“We’re in charge of handling a bunch of the backend shit of your wedding, Rooster,” Bob managed to remind his friend as they reached the doors of the campus building. “We spend a lot of time together, that’s all.”

“But you’re in love with her, are you not?” Bob groaned, opening the glass doors and letting Bradley walk ahead of him. “I’m just asking! We can all see it, the entire squad has money in the betting pool for when you two will finally buck up and figure it out. Phoenix has interrogated her so many times and gets nowhere on it.”

“We’re about to leave on your joint bachelor/bachelorette trip, there’s enough love in the air with the two of you. Don’t worry about me and my non-existent love life,”

Bradley made another comment under his breath, but Bob didn’t catch it. His gaze quickly found Natasha at the receptionist's desk, talking to Sydney.

“I’ve been here once, but the building still confuses me. I can’t remember how to get to her office,” Natasha explained to the girl as Sydney simply laughed, waving it off.

“I understand. I used to get confused here all the time. It’s just up those stairs-” she cut herself off as she saw Bob and Bradley approach, her face brightening up at the sight of the former. “Oh, Lieutenant! You guys don’t need directions, he knows where he’s going. I think she canceled her last class of the day, so she should be up in her office!”

Bob felt that flush return in full force as Bradley clapped him on the shoulder.

“Not in love with her my ass,” he gave his shoulder a squeeze after mumbling the words before moving to his fiancée's side, and Natasha was just watching Bob with a cocked head.

“How often are you here, Floyd?”

Bob stumbled for a moment, his hand immediately coming to rub the back of his neck as he tried to find the words. He wanted to say he wasn’t here THAT often…but he knew that was a lie.

Like always, you somehow managed to save the day.

“Oh! I told you guys you could’ve waited in the car!” you’d called out, descending the stairs from your office with your suitcase for the week in hand. You bid your goodbyes to the two students walking at your sides, coming to stand beside Bob as you glanced around the small group with a questioning eyebrow. “I could cut the tension with a knife here. What did I miss?”

“Just…learning some new information,” Natasha settled on, a grin lighting up her face as she hooked her arm through your own, dragging you away from the two boys who could only laugh. “IT’S PARTY TIME!”

An almost 6 hours drive to the booked AirBNB for the week was a slight pain in the ass, but the four of you managed as you all continuously joked that you hadn’t ended up delegated to ride in Hangman’s truck with him. Bob couldn’t help the fact that every so often, his gaze drifted to the backseat in the rearview mirror, to where you and Nat were engrossed in a thousand different conversations that differed from his own and Rooster’s. 

Without fail, you seemed to be looking back at him every time with a small smile that he treasured as if it were the sun itself.

Hangman, Payback, Coyote, and Fanboy had, sadly, beaten the Bride and Groom’s group to the house, but any bitter feelings surrounding it were forgotten as they’d gotten a look at the gorgeous home in person. Nestled in an area of the desert with barely any neighbors and gorgeous views for miles, including the Colorado River just down the hill from the long driveway, no one could harbor any ill feelings about anything as the sun was setting over the mountains and bathing the entire home in red, oranges, and pinks.

Bob had taken his own suitcase and yours, ignoring your protests, and brought them into the house. Everyone seemed to be running about, checking out the amenities, as some people put their claims on the bedrooms already. Natasha had dragged you off in the direction of the game room when Bob caught sight of Rooster whispering to Hangman and Fanboy, all three men watching him with a smirk.

“Hey, baby-on-board,” Hangman called out for him, smirk growing ever cockier by the second. “The rest of us have already staked claim on rooms, and of course, the couple has to share. Only room left is the sofa bed room in the back of the house…think Siren would mind sharing with you?”

If Bob’s eyes could pop out of his head, they would’ve. He shook his head, already knowing by the smirks on all three boys’ lips that this was planned well in advance.

“Guys-”

“Hey, Siren!” Fanboy called out just as you’d reentered the room. You stopped dead in your tracks, cocking an eyebrow at the guys as you waited. “Claims have already been staked on most of the bedrooms, perks of being the first ones here. You don’t mind sharing with Bobby boy, do you?”

“Guys, really-”

“I don’t mind,” you’d cut off Bob’s comment as he turned to you, eyes wide. He wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could’ve sworn he saw a flush cross your own skin as you looked at him. “Really, as long as it’s okay with you, I don’t mind.”

Bob looked back at the boys and their expectant smirks, then back to you, before finally taking a deep breath.

“Yeah…yeah, that’s fine with me,”

The truth was, Bob could barely focus on the entirety of dinner with the squad. He laughed, made jokes, and participated in conversations across the entire table the entire night, but his mind was stuck on the fact that he had to share a bed…with you.

Those nerves didn’t rest even as you both retired to your room for the night. The sofa bed had already been pulled out and made for the two of you. Bob had simply crawled into bed in silence, situating himself under the covers.

You entered the room moments later, having changed in the bathroom down the hall, and sent him a sweet smile as you crawled into your own side of the bed. Lying side by side, heads on their respective pillows, you both simply lay there and smiled toward one another.

“Sorry you got stuck with me,”

“I didn’t get stuck with you,” you’d rolled your eyes at his comment. “I’d take sharing with you over any of those Neanderthals any day.”

“Just promise not to drop any tables on me this trip, okay, Ikea?”

You’d laughed, even as you’d reached your foot out under the covers and kicked him lightly on the shin.

“If I managed to do that, I think I should get an award,” it was his turn to laugh as you flipped over, turning the bedside lamp off before tucking yourself into the covers. “Night, Bob.”

“Night, Ikea-”

“We’ve got to STOP with that nickname,”

He’d fallen asleep comfortably that night at your side, still laughing lightly to himself over that dumb little nickname he had for you that had found a way to stick. He wished his sleep had lasted longer, but it was quite the sight to see you leaning over him and shaking his shoulder with a grin.

“Get up!”

Bob groaned as you moved back to your side of the bed, reaching over to the nightstand to grab his glasses. The second his eyes focused, he checked the time on his phone. Slightly after 5:30 in the morning. Bob let out another groan when he saw the time.

“Why are you awake-”

“Just trust me and come on!”

He’d barely been out of bed and on his feet when you’d taken his hand in your own, dragging him down the dark hallways of the house. He wasn’t even fully awake enough to register your hand wrapped around his own.

The second you’d dragged him out onto the large patio deck of the home, he understood why you’d woken him up so early. If sunset had been pretty from this view, sunrise might’ve been even prettier.

The deep purple hues that crawled across the sky, blending into the fading night sky full of stars over the desert. The beginnings of reds and pink crawling out from the horizon, casting itself over the rolling desert hills and the Colorado River just barely in the distance, close enough he could see the colors reflecting off the water. He’d found himself leaning against the railing, gazing out at the colors for a moment before turning to you at his side, finding you already looking up at him.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

You’d turned back to the view, but Bob’s eyes, full of wonder, stayed locked on you as he spoke.

“Prettier than anything I’ve ever seen,”

You’d stayed out there for awhile, small talk flowing through you, reminiscing on moments with the squad such as that terrible late night dogfight football, or the time you’d all watched on as Rooster handed Maverick’s ass to him in pool at the Hard Deck. Your hands sat on the railing next to one another, just barely touching, as your arms sat pressed up against one another. If Bob had more confidence, if he’d thought that maybe you felt the same for him, he might’ve taken the leap and reached out to take your hand in his own.

Neither of you had any clue how long you’d been out there admiring the view and simply talking. Bob heard a small noise behind you both after a while, glancing behind you both. Rooster simply stood in the patio doorway, a genuine grin on his face as he raised his coffee cup at his best friend with a wink, before leaving you alone together once more.

It was a week of memories that none of them would ever truly forget.

The entire day spent on the shores of Lake Mead was full of laughter, and what Fanboy had nicknamed ‘dogfight chicken’, though it didn’t have any different rules than a normal game of chicken did. You and Bob had reigned victorious through every single round, though Bob wasn’t sure how. His thoughts were flooded with you, and the impure thoughts he was having at the thought that his head was, quite literally, between your thighs as you sat on his shoulders, was driving him insane.

That next morning was worse for his thoughts, when he’d awoken early in the morning to you nestled in his arms, head resting against his chest, and his arms wrapped around you. He’d laid still like that for what felt like hours, both terrified of waking you up and freaking you out with the position you were in, while also savoring every second of it in fear it would never happen again. He’d pretended to be asleep when you finally woke up, letting you be the one to extricate yourself from his arms. Neither of you mentioned it to the other.

One full day and night had been dedicated to the Las Vegas strip and all it had to offer. Rooster was constantly nudging Bob in the side the entire day, reminding his friend that his eyes were supposed to remain on your face, not on the slit of the dress you wore running up and exposing your thigh.

No one knew who had drunkenly suggested it, but somehow they’d found themselves at a Magic Mike show. Plenty of videos had been taken as a form of blackmail as Hangman was subjected to a lap dance from the performers of the show, constantly telling Coyote to ‘piss off about it’ the rest of the night.

That next morning, Bob had woken up to you entangled in his arms once again. And the morning after that.

The Dagger Squad’s final day of the trip was spent together at the home, simply enjoying one another's company as more stories of everyone’s childhood had been shared across the board. Bob had even been roped into a story of him working on his parents' ranch back in Montana at one point, which prompted a whole discussion on whether Bob was technically considered a cowboy or not.

The WSO had found himself frozen in the kitchen that night, simply watching you from the window. You and Natasha sat on the patio together, pointing up at the light pollution-free sky as you seemed to be watching the stars, discussing what could be seen that night, hundreds of thousands of miles above your heads. He’d watched you throw your head back laughing, and that tug in his chest when he looked at you seemed to increase tenfold in that moment.

It wasn’t long later that Rooster was opening his bedroom door, coming to find that it was Bob standing on the other side of the door and knocking frantically.

“Bob-”

“You were right…I’m in love with her,”

“Well,” both boys turned, seeing Natasha had entered the hallway at just the right moment to join her future husband for bed and hear the conversation occurring. Bob’s blood ran cold, fearing the worst, but she simply smiled at him. “It’s nice to finally hear you admit the obvious.”

A long conversation with his best friends came with the feeling of a small weight being lifted off his shoulders, of finally having admitted his feelings out loud. They’d encouraged him to act on it, to tell you how he felt, but Bob couldn’t get rid of the nagging insecurity in the back of his head that he was never going to be good enough for you.

When he’d returned to your room that night and crawled into bed, you were still awake. You had both simply laid there in silence for a moment, staring at one another, and Bob could see the hesitation in your movements for just a moment. You seemed to throw your inhibitions out the window, moving across the bed and slotting yourself into Bob’s arms, curling yourself around him as you buried your head into the crook of his neck.

It threw Bob for a loop. Every night this week, you’d awoken like this, tangled together, but he’d assumed that it had just naturally happened in your sleep, that one of you reached out for the other. But you were awake, you were both aware of what you were doing, and yet you took the leap anyway. Bob chose not to push his luck, not to ask, and simply wrapped his arms around you, closing his eyes with you tucked right against him where he felt you belonged.

“Can I tell you something?” Bob whispered to you after moments of silence wrapped up together, neither of you addressing the compromising position you’d put yourself in.

“Always,”

“You…” Bob struggled for a moment, trying to find his words and the right thing to say. ‘Love’ was dancing on his lips, but his insecurities tugged it back in. When he spoke again, he knew he meant the words, even if it was not what he meant to say. “You’re my best friend. Don’t tell Rooster that.”

There was a pause, then a soft laugh, as you seemed to cling to him tighter, your words and breath ghosting over his skin.

“You’re my best friend, too. Just don’t tell Nat,”

There had been another shift in the relationship between you and Bob in those next few weeks leading to the wedding night, and everyone seemed to be able to see it. A simple confession, albeit not the confession Bob had wanted to say that night, seemed to change everything.

Anytime the group was out together, you both were glued to one another’s side. This time, unlike in the months prior, it was as if the pair of you had to be touching. If you were all walking somewhere, your arm was linked through his with your hand resting on his bicep. The entire group noticed the way that, as you all hugged one another goodbye at the end of a night, you and Bob seemed to linger in one another’s embraces longer than usual.

There was the night at the Hard Deck, laughing over some story Maverick was telling them from the glory days, that Bob felt your hand reach for his under the table, wordlessly slotting itself into his own. That moment replayed in his head every single day and night, even as he fell asleep late into the morning hours with you still on the phone with him.

They were the moments that he couldn’t help but replay constantly, even as he stood in the preparation room of the wedding venue, adjusting his dress whites to ensure that nothing was out of place.

“How are we looking over here, Rooster?” Hangman called out, moving through the room to check on the groom himself. 

“Ready to do this thing,” Rooster told him as Bob joined the pair across the room. Bradley placed a hand on each of their shoulders, his Best Man and his only other Groomsman, all standing together in their matching Navy dress whites, and gave them a thankful smile. “Thank you both for doing this. For being here with me.”

Bob grinned at his best friend as Rooster pulled them both into a hug, before it was go time.

Bradley was already stationed at the altar behind the double doors before them, leaving Bob to stand just behind the doors, ready to lead the charge down the aisle for his best friends to get married. He turned as he heard the voice of Natasha’s sister behind them, taking her place beside Hangman for the walk. His gaze then turned to you as you slotted yourself to his side, and it took everything in him not to whisk you off your feet the second he laid eyes on the form fitting, navy blue dress clung to your body, or the plunging neckline he was desperately trying to keep his eyes off of.

“She’s all set up with her dad back there,” you’d told him softly, winding your arm through his as your hand lay on his forearm, eyes never leaving his own. “We’re good to go the second the music kicks in. You ready?”

“Think Rooster would kill me if I wasn’t, he’s antsy down there,” you’d laughed, and Bob had smiled. His favorite sound in the world. “You…you look beautiful.”

“Right back at you, Lieutenant,”

There were smiles and tears throughout the crowd as you and Bob led the charge down the aisle, taking your places on either side of where Natasha and Bradley would stand. The second Natasha was escorted down the aisle by her father, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, Rooster and you included. Bob found himself watching you, though, as you happily took Nat’s bouquet from her hands through your tears.

They recited after their Pastor, they exchanged their vows, but Bob found his eyes betraying him and glancing at you more often than at his best friends. Every time he looked to you, he found you were already looking at him.

He knew there was no going back the second Natasha Trace and Bradley Bradshaw were pronounced man and wife, that they’d pulled one another into their first kiss as a married couple, and his eyes had drifted to you in the celebration. All he could think in that moment was that he wanted that to be you and him, that he wanted to hold you and kiss you and call you his forever.

It felt like a blur to Bob what happened next. The entire Dagger Squad joined together to perform the Arch of Swords for their best friends, smiles never leaving anyone’s faces. Bob had sat right next to you during dinner, unable to keep his eyes off of you the entire time. Then, you’d rose to your feet and took hold of the microphone passed to you, preparing for the speech you’d spent your entire life writing.

“If you don’t know me, the truth is you probably indirectly do. Because any story that Natasha has told you from any point in her life? I was most likely at every single one of those,” you’d turned to Natasha the second you said that, and Bob could see the tears in both of your eyes. “Natasha, or as many in this room know you, Phoenix, you hit me on the head with a soccer ball in Kindergarten, and I knew from that moment on you would be my best friend. I watched you fall in and out of love with both soccer and softball growing up, witnessed you punch two middle schoolers who broke my heart, and watched you fall in love with the idea of someday flying F-18s for the rest of your life. I’m forever proud to say that I’ve watched you achieve everything you’ve ever wanted in life, and I’m so happy that I’ve gotten to be here for all of it. But most importantly, I’m glad your passion also brought you the love you have always deserved. Bradley, I’m proud to call you one of my best friends in life now, and I could not be happier to know that you two have found one another.”

You’d raised your champagne glass through your tears, as the room followed suit, even as Natasha silently sobbed from her place beside Bradley.

“They say that love is simply just a friendship that caught on fire,” Bob’s breath caught for just a moment, swearing that he saw your eyes flicker to him for just a moment, before you continued to talk. “May it burn bright for many years to come, and fly higher than you both do every day in the San Diego skies.”

There were still the remnants of tears streaming down your face as you took your place beside Bob once again, allowing Natasha’s sister to give her own speech. Bob watched you in silence before, in a leap of faith, reaching his hand out for your own. You took it without a word, squeezing onto it in a vice-like grip and refusing to let go.

The reception was in full swing, and everyone was in party mode. Natasha and Bradley were the stars of the show in their first dance, revealed in their speeches previously to have been taught by none other than you.

The bouquet toss had the entire Dagger Squad erupting into cheers, almost trying to carry you off the dance floor, the second Natasha’s bouquet seemed to find you among the young women in the crowd as if meant just for you.

You. God, you had consumed every ounce of Bob’s thoughts for weeks and months now, and tonight was no different. In the ever-changing landscape that was life, you were like the North Star in Bob’s eyes, his one constant since the moment you’d walked into the Hard Deck.

“As a wedding gift to us, could you just grow some balls and finally ask her out?”

Bob jumped, startled, as Bradley and Natasha appeared at his side from where he stood on the outside of the dance floor. He sighed, seeing the expectant looks on their faces, before glancing back to where you danced with the rest of the fighter pilots you’d grown so close to over the last few months.

“She’s, like, walking perfection on legs, guys. She could do better than the socially awkward fighter pilot that is…me,”

“Except she doesn’t want to,” Natasha cut in. She sighed, resting a hand on Bob’s shoulder before glancing out toward her best friend. “I’ve known her my entire life, Bob, and she doesn’t take to people the way she’s taken to you. She looks for you in every room, she talks about you constantly…she was dying to meet you just from the photos I’d shown you. I’ve never seen her act the way she does when she’s with you, Bob.”

The words sparked a small flame of hope in his chest, a flame just strong enough to push away the insecurities that begged to claw their way out. He looked back at his best friends, the glow of marriage surrounding them, with that flame of hope shining in his eyes.

“What if you’re wrong?”

“What if we’re right?” Rooster cut in, giving him a small shrug. “Maverick said it best to me months ago…don’t think, just do.”

Don’t think, just do. Maverick always knew what to say, didn’t he?

A slower song had begun on the dance floor, and Hangman could see Bob stalking their way. A smirk crossed the man’s face as he took hold of your hand, spinning you in Bob’s direction, before leading the rest of the Dagger Squad off the floor.

Bob stood in front of you, mustering every ounce of confidence he could find in him, as he held out his hand toward you, palm facing the sky.

“Dance with me?”

A smile might’ve been permanently etched into your lips as you took his hand in yours. Bob’s other hand immediately found your waist, his hand resting on your lower back as he tugged you into him as tightly as he could, your other hand resting on his shoulder as the iconic Berlin song played through the reception.

Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say…take my breath away.

Neither of you said a word for a minute, though your eyes never left one another as you simply swayed side to side across the dance floor, fully aware of the watchful eyes of your friends on you from the sidelines.

“You know…” you were the one to start the conversation, somehow managing to pull yourself even closer to Bob. There was a teasing tone to your voice, nose bumping against his for a moment. “I’ve been kind of waiting for you to ask me out for months.”

A weight seemed to leave Bob’s shoulders the second you spoke, his mind finally being calmed with the fact that you did, indeed, return his affections, that it wasn’t all a misunderstanding in his mind.

“Thought at first it broke some kind of friendship code to fall in love with your best friend’s childhood best friend. Then…I got scared you wouldn’t feel the same,” you laughed lightly at his comment, though Bob could see the way you brightened the second he’d said the word ‘love’ in his explanation. “How long…how long have you felt this way?”

“The schoolgirl crush started when I dropped that table on you, even though I thought you were plenty cute just based on the photos Nat had showed me before,” to was Bob’s turn to laugh as your hand traveled up to the nape of his neck, tangling gently in the hair now carded through your fingers. Somewhere behind them, he swears he could hear Fanboy cheer at the motion. “Somewhere in the midst of a bunch of mini lunch dates and dancing with you for the first time is when it changed.”

“I’ve got you beat there,” Bob countered with a laugh, looking down sheepishly. “After I picked you up from work that one time, when the rest of the guys started calling you Siren. It changed for me after that night.”

There was a slight tug on the hair threaded through your fingers, and Bob resisted everything in him not to let out a groan. His eyes flicked back up to you immediately, almost pleading with you not to do that again before he dragged you out of the reception, and he could see the amusement dancing in your eyes at the reaction you received.

“It's not a competition. We know now,” you slid the hand that rested in his own back up his arm, instead cupping his jaw in your hand as a shiver ran through his body. “Though, I thought I was being quite obvious with literally cuddling you in bed.”

Bob’s now freehand found your hip, eliminating any space between you both as if it were even possible. Given their surroundings, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were murmurs about how what was happening was far from appropriate for the setting they were in.

“It should’ve been. We can blame my insecurities for that one,”

He watched you in silence, still swaying to the beat of the song. Your eyes flickered, for the briefest of moments, down to his lips as Bob’s grip tightened from the sight.

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say…take my breath away. My love, take my breath away.

His eyes fluttered half shut, throwing caution to the wind now that he knew he had you, and leaned in. His lips were met with your finger pressed against them, though, and when he’d opened his eyes, your pupils may have been blown wider and your voice may have gained a slight rasp it didn’t have before, but there was clear amusement dancing across your features.

“Trying to kiss me at the wedding of our best friends? How scandalous, you know it’s their night to be the center of attention,” Bob groaned, even as his cheeks flushed, forehead falling to your shoulder. He felt your body shake with laughter before your lips ghosted over his ear. “We’ve waited this long, Lieutenant, what’s a little longer?”

Longer was torture, Bob had decided, but it was a torture spent with you still wrapped around his side. You’d danced the night away into the early hours of the morning with all of your friends, until it was finally time to end what was surely the best night of Natasha and Bradley’s lives.

The newly married couple had bid everyone goodbye before they were off to their own private villa for the night. The wedding party and family made the trek down the road together toward the Lafayette, Hangman and Coyote holding up a very drunk Payback who was belting Celine Dion down the sidewalk.

You’d thrown your head back laughing, hand intertwined with Bob’s as you brought up the rear of the pack.

The squad all said their goodbyes to Maverick and Penny, who’d essentially stood in as Rooster’s family, and to Natasha’s own family, before they’d made their way to the floor blocked off specifically for them. Everyone had thrown out goodnight, disappearing into the private rooms to sleep off their hangovers into the early hours of the morning.

Bob was the last the the Top Gun pilots to still be standing at his door. He’d fished out his own door key, before pausing before inserting it into the lock, glancing down the other end of the hallway.

There you stood, shoes in hand as you leaned against the doorway of your open hotel room. Your eyes never left his, and Bob’s room key found it’s way back into the pocket of his dress whites as he was across the entire hotel room floor in seconds.

Your eyes never seemed to leave one another as you both drifted into the room, Bob’s hand splayed across the edge of the room door, shutting it softly behind you both. The second it was closed, the room was only bathed in the soft, nighttime light of Dan Diego that poured through the curtains and the warm, yellowed glow of the single lamp lighting up the corner of the room.

Bob’s hands found your waist as yours found his neck, and he fell into you as if you were two atoms destined to collide with one another from the moment you met.

Your lips were soft against his, your lipstick already having been smudged off throughout the night from the many drinks passed between friends, but he could taste the cherry and vanilla Chapstick buried underneath. That simple taste elicited a groan from deep inside of him as his desire to simply feel you, to hold you, overtook Bob.

He backed you into the closest wall, right beside the door of the room, and your body immediately arched into him. His hand slid it’s way from your waist down to your thigh, digging into it as he hoisted it up around his own waist, the slit up the dress giving way to allow you to cling to him in earnest.

His hair was a mess as your hands moved into it, your lips never parting. He simply tilted his head, swallowing the moan you let out the second he gripped onto your waist tighter and tugged you impossible closer.

“Pretty sure Fanboy is right next door,” Bob had managed to mumble into your lips, unable to fully pull away from you. You nipped at his lower lip, this time a deep moan leaving him which had you giggling back into the kiss.

“I’ve waited long enough to kiss you, Bob Floyd. I don’t really give a damn if we keep him awake,”

Bob pulled back slightly in the dim lighting, hand leaving your thigh to instead cup your cheek, to simply observe and memorize everything about you. He loved you, he loved you more than he ever thought it was possible to love someone, and he never wanted to forget the look in your eyes right now as you looked at him through lust riddled eyes.

Your hand found his, removing it from your cheek and instead to your back. His breath caught for a second as it touched the zipper at the top, and one single look in your eyes had him tugging it down as slowly and sensually as possible.

Bob could feel your breath catch the second his lips found your neck, leaving a trail across your skin and down to your collarbone as the zipper finally came undone, the pool of navy colored fabric dropping into a heap on the floor.

