#sentry

[tojigasm]

This is killing me

[em1i2a3]

You Caught The Light

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

Summary: After all the partying and celebrations, you’re finally able to share your wedding night with the love of your life, but there’s one last thing that needs to happen before everything can commence.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluffy goodness, Reader and Bob got married (this is the aftermath of that lol), Sentry has his own little surprise for the Reader and he definitely shows some possessive vibes within that little surprise, After Wedding Shenanigans, Is There Plot Here? Yeah…For the most part. Did I absolutely lunge myself at the idea when it popped into my head the other day? Heeeeeeeck yeah, Already Established Relationship.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in.V Sex (y’all wrap it up.), Soft Dom Sentry Vibes! Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Fingering, References to Reader Being Off Birth Control, Praise/Worship Kink, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink (Reader is not on Birth Control), Biting/Marking/Scratching, Breast Play, Spitting, Drooling, Messy Sex, Possessiveness Kink?, Begging, Breath Play (Deep Breathing=Lightheadedness :)), Teasing, Use of ‘Good Girl,’, Finger Sucking, Aftercare

Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, this was so. Fun. To. Write. Possessive Sentry? Sweet Jeeeezus…Also the amount of times I needed to step away from my keyboard and yell at the dialogue I was coming up with was insane lol. ✨that’s one of the only moments of excitement I get in my life✨ (also bless this GIF. Good Lord)

Word Count: 12,403

The string lights over the vineyard flickered soft and gold, their warm glow casting long, syrupy shadows across the lawn. They swayed gently in the breeze, catching on the rims of half-empty champagne flutes abandoned on tables draped in crumpled linen, the glass glinting like candlelight on water. Someone's heels lay forgotten beneath a chair, their straps tangled like the aftermath of a dream. The music had slowed to a lazy drift, something jazzy and low, echoing out from the speakers like a fading memory. Most of the guests had said their goodbyes. The party was finally winding down.

But you and Bob were still lively and awake. Still buzzing.

You stood side by side at the bar–hands brushing, bodies humming with a quiet, electrified kind of anticipation–as the bartender cracked open two Red Bulls with a soft hiss of carbonation. The both of you had decided early in the evening to skip the temptation of the open bar. Settling on the single glass of champagne that was given when Bucky had led a congratulations toast for the both of you.

You reached for your can with a soft smile, and Bob’s fingers met yours for a split-second on the aluminum before pulling away. He had barely let you go all night.

HIs sit jacket was off now, folded neatly over one arm. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to his forearms, and the top button had come undone hours ago. His golden tie–chosen to match the glints in your dress–hung slightly loosened around his neck, the knot imperfect in a way that made him look impossibly soft. He stood so close you could smell him beneath the summer air and faint sugar of spilled cocktails–clean skin, salt, and a faint trace of his iris and patchouli aftershave that was still clinging to his collar. His hand drifted to your waist, fingers lightly brushing over the soft tulle layers of the skirt of your dress, like he couldn’t stop reminding himself that you were real and standing right beside him. That you were now his completely, just like he was yours.

You sipped from your can, lips tingling from the carbonation, and tilted your head to smile at him, “Still awake?” His eyes–blue and quiet and full of lust, love and affection–landed on you like a promise.

”For you?” He rubbed his thumb over your waist again, slow and distracted, “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep all night…Or for the rest of the week.” You smiled at him, but before you could say anything back a small cluster of footsteps approached across the lawn, crunching in the grass. The both of you turned your attention to the noise, seeing the rest of you team filtering toward you–Yelena barefoot, carrying her heels in one hand; Alexei looking flushed and exhausted but cheerful; Ava with a half-eaten cupcake from the tower you ordered in replacement for a wedding cake; Bucky with his tie slung over his shoulder and his jacket missing entirely. Walker was nowhere to be found though, you assumed he was preoccupied with one of your bridesmaids who he had been drinking with for the entire reception–which took everyone by surprise.

Yelena leaned into you and gave you a brief but surprisingly sincere hug, “You both looked so perfect tonight…” You smiled at Yelena, your heart swelling with that dizzy, glowing gratitude that came from being this deeply seen by people who once felt like strangers, now family.

“Thank you, Lena.” Her eyeliner had smudged just slightly from the heat of the dance floor and the occasional wipe of emotion–though she’d never admit to that part. She gave your arm one last squeeze and stepped back, slipping her heels onto one finger like a hooked fish.

Bob took a sip from his can beside you, the aluminum catching a glint of string-light as he tilted it. The heat of his palm pressed steadily against the small of your back, a warm anchor in the cool night. It was like he’d forgotten how to let go of you–like the vows had activated something ancient and instinctive in him.

Ava licked frosting from her thumb with an unapologetic swipe and grinned. “So we’re not gonna see either of you for the next week, huh?”

You smirked, unable to help it. “That’s the plan.”

You tried not to sound too excited–tried not to let on just how much you’d been thinking about it all night. The cottage. The way Bob had looked at you when you’d stepped inside. The dirty things he’d whispered against your neck when no one else was looking that made you heat up. You were ready to settle into bed with him for the night to consummate the rest of your lives together.

“Val really went all out with the cottage,” Bucky added. He tipped his head toward Bob, with a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Nice and secluded. And it’s right on the lake…Plenty of places to…Explore.” Bob made a strangled sound mid-sip and coughed, turning slightly to the side as he swallowed too quickly. His ears flushed a deep, traitorous red, and he fumbled to adjust the jacket in his arms, avoiding eye contact like it might burst him into flames.

“Yeah…” He rasped, clearing his throat, “We got to look at it when we dropped our bags off be-before the reception. It’s…It’s breathtaking.” Your eyes flicked to him. The way he said that made your stomach flip. You weren’t sure if he meant the view from the deck or the way you’d looked standing in the bedroom doorway when the both of you stared at the bed together, resisting the temptation that burned through your bloodstream.

Alexei, unbothered by the conversation, clapped Bob on the back hard enough to make him flinch slightly, “You two earned it. Now go enjoy next seven days not thinking about world.” There was a beat of quiet, the warm kind–the kind only people who love you leave behind.

Then Bucky added, “Also make sure to not break the bed…Val won’t be getting that deposit back if you do.”

You laughed outright at that, pressing your hand to your mouth. Bob groaned beside you, ducking his head and muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

Yelena rolled her eyes but was smiling as she said, “In all seriousness though please, get it out of your system now. If I have to live through another month of hearing the two of you go at it like teenagers, I swear–”

”It’s not my fault that Bob has Super Soldier Stamina.” He looked down at the grass like he wanted to melt into it.

”You are all menaces,” He murmured, but there was affection in it. He leaned into you again, his lips pressing against the side of your temple, “But…Thank you. All of you. For putting up wi-with our crazy planning.” Yelena nodded.

”No need to thank us…Now go before someone decides to give another toast to keep you two here longer…We all know where you two actually want to be right now.” And that was it. That was the moment it shifted–from celebration to departure.

You said your goodbyes with long hugs and whispered promises to check in when you got to the cottage. The gravel crunched softly underfoot as you and Bob walked toward the rented SUV you booked, the night air still warm and alive with the scent of grapevines and faraway bonfire smoke. The string lights behind you were beginning to dim, their glow softening into memory–but the buzz in your blood hadn’t dulled in the slightest.

As your heels clicked lightly against the gravel, Bob slowed his pace and gently reached down to lift the delicate train of your gown, gathering it in careful hands so it wouldn’t drag through the dust and scattered pebbles.

You looked back over your shoulder, giggling quietly at the sight of him–your six-foot-something husband with sleeves rolled to his forearms, suit jacket slung over one arm, and the full, soft layers of your wedding dress gathered like spun sugar in his grip.

“What?” He asked, smirking at your expression.

“Nothing,” You said, cheeks already aching from how much you’d been smiling. “You’re just…Perfect.” Bob shook his head and huffed a bashful little laugh, his ears turning red again as he followed you to the passenger side of the SUV. He opened the door smoothly, stepping close to help you in. His palm skimmed the back of your thigh–barely there, like a promise–as you settled into the seat. He tucked the fabric of your dress carefully onto your lap, making sure not even the edge brushed the ground.

The door clicked shut with a soft thunk, and you stared down at your hands. Your engagement ring–vintage gold, wrapped around a soft-set diamond–and the brand-new wedding band now nestled against it, caught the glow of the dash lights and shimmered like something unreal.

You were someone’s wife. His wife.

Bob climbed into the driver’s seat a moment later, exhaling a long, quiet breath as he settled in and dropped his suit jacket into the back. His profile was illuminated by the soft ambient light from the center console–his jaw slightly tense, lips parted like he was about to say something, eyes flickering with want.

Then he turned to look at you, and it was like every ounce of restraint he’d been practicing all night dissolved at once.

He leaned across the center console, one hand cupping your cheek, the other braced on the seat beside you–and kissed you.

Hard.

It started warm, firm–his lips crashing against yours like a wave he couldn’t hold back anymore–and then it melted into something messier, hungrier. You moaned into his mouth as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, deeper, like he needed to taste you or he’d lose his mind. His tongue brushed yours, slow and hot and deliberate, and you felt your whole body lean into him–gown and all–your hand fisting in the soft cotton of his dress shirt where it stretched across his chest.

