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jungkoode · 3 months ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

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His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This.

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either.

Not that you could ever tire of him.

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway.

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck.

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling.

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator.

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight.

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there.

A warning.

A tease.

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you.

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make.

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two.

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together.

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something.

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you.

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

“Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right.

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical.

Yeah.

Practical.

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot.

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point?

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish.

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent.

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.

Except there’s one problem: his arm.

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here.

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t.

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had.

After Tuesday.

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you.

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked.

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him.

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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fictionalmenxyn · 9 months ago

Text

ꨄ𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭ꨄ

Pairing: Drew Starkey x actress!reader (established relationship) (prompt, see post below for context/what prompt is)

(Also ik Drew has sister/s. Idk how old they actually are so imma make it up to fit the story line) (reqs are open!!!)

Warnings: language, SMUT, p in v, no mentions of protection (wrap before you tap), detailed-ish smut. (First smut post so sos if it’s bad!)

𐬺ꨄ𐬺

Being back in your hometown felt great. After finishing the latest season of Outer Banks, you both wanted a small break. So that’s exactly what you did.

It was currently 11:38pm, all the younger siblings were in the basement. You were the eldest out of your siblings. You had two brothers and one sister. Your sister was 17 as your brothers were 15 and 13. Drew’s sisters were both 18 and 19.

You and Drew were in the kitchen. While all the siblings were in the movie room (your parents converted basement). You wore one of Drew’s grey sweatshirts and a pair of (has favourite) navy cycling shorts. Drew wore some grey sweats, his Calvin waistband poking out of the waistband of his sweats.

You sat on the island counter, a bowl of grapes in your lap. Drew leaned against the counter opposite you. You were watching something on your phone, he just watched you. God he could eat you up, right here, right now.

He stepped forward, standing between your legs. He placed the bowl down onto the counter next to you. He placed his hands either side of you, on the counter. “Hey, baby?” You look up to him. “Yeah?”

He grinned a little “you know… we haven’t had, ‘us’ time in a while… with all the filming and stuff… and you here, in my sweatshirt and those little navy shorts you know I love dearly… makes me think things…”

You smiled, putting your phone down “oh yeah? What things?�� He chuckled lowly, moving his face closer to yours “well, all our siblings are in the basement… our parents are all over my parents place… we could head up to your room?” You smirked. Pecking his lips “sure, ba-”

Next thing you know you’re over his shoulder as he carried you to your room.

He opened the door with his spare hand. Then closing it with his foot. He walked over to your bed and placing you down.

Climbing, so he’s hovering over you. He moves his lips against yours. Kissing you as if he hasn’t in years. Drew was one for physical touch, he was heavy on hand holding and kisses. You kiss back, matching his energy. He groaned against your lips. He pulled away, only a centimetre. He whispered “god missed this, so much… gonna take you, right here.. right now, okay baby?” You nodded “yeah…”

His hands go to your thighs, pulling them apart. Letting himself kneel between them. He starts to kiss you again as his hands rub your thighs gently. His hands soon get to the waistband of your cycling shorts. He mumbled against your lips “love these shorts… but they gotta go… getting in the way of my sweet girl…” he tugs down your cycling shorts in one swift movement. Discarding your shorts to the floor.

His hips pressed against your pantie covered entrance. You hummed “fuck, Drew…miss you…” he knew what you were referring to. “Yeah? Missed my cock, babe?” You nodded. He grinned. He rolled his hips against you. Causing a soft gasp. God you could never get over how big he was. Being lovers for three and a half years, still you couldn’t fathom how huge he was. Still took all of him though, which he loved.

He rolled his hips again, he groaned “fuck baby…” he grabbed both waistbands of his sweats and boxers. Taking them off together, at the same time. Making him completely naked. He climbed back between you. You softly moaned as you felt him rub against you. He grinned “shall we get rid of this, sweetheart?” He tugs on your panties. You nod, not wanting to waste anytime.

You were completely bare, besides the oversized sweatshirt of his still on you. Just how he liked you, bare, but in his clothes.

He rubbed against you again. He groaned at how excited you could get, every time. Seeing you drenched for him, made him feral. He slowly pushed in, making small rolls as he adds more of himself to you. Causing soft moans each thrust.

Once he was completely in, you leaned down onto you. His face close to yours “gonna make you feel so good, sweet girl… I love you… so much.” You press a kiss to his forehead “I love you too, Drew.”

His fingertips rub up your forearms. Then interlocking and holding your hands into the mattress.

He started to slowly thrust, causing you to gasp. The noises becoming music to his ears. He slowly started to lick up the pace. His one hand lets go of yours, moving under the sweatshirt and needing your breast softly and lovingly.

Meanwhile, downstairs, both girls from each side were wanting you both for help. The coffee machine wasn’t working, only you and Drew knew how it works. Since both parents were over Drew’s family’s house; you two were their only help.

Drew moved his hand down from your chest to your thigh. Pushing it into the mattress more. His thrusts started to get sloppy and quick, every other would be hard thrusts.

You were a moaning mess, Drew smiles, knowing he does this to you. And only you.

Drew spoke “fuck, you look so good..taking all of me, like a good girl… always one f’me aren’t ya? Love when I fill you, don’t you?” You nodded. Your head tilting back into the pillows. He smiled.

Drew picked up the pace, moving the fastest he could go. You could feel the edge staring to come. You were almost there, about to finish. He could feel it, he was almost there too. Loving how you feel against him “feelin’ so good f’me baby… ssshhiitt…” he moaned. You rolled you eyes as his thrust became harder than before.

Both sisters headed upstairs, to the second floor. They walked down the hallway. As they got closer to your room, they walked over to the door.

You mumble to Drew “Drew, fuck… hmm shit.. gonna- ohhh…” Drew grinned “gonna finish with me, baby?” You nodded. Your free hand coming up to his bicep as you dig your nails into his muscle. He moaned at how much that turned him on.

Your sister knocked the door and opened it. Drew’s eyes widen, quickly pulling the covers over your lower bodies. He leaned down into you.

Both sister’s eyes widened. Your sister, Kayla spoke “what?! Ew you guys! Couldn’t you wait till we were all in bed?!?” You chuckled. Drew on the other hand… he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His intwined hand squeezing yours. He felt embarrassed, not cause of being caught making love to you. But the fact it was his sister, you’ve been walked in on a few times. Austin has walked in on you guys a few times on set; that being the reason you don’t do it on set anymore. But when it’s family, that’s different.

Drew spoke against your shoulder “what do you two want?!” Kayla giggled “uh the coffee machine isn’t working, we wanted to see if you two could fix it.. but clearly you’re busy.” You chucked “oh shut up Kay!” She playfully gasped “what?! I can’t help it if you two are getting frisky while we’re all awake still!” You playfully roll your eyes “you done now??” Kayla chuckles and nods “well let you get back to your… entertainment…” you flip off your sister “close the door in the way out!”

As she shuts the door, she calls out “make sure to lock it next time, dad didn’t put one on there for no reason…”

Once they left, Drew removed his head from the crook of your neck. He looked down at you “um…” you chuckles softly. Carding your fingers through his hair. “Turned off, huh?” He nodded. Not wanting to admit it, but he couldn’t lie to you. You knew exactly what to do. You grabbed both his wrists and gently tug him closer to you.

You whispered “want me to ride you? I’ll let you kiss my chest when I do it?? How’d that sound?” He moaned softly. “I’ll take that as a yes?” He nodded and gently pulled out before flipping you both over.

Letting you straddle him as he leaned back against the headboard. He placed his hands in your hips, just wanting to touch you. You slowly started to rock your hips. You leaned forward, letting his mouth attach to your chest. Moving from the left side to the right. He worked away as you rocked your hips. Slowly picking up the pace. You moaned his name. He groaned and started to rock up into you.

When you felt that similar feeling in your lower stomach, once again. You felt his hands move under your thighs. Holding you up so he could fastly rock up into you. Both of you moaning together. You gasp “Drew! Gonna!” He replied “right there with ya…. Fuck baby, cum on me, sweetheart… so fuckin good” You held onto his shoulders. Finishing down his cock, he groaned as his pace slowed down. He soon came a second or two after you. His hips stutter as he finished too. He moans your name as he does.

He then puts you back down on his lap. He tucked some hair behind your ear. He placed his hand in the back of your neck. Pulling you in for a few soft kisses. Then pulling away and resting your forehead to his. He mumbles “forgot about the lock, haven’t done it in here for a while, huh?” You chuckle. Agreeing with him. Last time was when you were both seventeen. Both of you wanted to be each other’s firsts, thinking it was better to be close to someone when you both do it for the first time. Which can come off as cute. Even if you didn’t date till a few years ago. He presses a few more kisses to your lips and forehead before starting up a bath for you both. Which was then followed by some movies and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

𐬺ꨄ𐬺

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dem-obscure-imagines · 22 days ago

Text

The Lighthouse Vol. 2

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: Howdy. Finally finished it. I really love how this one turned out. Very domestic fluff, forced proximity type stuff. Bob is so very dear to me, so I hope you enjoy it. I will also be posting this to my Ao3 for easier navigation; right here.

Summary: After the battle with Thanos, getting dusted for five years followed directly by another battle with Thanos, you were more than content living in your small, small town on the coast of Maine, overlooked by a beautiful lighthouse. Your life was perfect, you thought. Quiet, sure, but perfect. Until Bucky Barnes showed up on your doorstep with Bob Reynolds in tow.

Warnings: canon-typical drug mention (Bob’s former drug use), mental health discussion (but nothing super super serious; Bob has depression and Bipolar), little bit of canon-typical violence as a treat, some swearing.

Word Count: 29k (Split into Two Volumes, Vol. 1 here)

Reader Is: Female (only mentioned a few times, I think, I tried to be vague-ish), late-twenties

The Reject Bin

Several thoughts rolled through your head the next morning as you ate your oatmeal. You watched Bob from across the table, shielded somewhat behind your laptop, your active WIP open on it. You’d scanned over your most recent words, but they felt like alphabet soup. It was clear you were both a little frazzled from the night before. Him moreso than you. And you had work in a few hours, so your mind was already planted behind that counter, more or less.

He was an adult. He’d be fine on his own.

But it was a long shift, and you didn’t want to leave him alone if he wasn’t. The last time he wasn’t, it had ended up on the news.

He yawned, rubbing his face. He looked pitiful. Deep, dark bags under his eyes. That usual kind spark absent as he stared at a bubble in the wallpaper. He blinked a few times. “You say something?”

You repeated your previous suggestion. “I said you should come to work with me.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“No, I’m serious. It’ll be so dead today. We have a big, comfy couch in the lobby. I can send you into a movie if you want to sleep, and I can pour you free slushees all day.” You pitched. “You don’t look like you’re in the mood to be here all by yourself and it’s too late for me to call in.”

“You don’t have to rearrange your day for me. I’m okay.”

You knew he wasn’t, but you didn’t press. “Really, I…think it would be nice to have you there. But it’s your choice. I’m not going to force you. I can give you the tour, if you want. Show you the projector room and stuff.”

That hooked him a little. He gave himself a sniff. “Yeah, I’ll bite. Let me shower and stuff. You leave soon?”

“Nope, like an hour from now.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” He gave a tired grin and padded up the stairs.

You felt a little better, but you could tell he was struggling. You hoped you could turn it around, or at the very least, make it a little easier for him. You may be a healer, but there was no easy fix for the things he was carrying. Maybe you could make them a little lighter, though.

***

You straightened your nametag, leading Bob into the theater through the back entrance. He looked around at the boxes and boxes of soda syrup, the stack of kernel bags and so on. You hung your jacket on one of the hooks, and when you turned, he was standing over a tub full of poster tubes, the triangular boxes that the movie posters were shipped in.

“That’s the reject bin. You can take anything you want. No one called dibs on those.”

He nodded, giving them a gander, but coming to the realization very quickly that they were rejects for a reason. He perked up a bit, pulling one of the posters out of the bin. “I know this guy.”

You laughed, nodding. Bold red letters were etched across the bottom of it that read Vindicating John. “Yeah, John Walker? It’s one of those stupid conservative documentary movies defending him. Funded by people who are, um… mad about Sam being Cap now.”

“Ah. Racists.” He nodded, putting it back. He did end up taking a poster from a nature documentary about sea turtles, though, leaning it against the wall under your jacket.

You led him out behind the counter, motioning him to pass through the little swinging half-door at the edge of it, which he did, wandering further into the lobby. He walked out towards the marquee, eyes scanning along the showtimes.

Your manager, a college kid named Kennedy, perked up at the sight of him. “Oh, hey. Is this the houseguest?”

“Yeah, this is Bob. Bob, this is Kennedy. He’s gonna hang out here today. I figured that would be fine.”

“Oh yeah. Come on in. We’ve got fuck-all going on around here.”

Bob chuckled at that, giving a polite nod and a wave. “Thanks. I won’t be much trouble.”

Kennedy looked him over, eyes narrowing. “I recognize you from somewhere.”

Bob shrugged, Adam’s apple bobbing. He played with his hands, a little more nervous at the prospect of being recognized. You could see it in his eyes. “One of those faces, I guess.”

She chuckled and blew it off, settling behind the manager’s desk while you made sure everything was in order behind the counter. The tubs all stocked, lids and cups and so on. Bob sat on the couch, pulling a paperback out from his back pocket. A little one, Frankenstein. He must have gotten it from the bookstore after all.

With all that handled, you wandered over to the manager’s desk, leaning against it as you so often did when the lobby was devoid of customers.

“He’s cute.” Kennedy murmured, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear it over the sound of the popcorn machine making the first batch of popcorn of the day and the steady hum of the slushee machine.

You giggled, nodding. “He’s nice, too. Quiet, but really funny.”

“And you just met this guy?”

“Yeah, he’s a friend of a friend.” You explained, glancing over at him as he quietly read, turning the page every so often.

He looked exhausted. There were only a handful of customers for the first few hours, so he sat there unbothered for the most part, watching half-interested as people came in to buy gift cards and ask about showtimes. Bob closed his book and sat there, hands folded neatly in his lap, as he nodded off a little. You pouted, watching him doze. There was something so innocent about it. His sleepy little face, the frown that pulled at his lips. It made it very hard to believe he was the shadow man from the news. Almost everything about him did.

And yet, that glimpse you’d gotten last night…maybe it wasn’t completely…out of the question…

You walked over to the concession stand and printed off a ticket for one of the movies in the newer theater, the one with the big recliners, picking a seat for him in the back corner. You plucked the sample blanket from the sale display and poured him a slushee, pushing in the straw with care.

“Hey.” You put a hand on his shoulder, voice soft. The tiniest bit of light and warmth swirled between your palm and the fabric of his sweater, lending him just a morsel of your power.

He blinked awake, giving a bleary smile. “Hmm?”

“Come on. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” You nudged carefully, motioning for him to get up.

He stood, stretching his long limbs. He was always taller than you remembered him to be, the illusion of his smallness held together by the way he hunched when he stood, like his body had grown too fast and he was bigger than he was supposed to be.

Bob trailed behind you, up the hall to Theater 4. It was empty so far, the house lights still up. Maria Menounos welcomed you to Noovie, as she had so many times before. You guided him to the chair in the corner of the room and he plopped down, hands squishing the sizable armrests, measuring their cushiness. You slid the slushee into the cupholder and draped the blanket across his lap, tucking him in.

He frowned, tilting his head up at you. “I’m not a kid.”

