#Feel bad for walker though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loaksky · 6 months ago

Text

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi league of legends #wlw #sapphic #arcane x reader

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em1i2a3 · 22 days ago

Text

When The Sun Hits

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

Summary: You and Bob are starting to test the waters among rampant growing suspicions from the rest of the team (This is a continuation of “Carry The Zero”)

Warnings: AHEM! 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts just because of Bob’s involvement (there’s no mentioning of the plot from Thunderbolts or anything just character involvement ex. Bucky, Yelena, Alexei, Walker etc.), Fluff, References to Sex and/or Sexual Acts, Bob…Is a warning lol. There’s a little bit of self-depreciation in this, talking bad about oneself, but nothing too extreme on that front.

Smut Warnings: Grinding, Teasing (kind of on the brink of edging?) Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap it up y’all…Or Y’know…Take precautions at least lol), Oral Sex (fem receiving), Fingering, Spit Swallowing, Handjob, Praise/Worship Kink. Soft/Submissive Bob (if you squint) (Hopefully I didn’t miss anything),

Author’s Note: I got this out as soon as I possibly could, thank you so much for the activity on the last post :) y’all are frickin awesome. I hope you enjoy this new part of this story, because I’m going straight to horny jail *boink boink* lol (also whoever made this gif you deserve all the fucking flowers <3)

Word Count: 16,150

Two weeks later you found yourself on the training mat, slicked with sweat, and out of breath.

You wiped your forearms across your forehead, chest rising and falling as you rolled your shoulders to relieve some tension that seized up your back, steadying your stance again, angling yourself carefully so your sight was trained on both Yelena and Bucky.

“Ready?” Yelena asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, her curtain bangs bobbing with each movement, preparing herself to pounce.

“As I’ll ever be,” You muttered, exhaling hard through your nose, tasting the remnants of blood that you had spit out two rounds ago after taking a pretty hard slap to the face. You kept your mind clear though, because if you focused on anything else in that moment, you’d lose miserably, or get hurt again, which was something that you didn’t want at all, especially after you were benched for a week after you injured your shoulder.

It was two against one today, which was entirely unfair, but also part of the challenge. Bucky called it ‘awareness training.’ Yelena called it ‘fun.’

They flanked you like wolves attacking a wounded animal. Yelena moved first, sharp and precise, going for a low sweep with her leg. You jumped and dodged it easily, pivoting to avoid Bucky’s right hook. He was heavier on his feet, but that didn’t mean he was slower in any sense. You ducked beneath his next swing and caught Yelena’s wrist before she could even capitalize on your evasion, using her own momentum to send her stumbling back, giving you some space to breathe.

”Not bad,” She huffed.

”Not done yet,” Bucky growled, before charging at you again. You anticipated him this time, moving back just enough to throw him off rhythm. He came at you with a series of jabs, but you blocked them all, even the ones that were enhanced by his vibranium arm, which surprised you even. You parried with a side kick that landed square against his hip, catching him off balance. This granted you a window to turn back towards Yelena, who had just regained her footing.

She came in full force and you barely had time to register her moves. You raised your arm to shield your face from her fist, feeling the impact ripple along the muscle just below your biceps, before striking in the open space she left, right at her ribs, which made her take in a sharp gasp of air.

You didn’t mean to, but a little satisfied smirk played on your lips, like you had the upper hand, like you were finally going to win…Then Bucky swept your legs out from under you with a move so clean you barely noticed the impact.

You hit the mat with a hard exhale, the wind knocking out of your lungs as your back hit the floor. The fluorescent light shined down into your eyes, almost blinding you, and in a blink, Bucky was standing over you, looking down with his hands on his hip.

”You got cocky…And let your guard down for the third time.” He muttered, with a small grin plastered on his face.

”That…” You breathed, trying to recoup the air you lost from slamming into the mat, “Was a cheap shot,” You added, blinking up at him, seeing the way his hair framed his face as he shook his head at you. Without another word, he extended his hand out to you, and you took it, fingers gripping his forearm as he hoisted you to your feet in one swift movement. You staggered slightly when the room tilted for a split second, your balance thrown from the impact you took that still surged through you with little aftershocks. Bucky steadied you instantly with a firm hand on your elbow, eyes scanning over your face.

”You alright?” He asked, with concern lacing his voice, trying to determine whether or not you needed another med bay visit. You gave him a nod.

”Yeah, yeah, just a bit dizzy from that slam, but I’ll live.” Right before Bucky was going to respond, Yelena cut in.

”Alright you two. Water. Now. Before I pass out from sweating so much.” She didn’t wait for either of you to agree, she just turned toward the bench on the far side of the room, and snatched up three water bottles from the crate nearby, which were already chilled. She tossed one to you and to Bucky, beckoning the both of you to join her in a nice break.

The three of you dropped down onto the bench with soft grunts and groans harmonizing the air, as you dragged the back of your arm across your forehead to wipe the beads of sweat off it. You were beat, that was for certain. You could already feel a new set of bruises forming on your body, especially where you had landed on your ass just moments ago, and that was just another thing you were going to have to tend to for the next few days.

You twisted the cap off your bottle and took three large gulps from it, feeling your chest go cold from how quick you chugged. Your sweat-slicked shirt clung to your spine, but the introduction of the drink was finally managing your body temperature, as your pulse began to slow down, easing the rhythmic thumping that echoed through your ears. You put the cap back on, and placed the bottle against your forehead with a sigh, watching your teammates settle down–Yelena beside you, Bucky on the bench across the way. That’s when you felt it…The subtle tension in the air, the silence that lingered just long enough that it made you suspicious.

Bucky lifted his brows sharply at Yelena, like he was daring her to speak first, like they had been planning on asking you questions all day but didn’t know how to approach the subject. She shook her head just once, staring at him with pointed daggers, almost like she was saying that it was his idea so he should be the one to say it. He let out a defeated sigh.

“So…Uh…” He started, scrunching his nose like the words that were on the tip of his tongue tasted weird in his mouth, “How’s it going with Bob? Y’know…Rooming with him and all.” The question caught you off guard, but the awkwardness from Bucky gave off the sense that he was asking this more because everyone else around him was talking and making up their own theories, and he just wanted to get the answers once and for all.

That didn’t mean the question didn’t spike your heart rate again though. Just the mentioning of Bob made you immediately go on defence mode, not just because of what was going on between the both of you, but because you both wanted this to be private until further notice. Neither of you were prepared for the team to know about your late night rendezvous, or how deep the connection really went. It was your little secret and you preferred to keep it that way.

“It’s okay…” You answered, trying to cover up the stutter in your words, “He’s definitely one of the easier roommates I’ve had to be honest. Super quiet, keeps to himself. It’s great.” You avoided Bucky’s gaze, your eyes focusing on the water bottle in your hands before glancing over at Yelena, who was already squinting at you.

”Super quiet, huh?” She repeated, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards, like she didn’t quite buy what you were putting down. You looked over at Bucky too, now seeing that he was watching you as well with one elbow propped up on his knee so he could rest his chin on his fist.

“Yeah, super quiet, he just reads and sleeps basically, nothing more, nothing less. What’s with this line of questioning? You two roleplaying as detectives or something?” Bucky huffed through his nose, a mix between a laugh and a sigh.

”We wouldn’t have to be detectives if you weren’t so secretive…” You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, attempting to hold onto your fake innocence, trying to make it seem like they weren’t somehow onto you, even though there was no possible way they could know anything that was going on in your shared room…Not unless there were cameras, but that was definitely not the case…Because you looked for them.

“Me? Secretive? I don’t understand how I’m being secretive, I’m answering your questions, aren’t I?” Yelena made a small humming sound beside you, sipping from her water bottle, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

”Okay then, Miss Transparency…” She started, setting the bottle on the bench gently, “What about the window?” You froze, and instantly your brain spiraled with questions on how the hell she found out about the window. You kept your cool on the outside, while the rest of your internal organs were twisting and malfunctioning on the inside trying to figure out how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

”What window?” You asked.

”The one in your room,” Yelena responded, leaning forward just a little bit to crowd your space, “Maintenance said you put in a request to fix it three days ago because there was a crack in the glass. He said it looked like someone took a sledge hammer to it. Kinda weird, yeah?” You blinked at Yelena, keeping your expression blank, like you were thinking.

“Ohhhh…That window.” You said, as if you had just remembered what she was talking about. You waved your hand vaguely, letting out a shaky laugh, which did absolutely nothing to cover the tension that began to seep through your muscles, “Yeah, no, it’s not that weird. I, uh…Accidently pushed my dresser drawer closed a little too hard and the wood slammed into the glass, kind of a freak accident if you ask me.” Yelena stared at you flatly, watching you flail while trying to come up with something believable off the top of your head. If you had time to actually prepare for the grilling you would’ve at least thought of something as back up, but this was just totally unexpected.

It’s not like you could’ve told them the truth anyways, because it just wouldn’t have sounded good, and it would’ve just put Bob under the spotlight once again, and he didn’t deserve that at all. Not when he was trying so hard to get along with everyone, which he was doing very well at until this point at least.

So you just laughed it off again, muttering something about needing to be more careful, before tipping the bottle of water to your lips to shut yourself up.

But your mind was already drifting back to that night, and you couldn’t stop it.

——————

Four nights ago was movie night.

Alexei had insisted on it—insisted being the operative word, because no one had really agreed to it in the first place.

He said movie nights were a “sacred ritual” from his youth, a tradition that brought people together, made them stronger, and unified the soul. And when someone offhandedly mentioned that Bucky had never seen Rocky IV, that sealed everyone’s fate.

“It is masterpiece,” Alexei declared, standing in the center of the living room with the case held high like a relic. You were surprised that he even had a DVD of it, but then again he had mentioned in passing it was one of his favourite movies.

“American propaganda, yes, but still…Very good representation.” He exclaimed, moving around the living room to locate the video player, as you all watched him.

So Rocky IV became the night’s reluctant feature, and any protests were quickly steamrolled under his booming enthusiasm.

The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and the only glow in the room came from the TV screen—icy blue and gunmetal gray as the film’s opening credits began to roll. Everyone had found their spots. Yelena curled into one corner of the sectional while Walker was on the other, Bucky sat low in a beanbag chair with his arms crossed, Alexei sat right in front of the television with the reverence of a man watching live theatre…

And then there was you.

You tucked yourself into the corner of the couch with a blanket draped on top of you, leaning against a pillow for support because your shoulder was still giving you a little bit of trouble. Bob was beside you, but he was not close enough to raise suspicion as the both of you had separate blankets and weren’t really touching at all…Not yet, at least.

Somewhere near the halfway point of the movie–just after Rocky’s training montage–Bob shifted slightly beside you, adjusting himself with a slight turn of his hips. It wasn’t a big move, but it was noticeable enough to draw your eyes to him, then you saw his hand sliding beneath his blanket ever so slowly, paying attention to the others in the room, hoping that none of them would turn around.

Even through the terrible lighting you could see him beginning to flush, his pale skin becoming a gentle hue of pink which spread all the way down to the collar of pale green sweater, and below it. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, seeing how he tried to keep his profile composed, as he moved his hand with quiet purpose, sliding beneath your blanket in one quick movement, knowing that once he was under there nobody would know any better what was happening.

His fingers found your thigh beneath the covering, completely bare for him because of the flannel shorts you were wearing. The first touch was delicate, almost like it wasn’t even there, though you could feel the heat radiating off his skin as the pads of his fingers ghosted over the wide plane of your flesh. He was waiting for you to pull away, to signal to him you didn’t want him to do this here, but when that moment didn’t come, his hand finally settled against you.

He took everything slow, and moved with such care and purpose that you felt like you were going to melt into the sofa . His palm molded gently to the outside of your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, drawing goosebumps up to the surface of your skin. The touch wasn’t lewd, nor needy…It was intimate in one of the simplest ways possible. Just the grounding press of his hand against you, soaking up the heat of your body, letting it mingle with his own.

You felt your pulse begin to hammer in your ears, and your eyes flickered to the rest of the team, checking if they were still transfixed by whatever was happening in the movie, which they were. Nobody was looking. So you took this as an opportunity for yourself to make a move now too.

It was a gentle shift, just enough to let your blanket drape a little farther over the space between the both of you, until it overlapped with his. You ripped a page out of Bob’s book and slipped your hand beneath the threshold of the covering, before moving it towards him with the same stealthy patience he had just moments ago.

You found his thigh easily, resting your hand against the soft checker-patterned sleep pants he wore. The fabric was light and thin enough to allow you to feel every flex and shift of muscle beneath your touch, the way it twitched at first contact and relaxed when you dragged your palm against it. He cleared his throat gently, trying to mask the noise that was about to slip out of his throat unwillingly.

His thumb on your thigh had stilled completely in those moments, like you had pulled the plug on all his motor functions by just settling your hand on him in the most gentle way possible. Over the past week of being holed up together during your Bucky mandated break from training, you had learned that gentleness was the key thing that unraveled Bob faster than anything else ever could.

Your fingers slowly dragged upward with the lightest graze over the thin fabric, tracing the line of muscle you could feel there. You didn’t press hard, there was no need to, because you could already feel that he was burning under your palm, coming undone, shifting in his seat, like he wanted to get closer to you but couldn’t.

He was trying so hard not to breathe loudly, or to draw attention to himself by making an unnatural noise. His hand tightened on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze, like he was pleading for you to continue, but for you to also take it easy on him because he didn’t know how much he was going to be able to handle. He felt like he was going to turn into a puddle on the sofa, and the sweating and flushing that he was doing was only a prelude to that. You could feel the tension in his body, the way it practically vibrated through him, and it only made you want to touch him more.

You smoothed your thumb over the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, where he flinched. He sucked in a breath and immediately turned it into a cough, low and forced, like he was trying to dislodge something that was stuck in his throat–even though you knew it was just him trying to stifle a sound that he didn’t dare let out–squeezing your thigh again like it was anchoring him to whatever stability he had left.

You didn’t need more than this. You just enjoyed every morsel of connection you got from him, and revelled in the excitement that coursed through your veins from the small things you learned about him, like how easy he was to read, or how flustered he got from such little contact. Or how touch-starved he was despite all the late nights and quiet mornings you two were sharing up until this point. He was learning how to let himself go, but that didn’t mean he was used to it just yet.

By the time the end credits rolled and Alexei stood to stretch with a complaint about how Americans don’t know when to end a movie, Bob was already clawing at the opportunity to make his grand escape. His hand left your thigh, and reached for his blanket–not to fold it, not to hold it when he stood–but to clutch it, to replicate the grip he had on your skin moments before. You slowly removed your hand from him as well, making sure you discreetly brought it back into your area without anyone noticing.

Every motion he did was methodical, almost exaggerated in its effort to present itself as casual, like the both of you weren’t just touching each other's thighs beneath your communal blankets. You watched from the corner of your eye as Bob adjusted the covering over his lip, gripping the hem carefully as he shifted on the couch, leaning slightly forward.

He was shielding himself.

You could tell by the blush that began to deepen around his neck, and the way he couldn’t seem to look at anyone in the room–not even you–that he was trying very hard not to be obvious about the problem that was currently occurring below his waist. The one you had caused with just the gentle stroking of his thigh.

The realization made you heat up, but also smirk.

”I’m gonna…Uh…” Bob cleared his throat, attempting to cover up the way his words buckled under his voice “Head to my room…Start getting ready for bed and stuff, I had a good book I was getting into before…C-Coming to watch the movie.” He added, standing from the couch, keeping the blanket bunched in front of him with a practiced sort of shuffle that only he could execute with pure awkwardness. He said a vague goodnight and everyone responded in their own little way, as he moved towards the corridor that led to the makeshift bedrooms.

Your eyes followed his movements, watching when he made it out of everyone’s line of sight. He turned around, knowing that your eyes were already on him and mouthed a very light “please hurry,” before rushing down the hallway to seek refuge in the privacy of your room.

You waited exactly thirty seconds, which was long enough for the heat in your limbs to settle so when you stood up you didn’t have shaky legs, or draw attention to any of your actions, even though nobody was really paying attention in general.

Yelena was half-sleep, eyes barely open while she nursed what was left of her electrolytes. Walker had his head tilted back, and was snoring loudly. Bucky was sprawled out in the beanbag chair, and Alexei was still rambling, only now it was about how Ivan Drago’s story in Rocky is just misunderstood. So you took the opportunity to stand, and let out an exaggerated yawn, rubbing your eyes for added effect.

”Think I’m also going to head to bed too. I’m exhausted.” You murmured, which earned a small wave from Yelena, a grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky, and a pause from Alexei.

”Did you not like the movie?” He asked, and you smirked.

”Yes of course I liked it, I’ve just seen it a few too many times, but tomorrow you can give me the footnotes on how misunderstood Drago’s story is, for now though I’m off to bed.” He gave you a wide smile, and as you moved away from the living room you could hear him mumble something about you actually being interested in what he had to say.

You quickly made your way down the hall, feeling your heart racing as you made your way towards the room. You tried your best to not make yourself look suspicious but the anticipation was eating you up on the inside.

The second you entered your shared quarters and closed the door behind you, you felt it–that shift in the air, like the moment right before lightning strikes a tree, the static that ebbs and flows through the atmosphere, like a warning to those who are around. The only light that glowed in the space was the desk lamp, which casted golden shapes across the walls, and once you locked the door and turned around, your eyes fell on him.

Bob stood by his bed, the blanket was long discarded, and his sweater was removed, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. His hands were fidgeting uselessly with the tie of his sleep pants, and when his eyes fell on you it was like he lost all the thoughts that were running through his head. The flush of pink on his cheeks hadn’t faded, if anything it had gotten worse between the time he left the couch and now, like the warmth had fully rooted inside him.

He didn’t say anything right away, he just opened his arms slightly, silently offering himself to you.

In a few quick steps, you crossed the room, taking up the space between his arms, pressing your hands gently to his chest, feeling the way his heart galloped beneath your palm. He cupped your elbows first, tentative and shy, looking down at you with those shimmering blue eyes that you had come to fawn over in secret, before letting his hands slide down to your wrists. You gave him a soft smile, tilting your head back a bit so he could lean forward to kiss you.

His mouth brushed yours once–tentative and silent, like he was asking a question–then again, with more confidence when you didn’t pull away, before fully pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you like he thought he would never get the chance to do it again. Like he was memorizing the shape of your lips, or the way you sighed into him like you’d been holding your breath for hours while waiting for this moment to come. His hands left your wrists, you slid up to your jaw, the tips of his thumbs barely grazing the corners of your mouth

And you melted into him.

You’d been doing this dance for the past few nights now–experiencing these careful, burning moments together that never quite tipped over the edge–and neither of you seemed to mind. You didn’t need the act of sex to feel intimate with him, even though you still had those thoughts that raced through you from time to time.

Every night you got to learn something new about him–how his breathing changed when you kissed his throat, how the muscles in his stomach twitched when you trailed your fingers ever so slowly under the hem of his shirt, and how he arched subtly into your touch like he was too afraid to vocalize that he wanted more.

It was explorative, patient, and gentle, and that’s all the both of you needed to have a good time.

The kiss continued to deepen, as his lips parted for you, letting your tongue through the threshold. He tasted like fresh breath mints, like he had swallowed a few before you came into the room, which wasn’t an out of place thought at all–he typically did small things like that.

His hands skimmed down your neck, and over your shoulders, travelling down to your hips to anchor himself against you. He put a little more pressure into the kiss, feeling your body press flush into his, causing a small gasp to escape and vibrate against your lips from him. He pulled back for a moment, as your arms slid around his neck, guiding him down even more so he could bury his face briefly into your shoulder. He breathed in deeply, letting his lungs fill with the various scents that radiated off of you– the vanilla from your shampoo, the lavender from your perfume, and the sage that constantly stayed on all of your clothes in general–before exhaling shakily, tugging you closer to him.

He guided you backward with a quiet sort of urgency.

”Come here,” He whispered, the words came out so softly it barely made it past his lips.

He led you to his bed, with his hand pressed low at your back, fingers splayed out like it was steadying the both of you. When the backs of your legs met the edge of the mattress you let yourself sit, eyes still locked on his. He was still watching you closely, like you were ethereal, something that shouldn’t exist for him.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling how swollen it was just from the one kiss that you got, and brought your fingers to the hem of your shirt, slipping them under. Bob felt his chest heave for a moment, the beating of his heart only becoming more frantic, as he hung on your movements like it was a sacred text.

You peeled the top off slowly, revealing the curve of your waist, your chest, your shoulders in small increments–it was more than he’d ever seen at once from you. Once you riddled yourself of the article of clothing you threw it to the side, which left you in just a plain white, cotton bra.

Bob’s gaze swept over you modestly, almost like he was too shy to linger on one part of you for too long, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. You saw the way he struggled to swallow for a moment, gulping loudly from the way his throat closed from all the tension that was building up in the room, then you saw his hands move down to the hem of his own shirt.

He awkwardly shimmied out of the fabric, tugging it over his head, messing up his light brown mane of hair in the proces. You could feel your chest tighten, and your mouth dry up, seeing the expanse of skin that was exposed to you.

It was the first time he’d allow you to see him like this.

And god–he was beautiful.

His chest was broad and lean. He was dusted with freckles that went across his shoulders and collarbones, like they were constellations begging to be traced. There were a few scars too–old and pale, stretched and softened with time, because they certainly weren’t fresh. You wondered about each of them. Not necessarily the stories, but how they shaped him as the person you were falling for more and more every day.

He was flushed from neck to navel, the pink hue blossoming over his ribs and all the way up to his ears. His arms hung at his sides for a moment, allowing you to drink in the image, even though he was visibly curling in on himself a bit. You reached out for him, beckoning for him to come closer to you, watching as he sheepishly moved into your space now. Your fingers skimmed gently over his ribs, dragging slowly up the plane of his stomach and across the center of his chest. You looked up at him with a smile plastered on your lips

“You’re breathtaking Bob…” You whispered, seeing the way his eyes softened, hearing the sincerity that laced your voice when the compliment fell from you. He felt lightheaded from it, as you leaned in to kiss the skin just above his navel, your smile shadowing against the flesh.

“I think I’m gonna die.” He responded, choking on his own breaths.

”Now, now…Don’t die yet…You haven’t kissed me again.” That is what unraveled him, seeing you pull away from his stomach, looking up at him with those lust filled eyes that he had seen night after night.

He leaned down slowly this time, and when your lips met, it was warmer than before, like a supernova had exploded between the both of you. It started soft, like the last one, but it built. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence that made your toes curl into the carpet beneath you. His hands skimmed down your sides, thumbs brushing along the soft slope of your waist as he kissed you deeper.

Then one hand drifted lower, tracing over your outer thigh. He paused just for a second to look at you, and when you gave the smallest nod, he gently urged you backward.

You let him guide you down until you back pressed into the mattress as he hovered above you, bracing himself on one elbow beside your head while the other stayed on your thigh, as you bracketed his hips with your legs. You could feel how hard he was trying to rein himself in, watching his shoulders tense when you brought him closer to you.

”A-Are you sure this is okay?” He whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the thin space between you.

”Bob,” You murmured, tracing your fingers along the freckles on his collarbone, “If I wasn’t sure, I would tell you.” His eyes fluttered shut for a beat, the words sinking into him like a weighted blanket, before he leaned forward to kiss you again, savouring the contact.

You felt the way he trembled just slightly above you, the way he braced so carefully against his arm, like he was scared of putting too much weight on you, or doing something wrong. His lips dragged over yours, warm and open, letting you taste the cool mint again as his tongue flicked out to meet yours when you deepened the kiss.

His breath stuttered as he exhaled sharply through his nose, attempting to keep up, but you could feel how overwhelmed he was already. Your hands slid over his back, fingers tracing along the soft lines of his muscles beneath skin that practically burned beneath your touch. You felt every ripple, every twitch of control that he tried to maintain, and the thought of it–of him holding himself back for you–made you want to pull him even closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, almost like it was bordering on a whimper.

“Jesus…You feel so good,” He whispered suddenly, like he couldn’t keep it in, like it was something he had been wanting to say all week and it finally burst free. His voice cracked slightly with the confession, and his cheeks burned as he buried his face against your jaw to hide the heat crawling up his neck, realizing how stupid it must’ve sounded.

”S-Sorry, I just…I just-“ You hushed him for a moment, slipping your hand up his back slowly before curling your fingers into his hair.

”Bob…Don’t apologize. You feel good against me too.” You had barely let the words settle between the both of you, when you hooked your legs a little tighter around his waist and gently guided his hips closer to yours.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat.

His jaw slackening and his lips parting in tandem with one another, as his eyes locked onto yours like he was trying to decipher something written across your irises. You could see it in his face–the unraveling, the awe, the absolute vulnerability of someone who wasn’t used to being wanted like this. And yet, he was burning from the inside out.

“What…What are you doing?” He asked, his voice thin and shaky.

Instead of answering, you ground your hips up against him in one slow, aching press.

The noise he made was soft and strangled, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then snapped open again, and you were able to see the dazed glassiness that shimmered over them. You could see the way the new sensation tore through him, as a full-body tremor made his shoulders tense and his thighs flinch.

He didn’t move at first–he couldn’t. But when you tugged gently on the back of his hair and pressed your lips to his neck, he let go.

His hips rocked forward, not with force but with aching, desperate need, mirroring the movement you’d given him. Your bodies slotted together in a slow, tender rhythm, each motion sending a wave of heat in your abdomen. It wasn’t frenzied or rough—it was exploratory, intoxicating, and so deeply charged you felt like your bones were shaking.

You kissed your way up his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. His hand was trembling against your thigh, while the other one gripped the duvet beside your head. You felt the shudder in his breath again, and the way his hips pressed a little harder this time, a little more urgently. You could feel the outline of him pushing against the thin fabric of your cotton shorts, and it left you breathless, just the thought of being so close almost made your heart stop.

The moment swelled around you–timeless, heavy, and sacred.

Then your fingers trailed down, slow as molasses, brushing over his abdomen and dipping lower, finding the waistband of his sleep pants.

The reaction was instantaneous.

His entire body went rigid, and his eyes snapped open, bright and wide—and in that split second, you saw it. That flicker of gold in his irises. It glinted like sunlit honey, like lightning flashing beneath the surface of a lake.

Then–CRACK.

A sharp, unnatural noise split into the room, and both your heads jerked toward the window, seeing the fracture that had webbed across the glass. It kind of looked similar to when a rock hits a windshield at full speed, only there was a larger impact point. You both blinked at the damage, before your eyes returned to his, seeing that the gold was gone, and he was back to his normal shimmering blue irises that you were enamoured by.

His mouth moved to speak, but no sound came out, then he looked down at himself, and froze. You followed his gaze, seeing a wet spot blooming across the front of his pants.

Then everything happened all at once.

He scrambled off of you, nearly toppling sideways off the bed in the process, and you sat up immediately, reaching for him.

”Bob…Hey…” You said, trying to get him to calm down a bit, but he was already moving.

”Crap…I’m-I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, as he grabbed his shirt off the floor, pulling it on with frantic hands like he needed to shield himself from you, from the world, from his own embarrassment that floated up into his chest, causing him to shake a bit. He tried to cover up the wet patch as his skin turned a cherry red, spreading all the way over his face and neck. He opened his drawer so fast that it nearly flew off the track as he collected the first pair of boxers and sleep pants that he could find.

“Bob, it’s alright.” You murmured, watching him rush towards the door,

”I-I just…I need…I just need a second.” He whispered before bolting out the door so he could tend to himself in the privacy of the bathroom.

You sat on his bed, still breathless from the closeness, from the way his body had moved against yours, and from the crack in the damn window. But mostly, from the way he looked when he realized what had happened—like the sky had fallen on him. Your heart was aching in the way he reacted, and now that you were sitting alone everything felt amplified.

Your eyes drifted to the window again, staring at the crack that shimmered faintly beneath the golden wash of the lamp–splintering like lightning. Curiosity pulled you from the bed, as you shuffled closer to it, wanting to get a better look.

The fracture was intricate, jagged at the center with spider web veins splitting outward like a slow explosion. You reached up, hovering your hand in front of it.

No air came through, no whistling of wind, and no change in temperature.

You furrowed your brow and pressed your palm against the surface, feeling the cool solidity of the glass. It didn’t flex, nor did it crack even more with the pressure you placed on it, which made you even more perplexed.

You stepped back slightly, squinting at the window. It definitely wasn’t a regular one, it was industrial, reinforced, maybe even bulletproof. The thought made your lips part a little, as you tried to reconcile the softness of Bob–the sweet, awkward, blushing man who mouthed please hurry to you because he wanted to be so close–with the person who had just cracked fortified glass because he was so overwhelmed by your touch.

You huffed out a breath that was caught between awe and amusement, as you continued to stare at the jagged impact, until you saw movement in the glass, noticing Bob trying to sneak in, like you wouldn’t see him. You turned on your heels.

He stood against the door, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as you looked him over. He had changed into navy blue sleep pants, and his hair was clinging to his forehead–you assumed it was from him splashing water on his face to freshen up. He was holding onto a bundle of clothes–the ones he had changed out of–as his eyes scanned over you before dating away. You glanced down at yourself, suddenly remembering that you were shirtless, standing in your bra still.

His face flushed again, but this time it was threaded with much more than just embarrassment. There was remorse in there, maybe even a little bit of fear, like he was worried that you wouldn’t look at him the same because of what happened.

“I…” He started, voice hoarse, “…I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to just…Leave like that, I just–” He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. Or, I mean–you did, I guess, but–God.” He laughed breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut for a second. “I’m making this worse.” You shook your head gently, cutting him off before he spiraled any further.

“It’s okay Bob…Trust me you don’t have to apologize.” You said quietly, stretched out a hand towards him, “Now, come over here please.” Bob glanced down at the gesture, returning his gaze back up at you, hesitating for only a second before stepping forward, dropping the bundle of clothes on the floor. His movements were so timid, like a wounded animal coming over to look at the mess it made.

When he was close enough you leaned forward and wrapped your hand around his wrist. His eyes were wide and glistening as you tugged him toward you even more, his lashes trembling with the weight of remorse. Not just for bolting from the room or leaving you half-dressed and flushed on his bed, but for losing control…For being too much.

“I see those cogs turning in your head. Your brows are furrowing. Stop thinking for a second, and just look at me Bob.” You said, breaking through the thoughts that kept racing through his head, wrapping your arms around his waist. Bob let out a soft sigh, bringing his gaze down to yours. His hands hovered over your back for a moment before slowly coming to rest against your skin, holding onto you like he was afraid you were going to crack.

“…I truly didn’t mean to do that…” He murmured, motioning to the window, “I didn’t even think about it...It just happened.” You turned slightly in his arms, glancing back at the window for a split second, then returning your gaze back to him. You tilted your head up, brushing your lips softly against the underside of his jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble.

”Pretty sure it’s bulletproof glass too, by the way.” He blinked down at you, his cheeks flushing a deeper red, confused at the statement, and at the way you were smirking up at him, “I must’ve really gotten you going.” You added, trying to lighten the mood. A groan caught in his throat.

”Please…Don’t say that.” He whispered under his breath.

”Why not? It’s kind of hot.” Bob’s eyebrows raised at your comment, letting out a quiet laugh–embarrassed, and flustered, but undeniably touched by the way you were trying to make light of the situation.

”You know…I think you should actually be a little freaked out by this at least,” He stated gently, pulling back just a little bit so the both of you could comfortably look at each other, “I mean…We didn’t even…Do anything and I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, as he ran his hands along your back, “I’m just saying if I lost that much control just f-from grinding against you, what’s going to happen when we have sex?” He added, his voice laced with worry. You traced your fingers along his spine as you listened, feeling his chest rising and falling against you, the panic simmering underneath all the tension in his muscles. You leaned into him a bit more.

”Well…You don’t really use your powers all that much, Bob.” He raised his eyebrows at you, surprised by what you were possibly suggesting. You continued, gently brushing your thumbs along the hem of his shirt.

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. You’ve been bottling all that energy up without giving yourself a way to release it. Maybe you need to exhaust your powers a little–practice, push yourself in a safe space so you can figure out where the edges are. Then maybe…” You paused mid-sentence, reaching up to him to push his hair off his forehead, “You won’t have to worry about breaking any more windows.” He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling your fingertips trailing down the side of his face to hold his jaw.

“Or…” You added thoughtfully, “We could try some small exercises together. I know there are grounding techniques for people with telekinesis or energy-based mutations–things to help hone it and redirect it before it builds up too much.”

Bob was staring at you now like you were the only stable piece of land in a world that kept shaking under his feet. You ran your thumb along the slight roughness of his jaw, taking in the warmth of his skin.

“Either way,” You said, “We can figure it out together.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Together,” He repeated, almost like he was testing the weight of the suggestion in his mouth, making sure it was real. His hands gripped you just a little tighter, like he didn’t want to let go, admiring the fact that you were even sticking it out with him.

“And maybe next time,” You whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You’ll crack something a little less expensive.”

That made him laugh for real this time–a breathy, bashful sound as he rested his forehead against yours. “No more windows,” He whispered. “I promise.” You swayed in your spot for a moment relishing in the silence, as your hearts thudded against each other like it shared the same rhythm.

“…Maybe just the bedframe,” He mumbled a second later–so quietly you almost missed it.

There was a pause.

Then his eyes went wide, his entire face lighting up scarlet as the implication hit him a split second too late. “Oh my god,” He breathed, “I didn’t mean—shit—I mean I did but I—”

You broke into laughter, the sound bursting out of you like sunlight, catching yourself against his chest as your shoulders shook. “Robert Reynolds,” You gasped through your giggles, “I didn’t take you as a person to make a sex joke like that…I like it.”

——————

Yelena snapped her fingers in front of your face.

”Helloooo? Earth to Y/N…You’ve been zoned out for like ten minutes, are you concussed or something?” You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your trance, noticing your palms were sweaty, and your pulse was pounding in your head.

”Sorry…I’m fine, I was just thinking about that last round in my head. Trying to figure out how I let my ass hit the mat again.” You lied, grabbing your water bottle, attempting to cool yourself down.

”Uh-huh…” Yelena muttered, clearly not buying it.

Bucky was watching you as well, his expression unreadable as usual, his elbow still propped on his knee. His eyes were sharper now, completely focused.

”Maybe we should wrap it up for the day, I’ve got to go pick up a few things from my old apartment anyways, the renters are getting mad that I haven’t swung by yet.” You looked over at Yelena, who stretched her legs out with a low groan.

“Alright, that sounds fine to me.” She responded, getting up from the bench, cracking her neck before walking to the lockers, leaving you and Bucky alone. You let out a soft exhale, grateful that the plug had been pulled. You were too distracted to go for another round anyways.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You glanced up at Bucky, your eyes meeting his gaze. There was no judgement in his face, just quiet concern. You nodded.

”Yeah, I promise, I just spaced out.” He watched you for just a moment longer, like he was trying to see if you had any tells of a lie.

”Alright,” He said, turning to grab his towel from the bench, “But if you ever want to talk, you know where I am.” You gave him a soft smile.

”Thanks, Buck.” He lingered for a second longer, then gave a quick salute and headed off after Yelena, leaving you alone. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, gathering your thoughts and swatting around the brain fog that clouded your mind, before finally standing, feeling your muscles groan in protest.

You collected your things and caught a quick shower before making your way back to your room, expecting to divulge the line of questioning that Yelena had for you to Bob, but when you opened the door he wasn’t there. Your brows furrowed in disappointment as you stepped into the room, noticing a little note on his bed. You dropped your bag on the floor, picking up the scrap piece of paper that had his messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“Meet me on the roof, wear a sweater.” You were confused about the sweater part, but you still dug around for one, slipping it over your head once you found one that wasn’t already worn.

———

The rooftop greeted you with silence, except for the low hum of wind and the muffled buzz of distant traffic below. You stepped out slowly, your sweater wrapped tight around your arms, the door clicking shut behind you.

Bob was already there, standing near the edge, hunched slightly, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders curled in like he was bracing against the cold—or maybe against himself. The soft yellow glow from the rooftop security lights carved gentle shadows across his back, catching in his wind blown hair.

“You okay?” You called out, walking towards him, gaining his attention instantly. A small smile came up on his lips, as he wrung his hands together, like he was excited about something.

“I am now,” He responded, meeting you halfway. There was something different about him tonight, he still had that shy uncertainty about him, but it was like he was pushing it off a bit, replacing it with something more…Confident, “I wanted to show you something, if that’s alright of course.” He added stepping into your space, now close enough that his breath was fanning over your face. You tilted your head at him, squinting playfully.

”Are you going to crack all the windows from up here?” Bob let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head as a pink flush creeped up the sides of his neck.

”I promised you I wouldn’t break any more windows, and I will keep my word.” Before you could press further, he stepped closer, closing the last inch of space between you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back. It wasn’t hurried or anything, just grounding, and it was done with intention. You inhaled against his chest, the scent of cold air and warm cotton surrounding you as he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your lips–soft, and gentle, yet brimming with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He pulled back for one moment, before adding one more peck against your lips, a smile draped across his mouth.

His arms hadn’t loosened around you, and you could feel the steady thumping of his heart under your hands where they rested against his chest.

”Okay…” You murmured, brows lifting at him, feeling your cheeks growing hot under his stare, and from the gentle kiss he had given you, “Now you really need to tell me what’s got you in such a chipper mood. You’re smiling like you’ve got a secret, and it’s starting to freak me out.” Bob’s grin widened–shy, crooked, but deeply earnest. You squinted at him a bit, catching little flecks of gold sparkling in the blues of his eyes.

