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em1i2a3 · 16 days ago

Text

I’m On Fire

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

Summary: The heating unit in the compound breaks during the peak of winter, leaving everyone in the tower freezing cold and grumpy, except for Bob–who’s a walking furnace. So you decide to get a taste of the warmth.

Warnings: No explicit warnings, just fluff! Bob and you are friends…With feelings…Friends with feelings I say.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this request anon, but I kept laughing when writing this because all I was picturing was this Tik Tok. Anyways, I absolutely loved writing this one! Very fun fluff for a Saturday, and thank you @receedingdawn for the cute ass banner.

Word Count: 4,034

The cold came in like a wave. It didn’t crash through the windows or blow in through the doors. It seeped through the cracks, and invaded.

It started sometime before dawn–quiet and unnoticed–at the base of the Tower, where a blinking red light pulsed steadily on the diagnostics board in the lower mechanical level. It was just a minor system alert. One line of code trying to tell someone to check the heating core. A low-priority flag. The kind of warning that gets buried under a dozen other maintenance requests, and a digital blanket.

Nobody noticed it, or bothered to check, so the cold just continued to climb. It crept floor by floor, rising like tidewater. Slow. Patient, and semi-forgiving it the alert got caught–which didn’t happen.

By midday, the lower levels had cooled to a mild chill–noticeable, but nothing out of the ordinary for winter in New York City. It was the kind that made you rub your hands together and blow against your palms to give you a little relief from the cold, before moving on with your day. But by the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the eightieth floor–the Thunderbolts living quarters–was freezing.

High above the city, the wind screamed against the glass walls like it was a living thing. The steel bones of the Tower groaned softly in response to each gust, and you could’ve sworn you could feel the floors shaking at some point. The vents blew nothing but a mechanical sighº–like it had risen a white flag in surrender to the harsh winter–and the lights that lined the ceilings flickered every so often as if they were shivering with you. The floor tiles had the bitter feel of ice cold concerte, mugs of hot coffee and tea went lukewarm within minutes of being poured, and your breath had turned visible even within the confines of the living quarters–puffing out in little clouds that hovered and curled like ghosts before fading into the stillness.

The air had a sharpness that bit at fingertips, slid down collarbones, and made people quiet, and frustrated all at the same time.

”I’m telling you,” Yelena muttered, pacing in thick socks, and two layers of sweatpants, “We are one bad power surge away from an ice age in this damn place.” She fixed her gloves on her hands, as she huddled into the collar of her sweater.

”Pretty sure my blood is trying to congeal in itself…I think I’m on the brink of death.” Walker added, hunched over on the common room couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a funeral shroud.

Across the room, Ava was bundled in a military-grade parka she must’ve pulled from storage. Only the sharp glint of her eyes were visible above the thick wool scarf that she had wrapped around her head. She hadn’t said a word in fifteen minutes, she just stared into her mug, watching as little frost specks floated on top of her coffee.

Nobody was handling the cold well.

Except Bob.

He looked like he had wandered in from a completely different climate–like he had gone on a beach vacation in the tropics and brought the heat with him.

Perched at the far end of the sectional, he sat cross-legged with a worn paperback in his lap, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips balanced on the armrest beside him, and a cold Coke Zero sweating quietly on the coffee table in front of him from the warmth of his hand touching it every so often.

He didn’t have a blanket or socks, just a pair of soft grey sweatpants and an old, slightly threadbare long sleeve shirt that clung gently to the shape of his chest and shoulders–damp in spots where the heat radiating off him had started to collect.

In comparison to the rest of the team–who looked like they were preparing to trek across the Arctic–Bob looked like he was five minutes away from cracking open a window. It also wasn’t just the fact he looked comfortable–it was that he was radiating heat.

It was rising from his skin in slow steady waves if you paid close attention to him. The faint shimmer was lifting off his forearms, and a soft flush clung to the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, like he had just come in from a run rather than being sat unmoving in the meat locker common room for the last forty minutes. There was even a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, catching the light every time he turned a page and tilted his head.