You’d barely given him a second to truly admire the masterpiece he thought was you as a whole before you’d tugged him back into a kiss, your hands working overtime to gently undo the buttons holding his Navy dress whites together.

His hat was long gone on the floor, and soon every article of his dress whites joined it. He couldn’t help but smile as you laughed, watching him quickly lean down to grab the formal clothing of his and yours, folding it neatly into a pile in the corner. When he’d looked back up, you were standing just inches away, falling back into his arms without another word. His own breath caught, shiver running down his skin at the feeling of your soft, supple skin simply on his igniting a fire in him he’d never felt before.

Your hands came up, adjusting his glasses to sit on the bridge of his nose as they were meant to, and Bob wasted no time in pulling you back into a bruising kiss that had you falling back onto the lush, fancy bedspread behind you both.

As you’d crawled your way back up the bed, head hitting the pillows waiting by the ornate headboard, Bob simply hovered over you, taking you all in fully for the first time, memorizing every square inch of you that existed. He wanted it all committed to memory.

His eyes trailed back to yours finally, to the shining affection and adoration in them, and the words finally tumbled out of his mouth.

“I love you,”

Your hands cupped his jawline, bringing him back down to you to place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips that he sighed right into, leaning into the feel of you that he was already addicted to.

“I love you too,”

The pair of you stayed there for a moment, wrapped up in the sweetest and most loving of kisses that rivaled the passionate moment the moment you’d stepped into the room. Until Bob began to laugh lightly against your lips, the actions bringing a smile to your own face.

“What’s so funny, Lieutenant?”

He shook his head, backing up for just a moment to fully look down at you.

“It’s just uh…you know what they say about the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, don't you?”

Your laughter rang through the room immediately, and he knew Natasha must have said something to you along the same lines of what Bradley had whispered to him in the middle of the Hard Deck. Your hands ran down his shoulder, taking hold of his biceps with a small squeeze.

“Something about how they’re always destined to fall in love. God, how cliché of us,”

Every moment with you flooded Bob’s head in that moment as he looked down at you. From the moment you’d walked into the Hard Deck, to the moment he danced with you, to that fated trip where it all changed, and every moment in between. To now, as you laid almost bare before him, gazing up at him with love written across every inch of your features, as if you’d do just about anything he could’ve asked of you in that moment. And you would, just as he’d do the same for you.

So, his thumb ran across your lips for a moment, before he’d taken the back of your neck in his hand and tugged you upwards into another passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of love his body had into it.

“Yeah…but I wouldn’t have it any other way,”

[parker-barnes-af]

Knight in Shining Glasses : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: All you wanted to do was enjoy your first night in San Diego at the bar recommended to you by your father, but a hot-shot new to the Top Gun program was intent on bringing you home with him, or at least couldn't take a hint. Lucky for you, there's a knight in shining glasses ready to save you.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), fluff, language, kind of a pushy douchebag guy is in this, female reader, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol but I did do a ton of research so hopefully it's accurate-ish), suggestive and steamy but no smut (but boy did we get real close), like a TINY maybe hint of angst for 0.2 seconds

Word Count: 11,044 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

“Another beer?”

You nodded your head at the gorgeous woman behind the bar, who was already sliding a beer your way before you’d even answered, as if she could read your mind. You gave her a smile in thanks, sighing the second your hand touched the cool glass of the bottle.

San Diego was hot, too hot for your liking. Every piece of fabric on your body felt as if it was clinging to your body right now in a way that had you begging the world just to make it legal to walk around naked. You much preferred the weather back in New England, on the complete opposite side of the country, but you had promised to come to town for a bit. It had been years since you’d seen your father, not since his promotion and subsequent move to San Diego, your conflicting work schedules making it impossible to make the cross-country trip, even if you missed him.

You were here now, though, seated in the bar that had come highly recommended to you straight from him: The Hard Deck, located right on Coronado Beach, just minutes from the Naval Air Station of North Island.

“Local beer?” you questioned the woman as yet another group of rowdy, young Naval aviators came bursting through the doors of the bar, disturbing some of the other guests in the packed bar. The woman, whose nametag you could now see said Penny, just laughed at the antics of her new guests before nodding at you.

“Yeah, local company. They’re pretty popular around here, so I always have to keep them in stock,” you hummed, taking another sip of the drink in your hands. Rich in flavor, maybe with a hint of sweetness that complemented the bitterness it left behind. You could see why it was popular around here. Penny wiped the bar directly in front of you, flashing you a smile. “Now, I know most of my regulars here, and you certainly aren’t one. Where’d you blow into town from?”

“Watertown, New York,” you told her as another group of Naval aviators passed by you in their service khakis, older than the group that had just come in. Your eyes followed them for just a moment, lingering as they moved to the back of the room to the pool tables as if they were there every night, before looking back at Penny. “My father is in the Navy, stationed here in San Diego. Thought it was finally time I visited him.”

“Good, means you know how to deal with the rowdy bunch I have here,” you both laughed as she gestured toward the group of young pilots that had just come through. Someone called to her from further down the bar, and she paid you one final smile. “Holler if you need anything, or if anyone’s giving you trouble.”

“Will do,”

With the jukebox playing off in the corner, Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams filling the air, it gave you a chance to really take in the atmosphere. Given the proximity to the Naval Air Station, you weren’t surprised by the amount of Navy paraphernalia that decorated the entire bar. Mugs hung from the ceiling with F18s on them, plenty of pictures of those monster jets hung up around the tables as well. And with the clientele that Penny seemed to attract here, judging by the number of young pilots scattered around, you weren’t surprised that this seemed to have turned into a place many in the Navy flocked to after a long day on base.

The young group of aviators, who seemed to have met up with another group of friends, were loud and rambunctious over by the dart board as they took bets on who could make a bullseye first. You rolled your eyes at their antics with a slight smile, reminded of the stories your father had told of his days, and looked over your shoulder toward that older group by the pool tables.

Easily your age, or at least older and more experienced than the group by the dart board. There was one woman among the groups of men with darker hair, already kicking their asses at the pool game they were playing. That alone quirked your lips up just slightly as you watched Penny deliver a tray of drinks to the group that seemed very personally friendly with her. Ah, so they must be stationed here at North Island and be regulars of the Hard Deck.

They were quite the bunch, from what you observed from the bartop. There was the young man playing alongside the woman, and what seemed like his best friend pestering him after another missed shot. There was a taller, tan blonde who you could tell from here exuded confidence in an over-the-top way, and a friend beside him who also seemed to have that arrogant confidence about him. The man taking the tray from Penny and passing out the drinks had that same confidence and charm, but it almost seemed to roll off of him naturally as if he wasn’t even trying to charm those around him.

It was the one sitting off to the side, silently observing his friends, that caught your eye.

He didn’t exude confidence in the same way that his friends did. He wasn’t walking sex on legs like many would think the tall, overconfident friends of his were…but he was to you. Quiet, simply observing his friends with a tiny smile that stirred something in your chest. One hand holding onto the neck of his beer bottle, the same one you were drinking, and the other casually snacking on a cup of peanuts. You tried, and failed, to keep your eyes from lingering on those long, slender fingers of his, or the fact that, even from here, you could tell his hands were large in a delicious way that had your mind imagining what they’d feel like settled on your bare-

Okay, yeah, maybe it was time to say ‘fuck it’ to your no hook-up rule and get laid on this vacation. You couldn’t be thinking like this over a man you’d been looking at for less than a minute, didn’t even know his name, or had yet to make eye contact with.

But then, when your eyes finally left those slender hands, you were making eye contact with him.

There was an adorable flush crawling across his cheeks, and god were you a sucker for a cute man in some glasses. His lips quirked up in a shy smile as he met your gaze, giving you a tiny nod. A similar flush crept up your neck at being caught staring, giving him a small wink before turning back around to not seem like a creep watching him.

With Penny off taking orders as the bar only seemed to get busier by the minute, and no one around you seemed like good options for a conversation, you found yourself spun around to lean against the bar and observe the room. No time like a crowded bar to people watch.

With a few work emails checked to ensure you weren’t missing anything pressing on your vacation, and a text sent to your father to thank him for the bar recommendation, you found your eyes drifting back to that same Naval aviator once more.

The woman had dragged him from his seat, his beer and peanuts left behind as a pool cue was shoved into his hands as his friends cheered, bringing a grin to your face. Your eyes tracked him as he bent over the table to line up his shot, his friends engrossed in a conversation together, but then his eyes flicked up and met yours again. Your eyebrow shot up as you raised a beer to him, a simultaneous encouragement for him to sink his shot and also a challenge to see if he could. His lips quirked up at that as, without even glancing down to his cue, he took his shot: directly in the pocket without interference. His friends clapped for him, patting him on the back, but his eyes stayed on you. Even with another flush crawling up his neck and nerves practically stitched into his smile, he shot you a wink this time, and you couldn’t stop the giddy grin on your lips.

“Well, never seen girl as pretty you before,”

You didn’t want to stop looking at that gorgeous man in glasses across the bar, but you were intrigued to know who was speaking to you.

He wasn’t the worst-looking man, he was attractive. Dark hair that matched the mustache and the beard that was growing in, which was definitely against grooming standards for the Navy. Pretty brown eyes…but he wasn’t your shy, glasses-sporting boy across the room. Plus, you recognized him from that rowdy bunch of pilots that had walked in beforehand. The smile you’d given the man across the bar dropped into the smallest, friendliest one you could muster as you looked at the name on his badge: Jackson.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to open up a conversation,” you shot back. The man only laughed, leaning against the bar next to you with a charming, over-confident grin on his lips.

“Warrant Officer Daniel Jackson,” he held out his hand to shake yours, and you reluctantly gave it to him. You regretted it the moment he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you quickly took your hand back and slyly wiped it along the side of your jeans. “Friends call me Caveman.”

“Interesting callsign,” you shot back with a fake laugh, tilting your head. “You get that from the unkempt beard that’s clearly not within grooming protocols?

He laughed again, but it did nothing to lift your smile from where it was frozen to be polite. He took a swig from his own beer that he’d brought over with him before leaning closer.

“Funny, and you know the Navy,” you laughed uncomfortably again, taking a subconscious scoot backward on your chair to get away from him. “Brand new to Top Gun, friends and I got in earlier. About to become the best of the best…”

He continued talking, droning on and on about Top Gun and the ‘prestige’ that came with being one of the best of the best (if he could actually get through the vigorous training). In the interest of being polite and not pissing off a man your first night in town, you laughed politely when appropriate and pretended to be listening.

When your eyes glanced back at that man in the glasses, though, he was already looking at you. Back to standing near the seat he’d occupied before, peanuts in his hands and the pool game abandoned as he seemed to be watching you. You gave him a dramatic roll of your eyes, pitching your head toward the pilot still talking your ear off as if to say ‘get a load of this guy,’ and you could see him laugh from across the bar. That simple action sent a flutter through your chest, and god, what you wouldn’t give to actually hear that laugh.

“...I could show you base sometime,” your attention was, sadly, brought back to Caveman beside you, who was still smiling at you as if you were a prize he’d won and wanted to flaunt around the entire bar to each and every patron. “Could sponsor ya for the day, give ya a private tour.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m sure if I wanted to visit the base, my father would happily sponsor me,” you shot back, trying to turn him down as politely as you possibly could. Your comment only seemed to brighten his mood even more.

“Navy dad, you say?” he’d leaned in closer once more, and you were running out of room on the little stool to lean away from him. “Guess that means you know a lot. Dad have rules about…dating pilots?”

Yeah, no, now you were uncomfortable. There was no being polite now, he’d made his intentions clear and could clearly not read your body language. Your body instantly tensed as your eyes avoided his, still trying to keep the most polite smile you could on your lips. Penny was nowhere in sight to help, so your eyes immediately found your pilot across the room.

He was already watching you, it seemed, but when you locked eyes again, he stood up a little straighter, the smile he had on his face dropping slightly. It was as if he could see the way your demeanor had suddenly changed, and god, you hoped he could see it.

“I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for anything like that,” you’d awkwardly laughed out as you looked back at him finally. “I’m just here on vacation.”

That was when his hand settled on top of your knee, and your heart leapt into your throat. The heat of his hand felt like it was burning a hole in your jeans as he squeezed just so.

“Don’t got to be anything serious, I’m down for some fun,”

That polite smile was gone off your face in an instant as you tried to yank your leg from him, but he squeezed it just slightly tighter.

“Okay, Caveman, sounds like you must’ve got your nickname from how you treat women,” that snide comment seemed to drop his confident demeanor immediately. “I’ve turned you down, I’ve made it clear I’m not interested. So I suggest you let me go.”

“Come on, I think you just need to-”

“I’m pretty sure she said let her go, Caveman,”

There was an edge to the voice that cut in, but not one that made you feel on edge yourself. A hand clamped down on your shoulder from behind, firm but not uncomfortable in the way that the hand on your knee was. Grounding, and when it squeezed your shoulder just slightly, it felt comforting. Protective, in a way. And when you finally turned your head and noticed those familiar glasses you’d been staring at all night, and those gorgeous blue eyes hiding behind them, you immediately relaxed into his touch.

Caveman’s hand immediately left your knee as he seemed to sit up a little straighter, putting his hands up in surrender as he looked at the man standing at your side now.

“Lieutenant Floyd-”

“Things are looking tense over here!” those two pilots you’d observed earlier, the ones who exuded confidence in your eyes, suddenly appeared behind Caveman. The taller blonde placed his hand down on his shoulder just as Lieutenant Floyd’s was on yours, and you glanced at their tags: Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw. The blonde pointed to Caveman, raising an eyebrow at the man at your side. “Baby-on-board, is this man causing trouble?”

Your shoulder was squeezed once more as you turned back to look at the man at your side, feeling another flutter in your chest as you got a good look at those sky blue eyes up close, which made him even more attractive in your eyes. He gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward your ‘friend’ just like you had earlier on.

“Is he bothering you?”

You’d glanced back at Caveman, who seemed semi-scared shitless around these guys, and a smirk curled up on your lips.

“Yes, yes he is,”

“Disrespecting a lady?” it was Penny’s voice now as she reappeared behind the bar, her glare set on that poor pilot that everyone was ganging up on. She ‘tsked’ in his direction, before stepping back to point to a sign hanging just behind her. “It’s your first night here, you should probably check the rules before you get comfortable.”

Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cellphone on my bar…you buy a round.

Alright, Penny might be your new favorite person, besides the hot ass pilot in glasses still comfortably resting his hand on your shoulder as the scene played out before you all.

Caveman never even got a chance to defend himself, as Penny had stepped up to the bell hanging from the ceiling beside the sign, the ring of it echoing throughout the bar. Within seconds, there were chants of ‘OVERBOARD!’ heard throughout the room before Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw had the man hooked under their arms, dragging him out to the parking lot as his friends quickly followed behind.

“A-Are you okay?”

Your eyes found your pilot’s brilliant blue ones again, this time in front of you as he chose to now occupy the seat Caveman was sitting in just moments prior. You simply stared at him for a moment, still trying to process the entire interaction, before a smile stretched wide across your face.

“You know, I thought the Knight in all the fairytales was wearing shining armor?” you posed it like a question, a teasing tone present in your words as you took a quick swig of your beer, eyes never leaving his, and your smile turning into a slight smirk. “Didn’t know mine was going to come bearing shining glasses, instead.”

He’d laughed, that laugh just minutes ago you would’ve burned this bar down to hear, and my god, did you adore it. You adored it more than you should, given that you still didn’t know this mystery man’s name.

“No woman deserves to be treated like that, ma’am,” he tried to dismiss you, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as your eyes trailed over those hands once again, now that they were so close. You could see the redness in his cheeks from this close now, too. “T-The way he was acting, my mom would’ve torn me a new one if I didn’t step in.”

“And is that the only reason?” you quipped back immediately, placing your beer down on the counter just so you could really look at him, study him. “That you stepped in?”

You could see the way he hesitated for a moment, but not as if he didn’t want to answer you. No, you could see that flush deepening in his skin: you were flirting with him, and he knew it, he just didn’t know how to handle it.

“N-No, no, that’s not the only reason,” there was a shy smile on his face as he huffed out a sheepish laugh, looking down at his lap for a moment, before looking back to you. “I should actually thank him, his incompetence gave me the balls to come over here and talk to you.”

He’d made you laugh, a boisterous one that caught the attention of a few lingering around the area of the bartop you were sat at, and you knew already that you were screwed when it came to this man. You’d offered your name immediately after that, a hand out to shake, and he took it in his own as he gave his name: Bob Floyd.

You tried desperately not to think about the way his hand had felt against yours, or the way it had absolutely engulfed your hand due to its sheer size alone. You forced your gaze to the badges that adorned the left side of his khaki uniform, glancing back up at him with a grin as you pulled your hand away.

“So, a Lieutenant?” you commented, gesturing toward the two silver bars on the collar of his uniform, before pointing with your beer bottle to the golden wings centered above his heart. “Flight officer badge. You’re a Weapons Systems Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave you another kind grin as Penny swung by quickly, shooting a wink in both of your directions as you slid you both another beer each, muttering something about it being on the house. Bob took his with a sheepish smile, thanking Penny quietly before his attention refocused on you. “Top Gun graduate.”

“Ah, that and the rank explain why Caveman was so scared shitless to see you and your friends,” he’d laughed again at that comment as you finished off the last of your beer, a sly smirk appearing as it was hard to miss the way that Bob’s eyes flickered down to your neck as you tilted you head back to finish off the bottle. “Typically, you’re only recalled here for special detachments and sent home to your squadrons, unless you’re here to train newbies like our friend in the sand outside.”

“We were brought in for a mission months ago,” Bob’s attention was turned away as Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw reentered the bar. They both gave you polite waves that you happily returned for what they’d done for you, before making the most obvious of kissy faces toward Bob that had him shaking his head in embarrassment. You tried to hold in your laughter for his own sake. “They thought we had good team dynamics, so they formed a special squadron to keep us in town for a while. VFA-73 Dagger Squad, at your service.”

“Well, cheers to you all and a sincere thanks for your service,” he happily clinked the top of his bottle against your own. “Must be one special group to get a new squadron formed, no less made up of the best of the best.”

“Oh, they’re special, alright,”

You’d quickly come to learn in the next few minutes that Bob Floyd might’ve been the quieter one of his friends, but he was just as charming as the rest seemed to be. Honestly, you weren’t sure he understood just how charming he really was. He’d pointed across the bar toward his friends, naming off their names and the callsigns that you were sure to remember more easily. With each name, he seemed to easily have a story or a quick-witted quip about each one (including the embarrassing story of his Bob ended up his callsign and how Hangman had turned it into baby-on-board) that had you progressively laughing harder, leaning further toward him. You were seated facing one another, bodies angled directly at the other, and his knee was just barely brushing up against yours now with each laugh shared.

“Hangman seems like a piece of work, but I bet he’s got a soft side buried somewhere down in there,” you’d shot back, turning Bob’s attention back to you as you leaned closer to him with a grin, launching into a story that Bob seemed gripped to, an easy smile on his own face. “My dad’s the same way, took my Uncle Solomon–not my real Uncle, but kind of chosen Uncle–to break him down a little bit, get him to loosen up more.”

“So, your father was in the Navy?”

“Still is, reason that I’m in town right now,” 

With Bob this close, you were losing focus fast. The way he hung onto every word that you said, seemed to genuinely care about what you had to say, had a flutter flying through your chest that you hadn’t felt since your first boyfriend back in high school. Sure, you’d had your fair share of relationships in adulthood, but nothing that clicked, no one that made your heart soar or made you want to ‘pop your foot’ as Princess Mia always said in your favorite childhood movie. You were starting to understand her logic, though, because every second around this charming knight in shining glasses had you ready to throw caution to the wind.

So, with a little boost of confidence fueled by the third beer in your hand and the adorable sight of a blush on the Naval aviator’s face, you moved even closer. Your leg slotted itself between his, pressed between his thighs as your foot rested against the bottom rungs of his chair. You could see him freeze for just a second as his eyes followed you, not apprehensive, but just unsure, like he’d never been here before. With your beer pushed off to the side, not seeing a need for any more liquid courage, your elbow came to rest on the bartop and your head on top of your hand, allowing you to look up at the handsome man before you and watch as he visibly swallowed the lump in his throat.

God, that really had no right to be as hot as it was.

“S-So, he’s stationed here on North Island?”

“Maybe,” you shot back with a smirk, one that brought an easy smile back to his lips as he could surely hear the teasing tone laced through your words as you kept your answer vague. “I’d prefer not to talk about my dad, though, when I could be hearing more about the incredibly handsome WSO who saved this poor damsel in distress.”

Another easy laugh was shared between you both before the floodgates seemed to open up.

Bob had no issue telling you all about his childhood. He’d grown up in Montana, on a ranch somewhere on the outskirts of Bozeman, which prompted a lengthy debate on whether or not he qualified as a cowboy or not (you thought he did, and when he confessed to owning a few cowboy hats, you declared yourself the winner of the debate). His mother and father, Bonnie and Owen Floyd, had three daughters before finally having Bob, their youngest: Laura, and the twins Sophia and Sierra. He’d recounted a story from back in high school when they’d taken a trip to Yellowstone National Park for Bob’s birthday, at his request, where his oldest sister had gotten yelled at by a park ranger for stepping way too close to one of the hot springs.

“That’s, like, impossible to do!” you’d almost shouted through the bar incredulously as Bob laughed at your reaction. “All you have to do is stay on the guided paths, right?”

“That’s what I said!” Bob managed to explain through his own laughter. “Laura swore she saw a bald eagle and was just trying to get a closer look. She then, unbelievably, yelled back at the ranger about how one day she was going to be a conservationist and work there.”

“In the nicest way…she sounds like a piece of work sometimes,”

“No offense taken, the whole family agrees. I like to say she took all the extrovertedness in the family so that there was none left for me,”

Your lips quirked into another bright smile at that, tone slightly teasing once more, but in a soft way.

“I don’t know, you don’t seem so introverted around me,”

Bob paused at that, that adorable blush still ever present in his skin, as his lips quirked up just slightly higher than they were before.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t,” he’d shyly managed to say, eyes never straying from yours. “You make it easy.”

With more shared laughter, two hearts fluttering just from conversation alone, Bob even told you the story of how he’d decided to join the Navy. He’d been with his father one day, the family truck getting worked on at the local shop, and his dad had slid him some money to grab them both some snacks from the pharmacy a few doors down. Bob had only been around 10 at the time. In between those two buildings, though, had been a Navy recruitment center where he’d overheard the conversation inside with some high school students, and the rest was history. He suddenly had every book known to man about the Navy, was watching every movie that even mentioned the Navy in passing, and had sheepishly admitted to even starting a collection of model planes he’d built, dreaming one day of flying them.

God, if that wasn’t somehow the cutest story in the world, but also the hottest moment of vulnerability you’d seen from a man your age in years, you were practically ready to swoon and drop to the floor right there in the middle of the bar. You had a feeling that Penny wouldn’t take kindly to that, even if she seemed to like you and Bob’s friend group.

In turn, you’d told Bob everything about yourself, too. Growing up in a town in New York that felt more like it was part of Canada than New York, given your proximity to the border. You were an only child, your father (who had you skirting around any details that Bob asked about him) was too focused on his career to think about having another kid. But he always swore that you were enough for him. His workaholic nature and deep love for the Navy and moving up the ranks strained the relationship he had with your mother until they divorced. How you never got to see him often, but he always managed to call at least once a week to talk to his ‘perfect girl.’

With the depressing comparison of your childhoods and family dynamics, you’d told him the happy stories and memories, too. Ones that you didn’t normally divulge to a man you had just met. You’d been on a softball team all through high school with your best friends, won multiple championships, and even gotten a scholarship to Boston University because of it. There were multiple stories about how your parents always bribed you with Cold Stone Creamery, and how it was still your favorite ice cream place today. That time your friends had gotten caught sneaking alcohol into the punch bowls at prom (that story had Bob laughing, as he recounted a similar one that Hangman had told them from his high school days). And, of course, the thrilling stories of your very mundane marketing job back in your hometown, the one you never managed to escape.

“You at least like your job, though, right?” Bob had asked, and with the way you were now sitting together, it would probably be more comfortable and practical to just climb into his lap and use him as a chair. Legs still wound around one another, both leaning against the bar with beers long forgotten, faces entirely too close together as you sat in your own bubble together. The sun had long since gone down, as it had still been in the beginning stages of setting when you’d first entered the bar. 

One hour, two? You had no clue how long you’d been talking to Bob Floyd, but every part of you wanted to talk to him for the rest of the night and beyond. It was easy, it was comfortable, and you felt more respected in the entirety of this conversation than you did on any Tinder date you’d been on in years. Safe. That’s what you felt. You felt safe around Bob Floyd, a feeling that was a hot commodity in today's dating climate.