”Just hold still,” He whispered, voice hushed and warm, “And I’ll show you.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he tightened his arms around you, like he was locking you into place against his chest.

Then you felt it.

A strange, delicate lift in your stomach, similar to how it feels when you’re descending on a roller coaster, only just a little more tolerable. The pressure in your knees disappeared, your weight lessened…And your boots weren’t on the rooftop anymore.

”Bob…?” You said, your voice filling with panic.

”Shh, I’ve got you,” He murmured, eyes fixating on yours, “Just trust me.” He whispered. You took in a sharp breath, and nodded. The movement wasn’t fast or jarring. It felt like being exhaled by the Earth–like rising through a warm, invisible current. The wind tugged gently at your sweater, and your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively brought yourself even closer to him, not daring to look down to see how high up you were.

“Holy shit Bob, we’re flying…” You said, your voice shaking, caught between fear and awe.

”Well technically I’m flying, and you’re just one of my lucky passengers. My first and only to be exact.” He corrected jokingly, you smirked at him, continuing to look over his face. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, as the air around you thickened, warming against your cheeks despite the altitude change. You felt like you were suspended in a dream–held against him, hundreds of feet off the ground, with only starlight above you, and a glittering city below.

“How does it feel?” You asked softly, seeing Bob blink down at you, eyes soft and uncertain, “To have all this power…” You added, your hand slowly unraveling from holding onto his hoodie, splaying it across his chest instead, rubbing along the warmth with a soft smile draped on your lips, “To be able to do this–to lift me off the ground, to break windows without touching them, to float above the world like it’s nothing…” The way you looked up at him–half curious, half lust driven–made something buzz in his bloodstream, something golden and chaotic, and desperate for attention as he felt your fingers trailing up the side of his neck.

Bob swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around your waist even more, his breath hitching as he let out a faint nervous laugh before glancing down at you, seeing your face glowing softly from the city lights that reflected in your eyes.

”It’s…Intense. I constantly have this noise in my head, like it’s trying to break out, and I’m always on edge trying to suppress it…But when you’re around, and you’re able to block it…I have those moments of peace, and I love it…So much Y/N.” He emphasized, as your fingers curled gently into the collar of his hoodie, while your other hand cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

”You know…I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” You whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the night, “The way you handle everything, the way you care about being gentle, the way you hold back even when you could easily just let go…” You went on, looking up at him with such admiration it made him gulp down the lump that was forming in his throat, “You’re just incredible Bob…And I wish you believed that more often.” Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he needed to steady himself from the weight of your words, and when he opened them again, they shimmered with something so raw and fragile it made your heart ache.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just disbelief. “It feels like…You’re seeing someone I want to be. Someone I wish I was.” You reached up with your other hand now, pressing it against his cheek.

”You already are.” You whispered, a soft smile coming up onto your lips, as your eyes trailed over his face.

Bob leaned forward, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warming your skin as it mingled with the air that kissed your face. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, he just held you close, taking in the night for what it was giving him so far. His fingers twitched against your lower back, like he was trying to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Can I ask you something…Kind of dumb?” Your lips quirked at his words, blinking up at him.

”There’s no dumb questions…Go ahead and ask.” He let out a nervous breath of a laugh, pulling his forehead off yours so he could get a better look at you, shaking his head a bit as if he was trying to psych himself up.

”I’ve been…Thinking for the past couple of days…And if it’s too soon or too much just–just tell me okay? I can handle it, I promise.” He started, stuttering through his words.

”Okay, “ You whispered, already feeling your heart climbing into your throat, seeing the way he looked at you with such hope, terror, and utter sincerity. He glanced away for a second, feeling his cheeks flushing hot.

“I was wondering if maybe–if it’s something you’d want–if I could, um…” He cleared his throat, then bit the inside of his cheek, finally whispering, “If I could make love to you tonight.” When the words fell from his mouth it felt like the sky was going to split open and swallow him whole, but he meant every word he said, and you could tell it was something that he wanted to make sure you wanted as well.

”I’ve been wanting to ask that for a while now, but I didn’t want to ruin anything or scare you off, or…” His voice faded, as he stopped himself from embarrassing himself any further, “God, I sound like an idiot.” He whispered. You shook your head, cradling his face in your hands, gently tilting his head down so you could look into those soft blue eyes.

”Bob…” You whispered, “You don’t sound like an idiot at all…You sound like someone who cares about me. A lot.” His lips parted like he wanted to protest, but the words never came. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, “And that’s never something to be ashamed of.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he trembled from the gust of wind that blew by the both of you, and from the nerves that prickled throughout his body.

”I just…” He started, swallowing another lump that began to form in his throat, feeling like he was on the brink of tears, “I’ve never done it like this before…Where it actually means something…Where I feel…So much that it scares the crap out of me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, removing one of your hands from his face.

”Hold me with one arm, I want you to give me one of your hands.” You instructed, and he obliged immediately, keeping you flush against him and giving you his other hand like you requested. You took it and brought it to your chest, laying it gently over your heart.

”Do you feel that?” You whispered, watching him nod slowly, his palm splaying flat over the pounding rhythm the shook the cavity of your chest, “That’s how I feel when I look at you…When you smile at me, when you hold me…When you ask me things like this, with all these nerves going through you…And that’s also how I’m going to feel when we make love tonight.” You added, feeling Bob’s breath hitch in his throat, and for a second he didn’t move. You thought you put him into shock, but then his fingers curled ever so slightly against your skin, like he was tethering himself to you.

”I wanna be good for you.” He replied, his voice breaking around the edges, “I want to be everything you deserve…I want to take my time…I want to see what you look like when you fall apart because of me, and I want to memorize every sound you make and every place you like to be touched and–and I want to hold you through all of it.” Your eyes softened at his words, feeling your heart folding at the edges from the way he said it with such trembling devotion, like he was offering you everything he had without knowing if it would be enough for you.

”I wouldn’t want it any other way Bob…” He breathed out slowly like he’d been holding it for minutes, like your answer reached someplace deep inside him he didn’t know was waiting to be filled. A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

“Okay,” He whispered. “Okay.”

You felt his arms shift, the weight of the wind returning to your skin, and together—slow and gentle—you began to drift back down. The city lights rose to meet you, the rooftop coming back into focus beneath your boots. He didn’t let go. Not even once. His hand stayed tucked between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, like he didn’t trust gravity alone to carry you safely.

The moment your feet touched solid ground again, you didn’t speak. You just stood there for a second, forehead still brushing his, eyes locked and dazed with something fragile and full and beautiful. And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed–it wasn’t even desperate…It was just full. Full of promise. Of understanding. Of anticipation humming low in both your bellies. His hand cupped the side of your face so delicately it made your knees weaken, and when he pulled back, you didn’t have to say a word. You just reached for his fingers and laced yours through them.

“Come inside with me,” You said quietly.

And he followed instantly.

————

You left the light on before you went up to the roof, so when the both of you stepped into your shared quarters, the soft yellow hue of the lamp greeted you with open arms and warmed your skin almost instantly.

Bob closed the door behind him with a soft click, the quiet thud echoing between your beds like a held breath. You stepped into the space between them, turning to face him slowly, your hands sliding up to push your hair from your face. His eyes followed the motion, catching every shift of your body like he didn’t want to miss a second, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his hoodie.

“H-How do you want to start?” He asked quietly, his voice threadbare with nerves. All confidence from the roof had dwindled pretty quickly once the reality of the situation really settled in, and now he could feel his chest tightening from the thought of what was going to come next. You could see it in the way he fumbled with whatever he could get his fingers on, it was the most obvious tell of his. You stepped toward him carefully, and held your hand out like you normally did with him.

”Come here,” You whispered. Bob didn’t hesitate this time around, taking a few steps towards you until you could curl your fingers around the hem of his hoodie, slipping your hands under the soft fabric so you could touch his burning skin. His jaw clenched for a moment at first contact, his lashes fluttering at the featherlight touch you always used with him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky breath against your mouth.

”We don’t have to start any particular way,” You murmured, “Just be here with me…” Bob gave a slow, trembling nod, bringing his hands to your waist. You leaned forward a bit, pressing your lips against his, taking his breath away in one quick moment of time. You could feel his shoulders loosen a little, as he sighed into you, his fingers squeezing your clothed flesh gently, pulling your body closer to his. You broke the kiss first, removing your sweater quickly because you were growing warm extremely quickly, just like Bob you ran hot, but only when you were anticipating something, and this was definitely something you were looking forward to.

You threw the sweater to the side with a sigh, pushing your hair out of your face again as you adjusted yourself, seeing Bob’s eyes following your movements, and tracing over the skin that was revealed to him. The light camisole you wore hugged your figure just enough that he could make out the subtle shape of your breasts beneath it, and in the dimmed hue of the room he could see the way your nipples pebbled against the fabric. Before he could even stop himself, his fingers curled under the hem of the covering.

”Can I…?” His voice trailed off, looking down at you with dazed eyes. You nodded immediately, raising your arms up slightly, feeling the way he peeled the fabric up gently, wanting to drink in every inch of newly exposed skin. He slipped the camisole off you, throwing it to the side to join your sweater now, as his eyes returned to your bare chest.

For a second, it was like he didn’t breathe. His mouth parted slightly, and a stunned silence stretched between you before he managed to snap himself out of the trance your breasts had put him in, clearing his throat.

”You’re so…Beautiful. I mean–I already told you that, but seeing you like this–“ He cut himself off, looking down at himself, flustered, “Makes me feel overdressed.” You let out a small giggle, seeing the blush that crowded his face turn an even deeper red.

”Definitely overdressed.” You agreed, keeping your tone light, coaxing a nervous laugh from him. He ducked his head with a shy huff of breath, his hair falling into his eyes.

”S-Sorry. Didn’t mean to get ahead of myself, I just–“

“Hey,” You interrupted, reaching up to cup his face with both hands, forcing his gaze to stay on yours–his pupils already blown out from seeing your bare chest– as you ran your thumbs along his cheeks, “It’s okay…I like when you know what you want and ask for it. I also don’t mind being underdressed in front of you anyways. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” His lashes fluttered at you, as the tension in his shoulders melted just a little.

“Okay…” He whispered back, giving you a small nod, glancing down at himself. He pulled away from your touch, and with shaky hands, he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, tugging it down before peeling the garment off his arms and shoulders, letting it land in the soft pile of clothes that began to grow at your feet. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he hesitated for only a second more before pulling his plain grey t-shirt off as well, letting it join the abyss below.

The second the fabric cleared his torso, your hands were on him–warm palms pressing against bare skin, tracing up along his ribs and over the planes of his chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch, before bringing them up to rest at his neck. You pulled him down to you, fingers curling into his hair gently, as his lips met yours. The kiss this time was deeper–hungrier and desperate. He opened his mouth to you, feeling your tongue slip in, as your bodies aligned with each other again.

His hand slid up along your side, tracing over your ribs, until it found the curve of your breast, cupping it gently within his large palm. You let out a small moan of approval, your hips shifting slightly at the sensation and shivers that twinged up your spine. His thumb dragged over your nipple, circling it slowly before giving the flesh a soft and careful squeeze, not wanting to be too rough at first, drawing out a hum from you, and another gentle pull of his hair.

Bob pulled away from the kiss with a shaky smile, before peppering kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, carving out a wet path all the way to your chest, going to the breast that he wasn’t kneading with his hand still. His lips brushed over your nipple, testing, and teasing, waiting until you leaned toward him to close his mouth around it. A soft moan escaped the both of you, his breath warm and uneven against your skin as he sucked gently, his tongue moving in slow circles before fluttering along the peak. His other hand continued to palm and knead the other one, fingers teasing until both nipples were stiff beneath his attention. He switched sides, not wanting to neglect the other one, which earned another shocked gasp, feeling how more needy he was growing as he greedily sucked and nibbled. Your fingers laced deeper into his hair, trying to ground yourself when you felt your stomach somersaulting from the sensation of his tongue and mouth working in tandem together. Your words spilled out before you could really think–

“Jesus, Bob…” The moment you spoke he froze, pulling off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, lips shiny and slightly parted as he looked up at you. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes–God, his eyes–were wide and hazy, like he was drunk on you and the taste of your skin.

“Are…Are you okay?” You nodded immediately.

”More than okay.” You replied, as your fingers slid out from his hair to trail down his chest, moving with slow precision as you found the tie at the waistband of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze locked on his. You made quick work of it, undoing the knot in one swift pull before pushing at the fabric so it shifted down his hips, exposing more and more skin to you. He straightened up a little, taking his hand off your breast to push them off his legs completely, kicking them off to the side before mirroring your actions–going for your sweatpants too.

He bent down slightly to push them down your legs, and you took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from him, catching him off guard. The both of you broke into soft laughter, easing your nerves a bit. Once the sweatpants hit the ground you kicked them off your feet, letting them be banished with the rest of your clothes.

Now in just your underwear, the air between the both of you was thick with anticipation. Your breathing slowed, and deepend, syncing with his as he took you in–really absorbing every inch of skin he could see, battle wounds and all–his gaze lingering everywhere. You let your gaze fall for a moment, catching the shape of him beneath the soft cotton of his boxers. His erection was unmistakable, full and straining against the fabric, the outline was thick and defined, which made you nervous, but also excited. The image alone sent a pulse through your belly, and made your toes curl.

When you looked back up at him, he wasn’t staring at your body anymore, he was watching your face. His expression was so open, so filled with awe and admiration that it nearly made your breath catch in your chest. He reached out, his fingers gently cupping your jaw, his thumb running over the skin, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips, savouring the moment with a sigh.

Then, without saying a word his hand slipped from your face and slid around your back, while his other arm slid under your thighs, lifting you to him with ease. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carried you the short distance to his bed, throwing the duvet down to the foot of the bed, before lowering you down onto the cool sheets, letting the mattress form around your figure, pushing you up a bit so he could get on top of you.

Bob settled between your thighs with the softest exhale, like he was afraid to ruin the moment by moving too quickly. His knees sank into the mattress, feeling the way your legs guided him closer to you. His hands remained gentle–one braced beside your head, the other holding the side of your hip, absentmindedly tracing circles along it with his thumb.

You tilted your face up to him, and he dipped his head to meet your lips once again. The kiss was slower this time, deep with care and tenderness. You kissed him back with the heat of a thousand suns, your fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him a little closer as your body arched up into his. His hand on your hip drifted up your side, tickling your ribs with the ghosts of his fingertips, letting the intimacy of the moment wrap around you like a second skin.

Then, he pulled back slightly, just far enough to look at you–eyes searching, lips still parted, breath uneven against your mouth. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing idly over your ribs before he finally spoke.

”I-I want to go down on you,” He said quietly, as if the words were sacred to him. His voice was shaky, but you could tell it was just from the nerves that were pulsing through him in those moments, “I want to…Take care of you first…Want to show you how much I’ve been thinking about this…How much I’ve been thinking about you…If that’s okay?” Your heart thudded so loudly in your chest you swore he could hear it. The look on his face–open, vulnerable–was enough to make your breath catch. His words wrapped around you with such warmth that it rooted deep in your body.

You reached up, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as you whispered.

”That’s more than okay.” He swallowed hard, and then nodded, giving you a small kiss, before drifting down your skin, his lips reaching every inch of you, peppering wet little marks across you, committing every detail to memory. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, brushing across the solid muscles of his back. He kissed your chest, then your ribs, all the way until he reached the edge of your underwear. He paused, lifting his gaze to yours again, just to be sure.

You gave him a small nod, watching his fingers hook under the fabric. He pulled the fabric down your hips, and thighs, as you helped him by pulling each leg out for him. He let out a sigh, looking at your completely bare figure beneath him now, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth for a brief moment before returning to where he was moments ago, putting your legs over his shoulders.

Bob leaned forward, brushing his mouth along your inner thigh, peppering kisses along the skin, memorizing the taste of your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him the most. By the time he reached your core, you could feel your whole body pulsing against him, thrumming with anticipation and desperation.

When he finally brought his mouth to your core, he slowly licked upwards, wanting to savour the first time he got to actually taste you. The feeling of it caught you off guard, which drew a soft moan from your lips–broken and boarding on a whimper. His hands tightened at your thighs, holding you closer to him as he licked you again–more firmly this time–his tongue parting you gently, working up to circle around your clit without touching it quite yet. You closed your eyes tightly, reaching down to lace into his soft brown strands of hair. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every reaction that he coaxed out of you. When his mouth finally closed around your clit, your fingers in his hair tightened, hips rolling into him with a gasp.

“F-Fuck…Bob.” You choked out, and that was all he needed.

He groaned softly in response–just hearing your voice sounding so wrecked like that almost destroyed him–and he settled deeper between your thighs. He dragged his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, curling it just right at the tip, then flicking it softly against you until your legs trembled around him. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue with practiced rhythm, giving you just enough then pulling back slightly to tease again, letting you chase the pressure.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

”You…Holy fuck Bob…” You whined, not being able to find the words in your vocabulary because your brain was melting from the intense pressure that was building in your stomach. The way you said his name had him clutching at your thighs tighter, grounding himself as he buried his face against you more, like a man starved. He moaned softly, sending another wave of heat through your core, the vibration making you gasp. His tongue flicked, circled, and flattened, lavishing you with such deliberate devotions which drew you closer and closer to the edge.

He shifted slightly, and took one of his hands off your hip, bringing it between your thighs as he adjusted his other hand so it was splayed out along your belly. He traced his fingers through your wetness, dragging two of them along your entrance, teasing for just a second before gently slipping them inside. You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you looked down at him, seeing how focused he was on pleasing you, his eyes glistening with such intensity that you felt like you were going to die.

His fingers moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the slight stretch they provided, before curling them slightly, finding the spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed, crying out as your legs tightened around his head. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, he just groaned again, like your pleasure was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Oh my god–Bob–Bob please don’t stop…Don’t stop.” You begged, your voice breathless, and trembling on every syllable. Your fingers gripped his hair even tighter, as you felt the orgasm cresting with a pressure so intense it stole the air from your lungs. Your body was unraveling, and your muscles were tightening like a wire drawn taut. He felt it–he felt the way your walls began to pulse around his fingers, the way your hips started to jerk–and he doubled down, curling his fingers harder, sucking your clit in time with your shattering moans.

“Come for me,” He whispered against you, voice wrecked, barely audible but so sure. “Please. I want to feel it.” You broke apart beneath him with a cry, your thighs clamping around his head as your body seized, pleasure rocketing through you in waves so intense they left your limbs shaking. Your core pulsed around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out the release, breath stuttering through sobs of ecstasy.

Bob held you through it, fingers still moving slowly inside you as his mouth gently eased off, switching to open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, grounding you, kissing you through the aftershocks. He watched your body tremble beneath him, his own breath ragged with awe.

Finally, when you dropped back onto the mattress with a long, shaky sigh, he pulled his fingers from you slowly, kissing your hip one more time before crawling up over your body. His skin was flushed, his mouth was wet and glistening with your arousal, and his eyes were glazed and dark with want–but there was so much tenderness in his face that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before pulling back to caress your cheek, his thumb running just below your eye.

”Are you okay? Did I–“ You cupped his face, and pulled him back down to you, kissing him again, interrupting the words that were about to fall out of his mouth. He let a soft moan against your lips, before you slowly pulled back.

”You did…Absolutely amazing Bob. So fucking amazing.” Bob’s breath hitched the moment you said it, and you watched the praise ripple through him like a tide, flooding his expression with something raw and deeply earnest. He looked almost overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of affirmation, but he was appreciative of it regardless.

You gave him a second to breathe, brushing his hair back gently from his flushed forehead as he hovered over you, gaze still fixed on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then you tilted your head toward his ear, your voice soft and steady.

“My turn.”

Bob blinked, his lips parting slightly. “Y-You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” You cut him off gently, placing your palms on his chest and guiding him down onto his back. “I really want to.”

He let you maneuver him without resistance, collapsing onto the pillows as you crawled over him, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate movements that kept his eyes trained on you. Your fingers trailed down his torso, grazing the firm lines of his chest and stomach, watching as his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

When you shifted lower, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, he let out a sharp breath.

“Wait—” He said quickly, sitting up on one elbow, using his other hand to catch your wrist. “I–shit–I want you to just–just use your hands, okay?” You blinked at him, a little surprised by the request and the sudden interruption.

“Why?” You asked gently. His face flushed harder, eyes dropping to the sheets for a second before he met your gaze again, voice low and a little sheepish.

”Because I’m gonna end up finishing too fast if you use your mouth..And I don’t want to finish unless it’s inside you.” He admitted, his breath unsteady. Your thighs flinched at his words, leaving you staggered. You weren’t expecting it, not from him. Not from soft-spoken, anxious, stammering Bob…But then again he had just given you the best orgasm in the world…So he did have a bit more of a wilder side to him that evidently he only reserved for you at this point.

”…Okay.” You whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more, before easing down his body again. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers, and you eased them down his hips, eyes never leaving his as you exposed him to the cool air. His cock was thick and flushed, twitching slightly with need, already glistening at the tip with precum. The sight of him made your mouth go dry, and your stomach turn. You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, watching the way his jaw tightened at your touch, his head falling back against the pillow with a soft moan. Your hand moved in slow, steady strokes, twisting gently at the tip, your palm slick from how worked up he already was.

“Oh…Oh god you’re going to ruin me.” He rasped, breathlessly. You leaned over him, your free hand braced against his chest as you shifted to straddle his thighs properly. The weight of you over him made his eyes flutter open again. His hands went to your hips, as if just having you there made him feel steadier. Then without warning, he looked up at you with glassy eyes and spoke.

“C-Can I sit up against the headboard?” His voice was rough with need, but still gentle—like he didn’t want to disrupt the closeness, only deepen it.

You nodded immediately, helping guide him as he adjusted, both of you moving slowly so nothing between you was rushed. You cradled his shoulders as he shifted upward, his back settling against the cold wood of the headboard with a relieved exhale. The lamp’s soft glow painted his chest in gold, and his hair was a little messy from where your fingers had run through it, his mouth still parted as he looked at you with awe.

You straddled his lap again, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of him as he pulled you closer again. His head tilted forward and he pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, lips finding your breast again like he needed it, sucking gently over the flesh, making sure to leave a mark before pausing to let his breath fan across your skin. All the while, your hand kept moving—slow, slick, steady. You felt him throb in your palm, the heat of him pulsing like a second heartbeat. You could hear him panting, but he didn’t tell you to stop, so you continued until he pulled back from your chest completely, his pupils blown wide with something molten in his expression.

”Y/N, spit in my mouth…” He whispered, “I want all of you…I want everything. I want you in every part of me…Please.” He added, his voice on the edge of a whimper. Your breath caught at his words, not from surprise or shock but from the vulnerability the words had to them. His need wasn’t crude…It was devotional, like it was the only way he knew how to show you how dedicated he was.

You nodded once, slowly, with your eyes locked on his. Your free hand came up to cradle his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye before gently tilting his head back, exposing his throat to you. He kept his gaze on you, wide-eyed and trembling as you leaned over him, still stroking his cock while doing so.

With your lips parted and breath warm, you let a slow, steady thread of saliva slip from your mouth–down past his lips and onto his waiting tongue. He didn’t flinch, he just accepted it with a shuddering breath, swallowing it right when it made contact. A flush bloomed even more across his neck and chest. You smiled down at him, seeing how satisfied he looked. He took a deep breath, then surged forward, one arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you, open and warm, with his lips parting against yours like he wanted to thank you with his whole body.

You deepened the kiss, your chest pressing flush to his as he held you in his lap, the heat of his body radiating against yours like a shell. His hands roamed over your back, your waist, everywhere he could reach, but it wasn’t frantic—it was gentle and slow, like he was memorizing you by feeling alone. And then you pulled back, just enough to speak, your lips barely brushing his.

“I need you inside me.”

The words left you in a whisper, but they hit him like a lightning strike. Bob’s breath stuttered, and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours—glazed, dazed, and swimming in something so deep it made your spine curl. He nodded, a little frantic, the motion jerky as he grasped at your hips again, steadying you, grounding himself.

“You sure?” He asked, drawing his brows together, his voice hoarse, wanting to be sure you were on board with this completely. You nodded, kissing him one more time.

”Never been more sure.” You adjusted your hips with care, steadying yourself as you guided him to your entrance, the tip of him hot and slick against you. Bob’s breath hitched, his fingers flexing hard at your waist as he tried to hold himself still, trying not to rush you. You watched his jaw tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you slowly began to sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

The stretch made your thighs tremble and your breath catch, and Bob let out a strangled groan that vibrated through his whole chest. His head fell back against the headboard with a soft thump, eyes fluttering closed as he murmured something that sounded like your name paired with the words oh my God. You sat there a moment, your hands planted on his chest, letting your bodies adjust, feeling the twitch of him inside you, the way he was already pulsing with restraint.

And then you began to move.

It was slow at first, just the tiniest grind of your hips forward and back, your slick heat stroking along his length. His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brought his hands to your hips, guiding you gently, letting you take what you needed at your own pace, and in your own way.

You moved together like a heartbeat–slow, steady, with increasing intensity.

Bob’s hands slid up your back, then down again to cup your ass, helping you ride him deeper, pushing you just enough to make your breath hitch with every descent. His moans became more frequent, low and helpless against your skin, and he whispered your name like a prayer, again and again, until it bled into the rhythm of your bodies.

“God–you feel so good–so so good,” he rasped against your neck. “I don’t think I can–oh shit–”

Your hips were moving faster now, desperation threading into every motion. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your quiet moans, and his ragged breathing. You felt like you were both on fire—burning, blindingly alive.

And then, suddenly, Bob shifted.

Without warning, he gripped your thighs and flipped you, your back hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before you could say anything, he was there—above you—sliding back into you in one fluid, aching thrust. You cried out, your hands gripping his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, pulling him in closer.

Bob moaned softly, burying his face into your neck as his hips snapped forward with more force now, losing the gentle rhythm he had from before, exchanging it for something deeper, and more primal. One of his hands found yours and squeezed it tight, pressing it against the pillow beside your head, while the other shot out grip the headboard so he could brace himself.

And then the sound hit.

CRACK.

You barely registered it at first–you were too lost in the crescendo building inside your body, the way he filled you so perfectly, the way your name fell from his lips like he was worshiping you with every thrust. But his body shuddered on top of you, his hips jerking erratically now, the pace stuttering as he reached the edge.

“Oh God–God–Y/N–”

He moaned loudly, something close to a gasp punched from his lungs as his hips slammed into you one final time, and his whole body locked up. His hand crushed the top of the headboard–literally splintering the wood under his palm as he came inside you with a broken, breathless cry. You felt the wave of it, the way he pulsed deep inside, the warmth of him spilling into you, and it sent you hurtling over the edge too, your climax crashing through your limbs like a wave snapping every nerve awake. You cried out beneath him, your nails dragging down his back, your body seizing around him.

Bob collapsed, trembling, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot and wild against your collarbone. His hair was a complete mess, damp and tangled and wild across your skin. He was heavy and shaking, still buried inside you, both of you locked in the aftermath–too breathless to speak. You could feel his heart pounding against you–where his chest was pressed against yours.

Then slowly, you felt him lift his head from your shoulder, his cheeks a complete crimson now, lips parted as he gazed down at you with those shimmering blue eyes again, like he was trying to comprehend what just happened.

In those moments he leaned forward and kissed you, like he was saying thank you, or maybe he was trying to determine if this really was happening. You kissed him back with the same softness he gave you, your fingers pushing his hair back from his face. He sighed, and pulled back from your lips, his gaze raising slightly. You could see his mouth drop open slightly, and his eyes went wide.

”…What?” You asked, your brows drawing together in confusion. He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently reached up and tilted your chin, guiding your gaze upward–and that’s when you saw it.

A clean, jagged split ran right down the center of the wooden headboard. Splintered and cracked like lightning had struck it from above. Your mouth parted in shock, and for a beat neither of you said anything.

Then you laughed.

It started soft–with disbelief and surprise–but quickly turned into full, breathless giggles that made your body shake. Bob buried his face in your neck again, groaning quietly.

“At least we still have my bed to move to,” You teased, stroking his hair to calm him down from the embarrassment he was probably feeling. “But maybe we should…I don’t know…Get things that don’t break so easily?”

Bob groaned again into your skin, and you could hear the shy smile behind it. “Y-Yeah…Yeah, maybe,” He mumbled, barely audible.

You could feel the heat creeping back into his cheeks.

“Though…” He added after a pause, voice muffled and sheepish, “If sex is always gonna be like that… I-I don’t think it’ll matter what it’s made of…” You smirked, pushing him off his shoulder so you could look at him–and the adorable way he immediately avoided your gaze. Your heart swelled.

“Sounds like a good time to me,” You whispered, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

Eventually, you cleaned yourselves up, and shifted to your bed, sliding in under the fresh sheets, tucking yourselves into each other. Bob curled around you protectively, your bodies bare and warm together, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, nose buried into your hair. You fell asleep like that–saturated in the safety of each other, breath syncing, hearts still fluttering.

——————

The morning sunlight slipped gently into the room, illuminating the soft gold glow of the lamp you’d forgotten to turn off.

You were the first to stir.

Bob’s arms were still locked around you, holding you like he thought you might disappear. You turned in his embrace, resting your palm against his chest, letting your fingers trace lazy circles along his sternum, and the little scars that he had around that area that were barely noticeable. His eyes fluttered open not long after, blinking slowly until they found yours.

“Morning,” You whispered.

“Hi…” He whispered back, his voice gravelly from, as one hand moved to push your hair out of your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “Of course I am.”

He returned a smile back to you, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in to kiss you–sleepy and sweet, his soft lips barely moving, while his nose brushed against yours. He pulled back slowly, letting his thumb trace your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it, with a sweet smirk.

”I could stay like this forever,” He murmured, trailing his touch down to the side of your neck, taking in the image of you in front of him, making sure he would remember this moment. You tilted your head into his hand, staring up at him with your heart pounding against your chest.

”Me too.” He grinned, just a little. The kind of grin that was half love-drunk and half processing the events that happened last night, then you remembered what you were going to talk to him about yesterday when you came back to the room, before you found his note.

”Hey I was actually going to tell you something when I came back to the room,” You began, already laughing at the story, seeing the way his attention was on you, hanging off of every word “During training yesterday evening, Yelena and Bucky gave me the third degree abo-“ Just as you were about to tell him you heard Yelena’s voice coming from an already opening door.

”Y/N, missed tra-OH MY GOD! HOLY CRAP!” You jolted, the covers pulling up to your chest as Bob yelped and scrambled to sit up behind you, wide-eyed and clutching the sheets. In the doorway, Yelena stood with her hands over her eyes, then immediately turned and bolted out again.

”I KNEW IT! BUCKY I TOLD YOU!” She yelled. The both of you glanced over at each other.

”…I’m assuming they gave you…The third degree about us?” Bob asked, finishing the sentence you were about to say before the interruption.

“Yeah…” You whispered under your breath, trying to suppress a laugh.

4K notes · View notes

pagesfromthevoid · 18 days ago

Text

So High School | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reybnolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Walker being an asshole. Heavy making out and hickeys. General discussion of Bob's mental health

Author's Note: The horny thoughts got turned into feelings because of therapy but alas

Bob Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

It started as a joke.

Sort of.

None of it was technically a lie after the initial lie.

It was more of a “get off my back” kind of situation but then it became a “let’s fuck with Walker” kind of deal because he wouldn’t drop it. And his reaction was…hilarious, honestly. Especially because Yelena and Ava immediately played along, no questions asked.

“How did you not notice?” Yelena asked, giving Walker a look that suggested he was an idiot. “The moment she saw him in the vault, she had heart eyes for him.”

“It was not the moment I saw him,” she argued back, pointing at the blonde. “It was like…ten minutes later, when he called Walker an asshole and laughed. Then it was definitely a ‘oh, okay. Hear me out,’ kind of moment.”

“Okay, fair,” Ava conceded, nodding. “Though, I think it stopped being a ‘hear me out’ bit pretty soon after.”

“Oh, immediately after,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know when it was?”

“I swear to God,” Yelena groaned, knowing absolutely what she was about to say. “It was when he was shot, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my god,” she practically moaned, covering her face with her hands. “Listen. I felt so bad. You don’t get it. This poor boy has been shot and he’s not dying and I’m sure he was scared as hell. But did you see him? Those abs? That look he gave those agents? Fuck me, dude. It’s not a ‘hear me out.’ It’s a ‘hold me back.’”

Walker, at that point, was flabbergasted. Yelena and Ava being privy to the whole thing was enough for him to believe it, but he was so confused. Her? And Bob? Of all people? Of all of them on the team?

Bob??

“Then why aren’t you with him now?” He asked, like he thought he could catch her in a lie.

“He’s asleep?” She pointed out, giving him a ‘duh’ kind of look. “He doesn’t sleep a lot. You think I’m going to go wake him up just because I’m horny?”

She paused. Considered what would happen if John were to go ask Bob himself about their “relationship.” Then she decided that she should probably loop Bob in on it –or at least make sure he was okay with fucking with Walker.

“Actually, you know what. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

And that’s how she ends up in Bob’s room, sitting criss-crossed on the end of his bed, and him sitting mirror opposite of her, confused.

“So you…told Walker that we’re dating…as a joke?” He asks, and she can’t tell if he’s upset by the whole thing.

“Yes. And I would super appreciate it if you played along because for some reason, he’s really confused by it and I really, truly find it funny. But it’s also totally okay if you don’t want to go along with it, and we can shut it down right now. I really –it’s not something you need to go along with at all.”

“I don’t…I don’t really understand, but I like the idea of messing with Walker so I guess I’m in,” he decides, grinning that boyish grin of his. The room relaxes significantly as she lets out a relieved breath. “So uh, what…what do we need to do to make it believable?”

She did not think this far ahead, honestly. She’s kind of surprised he agreed to play along, honestly. “I mean…I don’t know. He is under the impression I came in here to wake you up for, uh,” she pauses, feeling herself flush as she considers how to phrase it. “I told him I was going to wake you up because I was horny, so there’s that.”

Bob sits there for a second, and she briefly wonders if he’s okay. He kind of looks like he’s short circuiting; eyes blank for a moment as he stares at her. Then he drops one of his legs to the floor, sitting half on the bed. “I could give you a hickey.”

She sputters, completely thrown off by the suggestion. She opens her mouth once, then shuts it. Then opens it again and manages to say, “You –what?”

“I mean, I’ve never given one before. But that would be believable, right?”

She’s sort of stuck on the fact that he’s never given a hickey before and now she really wants to get one and give one. How high school –hickeys. Her mom always said they were gross but the idea of Bob putting his mouth anywhere on her is…enticing as hell.

So she nods. That’s all she does, because she truly has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

Bob’s going to give her a hickey, and she’s kind of…very excited about that.

“Okay, yeah. That’s…that’s definitely a good start,” she finally says, confirming the first step in a very stupid plan.

But he doesn’t move, and she doesn’t either. Because suddenly this is not actually a joke to either of them it feels like. On the contrary, Bob looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Actually, I just…Why was I…I just –I’m curious –,” he starts, stuttering his way through what he’s trying to say. He’s leaning forward some, and she can see the workings of his mind in his eyes. The tug of his brows as he’s thinking about something that’s going to cause him heartache of some kind. And she knows what it is. She just…she knows.

“I swear, I did it because he wouldn’t leave me alone about who I would date on the team. He really wanted me to say him, and I really would rather give myself a lobotomy than even consider dating him.”

“But that…I mean, that doesn’t explain…,” he points to himself, sort of tugging at his sweater. “Why was I the first person that came to mind?” He asks, shifting uncomfortably. She worries now that she’s hurt him with this whole thing.

“Well I –,” she pauses, and considers what she’s about to say.

She could tell him the truth –after all, everything that followed the “Dude, I’m dating Bob. Where have you been?” comment was…well, it was true. She had absolutely thought he was cute in the vault. And she absolutely gawked when he was shot –not only because he was shot and alive and also flying but because of the abs and how he looked in that moment –confused, but confident. Alarmed, but ready to fight. But that is wholly embarrassing for her. The longer she sits there and considers it, however, the more he probably thinks she’s an asshole.

So she confesses, and her face is burning because she really didn’t think she would be confessing any sort of crush on Bob tonight. “Because…It made sense,” she tries to explain. But that sounds stupid so she backtracks some. “Listen…It makes sense because I would totally date you. In a heartbeat. If you were…in a place to do that. But I don’t expect you to feel the same or even want to do that.”

He looks even more confused now. But his cheeks are blooming with blush, and it’s spreading down his neck and just below his collar. And she’s now distracted, thinking that if she could see his chest, the blush would be spreading there too. And now she’s thinking about him shirtless, which is absolutely not the thing to do.

“Oh,” he says. Though that’s all he says as he shifts in the bed, moving to plant his feet on the floor. His hands are gripping the side of the mattress tight enough that his knuckles are turning white.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” she says, looking down at her hands. Trying to will her own blush away because now she’s humiliated and she’s an asshole. “I really wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable –I’ll go tell Walker I was lying. Seriously, it’s not –,”

“Why don’t we actually date then?” He interrupts, looking up at her.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I told you I would,” she quickly counters, snapping her attention to him. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’ll stop being your friend if you don’t want to date me. God forbid, that would be horrible of me.”