By the time he pulled back, his eyes were glassy and his breathing ragged, forehead nearly pressed to yours.

“I can’t wait to get to that damn co-cottage,” He murmured, his voice rough, low, almost wrecked.

You gave a breathless laugh, your lips brushing his. “Hopefully the ride is quick.” Bob let out a small, choked laugh and dropped another kiss to your cheek–quick, grateful, possessive–before straightening. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine growling to life beneath you both. With one hand on the gearshift, he reached blindly for yours.

Your fingers slid together like it was instinct. Like you’d been doing it for years.

The drive was only thirty minutes, but it felt like the air between you thickened by the second. The windows were cracked to let in the night breeze, your dress spilling over your lap in soft folds, and Bob’s hand rested firmly on your thigh now–his thumb stroking in slow, grounding circles that made your breath catch every time he reached just a little too high.

You watched him as he drove. The way his fingers curled around the wheel. The way his jaw flexed every time you shifted your thighs or adjusted your dress. You could feel how aware of you he was. How hard he was trying to focus on the road.

And maybe he could feel your eyes on him too, because without even looking away from the road, his fingers gave your thigh a soft squeeze and he said, “You’re gonna kill me before we even ma-make it to the front door.” Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth as you leaned in close–close enough for your breath to warm the shell of his ear. You felt him tense, barely resisting the urge to shiver beneath your whisper.

“I’m not even planning on us making it to the bed.” His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against the wheel.

Then his hand squeezed your thigh–harder this time earning a little gasp of surprise from you. His knuckles flushed white, the pads of his fingers digging into the silk hidden beneath the folds of your dress.

“God…” He muttered, the word wrecked. “That deposit isn’t going to be given ba-back to Val…”

You both laughed, quiet and breathless, your amusement laced with heat–laced with tension that had been building all night. All week. Hell, for as long as you’d been waiting for this moment. And then some.

You were about to say something else–something filthy, something dangerous–but then you saw it.

The trees had thinned, and the winding dirt road curved gently uphill. Just over the ridge, soft golden light spilled out through the tall windows of the cottage, glowing like a warm secret in the darkness. A few small lanterns lit the stone path leading up to the porch, casting flickering shadows on the wild grass and lavender bushes that bordered the entrance. The lake shimmered just beyond the treeline, silvered and still beneath the moonlight, and the reflection of the cabin lights glittered faintly across the surface.

It looked like something from a painting. A place untouched by the rest of the world. Yours alone.

The cottage itself was two stories, rustic and beautiful–weathered wood siding, climbing ivy across the front, and a wide wraparound porch with a gently creaking swing. The French doors were cracked slightly open, gauzy curtains drifting on the breeze like soft sighs. A single bottle of chilled sparkling cider rested in a silver bucket by the front door, a small card tucked beside it with Val’s signature on the front–the one you had seen when the both of you dropped your bags off before the reception.

It looked romantic. Secluded. Private. But all you could think about was getting inside and crawling into Bob’s lap before the front door even had a chance to close.

“Pull in there,” You whispered, your voice thick. “Right by the porch.” Bob obeyed instantly, turning the wheel and easing the SUV up the short gravel drive. The tires crunched as he slowed to a stop, engine rumbling low before he killed it with a twist of the key. Silence fell like velvet.

The cabin glowed before you like a promise. You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him, but he was already looking at you–his hand still on your thigh, eyes drinking you in like he hadn’t been doing it all night already.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wa-wanted anything more,” He murmured, voice low. “You. This. Right now.” Your chest ached with the heat of it. Of how much love and want lived in that single breath. You leaned in slowly, pressing your forehead to his, your hand sliding over the one still gripping your thigh.

”Then let’s go in there and start the rest of our lives off right, hmm?” He moved before you could blink–out of the car, around to your side, opening the door and lifting your dress so it wouldn’t drag through the gravel. You stepped out slowly, the fabric rustling like whispers around your legs as he helped you down, his hands steady at your waist.

For a moment, you just stood there together on the gravel drive–stars overhead, the lake shimmering nearby, the cabin glowing warm and golden behind you. His hands gripped your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like the tension was going to snap if you didn’t get inside immediately.

You turned toward the porch, and he followed close behind, hand never leaving your body. You didn’t even look at the welcome note, didn’t touch the cider. You just reached for the door, and pushed it open slowly.

It swung open on soft hinges, revealing the golden glow of the honeymoon cottage interior–warm amber light spilling across wide-planked wooden floors and up along the stone fireplace that stood like a quiet sentinel in the center of the room. The open-concept space was flooded with soft shadows and intimate corners, the kind of place that felt like it had always existed, just waiting for the two of you to find it. The scent of cedar and distant lakewater clung to the air, grounding you as the door clicked shut behind you.

You’d barely taken a step forward before Bob’s hands were on your waist again–turning you gently, carefully, like he couldn’t wait another second. Your breath caught as your back met the wall, the soft scrape of your gown whispering against the wood panels.

He leaned in close, brushing his lips over your jaw, your cheekbone, your temple, peppering the areas with featherlight kisses.

His voice trembled as he spoke against your skin.

“Sentry…Has a su-surprise for you.”He whispered, not being able to contain it, “But I promise I’ll be back in the morning,” He continued. “He hasn’t been out in so long. And it’s really im-important to him that he does this ” His lips brushed your earlobe, his hand cradling your jaw now, steady and careful.

“Is it okay if he comes out?” You didn’t hesitate. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling gently against the side of his neck, thumb grazing his throat where you could feel his pulse fluttering wildly beneath the skin.

”Of course it is.” You replied back, stroking his soft skin “I love you so much…And thank you for the most amazing day of my life.” Bob’s breath hitched. He smiled softly, almost shakily, and kissed you again–slow and warm and full of every ounce of devotion he never quite had the words for.

“You’re welcome…And I love you too.” He whispered. There was a long pause. Just the two of you breathing in sync, foreheads pressed together, his nose brushing yours as the moment lingered and deepened. Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered open–and you saw it.

That telltale shimmer.

Liquid gold bloomed across his irises like sunlight spilling through clouds, bright and sudden and infinite. He let out a long, careful sigh, the kind that filled the entire room with stillness, and as he pulled back–just slightly–you felt the complete shift. He straightened his spine and rolled his shoulders, moving away from you a bit to let his gaze fall on you like he was beholding a miracle.

His eyes flicked down your body, across the glinting accents woven into your gown–the way the gold thread shimmered in the low light, catching like flame at the swell of your hips and the arc of your neckline. He exhaled slowly, and it shook.

“My god…” He breathed, voice deep and low, “You look absolutely divine…” Heat flooded your cheeks instantly as you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his with a smile draped over your lips. His grip was strong and steady and full of warmth, like sunlight was melting straight into your skin.

”You like the gold?” You asked softly, teasingly, motioning to the tulle. He huffed a breathy laugh, dipping his head slightly.

“It’s a beautiful touch, my love,” He murmured, stepping forward again. He cupped your cheek, and kissed you with a gentleness that devastated. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even greedy. It was deliberate–like Sentry wanted to take his time to savour the feeling of being reunited with you. The kiss felt like time was stretching across the ether, and all you wanted to do was cling to him and fall in deeper, but he pulled back slowly.

“I haven’t seen you in two months…I’ve missed you so much, I never want to be away that long ever again.” He whispered. You kissed him again–your hand squeezing his gently, while the other pressed right over his beating heart.

”I promise that won’t happen again…Bob and I had to focus on the wedding planning and you’re a certified distraction for me so…He needed to suppress you.” He let out a small laugh, and nodded.

”Well it’s good to know it was done with good intentions.” You smirked, feeling his hand slide down to your waist, his thumb brushing the corset ribbon in the back of your dress.

”I’ve got something for you upstairs…Something I want to give you before we make up for all the lost time.” You smiled up at him, breath catching.

”Is it a gift?” He grinned. Not the shy, sweet smile Bob gave you when he blushed, or the soft, amused tilt of his mouth when the world seemed too loud–but something deeper. Slower. Like he was absorbing you with every blink, like each detail of your face was a memory flooding back into his body. His eyes drank you in with that golden glow still shimmering bright in his irises, and then they dropped to your mouth–then lower.

His voice was low and warm as honey, “Mmm, you’ll see.” You barely had time to question it before he took a step back, still holding your hand, tugging you gently toward the stairs. The soft creak of the steps underfoot broke the silence in rhythm with your breathing, but he paused just at the base of the staircase.

And without warning, his hands swept beneath your thighs.

You yelped in surprise as he lifted you with zero effort, bridal-style, cradling you close to his chest. Your arms wrapped instinctively around his neck, laughter bubbling out as he carried you up like you weighed nothing at all. His touch was careful but possessive, fingers spread wide along your side and thigh, holding you like he’d finally gotten his treasure back.

He didn’t say anything–didn’t need to.

He pushed open the bedroom door with one shoulder.

And the room…Was magic.