Yelena froze mid-pace and squinted at him.

”Bob…” Her voice was flat, bordering on accusatory, “Are you–are you sweating right now?!” Bob blinked up from his book, pushing his light brown hair out of his face.

”Uhm…” He lifted a hand to wipe at his forehead, as if he was surprised to find it damp, “Y-Yeah? A little. I–I mean, I told you guys I run warm…A-And I’ve got the Sentry in me, so–uh–of course I’m kind of…Y’know…Hot.” There was a beat of silence, then Yelena turned to the others.

”And he has the audacity to joke about it.” Walker let out a dramatic groan from beneath his blanket.

”He‘s not joking, he is hot. Like tropical-level hot. Bob…You’re a walking space heater.” Bob went pink immediately. Not just his face–his ears, too. He ducked his head with a bashful shrug and tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward, then he reached out for his Coke Zero and took a long sip.

From the kitchenette, where a bottle of whiskey was being passed like emergency rations, Alexei glanced up from his glass.

”We should wrap Bob in blanket burrito, then take turns crawling in like it’s sauna.” He stated, and Bucky, who had been silent until now, raised his glass slightly, unbothered by the cold.

”I’d pay to watch that happen.” Bob choked on his drink. Not a little, polite cough–a real sputter. He turned his head and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep it quiet, but he could feel the heat continuing to rise beneath his skin. Alexei, of course, was completely unbothered.

”Just saying,” He shrugged, pouring himself another half-glass, “You get three people in there with you, rotate every thirty minutes…Efficient heat source I say.” Walker snorted.

”We could even install a zipper on the blanket, then call it the Bob Bag.”

“Worst part is I would definitely be the first person to try it…It’s freezing.” Bob hunched slightly where he sat, trying to disappear into the cushions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of someone cuddling up next to him–it was the idea of the entire team looking at him like he was the last functioning radiator in New York City that was making his skin prickle.

”G-Guys, “ He stammered, lifting his palms in surrender, “I’ll probably end up combusting if you all t-try to–if anyone–I–I mean…” He fumbled for a save.

”H-How about we just–uh–call m-maintenance again, yeah? I’m sure they’ll help…R-Right?” No one responded. Instead, they all turned toward him slowly. Creeping forward. Ava didn’t even stand–just started sliding across the armchair like a sleep-deprived slug with one goal: heat. Yelena grinned.

”You’ve been outvoted, human furnace.” Walker stood.

”Don’t resist Bob…Embrace your destiny.” Bob’s shoulders hit the back cushion as the group began to close in.

“G-Guys, I’m being serious–”

His voice cracked at the end–not from fear, but from that thing under his skin, the one that didn’t like being crowded. Not when he didn’t want it. Not when he wasn’t ready. Then his eyes glowed. Just a soft, flickering glint beneath his lashes. It was enough to make everyone freeze. Walker stepped back instinctively. Ava’s mug lowered a fraction. Even Yelena lifted her brows and let out a soft scoff as she retreated a step.

“Ugh…The sunshine god always has to ruin the fun and scare us off,” She commented, letting out a long sigh, “I guess I’ll call maintenance again and see what the hell they’re doing. Probably still trying to figure out how to reset a server without breaking a nail.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and turned her back on the couch. Bob exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“S-Sorry guys…Didn’t mean to uh–to flare.” He hated that part. That undercurrent of otherness. The way people joked until something flickered in his eyes, and then everything stopped being funny. How he went from Bob to the Sentry in a heartbeat without meaning to. Even here, in this mismatched pile of sarcasm and trauma and second chances–they still backed off when the light showed.

Bob was still hunched over, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the faint glow in his eyes away when the sound of teeth chattering echoed down the hallway.

Everyone turned toward it.

The sound grew louder–soft footsteps over the cold floor, the rustle of layered blankets, the stifled clatter of a mug being carried between violently trembling hands. And then you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in two fleece throws like a cocoon, shoulders hunched, cheeks flushed with windburn, and face pulled into a miserable grimace.