“I don’t feel obligated,” he argues, taking a beat to calm himself down. His hands relax and the color returns to his knuckles. “I know I’m not…the best,” he says, and she’s about to argue but he continues before she can. “But I…I do really like you. And I’d…I’d like to try to take you out on a date. Probably have to take things slow or something, but if that’s okay with you…”

“‘Or something’ being giving me a hickey to freak out Walker?” She jokes, trying to ease the tension in the room.

He laughs. Actually laughs; not one of his uncomfortable ones. But a real laugh that’s soft and sweet and she can’t help but laugh as well when he nods. “Yeah, yeah…we can fast forward a little to that part, if you want.”

“Do you want to do that?”

He hesitates, and she’s about to tell him it's totally okay if he doesn’t want to. But he nods finally. “Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually. But uh,” he stops, and there’s this look on his face that suggests that he’s really considering his next question. At this point, he could ask her just about anything and she’d probably say yes, though. “Can we…maybe not fast forward through the making out part before the hickey?”

“Oh my god, you’re going to be the death of me,” she laughs, moving across the bed on her hands and knees towards him.

“I hope not,” he says, and he sounds genuinely concerned as she sits beside him.

She reaches up and brushes a lock of hair out of his face. “Metaphorically speaking,” she reassures.

She doesn’t know what to do next, honestly. Not because she doesn’t have any experience, but because she feels nervous for the first time in years over a guy. Which is ridiculous, but at the same time…it’s a good feeling to have.

“Can I…can I kiss you, now?” He asks, but his voice is soft. Trembling. Like he’s afraid she’s going to suddenly change her mind and leave him there, embarrassed.

“I’d really like that, yeah.”

He’s still timid –a little awkward, a little shaky –but he leans in closer, and she meets him in the middle. Their noses brush just slightly before the space between them is closed. It’s slow at first; testing the waters to make sure they both know what they’re doing. Truly, as high school as they could get without actually being in high school. But she presses forward slightly, resting one hand on his knee and the other hand on his chest. He mimics the motion, sort of, and one of his hands cups the back of neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. His other covers the hand resting on his knee, interlocking their fingers.

It’s her who pulls them backwards onto the bed, their legs still dangling off the side. Their entwined hands are up by her head now and the hand on his chest is grasping at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip. Bob is half laying on her, the hand in her hair untangling itself to gently run down her ribcage through her shirt. She hums in response, and he tenses some but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls away from her mouth, and she sighs as his lips press against her jaw.

The movement is just as awkward at first, but he finds a rhythm as he presses a kiss just below her ear then trails them down her throat. His stubble –barely there, but there enough to tickle –brushes her skin and she sighs in content as she loosens the grip on his shirt and tangles her fingers in his hair. Guiding him, carefully, kindly, to the spot on her throat that she wants to feel him mark. The pulse point that drums her heartbeat for this very moment.

He hesitates again, and this time she’s pretty sure it’s because he actually doesn’t know how to give a hickey. So she forces herself to let go of his hair and taps just below his jaw to get his attention. When he pulls away, his cheeks are bright red and flushed, but he’s got a soft smile on his face.

“Let me show you,” she offers, and he nods, letting her take the lead if only for a lesson.

She pushes him onto his back and takes the same position he had been over her. One hand on his rib cage, deftly moving to run her fingers over his abs as she presses a soft kiss to his lips one more time. He tries to pull her back, but she nudges his cheek with her nose, pressing a light kiss there before trailing down his jaw and below his ear –mimicking the movements he had gotten correct. Then, she grazes just at his pulse –presses her tongue against his heartbeat, which spikes the moment her teeth touch his skin –not a bite. Just a little graze. Then she sucks and the sound that comes from his lips is soft but an obvious moan.

When she pulls away, she admires the handiwork with a soft grin and a quick kiss to his jaw one more time. Then she’s looking down at him, hovering just high enough to see the glossy eyed smile on his face. She misses it, but his eyes shift some –gold flickering through as he returns to the original position and repeats the motions one more time. His mouth on hers in a soft but firm kiss. Then quick, soft kisses along her jaw and down her throat –on the opposite side now of where she left his. He follows her steps to the tee, like a lesson he wants to have perfected, and grazes his teeth along her pulse. When it quickens under his tongue, he hums in excitement, unable to help himself as he marks her as his.

He gets a little carried away, enjoying how she squirms under him as he presses kisses and soft bites to her neck. One hickey isn’t enough, and he leaves several before she’s littered in little bruises all over her throat. He’s about to push it a bit further, confident in his movements for the first in…ever, really, when the glass on his table suddenly explodes.

They yank apart, and she’s got a hand over her heart like she’s panicked. He’s staring at the puddle of water and glass that’s littering his nightstand, his eyes wide. She sees it before he does it –sees him pull away, shrink back behind the wall he’s put up to protect himself and anyone he thinks is in danger because of him. Behind the wall he thinks protects her from him.

“Bob,” she whispers, reaching up to try to get him to look at her, but he fights her, refusing to take his eyes from the splinters of glass. “Hey, it’s okay –we got a little carried away. It happens.”

He shakes his head though, and reaches up to wipe his eyes. It’s then that she realizes he’s started crying, and her heart breaks. She pulls her hands away and shifts, sitting up on her knees and wraps her arms around him from behind. Holds him close, and presses her cheek into his hair as she does so. His hands clutch at her arms, holding onto her like she’s the only thing tethering him to this world and the shadows.

“It’s okay,” she promises. And she does mean that. It is okay. It will be, at least. “It’s okay –think of it this way –you broke a glass instead of a person, and that means you know how to direct it towards non-living things.” She’s not sure that’s actually reassuring, but she thinks it is, personally. There are worse things to have broken over a glass of water.

“It could have been you,” he argues, voice shaking as he tries to calm down the tears.

“But it wasn’t,” she reminds him, pulling him closer against her. “It wasn’t, and we don’t focus on the ‘what if’s’ because it’ll just make things worse. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. I would say that that’s a key marker of progress.”

He turns some, finally looking up at her with watery eyes. She pulls the sleeve of her shirt down and wipes the tears from his cheeks, smiling at him softly. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, resting his cheek against her chest. She hugs him back just as tight, pressing a kiss into his hair.

They sit there for a little while like this. Holding onto each other for dear life; grounding each other in the space they were sharing for the moment. Then Bob sniffles and pulls away, running his hands over his face.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, though she’s certain he’s reassuring himself and not her. “I’m sorry I ruined –,”

“You didn’t ruin shit,” she interrupts, pointing at him in a scolding sort of way. But she’s smirking lightly. “You gave me a hickey. Everything else was just…a bonus.”

“I think I gave you more than one,” he points out, then gently pokes each mark on her throat and counts them. “Seven.”

“I suppose I owe you six more, some time then.”

*****

“Wait,” Walker says, slamming his hands on the table. Bob flinches, and she touches his leg gently under the table. “I just…I truly cannot believe this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, and Bob takes her hand in his. His attention is focused on the paper in front of him and the spirals he’s drawing. “I told you we were dating.”

Ava and Yelena are both still playing along, though they’re equally as confused. Not by the fact that she and Bob are a thing –but by the fact that they hadn’t actually picked up on it themselves.

“I just –listen. I gotta know,” Walker starts and she’s so certain he’s about to say something stupid. “Isn’t…it’s gotta be weird just saying ‘Bob’ over and over when you’re bed. Like, c’mon. Do you say ‘Robert’? Or ‘Bobby’? Or is it just…literally ‘Bob’? Because honestly, that’s…weird to consider.”

She’s about to argue that it’s weird he’s even thinking about them having sex (which, not that it’s any of his business, but they hadn’t). But Bob speaks up first.

“Her mouth is a little too preoccupied to say anything,” he says, though he’s definitely saying that more to himself than to anyone else.

She chokes, covering her mouth. Everyone else is just…staring at him. He realizes a second too late that he said the inside thought outside. Then he flushes and tries to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, that’s not –I mean –,”

“Bob, you dog!” Alexei cackles, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder and shaking it some. “Good for you!”

---

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @withahappyrefrain (I'm tagging you specifically because you asked me to share with the class and ily)

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #sentry #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*

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honeycantskate · 1 year ago

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Assist for my Seany boy tonight is the silver lining for watching us get beat by the blue jackets.

But holy frick why did we lose??? So much slashing and high sticks but v minimal penalties called on Columbus???

#avs #colorado avalanche #i believe in us #sean walker #feels bad man #still winning the cup though

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eyelessfaces · 10 days ago

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if anything

bob reynolds x reader

summary: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

tags: some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, light descriptions of violence, reader is held at gunpoint during a mission, mentions of wounds and bruises, tiny bleed, shame room, everyone in the watchtower knows you and bob are in love, bob has a cat (he gets her in this one shot that absolutely does not require to be read to enjoy this!)

word count: 2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

It’s unusually quiet when you step in and join the room, so quiet that you would have first guessed no one is actually here, so it comes as a shock when you hear the faint sizzling of the pan over the stove and see Walker and Ava cooking in a peaceful, unusual, almost unsettling silence considering they usually can’t stop bickering and picking at each other.

Yelena is sitting at the table lazily filing her nails, Bob is tucked away in his reading nook, and you glance around but Bucky and Alexei are nowhere to be seen, so you assume they’re down at the training floor.

You pull a chair and sit across from Yelena, making her glance up at you with a compassionate, gentle smile before she resumes her business. “You okay?” she asks simply, polishing her nails back and forth.

You hum softly and nod, repressing anything more. The truth is you’re exhausted and your limbs ache more than the painkillers can handle, and you’ve developed an awful headache from the pressure of it all, but you would rather leave today behind.

You know the reason everyone is so uptight and quiet, you know why the air feels so heavy. You’re painfully aware of the tension you have brought into the group after what happened during the mission, and you know how everyone feels despite no one really talking about it or letting it seep through except for that cold, weighing silence and the gentle motion as if everyone is afraid it will break the space around you.

The overwhelming quiet after the storm.

“I filed the report and got it sent to Valentina” you announce in a mutter.

Yelena’s eyes are back on you in a second. “Did you make it true to what happened?”

You nervously play with your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails, giving her a shake of the head. You can see Walker and Ava closely listening from the corner of your eye, exchanging a look before they resume their task when you look in their direction.

You sink back into your chair, wincing in discomfort when the shift in position painfully jabs at your side and steals your breath. “We didn’t tell Bob,” Yelena declares, setting her nail file down. “We figured we would save him the worry. We know how much he cares about you” she says, prompting you to look over your shoulder at Bob reading, earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the heavy atmosphere of the room.

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage but you are convinced it doesn’t have anything to do with the nagging pain of your wounded body. “Yeah, we should move on” you agree, turning back to Yelena. “Let’s not talk about that again,” you offer.

“We got to thank you one last time though” she grins with a slight tilt of her head. “You really put yourself out there for us. I doubt we would have made it if you didn’t offer yourself and put your life on the line for us. As stupid as it was”

You chuckle softly. “Come on, what’s a few broken ribs and a bet that could have easily gotten me killed?” you joke with a grin, the ache at your temple strangely familiar and similar to the feeling of the gun barrel pointed at it hours ago.

Despite the joke, you try to shake the feeling and memory away, grounding yourself with the thought that you’re here, you’re home, you’re safe, and there will only be bad dreams to catch up on you, nothing real.

You turn and lightly clear your throat when you hear Bob shift across the room, removing his wired earbuds, Yelena quietly quickly dismissing the conversation by not adding onto it, looking at you with a knowing glance.

“Bob, buddy, train your cat not to jump over the fucking counter when we’re cooking” Ava points at the evidence, the black cat meowing in response.

“Sorry, I’ll work on that” Bob says with an apologetic quirk of his lips as he gets Missy off the kitchen counter and puts her down on the floor. “She’s just hungry, it’s feeding time. C’mon Missy,” Bob calls, and the cat follows his every step as he grabs the box containing her food, needing to push her head aside when she already has it in the bowl even before he gets to pour her food.

“You can also work on those fangs of hers,” Walker remarks. “She bit me this morning.”

“Oh I’m sure you deserved it” Yelena casually mutters. Bob tilts his head in silent agreement, a small smirk threatening to grow on his face, and you can’t help but silently snort, the tension finally beginning to lift.

You feel safe here. It all feels warmer.

—

Missy is curled onto your bed, slowly blinking her sleepy yellowish eyes at you, not moving even as much as a millimeter when you sit down at the edge, not far from her.

A painful sigh escapes you, hand instinctively coming to clutch onto your badly wounded side in naive hope that the heat of your hand would make the pain subside just for a moment, but even the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe makes it hurt.

Your hand leaves your side and you try to compose yourself when you hear a soft knock at the door, Bob’s head peeking in the slight opening. “Hi– just checking in, have you seen– oh” he pinches his lips into a smile when you lean to the side – painfully, but you try your best for it not to show – and reveal Missy sleeping behind you.

“I didn’t close the door all the way so she made her way in,” you turn to look at the cat now peacefully sleeping.

“Sorry for that–”

“What are you apologizing for? I don’t mind. At all” you shrug.

Bob pinches a smile again, repressing another apology like you all have been teaching him, having been working on making him stop apologizing for everything and anything.

“Okay, I’ll–” he starts to back away, but suddenly stops, a worried frown forming over his face as he points a finger at you. “You– You’re bleeding”

You look down at yourself and see the spot of blood seeping through your shirt, a curse escaping under your breath. Bob quickly comes to your side, sitting down next to you.

Then, the second his hand rests over your arm, you’re sucked in.

Back there.

Your breath falls short again as you're standing in front of yourself, the version of yourself a few hours ago, gun kissing your temple. You watch as the civilian you willingly replaced breaks down in sobs, two other people clutching his side, leading him away from the scene.

When you turn around, the whole team is in front of you, just the way they were earlier, only this time, Bob is also there.

That's when you get it. His touch triggered this.

The scene unfolds, excruciatingly slowly for the second time today, and Bob watches intently, mouth slightly agape as Walker points his gun, as Yelena tries to reason with the man holding the gun to your head, as Alexei gets ready to charge onto him at any opening that could be offered.

You and Bob both remain silent as it goes on, flinching when the man threatening you readjusts and grips harder onto his gun, but you both know for a reason he eventually won’t go through with it.

Bucky steps forward and offers the man a deal, and everything seems to accelerate again as the man eventually gives up and kicks a knee onto your side before he violently drops you to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, your body crashing onto the same side you have been kicked. The man runs away while you groan and clutch the ground in pain, Alexei and Bucky rushing to you while the rest of them go after the man, Ava shifting through to stop him in his run and Walker giving him a hit of his folded shield, knocking him out.

Then, like you just blinked, you’re back in your bedroom, sitting next to Bob. Your eyes widen over him like you have seen a ghost, and he seems equally distraught, if not more.

“I’m sorry– You know I can’t control it” he pulls away, visibly shaken by what just happened.

“I know.”

You swallow, hard. The room remains heavy with silence until Bob speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? Any of you?”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It was easier that way”

He nods and hums. “So much for trying to make me feel included” he smiles bitterly, hurt.

You close your eyes for a second, suddenly aware of how wrong it sounded. “Bob” you reach for him and pull him back when he tries to leave. This time, you remain here, and your hand stays over his arm. “I didn’t mean it that way” you nod seriously. He readjusts his position over the bed. “We decided to just put it under the rug and not talk about it anymore. I even lied in the report. Valentina won’t hear about that but it wasn’t meant for the same reasons as you”

He frowns softly, listening intently. His gaze is focused on you, like your face could speak hidden facts directly.

“If we decided not to tell you it’s not because we don’t trust you or something” you explain with a small shake of your head, looking at him earnestly. “It was probably wrong that we tried to hide something like this from you, but we just didn’t want you to worry.” you nod. Your throat feels tight from the pressure, invisible hands grasping at you, suffocating you. “Because we know you care.”

“You’re damn right I do” he mutters, his dark blue eyes slightly flickering.

You can't exactly read his expression; it sits between frustration and something else that translates into the softness of his gaze but that you couldn't really pinpoint.

But you don't ask yourself any more questions. You have grown tired of it, and today might as well have been the last straw, so you do this the exact same way you did on the mission; you rush into it.

You rush into taking his face into your hands, pressing your lips against his without even questioning yourself.

A soft sound escapes his mouth as you do, but before you can even begin to wonder if you’ve startled him, he reaches for you with hesitant hands, as if he’s afraid to touch you, before they eventually come to rest at your neck for good.

When you pull back, your foreheads are still pressed together, his lips still lightly grazing yours before a contented smile lights up his face, his knuckles brushing against your face with more confidence he suspected he could have.

It feels like behind pulled back to the surface when you hear Missy’s high pitched meowing, making you both turn in her direction, making her desire for attention obvious when she sits right in the tight space between the both of you; it’s tricky, but she still manages to adopt a strange position that makes it fit.

Bob huffs out a laugh, petting her back, looking back up at you and watching the amused smile over your face when Missy stretches her lithe body under his scratches, asking for more.

You hiss softly when a fresh shot of pain courses through you, reminding you of the current state of your body, and Bob’s expression instantly shifts into a more serious one. “You gotta let me help,”

“That’s fine” you dismiss, trying to convince yourself that not giving importance to your pain will make it lessen; everything would be so much easier if it worked that way.

Bob’s head tilts slightly. “Trust me,” he mutters. “I know a thing or two about bruises”

You give him a bittersweet, compassionate smile before eventually surrendering, letting him take a look, assessing the situation before he takes it as his personal mission to look after you the way he wished he could have been looked after when he needed it.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and helps more than you think!!

buy me a coffee ♡

thunderbolts taglist: @majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #sentry #the void #lewis pullman #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #the void x reader #marvel #bob reynolds fluff #bob thunderbolts #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob x reader #mcu

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fireinmoonshot · 17 days ago

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drawing the line | bucky barnes x fem!reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Summary: Bucky Barnes has messed up big time ... he just doesn't know it until he sees you and realises he really should've checked his texts. Warnings: There are very subtle mentions to reader having some issues mentally but nothing specific is mentioned other than her being very guarded and angry. This is inspired by and takes place during a scene from the Thunderbolts movie! It has direct spoilers for the film! If you haven't seen it and don't want to be spoiled, don't read this one yet. Word Count: 1.9k. A/N: It has been three whole years since I wrote for Bucky Barnes. Thanks to Thunderbolts, I am so back 🥰. I had this idea for the movie when I saw it again yesterday and I plotted most of it out at work today. I'm really happy with how it turned out so I hope that you will all enjoy it. More Bucky fics coming soon – as well as more Bob and Joaquín too! 💗 Requests are always open.

Bucky realises he’s made a mistake pretty quickly.

In his defence, he isn’t very good at checking his phone – especially now that he’s a congressman and he has even less time on his hands than usual. But he’d been worried about Mel, the assistant of Valentina, and had figured that by tracking her phone like she’d asked, he might have a better chance at finally taking Valentina down.

If he had read his texts, though, he would’ve seen one from you. Valentina says I have one last mission and my contract is up. I’m on my way. Have a bad feeling about this one though. Can you track me?

Yeah, he’s messed up.

He’s even more certain of that when he’s pulling the unconscious bodies of Ava Starr, Yelena Belova, John Walker and Alexei Shostakov out of the limo he’d blown up and he finds you with them. Thankfully, you’re not injured.

When you come to, the first thing you see is Bucky, sitting opposite you with his eyebrows knotted in worry. For a moment, everything is fuzzy and you’re not sure how you got here – and then everything comes back to you.

You’d been trying to outrun Valentina’s men who’d been coming after you after your escape when Bucky had shown up. Everyone in the car had been more than excited and you’d felt relieved – he’d seen your text and he’d come to save you – until he’d practically blown the limo up with you inside of it.

“What the hell, Bucky?” You blink, squeezing your eyes shut briefly as you adjust to the light in the room. You look around, seeing the others all sat nearby – tied up, some of them even restrained with pieces of metal that Bucky had wrapped around them.

It’s when you see them tied up that you realise you’re not.

“Doll,” Bucky starts, his voice soft. “Listen, I–”

“Do not ‘doll’ me,” you shake your head. “So, blowing up our car and almost killing me is okay, but you draw the line at tying me up?” You motion to the others and then to yourself.

Bucky sighs. He knew you’d be mad, but this is another level of mad. He understands – of course he does, you’d nearly died. But regardless, he’d hoped you’d be a little more lenient. “I didn’t even know you were in the car.”

You raise your eyebrows and scoff. “I text you and say hey, this mission feels wrong and you don’t think twice? Am I talking to Bucky Barnes right now? What happened to the guy that ran seven red lights two months ago when I got into a minor car accident just to make sure I was okay?”

He stands up and runs a hand through his hair, walking a few steps away from you. Behind him, you stand up as well, crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down – like you do very well. Bucky knows that you can be stubborn when you want to, but this is the next level to that. He loves your stubborn side. He loves this side of you as well… but he hates that it’s him that the anger is directed at.

This is not the you that he’d been tangled in the sheets with only a few nights ago. This is not the you that had kissed him goodbye before he’d headed off to work last week. This is the you that he’d seen the first time he ever met you. Strong, guarded as hell and pissed off at the world.

“You texted me?” He mutters, and then regrets the words the second they’re out of his mouth. He resists the urge to pull his phone out of his pocket and check his unread messages.

For a second, you just stare at him, and then you start laughing. “I texted you? Are you serious right now?” You exclaim, turning away from him and shaking your head. “No, why on earth would I text my boyfriend when I was going into a potentially life threatening situation set up by Valentina Allegra de Fontaine? I’ll remember that for next time and keep it to myself, since you’re apparently too busy to check.”

“Well, would you have even read my message if I had replied? Considering you were on a mission? Yeah, I don’t think so,” Bucky can’t help but bite back a little.

“No, probably not,” you admit. “Because I don’t have a phone anymore – it fell out of my pocket when I was running for my life back at the vault and then it got incinerated, like I would have if it had been even one second later!”

Your voice is raised even louder now, basically yelling at Bucky, though you hate to do it. You and Bucky never fight like this, not really. But this whole situation has gotten under your skin and you can’t help but be mad at yourself for thinking Bucky had come to save you, when in reality he was just there to kidnap the others for some unknown reason.

Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing that Bucky can say to that. He stares at you, eyes wide as the full gravity of the situation settles on his shoulders. You’d almost been incinerated. And then Bucky had almost killed you himself. Was there any coming back from this?

In the silence, you hear a cough and both of you turn to look over at the others, all of whom are now awake and sitting upright, watching the two of you. How much of your argument had they heard? You wince internally and start to walk towards them.

“You either untie them, or you tie me up with them,” you say, sitting down beside Walker.

Walker looks over at you, a confused look on his face. He obviously had no idea that you’re with Bucky, even though the two of them know each other. You try to ignore the feeling in your stomach, the one that says that maybe Bucky means more to you than you do to him, especially since Walker doesn’t even know about you two.

Bucky thinks it over for a moment before shaking his head and walking over to you again. He crouches down beside you and decides he’s going to try again – even though the eyes of every other person in the room are focused on him. He reaches up to try and tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear but you bat his hand away.

“I’m not tied up so I can still tuck my own hair behind my ear, Barnes.”

You turn away from him, looking over at Ava and Alexei.

“This is your boyfriend?” Ava asks, looking between the two of you. “Girl.”

The one word says everything. You almost laugh at her.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to make his decision. He stands up again and then beckons for you to stand up as well. “Stand up and let me tie you up, then,” he says, hoping that he sounds as nonchalant as he is intending to be. Even though not one part of him is actually intending on tying you up. It’s true – he draws the line at that.

You stand up and one second later, Bucky has picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. You yelp, hitting his back as he walks out of the room, leaving the other four alone. “Bucky, what the hell are you doing!?” You exclaim.

He pushes the front door of the garage open with a foot and then kicks it closed behind him. Once he sets you down on the ground outside, you move to push him, but he’s quick to grab your wrists and place them gently on his chest instead. You’re mad, but he’s not going to let you hurt him, or accidentally hurt you more than he already has.

“I’m not continuing this argument inside in front of all of the others,” he says, nodding his head towards the garage and trying to focus on the feeling of your hands on his hands and the pressure of them on his chest. You’re here. You’re alive. He didn’t kill you. Nor did Valentina.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you shake your head and try to pull your hands away, but his grip is too strong. “I’ve said everything that I needed to say in there, Bucky. I asked for your help, you almost killed me yourself. It’s clear enough.”

“You said what you said, but you barely let me get a word in, doll.”

You shrug your shoulders and look away from him, focusing on the mountains in the distance and wonder how long it’ll take the others to get free so you can all get the hell out of here. Even though a small part of you, the part of you that isn’t clouded by your anger right now, wants nothing more than to wrap your arms around Bucky’s body, bury your head in his chest and feel his arms around you.

“I��m sorry I didn’t see your message,” he begins, hoping you’ll let him talk. “I’ve been so bad with anything that’s not work these days and trying to bring down Valentina that I’ve put everything else to the side. I shouldn’t have put you there too.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, still unable to look at him.

“I didn’t know you were in that limo when I blew it up. I just knew that there were people in there that could help me bring down Valentina once and for all and I was going to stop that limo at all costs,” he explains. “You don’t know how terrified I was when I saw you were inside of it. I swear, I spent five minutes just checking to make sure you weren’t injured before I brought you all here. I couldn’t bring myself to tie you up after all that, doll.”

“Likely story,” you huff under your breath, as if the thought of him checking you over to make sure you were okay doesn’t make your heart beat faster and your fingers, still pressed to his chest, itch to pull him closer to you.

Bucky removes one of his hands from yours and carefully reaches down to cup your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You try and restrain yourself for a few moments before eventually meeting his eyes. Just looking in them tells you that he’s speaking the truth.

“I would never do anything knowingly to hurt you, doll,” he says.

“I know,” you reply, voice soft as you try not to lean too much into his hand.

“Then do you forgive me?”

“No,” you shake your head, but in the progress, you can’t help but relax into his grip a little. You let out a sigh, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his hand on your face. “I don’t forgive you yet, Bucky. I need time.”

Bucky nods and lets out a small breath of relief. “I’ll take it.”

You remove one of your hands from Bucky’s chest and place it over the hand that’s still on your jaw. “We need to talk,” you start. “Not you and me, all of us. There are things that happened down there in that vault that you need to know about before we go after Valentina, if we can even get the others to join us.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “Just one more thing.” He leans down and presses his lips to your forehead before dropping his hand from your jaw and stepping back away from you, clearly wanting to give you space even though you hadn’t asked for it. The thoughtfulness makes your heart swell in your chest. “C’mon doll, let’s go.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts x you #marvel #marvel x you #marvel x reader #mcu

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angel-eyes05 · 6 days ago

Text

going over easy

pairing: bob reynolds x powered!thunderbolts!fem!reader

summary: two of the same. after breaking through inital barriers, you and the sentry appear to be inseperable, a pull almost forcing you two to each other. the strength of that pull has been getting pretty testy recently, and the two of you begin to wonder who you are to the other.

warnings/info: nsfw and mdni warning by the end of the fic, ill section off that part if you just wanna read the cutey parts, veryyyyyyy soft sex, no use of y/n, this bob is gonna be a little different from how i see him in a lot of other fics so disclaimer about that ig, but dw he's still very soft and sweet, oral sex and fingering (f!receiving), self depreciation on readers side, lots of my headcanons are gonna shine through here, reader is powered as well (yes that is gonna play into this lol) and is less of a blank slate than usual (aka shes kinda side rip), a scene in the void so we can know reader a little more and just for plot purposes lol, bob's powers are gonna be limited to whatever we saw showcased in thunderbolts so please dont get picky if somethings comic inaccurate thanks, its bob so ofc theres a little bit of angst too but dw this is very fluffy as well we love being well rounded lol

word count: 13.3k

notes: so guess who's obsessed with thunderbolts now.....and guess what half of the reasoning is.....if your guess was a man YOUD BE RIGHT!!!! i had to write for him ofc, i put a steve harrington fic on pause for this i had to jump on it lol. one thing i will say about bob fics that annoy me is that ofc everyone turns bob into a cutesy pootsy uwu boy which, hate me or whatever, he is NOTTTTT to me, that man was so sassy and sarcastic in the vault (to walker especially lol) so i wanted that to come out a little more here while still being his naturally sweet and soft self. i go a little bit into 2016 mcu fandom mode on some of the early character descriptions and relationships BUT CAN YOU BLAME A GIRL CAUSE IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE BACK, I JUST HAD TO </3. i also didnt proofread this cause yet again its like 1am when im posting this and im so tired so if you catch anything uhhhh my bad lol. anyways this is standard to most of my other fics, so have fun lol enjoy!!!

dividers by: @cafekitsune

You always overcooked your eggs. It was part of your routine at this point in your life. As a kid, your irrationally large fear of getting salmonella caused you to force your mom to always burn your eggs, chicken, and other foods of the sorts. It didn't even taste bad to you. It was all you had ever known. Uncomfortable, but natural. You scooped the rubbery eggs out of the pan and onto your plate while you attempted to squirt whatever ketchup you could out of the bottle. Taking your lunch, you leaned on the kitchen island and stared out of the sweeping windows of The Watchtower.

Valentina finding you was complicated. On one hand, you were out of the hell hole of a compound you called a home. However though, her manipulation paired with constant missions and training proved to be its own task entirely. And still with all that, your mind had a knack for traveling back to that dark, damp room. Like a looming threat over your head that if you ever messed up, that's where you would return.

That fear pushed you for the past few years. You worked till your bones cracked fixing up Valentina's messes. It was monotonous, but you had convinced yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to become something more with what you had. You had a special gift after all. Thrusted onto you, sure, but Valentina said that it meant you were worth something now. A living shield and sword. Each time you got hit, your body was able to process the kinetic energy into physical blasts. Meaning dodging an attack was actually bad form on your part. So you got hit. A lot. Most days you'd stumble back to your apartment, knocked in the head so silly you didn't know what was up or down.

But it was good work. Kept you busy. That was until Valentina attempted to have you assassinated, trying to tie up all her loose ends. That's all you were to her at the end of the day. A fly on the way she had to clean up before her guests arrived. Turns out though, she had lots of other flies on the walls, who would in fact turn their forces against her, becoming the world's New Avengers in the process.

One of Yelena's first personal tasks on the job was to find any other lost associates of Valentina. Lucky for you, you fell right into that category. After proving yourself physically capable and trustworthy to her and the rest of the team, you eventually joined as an official member. Your rise to glory had been long and tough, but man was the view from the top nice.

As you grew closer with each of the teammates, you noticed each of their little knick-knacks. Yelena was very easy to let you in, almost like she was begging to share herself with someone else. She must've gotten it from her father, Alexei. He didn't take anything more than four hours to warm up to you. The other three went at a much slower pace, Ava and you eventually bonding over your mutual teasing for Walker, who you made sure knew it was all in good fun. Bucky was last, but it seemed thats how he was with most people. You let him take his time, which seemed to work well in the end. All of them had made their way.

Well. Almost.

Bob was kind of a weird guy. He was kind of an Avenger? But not really? If anything, he was more of their dog that would show up to public appearances with you and the team, but never missions. He spent most of his time lounging around or cleaning up the Watchtower, or in sessions with his therapist. He was always looming around, but kept a specific distance. Mainly physical. Whenever you'd seem to be about to brush by him, he'd scatter away, like a cat who got spooked. You had talked to Yelena about it before, but she said to just give him his time. That this was probably natural after his "incident" a few months back.

You weren't in New York for it, but it of course was on the news everywhere. How a sea of black ink had devoured the city and all of its civilians in their own personalized trauma nightmare. Something you were secretly grateful to have missed. You knew exactly what you'd see if you were in there.

In the recent time of your arrival, you had managed to find and take up your role in your little group. Their own little weird mage, banned from making food for anyone but yourself. No one else liked your burnt food, big shocker.

As you wrapped up with said burnt lunch, you took your plate and utensils to the sink, as a pair of bare feet patted into the room. "Good morning sleepyhead," you called out, knowing who they belonged to already. "Morning's a bit of a stretch, it's like what, 1:30 already?" Bob replied, mid yawn. "I told you guys to start forcing me up earlier," he complained. "Yeah yeah, but Yelena says it's good for you. Your body needs its rest after the serum treatment," you retorted. "Doesn't..." he paused mid sentence to check his sleep tracker on his watch. "....14 hours seem like a little much?" "Hey, your body's gonna take what it needs," you said, finally turning around to face him. He was wearing his usual lounge outfit, a gigantic, comically oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. His body had grown incredibly sensitive to touch after the serum, so the less fabric tightening down on him, the better.

Bob gave a half smile to your comment and attempted to wipe the drowsiness off his face. "You can leave that for me, it's fine," Bob commented, as you took the dish soap and drizzled it over your dirty plate and pan. "I don't mind, I'm already here anyways," you insisted, turning on the tap. Bob sighed and shrugged his shoulders backwards in an attempt to wake his body up. "Alright, but I'm taking charge on the stovetop," he insisted, walking over to your area.

Something must've been in the air today, because this was the most Bob had talked to you in a while, and this was definitely the closest he had stood near you ever before. His presence was a sweet one, as he himself was a sweet guy. You had seen it in the way he acted with everyone else. You knew it probably had to deal with the fact that you were the newcomer, a different face than what he was used to, but you wanted to badly to have something that close with him too. A deep, lingering jealousy had proved to be a close friend of yours when you would see how he would act with John or Yelena compared to how he would act with you.

Hopefully, this was a step in the right direction.

"You know where the others went?" Bob almost immediately asked.

Or maybe not.

"Downstairs in a meeting with Valentina. I got a pass to skip on this one." In the last meeting you had been to, Bucky had to hold you down before you had the chance to blast her smug smirk off her face.

Bob made a hum in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded, which you caught out of the corner of your eye. "How do you feel about....her?" Bob paused for a moment.

When Yelena had told you Valentina was at majority blame for The Void Incident, you had no doubt in believing it. You didn't know how the others were so okay with it, but Ms. de Fontaine being your boss still unsettled you. You didn't like the idea that she was still overseeing all of your actions and controlling how you were supposed to be acting towards the public. Especially after the shit she's pulled. Once Yelena explained the situation, about the blackmail shock collar the team had on her if she ever took anything too far, you felt a little more at ease about it. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake off the paranoia about being in this situation with her.

"Fine," Bob responded. You placed the plate down in the sink and turned to face him finally. "That's all you're gonna give me? Fine?" He gave a deep, annoyed sigh. "Well what do you want me to say? That I don't like her? That I don't trust her? That she's the reason I'm like this now and when it didn't go the way she planned, she killed me? Hmm?" You froze a little bit. You hadn't seen this side of him before. The team said it came out a little bit when he would go "Sentry-Mode" (a name made on Alexei's part). You sighed and went back to washing your dish. Bob rubbed his face again. "Sorry, I just thought it was pointless to state the obvious." You smirked a little bit. "Well that's one thing right. Just trying to fill the air I guess." "I know....sorry, that was mean." There's the Bob you know. Always apologizing. "You're good."

The air was stuffy with a tension for the next few minutes while you cleaned the kitchen. Up until a wet glass plate slipped out of your hands and crashed onto the floor, shattering into a billion little pieces. Bob flinched at the sound, on the other side of the island wiping down the counter. You froze and chuckled to yourself a bit. "Woah, you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Yeah, yeah, just a bit of a ditz today," you said, wiping your hand across your face. "You're good, just stay where you are for a sec, I don't want you to get any in your feet," Bob warned, going into first responder mode as he assessed the situation. "I wanna try this out for a second," he insisted.

You watched closely and stilly, as Bob took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and put his hands out. Suddenly, the glass shards around your feet jittered and lifted into the air slowly, as Bob opened his eyes and guided them to the trash can. Once he was done, he released his breath and dropped his hands. "Well look at mister big shot powers over here!" you cheered. "Bucky let you start practicing again recently?" "Yeah, a little bit here and there just so I don't go overboard again," he blushed a light pink. "Keep it up," you smiled at him.

Before you took another step, you looked down at the ground and noticed a particularly large piece of glass. "Oops, looks like you missed one hot-rod." "Shit, sorry, let me try one more time," he said closing his eyes again. "No no, don't worry, it's fine, I'll just pick this one up," you insisted, reaching down to pick it up. "No, wait, you'll cut yourself!" Bob shouted, almost running over to reach you. "Bob, it's fine I pro-."

As Bob's hand grabbed onto your wrist, you felt a spike of shivers roll down your arm. The first time he had made contact with you, and his hands were so soft....

