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thunderboltschaos · 3 days ago

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No Angels

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Rhett have been friends for almost your entire lives and you’ve had a crush on him ever since you could remember. You’ve never made a move out of respect for the friendship, but when Maria–an old crush of Rhett’s–comes back into town, you can’t help but get a little jealous of how much he swoons for her.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Angst, and Fluff, We got the childhood best friends trope, and I frickin love it! Reader is super jealous but really tries to be happy for Rhett.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Rhett is a bit dominant in here, Dirty Talk, He talks you through it, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Rough Sex, He puts his hand on your throat…But like…Not to choke? I guess. A little bit of overstimulation, Heavy Makeout, Some Grinding

Author’s Note: I got this request a while back and honestly I was writing it and hated the way it went, then I had this huge eureka moment and literally put my whole chest into this damn thing lol. Thank you anon, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting! But I hope it meets your expectations. (I made it on time y’all sorry for the delay!)

Word Count: 18,010

The lights above the ring hummed with electricity, casting long, bright white beams over the dirt-packed arena like they were trying to mimic daylight–but it was well past sundown. The night air had settled cool against your skin, clinging to the sweat on your collarbones and the thin cotton of your oil-stained tank top–the same one you had been wearing when Rhett burst into your garage hours earlier, all breathless and grinning, saying, “You comin’ or what?”

You didn’t even notice him at first. Your arms were elbow-deep in the hood of your father’s busted-up ‘82 Chevy, sleeves rolled past your shoulders, knuckles stained black with grease. The old truck had been sitting in the barn lot for years, more rust than a frame, but it had history, and you couldn’t bring yourself to give up on it. You had been trying to get the engine to crank for weeks now, working after hours between shifts and moonlight with stubborn hands, and a soft heart.

Rhett had found you with a pair of pliers clenched between your teeth, and your hair stuck to the back of your neck. You were in the middle of coaxing a frayed wire into a cleaner splice when he had said it again.

”Y/N! You comin’ or what?!” You nearly dropped the pliers into the engine block that time around, and your eyes immediately shot up to him.

”Jesus Christ, Rhett,” You muttered around the tool in your mouth, straightening up just enough that your back cracked, “You ever heard of knocking? You’ve got hands do you not?” Rhett leaned his shoulder against the frame of the open garage door, arms crossed, boots scuffed and dusty. The golden evening light caught the curve of his jaw, lighting up the honeyed brown wisps of hair curling out from under his ballcap, the one he wore when he wasn’t wearing his normal cowboy hat. He grinned like he had all the time in the world.

”Yeah, I got hands.” He said, holding them up and wiggling his fingers, “But I need ‘em for the circuit tonight, can’t go wasting tiring ‘em up by knockin’ on your door.” You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. With a sigh, you pulled the pliers from your mouth and tossed them onto the stainless steel tool table beside you, the clink echoing off the walls of the garage. The wire you’d been working with curled like a question mark in the air.

“God forbid your precious hands do somethin’ useful.” He let out a huffed laugh, smirking, like that little jab of yours was exactly what he had come there for. You reached for the damp rag that always lived folded beside your socket set, rubbing your hands down with practiced efficiency. Grease smeared into the creases of your fingers, under your nails, and you could already hear your father warning you–again–about keeping motor oil off your face. You scrubbed harder.

“Can you give me five minutes to change, at least?” You asked, gesturing vaguely at yourself. “I look like I crawled out of a junkyard.” Rhett checked the time on his phone like it was life or death, kissing his teeth.

“No can do. It’s gonna take us ‘bout two hours to get down there, and I gotta check in early. No time.” You looked down at yourself–at the tank top clinging to your skin, streaked with oil and sweat; your low-rise jeans that had a hole in the knee; boots dusted in gravel, grime and oil. You knew your hair certainly didn’t look good, especially with the sweat that pooled on the back of your neck, so you tried to plead again.

”C’mon, Rhett,” You groaned, “At least lemme–“

”Nuh-uh,” He interrupted smoothly, already pushing off the doorframe, “You look fine.” He said it so matter-of-factly it hit you like a sucker punch to the gut. His tone was easy, and offhanded, but his eyes flicked over you once–head to toe, like he was checking the welds on a fence post–and lingered a second too long on your bare shoulders before flicking away again. You felt your skin heat up despite the cool air from your fan blowing onto you.

Then he tossed you his keys without ceremony, and you barely caught them in time.

”Now. Get your butt in the truck, I need my good luck charm.” You stood there for a second, holding his keys like they were heavier than they had any right to be, watching Rhett backpedal across the gravel with that cocky grin stretching his mouth. The nerve of him–waltzing in, dragging you out in grease-stained clothes, and telling you that you looked fine like it didn’t mean something.

Like it didn’t knock something loose in your chest.

You tucked the rag into your back pocket with a sigh and followed him out into the golden spill of sunset that painted the drive, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. Rhett was already climbing into the passenger side, settling into the spot he always took when he was with you. He never once offered to drive–not because he didn’t want to, but because he liked how you drove his truck. He liked watching you lean one hand out the window, tapping the side with your fingers in time with the radio, he had said you made it run smoother somehow.

You climbed in behind the wheel, the door creaking shut with that familiar metallic groan as you shoved the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life beneath your hands like it had been waiting on your touch.

“You just always have to pull that good luck charm shit with me,” You muttered, fingers flicking the air vents toward Rhett like that would somehow cool your irritation, “If it wasn’t for the fact your dad would have my head on a stake if I didn’t show up, I wouldn’t be coming.” Rhett didn’t even flinch, he just smiled wider, teeth flashing under the brim of his cap.

”You’d show up anyways, even if there wasn’t that loomin’ threat.”

”Yeah?” You shot back, shifting into reverse, “And why’s that?”

“Cause you always do, that’s just how you are.” You let the truck ease back down the gravel drive, headlights cutting twin beams through the soft haze of kicked-up dust. Rhett reached out to roll down his window, letting his arm dangle outside, fingers tapping lazily against the side of the door like he had no care in the world.

“You still act like it’s a choice,” You grumbled, glancing sideways at him as you turned onto the main road, “You ever consider the possibility that I just don’t like you makin’ stupid decisions alone?”

“You’re not just here to babysit me, darlin’,” He said, voice soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “You’re here ‘cause you belong there.”

That had shut you up pretty quickly.

He didn’t say it with any kind of weight. Didn’t lean into it or give it too much gravity. Just said it like it was a fact of life–like gravity or dust or the way your names had always sounded right in the same sentence.

Rhett had called you his good luck charm since you were barely tall enough to see over the top rail at his first junior circuit. He’d botched the ride and landed square on his ass, the wind knocked clear out of him–but when he stumbled to his feet and saw your worried face at the edge of the ring, he lit up like he’d just won the whole damn event.

From then on, he’d refused to ride without you.

It didn’t matter what his father said. Didn’t matter how many times Royal Abbott tried to reason, bribe, or flat-out yell Rhett into submission—if you couldn’t be there, neither could he.

Royal had tried everything over the years. Bargained with prize money, lectured about reputation, brought up every missed opportunity, every unclaimed buckle, every point lost in the rankings. And every time, Rhett just shrugged, chewed his toothpick a little harder, and said, “Ain’t worth it without her.”

Royal had even gone to your father once, showed up at the house red-faced and muttering under his breath, looking for backup. He’d stomped up the porch steps, knocked hard enough to rattle the screen, and said, “You need to talk some damn sense into your daughter. She’s holdin’ Rhett back.”

Your father didn’t even look up from the paper in his lap. Just flipped a page and said, “It’s outta my hands, Royal. She’s his lucky rabbit’s foot, not mine. You’re the one who raised a superstitious kid.”

That had been the end of it.

Well–besides the occasional muttered complaint, the exasperated way Royal folded his arms and scowled at you from across the arena like you were the one who’d crawled inside Rhett’s brain and rewired the whole damn thing. But you knew he didn’t really mean it. Not deep down–cause just like Rhett, he too had a soft spot for you.

Your father and Royal had been friends since high school–thick as thieves, the kind of troublemakers who grew up and never quite grew out of it. There were more stories than you could count about the two of them sneaking out of study hall, crashing their bikes into fences, and getting into brawls over rodeo scores. Royal may have grumbled and huffed and barked, but he knew what this was.

He knew what you were to Rhett.

And that’s how you found yourself at the circuit tonight, in the worst possible outfit you could be in for a night that turned chilly. You leaned against the rail with your arms folded, listening to the announcer listing off names you didn’t recognize and sponsors you didn’t care about.

One rider across the way was adjusting the strap on his glove with his teeth, spitting into the dirt before swinging a leg over the gate. He was broad-shouldered and too young to have that many calluses on his palms. His boots also looked too new, and you could tell he was nervous just by the way he puffed out his chest.

“He’s overcompensatin’ with all that noise,” Rhett’s voice came from your left, low and familiar, warm despite the cold air, “Looks like he spit shined his boots and bought the buckle from a pawn shop.” You turned your head just enough to see him steadying beside you, close enough that your elbows almost brushed. He had one glove on already and was working his other hand through the second–leather creaking around his knuckles as he tugged it tight, mouth set in that concentrated little frown he only ever wore when he was minutes from getting on a bull. You hummed at him.

”You say that as if you weren’t the same way your first time.” He scoffs.

”I don’t think I was that bad.” You didn’t reply, you just smirked, and shook your head, turning your attention back to the rail. But your eyes didn’t stay on the ring long. Not when he was standing that close.

Rhett had always been easy to be around–easier than most. He didn’t demand attention, didn’t fill the silence with noise unless he felt like it needed to be broken. And somehow he always made you feel like the most important person in the room without ever saying it outright. Your gaze drifted down his arms, the way the veins ran like fault lines beneath his skin, pulsing beneath the leather. The gentle scrape of stubble along his jaw. The way his shirt clung to the dip between his shoulder blades.

You knew how to look without letting it show. How to admire the little things from afar, memorizing them only to recall later in the quiet moments of your own space, when it was just you and the memory of him.

You’d gotten good at control.

“You okay?” He asked suddenly, glancing at you from under the brim of his dusty brown Stetson. His voice had shifted–still soft, but lower now. Quieter. You raised your eyebrows.

”Why wouldn’t I be?” You replied, he shrugged a little, pulling the strap of his glove tight.

”Been quiet since we pulled in…”

“I’ve been tired since we pulled in,” You said, deflecting with a tilt of your chin, “You yanked me straight outta the garage before I could give myself a cold shower to wake myself up.” He smiled at that, eyes crinkling at the corners like he didn’t buy your excuse but was willing to let you keep it.