“I do. I went to school for it, so I hope I like it,” your eyes drifted to the bartop, finger absentmindedly tracing the water ring left around your discarded beer bottle. “Pays well, very well. Just want to do it…somewhere other than my hometown, is all. Love the company I work for, just want a change. If an opportunity presented itself, I’d leave Watertown immediately.”

“And besides your mom, you wouldn’t uh…you wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind, would you? No like a, uh, a boyfriend…or anything?”

You’d glanced back up at him now, at the way he bit into his bottom lip with both nerves and hope shining in his eyes as he waited with baited breath for your answer. And in turn, you smiled, leaning just the slightest bit closer to him with amusement laced in your words.

“Lieutenant Floyd, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been flirting with you all night. I wouldn’t do that if there was someone waiting for me,”

He laughed then, and you could almost physically see the tension and nerves leave his body.

“Good, because uh, I-I don’t either. Have anyone, I mean,” your head tilted as Bob groaned slightly, running a hand down his face and adjusting his glasses with a deep chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m really not good at this.”

“At flirting?”

“I never really get the chance to, no one ever really notices me,” he’d shrugged it off like it was nothing, but you’d felt a small pang in your chest at that comment. “Jake, Bradley, Javy…it’s always them, and it doesn’t normally bother me. But I…I saw you earlier, and you looked at me like you saw me. Like you really saw me. You never looked at them, you kept looking at me. And…I’ve never been the one looked at like that, not when I’m with them. I’m not the one noticed.”

You shuffled, sitting up slightly now so that you weren’t leaning against the bar, as you placed your hand on top of his, where it lay in his lap. Bob simply watched you, a tiny smile never leaving his face, as you reciprocated the look and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m not one to flirt with a random guy at a bar, or sit and divulge details of my life story to him for hours on end. Which means you, Bob Floyd, are special. And honestly? I’m glad the other ladies don’t notice you, because I sure did. And that just leaves more for me.”

There was silence for a beat before his hand under your own moved back just slightly, his fingers now splayed out over your own, wrapping around them slightly with a tiny squeeze. And somewhere in that small movement, in the looks exchanged in the never-ending eye contact you seemed to hold with one another, something changed. Those heated looks from earlier held a new weight with the words spoken out loud, the tension on the rope connecting the two of you tighter than it had been from the moment you’d first saw Bob Floyd from across the bar, and it felt like all it was going to take to snap that tension was to lean in-

“Baby-on-board! You done hogging your girl over there so we can meet her?”

And…moment ruined. Bob immediately shut his eyes, groaning with a mumble under his breath about how he was ‘going to kill Hangman’ while his friends all laughed from across the bar. You’d simply laughed, leaning your head down until your forehead rested against Bob’s shoulder, his breath and words ghosting over the side of your face as he finally spoke.

“Sorry about them. The one time I have a girl interested in me, they decide to be pricks about it,”

“Maybe they’re just trying to summon you back over, I have held you hostage long enough,” you commented when you finally lifted your head, glancing down at the watch on his arm to see that you had, in fact, held this man hostage at the bar for almost two hours, even though it had felt like minutes.

“Trust me, this was no hostage situation. I’d rather be over here with you,” Bob was quick to interject, his smile seeming to stretch wider as you were sure he could see the flush crawling up your own neck. Untangling your legs, Bob rose to his feet beside the chair as a pang of disappointment hit you square in the chest. That was, until he held his hand out to you with a sheepish grin. “Care to join me?”

You were pretty sure you would’ve followed Bob Floyd anywhere at this point. Was it insane to like a guy this much after barely knowing him for a night? Probably, but you didn’t feel like you’d just met him. No, Bob Floyd felt like meeting an old friend again, and god did you love the feeling. That’s why you didn’t hesitate to put your hand in his.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,”

There was another round of cheers the second you and Bob were finally in their vicinity, another comment from Hangman about ‘Bobby finally bagging a woman’ that ended with a harsh shoulder slap from Phoenix. You’d only laughed as Bob shook his head at their antics and gratefully accepted the barstool he’d held out for you. Your eyes watched him, like they had been the entire night, as he turned down the invitation to the pool game at hand, taking a seat on the stool directly next to you.

What he probably hadn’t expected was for your foot to hook around the leg of his stool, dragging it directly to your side until every part of you that could be pressed up against the handsome WSO was. When he saw the easy smile on your face and the tiny wink you gave him, you could see any last bit of tension leave his body as he easily leaned into you as well.

They’d all quickly introduced themselves, though Bob had already given you the rundown before. You greeted them politely with a smile, finally giving them your own name so Bradley didn’t have to call you ‘mystery bar girl’ anymore.

“Well, well, well baby-on-board,” it was Hangman once again, shaking his head as he took a shot on one of his last solids left in play, sinking it easily. “Looks like you snagged a confident one. Too bad, bet I could’ve swept her off her feet if given the chance.”

Flirty. Bob certainly didn’t exaggerate just how flirtatious Jake Seresin seemed to be, not that you were interested at all in any comments from him. The comments didn’t catch you off guard, but Bob’s actions did.

His hand was immediately on your thigh, closer down toward your knee, but resting there nonetheless. Just the slightest bit of pressure, enough to feel as if it had been meant in a comforting gesture, but it inherently held something a little more to it. Not quite possessiveness, but something akin to staking a claim, to say you were with him and him only. While Caveman’s hand on any part of you had you wanting to run for the hills, Bob’s firm grip had you leaning into his side more, chasing after the warmth and security he provided. It still sent a flash of heat through every inch of your body, especially when you glanced down to see just how big his hand was when it was resting on such a small part of you. You wished you’d opted for the jean shorts you had picked out earlier now just to feel his hand engulf your bare skin instead.

“Knock it off, Bagman. Clearly, she’s more interested in the quiet types,” the wink Natasha sent your way made you laugh, a similar chuckle coming from Bob at his front-seater’s comments, as she whacked Hangman over the shoulder. While lining up to take her own shot in the game, you saw her catch the way Bob’s hand rested on your leg, and a flash of surprise followed by pride seemed to cross her features. “So, never seen you around before. What brings you to Fightertown?”

“Visiting my dad for a few weeks, he’s stationed here on North Island. But…I’m also here for work,” you could see Bob’s head turn to look at you curiously from the corner of your eye, but you kept your gaze on Natasha. “The marketing firm I work for has a branch out here in San Diego, over in Chula Vista. They know I’ve been looking to move, so they thought I should come check out their set-up out here to see if I liked it enough to take their offer.”

There was a squeeze to your thigh as you turned your attention back to Bob, who was looking at you quizically.

“You didn’t mention that before,”

“Wasn’t sure I was going to take their offer earlier,” you shrugged innocently. “San Diego is hot, I’m not built for this weather.”

“But you…think you might take it now?”

You bit into your bottom lip, leaning just a fraction closer to Bob as you tried to hold back your grin as you replied.

“Well…maybe I found another enticing reason to hang around San Diego for a while,”

There was a low murmur of laughter throughout the group at your words, that gorgeous redness settling back into Bob’s cheeks, and you could hear Fanboy mumble out just loud enough a ‘damn, she’s good at this’ comment.

The group asked their questions, and you answered happily. Where you were from, what all your job entailed, even the stupid little questions like who your celebrity crush was or if you ever thought about joining the Navy like your father.

All the while, Bob never strayed from your side. His thumb had been rubbing little circles into your jeans, just firm enough to feel it on your skin each time the digit moved back and forth, and god, you were really cursing yourself for not wearing those shorts right now. At some point, during a pool rematch between Rooster and Coyote, your head had found it’s way to rest against Bob’s shoulder, and after a brief moment there was the unmistakeable feel of lips pressed to the crown of your head that had a shiver running down your spine and another flash of heat rushing through you, this time heading all south.

Charming, sexy in a quiet way that made him seem so non-threatening, and an absolutely sweetheart and a gentleman…it hadn’t even been a day, but you knew Bob Floyd had already ruined your standards for men. He was the standard.

“Sorry, my favorite fighter pilots,” the attention of everyone crowded by the pool tables turned to Penny, hand on her hip, but an easy smile on her face as she glanced around, eyes lingering on you and the WSO who were still wrapped around one another. “Last call time, going to have to kick you all out now.”

Last call? With a quick glance around the bar, you noticed that there was, in fact, barely any patrons still around. The ones still left behind were already moving toward the door. And with a glance down at Bob’s watch, the time was confirmed: 2 a.m.

“Damn, we almost never stay here until last call,” Rooster laughed, packing up everything on the pool table so that Penny didn’t have to deal with it, Fanboy and Paybackl disappearing after offering to help Penny clean up bottles still littered around the bar.

“Time does fly when you’re having fun,” Natasha commented, bumping shoulders with him before she set her sights on you. “What about you, our honorary Dagger? Need a ride back to wherever you’re staying?”

“Nah, I’m staying at Hotel del Coronado right down the beach. Perks of the job. I just walked along the beach to get here earlier,” your gaze then flickered over to Bob, his thumb still rubbing circles into your leg where he’d never let go throughout the night. “Though it’s pretty late, I’d love if there was some knight in shining glasses still hanging around that wouldn’t mind walking me back.”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation from Bob before he was on his feet, the heat of his hand on your leg disappearing, and then reappearing moments later when his hand wrapped around your own, fingers sliding into place between yours.

“I’ve got tomorrow off, I’ll see you guys on base Sunday,” Bob nodded toward his friends, tugging you even closer to his side. “Tell Penny I’ll come grab my truck later.”

“More like in the morning,” Hangman commented, trying to conceal it surrounded by fake coughs. The group had laughed, the comment spurring another bloom of red across Bob’s cheeks and your own, before he’d tugged you out the back door of the Hard Deck and into the sand.

The beach in these early hours of the morning was quiet, beautiful in a way that only these lonely hours of the night could make it. No distant sound of traffic, no families or rowdy groups of teenagers running up and down the sand, just the sand, the waves, and the moon. It cast streaks of light over the water, its reflection rippling in the waves as they crashed to shore, setting the scene of a picturesque night along the stretch of sand that lasts miles.

Bob had held you up as you removed your sandals, carrying them in one hand in order to appreciate the cool sand beneath your feet. Your other hand still stayed wrapped up in Bob’s, the warmth of his skin a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that came with the cool nighttime California air. Conversation hadn’t stopped, not once, since you’d both started talking earlier on in the night, but this time it was Bob pointing up at the sky as you lazily moved down the beach at the slowest pace you could, naming constellations visible.

“That one right over there,” you followed his gaze as he pointed just slightly West in the sky. “That one is Hercules.”

“Ah, absolutely. I can totally see it,” you nodded your head repeatedly, and it was clear that Bob was already starting to laugh at your response. “The square those stars form, and the little stick arms and legs, definitely gives off a mythological Greek hero to me.”

“Well, actually,” Bob managed to speak through his laughter. “It’s named for his Roman counterpart. Heracles was his Greek counterpart, so they’re essentially the same thing.”

After a moment, you dropped Bob’s hand, turning and angling your body so that you were facing him head-on, walking backward in the sand. Even in the dark of the night, you could tell there was a tiny blush creeping along his cheeks as you tilted your head toward him.

“Bob Floyd, don’t tell me you’re also a secret space nerd!”

His laugh echoed down the beach as he hung his head for a moment, adjusting his glasses when he finally looked back up to you with a grin.

“Guilty, hard not to be with the kind of night skies I grew up seeing in Montana. I-I haven’t…completely ruined my chances now that I’ve nerded out…have I?”

“On the contrary. I have a thing for smart men,” with another wink, you’d spun on your heel in the sand, continuing your walk toward the hotel. “Especially this smart, handsome WSO named Bob Floyd that I met tonight.”

You’d barely gotten a few steps away before there was a sudden tug on your hand, your body spinning back around in the sand until your chest was pressed directly to Bob’s. And before you could utter a single word, his lips were, finally, on yours.

Without a second of hesitation, you fell into him, swept away by the way his fingers traced the line of your jaw, sliding their way to the back of your neck as he held you in place against him. His lips moved against your own with a sense of gentleness that disappeared once it was clear you were reciprocating with vigor, his mouth swallowing yours with the hunger of a starved man.

Almost involuntarily, a delicious little sound you swore you’d never made before tumbled from your lips, swallowed whole by the soft, firm moves of Bob’s lips against your own. A spark grew in the pit of your stomach the second the hand on your waist gripped you just the slightest bit tighter, a spark that was soon a raging inferno that you had no thoughts about taming. 

It takes no effort to give in to Bob Floyd, not when he holds you like this. Not when he’s kissing you on a moonlit beach as if you’d personally hung the moon in the sky just for him.

There is no question in this kiss, no lingering doubts about whatever had sparked between you both since the moment you’d made eye contact hours ago. When your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding through and tugging lightly on the sandy blonde hair you couldn’t even see in the dark, and he elicits a groan that has your knees threatening to give out in the sand, there’s no question: there’s a claim. If his hand on your thigh was the precursor, the writing of a contract to claim you as his in a way you didn’t even realize you already were, this kiss was the signature. Signed and dated, written in stone. You weren’t sure there was another man in the world who could kiss you the way Bob Floyd was kissing you, who could ignite a fire that bright in the depths of your soul.

With reluctance, as if it takes the gods themselves to pull either of you away, you part for the simple need to breathe. And, god, does Bob Floyd look wrecked. Panting, lips red and swollen, the skin of his neck and cheeks flushed red, and an unmistakable bit of fog to his glasses. You laughed then, breathy from your own lack of oxygen, reaching up with the sleeve of your shirt to wipe at the fog, knowing that, given how you felt right now, you surely didn’t look any better than he did.

“Well…hi,” you managed to huff out, chest still struggling to get air back into your lungs.

“Hi,” his voice came out almost like a whisper at first, full of wonder, his hand still cradling your head. His thumb was, once again, drawing little circles into the skin right around your ear, his smile wider than you’d seen all night. “I…I’m sorry-”

“Do not apologize for that,” you’d interjected immediately as Bob huffed out a laugh. “Please, never apologize for that.”

“Good, because I was lying. I-I’m really not sorry,” the hand against your cheek left you, taking its warmth with it, before both of Bob’s hands settled on your waist. You tightened your arms around his shoulders in response, sandals having been long discarded in the sand somewhere amid the kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours. I…I like you. Like, a lot. More than I think I should for the few short hours I’ve known you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re on the same page. I don’t divulge my entire life story to just any Naval aviator in a bar,” another breathy laugh fell from Bob’s lips as you leaned forward, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “No, I only tell all those stories to this one guy that I happen to really like. Like, a lot.”

And when Bob Floyd kissed you again, it was blissful. Gentler, still passionate, so full of an emotion that you wouldn’t ever dare to call love, not this soon. It was more like affection, adoration, a warmth that had you melting into his arms without a care in the world. You’d do anything, as long as it meant you got to keep kissing this man.

Maybe Princess Mia had been onto something with that ‘foot pop’ of a kiss idea, because this sure felt like that moment.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” Bob groaned out against your lips, hands squeezing at your hips again as you laughed, playfully leaning back to swat at his chest as he smiled down at you, illuminated by the moonlight. 

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps kissing me. I think any court of law would find you at fault for that. Also,” you quickly gestured around at your surroundings with a tilt of your head. “Hell of a setting for a first kiss. A moonlit beach in the dead of night, did you walk straight out of a rom-com, Bob Floyd?”

“In all honesty, I was going to wait until I got you back to your hotel room to kiss you and hopefully get your number,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But then I looked at you and…and you were just too beautiful not to. And I was going to kick myself in a few hours if I didn’t kiss you.”

If you were ever asked to pinpoint something you adored about Bob Floyd, his ability to make you laugh with the simplest of things would probably be your favorite. He barely even had to try, and he had you laughing like a little schoolgirl.

The entire walk back to the hotel down the beach felt like a dream sequence, like something straight out of a movie that you never believed actually happened to people in real life. Bob’s hand never strayed from yours, swinging between you both as you kicked at the sand. Every few steps, he’d push you away from him slightly, just to be able to pull you back into his side and make you laugh again.

And somehow, in the midst of the walk, you’d ended up engaged in the most spontaneous round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ questions you’d ever been part of. You and Bob had both been caught speeding during college, but Bob had managed to awkwardly sweet-talk his way out of a ticket with the female officer. You’d been skinny dipping twice before, both on bachelorette trips for two of your college friends, and you didn’t miss the way Bob had to swallow the lump in his throat at that confession (no doubt imagining it). He, in turn, had ended up having to confess the embarrassing story that was him having a crush on his high school English teacher.

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around that,” you’d managed to say through your laughter that you couldn’t contain as you both approached the main doors of the hotel building. “She was at least young, right?”

“Yes, she was in her thirties,” Bob shook his head, obviously amused by how hilarious you found the story. Like the gentleman he was, he’d opened the door for you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he led you into the building. “Girls didn’t look at me in high school, okay. She always offered that I could eat lunch with her since she had a free period, and the entire school had agreed that she was objectively pretty. You can’t blame me!”

“Okay, fine, but you do have to admit it’s a little funny,” you’d offhandedly waved to the concierge, the same one who had checked you in that morning, now working the graveyard shift, before leading Bob over to the elevators. You rested against the wall, awaiting your ride to arrive, while Bob stood just barely a foot in front of you. “As for the girls: their loss. If I’d have gone to high school with you, trust me, I would’ve looked at you.”

The doors for the elevator slid open with a ‘ding’ as you quickly moved inside, back turned to Bob.

“And trust me, if I’d have known you back then, we’d be married by now,”

The second the elevator doors shut, you paused, finger hovering over the button for your floor. Turning on your heel back to Bob, head cocked to the side in amusement, you could see the realization flicker over his face as it dawned on him what exactly he’d just said.

“Oh, would we now? You saying we’d be high school sweethearts?” Bob sheepishly laughed, fixing his glasses as he looked anywhere but you. “That kind of sounded like a line straight out of Hangman’s playbook, and I barely know the guy.”

“Yeah…y-yeah, it really did, didn’t it? Might have to blame the alcohol, I-I don’t typically drink much on our nights out,”

You hummed, taking a step toward him with a growing smile as his stuttering came back for just a second, something you realized only ever made an appearance when he was nervous. His eyes were locked on you as you leaned up, nose bumping his.

“Don’t worry, I found it cute coming from you,” you leaned back to hit the button for the third floor, and the second you did, Bob’s hand was settled on your hip, pulling you back to him. Teeth gnawing into your bottom lip, you contemplated the words floating around your head for a moment, afraid that whatever was happening here was fragile and your words could break it. “When we get up there…do you want to come in?”

You had read it before, about the way a man’s eyes darkened with ‘lust’ or in moments such as this, but you’d never witnessed it. Not until now, and once again, Bob Floyd had you weak in the knees.

“I’d love to,”

“Good,” you nodded. “Just know…I don’t do hook-ups. I don’t do flings.”

“Good,” he responded with his own nod. “Because neither do I.”

“Good,”

The door of your hotel room had barely been closed before Bob was on you.

His hands on your hips guided you, pressing you up against the closed bathroom door just to the right of the room’s main door, and his lips descended upon yours as if he were attacking his target. Vigorous, relentless, he kissed you in a way you’d never been kissed before, not even like he did on the beach, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance. A wanton moan slipped out of you, parting your lips just enough for Bob’s tongue to sneak through, to savor the taste of you. You savored the taste of him, too: the lingering taste of the beer he’d been sipping all night, and the remnants of your own vanilla chapstick still smeared across his lips.

You moved in tandem, like your bodies were one with each other. It didn’t take long before your shirt was off, his lips hot, slicked with spit, dragging themselves over every inch of skin he could get his lips on. Every drag of his lips, every press of a kiss against your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts had your mind going blank, your fingers desperately fumbling with the buttons of his khaki uniform to no avail.

If you just asked, you’d let him have anything he wanted in this moment. You’d let him take you against this door, the wall next to it, the floor, the bed, hell, you’d let him lean you over the balcony railing where anyone might be able to see you both. Nothing else mattered besides Bob Floyd, as long as he continued to touch you, adore you, worship you the way he was.

In the moments it took Bob to maneuver you from the wall to the bed, you’d finally come back to yourself, able to delicately unbutton his uniform and not ruin it, before tugging it from its place tucked into his pants and tossing it across the room. The white shirt he had on beneath it was gone in seconds, too, and god, you wanted to admire him like a painting on the walls of a museum, like he was the Mona Lisa himself.

Like they say, it’s always the quiet ones. You shouldn’t have been surprised; he was in the Navy, after all. But you couldn’t deny the heat that pooled between your thighs from just a single look.

With a tiny yelp from your lips, your back hit the bed, and Bob was on top of you in seconds, drawing yet another moan from your lips. At this rate, there’d surely be a noise complaint in minutes. His leg wedged itself between your thighs, delivering just enough friction to have you squirming, while his lips locked back into your neck. From your jawline, all the way to your collarbone, Bob nipped at every inch of skin he could, blowing a short puff of air across over tender spot before leaving a searing kiss to it that felt like you were being branded. All the while, your hands roamed up and down every expanse of skin you could touch, His forearms to his biceps and every vein that ran along them, popping out from under his skin. The lean body that hovered over you now, nails ghosting along the lines across his stomach toward his chest that had a low grumble emitting from him. And in a moment of boldness, invigorated by the tension that had snapped between you both, your hand traveled lower, just barely grazing over the outline straining against his khaki pants, finally feeling for yourself just how big he truly was. And the groan that left him that time, wrecked and on the verge of falling apart, had a whole new flood of heat rushing through you.

In a show of his strength, Bob rolled you both again with just one arm. Suddenly, there you sat, straddling him as he lay below you, half naked, eyes blown wide behind those glasses, looking absolutely desecrated beneath you. The only sound that flickered through the room was the heavy pants from each of you, once again catching your breath and calming the firestorm of emotions in you both.

“So,” Bob had breathed out once he’d finally caught enough of his breath. “Y-You’re totally taking that transfer to San Diego, right?”

You’d let out a breathy laugh, swiping your hand down your face as you sent him a small smirk.

“In all honesty…I already accepted it. That was half the reason for this trip: to see my new office and meet my new coworkers. Meeting you, though…well, that’s just like the cherry on top,”

His grin was infectious, but your mind was elsewhere in the moment as you took your chance, simply grinding yourself down on the man below you with a smirk of amusement still on your lips. His smile was gone instantly, lips straining to hold in a moan as his hands gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to freeze in place so you couldn’t make that same move again.

“I-If you do that again, I’m not going to be able to stop myself,”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes, because I want to do this properly. I want to do this in order,” he huffed out a laugh. “Tomorrow, my day off. 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up. Il Fornaio, an Italian restaurant just on the other side of the island, right on the beach, with beautiful views of the water. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, and for dessert…a Cold Stone Creamery, barely a minute away. And if I can muster up the confidence to do it, I’ll make you mine before you’ve even taken a single scoop of your ice cream, because I don’t need a second date to know I want this. And then I’ll bring you back here, and then I’ll fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, to be worshiped. God…I already don’t think there’s a single thing I wouldn’t do if you just asked me to.”

If you opened a dictionary, Bob Floyd would be painted under the word ‘perfection,’ and there was no doubt in your mind about it. Hell, he’d remembered the stupid story about your favorite ice cream shop you’d told him hours ago. You were about ready to ravish him on the spot.

“Sounds like you’ve had this planned out for hours now,” your voice had dropped into a whisper, laced with just pure awe for the man below you.

“Since the moment we first locked eyes across the bar. Had to add the ice cream bit in, later,”

And you’d laughed, something you had done all night with him. For a moment, you paused, smile stretching nervously, as something you’d been meaning to say all night, but had been stuck in your throat, was itching to finally be said. It terrified you, but you had to say it. Bob Floyd was an angel; he deserved to know what he was getting into.

“Well, that’s a yes to dinner, and everything that comes after. I’ll just have to make sure to tell my father I can’t have dinner with him after I visit the base tomorrow afternoon. I hope he doesn’t get too upset, you know how the, uh…how the Vice Admiral can be,”

It was like you’d just dropped a bomb, and you could see the aftermath in Bob’s eyes. The way he tilted his head from beneath you, before realization seemed to crawl into every feature of his face.

“The…the Vice Admiral. As in…Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, Cyclone…” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and all you could do was nervously nod your head as Bob let out yet another breathy laugh. “Your Uncle Solomon…Rear Admiral Solomon Bates, Warlock. Wow, how did I not figure that out?”