You looked like you were on the verge of dying. Or committing murder. Possibly both.

“The hell…” You croaked through your chattering teeth, breath curling in front of your lips, “How did this happen without anyone catching it on time?”

Your voice wavered on the last word–not just from frustration, but from the way your whole body was trembling. You were shaking, jaw clenched, knees knocking together slightly under the blankets as you shuffled forward like someone trying to survive a blizzard in a hoodie.

Bob’s heart slammed in his chest. Not from panic, or from Sentry wanting to see you, but just from pure instinct. He felt it burn inside him–this pull toward you, this immediate, deep, animalistic need to wrap you up and make you warm. Not just because you were cold. But because you were you–someone that had connected and tethered to him on more than just a baseline friendship level. Though it was hard for Bob to really contain himself, and the desire to take care of you in general because he knew you probably didn’t see him in the manner he saw you in.

“They probably missed it. That’s the only reason this could’ve happened. Nobody flagged it in time.” Ava responded first, her voice muffled behind her scarf. You exhaled hard through your nose, steam huffing from your lips. Your eyes flicked to the sectional–to the wide, open space beside Bob. You took one step toward it, then paused.

Your eyes landed on him.

You blinked slowly, your gaze dragging from his flushed face to the damp edge of his collar to the Coke can on the table still sweating with heat.

Then it clicked.

“Oh, right,” You rasped, eyebrows lifting. “I forgot about you running hot, you’re gonna be my life saver!”

Before Bob could respond–before he could stammer out anything–you moved.

You dropped onto the couch beside him with the exhausted weight of someone who had given up on survival. You let your blankets slide open just enough to let the heat in, curled your toes beneath you, and leaned into his side with a soft, contented groan.

Bob stopped breathing.

He felt you. Every inch of you. Your icy fingers brushing his thigh. The chilled edge of your arm nudging his ribs. Your cheek settling lightly into the curve of his shoulder. And then–God help him–the tiny, blissful sound that slipped from your lips when the warmth of his body hit you full-force.

It was quiet. Barely audible. Just a hum of deep, unconscious relief.

“Mmm…”

But to Bob, it was devastating.

His entire body tensed like he was preparing for impact. His breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched on his thighs, and the heat under his skin flared so suddenly he had to will it back down before his shirt started to steam.

You didn’t even notice.

You were too cold. Too relieved. Too focused on not crying from the sheer comfort of finally, finally finding warmth after what felt like an hour and a half of your limbs feeling like they were going to shatter.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, pressing your face against the side of his arm like you were trying to melt into him. “You’re boiling. This is perfect.” You breathed in deeply, smelling the cool mint scent of his body wash, letting it invade your lungs, as you nuzzled even closer to him.

Bob swallowed hard. “I-I…Uh…”

You sighed again. And this one was worse. Better. More dangerous. It wasn’t just relief–it was pleasure. The kind that only came from thawing out after a deep freeze. A sound that vibrated low in your chest and hummed right against his ribs.

He couldn’t look at you.

If he did, he’d die. Spontaneously combust on the spot. Sentry and all.

You tugged the top blanket around the both of you, like it was natural–like sharing heat was second nature. Like you weren’t undoing him with every breath that ghosted across his neck.

A long silence settled over the room.

Not awkward. Not exactly. But heavy with something unspoken.

You didn’t notice the way everyone else had gone quiet. You didn’t see the way Yelena lowered her phone without pressing call, or how Walker and Ava slowly exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. You didn’t catch Bucky’s subtle nod from the kitchen, or Alexei’s low whistle as he leaned back in his chair like he was watching the beginning of a very good movie.

Because you were too busy melting.

Literally and figuratively.

Your arm moved slowly. Almost imperceptibly. It slipped from beneath your blanket, slid across Bob’s damp shirt, and curled around his torso–fingers splaying wide across his side. Not in a flirtatious way. Not in a way that begged attention. Just an unconscious, instinctual kind of closeness.

A gesture that said: you’re warm, and I need all of it.