The lights had already been dimmed, golden sconces glowing along the walls and bathing the space in soft, flickering warmth. The bed was king-sized, low and wide, with gauzy cream linens spilling across it like waves of cloud. The headboard was carved wood, intricate and ancient-looking, with woven patterns that reminded you of something celestial. Framed constellations hung on the walls, starlight maps etched in gold leaf. The curtains, sheer and flowing, stirred gently with the breeze coming in through the open window–the lake beyond just visible in the distance, still and silver in the moonlight.

He set you down at the foot of the bed, lips grazing your forehead.

“Wait here and close your eyes.” You nodded, doing as you were told, your lashes fluttering closed. Your breath came soft and slow, your hands resting gently on your lap, fingers twitching in anticipation as the silence behind your eyelids shifted. You heard the low thud of his bag being set down, the sound of a zipper slowly tugged open. Fabric rustled. Something weighted was lifted. The air thickened–suffused with warmth and presence–and then there was a faint creak. A box. Wooden hinges. Something carefully being opened.

And then…There was silence. The kind of silence that felt sacred. You could feel him standing in front of you again, the heat of his body close–just a breath away. Your pulse picked up.

“Okay,” He whispered, voice molten. “You can look now.”

You opened your eyes.

And your heart stopped.

There, cradled in a velvet-lined obsidian box, was a golden collar–not jewelry, not in the traditional sense at least. It wasn’t dainty or cold or sterile. It was divine.

The band itself was thick but smooth, sculpted from celestial-grade gold–matte in some places, luminous in others, like it had been kissed by starlight and shadow. The edges weren’t harsh or clean-cut; they flowed in soft, organic curves, like the rhythm of waves or the spiral of nebulae. Etched faintly along the inside were tiny, nearly invisible constellations–like his memories of you mapped in starlight. But what made it impossibly his were the fingerprints–melted into the surface in swirling, imperfect ridges, pressed deeply into the metal in purposeful patterns.

They weren’t scattered.

They formed a ring around the front–his thumbs. One on either side of where the collar would rest over your pulse. As if he’d touched it just there, just once, and left a mark that would never fade.

You were utterly speechless as he stepped closer, pulling it out of the box–his fingers curling around the edges like he was lifting a crown to you.

”I made it myself,” He murmured, his voice unsteady with emotion, “Forged it in my hands. Shaped it over days. Touched it every night while thinking of you.” You stared, lips parting like you were going to try to say something but nothing managed to come out.

”I wanted it to be one of a kind,” He continued, “Because there’s only one you.” Your throat tightened.

”Sentry…” You finally choked out, “It’s beautiful.” His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if that alone made the universe worth preserving. Then he looked at you again–like you were gravity, divinity, home.

”I wanted this to be…My version of a wedding band for you. Something eternal.” You watched, frozen in awe, as he slowly sank to his knees before you, gold shimmering in his eyes, bright and glowing. “It’s to show our devotion…Not just to the love we have for each other but to the existence of it. To the fact that we found each other–out of all the galaxies, all the timelines. You are mine, and I am yours, and this…” He lifted the collar up to your view again, his golden eyes molten, “…Would be the seal of that eternity.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Because Sentry always had a way with words and every time he spoke you felt like you were on the brink of passing out. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the power of his words, the way his gaze burned through you and worshipped you all at once.

Your hand reached out before your voice could catch up.

Fingertips grazed the edge of his jaw, trembling slightly, and then steadied as your palm cupped his cheek. His skin was warm–so warm–radiating the soft gold that pulsed through him now like a heartbeat. The glow from the collar shimmered up his arms, reflected in the whites of his eyes, danced along his collarbones like divinity in motion.

You held his gaze.

Then let it drop again–just for a moment–your eyes fixed on the collar in his hands.

The weight of it. The gravity of it.

Something forged by hands that could rend galaxies apart, shaped not with force but with all the tenderness and care he had in his being. Melted into existence with the memory of you pressed into its core. A vow made of metal. An oath made of gold. He spoke again, voice thick with longing, threaded with the barest thread of need.

“Will you wear it for me?” He asked, breath shallow. “And let me mark you as mine… forever?” Your lips parted. A soft smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, trembling with joy.

“Of course, Sentry…” You whispered, voice catching on your own heartbeat. “Of course I will.”

His expression crumbled–just for a breath. As if that one sentence had cracked something inside him wide open. He turned his head slightly and pressed a gentle kiss into your palm. The heat of it lingered long after his lips left your skin.

Then he looked back up at you. Golden eyes–twin novas–so full of love it almost hurt.

“Kneel with me,” He instructed.

You didn’t hesitate.

With your free hand, you reached behind and carefully adjusted the soft folds of your dress, the tulle rustling like wind through tall grass. And then, in a single slow movement, you lowered yourself down.

Onto your knees before him.

The fabric pooled around your legs like water, a sea of ivory and gold at the feet of a god. The wood beneath you was warm from the light. He still knelt taller than you–broad, radiant, impossibly steady–but you didn’t mind. You’d never minded.

He kissed your forehead.

Then your cheeks.

Then your lips–slowly, gently, like he was drinking from something sacred.

And when he pulled back, your hands were still tangled in his shirt and your eyes had gone glassy with the weight of everything that was happening.

He smiled brightly.

“Hold still, okay?” You nodded, breath shivering against the stillness of the air.

“Okay.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, and yet it vibrated through the space between you like a promise. Like surrender.

Sentry inhaled slowly, deeply, as though grounding himself–centering every inch of his being around this one moment. You felt it before you saw it: the heat gathering at the edge of his palms, golden light kindling across the skin like a forge blooming to life. You could see it dancing across the veins in his hands, threading between his fingers, burning hotter with each passing second–but never too hot for you. Not with how carefully he held you.

His eyes never left yours.

Then he brought the collar around your neck.

The gold was soft, pliable in his hands–but only for him. It shimmered like liquid starlight, the edges glowing bright and molten, yet somehow it never touched you directly. His palms cupped the edges, shielding you completely. A living barrier between the burn of divine fire and your fragile mortal skin.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered.

And you believed it with every part of yourself.

Your pulse fluttered beneath the collar thrumming against the metal, and he felt it–his breath hitched. You watched his expression shift as he began to mold it, guiding the softened edges together like a craftsman with ancient knowledge in his bones. Like he wasn’t just fitting you with gold, but shaping something ancient into permanence. The air thickened. Time slowed.

The collar came together at the back of your neck.

Then his hands pressed in.

There was no sound, only a faint hiss of melted gold sealing shut–and a sudden, impossible warmth.

Not painful. Not even hot. Just alive.

The metal pulsed once like a heartbeat syncing with your own. Then the glow began to fade, soft and slow, until all that remained was the faint shimmer of cooling gold and the soft breath of his exhale washing across your cheek.

He didn’t let go right away. He kept his hands there, cradling the sides of your neck, letting the collar settle. Letting the moment settle. You could feel the weight of it now. Not heavy. Not oppressive. But grounding. Certain. Final.

When he finally moved, he pulled back only a few inches, letting his gaze drop to the curve of your throat. His thumbs swept lightly across the edges of the collar, tracing the melted seams, the constellation map hidden inside, the thumbprints that were perfectly aligned over your pulse.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N…It’s beautiful on you.” You couldn’t find words to say back to him, so you just smiled, slow and warm and aching, as you raised your hand to touch the new accessory you would be wearing for the rest of your life. Your fingers skimmed over the metal, over the still-warm curve that sat perfectly against your skin, and you let out the tiniest breath of a laugh as your fingertips met the place where his fingerprints sat, sunken and permanent.

You let your thumb glide over it once. Twice.

“It…” You started, then stopped–overwhelmed again, before looking up into his golden irises, “…It feels like you’re still touching me.” His eyes searched yours with such tenderness that it made your throat tighten again.

”That’s the whole point…” He murmured, “You’ll always have me with you…And everyone will know you’re mine even when I’m not there.” You leaned in, your forehead pressing against his, the collar cool now against your neck but still pulsing with memory.

“I love it so much, Sentry…” You whispered, barely able to get the words out through the thickness in your chest.

His hands slid up slowly, cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that didn’t match the size or power of him. His thumbs swept softly beneath your eyes, and you felt the smooth weight of his wedding band where it rested against your skin–warm, steady, real. The contrast of it, metal and gold and mortal love, made you ache.

“I’m glad,” He said softly, and then he kissed you again.

It started delicately. Just his lips against yours, pressing his love into every part of your mouth. But it deepened quickly, building with every second like he was letting everything he felt bleed into the space between you. His tongue slid against yours, slow and warm and devastating, his hands cradling your face like something holy. He groaned into the kiss–just barely–but the sound alone made your knees feel weaker than they already were.

When he pulled back, you could see the spark in his eyes now, that burning edge starting to thread through his golden glow, darker, needier. His chest rose with steady, deliberate breaths, and his hands didn’t fall from your face.

“Now…” He whispered, his voice molten and thick, “…I want to take off that dress of yours so I can reunite with your body.” You nodded slowly, your eyes wide and warm with emotion–but you reached up and caught his wrist before he could start to move.

“I have to tell you something before we do that though,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. He froze. The flicker of hunger in his eyes softened instantly, replaced by that deep and immediate concern that only ever lived in Sentry’s gaze when it came to you.