“I know. But this is a bad day, huh?” You asked gently, expression empathetic, but not pitying.

He shrugged. Thought about it. Nodded. Frowned. “Y-Yeah, it’s a bad one. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You shook your head, meeting his eyes.

“That’s why you didn’t want to leave me home today? You were afraid I would…”

“No.” You cut him off before he could spiral. “I wasn’t afraid of anything. I just didn’t want you to be alone all day, feeling like this. I know being lonely makes it worse.”

He stared at you for a long time, seeing something there that he hadn’t before. That you knew. That you’d felt the things he was feeling. Had been inside.

He softened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be back in two and a half.”

***

You went back, as you’d promised, once the movie was over, broom and dustpan in hand. There had only been a grand total of five people in there, including Bob, so it didn’t take long to sweep up the smattering of popcorn on the floor.

He was snoring, leaned back in the chair, feet kicked up, mouth open. And if there wasn’t a horror movie queued up to play next, you would have left him there. You could tell he needed it.

It was like he could feel you standing there, and woke with a shake, blinking up at you. Bob smiled a little, stretching like a cat. “Oh, hey. Good movie. What I saw, anyway.”

“Better?”

“Much better.” He agreed, fingers dug into the recliner button, sitting the seat back up.

You studied him, eyes scanning his form out of habit. A doctor’s eyes and a healer’s touch, Bucky used to say, usually followed by a quip of some kind to salve the vulnerability of it. He was bad with that. The sappy stuff. Especially without Steve around.

“I, uh…haven’t been sleeping super well lately, to be honest.” His eyes flitted across your features, measuring your reaction, and cutting it with a, “I’m fine, though, really. I…didn’t want to bother you.”

“Buddy, I have sleep powers.” You said. “I can knock you out, if you need me to. Put you out and go back to my room for the night.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess I didn’t realize the extent of it…I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked down at your broom and dustpan. “Well, where to next?”

“You don’t have to come with me. You’re not on the clock.”

“No, but you’re letting me stay with you rent-free.” He shrugged, standing up and gathering the blanket you’d left with him into a clump of blue fleece. “Least I could do is keep you company.”

***

After work, you and Bob hit a drive-thru. He seemed to be in better spirits, singing along to the songs on the radio, the window down, breeze flowing through his hair. You ate dinner together on the couch, watching sitcoms.

Idly, you worked on an embroidered hankie, adding the last few details you’d been putting off before finally adding it to your finished projects pile. You still had a lot of work to do before you’d be ready to move out, but you were getting there. Slowly but surely. Little by little.

Bob sat close to you on the couch that night. Not that you mentioned it, or were sure he was even conscious of doing it. His thigh pressed against yours, warmth seeping through his clothes onto you.

“It’s cute. Looks really good.” He complimented, watching your careful fingers tie the final knots. “More bees.”

“More bees.” You agreed, folding it up and handing it to him. “For your trinkets.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “Hey, uh, would you mind, um…doing your magic trick for me tonight? I could really use it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

He wanted to say something more. Wanted to rebuttal that you were good for so much more than knocking him out. But he didn’t know how to articulate it without spilling his soul all over your nice clean carpet, so he didn’t. Instead, he went upstairs, changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and then came back down to get you, ignoring the little voice on his shoulder, reminding him just how pathetic he was for needing your help for something as mundane as sleep.

***

You sat at the edge of the bed as Bob laid on his stomach, watching you as you glowed, your aura like the northern lights, stretched across the wall and ceiling. His eyes were soft and sparkling, lips parted as he gazed at you, sharp thoughts dulling slowly as your energy overpowered him.

His breaths slowed. Eyes drooped. Voice gave one last, weary protest before his head lolled onto the pillow, one careful, gentle hand playing with his hair.

And then he was out. Chest rumbling like thunder almost immediately as he crashlanded into what you hoped was a long and restful sleep.

You retreated to your own, walking through your night routine. Pajamas, cleanser, moisturizer, toothpaste, hair care. You pulled the cover aside, laid down, closed your eyes.

When you opened them you were flat on your back, ground hard beneath your head, snow fluttering down onto your face. You groaned, sitting up, pulling at the blanket that was now absent.

Headlights streamed through the trees. You shielded your face with a hand, lighting your palm, but not making more than a spark.

“(Y/N), please! He…He’s losing so much blood…”

You took a sharp breath and opened your eyes, heart pounding. The ground was a mattress again. The trees were gone. You were home, safe, in bed. And it was just a dream.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Dealbreaker

Waves crashed in the distance as you and Bob stood in your small, fenced-in yard. Birds chirped. Sparrows, mostly, but there was one little gray bird you couldn’t quite place, perched at the edge of your bird bath.

You carefully guided the clippers, trimming a branch of your lilac bush, shaking a few dead leaves out of it before handing it to Bob, adding it to the growing purple bouquet in his hands. The bush had been there long before you came to town. Towering, lush, and this time of year, very, very vibrant. You loved taking a little piece of it inside with you, inviting the smell into your home.

Bob watched a bumblebee buzz around the tulips, attention only pulled away when a pair of little girls on bikes rode by, their mother not far behind them.

“Hi, (Y/N)!”

You grinned, waving. “Hi, Sadie! Sydney! Careful around that corner!” You looked at Bob once they were out of earshot. “It’s uneven over there. I’ve healed a lot of scraped knees, living here.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “You just heal people out in the open here?”

“Yeah, they all know who I am. I’m just lucky they don’t make a big deal about it. They’re more likely to ask me for a cup of sugar here than they are to beg me for a miracle. But I help out when I can.”

He nodded, glancing down at the flowers. “Lavender?”

“Lilacs. I like the smell more. Little more subtle.”

“Lilacs.” He repeated. “Cool. Are these the ones you put on my hankie?”

“Yep. Those and the bees.”

He laughed, following you up the steps and back into the house. “Who could forget the bees?”

The task at hand today was your odds and ends. Board games, trinkets, toys, collectibles, all of it. Boxes and boxes of junk from your attic.

For obvious reasons, you’d been given a lot of Avengers action figures. You put most of them in the junk box, but Bob dug one out, a figure of you, made shortly after what had been dubbed the Infinity War, in your old uniform. Mostly black with light blue accents, a few rays of what was supposed to be light stretched across your little plastic chest. It was a confused design, to be sure. Shuri had wanted to make a new one for you, but hadn’t found time with all of her other projects.

“Why are you getting rid of this?”

“Because I have like two dozen of them.” You replied, pointing to the stack of figures. Falcon, Cap, Beacon, Beacon, Beacon, Falcon, Cap. The occasional Black Widow. Hulk. You didn’t have a figure of Sam in his Cap suit, but you were sure one would find you eventually. You never bought them; they always came to you.

“Can I have it?”

You laughed. “Yes.”

Bob slipped a few other things into his box. A deck of Uno cards, a Rubik’s cube, a tiny metal lighthouse statuette. He was very selective today, hands careful, eyes moreso, but he seemed to be in decent spirits. You hoped the sleep you’d given him had helped. Even then, you knew it was a Band-Aid on something that ran deeper. You were a healer, but not a therapist. You had a feeling Bob needed both.

You sorted things for a good few hours and offloaded a lot of it. The two of you loaded it into a wagon. The thrift shop was close enough that it would be stupid to haul it all over in the car, so you walked it over, up a block and down the street. It didn’t take long. The guys running the place thanked you, printed you a little slip for your tax write-off, and sent you on your way.

The day was young, so you took Bob to your favorite ice cream place in town for a little afternoon treat, walking home the long way with soft serve cones in hand.

“Nice little shop.” Bob commented, grinning, a dot of vanilla on the tip of his nose as he finished off his cone. Yours was following suit, whittled down to just the nub.

“Oh yeah. I love that place. I’ve been on so many shitty first dates there.”

He looked puzzled by that. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating around and no one’s scooped you up yet? Uhhhh, no pun intended,” he tacked on with an awkward laugh.

“I was on the apps for a while. Joined a few clubs. Bowling league, bar trivia and whatnot. Nothing stuck. The glowing thing is a dealbreaker for most normal people. It’s fine and well and good when I’m doing that stuff on the news, but when I get a little too excited and glow in a bowling alley parking lot…suddenly it loses its charm, I guess.”

“Mmm. Speaking from experience, I’m guessing.”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

“They don’t get it, then. They…want the idea of you, but not the rest of it. You shouldn’t be afraid to shine. And they shouldn’t be afraid of you.” Bob’s words were deliberate. Clear-cut. Like he’d thought about this before.

You shouldn’t be afraid to shine.

It was good advice in general, but he meant it literally, in your case. You were a girl who glowed sometimes. Not always on purpose. Not always in a good and healthy way. More than anything, you needed someone who wasn’t going to dim your light; ideally, someone who didn’t make you feel bad for having it in the first place.

“What about you?” You asked softly. “You…on the dating scene? Before all this, I guess? The New York stuff.”

He huffed, shrugging. That ‘it’s fine’ look settled on his features again, so you braced for impact, ready to catch whatever it was he threw at you. “Actually, uh…I was on meth before all this. And then the…medical trial, then the Vault and now I’m here, so…no, pretty single.”

“Oh.” You nodded. Welp, there it was. That was why he’d had the shakes the week before, the sleep difficulties…he hadn’t been particularly agitated. He had his ups and downs, sure, but you were pretty sure they were from…something else. Again, healer, not therapist. “The Vault?”

“Long story.” He said with a chuckle, eyes scanning you, waiting for something else, some other question or flicker of anything across your face, but it never came. So instead, he asked, “You knew? About the meth?”

“Yeah. Well, no, not specifically. Bucky didn’t tell me anything. He’s got a real communication problem, but that is neither here nor there. That first night, you were shaking. I figured that was why. Didn’t know from what, exactly, but I could tell you were in withdrawal. Healer’s eyes and all that.”

He was quiet for a long moment, letting it sit. Quieter, “The whole time?”

You shrugged, eyes honest. “Yeah.”

You watched it settle in his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded, thinking it over. The whole time you’d known, and it hadn’t made a difference. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You rebuttaled.

“For…not looking at me like I’m a time bomb. For…” He shook his head. “All of it. So much. More than I can…” His eyes got glassy. “Y-Yeah, just for all of it. I…”

You stepped closer, arms wrapping around his frame with ease. Like you’d done it a hundred times. A million. You rested your ear against his heart, forehead anchored against his warm, warm skin. He faltered, standing there stiff, until he finally processed what was happening.

He held on tight, long arms wrapped around your shoulders as he trembled. You felt tears, but you didn’t say anything. Just held him. Traced circles on his back. You knew he’d needed it for far longer than he’d care to admit.

His lips pressed against your hairline. Not a kiss, just…there, as if the feeling would keep him from floating off into the Seaberg sunset.

***

When you got back to the house, Bob went upstairs to put himself back together. Wipe his tears and change his clothes. The shower kicked on upstairs. Meanwhile, you went through the kitchen cabinets, picking a few things to bring with you. A few cups, your favorite fork. The rest of it could stay at the house, in case you and whatever team Bucky was scraping together needed a place to lay low.

You pulled down a few mugs you’d painted at the pottery place in town. You’d gone with Earlene and the tarot ladies on a handful of occasions. It was always a fun time, even if you never felt like the things you made there were masterpieces.

But the one in your hands was nice. A decently big mug, painted sky blue, big puffy clouds left in the middle, where the glaze had been absent. It was streaky at best. But the showstopper was the lighthouse you’d painted near the handle. White tower with a black top, like the one in town. There was a sailboat on the water, and on the bottom, a secret, hidden crab.

Bob wandered down later, hair damp. He looked around at the glasses you were wrapping for travel. Once he got close to the counter, you slid him the lighthouse mug.

“You want this one?”

“You don’t?”

“You mentioned you like tea, so…We can share custody of it, if you want. At the Tower.” You said, fingers brushing his as he reached for it. “Remember our time here.”

He breathed, eyes as soft as could be, peering down at you through his thick, dark lashes. His stormy blue irises caught in the light of the sun. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He shook his head, staring at his fingertips. “I-I don’t think I could forget if I wanted to.”

You were both being pulled in. You could feel it. Like gravity. But just before you could collide, you heard the visitor at the door.

“Meow.”

You chuckled, cheeks flushed, heart racing. Crossed the kitchen in quick steps and ducked behind the counter, scooping out some feed for him.

He meowed again, more insistent this time.

“I’m coming, old man! Hold your horses!”

“Rrow!”

Bob exhaled in what should have been relief, the loss of that feeling building, building, building in his gut. Instead, he just felt empty. Well, emptier. It was getting harder for him to feel empty when you were around.

It’s cute, you know. That voice rolled in like smoke. Icewater down his spine. That you think she’d ever feel the same. You’re the stray kitten that waits at the door. She’s never going to let you in…

sentry.mp4

Thunder boomed the next morning, loud and abrupt, cutting any plans you had of going back to sleep with a sharp and swift crack of lightning. And another boom, of course. It was about an hour before your alarm. You sighed, groaned, and then sat up, wandering downstairs in your pajamas, laptop tucked under your arm.

You got some cereal and sat down on the couch, opened your word processor and scrolled back down to the end of the document, reading over your last few paragraphs.

Bzzz-Bzzz.

You glanced down at your phone, skimming the text that flashed across the screen. It was Bucky. Three simple little words: Check your email.

Well, who were you to defy those orders?

You opened your email and scrolled through the typical spam, looking for the one from Bucky. You plugged in your headphones, seeing that it was a video file he’d sent you.

<sentry.mp4>

You clicked.

A large, modern space stretched across the screen. A room, you assumed must be in the tower. A clump of people walked out of the elevator, Bucky among them; you couldn’t place the rest. They talked with a woman you recognized as Valentina Allegra DeFontaine, a very annoying and evil-looking congresswoman. You did not like her vibe, never had.

You didn’t actually hear much. The audio was muffled. The video quality left something to be desired as well, the occasional visual glitch obscuring the footage.

You watched as a gilded, golden superhero walked down the stairs, posture stiff and confident, blond hair slicked back. You couldn’t see his face, but you watched as he fought the others. They launched attacks against him and he stood unflinching, throwing them around with ease. People you assumed were literal supersoldiers, assassins, and he threw them around like ragdolls. Telekinesis. Super-speed. Flight.

Your stomach sank as you watched him bend a vibranium shield like it was made of tinfoil, eyes widening as he tore Bucky’s metal arm off, using it to smack Bucky across the room. He got air time. Air time. The two-hundred-something pound supersoldier, swatted away like a toy. Your fingers shook, heart pounding as you watched them all scramble back into the elevator away from the guy in the cape.

The figure turned and you finally got a glimpse at his face. You paused. Zoomed, enhanced, stared. Stared some more. Blinked, even.

It was fucking Bob.

He looked so…so different. His posture, his expressions, his powers, his attitude as he approached Valentina. You watched as he grabbed her by the neck, pinning her against the wall, squeezing. You felt sick.

Finally, it stopped. He went limp. Collapsed on the floor in a heap of gold and blue. Valentina and a young woman you assumed was her assistant, left. Not long after, a deep, impossibly dark shadow bled like ink across his body. And as the darkness spread, the footage corrupted, video stopping.

You’d seen the rest on the news, you were sure.

You sat there for a long time, breaths short but impossibly heavy, ears ringing. That was Bob. Your Bob. Your houseguest. Your…friend. That blond, stoic thing was Bob.

You couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed, and when the light faded, there was a figure at the top of the stairs. You yelped, slamming the laptop shut.