“Because I was really careful not to give it away,” you’d tried to laugh, nerves only calmed slightly by the little circles that Bob’s fingers were drawing into the skin of your waist where his hands still lay. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said something earlier. But you were so sweet, and not to mention attractive, and it was so easy to like you…I was scared if you knew, you wouldn’t think it was worth it.”

Bob’s eyebrows furrowed as he shifted, sitting up on the hotel room bed now with you still positioned in his lap. One arm fully locked around your waist, the other taking your chin between his fingers to keep your eyes locked on him as he spoke.

“Why would I think that?”

“I dated a Navy man in college; he was a few years older than I was. He was excited for his reassignment; he was going to be training under my dad. But then, I told him that it was my dad, and he freaked. Thought he’d be treated unfairly if his superior knew he was dating his daughter. I just…I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t worth the hassle. I know how my dad can be.”

Bob stared at you for just a moment before he pulled you into another kiss. Softer than any previous kiss the entire night, but firm, as if he was trying to drill something into you. Whatever it was, it was working, as your chest fluttered and your hands wound their way back into his hair. And barely a beat later, he’d pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, hand on your chin, cupping your jawline to hold you there with him.

“If in the end, I get you…anything is worth the hassle,”

[parker-barnes-af]

𝓼𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓭𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓼' 𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓼

♡ - includes smut

𝘽𝙤𝙗 𝙍𝙚𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙨

𝜗ৎ Project: Get Over Bob - @hyoer

𝜗ৎ Miss Possessive ♡ - @shortnspidey

𝜗ৎ When You Leave, He Comes ♡ - @feelingdozy

𝜗ৎ Between Book Pages And Baked Pies - @gyugraphy

𝜗ৎ Peeled Back ♡ - @eyelessfaces

𝜗ৎ Loving You Is Easy // You Exist Behind My Eyelids ♡ - @blank-potato

𝜗ৎ Polaroid // Part Two - @54nboo

𝜗ৎ The Blue Hour - @of-apollo

𝜗ৎ Daylight ♡ - @runawaywerewolf

𝜗ৎ Pushing Daisies ♡ - @noncrush

𝘽𝙤𝙗 𝙁𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙙

𝜗ৎ Foggy ♡ - @sushiwriterhere

𝜗ৎ Hold Me, Carry Me Slowly ♡ - @withmyloveasyourgarden

𝜗ৎ Hearing You ♡ - @hauntedhowlett-writes

𝜗ৎ First Time For Everything ♡ - @tropes-and-tales

𝜗ৎ Radar Lost - @violetrainbow412-blog

𝜗ৎ Shy Guy Finish First ♡ - @hangmanwrites

𝜗ৎ Make Me Your Masterpiece ♡ - @sometimesanalice

𝜗ৎ The Plan - @geminiwritten

𝜗ৎ Knight In Shining Glasses - @scarletmika

𝜗ৎ You Promised - @itwillbethescarletwitch

[parker-barnes-af]

Point Break

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Authors note: based on this request. Thank you, dear Anon, for this awesome request! I had so much fun writing this, so much that I got completely carried away🙈

Warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT 18+ I really went all in with this one 😅. Canon typical violence, mention of blood and wounds, Bucky’s taking quite a few knocks. Mention of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), p in v. Sunshine reader and Bucky being total Winter Grouch at the beginning, completely lost in his feelings and self-doubt. It's quite a ride and the cherry on the cake comes at the end 😅 Set in the after Thunderbolts timeline

Word Count: 17 K ( I know and I'm sorry 😓)

Summary: Bucky had fallen for you from the first sight, but kept his distance for months, telling himself it was safer that way, until the day Hydra took you, and the choice wasn’t his or yours anymore. Some deals are made knowing they’ll break you.

The jet landed with a metallic shudder, its hydraulics hissing as the ramp descended and exhaust curled into the cool evening air. You were already waiting, standing at the base of the landing pad with your med bag in one hand and a clipboard in the other. 

Another completed mission, another set of bruises and egos to tend.

Yelena was the first off the jet, smirking despite the tear in her sleeve and the dried blood on her temple.

"It was just a tiny explosion," she was saying over her shoulder.

“Tiny?” Alexei grumbled behind her. “Then why did you have to use me as a shield?”

He stomped down the ramp with his usual flair, arms spread like a war hero returning from glorious battle, except he was covered in soot, and one of his boots was clearly cracked at the joint, barely clinging to his foot, threatening to give up with the next step. His suit was dusty, torn in at least three places, and he had a cut just above his brow that had left a streak of blood drying down his cheek.

Still, he was grinning.

“Ah! Little one!” he beamed when he spotted you, gesturing broadly. “I took the brunt of it! Protected the children!” He nodded backward toward the others. “You should have seen it! Fire everywhere, rubble falling, and me, holding up half the building!”

“You also tripped over your own foot and fell into a table,” Yelena added as she walked past, deadpan.

Alexei ignored her.

You smiled warmly as he approached, already reaching for a cloth to gently dab at the blood on his face.

“You’re lucky you’re made of bricks, Alexei,” you said softly, scanning him for more injuries. “Looks like you took more than a few hits.”

He puffed out his chest. “Yes, but look! Still standing. Still beautiful.”

You laughed under your breath, cleaning the cut with careful fingers. “Mostly beautiful. Though I think your nose might be crooked again.”

He gasped theatrically. “No! Not the nose! How will I charm the nurses now?”

“You’re in luck,” you said sweetly, patting his arm. “We’re immune to your charms but I still want you in the med bay, please. Let’s get that arm checked out and your ribs, too. You're favoring one side.”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Anything for you, solnyshko.” His grin widened as he winked his eye at you. “You patch me up, I’ll tell you all about how I saved everyone. Twice.”

“Deal,” you said with a smile, stepping aside so he could follow the others down the hallway.

You shook your head, watching him lumber off, humming cheerfully, even bruised and dusty, Alexei was still a big child beneath all that bluster.

While Alexei disappeared down the hallway, already beginning his dramatized retelling to a passing tech, gesturing wildly with his good arm, you turned back toward the jet, just in time to see Ava stepping off the ramp with a quiet grunt, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle, the other clutching the railing like it might float away. She moved gingerly, each step measured, the pain clear in her posture, even if she was doing a great job of pretending otherwise.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Ava,” you called gently, jogging a few steps closer, “you’re limping.”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice was calm, too calm, and she didn’t look at you directly.

“You always say that when you're not,” you replied, already lifting your comm to your mouth. “Medbay, I need a wheelchair to Hangar One. Now, please.”

“I don’t need…”

“You do,” you said firmly but kindly, cutting her off with a smile. “I can see your ankle from here, and I think it’s trying to leave your foot.”

She huffed out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the woman who just fell through a collapsing stairwell and landed like a superhero with a pulled ribcage and a twisted ankle. I heard the whole thing over comms, including the extremely creative swearing,” you smiled at her innocently.

That earned you a small smile in return.

The wheelchair arrived within a minute, pushed by a medtech who looked vaguely terrified of Ava. You gently coaxed her down into the seat, ignoring her muttered protests, as you squat beside her to check the swelling at her ankle.

“It’s already puffing up,” you murmured. “We’ll need x-rays, just to be safe.”

She sighed, clearly embarrassed. “I was trying to phase through the floor to break the fall.”

“And you phased into a fridge instead, didn’t you?”

“I... may have misjudged time and space a little bit.”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, fighting a smile as you gave her knee a gentle pat.

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I would never,” you said sweetly, then added with mock seriousness, “but I will offer you a deal. No disappearing in radiology this time, okay?”

Ava blinked. “I was nervous last time. I didn’t mean to vanish.”

“You ghosted the technician mid-scan. She still talks about it.”

“That’s not my fault,” she muttered, cheeks pinking.

“Let’s just keep you visible until we get a diagnosis, yeah?” you said with a wink, tapping the edge of the wheelchair lightly.

Ava sighed again, but her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. “Fine. Only because it’s you.”

You smiled warmly in return.

As Ava disappeared down the hall, and not literally this time, you turned to find Yelena leaning against a supply crate like she’d been waiting for her moment.

“I didn’t get so much as a hello,” she said with mock offense, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “And I only got half blown up.”

You let out a soft laugh, walking over to her and gently brushing away a bit of ash clinging to her sleeve.

“I saw the blood on your temple. You sure you’re okay?” you asked, your voice already laced with quiet concern.

She shrugged. “Tiny cut. I’ve had worse hangovers.”

You gave her an approving once-over anyway, just to be sure. “Well, you still look good.”

Yelena grinned. “I know.”

Behind her, John Walker strode over, looking smug and sore in equal measure as he adjusted his shoulder strap with a wince, then paused beside the two of you.

“I don’t need patching up,” he said immediately, like it was a point of pride.

You raised a brow. “That’s why you’re walking like your spine was replaced with rusted springs?”

“I’m just sore. That wall came out of nowhere.”

Yelena snorted. “Walls do that, don’t they? Sneaky things.”

You offered him a friendly smile. “Glad to hear you’re unbreakable. Still, I’ve got an ice pack with your name on it, just in case that ‘soreness’ turns out to be something pulled.”

John chuckled and held up his hands. “No need, Nurse Sunshine, but thanks for the concern.”

Yelena’s smirk deepened. “How do you do this? Even the Boy Scout over here likes you.”

“I don’t like her,” John protested weakly, then glanced at you. “I mean, I do. You’re nice. Just… not like that.”

“I’m flattered either way,” you replied with an easy laugh, the warmth in your voice never faltering.

Yelena gave you a fond little nudge on her way past. “Don’t let the Winter Grouch give you trouble,” she murmured. “He’s bleeding and brooding. Prime Bucky mood.”

“Noted,” you whispered, drawing in a deep breath as you prepared to turn and face the inevitable but Yelena caught the subtle shift in your mood and paused.

She tilted her head, studying you with that sharp, perceptive gaze of hers. “Hey, you’re smiling,” she said, “but you’ve got that look.”

“What look?” you asked lightly, fiddling with the strap of your med bag.

“The one you get when someone’s been a jackass to you and you’re pretending it doesn’t bother you.”

Your smile wavered for just a second. “It’s nothing. I just… sometimes feel like I’m in the way. Like I’m being annoying. I know they’re all tired and hurt and don’t want someone hovering but I’m just simply here to help.”

Yelena frowned. “You are not a nuisance.”

You blinked.

“I mean it,” she added, stepping closer. “You walk into the room, and it actually feels lighter. We’d all be dead or grumpier without you and Bucky’s just... well, you know. Bucky. Don’t take him seriously.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you. “Bukcy grumpier than he already is? That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Exactly, so do your thing, patch us up! Smile at us. Fuss over us. We need it, even when we pretend we don’t.”

You looked at her, clearly touched by the sincerity in her tone. “Thanks, Lena,” you murmured with a smile.

She gave you a quick, awkward shrug and started backing away. “Don’t get weird about it.”

“I won’t,” you teased, eyes shining. “I’ll just journal about it later.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, shaking her head as she walked off, leaving you alone in the almost empty hangar. Almost. 

You knew he was still there, watching from just out of sight in the shadow, hoping that you might forget him and leave. 

You didn’t need to look to know where he was – slightly to the left of the jet, behind one of the grounded transports, where the shadows ran deepest. You sighed, so this time it was the hide and seek tactic. 

He had a whole repertoire of avoidance tactics by now. He’d beeline for the far exit the second the ramp dropped, trying to slip past you in the blur of disembarkment. He’d stride with a confident grimace on his face as if late for something important, trying to hide the limp in gait and muttering ‘I’m good’ without meeting your eyes, hoping you'd be too busy to stop him. Once, he barked at the mechanical crew about malfunctioning weapons so loudly it echoed through the entire hangar, like this could distract you from seeing his dislocated shoulder. 

He’d timed more than a few disappearing acts to the exact moment you were wrapping gauze around someone else’s arm, his absence marked only by a faint smear of blood on the floor.

The thing was: none of those tactics had ever fully worked.

You almost always caught him, not because you were fast, but because you were constant. You didn’t chase; you simply watched, patient and unwavering, and somehow ended up beside him just when he thought he’d shaken you off. And every single time, it ended the same way: a grumpy exchange, his voice clipped and curt, your smile trying its best to stay steady… and then him following you to the med bay with all the warmth of a snowstorm.

And today was not going to be an exception. 

You took a deep breath, adjusted your med bag on your shoulder, and started walking toward him, calm, unhurried, like this was the most natural thing in the world, because it was, because he was hurt, and even if he didn’t want kindness, he still needed care. 

“I can see you, you know,” you said gently as you rounded the transport.

Bucky didn’t move, he stood with his back to you, one hand braced against the metal side of the jet, the other pressed to the steadily bleeding wound on his side, his dark hair was damp with sweat, a smear of grime streaked across his cheekbone – a man made of iron and exhaustion.

“I’m not in the mood for lectures,” he muttered.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “Lucky for you, I don’t give them.”

“I’m fine,” he grunted trying to pass you by, but the dark smear of red spreading across his t-shirt just beneath his arm was hard to ignore and in addition to that he was walking a little too stiffly, jaw tight.

“No, you’re not.”

You quickened your pace and managed to step in front of him, blocking his path before he could make it to the elevator. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, those sharp, tired eyes, and gestured toward the wet patch on his side.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

“I’ve had worse, they all heal,” he muttered, barely meeting your gaze.

“That doesn’t make this one any less important.”

He exhaled like you were the most exhausting person alive. “Go patch up someone who actually needs it.”

You just gave him another warm smile, the one that always got under his skin, the one that said I’m not going anywhere, Barnes.

“Oh, I am,” you said. “You.”

He gave you a look that could freeze lava. “I said I’m fine.”

“Let me look,” you asked quietly. “Just look.”

He finally turned his head toward you, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something raw, cornered, tired and angry. 

“Why do you always do this?” he snapped. “Why can’t you just leave it?”

The words weren’t loud, but they hit harder than they should have, you swallowed, keeping your expression steady and your voice gentle.

“Because you’re bleeding, Bucky, because it’s my job, and because I care.”

He winced.

“Come to the medbay,” you said, nodding toward the corridor behind you. “Please, let me help.”

He stared at you like he didn’t understand why you were making such a fuss about it, but eventually, wordlessly, he started slowly moving in the right direction.

You walked in silence, a careful distance between your shoulder and his, not too close, never too close. He didn’t like that, or maybe he didn’t like you, and the thought of your arm accidentally brushing his was too much. You weren’t sure.

You used to tell yourself he was like this with everyone and to a certain point that was true, Bucky Barnes didn’t exactly ooze warmth with the rest of the team either, but somehow… somehow it felt different with you - colder and sharper.

At first, you thought it was just because you were new. People like him took time to open up, to let others into their world but time passed, it was six months now, and nothing had changed or maybe it had, maybe it had gotten worse. 

You tried not to dwell on it, but your brain kept cataloging every moment he flinched away from your touch, every time he refused to look you in the eye when you smiled, every muttered “I didn’t ask you,” or clipped “Just don’t talk”, and you tried, you really, really tried to let it slide off your back, to tell yourself it wasn’t personal.

But it felt personal, because you didn’t just care about him as a medic, or even as a teammate. You liked him, even more than that.

There was something steady in him, something tired, yes, angry and closed-off and jagged, but steady and kind, in these brief, flickering moments that he seemed to hate himself for.

You saw that, you felt it, and you liked him, quietly, fiercely, which made the way he shut you out all the harder to swallow.

You wanted to believe he didn’t actually hate you, that it wasn’t your voice or your warmth that irritated him, but something else, some fear or scar you weren’t meant to understand. And yet, every time he pulled away or acted like you were unbearable, it left a bruise in a spot no bandage could reach.

You glanced over at him as you reached the hallway leading to the med bay. He was walking stiffly, blood still blooming through his shirt, jaw clenched like stone, as if he were headed for an interrogation room, not a place meant to help him heal.

He very obviously didn’t want to be here, not with you.

You swallowed hard against the familiar ache in your throat and forced on that small, professional smile, the one you’d worn too many times before.

Don’t take it personally… don’t make it anything… just do your job.

Because if he really did hate you for whatever inexplicable reason… you didn’t think you wanted to know.

The med bay was quiet, even Alexei’s booming voice was absent, which could only mean one thing: everyone else had already been checked, patched up, and cleared. This time, the injuries hadn’t been serious.

You set your bag down and pulled on a pair of gloves, while behind you, Bucky hovered just inside the doorway, tense as a loaded spring.

“You can take the cot,” you said softly, nodding to the padded bench where you treated most of the team.

He hesitated, as if the simple act of sitting felt like surrender but eventually, without another word, he crossed the room and lowered himself stiffly onto the edge.

You pulled out gauze, saline, antiseptic, scissors.

Bucky flinched slightly at the sound of the tray rattling into place, but his face stayed neutral and cold, just as usual.

“I’ll start with your arm,” you offered gently. “Then I’ll take a look at your side.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my side.”

You glanced up, his jaw was locked, lips pressed into a thin line and his vibranium fingers flexed against his thigh.

You kept your tone warm and steady. “You’re still bleeding, Bucky.”

“It’s not deep.”

“It’s bleeding through your shirt.”

“It’ll stop.”

You swallowed and carefully seated yourself in front of him to reach his arm, gently taking his flesh wrist to begin cleaning the cut that ran jaggedly along his forearm. You worked in silence for a few seconds, watching the way his muscles stayed coiled under your touch like he was resisting the urge to bolt. It was nothing new, he always did. 

You spoke softly, eyes still on your work.

“I need to check the wound on your side.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

His voice sharpened. “Don’t push this.”

“I’m not pushing,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I just… I care if something’s wrong and it is.”

Something flickered in his expression – not quite anger, not quite fear, you couldn’t name it. 

“Let me help you to pull it off,” you offered and reached for the hem of his T-shirt.

“I can handle it,” he muttered, already shifting, fingers hooking the edge of his tattered black T-shirt. “You’ll see it’s nothing.”

You leaned back slightly, watching as he tried to pull the shirt over his head, his breath hitched mid-motion, a soft sound of pain escaping before he could swallow it down, while the fabric stuck to his side where the blood had dried, tugging at the skin.

You stepped forward quickly. “Wait, don’t hurt yourself more. Let me…”

“No.”

His tone was harsh as he shoved your hand away, his arm still raised, shirt half-bunched around his ribs, every line of his body stiff and defensive.

You froze, a beat passed, then another.

“Bucky, I just want to help you,” you said, desperately trying to bite back tears that threatened to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

He didn’t move, but didn’t say anything either, so you reached for the scissors on the tray, holding them up between you, giving him time to see and react if needed. 

“I’ll be careful.”

Another silence.

Then, finally, a barely audible: “Fine.”

You moved close again, as you gently slid the cold edge of the scissors beneath the hem of his shirt. You felt, rather than saw, the way he tensed, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

The sound of the scissors snipping through fabric seemed too loud, too sharp. Bucky kept his eyes locked on the wall across, teeth grinding together to keep anything else from slipping out. You worked in silence, peeling the shredded, blood-soaked shirt from his body piece by piece, the fabric clinging to the wound at his side, warm and wet and sticking.

He hated this. Every second of it.

Hated the way the air touched his skin, hated the way he could feel your eyes taking him in, even if they were just scanning for damage, hated the way he sat there like a goddamn puzzle you had to piece back together again, like he couldn’t even take care of himself, couldn’t manage that on his own.

He would rather charge into enemy fire than sit here under your hands and let you see him, let you see all of it - the battered, bruised chest, the old lacerations across his ribs, the jagged web of scar tissue where his shoulder ended in steel.

It was disgusting, he knew it was, he saw it in the mirror when he dared to look, saw it in the way people hesitated when their eyes caught on the place where man became machine.

He waited for that from you, waited for the breath that hitched too long, for your fingers to still, for the quiet, involuntary reaction you didn’t mean to give because no matter how warm your smile was, no one wanted to look at this.

And God help him, he didn’t want you to.

He could’ve taken it from anyone else, from a stranger, a medic without a face or a voice but not you, not when he’d spent months trying to build walls between himself and the unbearable ache of wanting you that was driving him mad every single day.

Because if things were different –  in another world, another life, he still dared to dream of from time to time – you wouldn’t be tending to him like this, you’d be touching him differently.

He’d feel your delicate fingers splayed across his stomach, slow and teasing, tracing lazy patterns over his skin just to hear him groan. 

You’d climb onto his lap in soft cotton sleepwear, fingers curling into his hair, lips brushing his ear and he’d have your legs around his waist, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders as he rocked into you slow and deep, swallowing every whimper and every sigh from your perfect, plush lips.

And maybe, maybe there’d be mornings where you’d wake him with kisses against his jaw, sliding under the sheets to trail your mouth lower, lower, until he was gasping your name and fisting the sheets, your voice humming sweet praise against his skin as you ruined him with nothing but your mouth and that sunshine-soft devotion in your eyes.

In another life, he’d earn the sound of you falling apart underneath him and he’d memorize it, worship it. But in this life?

He was just a grumpy, half-broken supersoldier bleeding on your floor again, a silent burden with a history no one wanted and a body no one could love, something to fix and release, stitch and forget.

He flinched when your fingers brushed the raw edges of the gash on his side.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

He hadn’t stood a chance.

Not from the very beginning, not from the first moment you stepped into the med bay, bright-eyed and steady-handed, soft-spoken but somehow commanding the whole damn room without raising your voice once.

Warmth rolled off of you like sunlight through glass, not the loud kind, not the fake, performative shit that cracked when it was tested. You were real, you were constant, you remembered names, remembered birthdays, brought people coffee the way they liked it without asking. 

They’d started calling you “Sunshine” within a week, even Alexei, loud and blunt and impossible to embarrass, had switched to calling you solnyshko in his thick Russian accent, like it was second nature. 

And Bucky?

He’d been gone for you the moment you touched him.

He remembered it too well. The first time he’d been sent to you: reluctant, annoyed, still bleeding from some rooftop mess in Prague with a shallow cut above his brow that wouldn't stop dripping into his eye. He expected antiseptic, cold metal tools, instructions barked without eye contact.

Instead, he got you.

Smiling up at him like he wasn’t some grim relic dropped into your workspace, you’d stepped close, murmured something about how the cut made him look very “stoic and tortured, like a brooding detective” and stood up on your tiptoes to reach him properly, steadying yourself with one palm on his chest, while pressing a patch to his brow.

Plaster, you’d joked, the strongest glue known to mankind, emotionally and medically.

Your breath had ghosted across his cheek, your fingers, so soft and casual, had brushed just under the line of his jaw and Bucky had gone hard so fast it made his stomach twist with panic. He’d stood there frozen, every muscle locked, fighting instinct with sheer will, horrified that you might glance down and notice the unmistakable bulge straining against his suddenly-too-tight pants. 

And two hours later, drenched in sweat and halfway through beating a heavy bag to pulp in the training room, he still hadn’t shaken the feel of you off.

He tried, every day, tried to unsee you, to pretend that he didn’t care, to spook you away with ignorance, tried to forget the sound of your voice saying “you’re okay, I’ve got you” like it was true, like it could ever be true for him. 

He tried to avoid being treated by you whenever he could. It was simply too much to bear, in some ways even worse than anything he’d endured in HYDRA’s basements. Having you so close, breathing against his skin, your touch light and careful… and not being able to touch you in return – it was torture of its own kind.

And now, with your fingers skimming the raw edges of his side, your face so close again, eyes filled with concern that couldn’t possibly be meant for him… he simply wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

Bucky shifted in his seat again, trying to breathe normally, trying to think, and the leather creaked beneath him, betraying every twitch of tension in his body. 

You moved back to the tray beside him, picked up a syringe, and checked the vial like you always did.

“I’m going to give you a local,” you said softly. “Painkiller and a bit of anesthetic. Should take the edge off before I start stitching.”

“No.”

Your head lifted slightly, surprised by the sharpness of his tone but you didn’t flinch.

“Bucky…”

“I said no,” he snapped, eyes locked ahead, jaw grinding tight. “I don’t want anything in my system, not now, not ever. I can take it.”

You just nodded. “Alright,” you said. “Then I’ll be quick. Let me know if it’s too much.”

Too much.

It already was. Not the pain and not the gash.

You.

Your fingers were back on him a moment later, brushing near the edges of the wound, wiping away blood with sterile gauze. The contact was brief, barely pressure but it didn’t matter. It never did.

The moment your hand touched his skin, his body betrayed him.

Heat flushed beneath the surface, cruel and immediate, his breath caught in his throat and his cock throbbed helplessly in his tactical pants, already half-hard from the second you'd knelt in front of him to examine the wound earlier. Now it was worse, aching, twisting up beneath his belt, too present and impossible to ignore.

Fuck. No. Not again. Not here.

He shifted, subtly, or at least as subtle as he could manage with adrenaline roaring in his veins and you so close he could smell the hint of citrus from your tee on your lips.