“Is everything okay?” You nodded quickly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand where it hovered near your cheek.

”Yes…Yes, everything is fine. I just…” You drew in a breath, heart thudding against your ribs, “Bob and I decided that it was time we start trying…” Sentry blinked in shock, like he was waiting for the words to come out of your mouth to fully confirm what he was thinking.

”I’m off my birth control now.” You stated. The silence in the room changed–snapped tight, taut, electric.

You watched it happen.

The way his pupils dilated instantly, black bleeding outward like eclipses devouring suns. The golden glow around his irises flared and then seemed to tremble–threatening to burst into full godhood. His breath hitched hard, lips parting as he stared at you like you’d just whispered a prayer meant only for him. He gulped like he needed to physically swallow down the growl threatening to claw its way up his throat.

”I really…” He began, voice rough with restraint, “Really don’t want to ruin that beautiful dress of yours by ripping it off you…But if I don’t get it off soon…” His eyes dropped to the curve of your waist, where the corset hugged your form like a second skin, “I’m going to lose every last ounce of self-control I have left.” A breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped your throat, and your whole body flushed with heat at the sound of his voice.

“I thought you might like that little surprise,” You whispered, smugly, tilting your head just enough to meet his blown-out gaze. He growled this time, then rose to his full height in front of you, golden and godlike and utterly wrecked with devotion. He reached for you instantly, gripping your hands to help you up from the floor. The second you were on your feet again, he tugged you closer–your chest brushing his, your breath caught between his parted lips and yours.

”Oh, Y/N…” His hands slid up your arms, slow and trembling with awe, until they rested gently at your shoulders, “You don’t understand what kind of animal you’ve triggered inside me now that you’ve told me this…” His lips brushed your temple, his voice hot against your skin, “It’s the best surprise I’ve ever received in my lifetime.” You barely had time to breathe before his hands slid to your waist, then around your back. One palm settled at the base of your spine, the other skimming higher, up between your shoulder blades. His fingers tracing the intricate lacing of the corset.

“Now…” He said, voice deepening again into something dark and delicious. “Turn around for me…So I can undo the corset.” Your legs trembled as you turned in his arms, the collar around your throat shifting gently with the motion. You felt his breath catch behind you as his hands fell to your hips–broad, warm palms sweeping down the curve of your waist like he was touching something sacred. His fingertips glided across the fabric, slow and intentional, preparing to peel back each layer like he was unwrapping a celestial relic. Then–

A kiss.

Soft. Warm. Right at your shoulder.

The contact sent a shiver through you, and your fingers curled reflexively at your sides. You heard him exhale against your skin, felt the heat of it ghost down your spine. And then, with painstaking care, he reached for the lacing of your corset.

One pull. Then another.

The ribbons loosened.

You exhaled shakily as he continued–fingers working slowly, like he was teasing himself, exposing more and more of your bare back to him with each tug. The delicate lace whispered down your skin like a promise, and when the last tie gave way, the fabric slackened entirely.

And you felt it.

The breath he took when he saw you.

The weight of his silence.

He ran a hand–hot and shaking–up the length of your spine, fingertips grazing vertebrae like a prayer, before he pressed his lips between your shoulder blades. Then lower. Then lower still. He kissed every inch of skin that was unveiled to him, until he reached the edge of the gown pooled at your waist.

His hands slid to your hips, and he knelt behind you without a word.

The fabric rustled as he eased it down, past your thighs, letting it pool at your feet like fallen starlight.

And then…He groaned.

Loud. Open. Worshipful.

“I can smell you from here…” He breathed, completely wrecked, “I’m gonna die a happy man tonight.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin veil of your white lace underwear–feel the tremble in his breath, the ache in his grip. His palms splayed across your stomach, fingertips brushing the soft curve just above your navel. His hair tickled against the small of your back as his mouth trailed kisses over your skin. Slow. Devotional. Like he was remembering the sweetness of you, the saltiness that lined your body. You felt him breathe you in, the inhale trembling as it settled into his lungs. Then he paused, hands tightening slightly on your hips before he turned you to face him.

He stayed kneeling, still wrapped around your legs, his golden gaze dragging upward until it landed on your chest–bare now, your nipples perked from the cool air. His eyes darkened. His jaw slackened. You watched his breath catch again, like just seeing you like this was enough to level him.

“God…” He rasped, voice low and reverent, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His fingers flexed against your hips, trembling with restraint. Then he leaned in and pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach. You felt the sharp little nip of his teeth–a teasing bite just above your navel–and you gasped softly, your fingers finding their way into his thick hair, tugging instinctively. He kept his eyes on yours. Didn’t break the contact, not even once, even as he sucked a dark mark into the soft skin of your belly–branding you with the same worship he forged into the collar.

“You’re perfect,” He murmured, his breath hot against the fresh love bite, “Every single part of you is absolutely perfect.” When he finally rose to stand again, you felt yourself automatically reach for him, palms smoothing over his chest. The kiss-drunk haze in your eyes shifted into something hungrier as your fingers found the first button of his dress shirt. He watched you, lips parted, golden eyes hooded with heat as you worked each one open.

One by one.

Each exposed inch of skin made your breath catch.

Freckled shoulders. Honey-dusted clavicle. That broad, warm chest that you’d pressed your face into countless times before–but never like this. Never as his wife. Never with eternity hanging in the space between your bodies. Your eyes traced the way the light brushed across his pale skin turning it amber, illuminating his pecs, the freckles that scattered over his chest like constellations. His wedding band gleamed at the edge of your vision as he reached up and helped shrug the shirt from his shoulders. It hit the floor next to your dress with a soft sigh of fabric.

You didn’t even have time to admire before his hands were on you again–lifting you with effortless strength, your legs curling instinctively around his waist. You giggled, breathless and stunned from the sheer awe of it all as he carried you toward the bed. He set you down gently at the edge of the mattress, as if you were made of glass, then crouched in front of you again with a look that nearly undid you completely.

His large hands reached for your white heels, fingers brushing your ankle delicately as he undid the tiny buckles. His touch was careful. Worshipful.

“You’ve been in these all day…” He pointed out, voice thick with both concern and observation, “Let me take care of you…” The moment the first shoe slipped off, he brought your foot into his hands and began to massage it–his thumbs pressing slowly into your aching arch, working small circles that had your head tipping back slightly in pleasure. His fingers swept over the ball of your foot, your heel, then moved up–kneading gently at the delicate hinge of your ankle. You whimpered softly.

“I love you like this,” He whispered. “Soft and open and glowing.”

He removed the other shoe with the same care, letting it drop beside the bed. Then his thumbs slid up your calves, pressing into the muscle just enough to make you moan. Your thighs trembled as he kept touching, soothing, exploring.

“Sentry…” You breathed, your fingers curling into the comforter behind you, “You’re gonna make me cry…” He looked up at you then, catching your gaze as his lips parted in a shaky smile.

“That’s the idea,” he whispered. “I want you to cry from how good it feels. From how loved you are. How wanted.” His hands slid higher, fingers spreading across your thighs, thumbs pressing slow circles against your inner skin–so close to where you throbbed for him. He inhaled sharply as your legs parted for him, your thighs easing open just a few inches–an invitation, an offering. Sentry’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward again, kneeling between them.

The first kiss landed soft and molten on the inside of your right knee. Then the left. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, lips brushing featherlight circles against the sensitive flesh. You trembled under the weight of it–his worship, his restraint, the barely concealed hunger in the way he moved.

Then he stood.

His broad form loomed over you, golden light gilding every line of his body, casting shadows beneath the curve of his jaw, the slant of his collarbones. He reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers deft and precise. You watched the motion like it was sacred–hypnotized as the leather slid through the loops with a soft, deliberate hiss. Your eyes dropped lower.

He was already hardening beneath the fabric of his dress pants. Not fully–but undeniably aroused. The evidence of his need, swollen and pushing against the front of his slacks, made your breath catch in your throat. His control–the sheer effort it took not to devour you whole–was staggering.

You dragged your gaze back up just as he pushed his pants off his hips. They dropped to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric. He stepped out of them with grace, leaving him in nothing but black boxer-briefs that clung to his frame, and a gaze that burned.

Then his hand reached for your face again.

His fingers cupped your cheek. His thumb–warm and trembling slightly–dragged across your bottom lip. You parted your mouth for him without hesitation, your tongue flicking against the pad instinctively.

And then you sucked.

Soft and slow.

His breath shuddered. His body stilled. And for a long, delicious moment, he just stared down at you with his thumb in your mouth like he was trying not to melt into a puddle of gold on the spot.

Then, gently, he pulled it free with a wet pop.

His gaze dropped to your chest, where your nipples were already tight from the air and his attention, and he dragged that glistening thumb across one of them–slowly–painting your skin with your own saliva. You let out a little hum of pleasure at the sensation.

”Be a good girl…” He murmured, his voice low and devastating, “….Scoot back for me then lay down.” You shuffled back on trembling hands, letting your hips glide toward the gentler of the mattress, your skin kissed gold by the amber lighting. You lowered yourself slowly, the gauzy sheets cool against your bare back. He followed the movement with a gaze that could shatter stars.