Bob’s heart skipped.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His spine had gone rigid, and his breath had stalled somewhere between his throat and lungs. You were touching him. Really touching him. Not in passing, not in jest, not in the familiar bump of shoulders during a mission or a sarcastic pat on the back.

But this. A full-body lean. An arm around his waist. Your chilled hand flattening over his ribs, tugging him–gently–closer to you.

And he let you.

Because he would’ve let you do anything.

Your fingers brushed a damp spot on his shirt. He was sweating. Badly. But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t comment. You just let out another of those sighs–low, content, sinful in its softness–and nestled closer until your forehead touched the curve of his neck.

“God…” You mumbled into his skin, breath curling warm under his jaw, “You’re saving my life right now.” Bob let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

His hands were still on his thighs, white-knuckled, as if he were holding himself down. As if one move would tip this entire fragile balance into something he couldn’t pull back from. Because it wasn’t just warmth he was giving you–it was everything.

Every part of him was screaming for more.

More of your voice. More of your weight leaning into him. More of your fingers splayed against his side and the way your leg was now casually draped over his calf under the blanket.

And yet–somehow–you still didn’t seem to notice what you were doing to him.

From across the room, Yelena’s voice broke the silence.

Soft. Distant. A whisper clearly not meant to be heard.

“Oh no…She’s gonna kill him.”

Walker coughed into his sleeve. “He’s not gonna survive the next ten minutes.”

“I give him five.”

“Three, if she sighs again.”

Ava hummed in agreement. “He’s gonna short-circuit.”

Bob could hear them. He could hear everything–every shifting blanket, every laugh being swallowed behind a cup, every knowing glance being passed around like popcorn.

But all he could feel was you.

The weight of your body against his.

The cold that finally eased from your limbs.

The way your breathing slowed, softened.

And the way you whispered–barely audible, but so close he could feel the words against his skin:

“…Think I could stay here all night.” The words left your lips like a sigh—half asleep, half joking—but Bob felt them hit.

They lodged somewhere between his ribs, soft and brutal, and echoed in his chest long after the sound had faded into the blanket-wrapped stillness.

He didn’t respond right away.

Couldn’t.

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. His throat was dry. His breath was shaky. The heat he’d been radiating all evening was nothing compared to what flared through him now–less like warmth and more like a furnace igniting from the inside out.

You shifted again. Just a little. Your fingers flexed slightly against his ribs. You were settling in deeper.

Bob’s voice, when it finally broke free, was small and trembling.

“Y-You can. I-I mean–if you…If you want. I-I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t mind.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But after a beat, you tilted your head and looked up at him.

And that was it.

The end of him.

Because you weren’t even trying to do anything. You just looked up–sleepy and flushed, lips parted, eyes soft–and you saw him.

The way his jaw was clenched. The way his shoulders were locked up. The way his fingers curled into his thighs like they were holding on for dear life. The way his shirt was soaked from heat and nervous sweat and yet he hadn’t dared move.

And then your eyes met his.

And you saw it.

The wreckage.

His face was flushed–burned red at the ears, his lips slightly parted like he was afraid to exhale too hard. His eyes were wide, glassy, stunned. Not from embarrassment. Not from discomfort.

From everything.

From being touched, and wanted, and needed.

From your breath on his skin, your arm around his waist, your words curling like ribbons into his ear and tying knots he didn’t know how to undo.

You blinked once, slowly.

“…Bob?”

His breath hitched.

“I-I’m f-fine,” He stammered, the lie so thin you could hear the tremble beneath it. “J-just…Y-You’re really close, and I-I’m trying not to–uh–I mean, I d-don’t wanna–”

He stopped himself.

But the damage was done.

You stared up at him for another long moment, blinking against the golden flush of his cheeks and the sweat dotting his brow, and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes now.

And something shifted in your chest.

You loosened your grip around his waist–but not to move away. Just enough to smooth your hand against the curve of his side. Gentle. Careful. Tender in a way that quieted everything else.

“…Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Bob shook his head before you’d even finished the question.