Your fist shot up out of habit, lit with Level 6 light. Bright. On a scale of household flashlight to LED headlights on a pickup truck driving behind you at night…pretty close to the second one.

“Woah! Woah, hey, it’s just…j-just me.” Bob stammered, hand shielding his face.

You lowered your hand, studying him. The glow faded gradually, the warmth dispersing into the chilly living room.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Y-you never have your headphones on.” He murmured, frowning as he studied you. “Everything…okay?”

“Fine!” You replied too quickly, flinching at your own volume. “Sorry. Fine. My…college friend sent me one of those stupid video game jumpscares. I’m fine.” You set your laptop on the table, getting up to get a glass of water. Or something. You just had to get away from it. “Don’t open that.”

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, soft brown curls waving like a flag of surrender, hands clasped in front of him, sleeves draped down to cover the skin.

Your eyes lingered, but not in the way they usually did. There was some horror there now. You were sure he could feel it, and you felt bad about it, but you couldn’t help it. He was hiding a weapon under that unassuming sweater.

“Morning,” he said softly, head ducked down as though that would help catch your eyes easier.

You gave a labored smile. “Morning.”

***

Bob went upstairs for a bit to get away from the tension. You took a cold shower to cool off.

It’s just Bob. He doesn’t remember any of that. Bob is…Bob, he’s not gonna hurt you.

It only helped a little.

You pulled out your basket of crochet projects, stared at your stack of granny squares and gave a resigned sigh. Yeah, that would probably help. Focusing on something.

You grabbed the basket and went back down to the living room, settled on the couch again, organizing your yarn balls before setting to work. It was mindless after a while. Three double-crochets. Three double-crochets. Chain one. Three more double-crochets. The movement helped you calm down. Process. You hadn’t even realized you’d been stress-glowing until it dimmed, the storm having passed, thunder rumbling further in the distance.

Bob padded back down the stairs, lips pursed in a tiny, curious little :o

“Woah, you’ve got a whole pile of them! What are you making now?”

You smiled softly, looking him over. The hurricane in your stomach had calmed. He was just Bob again. The blond menace was pushed to the corner of your mind for the moment. This was Bob. Your friend. He would never hurt you. He would barely even touch you.

“It’s gonna be a cardigan. Granny squares are great, because you just make a bunch and then sew them together when you’re done.”

He nodded, tentatively sitting on the couch, further than he usually did, legs crossed to make himself smaller. “It’s a cool hobby. Crochet. I feel like you can make so much with it.”

“You could make sweaters.” You suggested. “Since you seem to like wearing them so much, I mean.”

He hazarded a smile at that. “Would you teach me?”

You glanced at the clock. The day was shockingly young. You’d gotten up so early that it still wasn’t even noon yet. “Yeah, sure. Come over here.” You motioned him closer, smashing through the glass barrier between you.

Bob softened, looking relieved. You pulled an extra hook from your kit, showing him how to make a slip knot, chain, and then crochet into the chain. He was…very bad at it. But it was endearing. He sat directly beside you, still trying to get a read on you, on what had gone wrong that morning, on the thoughts that were still obviously swirling through your mind.

But as you laughed at his pathetic little noodle-looking crochet attempt, hands brushing against his as you showed him the motions again, those thoughts began to fade. It would be okay. You’d just had a weird morning. It was fine.

It was fine, right?

***

You sat on the floor in the living room that night in your pajamas, knees curled up towards your chest. You were glowing, but just a little. Contemplating everything while Bob took a shower.

You weren’t afraid of the Winter Soldier. Even when Bucky had looked at you with no sliver of an idea who you were. Even while his vibranium hand was latched around your neck, holding you just far away enough that you couldn’t touch his skin to put him to sleep.

It had been scary. But you weren’t afraid of Bucky. Never had been.

You watched the Sentry video again. It seemed like Bob was talking to the others before the fight. There wasn’t audio, but his mouth was moving. And for a moment there, he still had those soft eyes. Like he was trying to talk them down before violence broke out. That insecure look on his face, like he was waiting for them to be proud of him. He wasn’t just a Bob-shaped shell. Some part of him was Bob. His ego, maybe. Well, not quite. You’d taken Intro to Psychology.

Bob was the Ego, the “true self”. Sentry was the Persona, the mask. And that left Void. Obviously, the Shadow. Not three separate people or three separate personalities, but Bob’s highs and lows magnified to the highest degree.

That made sense. That was what the super soldier serum did. It magnified. People were under the impression it turned people into perfect heroes, but…it had only done that because Steve Rogers was the best humanity had to offer. With someone like Bob—who was by no means bad, but…by no means perfect—well, it did what it did best. Put every problem he had under a microscope and tossed a pile of superpowers on top.

You lit a vanilla candle, got out some self care stuff. Bob padded back down the stairs, hair damp. He was standing small again, trying to shrink into himself, but you patted the floor in front of you and he walked over, plopping right down without hesitation. You pulled your hair our of the way with one of those skincare headbands and he did the same, copying your movements.

You handed him a small, foil package containing a skin mask. It was for hydration, to combat all the salty air. You also felt like he deserved to be pampered. You didn’t need the rest of the details to know things had been rough for him. People didn’t just turn towards the kind of drugs he had done for no reason.

You smoothed the mask across his face with gentle hands, molding it across his forehead, nose, cheeks, chin. After you put on your own, he gazed at you, tilting his head.

“My turn to ask the age-old question,” Bob said, dark blue eyes searching your features as best he could with the hydrated cotton layers between you now. Maybe he’d done it on purpose. A shield of sorts, in case this conversation didn’t unfold the way he expected it to. “Is today a bad one?”

“For me?” You asked.

He nodded, lips pressed together. “You’ve been…glowing a lot today. Does that happen when you’re stressed?”

Ah, so now it was time for him to therapize you. You couldn’t blame him. It was only fair, you supposed, that the healer finally got a taste of her own medicine. “Mmhmm. It, uh…yeah. Strong emotions. Happiness, anger, fear…stress.”

“Did I…do something wrong?” He wondered, so quiet it was like he was asking himself.

“No.” You shook your head quickly, voice certain. “No, you didn’t do anything. We’re good.”

He seemed unconvinced. “Alright.”

You took a breath, letting down a portion of your wall. “I’m serious. I get these…waves of…well, I don’t know what to call it other than anxiety, really. Today is not bad, but sometimes…It gets really bright. Really bright. Like, blinding people bright. Which is why…” You pointed out the window, towards the lighthouse, the guiding ray spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Have you ever had to…go up there?”

“Few times. When I first moved out here. Tony, uh…apparently during the blip, he had it retrofitted for me. Just in case. Barely spoke to the guy, but…he loved a project. I’m sure he got bored during those five years.” You sighed. “Didn’t even get to thank him for it.”

Bob peeled the facemask off so you could get a better look at his face. You took yours off too, rubbing the extra moisture in with your hands.

“That surprises me, I guess. I thought you had a really good handle on it.”

You shrugged. “We all have our flare-ups, you know. Nobody is perfect.”

He seemed comforted by that. Your imperfection. You hoped it made him feel less bad about leaning on you for help. And it must have, because he let you massage some energy into his muscles. Not that he was shaking this time; it seemed his seaside detox had been successful at least that much. But you could tell your energy helped him in other ways. Quieted that wicked little voice in the back of his head.

You could almost see it happen, that sharp edge in his gaze beginning to soften, sitting face to face on the floor, your glow bouncing off his features, a gentle breeze rustling his soft brown curls.

But maybe it wasn’t so much the energy you were loaning him as it was…this was just the way Bob looked at you now…

***

There was someone in the kitchen.

Your eyes opened. The ceiling fan spun idly, shadows swooping across the moonlit expanse.

You listened for a while, letting your eyes drift shut again until you heard a loud thud. Alright, that did it.

Exhausted, you hauled your legs over the side of the bed, sliding until your feet touched the hardwood. You padded down the hall, then down the stairs in your houseslippers, robe hugged around your shivering frame.

The rustling got louder. There was the very distinct sound of shattering glass.

“Bob?”

No answer. You lit your hand, casting shadows of the railing into the living room. One time, a raccoon had gotten in through your screen door when you’d left the back door open. And you were sure you’d closed it—you only make that mistake once—but maybe Bob had forgotten.

You got to the kitchen, and Bob was indeed standing there, hand shaking, outstretched towards the counter, where the shattered glass sat. The force of it…the distance between shards. It hadn’t been dropped. It had exploded. That put a little more urgency in your voice.

“Bob, are you okay?”

Eerily, he stood, unmoving, murmuring something to himself. You stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder, a little energy wafting from your palm to tug him back down.

He whipped around to look at you, gaze softening once he realized who you were. But you didn’t miss the clean, bright ring of gold around his iris before it faded. It sent a chill down your spine. He snapped out of it with a jolt, giving an earnest, if not somewhat frightened smile, looking down at the glass.

“Sorry, I…I just came down for some water and…”

“It’s okay.” You replied, shaking your head.

His eyes widened in something akin to horror when he saw the wreckage. The shards of glass blown across the counter, the floor. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You reassured, voice steady. “It’s from the dollar store. I wasn’t attached to it. I’ve broken three just like that. We’ll sweep up the glass. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, taking stock of himself. You looked him over, too, those healer’s eyes of yours doing one final sweep before deeming him uninjured. But knowing what you did now, he was probably bulletproof anyway. It was why he hadn’t had a mark when he’d burned himself making breakfast.

“I’ll sweep it up. You go back to bed.” He said, resigned. He was definitely coming back now, slipping into himself again the way you’d slid into your slippers upstairs. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t be sorry. I just wanted to make sure a raccoon hadn’t broken in here again.”

He gave a slow, tired smile. “Again?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” You promised, touching his sleeve for a moment before turning. “Let me know if you need me to put you to sleep, alright? Goodnight, Bob.”

He took a shaking breath, Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you retreat up the stairs again. Bob waited until you were out of sight to let his face fall, that darkness settling onto his shoulder again like an old friend. “Night.”

Alec

The next morning, when you went down for breakfast, there was a note there that Bob had gone for a walk. You’d kinda felt that coming. He needed space and fresh air. You waited for him to come back before you left for work, but you knew he wouldn’t. That was the point. For one reason or another, he needed a break from you. And he was allowed to do that.

You left him a note in reply, short and sweet.

Text me if you need anything. <3

But the heart felt too…well, it didn’t feel right. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, especially when he was already feeling weird. You crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, trying again.

Text me if you need anything! :)

And you put a 20 dollar bill beside it, so he could get lunch or something.

Work was short, at the very least. Mercifully so. That didn’t save you an interaction with what you were sure must be the dumbest old woman on earth. That lead poisoning was no joke.

“I want half of a small.”

“Oh, so the value-size?”

“Yes, that one.”

You scooped the popcorn and handed it to her.

She frowned. “No, in the small bucket.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Oh. Okay.” You poured it into the small container and handed it over. Half of a small bucket of popcorn, just as she’d asked.

“What, are you not going to fill it up the rest of the way?!”

Obviously something had been lost in translation. But with that aside, you drove back home. Pulled into the parking lot. You were relieved to find Bob’s shoes in the doorway. Even more relieved to find him on the couch, playing Minecraft.

“Hey!” He smiled. “How was work?”

“I have to tell you about the dumbest lady on earth.” You said, kicking your shoes off. There was a little white paper bag sitting beside him on the couch. You recognized it. It was from the candy shop down the street. Well, good, he’d treated himself to something. It was so hard to get him to do that.

“And you have to tell me about that raccoon.”

“Right. That, too.” You chuckled, walking into the room and sitting on the other end of the couch, giving him your attention.

He pushed the bag towards you. “I didn’t know what flavors you liked, so I guessed.”

You reached into the bag, pulling out a sea salt and vanilla flavored one, swirled a rich teal color. “You guessed right.”

Bob gazed at you for a long moment, tilted his head, took a breath. He was standing at the ledge of something, hesitation etched deep into his stormy blue eyes. He paused the game, setting the controller aside.

“I’m sorry. For yesterday. I was in a weird mood and…I don’t want you to think…” He shook his head, swallowing something down. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

You sighed, shaking your head. Guilt tugged at your chest. An anchor. He still didn’t know about the video on your laptop. The one you’d watched half a dozen times now, analyzing, trying to get a handle on this…supposed most dangerous man in the world. With the evidence presented…you were finally starting to believe it.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I was freaked out yesterday because…” There was no way around it. You had to come clean. “Bucky…sent me the footage from the Tower. The Sentry footage. I…was a little freaked out. But I’m over it now. I just…It kinda blindsided me and I needed some time to process it. I shouldn’t have let you see me like that.”

“Oh.” Bob nodded. Swallowed again. “I, uh…don’t really remember that. That day is all kinda…fuzzy still.”

“I know.”

“I just…I know I did it and…I can do that stuff, but…” His gaze fixed on his hands, examining them. Every knuckle, every nailbed, every vein.

There was something in him that hadn’t been there months prior. Weeks prior, even. OXE had pumped him full of drugs—albeit different drugs than the ones he was already on—deemed him a failure, declared him dead, and left him in a box to rot. Worse, actually. They’d left him in a box to be incinerated. That much, he did remember. Everything after that got a little iffy.

He didn’t know what he was now, most of the time. And it was clear when you looked at him that you didn’t either.

“Bob?” You prodded gently.

“I don’t really have an excuse for it. Or an explanation. They wouldn’t show me the video.”

“You were blond.” You provided unhelpfully.

He chuckled. “I heard.”

“I’ve watched it back a few times. The bits at the beginning, before the fight. You seem like…you, in there. If it helps. Valentina was clearly manipulating you. She’s good at doing that. It…looked like you were just…trying to…” You shook your head. “It’s not my place to diagnose you.”

“No, say it.”

“You were just trying to prove yourself. As a hero.” You said, certain of it. “I’ve been hanging out with superheroes long enough to know that look. I’ve worn it myself. Shoulders straight, chest puffed out. Like it will distract people from how afraid I am. Sometimes it does, to be fair.”

He softened a little at that, like he’d been bracing for you to say worse. Looked down at his hands again. “Still feel like a stranger in my skin sometimes. I’m…clumsy. I used to get hurt a lot. I don’t even bruise anymore. And I…don’t know my strength. And I blew up a glass last night.”

You nodded at the confirmation. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Before all this, I had no one. Which sucked, but…now, I…I guess I’m worried the people I do have are gonna get hurt.” A breath rolled out of him. Like a long, lazy wave, crashing on the shore. “I don’t blame you for being scared of me. I am, too.”

You shook your head. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not.” Your heart pounded. Veins throbbed. Chest ached. But it wasn’t from fear, you were pretty sure.

“The other guy is worse. That, I did see videos of. It’s…all over the internet.” Bob’s eyes began to wander. “My hair, my body, but just…darkness. Hopelessness. Emptiness.”

The way Bob spoke about Void, you knew he was a little more familiar with him. “I get the feeling you’ve been fighting him for a while.”

Bob heaved a sigh, finger absently poking the joystick of his controller.

“It’s not your fault they gave your depression superpowers.” You murmured, words threaded with more understanding than you could tell him. “I know it’s…heavy. Even with superstrength. I’m not a miracle worker. But I am your friend. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

A bitter chuckle. “People keep telling me that.”

“They mean it.” You were quick with the reply. Firm. You knew he could do this dance with you all day, but you needed him to know you were serious about this. You were serious about helping him.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He cracked a reluctant grin. “You’re wrong, though. You literally are a miracle worker. I’ve seen the edits.”