Your thighs fell open more, soft and willing. And that was when he saw it.

The soaked lace between your legs.

Ruined.

His breath left him like it had been punched from his lungs. His hands flexed at his sides. His throat bobbed.

“Oh…my god,” He whispered, barely holding himself back as he moved between your legs. “You’re already wet for me, my sweet girl? Already soaked through your pretty little wedding lace?”

You bit your lip and nodded, breath shaky, heart slamming behind your ribs.

“I can smell how badly you need me,” He groaned, one palm bracing beside your hip on the bed, the other reaching up to cup your thigh and push it wider. “Look at you…Laid out for me on our wedding night…So beautiful, so perfect, so mine.” He settled between your thighs like a man taking his rightful place before an altar, eyes fixed to your body like a god studying a celestial map. His broad frame eclipsed everything else. And as his palms slid along the outside of your thighs–warm, steady, glowing faintly gold–he pressed the softest kiss to your belly.

Then another.

And another.

You gasped as his mouth opened fully on the next one–his tongue dragging slow and wet across your skin, leaving a glistening trail behind. Drool collected at the corner of his mouth, smearing slightly as he nuzzled into your stomach and groaned.

“God, I missed this,” He rasped, his voice husky with restraint and want, lips grazing the curve of your navel as he breathed you in. “You taste like warmth…Like skin and sweetness…Like a dessert.”

More saliva welled and dripped down, glistening in the golden lamplight as he dragged his mouth across the low slope of your belly–devotional, messy, claiming. He kissed a stripe up your abdomen, then licked it clean. His mouth opened again, tongue flattening as he lapped at the heat pooling just above your lace waistband.

You whimpered when his breath hit that sensitive edge, hips twitching upward.

He chuckled softly.

“So sensitive tonight,” He murmured, almost to himself, tracing his thumbs under the thin waistband of your underwear. “So ready…”

You bit your lip, nodding in anticipation, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Can I take these off?” He asked softly, already kissing the delicate band at your hip.

“Yes,” You whispered. “Please.”

He leaned back just enough to get a proper grip, then hooked his fingers gently beneath the lace. You lifted your hips for him–offering yourself–and he groaned again as he peeled the soaked fabric down your thighs in one slow, aching pull. Your legs stayed lifted, graceful and obedient, helping him guide the lace down past your knees and off in a single, smooth motion.

He held them for a moment.

Balled them up.

And brought them to his face.

The sound he made was obscene–nearly feral. A ragged inhale, like the scent alone could make him come undone.

“Fuck,” He whispered, voice low and reverent. “You smell like heaven.” His nostrils flared slightly as he ran his thumb across the soaked patch and held it there–before tossing them to the side so they weren’t blocking his view.

Then his gaze dropped to your core.

His breath caught in his throat.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

You were glistening. Dripping. Spread open in the golden light. Your folds were slick, flushed, glimmering in the warm air–and the sight of it unraveled something in him. He pressed your thighs wider–big hands guiding them apart like he was revealing a divine secret. Then he just stared.

“You’re so wet for me already…So fucking pretty like this. I could look at you forever.” You moaned softly, hips twitching, desperate for his mouth. But he wasn’t done worshipping you. He leaned in again, kissing your inner thigh with that same reverent heat. Then higher. Then higher.

Each kiss left wetness behind. Saliva. Passion. Devotion.

He bit gently next, teeth grazing the soft skin, then soothed it with his tongue. His hands never left your legs–palms sliding up and down, grounding you, holding you in place as he licked and sucked his way up the tender curve of your thigh, kissing every inch he could claim.

You writhed beneath him.

“Sentry, please…”

He didn’t stop. He reached the place where your inner thighs met, just shy of your center. He paused there. His nose brushed your slick folds, and your hips lifted reflexively–seeking contact, chasing heat. But he didn’t give it. Not yet.

He exhaled slowly against your core. The cool breeze of his breath hit your soaked core, and you gasped–shivering as your arousal throbbed, muscles clenching

“Beg me,” He whispered, his voice thick, guttural. “Beg me for my mouth, Y/N…I want to hear you.” His lips hovered. Just there. His breath ghosting against your skin. So close. So unbearably close. You whimpered–your body twitching, your thighs trembling, your hands curling in the sheets.

“Sentry please,” You panted, nearly sobbing. “Please, I need you to–fuck–I need your mouth. I need you to taste me. I need your tongue, your lips, your–god–just please, please, I want it so badly, I need it…” Your hips lifted again–offering. Desperate.

“Tell me it’s mine,” He growled, keeping himself in control from touching you, panting through clenched teeth as your need threatened to consume him.

“It’s yours,” You gasped, voice cracking, “All of me is yours. Forever. Please Sentry…Please I need your mouth. I need you to devour me.” His golden eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, hunger crashing through every line of his body.

Sentry leaned forward and pressed his mouth to you–open, wet, and groaning. His tongue flattened against your slick folds with an immediate need that made your hips buck, made your back arch off the bed. He groaned again, louder this time, the vibration dragging through your soaked skin as he licked a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring every inch.

“F-fuck…” You gasped, hands flying to his light brown hair, gripping tight as your thighs threatened to close around him–but his palms were already bracing you wide open. His fingers dug into your flesh possessively, keeping you spread for his mouth like you were a feast he’d waited lifetimes for.

He didn’t rush.

He lapped at you slowly, methodically, tongue swirling around your clit before dragging it down again, collecting your slick like it was meant only for him. You heard him swallow–and then moan.

“God, you’re dripping for me, sweetheart…” He rasped, pulling back just far enough to spit against your folds. The warm drool slid down between your lips and made you twitch, made you whimper. “You’re making such a fucking mess…I could drown in you.” Then he pressed back in. Deeper this time. Messier.

His mouth devoured you, tongue flicking and curling with slow, practiced control as he sucked your clit into his mouth, letting it slide free only to do it again, and again, and again. Wetness smeared across his chin, dripped down his jaw. He nuzzled deeper, grinding the bridge of his nose against your mound as he sucked and licked like he was starved–like this was the only thing that could satisfy centuries of longing. You choked on a moan, trembling beneath him, one hand flying to your mouth to muffle the broken sounds spilling out. Your thighs flexed, stomach fluttering, and he groaned again–loud, desperate–when your hips bucked against his face.

Then he paused. Just a breath. Just enough to pull his slick mouth back and pant against your heat, his lips swollen and wet, chin glistening with your arousal.

And he looked up at you, eyes smoldering.

“You taste like something I was made to worship,” He said, voice rough velvet. “I’d stay between your thighs every night for the rest of eternity if you let me.”

Your chest was heaving now, nipples peaked, slick coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you, and still, you needed more.

But he wasn’t finished.

“I want you to breathe deeply for me now,” He whispered, dragging two fingers up through your slick folds, watching them glisten. “In through your nose, slow…Deeper…” You obeyed.

“And again,” he said, slipping his fingers just barely into your entrance, teasing. “Keep going. I want you to do it until you get lightheaded… then stop. Absorb that fucking feeling.”

You took another breath–long and full–and the edges of your vision started to shimmer. Your body trembled. He was so close. Too close.

And then–

He pushed two fingers inside.

Your mouth dropped open with a gasp as the stretch filled you perfectly, his fingers slow, deep, curling just enough to make your vision blur. He twisted them slightly, angling just right, and your walls clenched around him instantly.

“Thaaat’s it,” He groaned, licking a hot stripe back up to your clit. “You’re so tight, baby. So fucking soft. You’re already trying to pull me in. You gonna come for me?” You whimpered, nodding frantically as your hips rocked in rhythm with his thrusts.

“I need you to,” He said, lips brushing your clit between wet kisses. “Need to feel you lose it on my fingers before I fill you up with something even better.” He dipped lower again, lips and tongue working your clit in perfect counterpoint to the slow curl of his fingers. Each pump sent fire licking up your spine. Each flick of his tongue made your whole body seize with tension.

“Can’t wait to fuck this pretty little pussy of yours. Can’t wait to know that I fucked a baby into you.” He whispered into your core.

And your orgasm hit like lightning.

Your whole body snapped tight around his fingers, your thighs shaking, cries muffled by the hand you slapped over your mouth as pleasure ripped through your core and shattered you wide open.

Sentry moaned into your climax, fingers still working you through it, tongue never once letting up. He licked you through the aftershocks, slow and possessive, drinking down every drop of your slick like it was holy.

Only when your thighs finally trembled too hard to hold you open did he slow.

He kissed your inner thigh once. Then again. And only then did he pull back, face soaked, eyes molten with devotion and lust.

“You’re fucking perfect,” He whispered. His breath was still ragged against your inner thigh when he finally rose, his face soaked in your slick, jaw glistening in the dim amber light as he crawled up the length of your trembling body. You felt the heat of him everywhere–his palms dragging up your thighs, his chest brushing yours, his mouth hovering just above your skin as he loomed over you.

Then he lowered himself again.