You moved in closer to thread the needle, and his gaze dropped for a fraction of a second not by choice, but instinct, and there it was again: the way your lips parted slightly in focus, the way the curve of your jaw tilted just so, the shape of your fingers, the slope of your throat, the warmth radiating from you.

And all he could think, all he could fucking think right now, was what it would feel like to have you straddling his lap, your thighs tight around his waist, grinding down against the ache in his jeans while he held you steady by the hips. How would it feel to have your hands buried in his hair, tugging hard, needing him closer, needing more and him giving it to you, gladly, worshipfully, with a hunger he hadn’t let himself feel for anyone in years.

How he’d grab a fistful of your shirt, shove it up, bare your stomach and your breasts to his mouth and kiss his way down until you were shivering, hot and soft and completely at his mercy. 

How you’d moan for him, sweet and desperate, head tipped back, your voice already wrecked from whispering his name like it was the only thing you could remember.

And when you’d finally start to sink down on him, taking him in inch by inch, deep and slow and ruinous, he’d hold your hips down and take his time, grinding slowly up into you until you were crying for him, clawing at his back, writhing under the need for him.

He wanted to hear you beg with voice cracking, breath stuttering, he wanted to see you come apart for him with tears in your lashes and his name spilling from your lips like prayer.

He’d mouth at your throat, your shoulder, sink his teeth into the delicate line of your collarbone just to hear how you’d whimper at the edge of pain, only to soothe it a second later with his tongue.

He wanted to know what kind of sounds you’d make for him, what kind of mess you’d become under his mouth, what it would be like to feel your smile against his skin while you writhed beneath him.

God, he’d give anything, anything just to know how you tasted.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to force his breathing even, trying to shut it all down.

There was no place for thoughts like that, not here, not now, not ever and not with you.

Not when he was a mess of scars and steel, and dark memories still keeping him awake at night, not when all you’d ever seen of him was what was broken. 

He was a soldier, not a man, something salvaged and repurposed, not someone you would ever choose to touch unless it was necessary. Certainly not someone you’d ever moan for, arch for, someone you would want.

Bucky swallowed hard and tried to focus on the sting of the needle entering his skin,  anything to keep the tension from turning visible.

Because if you noticed… if you so much as glanced down… if you knew that your fingers brushing his skin made his breath hitch not in pain, but in desperate, pulsing want.

If you knew that the way you leaned over him, the slope of your collarbone just inches from his mouth, had his thoughts unraveling into a mess of things he had no right to imagine.

If you knew that every time you smiled at him he wanted to drop to his knees and bury his face between your thighs and stay there until you forgot your own name.

If you knew even a small fraction of all that … he wasn’t sure he’d survive the humiliation.

The needle dragged through his skin, a sting, then a tug, again and again, your hands were steady as ever, moving with focus and care. You didn’t rush, you never did and he welcomed the pain, it was at least somewhat distracting.

At some point he must’ve shifted a little too sharply because you paused and looked up at him, brows knitting.

“You alright?” you asked softly. “Is it hurting too much?”

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly, too sharp.

You kept your eyes on him, studying his face, and he swallowed hard, blinked once and looked away.

“I said I’m fine,” he rasped.

You returned to your work, lips pressed together, gaze dropping to the wound as you continued stitching in silence.

Bucky stayed still as stone, blood thundering through his veins, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, focused on the rhythm of your hands, the even glide of the needle, the way your fingertips ghosted over him as you wiped away the excess blood.

You were nearly done. Just one more stitch, just one more soft sweep of gauze to catch the last streak of blood, just one more whisper of your fingers along the edge of his ribs. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, just for a second, and out of a sudden it was simply too much. You were too close, eyes warm and full of that open-hearted care you gave everyone, but that somehow always wrecked him more than anything.

He could feel himself slipping, unraveling under your touch, under the heat of his own skin, under the pulse pounding between his legs and the ache twisting in his gut like punishment.

You moved slightly, reaching for the tape to dress the wound and your hip brushed his knee, barely, barely, but it felt like fire, and he snapped.

Before you could speak again, before you could even exhale, Bucky shot up from the cot like he’d been burned. The stool beneath you scraped across the floor as he moved, too fast, too rough, and his shoulder caught yours in a hard shove.

You stumbled back, shocked, almost tumbling from the stool.

“Bucky!”

He didn’t hear the rest, didn’t want to, he just bolted through the door and didn’t stop moving, didn’t dare to stop, because if he did, if he let even one more word sink in, he might’ve turned around and done something he couldn’t take back. 

By the time he reached his quarters, his hands were shaking.

He slammed the door shut behind him with more force than necessary, rattling the frame,  pressed his back to it and then just stood there, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched at his sides, heart thundering against his ribs, blood rushing loud in his ears.

Everything was too much, no, you were too much and yet, all he wanted was to run back to you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice hoarse.

He was so hard, so painfully, furiously hard, his cock straining against the inside of his pants, the fabric already damp with precum, throbbing in time with his pulse like it was punishing him for letting you near him again..

It had never been this bad, it was unbearable.

He stumbled into his quarters and barely made it to the couch, fingers shaking as he fumbled with the zipper of his pants, nearly tearing it in the rush, as he slumped on it heavily, dragging his boxers down just enough to free himself, already slick, already leaking so hard it hurt.

His hand wrapped around himself, and he groaned, low, ragged, desperate, head falling back against the cushions. He squeezed tighter, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made the tension worse, the pressure coiling tighter in his gut.

He bit down on another desperate groan, and your name slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

"Fuck, Sunshine…"

Bucky hissed through his teeth, head tipped back, sweat beading at his temple, fisting his cock with rough, tight strokes, eyes clenched shut as image after image tore through his brain.

You on your knees between his thighs, looking up at him with that soft, open smile, your hands trailing up his legs, patient and warm. The sweet flutter of your lashes as you leaned in, the heat of your breath against the head of his cock, your lips wrapping around it, and the aching reverence in your eyes like you wanted him not because you were kind, not because you pitied him, but because you craved him.

You in his bed, flushed and gasping, sheets tangled around your waist as you rocked beneath him, saying his name in that same soft voice you used when stitching him up, only now it was broken by pleasure, by need. He’d have his hands on either side of your head, holding himself there, watching your eyes roll back and your face twist with each thrust, feeling you flutter around him, close, so fucking close.

You bent over the counter in his kitchen, your scrubs still on, pants pushed just low enough for him to take you, your hands braced against the tile, back arched, moaning like you belonged to him while he drove into you from behind, rough and deep, gripping your hips like they were the only thing keeping him sane.

He could practically hear the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you, your heart-shaped ass arching back into him, wiggling just right as his palm landed on one cheek with a sharp smack, your breathy curses spilling into the air, broken and desperate, the sweet, wrecked little “please” before his fingers slid between your thighs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit.

And then… you straddling him in the dark on the sofa, chest to chest, your arms around his neck, your mouth at his throat whispering, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Not because he needed saving, but because you meant it, because in this dream, you weren’t afraid of him, you held him tight, rode him slow, deep, grinding your hips down on him, needy moans, spilling over your lips as he came inside you, shaking and undone, filling you to the brim with his cum.

He jerked faster, harder, chasing it, chasing you, the dream of you, the one thing he would never have, not really, not the way he wanted.

Thick, hot ropes of cum painted his belly and hand, his grip still tight around his cock, milking out every last desperate pulse. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths as he slumped back against the couch, utterly spent, his hand sticky and trembling, and looked down at the mess across his stomach. He scrubbed his metal hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his hair with a groan. 

For the next few days, Bucky avoided you like his life depended on it. He disappeared before you entered a room, skipped mealtimes, changed his training hours, and if your footsteps echoed down a hallway, he took the nearest exit. It wasn’t subtle, and it certainly wasn’t kind, but it was the only way he knew to keep the need from consuming him every time he saw your face.

But he couldn’t avoid you forever, so when avoidance stopped being an option, whatever fragile balance had existed between you before suddenly to your surprise shattered into something far more painful.

Bucky had always been gruff, distant, unreadable, barbed around the edges. You could live with it, you had lived with it for months and never taken it personally. You kept telling yourself he was like that with everyone.

But now… it wasn’t just coldness anymore, it was something meaner, something much sharper.

Bucky wouldn’t even look at you when you walked into a room, wouldn’t speak unless he absolutely had to, and when he did, his words were clipped and flat, like they left a bitter taste in his mouth. The warmth you kept trying to offer, the soft smiles, the careful concern, were now met with eye rolls, snorts, and outright dismissal.

And you couldn’t understand why.

You played the conversations back in your head every night, quietly lying in bed long after the tower had gone still. Had you said something wrong? Had you touched a nerve you didn’t know existed? You weren’t pushy, you didn’t force your care on anyone, you just wanted to make sure he was okay, that he knew someone was looking out for him, even if he didn’t ask for it.

Especially because he didn’t ask for it.

And maybe that was the mistake.

But God, you couldn’t stop trying. Every small kindness was an attempt to bridge the gap, every careful word was another thread you cast across the distance he kept growing between you but it never landed.

Instead, it drove him further, every kindness seemed to piss him off more, like he couldn’t stand you caring, like your presence was some cruel trick he couldn’t figure out the punchline to.

Sometimes he glared at you like he wanted to shout, like he was choking on something he couldn’t say, and the only way to survive it was to shove you away as hard as he could.

And still… still, you stayed and kept wondering why on earth the man you had so stupidly fallen for was such a jackass towards you.

You’d never said it aloud, not to anyone, not even to yourself, but it was there, thick and painful in your chest every time he walked into the room, every time he stood too close, every time he looked at you like your love was a burden he hadn’t agreed to carry.

And that, more than anything, made your heart break in silence.

You tried to hide it, God, you tried, but lately, you were tired in a way you couldn’t patch not with excess of coffee and not with sleep, that had started to avoid you too. Your smiles wavered a little more often, your hands hesitated, and slowly you started to wonder if maybe he was right, maybe you were just hovering, just annoying, just… too much.

One morning, you’d brought fresh bandages down to the gym during training. You always did and everyone appreciated it.

Except him.

“We don’t need your charity,” Bucky had muttered as you knelt to check on Ava’s twisted wrist. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

Everyone had heard it.

John had cleared his throat loudly, muttering something like “Jesus, man” under his breath. Ava had looked away, clearly uncomfortable and Alexei had offered you a gentle, apologetic shrug before loudly demanding you to check his very serious (imaginary) injury instead.

Yelena had walked straight over and planted herself between you and Bucky, glaring up at him with a force only she could wield. “Say thank you,” she’d said flatly. “Now.”

But Bucky had just walked off, face like stone, jaw grinding as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

Later that day, you’d tried to bring him fresh ice packs after training, you hadn’t even said anything, just offered them quietly, gently, like you always did.

He hadn’t even looked up.

“Don’t hover,” he said, voice low and sharp. “I don’t need them.”

That one had cut deep.

You hadn’t answered, just turned and walked out, your chest hollow, the ice packs still clutched in your hand.

The others noticed, of course they did, and they did their best to soften it, to shield you where they could.

Ava stopped by the med bay more often, even when she didn’t need anything. John lingered longer during patch-ups, tossing you dumb jokes to make you smile, even Alexei, blunt and bumbling, started bringing you terrible coffee and terrible compliments in the mornings.

Nothing of it made the sting go away.

You kept doing your job, quietly, kindly, as if the person you’d fallen in love with wasn’t tearing you down piece by piece until the day he finally broke you.

It was during a briefing, the entire team gathered around the table, mid-discussion about the next mission. You were there to offer medical assessments, speak up when necessary. You always stood off to the side, out of the way.

Bucky had been tense from the start, pacing, arms crossed, clearly on edge, and then you’d made the mistake of speaking without being asked. 

You had noticed that the structure they were infiltrating had weak points that might collapse under heavy stress and that the team should avoid the northwest stairwell if possible, because if that broke there would be no way medics could reach them.

You barely got the words out before his voice cut across the room like a whip.

“Oh, thank you, Sunshine,” Bucky said mockingly, turning toward you with a sneer. “I’m so glad we have a fucking ray of light here to tell us how to do our job. Maybe next time you can bring cookies to the field too. You know. For morale.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

No one breathed.

Your throat tightened, heat prickled behind your eyes, too fast, too sudden, you blinked quickly, trying to smile, trying to laugh it off, but your lip wobbled.

“Bucky…” John started, his tone edged in disbelief but it was too late. 

You pressed a hand to your chest like it could hold the pieces of you in place, gave a soft, choked sound, and turned on your heel.

You left the room as fast as you could, but the tears were already falling before the door even hissed shut behind you.

Bucky just stood there with an annoyed expression on his face before turning around and leaving in fast strides.

Yelena stared at him in silence, then she moved, fast.

She caught up with him in the hallway as he stalked off, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Hey,” she snapped, grabbing his arm and yanking him around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Back off, Yelena.”

Bucky yanked his arm free but didn’t move away, he didn’t answer either, didn’t even look at her.

She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “No. No walking away from this. You’re gonna stand here and tell me what the hell you’re doing.”

“Leave it alone, Yelena,” he muttered.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, deadly. “You’re not just being a grump anymore, you’re hurting her and that deliberately. And for what?”

Bucky’s jaw flexed.

“She didn’t do anything to you,” she went on. “Nothing. She’s the only person in this whole tower who’s never asked for anything back, she’s gentle with you, she’s kind and you treat her like she’s poison. Why?”

He said nothing, just stared at a point past her head like he could will himself somewhere else.

Yelena jabbed a finger into his chest.

“She came in every day this week and smiled at you. She brought you clean wraps, asked how your stitches were healing, even after you walked by her like she’s an empty air.”

His jaw flexed, his shoulders tensed but still, he said nothing.

Yelena stepped closer.

“You’re not just being an asshole anymore. You’re being cruel, you made her cry in front of the entire team.”

“I didn’t mean…” he snapped, then caught himself.

She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t mean to, what?”

He looked away.

“Bucky.”

Silence stretched and his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding something back with everything he had.

Finally, he spoke. 

“Because I can’t stand it.”

Yelena blinked.

“Because she’s just so fucking nice and bright, and I’m…”

He stopped.

Yelena tilted her head. “You’re what?”

His lips twisted. “I’m this… broken, dark, unnecessary, unlovable something,” he ground out, eyes flashing. “And she’s just… Sunshine. All the damn time.”

Yelena said nothing.

“How can someone be so…” He stopped again, swallowing hard. “So stupidly sweet? So lovely just by breathing? It’s like she doesn’t even know what kind of world she’s in. Like she thinks if she’s kind enough, soft enough, people will stop bleeding.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “She’ll get herself killed trying to be loved by everybody.”

Yelena’s voice was low, cutting. “She doesn’t want to be loved by everybody.”

Bucky froze.

The air between them went still, almost fragile, waiting for one wrong word to shatter it into pieces too small to sweep up.

He didn’t speak.

Yelena stepped closer, her eyes narrowing, sharp with understanding now. “She wants you.”

He closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

“Bullshit.”

“No,” Yelena said, firm. “It’s not.”

He swallowed hard, jaw grinding like he could chew the words down before they ever reached his throat. “She’s just…” His voice cracked. “She’s kind. She’s like that with everyone.”

“She’s kind,” Yelena agreed, nodding. “But she’s not careless with it. She doesn’t give pieces of herself to just anyone.”

She paused, looking him dead in the eye.

“And you’re not just anyone, you matter to her. More than you think, more than she’d ever say out loud.”

Her voice softened, just slightly.

“She loves you, Bucky. Even if you’re too scared to see it.”

“Don’t.” He turned sharply, like he couldn’t bear the word.

Yelena didn’t flinch.

“Don’t you see it?” she pressed. “The way she looks at you? Like you’re something worth waiting for, like she’s hoping you’ll let her in? But every time she smiles at you, you just look away like it hurts.”

“Because it does,” Bucky snapped, finally meeting her eyes. “Because I don’t know how to take it, because she wants someone whole and I’m not. I’m not some sweet fucking project she can fix with soft hands and careful words.”

Yelena didn’t move.

“I’m not the good guy,” he hissed. “I’m not soft, or stable, or someone who deserves someone like her. I’m a weapon with a retirement plan. That’s all.”

“You’re not.”

He ignored her. “And she, God, she walks around here like a goddamn sunrise, like nothing’s touched her, like she still believes in something.”

“She believes in you.”

“Yeah. Well, then it’s her mistake.”

The words exploded out of him, echoing through the corridor.

He turned away again, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing like he could outrun the way his chest was tightening. Like he could shove the image of your tear-streaked and hurt face out of his mind if he just moved fast enough.

You folded your stuff with trembling hands, but it wasn’t the nerves.

This was heartbreak, settling into your chest like a quiet and cold frost.

You didn’t even know why you were folding things so neatly. It wasn’t like you owed this place a tidy exit but maybe it was instinct, or maybe you just needed to hold on to something you could control while everything else crumbled around you.

You blinked down at your bag where your hoodie sat on top, the soft one you liked to wear on chilly days, the one he had once glanced at for a second too long. You hated that you remembered that, that you still cared.

But God, you did. You cared too much.

You loved him and that was the worst part. You’d fallen so stupidly, quietly, deeply in love with a man who flinched every time you got close, who looked at your kindness like it burned him. who spoke to you like you were a wound he didn’t ask for.

You sniffed, angrily wiping your sleeve across your eyes.

Because damn it, love or not, you weren’t going to keep letting him crush you.

You weren’t someone’s emotional punching bag. You weren’t going to keep showing up every day with soft smiles and careful words just to be told you were too much, too sweet. too naive, too present.

If Bucky Barnes hated you that much, if your love, your existence was so unbearable to him, then fine – you wouldn’t force yourself into his life, and you certainly wouldn’t beg.

You zipped the bag shut, you were retreating, yes, but this wasn’t weakness, this was grace in the face of cruelty, a self-respect.

You paused by the door, glancing once, only once, around the space you’d come to think of as yours. 

It was the place where you’d laughed with Yelena, where Alexei had once shown up with a massive toolbox and a mission, declaring your wobbly desk chair “an insult to your delicate spine” and then spent a whole afternoon fixing it.

He’d left behind a chair that somehow creaked louder than before, but you hadn’t said a word, especially not after he had patted your shoulder and told you in that booming, earnest voice, “You take care of all of us. Someone has to take care of you.”

It was ridiculous and so oddly touching, and had made you smile for hours that day.

And it was also the place where you had sat on your bed in the quiet, wondering how someone so closed-off could have eyes that held such storms.

No more wondering. You were done.

You stepped into the hallway with shoulders squared, holding your chin high, and you kept your eyes forward, even as your chest caved in around the ache.

You were leaving. You loved him, yes, but you loved yourself too, and that meant knowing when it was time to go.

You woke up with your head literally splitting.

That was the first thing you registered – pain, blooming and hot at the base of your skull. Every heartbeat sent a fresh wave of nausea through your gut, and your limbs felt heavy, wrong, disconnected.

The pain pulsed behind your eyes, throbbing down your neck and into your spine. It was a slow, creeping kind of pain, the kind that made it hard to tell where it ended and where your body began. 

The floor beneath you seemed like a smooth metal, cold and way too perfect to be concrete, and the air smelled of dust and oil and something burnt.

There was something over your head, rough canvas brushing your lips, warm and stifling as you could feel your own breath bouncing back at you, too fast, too shallow.

A bag, there was a fucking bag over your head.

Your pulse spiked, dizzy, hot, and you forced yourself to take a slow breath, then another. Keep the panic down. Think.

Your last clear memory was… what? Packing. Leaving. Walking to the garage.

And then… nothing.

Your heart stuttered as faint footsteps echoed in the distance, muffled voices threading between them. Metal groaned, a door, maybe, and the voices grew closer, sharper.

Fear overrode pain as you tensed, every muscle coiling. Keys rattled. A lock turned.

You barely had time to brace before rough hands clamped around your upper arms. The startled cry that slipped from you was pure instinct, but it didn’t slow them.

“On your feet,” one of them barked.

You were hauled upward with no gentleness but your legs buckled immediately and for a moment, you thought you’d crash right back to the floor but a hand gripped under your arm, holding you up as you swayed, half-upright, your head lolling forward.

And then the hood was yanked off.

Your eyes burned at the sudden brightness, not blinding, but after the suffocating dark, it felt like staring into the sun. Shapes swam in your vision and it took a few seconds to focus, to blink back tears and pain.

Concrete walls. Exposed, rusted metal beams stretching into a high, very high, ceiling. Hanging lights flickering overhead. A warehouse. Old, industrial. 

And men – three of them, from what you could see, all unfamiliar except for one – the new tower technician that loved chocolate cookies and always had a silly joke ready to throw your way.

But it wasn’t any of their faces that made your stomach twist, it was the cold, heavy pressure at your throat.

You tried to look down as much as your position allowed and saw it, or rather felt it – a thick metal collar around your neck, black and seamless, with a faint green flicker pulsing just beneath the surface.

You instinctively tried to jerk back, to fight, but your legs didn’t cooperate and the man holding you only tightened his grip, steadying you like you were some auction object that needed to stay upright for display.

“What is this?” Your voice came out hoarse, scraped raw by the bile clawing up your throat. “What… what the hell is this? What do you want from me?”

You were bait, that much was obvious, but for who? It didn’t make any sense. Who would be reckless enough, stupid enough, to walk into this? You had no rich, no powerful friends. You had nobody.

A commotion stirred at the far end of the space, too distant for you to see. Footsteps pounded and another man appeared, breathless.

“He’s here. He’s coming.”

You lifted your head as far as you could manage, straining against the weight in your limbs, as you watched figures emerge from the shadows. There were more men with guns and between them, moving at a controlled, deliberate pace, was someone who made your heart lurch violently in your chest.

You blinked, once, twice, as if your vision had blurred and needed clearing before you almost choked on your own breath.

Bucky?

What the hell was Bucky doing here? The one man on Earth who’d made it perfectly clear he’d rather chew glass than be in the same room with you. The guy who could turn the air in a hallway to ice just by glancing your way. And yet here he was, and your stupid heart still tried to sprint straight out of your chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

His hair was tousled and his shoulders taut, every line of him coiled in barely restrained fury. His eyes scanned the room, and the moment they landed on the cage you were standing in, he stopped. 

Not the stop of surprise, not even shock, but the kind of stillness that comes when something deep inside snaps tight, when every nerve and every muscle strains against the need to act.

His eyes found you instantly, locking on like a sniper scope, and didn’t move. The air around him seemed to hum with the effort it took not to launch himself straight at the men flanking your cage. You’d never seen him look at you like that before, so fierce, unblinking, like nothing else in the room existed but you.

After a moment of hesitation he moved again, coming closer, so close that you could clearly see his slow and unblinking gaze sweeping over you, taking in every detail. It lingered at your throat, on the strange collar biting into your skin, at the faint bruise you felt pulsing along your temple, at your bare feet, the cage. Each detail seemed to hit him like another blow to the ribs, and his jaw clenched so hard you thought it might splinter.

You watched Bucky’s fists clenching at his sides, metal fingers flexing with quiet violence, his eyes never leaving you, not even for a second, and you could see it  – the crackling rage just beneath his skin, the split-second decision he wanted to make, to rip through every one of them, collateral be damned.

 “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” a man stepped forward from the shadows, his tone almost conversational, though the smug curl of his mouth made your stomach turn. “You can’t save her.”

Bucky’s stance shifted, subtle but unmistakable the barest lean forward, like he was calculating the distance between himself and the man’s throat.

The man’s smile widened. “See that collar?” He pointed lazily, as though he were pointing out a piece of artwork. “It’s wired. One signal from my friend up there,” he jerked his chin toward a figure on a metal catwalk above, hand resting on a small trigger device, “and her head comes off before you even make it to the bars.”

He rapped his knuckles against the cage. “And this? Vibranium. You could throw yourself at it all day, soldier, and it wouldn’t make a dent.”

Your skin went cold, but you couldn’t look away from Bucky. His jaw worked, his breath sharp through flared nostrils.

“So here’s how this goes,” the man continued, voice dropping into something slicker, deadlier. “You surrender, now, and maybe she walks out of here. She’s unimportant, just a leverage. Hydra only wants its asset back.”

The word asset made Bucky’s face flicker, just for a second, before his expression shuttered again.

Bucky didn’t move at first, his chest rose and fell slowly, his expression almost as if carved from stone, but you could see it, the hesitation, the desperate search for any way out that didn’t end with you hurt.

The man’s smirk widened, sensing it.

“So… what’s it gonna be, soldier?” he drawled. “Or maybe you’d rather take your time deciding? We can make it… educational for you.” His gaze slid to you, and his smile turned wicked. “Maybe let my men have a little fun with that sweet little thing before you come to your senses.”