“There are edits of me???”

“Oh yeah. I’ll send you some later,” He promised with a smirk.

You could tell he was diffusing the tension with humor. Could clock it from a mile away. But you let him. You knew he was taking your words to heart, could see them swirling there behind those ocean eyes, churning like the waters just beyond your back deck.

***

A branch snapped under your foot. Another. You tripped into the snow, palms pressed into the hard, hard dirt. You weren’t sure how you got there. Or when. Or how long you’d been there. But you heard them screaming in the distance. Calling for you. Yelling your name.

You could help them now. You could control it.

You scraped yourself up, kept running, through the trees, toward the crash.

The hazards flashed like a beacon, drawing you in, right back to the scene of it. You’d been there so many times. So many times and none at all. And as soon as you planted your feet, knelt down at the site, you were right back in the woods again, running. Always running. Never getting there in time.

“(Y/N), please! He…he’s losing so much blood!”

You stopped running, arms hugged around the tree at the edge of the crash, breathing heavy. You watched the scene unfold from the outside, as opposed to the nightmare you’d been reliving since you were sixteen.

“I…I can’t! I’m trying, I…” She held out her hand, the younger you, a wisp of something crackling around her palm. It wouldn’t heal a papercut let alone the deep gash in Alec’s side.

Alec.

He was right there. Breathing shallow. Eyes closed. Fluttering, but…no, closed now. He slipped away and all you could do was watch, just like the first time. Powerless, despite the power in your veins.

And it looped. Over and over and over again.

You breathed, shook like the few remaining leaves on the trees. This wasn’t real. Wasn’t real. It had all happened before. It was over. Alec was gone. He…he’d been gone for years. You’d unpacked it over and over with half a dozen therapists. What had happened to Alec was awful…but it wasn’t your fault.

It was an accident. You’d had a panic attack. There was nothing you could have done to save him when you were losing blood, too.

A chill ran down your spine. Vision tracking forward like you were a camera on a dolly. And in the new depth, you spotted him. The Void.

You frowned. Pointed. “We are not doing this. Not tonight.”

And then you woke with a start, sucking in a greedy breath like you had been underwater. You sat up, walking down the hall. You knocked on Bob’s door, but there was no answer. You already knew why. Because Void was driving that ship right now, straight through Bob’s nightmares.

You opened the door, stepping inside. Footsteps impossibly slow and careful. Bob writhed in bed. Muttering softly, tossing over. It wasn’t gentle, so you had to be.

“Bob…”

You sat at the edge of his bed, reaching a hand out. You manifested your glow easily now, despite your racing heart. Gingerly, you rested your hand on his shoulder, using your power to give his subconscious a nudge.

He woke with a start, blinking up at you, a soft, knowing look in his eyes. Guilt laced deep, right to his bones.

“H-Hey.”

“You okay?”

He melted immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I…I…”

“Hey, no.” You shook your head, keeping your voice reassuring. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Bob argued, shaking his head. “My…Void broke into your subconscious. That’s not okay. I…I wasn’t supposed to see that.”

A sigh fell from your lips and you hung your head for a moment. Bob straightened up, pushing himself into a more upright position, back flat against the headboard, knees curling up. He wasn’t curled up all the way, but his arms crested his legs, big hands smoothing the fabric on his shins.

“What…happened? Um…with your friend?” Bob asked softly, pulling his sleeves down. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from you. Your anxious glow. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too private, it just seems like…”

“No, it’s fine. We can talk about it.” You said, shaking your head. “When I, uh…when I was in high school, my friends and I got into a car crash. Bad one. It was winter. There was a deer. I hadn’t had my powers very long. I was having a panic attack and I was bleeding a lot. My friend Alec…I couldn’t heal him, and…” You lit your hand. Effortless. A flickering white flame, iridescent at the edges, like sunlight through glass, even at midnight. Just to prove to yourself that you could.

He stared at the light with the same awe of someone looking at a fishtank.

“If I’d practiced a little more, if I…had gotten to him a little faster, maybe I could have…”

Bob shook his head, reaching out to touch your hand. Just the edge of it, fingers curling around the base of your thumb. He was careful, like one wrong move would shatter you. And with the strength that hid beneath his skin, you could tell why. But you didn’t move. Frozen, like a butterfly had perched on your hand.

“No. That’s not your fault. You…you were just a kid.” He murmured, hand getting a little more comfortable against your own. You let the energy fall away, leaving just the two of you, soaked in moonlight. His hand slid further into yours, palm against palm. He was warm. A lot warmer than you’d expected, due to his choice of clothing. You figured he must be cold. But now that you knew he wasn’t…it would be hard to not just…bury yourself in it. His warmth. “You’re a healer, but you can’t save everyone.”

The words sat for a long moment. Heavy. Your therapist had said the same thing. You knew it was true, and yet, that didn’t quiet the voice on your shoulder. Not entirely. It never had. But it helped. He helped.

“You saved me, though.” He confessed, voice quiet. “I…really needed this trip. I…” He blushed, you were pretty sure, but…it was hard to tell in the dark. “I needed you, I think.”

And you could tell it was real. To him, it was real. A breath floated out of your mouth. “Bob…”

“I didn’t mean to get all deep, but…I meant it. I mean it. I think Void is so desperate to crack you open because he…he’s afraid of you. You’re…you’re the only one that gets him to shut the fuck up.”

You squeezed his hand, slid a little closer, wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His knees dropped, letting you in, arms curling gently around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You let one hand settle on the back of his head, and maybe it was the late hour, but you turned your head and pressed the tiniest kiss to his temple. Pretended not to hear him gasp in your ear when you did.

“I wish I had some explanation for you. I don’t know the exact science of it, but…”

“Doesn’t matter how it works. Just does.” Bob murmured, holding you tighter. His arms slotted easily under yours. Like he’d done it a hundred times. A million. “I don’t really think it’s science. I think it’s just you.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, pulling away to look at him. “You gonna be okay?”

His curls waved as he confirmed that he was, in fact, okay. “Fine. Sorry, again. Goodnight.”

“Night.” You repeated softly, giving his hand one last squeeze. Part of you ached, that last lingering moment, to stay. You wanted to stay, where it was warm. He was so warm. You could count the hugs you’d shared on one hand, but already, they were beginning to feel like home. Maybe more than this old house and its old, old bones. “No more apologies, though.”

Bob gave a shrug, a reluctant chuckle. “No promises.”

Right Here, With You

The main drag of town wasn’t terribly busy early in the morning. It felt lazy. The sun too golden. The air too sweet. Even the birds were in a good mood. Bob took you down the route he’d taken the day before, walking down the sidewalks like it was his town and not yours. Apparently this had been what he’d been up to while you were at work. Exploring. The smile on his face made you feel almost guilty that you’d have to leave in a few days.

There was that, too.

It felt at the same time like Bob had just gotten there, but also that he had been there forever. A staple in your life, and, apparently, the town now, as well. People waved at him as the two of you passed, and he waved back, smiling, asking how people were. One of your neighbors was taking their dog on a walk and Bob stooped down to pet it, the adorable little schnauzer wagging its tail.

It sniffed his hand thoroughly, licking it a few times. Bob smiled, petting it behind the ears, seeming to find the exact right spot. He seemed to be really good with animals. You wondered if having one would help him when you got back to the big city, give him something to take care of. Maybe you’d start with a goldfish or something, though.

You kept walking, pushed open the door of the antique store and guided him inside. Immediately, you were greeted with that beautiful musk of old things. Probably mold, if you were being honest. But there was something so nostalgic about it that you never cared. You weren’t even looking for anything in particular. Just looking. One last time.

It was a big store. Booths and booths of things from decades long gone. Records, porcelain dishes, doilies someone’s grandmother had made, DVDs, VHS tapes, board games that were undoubtedly missing a few pieces. Bob dug through a few tubs of old action figures. You lingered by a glass case of vintage games. In the big city, they would have been marked up as high as it goes, value inflated by the rarity of the cartriges inside. Here, it was fifty dollars for the lot. A blue Gameboy SP, Frogger, and a handful of Pokemon games.

Bob was behind you now, gazing down at it. “Man. I used to have one of those. It looked just like that. That color and everything.”

“Me too. A silver one. Think I still do, somewhere. In my room, maybe. In a drawer.” One of the areas of the house you’d been procrastinating packing up. You knew time with Bob was precious. You didn’t want to waste any of it.

“Sold mine.” He gave a bitter chuckle. A shrug. He was wearing that look on your face that told you exactly why he had sold it. You didn’t press further.

You brought the vendor over, pointed to the case. He got out his key, cut you a deal for $40, since it had been sitting there for a while and no one seemed to want it. Bob watched in something between gratefulness and horror as the transaction happened. Didn’t seem to know what to do with himself when you handed it to him outside the front door of the shop. Just like that. Hadn’t even hesitated.

He kept staring at it. The innocent little blue square. The plastic baggie full of games.

“You can borrow my charger. I’m sure we could order you another one. Or get one at a game store in the city.”

For once, he didn’t stiffen when you mentioned it. Leaving. Instead, he smiled, heart overfilled. You put a hand on his arm, but he decided very quickly that that wasn’t enough, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You reciprocated immediately, head tucked against his sweater. He did kiss your forehead this time, cheek resting there after the fact.

He didn’t protest. Didn’t say he didn’t deserve the affection or you or the Gameboy in the paper bag. He just let it happen. Just let you love him.

***

There were six bags of unused cookie mix in your cupboard. Six. And they expired in two months. Not that that stuff wasn’t good after the fact; it was mostly a dry mix, but still.

Bob was laying on the couch, playing his Gameboy. Pokemon Sapphire. You couldn’t help but smile. He pretty much hadn’t left that spot since you’d gotten home. Eventually, it would need to be charged, but for now, he just played in bliss.

You snatched two bags of chocolate chip, pulling a bowl out of the cupboard. The rest of it, you had. Eggs, butter, water. Bob wandered out to the kitchen not long after you set to work, your hair tied back, your sleeves rolled up. He rubbed at his eyes, looking over the sight curiously.

“Cookies?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“Can I help?” He asked.

You nodded, motioning to the bowl, all the ingredients set beside it. “If you wanna stir that all together, sure.” You pulled the melted butter out of the microwave, pouring it in. He carefully cracked the eggs, and added water, mixing it together. The parts of the mixing where you would struggle a bit, Bob powered through easily. That superstrength at work in the most mundane way.

With that done, you two started balling up the cookies, rolling them between your palms and setting them on the greased pan. Elbow to elbow, side by side. He kept glancing over at you, shoulders hunched a little, but his posture was much straighter than it had been the entire time he’d been there.

“What starter did you pick?”

“Mudkip. Thought about Torchic, but…I like the water types.”

“That’s fair.” You chuckled. “It depends, for me. Bulbasaur in Leaf Green, Chimchar in Diamond, Totodile in Soul Silver…”

“Little bit of everything. Pretty well-rounded.” Bob said with a chuckle, plopping another raw cookie onto the tray. “I like Turtwig a lot, though. Cute little guy. Turtles are cool.”

You remembered the poster he’d snagged from the reject bin. The sea turtles. You wondered if he felt like that. A turtle. Like he could just hide in his shell. The shell in question being those big sweaters that swallowed him whole.

“Turtles are cool.” You repeated. You were getting towards the end of the dough now. You gathered what was left onto two spoons, scraping the edges of the bowl. You handed one to him and then lowered the pans into the warm oven.

Bob nibbled on it curiously. “The dough is the best part. I know you’re not supposed to eat it, but…”

“No, I get it. In college, I used to buy packages of pre-made dough just to eat it. You do have to limit yourself, though. Every time I ate more than three of those little chunks, I’d get sick as hell.”

He laughed at that, holding up his spoon. “This is a safe amount, I take it?”

“Should be.” You grinned, hopping up onto the counter. You cleaned off your spoon before setting it in the sink. Bob grabbed the empty bowl, setting it there as well. He filled it with warm water and soap, setting his spoon right next to yours.

That left him close, aided by the boost the counter gave you. Daylight streamed through the kitchen blinds, making him look so gentle. He looked tired. Always did. But there was something else there, now. Something swirled deep in his gut, or maybe it was yours. His eyes flicked over to you and your heart jumped.

You could see it in your mind’s eye. Bob leaning closer, resting a hand on the counter beside your thigh. His body so warm you’d feel the heat through your clothes. He’d dip his head down, hair falling in his face. You’d reach up, brush it out of the way with the gentlest fingers. The gentlest touch. He was a streetlight and you were a moth. And you were sure he felt the exact opposite way. He looked at you like you were made of starlight and dreams. Something he wasn’t worthy of.

You’d prove it to him somehow. Over and over again, like a wave on the shore outside. Steadfast and unrelenting.

He stood there at the sink, gazing out the window at the lilac bush. Huffed a breath. Looked down at you. Smiled. His gaze flicked away, Adam’s apple bobbing. And for a moment there, you really did think he would lean in and kiss you, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

You could practically see the little voice in the back of his head, harping on him for the feelings swirling around his heart.

He stepped away. That crackling static dissipated. You let out a slow, silent breath as he crossed the room to the calendar, eyes falling on that day, circled in pen. The day Bucky was supposed to come back for the two of you and whatever things you’d packed for the journey.

He stiffened a bit, shoulders falling. It was true, what they said. Nothing lasts forever. But Bob still felt greedy for wanting just a little more time.

***

That night, you slept soundly. No nightmares. For you, anyway. Just the sound of the waves in the distance, the hum of the air conditioner, the occasional buzz of the sump pump in the basement.

Knock-knock-knock.

It wasn’t a downstairs knock, it was an upstairs knock. You opened your eyes, inhaling a long breath, as though the air itself would wake you enough to get up. You pushed the blanket aside, walked over to the door, pulled it open.

Bob was already halfway back down the hall to his room when the hinges creaked. He turned, posture small and sheepish, hands fiddling with each other.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Y-Yeah, I just…” His voice buckled, betraying him. Reconsidered. “No. I…sorry.”

“Hey, come on.” You opened your door a little wider, tilting your head back towards your bed.

He took a shaky breath, thinking about it for a moment before his feet began to move, one in front of the other, carrying him over the threshold of your room. He hadn’t been in there, you were pretty sure, which explained the long sweep he did of the space, eyes exploring every poster, trinket, book.

“It’s kind of a mess in here, sorry.”

He chuckled, shook his head, stood there until you sat, patting the mattress beside you. He sat lightly, like he was afraid of breaking it. He took another breath, letting it roll out. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

You laughed softly, waving it off. “Nonsense. What’s up?”

Another shrug, that ‘it’s fine’ face resurfacing. You braced for impact. “Just can’t…sleep. I…was wondering if I could…sleep in here. With you. But then I realized that was stupid, so I walked back up the hall.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t so bad. “You can stay in here. That’s fine.”

He relaxed. “Okay. I’ll uh, go grab a blanket. I can sleep on the floor.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

It took a moment for the realization to bloom on his features, but once they did, he couldn’t keep that shy little smile off of his face. You pulled the covers back, climbing in first. He slipped one leg in, then the other, pulling the blanket back across the two of you.

You took in a breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you focused, leaning into that inner warmth, your guiding light. Your beacon. You glowed ever so softly, though it was mostly muffled beneath the blanket, motioned him closer, but he was one step ahead of you, climbing right on top, like he’d been waiting for it. Like since he’d gotten a taste of your energy, he’d been aching to feel it all over, all at once.