His lips found your left breast–warm and reverent–as he mouthed around your nipple, tongue circling it slowly before he sucked. Your hips arched into him with a sharp gasp as he groaned deep in his chest, like just the taste of your skin could unravel him. His free hand braced your waist while the other cupped your other breast, fingers spreading wide, thumbing gently at the untouched peak as he sucked harder.

Wet heat. A pop. Then teeth.

He pulled off with a slick sound and immediately dragged his mouth to the other nipple, biting down just enough to make your breath stutter, then laving over it with his tongue to soothe the sting. His mouth worked you like worship, like this moment had been carved into his memory before it ever happened. And you writhed beneath him–gasping, moaning, curling your fingers into the sheets–completely undone by the way he devoured you like a starving god.

“Sentry–” You whimpered, the sound half-shattered.

He hummed around you again, vibrating through your nipple, and when he finally pulled back, both peaks were spit-slick, bitten, red, and achingly hard.

Then he looked up at you–hair mussed, lips swollen, chin gleaming.

And he climbed.

He slid his body flush against yours, hips grinding slow between your open thighs, his cock straining hot and soaked through the front of his boxers. You felt it drag against your skin, wetness smearing your thigh, and it made you whimper. His face hovered just above yours now, lips parted, breath ghosting over your cheek.

“God, look at you,” He whispered, reverent and hungry. “Laid out like a dream come true.”

And then he kissed you.

Messy. Starving. Tongue deep.

You could taste yourself on him–thick and sweet, laced into every swipe of his tongue. The kiss wasn’t gentle anymore. It was possessive, devastating. He groaned when you bit his lower lip, and then he shoved his tongue back into your mouth like he couldn’t get deep enough.

And then–mid-kiss–he pulled back just barely, lips hovering above yours.

His mouth opened.

And he spit into yours.

Slow. Sensual. Controlled.

The warm weight of it slid across your tongue, and you swallowed it without hesitation, moaning as your eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuck,” He growled, his forehead pressed against yours, panting, “You’re gonna ruin me tonight…”

You reached down and grabbed at his hips, trying to grind against the heat trapped between you, but he grunted softly and rutted against your thigh instead–still clothed, still leaking through the front of his briefs.

The pressure made you keen.

“Sentry…” You gasped, nearly sobbing, “Please…I need you so fucking bad. I need you to fuck me so good I feel it tomorrow morning–please, I want it. I want you.” He groaned–loud, guttural–and pushed his hips into yours again, the friction of his cock grinding through your slick making both of you shiver.

Then he rose up just enough to push his boxers down. They caught briefly around his thick thighs before sliding to his knees. And you saw him–bare, flushed, heavy and leaking, thick with the kind of need that only came from centuries of yearning.

He stroked himself slowly, precum glistening across the flushed head.

“This is what you want?” He asked, voice low and breathless, running his thumb over the slit. The thick head gleamed with slick, his knuckles flexing as he gave himself one long pump from base to tip.

“Yes,” You gasped. “Yes, I want it so bad…”

His golden eyes burned down into yours, and then–slowly, torturously–he leaned forward and dragged the head of his cock through your folds.

Your slick clung to him immediately, coating him with wetness as he rutted once, then again–gliding through the heat of you, smearing precum and arousal across your swollen entrance.

He groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck…You’re so wet for me, baby…So messy, just from my mouth and my fingers…Look at you, already begging for more.” He teased the head of his cock against your entrance, not pushing in–just dragging it back and forth, pressing slightly, then retreating, letting your bodies rub together in thick, soaked friction.

Your hips rocked up instinctively.

“Sentry,” You whimpered, “Please, I need to feel you.” He leaned in, his cock poised right at your entrance, pulsing.

“You’re gonna take every inch of me, sweetheart,” He whispered against your lips, “And I’m gonna make sure you feel me leaking out of you when you wake up tomorrow.” His cock dragged one last slow pass through your soaked folds, and you whimpered beneath him–hips lifting, thighs trembling, your whole body vibrating with want.

Then–finally–he pushed in.

The head stretched you first. Thick and blunt and perfect. The slowest, most delicious pressure blooming through your core as your core gave way around him inch by aching inch. You gasped, body arching, hands grabbing at his arms as your walls clung to him, pulsing at the intrusion. He groaned deep in his throat, forehead falling to your shoulder as he stilled halfway in, breath shaking against your skin.

“Fuck, you’re always so tight…And so fucking warm…” He hissed, golden eyes fluttering closed. “You’re pulling me in like a siren.” He pushed deeper, hips pressing forward as you moaned beneath him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, dragging him closer. The stretch stung and sang in equal measure. But it wasn’t pain–it was pressure, fullness, the incredible, sacred ache of being opened by someone who worshipped you.

And Sentry did. Every breath he took said it. Every inch he gave you. He leaned in and kissed your neck–right above the collar he’d sealed around your neck–his lips hot and trembling. Then he kissed your jaw. And then, finally, your mouth.

It was messy. Open. Devotional.

You whimpered into his lips as he finally bottomed out–one long, slow push until his hips were flush to yours and his cock kissed the very edge of your cervix. You cried out at the sensation, clinging to him, your fingers digging into his back.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, your body pulsing helplessly around him. “You’re so deep…” He didn’t move right away. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting your body flutter and tighten around him, letting your warmth sear every inch of him. And then he pulled back–just barely–and began to thrust.

Slow and deep.

A rhythm that felt like prayer.

Each stroke made you keen beneath him. Each grind of his hips pressed the head of his cock right against that sensitive spot inside you that made your vision blur. You locked your ankles behind him, meeting each roll of his body with a soft gasp and a shudder.

“Fuck,” He groaned, voice strained, “You’re so good for me…so warm…so wet…I can feel you squeezing me.” Your nails dragged down his back–leaving red streaks in your wake–and he hissed, hips jerking into yours just a little rougher. His hand shot to yours immediately, grabbing it, gripping it, and pressing it flat to the pillow above your head–his palm locking yours there, grounding you beneath his body.

“Easy, sweetheart…” He murmured, “I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.” You moaned again–your voice shaking as he pressed in deeper.

“Please…Sentry…” You gasped, “I want you to fuck a baby into me.” His grip on your hand tightened against the pillow, palm flat against yours, fingers laced like he was anchoring himself to your body–to your soul–as his hips kept rolling into you with aching, deliberate depth. Each thrust drove him farther, each grind made you cry out beneath him, a trembling, desperate wreck clinging to his warmth and weight and power.

“Yeah?” He rasped, his voice wrecked and golden, each word punched out with a slow, deep thrust that made your legs shake. “That’s what you want, hmm? You want to grow my light inside you?” You sobbed beneath him, your body writhing, the collar cool now against your flushed throat as your back arched off the mattress in surrender. Your other hand clawed at his shoulder, dragging down through the heat of his freckled skin.

“Yes,” You gasped, “Please…Oh my god–I want it so bad–I want you to fill me with your cum, I want it to take–I want your light, Sentry–please give it to me.” His growl tore through the air like thunder.

His hips snapped forward. The rhythm shifted–slower now, but brutal. Deeper. His cock dragged thick through your soaked walls with every thrust, pushing so far inside you that your vision went blurry, your breath stuttered. Your body answered him with every roll of your hips, every squeeze of your core milking him for more. You were soaked–dripping down his cock, slick smearing across your thighs, between your ass cheeks, coating the sheets beneath you like the proof of devotion it was.

He leaned in, his forehead pressed to yours, panting open-mouthed into your kiss-slick lips. The sound of his thrusts filled the room–filthy, wet, sacred. The slap of skin. The groan of the bed.

His golden eyes never left yours.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growled against your lips, his voice a broken promise. “I’m gonna fuck it into you, baby–so deep you won’t be able to keep it from taking. You’re gonna feel it leaking out of you all night. You’re gonna sleep with my cum dripping from you and my collar around your throat.” You whimpered, already so close to the edge you could feel it blooming again, the pressure cresting in your belly.

“Please, Sentry,” You begged, voice high and shaking, “Give it all to me–please, I want it, I need it…Don’t hold back. Mark me.” That broke him. With a strangled moan, he slammed into you–hips grinding deep, his cock driving as far as it could possibly go–and he came.

Hot.

Violent.

Endless.

You could feel it. The way his cock twitched inside you. The way his whole body shuddered and went still, pressing every last drop into your core like a gift from the sun itself. Thick pulses of heat flooded you, spurting straight against your cervix. You cried out, mouth open, the sensation too much and not enough all at once, your walls clenching greedily around him, milking him for more.

And above you–Sentry moaned. A sound so deep, so devastated, it echoed through the whole room. His face crumpled with it, his chest shaking, his body trembling like his godhood was splintering beneath the weight of it all.

And then–

The lights flickered off like the universe had momentarily short-circuited from the sheer force of what he’d given you. his body collapsed slowly–like a falling star caught in the gravity of its own devotion.

His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, damp with sweat, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. You could feel the rapid flutter of his chest pressed to yours, his ribs expanding with every desperate inhale. His cock throbbed gently where he was still buried deep inside you, and the warmth of his cum began to leak out around his softening length, slick and thick between your thighs.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

You simply laid there, trembling beneath him, his weight blanketing you, grounding you. One of his hands cradled your thigh, still slung loosely around his hip. The other found your palm, lacing your fingers together where they rested above your head.