“N-No. G-God, no,” He said quickly, too quickly. “Y-You’re not. I-I like it. I–”

He swallowed hard.

His eyes finally flicked toward you, just briefly.

“I-I just…Don’t k-know how I’m doing this w-without Sentry going o-off the rails…” Your lips curved into a quiet smile against his skin.

“Maybe he’s used to me pestering you by now,” You murmured, voice low and teasing, “Maybe he knows not to get in the way of things.”

Bob blinked.

His chest lifted with a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and the glow in his eyes flickered briefly behind his lashes.

“Y-Yeah,” he said softly, with a quiet sort of wonder. “M-Maybe.”

He didn’t add that Sentry was right there. Listening. Not pushing forward, not flaring to the surface like he so often did when Bob felt overwhelmed.

He was just…Calm.

Not silent, exactly. But watching through Bob’s eyes with something that felt like reverence. A kind of awestruck stillness that made Bob feel like his ribs were filled with golden thread instead of bone.

You were still watching him. Still close enough that every breath he took shifted you slightly. And even in the dim light of the living room, he could see the soft twitch of your lips and the calm around your eyes–like your nervous system had finally unclenched for the first time all day.

“Sorry I’m so clingy,” You added after a moment, eyes fluttering shut, “I know this probably feels like being tackled by a human-shaped block of ice.”

Bob’s voice cracked again.

“Y-You could tackle me any time.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

“What?”

His ears turned bright pink. “N-Nothing. N-Never mind.”

You snorted–this breathy, fond little sound–and let your hand trail lightly across the shape of his ribs, fingers drawing lazy circles through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I think I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” You said, lips curving into a slow smile. “For your dignity’s sake.”

Bob swallowed hard. You shifted a little closer until your forehead was tucked under his jaw and your fingers were curled in the hem of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go.

He could feel your eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Give me a few more minutes with you…And then I’ll untangle and let you recover.”

That almost made him laugh.

But it caught in his throat because something about the way you said it–something about the gentleness behind the tease–made it feel bigger than just cuddling on a cold night.

It felt like you knew.

Maybe not everything.

Maybe not how often he thought about you. Or how many times he caught himself daydreaming about a moment like this–exactly like this. The weight of you against him. Your breath slowing. Your body folding into his like it belonged there.

Maybe you didn’t know how much he ached when you brushed against him on missions or leaned on him when you were too tired to stand. Or how long he’d been pretending it was nothing when every second of contact burned through him like a star being born.

Maybe you didn’t know that every part of him had been waiting for you.

But maybe you felt it. Just a little.

Because you didn’t pull away. You didn’t tease too much. You just settled in, calm and warm and real, and gave him the one thing no one had offered in a while.

Time and gentle touch.

A few more minutes. A few more inches of closeness. A few more breaths shared between them. Bob turned his face slightly toward your hair, just enough to breathe you in. Your scent was cold, but there was a depth of warmth beneath it, something fruity–like jammy blueberries and blackberries, maybe a field that had ripening strawberries. It was like you were bathing yourself in something that was tropical to emote the sense that you were someplace warm instead of a cold compound.

Finally Bob lifted his hand, and let it rest over your back. It was tentative at first, then more solid, like a soft protective weight. His thumb stroked gently across your spine, and he whispered:

”Take as long as you want.” You didn’t respond, you just let out a slow, steady breath that warmed his neck and a soft hum of contentment as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes again.

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hedwig221b · 9 days ago

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Hiya, I’m back again oops, wondering if you have any sugar daddy Derek/sugar baby Stiles fic recs? You have awesome taste!!

Thank you! ❤

Tax Evasion by standinginanicedress (+ sequels one and two)

Stiles chews on his thumb a bit harder, and for a second he thinks about saying no. He thinks about letting the whole thing go and just going back to his life, the safe and easy way out. He considers just settling for someone who’ll never really get him, some boring guy who touches him the wrong way and buys him flowers sometimes. He’s been doing it for years upon years, now, and really, what’s a little bit longer? And then, what’s the rest of his life? What’s the worst that could happen, he wonders? Trying something is better than not trying at all.