“Well,” Rhett drawled, shifting his weight and giving you a side glance, “Thank you for joinin’ me all marinated in oil and tired. Really sets the mood.”You rolled your eyes, lips twitching as you looked away

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t bring a wrench to throw at you while you’re on that big bull.” He chuckled under his breath, his gaze tracking the arena before flicking back to you.

”Gonna go sit with my family?” You let out a long sigh, eyes squinting at the stands like you were preparing for battle, seeing the Abbott’s were already together talking among themselves.

”Course…Always the best seat in the house. Front row for your brother talkin’ my ear off about his side hustles, and your dad telling me how the whole thing’s rigged against you, while Cecilia tries to ask whether or not I’m moving shops anytime soon.” Rhett huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“Always happy to know you love bein’ up there with them.” His tone was thick with sarcasm, but his smirk was soft. Familiar. Like he was picturing it already–your boots kicked up on the railing beside Royal, his dad grumbling into a foam cup while you offered him your popcorn. You both shared a quiet chuckle, the kind that slipped out easily, like short breaths in cold air.

In the moment of silence, your hand slipped into your back pocket without thinking–it was instinct more than anything. You dug around until your fingers curled around the thin chain, the cool metal warmed by your skin. Rhett didn’t look at you, because he didn’t have to. He knew the moment you turned fully toward him that you were pulling out the necklace. His shoulders straightened slightly at the sight of it.

A thin gold chain, delicate as thread, with the charm your mother had worn nearly every day before she passed–the small, oval locket with a dent on one side. It was a gift that your father had given her when they were first going out, and now it was yours. But in moments like this–when the dust was thick in the air, when the circuit lights buzzed overhead and danger sat heavy in your chest–it was his.

Rhett always took it the same way: quiet, gentle, and like it meant something more than just luck and protection.

Because it did.

Your mother had loved Rhett like he was her own. She fed him when Royal was late picking him up, scolded him when he scraped his knees, kissed the crown of his head when he showed up on your porch with dirt on his boots and his heart on his sleeve. When she passed, he didn’t say much. But you remembered him standing at the far end of the church, knuckles white around his hat, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

He didn’t cry. He never had to because you had done enough of that for the both of you.

You placed the necklace in his palm gently, brushing your fingers along the inside of his wrist. A quiet exchange. A tradition that had started the first time he made it onto the adult circuit–when you pressed it into his hand before the gate opened and said, “She’s got you.”

And it stuck and became something neither of you ever had to explain.

“Think she’s watchin’?” Rhett murmured, voice rasped low as he curled the chain into his fist.

Your answer came easy. “Always.” He nodded, jaw ticking as he thumbed the charm once for good measure before tucking it into his shirt–over his heart, where it belonged. He gave it a soft pat, like he was anchoring her there. Like maybe she’d feel it, wherever she was.

“I dunno if she’d like that you’re still lettin’ me do this,” He muttered after a beat, offering a crooked little half-smile. “Ridin’, I mean.”

You scoffed lightly. “She wouldn’t like it,” You admitted, “But you know she’d still be yellin’ the loudest when they called your score.”He smiled at that, shoulders easing just a little. Like the weight of her was something warm instead of heavy.

“She always liked you better than me,” You teased gently, trying to keep your voice light even as emotion caught in your throat. “Pretty sure she would’ve traded me for you if she had the option.”

Rhett looked over at you then, really looked, and something in his expression softened so fully it made your stomach twist. “Don’t think you believe that for a second,” He mumbled quietly.

And you didn’t.

But it was easier than saying what you really meant–that you’d give anything to hear your mother talk about Rhett again. To hear her tell him to be careful. To bring him a sandwich while he leaned against the side of the truck, and to kiss your forehead and say, “You take care of him out there, alright?”

Because she’d known about your true feelings for him. She always knew.

“You better not get yourself broken tonight,” You warned, trying to talk the emotion out of your voice, attempting to shake it out, “I’m not scrubbin’ your blood outta your jeans again.”

Rhett laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm. “I’ll try not to, but I admire the fact you did it so well the last time…” He gave you a soft pat on the side of your arm, the leather of his glove cool against your skin. “Don’t worry too much though. I’ve got you, and I’ve got her. That’s a two-for-one deal even the devil can’t mess with.” You didn’t smile this time–but your eyes stayed on him, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the tilt of his hat, the line of his shoulders.

“Be safe,” You said, and it was quieter than anything you’d spoken all night.

Rhett nodded. Touched the charm through his shirt once more. And then he turned and walked toward the chute, back straight, shoulders squared, steps steady.

You watched him go.

And just as he disappeared behind the gate, swallowed up by the noise and the crowd–

You heard a voice you hadn’t heard in five years.

“I’ll be damned,” The voice called out behind you, thick with familiarity and a smile you could already picture even before you turned, “Didn’t think you’d still be hanging around here.”

Your entire body went still–like a switch had been thrown on, and your nerves froze under your skin. It wasn’t just the voice. It was the cadence. The tilt in the vowels. The lilt of amusement laced with old memories and summer sweat.

Maria Olivares.

You didn’t turn right away. You just stared straight ahead at the chute where Rhett had disappeared, your heart dropping like it had been cut loose from a string. The last time you’d heard her voice, it had been filtered through the cracked speakers of the high school PA system during her senior farewell speech–warm, confident, grateful for her small-town upbringing, even as she looked forward to city lights and bigger things.

She hadn’t come back. Not once in five years. Not for holidays. Not for spring break. Not even to visit old friends. Everyone figured she’d traded Wabang for somewhere with sidewalks and skylines.

And yet here she was.

You turned slowly, dragging your eyes up from the toes of a pair of spotless white sneakers, to a pair of high waisted black jeans that fit right, and a hoodie, jean jacket combo that looked warm and cozy. Her dark brown–almost black–hair was still long, and shiny, catching the circuit lights in ribbons as it spilled over her shoulders. There was not a wave out of place. She looked good, and that was always the worst part for you.

”Hey stranger,” She smiled, stepping toward you, her hands in her jacket pockets like this was just another Friday night and you were the one that vanished, “Didn’t expect to see a familiar face here when I rolled in.” You blinked, pulse throbbing somewhere behind your teeth. You could feel every streak of sweat dried into your collarbone. The grease under your fingernails. The smudge of oil you’d missed above your brow. The faded tank top clinging to your ribs.

“Maria,” You managed to say, trying to force something that resembled a smile on your face. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Didn’t know you were back in town…It’s been a long time.” She nodded.

”Five years.” She said softly, like she was trying the words on for size, as if she hadn’t known exactly how long it had been. There was a brief pause, heavy with memories you didn’t ask to revisit.

Then, with a little huff of breath, she gave a rueful smile glancing toward the arena.

”I got burnt out from college…Thought I’d come back to Wabang to try and get my life back together…” Her gaze flicked sideways, and then back to you, “And I heard around town that Rhett was riding tonight, so I thought I’d stop by to catch up and maybe say hi.” You felt your stomach twist up into knots.

You tried to keep your face neutral, tried not to flinch at the mention of his name on her lips, because Maria had always been nice to you and treated you well. She had never acted above you, even when she could’ve. She was sweet, and effortless, and the kind of girl that seemed built for being admired. People talked about her like she was a firework: bright, exciting, and temporary…And Rhett…Well…

Rhett had always looked at her like she belonged in the Louvre.

You remembered it so clearly–him leaning back on the bleachers during lunch period, eating a sandwich, baseball cap tilted low as he watched her laugh by the vending machines. He used to elbow you in the side and mutter something like “God she’s just…Look at her, would ya?” Or “If I asked her out and she said no, I think I’d have to walk into traffic.”

And you’d laugh. Pretend it didn’t bother you, and you’d joke back and say “You’d have to start a new life in the city or somethin’.”

Because what else could you do?

You were…You. The grease-monkey. The tomboy. The one who spit-shined carburetors instead of joining social clubs. The one who could drink the boys under the table, throw a punch better than half of them, and still knew the sound of Rhett’s laugh like the back of your hand. You were his best friend. His good luck charm. His midnight mechanic and his porch-sitting, star-watching, shit-talking ride or die. But you were never the girl.

Not in the way Maria had been–even though they didn’t date.

So when Maria left for college, it was like someone let the air out of Rhett’s chest. He didn’t say much–just got real quiet for a few weeks. Stayed out late, rode harder, drank more. Then one night, sitting on your porch with his head tilted back and his boots up on the railing, he let out a sigh and said, “Guess that’s that, huh?”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You just passed him the bottle and leaned your shoulder into his like you always did.

And little by little, he put himself back together. He didn’t talk about her anymore. Stopped bringing her name up at all. And a part of you–one you never said out loud–had hoped maybe he was finally looking at someone else now. That maybe he’d finally see you.

But now, she was here.

In the flesh. Smiling, radiant, all polished edges and big city warmth. And she’d said his name like she had every right to, like she’d never left a hole in him when she packed up and vanished.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words settle somewhere heavy between your ribs.

“Thought I’d stop by to catch up and maybe say hi.”

You hated how those words clawed at the inside of your chest.

”Yeah,” You mumbled, voice tighter than you wanted it to be, “I’m sure Rhett will be glad to see you…It’s been a while.” Maria’s smile didn’t falter, not even for a second.

”We should go out for drinks after,” She suggested, casual and bright like this wasn’t a slow-motion car crash happening in front of you, “Maybe you two can come find me? I’ll stick around.” You swallowed hard enough that you felt it echo in the back of your throat like a gulp of warm soda going down the wrong way.

“Sure,” You managed to agree, forcing your lips up even more, “Sounds like a plan.” It came out flat. A little too fast. But she either didn’t notice or was too polite to mention it. She just glanced behind her, motioning toward a small group of people standing a few yards off, gathered near the funnel cake stand.

“I’m gonna head back to my friends,” She informed, “But I’ll see you after the circuit!” You nodded stiffly.

”Yeah, see you.” And with that, she turned, her sneakers scuffing quietly in the dirt as she made her way back to her group—hair bouncing lightly with each step, laughter already ringing in the air as one of her friends greeted her with an inside joke you didn’t get.

You didn’t watch her long. You couldn’t.

Instead, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and turned your gaze toward the bleachers, willing your legs to move. One step at a time. Your shoulders rolled once, then twice—like shaking off a weight. But the tension didn’t budge, not really. It stayed coiled up in your spine like something waiting to snap.