You couldn't focus on it for long though, looking up and seeing a face of pure horror on Bob's face. You looked at him confused. You were quick to join him though as streams of black slithered across the floor and over your eyes. The last thing you remember was Bob's hand ripping off your wrist, desperately called out your name as the shadows took his place.

~~~~~

Your eyes peeled open, as you tried to assess your surroundings after the chaos. It was eerily quiet, a leaky faucet dripping as the only sound. The room was dark, damp, and cold. Concrete floors and walls, a chamber pot in the corner, and a cot with a wrinkled, thin blanket shoved against the wall. After your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw her. The lone decoration of the room. A poster of 1961's Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn's face faded and discolored with time. The more you stared, the more you recognized this room. You knew where you were. And worst of all, you knew exactly what day this was.

With almost perfect timing, the metal door slide open with angry force. Three armored men burst into the room, as you heard something shuffle itself across the floor. You didn't even notice her at first.

A girl, shoved up into the corner of the wall, head hanging over the chamber pot as she wiped the bile off her mouth. Your memory was fuzzy, but she couldn't have been older than 17 at the time. With short, flat, oily, botched up hair. Wires were bursting out of her neck and down her back, connecting her to a running machine in the wall for vitals.

You. An older one.

The most notable feature was her frame. You would expect someone in this situation to look malnourished, seconds away from death. On the contrary, uncanny muscles were bulging out of her arms and upper back, like they were clawing to be let out. A product of the treatment, like a sumo wrestler on steroids.

The men rushed over to that version of you, ripping the wires out of her neck and latching on a power damper collar in their place. That collar itself was an omen. Can't torture the girl who can absorb the pain and shoot it back out. You'd just be throwing fuel onto the fire.

They forced younger you up to your feet as their superior walked into your room. You could feel your heart stop in your chest as you searched in desperation for a way out. You called out for Bob, Yelena, anyone at all. Almost like your mind was in tune with your decisions, the metal door slammed shut just before you could run out. You leaned your head on the door, not bearing to look, barely standing to listen.

Your old superior examined younger you and the rest of the room, the poster in particular. He smiled sadistically at it. "A real stunner she was, eh?" You scoffed at his words while younger you darted her eyes away. In one swift movement, he ripped the poster down to reveal a makeshift hole halfway into the wall. Your escape route. Taking a deep breath, you finally turned around to face the incoming carnage.

"You think you're smart huh?" the man asked her. Younger you tilted her head up, looking him straight in the eyes, too worn down to care what would happen to her. He smirked. Her silence was enough of an answer. He snapped at his employees, one of them slamming the butt of his gun into her temple in response. You couldn't help but flinch.

The superior slide open the metal door again, as his pawns dragged her unconscious body out the door, while you closely followed. The harsh hospital lights left a sting to your eyes as you traveled through your mind's endless hallways. Finally, you reached the chamber. The door slide open to reveal a dentist chair and an array of instruments littered throughout the room.

The men placed her down into the chair, one of them injecting a serum into her arm to wake her up. Younger you shot awake, pulled down by different leather restraints. Bile filled your mouth as you were reduced to being so helpless to just watch. A doctor followed into the room soon after the six of you, his face burned into your mind.

He took two long prongs, pinching them onto the skin of her elbow, and turned on a machine to send out electrical shocks. After a signal from the commander, he sent out the first wave. You couldn't help but turn your head away, holding back your own tears as phantom pains of remembrance ripped through your skin.

The worst part of all of this was how younger you barely struggled at all, only letting out blood curdling screams of pain. She had accepted her fate hours ago, knowing this was inevitable. Why fight it. It would only make it worse. It made you sick to your stomach. How much she had given up at this point.

A pause in the shocks. You turned your head back to see the commander walking up to the girl, sticking his face down to her's. "You knew this was going to happen?" The girl nodded her head slowly, with the energy she had left. He scoffed. "Then you're dumber than I thought." He stepped back again and signaled for the second wave.

Not baring to take it again, you went against your own judgement and rushed between the men, ripping the prongs off of the girl's body. You met her eyes for a split second.

Behind the numbness, you could see her fear. Roaring underneath the surface.

Before you could sense the rest, you felt a slam into your own temple, knocking you down to the floor. You looked up to see all the men looking at you now, the first time they had done so. The commander pushed past them, staring you down. He crouched down to your level, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear as you shuddered. "Still the same dumb girl I see," he smirked.

In a split second, he grabbed your arm, attaching one of the prongs to it, as the still working machine sent hundreds of volts into your arm in a split second, slicing through your nerves.

~~~~

Before you had time to react to the pain, your body in the real world roared back to life, as you screamed and coughed to catch your breath. You found yourself sitting down in the middle of the kitchen as your hands scrambled all over the ground as you hyperventilated, trying to ground yourself. "Woah, woah, woah, easy, I got you, you're safe now!" You looked up and finally noticed Yelena sitting on the ground in front of you. She had both hands placed on your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes to help you center yourself. You frantically looked around the room, finding the other team members close by, staring at you. Eventually, you found Bob, walking out of the room with Bucky close on his tail. You wanted to talk to him, knowing he was probably upset too, but you had bigger things on your mind.

"I.....I..." You couldn't get the words out. Before you could try again, Yelena softly pulled you into a hug, that you returned very quickly. "You're good now, okay?" she asked. You nodded gently into her shoulder. With more deep breaths and a few tears, you eventually were brought back down. You pulled out of the hug, and began to stand on your feet.

"Yelena, I told you I needed the team up to the helicopter deck in five minutes, do you guys take pleasure in disobeying me or wha-." Valentina bursted out of the elevator, rambling on about what they were probably discussing in the meeting. She only paused after noticing the obvious tension in the room. She looked at you, hunched over and mascara running down your face. "Well what happened to you this time?"

~~~~~~~

The ambient blue glow of the tv washed over your face, as your eyes glazed over the screen. In the few hours since the incident, the team decided it was best for you to sit out on this mission. So you had cooped yourself up in your room, trying anything to distract your mind from going back to that place. Every now and again, you'd hear light pacing footsteps in the hallway outside your door.

You hadn't spoken to Bob since you went under. He hadn't made any attempts to apologize yet. Yelena said it would probably take some time and she would talk to him as soon as she got back. You didn't want to wait until then to make things right, but knowing how fragile both of you were at the moment, you didn't want to accidentally make anything worse.

When the footsteps finally stopped, you sat up a little bit in your bed. Three soft knocks followed. You paused. "Come in." It wasn't him.

Ava gave you a soft "Hi" before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "How was the mission?" you asked her. She shrugged her shoulders. "More of the same really, you didn't miss much." She gave a little hop onto your bed, laying down on her stomach next to you. "How you feeling?" You gave a little sigh to her. "A little better. I just think I need time." She nodded at your response, and gently held your hand. "You need me, you know where to find me, okay?" You smiled and nodded at her kind gesture. Ava put up a front with the rest of the time, teasing many of the others and acting nonchalant. But something else came out in her around you. That little girl, normally shoved under years of pain and killing.

"Can I ask you something?" you asked her. "Of course." You took a deep breath in and looked her in the eye. "Back when....he took over New York, what did you see?" Ava took a minute to think to herself. "Well, I went through three different rooms to find Bob and Yelena at the center." You adjusted yourself to a more comfortable, open position, trying to create a more welcoming energy in the room as Ava got vulnerable with you. "First room was with my parents and how I got....this way." She took off one of her gloves from her suit, showing her hand phasing between multiple quantum planes at once. A painful experience, she described it as. "Second room was one of my first missions with S.H.I.E.L.D., I had to take out an unarmed doctor."

She twiddled with her fingers, looking down as she picked at the nails. "Last one was a fight I had with an old friend.....he was trying to protect me from....myself I guess....said a lot of things I regret." You frowned down at her, placing a hand on her back to rub it in condolences. "That Bill guy you were talking about earlier, right?" She nodded. "But anyways, I've learned not to dwell on it anymore. My life is different now." She looked up at you. "All of ours are now." You nodded in acknowledgment.

"We're never gonna let those bastards get you again. Can you trust me on that?" She held your face between her hands. You nodded. She looked at you deeper. "I can. All of you," you verbalized. She sat up and pulled you in tightly for a hug. Ava was your best friend. You could trust her more than anyone else here on that.

As she pulled away, she cleared her throat. "Can I ask you a question now?" You nodded. "Do you blame Bob for what happened?"

You took a second.

"No." Ava raised an eyebrow at you. "I really don't." "Okay good, just making sure." You smiled at her. "Is Yelena talking to him?" "She's gonna try to at least," Ava sighed. "He's gonna be like this for a while. Scampery, avoidant. We've learned it's best to let him work through it." You nodded. "But he's gonna be okay, right?" Ava looked up at you, slight confusion in her eyebrows. "Yeah....." You nodded. "Okay....good."

Ava sat in silence for a little bit. "You care more about him being okay than you being okay?" You looked at her, clogs turning in your mind. "When you put it like that, I guess." She looked even more confused now. "Why?"

.....

"I don't know."

~~~~~~~

The next few days were spent with you trying to answer that question for yourself. You and Bob's relationship before this was never a super close one. You always naturally kept a distance from each other. It didn't make much of a difference if things went back to normal from this or not. So why did it matter? Why did it matter if he started talking to you again? Because man did you want him to again. And badly too.

It was like he was playing a prank on you at this point. Every time you would enter a room he was in too, he would find some excuse to leave, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth. You knew the other team members noticed it too, because you would see one of them usually follow out of the room with him to confront him. You didn't want him to take the blame for this. You knew he was just taking this healing stage at his own pace. But man did you just wish his pace would go a little faster.

At least he wouldn't go on missions with you guys, then you'd really be screwed.

You tended to forget a very important fact because of that.

"Val needs you all downstairs in an hour, there's that press conference about the rebranding today." You could hear Mel talking to the group from your cracked bedroom door. You had been snooping in there, since Bob was in the control room outside with everyone else. "Bob, she wants you there too this time, says the more members there in support, the better."

Shit.

You could hear his whiny groan from your room. "Do I have to?" "Unless you wanna tell Val yourself." That must've been a huge wake up call for him, cause you could hear him rush your way to his room to get ready. He made split second eye contact with you before closing the door. Your heart almost broke with the swiftness his eyes darted away.

You closed your door and started getting ready yourself before you had to take orders from anyone. Most press meetings required a more casual, business attire. Ones like this however, required full glam, full hair, and full costume. You were particularly fast at the getting ready process, especially since you didn't have a thousand gun holsters you had to fasted on, unlike your other team members.

Your costume was also fairly simple. With the nature of your powers, your previous suits had a knack for getting the sleeves torn off, so you decided to replace that design with a simple, black, mock neck bodysuit. Your pants were standard black cargo pants, multiple pockets in case you needed any physical weapons on you in an emergency. They were tied off with a pair of heavy duty combat boots.

For press conferences, Valentina usually requested you to go the most glam with hair and makeup out of the group, since the other two girls were slightly opposed to it. So once that was finally done, you walked out of your room into the control deck, ready to go.

You usually sat there for a good amount of time by yourself, until one of the guys would join you. But this time, Yelena was the first one out after you, albeit half dressed, in the middle of doing her eyeliner, and a makeup bag in her hand.

She looked at you, slightly distressed. "What's up?" you asked. She clenched her teeth. "You're gonna say no, I know it." "Can you just ask me?" She took in a deep sigh. "Can you help Bob with his hair and makeup?" It took every bone in your body not to burst out laughing at her request.

For Valentina and the press, everyone in the tower had to be dressed up. Including the guys. Not too much, but some to cover up most of their "tough guy" looks. Almost like a stage makeup of sorts. The stylists you guys had were always wrangled up with Alexei and Walker, always opposed to the idea and needing extra support, so Yelena would take care of Bob's and Bucky would handle his own.

"I'm already running behind and Val wants Barnes and I down early to practice responses." You looked at her, baffled. "And Ava can't do it?" Yelena raised her eyebrows at you. "It's a miracle Ava can do her own." True, unfortunately. "Yelena, you're kidding me right?" She walked closer to the couch you were sitting at. "He's a grown man, can't he do it himself?" "Yes, but unfortunately he's also a very slow learner too." You shook your head to yourself. "Have you even been in the tower for the past week, he won't even look at me right now," you whispered. She sighed to herself. "I know I know, and this would be a one time thing I promise, I just really need the help right now."

You leaned back into the couch and washed your hands over your face. "And not to be an instigator, but I think it would help you two also." You snorted at her sentence, taking your hands off your eyes to see how serious her face was. You took a deep breath and thought it over for a second or two. "Fine," you gave her, deadpanned. "But you owe me so much right now." Yelena let out a sigh of relief. "I really do, thank you." She dropped the makeup bag, presumably filled with the tools you'd need, in your lap, and bolted towards her room.

~~~~~

The door to the room loomed over your head, seemingly getting taller with every passing second you stood in front of it. Biting the bullet, you finally gave four slight knocks on his door, the same knock Yelena used for all of you. Yes, it was a bit of a trick, but you knew he wouldn't have let you in otherwise. You heard a soft, kind "Come in" from the other side of the door that made your heart warm up ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. Your heart froze up again when you saw the way his smile dropped when you walked in. He was dressed in his usual attire for conferences, a pressed, slightly too big for him, tuxedo with dress shoes. But of course, his hair was in its natural, shaggy mess and you could spot any upcoming pimples from a mile away. Your job for the afternoon.

"What ar-" "Before you kick me out can I explain!" you jumped in before he could interject. He waited a second before nodding. "Yelena had to go downstairs early and doesn't have the time to get you ready, and before you ask, yes everyone else is too busy, and yes, I am your last resort."

His eyes darted away from you and to the ground, the most of an invitation over as you were gonna get. You took a seat on his partially made bed, observing the rest of his room. It took you a second to remember that you've never been in here before. It was a lot cleaner than you expected it to be. Then again, he spent almost all of his time in the tower, so he had a lot more time to clean than the rest of you did.

There were scattered band posters on the dark blue walls of the room, and a few collected rocks lying on his T.V. stand. You opened up the bag and took out his hair gel first. Val liked his long, overgrown hair to be slicked back for press events. You squirted some of the gel on your hands and lathered it deep into them.

When you went for his hair though, he moved his head slightly back away from you. You immediately put your hands down in response. "Okay, let's get this straight now," you snapped. "I get you're mad at me for whatever reason, but I'm not gonna take this from you right now, especially when I'm trying to help you. So either grow the fuck up, or you can do it yourself, okay?" His eyes widened a little bit. You were never the mean type towards anyone on the team, but when your limits were tested like this, you had no choice but to respond.

Putting back any feelings he had, he straightened up and leaned closer into you. "Thank you," you responded. "I'll be quick, I promise. Out of your bubble in no time." Your hands tangled into his hair, pushing the light brown strands back in straight lines. Before it would get tangled in by the gel, you could feel how soft his hair was. Even if it was overgrown, you could tell he took pride in it.

As you pushed his hair back into a makeshift mullet, making sure the gel wasn't ruining his curls at the bottom, you noticed something. Just out of your peripherals, you could see his eyes, darting every which way. They couldn't stay still for more than a second. Sometimes they would be at your shoulders, at your legs, your hair. Most of the time though, they were trying to find where you weren't. But each time, they would land magnetically back to you.

You couldn't help but let out a little laugh to yourself, a little breath out of your nose. "What?" Bob reflexively asked. You smiled and shook your head. "I really don't get you, man." His brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Finally finished with his hair, you untangled your hands and brought them back to you, his eyes following them. "Bob, you're scared shitless of me."

A glow of pink wiped over his cheeks. "N-no I'm not." You laughed right in his face, as you went into the makeup bag and pulled out primer, foundation, and concealer. You squeezed lines of primer from the bottle onto his face. Before you could use your hands to rub it in though, he quickly grabbed your wrist again. Same way as before. You froze for a second before you realized, nothing was happening. You weren't going back in. You realized why when you looked at Bob's face, focused now more than you had ever seen before.

Your face and demeanor softened. "Bob." His face turned to yours, fear glazing over his eyes, trying desperately to keep the void from taking you again. You took his calloused fingers in your hands, peeling them away from your wrist and holding it with your own. You looked into his deep blue eyes, almost lost in them.

"I'm not scared of you."

His breath shook at your words, and you could've sworn you saw his eyes slightly water up. "I never have been. And I don't plan on changing that." The tension in his body melted away at those magic words. His lips pursed inwards as he looked down at your hands intertwined. "Can you trust me on that?" He gave a slight nod to you. You took his chin to your hand and pulled it up to look at you. His eyes were fully watery now. "Can you?" It took him a second.

".....I can."

You smiled at him.

"Thank you," he whispered. You closed your eyes and nodded to him. "You're welcome." The two of you sat for a moment like this, hands tangled in each other and observing each other's faces. You noticed how large his hands were. You never really considered your hands as small either, so the fact they were still much bigger than yours surprised you. They were restless as well, constantly moving between your own fingers, like they were getting a feel for how yours were. This was the most you had ever seen him before, in more ways than one.

Eventually, you let his hand go and cleared your throat. "Let's get you ready now, I'd rather avoid an earful from Val after the conference." Bob nodded and sat up straight again, as you rubbed the primer into his face with your thumbs. His slightly stubbled chin tickled the pads of your fingers in an almost hypnotic notion. Before you even knew it, your hands were staying caressing his face. Bob didn't seem to mind it, his eyes slowly closing, and even leaning his face into your touch further.

The two of you immediately snapped out of it at the sound of Bob's door slamming open. Mel stood at the door, panting, hand leaning against the frame for support. "What the hell is taking so long?" she asked frantically. "Uhhhhhh." The lack of an answer you two could come up with only angered her more. She rolled her eyes and pointed to you. "Get downstairs, I'll finish up with him." You looked back to Bob, smiled, gave his cheek a quick pat as you stood up and walked out the door.

Before Mel closed the door behind you, you caught Bob's eyes, hypnotically following you. As if he was searching for you. For more.

~~~~~~

Something shifted between the two of you after that day. No more avoidance. You found Bob coming to you for anything now. Whether he was having one of his bad days, needed help cleaning something up, or even if he just wanted to watch a movie with someone. Equally, you found yourself going to him for almost anything. Almost.

The main difference between the two of you was Bob had told you everything about him. You knew him like a book. Every page studied and memorized. But when he would ask you something about your past, you always managed to slither out of the question. You didn't mean to be so secretive around him. It was more of a reflex at this point. You'd done it with everyone. He was included in that group.

You could tell it hurt him though. Knowing there was some part of you that either didn't trust him enough to know, or maybe just didn't want him to know at all. Hopefully with time you'd be able to open up, not just to him, to everyone. But that's all the two of you could do for now. Hope.

A sign of that coming close had finally appeared, a new impulse crossing your mind. Dating.

For obvious reasons, relationships had never been a top priority for you. But as things were slowing down in your life, you began to feel left out of the "dating in NYC" craze. Without much experience under your belt, you decided to go through the dating app route. That proved to be more challenging than you thought. "I don't think men on here have ever had a conversation with a woman before," you'd complain to Bob or Ava constantly, usually followed by a large eye roll from them.

Lightning seemed to have struck though. On your way home from grocery shopping, you managed to bump into a guy at your bus stop. It was something straight out of a movie, the way the wind knocked of your cap and he had managed to catch it for you. The two of you spent the entire bus ride talking, and he eventually asked you for your number once you reached your stop. Tonight was date night. He had planned a special dinner in the city, and the two of you would go dancing after.

"Are you sure this guy's not like some stalker or something? You are a superhero after all, there's weird fans all over the city," Ava protested. Her and Bob were sitting in your room as you got ready. She sat on your light yellow beanbag on the floor, tossing a crumpled up paper with the address to the restaurant on it into the air. Bob was laying down on your bed, extra quiet today for some reason, staring up at the ceiling.

"He's not, I promise, Bob saw him too, he can vouch for me," you waved her off, looking in your mirror trying to do your makeup. You could see Ava look to Bob behind you through the mirror. She raised her eyebrow at him, which he just shrugged off. "I'd just prefer you not get kidnapped tonight, so try to avoid that if you can," she turned back to you. "Ava, if he's a normal citizen, I'll have zero problems defending myself, if anything happens," you defended. You sprayed some setting spray onto your face, and got up to change into your outfit.

Your bedroom had an attached bathroom, so you went in there to change. Once you closed the door, you took off your current sweats and baggy turtleneck sweater and slipped on your outfit. Your date asked you to go a little more formal than normal first date, so you specially picked out your outfit from your closet: a black boat-neckline midi dress, with a little thigh slit for less formal environments. It was gifted to you a few years back, but you hadn't worn it since. There was one glaring issue you noticed.

Throughout your time in the lab, you had obviously developed some scars. You didn't mind most of them, being electrocution scars, which made for some pretty cool war stories. Photoshoot photographers were particular fans of those. Some scars, however, weren't exactly your favorites. The specific one being a thick, prominent scar, starting at your right collarbone and trailing up to the back of your neck. It was fairly recent, compared to the rest of your scars, so the fading process was far from beginning. It was part of the reason you stuck to turtleneck fashion so much. But with this dress here, it was finally out in the open, something you weren't so sure you were comfortable with.

After convincing yourself though, you were willing to bite the bullet if it meant looking all dolled up for once. After a final examination in the bathroom mirror, you took a step out the door to show off to your friends. Both of them seemed to jump back to the positions they were in before you walked into the bathroom, almost like they were gossiping girls before. But once they noticed you, the air in the room stopped.

Ava was the first one to give out a little supportive holler when you stepped out, getting a little giggle from you. "What are you waiting for, give us a twirl!" she shouted. Obliging, you gave a little curtsey and spin. Turning to Bob, you could see a little smile curling up from this mouth. "So, what do you think?" you asked him, hoping for some words out of him today. "You look beautiful. Really really beautiful." There was a slight tint of melancholy in his words. You believed what he said, that was sincere. But his smile was actively lying to you.

His eyes spoke the truth though. You watched him as his eyes traced the way your dress hugged your body, highlighting all the beautiful parts of you, leaving little to the imagination. You saw his eyes stop at your collarbone, and his smile faded away. Just before you could see his mouth open to ask about it, you jumped right in. "Well, I better get going, I don't wanna miss my train," you frantically said, grabbing your kitten heels and strapping them on.

Ava and Bob followed you out of your room and towards the elevator out of the tower. Ava gave you a tight hug, whispering a little "Text me if you think he's a killer," before letting go. Bob's body seemed to stutter a little bit before giving you a hug. He had been more in control of the void spreading through his touch, but he was still cautious over it. His hugs always felt like home. The way he would squeeze you just the right amount and how well your chin fit into the crook of his neck. His hand sat comfortably just above your hips, with always his pinky finger straying a bit lower and tracing your upper thigh. When he let go he stayed close to you for a second, his eyes just slightly lower than where yours were. "Be safe, okay?' he asked with full sincerity. You nodded and let go just before getting into the elevator. "I will."

~~~~~~~

You rested your back against the elevator, back at the tower and up to your room after the long night. You checked your phone for a time. 2:24 am. Hopefully everyone else would be asleep when you got back.

The date wasn't bad. Not at all. In fact, it was one of the better ones you could remember going on. Dinner was nice and you went down to this jazz bar for some dancing. He walked you back to the tower and the two of you even shared a quick kiss.

So why did you feel so....weird? The circumstances were perfect for a second date. You like the guy, you really did. But something about him kept you from getting truly comfortable with him that night. The little things. The way he insisted to the waiter on splitting the bill, the way you had to stop every taxi for the two of you, the way he'd cut off your sentences. The way he couldn't stop looking at the scar poisoning your neck. That one really got you.

Maybe it was just your anxiety highlighting it, but it seemed every time his eyes would trail away from yours, they would land right on that scar. Like he was trying to subconsciously let you know it was there. As if you didn't have to take the work to try and cover it up every day of your life. That irked you most of all. You felt awful about it, it wasn't his fault it was there. But no matter how hard you tried, whenever you thought about going on a second date with him, you couldn't erase the look in his eyes out of your mind.

As you examined it in the mirror in the elevator, the doors slid open to an empty living room and kitchen floor. You wiped the tiredness off of your face and turned on a dim overhead lamp, setting your purse on the kitchen island to grab a quick water bottle. Your ears perked up when you heard some stirring from the couch area. Following the noise arose a head of shaggy brown hair. Your face softened and smile lifted when you saw his head turn around to find you. "Hi," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Bob replied with a sleepy "Hey," eyes still lowered.

"Whatcha doing out here, shouldn't you be in bed?" you asked, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep...came out here to city watch and try to get sleepy." Your head turned to the massive windows overlooking the night city, still so alive. Bob let out a small yawn and reached his arm over to where you were standing. You took his hand, allowing him to guide you over to sit next to him on the couch. His position was slouched and comfortable, still half asleep. He rested his head into your shoulder, sending a little nervous shiver into you. "How was it?" he asked, eyes closing. You sighed. "Good." He chuckled under his breath. "What's that for?" you asked, pointing your eyes down to him. "Someone who went on a good date wouldn't just say it was 'good'," he slyly slurred out. Maybe this is why you never see Bob right after he wakes up. This Bob was kind of an asshole.

"What, can I not go on a date that's just 'good'?" you asked, getting slightly mad with him. "Someone as special as you shouldn't have to lower herself to going on dates that are just 'good'." The words trailed off in volume on the way out, almost like he didn't even know they came out in the first place. But you managed to catch them. And they sent butterflies down into your stomach, a pink glow to your cheeks, and a stupid grin to your mouth.

You looked down at him, resting on your shoulder. His body leaned perfectly into yours, filling all the empty space with his own. His delicate hands rested in his lap while his eyelashes tickled the upper parts of his cheek. And his hair, his beautiful hair, curled perfectly at the ends, grazing against the back of your neck with the air of The Watchtower. You could fall asleep with him here for days, in perfect, complete serenity.

"So why was it just 'good'?" he finally asked after what seemed like minutes of silence. You thought to yourself. "Cause I'm not gonna go on a second date." He lifted his head off of your shoulder and looked at him, with a slight concern on his droopy face. "Did something happen?" "No no no, I promise," you quickly shut down the idea. "It's just....." He sat more at attention, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up more. You both turned to look at each other, the sides of your faces resting on the couch cushions. "He was fine, great even....I just...." You tried to find the words to describe what you were feeling. "C'mon honey, talk to me," Bob slipped out, in a deep, sleepy voice that sent waves through you.

"I can't see him being able to deal with me," you finally spoke. "What makes you think that?" You sighed. You sat up a little bit and pulled your hair back behind your neck and lifted up your chin. "You saw this earlier right?" Bob gave a soft hum and a nod in response. "I got this a while back, back when I was still in the labs you saw in my nightmare." His eyes focused in on the scar, trying to make it out with the little light in the room. "I wanted to ask earlier, but I didn't wanna upset you," he spoke. "I know you don't like talking about it." You smiled a little at his ability to know you so well.

"Well, on one of the missions I was sent on back there, I got injured real bad. Broke my clavicle and they could only fix it through surgery. But I wouldn't necessarily call their doctors 'top of the line', so the cleanup was messy." You brushed your hair back onto the scar to cover it up. "One of the many souvenirs they gave me," you attempted to joke. Bob smiled a little bit at it, but was still focused on your skin. "Anyways, I don't like looking at it much, it's one of my uglier scars, and when other people catch it, I can't help but worry about what they're thinking."

"What d'you think he was thinking about?" Bob asked, slouching his head back into the couch to secretly admire you. You slouched back too. "About how much of a piece of work I'm gonna be," you chuckled out, even if the thought made you wanna cry. You could see that same sadness in Bob's eyes as they trailed up to your eyes. You sighed and looked away from him to the window outside. "This is why I don't date," you joked, wiping your face.

"Hey." You looked back at him. "Can I do something I'm gonna regret once I'm more awake?" You raised an eyebrow at the suspicious statement. "Okay." He sat a little closer to you, bringing up a hand to your hair, looking to you for approval. You gave him a soft hum as he pulled the hair behind your neck again, and softly traced his thumb over the scar, leaving goosebumps in its trail.

As gently as he could, he brought his face closer and pressed his lips softly onto your clavicle. Your breath hitched, causing him to bring his face back again. His eyes bore into yours, ready to give an apology if you requested. But your hand encouraged his actions, tangling into the back of his hair and pushing his lips back in.

Bob's lips danced over your scar, as your breath got heavier and hands tugged on his roots in approval. His hands found their way to your hips, caressing you in all the right spots. You fought to keep in any sounds your mouth wanted to let out from his touch. But right as you could feel yourself getting to the good part, Bob placed his final kiss, releasing you as well. You rested your head back as Bob stood up from the couch, lending a hand out to you. "It's late, we can talk more tomorrow, but you need your rest for now." Bob almost seemed to snap out of whatever lustful spell was just over him. Or maybe you took what just happened the wrong way. You tried to process it in your head as you took his hand and stood up with him.

Hand in hand, he led you to your room. As he opened the door and let you inside, he leaned over you on the door frame with one more message: "If a man looks at you and his first thought is of is how much work you'll be, he's no man at all."

~~~~~~~~

His words stuck in your heart for the next few days as the two of you tried to pretend that nothing happened. Drowsy Bob was right, Awake Bob apologized to you profusely the next morning, claiming he had no idea what came over him that night. "....I didn't mind it," you confessed after his apology. Made him blush faster than you thought was humanly possible. After a long, embarrassingly awkward conversation, the two of you decided on an agreement.

Whenever you were feeling bad about yourself, physically specifically, you could go to his room and he'd help you....feel better. You weren't fuck buddies, that was for sure. You just happened to be friends who'd kiss each other's bodies multiple times a week. And it made you absolutely insane.

You couldn't even go to Ava about this, since you and Bob agreed it was best if this was a secretive thing. Truth is, this whole ordeal was making you obsessed with the guy. You couldn't get him out of your head. Him being your roommate only made things worse. You couldn't escape from him. You'd never wanted someone this much before, it was driving you mad.

All the problems in relationships you felt before seemed to disappear with him. Since that night, you found yourself opening up more and more to him. You knew each chapter of each other's lives. And that made you really fucking happy. Having someone you could trust with yourself utterly, wholly, and completely.

The late nights where he'd do nothing but kiss and hold you, like he knew the magic of his touch. But you were greedy. You needed more of him, but all the uncertainty just got in the way.

You knew this wasn't just a thing "friends" did. But not knowing the exact details of how he felt for you kept you from asking for more. What if this was something friends did in his mind? What if the only thing he felt for you was based in lust? You'd rather not have that potentially friendship ruining conversation, so you decided to take the "suffer in silence" route instead.

That wasn't your biggest worry at the moment though. No, that spot in your mind was currently being overshadowed by the bullet wound in your side. You weren't gonna die, your powers would take care of that step for you, but it still hurt like a bullet wound. You'd spent a couple hours on the medbay floor of The Watchtower getting patched up, now on your way up to join the rest of the team.

The minute the elevator doors opened, you were greeted by a giant hug from Alexei, shouting Russian expressions of joy. As endearing as it was, you had to have the rest of the team peel him off of you, as he was two seconds away from opening up your stitches. Once you caught your breath, you greeted the rest of the team, all glad for your recovery. Your smile dropped a little, after scanning the members in the room. "Where's Bob?" you asked. "His therapist wanted to extend his session a little bit today," Bucky answered. You nodded a little to yourself. "You know when he'll be back?" you asked, trying not to sound too needy. "Soon enough," Yelena giggled.

....

"Does he know about..." you gestured to your bandages, slightly pink from any leftover blood. In almost miracle timing, Bob stepped out of the elevator and into your conversation. "Hey, what's-," he started, before looking at you clutching your side. His eyes widened with fear. "Oh my god what happened?!" he shouted, rushing over to you. "It's fine, I'm fine, I just didn't dodge very well today and someone caught me off guard." In combat, you usually tried to avoid the gunslingers and sword masters for hand-to-hand instead. You got more energy from absorbing bullet wounds and cuts, but on a pain scale, you'd rather deal with working up multiple punches to the nose.

As Bob questioned your pain scale, it almost seemed as if the other teammates were slowly leaving the room one by one, until only you two were left in it. The two of you naturally made your way to the couch and talked about your days for what seemed like hours. You went over battle strategies, he debriefed about his appointment. Eventually, noticing the sun going down, you started to become aware of all the dirt and blood still sticking to your body. "Um, can I use your tub? I need to get the day off me before I start peeling my skin off," you joked, standing up off of the couch. "Sure, whatever you need," he insisted, getting up with you. The only teammates with bathtubs instead of showers in their rooms were Bob and Bucky, and in all honesty, you just wanted to be near Bob's presence right now.

The mixture of dried blood, sweat, and dirt stuck your suit straight onto your skin as you made a painful attempt to peel it off. You dropped the clothes to the floor, and examined the damage in your mirror, unraveling all your littered bandages. Your stitches seemed to be doing okay, but the rest of the little cuts and bruises on you made themselves apparent. Your powers were useful in the moment, but damn did the aftercare suck.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you walked over to Bob's room, leaving a soft knock on the door. A freshly bathed Bob opened up the door, now in his own baggy pajamas, his curls still wet and dripping. "I just wanted a to take a quick soak before you got in, I got a new round of hot water running for you." You gave him a little smile and stepped inside; he closed the door behind you. "Thanks." You walked into the steaming bathroom, tub filled to the brim with hot water like he said. Bob's bathroom was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled just like him; eucalyptus and peppermint oil, incense cones, and a touch of his cologne. It calmed you down almost immediately, and enough for you to ask your question.

"Can you...uh...help me while I'm in there?" you nervously asked. He raised his eyebrow a little bit at the question. "I-It just hurts to turn a little and I need to reach some spots on my back." He looked you over while he deliberated. "I don't wanna sound rude or anything but...you sure you're okay with me....seeing you?" he whispered that last little part. "I'm wearing a bathing suit under here, I don't mind you seeing that at least," you replied, anticipating his concern. "Oh....okay, yeah sure," he replied, scratching the back of his head.

You dropped your towel and placed it hanging over the sink. The black bikini you were wearing covered enough of you, but still allowed all your injuries to be visible. That first step into the tub was heavenly, the heat rolling down off your spine with a slight, but welcome tinge of pain. You closed your eyes and melted down into the water, Bob smiling at your relaxation. "God, I needed this," you breathed out. Bob walked up closer to you, sitting on the edge of the tub.

You sat there for a minute, body absorbing the heat and releasing the built up tension in your muscles from the day. Once you finally opened your eyes, you found Bob's eyes grazing over your body. "What is it?" you asked. A stupid grin found its way to his face, as he readjusted himself to begin helping you. "Nothing, don't worry."

Bob took a nearby loofa and his body wash, about to squeeze some onto it before you put your hand out. "This is gonna sound weird....can you use your hands?" You didn't bother giving an explanation, it wouldn't change the implications of that request. Bob gave a little nod. "Wait just, give me a sec." He quickly got up out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sat there within your own thoughts. Fuck, was that too much? you thought to yourself, praying you didn't scare him off.

After a few anxious minutes, Bob opened up the door, leaving you with a sight that made your heart stop.

He had traded in his pajamas for a pair of swim shorts. You had to fight to keep your jaw from going slack at the sight of him without a shirt on. He wasn't kidding, that serum really did do a lot of work.

First of all, you had seen his arm muscles before, frequently on display whenever he would wear a short sleeve shirt. But paired with his perfectly plumped chest, carved abs, and toned thighs, it was enough to kill a horse. Worst of all however, was his swim boxers, with a very flawed detail: they were about two sizes too small, and you couldn't tell if Bob was aware or not, but you could see it. It was bigger than you thought. You would need a tranquilizer to hide the blush on your face right now.

"I figured it'd be easier to just get in and help, and this is my only pair of trunks.....is it too much?" So he didn't know, huh. You swallowed back any urges you had and sat up a little bit more in the tub. "No, you're fine," you said, pushing your body back to make room for him in the small tub. He shuffled up and gently placed his legs in one by one, sinking in in front of you.

Bob took the body wash again, pouring some and lathering it between his hands. He motioned you to turn around so he could get your back area. Your back showed him about five scattered cuts and scratches and two large bruises by your lats. You could hear his breath shake a bit as he got closer to you. Naturally, you straightened out your back for him to work with a better canvas.

A sigh instinctively came out of your mouth when his hands came down on you, lathering the soap over your skin. His hands worked into you like putty, spreading the bubbles out evenly onto you. The callouses scratched onto your skin, and you felt a deep heat brewing into your chest. It only grew stronger when his fingers started digging into your muscles. Pain oozed out and away as his thumbs worked out the knots in your upper back. You had to bring a hand up to your mouth to keep a pleasurably moan from slipping out.

The deeper his fingers got into you, the more your body began to twitch, itching for more. The water sloshed around a little when you began to move back into him. And thats when you felt it. Your breath hitched when you caught it. He was achingly big, and you could tell by the throbbing you felt on your lower back. He must've noticed you felt it, since his fingers stopped moving. The two of you sat there for a minute in a hot tension.

Eventually, he picked up a cup sitting outside of the tub, filled it with the bathwater, and poured the soap off of your back. Putting it down, he inched slightly closer to you, his hands finding their way again back to your hips like so many times before. "Tell me where it hurts," he whispered into your ear. You tried to shake out your shivers and be honest with him, your mind needing him in one place but your body wanting him everywhere.

You took the safe route. You needed to keep control of yourself. As long as you could at least.

You pointed to a spot along your spine where one of the bruises lay. "Bend forward a little bit," he spoke, in that low, sultry voice again, almost commanding you. You listened. You moved. But unfortunately, you couldn't keep the moan inside you anymore when his lips grazed and kissed over the bruise. You could keep it quiet enough for him to, hopefully, not hear it however.

Your body adjusted and moved to fit him as his lips trailed up your spine, and eventually to the nape of your neck. He sucked on the tender skin, desperation in its trail. Before he could get too carried away though, he pulled himself off of you. His hot breath stuck to your back, as he took a moment to splash some of the steaming water onto his face. After clearing his throat, he asked you to turn back around and face him, which you did of course.

Finding his face, you could finally see the display of his emotions. The main one: a drunken look in his eyes to desperately hide a growing lust. You could tell. It was the same look in yours. Trying to continue with the bath, Bob took some more body was and drizzled it out onto your arms and upper chest. Sure, you could reach those parts of yourself fine, but what's wrong with letting a man take care of you every once in a while. And if this was how he was gonna do it, you'd be glad to give in.