Bob sighed into your chest, his weight heavy and real and grounding on top of you. And warm. Oh, so warm.

You reached up and played with his hair, your other arm crossing his back, soothing circles into his tired muscles. He melted like a cat, just totally boneless on top of you.

A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips, eyes half-lidded. “I hoped it would feel like this.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded as much as he could manage. “Yeah. You’re like a heating pad.”

You chuckled. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah I…run warm. Sorry.”

“No, it’s nice. This is nice.”

He didn’t reply to that, just thought for a long moment. You stared at the ceiling, your light dancing across the white expanse, casting shadows through the cobweb in the corner. “I, uh…had a nightmare. That’s why…”

You nodded, fingers working his scalp. “I figured. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Well…kind of.” He sighed, feeling heavier suddenly. You cradled him more, pressing a kiss to his temple. That seemed to help, just a little bit. “Sometimes…I feel like the others…sent me here so they could figure out how to get rid of me. Get me out of the way for a while until they could figure it out. Telling me to look at the literal flowers until…”

Your heart sank like a rock. It sank further when he pulled away to look at you, your soft glow glistening in his glassy eyes. “Oh, Bob…”

“I’m indestructible. I know that.” A heavy sigh. “Believe me, I know that. But…”

“They didn’t. I know Bucky. He wouldn’t do that.” You reasoned, but it didn’t seem to help. You tried a different approach. “They…sent you here because I needed you.”

He scoffed.

“I mean it. I’ve…been tucked out here so long, away from it all. I hated it. The city, all the people, the knowing looks, grabbing hands, people who wanted the idea of me. I wanted the quiet. But after a while, that quiet just starts to eat at you from the inside. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until he dropped you off at my doorstep. There are still people I can help; but there are also still people who can help me. I think I lost sight of that.”

His eyebrows furrowed, a tear slipping down his cheek. You reached up and wiped it away with a gentle thumb. His lip trembled as he asked, “You think I’ve helped you?”

Your heart broke. “Of course you have. We’re going back to New York in a few days, but…I think some part of me will always live right here, with you.”

He choked on a sob. You pulled him closer, back down on top of you, combing through his hair with the utmost care and gentleness. Your glow got a little stronger. Not on purpose. Not enough to hurt. It just did that sometimes when you were feeling big feelings.

He buried his face in your neck, tears rolling down between your skin and his. You let him get it all out until he calmed, breathing slowing to normal again. And then slower than normal. He was out. Your invincible boy and his big, giant heart. You wished the world had been kinder to him. Gentler. You wished he wasn’t carrying such sadness behind those ocean eyes.

Someday, his shadows would shrink and he’d learn to be at home in his skin again, but until then, you’d just have to continue to be his beacon in the storm, guiding him back to shore.

Radiant

It felt like a dream, waking up in his arms. But maybe it was because you had woken up there so many times in yours. This time, it was real. His breaths wafted across your skin, hair falling against the skin of your neck, nose pressed to your collarbone. One strong arm was coiled around your waist, the other was tucked somewhere beneath his broad frame. He took in a long breath, as though he could sense you waking beneath him, gorgeous blue eyes fluttering open in the daylight, framed by those irritatingly thick eyelashes.

His lips curled into a sleepy grin as he looked at you, not moving a muscle. “You glow in your sleep.”

You laughed, giving his side a loving pinch. “And did that impede your rest, Mr. Reynolds?”

“On the contrary, you make kind of a good nightlight.” He punctuated it with a long, impossibly soft kiss to your cheek. “But, uh…if we’re going to do this again, I might need to order a sleep mask.”

The way he said it was so simple. So obvious. Something that had caused you so much grief in your previous dating life was…an Amazon click for him. It put everything into a new perspective. If he wanted to, he would, as they said. Well, Bob absolutely wanted to. It gave the butterflies in your stomach something to gossip about, at the very least.

You cuddled for a while, getting accustomed to the feel of each other. It was clear now, that it very much was not just a healing arrangement anymore. What you were, exactly, hadn’t been articulated, but you couldn’t wait to find out.

He studied you, laid on his side, face to face on the pillows, his legs tangled with yours. “Were you and Bucky ever…uh…you know…?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. Bucky is great, but he’s way too old for me. I don’t think he’s ever seen me as anything but his kid sister. I was pretty young when Sam roped me into all of this. Early twenties, but still.”

“Hmm.”

“Why? Did you think we were?”

“Not exactly. I just…I mean…” He chuckled, cheeks flushing. He reached a hand out, brushing your hair back with the utmost care, thumb warm as it skimmed your face. “You’re starlight. If I was the Winter Soldier, I would have melted. Especially if you quiet his shadows the way you quiet mine.”

Starlight. That one felt different. But you’d have to unpack that later. Probably when you were unpacking all of the literal boxes piling up around this place.

Eventually, Bob straightened up, lifted his sweatshirt a bit to scratch his stomach, just enough to give you a look at…what lie beneath.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Bob was ripped. This entire time, he’d been hiding the body of a Greek god with those oversized sweaters. He had an eight pack, easy. Granted, that was all you could see from the angle, but you could imagine the rest. You knew he hadn’t been working out since he’d been staying with you. It had been a lot of mac and cheese and fast food and laying on the couch watching movies, sprinkled with the occasional walk or home-cooked pasta dish. That damn supersoldier serum…

Bob’s eyes widened a hair, noticing the look on your face. He smoothed the shirt back down, snapping you back to reality, gave a shy little smile. Blushed. “Oh, uh, those, yeah. They’re new to me, too. I forget they’re there, sometimes.”

“Must be the, uh..supersoldier serum. Gives you killer, um…metabolism, I’ve heard…” You murmured, averting your eyes. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Sentry suit had been tight, from the footage you’d seen, but…you had managed to separate that Bob from the one in front of you so effectively that it was almost like a jumpscare. “Anywaysssss, um, I’m gonna go get breakfast started. Pancakes?”

He grinned, tilting his head as he admired your pajamas in the light of day, a cute little two-piece set with seagulls on the pants. “Pancakes sound good. With blueberries?”

“Yeah, I think the ones from the farmer’s market are still good.” You agreed, stretching out your tired limbs. Despite the supersoldier sleeping on top of you, you were…surprisingly well-rested. In fact, you were pretty sure it was the best sleep you’d gotten since Bob had showed up.

You padded down the stairs first, setting to work. Well, after you buried your face in the fridge and let out a strangled groan, directly at the orange juice container. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Bob’s muscles. Even if you weren’t already head over heels for the guy, that surely would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Pancakes. Pancakes. Think about the pancakes. You repeated, a stupid little mantra. That voice in the back of your head quipped that it was a good thing they weren’t waffles.

Once there was a stack of them sitting on the table, a few glasses of orange juice poured, Bob came downstairs, sitting opposite you at the table. He cut into his pancakes, taking a bite. You looked up to see if he liked them, and instead caught him staring at you, eyes sparkling, that shy smile firmly in place. His eyes flicked down to the table, but the smile didn’t go away.

He swallowed, cleared his throat. Smiled again.

You smiled too, which led to him giggling. Just a little. Shoulders shaking with the effort.

He licked the syrup from his lip. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” You replied, something akin to an inside joke bubbling up between you. Bucky would clock it immediately, you were sure, the thick string of affection tying the two of you together now. But maybe that had been part of his plan after all. Or maybe he really had just been truly desperate and deemed you a decent enough babysitter for the most dangerous man in the world.

“I, uh…” He thought for a moment. “I wanna take you to dinner tonight. There’s a little diner in town. It’s…It’s on me. Don’t bring your wallet.”

You smiled bigger, curious how he would make it work, but excited nonetheless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I…I’ve kind of never done this before.” He admitted, fork stabbing into the top pancake in the stack, right into a gooey blueberry. “I mean…whatever this is. I just kind of assumed, ’cause we were…kissing eachother…and stuff, so…”

You reached across the table, taking his hand. “I would love to go on a date with you, Bob.”

His fingers curled around yours, squeezing. Warm, warm thumb crested over your knuckles. He repeated the words you’d said last week like he’d been waiting to all along. “It’s a date.”

***

You spent most of the day packing up your clothes, something you’d been putting off since you still needed to wear them. Bob went out for a bit, leaving instructions to be ready by six. You dug out something nice, a suitable pair of shoes, accessorized and did your makeup for probably the first time since he’d gotten there. Maybe the first time in months, if you were being honest.

And when six o’clock rolled around, there was a knock on the door.

You grinned despite yourself, walking over to answer it. Bob was standing there in a blue blazer covered in lighthouses, a periwinkle buttondown, black tie, and slacks. The jacket, you recognized. It had been Earlene’s husband’s before he died. Now, this was starting to make more sense.

In his hand, he gripped a clumsy little bouquet of lilacs and white roses. Perched inside them, an iridescent tarot card. The Knight of Cups. Alright, message received.

“W-wow…you look incredible.” He murmured, those curious eyes taking in every detail before him, committing it all to memory.

“So do you. The blue brings out your eyes.” You breathed, taking him in.

His hair was still done in floofy brown curls, tie knotted carefully at his throat. He peered out from behind them, fidgeting with the flowers. He was nervous.

“Hey, it’s just me.” You murmured softly, taking a step closer, reaching for his other hand.

He chuckled, gazing down at you. “I know, that’s…why I’m nervous. You’re like, the girl of my dreams.”

Your heart did a fucking backflip. You brought his hand to your lips, grazing his knuckles. “Let me get those in water, okay? You all ready?”

“I’m ready.” He nodded, stepping into the doorway while you put the flowers in a tall glass of water. When you turned back, he was reaching for your hand, a giddy look in his eyes. He looked even giddier when you slipped your hand into his.

Once you were in the parking lot of the diner, he ran around the front of the car to open your door for you, offering his hand, which you took immediately, letting him lead you inside one of your favorite spots in town, Marceline’s.

It was an old-fashioned place. Jukebox against the wall, checkered tile floor, hot rod red booths. The menu was all classic: burgers, fries and milkshakes, soda in glass bottles with swirly-striped straws. It was a little busier than you’d expected, all things considered, a good handful of regulars littered around. The hostess led you to a booth by the windows and Bob sat across from you, stars in his eyes.

There was a guy a few booths down in a ballcap, wearing his sunglasses inside. Odd, you thought. But you wrote it off.

You browsed the menu for a bit before placing the order with the waitress when she came around, wearing a vintage pink uniform with an apron and a big, angular collar. She had a cherry embroidered into the corner of it.

The two of you ordered your entrees, a plate of fries to share, and some milkshakes. And when she left, Bob could not stop grinning at you.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that.” You said with a smirk, watching as his cheeks flushed red.

He huffed, mock defensive. “I know, I just…I can’t remember the last time I was this…happy. In a good way and not…in a manic way, you know? I’m gonna wake up any second now, I’m sure.”

You shook your head, meeting his eyes. “We’re wide awake. But trust me, I can’t believe it, either.”

“I thought about…taking you to that ice cream place again. You know, after this. But you said you’d been on so many shitty dates there…seemed like bad vibes.”

You scrunched your nose. “Good call. Besides, the milkshakes are really good here anyway.”

“Maybe we could go stargazing? On the beach? I didn’t really check the weather, but I threw a blanket in the backseat earlier.”

“I like that idea.”

Dinner was good. Simple, but good. Classic, in a way. Your fingers brushed his when you reached into the fry basket. He savored his milkshake, really cherishing every moment. The two of you talked all the while, like old friends. Like he was your lifelong neighbor boy, not the stray Bucky had dropped off two weeks before.

You remembered the way Earlene talked about her husband, Roy. The man whose jacket Bob was wearing. He’d passed before you ever met her, but you could tell not a moment went by that she didn’t think of him.

“Oh, honey, I made Roy chase me for weeks before I let him take me out. But he was mine the moment I saw him. I think he knew that.”

You tried to pinpoint it. The moment Bob had become yours. But you knew it was when Bucky had stepped out of the way and Bob was standing there on your sidewalk, knuckles white around the handle of his suitcase, like a nervous kid at sleepaway camp.

“You still with me, (Y/N)?” Bob waved a hand in front of your face.

“Hmm? Sorry. Lost in thought.” You murmured, guiding your eyes right back to his. “You say something?”

He shook his head and let out a long sigh, floored. “God, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart raced, cheeks warm. And in the reflection of the window, in the corner of your eye, you watched yourself begin to glow a little. Almost imperceptibly. But you knew Bob picked up on it.

His smile stretched wider. “Love when you do that.”

You quirked an eyebrow, trying to neutralize it to no avail. “It’s a fun party trick, huh?”

He nodded in agreement immediately. “I’ll trade you, if you want. You can have all the strength and stuff and I’ll glow and make people sleepy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, offering your hand, which he playfully shook. “Deal.”

***

The air was crisp when you left the restaurant, joint hands swinging between you on the way back to the car, lovesick smiles on your faces. Bob walked to the driver’s side door with you, reaching to open it, but stopping halfway there, heart both in his throat and on his sleeve.

He was going to kiss you.

Bob wiped his palm on the fabric of his borrowed blazer, taking a step closer. Another. His foot landing between the two of yours. He swallowed, leaning closer, mouth hanging open while he thought, strategizing an approach. One large, warm hand settled on your waist.

“I, uh…I guess this is the part of the night where…” He exhaled nervously.

The guy in the ballcap crossed the parking lot. You paid him a little more attention this time. The way he circled like a shark, muttering into his phone.

“It’s okay if…you don’t want to, I just…” Bob mumbled, losing steam.

“It’s not that.” You shushed him, hands resting on his firm chest, your back up against the car. His arms crested your form out of what he could only describe as instinct. You glanced over Bob’s shoulder to where the guy had been, but he was gone now.

“What? What is it?”

“There was a guy in a baseball cap. I think he was following us.” You uttered, voice quiet and urgent, slipping into Undercover Avenger mode.

“A w-what? What guy?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

You were cut off by a quick and vengeful taser to the neck, debilitating you instantly.

“Get off of her!” Bob yelled. The guy tried to tase him as well, but it didn’t work. Bob stood there, staring at the guy, face twisted in confusion. On instinct, he reached up, using telekinesis to yoink the taser out of the guy’s hand, chucking it halfway across town.

You straightened up, body aglow. You shined a brilliant light directly into the guy’s face. Another one rounded the side of the car, with some powered-up weapon, emiting waves not unlike your own. It felt familiar, in a fucked-up way, sweeping rushes of artificial drowsiness washing over your body. Your knees buckled, and you gritted your teeth as your light was stripped away.

Obviously they were HYDRA and obviously they were there for Bob, but you were sure they’d take you as a consolation prize. Use you as leverage against Bucky or Sam or whoever was left.

Bob waded the space with a little trouble, the waves clearly affecting him, but eventually reached the gun and tore the thing right in half, to the horror of the agent holding it. He knocked him out of the way like he was an action figure.

You got to your feet, breathing heavy. You took stock of Bob, reaching up to touch his hot, hot skin, tilting his face down to get a better look. That gold ring around his irises glowed as he stared down at you, the look on his face somehow soft and threatening. Jaw clenched, muscles strung tight. He looked at you like he was trying to place you, but once he met your eyes, familiarity spread behind his gaze.

A dark van pulled into the lot and more agents filed out of it.

“I need you to stay with me, okay? I need you to control it.” You murmured, voice serious.