You stomped up the bleacher steps, boots loud against the metal, and found them all right where you expected: Amy munching on kettle corn, Perry fiddling with a foam cup of coffee, Royal with his arms crossed and a resting scowl, and Cecilia offering you a tight smile like she already knew you needed one.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cecilia greeted first, scooting to make space. “We were wonderin’ when you’d show.”

“Hey,” you said, voice still low as you nodded to each of them.

Royal shifted over with a grunt, making room beside him, and Perry tipped his head back toward you in a silent greeting.

You sank down between the two of them with a heavy breath, letting the cool of the evening air wrap around your sweat-damp skin. Amy reached over and tapped your boot with hers.

“You smell like axle grease,” She said flatly.

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Amy grinned back, and you leaned forward to prop your arms on your knees.

Royal glanced your way. “How’s your dad doin’ these days?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, grateful for the shift in subject. “Busy as usual,” You replied. “The shop’s been crazy for both of us, so I haven’t really been able to talk to him. Our faces are always under or inside cars.”

Royal chuckled low in his chest. “Well, a mechanic’s job is never finished until the last car is completely fixed.”

You snorted. “We’d be open till the end of time if we lived by your rules.”

That got a laugh out of Perry too, who clapped you on the shoulder. “Ain’t that the truth.” His eyes wandered casually over the crowd before something caught his attention. His chewing slowed, the foam cup crinkling slightly in his grip as he leaned in a fraction and nudged your arm with the back of his knuckle.

“Hey…” He muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low, “Is that who I think it is?”

You didn’t need to follow his gaze. You already knew. Still, your eyes drifted to the right, past the funnel cake stand and toward the little group of people laughing in the warm glow of the overhead string lights.

Maria was standing right in the middle, her smile shining like she’d never left, like she hadn’t cracked something in your chest just minutes ago.

“Yep,” You replied, the word flat and dry on your tongue.

Perry let out a soft whistle, eyebrows climbing. “Did Rhett see her?”

You shook your head slowly, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you glanced back toward the chutes. “Not yet… But I’m gonna have to be the one that breaks the news to him. As usual.”

Perry tilted his head, his expression shifting into something halfway between sympathy and disbelief. “She say why she’s here?”

”She said she got burnt out from college, now she’s back in town until further notice basically. She said she wants to go out for drinks after the circuit,” You explained. There was a beat of silence. Then Perry huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Man… That’s gonna be pure torture for you, huh?” You flicked your gaze toward him, jaw tight.

He knew. Perry was one of the only people who did. You’d sworn him to secrecy years ago—right around the time you drank too much whiskey behind the barn one summer night and finally admitted it. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t teased. Just looked at you with those steady eyes and said, “Yeah…That tracks.”

And despite his reputation for being a smartass, Perry had never breathed a word of it to anyone.

“I could come with you guys,” he offered now, voice quieter. “Even out the numbers.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You’re talkin’ like we’re goin’ to war.”

Perry shrugged one shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

You shook your head with a sigh and muttered, “I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

“Hey,” Perry said, raising his hands defensively. “Don’t say I didn’t offer. And don’t come cryin’ when you end up sittin’ between them, third-wheelin’ your own heartbreak.”

Before you could respond—before the knot in your chest could turn sharper—the PA system crackled back to life, cutting through the thick air.

“Next up, ladies and gentlemen—we got Rhett Abbott comin’ up in the chute!”

Your whole body snapped to attention, your eyes instinctively finding the chute where he stood, framed in gold and dust and determination. He was climbing the rails now, one hand on the edge of the gate, the other adjusting the brim of his Stetson. His back was broad beneath the weight of his vest, the number pinned crookedly to the fabric like it always was because he never let anyone else do it. Always asked you.

He didn’t look toward the stands. Not yet. His focus was on the bull–pure, burning concentration.

But your chest was a live wire.

Because he didn’t know she was here.

And when he saw her–when he looked up and caught sight of Maria’s soft smile and city-polished glow standing in the crowd–you didn’t know what it would do to him.

But you knew exactly what it would do to you.

Perry leaned back, a shadow in his expression. “Buckle up,” he said, almost like a warning. “Here we go.”

And all you could do was hold your breath…And wait.

————————

The crowd had started to thin, the night slipping gently into its last stretch–boots shuffling through kicked-up dirt, families gathering up folding chairs and foam cups, laughter tapering off into low murmurs beneath the buzz of the circuit lights. The arena was quieter now, calmer. A few riders lingered by the chutes, stripping off gear, comparing scores, cracking open lukewarm beers from coolers tucked behind the rails.

Rhett was still standing near the gate, dust clinging to the bottom hem of his jeans, his shirt sticking to the sweat that had dried down his spine. His hair was damp under his hat, eyes scanning the space like he was still riding the high of the eight-second count.

You moved down the bleachers slowly, like each step took effort, the cool night air brushing against the back of your neck, the gravel biting into the soles of your boots.

He saw you coming, and his face lit up in that familiar way it always did–soft around the edges, glowing just under the skin. Without a word, Rhett reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and pulled out the thin gold chain, the charm glinting faintly beneath the floodlights. He held it out gently, curled between his fingers like something sacred.

“Guess you two really did help tonight,” He commented with a crooked smile, placing the necklace in your open palm. “Probably one of my best performances.” You looked down at the charm as it settled into your skin, feeling the warmth of him still clinging to the metal. You managed a smile, small and tired.

“Yeah…You looked good out there.”

But it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

And Rhett noticed. His brow furrowed immediately, eyes narrowing with that uncanny instinct he always had for your moods.

“Somethin’ wrong?” He asked, pointing gently between his own eyebrows. “You’ve got that little crease here–means you’re thinkin’ too hard.” You tried to shrug it off, eyes dropping to the necklace as your fingers curled around it. But the weight in your chest didn’t move. You hesitated. Then you exhaled slowly.

“…Maria’s back.” You felt the moment he registered the name like a jolt–like it lit something under his skin. Rhett straightened a little, his whole posture shifting, just slightly. Perking up. Perking toward her.

“Really?” He said, his voice brightening in a way that made your stomach churn. “Where is she?”

You nodded toward the far end of the arena without lifting your gaze. “She told me to come find her after…Said she wants to go out for some drinks.”

There was a brief pause before he smiled, teeth flashing in the glow of the overhead lights. “Well that’ll be great! Would love to catch up with her.”

You nodded once. “Yeah. I thought so.”

Your voice was low. Measured. Your lips pressed into a thin, practiced smile–the kind you’d perfected over the years, the one you used when something stung but you didn’t want anyone to see it bleed.

Rhett didn’t catch it. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t know what to do with it.

You tucked the necklace into your back pocket, the chain coiling softly in your grip like a secret.

————————

The hum of the arena faded behind you as the three of you made your way down the gravel path toward the bar just off the main strip–The Rusty Spur, glowing amber beneath a flickering neon sign shaped like a bull skull. You’d been here a hundred times. After circuits, after slow nights, after heartbreaks that you never let show. It was familiar ground.

But tonight, it didn’t feel like home.

Rhett held the door open with one boot, gesturing Maria inside with a crooked grin, and you followed silently, your fingers still brushing the edge of your back pocket like the necklace might anchor you if you kept touching it.

The bar was low-lit and humming with half-empty pitchers and slow drawls. Music crackled low from the jukebox–old country, something about losing and loving in the same breath. You barely noticed. You were too busy clocking how close Maria stood beside Rhett. How she reached for his arm when she laughed at something he said. How his body naturally leaned toward hers, like it remembered the rhythm of it even if his heart didn’t quite know why.

You took the booth in the far corner. Your usual spot. Rhett slid in beside you, and Maria took the other side. It should’ve felt balanced. It didn’t.

Someone took drink orders–probably Rhett, but your ears were ringing too hard to catch the words. You muttered something about whiskey, and a moment later, a sweating glass was placed in front of you.

Maria was talking. Rhett was laughing. You were sitting in your grease-stained tank top, sweating in your spot, barely blinking as the two of them picked up where they left off–like no time had passed at all.

“Oh my god, do you remember that time at the bonfire?” Maria said, grinning, her knuckles brushing Rhett’s arm as she leaned forward. “When Perry and Jacob tried to jump the creek in that rust-bucket four-wheeler and we all thought they were gonna die?”

Rhett chuckled, elbow resting on the table, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I think Perry still swears he cleared it by three feet.”

“He didn’t,” You muttered, voice low, more to your glass than to them. “He cracked the axle and limped it home with a broken taillight.”

Maria paused, then offered you a smile. “God, you’ve always had a better memory than all of us.” You gave her a small nod and took a slow sip, the whiskey burning just enough to keep you tethered to the moment. Rhett turned toward you briefly, nudging your boot with his under the table like a reflex.

“That was the same night you duct-taped the handlebars back on, right? Got the damn thing running again in fifteen minutes?”

“Thirteen,” You murmured, lips quirking just slightly.

“Course it was.” He grinned, bumping your shoulder lightly with his. But then Maria asked another question–something about Denver; a story you hadn’t been there for–and Rhett’s attention shifted back before you could respond.

You stared at the condensation on your glass.

Their conversation rolled on, easy and familiar in a way that twisted something in your chest. Not cruel. Not exclusive. But you couldn’t help but feel like a guest at your own table.

They laughed about old teachers. About some kid who used to bring his goat to show-and-tell. About a trip to a fair you barely remembered because you’d spent most of it alone, fixing a blown tire while they wandered off for cotton candy.

Every now and then, one of them would glance toward you. Ask a soft “Remember that?” or toss you a half-smile. And you would nod. You would smile back. You would pretend.

But it felt like watching them through a window.

At one point, Maria reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her nails painted a glossy wine red that caught the light. Rhett’s gaze lingered a second too long. You saw it. You always saw it.

You drained your glass.

The table blurred a little around the edges as you blinked slowly, pressing your fingertips to your temple.

“You alright?” Rhett asked quietly, finally noticing the way your shoulders had gone still. His voice was soft, too soft, like it might undo you if you let it. You didn’t look at him, you just gave the smallest nod.

”Yeah, guess the lack of sleep is catching up to me.” Maria stood then, smoothing out the front of her jacket. “I’m gonna head to the bar–get another round.” She motioned between the two of you. “You guys want anything?”

Rhett looked toward you. You shook your head. “I’m good.”

”I’ll take one more beer, I have a feelin’ I’ll have to drive this one home tonight.” He commented motioning to you. Maria smirked.