He massaged the soap into your skin again, relaxing your tense arm muscles, a little gentler around your chest and collarbone area. He pressed a deep kiss into your clavicle scar, a tick for him at this point. His eyes stayed down on you, examining the way your skin fit onto your body. You brought your hand to meet his, currently pressing gentle circles onto your tricep. His eyes found a nice spot, staring at your lips, with you back at his. Trembles started to infect his hands and you could even see a slight quiver stain his lip.

"Does it hurt...anywhere here?" he gasped out. Taking the opportunity, you slowly brought your finger up to the tiniest cut you had on your chin. Smiling, he went in, almost taking your entire chin into his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his mouth moved to press sloppy kisses into your jawline. But that's all where he stayed. And you needed more than that.

Enough with the teasing, you let go of his neck and took his face in your hands, pulling his mouth away from you. He looked at you, beautiful, deep blue puppy eyes mixed with questioning and fear. "Do you remember what I told you Bob? When I was helping you get ready for the conference?" The fear left his eyes, as he realized what you were playing with here. "Remind me...." You smirked at his words. "When are you ever gonna stop being afraid of me?" you asked, eyes glued to his lips. He dropped his head and let out a defeated laugh. "It's never been you that I'm scared of....it's always been myself," he said, lifting his head back up and closer to yours. "And why's that?" The corner of his mouth lifted up as his hand went to cup your jaw, caressing it with his thumb. "Because I have to keep myself from tearing off my clothes and taking you in the living room each time you walk through that elevator."

Before you could respond to what he said, your body started moving on its own, slamming your lips into his, sloshing water everywhere. The kiss you shared was needy, hungry, and slow. Different from the ones he left littered over your body in the past. What surprised you the most about it was what fueled it. This was not a lustful kiss, which is what you had expected from him. This kiss was filled with a pure, tender, and firing love the two of you have silently shared for each other for the past few months.

His hands wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer into him and onto his laugh, where his raging erection made itself more apparent by the second. "You need me that bad, huh?" you teased, breaking away from the makeout and grinding your clothed cunt against it. Bob nodded profusely, leaning back into you to chase your lips, which you pulled back from. You bit your lip and smiled, wooed by his desperation for you. "Someone's excited, huh?" you joked. "Well, I'd rather not get waterlogged here, so how about we dry off, get these swimsuits off, and...." you leaned close to his ear. "...you can take me on your bed any way you want, how's that sound loverboy?" you bit down onto his earlobe

Bob let out a whispered moan and dropped his head into your shoulder, pressing soft kissed into it. "Yes, please," he replied. Before getting up though, he pulled you into a close hug, which you returned gladly. Bob may have a secret, shameful side you didn't know about, but at the end of the day, you couldn't take the lover out of him.

The two of you stepped out of the bathtub, drained the water, and took your towels to dry yourselves off. Once you were dried, you opened the bathroom door, releasing the steamy air into the rest of Bob room. The cold tinged both your skin, as you walked hand in hand to his bed. You were first to undress, slipping off your bikini bottoms and untying your top off. Bob could've sworn his life flashed before his eyes at that moment, as he admired your beautiful body. He quickly kicked off his trunks, allowing his cock to finally spring out to life. He playfully ran up and tackled you onto his bed, kissing into you neck as you let out playful giggles.

His mouth eventually found its way up to yours, as the two of you slipped each other's tongues into your mouths. His hands gently swept you underneath him on the bed, still careful with your injury. "I-fuck, I wanna taste you," he gasped out while you sucked marks onto his neck. "Do it," you whispered into his neck, giving it a little nibble.

He giggled to himself, as his mouth traced kissed down your neck, sternum, and stomach, all the way down to your hips. You lifted your head to look down at him. He smiled up at you as his hands grabbed into your thighs, bending your legs up. His thumb grazed along your leaking folds, already sending shivers into you. "You're so....beautiful," you could hear him whisper just before leaving his first of many soft kisses on your slit. His tongue slowly worked itself over your clit, as one of your hands found its way down into the roots of his hair.

For leverage, you pulled slight tugs onto his hair, which drove Bob bananas. Each pull only drove him further into your pussy, absorbing his own whines and moans. His tongue worked over each of your lips, memorizing the way it made his taste buds react. You tasted so good, he could sit here eating you for hours. Looking down at the sight underneath you only pushed you closer to the edge. His messy, slightly damp curls intertwined with your fingers, as he sloppily ate your pussy, juice dripping down the sides of his mouth. Game changer moment was when he brought in his digits, curling his pointer and middle finger into your swollen cunt.

An exaggerated moan of his name left your mouth, as your hips buckled into his hand, begging for more. "C'mon, you're doing so good for me baby, keep it up," he spoke into your inner thigh, leaving a little love bite in there that left you biting your tongue. As his fingers worked inside you, you wriggled over the sheets, trying to chase an oncoming high. "You're so perfect sweetheart, so perfect for me," he continuously praised.

The twitch in your lower stomach grew more powerful with the seconds, as fingers continued to hit your walls perfect, his teeth grazed your clit, and hot breath washed over you. "Bob, I-I," you started to moan out. "Do it for me baby, come for me here."

As the high washed over your body, a final moan rushed out, paired with another hip buckle and legs a twitching mess as Bob kissed into your pussy. Your juice coated all over his fingers, which added more growth to his member, if that was even possible right now. His fingers slid perfectly out of your aching pussy and into his own mouth, as he got a better taste for you. A smile curled its way onto his mouth as he sat back on his knees, watching you come down from your high.

Bob couldn't help but crawl back up to you. He had to watch this moment with his own eyes. Your heavy breaths hit his face as he leaned on his elbows to perfectly lay over him. Your cheeks glowed a heavy pink as you came down from your orgasm. "Was that good?" he asks. You couldn't help but let out at laugh at the question. Good? Did he see what happened just now? "You're adorable," you validated, love-drunk eyes gazing into his own.

He let a breath out of his nose, and dropped his whole body weight down onto you. You cried out in a fake pain and your body absorbed his heat into you. "Get off, you're killing me!" you joked. He shook his head vigorously. "No, you gotta do it yourself," he played back. You giggled and used whatever strength you had left over to try and push him off. To no avail of course. "Alright, you gotta help just a little, you're pure muscle sweetie." Bob sighed and lifted his body off of you just enough for you to roll him to the other side of the bed.

Before he could move again, you jumped on top of him, placing your own dead weight on top of him now. "You see, I'd play along now, but I'm scared I'd toss you off the bed," he said. True, best not to play games like this with someone who has super strength. "Ugh, no fair," you complained, dropping your head into his neck. You heard his awkwardly adorable laugh, making your heart soar, as he scratched the back of your head.

"C'mere, let me see you," he asked gently. You lifted your head up, a fake frown plastered on your face. The act didn't last long though when you saw his face.

The way he looked at you right now was the way girls had dreamed about since they were kids. His eyes softened with pure adoration for you, with his mouth curled into the dumbest grin. He spoke your name in a question. "Yeah?" He brought his hand up to cup your jaw, which you nuzzled your cheek into as his thumb traced over your lips. "I....I think..." he trailed off. "What is it?" His smile turned slightly more serious. "I think I love you." He paused. "I know I do."

If it weren't for his body heat grounding you into the moment, you would've sworn you were dreaming right now. Everything you've ever wanted was right here. It was all in him. It was him.

"I know I love you too."