Bob nodded, the ring vanishing. He took off the jacket, chucking it into a bush for safety, since it was borrowed. Your light reflected off of his periwinkle buttondown as your glow returned, feet almost involuntarily rising off the pavement, poised like a dancer’s. He couldn’t help but smile. Catlike and enamored as he watched you lock in.

For their credit, the HYDRA agents tried. But they had severely underestimated the two of you. You blinded a guy in nightvision goggles, but that was just due to his own stupidity, really. You hovered, blasting them with bolts of burning energy. Bob stayed grounded, feet planted firmly in the parking lot, but the superstrength and telekinesis were more than enough to fight off any attacker that came his way. He had some natural fighting instincts. Obviously he did, if the Sentry videofile was to be believed. But you hadn’t been sure how much of that was Bob. Now you knew.

A helicopter chopped through the air over the ocean, the octopus-like hate symbol emblazoned on the side of it, shooting a hail of bullets that you blocked in an iridescent forcefield, shielding whatever onlookers hadn’t taken cover yet. Bob caught the strays, dropping them harmlessly to the parking lot with little metal clinks. The locals, bless their hearts, were too curious for their own good. Especially when something otherworldly started unfolding in their tiny little town.

The sight of the helicopter set you off, rage brewing in your belly as you rose higher into the air, trailing light like a comet. You were raising power levels. 8, 9, 10…if you were hooked up to the sensors the Wakandans had monitored you under, you were sure you would have wrecked the scale. The streetlight sparked, then exploded. Bob shielded the onlookers from the glass as he took out the few remaining ground attackers, popping their tires with his telekinesis. The air let out with a vicious hiss.

That’d show those snakes.

You balled your fist, letting the energy around it charge before you punched forward, blasting the helicopter. The tail spun as it fell out of control, crashing down into the ocean with a ginormous splash. An explosion, then silence.

You took a sharp breath, surfacing. You looked down at the parking lot, where the townsfolk that had gathered cheered. Slowly, you sank back down, one foot touching the cement, then the other. Immediately, Bob was there, a hand on your elbow, looking over you with care.

He exhaled a long, shaking breath, stars in his eyes. “You are radiant. That, wow…I’ve never seen anything so…I…you’re amazing. You’re amazing and I think I…well, I really…”

You planted a hand on his cheek, effectively hushing his stammering, the other steadying on his shirt. “This is the part of the night where I kiss you.”

“O-Okay.” He nodded enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut, lips pursing in preparation. You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He melted against you, letting you lead him through a sweet, soft, sentimental kiss. When it was over, he kept chasing it, kissing you again, and again, and then, really, one last time, giggling to himself.

You hugged him tight, arms wound around his broad shoulders, holding him close.

His cheek moved beneath your lips as he grinned, hugging you back, arms strong and stable. He murmured into your ear, tone carrying a joke right to you, like a leaf on the river. “This isn’t just because of the abs, right?”

You laughed loudly, shaking your head. You pulled back an inch, to meet his eyes. Noses brushed as you went in for one last kiss that he eagerly returned, humming into your mouth, lips a little more confident, albeit still clumsy. But he’d learn. You had all the time in the world for that.

He made sure to grab the lighthouse jacket from the bushes before you left, carefully dusting it off and folding it in his lap on the drive home. Suddenly, he wasn’t so afraid to go back to the city anymore.

No matter what happened, he’d have you.

The Lighthouse

Your alarm was shrill the next morning, rousing you quickly and directly. You slapped the nightstand blindly before Bob reached over and used his telekinesis to turn it off. You took a breath, turning to face him. He was already looking at you, eyes soft with admiration.

“Morning, starlight.” He murmured, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Morning, Bob.” You replied, crawling closer to him.

He tugged you to his chest easily, chin resting against your head. He pressed a long, soft kiss there, at the edge of your face, strong arms winding tight around you. “Big day today.”

You gave a wry snort. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

You cuddled for a while longer, bargaining for time, kissing between whispered words before you managed to pry yourself not only from your mattress, but from him. Threw on some clothes, went down the stairs, and whipped together a quick breakfast before there was a knock on the door.

Bob pulled it open, wearing the same sweater he’d been wearing the day he arrived. The blue one that made him look so soft and small. He was standing a little straighter now, eyes a little brighter. His shadows hadn’t been banished completely, but he was shades lighter than you’d found him. The ocean air was good for that.

“Hey, guys!” You could hear the smile in his voice, even with your back turned as you plated up some eggs and panfried hashbrowns. “Come on in! (Y/N)’s just finishing up breakfast.”

Bucky led the group inside, giving a wave, vibranium hand glinting in the sunlight. Behind him was a short young woman with smoky eyes and short blonde hair and a mountain of a guy with a long gray beard. You’d seen them on the news, you were sure. Probably in the same newscast you’d seen Bob’s alter ego. So this was it. This was the team.

“(Y/N), this is Yelena and Alexei. They’re…Nat’s family.”

Your gaze softened immediately, looking them over. You’d heard a bit about Yelena. Not much, just pieces here and there. Natasha had kept her cards pretty close to her chest. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is ours! Beacon! I have seen you on the TV, doing the glowing and the shooting and the flying, it’s great!” Alexei greeted, offering a strong handshake and a hearty pat on the back.

Yelena was cradling Reginald in her arms, bouncing him like a baby, his orange tail flicking with content. She looked up at Bob, smiled softly. “You look good, Bob. How have you been, out here?”

Bob smiled back, eyes flicking to you and then back to her, cheeks flushing. “Great, yeah. I’m doing good. Bucky was right. She’s an expert.”

She looked at you, grinning. “I am keeping this cat, by the way.”

Bob shook his head, mouth falling open in protest, “Oh, that’s not…”

Bucky put a hand on your shoulder, looking proud. “Listen, thirteen days is not bad. I’m surprised you two lasted this long before winding up on the news. So, congrats. You almost made it two weeks.”

“Ha ha. Thank you very much, Congressman. First of all, not our fault HYDRA had boots on the ground out here. Second, no appearances of the other guy whatsoever.”

“Well…” Bob cut in, grimacing.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two of you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Right, so…technically, he showed up a little, but it seems like he’s kinda…relegated to Bob’s subconscious at the moment.”

Bucky waved a hand. “In English, please.”

“He only shows up in my dreams. And…other people’s dreams, also…”

“Huh. Makes…sense, I guess. We’ll have to look into that.” Bucky looked around at all the boxes you had piled up in the living room. “Anywho, you all packed up? We can start moving stuff while you two eat breakfast.”

“Yep. Everything in here is coming. Everything else is staying. Figured it would be a good safehouse, down the line.” You said, poking your eggs with a fork.

Bucky grinned, nodding. One of those slow grins that hit his eyes first, crinkling them at the edges. Maybe some part of him had expected you to back out. To decide to stay in this little sea town you called home. Maybe some part of you had, too. But every glance you threw Bob’s way just cemented it more. You needed him. Maybe more than he needed you. And that was worth chasing across the country let alone a few hundred miles to New York.

***

You cleaned and dried the dishes, putting them away. You closed the kitchen curtains, turned and walked back towards the living room. You could hear Yelena and Alexei bickering in the front yard, beyond the open door. All the boxes had been taken aside from Bob’s, filled with his odds and ends. The poster from the reject bin, the records he’d taken, a stack of books and a few DVDs, a Rubik’s Cube, and a little metal lighthouse.

Bob picked it up, holding it on his hip. He caught you reminiscing, soft gray cardigan pulled around yourself as you looked around the living room one last time. It was time.

He offered his hand and you took it, fingers slotting between his easily. He raised it to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, giving a soft, reassuring smile. You’d been coaxing him out of his comfort zone this whole time, now it was his turn.

“You ready?”

You nodded, eyes honest. Your heart ached, but…you were beginning to think it was in a good way. “Ready.”

“Cool.” He looked around the living room one last time, eyes sticking on the painting over the couch. “We’ll be back.”

He sounded so sure of it. You knew he was right. Part of your heart would always live in your sleepy little sea town. And now, part of it would always live with Bob.

“You’re right.”

“We better go quick, before Yelena changes her mind. It took me forever to talk her out of taking Reginald. But that little guy belongs here, exploring.”

The two of you walked outside, set Bob’s box in the back of your car, next to your laptop and other fragile bits.

“I am riding with you two.” Yelena announced, sliding into one of the back seats.

You glanced over to where Bucky and Alexei were climbing into the van they’d brought. Bucky saluted, gave an annoyed-looking expression, and pulled out of the driveway first.

In your own car, you adjusted the air conditioning, let Bob pick the music, and got the navigation going. Yelena poked around the stuff in the back seat, finding the snacks easily.

“Bob, do you want some? She’s got Doritos and stuff in here.” She murmured, the bags crinkling as she ruffled through them.

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good. Maybe in a bit.”

“Suit yourself.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the familiarity, the bond you could already feel there. You hoped you’d be able to slip into the team as well. But all you needed to do to get confirmation of that was glance at the passenger seat, where despite your lack of obvious glow, Bob was still looking at you like you were made of starlight.

And as you rolled down the driveway, past the familiar streets and smalltown faces, getting farther and farther from familiarity, the last thing in view of this place you’d called home for so long…was the lighthouse.

Starlight

It had been two months since you’d arrived at what was now called the Watchtower. A pretentious name for Valentina’s New Avengers lineup, but that was the least of your concern. Her big thing was optics, so she hadn’t even balked when Bucky had presented you as an option for what she dubbed the “Bob Problem.”

You learned very quickly that you didn’t like her and just as quickly that you didn’t trust her, but you were quick to put her in her place when she first uttered that phrase around you.

“He’s not a problem. He needs support. And therapy. And meds. And quite possibly a cat. But you will treat him with respect or he and I are both gone and I know you need us more than we need you.”

She’d been impressed by that. “Well, Beacon, in that case, I’m glad to have you aboard, since you seem to have him all figured out.”

“Actually, let me stop you right there. I…was considering a new codename maybe.”

“A rebrand, I like it. What are you thinking?”

Your eyes wandered to Bob in his reading chair by the window before returning back to her. “How about Starlight?”

She grinned, the wheels turning behind her eyes. She could see the headlines now, you were sure. “How about it…”

The rest of the lineup was just Ava, who went by Ghost, a woman that could walk through walls, which was very cool, and…John Fucking Walker. You’d stared at him for a long time when you first encountered him, frozen in your tracks, frowning while Bucky chuckled across the kitchen.

“No. Are you serious?” You glanced back at him and then up at John again. “Ewww.”

John scoffed, offended immediately. “Hey!”

“No, that’s a valid ‘ew,’ John. She gets at least one of those.” Bucky muttered over his mug of black coffee. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

In your free time, you wrote again, inspiration more than sparked by your time with Bob. Every time you got stuck, all you had to do was let him read what you had so far, and he’d make suggestions. Even if they didn’t always work necessarily, they got the ball rolling again. And the Tower had ample space to do it. There were lots of quiet spots to tuck away in. Today you’d opted to work in one of the common areas, though, Bob sitting at the high-top table with you, fingers fiddling with yours.

Ava opened the dishwasher and groaned loudly before yelling, “Bucky! How many times do we have to tell you not to put it in there with dishes?!” She yanked his vibranium arm out, holding it aloft in the air.

You couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, shaking your head. Bob grinned too, eyes locked on you fondly. He was clumsily crocheting something next to you, stopping and holding it out to you.

“No, so how did this even happen?” He asked, pointing to a very messed-up loop.

“You stuck the hook through the strands of yarn. Just undo that one and try again. It’s tricky to not do that with that kind.” You advised, gently taking his hands in yours and unraveling the previous loop, helping him get back on track. “That’s what’s so nice about crochet. You can just undo it all and start over.”

He smiled, the words striking a bit deeper than he knew you meant to. But that was this whole thing, wasn’t it? You were his fresh start.

Bucky sauntered into the room, grabbing his arm and sticking it back on, rotating it back into place with force. “It just works, alright? It gets clean.”

“Not with the dishes! Run it by itself! Or better yet, buy yourself a dishwasher and put it in your room.”

“Now, now, everybody, I think we all need to take a deep breath.” Alexei said, trying to keep the peace. “Isn’t that nice? Big, deep breath. Ava, I see you are not taking the breath, just breathe in…”

Your phone rang, a goofy picture of Sam flashing across the lockscreen. Your eyebrows furrowed and you picked it up. “Hey, buddy. How have you been? It’s been a while?”

He chuckled, exhaling a sigh. “Yeah, I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch, I’ve just been so busy with…well, all kinds of stuff. But actually, speaking of that, I was wondering if you wanted to come get some coffee? Maybe meet up? I…well, maybe I shouldn’t lead with this, but I’m trying to get the Avengers off of the ground again. I’ve got this great new guy, Joaquin. I think you’d really like him. And we found this guy who has these alien rings, he’s super cool.”

“Sam—”

“Listen, I know you’ve been out of the loop of all of this for a while. And if you wanna keep it that way, I understand. But my team could really use a healer, so…what do you say?”

You took a breath, pretending to mull it over, but your mind was made up. “Thank you for thinking of me, but…Bucky called me first, and…” You looked at Bob, who was absorbed in his yarn loops again, an earbud stuck in his ear. “They need me here. It’s not personal. I’m sorry. If there’s ever…an emergency, give me a call, but I’m planted here.”

A bitter chuckle. A resigned sigh. “No, I get it. Take care of yourself.”

And then he hung up.

“Who was that?” Bob asked, curious blue eyes peering over at you.

“Sam.” You replied, reaching for his hand, which he gladly turned over, fingers curling around yours.

The worry was imminent on his features already, just a little, in his eyes. Insecurity that you’d slip away as easily as he’d gotten you. “He wants you, huh?”

“I’m staying right here.” You reassured, squeezing his hand again. “I’m not here for Valentina. I’m not even really here for Bucky anymore. I’m here for you. Where you go, I go. Simple as that.”

He smiled softly at that, nodding. “Okay. Cool.”

“Package for Bob?” John walked into the room, chucking the thin little package onto the table in front of the two of you, where it landed with a thwop. “What even is that thing?”

Bob tore it open easily, pulling out what appeared to be a pretty high-quality sleep mask. “Oh, sweet. I was wondering when this would come in.”

“What, you got insomnia or something?” John asked.

“My girlfriend glows,” came his simple explanation, shrugging his shoulders. He had a giddy look on his face. All proud and lovesick in a way that made your heart churn.

You tried to fight the grin that broke out on your features, shaking your head with a flustered laugh.

“I sleep really well now, though. She knocks me right out.”

“Ew, Bob, we don’t need all the details of…whatever this is you two have going on.” John groaned, waving a jealous hand in your direction.

“Oh, shut up, Walker. Bob and (Y/N) are surprisingly tame in the PDA department. They could be like, way worse.” Yelena defended. “And it is very cute by the way, you two.”

“Yelena is right. There is something so…romantic about the boy with the shadow and the girl who glows.” Alexei gushed, very passionate. You’d never seen it that way, but…he wasn’t wrong.

Bob had his Void. Always would, you were sure. And you were the glowing girl. The Beacon, and now…his Starlight.

No matter what form he took, no matter what kind of day he was having, you would always be right there to remind him that there were people who loved him. People who valued him and wanted him around.

He was the warmth in a cold room. Your Knight of Cups. You’d choose him every time, and you knew in a heartbeat, that he’d choose you, too, like a moth fluttering towards a streetlight. Doomed, maybe, but inevitable nonetheless. In every timeline, it would always be him.