”Got a preference?” She asked, and Rhett shook his head, a boyish grin appearing on his lips.

”Nah, whatever they’ve got I’ll take.” Then Maria disappeared into the crowd, and the booth fell quiet. You sat back, arms crossed loosely, your eyes fixed on the edge of the table. Rhett shifted beside you, his leg brushing yours.

”You sure you’re alright?” You’re actin’ really weird…” Rhett shifted a little closer, the leather of the booth creaking under his weight as his knee knocked gently against yours again. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Not with him this close. Not when the heat from his body was bleeding into your side and curling around your skin like something unspoken.

And then you caught it–that scent.

Faint, but unmistakable. A soft, masculine heat rising off his collar, sunk into the fabric of his shirt. It was that cologne he always wore for circuits–something low and woodsy, edged with spice, like cedar and cracked pepper and the memory of summer sweat. The kind of scent that lingered even after he was gone, that clung to his flannel when you borrowed it, that sank into your lungs and made your stomach tighten without warning. You’d never asked what it was. You didn’t need to. You knew it like you knew the sound of your name when he said it quiet.

And it always made you a little dizzy.

You blinked once, twice, trying to keep your face steady as your gaze finally flicked toward him.

“I said I’m fine, Rhett,” You murmured, a little firmer this time. “Just exhausted.” But he didn’t back off. Not completely.

His brows drew in slightly as he studied you, mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a frown. Those blue eyes–always a little too clear, always a little too honest—swept over your face like he was reading it in a language he used to speak fluently but hadn’t practiced in years. He looked at your cheeks. Your jaw. Your eyes. He tilted his head just a fraction, lips parting like he was about to say something and then thinking better of it.

And then, finally, he nodded–slow, thoughtful.

“Alright…” He started, voice quieter now, more careful. “After this round, I’ll take you home.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an offer. It was something softer than that. A promise tucked inside a sentence.

You opened your mouth to argue–to say you could take care of yourself, to brush it off like always–but before you could get the words out, Maria returned. She set a glass of water in front of you, and took one beer for herself and handed the other to Rhett, her fingers brushing against his. You watched him glance up with that familiar, easy smile.

“Appreciate it,” He said, nodding.

Maria slid back into her seat, eyes flicking between the two of you for half a second before she leaned in again, chin resting on one hand, and launched straight back into whatever story she’d started before–something about a concert she went to in Austin, a rooftop party of sorts.

You listened with one ear, the other still tuned to the quiet place inside your chest that was trying not to crack open.

You nursed your glass of water. You forced a smile.

And all the while, you felt Rhett’s leg still pressed against yours beneath the table, warm and unmoving.

As if some part of him still remembered you were there. Even if the rest had already started drifting.

Rhett nursed the last of his beer with an absent sort of slowness, fingers rolling the base of the bottle in tight little circles against the table like he was working something out in his head. Maria was still talking, still smiling–her voice soft and syrupy in the warm barlight–but his eyes flicked toward the clock above the jukebox.

And when his bottle hit the table with a soft thunk, you already knew what was coming.

“Well,” Rhett drawled, wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing up from the booth, “We oughta get goin’. Gonna be a long drive back to Wabang.”

Maria sat up a little straighter, her smile faltering just slightly. “Oh–are you headed out already?”

He nodded, casting a brief glance your way. “Yeah, gettin’ late. You need a ride back or…?”

She shook her head quickly, waving a hand. “No, no, I’m good. I’m stayin’ with some friends out here for another day or two. Figured I’d ease my way back into town life.”

Rhett grinned, all teeth and comfort. “Well, I’ll definitely call you.”

Maria bit her bottom lip–barely–but you saw it. Like punctuation on a sentence that didn’t need saying. “I’d really like that.”

Then her gaze shifted toward you, warm and easy. “We should all do this again sometime, eh?”

You gave her a nod. Tight. Quick. Polite. “Yeah. Definitely.”

She smiled one last time and turned away to rejoin her friends at the bar.

Rhett didn’t say much as you both made your way outside–boots crunching gravel, the cool night air curling around your ankles like smoke. The neon sign buzzed overhead, painting the parking lot in pale, flickering yellow.

You reached into your back pocket without a word, dug out his keys, and tossed them over. He caught them easily, looking at you like he wanted to say something, but you were already climbing into the passenger seat. The door slammed shut harder than it needed to, the echo of it biting into the quiet.

You leaned against the door, body turned away from him, cheek resting against the cool window as you stared out into the night.

Rhett slid into the driver’s seat, settling in with a soft exhale as he buckled in and adjusted the rearview mirror. He started the engine–it rumbled to life with the low growl of something familiar, something that usually made you feel steady.

Tonight though…It just made you feel even more tired.

“Hopefully you can catch some sleep while I’m drivin’,” He said, his voice low, maybe even a little hopeful.

“Yeah…” The word left your mouth flat and dull, dry as dust. Rhett turned to glance at you, the concern already knitting into his brow. But you were already reaching into the backseat, fingers curling around the flannel that always lived there–the dark blue one he sometimes wore when he was cold and you always stole when you wanted to feel his warmth. You tugged it over you, and didn’t glance his way for the rest of the ride, fading off into a sleepy haze.

————————

The shop smelled like motor oil, burnt rubber, and heat-soaked metal–the scent of long hours and too many worn-out engines trying to hold on. The radio murmured low in the corner, old country drifting from the busted speaker, the static crackling between verses like background noise to your every exhale.

It was just past noon, but the heat had already settled in for the day. The big bay doors were rolled open, sunlight spilling across the concrete in sharp streaks, cutting through the floating dust like gold through smoke. You were bent over the open hood of a ‘97 Ford Ranger, your shoulders glinting with sweat, black tank top sticking to your back in places where the fabric met skin. The sleeves of your navy jumpsuit were tied around your waist, the whole thing cinched low on your hips and streaked with oil from earlier jobs.

Rhett was sitting on the workbench a few feet away, his boots propped on the lower shelf, stool tilted back dangerously as he rocked on two legs like it didn’t matter if he tipped over. His ballcap was pulled low, his light brown hair curling out from the back, his jaw working absently around a toothpick as he talked–still talking–about her.

“…I mean, I dunno,” He was saying, shifting his weight again, “She called me last night after dinner just to talk–like real late too, almost midnight. We didn’t talk about much, just…Stuff. Nothin’ important. But it was nice, y’know?” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, voice casual, but his brows were slightly furrowed like the whole thing was keeping him awake.

You hummed a soft acknowledgment, eyes trained on the belt tensioner you were adjusting. The socket wrench in your hand clicked steadily with each turn, your knuckles smudged with grease, fingernails stained half-permanently. Sweat beaded on your lower back and slipped beneath the waistband of your suit.

“Anyway,” Rhett continued, “She said she might swing by the circuit again this weekend. Wants to grab coffee first. Think that means somethin’?” His voice dipped into something hopeful. “I mean, she doesn’t have to make the first move, but…It’s been weeks and I still can’t tell if she’s just bein’ polite or if she’s actually–y’know–interested.”

You blew out a slow breath through your nose, kept your eyes on the pulley system as you tugged the belt back into place. “Dunno, Rhett. She’s hard to read.”

He paused, like he was expecting more. When you didn’t add anything, he scratched at his jaw and pushed the stool back down flat.

“You ever notice how she touches my arm a lot when she laughs?” He asked, tone casual, but a little eager. “Like, not in a weird way, just kinda light. She’s always been touchy though. That don’t mean much, does it?”

“Not always,” You mumbled, wrench clacking again. “Could just be her way.”

Rhett leaned forward, elbows on his knees now. His gaze was drifting, not really focused on the cabinets or the tools. Not even on the truck. It was on you. On the way your tank top rode up just a little when you reached for a tool. The way your back muscles shifted beneath sun-warmed skin. How your hair clung to the nape of your neck in sticky curls. He took a sip from the bottle of Gatorade he’d barely touched, then swallowed slowly.

“You always been good at figurin’ people out,” He said after a beat, softer. “You’d tell me if I was readin’ into it too much, right?”

“Sure,” You replied, brushing a hand across your forehead, leaving a streak of dirt there without realizing. You stood up straighter to stretch your spine, a soft crack echoing as your hands went to your lower back. Rhett’s eyes flicked down your side–followed the way the tied sleeves of your jumpsuit tugged the tank top tight across your waist, the glint of your exposed hip where your shirt had ridden up slightly. He quickly looked away, rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just keep thinkin’ about how she left, y’know?” He muttered, almost to himself. “And now she’s back and it’s like nothin’ happened. Like we can just…Pick up where we left off.”

You finally glanced over your shoulder at him, one brow arched. “Did you leave anything to pick up?”

Rhett opened his mouth. Shut it and thought for a second, “No. I mean, not really. Not out loud. But I always thought…” He shook his head, letting the words trail off like a loose wire. “I dunno what I thought. I guess I just missed her.”

Your lips pressed together into a flat line, but you didn’t say anything. Not at first.

“I get it,” You finally muttered, wiping your hands on a rag. “She’s easy to miss.”

Rhett tilted his head slightly at the tone, like he was hearing something he wasn’t meant to catch. “You don’t like her much, do you?”

You paused, grip tightening just a little on the wrench.

“I don’t not like her,” You said slowly, choosing each word carefully. “She’s…Fine. Y’know how I am with people…” He squinted at you, suspicion tugging at his features like a loose thread. But then his eyes dropped again–to your neck, your collarbone, the bare line of your shoulder as you leaned over the engine again. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Was thinkin’ of askin’ her to come to the Fourth of July thing next week,” He said, casual but deliberate, watching for your reaction. “Figured it’d be nice to have her meet everyone again…Y’know, properly.” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t roll your eyes. You didn’t say anything cruel. But your fingers curled around your wrench tighter than before, the metal biting into your palm.

“Sure,” You said with a hollow shrug. “Bring whoever you want, I’m sure everyone would love to see her.”

Rhett watched you for a moment longer, unreadable.

“You ever gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on in that head of yours?” He asked, almost teasing, but his voice dropped just a little at the end.

You didn’t look at him. Just reached back into the engine block.

“Nothin’ is going on up here, I’m just payin’ attention to this customer's car.” Rhett knew better than to believe that.

He’d seen it with his own eyes–felt it in the air, even if you were too proud or too stubborn to admit it. You used to meet his gaze across a room and hold it, unbothered, cocky even, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him. But now? Every time Maria’s name came up, you flinched just a little, like you were bracing for a hit. And whenever the three of you were in the same space–which was rare because you made it rare–you got quiet. Distant. You’d hover near the edge of the group, arms crossed, mouth pressed flat, eyes focused on anything but them.