The giddy look on his face could set you free, as both his hands grabbed your cheeks to pull you into his kiss stained lips. The two of you continued to kiss and roll all over the bed, as you prepared to continue the rest of your love filled night.

~~~~~~

Sun rays streamed through the breaks in the blinds of Bob's room. Your eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness as you awoke. Wrapped up in his sheets, blooming with his scent, you began to remember the dreamlike events of the night before. You turned to the other side of the bed, and there he was.

Like a painting, Bob laid next to you, still off in his hopefully pleasant dreams. Loose strand of hair fell in front of his sleeping face, his mouth slightly agape to breathe, still swollen lips. In fact, all of your souvenirs from the night before laid over him: scattered hickeys along his neck and shoulders, and nail scratches peeking over from his upper back. It was perfect. He was perfect.

His breath readjusted as he began to stir a bit, and finally, his lashes fluttered open to see you. A childlike smile painted your face as you saw his sleepy eyes adjust to you. "Good morning sleepyhead," you pressed into the tip of his nose as you kissed it. He smiled an eyes closed one to you. "Morning honey." You had found out last night how much of a pet-name user Bob was. You didn't mind at all. It only helped seal the "it feels like i'm in a movie" idea for you. "How'd you sleep," he asked with his eyes still closed. "Good, great even," you hummed. "And you?" His eyes opened and he leaned in closer to you to kiss you silly. "Best in years, honest truth."

After some morning talk, Bob got up to go to the kitchen, leaving you with some extra minutes for sleep. When he returned, it was with a plate of breakfast on a tray just for the two of you. It took a miracle for you not to jump over the bed and onto him then and there. The plate for you included all your favorites: blueberry Eggos, orange slices, and eggs. These weren't your usual eggs though. "I know you like them burnt, but by the time I remembered, I had taken them out of the pan and these were the last two," he apologized.

You inspected the eggs with your fork. It scared you a little, but you'd rather risk a stomach ache than hurt Bob's feelings right now. And plus, it was time to finally grow up. Taking them onto your fork, you took a deep breath, and put them in your mouth.

Chew, chew, chew. Swallow.

God, these were so much better than rubbery, burnt eggs. "These are so fucking good Bob, oh my god," you salivated. He smiled that dumb grin and climbed into bed next to you, as the two of you continued the rest of your morning together. It was nice to know you didn't have to burn your eggs anymore. The other side was better than you could've imagined.

a.n: AND THATS IT i hope you liked it lol. this is by FARRRRR the longest fic i've ever written and it took like a week and a half to write rip so i hope you all enjoyed it. please leave a note or interact if you did, i'd really appreciate it. alright thank you so much again, catch you on the next one BYEEEEEE

#bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #the void x reader #bob reynolds #bob #sentry #the void #thunderbolts #mcu #mcu smut #mcu fanfic #marvel mcu #marvel #marvel x reader #thunderbolts x reader #the new avengers #fanfic #x reader

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midniqhtt · 14 days ago

Text

robert (bob) reynolds

masterlist • marvel • 05/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 xerox pt2 pt3 I @ichorai

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𑣲 the fling I @sacredsorceress

bob finds out that you had a one night stand with bucky a few years earlier and feelings bubble to the surface.

𑣲 therapy I @/sacredsorceress

𑣲 mocha I @/sacredsorceress

yelena decides to make it her mission to set up bob with her close friend.

𑣲 lifeline I @/sacredsorceress

When you sleep, the Void visits you. This time, you can't hold your worries in and Bob is there to save the day.

𑣲 let go I @sunskisser

bob avoided you, and you had no idea why — till the night you help him out of a frenzy.

𑣲 the woes of bowties and missing puzzle pieces I @websterss

One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her.

𑣲 the hand that’s forced pt2 I @/websterss

You hadn't meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn't meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

𑣲 i see you I @cocastyle

𑣲 sneaking around I @callsign-swan

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

𑣲 alone together I @/callsign-swan

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

𑣲 picnic day I @roanofarcc

when rain threatens a thunderbolts team bonding outing, per the request of Alexei, they turn to their resident weather-controlling team member to save their plans.

𑣲 a bunch of teenagers I @mallory524

Bob has really started to like you, but he assumes you don’t feel the same way about him. You do though, and everyone seems to know that except Bob… and apparently also Walker, who really thought he had a chance

𑣲 going out I @/mallory524

You and Bob finally spend some time together one morning, but you find yourself rushing to defend him when he gets overwhelmed and people aren’t kind to him.

𑣲 in my arms I @woantohae

The Thunderbolts are constantly on missions, busy trying to do good and save whoever they can. One of them was Bob Reynolds, the defenseless yet powerful man who is part of this team and family. However, he doesn't participate in these missions so he can continue practicing controlling his powers. Despite telling them he's capable, the team prefers to give him more time to get used to them, until one mission, when a member of the team is injured. And all Bob can think about is the fury he feels when he hears Y/N being hurt. And how much he wants revenge on whoever did it.

𑣲 shadow I @/woantohae

Y/N loved the darkness because she could see the stars better. Void does everything in his power to make sure she can gaze at the starry sky, even if it means turning everything into darkness.

𑣲 only you I @/woantohae

Bob's dark, evil entity, The Void, appears when you least expect it. The rest of the team must be prepared to confront him and his prevailing malice. However, there is only one person on the team with whom he has a soft spot. And it's her.

𑣲 like real people do I @froggibus

Bob seeks you out following a bad dream

𑣲 misunderstanding I @strkly

you and bob were inseparable. until he begins to ignore you and you have no clue why. when you’re injured after a mission gone wrong you’re finally able to find out why.

𑣲 darling I @fireinmoonshot

You always call Bob darling in private... until you accidentally slip up and use the nickname in front of the rest of the Thunderbolts.

𑣲 unreal I @/fireinmoonshot

Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you.

𑣲 control I @/fireinmoonshot

Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand.

𑣲 lethal touch I @hearts4johnwick

while training, all goes well until a move bob makes changes your concentration as you begin to relive your worst memory.

𑣲 stay with me pt2 I @scarletmika

Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.

𑣲 destiny or not I @/scarletmika

As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

𑣲 peace and quiet I @/scarletmika

Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He's always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you'll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.

𑣲 request I @lovebugism

you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why

𑣲 stitches I @skeltnwrites

Bob learns how to stitch a wound

𑣲 plainclothes man pt2 I @em1i2a3

Everyone at the compound knows Bob has a massive crush on you–except you.

𑣲 carry the zero I @/em1i2a3

You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

𑣲 cherry waves I @/em1i2a3

You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

𑣲 sailor song pt2 I @/em1i2a3

Bob is in love with you, but you can’t be what he wants.

𑣲 i wanna get lost with you I @/em1i2a3

After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

𑣲 it’s you i’m thinking of I @/em1i2a3

Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

𑣲 signs I @/em1i2a3

You haven’t been able to sleep for the past four days, you’ve tried everything in the book, but tonight Bob has come to your room to offer you some help.

𑣲 the greatest light is the greatest shade I @/em1i2a3

You return back to the compound a week early from an initial two week-long mission, only to find Bob asleep in your bed.

𑣲 test drive I @/em1i2a3

You have a late night encounter with The Void

𑣲 a little bit of jam I @violetrainbow412-blog

𑣲 archives room I @owastie

you’re tasked with searching through the archives room to find some information on a new threat

𑣲 oh, scaling all your shadows I @swordgrace

plagued by nightmares, bob takes comfort in the one person who’s pulled him from the shadows time and time again — you.

𑣲 so high school I @pagesfromthevoid

𑣲 walk through darkness I @/pagesfromthevoid

𑣲 unfamiliar feeling I @ang3ltine

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

𑣲 admiration I @/ang3ltine

Being recruited by Valentina as part of the new Avengers (z) team was never part of your list of agendas. Yet here you were, doting on an awkward brunette.

𑣲 look what the cat dragged in I @eyelessfaces

you get bob a cat for emotional support; the cat adopts you as parents and is undeniably bound to bring the two of you closer.

𑣲 how to kiss I @worstghost

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

𑣲 the good side I @cosmictheo

bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

𑣲 heavenly I @/cosmictheo

it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

𑣲 fur-evermore I @ofstarsandvibranium

Because you're Bucky's assistant, you, and your service dog, Juniper, head to the tower to give him some files as well as meet the rest of his new team...including a very cute and slightly awkward, Bob.

𑣲 mr. oblivious I @/ofstarsandvibranium

Bob is sometimes oblivious to the fact that people find him attractive and/or like him. One of those people includes you.

𑣲 i dream of you even when awake I @deakyjoe

Your gift makes sleep difficult. Luckily, Bob is there to guide you through it.

𑣲 something special I @blank-potato

You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant.

𑣲 loving you is easy I @/blank-potato

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

𑣲 drabble I @undyingdecay

𑣲 peace in the darkness I @theonewiththefanfics

Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

𑣲 the ghost i left behind pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 I @brookghaib-blog

Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

𑣲 a pleasant inconvenience I @little-miss-dilf-lover

your cat likes to run out of your apartment when you return home. today she makes it further than usual but is luckily stopped by a stranger.

𑣲 run hot I @moon-fics

The heating in the tower has broken in the middle of winter. This leaves everyone trying to find warmth any way possible.

𑣲 accident I @upl0aded

you and bob had always been perfect, you kept him happy and he kept you satisfied. but what happens when a buried memory accidentally gets revived?

𑣲 truth will set you free I @sergeantbuckybarnes

You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

𑣲 gladiator I @trainer-from-unova

welcome to the party, say hi to everybody. you're valentina's daughter and you're late to the party in honour of her new puppet.

𑣲 i can’t have what i want (but neither can you) I @honeyatsu

You don't know how to explain the feeling when you see Bob and Yelena together. You don't understand it, and you don't like it. You think maybe you're not a people person, maybe you're better off being on your own. You take matters to solve this problem your own way, but everyone doesn't agree with your logic.

𑣲 i like it better I @sl-ut

every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

𑣲 the complete knock I @sunsburns

you’re only here to try and understand why bucky’s suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.

𑣲 second nature I @bruisedboys

bob tells you he’s never been kissed. you decide to change that.

𑣲 request I @gay-dorito-dust

𑣲 charcoal smudges I @cryptidcasanova

Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved.

𑣲 short circuit I @honeybadgerwritings

Bob helps Y/N train to control her powers under pressure. But when frustration gets the better of her, their sparring session turns tense.

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tinysunshine · 2 months ago

Text

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐃𝐀𝐃’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒! 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 & 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋

‎ ‎[ 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 ]

kinks: daddy kink, loss of virginity, threesome, brat taming, ddlg elements, daryl is a little submissive, light spanking, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering, dumbification if you squint, mentions of slapping and manhandling

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a little annoying but she’s just horny, some angst and fluff, mentions of violence and death, reader is romantically involved with both men, reader is very feminine and pretends to be a little ditzy

word count: 19.7k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

dbf! rick & daryl masterlist + drabble

you need rick to fuck you. daryl too, if you’re being honest.

it’s not fair that the world went to shit before you lost your virginity, and you’re still pretty pissed that on his death bed, your father made rick promise to look out for you like you were his own daughter. talk about being a major cockblock, even from beyond the grave. and it’s just your luck that rick and daryl are the only two men you’ve ever met that would turn down a beautiful woman in her twenties who’s obviously desperate for them. they’re good guys - which, you guess, is part of their appeal. it’s so annoying.

both men frustrate you to no end, and it doesn’t help that you’re living in the same house with them in alexandria. living behind the walls in this community has made life so much easier - you’re no longer in survival mode, and you’re able to focus on other things…

like getting daryl and rick to fuck your brains out. or at least, pop your cherry. you’ve never trusted anyone as much as you trust these two men, and you want them. in every single way.

you just need to convince them.

Rick has a problem - and that problem is you.

Which, okay - he feels fucking bad for even thinking that. You’re not a problem in the general sense of the word. He doesn't resent you, he doesn’t think you’re annoying, and he doesn’t dislike you. In fact, the opposite is true.

He likes you a little too much, and that’s the fucking problem.

He’s supposed to protect you. He’s supposed to keep you safe, keep you alive, make sure nothing happens to you - it’s his job to look after you. Rick swore to your father on his death bed, after a supply run gone wrong, that he’d be around to help you make the best out of life in this new, fucked up world; and he’s really fucking trying, but it’s hard.

Rick doesn’t regret taking on that responsibility. Not at all. He’s known you for long enough now, knows that you’re a smart girl, and when your father died he didn’t want his friend’s final thoughts to be worries about what would happen to his daughter now that he wouldn’t be alive to look out for her.

Gripping your father’s hand, Rick had tried to hold back tears. Your dad was a good man, strong, and more than losing a valuable member of the group - Rick was losing a friend. If your father’s death was that painful for him, after only knowing one another for a little over a year - he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. You’d always been close to your father, and the look in your eyes when you had to leave the room so someone could take care of him before he turned into a walker, well. Rick would never forget it.

Heartbreaking.

Before your father was gone, Rick promised him that he would protect you. Yeah, you’re a grown woman, smart and strong just like your dad, with a good head on your shoulders and a helpful, fighting spirit. But even though you’re an adult, you’re still young, with the kind of reckless abandon and bravery that only the youth still have; the kind that’s constantly getting them into trouble.

So Rick assured your dad, holding onto his hand as he took his final breaths, that nothing would happen to you. That he’d take care of you, look after you like you were his own daughter. It was the right thing to do, the good thing to do -

But Rick didn’t anticipate how hard you’d make it for him to fulfill that promise.

He didn’t think you’d be so, so. God, he doesn’t even fucking know. He doesn’t want to use the word to describe you, because you’re an adult, not a petulant kid -

But you’re a fucking brat.

He’s not sure if you’ve always been like this, and your dad was just able to calm you down enough so that the rest of the group didn’t notice, or if it’s a new thing you’re dealing with from the grief and the life changes that losing your father brought on.

Rick’s not a psychiatrist. He doesn’t know enough about the moods of women to even attempt to get through to you, and he doesn’t have the nerve to ask you to fix your attitude when life these last few years has been full of constant, challenging changes for everyone - and he especially doesn’t want to ask for help or guidance from anyone else regarding these problems, because that would mean admitting he can’t control or handle the responsibility of keeping a young woman in check.

He’s led a group of people through an apocalypse of the walking dead, and he’s letting a twenty something year old in pink sneakers get under his skin with an eye roll?

No. He’d never admit to that.

Even if it’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you interacting.

Right now, Rick’s sitting in a chair on the porch of his home in Alexandria. It’s bittersweet, to have a semblance of normalcy. Had the group found this community back when your father was alive, he never would’ve died. Would’ve never had to make that risky supply run looking for something to help your fever and headache that led to him getting bit by a walker and ultimately dying.

Having to be killed just to put him out of his misery.

Rick’s trying to enjoy the feeling of normal on this porch, surrounded by his friends that are so close they’re like family - but deep down he knows that things will never be the way they were before the world went to shit. And the things he’s done, the things you all have done - they happened, and none of you can pretend that they didn’t. Life, every single one of you - will never, ever be the way it was before.

He’s drinking a beer - okay, he’s on his third, trying not to let the negative thoughts weigh him down. The last thing he wants to do is flip the switch like he did last year, the one that turned him into a raging lunatic, so bad that Daryl had to beat his ass when he started to turn into someone he didn’t know. Back when he was a danger to himself and others. That can’t happen now.

Not when he’s got a community of people to look out for. Not when he’s got you to care for. A clear head, enough mental agility to make rational decisions - Rick owes everyone that. He owes the group that. He owes you that.

But why do you have to make his life so damn difficult?

There’s a party in the community tonight, and even though Rick is more or less in charge of this place, this get-together wasn’t his idea. He would never plan something like this, even back when he was married and just a small town cop. Before walkers and danger lurked at every fucking corner.

Rick can pretend all he wants, that he fits in or that this normal shit, a sort of block party in this case, was anything he missed, but it’s a lie.

He’s hardened from all the time he’s spent outside - but he wants the rest of the group to try. To want this. This has always been the goal, the plan. Finding and living in a place like Alexandria. Right?

So he’s on the sidelines, sipping beer and watching the rest of his group learn how to be proper humans again. It’s an outdoor thing, with kids in the community running around and food made with actual ovens and stoves, alcohol that’s poured into glasses and cups instead of sipped out of a dirty bottle found in a stranger’s leftover backpack while on the road.

The street is blocked off with picnic tables and everyone’s being a touch too loud for this event to be considered safe, but Rick’s not going to ruin their fun yet.

Because he’s watching the group - but his eyes keep falling on you.

Just to make sure you’re okay, he tells himself, but in his tipsy mind he knows that’s a lie.

You look damn good in the dress you’re wearing.

To be fair, despite the filth and the starvation and the level of grime every single person in the group wore for months straight, you’ve always looked good. You’re beautiful, even when you’re covered in dirt without a trace of makeup on your face. Some women just have it, the type of body that fills out clothes like everything is made for them to wear. The kind of face, features - the raw kind of beauty that’s appealing even in the middle of the apocalypse.

That’s you, Rick thinks, and he wonders why you chose to wear such a cute little number to this party when the rest of the women are wearing long pants.

Maybe you’re doing it on purpose. Maybe you’re -

Rick wants to slap himself in the face. He’s been feeling that urge, to get himself in check, whenever he thinks about you these days.

He promised your father that he’d look out for you. Keep you safe. Protect you. Yet here he is, catching himself checking you out again, because yeah, this is definitely not the first time he’s noticed your figure.

Your father - Rick truly considered him a close friend, and he blames himself for the miscommunication that ended up with him promising to look out for you like you were his own daughter. Your father just knew that Rick cared about you, which is true. Saw the way he was always willing to protect you, to defend you, to make sure you were taken care of.

Must’ve noticed the long talks you two had, saw the way Rick so helpfully taught you how to shoot a gun without wasting all the bullets. The way he let you wear his shirt one day, because it was the only extra after getting caught in a storm and your own shirt was soaking wet, sticking to your body and -

Holy fuck, Rick thinks, finishing off his beer and slamming it down a little too harshly. He can’t think about that. Can’t think about the way your tits looked in that wet shirt, the way your body felt, warm and soft when he pressed up behind you and gripped your hand, showing you how to properly use a gun. The way you hugged him, cuddled into his side while he gave you advice and you had your long talks, because you wanted the wisdom of someone mature who wasn’t your father.

He’s not a bad man, he swears. Rick’s never been attracted to a woman as young as you at his age, and he hates himself for it. It’s wrong, but he can’t deny the magnetic attraction he feels when he looks at you, thinks about you, is around you. It’s chemical.

Plus, he reasons to himself, trying to avert his eyes when you bend down to pick up something off the ground. That dress is way too short, and although Rick really isn’t looking (lie), someone else notices, and Carol steps behind you to hide the free view of your purple, little panties that you’re giving every man at this outdoor party.

Rick doesn’t know if he should thank Carol for covering you up or tell her to move.

Your father - he must’ve misread those moments between the two of you. Thought, because of your age difference, that Rick was just being fatherly towards you - because any man his age with a conscience would never be attracted to a woman as young as you. It probably didn’t even cross your father’s mind that Rick thought of you as anything other than his friend’s daughter.

Which makes him feel even worse.

You’re not bent over anymore, and you and Carol share a laugh about the length of your dress while Rosita teases you and Maggie walks over with two glass bottles of beer in her hands. You’re quite the social butterfly.

Rick can’t hear clearly, but he thinks he makes out someone asking where he is, and you spin around looking for him, looking so cute and clueless and Rick hates himself even more because why is that confused look on your face so fucking cute?

When you spot him on his porch, you point and then grin. Like he’s your favorite person and he’s been lost for much too long and you’re so excited to finally find him - when in reality, you just haven’t spoken in maybe thirty minutes. Rick doesn’t know why you’re smiling so big looking at him, but he can’t deny the way it warms him up. His face, his neck, a good feeling that spreads down his chest and goes directly to his cock.

You wave, all happy, with a little bounce in your step when you raise on your toes to properly see him over the porch railing, and Rick is so fond it makes him sick. The wave, the pretty smile, the enthusiasm. It makes you look so young, so beautiful, and Rick can’t stand how much he likes it.

How much he likes you.

He waves back, just as Maggie comes up the porch steps and hands him another beer. She asks if he’s going to join the party soon, or if he’s playing the part of Daryl since even the lone wolf himself is sitting with a few other people at a picnic table, although his face is deadpanned and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Rick laughs.

When Maggie walks off, Rick notices that you’re still watching him. Not at all listening to whatever Carol and Rosita are talking about. It’s like you were waiting, to capture his attention again - and once you have it, that smile returns and you blow him a kiss.

And Rick? God, he’s such a fucking idiot. He feels like such a creep. But it’s not like he can ignore you, because what kind of person would do that? You’re just being sweet. That’s all. And he’s just excited because your sweetness is a nice break from how fucking bratty you’ve been all week.

Rick repeats that excuse in his mind like a mantra.

He pretends to grab the kiss, face red at how juvenile this is, and then he blows one back. He’s drunk now, he’s sure of it, and he’s embarrassed that he’s even playing this game with you.

But you look so satisfied when you grab his kiss, and you hold it in your palm and don’t open your hand, like you’re saving it. And that - goddamnit. Rick’s going crazy. You’re too fucking sweet, you’re too fucking pretty, you’re too fucking good for him and you’re too young for him and -

Rick catches Daryl’s eyes over the porch. It’s hard to read him, but it’s pretty clear he saw that. The exchange. The way he looks between the two of you, the little tilt of the corner of his mouth. He knows - he knows something.

Rick tips his new beer back and swallows, shaking his head.

Yeah. He’s got a fucking problem, alright.

────

Daryl is not this guy.

This guy, being the kind of man that thinks about a woman your age in an inappropriate way. It’s unlike him - but it’s unlike him to think about romance and sex at all, to be honest. He’s always been too busy for that shit. Too busy surviving, taking care of himself. At the end of a long day, all he can think about is going to sleep so he can do this human and living shit again the next morning.

And that was before the fucking apocalypse of walkers.

After the world was overrun with them, romance and sex were even further out of his mind. Nothing hot about sneaking off in the woods or to an abandoned building to fuck in a room that smells like decaying bodies. Daryl has no idea how Maggie and Glenn do it, can’t believe that Rosita once let Abraham fuck her on the floor of an old church they were staying in, with walker guys splattered on the wall next to them.

Which is saying a lot, because Daryl doesn’t even have a weak stomach. Doesn’t get grossed out by things most grown men would have a fit over. It’s not his style. He just can’t picture ever wanting to fuck bad enough that he’d do it while living in a world like this. He doesn’t think with his dick - fuck, the truth is? Sometimes he used to wonder if it even still worked after all the shit he’s been through.

But...things have changed since the group got to Alexandria. After a few months, with no starving and with a pillow and a mattress to sleep on, being able to close both eyes instead of just one during the night - Daryl is starting to notice that his priorities are changing. Bit by bit everyday, he’s slowly turning into someone he doesn’t recognize - and that scares him.

It terrifies him.

Alexandria is nicer than any place Daryl has ever lived before - like, way nicer. Before the apocalypse, he’d never even be allowed within fifty miles of a community like this, he thinks. There’s running water, warm water, and he’s starting to get a little scared that he, along with everyone else from his group, are getting a little too used to these luxuries.

He finds himself waking up with a hard cock whenever he sleeps in his own bed. That’s the first sign that his body is adjusting to...comfort? Every single morning, without fail, he’s hard. Except when he goes on his recruiting runs with Aaron and he’s forced back into a tent on the cold ground. But when he comes back from those runs, it doesn't matter how many days he’s been gone, the next morning in his own bed always means he’s going to have to change his boxers.

Can’t exactly go around Alexandria with his precum dried in his pants.

Daryl doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like, this, this - what does he even call this? Health? Finally feeling like he belongs somewhere, so his body can let down its guard?

He’s worried, about what that means, because as nice as this new little community is for everyone - it might not last. That’s a total possibility, and he’s getting way too soft with all this hot coffee with creamer and warm meals and electricity. Fuck this place (he thinks, somewhat fondly).

So, Daryl’s fighting back.

As of late, he’s starting to refuse getting used to this place. Will go a week without a warm meal and will head straight out to the woods to eat a raw squirrel or frog whenever he finds himself excited about spaghetti for dinner. If he finds himself jacking off under the warm water in his shower, eyes closed while he enjoys the smell of eucalyptus from his bar of soap - he’ll curse and hop right out, head straight back into the woods to rub dirt on his clothes and get mud under his nails again. What kind of fucking man notices the smell of his soap?

A man that dies when things get bad again. That’s who. No, Daryl cannot have that happen. Fucking stupid soap.

He throws it in the trash can and goes back to the almost gone, orange and white looking bar he’s used for the last year. Unscented.

But everything he’s doing - there’s just no point. No matter what Daryl does, how uncomfortable he makes his own life, his dick is still getting hard.

He got mad at Rosita during breakfast the other day for wearing those fucking tiny shorts of hers. He’s not even attracted to her - she’s not his type at all, and then when Tara joined them at the table, obviously not wearing a bra, Daryl cursed at them and stormed off. Told them to put on some fucking clothes. He doesn't think either of them are particularly hot, but his dick does. Sees a pair of long legs these days, a jiggle of breast, the round shape of a woman’s ass - fuck, the color pink, and his fucking cock is ready to go.

Daryl can’t even remember the last time he had sex. Because sex doesn’t really matter these days, and Daryl doesn’t want it to matter. He doesn’t want manners to matter either, which is why he won’t even join the rest of the house for dinner after he caught himself putting a napkin on his lap. He can hear Merle’s voice in his head when he remembers to chew with his mouth closed - goddamn, he’s supposed to be a survivalist. Not a suburban douche.

Obviously, he’s going fucking crazy. He would say he’s having a hard time adjusting - but it’s kind of the opposite. Daryl’s adjusting to life in Alexandria much easier than he expected, and that’s what’s crazy.

And you - that’s where his real problem comes in. You’re driving him fucking insane.

You’re living in the same house as him, you’re constantly around, and Daryl doesn’t know what to do with the emotions you bring out in him. He tries to avoid you as much as possible, but you’re always around the corner, usually seeking him out. When thoughts start swirling around in his head, his stomach, his dick, all of them relating back to you, he tries to drown them out with beer or something harder, tries to distract himself, tries to tire himself out so he has no room or time to think about you.

But he’s starting to realize that, unfortunately, the only way to get you out of his mind is through his dick. And that’s only a temporary solution, before he sees you do something else that’s sexy, like existing, and he’s back to where he started.

Wraps a fist around his cock in the middle of the night, jerking himself off to the thought of you, biting the inside of his cheek so nobody else in the house can hear him - cheap ass new construction with the thin ass walls. Everything pisses Daryl off these days, but maybe he just needs to get laid.

But deep down - he thinks, no, knows - that his problem is you.

When Daryl first met you, he didn’t like you. Thought you were annoying, saw your girly appearance and assumed you’d be a dead weight to the rest of the group, but your father was someone that the group would be lucky to have. Military training, big and strong and smart. Daryl loved that guy, almost as much as he cares about Rick - and he was devastated when he passed. If someone like your dad could die, it meant anyone could, but watching the way you handled yourself after his passing made Daryl really start to think of you differently.

He started to respect you. See you beyond just a pretty package that talks too much and wastes too much water and snores so fucking loud you’re like a siren alerting the walkers right to everyone, at least before the group arrived behind these walls. You’ve, in a way…grown up? Right before his eyes. You’re kind, you’re pretty helpful when you want to be, you’re smart, even if you play up the ditzy princess role for attention, and Daryl’s not actually not sure how old you are, just that you’re in your early twenties, and, well.

You’re fucking hot. Look like a woman from the posters Merle would hang up on his bedroom walls back when he was still alive. Daryl never did any shit like that, feels bad even noticing your beauty, but, hell -

He’s definitely not the only one.

He walks into the living room, because he has to if he wants to get to the front door. Daryl wants air, and you keep lighting fucking candles that some dumbass gave you as a welcome gift in the community, and they smell too sweet and they make his throat itch, and the smell fucking wafts up to his room. Daryl wants to smoke, too scared of Carol bitching at him again if she sees him from the house next door, out his window, putting his cigarette out on the freshly painted window pane. Women. Toxic fucking candles are cool, but cigarettes, a necessity that's almost as important as water, are a no go? Utter bullshit.

Daryl’s already dreading having to interact with you when he sees you on the couch. You’re sitting criss-cross, in a dress, and at this point he thinks you have to be trying to show off, but maybe not.

Why would you? Not like you’re around a bunch of young dudes or anything. Maybe you’re just that comfortable around the people in the house, and if that’s the case, well - that makes Daryl a little happy. You annoy him, sure - but he cares about you like he does everyone from his original group.

Wouldn’t hurt you to put a bra on or close your legs more often though. Better yet - close the fucking door to the bathroom when you take a shower. Daryl’s getting heated, in more ways than one, just thinking about your carelessness.

Rick’s sitting on the couch next to you, his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, his head halfway in his hand. You - you’re chatting his ear off, as you always do. “It’s kinda keto, you know? Eating just meat. That’s partly why we’re all in such good shape, Rick. I swear with all this pasta and canned food we’ve been eating since we got here, I’m going to gain a million pounds,” you stop when you notice that Daryl walks in. Rick looks up, lifts his hand in a meek greeting at him, and attempts to say something but you cut him off.

“I was just telling Rick about the keto diet. You know, just meat, no carbs. You’re sort of keto, Daryl, before we got here at least, it’s-” Daryl cuts you off. He doesn’t want to get involved. Doesn’t want to look you in your pretty eyes and feed into whatever fucking verbal whirlwind you’re on about, because someone really shouldn’t let you drink coffee but you’re too damn grown to have someone monitor your caffeine intake, but he literally can’t stop himself.

“What the fuck ‘re you talkin’ about?” He deadpans. “I’ve never been on no fucking diet.” Rick snorts in reply, and you smack him on the arm.

“Hey,” Rick warns, voice a little too loud and too stern for the move. You’re pretty tiny - not like your violence could hurt him, but you turn your pretty pout into a neutral expression at his scolding anyway. “Enough. Stop worryin’ about gaining weight, and just be happy you’re alive,” he reprimands, shaking his head.

This time, you scoff. “It’s a joke, Rick,” you mutter, suddenly uncomfortable with your vulnerable sitting position. You shift and sit normally, but there's still way too much skin on display in a room with two men twice your age. You cross one leg over the other. Daryl’s drawn to the soft skin of your thighs, your little foot in a bright white sock, the bottom a little dirty.

He sees Rick literally shift his position to get a better view of you sulking. Arms crossed, which inadvertently pushes your tits up and makes them sit high. Where the fuck did you even get a dress like that? What suburban mother in this neighborhood had clothes for -

Nah. Daryl’s not going to go there. You look good, and he’s not the only one who thinks so.

But that’s obvious. Everyone around Rick, around you, around you two together can see it. Daryl hopes he’s not that fucking obvious. The funny thing is - Rick thinks he’s slick. That nobody else sees the way he’s all starry-eyed, like a fucking cartoon character whenever you’re around.

He pretends like he hates it, shouldering the responsibility of looking out for you. Like he can’t stand all the cute little knick knacks you’ve managed to collect from the other women in Alexandria, scattered around the house, like he’s so annoyed when you ask to sleep in his room whenever the amount of walkers at the gate gets so big the entire community can hear them while they sleep, like he’s bothered whenever you get tipsy and fit yourself right next to him, warm body pressed into his side. Ask him to open jars for you like you’re not strong enough, when everyone’s seen you bash a walker’s head in with an empty wine bottle and kill a bird with a stick for something to eat.

The best one, was when Rick made a huge commotion about having to teach you how to shoot a gun, as if you weren’t the daughter of a former military legend who managed to survive this long. Daryl actually laughed at that, wondered if you were truly playing Rick, or if he knew your incompetence was just a lie to get closer to him, and he played along because he wanted the excuse just as much as you.

You play the role well, Daryl will give you that. Whenever Rick comes around, you’re…softer. Sweeter. You play dumb. Daryl doesn’t know why, although maybe he does, just doesn’t wanna admit it because it’s wrong.

Isn’t it? Or maybe he’s just fucked up. Maybe you really do see Rick as a sort of surrogate father figure since your dad is gone, and if that’s the case, well - it makes sense that you might try to make yourself seem like you need him. Maybe you really do. What the fuck does Daryl know?

Just kind of weird, ‘s all. You’re too hot to be acting like that. And Rick - Daryl’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to play this game with you.

He clears his throat to interrupt whatever tension is going on between the two of you. Doesn’t want to see Rick groveling to get you to behave, or the opposite - because if he hears you beg, well.

Daryl's not going to chance it. Thinking with his dick lately, remember? He starts walking to the front door.

“Wait,” you say, because of course you do. Daryl thinks about pretending like he didn't hear you, but you get off of the couch and manage to get behind him, soft little hand on his bicep while you try to stop him. “Where are you going? Can I come with? I wanna see the sunset,” you explain, and shit. What a cute fucking sentence. Daryl literally hates himself.

“Not going sunset watching,” he grumbles, pulling his arm away from you. Your delicate, tiny touch is burning his skin. “This ain't a vacation,” he adds, because someone around here has to be the negative one, right? This world is still fucking shitty, even in this little piece of protected suburbs. Rick calls out your name.

“Leave him be, go find something useful to do,” he orders, and Daryl doesn’t even have to look at you to know you’re rolling your sweet little eyes. Again, he has thoughts that make him berate himself. Sweet? Eyes? He’s two seconds away from going next door and asking Abraham to kick his ass just to bring him back down to reality.

“Stop telling me what to do all the time,” you bite back, and just to stop the bickering, Daryl relents. Not like he was doing anything anyway, just wanted to go for a little walk to clear his head, check the wall and make sure the new adjustments to it are still intact, still keeping this place safe.

Being able to keep his head on straight for a night would’ve been cool, but here you go, using all that feminine charm on him to get him to do what you want. No wonder people in the olden days thought sexy women were witches. Maybe they were onto something.

“Jus’ hurry up and grab a jacket, kid. Shit,” Daryl curses, and you practically squeal and run up the stairs, going to your room to put on some shoes and a little coat. To be fair, when you’re not around Rick - you’re not so fucking immature. You’re always cute, nice, smart - but Rick brings out thoughtlessness in you that’s truly insane to witness. Sometimes it’s like you’re a different person.

When you come back down with your jacket on, which isn’t a jacket but more of a little white sweater, you actually go back to Rick to say goodbye, pat his arm while Daryl watches his attempt to be cool, even when it’s obvious that your presence, anytime you touch him, sends him into a panic. Daryl knows that feeling. Rick stands and grabs a handgun from a drawer next to the couch and hands it to you, because that’s a rule around here. Every adult needs to be armed when they’re walking around.

You roll your eyes. Again. “Would’ve been safe with Daryl,” you grumble, and that’s true, but knowing you think that makes Daryl almost jump out of his skin. It’s…good. Shit, you really confuse him, and you’re only a young little thing.

He can’t imagine the power you’ll hold when you get to be his age. If, no - when. Because you’re going to make it. Rick promised your father you would. Daryl didn’t promise him anything, but it’s still important to him too.

“Bye, Rick,” you say, before following Daryl out the door. You’re halfway off the porch when Rick stands in the doorway, seeing you off. He doesn’t say anything to Daryl, doesn’t need to, but he does call out to you.

“Don’t ask for a cigarette, you hear me? Don't do anything fuckin' stupid,” he warns, and you just laugh out loud, slide the gun that he handed you into your boot. Daryl doesn’t get it, the dynamic between you two, but it’s weird and awkward and frankly, a little hot. Maybe he’s more like Merle than he thought.

You walk to an empty area of Alexandria, somewhere you can sort of see the sunset. He fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. What good is being outside if he can't have a smoke?

“Want one?” Daryl grunts, and you giggle and take it, because yeah, Rick told you not to smoke, but Rick ain’t his daddy. He ain’t yours either - but as Daryl lights up, he supposes that Rick… sort of is?

He nags you, protects you, takes care of you. Made you move into the room next to his so he could keep a closer eye on you. Daryl's pretty sure he heard Rick tell you to eat your vegetables the other day, and whenever you hurt yourself he's always the first one coming to you, gently fixing up whatever little wound you might have.

Maybe you want that. The Daddy thing. Maybe you like that. Maybe -

Daryl’s a sick bastard. Must run in the Dixon DNA.

You nod, but before he can give you your own, you just grab it from his lips, almost burn your finger while you do it too. You get pink lip gloss on the cigarette, and you never end up giving it back. Such a bratty, spoiled thing to do. Would be enough to start a fight, where Daryl’s from, being greedy like that - but you're fuckin' cute and you know it. You know the power you have, and that's a turn on for Daryl.

And yeah, he could easily reach back into his pocket, get his own cigarette, but he’s content. Dick halfway hard in his pants, watching a beautiful thing like you look all pretty and pink and proper, smoking on a cancer stick.

Daryl doesn’t know what comes over him when he says, “He’s too old for you, ya know that, don’t cha?” He’s talking about Rick. Obviously. Is not at all (lie) trying to gauge your reaction to an older man. Isn't inadvertently (another lie) trying to figure out if you're purposely bending over, just so he can see your cleavage on full display while you pick a flower growing in the grass by your feet.

You smile, taking a final inhale then tossing the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of your sneaker. Deanna’s going to kill you for littering so shamelessly.

You shake your head, blow out the smoke. “No, he’s not,” you say, taking the flower and putting it behind your ear. You lock eyes with Daryl. “And neither are you.”

────

Living with you requires a special kind of patience that Rick doesn’t have at his age.

Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever had the kind of patience required to live with someone like you. Although, patience and restraint could be interchanged in this scenario.

You’re driving him crazy.

There’s four rooms in his designated house in Alexandria, but the house still doesn’t seem big enough. Your presence is suffocating to him, in the best way possible, but it’s overwhelming when he’s got so much on his plate. The safety of the entire community is a big responsibility, and his focus has to be on keeping people alive and fed and prepared, in case something happens.

Rick feels like he never gets a chance to breathe, with someone somewhere always wanting something from him. And it’s not like he can relax when he gets home, either - because you’re there, and Rick physically cannot calm down around you. It’s not your fault. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to you, and maybe in another world that would be something amazing, but in this world it’s wrecking his nervous system.

God, he really sounds like an old man these days. It’s a good reminder that, in comparison to you, he sort of is.

It’s been a long day. Rick’s walking up the stairs, ready to collapse into his bed until he’s inevitably woken up again in a few hours for something the people in the community could handle on their own. He’s literally yawning, resisting the urge to rub his eyes when you quickly round the corner and try to scamper down the stairs around him.

As if that would work. The houses in Alexandria are big, much nicer than the home Rick lived in before this whole mess started, but a staircase is still a staircase. Too narrow for the both of you to squeeze past each other without touching.

Rick grabs your wrist to stop you, not hard, but you whine like he just tried to saw your arm off. Such a dramatic brat. Instead of rubbing his eyes, Rick resists the urge to roll them now.

There’s no curfew for the residents of Alexandria, not really, but there’s no point in leaving the house after dark. Your group has spent a year wishing for a safe place to lay your head at night, and being outside this late just seems foolish and unnecessary.

And a little suspicious.

And - Rick is nosy. He hates how frail your wrist feels in his hand, so he drops it, and gets a good look at you. “Where are you goin’?” He asks, annoyed at how fond he feels when he sees your bottom lip poke out.

You’re pouting. You’re pouting and he hasn’t even nagged you about anything yet. That’s a new record, for sure.

You shrug, and the movement draws his eyes to your chest, where your tits bounce ever so slightly in your tight, little tank top. Rick can feel the wheels of brat moving in your mind, and he lets out a breath because he knows whatever is about to come out of your mouth is bullshit. It always is, whenever you speak to him.

It’s clear you love to rile him up, although he’s not sure why. Maybe you see him as a safe place to get your frustration out - he’s the closest thing you’ve got to a parent these days, so maybe giving him a hard time is coping skill or something.

At that thought, the parent one, Rick lifts his eyes from your chest. He hates that when you’re this close, he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume or shampoo or whatever it is that women use to smell delicious. He hates that when you’re this close, he can see the twinkle in your pretty eyes, the sparkle of whatever product you have on your lips that makes them look so soft. He hates -

Well, most of all, he hates himself. For noticing these things. For thinking these things. He can’t even reason that he knows every detail about your face because he’s known you for so long - because he’s known Maggie and Carol and shit, Daryl, even longer than you - and he truly can’t even recall the color of their eyes.

This attention to detail - it’s definitely a you thing.

You quirk a brow, one that’s perfectly arched. You must’ve spent three hours in the bathroom when the group arrived in Alexandria. Rick remembers that you waited for everyone else to have a turn rinsing off, just so you could take your sweet time after everyone already went to bed. You guard the scented shampoo that Deanna left for you with your life, and the bathroom care package someone dropped off the first week, that came with tweezers and razors and mouthwash. Rick knows you made nice with the other women in the community just to ‘borrow’ the perfume that they had before the start of the apocalypse.

It’s cute, and the femininity you’re showing in this community has Rick almost forgetting all the times he’s seen you smash a walkers head in or eat from a can of uncooked ravioli with your fingers - which was a luxury find a few months ago. Crazy how fast life can change.

“Just getting some water, Rick. Why do you think I’m going somewhere?”

Well. Rick didn’t think about that. The kitchen is downstairs.

But Rick knows you better than that. Apparently, he pays more attention to every single thing you do than he even realized. If you were just going to get water this late, you’d be in your pajamas - which is more often than not, a pair of boxers and a shirt that's much too big for you. You swiped them from Daryl’s room when someone from the community brought everyone a fresh change of clothes - you’ve really gotten comfortable here.

Right now you’re not wearing anything comfortable, and that’s how Rick knows you’re lying. That little tank top, no bra, the tiny pair of shorts you’ve got on - how fucking stupid do you think he is? You’re wearing shoes - he knows you’re planning on leaving.

Which is fine. You’re allowed to. But you’re also his responsibility, and he’s beyond tired, and there were more walkers by the walls today, and - you know what? Rick’s not letting you off this easy. Call it payback, after your fit yesterday in front of Deanna and Abraham, when you stomped your cute foot and called Rick a control freak since he wouldn’t let you go on a run yourself.

He can give you a hard time too. So he does. “I know you’re lying, and you’re not leaving the house tonight. It’s too dangerous,” and that’s not really true, but your bottom lip juts out again and then you cross your arms, and that just irritates Rick more because now you’re covering up his view. Fuck, he’s really sick, isn’t he? Maybe he just needs to go to bed.

He should just let you go out. Move out of your way, so you can pass him on the stairs and go where you want to go so bad, wherever that is. Carol and Sasha are patrolling, and there’s a card game at the house in the center of the community where Glenn and Abraham and Maggie, as well as others, are all together. You’d be fairly safe if you went out for a walk, and truth be told, Rick isn’t really worried about your safety right now.

If he’s honest with himself, deep down - he just doesn’t want to let you out of the house in that fucking outfit. He’s got to talk with Deanna, tell her to tell whoever’s in charge of the clothing in Alexandria to give you a bra and some shorts that fit. Christ, he thinks, running a hand down his face in pure exhaustion and frustration, because you quickly head down the stairs after he tells you no and he can clearly see the bottom of your asscheeks, round and firm and - damn. Those shorts belong in the fucking trash or on a pedestal where Rick can properly thank them.

“I’ve got plans,” you say, pretty mouth no longer pouting, but pulled into a cheeky smile. Rick realizes that you’re pleased, because you’re already getting the attention you wanted from him, without him even realizing it. He follows you down the stairs so you’re both standing in the living room now, and Rick’s too old for all this bickering, too tired, but he plays along anyway. Knows this is just a game, to terrorize him, because you’re a little menace and you enjoy pissing him off.

And shit - he can admit it. It feels good that someone like you wants his attention this bad. So he'll play along.

“Yeah? Well, tell me what they are. Don’t be shy. Where the hell are you goin' dressed like that?” Rick’s falling into the trap, because he’s fucking stupid, because you make him stupid. He could easily walk back upstairs and go to sleep just as easily as you could walk out the front door and do - whatever the fuck it is you want to do right now. But you’re both standing here, two adults arguing for no reason, and that’s when Rick realizes why he even entertains your little tantrums and ploys at getting him to argue.

Maybe he just likes that someone is brave enough to question his decisions. You make him feel human - like he’s more than just a leader.

You uncross your arms, and Rick wishes you didn’t. He wanted you to a minute ago, but now he just wants to run upstairs to his room to pull out a shirt and pair of boxers to force you to wear, to hide that figure of yours that was only made hotter from all the fucking physical activity the entire group did every day for a year.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rick. God, stop being such a freak. I’m just watching a movie with Daryl.”

Your answer knocks the wind out of Rick, because now he knows you're really up to something. Wearing that, to watch a movie with Daryl? It's shady, and yeah, Rick knows that you like Daryl. Everyone can see it.

You love to tease him and torment him, say things to make him blush, and if Rick's not around you cling him to like a teddy bear, ask to follow him around and help him with runs or whatever needs to be done. Rick always just assumed you had a little crush on him - which was sort of cute, in a weird way. Showed Rick that you like older men, and out of everyone - Daryl's harmless. He wouldn't act on any stupid thoughts, and probably doesn't even think of you in that way. He's a good guy.

Unlike Rick, apparently.

Even your father could see it. When he was still alive, when the group was constantly on the move, Daryl carried you on his back for miles, told Rick that giving in was better than hearin' your bitchin'. Rick still remembers the look on your father's face when he saw Daryl put you down that day, his posture fucked, dripping sweat - and he still handed you his water bottle before he even got a sip.

"She's somethin'," your dad said with an eye roll, although fond. You were the apple of his eye, but even your father knew you could be a goddamn handful.

Now though, with the possibility that your little crush could be more, Rick feels weird. Uncomfortable, an emotion burning in his chest that he realizes is - no, it can't be -

Jealousy? He feels weirdly possessive, he -

Hears the garage door close, then heavy footsteps, until Daryl’s standing on the other side of the room.

“What’s all the ruckus? Was just cleaning my bike,” Daryl starts, a little disturbed at the way Rick looks like he’s about to have a heart attack or crumble to the floor in frustration. He steps further into the room a little tentatively, before his eyes look to you, and suddenly Daryl is glad that he’s learned to control his emotions so they don’t ever register on his face.

Because your outfit - if it can even be called that…well, Daryl’s starting to realize why Rick looks like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown.

Daryl can’t help himself. He says it without even consciously realizing it, asking, “Where the fuck you goin’ dressed like that?” All while pretending to be casual, wiping motorcycle grease off of his hands with a dirty towel he brought in from the garage.

Daryl’s comment must send you over the edge, because you huff and groan and then run upstairs, slamming your door like a fucking teenager.

It’s silent for a second, with just the two of them in the living room, before Daryl breaks the silence. “What’s her problem?” He asks Rick, who stays silent for so long, eyes closed and a hand over his face, that Daryl wonders if Rick even heard him.

But then Rick laughs. The kind of laugh that stems from being so irritated, instead of breaking something all he can do is angrily chuckle. Now Daryl is really confused, but Rick isn’t.

You were lying about watching a movie with Daryl, as Rick expected, and he shakes his head. The outfit and the shoes to pretend you were going somewhere and the attitude were all just to rile him up. He thinks he's starting to realize why you want to get a rise out of him so bad, and it makes his stomach turn and his dick chub up in excitement.