The collar was still cool against your throat–but you could feel it now like a second heartbeat. A brand of light. A bond sealed in gold.

After a few long breaths, he kissed your shoulder.

Then again, slower.

And when he pulled his lips away, his voice was wrecked with softness and satisfaction.

“If it doesn’t take tonight…” He murmured, his words featherlight, lips brushing your collarbone as he spoke, “We’re going to be fucking like rabbits the entire week to make sure it does.”

You laughed gently, breath hitching as you tilted your head toward his.

“I agree.”

He smiled into your skin. The kind of smile that made his body melt a little more into yours. The kind that lit the inside of your ribs on fire.

He stayed there for a while longer, letting your breathing sync again, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. You curled your arms around him, fingers combing through the mess of his hair, smoothing the strands where sweat had made them stick to his neck. He groaned softly, leaning into your touch.

Eventually, he propped himself up with a little grunt, cock slipping out of you with a wet, slow stretch. You winced at the loss, gasping softly at the warm trail that followed in his wake–his cum spilling down your folds and onto the sheets.

His eyes dropped to your core, pupils dilating again at the sight.

“You’re dripping,” He said quietly. You could only nod, too dazed to speak.

He reached up and brushed your hair from your face, then kissed your cheek, your lips, your temple.

“I’m gonna grab a warm towel and get you cleaned up,” He whispered, his voice velvet. “Stay right here. Don’t move.”

He pulled on his boxers again, tucking himself in, and padded off barefoot toward the bathroom. The sound of water running low and steady reached your ears as you lay back on the sheets–still flushed, thighs sticky, heart fluttering.

You touched the collar at your throat.

You traced the sunken swirl of his fingerprints. It hummed faintly against your pulse, like it was alive. Like it was listening.

A few moments later, he returned. He knelt beside the bed, a small towel in his hand, steam still curling from it. His movements were slow, deliberate. Gentle. He started at your thighs, dabbing away the slick that had smeared along the insides, careful not to press too hard on your sore muscles. His other hand braced your knee, thumb stroking little circles as he worked.

You watched his face the whole time.

How focused he was. How tender.

He cleaned between your legs next, murmuring soft apologies when your body twitched from oversensitivity. His touch was reverent. Thorough. Patient. He wiped away every trace of cum that had spilled out of you, making sure no part of you felt anything less than cherished. He even pressed a soft kiss to your knee when he finished, like a final seal of care.

Then he tossed the towel aside and rose to his feet again, gently lifting you into his arms with ease.

You curled into him instinctively–head against his chest, arms looped loosely around his neck–and he carried you into the ensuite bathroom.

Steam fogged the mirror. The scent of cedar and lavender drifted up from somewhere, and the overhead light had been dimmed to a soft amber glow.

He set you down on the closed toilet seat, grabbing another towel and wetting it with cooler water this time. He knelt again, dabbing at your chest, wiping the sheen of sweat from your breasts, your stomach, your collarbone. He kissed each area as he cleaned it–little presses of his lips that felt more like blessings than affection.

When he was done, he dried you off slowly. Then stood and disappeared for a moment–returning with one of his oversized black t-shirts.

“I want you to wear this,” He said softly, “Just for tonight. I want you covered in something that smells like me.”

You smiled. “You’re getting possessive again.”

His golden eyes darkened as he pulled the shirt gently over your head, helping you slip your arms through the sleeves.

“I made a collar for you, remember?” He said, brushing your hair out from where it had caught in the fabric. “I’m not possessive. I’m devoted.”

You melted.

He helped you to your feet, kissed you again, then turned off the bathroom light.

Back in the bedroom, the sheets had been straightened. A bottle of water waited on the nightstand beside a small chocolate you didn’t remember seeing earlier. Sentry climbed into bed first–laying on his back, broad chest rising and falling steadily. He reached for you instantly.

You curled up against him, one leg slung over his, your arm draped across his stomach. His arm slid beneath you, cradling your shoulders, his other hand drifting up to find the collar around your throat.

He rested his palm there. Flat. Warm.

And he didn’t move it.

“I love you,” He whispered.

“I love you too,” You breathed back, your voice full of sleep and satisfaction.

He kissed your forehead one last time, then let his eyes close.

You drifted off like that–wrapped in his arms, the collar gleaming faintly at your throat, and the slow, steady weight of his palm reminding you that you were safe, you were loved, and you were his.

Forever.

[highladyofterrasen7]

[jazziejax]

They’re the same guy.

[almendriww]

I loved Thunderbolts*, that moment when you have to defeat god with a knife and a gun

[myleonenciso]

Judgemental Divas

[papanowo]

can we fuckingk... make these guys more wacky please...

[rhettrosunsets]

Too Much? - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Thunderbolt Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You knew you could be a bit much, a bit too excited, a bit too talkative, a bit too loud even at times? But you loved yourself, and that included those things. But after a rough day, your brain spirals and tries to convince you otherwise. But when things get too much for you to handle, Bob is right there to pick up the pieces and assure you that you're just enough.

Masterlist

Warnings: Reader overthinks a lot in this. Reader has some self deprecating thoughts wondering if she's off putting, too much, etc. Bob calls reader petnames like Baby and Sweetheart. Reader is described to be very talkative most times and very bright. Reader sort of shows ADHD symptoms but it is never mentioned (based off my own experiences.) Bob and reader cuddle on the couch. Reader doesn't eat lunch cause she's feeling off. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.

Edited ✅

Notes: This is based off of things I have felt at some points with ADHD. Reader is not described as having ADHD, however some of her traits do link up to some of the things you see with ADHD. Like I said her traits are based off mine, and everyones experiences may be different! ❤️

You weren’t sure when you had started second guessing yourself again.

It wasn't something you had made a habit of since becoming a member of the thunderbolts. You'd began to truly love yourself for you since being on this team, and you had done so much healing.

Maybe it was just the kind of day it had been? You’d had a rough day of training, your body ached and was sore. You hadn't expected to feel so exhausted, but exhaustion didn't typically cause this.

Maybe it was when you’d tried to joke around with Yelena. Your normal partner in crime when it came to your long banter and tangents. She always indulged with you and would often joke back, but she was too exhausted to even think about trying to banter with you in the hall after you guys had finished up.

It had left you alone with your thoughts and a dejected feeling you hadn't felt since you were a kid and tried to go up to others and they'd ignore you. Just finding you off-putting or too much for them. You knew Yelena meant no harm, she was simply exhausted just like you were, but while you knew that your body seemingly didn't and it unleashed a wave of unwelcomed thoughts into your brain all at once.

Now a few hours later you’d barely touched your lunch, and that should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong. Your mind was just swirling with thoughts, and you couldn’t get them to leave you alone.

It was like a complete overload of every negative thought all hitting you at once, overthinking every choice you've made recently. Did you speak too loudly? Did the joke not land the way you wanted that one time and you never noticed? Did everyone hate you and you just were blissfully unaware? The thoughts just wouldn't stop and they were slamming at the fore front of your poor brain.

You always wondered if you were just a bit too much, a bit too offputting. You’d always been a bit loud in your own way, always trying to light up the room, as awkward silences just made you cringe.

You know people would get frustrated when you’d go on long stories with a thousand mini stories in between, but it was just how you were, you couldn't help the way you told stories. But now? Now you were wondering if that was too much this whole time.

The tower halls were quiet as you padded through them. You felt like a ghost in your own body at this point. You felt swallowed alive in your favorite hoodie, and like your pants were too itchy even though they were your favorite sweats that you wore on bad days.

You didn’t even really know where your body was taking you too, until you had walked into the living room and saw Bob.

Your boyfriend who knew you like the back of his hand.

He was sitting on the couch in soft sweats and his blue hoodie. He was reading a book that you had recommended to him. You had gone on a long tangent about the love arc and how much it had annoyed you but how much you loved it anyways. His hair was slightly falling into his face as he looked down at the book on his lap.

He looked so peaceful, so content, and you didn't want to ruin that peace. But you also really wanted your boyfriend right now. He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps. His eyes are soft and lit up like always when he sees you. “Hey, baby.” he says gently, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.” you whispered, your voice light and barely there while your gaze was focused on your fuzzy sock clad feet, rather than your boyfriend in front of you.

He frowned a bit in concern. You were never this quiet, you were always, well? You. 

You were always so bright and talkative. You laughed at your own jokes, even when they were terrible. You'd get distracted mid sentence by your own thoughts and ramble into something else before finishing the story. You bounced when you walked when you were excited. You told long stories about the smallest things even if the conversation could’ve been cut in half.

And you had somehow even made Bucky chuckle with your ridiculous theory about who on the team would survive the longest in a haunted house. You had said Bob because “if you think about it, he technically was kinda like a haunted house that one time” before promptly gasping and covering your mouth when you realize what you had implied. He’d laughed at that, even if you apologized a thousand times afterwards because you said your brain had seemingly disconnected from your mouth.

But right now, you just looked defeated. You were swallowed in a big hoodie and sweats, your face was set in a sad frown, and your eyes just seemed dull. And Bob didn’t like it one bit.