And he remembered.

He remembered asking if you wanted to come out with him and Maria after that first weekend she rolled back into town. It had been a simple question, low-stakes. Just a casual invite.

But you didn’t even think about it–you just said, “Can’t. I’m busy.”

Didn’t even ask what night.

You’d turned him down so fast it had made his head spin. And after that, whenever he mentioned Maria, you got this far-off look like your mind had slipped into neutral. Like you weren’t even there anymore.

He shifted on the stool now, elbow digging into his knee, watching the way you moved with quiet precision–like you were using the engine block to avoid him. Like if you focused hard enough on the bolts and belts, you could keep the rest of the world from touching you.

Sometimes he wished he could read minds.

Not for anything big or cosmic–just so he could finally know what the hell went on behind your eyes when you looked at him.

What you thought when Maria’s name came up.

What you thought when he said she might come to the Fourth of July thing.

What you thought about him, period.

Did you think he was being desperate? Clingy? Chasing someone who didn’t deserve to be chased? Or did you just not care anymore?

“You sure nothin’s goin’ on in that head?” He asked again, a little quieter this time.

Still no answer. Just the soft click of your tools.

Rhett let out a slow breath, set his Gatorade bottle on the bench beside him with a soft thunk. He looked at the concrete floor, then back at you.

“Y’know, sometimes it feels like you’re playin’ wingman,” He said after a beat. “Only you’re not rootin’ for me to win.”

You froze for just half a second–barely enough for anyone else to notice–but Rhett caught it.

He always did.

Then you straightened up again, slow and careful, wiping the back of your neck with the same rag you’d used on your hands.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shrugged, but it was tight. Guarded.

“Means you show up, sure. But you don’t really wanna be there. You say you’re happy for me, but I can tell you’re not. You act like you’re helpin’ but you keep your distance. It’s like…you’re close enough to see it all, but never close enough to be part of it.” Your jaw tensed, lips parting just slightly like you wanted to fire back something sharp–but nothing came. So Rhett leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his thighs.

“Do you want me to stop talkin’ about her?” He asked gently. “Just say the word, and I will. I swear I will.” Your eyes finally met his–steady, unreadable. And for a moment, he thought you might actually tell him. That you might finally crack open whatever it was you were hiding behind grease-streaked skin and bitten-off words.

But instead you said:

”I don’t care Rhett, you can talk about her till the cows come home.” And you turned back to the engine.

————————

The fireworks had already started by the time you sank into the corner of the worn-out couch, your dad’s recliner creaking as he shifted beside you. The TV was low, tuned to some classic western neither of you were really watching. Outside, through the screen door, you could hear the faint distant pop of celebratory explosions, followed by a round of cheers from somewhere down the road. The air was thick with summer—warm and buzzing with mosquitoes, smoke from backyard grills clinging to everything like memory.

You hadn’t told Rhett you weren’t coming.

You’d texted Perry earlier–just a short message, simple and vague.

“Can’t make it tonight. Not feelin’ great. Tell Rhett sorry.”

He sent back a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else, which was honestly a mercy. Your dad glanced over from where he was leafing through the town paper, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He didn’t look at you right away when he spoke.

“Didn’t you have plans tonight with the Abbotts?” He asked, casual but pointed. “Royal told me they were havin’ a Fourth of July party.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just shifted in your seat and tugged the throw blanket higher over your lap, even though it was too hot for it. Your voice came out low.

“Yeah. Just not feelin’ well.” That made him look up. He tilted his chin slightly, peering at you over the tops of his glasses.

“All of a sudden? You were fine at work today…Could’ve sworn you were elbows-deep in someone’s transmission this afternoon.” You shrugged, eyes fixed on the soft glow of the television.

“Guess it hit me late.”

He didn’t push at first. Just turned a page in his paper with a slow rustle, let the silence stretch like taffy. You thought maybe he’d drop it. But then–

“This ain’t about Maria comin’ back now, is it?” You groaned, throwing your head back against the cushion.

“Why does everything have to come back to her all the damn time? Can’t I just not feel good?” Your dad raised his brows like you’d just proved his point.

“Well,” He said slowly, “That answers my question.” You shot him a look, but it lacked heat.

“Are you jealous that she’s gettin’ Rhett’s attention?” He asked plainly, like he was asking about the weather. “I mean–I ain’t judgin’. You’ve always liked that boy, ever since y’all were knee-high and runnin’ around this place like wild dogs.”

“I have not,” You muttered, crossing your arms tighter over your chest.

“Sure you haven’t,” He teased, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And I suppose I imagined the way you used to light up like a damn Christmas tree whenever he’d show up on that beat-up four-wheeler.” You opened your mouth, then closed it, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking over at you again–not teasing now, just fatherly. Tired, maybe.

“Look, I know it ain’t easy. Watchin’ someone you care about look the other way. But if you want something different…You gotta say something different. Boy’s not a mind reader.”

“I know that,” You replied softly, after a long beat. Your throat felt tight. “I just…It’s not that simple.”

“Never is,” He agreed, settling back with a soft grunt. “But you keep sittin’ on your hands, and someone else is gonna take the spot you won’t claim.” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

Because across town, Rhett was probably smiling at her the way he used to smile at you. Probably handing her a cold drink, nudging her shoulder when she laughed, leaning in a little too close like it was second nature. You could picture it too well. That easy charm. That golden light. The kind of warmth he didn’t even know he carried.

And maybe, just maybe, it used to be yours.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you were just a ghost in a room you used to stand in, watching from the quiet side of town as the fireworks bloomed without you.

You stayed curled on the couch beside your dad for another hour or so, the two of you watching the rest of the Western he had put on in a silent that wasn’t uncomfortable–but felt heavier than usual.

Every now and then, he’d make a quiet comment about the film or chuckle under his breath, and you’d hum in response, but your mind had long drifted elsewhere. You couldn’t stop picturing it: Rhett laughing under the glow of string lights, standing too close to Maria, that loose and familiar posture he used when he felt wanted. When he felt seen.

Eventually, the credits rolled, the TV dimmed, and the old western faded into static hum. You stretched slowly, working the tension from your shoulders before pushing to your feet.

“I’m gonna head out,” You said quietly, brushing your hand down the side of your sweatpants. “Gotta wash off the day.”Your dad didn’t look up from his recliner, but he nodded once, the paper still resting in his lap.

“Alright, kid. Tell the ghosts I said hi.”

You snorted softly. “Yeah, I’ll light ‘em a candle.” You stepped toward the front door and reached for the handle–then paused. Rain.

The sound hit your ears before you even saw it–soft, steady, the kind of slow summer drizzle that snuck up on you after sundown. You opened the door and stood in the frame for a second, watching the raindrops dance in the yellow glow of the porch light. The gravel was soaked already, puddles forming in the grooves where the driveway dipped, and the path to the loft looked like a slick, muddy mess.

“Well, shit,” You muttered, eyeing the way your breath curled in the humid air. “Rarely rains on the Fourth.”

Your dad made a noise behind you–somewhere between a grunt and a dry chuckle. “This is what happens when you decide not to celebrate it,” he called out, flipping another page in the paper. “The weather takes it personal.”

You huffed a laugh and grabbed your old black windbreaker from the coat rack, shrugging it over your shoulders. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to the weather next year.” With that, you slipped out onto the porch, tugged the hood up, and jogged down the steps.

The mud squelched under your boots immediately, sucking at the soles with every step, but you kept going, ducking your chin down against the rain. Your loft stood about forty yards behind the house, nestled at the edge of the property where the grass met the tree line. The walk was familiar, even in the dark, and your feet followed the worn path instinctively–even if the occasional puddle slowed you down.

The rain soaked through your jeans by the time you made it to the porch. You slipped your key into the door and turned it, heart settling as the lock clicked open.

The smell hit you first–warm wood and lavender, the faint trace of engine oil clinging to the boots by the door. You stepped inside and shut the door behind you with a soft thud, shaking yourself off like a dog and dragging your hood down with a sigh.

The lights were low–just the ones above the kitchen sink and the little Edison bulb lamp you always left on beside the couch. You didn’t bother turning on the overheads. The place felt better dim.

The loft was everything you needed and nothing you didn’t.

It was open-concept, all one floor, no walls to separate everything–just beams and slanted ceilings, wood-paneled walls stained a soft, honeyed brown that caught the light like something out of a dream. Your father had built it himself for your eighteenth birthday, saying, “Every girl needs a place she can disappear to. Somewhere that’s hers.” He’d smacked the blueprints on the dining table with a grin and said he didn’t want to know who was coming or going, didn’t want to hear anything about late nights or early mornings. He just wanted you to have space. Independence. Freedom.

You had cried when he showed you the key.

The place was cozy–homey in a way that didn’t require explanation. The kitchen sat along the far wall, rustic cabinets painted sage green, an old farmhouse sink surrounded by chipped enamel counters, your mug collection hanging from hooks above the stove. To the right was your sleeping space–a big, soft bed piled with mismatched quilts and pillows, tucked beneath the loft’s only window. Books were stacked on the floor beside it like a makeshift nightstand, with a cracked old alarm clock resting on top.

The living area bled right into everything else: a wide brown leather couch which you had thrifted with Rhett at a decent price, a low coffee table you’d made from an old pallet, and your record player setup on a shelf near the armchair where you kept your journals. The only thing separating the zones was a long, faded rug with a southwestern pattern that anchored everything in place.

Boots were kicked off by the door. Your dad’s old denim jacket hung on the hook by the kitchen, next to the keys Rhett had left behind last winter and never came back for.

You took your time peeling off your soaked clothes, leaving your windbreaker to hang dry by the door. You padded barefoot across the wood floors to the kitchen, flicking the kettle on without thinking, craving something warm. Outside, the rain picked up a little, tapping softly against the windows like a quiet apology, before changing into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts.

You leaned your hip against the counter, watching the steam curl from the spout, and let yourself breathe.

The kettle hissed softly behind you, steam whispering up into the warm air of the loft, curling like smoke from a slow-burning fuse. You were still leaning against the counter when you heard it.

Tires.

Crunching gravel.

Slow. Deliberate.

You straightened, eyebrows furrowing. You hadn’t heard anyone pull into the main driveway. The rain was still falling, steady and soft, a silver curtain beyond the windows–but the headlights cut through it in sudden streaks. Wide. Familiar. High off the ground.