“She said she was watchin’ a movie with you,” he explains, which only further perplexes Daryl, because he doesn’t watch movies, and you were wearing shoes - but he knows when to leave a situation alone. Whatever you and Rick having going on - that’s between you two.

Daryl turns to go back to the garage, and Rick’s about to walk up the stairs when the sound of your bedroom door opening is heard, and then a few light footsteps. Both men brace themselves because you’re sure to have something to say now.

It’s sort of cute, although neither one of them would admit that they like this attitude - that you needed to take a minute to gather your thoughts just to come up with something nasty to say back to Rick.

“Daryl,” you call from the top of the stairs, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to hang out. We could've gone for a walk, or watched a movie, or - anything! Rick’s just so mean, he doesn’t want to watch a movie with me and,” Rick stomps up the stairs and you squeal. Daryl bites back a laugh at the way you act around Rick, a smile spreading across his face that he’s glad no one else is around to see.

It’s weird, that he finds you so fucking charming. You’re annoying as shit, but it’s endearing, and the way Rick acts around you - like a human, instead of a tough robot - it's nice to see. He keeps that to himself, not going back to the garage until he hears Rick tell you to go to bed. “I just wanted to watch a movie,” you whine, and as the door shuts, Daryl hears Rick.

“Watch one? In that outfit, looks like you’re trying to make one. Quit lyin' and put some fuckin' clothes on.”

────

Just like that, everything changes.

All thanks to that little outfit. God bless Deanna for sending over those little shorts that you cut even smaller, and those tank tops you took from the community closet that were definitely meant for someone younger than you - but they did the job you needed them to do perfectly.

That outfit changed everything. It got Rick, and Daryl, to see that you were only trying to show off. That everything you’d been doing, especially since you got to Alexandria, was just to get their attention.

And yeah, maybe that makes you feel a little pathetic. It’s the end of the world, and all you’re thinking about is how to seduce your late father’s close friends, but there’s another way of looking at that too. For instance, you could literally die tomorrow. So could Rick, Daryl - anyone. Every single day that you go to bed, you know that it’s all just luck. Like winning the lottery. So why not have fun while you still can?

In your opinion, that should be everyone’s viewpoint.

The next morning, after your little lie about watching a movie with Daryl, Rick made sure everyone was out of the house so that he could talk to you. He found you in the kitchen.

“He’s too old for you,” he says, all parental and bossy in a plaid button down shirt, hand on his hip. He reminds you of your dad a little, with the disapproving tone and the stance. Back when your father used to disapprove of every fucking guy you brought home for him to meet. It’s funny, although depressing, and even though you didn’t have the best relationship with him, thinking about your dad now that he’s dead hurts. You shake the thought and the memory from your head, scooping a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth. You shrug.

“Daryl says the same thing about you,” is your reply after you swallow. Rick lets out a big sigh, always a drama queen, but you love that you have him where you want him. Jealous, maybe. Seeing you as someone beyond just his late friend's daughter. You’re a woman that a lot of people want, and Rick should know that. Should feel lucky, that you like him so much and want his attention so badly. Sometimes you honestly think that Daryl and Rick are a little ungrateful about all the attention they get from you.

“Yeah, well, he’s right,” there’s a pause, like Rick doesn’t really want to say what he’s going to say. You look up at him, blink your eyes slowly in a way that you learned gets men get flustered, and Rick stutters as it comes out of his mouth, he sighs after he says it. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about. What Rick means to say is: You’ve gotta stop coming on to him and to Daryl. To stop being such a tease, to stop acting like a little harlot that needs to be punished and fucked so bad she’s running around one of the last standing suburbs in the United States with her panties showing and her tits out.

You get it, really - you do.

You just don’t want to stop.

“Stop what, Rick? You know I’m attracted to you. To Daryl. I literally can’t be any more obvious. Why can’t I have a little fun? Does it seriously bother you? Or is it just your morals getting in the way?” Not to sound like a selfish, immature brat - but you’re pissed at your dad for freaking Rick out. Before he passed, you really were getting closer with Rick, spending all your free time together, sort of affectionate when nobody else was looking. You’d stay awake with Rick at night to talk, you’d go for walks with him, go on runs whenever you were allowed, help him with whatever he needed.

You were getting somewhere, and your dad’s final dying wish took all your hard work and dumped it in the trash.

Now, you know how it sounds. Like you’re a total bitch that was a shitty daughter with no empathy or emotions, but that’s far from the facts. The truth is - you were never close with your dad. You happened to be visiting him during a break from college when shit hit the fan, and he was prepared. You'd have been stupid not to stay with him. And, yeah, he kept you alive and you definitely got closer after spending a year on the road together in some of the worst human conditions ever - but it wasn’t like you were daddy’s little girl or whatever else Rick likes to imagine to torture himself more.

You miss your father, sure, and you’re also sure Rick misses having another trustworthy male in the group, but treating the last words of a man who was going crazy with the walker virus as gospel is just plain crazy. Even for Rick.

And, to be clear, it’s not like you’re trying to force yourself onto Rick or Daryl. You know for a fact that if you were, if all your teasing and affection was making them uncomfortable, they’d say something about it. You’re desperate for them, yeah, but if either of them truly wanted you to fuck off, you’d respect that.

It’s just that - you know they want you. It’s clear, in the way their eyes follow you around a room, the way their touch lingers on you, how protective they are. For fuck’s sake, you’ve felt the hard outline of the bulge in their pants whenever you plop down on their laps, and you swear that Rick was using any excuse to get in the bathroom while you were taking a bath the other day. Needed his floss, yeah fucking right. It was cute though. You want them to want you.

And, anyway - you don’t understand why it’s such a big fucking deal. You’re in your twenties, and who knows how much longer you all have left? Daryl and Rick can’t be more than what, forty? Corpses learned to walk, and they’re worried about a little bit of legal age difference?

God, they’re driving you crazy.

In the kitchen, Rick curses. He doesn’t know what to say in reply to you. Does it really bother him, all your teasing?

Because the answer is - yeah, it does bother him.

It bothers him, that he can’t even fantasize about pushing you down on his bed and fucking your brains out without images of your dying dad flashing through his mind. It bothers him, that you’re so sexy and hot and sweet and soft and that you want him so bad, make him feel so needed and appreciated in ways no woman has ever made him feel before, yet you’re young enough to be his daughter. It bothers him deeply, that you’re the only thing in his mind all day long and the only thing that truly matters to him, which is why he’s always giving you such a hard time, which also makes him feel like the worst leader ever - because he’s got the safety of an entire community on his shoulders. People are counting on him, and all he can think about is you you you.

It bothers him, that he feels like a dirty old man around you, and that he doesn’t even care. Actually likes the way that people look at him when you’re on his arm. Likes to help you when you’re pretending like you can’t do shit yourself, just because you’d rather have him do it. And it really fucking bothers him that your tits are perky and that you hate wearing a bra and that your skin is clear and that you smell like a goddamn vanilla cupcake in the middle of the apocalypse.

Sometimes Rick hates you, for the way you bother him.

But right now, what bothers him the most - is that he’s not even bothered that you want his best friend to fuck you. The only thing that bothers him about you wanting Daryl so bad is that he wants to see just how badly you do, and that makes him feel like a fucking pervert. A bad, bad man.

What the actual fuck is wrong with him? He’s supposed to be the good guy.

“You’re just too damn young,” is all he says, and then he starts to walk away. It’s shitty, yeah, to leave you hanging like that - but Rick doesn’t want to be this guy. The one who takes advantage of a young, beautiful thing like yourself. It’s wrong.

He used to be a cop. Married. Looked down upon men who’d hook up with the first young thing that wanted them. He used to hate on his friend, Shane, gave him so much shit about going after younger women who wanted an older man. Told him that young women who looked for older men had daddy issues, and what kind of decent person would take advantage of that?

Is that a real thing, Rick wonders, daddy issues? Do you have that? Is it because your father died? Because Rick’s pretty sure you’ve been coming onto him and Daryl even back when you first joined the group. Do you think you have to…act the way you do so he’ll take care of you? Look out for you, now that all your family is dead?

“You don’t need to…cater to what you think I want,” Rick starts, unsure of how else to phrase it. He knows that no matter how he puts it, you’re going to be pissed. “I’ll still be here for you, always, to protect you, take care of you, even if you’re not,” he regrets it the minute it comes out of his mouth, “sexually appealing to me.”

You stand up so fast your spoon clatters out of your oatmeal from the force of your hands on the counter, pushing your chair out and standing up. “Are you kidding me?” You’ve had it now. No more bratty little girl, no - now you’re a pissed off woman.

“I’m not some fucking kid, Rick. I’m not trying to seduce you because I’m worried you’ll kick me out of the group. I can pull my weight as much as the next person and you know that.” It’s insulting, what he’s saying. You literally want to punch him for saying that shit.

“I’m trying to seduce you so you’ll fuck me. What’s so hard to understand? Do you want me Rick? Because I think you do. You’re just too chicken shit to,” but you don’t get to finish because he rushes forward, pushes you against the kitchen counter and turns you around. Manhandles you.

You bite your lip to stop from grinning. This is what you wanted. Maybe not the fight, but the feeling of him holding you tight, locking you in place against his strong body. You feel his hard stomach, strong arms, and you’re shameless when you lean down on the counter so you’re completely bent over it, pushing your ass towards the bulge in his jeans.

“You don’t wanna finish that sentence,” he warns, but maybe you do - because you feel him, hard against you. He likes this. Rick wants you, just as bad as you want him. You say a silent prayer, thanking the angels above that nobody else is home right now. “‘M not chicken shit about anything.”

You scoff. “Yeah, you are. Got me bent against the counter and you’re still talking. God, Rick, maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you can't handle this, maybe,” you go on and on, trying to stand up while he holds you down. He’s got a hand literally pressing into your back to keep you from getting up, and you’re so aroused you feel the dampness in your panties. You try to squeeze your legs together, but you can’t get any relief in this position.

Then you realize that this must’ve been the position Rick put people in when he’d arrest them. Officer Grimes. Holy shit, that’s hot to think about. Such a force of power, so strong, so smart, so trustworthy. Rick, who takes care of you and comforts you and bends to every stupid whim you make up to test his loyalty towards you. Rick, who puts on a pair of sunglasses before he oggles your tits because he wants to seem like a gentleman so bad. Rick -

Who’s pulling your pants down over your ass, panties too, until they’re down to your knees and he can see your bare ass. That fast, huh? You wiggle your ass with no remorse for being so greedy.

“You’re really somethin’, you know that?” He murmurs, running his hand over the smooth skin of your ass. Then he smacks a hand down on it so hard that you’d jump if you weren’t being held down. It’s unexpected, but so fucking hot, and you’ve definitely fantasized about Rick spanking you before. Been begging for it, actually, with all your bad attitude these last few months.

“You think you’re so grown. Pick and choose when you wanna be a grown lady or a bratty kid, whatever you think might get my attention. ‘M not stupid, I see it, just let you think you’re pulling the strings, ‘cause you know what? ‘S cute that you think you’re in charge,” Rick’s just letting the degrading so fucking sexy dirty talk flow, all the while he drops hits onto your ass.

Part of the appeal, the desire growing in your belly and making all your limbs feel tight and hot, is that anyone could walk in at any time. Sure, right now the house is empty, but at any point someone could walk in and see what Rick is doing to you. What you’re letting him do. You whine at the thought.

“You’re right, Rick,” you say, because come on. You haven’t been this desperate just to play hard to get now that you’re underneath him. You’ve been begging to see this side of Rick, to be on the receiving side of all this testosterone, to see if the most powerful man you’ve ever met is like that in every aspect of his life. He’s controlling, and sometimes mean, has a cold streak that’ll ice you out but also carries a warmth to thaw it -

And, you’re realizing, he’s turned on punishing you. Kinkier than you thought, honestly. But you're thrilled that he is.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear those words out of your mouth,” he replies, and then he stops holding you down to the table. Instead, he lifts you up so your back is to his chest, and you lean against him, very aware that as he holds you to him his hand trails lower and lower, until his fingers are prodding between your legs, and you let out a gasp.

Who knew Mr. Grimes had all this dirtiness in him? You always hoped, but. It’s better than you expected. You’re literally grinning when he rubs down your slit, so wet, back and forth while barely grazing your clit. He knows you want it bad, but he’s not going to give it to you just yet.

Payback, maybe? You’ve never been so excited.

“Fuckin’ drippin’,” he murmurs, voice in your ear. His breath smells like spearmint and you’re such a romantic that it makes you almost moan. It’s the same toothpaste you use. How domestic. How fun, how kinky - that it kind of feels like you’re his little wife letting him fuck you in the kitchen.

Because yeah, that’s a fantasy of yours. You’ve got a lot of them, and Rick and Daryl are at the center of each one. “Rick,” you whine, and you feel him shake his head against you.

“Not my name, is it? Rick wouldn’t spank your ass, but I know someone who would. What’d you call me the other day, huh? When you were teasin’ me because I said you couldn’t patrol by yourself?” He sticks a finger inside of you, a little too rough to be pleasurable, but that kind of dominance makes you moan. His thumb rubs over your clit, presses down hard, and the feeling is so much that you try to pull away.

“Daddy,” you answer, and then he gives you some relief. Turns the hard touch on your little button to something pleasurable with a few soft strokes, adding another finger inside of you.

He hums. “‘Atta girl. Just feelin’ you. Been imagining what this sweet little cunt feels like since I’ve known you. Figured it had to be as pretty as the rest of you. Tell me,” he lifts his fingers from your pussy, shiny under the kitchen lights from how aroused you are, “It as sweet as I imagined?” He shoves the digits in your mouth and you suck, hard. You moan against his fingers.

“Look at you,” he utters, even though he’s literally craning his face to see you at this angle. “You’re a dirty, dirty girl. This what you wanted? Wanted to show me how dirty you could be? Guess the only time you’re gonna listen is if Daddy’s got a finger in your mouth or in one of your,”

The sound of footsteps make the both of you freeze. Rick takes his fingers out of your mouth, but he makes no move to pull away from behind you or help you pull your pants up. He’s frozen.

The steps enter the kitchen, and when you realize who it is, your stomach sinks. Fucking Daryl.

“The fuck?” He asks, looking around like he does when there’s a new location the group is checking out that he’s skeptical of. It’s impossible to read his expression, and in typical Daryl fashion, you think he’s just going to walk away. Slam the door to the garage, hole up and work on his bike, avoid you like the plague until the end of time because you’re such a little slut. That last part really isn’t his character, fine - but it makes you sick, thinking about Daryl thinking differently about you.

But he doesn’t walk away. Instead, when Rick steps out from behind you and you quickly pull your pants up, Daryl walks up to him and literally punches him in the face. You gasp, and Rick curses, damn near falling on the ground.

“Fuckin’,” but Rick doesn’t finish, because Daryl drops whatever he’s holding and shoves at him again, until he really does almost topple down.

You don’t know what to do. “Daryl,” you say, trying to make your voice sound loud, not whiny. “What the hell are you doing? Rick, he’s. God, leave him alone!”

Daryl does as you say, but he’s fucking pissed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this fucking mad. Rick holds his nose, because blood is dripping from it and ruining his shirt that you just bleached for him.

“What the fuck ‘re you thinkin,’ man? She’s just a kid,” but you cut Daryl off, stomp your foot very maturely and let out a loud, irritated groan. Very attractive, you’re sure.

“I’m not a fucking kid! You’re both always acting like I don’t know what I want, that I can’t handle it and it’s just. You’re wrong, okay? How much more obvious do I need to be? I want Rick. I want you, Daryl. Stop making a big deal out of nothing,” as you rant, they’re both looking at you like you’re crazy, and it honestly feels like Daryl’s looking at you in disgust.

“We’re twice you’re fuckin’ age. You can’t handle it. ‘Less you’ve got experience that I don’t know about, you need’a be with someone your own fucking age,” apparently this is a hill Daryl will die on. You’re so fucking irritated. Why would you chose the two most morally gold men the entire fucking community, you have no idea. You guess that it sort of is part of their appeal, but -

Now Rick’s cutting you off, using a towel to stop the blood coming out of his nose. He looks ridiculous, towel pressed to his face, blood all over him, still trying to establish himself as leader in this kitchen with a hand on his hip.

You think he’s going to defend you. He did just have you bent over the counter and was playing with your pussy. But Daryl’s guilt is spilling onto him now, and he nods, letting out a sigh like he’s just given up.

There’s a lag in conversation, until Rick finally says, “Yeah. Man, I know, I just got caught up. ‘S easy to get carried away, and,” you make a noise that's like a whine and a groan and brat all at the same time - and both men look at you like you’re proving their point - you’re acting immature.

“You both suck, you know that? Any man here would want me, and you’re acting like I’m ugly and,” you don’t finish because Daryl cuts you off. He’s still pissed, and your eyes widen as he walks towards you and backs you up against the refrigerator.

“You know goddamn well you ain’t ugly. Stop playin’ dumb and stop with the bullshit. You’re actin’ like a fuckin’ cat in heat around here and I’m sick of it. What do you need, huh? You wanna get fucked, is that it?” Daryl’s trying to be mean, scare you off, get you to leave him alone - which tells you two things. One: He’s probably so good with dirty talk. Two: He must feel something for you if he’s trying this hard to keep you away.

“Daryl,” you hear Rick warn from behind him, because he is pretty much yelling at you in the kitchen.

Daryl waves him off. “No. Shit, girl, you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy. When’s the last time you had it? Had a man on top of ya given’ you what you want?” You blush bright red, and you reach out to loop your finger into the belt hook of Daryl’s pants. You think for a second he’s going to push you away, but instead he leans closer and barricades you between his arms against the fridge, rolls his hips and grinds himself, dick hard, against you. You moan, even though there’s no friction for you. It’s just hot, you just like it, and you want more and -

“You like that? So desperate for attention that you’ll take anything, won’t ya? People dying left and right, world overrun by fucking corpses and all you can think about is a pair of old men getting in your panties. This what you want, isn’t it? Would make your daddy real fuckin’ proud,” he takes your hand and sets it on his bulge, and you feel it, squeeze it, know that he must be packin’ some fucking heat to be acting the way he is right now.

Rick grabs Daryl by the shoulder to move him out of the way, telling him, “Man, calm down, she’s -” but he doesn’t finish. Looks at you and sees your eyes so big, cheeks so red, looking at Daryl in utter adoration, and that’s when he realizes how fucked they both really are. Daryl would’ve just scared the shit out of another woman - a big man, looming over you like that, talking a bunch of shit - yet you’re looking at him like he’s the sun or something.

You’re really something. Same woman that cries when insects and animals die is the same one that could probably kill a walker with her bare hands. Same woman that sleeps with a stuffed animal she found in a drawer of the house, is the same one begging two old men to fuck her. Pink and bratty and pretty and full of fucking bite, Rick will never understand you. He’s never met another woman like you, didn't know one existed. He’s -

“When’s the last time?” He asks, loving the absent minded look on your face when you turn your head to him. Rick knows you're smart - has seen you problem solve and debate with everyone, knows you were pretty educated before all this shit went down, and you definitely have street smarts. Maybe that’s why it’s so cute, to be the one to make you lose your mind. That you trust him enough to care for you.

Or maybe he’s just a sick bastard.

You take too long to reply and Daryl gently nudges you, takes your fingers out of the loop of his pants and holds your hand instead. He must have the same reaction to seeing you like this, because he’s calmed down considerably.

“Last time you had sex,” he says gently. Back to the big, soft, fuzzy teddy bear version of Daryl - your description of him, when you saw him in his new brown poncho. Rick doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t need to. You’re cute, and the things you say are sweet, period.

You lick over your bottom lip, tongue cute and pink, just like the little shirt you’ve got on. You let out a tiny breath. “Mm, well,” another pause, when you look down and then back up, from Daryl to Rick.

“I’m a virgin.”

────

“It could work, you know,” Carol says, voice a little smug. She’s teasing, but Daryl’s got no idea what the fuck she’s on about. Carol sees his expression and huffs out a laugh, nudging him in the shoulder with a strength he’s not even sure she knows she carries. He grunts.

“It’s a differently world now. Age, our lives before this crap. Doesn’t mean anything. If you,” Daryl cuts her off right there. He shakes his head, downs the rest of the beer that he’s been nursing all night.

“Don’t know what the hell yer talkin’ about,” he grumbles, but that’s a lie. Daryl knows exactly what Carol is referring to, because it’s right in front of him.

It being you.

Carol nudges him again, this time with her shoulder. They’re sitting on the couch together, drinking beer after one of those community meetings Rick loves to have so much, and Daryl feels uncomfortable. Not because of the people he’s around - no, the group he made at the start of all this shit is the reason he feels good. They’re his family.

It just feels weird, to sit around and drink and hang out when there’s a crowd of walkers that could be lurking anywhere, at any time. Daryl will never get used to it, this false sense of normalcy, but maybe that’s just because he’s never had it before.

Fucked up as it is to say, he’s never had a quality of life quite this good. His life was made better during the apocalypse, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only one that can say that. Once again, Daryl feels lonely. Misunderstood. Which makes him feel like a fucking loser and a jerk at the same time. He grabs another beer, straight out of Glenn’s hand who’s standing next to him, and downs it before slamming it down on the coffee table. Glenn shakes his head and walks off, and Carol barks out a laugh.

She’s right. Maybe not about what she said, but Daryl was looking at you when she said it. Maybe he’s just as oblivious as Rick when it comes to you, heart eyes popping out of his head whenever he sees you, all the lust and protectiveness spilling out of his body in the form of annoyance and irritation.

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, which Daryl can see from the couch. Cute feet dangling while you sip on a glass of something clear. Could be vodka, could be water - hard to fucking tell with you. Are you acting like a grown woman, smart and strong and capable, with skills that came from being raised by a father with military training? That’d mean you’re drinking vodka.

Or are you the girl who’s all pink and frills, needing help with the smallest tasks, starting arguments just for attention, showing off too much skin for the end of the fucking world? That’d mean you’re drinking water. The easiest way to tell what version of you you’re going to be is to check if Rick is around, and tonight, of course he is.

Looks like you’re all pink and frills tonight.

Daryl watches you throw your head back and laugh, so pretty, so free - and it makes Daryl happy that you’re happy, despite it all. Your hair is a little messy and Daryl likes it, loves the way your sweater falls off your shoulder and that your sock is slipping off your foot. He’s never liked a woman so much, never met another person who was able to dig themselves so deep under his skin that they’re impossible to remove, even with all the warm showers he’s been taking.

So much for refusing to get used to this place. It’s getting harder and harder to go without these luxuries as time goes on. But that’s a worry for another time.

Rick, coming from out of fucking nowhere, since you were just talking to Maggie, stands next to you. Daryl watches him, the way he places a hand on your leg and bends to slip the sock so gently back onto your foot. He asks you, because it’s a pretty small house so Daryl can hear, if you’re doing alright. Must be vodka you’re drinking then. You nod, looking up at Rick with something like sparkles in your own eyes, and that’s when Carol clears her throat.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she says, finishing her beer off. Daryl blushes bright red, because that means she saw him stare. What a fool he is.

Carol stands to walk away. “‘S how she looks at you too. Just so you know. You deserve what you want, Daryl.” And then she walks off. Fuckin’ Carol, he thinks, shaking his head to himself. She’s his closest friend, probably knows him better than Rick, and she’s got wisdom Daryl can’t even comprehend. He hates that maybe she’s right. It’s too much to think about.

Daryl knows you like him. Shit, he’d be stupid not to see it. He just doesn’t know what to do with that information. Can’t stop thinking about you, what you looked like against that fridge. Like he could do anything to you, and you’d thank him and ask for more. The way you looked at him, like you were seeing a rainbow or an open bar for the first time or some shit - why do you see him that way? What are you seeing when you look at him that he can’t see in himself?

Makes him fucking uncomfortable, but he can’t deny that it does sort of feel good.

Daryl can’t keep his eyes off of you the entire night. Watches you lose your ass to Eugene on the chess set in the living room, bites back a laugh when you ask to see Abraham flex his bicep as a joke, and Rosita nearly pushes you away. When you ask Tara if she thinks you’re hot, all teasing until she blushes - and as everyone trickles out to go to bed, you end up sitting next to Rick on your regular spot on the couch.

You’re such a tease. Such a flirt. Daryl wonders how you grew up, that you’re just so used to getting your way. So used to having people see you the way that you want, know that nobody would ever tell you no. Nobody can ever stay mad at you, or annoyed with you. You’re just…magic. Beyond the new feminine clothes that you picked up in Alexandria, even back when the group was on the road - there was something about you that was unlike any other woman Daryl had met.

Maybe it’s because of your father. Daryl can’t imagine growing up with a man like that. Especially as a woman as girly as you. Your father was cool - tough, strong, smart. Told war stories that made Daryl’s head almost explode, and he loved listening to that shit. Loved being able to trust another man, take some of the load off his and Rick’s back. But he was strict.

Always giving you a hard time. Telling you what to do. In a way, since he passed, it’s like Rick turned into him - took some parts of his personality at least, when it comes to you.

You’re a virgin, probably thanks to your strict father, because girls that look like you should not be virgins still. Daryl can imagine high school and college boys showing up at your door, pictures a nice suburban house, you all dressed up, waiting to be wined and dined and screwed on a Friday night. You deserve a life like that, normal, but you’re never going to get it. There’s no men your age even around now, which is maybe why you’re looking for something in him and Rick -

Or maybe you’re just looking for a daddy. Since yours is gone. Maybe you’re so used to it, being taken care of, that you want it again.

Daryl drinks and drinks and drinks until everyone is out of the house. It’s just you and Rick and him, the usual, and he never realized it until now, that people might be purposely keeping their distance from all of you. One thing, to see a girl like you with an older man, but two of them? Hell, Daryl would wanna keep his distance too.

Just the three of you. In the living room. You drape your legs over Rick’s lap and lean back against the arm of the couch, and Daryl just watches. Your legs are cute. The little bit of skin that sticks out between your shirt and your jeans where the button digs in is cute too. Sexy. Seeing your body fill out ever since you got to Alexandria is a turn on that Daryl didn’t know he had.

You’d look good at any size, any weight, in any outfit. Just that kind of woman. But seeing you gain some weight now that there’s proper access to food is nice to see. Makes Daryl happy, in a weird way, knowing you’re taken care of and -

“Daddy.”

Daryl and Rick both freeze, make eye contact across the coffee table and then both turn to you. With both eyes on you, you shyly giggle, and Daryl truly can’t tell if it’s a role you’re playing or if this is you.

“Come on now,” Rick says lightly, pushing your feet off of his lap. Gently, of course, but you plop them right back down. He sighs, but relents. You’ve really got Rick wrapped around your little finger.

“What? Just seems right to call you that,” you explain, and Daryl laughs. Can’t help but talk shit about Rick too, because honestly, he’s drunk enough for it.

“Yeah, man. She ain’t wrong. Got you doting on ‘er and adorin’ her. Takin’ care of her too. You sure you ain’t her daddy?” The playful mood of Daryl’s doesn’t come out much, but he and Rick have been through a lot together. They’re like brothers. Besides, it’s funny.

Daryl has to laugh so he doesn’t get hard.

Rick is embarrassed, but he laughs anyway. Shakes his head. “You’re one to talk, man,” he says, running a hand over his face. “Two words: Piggyback. Ride. You do a lot for this girl, Dixon,” he looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Daryl smirks, shrugs, and you furrow both eyebrows and tilt your head to the side.

“Piggyback ride sounds like three words. Piggy,” you hold up your fingers, attempting to count. “Back. Ride. Yeah, three.” Daryl and Rick are silent as they look at each other, and then they burst out laughing. You grin, which is how they both know you’re fucking with them. Playing that role you love so much.

It’s cozy in the house, and Daryl is suddenly hit with the itch he has to run somewhere less warm. Candles are lit, the heat is on, the wall is secure and everything feels pretty good right now. You’re all like family, have been through so much, and as much as Daryl wants to sink into this moment, he also wants to run away. You must catch the look on his face.

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. Like you’re protecting yourself. You change the subject, before anyone can interrupt you.

“Have you put any thought into it?” You ask, looking at Daryl, then Rick. They’ve both got no idea what you’re talking about. You sigh, annoyed, then continue. “Taking my virginity. Will you do it?”

Shit.

You really were serious about that shit? Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that.

He thinks about what to say, but Rick cuts him off. “Still can’t believe that you’re a virgin,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve done nothing?” You blush so pink, Daryl wonders if you have superhuman speed and you snuck into the bathroom without him noticing to put on some of that weird pink makeup shit women love to wear.

“I’ve done…other stuff,” you say, as if to prove yourself. “Oral sex, and sometimes ana,” Rick will not let you finish that sentence, thank god. Daryl breathes a sigh of relief as he says, “Don’t. Don’t wanna hear about you letting boys touch you. You gotta lot bravery, kid, acting like a little tease when you’ve never even had a man inside of you. That Daddy shit too. You crazy or something?”

You’re still embarrassed, but you roll your eyes. Rick turns his body more towards you, likes the way you blink at him, lashes long and eyes wide, like you’re waiting for what he’s going to say.

“Maybe I just know what I like. I’m a modern woman and I -” you start going on and on, as you do. And it’s cute, really. Rick likes it, how much you talk, can pretend to be annoyed by it but he really doesn’t want to ever miss a word. But this time he zones out, and all he can focus on is the way your lips look, open and talking and nagging, and he doesn’t want to hear it anymore. Thinks that maybe, since you want it so fucking much - he should help you out.

Should put that pretty mouth to good use, shouldn’t he? Sounds like a good idea to him.

He stands up, liking the way you look up at him. Like you’re waiting for him to give you directions. He feels his dick swelling up - but then again, he’s been half hard ever since you said daddy. He nods his head to you, motions for you to stand up too -

And because he’s daddy, yeah yeah, he puts a hand out for you to grab it. He helps you up, while you and Daryl look at him like he’s a crazy person. Rick nods to Daryl too.

“You comin?’” He asks, nodding toward the stairs. He squeezes your hand. “Think we oughta give her what she wants now. Been patient, ain’t that right?” He looks to you, and you nod, so over eager you almost trip over your own feet. Rick looks back to Daryl.

“‘Bout time we give her what she wants.”

────

“Is it going to hurt?” You ask, because after all this talk, all this teasing, now that you’re really in Rick’s bed - you’re so scared of what’s to come. You’re not scared of Rick and Daryl, because you literally trust them with your life. You’re scared of what it’s going to feel like, having something inside of you that’s bigger than a few fingers.

You look at Daryl and Rick at the side of the bed. Daryl looks a little more hesitant than Rick, keeps watching you like he’s sure you’re going to say you don’t want to do this anymore, but you’d never, no matter how scared you are. Rick looks at you as he takes his belt off, leans down and rubs a hand comfortingly on your head, scratches at your scalp.

“Won’t hurt too bad,” he says a moment later, in just his boxers. “Gonna have Daryl lick you out, get you nice and wet so it’s easy for me to slip in. ‘Be easy to stretch you out after you’ve cum a few times, ain’t that right, Daryl? You cool with that?” Something about Rick ordering Daryl around is doing it for you. You’re scared, but you’re pleasantly tipsy, limbs loose and brain sharp, focused on the feeling of arousal pooling in your panties, stomach warm with the possibility of what’s to come.

“Sure have thought about this, man,” Daryl says in reply, and he walks to the edge of the bed to get on his knees. It’s funny, because he’s right - Rick’s been all, you’re too young for me, kid and I’d never go against your father’s wishes, he was my friend, but here he is, ordering the two of you around like he’s had this scenario planned out in his head for months. Maybe he’s just drunk, or maybe he’s just a born leader. Whatever it is, both you and Daryl obey, and your cunt drips at the thought. You make a whiny noise.

“You gonna get her clothes off or what, man? Think that’s a job for her daddy, ain’t it?” Daryl says, one hand looping around your ankle, wanting to pull you down to the edge of the bed to go down on you. You whimper, voice leaving your throat, because Daryl using that nickname in regards to Rick is making your head spin.

How many times have you had a finger on your clit with your legs tightened, trying to squeeze an orgasm out, with the only thought in your head daddy daddy daddy while you thought about Rick or Daryl playing with your pussy, ordering you around, fucking you so hard it hurt to talk? Too many fucking times. In your fantasies, you imagined your father finding out, wanting to get back at him for every horrible thing he ever did to you by fucking both of his friends.

Look at me now, dad, you think, warmth spreading throughout your body because you’re a sicko. It’s so hot, being bad, being grown enough to do this but young enough to know that it’s naughty and wrong.

Not that you only want to fuck Rick and Daryl to get back at your dad. No, they'd still be hot as hell even if you didn't have issues.

Rick sits you up. Maneuvers you like you're a fragile doll, all while you try to commit the look of him shirtless, skin slightly tanned, the scruff on his face, to memory. The look of Daryl at the edge of the bed, wanting to pleasure you. Rick’s calloused hands, fingers taking off your shirt and then your pants, handing them to Daryl to put off to the side. You can take your own clothes off, but Rick wants to, and for some reason that sends your brain blank.

This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“Lay back down,” Rick says gently, pulling his own boxers off. His cock is hard, and he jerks it for a second, holds the head of it loosely and rubs his thumb over the tip, spreads the precum around and lets out a soft breath. “You’re alright, sweetheart. Let Daryl get you nice and wet so I can fill you up. Can you do that? Know you want it,” and since you’re naked now, Daryl pulls you all the way to the edge of the bed, where he spreads your legs and keeps your knees under his big hands to keep them apart, licks a stripe from your hole up to your clit. “Know you’ve been thinking about it,” Rick says watching.

Rick has a nice cock, just like you expected. It’s big, pink and veiny, and under the dim lights in the bedroom the look of the head all covered in precum makes you lick your lips. Rick must see that, because he moves to sit by your head, chuckling like he can read you that easily even when you're spread open for his friend to lick your pussy.

You shiver.

Daryl pulls away, the warm feeling of his mouth gone, and it makes you ache. “Ain’t that something,” Daryl murmurs, head leaned against your thigh for a second. “Pussy just as pretty as the rest of ya’.”

Holy fuck. You lean back, gripping at the sheets of the bed, until Rick grabs your hand. He alternates between squeezing your hand and brushing your hair away from your face. You’ve had oral sex before, sure, but those times were all with preppy suburban boys who didn’t want to get dirty. You’ve seen the way Daryl eats. Slurps, fucking goes all in. He’s doing the same on your pussy, and his tongue is so warm, so wet, you try to close your thighs around his head because the stimulation is just too much but it’s impossible with the way he’s holding you down. Your back arches, and you squeeze Rick’s hand so tight you worry you’re going to break it.

“Not done yet,” Daryl scolds, pulling away from your cunt with a glossy chin. Rick tsks you as well, tells you to relax and take it, to cum all over Daryl’s tongue so he can fit his dick inside of you.

It only takes a minute more, of Daryl sucking on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, prodding around like he’s curious, and for Rick to say, “Dirty girl, you are. Letting a man twice your age stick his tongue inside you. Daddy’s gotta keep an eye on you,” because woah. Just. Fucking hell. You cum with a cry, moaning Daryl’s name like a prayer while bucking your hips up, pussy squeezing his fingers that are prepping you for Rick’s cock.

Daryl keeps licking, sucking, until you thrash and cum again and Rick tells him to stop. Not because you can’t handle it, no, it’s probably because Rick is so ready to fuck you, his dick is literally leaking onto his fingers. Both of his hands are going to ache, from the way you’re squeezing one and the way he’s jacking himself off with the other. He grabs some of his own mess, sticky, and uses his pointer finger to spread it over your lips like lip gloss. He grins, all sexy and cocky - and you’re not even thinking, body so trembly and hot from Daryl eating you like you're his last meal.

Daryl Dixon eats pussy like it’s going to make him cum. You wonder if maybe it could, file that fantasy away for another time.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur in regards to the lipgloss, and you lick your lips to taste it. Tongue pink and wet, expression fucked out and he hasn’t even got his cock in you yet.

Rick - he’s gotta fuck you. Like, now.

When Daryl stands up, gets off his knees, you look up at him and ask him to take his clothes off. “Wanna see you, Daryl, please?” You beg, wanting him to get naked. You know he’s sensitive, about his scars and just his body in general. Doesn’t realize how fucking sexy he is, all strong and big and tough and perfect. But he shakes his head.

“Nah,” he replies, although his voice isn’t scolding. You can tell that he hates disappointing you. He helps Rick pull you up so you’re laying on the pillows, pushes your knees up so your feet are resting flat against the bed, giving easy access to your sopping wet cunt. “Tonight’s about you, girly. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” You pout, but you’re not going to pressure him. He sits beside you on the bed, right next to the pillows, and grabs your hand, looks down at you and for the first time ever:

Asks if he can kiss you. You nod, You’ve never kissed Daryl before, or Rick for that matter. Have been so focused on cock, you’ve never really thought about it, which is kind of embarrassing. Skipping some steps. You’ve always gotten ahead of yourself.

When Daryl leans down to kiss you, cupping your face with one big hand, you feel Rick grabbing at your tits. He’s such a gentleman, so traditional outside of everything that has to do with you, that his…freakiness is kind of unexpected. But you like the feeling, of him admiring your body, touching your waist and the little plush part of your stomach, rubbing his hands up and down before cupping your breasts, thumb playing with your sensitive nipples.

Your back arches off the bed, and Daryl’s lips, slow and soft as he dominates your mouth is such a stark contrast to the way Rick is touching you like you’re an object for his amusement, tip of his cock poking into your leg. “Fuckin’ beautiful, just like I imagined. Little body just made to be admired and touched,” he murmurs, and you moan into Daryl’s mouth, which makes more room for his tongue. “Almost feels like a shame to get you all dirty. Break your little pussy in until it craves my cock.”

You’re clinging to Daryl while Rick talks about you, feeling like you’re in heaven with the two men you trust most in the world on top of you. “Bet you want me to though, silly girl. Tell me you want me to ruin you. Want me and Daryl ruin you for anyone else.”

You pull away from Daryl’s lips as best as you can to whine, reach a hand out to Rick to get his attention, as if you need to do that. You always imagined you’d be a seductress in bed, know exactly what to say and do and be confident about it. But right now you can hardly form words, so overwhelmed with having Rick and Daryl hovering over you, it’s hard to even form thoughts - your pussy clenches though.

“Nobody else. Ever,” you say, voice soft and a little spaced out. You’ve always gotten like this after an orgasm, clingy and spacey and very, very pliable. You whine again. “Cock, Daddy. Please. Now.”

This time, Daryl pulls away, takes a good look at your body and palms himself through his pants. Perfect tits and a perfect body, cute hips and a bellybutton with a scar, must’ve had a piercing at some point, which fits just how sexy and cute you are. Your sweet little socks are still on and you’ve got a shiny anklet on during the middle of the apocalypse. You’re a perfect woman, and what you see in him, Daryl will never understand - but he’s not going to take it for granted. Isn’t going to overstay his welcome either. He makes eye contact with Rick, and yeah, this is uncomfortable. Slightly.

Because Rick has his dick out. But it’s not like Daryl’s looking at him, no, it’s all about you. He can’t wait to see the way you take Rick’s cock. Can’t believe that he gets to be part of this - because it’s always been Rick, you know? That’s who you wanted first. You want Rick, might even love him, if Daryl is reading the light in your eyes correctly. He wants that for you. Love. He wants whatever you want.

“Go gentle,” he tells Rick, to which the other man snorts, a noise kind of unsexy given the moment, but you still make grabby hands at him, grip at his biceps so hard and dig your nails in. Rick hisses. “Fuck, alright, alright, ‘m going,” he murmurs, then shoots Daryl a look. “Should tell her to be gentle,” he grumbles.

Rick positions himself at your entrance, looking at you closely. There’s something Daryl sees there, a spark, so magnetic it’s like a physical thing, the energy between you two. Feels like he’s intruding on something, but he leaves it, just squeezes your hand when you let go of Rick’s arms.

“You’re good, sweetheart. Gonna feel real good in a second. Hold onto Daryl’s hand, alright? Your Daryl’s got you. Trust him so much. don’t you? Daddy’s got you, gonna be, shit,” Rick pushes himself all the way inside of you, and holy fuck, he’s never felt anything like this before. Didn’t know a pussy could grip this tight while still being so wet. You’re fucking made for him, Rick’s sure of that now, because every thrust and every noise out of your mouth makes his head feel cloudy and his body heat up with nothing but love for you.

Goddamn, Rick loves you so much.

He looks down at you and sees a beautiful woman who’s been given the short end of the stick in this life. Deserves so much more than this world, deserves so much more than Rick, and maybe that’s why the idea of Rick and Daryl is okay to him. You deserve it, really, you do - such a pretty young thing with a cunt and a body sculpted by a perverted old god somewhere, and dammit if Rick doesn’t want to protect you and give you anything and everything you could ever want.

When he cums, spills his seed inside of you and presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, he swallows your little noises and without even thinking, reaches for Daryl's hand.

All for you.

────

Daryl tenses up when Rick enters the kitchen, frozen like there’s an animal he’s not trying to spook. Only this time, instead of a deer he wants to make his dinner, his hand is frozen around the handle of a jug of water that’s in the fridge. Purified, because every house in Alexandria has one of these. Spoiled brat suburban people, Daryl thinks, even though he’s technically one of them now.

He waits for Rick to do whatever he’s going to do in the kitchen, but when he does nothing, just sits there and waits for Daryl to turn around, he knows the reason Rick is even in here right now is to talk to him. Daryl grumbles under his breath.

“Yeah, man?” He asks, putting the jug of water on the counter and closing the fridge. Rick looks frazzled as fuck. Face red, the buttons on his shirt not lining up, because it looks like he got ready in a rush. He rubs under his nose in a quick gesture he does whenever he’s stressed out. Daryl knows this man well now. Really well. Even knows what he looks like when he cums, and for that - he’s fucking glad Merle’s not alive to see the situation he’s got himself in.

After that night together, when good ‘ol Rick popped your cherry and Daryl watched on, comforted you - things changed. Without any further conversation, you must’ve taken it as all you needed to go forth and publicly claim Rick. And for that matter, Daryl too. It’s been weeks now, and everyone in the group stays clear whenever you’re all in the room together. You’re always kissing Rick on the cheek, sticking your hand in his jacket pocket to stay close, standing behind Daryl whenever he’s sitting with his back exposed, looping your arms around his neck just to get close or sitting yourself down on his lap at the most inconvenient times.

He likes it, deep down. ‘Course he does. Daryl fucking loves you, everything about you, even when you’re greedy and spoiled and just plain annoying. Too perfect to be real, and he’d do anything for you. It’s annoying as fuck, but it is what it is.

Just weird, wondering what people think of all of it. If anyone wonders what happens behind closed doors. When you wake up in Rick’s bed between them, after someone from the group has to literally seek Rick out because he’s been so distracted. Daryl will never forget the look on Eugene’s face, when he saw you in bed between them. Daryl could laugh just thinking about it.

But it’s not good, Rick being distracted. He’s gotta get his shit together, he’s -

Oh, Daryl can’t talk shit and he knows it. You’re distracting him too. Once you got a taste of cock, of sex, you’ve been insatiable. Daryl hears Merle’s voice calling him a fool in his head whenever Rick watch you go down on him, sucking his cock and cupping his balls while he sits on the edge of the bed. Rick stands behind you, egging you on, pressing the bottom of his shoe against your back to make you take his cock deeper, tells you in a raspy voice, “Atta girl, fuck, mouth made for sucking cock, is that right? Look at you. Making Daryl feel all good. Prettiest little thing in the world, baby. Can’t wait for my turn after.”

Rick’s a filthy bastard, even to Daryl’s surprise. But - it’s working. All of you. Together. Daryl doesn’t wanna see Rick’s cock any more than he has to, but he’s just happy to be part of something that makes you happy. Like he said, he’d do anything for you.

And deep down, he knows he’d do anything for Rick too. Man has got him through some of the hardest, toughest shit of his life. Is probably the reason Daryl’s still even alive. People always joke, calling Daryl his guard dog. It pisses him off, because he ain’t no dog, but - they’re not wrong.

After Daryl’s done pouring a cup of water, Rick answers. He’s fidgety, and Daryl doesn’t like it. What the fuck is his problem? Did something happen? Rick’s supposed to be the cool, calm, collected one. But lately he’s been losing his shit. Daryl wonders if it has anything to do with you.

Truthfully, Rick’s moods usually do have something to do with you.

Daryl’s stomach sinks thinking something happened to you.

“You seen ‘er?” Rick asks, looking guilt, like he lost a class pet he was supposed to be caring for or something. “She was supposed to meet me at Deanna’s for a meeting. She’s always runnin’ off, but something feels. I dunno,” Rick runs a hand through his hair, trying to remain calm. “Left Deanna’s and came to bed, thinking she’d show up, but I still haven’t seen her. I told her no more patrolling or guarding the gate, so I doubt she’s doing that. God, man, please tell me you’ve seen her,” Rick really sounds pathetic, Daryl thinks.

Which scares the shit out of him. Where the hell are you? You’re always running off and doing stupid shit, which is annoying as hell because you’re smart. You know better. It’s almost like you’ve got something to prove to everyone else, especially now that everyone’s been so weird about you with Rick and Daryl. Maybe you left, went on a run without telling anyone? Took a shift patrolling even when you’re not supposed to, just to show you’re tough?

Daryl nods at Rick, like he understands, and then motions towards the door. “You wanna,” he’s about to ask if they should go look for you, but Rick nods, doesn’t even need Daryl to finish.

They start walking, but it’s dark and Daryl doesn’t know where to find you. He asks, “You check with Maggie and Carol next door?” But he feels like a dick for even asking that. Of course Rick did, he’s not a fucking idiot.

Rick nods, looks like he’s thinking the same thing, and then it’s silent except for the scuffing sound of them walking along the dirty streets. Rick makes a mental note to talk to Deanna about cleaning them up, figure out how to do so without taking too much energy out of everyone when there’s other important labor that needs to be done.

“She’s drivin’ me crazy, man,” Rick says, shaking his head when Daryl looks over. He obviously knows Rick is talking about you. “So much shit going on, and she chooses right now to go missing? To not listen. It’s cute an’ all, sometimes. Gotta admit. That stubborn little streak, but hell,” they stop walking for a minute, turn to each other. “She’s fuckin’ killing me.”

Daryl gets it. Rick knows he does. But there’s nothing he can say that will make the situation better. Besides, as much as they get along, learning to properly share you and not get all up in their feelings about it - the boundaries are still a little blurred. Need to be discussed. Is Daryl allowed to tell Rick what to do when it comes to you? He’s got some thoughts, wants to tell Rick to stop spanking you for fun and instead use it to properly teach you a lesson.

But he thinks that’d be overstepping his boundary. It already happened once, when Daryl walked in on Rick fucking you one morning. He was spooning you, dick buried deep inside of you, gripping your jaw while he told you filthy things that turned Daryl red. He didn’t mean to watch, but shit was going down with Deanna and Rick was nowhere to be found so of course Daryl went looking, and then he saw Rick hit you lightly in the face and Daryl couldn’t just stand by and watch that.

Not you, so sweet that you spent last night massaging Daryl’s back even when he tried to scare you off of touching him like that multiple times. You kissed his scars, made up fake stories about where each of them came from - shark bite, alien surgery, some other bullshit that made him laugh. You said the truth about their origin made you sad. You cuddled him and kissed him and told him you love him, and he still feels like a dick for not replying. Not saying it back.

Daryl’s just not good at that shit. Hates himself for it, but he’s just not. ‘S why he doesn’t deserve you.

But you and Rick are fucking weird. Sexually, Daryl is still learning. Rick made him look under the covers that day he smacked you, made you tell him how wet you were, how much you liked it a little rough just so Daryl wouldn’t beat his ass for putting his hands on you. And don’t get Daryl started, when you start sucking on his fingers, trying to have a normal conversation with Rick over a beer while you lick and suck his digits until one of them gives you the real thing - dick.

You’re a force, that’s for sure. And when Daryl and Rick hear your laugh by the opening gate of Alexandria, they both know that, once again - you went against their wishes. If you’re putting yourself in danger just to get punished, they need to have a talk with you. Because it’s not that you’re not qualified to stand watch - there’s just no need.

Daryl would happily take any shift of anything if it meant you were safe. But you just don’t fucking listen, and every step closer to you is making Daryl, and Rick, for that matter - more and more pissed.

“You’re a pretty little thing, you know that? Tell me, who’s in charge here? Certainly can’t be you. No offense, you’re just,” a pause, and when Daryl finally sees who it is you’re talking to, the voice finishes, “Too fuckin’ pretty.”

Rick and Daryl find you, weapon in hand, but you’re relaxed and casual and talking to someone on the other side of the gate. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself while you’re all loose and giggly, when this is probably the most serious job in the fucking community. Daryl wants to haul you over his shoulder, take you home and smack your ass blue. He’s never been so pissed, and who the fuck is in the watchtower letting this shit happen?

The voice talking to you belongs to a man, tapping a baseball bat against the fence with a smile on his face. But it’s not just him. There’s at least three trailers behind him, spread out, and Daryl doesn’t even have to look at Rick to know he’s about to go psycho.

Good, Daryl thinks, he’ll join him. What the fuck were you thinking, not calling for backup?

“Not exactly taking in new people right now. Supplies are…tight,” Rick lies, but you jump in, and it’s the first time Daryl has really seen how naive you are. Realizes that he and Rick have been putting you at a disadvantage - first you had your father, making all the choices for you, protecting you. And you got lucky with Rick and Daryl. Have never actually met a bad man in your life.