Bob sat up straight and reached his hand out to you, before motioning and whispering a soft “C’mere, baby.”

You didn’t even hesitate. even when your brain was completely spiraling your body always trusted him. You curled up beside him slowly, like you were afraid to move too fast, your brain still spiraling with thoughts of being too much.

He gently tugged you closer until your head was resting on his lap and your arms were tucked close to your chest as he draped a soft blanket over you. 

His hand went to your temple immediately, warm and soothing as brushed gentle soothing motions across your temple and cheek bone. “Bad day?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn't ask for details and he didn’t push you. That was part of why you’d fallen for him so fast, he was calm and patient and always made you feel confident in who you were as a person.

But the silence stretched for too long and even with your head in his laps and Bob’s soothing motions, your thoughts still spiraled. You felt so off. Like the spark that made you, you had just sputtered out completely. You began doubting everything you knew, and while you knew so much of it was self sabotage and your brain playing mean tricks, you just couldn't shake it.

Bob must’ve noticed the way your shoulders curled tighter, and the way your eyes started to glisten as a tear slowly slipped down your cheek.

 His hand stilled it’s soothing motions and he quickly whispered, “Hey.” His voice was soft as he continued “What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I just-I don’t feel like myself today. And I know I talk too much and I know I ramble and say dumb stuff and it's like my mouth doesn't connect to my brain sometimes and it’s probably annoying and I’m sorry I’m so-”

“Hey.” He said it a little firmer that time as his thumb resumed its gentle motions. “Don’t do that, Baby. Don’t ever apologize for being you.”

You blinked up at him, tears still slipping down your cheeks slowly.

“I love that you talk so much, baby. I love that you’re always telling me about your day or your insane theories, or the random stuff you think about when you can’t sleep. I even love you when you ask me if I'd still love you if you were a worm."

You tried to look away, embarrassed at how you were feeling, but his hand gently guided your gaze back to him making sure he got his point across to you. “You know what your voice is to me?” he asked.

You shook your head no.

“It’s grounding. It helps keep me here on my bad days. You keep me here, baby. You talk, and I feel safe because I know you’ll always love me, even on my worst days.”

The lump in your throat got heavier, as you tried not to outright start sobbing in your boyfriend's lap.

He continued softly, his voice staying a quiet melodic hum as he talked “when you shut down like this, I know you’re hurting baby. And I hate that. It's not because you’re being quiet, but because I know it means something inside you is trying to convince you that you’re too much. But you don’t know that you could never be too much, sweetheart. I always want more of you, because I love you.”

And that's when the floodgates broke.

Small broken sobs escaped your mouth as you covered your eyes with your hands, just feeling so confused by the different emotions and thoughts in your head. Your breathing picking up as your body just reaches it's breaking point of becoming overwhelmed.

Bob quickly told you to breathe with him, and copy his breaths. And you tried, and after a few more shaky tries, your chest loosened a little. You were still shaky and tears were still slipping past your eyes, but you felt lighter.

“There you are.” Bob whispered softly as he saw your breathing begin to slow, and the way you sagged a bit more into his lap.

You sniffled burying your face into the soft fabric of Bob’s sweats. “I don’t wanna be like this, I hate this. I just feel broken, and I don’t understand why.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with needing to cry. Everyone has off days and I’m not going anywhere. I love you loud and I love you quiet. You don’t have to be a certain version of yourself for me to stay, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes as you nodded, his voice was so calming and so steady that it felt like almost a lullaby.

Bob looked at you relaxing as he spoke and then an idea popped into his head. He knew you loved reading when you were tired, and he knew how much his voice was helping you right now. So what better than to read to you.

“I have an idea baby.” he said after a moment. He reached for the book he’d left open, gently shifting your head just enough to rest more comfortably in his lap, readjusting the blanket over you and then he opened the book, his thumb brushing a few pages before he found his bookmark.

He started reading his voice low and slow. His other hand not holding the book stayed rubbing your temple and cheek, occasionally rubbing over your shoulder and rubbing some of the tension out.

It was so soothing, and the longer he read the more the ache in your chest faded away to nothing, your eye's blinking slower and slower by the minute.

Bob paused, before he went to turn to the next page, gently whispering into your ear. “I think the next time you start worrying you talk too much, I’m gonna remind you how much I love the sound of your voice.”

You sniffled, a soft smile beginning at your lips. “Even when I go on long tangents about which of us would win in a pillow fight?” you ask as you look up at him, your voice still teary.

“Especially then, baby. And for the record, my money’s still on Ava.” he said, grinning down at you. “She phases through things! That's like cheating.” You exclaim as your voice cracks a bit. “That’s strategy.” he countered back, squeezing your shoulder gently, with a soft shake.

You giggled, it came out a little watery but it was still a giggle.

Bob's face lit up like he’d just won the lottery with that single laugh. “There’s my girl.” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You shifted slightly, just enough to curl deeper into his lap as your arms wrapped around his knee. “I love you.” you whispered out, but with a soft smile gracing your face this time.

Bob leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, his fingers reaching up to wipe the remaining tears before whispering. “I love you, too. Good days, bad days. I love all of you, baby, and I'll always remind you of it.”

You smile and closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him and the softness of his voice reading to you soothe you into a soft sleepy state.

Maybe tomorrow would be better, maybe not.

But tonight with him holding you and reading your favorite book to you? You felt just a little more like yourself again, and that's all that mattered.

[winterghosted]

do you realise how fucked up this group has to be when bucky barnes is the most stable out of all of them

[quinceyhellebore]

[trainer-from-unova]

[monkey-shines-shenanigans]

I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED THIS OMG

Bucky is a professional paperback ruiner and Bob plays stardew valley :P

wintersentry dates mostly involve them sharing space while doing their own thing (bucky is kinda intrigued by bob’s game tho😌)

[strwbrrs-r-nice]

i want 50 avengers tower fanfics of the thunderbolts on my desk by morning do you hear me

[stevenrogered]

THUNDERBOLTS* (2025) | dir. Jacob Schreier

[idk-karla]

The Neighbor, pt. 3.5

Summary: The Thunderbolts follow Bucky to spy on his mystery crush

Author's Note: I love them. My cute scrappy weirdos.

Masterlist

Yelena tried. She tried very hard to keep the secret to herself. But Bob gave her that sad look when they were watching a movie that same night and she spilled the beans. It didn’t take much longer for Alexei and Ava to find out. Much less to formulate a plan to follow Bucky the next time he left the compound.

Yelena was dressed in an oversized hoodie and sunglasses like she was avoiding paparazzi on a grocery run. Bob had somehow managed to cram all six-and-a-half feet of himself onto a tiny red Vespa he’d “borrowed” from a tech who was definitely going to file a complaint. Ava phased through alley walls to keep pace without being seen. Alexei had chosen a plant costume with the fakest green ever created. Why? No one asked.

Meanwhile, John was leaping across rooftops like a raccoon, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. In his defense, no one told him about Bucky’s crush OR that the entire team had decided to stalk him.

They all thought they were being subtle. Inconspicuous. But the Winter Soldier always knew when he was being followed. He let them tail him for two blocks, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

Then he stopped. Dead stop.

Bob, trying to brake too fast, skidded the Vespa directly into a trash can. It toppled with a dramatic crash, sending the lid clanging down the sidewalk and Bob lurching forward with a startled yelp. The whole thing was straight out of cartoon.

Yelena froze mid-step, sunglasses slipping down her nose. She muttered a curse under her breath.

Bucky turned around slowly, sighed like a man who’d aged ten years in ten seconds, and asked flatly, “Are you serious?”

Yelena just huffed and stomped over to help Bob untangle himself. Ava popped in beside them like a jump scare.

Bob, wheezing as he dragged the Vespa upright, lifted a finger. “Just so we’re clear, I didn’t want to follow you. Yelena said we were just going for a ride”

“On that?” Bucky gestured to the Vespa like it had personally offended his honor.

Yelena waved them both off. “We were heading to the market. Together. Totally unrelated.”

“So why is Alexei dressed like a chia pet?”

“I am not chia pet. I am real plant.” A very russian accent piped up from a very not real plant. 

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the soft whir of a drone caught his ear. He looked up.

“Walker!” he barked at the drone hovering just overhead. “What the hell?”

The drone dipped lower. “I was just trying to figure out what was going on,” came John’s voice through the speaker.

“You’re all ridiculous. Learn some boundaries. Go to therapy or something.” He was mad. Maybe. 70%. The other 30%… yeah, okay, it was a little funny.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Ava said, arms crossed. “This from the guy who didn’t speak for three years then suddenly started smiling like he found narnia.”

“We just wanted to see your… friend,” Bob added innocently.

Neighbor friend.Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to fight off a smile at the memory.

"What is Chia Pet?" Alexei asked, disguise abandoned.

Bucky turned on his heel. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait! Wait!” Bob called. “We brought disguises! I have a fake mustache, and Yelena has wigs!”

“I’m going to dinner, not undercover.”

Bob looked genuinely disappointed.

Yelena, smirking, fell into step beside him anyway. “So… does she like glitter? Or was that just her kid?”

Bucky cursed under his breath.

He was never living that glittery postcard down.