Don’t You Want Me, Alpha? by wulfarchival (wyrmwolf)

In which Derek looses his chill, Stiles is a little shit, nude photos are sent, and there’s sex. Just not in that order. Actually, definitely in that order.

What We Called Love by jadore_hale

He’d guessed that if Derek wasn’t paying him for the sex, then he was obviously paying him for the conversation. So Stiles made it a point to talk and never stop. Stiles rambled and Derek sometimes listened. Stiles shouted about X-Men and porn in fancy restaurants, and Derek sometimes grunted in response. Every now and then, Derek would even look up from his phone and make eye contact and blink, which Stiles would always take as a positive and real acknowledgment to his existence. And they never had sex. Not ever. No matter how badly Stiles wanted them to, and he wanted them to, oh so badly. Stiles Stilinski has been Derek Hale’s sugar baby for the last three years, and just can’t understand why the man pays him so much damn money. Or the one where Danny is Miley Cyrus, Dylan Sprouse, Justin Beiber, and Kanye West all in one.

The Same Old Blood Rush (With A New Touch) by rainsoakedshoes

"Friends with benefits,” Derek stated. “I just happen to be in a position to provide a few more benefits than your usual hook ups.” Derek was an Alpha with a pack and a multi-billion dollar company to take care of. Stiles was a college kid with assignments and student debt to worry about. Neither of them were looking a serious relationship. A one night stand turned into an easy no-strings-attached arrangement. Although nothing is ever as easy or as simple as it first seems.

For Your Eyes Only by standinginanicedress

"Are you a fucking psycho? Be honest. Are you sick in the fucking head?” “No,” Derek says. “I’m a rich guy who likes twinks.” “Uh huh,” he doesn’t sound convinced. “You have twenty thousand dollars just lying around waiting to be spent on having cam sex with me?” “I do,” he shrugs. “And then some.” Silence. “You’re rich?” “Yes. I have money. I have an important job. That’s not what we’re talking about. Are you in or out?”

Derek's Welcome Home by SinQueen69

Derek usually gets welcome home by his sugar baby Stiles, but today there was nothing. Derek sets off to find out why.

Sugar Daddy (?) by BisexualInDisguise

Stiles’ friends think his boyfriend is actually his sugar daddy and tease him accordingly

Alway's Hungry by SinQueen69

Chapter 1-Anonymous prompt fill: Teen Stiles starts hooking up with or is in a sugar daddy/baby relationship with an older bear with a big, hairy gut. He loves parading Stiles around in crop tops, tiny shorts, choker collars, covered in hickies. They fuck in public bathrooms, or Stiles sits on his cock every opportunity he gets. Stiles with zero shame loving his daddy's coke can thick cock. Barebacking/toys/creampies/voyeurism all great! Chapter 2: Anon on Tumblr wanted: Can I prompt sterek + spanking + daddy kink + exhibitionism Chapter 3: request from moodyprincess00 for Fisting

Bittersweet and Strange, Finding You Can Change (Learning You Were Wrong) by WithMyTeeth (Ylith)

When perpetual loner and failwolf extraordinaire Derek Hale finally loses patience with his meddling family, he grabs a confused Stiles Stilinski, unsuspecting diner patron and herbal medicine student, off the street to pose as his new boyfriend. Hijinks ensue.

Do Knot Get In A Strangers Car by KnottheWolf

Prompt: Mob boss Derek sees Stiles and instantly wants him to be his, and he'll do anything to make Stiles see it too. ~~ Mob Boss Derek fucking his kept Boy Stiles all day everyday they don't even use plugs anymore. Boypussy, Feminization, Somnophilia, Sugar Daddy Derek

Love The Way You Shiver by QuirkyChick

Stiles is under no disillusion. Derek is dangerous and he’s playing with fire. He just has to be careful and hopes that, at worse, he’ll only burn his fingertips and not his whole body and soul.

[masterlist link]

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