Just because someone is smiling, doesn’t mean they’re a good person. Are you - no, because Daryl doesn’t want to think anything mean about you, but surely you don’t think because the man standing behind the opening to the community is handsome, that he’s safe? Maybe you heard Rick talking about the community needing more men? But this is - goddamn, you have to understand that it didn’t mean letting random men into the community? At night? While you’re all alone?

They’ve got to teach you better. Daryl is kicking himself right now.

“Rick, he’s friendly. They just need a place to stay and,” Rick cuts you off, grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you behind him. Sort of rough, but in this case? Daryl is glad.

“No,” Rick says firmly, standing tall and firm. His hand is clenched into a fist so tight, Daryl worries he’s about to shatter the bones in his hand. His other hand is on his gun, and Daryl wonders where this is going to go. “C’mon,” he tells you, grabbing at your hand, but you slap it away.

Oh, you’re going to fucking get it when you’re back home. You’re going to wish Rick was the one spanking your little ass, because Daryl has never been so pissed at you.

The man at the gate laughs, tip of his bat digging into the dirt. Daryl’s pretty good about picking up vibes of people, and this person is making his stomach sink and his skin crawl. Especially when some other men from the trailers walk up.

“We don’t mean any harm,” the man says, and that’s sarcasm Daryl detects. He’s about to just start shooting, has a loaded gun on him for a reason, but then the man starts talking again. Directed at you.

“Tell your daddy what we talked about. He is your daddy, ain’t he?” He asks, another joke that you don’t understand, nodding towards Rick. You shrug, biting on your bottom lip. “No. Well, yeah. Something like that,” you reply, and before anyone can stop you, you reach around Rick to open the gate.

thoughts on a part two? 💓

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blank-potato · 9 days ago

Text

need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept here. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares.

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly.

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I’m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body.

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room.

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it.

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing.

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it.

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word.

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good.

But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body.

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible.

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie.

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

You groan into your hands, face burning.

Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off.

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles.

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

#john walker #thunderbolts #john walker x reader #x reader #fluff #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts x reader #gender neutral reader #implied smut #john walker fanfic #friends to lovers #thunderbolts*#the new avengers #new avengers #marvel fanfic #mcu fic #marvel fic

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zorosangell · 6 months ago

Text

⛥ﾟ・。 oiran

synopsis: while luffy and the others are off saving sanji, zoro is assigned the role of a ronin, and told to keep a low profile as he roams the land of wano... but he risks revealing himself and the entire crew when he discovers you're a nearby oiran, and in need of his rescue.

cw: lots and lots of fluff, comfort, zoro is down bad for reader, reader is super pretty, zoro does NOT play about you, took me hella long for some reason.

a/n: i took the song hell n back by summer walker as inspo for this

"Thanks," Zoro nodded with a smile, giving the boat owner a thankful nod as he took a box of sushi from him, quickly setting it down in his lap and cracking it open.

Though he had failed to notice the word WASABI written in bold on the side of the tray.

In his travels throughout the Flower Capital, Zoro had landed himself in a little bit of trouble, having been arrested for the crimes of a serial killer, and convicted as a murderer when he cut down a very important magistrate—who was the real culprit—at his own execution.

Luckily, after defeating the magistrate's followers and walking out the execution yard, he had managed to stumble across a literal sushi boat leaving one of the docks, which gave him the perfect means to escape.

While also offering the perfect opportunity for him to stuff his face.

Eager to eat, he picked up the first piece, which was topped with fresh salmon nigiri and salmon roe, the rice a little more green than the swordsman expected.

But he was too hungry to care, not giving it a second thought as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

An act he was quick to regret.

Cheeks puffed and nose scrunched, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple as his face contorted into an expression of discomfort.

'It burns!'

Frantic for something to cool his tongue, he snapped his head around, letting out small hums of muffled agony as he searched for his sake gourd.

Though the spiciness made him feel like his mouth was being seared by flames, most of the heat was moving upward toward the back of his nose, hitting his sinuses just enough to make his eyes water.

Typically, he enjoyed things that sat more on the bitter side, but he'd never imagined food could get this spicy.

Quickly grabbing his sake, he guzzled well over half of it, ignoring the two large streams running down the sides of his mouth as that was what finally stopped the burning.

But as he began to regain feeling in his mouth, he realized that the sushi piece itself actually tasted delicious, slightly smiling at the flavor.

'Looks like I'll just need a sake chaser.'

"My, my! Look at this!" the older man next to him gasped, marveling at a mysterious flyer in his hands. "To think that such a breath-taking beauty actually exists! It's unbelievable!"

Completely unbothered, Zoro went back to stuffing his face, following each bite with a huge gulp of sake.

Though his curiosity began to pique when the man continued to stare at the paper, almost as if he was hypnotized.

"What's unbelievable?" Zoro asked, muffled, as he gulped down another piece. "Hot!"

"An oiran nearby by the name of (f/n)! She's said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country!" the man answered, holding up the paper for the swordsman to see. "It's rumored that her beauty would give oiran Komurasaki a run for her money."

Zoro took another lazy swig of his gourd, brow raised as he flippantly glanced at the flyer, only for his eye to blow wide at the sight.

It was you, your features gracefully laid out and unmistakable in the detailed ink painting.

Surprised, Zoro spit out his mouthful of sake, shooting it directly into the face of a nearby patron.

"Hey! If you don't like wasabi, don't eat it! But I won't tolerate you spitting on other customers!" the owner of the boat shouted, brows furrowed as he glared at the swordsman. "Hold on! Have you even paid?!"

"Lemme see that!" Zoro growled, completely ignoring the owner as he snatched the flyer out of the old man's hands, looking at it closer.

It was indeed you, as radiant and stunning as he'd last seen, which was well over a month ago.

He wasn't told what identity you were assigned or where you were stationed—a precaution taken by Kin'emon as he'd seen throughout his travels how hell-bent the swordsman was on protecting you, and couldn't trust the man not to seek you out if he knew.

And, of course, his intuition would be right, as the paper suddenly began to crumple in Zoro's hand, his expression dropping into a deep scowl.

Zoro was dim, but he wasn't stupid.

During his time in the capital, he had managed to piece together what the whole oiran business was about.

He'd overheard the stories.

He'd seen the men.

It was nothing but an excuse for stuffy rich guys to gawk and leer at women, treating them like objects and products to be bought rather than actual people.

His fist clenched even tighter, veins bulging in his hand as it practically shook, nearly destroying the paper.

While eating out somewhere nice, he'd eavesdrop on some of the stories the men of higher status would tell, and to call their actions harassment would be a grave understatement.

He grit his teeth, attempting to fight off the swell of anger threatening to burst from his chest.

Just the thought of any man doing those things to you made his blood boil, and his hands itch for his swords.

Plan be damned, he wasn't gonna let anything happen to you on his watch.

Abruptly turning around, he yolked up the boat owner by the front of his yukata, the man letting out a fearful yelp as Zoro pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He held out the crumpled flyer for the man to see, tone deadly serious and leaving no room for argument.

"Tell me where I can find her..."

"Care for some sake, sir?" a blonde-haired geisha asked, a slight flush on her cheeks as she approached Zoro, who was sitting rigidly on his tatami mat.

The man was certainly a sight, and every other girl in the room was having a hard time focusing on their clients with him sitting so close.

He was significantly more handsome than their typical patrons.

Pronounced jawline.

Clearly muscular physique.

Dark, bedroom eyes.

A dream come true for a woman in this profession.

"No, thank you," he curtly denied, not even bothering to look the girl in the eye.

But he had turned down every one of their advancements.

Yet, in all actuality, he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Once the boat owner told him where to find you, he immediately jumped ship, leaving behind some money to pay for his meal before landing on the riverbank.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him with nightfall drawing ever closer, as he knew that was when red-light districts were at their most busy.

And only after mugging a few rich guys—using their money to pay the exorbitant entrance fee—did he finally gain access to your room, entering himself under the guise of a wealthy samurai.

Then, he laid in wait, watching with a certain disdain as the other men practically jumped the other girls, getting particularly handsy particularly quick.

But he did his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the fact that you had yet to arrive, worry beginning to spike in his veins as he had been sitting there for thirty minutes, with little to no sign of you at all.

"Hey," he called, snappily, snatching the girl out of her lovesick stupor. "When the hell is the oiran comin' out?"

Visibly, her shoulders dropped, a pout settling on her painted lips as she finally caught the message, now understanding why he was so cold toward everyone else.

He was waiting for her.

'Much like the rest of the men that pass through nowadays...'

Sucking up her slight annoyance, she faced the man with a polite smile, fixing her grip on the tray of liquor.

"Oiran (f/n) will be—"

"Lords! And esteemed samurai of Wano!" an older woman suddenly exclaimed, seeming to appear out of nowhere, utterly elated.

Zoro snapped his attention away from the girl, eye zeroing in on the door the madam was standing in front of.

He could sense you standing just behind it, and was fighting off the all-encompassing urge to bust it down and drag you away from the place.

"It is with great honor that the Ogimoto House presents to you our very own shining star... oiran (f/n)!"

As the door slammed open, a woman in the corner suddenly began to play the shamisen, the other girls joining together to gracefully dance as you made your entrance, carefully stepping into the light.

And once Zoro caught sight of you, nearly all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

You were a vision.

Your hair was tied in a both simple yet elaborate updo, adorned with several golden, gem-encrusted hairpins, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your kimono was heavily layered, but richly decorated with bold greens and intricate embroidery that accented the fabric's dragon design—the most prominent one, ironically, missing its left eye, much like your swordsman.

Your makeup was surprisingly simple for an oiran, more focused on accentuating your natural features, while offering small pops of color to your cheeks.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was tightening over itself, rendering him unable to breath.

Just being able to look at you brought him an embarrassing amount of happiness.

Lowering your fan, you flashed the men a coy smile, their eyes quite literally turning into hearts at the sight.

"Sorry for the delay," you simpered, gracefully walking into the room.

Because of traditional oiran etiquette, it was impossible for you to move faster than a mile an hour, but that only added to the appeal as that made it seem as if you were floating through the air.

Calculated, your eyes scanned over the crowd, analyzing each face within the room.

You'd recognized a few of the usual suspects—rich, thirsty men who would fall over themselves trying to catch your attention—and noticed a few new faces—skeptical types who wanted to see if the rumors of your looks were true.

But one man among them all stuck out to you.

You'd recognize that head of hair anywhere...

Internally, you let out a sigh, fighting off the wide smile threatening to break out on your face.

'He just can't follow directions, can he?'

Your swordsman.

Though you two had only been apart for about a month, give or take, you couldn't help but allow your heart to swell with joy at seeing him again.

Countless nights you'd found yourself pining over the man, missing his presence by your side.

His genuine, obnoxious laugh.

His funny, snarky remarks.

His drunken, horrible flirting.

His bad habit of resting his hand on your hip, keeping you tethered to his side.

All that was why you found your feet carrying you over to his mat, entire body burning at the intensity of his stare and the cockiness of his smirk.

"May I join you, sir?" you asked, slyly, biting back the grin threatening to crack on your lips. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

He let out a quiet chuckle, perfectly fine with playing along, so long as he was your only customer.

"Be my guest," he greeted, his hand instinctively coming up to pat his thigh.

You typically sat in his lap when you two were alone, but he was so excited to see you, he didn't really care.

Though, when your eyes flashed him a scolding look, his hand halted in mid-air, brow raising in confusion.

You glanced toward the other patrons discreetly, taking notice that they all were still watching intently, before turning your attention back to your swordsman.

'We can't do that here, dumbass,' your expression said. 'You're gonna blow my cover.'

It finally hit him, and he nodded with an adorably vacant look.

'My bad,' he backed off.

"Oiran (f/n)!" a man suddenly shouted from across the room, grabbing everyone's attention as he bustled to his feet and scrambled toward you. "Oiran (f/n)!"

Despite your confusion, you turned to him with a warm look, masking your apprehension.

"Yes, Sir Kyoguro?" you asked.

You'd recognized the man from a few of his previous visits, and you made a point to remember every name you met, in case they could be of use to you later.

"I must say, I am bewitched by your beauty, absolutely enthralled by your grace, and in awe of your poise!"

You pretended to be abashed by the comments, slightly hiding yourself behind your fan.

"Sir Kyoguro, you flatter me."

Zoro nearly gagged, rolling his eyes at the sight.

He knew you were faking it, seeing as you'd just given him a real reaction only moments ago, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"(f/n)!" the man eagerly lurched forward, taking your hand in his. "I am utterly taken with you. I see no other woman that can take your place in my heart!"

You fought off a grimace, smiling down uneasily at the stranger, who seemed to have found it in his right to touch you without your permission.

Zoro, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

Arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gripped his yukata, occupying his hands to prevent himself from shooting up and severely hurting the man.

It was painfully obvious that you were uncomfortable, yet you seemed to be taking it in stride.

How many other interactions had you had like this one?

How many men have touched you without your say so?

How many times have you had to hide your distress behind a kind smile?

'Bastard...'

He grit his teeth, fingers tightening painfully into a fist.

"This is why... I want you to marry me!"

Your entire world scratched to halt, Zoro's eye widening at the words.

"I-I beg your pardon?" you weakly stuttered, utterly shocked, praying you heard him wrong.

"I've already paid off your contract and then some. So tonight we leave for the Flower Capital! There we will be wed! And we'll finally be able to start our lives together!"

Your heart practically sank to your feet, the very thought making you shiver under your skin.

It was unheard of for an oiran to get a marriage proposal just within a month of working, much less one where the client pays well over the asking price.

Kin'emon telling you that fact was the only thing reassuring you throughout this whole endeavor.

As cheesy as it was, you had no intention of marrying anyone else in this world other than Zoro, whether the wedding was real or not.

But it wasn't like you could outright say no, or simply run away.

You'd blow your cover that way, and the others needed you to find out everything you could from the nobles of Wano.

'Of all people, why did this have to happen to me?'

It was safe to say... you were shitting your pants.

In a desperate attempt to debunk this, you turned to the madam, but she gave you a proud thumbs up, nodding in concurrence.

'Fuck!'

"And while we're on the topic... please forgive me if this comes off too vulgar for your delicate ears," the man leaned in closer, whispering so only you could catch it.

You shivered, terrified of what nonsense he might say.

"Once we reach the Flower Capital, I must insist that we start the process of producing an heir at once. My family is in great need of one, you see? And we need to start his upbringing right away."

You nearly laughed at the statement, eyes wide, nearly disbelieving of the words that just left his mouth.

There's no way he just said that...

But he did.

And Zoro heard him loud and clear.

And right then and there was when the swordsman decided the time for sitting idly by was over, plan be damned—Traffy could make another one.

It'd be a cold day in hell before he ever let you get married to some pervert for some mission, much less have a kid with him.

Silently, Zoro stood up from his mat, rising to his full height ominously quiet.

The entire room suddenly turned their attention to him, you included, your lips letting out a faint gasp as you caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were darkened with malice.

You recognized the look instantly... and you knew it spelled trouble.

'Oh, no...'

Your swordsman clenched his fist, grabbing the air as if it were one of his swords, before winding up his arm for a swing.

"Zoro, please... he didn't mean anything by it... we'll figure something out, alright?" you tried to calm him down, completely ignoring the fact that you used his real name, and the fact that it was completely inappropriate to talk to a customer that way.

You were more preoccupied with making sure he didn't kill anybody.

But his mind was already made up.

Suddenly, a dark, shiny substance coated his arm from his fingertips to his elbow, emanating a menacing, purple glow.

'HA!'

If he was using his haki, there was no point in talking anymore.

You sighed, exasperatingly rolling your eyes, giving up on any hopes of calming him down and simply waiting for the inevitable.

"No Sword Style... Tatsumaki!"

Faster than everyone else could see, he swung his arm through the air, creating a giant, aggressive air funnel that knocked the sniveling man before you out cold—the winds so harsh that it blew the hairpins right out your hair and tore through the roof of the house, letting in the torrential downpour from outside.

While everyone was distracted, Zoro scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, your yelp of surprise snatching back their attention.

"Hey!" the madam shouted, furious. "You put her down this instant!"

"I'm stealing the woman!" Zoro announced, running right past her and out the exit, snatching up the large sack of money the man left. "And the cash!"

"Don't tell them that!" you lightly smacked him in the chest, laughing, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the pelting rain forcing your loose hair to stick to your face.

Breaking down the door to the exit, your swordsman sprinted out toward the dirt road, the owner of the house along with your other loyal followers chasing you both outside.

"Get back here!"

"Where are you going with the oiran?!"

"You can't take her!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Oiran (f/n)! We'll save you!"

As if you needed saving...

"Y'know, most guys say hi, how are ya before kidnapping a girl from her house," you teased, turning to your swordsman.

"Most girls typically say thank you after being saved from an arranged marriage," he countered, his trademark cocky grin plastered on his face.

"What other girls are you saving?" you playfully huffed, brows furrowing as you tugged at his cheek.

Amused, Zoro let out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes.

He'd missed you... desperately.

Looking over your shoulder, you checked to see if the men were still chasing you, happy to see that they had given up, all of them stopping and turning back toward the house.

'So much for loyal...'

Pushing the thought to the side, you suddenly cupped your swordsman's face in your hands, thumb softly gliding over his cheekbone.

"I missed you," you smiled up at him, sincerely, taking a moment to re-familiarize yourself with his face.

You'd missed him... desperately.

And the man seemed even handsomer than you remembered.

Finally a decent distance away from the house, Zoro stopped in his tracks, pulling over right in the middle of the road.

"Stand on my feet," he stated, shifting his grip to put you down.

You were only wearing tabi socks, and he didn't want you to get muddy feet.

Following his instructions, you stepped carefully onto the tops of his feet, his hands sliding down to your hips to balance you.

Though, once he was sure you were steady, he didn't hesitate in pulling you flush against him and smashing his lips against yours.

Your eyes widened, slightly surprised by the sudden movement, before you instantly melted into his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms felt wrapped around you.

He kissed you like he was famished, like you were water in his desert, his blunt fingertips having a near bruising grip on your hips.

Moments like these made him wonder what life would be like if the two of you didn't have to split up every two fucking seconds.

Pulling you even closer, he only deepened the kiss, his eagerness electrifying you right down to your core.

Emotional displays of this magnitude... coming from him?

In public?

You never thought you'd see the day.

Pulling back with a soft pop, you took a moment to catch your breath, unable to fight off the stupid smile settling on your lips.

"I should get married off more often," you chuckled, breathlessly, resting your hands on his chest for purchase.

He scoffed, scooping you up again before going back to running, hoping to find somewhere to shelter you both from the rain.

Glancing down at your smug grin, he smirked, rolling his eyes before placing a quick peck on your forehead.

"Don't push it."

#one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #zorosangell #op

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starshipsofstarlord · 21 days ago

Text

divine like aged wine | daryl dixon

summary. daryl begins to feel like you will get bored of him sooner or later as he is older than you, and starting to show his age. you show him just how much that doesn’t matter, and that despite the grey hairs and looming wrinkles, that you still love him (6.2k)

warnings. smut, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, praise, slight hair pulling, insecure!daryl, older!daryl + younger!reader (reader is mid 30s, daryl is mid 50s), age gap relationship, mentions of death, angst, fluff

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The silhouette that Daryl saw in the mirror was a different man than who he had once been, he was no longer the young tracker that he was at the beginning of the outbreak. He’d aged, and there were clear staples in his appearance that made that evident. His hair was waved with its grown out length, and he carried the definition of crows feet around his eyes; his eyes that had witnessed so much misery, that had cried when he had mourned those lost.

He was bulkier, his arms held memorised muscle from his tactical efforts of taking down walkers and fighting the bad men and disastrous women that wished to cause pain in order to earn themselves power through the transpiring impact of fear. But that weight that rested either side of his torso had also brought additional huskiness to his stomach, he was no longer slender and lean like he had been when he had met you, he was a unit of the world’s making, and he was losing his appetite from looking at himself.

It would be a sin to deny the prize of food, he was aware of that, considering that in the past tense he had to survive days without consuming a meal, and you were preparing the finest dining that you could effectively make in the dim reality of the apocalypse. Years had gone by and he’d never once taken in his appearance so sullenly, but the chaos had calmed for the moment, and his thoughts were entangling in his insecure peripheral. Perhaps he could eat less, he thought to himself, understanding that there were men in better shape than him whom would risk their life to be sat at the dining table by your side.

Daryl squinted his eyes at the version of him that appeared in the bathroom mirror, the act bringing more attentive focus to the scar that ran down the left side of his face. It was on the right in the crafted glass which opposed the realistic truth, and he raised his hand to slant his fingertips against the damaged flesh. It was best for him not to turn, he was focally aware of the scars which were imbedded with cruel love upon his back’s damaged canvas. If he told himself that he was not troubled goods, he’d be lying to himself, he was imposed with the tragically acclaimed boulder of daunting tragedy casting a bland and aging shadow across his entire being.

The towel hung lowly on his wide hips, shielding the appendage that fuelled his testosterone from his own belittling view. He didn’t want to change into his everyday clothing, he’d have to discard the material that concealed half of his body and see another mound of flaws that made his heart heavier. He was lost in the time frame in which he had been discriminating his body, it had felt as though everything had been put on pause around him. But that was idly not the certified case, the soft approaching footfalls met with his ears before the door creaked to be ajar, and Daryl whipped around on the intrusion.

It was the first time that he in fact minded being interrupted following a shower by you, he’d never once flinched at your presence, and that made a light frown appear on your surprised complexion. He had been too cooped up in picking apart all the things that he did not like about his form that he had almost forgotten that you had expected him to return to you in the kitchen, and he felt surreally guilty that you had walked in on him during such a disappointing moment. “Is everything alright Daryl?” Your tone made it clear that you were concerned, and that emotion was only emphasised when he drew his gaze to the floor.

As he did so he realised that even his feet had scuffs and blisters on them, and he felt repulsed. He was attuned with the morals that he followed, but he hated the capsule of flesh that he was trapped in whilst he routinely kept somehow striving onwards. Before there had hardly been a moment where he could ponder on all the things that he despised of himself, but now there was, he realised that he had a dislike towards everything that his body had grown into. “‘m fine.” His words were not convincing, Daryl did not give you the chance however to get a conforming answer, he strode out of the bathroom, gripping his towel around himself with tight fingers as he fled from your view.

You stood there in your lonely and confusedly adjourned suffering, misunderstanding the cold attitude you had seemingly earned. All you had clambered the stairs to find Daryl was so that you could inform him that supper was ready, but he had slunk away into your bedroom, taking up the efforts of closing said door behind his retreat. Your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared into the mirror, your saddened reflection gazing tiredly at you, feeling fruitless in your attempts to make the man that you loved happy. Maybe he had fallen out of love with you, you thought with solemn afflictions, knowing that if he had it would still be impossible to hate him.

The behaviour that Daryl was displaying was strange, and you felt as though you were the root for the cause, especially since he had been aiming his attention in any direction but you. With a shaky sigh you ran your hands through your hair, tidying up the frizzed strands that had moved on their own accord from the heat of the stove. Spite boiled up inside of you as you saw your first mere strand of grey, however you held it in, shaking your head softly as you realised that there were bigger problems in the current world than your own appearance. You were in your mid thirties, making you roughly twenty years more youthful than your lover.

It had never been a problem before, your age that was, it had barely come up in conversation. With a surrender towards Daryl wishing to be left alone, you trudged back down the stairs, eating your meal by yourself and enclosing the portion that you had spared for him in a tupperware container, assuming that he would venture downstairs to eat it later. But later never came, the house remained indignantly silent and still throughout the falling dusk, and you twiddled your fingers with nerves. He needed some time to mull whatever was racketing through his brain over, and you wanted to give that to him, and so you pulled a blanket onto the couch, deciding that was where you were to lay your head tonight.

Dog curled up on your midsection, and you ran a numb hand along his back, ruffing up the fur and then smoothing it down. He was nuzzled atop of you, his chin curled in the crook of your neck, gifting you with more warmth than the blanket with. The company of the loyal canine made you feel a tad better from the distantness that Daryl had treated you with, your brain mulled over the situation as you drifted out of consciousness, feeling dread for the approaching morning. You would discover the rouse that was clouding Daryl's brain, and aid him in fixing whatever was broken within it. As you closed your eyes and drifted off, you were oblivious to Daryl's presence descending down the stairs.

The bowman watched your peaceful slumber without disturbing you, his weapon of standard choice draped over his shoulder with its leather strap. He felt guilty leaving the house in the night when you were asleep, but he found solace in clearing his head through the art of hunting. To be outside the walls was something that he had always favoured, and whilst this was his home and so were you, he was aware that he was in dire need to screw his head on straight. It wasn’t fair for him to take his toll of insecurity out on you, and guilt bubbled within him from his sudden exit from the bathroom previously.

He was now draped in his outdoor wear, the same damming boots slung on his feet that had given him those gnarly blisters. There was no time for rest, he thought solemnly, it would only enforce the fact that he was growing older in your mind, and that wasn’t how he wanted you to picture him. He wanted to be the lean, protective redneck that he once was, the one that you had met during the outbreak. There was a dwindling twine of sadness that harboured within him, there was no situation where he could go back into the far past, he’d been too preoccupied with searching for a future in which you would all survive that he hardly had a chance to glance backwards.

But now the calm of the storm had set, he had that opportunity, and he resented the journey that had drifted him into the arms of safety. Your arms would be the angelic wings that would console him, but admitting his insecurities would only damage the exterior that he had built up throughout the difficult years. His age was the threat that grabbed with ferocity at his throat, with each passing 365 days his body was now growing weaker, slowing down only had the capability of enforcing the democratic, virtuous stance of becoming a senior citizen.

He wished to bend down and press a featherlight kiss to the brim of your forehead before he departed, though he would be swindled with repenting guilt if he were to wake you, and so he plodded by his lonesome out the front door, Dog watching his fleeing footsteps with one eye open. The weight that pressed infinitely down onto his shoulders did not lessen as he stalked away, his eyes were withdrawn from anything that he could fixate on, he was relevantly seeking out a distraction in his mind. There was a subdued ache in his knee, and he had gotten used to the afflicting discomfort despite it making him feel eons older. He assured that the door closed with nothing more than the click of the flattened hinge, and Dog's ears pricked up from the sound, though he remained across your torso.

The sonnet of chorusing crickets rattled their legs against their emerald wings outdoors, the symphonised ruckus leading you to peel your eyes open. It was still fairly early in the morn, the dawning sunbeams casting shapes and dusty shadows across the wooden floorboards. Dog remained atop of you, groaning with a tiresome tone as you shuffled beneath him, removing yourself from the horizontal position that you had slept in so that you could simply be seated on the aged couch. You felt disdained, there was an enveloping silence in the house, and as you drifted your gaze over to the front door, you could only release a defeated sigh. Whilst the door remained in its closed state, the scarred boots that fit Daryl's feet and his companioning crossbow had vanished from their placements.

Daryl had left. Left you and your home to find the flavour of solace elsewhere, and you were conveyed with regretful sadness; you should have assured him that he was able to open up to you, followed him earnestly until you were assured that he was fine. The youngest Dixon was the man that you had heartedly fallen for, and whilst the deterrences that he had faced had impacted him, he was still the one that you loved. With shaky hands you brushed your knuckles under your eyes, refraining any tearful emotion from sloping down your face in the form of beaded salt. There was something the matter, and it was upon you in dutiful position to uncover what it was.

You remained seated, Dog beside you as you waited and waited. However your head instantaneously whipped to the side as you heard the door moan to be ajar, and watched as Daryl entered your home with the look of failure written in irritated scripture on his face. He’d been out hunting, it was clear from his attire and stance, however there was no game strung to his belt loops, it was starved from any prey. Daryl dared not glance at you, despite how besotted with you he was - he just wasn’t good enough, those words repeatedly whirled in his brain like a thorn stuck in his side. This time though, you were not going to let the silence create a divided space between the both of you, and so you stood, and crossed the entry way into the living space. Dog retreated from his seating, first going over to greet Daryl before excusing himself, no doubt going to rest on your bed in peace.

“Talk.” The command was missing the pressure that the word often enforced by it, instead your tone was as light as a feather, it brushed across his ears in a gentle caress that tickled his senses, and you hoped that it did not provoke his problem once more. You reached out with your palm, holding his jaw with sweet exasperation as you angled his irises to connect the dots with your own. “Whatever the matter is D, communicate it with me. I’m here to listen, it’s give and take in this relationship, so don’t, for the love of god, do not shut me out.” He wasn’t going to back away this time, the sigh that he released with fruitless despair stated as much. Even though he was evading direct eye contact, he licked his dry lips as he began to speak, his sentence breaking your heart into helpless smithereens.

“I’m gettin’ old, sunshine, an’ one of these days, you’re gonna get bored of me.” There was a somber cast across his blue paned irises, derived from his prevailing insecurities that gripped him suffocatingly tight. “An’ that’s alrigh’ if yer do, I get it. Jus’ wanna be with ya fer as long as I can.” The rolling pebble of emotion drifted down his waterline, despite the irony of him leaving to hunt. Perhaps it was his sorrowful minded thinking of lessening the blow on himself of the departure that would inhibit him from losing you, though his brain’s protective coping mechanisms were righteously silly, as you had not once had the intention of ever abandoning Daryl, and you never would.

“We’re all aging honey,” you proclaimed, copiously understanding that the toll in which your partner was experiencing were enhanced due to him being your elder age wise. But since the beginning of the outbreak, none of you were as youthful as you had began your walker killing journey on, and since being induced with every inkling of distasteful grievances that outlined your persons, you certainly all appeared older than your first scuff of survival. “And that is definitely not a flaw; we’ve lived through years of shit that has been thrown out of blue at us, and we are the ones who have lived through it. You are still Daryl Dixon, the man that I love and will always love. Your age does not define what you mean to me, and it never will. I have fought my ass off to remain beside you, and there is nobody, nobody else that I would rather have settled down with. We aren’t young any more, and there’s nothing wrong with that, we’ve grown older together, and I intend to grow even older with you until our last days.”

Daryl was possessed by speechlessness, his tongue felt like it was trapped by the sharp indent of a pin that held it to the bottom of his mouth, he was strongly relieved that was your point of your view on his mental qualms, though there were still some sirens springing a constant, nightmarish lullaby in his head. “Bu’-“ He felt as though his insistent problems may irritate you after your consoling speech, and he did not want to rouse the need for your forgiveness in the air. But he could not in-debt himself with remaining quiet now, not since he had opened his worrisome rambling heart up to you. “You still attracted ta me though? I’ve got all those ol’ scars, an’ I’ve got wrinkles now, an’ I ain’t as fast on my feet as I used ta be.”

“Daryl, honey.” You braced your hands on the same biceps that were often once flaunted by his torn sleeveless flannels, holding him steady as you leant your face closer, the tips of your noses tapping against each other. “None of that makes you any less beautiful to me, it shows that you have survived an eerily long time, and I cherish anything that you see as a flaw in yourself. Because to me, you don’t have any flaws, sure sometimes there’s decisions you make that I don’t agree with, but we all do things in the spur of the moment. And in no moment will I up and leave you for a singular reason, as there is nothing that you could do or have upon your flesh that could ease everything that I feel toward you.” You words were viper sharp with passion, and in the midst of your sentimental wording, your bodies had drawn against one another, in the proximity that you never took advantage of. Just being close to Daryl was a gift, there was a whim of it being the last time, and so you made sure that you made the most of it.

“I love you woman, more than I ever thought I could.” He traced the outline of your form with comforted serenity, his hands picked your own in the clasp of his unshackled wrists, as his thumbs stroked across the back of them. “An’ there ain’ nothin’ that could stop me from worshippin’ ya. Yer sweeter than those nasty berries that you and Maggie planted, an’ more peaceful than watching the river brush over itself.” His face lowered, as he nudged the hair out of your adoration filled expression, kissing you with vigorous need. You participated with as much necessity, as you breathed heavily through your nose for oxygen access. Your body was endorsed by the coursing adrenaline that travelled within your veins, your heart was palpitating uncontrollably in your chest from the premise of a sexual endeavour with the only man in the world that you were so enamoured with.

Releasing his hands, you gripped his locks, tugging at the rooted strands as Daryl cupped your waist with sensual desire. Your mouths were copiously in sync, moulded together in blissful animosity, as you devoured every inch of controllable humanity that rested in your skeletal bodies. He moaned into your mouth as you gave one last defying tug to the brunette strands attached to his scalp, before your fingers inadvertently danced with poisoned temptation upon the metal buckle of his belt. You laughed lightly as you gave yourselves a momentous breath from locking lips, as you unshackled the entrapment that encircled his waist, allowing the combination of metal and leather to fall to the ground. “Boots off too?” You enquired, and Daryl smiled, loving how well you knew him, the blisters were excruciating although he had masked the biting pain whilst you were orally entangled in arousing physicality.

“Yeah.” He smiled, his cheekbones becoming brightly prominent during the emphasis of his lips; with you he felt truly happy, more so now that he knew that you accepted him with age riddling his entirety. “Take ‘em off sunshine.” His tone was as smooth as a block of farmhouse butter, and you were attuned to the fact that he was not referring to his tattered footwear. With the tasking tips of your fingertips, you drew down the teeth of his zipper on the jeans that he wore, descending the metal partition lower until the top of his trailed abdomen was exposed, and the tough denim became looser around his waist. The coil of starving lust swirled around in your stomach as you shimmied the hugging fabric lower until his precum ebbed length sprung up from its aroused state. He needed this, and you, and whilst he often had the preference of being the giver in these situations, he was captivated with the notion of being the centre of your devoted attention.

Daryl always looked out for others, it was a loyal tendency that he hadn’t ever relinquished, and he felt proud with you being the focal point of his priorities, though it was admittedly nice for him to feel cherished by your body and mind. His hips surprisedly jolted as you wrapped your hand around the thick girth of his cock, the contact causing an array of hormones to shoot out from the core of his apocalyptic designed being. Air rasped in puffs inwards and outwards from his mouth as you stroked him, your motions being made up from slow and teasing intentions. You wanted him to feel like he was about to burst, he had to feel alive, which was the most important part of surviving as if there was no other time to breathe a last breath. The tip of his cock was a deep hue of pink like a well gardened rose petal, precum leaking from the slit at the very top.

Daryl’s arousal rarely was as apparently throbbing in the visual aspect department in comparison to the present; his length would usually already been sheathed within one of your pleasurable spots, such as your mouth or cunt. Patience was not a virtue to either one of you, however you wished to admire every inch of his ridged flesh, as its weight was balanced in perfect disposition upon your palm. The desire to taste his supple flesh was crawling down your spine in a stoking manner, causing bumps of paralleled anticipation to outline the shape of your vulnerable human skin. You were salivating, the moisture wafted around your tongue as you leant closer to Daryl’s shaft, the swelling waiting time lessening as you opened your mouth to take his length within its oral capacity.

“F-fuck.” His accented whisper was strewn ruggedly out from his lips as he bit stubbornly at his bottom one from the sensations that raptured his soul that had felt weakened by the clouding insecurities that bereaved any whisper of judgment into a contorted flaw which made him significantly lesser than he had once been. The feeling of your supple lips gliding down his length and towards the base of his wide cock made his mind become clouded from the affects of euphoria, it was a paradise of escape from the qualms that he often faced, and he was physically too weak to push your head away from his most personal area of his form. The large tip finally reached the back of your throat, and you swallowed down the instinct to gag, instead forcing your body’s primal limitations to continue applying pleasure to the man that you so wholly adored.

This was to be about him, and you found it to be your own duty to ensure it remained so, stretching your tongue out from beneath the heavenly weight of his cock to stroke farther down the parts of his shaft that you couldn’t quite accommodate to fit into your mouth. Your cheeks ached in a delightful way as your lips were stretched around his width, and you had to focus your breathing through your nostrils as there was no route for airflow to make passage through your mouthful of him. In a gentle notion, one of your hands found purchase around his balls, lightly stroking the skin to grant the man that you called your own more pleasure.

Sweat framed his brow, glistening beneath the dim lighting as it trickled upon his temples, his teeth gnawing frustratedly upon his bottom lip, peeling at the blood flushed flesh. This was the solace he needed, not the sexual advances of your warm, wet mouth, though he wasn’t to to complain about your heavenly lips, but you in your entirety, accepting and loving him as the same. It had riddled him with an anxiety that had rattled his bones throughout thinking that he was naught enough, contorting his mindset into one of wallowing in silence and submission that he never would be.

He was attained to wearing his flaws unto his sleeve, although you had finally brought silence to the insistent pacing of his mind. And though his body was tensed, it was for an alternative reason, as he fought off the inexplicable ending that his body would succumb to with a physical release. The motive to vanquish all tension from his body was upon him, barrelling through his veins in strokes of pleasure as your tongue danced over his sensitive flesh, but he relented, taking mouthfuls of air as he staved off from surrendering to emptying his seed into your mouth.

You were intoxicated by the careless sonnets that ripped out from his chest, they were almost that of a beast than a man. He was becoming feral, you could feel as much as his sack tightened, ready to spend all that lay within. But surprise chortled you as Daryl leant decisively backwards, pushing your head away from his nethers attentively, grasping lovingly at the line of your jaw. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?” You spoke now that your mouth was vacant of his length, ogling up at him with eyes that adored to take in his appearance, not only in moments like this.

Everything felt better now that you had consoled him with the assurance that you had no intentions of abandoning him in the now nor future, and he wanted to repay your kindness with his own actions, that too would bring him a simple man’s sin of gluttonous pleasure. He lightly pulled you up by your arms, bringing you closer to his height, his lips flush from the rotation of blood in his body that you had caused. “Nah.” Daryl answered, eyes trailing across each curve that shaped your figure with his heart practically in his throat. “Not a single thing, jus’ need ta be inside ya sunshine.”

It would be the most secure embrace that would ground him to his very core, a haven from all the shit that surrounded the both of you. Times like this reminded Daryl that the difference in age between the both of you in fact was not crucial, though sometimes it did numb his mind with it as a distraction. He pulled you to him, laying you delicately on the couch as though you may break, because you were fragile, but not in the literal sense he knew. There was nothing in the world that he cherished more than you, you were his slice of peace in the fucked up reality that you both endured, and he would be damned if he cracked any mental or physical attribute that your soul attained.

You resumed your battle of tongues, playfully biting his bottom lip that stirred an animosity within him, driving him forwards to clamber over your body, pressing himself closely to you, but it was still not close enough. His hands slithered downwards, pulling with uncoordinated vigour at your pants, appreciating the aid you granted him with removing them. He was consumed by his supple lust, a man hungered for the need to be connected with the woman who he loved. All that remained was your panties that concealed you from him, and he had little patience to toy with them.

And so he tore them from your hips, the cotton splitting in two from his lack of restraint, a half in each hand which he discarded on the floor, having peeled away all of the layers that kept your sex hidden from his gaze and touch. His digits could not resist in feeling the slick that had gathered upon your core, created from the image of him lost in his pleasure. It astounded him that your attraction to him could make you so drenched, practically lathered in a river of lust; even if he was aging you found him to be as beautiful as a deity, weathered by survival but still regarded among the gods. Though he didn’t see it, and you did, there was no other man remaining in the world that was like him, he was a perished breed of human that remained on the earth. A survivor, hardened by time but continually fighting for the beliefs that formed layers around his soul.

“Stop teasing Daryl. I thought you needed to be inside me.” His previous words spat desperately from your tongue, as you regarded him with an impatience to feel all of him. It was merely torturous waiting to feel every inch of him within your cunt, even as he adjusted himself, taking a grasp of his shaft and angling it to slide down to your entrance that was yearning to be stretched open by his length. He sung a groan out as he felt how much your body desired him against the tip of his cock, he wanted to bury himself within your heavenly warmth and become doused in the comfort that the tightness of you wrapped around him allowed him to surrender to.

His movement was slow yet backboned with intent as he pushed into you, breathing out a strung out breath that had built in his chest for far too long. He had felt inflicted by the consciousness of his wilting appearance the last handful of times that you had made love together, and he had hidden that voice. It had been imprisoned in the corners of his mind, and he had tried with determination to push it away but it had not yielded. But all he had required to dull the commenting thoughts that digressed his own body was you to pour your adoration onto him despite the flaws that he resented. “Fuuuuck.”

The tone of his voice was gravelly, stripped down by the raw emotion that he felt. Your nails imbedded themselves into his shoulder blades, sketching crescent moons into his clothed flesh as your head sank deeper into the seating of the couch. A moan was strangled out from your throat from the pleasure that sparked in your midsection as he pushed deeper into you, until he was filling you with his entirety. “You feel so- fuck, fucking good baby.” The praise that you bestowed upon Daryl lit him up like a flame, a depraved hunger danced behind his eyes like burning embers. From your words, he leaned back, his hands on either side of your head and pulled back, only to push straight back into your pussy, bringing both of you ample pleasure.

There was nothing that could compare to being so close to the man that raked his hips to pivot against your own, his pace building as the explosions of ecstasy transcended between your bodies like a cycled blood transfusion. Not a single thing. Each movement was an act of pristine intimacy, a link that blessed your vessels with the passion of having the ability to be so vividly close to one another. “So do you s-sunshine.” Daryl hissed out, having forgone thinking about a singular qualm that had blinded his perception of how lucky he was in this reality. He had survived this far, and not only that, but you had too, giving you the chance of a life together throughout the maelstrom like carnage that had changed the entire planet for eternity.

He felt his tongue become drowned by the gruff noises that it permitted to leave him, responding to each whimper and keen and moan that released from your parted, panting lips. His brow bone was tense with a frown put together by focus, as he stared down at your face, pride swelling in his chest as he had the knowledge that it was him giving you rolling waves of pleasure to spin uncontrollably throughout your veins. Your arousal coated him, making it far more easier to slide in and out of your succulent walls, they parted for him each time from the accustomed entry that you always granted him. He knew that he never had to worry about another man being in his position, he couldn’t imagine it, and nor could you from the blissful contortion that rested heavily and without care on your features.

“Getting close Dar.” The information was heaved out from puffs of air, your lips mindlessly moving even when words were not falling from them. Daryl too could feel the oncoming tide of his own release, it crept up on him like a hunting predator, staving off the kill until the prime opportunity presented itself. There was plenty of things that he was still not certain of in this world, but one that he was sure of was that he was going to ensure that you came first - as he always did. Daryl’s body continued to move, spinning the room out of focus for your eyes as he continued his motions, staggering his pace just a little, but not too much so that the looming of your high would not collapse and crumble.

Your legs bound themselves strictly around his waist, your teeth clenching as spots swayed in your vision, peppering the sight of the man fucking you with pixels of black and grey. He had you where he wanted you, topping over the edge of your orgasm as it transpired around you like an aura. He thought selfishly that he was pleased that no other soul had witnessed you appear so distracted, you were always on guard when out of the confines of your home, aware that the unexpected could traipse upon you at any second that it desired. “You getting there?” Too fucked out to form full sentences, you tangled your hands in his hair, and that seemed to pull the trigger within him.

The sound of your name escaped Daryl’s lips as he buried his head into the safety of your throat, spreading little kisses against your skin as his tension dissolved. Ropes of his seed spilled within you, filling your core as he remained inside, small, almost inaudible whimpers leaving him. You pressed your lips to the crown of his head as you brought your arms around him, cocooning him in the afterglow that you shared. He remained there for minutes longer, composing himself before he removed himself from your cunt, falling beside you on the couch that was too small for most, but for the both of you was as cozy as it could get. “Thank you sunshine.” Daryl murmured as he brought you closer to be resting against his body, and you stifled a chuckle at the doziness that had befallen him

“You don’t have to thank me for sex.” Your eyes rolled, but the archer shook his head of brown locks, his hand angling around you to raise your face to meet your his own, your lips meeting in a delicately languid kiss. His fingertips traced the line of your jaw, his heart swimming with leaps of love for you and only you. Daryl was a good man, he knew that he tried his best to be, however he was delirious with how you saw him. Not everyone would find him to be a diamond in a pile of cracked rocks, but here you were, always caressing his scars with care, and reminding him that he was allowed to be loved. A long, long time ago he wouldn’t have believed that he would have someone that stood by him through everything, let alone the silent battles ongoing in his mind. You had your own opinions, and you depicted them outright, always giving him time to himself when it was required, and as soon as there was a place to console him, putting yourself in it.

“Not fer tha’, for everythin’.” He thought of his life with you, and he could not have been more appreciative of it. It was never going to be perfect, you were both humans fighting to live in a world that wished to eradicate your species, but there were moments to be cherished when you were not trying to protect yourselves. Daryl wanted to kick himself for even attempting to protect himself from; it was foolish on his part, but you always managed to understand his mindset. That was one of the very many reasons as to why he loved you, and he could not voice it enough as he remained curled up with you, basking in the mortal emoting of the love that you held dearly for one another. He was aging, and he had hated it, but he despised it far less now that you had brought a light that only you could give to the natural process that was weaving through each of you, reminding him of the normality of it.

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