A truck.

Your eyes narrowed as the engine cut. The lights went dark. A moment later: Three sharp knocks.

Not rushed. Not panicked. Just firm. Like whoever was outside knew they had every right to be here.

You let out a slow, tired sigh, and turned off the kettle.

“Perry,” You muttered under your breath, pushing off the counter. “Dumbass probably thinks I’m curled up cryin’ into a bottle.”

You crossed the floor barefoot, pulling your oversized tee down lower on your thighs as you passed the couch. The rain hadn’t let up–it was still falling hard enough that you could hear it pinging against the porch roof, a low murmur just under your breath. You reached for the handle, pulled open the door–and stopped dead.

It wasn’t Perry.

It was Rhett.

Soaked to the damn bone.

His shirt clung to his chest, heavy and half-translucent, his flannel abandoned somewhere along the way. His jeans were soaked through, dripping onto the porch. His hat hung limp in one hand, curls plastered to his forehead. Water streamed from his jaw, his shoulders, his eyelashes.

And his expression…He looked furious.

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, boots thudding onto the hardwood as he slammed the door behind him. His chest rose and fell hard, breath sharp in his nose. And when he looked at you–it wasn’t his usual warmth.

It was a supernova.

Frustrated. Scalding. Desperate.

“What the hell is goin’ on with you? Hmm?” he snapped.

You blinked at him, stunned. The loft felt suddenly too small, too quiet except for the rain beating against the roof. Rhett kicked off his boots without breaking eye contact, his wet jacket hitting the floor with a heavy slap.

“Wow,” You started, raising your eyebrows. “No, ‘hi, Y/N, how are you?’ Not even a ‘how’s your night goin’?’”

But he didn’t bite.

He just stared at you–blue eyes sharp, tense, unreadable.

“Right now ain’t the time for games.” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

You froze in place.

“First you don’t wanna come out with me anymore,” he continued, stepping closer, water still dripping from his sleeves. “Then you start pullin’ away like I did somethin’ wrong, and now you ditch the Fourth of July party and say you’re fuckin’ sick?” His voice cracked faintly on the last word. Not in anger. In something closer to hurt.

“Tell me what the fuck is goin’ on.”

You couldn’t answer. Not immediately.

You just stared, mouth dry, trying to find footing in the storm that had followed him inside. He tossed his wet hat off to the side, ran a hand through his dripping hair, like the mess of it might let him breathe. It didn’t.

You swallowed.

“I…” You cleared your throat, tried again. “Let me go grab you a towel, alright? You’re soaked, and you’re gonna–”

You moved to brush past him–but his hand came out gently. Just enough to stop you.

He caught your wrist.

Not hard. Not angry.

Just… steady.

Warm fingers curled loosely around your skin, grounding you.

“I don’t need a towel right now.” His voice was quieter now. Less heat, more gravity. “What I need–” He met your gaze fully, voice low and razor-sharp with feeling“–is for you to tell me the truth.”

And for the first time all night, you realized–he wasn’t mad because he didn’t care. He was mad because he did. Because he had been confused. Lost. Hurt. Because something had shifted between you, and you’d never let him see it.

And now he was here–dripping, shaking, looking at you like you were the one thing he couldn’t figure out how to fix.

The air inside the loft had thickened–saturated with rain and tension, heavy with every word you hadn’t said and every moment that had gone sideways between you.

Rhett’s hand still circled your wrist, warm and unrelenting, grounding you in place like he was afraid you might bolt. You could feel his pulse through his fingertips–fast and strong, matching the thunder of your own heart. His eyes locked to yours, demanding something, anything, while water pooled beneath him on the floor.

Then his voice cut through the quiet, low and sharp:

“Is this whole thing about me and Maria?”

Your chest cinched tight. Your jaw tensed automatically–every muscle bracing like your body knew how dangerous the truth might be. You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared at him, and in that silence…Your face dropped. Just barely. The kind of shift only someone who knew you like the back of his hand could notice.

Rhett saw it.

And something in his face snapped–not in rage, but in clarity.

He stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to make the air crackle.

“Look at me in the eyes, Y/N,” He said, voice firm now–stern in a way that made your stomach twist, the dominance in his tone curling heat into your spine. “And tell me that isn’t what this is fuckin’ about.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a command.

You tried to hold it together. To keep your eyes from betraying you. But he was right there, soaking wet and burning with something you hadn’t seen in him in years. And when you finally looked up at him, really looked…Everything cracked.

Your breath caught. Your throat tightened. The words didn’t come.

They couldn’t.

Because how the hell were you supposed to lie with him looking at you like that? Like your silence was the final piece of a puzzle that had been driving him insane.

“I knew it,” He said softly–more to himself than to you. “Christ.” He raked a hand through his wet hair again, exhaling hard. “All this time, you’ve been walkin’ around pretendin’ you don’t care… Pretendin’ it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

You yanked your wrist free–not violently, just enough to take a step back. “What was I supposed to do, Rhett?” Your voice cracked open like a dam. “Watch you chase after the one girl I could never compete with and just smile about it?”

He stared at you–stunned, but not surprised. Like some part of him had known this truth existed, buried deep beneath the grease-stained tank tops and quiet sacrifices.

“She left,” You snapped. “She left and you broke for a while and I helped put you back together piece by piece. I sat on that goddamn porch with you night after night while you pretended you didn’t care she was gone. And I was there when you started laughing again. When you started living again.”

Your voice was rising now–shaking, furious and breaking apart all at once.

“And then she shows up, all pretty and polished and fuckin’ effortless, and you just light up like nothing ever happened. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Rhett’s mouth parted slightly, but you didn’t stop.

“I’ve been right here, Rhett,” You whispered, stepping forward now. “All this time. Loving you so quietly it damn near killed me.”

And there it was.

Out in the open.

The words you’d never dared say. Hanging between you like smoke in a thunderstorm.

Rhett didn’t move at first. His chest rose and fell, slow and ragged. Water still dripped from his jaw, but he didn’t wipe it away. His eyes were locked to yours, blue and searing.

“I didn’t know,” He shot back, voice low. Raw. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t want to know.”

“No,” He said, stepping toward you again, shaking his head. “No, that ain’t fair. Don’t you put that on me. I looked for signs, Y/N. I did. But you–you shut me out. Every damn time I tried to get close, you’d change the subject or pretend it was nothin’.” Your footsteps echoed in the silence between you, the sound of your breath sharp in your throat as you turned to face him fully–eyes blazing, rain still dripping off the ends of his curls and onto the floor like the storm had followed him inside.

“I didn’t avoid any conversations with you,” you snapped, voice raw and loud in the warm wood space. “You never thought to say anything! You think I’m just supposed to read your fuckin’ mind?!”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, teeth flashing as he stepped forward again, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And why does it have to be up to me to say anything?! I didn’t know this was a one-sided friendship. Last time I checked, there was two of us in this!”

That did it. You surged toward him with fire in your chest, your pointer finger jabbing hard into the middle of his chest–right against the damp fabric that clung to him, warm and heavy over his heart.

“Because you’re the one who kept chasing Maria all through high school, Rhett! You never gave me a chance!” The words landed hard, thick with years of held-back ache. “You were so wrapped up in her smiles and her perfect little skirts and how she looked in the goddamn sunshine, and you never once looked at me!”

And then–before you could step back–his hand caught your wrist again.

But this time?

This time it wasn’t to stop you.

It was to make you listen.

He held your arm firm, water trailing down the slope of his forearm, his eyes locked to yours like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“And why do you think I went after Maria in the first place, huh?” He bit out, chest heaving. “You weren’t that fucking easy to read, sweetheart. You hid your feelings real damn well. So how else was I supposed to move on from somethin’ I thought I’d never have?”

You froze.

Every word struck like thunder in your gut.

Your mouth parted. Your heart tripped.

He’d said it with such certainty. Like it had always been true. Like it had been sitting under the surface of every glance, every late-night porch talk, every ride home in his truck when the silence said more than either of you dared.

“Does everything make sense to you now?” he asked, voice low and scorching.

And it did.

You stood there in the hush of your little loft, the rain pounding like a drumline on the roof, and everything finally clicked into place.

And before you could think, before you could breathe, before your heart could scream for you to slow down–

You launched forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It was heat and breath and years of longing breaking open all at once. His mouth met yours with a desperate groan, his hand leaving your wrist to grab your waist, yanking you into him like he needed to feel every inch of you, like just touching wasn’t enough. You could taste the rain on his lips, the bitter edge of frustration still lingering in the way he kissed you–hungry, fierce, like he was starved for this.

Your fingers curled into the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you gasped against his mouth. The warmth of his chest bled into yours, soaked cotton clinging to skin as he spun the both of you until your back hit the wall beside the door.

“God, you don’t even know,” Rhett growled against your mouth, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in again, kissing you deeper, rougher. “You don’t even fuckin’ know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

His hands ran down your sides, settling heavy and possessive on your hips, thumbs digging into the waistband of your shorts as he pressed into you, chest to chest, thigh slipping between your legs like he had every right to be there. You moaned softly, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he leaned in harder, kissing you like he was trying to make up for every year he didn’t.

And all you could think was: finally.

Finally, he was holding you like he meant it. Kissing you like he wasn’t afraid anymore. Like the truth had broken loose and there was nothing left to hide behind.

You gasped as his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and rough against your rain-chilled skin, dragging a trail up your ribcage. Your body arched into him instinctively, your legs going weak under the weight of it all.

“Tell me you want this,” He murmured against your jaw, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been goin’ crazy.”

You grabbed him by the collar and pulled him right back to you.

“Just…Shut the fuck up and kiss me again.” You whispered, your voice ragged, nearly breaking, while your mouth was already bruised and hungry. Rhett’s breath hitched, and then he laughed—low, hoarse, and a little cocky. That boyish, infuriating smirk of his twitched at the corner of his lips as his forehead pressed to yours. His hand still clutched your waist, anchoring you like he’d drown without it.

“Well, hell,” he drawled, voice thick with heat and years of wanting, “You sound a little desperate, sweetheart.”

“Rhett,” you warned, already chasing after his mouth again.

But he kissed you before you could even threaten him further—kissed you like he was starved, like the sound of your voice made his restraint unravel. His hands slid back under your shirt, dragging up your ribs and then lower again, palms rough and reverent all at once. He gripped the back of your thighs, strong and certain, and then—

You yelped softly as he lifted you off the ground.