You gave him a tender look, gave his side a loving pinch and settled up against him. A low chuckle floated out of his mouth and he kissed your forehead, large, warm hand smoothing down your back.

The rest of the team devolved into bickering about something else. Like siblings, truly. But you and Bob were just quiet, watching it all from the fringes, soaking in eachother’s warmth.

“I’m so glad you said yes. Still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. That I get to have something as nice as you, but…I’m not complaining.” Bob murmured, hands mapping you out, grounding himself.

“I’m all yours, Bob.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, eyes glimmering with a million words, but settling on just two, “Believe it.”

The End.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #thunderbolts #the thunderbolts imagine #new avengers #marvel #mcu #sentry x reader #sentry #bob thunderbolts

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dontbesoweirdkira · 9 months ago

Note

What if batsib also dies and comes back? Would that get rid of their status as the comfort person and stability in Jason's life?

This anon is referencing this post!

Hmm. This is such an interesting question! Thank you for asking.

I think it really depends on how you view Jason in my writing. I'll give you a few possible answers and you can do it as you will. To be honest my headcanons are up for interpretation. There's no right or wrong answer in fiction. I want you all to be pleased.

If you want my personal answer then it's the second one. Happy imagining.

If you took it as that he only clings to Batsis because of their purity.

Well i think the answer would be yes. But this would also mean he's not really obsessed with you but what you have. Your innocence and optimism is something he can hyper focus on. It overrides the demons and memories in his mind, when he's in his worse state, he can fade back into the thoughts of you and feel better. You give him hope that maybe the world isn't as shitty as his mind makes it out to be.

If you can stay unscathed for so long then what happened to him was just an anomaly. You are the perfect example of how he wishes he was. Blissful and un-traumatized, he lives vicariously through you.

You dying completely shatters his mind. He allows all of the bad to overtake him, there's no hope for a better life. It's clear the world doesn't want good to exist so why try to fight his demons anymore? They already took you which was the last sweet thing left.

When you come back, you're so different. He can't bring himself to even look at you. It destroys him so much. You're a husk of your former self, you're too much like him now. He hates who he is and thus can't love you the same way as before. Even the pure vanilla scent on you has a hint of death mixed into it. He doesn't like it.

he keeps his distance as far away from you as possible and is rather hostile when you try to interact with him. He doesn't truly mean it but it's all too much.

If you took it as he clings to you purely out of love and your purity is just a bonus.

He could never even think to stop loving his sibling. If anything it brings him closer to you. Your death tore him to shreds...yet you even in the midst he still held onto parts of you he had left.

Your memory..your scent still lingers just enough to carry Jason through the months of your death. He remembered the promises he made to you about becoming better, becoming just like Dick. He still wants to carry that through so he can be someone you are proud of. It keeps him from slipping back into the depths of his mind again. Maybe he even leans on the support of his siblings as well. He doesn't completely shut everyone out.

When you come back, he might be slightly standoff-ish. He's confused and conflicted. He's happy to see his siblings once again but at what cost? He knows what going through the pit is like and what it does to your mind. It looms over you and tries to rip your mind apart. You see and hear things that aren't really there...or maybe it is but only to the un-dead. He's hurting for you. He never wanted someone as kind as you to suffer like this. He knows the pain will never stop.

After his initial aversion, he's even more protective of you. Sure you may not want it but you need it. You won't be getting through this alone, you may be a shell of yourself but soon you'll be back to normal. Just like him you can turn it around.

It's nice to have someone in the family who can directly relate to him. It's like you both are in your own little world together. The other siblings can't have access to you the same way he does. He loves it. He finally has his sibling all to himself and there's no more competition. The others are the strange ones to you now...not him! To Jason, you're still as perfect as before.

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oh-obrien · 9 months ago

Text

GRID ACE 0.1

GAMER READER X Lestappen SMAU

Summary: Reader is a Red Bull e-sports athlete who happens to catch the attention of two particular drivers with her streams

I am new-ish to the F1 fandom so hopefully I didn't mess this up too bad! I used to be an AVID fic writer on wattpad and I dabbled here in imagines and what not but a full time job (and a boyfriend who got me more into gaming RUDE) really shits on my desire to write sometimes and i found that SMAU's seem to be super popular in this fandom and they felt perfect 😊!

And my requests for these are open!!

All pictures are from Pinterest!!!

Reader has various face claims!

Masterlist / Next Part

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

Liked by yourbestfriend, maxverstappen1, and 6,756 others

Xx.y/n.xX the only appropriate way to spend a Friday night pre-stream

Yourbestfriend val really????

-> Xx.y/n.xX it’s almost like I’m a professional or something 🥸

-> yourteammate1 professional bottom frag maybe

-> Xx.y/n.xX SIT DOWN YOU INSTALOCK REYNA

User1 I fear the girlies claws are out today

-> Xx.y/n.xX I did do my nails today 😌

-> User1 THE QUEEN RESPONDED

-> Xx.y/n.xX rainy Friday nail day video coming to you soon!

Redbullgaming we love to see our number 1 girl on the grind

liked by maxverstappen1

-> Xx.y/n.xX awww admin you’re gonna make me blush

->yourteammate2 STOP STROKING HER EGO SHE ALREDY TOP FRAGS

-> Xx.y/n.xX get better then???

User2 is no one going to talk about THE Max Verstappen being in the likes?????

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 goes vroom vroom for RB 🤝 I go pew pew for RB

-> maxverstappen1 🫡

-> Xx.y/n.xX see he gets it!!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and 12,568 others

Xx.y/n.xX join me, a Redbull vroom vroom driver and some other vroom vroom guy (his team is the red one apparently) on a stream!

Redbullgaming hope @ maxverstappen1 didn’t embarrass the name too bad

-> Xx.y/n.xX he went 4/22/2 his first game @ redbullracing please take him back!!! 😵‍💫

-> charles_leclerc I went 6/18/4! 😌

-> Xx.y/n.xX I’ve been informed this one belongs to you @ scuderiaferrari please tell him to stick to cars!!

-> Scuderiaferrari it’s not a race weekend he isn’t our problem

-> Xx.y/n.xX this is why I’m a @ redbullracing fan

-> Redbullgaming your contract also helps

Maxverstappen1 I’d like to see you behind the wheel of my car then

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Redbullracing am I ‘on the grid’ (I was told those are the appropriate terms) next weekend?

-> Redbullracing y/n reserve driver when???

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Redbullgaming you’re going to need to find a new Neon main 🫣

-> Redbullgaming @ redbullracing I’m afraid we need to keep this one, you don’t want her anyways (she bites)

-> Charles_leclerc I won’t complain about biting

liked by @ Maxverstappen1

User3 I’m sorry Max AND Charles streaming with her??

-> User4 like exactly????

-> User5 she doesn’t realize how lucky she is?

-> Xx.y/n.xX they were actually horrible teammates so…

-> User4 WAIT DID YOU NOT SEE THE COMMENT CHARLES DELETED????

-> User3 WHAT???

-> Xx.y/n.xX I plead the fifth, I’m American I can do that.

Landonorris where was my invite?

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 @ charles_leclerc does this one vroom vroom too?

-> Maxverstappen1 yes.

-> charles_leclerc yes.

-> Xx.y/n.xX ☠️

Teammate3 you traded us in?

-> Xx.y/n.xX more like downgraded

-> User6 PLEASE. I am living for Y/N absolutely roasting Max and Charles any chance she gets.

-> Xx.y/n.xX I mean @ charles_leclerc roasted himself with Brim’s molly so…. Not really my fault?

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Charles_leclerc just posted

tagged @ maxverstappen1 @ Xx.y/n.xX

Liked by Xx.y/n.xX, maxverstappen1, and 24,568 others

Charles_leclerc when the groupchat finally meets up

Xx.y/n.xX vroom vroom 🏎️

-> User7 I love how unserious she is like she didn’t just spend the weekend with Max and Charles

-> Xx.y/n.xX I actually spent the weekend with bottom frag and almost bottom frag, who holds which title is interchangeable they haven’t earned names yet.

-> Scuderiaferrari TECHNICALLY they were first and second frag on the podium

-> Xx.y/n.xX excuse me admin, I didn't say you could speak

-> Charles_leclerc excuse me y/n, I didn't say you could be in my comments

-> Landonorris @ Xx.y/n.xX you're allowed in my comments

-> Maxverstappen1 no.

-> Charles_leclerc no.

-> Xx.y/n.xX I KNOW THIS ONE HE'S AN ORANGE VROOM VROOM @ landonorris

User7 are we not going to talk about how fast she managed to get to a GP?

-> User8 are we not going to talk about how fast it feels like this friendship developed

-> User7 or how she already has other drivers joking with her too?

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm a big kid I can get myself to a GP

Danielricciardo Y/N showed the entire gird up at the after party

-> User9 DETAILS????

-> Xx.y/n.xX a lady never shares her secrets 🤫

-> Maxverstappen1 a lady does share her shots though

Liked by @ Charles_leclerc

-> Xx.y/n.xX SILENCE BOTTOM FRAG NUMBER ONE

Teammate1 We need her back soon thxxxxxx

-> Xx.y/n.xX I fear they have discovered they can't win games without me

-> Landonorris y/n carry!!

Liked by @ Maxverstappen1 and @ Charles_leclerc

-> Xx.y/n.xX nevermind the orange vroom vroom man can stay, I like him.

-> Maxverstappen1 no.

-> Charles_leclerc no.

Redbullgaming we hope you had a great time y/n (you better have spent time in the @ redbullracing garage also)!!!

-> Xx.y/n.xX this feels like a threat admin?

-> Maxverstappen1 sadly she was in the garage, she knocked over some tires and just said oops

->Xx.y/n.xX you love me

Liked by @ Maxverstappen1

-> User10 umm guys????? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS???

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tweet 1

User13 The trio we didn't know we needed but we can't live without 🫡

-> User14 Did you see the tweet someone posted where they were apparently FLIRTING at dinner?

-> User13 NO?!?!?!

-> User14 @ User12 posted it go look at the thread

User15 I fear we have lost another one of the girlies chat

->User14 Y/N will always be a girls girl

User16 what is she doing in Monaco?

->User17 hanging out with vroom vroom boys apparently

->User16 hopefully we get a stream while she's there then!

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm already on it, I'm trying to make sure they don't embarrass me though, they're not allowed to stream until they can go even

-> User14 She sees everything.

-> Xx.y/n.xX Yes, yes I do (so do bottom frag number one and two)

Tweet 2

User12 they were all sitting super close together and y/n kept touching both their arms, lots of shoulders bumping and giggling. They were also all totally sharing food which was kind of cute.

-> User18 sharing food??? I need DETAILS.

-> User12 they all kept just shoving their forks on to each others plates no asking or anything just stealing each others food.

-> Xx.y/n.xX to be fair we all got stuck super close together at the table so like no choice there (ick), and on the sharing we were all indecisive so sharing is caring ❤️

->User20 SHE REALLY SAID ICK.

->Xx.y/n.xX my mama always taught me boys have cooties sooooo...

User19 HELLO? Did you ask for a picture or anything like that?

-> User12 NO they literally looked like they were having the time of their lives? They kept swapping drinks and stuff too, the boys were LIVING for y/n’s fruity cocktails

-> Xx.y/n.xX I don’t drink wine, only mixed drinks or hard liquor, they were just mooching off my drinks because Mr. World Champion wouldn't order a little fruity drink himself.

-> User12 NOT THE WOMAN IN QUESTION IN MY REPLIES

-> Xx.y/n.xX I’m everywhere 👀

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc imagine #reader x lestappen #lestappen #lestappen imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #max verstappen x reader #charles lecrelc x reader

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torawro · 3 months ago

Text

royal knight!caleb & princess!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless, and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a curvy, thick black woman but you do not have to imagine it that way ! anyone and everyone is welcome to read <3. historical / medieval au so there will be use of language & rhetoric relative to that era ( i.e., aye = yes or indeed . . . . i did my best doing research ). caleb is a high ranking knight in the kingdom they live in and is referred to as 'sir' because of his status. reader is a princess of royal status. mentions / descriptions of blood and injuries, and contains violence sprinkled with a little bit of gore (???). depictions of murder / character death. a liiittleeee bit of religious imagery & references, not sure but adding it just in case. hints at caleb having psychological issues and / or mental instability. kind of yandere(ish) behavior if you squint; caleb is obsessed with & in love with the reader. he is also a wee bit condescending ( not to reader ). instances of caressing ( groping? ) and slow, sweet kisses. veryyy subtle manipulation (?) via intentional omission of the truth. sorry if im exaggerating with these tags lol. directly based off this post i saw a few weeks ago. i tried my best to proofread at 1am pls excuse any errors. let me know if i missed anything!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! man…..🚬🚬🚬 i can’t believe i wrote this lmaaaoooooooooo like what. where did this come from even.....anyway hi everyone i’m back with another (short-ish) fic <3 my apologies it's been another two months since my last published work, you know what it is: it takes longer for me to put things out and i wanna make sure i put my best foot forward every time >< but whoop whoop here's to my second fic of the year! as u can see i have gotten into lads during this past month and some change....... and i swear, i really had no intention of writing for any of the guys any time soon, let alone the newest one..... i took a pause from working on my longer projects to write this LMFAOOOO. i honestly thought that if i really did have a burning desire to write about them, my first lads fic would have been about sylus cause he.....anyway i won't go on a tangent about him, but i sincerely hope u guys enjoy this one!!!!!! obviously this is my first time writing for any lads character so pls be kind to me. i also want to apologize if this characterization of caleb is weird or ooc, i haven't unlocked him yet but i have seen a lot of content of his story in relation to the mc, his lore, his voicelines, etc so i hope i did him justice!! reblogs + commentary are HEAVILY appreciated ♡♡♡.

THE SKY REMAINED DARK, BUT a deep navy hue began to seep into the heavens, soon giving way to the dawn; the early hours of the morning was nigh. The castle was silent— obviously, but still eerily so despite the hour. There was a draft that seeped through the miscellaneous cracks of the stone, the shutters, and the windows of the castle that had not been properly shut, and the brisk breeze that flowed inside caressed the walls with a whisper— quiet but forceful enough to sway the small flames of the candles. The unsteady flickering of the flames grazed and dimly illuminated the walls behind them. Upon its surface were fresh stains, which would permanently seep into the stone if not cleaned in time. The stains were red.

It was blood.

In the many corridors of the castle was a figure, trudging through the halls like a corpse that had risen from its resting place, exhaustion weighing down his every step down to the marrow of his bones. He was injured— not gravely enough to make him lose consciousness but enough to reopen the wounds he so haphazardly patched himself before returning to the kingdom.

His chambers in the keep, along with all the other higher-ranked Knights, was on the other side of the castle grounds. He should have made a left the moment the portcullis closed behind his heels so he could at least get patched up again, get some water, and something else for the pain. Instead, the soldier walked straight ahead, onward to the main structure of the castle, down the stretches of its veins, up the stairs– a path he had memorized after spending many a moon traversing it, sometimes without your knowledge.

But he needed to see you, and he was unsure if he would be able to wait until the sun’s ascension in just a few hours time to do so.

The knight was tired, and that slowed him down, but eventually he made it to your private quarters. He made sure to quiet his labored breathing and footsteps as much as he could; the king would have his head before he even made it to your chambers if he were to be discovered.