The man standing at your side shifted, and before you could react, his hand clamped hard around your jaw, forcing your face toward him. His breath was hot and foul as he leered down at you.

“Get your hands off her,” Bucky’s voice was low, almost too quiet to hear, but it carried like a gunshot.

The man didn’t so much as glance at him, instead, he crushed his mouth to yours in a greedy, bruising kiss, his other hand shoving hard against your breast.

White-hot disgust and fury surged up your throat as you screamed into him, twisting in his grip, fighting to wrench free. His fingers dug harder into your cheeks, and unable to get free you just bit down as hard as you could.

The man yelped, jerking back with a curse, blood streaking his mouth, but your small victory lasted all of a heartbeat before a sharp crack split the air, his open palm connecting with your jaw. Your head snapped to the side, the world tilting, and a sharp buzz filled your ears as they rang.

Bucky moved before the sound had even finished echoing. It wasn’t a lunge, but the kind of forward step that made the men around him stiffen, guns rising a fraction higher. His hands fisted at his sides, the vibranium fingers flexing, as if remembering what it felt like to crush bone.

“Touch her again,” he said, voice low and steady, “and I will paint these walls with you.”

The leader’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes flickered just for a heartbeat toward the figure high above on the catwalk, the one with his thumb resting lazily on the trigger.

“Temper, temper,” the man drawled. “Make no mistake, Barnes, you’re not in a position to make threats. Every second you stall, she pays for it. You want her breathing? You want her in one piece? Then you get on your knees like the obedient little dog you are, and put your hands where we can see them.”

You caught it, that split-second flicker in Bucky’s eyes, the one that said he was about to do something catastrophically stupid. 

This was insane. What the hell was he thinking? For all the ice between you, all the sharp words and cold shoulders, there was one thing you couldn’t deny: you still loved that man. 

You loved him. God help you, you loved that grumpy, stubborn, impossible man, loved him so much that the thought of Hydra’s claws sinking back into him made bile burn the back of your throat. 

You’d heard enough about what they’d done to him, seen enough of the shadows in his eyes, to know he’d never survive it again, not really. And if he got dragged back there because of you… you’d never forgive yourself.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You wanted to scream at him to turn around, to not let these bastards use you to drag him under, to tell him you weren’t worth it, but your mouth had gone completely dry and felt as if it had never known how to speak, leaving the words stuck in your throat.

“Bucky, don’t…” you managed to sob, stepping forward, fingers curling desperately around the cold vibranium bars like they could hold back what you already knew was coming.

“Shh, Sunshine.” His voice was soft, steady, and the smile he gave you was something you’d never seen before, surely not from him, and never aimed at you. It was warm, reassuring, achingly tender, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a storm. You hadn’t even known he could smile like that, let alone at you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, low and certain. “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“Bucky, no…” you whimpered, the plea scraping raw in your throat, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t do this. Please. I’m not worth it.”

“Sunshine,” he said, quietly but with such certainty in his voice, like he was telling you the simplest, truest thing he’d ever known. “You’re the only thing in this whole damn world that’s worth it. Nothing else matters. Nothing ever has.”

He didn’t look away, not once, as he moved.

One knee hit the ground first, the dull thud of it echoing through the cavernous space, and for a fleeting, desperate second you thought he might stop there, that maybe he was feigning it, buying time before striking. That maybe you wouldn’t have to watch this but then the other knee lowered, slower, heavier, deliberate, as though every inch cost him something he’d never get back. 

His shoulders stayed square, spine locked in stubborn defiance, even as the posture stripped him of the power he’d fought for years to reclaim. The sound of his breathing filled your ears, controlled, measured, but a little too sharp at the edges.

For one last heartbeat, his hands remained loose at his sides, before he lifted them, palms open, offering himself up to the men surrounding him.

Astonishment twisted with guilt in your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs. It wasn’t surrender. You felt it in your bones, it was a bargain, a trade – him for you. And God, it hurt.

The man who had spent months keeping you at arm’s length, who had made you believe you meant nothing to him, was putting his life in their hands for yours, and all you could do was stand there, caged and useless, as he gave himself away.

Two men stepped in close, one on each side, and grabbed his wrists, yanking them back hard enough to strain his shoulders. You saw the small flex of his biceps, the subtle shift in his posture, the instinct to fight still there, before he forced himself to go still.

The click of the first cuff was sharp, the second came with a twist of his arm, pulling the joint past its natural range. It must have hurt, and you saw it in the slight hitch of his breath, the subtle tightening in his jaw.

One of them gave the cuffs an extra jerk, forcing his arms higher, his shoulders arching uncomfortably, another man stepped in and shoved him forward a fraction, making him bow just enough to strip the last illusion of control from him.

He still didn’t look at them, his eyes stayed locked on you, steady, unflinching, that impossibly warm smile refusing to fade, as if he could will you into believing this was all right.

It wasn’t. God, it wasn’t. It was wrong in every way that mattered, a twisting, aching wrong that hollowed you out from the inside.

And it was all your fault, because you hadn’t been careful enough, because you weren’t strong enough. Yelena wouldn’t have been caught like this. Ava wouldn’t have. You knew it, and you hated yourself for it, you hated that you were the weak link he was about to destroy himself to save. 

The first blow came almost before they’d even stepped back. You screamed, clutching the bards of your cage.

A heavy, gloved fist smashed across Bucky’s jaw, the crack of impact echoing in your ears. His head snapped to the side, a thin ribbon of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

The second strike slammed into his ribs, making his bound shoulders jerk, as he doubled slightly, the pull of the cuffs biting into his wrists, but he forced himself upright again, breath sharp through his nose.

"Welcome home, Soldat. Hope you’re enjoying the welcome party," one of them sneered, and a boot drove into Bucky’s side. His muscles jerked under the blow, every tendon straining as he fought to keep his balance.

The hits kept coming, fists to his face, elbows to his back, another kick to his ribs. They didn’t pause, didn’t give him a second to brace. 

Then another kick drove into his side, harder than the rest, and his balance finally broke. He hit the floor on his shoulder, the breath punched out of him, as he sprawled on the cold concrete.

“Stop it!” you screamed, your hands clutching the vibranium bars with knuckles turning white. “Leave him alone! Cowards! He did what you wanted.”

“Not so tough now, huh, Soldier?” one of them sneered, kicking him in the back as he crumpled to the floor.

Bucky didn’t make a sound, he took the hits in silence with nothing more than a grunt when a fist connected with his jaw just right or the smallest, roughest exhale when his head was snapped back by an uppercut.

“Look at him,” a voice jeered over the sound of another strike. “All that muscle, all that metal, and still just a bitch on a leash.”

“Bet she’d scream louder for me than she ever would for him,” someone else laughed.

A kick landed in his back, forcing another breath out of him. 

“Look at you,” one of them said, crouching down to grab a handful of his hair and wrench his head back, making him meet his eyes. “Kneeling like a good little dog for some wet hole. Don’t you worry, we’ll treat her right. We’ll put that pussy to good use, and you’ll get to watch. You’ll get to watch every second of how we’ll fuck all her holes.”

It all stopped as abruptly as it started.

“Enough!” the leader’s voice cut through the room, and the others stepped back instantly. “There’ll be time for more fun later. Get ready to move. We leave in ten.”

They filed out in a loose cluster, footsteps fading until the warehouse fell quiet again.

You dropped to your knees.

The tears came fast and hot, blurring your vision as you pressed your hands to the barrier between you. You didn’t care that your shoulders shook, or that your voice broke when you whispered his name.

“Bucky…”

He stirred. One eye was already swelling shut, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his chest lifting in uneven gasps.

Tears slipped down your cheeks. “You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have surrendered. Why did you do that? You hate me.”

A beat of silence followed and you were already afraid he had passed out, but then finally his voice reached you, hoarse but clear.

“Hate you?” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady enough for you to catch every word. “Oh, Sunshine, I’m just a fucking idiot. The biggest damn idiot alive, and I can’t…” He broke off, jaw tightening. 

“I need you to understand something before they… before anything happens,” he went on, each word slow, like dragging glass through his throat. “I don’t hate you, I never did and I never… I never meant to hurt you.”

Bucky inhaled deeply and continued, “Every time I was cold, every time I cut you down or walked out, it was just me trying to get some air, to keep myself from drowning in this thing I can’t shut off. You walk into a room and I forget how to breathe. You smile at me and it feels like the first warm day after years in the snow, and I … I just simply don’t know what to do with that.”

There was no hesitation in him, just that raw, stripped-bare honesty you’d never thought you’d hear from him, not in this lifetime.

His mouth twisted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I knew I didn’t have a chance with you,” he went on. “You’re everything I thought was gone from the world. You are so warm, so kind, too damn good. And me? I’m the thing they built in the dark to kill people like you. So I figured it’d be easier, if you just stayed away from me. For you and for me. That if I made you hate me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much, that maybe I could survive watching you give that smile to someone who deserved it.”

Your pulse thundered, your fingers tightening around the cold bars until they ached.

“But the truth is,” he went on, voice breaking in the middle, “I love you. I fucking love you, and I’ve never loved anybody like this before, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn’t give, or do, or trade, to keep you safe. If they take me now, I’m fine with that, but if they lay a hand on you…” his breath shuddered and faded away.

“Oh my God, Bucky…” you sobbed, shaking your head, not believing any of this could be real.

“Listen to me,” he cut in. “Listen carefully! Whatever happens, stick to Ava. She’ll get you out. Promise me.”

“I… I don’t understand.” You covered your mouth with a trembling hand, choking back another sob.

“We just needed a clear view on where they were keeping you,” Bucky said, his tone almost mocking before it hardened. “And those cocky, self-sure idiots were so wrapped up in the idea of bagging the Winter Soldier, they didn’t bother to check me for anything else, just took my guns.” His lips twitched in a smirk, but it didn’t last, as in the next heartbeat, his expression turned deadly serious.

“Remember, no matter what happens, you follow Ava.” His voice was low, urgent, almost a growl. “Promise me.”

“Bucky…”

“Promise me,” he cut in, steel in his tone. “I need to hear it.”

“I… I promise,” you breathed. “But Bucky…”

His head dipped once in relief, “Good, and Sunshine … I’m sorry I hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You were crying openly now, hunched low against the bars, hands trembling, tears coming in hot streams that blurred the room into streaks of shadow and light. You tried to swallow it down, to find some semblance of control, but your breath hitched and broke in uneven bursts and your bottom lip trembled so violently it hurt with nose running and cheeks wet and blotchy, and you didn’t even care.  

“Bucky, listen to me…” you managed, your voice cracking so badly it didn’t even sound like your own. But the rest of the words wouldn’t come, they just died in your mouth, swallowed by the chaos that suddenly ensued.

It started with a flicker in the corner of your eye, a shimmer in the air, and then she was there.

Ava.

Her form snapped into view inside the cage, crouched beside you, eyes sharp and scanning.

“Hey,” she breathed, quick and urgent. “Hold still.”

“Ava…?” you mouthed, still stunned.

“No time,” she muttered, already reaching for the collar at your throat, her fingers moving with brisk precision. “We’re getting you out of here.”

You barely heard the shouts that followed, the sound of boots pounding, of something crashing, open gunfire, grunts that sounded an awful lot like John, the deep roar of Alexei rising above it all like a battle cry and Yelena’s sharp commands slicing through the din.

They’d come for you. All of them.

But your eyes were on Ava, whose hands shimmered in and out of phase as she tried to disable the collar. She hissed when her fingertips sparked off the tech.

“Shit. This is custom made.”

“Can you…?”

“Yeah. Just…give me a second.”

You nodded, trying to stay still despite the chaos, you couldn’t see Bucky, you just knew he was somewhere just out of your line of sight, still cuffed on the floor where they'd left him.

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

With a sharp click and a sudden hiss of pressure, the collar snapped loose and you gasped as Ava pulled it off, tossing it behind her like a venomous thing as she instantly turned her attention to the lock of the cage. It gave in much more quickly and with satisfied huff she turned back to you.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ve gotta move.”

But you weren’t listening because from the corner of your vision just past the open door of the cage you saw something – the leader of the HYDRA men, positioned just beyond the falling debris and shadows with his gun raised and aimed at Bucky. 

Bucky had managed to get back to his feet but his hands were still bound with the vibranium cuffs that refused to yield even to his strength no matter how much he struggled against them. 

Yelena had spotted the gun too, you could see it in the way her shoulders coiled, but she was too far, her path blocked by the chaos.

Bucky saw him too and then… he just stopped struggling, his arms fell still, all resistance gone. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet the cold, smirking eyes of the man about to end him.

He looked… so calm, unimpressed, almost bored, with a smile on his lips, like he’d already made his peace with what was going to happen. It seemed he almost dared the man to pull the trigger.

“No!” you screamed, and your body moved before thought could stop it.

You shoved Ava aside and bolted through the door.

Your legs screamed in protest, but you didn’t stop, not for the fear, not for the ache, not for the warning shouts that followed you as you dove forward, the world slowing around you.

The gun fired. 

But you were already there, just in front of Bucky.

The impact slammed into your side like a sledgehammer and you screamed as fire exploded through your ribs.

You hit the floor hard, hands pressed instinctively to your side, something warm and wet seeping through your fingers… blood… so much blood…

The warehouse tilted around you.

Somewhere far away, Alexei roared, a deep, thunderous sound, and the ground seemed to shake as he barreled forward. The gunman didn’t even have time to scream before Alexei’s fist smashed into his chest, sending him airborne into the wall with a sickening crack.

The body dropped. The gun skittered across the floor. 

Yelena appeared in your periphery, face pale, hands shaking as she pressed down on your wound. “No, no, no… stay with me…!” and through the ringing in your ears, another sound cut through – raw, savage, and nothing like a human voice.

“NO!”

Bucky was there, fighting against his restraints like a man possessed until Ava freed him with a sharp snap of the cuffs. His arms were around you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you as if he could shield you from the damage already done.

You turned your head toward him, as you tried to give him a smile, but failed.

“Bucky…” Your voice was thin, trembling, each word tasting of copper. His eyes found yours – those beautiful, deep blue eyes, wild and glassy with terror.

“I love you,” you breathed, coughing red onto your lips. “I love you too. Always have…”

And then the world went black.

Bucky’s boots echoed hollowly against the linoleum floor, back and forth, back and forth.

Pacing. Always pacing.

His bruises were already fading. Supersoldier healing worked as perfectly as always, but he looked somehow worse now than when he had left the warehouse all covered in blood. Your blood. 

He was pale, his jaw tight with tension, and his fingers kept threading through his hair, over and over again, like maybe if he yanked hard enough, he could wake himself from this nightmare.

He had asked.

Then begged.

Then threatened.

But they still wouldn’t let him in.

“She’s in surgery,” the nurse had said gently, hands folded like she knew exactly who he was and how little comfort her words offered. “They’ll update you when they can.”

He’d nearly broken the doorframe when they said "it’s a tough situation". His hands had clenched around the edge of the metal table and crushed it against the wall before anyone could stop him. 

So now, they were keeping him outside, pacing like a caged animal.

Yelena came in quietly, holding a cup of coffee. She crossed the room with that cautious kind of grace, like approaching something volatile. 

“Here,” she said simply, holding out the cup.

Bucky didn’t take it at first, just stared through her like he was still seeing the blood pooling beneath you on the warehouse floor. Then he blinked, hand jerking out to grab it. His fingers trembled around the paper cup.

He didn’t drink.

“Any news?” he rasped, voice barely there. “Yelena, I’m… I’m going mad. I need to see her.”

Yelena leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression was softer than usual, even sad.

“I know,” she said. “But maybe next time don’t throw a metal table at a wall when the doctor says it’s a ‘tough situation.’”

Bucky flinched.

“They’ll tell us when they know something. You need to be patient.”

“I am patient,” he growled, dragging both hands through his hair again, the cup completely forgotten and trembling in one hand. “I’ve been patient for months. I just wanted the best for her. Can you understand that?”

“I know you did,” she reassured him with a small nod. 

“Why did she do it? God! Why? Why would she take a bullet for someone like me?”

“Because she loves you, you moron!”

“Dear God, you were right. She does, she really does. She said that when…” Bucky’s voice cracked as if that revelation was the most unbelievable, impossible thing in the world. 

Yelena looked at him, long and steady, he turned away, jaw tight, teeth grinding.

A beat of silence passed before heavy boots entered the room.

Alexei.

“Any news?” he asked, voice gruff but careful.

Bucky didn’t answer.

“She’s strong,” Alexei said, easing into a chair that creaked under his weight. “They’ll fix her up. She’s tougher than you think.”

“She shouldn’t have had to be,” Bucky said, staring down at the cracks in the tile. “If I’d just…”

“Hey.” Alexei leaned forward. “You blame yourself, you’re gonna drown in it. She needs you here. Not spiraling.”

Bucky didn't look up, as his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Another pair of footsteps entered.

John.

Even he looked subdued, uncertain, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes darting awkwardly around as if seeking for threat.

“Barnes,” he started, cautious. “Hey, I…I just wanted to say…”

Bucky looked up slowly, eyes sharp and wild, and bared his teeth.

“Don’t.”

John stopped mid-step, the snarl in Bucky’s voice was quiet but dangerous.

“Don’t say anything comforting. Don’t tell me it’s gonna be okay. Don’t act like you know a single damn thing about what this is.”

John blinked, opened his mouth and closed it.

Yelena lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, probably not your moment, Cap Junior.”

Alexei huffed. “Let him snarl. He’s scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Bucky snapped, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

He sat down heavily, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, metal fingers digging into his scalp, human hand curled tightly around the forgotten, crushed and leaking coffee cup.

“I’m… fucking terrified.”

The room went still.

“I love her.”

It came out like a confession and a collapse all at once, the kind of truth that had been rotting in his chest for too long, finally clawing its way out.

“I love her,” Bucky said again, more desperate this time, as if he had to convince himself that saying it out loud might make it more real.

“I’ve loved her from the moment she smiled for the first time at me like I wasn’t something broken,” his voice crack.

“She’s the only sunshine I’ve ever had. The only good thing. The only thing that made all the noise go quiet.” 

A bitter, humorless laugh tore from his chest.

“And I pushed her away. Treated her like shit because I thought if I kept her at arm’s length, I’d be safe.”

His voice faltered, the words catching. “And she… she loved me. She fucking loved me all along. Me…”

He looked up with a stunned, hollow expression on his face that told he still couldn’t believe it, that he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that it was possible, that someone could really love him.

He swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “I… I don’t know how to live without her.”

The silence that followed was deafening, sharp and suffocating. Quiet glances darted between Yelena, Alexei, and John, each of them catching the other’s eye, then shaking their heads almost imperceptibly, as if daring anyone to speak, but knowing there were no words that could make it right, no comfort that wouldn’t sound like a lie.

The door swung open, the sound slicing through the silence like a gunshot and Bucky sprang to his feet so fast the chair behind him skidded with a screech and hit the wall.

The doctor, a young man in his forties with soft hands and weary eyes, froze in the doorway, eyes going wide like he’d just walked into a lion’s den.

“No,” Bucky said, already breathless, with uneven steps striding toward the doc.

“No… no… no… don’t tell me she’s…”

The doctor actually flinched.

Bucky surged forward, and Alexei instinctively stepped in front of him, holding out a hand like a shield.

“Easy,” he muttered. “Give him a second.”

Doc peeked nervously from behind Alexei’s shoulder, adjusting his glasses with fingers that visibly trembled. “She… she survived the operation.”

Bucky froze mid-step and the whole world seemed to stop with him.

“What?” His voice broke, low and hoarse, almost too afraid to believe it.

“She made it,” the doc said, gently now, peeking around Alexei to look at Bucky. “There was internal bleeding and a rib fracture, but the bullet missed her lung by a few millimeters. We stabilized her. She’s unconscious but…” He swallowed. “She’s stable.”

For a long second, no one moved.

Then Bucky staggered back and dropped into the chair like his legs had given out, eyes glassy, mouth open in silent shock as he covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking, and… wept… no shame, no restrain… just two hot streams running down his cheeks.

Two months had passed since you were finally cleared from the med bay, and in that time Bucky had appointed himself your full-time caretaker, and by caretaker, you meant prison warden disguised as a Victorian nursemaid. 

You weren’t allowed to lift a grocery bag, open a door, or even pour your own damn coffee. If your eyes flicked toward the top shelf for more than a second, he was already there, plucking whatever you wanted down like some grim-faced butler with shoulders that could block out the sun.

It didn’t matter if you were perfectly capable, Bucky read your needs straight from your lips and was halfway to fetching them before you’d even realized you wanted them. 

At first, it was sweet, then it was… smothering, and by now you were starting to feel less like a recovering human being and more like a particularly delicate crystal vase he was convinced would shatter if left unsupervised.

And you were horny. 

Suddenly, you had the hottest, most ridiculously built, dangerously attractive supersoldier boyfriend… who insisted on treating you like you might snap in half if he so much as breathed on you too hard. Which was, frankly, a torture, especially when you’d wake up to find him shirtless, hair mussed, sipping coffee like a damn Calvin Klein ad and not doing a single thing about the ache he’d put in you.

It came to a head on a lazy Saturday morning.

You woke to find him already out of bed, hair a glorious mess, standing at the kitchen counter in nothing but a pair of sweatpants slung low enough to make you forget your own name. He was stirring sugar into your coffee, because of course you weren’t allowed to make your own, humming under his breath like some brooding, muscle-bound guest star on Desperate Housewives, the kind who has every bored suburban wife on the block peeking over the hedge just to watch him move.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he murmured, setting the mug carefully in front of you as you came closer like you were a patient in an ICU. “Careful, it’s hot.”

That was it, that was the moment you decided you’d had enough.

You took a slow sip, eyes on him over the rim, letting your gaze linger on his chest, his shoulders, the trail of hair disappearing under those sweatpants and without warning, you reached out and hooked your fingers into the waistband, tugging him a step closer.

“Sunshine…” His voice went wary, but his body didn’t move away.

You tilted your head, giving him your sweetest smile. “I’m healed, remember?” Your hand smoothed over his abs, nails scratching lightly, just enough to feel the hitch in his breath. “And unless I’ve forgotten basic anatomy, I’m pretty sure this,” your palm slid lower, “isn’t a danger to my recovery.”

“Not the point,” he muttered, though his voice had gone rough, his pupils blown.

“Feels like the point to me,” you whispered. “You’ve spent two months treating me like glass, Barnes. But I’m not glass. I’m flesh and blood. And right now, I’m very, very warm flesh in need of…” you pressed your mouth to his ear, “…attention.”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting himself. “You keep this up, Sunshine, and I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens next.”

You grinned, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to a purr.

“Good. I’m not asking you to be responsible, Bucky. I’m asking you to fuck me, and… I want you to do it right.'

You let the pause hang, then tilted your head, teeth catching your lower lip in mock innocence.

'I’d say you owe me that… seeing as I took a bullet for you.”

That was when the dam finally broke.

It happened fast. One second you were smirking up at him, the next his mouth was on yours, hard enough to steal the breath right out of you, and his vibranium hand slid up your thigh, fingers squeezing possessively, while the other gripped your jaw, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. 

He kissed like a man starved, his tongue swept against yours, deep and claiming, swallowing every little gasp you made as his grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make your pulse race.

“Oh, I will fuck you,” he muttered against your lips, the word low and rough, before kissing you again, harder this time, his teeth grazing your lower lip until you whimpered. 

That sound must have done something to him, because his hand on your thigh moved higher, hooking beneath your knee to drag your leg over his hip. 

The kiss never broke, it only deepened, messy and consuming, until you could taste your own ragged breathing between his. When he finally pulled back, his lips red and eyes pure hunger, it was only far enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat, where his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse point.

“Do you have any idea,” he rasped, lips ghosting over your skin, “how many times I’ve gotten myself off thinking about this? About you?” his voice roughened with every word he spoke. “For months, Sunshine… I’ve been picturing the way you’d sound… the way you’d taste… the way you’d feel, clenching around me.”

Shit, it was too damn hot to hear, the filthy image his unfiltered confession conjured in your head sending a shiver through your whole body, running so deep he felt it. His answering groan was pure, unrestrained want as his hand slid between you, cupping you through your thin pajama pants, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over your throbbing clit.

“Believe me Sunshine, I will fuck you so good you will forget your own name. Gonna show you,” he murmured, nipping lightly at your neck, as he scooped you up like you weighed nothing, “exactly how much I’ve been wanting you.”

Your legs locked around his waist on instinct as he carried you back to the bedroom. You caught sight of the half-finished coffee cooling on the counter, the sun spilling through the blinds and then his shoulder slammed the door shut with a finality that made your stomach twist in anticipation. 