Your legs wrapped tight around his waist on instinct, like they’d done it a hundred times before, and your arms flew around his neck—one hand diving into his soaked curls, the other cradling his jaw like you needed to make sure he was real. His lips never left yours as he staggered forward, blindly navigating the loft until your back hit the bed in a messy sprawl.

You bounced once against the soft quilts, dazed.

Then Rhett was above you, peeling off his drenched shirt in one fluid motion, flinging it somewhere across the room with a wet slap. He stood over you for a moment, his chest rising and falling, water still dripping from the line of his collarbone, his abs heaving with every breath. His jeans clung to his hips, soaked dark and hanging low, every muscle in his body cast in golden light from the lamp on the nightstand.

You had seen him shirtless before. Plenty of times.

But not like this.

Not with your lips swollen from his kiss. Not with your thighs still tingling where his hands had gripped them. Not with your body burning for him in every place you had tried to forget existed.

He caught the look in your eyes—hungry, reverent, awestruck—and his smirk faded into something darker. Something heady.

He crawled onto the bed without saying a word, muscles shifting as he moved between your knees, spreading them apart with his palms like he had every right to. His fingers dug into your bare thighs, holding you open as he settled his hips against yours, weight pressing down with purpose.

Your breath hitched. Your hands slid up his chest–feeling the heat, the muscle, the scar near his ribs you knew by heart–and you kissed him again like you were trying to make up for every single day you hadn’t.

This one was feral.

Messy and frantic and clumsy in the best way. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, mouths parting on gasps and moans as your hands moved like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt again, dragging the fabric up your sides and pushing until it bunched around your ribs.

You barely noticed. Too busy tangling yourself in him.

His hands found your hips again–then your jaw–then your ass. He was everywhere at once, and you couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth, couldn’t stop arching up to meet every roll of his body against yours. His jeans were soaked, and yours were barely on, and the heat between you was enough to dry everything that had been soaked by the storm.

It was the kind of kiss you didn’t come back from.

The kind that set fire to memory, that branded your ribs from the inside out.

You were breathing so hard you couldn’t tell where your lungs ended and his began, couldn’t remember a time before this–before his tongue was in your mouth and his hips were grinding against your core like he’d been waiting his whole damn life to do it.

And maybe he had.

“Fuck,” Rhett panted, his forehead pressed to yours again, voice thick with disbelief and hunger as his thumb stroked just beneath the edge of your shirt, “You got any idea what you do to me, do you?”

You barely had time to answer.

Because he kissed you again like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning all these years.

You moaned into the kiss, your body arching instinctively against his as your hand slid up his chest–not to push him away, but just to slow him, to breathe, to feel. Your palm pressed flat against the warmth of his skin, just above his heart, and Rhett stilled.

He pulled back enough to look at you, eyes dark but gentle, the storm in his chest quieting just a little.

“You okay?” He asked softly, thumb still brushing your waist.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers curling lightly into his damp curls. “Yeah,” You whispered, voice shaking with heat and adrenaline. “I just wanna take my shirt off.”

Rhett blinked, and then leaned back slightly, palms splayed beside your hips on the bed. “Yeah?” He asked, husky and reverent, giving you space.

You sat up on your elbows just enough to pull the oversized tee over your head in one quick motion, your breath catching as the cool air of the loft met your flushed skin. The fabric hit the floor with a quiet thud, and then you were left in nothing but your sleep shorts–bare from the waist up, your chest rising and falling with every ragged inhale.

Rhett didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered, eyes locked to your chest like he couldn’t decide if he should worship you or fall to his knees. “Holy crap.”

You let out another quiet laugh, flustered but aching, warmth blooming in your cheeks. “You okay there, cowboy?”

His eyes snapped up to yours. And then he leaned in again like he’d just remembered he could. Like the sight of you had lit something under his ribs.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” He breathed against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, reverent. His lips moved down your jaw, then your throat, then lower–pressing heat into every inch of skin like he was branding you with it.

You gasped as his mouth trailed to your collarbone, lips brushing, teeth grazing the dip there before he murmured, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?”

Your hands found his hair again, tangling in the damp curls, anchoring him as he kissed his way down the slope of your chest. He paused at the top of your breast, glancing up with heat in his eyes, waiting–making sure.

You nodded.

That was all he needed.

His mouth closed over your breast, warm and wet and full of want, and you cried out softly as he sucked, his tongue flicking over your nipple until it peaked beneath his touch. His hand came up to cradle the weight of the other, thumb circling slow and steady as he dragged his mouth from one to the other, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a few soft marks in his wake.

You were already trembling. His mouth stayed latched to your breast, tongue dragging slowly over the sensitive peak, lips sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. And he didn’t look away–not once. His eyes burned into yours, half-lidded and dark with want, jaw working like he was savoring every fucking second. Every twitch. Every breathless sound you made.

And then he ground his hips into you–slow and deep, the press of his soaked jeans meeting the heat between your thighs in a rhythm that made your whole body jolt. You gasped, your thighs clenching around his waist instinctively, the friction too good and too much all at once.

“Fuck, Rhett—” you breathed, your fingers flying to his shoulders, nails dragging down his skin without thinking. You didn’t even realize how hard you were clutching him until he moaned.

Loud.

Right against your nipple.

The vibration of it sent a shock straight through your core, your breath catching as he pulled off with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting his mouth to your skin before it snapped and fell away.

His lips were pink and swollen. His chest was heaving. His hands still held your hips like they belonged to him.

And then—he licked his lips. Smirked a little. That cocky, heartbreaker smirk that always used to get him out of trouble when you were kids, only now it looked feral. Possessive. Dirty.

He dipped his head to the other side of your chest and gave the second nipple the same worship he’d given the first—slow, wet, reverent, his tongue flicking and swirling and teasing until your legs were trembling around his hips.

You could feel him growing harder with every second, the denim of his jeans rough against your thin sleep shorts, but neither of you moved to get rid of anything yet. You were too busy drowning in this.

In him.

His mouth. His heat. The way he held you like he’d been starving for this since the beginning of time.

He sucked harder, his teeth grazing the swollen bud just enough to make you whimper, and then he pulled off that one too–again, with a lewd, wet sound that left another line of spit trailing down your skin. His voice was rough as gravel when he finally spoke, eyes still locked to yours, lips slick and panting.

“I just wanna keep tasting you,” He rasped, his hands stroking up your sides like he needed to memorize you with his palms. “I wanna taste every fuckin’ inch of you. Wanna see what you’ve been hidin’ under all those smart-ass jokes and mechanic suits.” Your chest stuttered with a broken laugh, your nails still dug into his shoulders, dragging light lines down his back that made him shudder. His hips rolled into you again, more desperate this time, like he couldn’t help it, like the thought of you beneath him in nothing but your shorts was driving him insane.

“Go on then,” You whispered, voice wrecked and teasing and vulnerable all at once. “See for yourself.”

He growled low in his throat, and kissed you like it was a promise. Like he was going to do exactly that.

Rhett pulled back slowly, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as his gaze dragged down the length of your body like a man about to sink his teeth into something he wasn’t sure he deserved. His hands slid down your thighs–slow and warm, worshipful–and hooked just beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“You sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, throat tight with restraint even as his eyes burned with hunger.

You nodded.

That was all he needed.

He tugged the sleep shorts down your hips, inch by inch, until they peeled away from your skin like a secret being revealed. His eyes never left you–not even when the cotton slipped past your knees and off the edge of the bed. And when he saw what you weren’t wearing beneath?

His breath caught.

“Fuck me,” He groaned, so low it was almost a growl, his fingers tightening around your thighs. “You were just walkin’ around like this?” His voice dropped darker, hotter. “No fuckin’ underwear? Just wet and waitin’ under those shorts, huh?” You bit your bottom lip, heart hammering, skin blazing under his stare.

Rhett sat back on his knees between your legs, pushing them apart with both hands—broad palms sliding under your thighs to lift and spread you just a little more, until your heels dug into the mattress and you were completely, utterly bare for him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared like he was being given a miracle he hadn’t earned.

“Jesus, baby…” He whispered, voice gone reverent. “You’re fuckin’ drippin’–look at you.” His tongue darted out across his bottom lip, his breath shaky. “Bet you taste so goddamn sweet.”

You whimpered at the praise, back arching involuntarily as his grip on your thighs tightened. One hand slid down to grip behind your knee, pushing it gently up and open, his thumb stroking the soft skin there like he was trying to soothe your trembling.

Then–without warning–he dove in.

His mouth hit you like a man starved, tongue flattening and dragging up the length of your soaked heat with a groan that shook through your whole body. You gasped–hips jerking up off the mattress, but he was ready. His hands flew to your hips, pinning you down hard into the sheets.

“Just stay still…Lemme take care of you hmm?” Your fingers flew to his hair, gripping tight as his mouth slowly sealed around your clit. Rhett sucked hard–just once–and then started working you with his tongue like he’d been waiting his whole life to make you fall apart on his face. Long, slow licks. Then fast, eager circles. He switched between the two like he was chasing every sound you made, every gasp, every twitch of your thighs like it was a map.

“God–Rhett–” Your voice hitched, your hips trying to grind against his mouth again, your thighs trembling under his hold. He pressed them back down firmly, groaning against you.

“I said stay still,” He growled, so rough and low it vibrated straight through your core. You whined, writhing under the weight of his mouth, your thighs beginning to tremble.

His tongue flicked your clit again, fast, and then he pressed in deeper–his nose brushing your mound, his tongue fucking into you slow and deep, like he was drinking you down.

Your thighs clamped around his ears, but he just groaned–louder–and pressed in harder, his arms locking around your hips, holding you open for him like you were something holy.

You couldn’t stop moaning–couldn’t breathe around the pleasure curling tight in your gut. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, tugging, pushing, desperate and greedy as your hips rocked against his mouth without thinking.

Then he growled, pulling his mouth back just enough to speak–and the sight of him, lips shiny and jaw slick with your arousal, was filthy.

“I said stay still,” He rasped, grabbing your hips and pressing them back into the mattress with just enough force to make you cry out. You whimpered–your body shuddering at the dominance in his tone, the possessive heat of it—and nodded.

“Words, sweetheart,” He said, licking a slow stripe up your core. “I wanna hear it.”

“Yes,” You gasped. “Yes, Rhett–fuck–I’ll stay still–please, just–please don’t stop.”

He smirked into your core.

“Didn’t plan on it.”