You laid underneath a thick blanket, the warmth of the fur against your clothed skin protecting you against the brisk cold. As comfortable as you were, however, tonight you had trouble staying asleep. It would greet you kindly, only to slip away from your embrace if you held it too tightly. Your eyelids were half-open, finally on the verge of drifting close again, when an abrupt but muffled thumping noise resounded on the wood of your door.

The sound caused your eyes to snap open with alertness, any waves of sleep that were about to wash over you retreated at the sound. You laid still, absently wondering if you were hearing things, but the noise reverberated in the air again, then three times— it was soft, as if the source of the sound was being careful not to be too loud.

As the sleepiness of the late hours continued to melt away, you began to remember what day it was, and your pulse quickened as a result.

He should have returned today, you thought. But could it be? It cannot possibly…

And yet, that possibility is what tugged your body forward to sit up and straight, and slide your legs out from underneath the layers of blankets. That possibility is what led you to slide your bare feet into your slippers, and move to swing the long, woolen robe on top of your nightgown. That possibility is what pulled you to the thick door of your chambers, and opened it by an inch to peek through the cracks.

The relief and subdued elation you felt when you saw the familiar features of Sir Caleb’s visage on the other side washed over you.

But that feeling faded as quickly as it came when you noticed the state Sir Caleb was in. While it wasn’t abnormal for him to have a deep scratch or a bruise somewhere, he looked . . . worse, somehow. And whatever it was seemed to reach deeper than just his physical injuries.

Without exchanging any words or outwardly questioning him, you carefully— for he winced at nearly every graze of your fingers on certain areas— led him into your room, allowing him to use your body as a crutch. Caleb let out strained puffs of air, both in relief that he didn’t have to carry the weight of his own body alone anymore, and with increasingly dwindling self-restraint.

He had hardly stepped foot in your bedchambers before; only about four steps past the threshold of the doorway at most, out of fear that his mere presence when he visited in your absence would become a noticeable, tangible thing. Like you’d be able to sense if he ventured too far in for too long, too many times.

Everything smelled like you. Your unique flowery scent was almost palpable with how it clung to every surface of your living space, even the air itself. The contrast between the fleshy softness of your body pressed against the cold, angular ridges of his armor was enough to make his breath catch in his throat and his pulse to miss a beat.

“M…milady.” Caleb croaked, his throat significantly lacking moisture to the point it almost ached to speak. At this point, the remaining strength in the knight’s body had become completely nonexistent; the sword he didn’t even have the strength to place back in its scabbard tumbled from his loosening grip onto the ground, the sound sharp and uncomfortably punctating.

“Sir Caleb”, you gasped, your grip tightening on whatever area of his stocky, towering figure you could reach. Both the suddenness of the sound of metal colliding with stone and your delayed realization of how serious his injuries were pulled your nerves all the more taut, the worried furrow in your brow growing more prominent.

Caleb’s legs gave out next, all while his heavier form still partially hung from your sleep laden frame. His arm slipped from around your shoulder as he descended to his knees, the movement clumsy enough to slightly throw you off your balance. The room was still dark enough that you did not readily see nor notice the blood that now permeated the folds of your nightdress.

The honorable knight— who did not quite look so on his knees like this— absentmindedly grasped at your calves, pulling another surprised noise from the back of your throat. It was as if making physical contact with you would steady his mind that swirled endlessly with fragmented thoughts, stained with the dark horrors that crawled from the depths of his subconscious, and keep him tethered to the plane of consciousness. The blood loss would soon catch up to him.

Silence descended upon your room, save for Caleb’s ragged breathing and your quiet, frayed inhales. He still held onto your lower legs like it was his lifeline, the mesh underside of his metal gauntlets sending a subtle shiver with each miniscule movement he made, but you did your best to silence any hitch in your breath or twitch in your muscles. Worry still festered underneath your skin, so much so that you were afraid if you moved, or even spoke, that Caleb might fall apart at your feet, considering his current state.

“Milady…” Caleb tried again, his voice still rough but a muted veneration was present underneath his words, as if your title was the beginning of a prayer. It was a thought that spurred another shudder to crawl across your flesh. “Milady, I have returned. The war with the kingdom to the east—Havencroft— is over now.”

The knight turned his head slightly so that his cheek was resting on the fat of your thigh, your nightdress being the only barrier between his skin and yours. Another stain of crimson leapt from the side of his face that rested on your leg to your clothes, but you could not see it from this angle. Caleb almost resembled a wounded animal, marking the territory that was once his after enduring an attack– not much for your sake, but purely for his own, as a reminder of sorts.

Even through the linen, you could feel the uneven puffs of warm air from his mouth fan across that small area on your thigh. Like a magnet attracted to a metal of the opposite affinity— a force yet to be explained or explored— your palm gravitated towards the knight’s armored shoulder. Whether it was an action of acknowledgement and commendation, to silently urge him off his knees, or as a means to steel yourself was unclear even to you.

“The enemies… have been defeated.” Each syllable felt delayed, each word tumbled from Caleb’s lips like a wispy trail of smoke from burning incense, and the casual hold you had on his steel shoulder imperceptibly tightened when you felt his gloved hands trail up the back of your legs. His movements were slow—almost reluctant and experimental— but deeply rooted in reverence, as if this was the first and last time he would be able to touch you so boldly.

The knight below knew better. He was well aware that his actions more than just bordered on bold, they fully reveled in it– embraced it, even. But he was having a significant amount of trouble caring enough to stop himself. It was always a difficult task reasoning with the thing that resided in the folds of his unconscious— especially and specifically when it came to you.

Caleb awaited you to halt the soft caress of his palms, either verbally or by action, but neither came. You were rendered silent, breath slightly restrained as you stared down at him from on high, your palm still resting upon his armor. A part of you was swayed by the currents of curiosity to see what he’d do next, just to see what might happen you allowed this moment to persist a bit longer.

And the other part…might have enjoyed this. It might have enjoyed the sight, the sound, the sensation of his iron skin, the subtle yet unknown metallic aroma that washed over your senses, mixed with his signature musk.

So he resumed, both his movements and his speech, which were languid and slowed. “Those that wished… to do harm to the kingdom, to you…They have been slain.”

The way his head shifted against your leg was like a cat nuzzling itself against its human companion. The weight of his body pressed upon you like this was even a bit endearing, and it began to melt your heart. Caleb’s hands glided from the backs of your knees down to the base of your ankles, only to carefully ascend back up the valleys and shores of your legs. In his ascent the hem of your dress got caught in between the gaps of his fingers, causing it to steadily rise like a curtain and expose the bare, supple brown skin hiding beneath it.

His touch was so gentle, like dragging the sharpened edge of a knife against one’s skin in fear of accidentally cutting it. As someone who has done so much damage and has scarcely been shown this kind of gentleness, it was a bit jarring to see himself embody it so naturally. “...The lot of them. I made sure of it.”, he continued, the knight’s noble heart raced so frantically about his chest, he thought it might reverberate and echo against his chest plate if it were to beat any more intensely.

Even with the sizable gauntlets weighing down his hands, Caleb was still able to tell just how delicate and cushiony your flesh was, and he released a barely-there, shaky exhale of his own when his fingers lightly clenched around it. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he was on the brink of death and was kneeling before the gates of heaven.

It was nearly impossible for you to distinguish the sensation of the carmine substance being smeared against your bare skin with each inch Caleb caressed, because your nerves had put all its effort into focusing on his breath fanning across your legs and the cold surface of his armor. At some point, the hand laying on his shoulder levitated to rest atop his head instead, the area unadorned without his helmet; a shiver rolled down the knight’s spine at the gesture. Sweat dampened the rich, umber strands of his hair, and the heat radiating from the crown of his head rivaled the one building underneath your face and chest.

“The army of the east kingdom, boasting numbers of over eight-thousand men, have all…. fallen. All of their strongest knights…”

Caleb’s words sounded a bit muffled as his mouth was slightly pressed against your leg, his pillowy lips continued to trail across the expanse of increasingly exposed limbs, “...their battalions, their village militia units…”

By this point, Caleb’s strong sense of rationale, his logical consciousness that usually never steered him wrong had finally caved in on itself. The void that it left in its absence would now be filled and controlled by the iniquitous thoughts that plagued him day in and day out. Such immoral, perhaps unhealthy, thoughts that always had you at the front and center of it all.

“...Even the gentry. Witnessing them …attempting to wield a polearm was almost pathetic. I would have pitied them, but one way or another, they would have attempted to harm you and our kingdom in some way, at some point…”

There was a brief pause, the surface of his parted lips and that of his artificial armor took turns savoring the feel and smell of you, even being so brash as to place tender almost-kisses across your thigh. You gasped silently at that, and the reflexive clench of your fingers in the tufts of his hair brought forth something of a purr that vibrated in the back of his throat. Embedded within that imperceptible purr in his deep voice lurked something more dangerous you did not notice— sharp, like having a dagger pressed against one’s jugular.

“And I cannot allow that.”

Caleb continued to murmur about his achievements of war into your chestnut-tinted skin as if he were talking directly into it and not you— as if it were actively listening. And with the way your nerves sparked and crackled with each syllable he pronounced, you could easily become convinced that it was.

Aye, he could not even pretend to spare an ounce of compassion for Havencroft’s gentrymen, or their local militia, their skilled battalions and armies, nor their most honorable knights. Not after their plans and intentions were discussed amongst the king’s council just months prior, which served as the reason why he and the rest of the kingdom’s army were dispatched there in the first place.

Swine, the lot of them.

The same could be said for his own king’s council members— your father’s most trusted political companions and advisors— that had the gall to speak ill of and scheme against the king and his realm.

The balls to speak ill of you when they believed there were no listening ears around; about how your future ascent to the throne would be this kingdom’s downfall, about how His and Her Majesty should have tried for more children in hopes of a young lad.

He could only thank the gods that he returned from his knightly travels when he did, for the dark-haired soldier knew within seconds of overhearing such idiotic arrogance what his next course of action should be.

Like some kind of cunning animal whose only purpose was to hunt and kill, Sir Caleb watched and waited for the opportune moment to present itself before closing in to strike. And that moment arrived when he realized the two men were making their way to the western-most side of the main castle, where the kitchen and laundry rooms were located. He sneered at how clever they thought they were being, choosing that specific place because they were aware most of the help and servants had retired for the evening.

Without a moment’s hesitation, when he had heard enough drivel, he attacked, administering two swift but fatal slashes to their vital points— one for each man. The pain from moving like that when his injuries had been previously reopened nearly caused his legs to buckle, but he remained steady and quick. This had to be quick, for it would be troublesome if they made noise or if he was too sloppy with his timing and execution. Blood splattered on the nearby walls from the sheer force of his swing, the blade cutting through the councilmen like a cleaver cutting through a slab of tender meat. He made a note to himself to come back and clean any remnants that remained later.

The councilmen fell to their knees, staring and cowering from Sir Caleb in confusion, shock, and unadulterated fear at the realization that their lives might end that very night, and that someone might have heard them.

Surely they blathered on in hushed voices, demanding to know the meaning behind his actions, begging for the knight to spare their lives, frantically questioning him if he had heard them say anything particularly controversial. But Caleb paid no mind and did not bother responding. All he did was stare at them, his eyes as empty as a weathered piece of parchment with no ink on it, his salmon-colored lips resting in a straight line that spoke nothing of his true thoughts.

Caleb’s gaze alone deeply unsettled them, for they had never seen him look like that before.

On his honor as a knight, Caleb would die before he let any harm— relative or distant, real or perceived, indirect or direct— fall upon you if it was in his power to prevent it. Because not only did he pledge his allegiance to the ruler of this land, but to you as well. And in performing his obligatory duties as a knight— guarding you from near and far, being graced with your kindness, your wit, your smile—it was inevitable that he would fall in love with you at some point along the way.

And wasn’t it a good thing, a true virtuous thing, a normal thing to do what you can for the one they loved? To keep them safe?

And so, with that resolve embedded in his heart, the knight Sir Caleb would do what he could, and did what he must when the steel of his blade at last collided with the mens’ uvula. The last thing those so-called loyal councilmen saw was his void eyes, and the slightest upturn in the corner of his lip.

But you need not worry or be privy to the gritty details. All you needed to know was that he fulfilled his duty in protecting you, in protecting this kingdom you loved dearly and would govern someday. He would see through this role until the day he could no longer.

Aye, you did not need to know that the blood that had now seeped into the fabric of your pretty lilac nightgown and smudged on his face was fresh; you did not need to know that in some other part of this very castle, two people that had been around since your youth had drawn their last breath, never to be seen again; you did not need to know that the faintest hint of guilt and regret for his actions was snuffed out the moment his eyes met your visage. You did not even need to know of the tender affection that he harbored for you– at least, not yet. A separate time for that should arrive soon, he would pray on it.

And now, all Caleb needed was to hear it from you. That you were proud of him.

“I hope my efforts in battle were satisfactory to you, milady. That my efforts …in keeping your safety and interests of the monarchy at heart pleases you.”

The knight's lips continued to drag across your skin in a lackadaisical manner, its touch at some point turning into undeniable kisses— pecks so light and fleeting you could have imagined it.

But you weren’t. You knew it to be so because the phantom sensation that was left behind after each one was as real as the ground you stood upon.

You were indeed proud of the knight before you, on his knees revering you with his mouth like you were some kind of holy thing that might disappear into thin air. For all of his years here, you have seen the scrapes, the faded scars on his ungloved hands, a limp in his gait or a straggle in his step, and you felt sympathy for him. You sympathized with him for having to sustain a number of different injuries in the name of your kingdom and its values. But seeing him hurt also inspired a great deal of gratitude within you, and you always made sure to take time at night before you fell asleep to thank the Lord above for uniting your paths– even though the two of you were on slightly different social standings. You secretly hoped that one day, that fact might change.

This is why you had no problem in saying that, “From what you have told me, Sir Caleb, your endeavors in battle are indeed quite….satisfactory to me,” Your words were momentarily interrupted with a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a pleasurable sigh, your fingers absently combing through his hair as you continued to speak, “So I must thank you, for doing your duty so well, and apologize that you were so badly wounded in the name of this kingdom. I truly appreciate all that you do.”

The words of sincere gratitude that spilled from your plush lips only excited the muscle beating wildly in Caleb’s chest, and they were enough to spur his heavy hands to glide higher underneath your gown, moving to the backs of your thighs once again. As his lips persevered in its affectionate assault of your legs, his palms mindlessly cupped the full roundness of your buttocks and gave it a slight squeeze, effectively losing himself in the suppleness of your curved body.

His name, without the proper prefix, was about to fall from your tongue, but you swallowed it down in exchange for something else. “This kingdom is— I am quite fortunate to have someone so capable…so strong and valiant at our disposal. Thank you, Sir Caleb, you have done well.”

And that was all it took for a quiet groan to be pulled from Caleb’s throat. A part of him hoped you didn’t hear it, he was already behaving so shamelessly.

But another part hoped that you did, so maybe then you’d realize without him having to potentially embarrass himself how much he cared for you, craved you, and impacted him so deeply.

“Thank you, milady. You are too gracious to me. I am unworthy of your praises, but will humbly accept them.” One palm resumed its directionless roaming to map out your lower body while the other remained on buttocks, interrupting his own reply by offering your skin doting, airy kisses in between. His reddish violet eyes were somewhat hooded when his gaze flickered up to look at you once more.

“I will continue to do my utmost…to serve you and your kingdom.... to the best of my ability.”

( # ) @smiley-babe @ramonathinks @dollwrites @valentineluvu @rinsko . my apologies if u did not want to be tagged. let me know if you want to be tagged in my future works!

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