The next thing you knew, you were flat on your back, his weight settling over you, all heat and muscle and weeks of coiled need. His fingers pushed your shirt up and over your head in one smooth, impatient motion, his eyes darkening at the sight of bare skin.

“Still sure you’re okay?” he asked, but it didn’t sound like hesitation this time, it sounded like a warning.

You hooked your fingers in his hair and pulled him down. 

“Not glass,” you murmured, crushing your lips against his. 

“Not glass,” he repeated with a low growl, and the look in Bucky’s eyes was anything but gentle now as his hands slid slowly down your sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, tugging them off in one smooth motion.

Before you could even gasp, he was kneeling between your thighs, pushing them wide, spreading you open for his gaze. His tongue darted over his lips like a starving man confronted with a long-denied feast.

The cool glide of his metal fingers traced through your slick folds, lingering just long enough to make you shiver before his thumb found your clit, teasing in quick, perfect circles. Your back arched off the mattress with a moan you couldn’t bite back. God, you were more than okay, you were trembling, aching, soaked for him, almost embarrassingly so, every nerve tuned to the first real touch you’d been craving for what felt like ages.

“Beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he whisperred as his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking once before he leaned in, his breath warm against you and then his mouth was on you.

The first stroke of his tongue made your hips jolt, a gasp tearing from your throat. He groaned in approval, the vibration shooting straight through you as he licked deeper, slower, savoring you like he’d been dying for the taste.

Bucky’s grip was firm, keeping you spread for him, every flick and swirl of his tongue deliberate, unhurried like he was going to wring every single sound out of you before he let you go.

“Sweet,” he murmured against you, his voice rough, “knew you’d be.”

When you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, he growled low in his chest and sucked harder, making you cry out. He didn’t let up, working you with his mouth until your thighs trembled and your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

“God, Bucky…” you choked out, but he only hummed, sending another shiver through you, his tongue pressing exactly where you needed it.

Your fingers fisted in his hair, pulling, urging, but if you thought that would make him hurry, you were wrong. Bucky was thorough, controlled, and so damn focused it made your head spin.

He slid one hand up to your stomach, holding you down when your hips tried to lift off the bed, while the other gripped your thigh, his thumb digging into your skin just enough to remind you who was in control.

He latched onto your clit, sucking with a slow, devastating pull that made your back arch and your breath break. You whimpered his name, and the sound must’ve been exactly what he wanted, because he growled against you and the vibration made your toes curl.

“Bucky… oh, shit… yes… yes… oh God…” you mewled, hips jerking in an instinctive plea for more.

“Shhh, my sweet girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing your slick heat as the words ghosted over you. “Take it easy… let me take care of you.”

Before you could even process that, his tongue slid lower, teasing at your entrance before pushing inside, deep and relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t seem to mind, if anything, his grip tightened, pinning you in place while he fucked you with his mouth.

You could feel him moan into you, like your taste alone was making him lose his mind and every slow drag of his tongue, every flick against that aching spot, built you higher, tighter, until the pressure in your stomach was unbearable.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice ragged as he pulled back just enough to wrap his lips around your clit again. “C’mon, baby. I’ve been starving for this.”

Your vision blurred, heat flooded you and then you broke, the orgasm ripping through you so hard you cried out, your whole body shaking as he kept going, licking you through every aftershock like he had no intention of stopping.

Only when you had turned into a whimpering, moaning mess, trying to push at his head, to escape the devastating onslaught of his lips and tongue, did he finally relent and sat back on his heels, lips and chin glistening, eyes dark and hungry as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. Still on his knees between your legs, Bucky crawled up over you, the bed dipping under his weight until his chest pressed to yours. His mouth found yours instantly, hot and hungry, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, heady, intoxicating, intimate in a way that made your cheeks flush and your pulse race.

You whimpered against him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, one hand sliding up the side of your body to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the hard peak until you arched into him. The other hand found your hip, holding you in place as his hips rolled, letting you feel every inch of the thick, hard length straining against his sweatpants.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your lips, voice a low growl. “Been like this for months… every time you walked into the room, every time you touched me, drove me fuckin’ insane. That time you patched the gash on my side…” his mouth curved in a breathless smirk, “…I bolted right after because if I’d stayed one more second, I would’ve come in my pants like some desperate fuckin’ teenager.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, savouring every drag of his lips against you, before his hand slipped back between your thighs. You gasped at his touch, as his metal finger parted your folds and slid inside you.  

“Still so wet for me,” he said, almost in awe. “Still ready.”

Your hands fumbled for his sweatpants, urgency replacing every other thought. 

He shoved his pants down just far enough for his cock to spring free – thick, flushed, and already dripping precum that smeared against your thigh.

Jesus, he was gorgeous. Heavy and perfectly shaped, a thick vein running along the underside, pulsing like it was just as desperate as you. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat and weight, and his groan was deep enough to make your toes curl.

You tried to guide him to you, pressing the broad, leaking head to your entrance, but his hand closed over yours, firm and commanding.

“Not yet,” he rasped, eyes dark and locked on you.

He took over, sliding himself through your folds in long, unhurried strokes, the wet sound obscene in the quiet. Every pass rubbed your clit just enough to make you gasp, just enough to make you want to scream.

You bucked your hips, desperate for more.

“Please,” you hissed.

Bucky just smirked, finally pressing the thick head into you… only to pull back again. Then he did it again, and again, slow, shallow, infuriating.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging the tip against your swollen entrance before retreating. “So beautiful, so fucking needy you’d take it all without thinking. You want it that bad, Sunshine?”

“Yes…God, yes…”

But instead of giving in, he kept up the torturous rhythm, the head of his cock breaching you just enough to stretch, to burn, before he denied you again until you were shaking, nails digging into his ass, trying to drag him forward.

“Beg prettier,” he growled, pressing in one last shallow thrust that made your breath catch. “Then maybe I’ll give you what you’re so fucking desperate for.”

Your nails dug harder into his ass, your voice breaking as you pleaded, “Bucky… please, I need you. I need all of you. I’ll do anything, just… fuck me.”

Something in his eyes changed, the smirk fading, replaced by something darker, hungrier as his fingers tightened on your hips, the metal one biting just enough to make you gasp.

He slammed into you in one brutal, perfect thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch made your mouth fall open in a soundless cry, your whole body clenching around him as your back arched.

You both moaned in unison.  His was low and broken, yours high and desperate as he filled you completely, stretching you until the air caught in your throat. He stilled there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in, feeling the tight flutter of your walls around him.

“Fuuuck,” Bucky groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his voice rough and wrecked. “You feel… unreal… better than I ever let myself imagine.”

The first thrusts were deep and heavy, slow enough to make your nails bite into his skin, forcing little gasps from your throat, but the longer he kept that pace, the rougher his breathing became until the restraint shattered, and he started to drive into you harder, faster, like every second apart had been fuel for this moment, and he was burning it all in you.

His hips snapped forward with a sharp, relentless rhythm that drove you into the mattress, and every sound he made, the low grunts, the hiss of his breath, the occasional broken moan, wound you tighter. 

“You wanted it, Sunshine,” he rasped, fucking you like he meant to prove it. “So take it. Take every…” 

a sharp thrust stole your air  

“... fuckin’ ...”

another made you moan in pleasure as your nails clawed at his back

 “... inch.”

You could barely answer him, your voice dissolving into needy, incoherent moans and pleas, and he was eating up every sound, fucking you harder, chasing both your pleasure and his like he’d been starving for this.

Your moans grew higher, sharper, as his thrusts turned downright punishing, the kind that had the headboard thudding in time with his hips as every inch of him was inside you, claiming, wrecking, ruining you in the best way possible.

“Common, Sunshine…,” he groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, his eyes dark and locked on yours. “let me hear you… let me hear you scream.”

And you were screaming now, or maybe moaning, you couldn’t tell, the sounds tumbled from you without control as he pistoned into you, each thrust harder, faster, his cock dragging over that perfect spot until you were a moaning, drooling, whimpering mess beneath him.

Your nails scored his back, leaving hot trails of sting in their wake, and he just growled at the pain, driving into you harder. You couldn’t even form words anymore, just desperate little sounds, your thighs trembling around him.

“Yeah… that’s it,” he panted, thumb finding your clit and circling it in hard, perfect strokes. “You gonna come for me? You gonna soak my cock like I know you want to?”

“B-Bucky…” you gasped, your entire body winding tight, the pressure coiling low in your belly ready to snap.

“Do it,” he hissed. “Come on, Sunshine. Let go, I want to feel it.”

You shattered, your vision went white and your mouth opened on a cry as the orgasm tore through you, pulsing around him, every nerve on fire. You felt him groan into your neck, hips slamming forward as if he could get impossibly deeper, his rhythm breaking into ragged thrusts.

“Fuck… fuck, I’m gonna…” he choked out, pulling you tight against him, and then he was gone, spilling hot and thick inside you with a deep, wrecked moan on of your name as he held himself there, buried to the hilt, shaking from the force of it.

For a long moment, the only sound was your combined breathing, ragged and uneven. His forehead rested against yours, his body still trembling with aftershocks, and when his eyes opened again, there was nothing but raw, unguarded affection in them.

He didn’t pull out right away, instead, he just kissed you, slowly, tenderly, savouring every drag of his lips against yours, until your heartbeat began to ease and your legs loosened from around him.

When he finally slipped free, you winced at the sensitivity and he immediately stilled, cupping your cheek with that careful, searching look like he was scanning you for damage.

“You okay?”

You almost laughed. “Bucky, I just came so hard I think I saw God and angels. I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, in fact, he looked downright concerned as he disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a warm, damp cloth, kneeling between your thighs.

“Let me,” he murmured, and you knew better than to argue. He cleaned you gently, almost too gently, muttering under his breath about “making sure you’re comfortable” like the overprotective menace he was.

Then came the water, then the blanket adjustment, then him physically tucking you into bed like you were about to be read a bedtime story.

“Bucky, I’m not an invalid,” you grumbled, though you couldn’t stop the fond little smile pulling at your lips.

“Shut up,” he said, but there was no heat to it. “You’re my girl, and my job is to take care of you.”

You shook your head, exasperated, but when he slid in beside you and pulled you against his chest, his warmth wrapping around you like a second blanket, you simply wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and snuggled closer. His hand traced lazy, grounding circles on your back as he nuzzled against your hair.

“You know you drive me crazy, right?” you murmured into his skin.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Guess we’re even.” 

You gave a little huff. “I’m serious. All this… fussing over me like I’m made of sugar. It’s ridiculous.”

He chuckled low in his chest. “You love it.”

“I do not,” you protested, even as your fingers curled into his bare side and your head tucked closer under his chin.

“Mm-hm.” He sounded unconvinced. “That little face you make when I pour your coffee for you? Or when I carry all the groceries in one trip? Sunshine, you practically glow. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

You tilted your head back just enough to glare at him. “I tolerate it because you’d pout if I didn’t.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a grin. “Pout? I don’t pout.”

“You pouted when I tried to open my own soda last week.”

“That was different,” he said, tone all mock seriousness. “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

You laughed, unable to help it, and shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to yours in a slow, lazy kiss, “are mine.”

That shut you up, not because you agreed (you’d never give him the satisfaction out loud), but because the warmth in his voice went straight to your chest and melted every last bit of resistance. 

You just sighed into the kiss, letting him win this one.

[parker-barnes-af]

carefully, with love | b. barnes

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ synopsis: Bucky’s never been good at saying how he feels—but he’s getting better at showing it. Almost. From close tension-thick moments in cramped SUVs to flour clinging on your eyelashes in the middle of the night, there are three times he nearly kisses you…and the one time he finally does.

-> pairing: bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

-> disclaimers: fluff, just a little angst, cursing, unestablished relationship, so much pining & yearning hello, avengers tower au cause i can’t be stopped, use of pet names (doll, like once), use of y/n, mentions of violence & injuries, bucky’s so in love it’s sickening

-> word count: 8k

-> song rec: please, please, please, let me get what i want by the smiths

-> a/n: i thrive for almost moments and this entire fic was just a projection of that. i also have so many bucky fic ideas, i need to write them all or i’ll combust. (i’m writing for other characters too but these bucky drafts are just accumulating, i’m sorry)

Bucky isn’t entirely sure if he should punch Sam or thank him for the face cut he inflicted on him during training. For one, it stung like a bitch when Wilson’s combat boot went right into his cheek and split a gash into it. However, on the much brighter side, after training is over, you approach Bucky with squinted eyes laced in concern.

“You’ll have to clean it.” You hum, examining the cut with a sympathetic smile. “You’re bleeding.”

Bucky brushes it off with a shrug, his expression flat like the gash actually doesn’t bother him at all. “I’ll be alright.”

You figure that. He’s endured a lot more pain in his past than a simple boot to the face, but you’re far too caring to let his stubborn nature win in this case.

“C’mon.” You say, ushering him to follow as you begin walking out of the Avenger’s Tower training room and towards the nearest bathroom.

Bucky is going to protest—to insist that you don’t have to stress over him and that he can patch himself up. However, you’re already walking down the hallway, not bothering to glance over your shoulder because you know he’ll eventually follow. Follow he does and if he wasn’t so distracted by the way your hips swish while you walk, he’d have noticed the teasing smirks Natasha and Wanda give each other as you both leave.

When the two of you slip into the floor’s bathroom, you shut the door behind you and immediately kneel down to fetch the first aid kit from beneath the sink. “Sit, Buck.” You order.

Wordlessly, he finds himself obeying and plopping down on the closed toilet seat lid. His eyes are trained on your every move, finding it difficult to look anywhere else, as you shut the cabinet and rummage through the kit searching for the proper materials.

It’s one of those moments where he doesn’t feel as if he needs to say anything—most of the time he spends with you is like that. You’d don’t expect him to converse or entertain because sometimes, merely sitting in silence with him is enough. It’s comfortable and equally as rich as any conversation would be.

Ripping open an alcohol wipe, you narrow your gaze at the feeling of his eyes on you. Your lips curl up at the corner sweetly. “What?” You ask, your voice gentle.

“Nothin’.” Bucky blinks, shaking his head. “You don’t have to, y’know? More than capable of cleaning it myself.”

You smile even more at his relentlessly headstrong mindset. “Would you? Remember last time you got hurt on a mission?“

At the time, Bucky didn’t tell anyone his non-metal arm was in pain for days because he simply didn’t feel like burdening them with his problem. It only came to your attention when you accidentally brushed his shoulder in the kitchen, and he flinched—just a tiny twitch, barely noticeable.

But you’d noticed. You always seem to notice.

You scolded him for not telling anyone he’d been hurting and then again for not taking care of it properly himself. Then you dragged him into the medical room to wrap it up comfortably, much to his chagrin.

Now, sitting across from you again, he nods slowly. “Yeah,” he mutters, brushing his thumb over the cut on his cheek. “I remember.”

Quickly, you lightly smack his hand down so he can’t touch it before shifting over to stand in front of him. “Exactly, so let me do this for you, yeah?” He doesn’t have time to answer because then you’re holding up the alcohol wipe in front of his face. “This might sting.”

Bucky doesn’t so much as flinch when you press the wipe against his cut, but finds your warning endearing anyways. He’s more focused on the way you position yourself in between his spread open legs and lean down to get a better look at his cut.

“How hard did Sam kick you in your face?” You let out a small chuckle, the noise echoing off the walls of the bathroom. “He mad at you or something?”

The corners of Bucky’s lips threaten to curl up at your comment. “I took the last pancake Wanda made this morning, that might be it.”

You smile, laughing breathily as you reach over to grab some antiseptic cream from the first aid kit. “Makes sense. I would’ve kicked you in the face too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, watching you unscrew the lid to squeeze some onto your fingertip. “Oh, would you have?” When you nod, he hums. “I think I would’ve preferred a kick in the face from you instead of him anyway.”

Pursing your lips, you tilt your head teasingly. “Don’t let him hear you say that, Barnes. He might think I’m taking his spot as your best friend.”

“He’d never recover.” Bucky grins, but stills to a silence when you place your fingers on his cheek lightly.

His attention drifts up to your face, observing the way that your eyebrows knit together softly and lips twist in focus. You’re close to him now, so much so that he can smell your cherry perfume and he wonders how it’s managed to stay on despite having just returned from practice.

When his head tilts too far up as he looks at you, you gently grab his jaw and guide his head back down. The action is small, but sends a course of shivers down his spine, a feeling so rare and one he only ever experiences with you.

He doubts you know the effect you have on him. After all, he’s been trying his absolute hardest to conceal these newfound and confusing emotions until he can begin to understand them himself.

He knows something is off, though, when he catches himself smiling as your loud laughter echoes through the walls of the Tower during your and Natasha’s weekly movie nights, or when he wakes up early for coffee and finds you already in the kitchen, packing Peter a lunch for school with a bright smile on your face.

It’s the little things you do—like saving him a spot at the dinner table, handing him a fresh towel before he can even ask on sparring days, or patching up his wounds despite his grumpy protests—that make him worry he’s developing feelings no friend should have. It terrifies him, truly. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t feel good all the same.

You unwrap a butterfly bandaid and lay it carefully on his cheek, leaning your head back to admire your hard work. “Lookin’ good. Keep this with you,” You hold the antiseptic cream for him to take. “And put it on everyday so it doesn’t scab.”

Bucky takes the bottle from your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft ones. “Yes ma’am.” He answers yet doesn’t get up from where he sits.

Suddenly, you become hyper-aware of the position you find yourself in—you’re still in between his legs and he’s still looking up at you like he can’t bear to pry his eyes away. It’s compromising and oddly intimate in a way you can’t determine if you like or hate, yet the warmth you feel in the pit of your stomach is answer enough.

“All done.” You remind him, your voice coming out more quiet than you intend.

A sudden tension seems to wash over the room as Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“Right,” He nods, then faster than you can register, he’s pushing himself to a standing position. His eyes are on you the entire time he rises, towering over you to look down with an expression you can’t quite decipher—one that makes your knees feel wobbly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your name sounds rich on his tongue like saying it is sacred to him. It makes your heart thump in your chest. “Anytime, Buck.”

The way you look up at him, through your softly kitted eyebrows, makes Bucky hesitate. His stare quickly travels across your face like trying to memorize it in its close proximity. His focus lands on your lips before flickering back up to your eyes. Now he’s aware of just how much he’d like to kiss you and just how much he probably shouldn’t.

You open your mouth to say something when a knock at the door interrupts, snapping your attention away from each other. You clear your throat, stepping back and increasing the distance between the two of you. Bucky hates how it feels colder without you close to him.

“Hey guys!” A squeaky voice belonging to Peter Parker echoes from the other side. “Sorry if you’re busy in there or something, but I really have to go and Vision’s fixing the elevator so I really don’t wanna have to run all the way upstairs!”

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. “We’re all done in here, Pete.” You turn to Bucky, offering him a sweet smile, back to your usual demeanor. “Don’t get kicked in the face again, ‘kay?”

His grin widens and with a nod of his head, he responds. “Not unless it’s by you, remember?”

You purse your lips to prevent your smile from stretching, then swing the door open. Bucky’s eyes are only trained on you as you walk, even when a desperate Peter runs inside and shoos him away with intentional shoves.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Everything was on fire. Quite literally.

The mission the team is on has gone sideways fast and now, all that matters is getting out of there. The extraction SUV comes into view just beyond the crumbling warehouse gates, engine revving as the back doors fly open.

“Move! Move! Move!” Steve barks into comms as he sprints towards the vehicle.

Natasha is right behind him, dragging a limping Sam who’s still cracking jokes through gritted teeth. You and Bucky follow close behind with Peter in tow—grounded and grumbling without any buildings to swing from. Natasha helps get Sam into the backseat before joining Steve in the front, which means the rest of you are to squeeze.

“You first, Pete!” You order and he obliges, quickly shoving himself inside.

Bucky follows suit and once he’s sat, he turns back, motioning for you to come in.

Your fingers grip the edge of the door, glancing around inside the car at the lack of seats left. Craning your neck behind you, you watch as more explosions occur and enemies emerge, dead-set on the car that you can’t get inside of. “Fuck! Guys, there’s no more room!”

“What?” Peter shouts. “Sam, why couldn’t you have flown?”

“I’m injured, you little asshole!” Sam hisses back.

“What do I do?” You emphasize. “Seriously, there’s—”

“There’s room.” Bucky speaks up.

You blink. “Where?!”

He doesn’t answer but instead, grabs your wrist and pulls. You yelp as he tugs you into the car, the door slamming shut behind you. You barely have time to process that you’re safely inside before the car peels away from the curb with a screech.

Then you realize, you’re in his lap—legs draped over his, your weight settling against him as the car jostles over cracked pavement. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist, holding you steady and secure. Suddenly, there’s no space or distance. Just you and him.

You freeze and so does he.

Nat’s arguing with Tony over comms, snapping at him to tell F.R.I.D.A.Y to reroute traffic. Steve chimes in every few seconds, telling them both to calm down, but he’s way too focused on weaving through cars like a getaway driver. Beside you, Peter’s whining about Sam’s wing-pack jabbing into his side, but Sam just grits his teeth and tells him to quit complaining.

It’s complete chaos in the car but Bucky? He doesn’t hear any of it.

Because you’re right there, pressing up against him in a way that makes it hard for him to breathe, a pressure blooming tightly in his throat. One of your hands clutches the side of his vest, knuckles brushing against his chest as you stabilize yourself for the wobbly car ride. Your face is close—almost too close—and you have to duck your head slightly, settling into a stomach churning position near his shoulder and jaw. For a second, he thinks he can feel the warmth of your breath against his neck and suddenly, every bump in the road is utter torture.

“I’m sorry,” He mutters, his voice low. “It was the only option.”

You nod quickly, trying to brush it off like this wasn’t the closest the two of you have ever been—like it wasn’t physically compromising in a way that makes your head pulse. “Yeah, I get it. It makes sense. Practical.”

Practical. Right.

Heat radiates off of your body as you adjust yourself on top of him, sinking into his lap like some cruel test of his self control.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles, his voice just above a whisper, reserving the question for only the two of you.

“Yes.” It’s the only word you manage to get out, too distracted by the way his fingers curl around your waist—grounding and almost possessive. He squeezes you closer with each sharp turn Steve takes, like holding you in place steadies something inside of him too.

Bucky swallows hard and risks a glance at you. There’s a smudge of dirt on your jaw and a thin line of blood on your lip from where it somehow split during combat. Your chest rises and falls with exhaustion, cheeks flushed and eyes still burning with adrenaline. And yet, despite it all, you look unbelievably gorgeous, like the chaos has only made you even more breathtaking.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, though his eyes have already scanned you twice for any injuries.

“No, I’m alright.” You answer, fingers fiddling with the edge of his utility vest out of what he assumed to be nerves with no place to go.

He nods but then pauses the moment your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s a major shift in the air and for what feels like minutes, everything else fades away—the rambunctiousness of the car, the shouting from your teammates, the smell of smoke and metal from the mission. It stills to a stop.

Because you’re looking at him like you might feel it too; the same sensation he’s been drowning in for months whenever he’s around you.

And in that moment, Bucky Barnes wants to kiss you more than he’s wanted to do anything in years. Maybe ever. There you are; warm, gentle and in his lap like it’s normal, like your bodies were meant to be this close together. It sends a heatwave through his body that he supposes can only dissipate when his lips meet yours.

Then, Peter accidentally elbows him in his side while he argues with Sam, and Bucky is robbed of that idea as quickly as he obtains it.

“Are you,” You say, eyes flickering over his face like he might disappear if you don’t look hard enough. “Okay?”

“I’m fine.” He nods, assuringly but you can read it all over his face. There’s something there—something heavy and sincere—so similar to the pulsing you’re experiencing in your own chest.

Bucky leans back, putting some distance between the two of you, though it’s extremely difficult both physically and mentally. His gaze locks outside the car window, focusing on the trees as they pass instead of the way your eyes still fixate on him. More than he could ever admit, he wants to reach out, pull you closer, and press his lips to yours. But this wasn’t the time, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for something so real, so permanent.

So instead, he holds himself back and swallows the feeling.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’re confident you don’t need to look at the recipe, but the more you mix the contents of your bowl, the more it looks suspicious.

The dough is too sticky, and there’s definitely more flour on your crewneck than there is in the bowl. You’re starting to think that you somehow missed a step while you were jamming out to the music playing from the small speaker in the kitchen of the Tower. However, you persevere, determined to manifest your grandmother’s chocolate chip cookie magic through sheer force and determination.

Over the quiet music and your own soft humming, you don’t notice the sound of someone entering the kitchen until a sudden shift in the air draws your attention. Your eyes flicker up and meet his electric blue ones.

Bucky stands in the doorway, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie with hair still damp from the shower. There’s tiredness in his face, sure, but also something tender—deep in the way that he looks at you. It was almost as if seeing you here, bobbing your head to the music on the radio and mixing the contents of the bowl like you’re in your own little world, was the first time he allowed himself to breathe all day.

“Heard you were making cookies.” He says, his voice gruff with sleep.

“Who said?” You smile, mixing your dough again in hopes that it would make it better.

Bucky steps closer, moving to stand on the opposite side of the island to you. “Steve,” He answers. “Said I’d better check on you before you burn the kitchen down with yourself inside of it.”

You let out a playful scoff, rolling your eyes. “Just for that, he doesn’t get any.”

Bucky grins, leaning against the countertop and examining the situation before him. There’s powder all over the table and ingredients sprawled about that he isn’t entirely sure you even need for chocolate chip cookies. His eyes trial up to you and your pajamas that display remnants of your mixture. Not only that but there are splotches of flour on your cheeks, and when he looks up at the top of your head, some there too.

He lets out a small chuckle at the sight and the noise has you glancing up at him briefly. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Didn’t know chocolate chip cookies were this messy. You’ve got flour all over your face, Doll.”

Your hand instinctively flies up to wipe it away, swiping at your cheek blindly.

“That made it worse.” He squints, sympathetically.

You shrug, not caring much about how you looked in front of the soldier. “A little mess is the price I’m willing to pay for these cookies,” You say at the same time you suddenly realize what’s missing from your recipe. “Hey, since you’re here, can you do me a favor?”

He hums, the noise rumbling from the back of his throat and sounding oddly attractive to your ears.

“Could you find me the chocolate chips? I’m sure they’re somewhere in that cabinet.” You ask, nodding in the direction of one of the top shelves.

Bucky, who is positive he’ll do anything you ask of him, pushes himself off of the counter to walk over towards the cabinets. “Don’t tell me you started making the cookies before you checked if we even have chocolate chips.”

You shrug, sprinkling a little more flour into your bowl. “I was choosing to be optimistic.”

He rummages around before effortlessly grabbing a bag of chocolate chips from the highest shelf. Then he’s walking over to you, joining you on your side of the table to pass you the bag and smile at your workspace. “These are gonna be quite the cookies, huh?”

“Family recipe.” You nod confidently, opening the bag to drop plenty of chocolate chips into your mixing bowl. Bucky watches as you stir, your eyebrows knitting together in concentration. “Wanna taste?”

His shoulder brushes against yours as you turn to him, holding the bowl up to his face. It smells delicious and with how excited you are, he can’t exactly resist. “Sure.”

Your eyes follow him as he swoops his index finger into the bowl, runs it around the edge to collect stray dough and pops it into his mouth. Then slowly and almost absentmindedly, he licks the dough off of his finger.

His eyes flick up to yours, catching you mid-stare. You try to play it off, try not to let the warmth rising in your chest crawl all the way to your cheeks. It’s just cookie dough and just Bucky—your very handsome teammate casually doing something that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“Good?” You ask, and your voice is a little too light to be natural.

He hums, nodding. “Very.”

In satisfaction, you quirk your chin up and will yourself to turn away from him, no longer able to dwell on how horribly good he looks beneath the yellow light of the kitchen.

“You need my help?” He asks, watching you reach into a cabinet for a baking sheet.

You knit your brows, shaking your head. “Oh, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, his metal hand glimmering in a way that makes your stomach twist, and he takes the sheet from your hands. “I want to.”

You can’t find words to say as he immediately gets to work scooping the dough into balls and placing them on the tray, so you murmur a simple, “Thank you” and twist around to occupy yourself with cleaning your mess.

The kitchen falls into a domestically relaxed quiet, save for the sound of you doing the dishes and Bucky organizing the cookies on the sheet with an adorably concentrated precision. Every once in a while, you glance over your shoulder to get a glimpse of him as he rolls. Unknowingly to you, he does the same—twisting around when you aren’t looking to furrow his brows in admiration.

After you finish the dishes, you wipe your hands off on a dishrag and make your way back to the island where Bucky works. With a mindless grin, you lean against the counter, arms crossed as you watch him with your head in your palm.

There’s something about it—the sight of Bucky Barnes rolling cookie dough in his pajamas, damp strands of hair falling into his face as he leans over the counter. The notoriously brooding man had stepped into the kitchen wearing the softest smile, his hands now moving with a kind of gentleness, like the dough was a treasure you’d entrusted him with.

You can’t help but watch, hoping your heart-eyes aren’t as visible as you imagine they are in your head.

His gaze flickers to you, a small smile threatening to tear at the sides of his lips under the pressure of your attention. “You alright?”

You blink and nod, but don’t shy away. “I’m fine. Jus’ thinking.”

His head tilts in curiosity as he finishes rolling the last cookie. “About what?”

“About how no one would believe me if I told them Sergeant Barnes was helping me make chocolate chip cookies.” You purse your lips playfully.

Bucky raises his eyebrows, carrying the cookie tray to the oven with his metal hand and placing it on the rack. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of many talents.”

“Hmm,” you nod. “And baking is one of them?”

“Kinda had to be,” He straightens up and gives you a crooked smile, dusting his hands off. “My sister always made me bake with her every Sunday night—said I was useless unless I was mixing the batter. She’d dance around the kitchen to the music from the radio, and boss me around like she ran the place. I got pretty good at it after a while.”

You smile, fighting with your insides to keep them from turning to mush. “That’s sweet.”

For a moment, he just looks at you as if he’s seeing a piece of that memory reflected in you, like something about this moment brings it back to life in the gentlest way. It’s delicately warm and wonderfully familiar, feeling like home in a way that means the world to him.

His smile softens briefly like he’s letting himself sit in it, in you, in the quiet comfort of something good. Then, with a small huff that sounds suspiciously like fondness, he shakes his head. “Don’t go spreadin’ that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”

You grin, eyes sparkling mischievously. “How’d you know? I was actually planning on leaving a note next to the cookie plate,” You say, motioning in the air with your hands. “‘Rolled by James Buchanan Barnes. Carefully. With love. Lots of it.’”

Bucky rolls his eyes at your response, but grins anyway. “Cause you’ve got a big mouth, that’s how.”

You scoff, hand against your chest in offense. “Excuse me?”

Bucky’s face doesn’t budge. It’s flat and neutral as he says, “You heard me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jerk.”

Then without thinking, you dip your hand into the nearby flour jar—fingers curling around the soft powder—and flick it towards his chest in one swiftly impulsive motion. A white puff blooms across the dark fabric of his hoodie that he stares down at in a stunned silence.

You cover your mouth, a soft laugh slipping past it before you can even help it.

“Really?” He says.

You open your mouth to say something but then Bucky moves suddenly, reaching for the flour with a speed that ignites your fight or flight instincts.

“Alright, then.” He tilts.

You yelp, bolting around the kitchen island as he grabs a handful. “Bucky, no—”

“You started this.” He teases, following you in a confident sort of chase.

Circling the counter again, you attempt to increase the distance but as you round the far side, a cloud of flour explodes against your back.

“Hey!” You exclaim, eyeing the streak of white powder covering your crewneck.

Bucky just smirks, eyebrows raised in mock concern so in return, you reach into the flour jar again, desperate to get him back.

And for a sincere moment, the kitchen fills with laughter—yours bright and effortless; his, rough and warm, in a way it hasn’t been in years. For a full minute, nothing else exists but the sound of feet padding against the tiled floor as flour flies across the air in a ridiculous food fight. You’re both smiling like complete idiots despite the mess you’re making and Bucky realizes, suddenly and quietly, that this might be the happiest he’s been in a long time.

You lunge forward to circle the table again but this time, instead of running away from him, you run past him. It’s a drive-by attack, your arm shooting out as you pass to sprinkle flour directly onto his head.

A satisfying puff coats his dark hair and you let out a laugh of success. You attempt to make a run for it but then his fingers wrap around your wrist and in one fluid motion, he gently tugs you back towards him. Faster than you can process, your body spins around and your chest collides directly with his own.

Your feet stumble to a stop.

The both of you still.

Your head tilts up but his gaze is already on yours, staring at you with a longing look you only wish you can decipher.

Yet, before either of you can say anything, he lifts his hand and drops a handful of flour on the top of your head. The powder puffs out, sprinkling over your forehead and acting as glitter on your eyelashes.

Your mouth parts in shock, and Bucky, he’s grinning like he’s just won first place. “Got you.”

“You cheater.” You huff at the same time flour trickles from your hair in a silly fog of smoke onto the two of you.

He laughs, deep and sincere. “We didn’t establish any rules.”

You try to glare up at him but suddenly, you’re entirely hyper-aware of his hand that still holds your wrist gently, keeping you tucked against him. You swallow, eyes flickering across his face like you were trying to determine if he felt it too—that warmth pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

Some quiet song hums low from the kitchen speaker, delicate and slow, the kind of melody that makes everything feel like it’s moving in slow motion.

“You good?” He tilts his head, smiling crookedly.

His voice is too close, too gruff, that you almost melt into a puddle on the kitchen floor.

“Fine,” You say, the word coming out a lot quieter than you intend it to. “You win.”

Suddenly, Bucky gets trapped in the sincerity you watch him with. Your eyes are soft, puppy-like almost—wide and searching as they stare at him like they’re trying to figure him out without saying a word. Surely you don’t mean to, but he’s not positive he can handle the way you peer up with knitted eyebrows of velvety vulnerability. They’re gentle, so much so that it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

A guttural ache curls at his insides, burning with a longing desire that he doesn’t know how to put out. For a split second, he thinks about leaning in to close the distance that is so obviously being pulled taut, like an invisible string, between the two of you. And in that same second, he thinks he might read it on your face too.

Would it be so horrible if his lips met yours beneath the gentle light of the Tower’s kitchen; where flour coats the counters, and your eyelashes, like snow. Where your laughter lingers in the air like a song he heard once and could never get enough of. Where the smell of warm, chocolate chip cookies in the oven dances around you and makes you feel like home. Would it be so terrible to give in to something so soft, so tender?

Bucky isn’t sure but, god, he wants to. He’s wanted to, for as long as he can remember. And he almost does.

Until his grip loosens and the weight of who he is pulls him back down to earth from the clouds you have him floating in.

His hand slips from your wrist and just like that, the window of opportunity passes. For a beat, he thinks he catches a glimpse of disappointment in those eyes of yours but then he’s forcing himself out of it, clearing his throat free of the tension and words he doesn’t say.

“I’ll check on the cookies.” He says, coming off confidently like usual, though he was far from it.

“Good idea.” You nod, far too quickly for it to be casual. “Don’t want them to burn and have everyone know Bucky Barnes isn’t as good at baking as he says he is.”

He smiles, the flutter stuck in his chest like the smoke after a flame is put out.

“They won’t burn,” He tilts his head. “Not when they were rolled carefully with love. Lots of it.”

And just like that, you’re back—the two of you falling into that easy, mutual rhythm as if the longing stares and gentle touches mean nothing. You move around each other like you always have, in that seamless and unspoken way despite the unsaid that lingers. It hovers, just beneath the surface waiting for one of you to finally put a name to it.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It was supposed to be a low-level recon mission at a nearby Hydra facility—one where the team got in and out with no problem. No combat. Just surveillance and intel retrieval. Easy enough for you, Natasha, and Sam to handle on your own. The rest of the team had stayed behind to run tactical. It was one of those missions—quick, clean, no surprises.

Except something did happen. And now, no one can reach you.

“It was an ambush,” Natasha’s voice says through comms, sharp with static and urgency. “We didn’t see them coming.”

The facility had been more than just abandoned—it was bait. Seconds after infiltration, the place locked down, alarms blared, and drones swarmed the exits. A blast took out part of the structure, and in the chaos, the three of you got separated.

“Nat,” Steve speaks through the comms after a few minutes pass, his voice calm despite the circumstances. “Have you found each other yet?”

It takes a second but then Nat’s voice is echoing through the speaker. “I’m with Wilson but we can’t find Y/N. She’s still not responding to us on comms.”

Bucky leans against the control panel, his jaw clenched in worry. Guilt washes over his body in a wave because before you’d left, he insisted on going with you all. Something about the idea of you walking into an ex-hydra base, even one that’s been shut down for years, didn’t feel right to him. Yet you’d insisted he stayed.

“I’ll be fine, Barnes.” You had said.

“I don’t trust it.” He responded.

Placing a gentle hand on his metal arm, you continued. “Just trust me.”

So he did and while he’d never doubt your ability to take care of yourself, he’s more mad at himself for knowing something was suspicious about the ex-Hydra base and letting the three of you go alone anyways.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Tony’s voice breaks Bucky out of his head. The Stark man sits across from Steve, observing the map and the way your location has been pinging in the same spot for the past five minutes. “Any intel on Y/N’s location or activity from her suit?”

miss y/n’s current location cannot be updated. her suit appears to have lost connection.

Bucky watches in real time as your location on the map flashes red before blinking away completely.

“Fuck!” He growls, slamming his fist down on the table before backing away, pacing like the movement might ease him of the frustration coiled in his chest.

Steve glances at his best friend, jaw tight. He understands the anger, he feels it too, but knows better than to try and talk Bucky down. Instead, he turns back to comms and speaks, low but urgent, “Nat, her location has gone off the grid completely. Any sign of her?”

“No! We can’t,” Natasha’s voice comes out in a panic before static ensues. It takes a moment amidst all of the chaos before she speaks again, “We can’t find her! Steve, the building’s gonna collapse, we’ve got to get out of here!”

With those words, Bucky’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest, sudden and harsh like the drop on a roller coaster. “No.” He says, his voice loud and stern as he approaches the panel and leans over Steve to speak to Natasha himself. “You’re not leaving without her.”

“Buck.” Steve glances up at him.

“Her location last said she was in the building.” Bucky presses his index finger against the map. “If it collapses and she’s—”

“Hey,” Steve says more firmly, turning towards his friend. “We don’t know that she’s still in there.”

“We don’t know that she’s not!” Bucky’s voice rises before he can stop it, words tearing out of him louder than he means, but the release feels necessary.

“Steve,” Sam speaks through his earpiece. “We’ve scoured the entire building, Redwing too—nothing. The damn ceiling’s gonna fall!”

“What if they took her?” Bucky proposes, standing up to run a hand over his head in worry. It’s not an idea far out the picture, after all, Bucky knew a lot about how capable they were of doing so.

Steve rubs his forehead. He knew there was a chance Bucky was right. While you were more than capable of holding your own, he also understood the dangerous of you being forced to fend yourself off against a bunch of ex-Hydra operatives.

Steve’s silence might be enough to send Bucky into a full on crash-out. He can feel the anxiety coursing through his body—knowing that you’re out there by yourself, surrounded by the same people who once broke him. It’s a fear unlike anything he’s experienced before and when that thought hits, it doesn’t feel like a freight train, but something worse.

His whole life, Bucky had endured so much that pushing people away became the only way to keep them safe—from both the people that hurt him and himself. He hadn’t allowed himself comfort, hadn’t dared to reach for happiness because deep down, he didn’t feel he deserved it. And worse, he feared those who did veer close enough would come out exactly as he had.

But you—in all your warmth and kindness—had somehow snuck through the cracks in his armour and settled into his soul. He couldn’t keep himself away from you, no matter how much he tried. Sometimes, it made him feel selfish to want you as much as he did. You were good, far too good to be crushed under the burdens he carried. Yet, you had a way of imprinting yourself into his heart, where the damage was irreversible and Bucky hadn’t done a single thing to stop you.

And now, he is living that consequence.

He’s prepared to rain hell on anyone who might’ve taken you, who might’ve hurt you. With clenched fists, he readies himself to go out there and search for as long as it takes just so he can bring you home.

But then Sam’s comms crackle. “Guys! I think we found her!”

Bucky perks up, as Steve and Tony share glances of hope. They gather around the panel, waiting for Sam to speak up again or for your location to flash back on.

“Guys, we found her!” Sam shouts, his voice filled with relief. “We’re—”

But then his comms disconnect. Urgently, Steve tries to get back in contact with them, any of them, but it’s radio silence.

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be thankful or even more worried, and the knot in his stomach remains tight the entire time the tower awaits your return. They spend thirty minutes monitoring Sam and Natasha’s location as it maneuvers through the city, just hoping they’re coming back with you.

It feels like the longest wait Bucky has ever had to endure, like time was moving slowly just to fuck with him. He sits on a chair in the corner, leaning his hand back against the wall as his knee bounces up and down anxiously.

Then Tony speaks. “They’re back.”

Bucky looks up, eyes set on the map where Sam and Natasha’s location is pinned at the Avengers Tower. Without thinking, he pushes himself off of his chair and marches out of the control room. Tony and Steve are right behind him as he storms straight towards the elevators to greet you downstairs himself, but just as he enters the living room, the elevator door dings on their floor.

He blinks and there you are, limping in with Sam at your side and Natasha rushing into the kitchen to fill you up a glass of water.

Bucky freezes, observing the many scratches and scrapes on your face. Your suit is disheveled, reflecting a battle you seem to have clearly put up. For some reason, he can’t move. He just stands off to the side, watching with a distant expression.

Steve rushes over to your other side, though you insist you’re fine, and he and Sam guide you to sit on the couch. You hiss in pain as you do so, clutching your hip where you’d injured it during the collapse. Natasha makes her way over with the water cup, handing it to you and you drink it down almost immediately.

“We need to get you checked.” Natasha orders.

“No,” You say, shaking your head quickly. “I mean, yes but I just need a minute, just to catch my breath, please.”

Steve’s eyes flicker up to Bucky, who’s standing to the side like he’s afraid to get too close. He can see the longing on his best friend’s face, all of the unspoken words that are threatening to spill over the surface if he doesn’t say them soon.

“You two mind telling us what happened?” Steve turns to Natasha and Sam who nod almost instantly. Then he looks back at you and with a much softer voice, asks. “You gonna be alright for a bit?”

At his worry, your lips curl up into a weak smile—your attempt at lifting a weight off their shoulders. “Why? You wanna stay to babysit me?”

A few of the others let out small laughs, your usual positive attitude giving them some relief. All but Bucky, whose jaw clenches with a feeling he can’t determine.

Everyone moves to head towards the meeting room, leaving you on the couch to lean your head back in exhaustion. As they walk, Steve claps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder with a look that says, “If you don’t tell her now, I will.”

Soon, the team is out of the room, and it’s just you and Bucky remaining. You feel his presence before you look up to see him, but when you do, you’re met with devastated eyes that tell you just how much your absence has bothered him.

With a head tilt, your raspy voice speaks, “Buck—”

“You scared the shit out of me.” He admits faster than you can process. His words hang in the air, tension suddenly pulsing through the walls of the tower.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “The blast knocked me out and when I got up, I tried to radio but it crushed my earpiece.”

Bucky remains silent for a beat, but you can tell his brain is running a mile a minute. “They could’ve taken you.”

“They didn’t.” You answer, with a small shrug.

“They could have.” He emphasizes.

“But they didn’t.” You say honestly but gently, understanding how jarring this must’ve been for him considering his history. “I mean, I think,” You pause. “I think they tried to. I fought them off though, I took care of it. I don’t even think they were really a match for me.”

Your attempt at lightening the conversation doesn’t go unnoticed, and for a second, the ends of his lips twitch like he wants to smile, before dropping back to an unreadable expression.

To say you feel horrible would be an understatement. It wasn’t your fault—both of you know that—but it rattled him nonetheless. Even now, he’s staring at you like you’re some half-pretend haze in his mind, like he’s not sure if you’re even real.

With a deep breath, you start to push yourself off the couch, wobbling under the weight of pain and imbalance. Bucky is at your side in an instant leaning down to help. His hands find your hips with practiced care, gentle and respectful, as he helps guide you upright.

“What’re you doing?” He asks.

“Standing so I can talk to you.” You answer, wincing a bit as your back straightens but ultimately relaxing your shoulders once you meet his weary eyes.

“How badly are you hurt?” Bucky says, gaze examining you in your entirety, hands never leaving your hips as if he was afraid you’ll disappear once he lets go.

“My back’s sore, and I’m pretty sure I tore something in my hip but it’s alright.” You answer, your hands clutching his arms to stabilize yourself though you feel perfectly okay to stand on your feet. He doesn’t seem convinced and you duck your head to catch his gaze better. “I’m fine, Buck, see. I’ll be okay.”

Bucky is focused on the scrapes on your cheeks, resisting the urge he has to lift his finger and brush against them.

You’re okay.

He tries to remind himself—You’re standing in front of him talking, smiling, breathing. You’re okay. For a second, he almost can’t understand why he’s still so shaken up, until his eyes meet yours and everything makes sense.

“I thought I lost you.” He speaks before he thinks, the words slipping from his mouth like it takes all of his energy just to mutter.

Your own breath seems to get lodged in your throat because suddenly, you have no idea what to say. Despite its sadness, his admission feels like a swarm of butterflies is fluttering against the insides of your stomach—warm and fuzzy.

The way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters to him beneath the soft light of the Tower’s living room, nearly makes your legs give out underneath you. You clutch onto his arms tighter, fighting how deeply you wish to tug him against you.

Your mouth opens like you want to say something but then you close it with a shake of your head. Seconds pass of the two of you only holding each other’s gaze before you work up the courage to mumble out a response.

“I’m here.” Your voice is quiet, just above a whisper.

Bucky feels it before he can even process it—that warmth flooding his chest in an overwhelming way only you’re capable of causing. It’s a twist deep in his core that somehow makes him feel light on his feet, and suddenly, the only thing of any importance is your gentle eyes as they blink up at him.

He’ll hate himself forever if he doesn’t take this opportunity—if he lets his fear of vulnerability control him any longer. Bucky Barnes has wanted to kiss you so many times, and all of those times have ended with him pulling away because comfort and love are things he’s been robbed of for years—things he doesn’t feel like he deserves.

But god, he wants it, and he wants you. More than you can even begin to comprehend.

With a singular blink, and a desire strong enough to destroy buildings, he’s moving to close the distance.

You almost don’t realize it’s happening until his mouth meets yours with a feverish want.

Undeniably, you’ve dreamt of this moment for as long as you can remember—Bucky’s lips against yours, your bodies pressed together closely. You’d almost believe you’re dreaming if not for the feeling of his warm fingertips at the skin on your hips. Your eyes flutter shut and your arms instinctively move to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

Bucky’s brain becomes a foggy mess the moment you start kissing him back. His hands move from your hips to wrap around your lower back, in an attempt to help you maintain your balance and, at the same time, draw you closer. As your lips move against his, he can’t help but wonder how something so soft can feel so earth-shattering.

You’re both in a daze—one gentle but hungry nonetheless—like you’ve both waited so long for this moment and now that it’s finally happening, all other problems cease to exist.

As much as you hate it, you pull away for air. Breathlessly, your eyes scan his pupils that you swore have grown larger in size since you’ve last looked at them. When your mouth begins curling up into the brightest smile you’re sure has ever graced your face, you lean forward to press a small, gentle kiss to his lips.

Then another one.

And then another one.

And another.

He accepts them happily, almost entirely in disbelief that this is even his reality. His heart thuds hard beneath his ribs, almost like it wants to jump out right out into your hands.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for so long,” You hum against his lips as you press a final kiss to them. When you finally lean your head back, your eyes flicker across his face like maybe you’re making sure this isn’t a dream.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He echoes softly, fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles over the tender part of your back.

“Why didn’t you?” You ask.

He shakes his head, eyebrows free of that constant furrow they always seem to be burdened with. “Thought I had all the time in the world,” His voice is just above a whisper when he adds, “Today showed me that I might not,”

He brings one hand up to your face, placing the back of his index finger carefully against your cheek and brushing over a cut beneath your eye with a delicacy that feels like air.

“I wasted so much of that time already, being scared and holding myself back,” His focus never once leaves you. “I can’t anymore. I just want to spend it with you.”

For a second, you can only pause and wonder if Bucky knows the impact of his words—the very ones he uses so scarcely. They make your skin heat up and it feels as if the throbbing pain in your lower back suddenly dissipates.

“Me too, Bucky.” You breathe, sincerity coating your lips as you smile up at him. In traditional you fashion, your eyes glimmer with a sudden playful tease. “If I knew that’s all it would take, I’d have gotten beat up on a mission a lot earlier.”

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh, allowing himself the joy of grinning. “That’s not a funny joke.”

“It’s a little funny.” You reciprocate, tilting your head at him.

“No, it’s not.” He responds, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You shake your head softly before leaning in to kiss him again. Bucky melts into it without hesitation, already cursing himself for all the time he spent keeping this at arm’s length. Now that he has it—has you—he can’t imagine ever letting go.