And then he buried his face in you again–harder this time–his mouth moving like he was trying to tear the climax from your body with his tongue alone. His grip on your hips was iron, keeping you right where he wanted you, no escape, no mercy.

You came with a loud, shattering cry, your whole body jerking against the bed as pleasure tore through you like lightning, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

Rhett didn’t stop.

Not through your first wave, or the second.

He kept licking, savoring you, sucking gently, coaxing every last tremble from your hips until you were shaking and soaked and boneless beneath him, your fingers still tangled in his hair like you didn’t know how to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glossed with you, his jaw shining, his eyes wild and dark and full of need.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ tasted,” He whispered, breathless, licking his lips as he hovered above you again.

And then he kissed you.

Messy. Deep. Dirty. Tongue sliding against yours, lips slick with your own arousal, like he wanted you to taste yourself on him.

You moaned into his mouth, and that sound lit him up from the inside. He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still glistening, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run flat-out for miles. You watched the way his tongue darted out across his bottom lip, savoring the taste of you one last time like he couldn’t help himself. Then his eyes flicked up to meet yours–warm, slightly sheepish–and his voice dropped, rough with apology but still trembling from the high.

“Sorry ‘bout bein’ a little rough…” He murmured, thumb tracing your hipbone. “I… I couldn’t really control myself once I got a bit of a taste. Sorry.”

You blinked at him, breathless, your cheeks flushed from everything he’d just wrung out of you. And then you laughed—a soft, low sound, all wrecked and wrecking. You reached up to brush the damp curls from his forehead, still tangled in the storm.

“It’s okay…” You whispered, lips twitching into a lazy smile. “It was pretty hot. Not gonna lie.”

That made him laugh—quiet and stunned, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. His dimples showed through his scruff, and it lit him up from the inside out, that boyish grin making a brief return before it got swallowed by something deeper. He leaned in and kissed you again—slower now, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your relief, your want, your voice wrapped around the words I need you.

And then he paused.

Just enough to pull back again, gaze searching yours, soft and careful.

“…You still okay?” he asked, voice quiet now. “Do you…Wanna stop here?”

Your heart clenched at the way he asked it–like it physically hurt him to offer the out, but he’d take it in a second if you needed it.

You shook your head immediately, voice low and steady.

“No,” you breathed. “No, I want to feel you. I need you more than ever right now.”

Rhett froze like he hadn’t expected that. His breath caught, visibly, audibly–and then his face flushed, blooming red across his cheekbones and down his throat. He blinked at you like you’d just shattered him with a single sentence.

“I’ll do anything you fuckin’ want,” he said hoarsely. “Anything.”

He leaned back onto his knees, hands sliding down your thighs once more as he slowly stood on his knees between them. You watched with wide eyes, breath caught behind your ribs, as his hands went to the waistband of his boxers. His fingers hooked into the elastic, and he hesitated–just for a second–like he needed to be sure one last time.

Then he pushed them down.

The fabric peeled away, soaked and clinging, and your mouth went dry.

Your breath hitched as your gaze dropped–then stalled.

Because Jesus Christ.

He was thick. Long. Heavy even before he touched himself–his cock flushed red, the head already leaking and shining in the low light of the loft. It hung low between his hips, resting briefly against his thigh before springing forward slightly, and your whole body reacted before your brain could catch up.

Your mouth actually watered.

You shifted on the bed, thighs spreading wider like your body already knew what it wanted, what it was about to take. The stretch… God, you could already feel it–imagine it–him splitting you open slow, his hips rocking forward while you clawed at his back. You wanted to feel him press in inch by inch until you were full–until you couldn’t think straight. You wanted all of it.

Rhett saw the look on your face–the hunger, the awe, the way your chest heaved and your lips parted–and his blush deepened, but his cock twitched in response, proud and aching.

He leaned down again, bracing one hand beside your head as he hovered over you, breath hot and voice trembling.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” He whispered, eyes locked to yours. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You reached down, wrapped your fingers around the base of him, and watched as his jaw clenched tight, a guttural sound ripping from his throat.

“Don’t worry,” You whispered, He exhaled ragged against your cheek as you guided him closer, your fingers wrapped around the base of him–slow, sure, trembling just slightly. Rhett’s breath hitched again as the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, heat meeting heat, slick and swollen and pulsing with need. He braced a forearm beside your head, the other curling around your hand on him, intertwining your fingers like he needed to anchor himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He whispered, voice hoarse, reverent. “You’re so fuckin’ wet–gonna slide in like you were made for me…”

You whimpered–because he was right.

Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he started to push in.

The stretch was immediate–hot and deep and toe-curling. Your lips parted on a breathless gasp, your head tipping back as your body opened for him inch by inch. Rhett groaned low in his throat, jaw clenched, eyes locked on where he was disappearing into you.

“Fuck–goddamn,” He hissed, gripping your hand tighter. “Tight little thing, huh? Grippin’ me like you never wanna let go…”

You moaned, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively as he pushed deeper. His cock stretched you wide, the pressure sharp and perfect all at once, your body pulsing around him in greedy aftershocks. He paused halfway in, resting his forehead against yours, sweat and rainwater dripping down his temple.

“You okay?” He murmured, his voice shaky but tender.

You nodded, chest rising fast. “Don’t stop,” You breathed. “Please. Keep goin’. I need all of you.”

That broke him.

Rhett let out a ragged sound–half groan, half whimper–and pushed in deeper. You felt every inch of him drag against your walls, slow and thick, until finally, finally, his hips met yours, your bodies flush and trembling with the sheer weight of it.

He was fully inside.

You both stilled for a moment–just breathing, savoring it. You could feel him throbbing deep inside you, every twitch of him making your insides flutter. Rhett’s hand squeezed yours like a lifeline, and he brought it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles before resting it on the mattress between you.

“Goddamn,” He whispered, voice barely there. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You laughed, breathless and ruined, eyes glassy with heat and disbelief. “You sound like you’re about to cry, cowboy.”

He let out a half-choked chuckle, his hips giving an experimental roll. You both moaned at the same time, your bodies clutching together again like magnets. Rhett looked down at you, completely wrecked–his hair dripping, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide with awe.

“Fuck—you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, shifting his weight back slightly.

He let go of your hand only long enough to bring the other up to your throat—just resting it there, fingers spread gently, reverently. His thumb stroked along the underside of your jaw, so tender it made your heart lurch.

”You are too,” You whispered, lips brushing his. “Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

His hips rocked again, deeper this time, and you arched into him with a soft cry, your nails digging into his shoulders. He kissed you hard, his hand at your throat grounding you, guiding you.

“That’s it,” He panted, voice rough. “Take me, baby. You’re takin’ me so damn well.”

“You’re fillin’ me so good,” You moaned, hips rising to meet every thrust. “I can feel you so deep–fuck, I swear I can feel you in my fuckin’ soul, Rhett.”

He let out a strangled noise–somewhere between a growl and a whimper–and his rhythm stuttered for just a second.

“You can’t say shit like that,” He gasped, laughing through it, completely undone. “You tryin’ to make me lose my damn mind?”

You grinned breathlessly, kissing him again, still giggling softly against his mouth as he started moving again–deeper, slower, more confident now.

And with every thrust, every filthy word, every moan tangled between you–it felt less like something you were giving and more like something you were reclaiming.

His rhythm stuttered again–once, then twice–like he was losing the reins. Like everything he’d been holding back was breaking loose all at once.

You could feel it in the way his hips began to roll faster, less controlled, more chaotic. His thrusts hit deeper, harder, the slick sounds of your bodies crashing together filling the space like a drumbeat under the rain.

“Rhett,” You gasped, voice high and trembling, your fingers clawing at his back now, digging in like you needed to anchor yourself before you flew apart again. “Fuck–you’re gonna make me come again–”

That did it.

His mouth crushed yours in a frantic kiss, all tongue and teeth and heat. He bit down on your bottom lip–firm but careful, pulling it between his teeth like he couldn’t help himself. You moaned into his mouth, loud and wrecked, and he swallowed it whole like he wanted to keep it forever.

“Good,” he growled against your lips, voice tight and broken. “Want you to. Wanna feel you come on me again–need it, baby, I need it–fuck–I’m close too–“

You could barely think. His hips were slamming into yours now, rough and desperate, each thrust so deep it sent sparks exploding behind your eyes. Your legs wrapped tighter around him, your back arching off the bed as his hand slid under your thigh, lifting it higher to get even deeper.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, the creak of the bed frame, the relentless rain outside–and your moans. Loud. Wild. Unfiltered.

“Oh my god–Rhett–Rhett–I’m–”

Your climax hit like a lightning strike.

You cried out–loud and raw–your whole body locking around him, legs trembling, hands clutching at his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your pussy pulsed around him, gripping him tight, dragging him over the edge with you.

And he broke.

With a strangled groan, Rhett buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard–his whole body jerking against yours as he spilled inside you. His arms locked around you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he moaned low and desperate, his breath ragged and hot against your skin.

“Fuck, fuck–Jesus–” He gasped, whimpering softly as the pleasure rocked through him, his body trembling with the force of it. He gave one last shallow thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and then went still–completely spent, panting hard into the crook of your neck.

You both just laid there for a second. Breathing. Shaking. Floating.

The rain hadn’t stopped outside, but it felt quieter now, like even the storm was giving you a minute to collect yourselves.

Rhett eventually lifted his head, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed and still wide with the aftershock. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking gently across your cheek.

“You okay?” He asked softly, voice hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “More than okay,” You whispered, your fingers pushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “I think you broke my brain a little.”

He laughed–weak and stunned and fucking glowing.

“Yeah?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss your nose. “Well…You wrecked me. So. We’re even.”

You both chuckled, quiet and wrecked and tangled up in each other. His weight was still resting on top of you, warm and solid and perfect, and you didn’t want him to move.

He kissed you again–soft this time, slow and sweet. Just once.

Then he pulled back slightly to look down at you, his eyes filled with something tender. Something quiet and wide and full of meaning.

“I swear to God, I’ve never felt anything like that,” He whispered. “Not ever. You ruined me, darlin’. In the best fuckin’ way.”

And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

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Almost Loved ( Preview )

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

—

The little coffee shop on the corner of 8th was new—at least new to you and Bob. He had suggested it the week before, a little shy when he said it, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want something so simple. You could still hear his voice in your head, soft and slightly hesitant: “Maybe next time we could try that new place… if you want?”

You’d said yes before he even finished the sentence.

And now here you were, standing outside the shop fifteen minutes early, heart fluttering as you looked at your reflection in the window, checking your lipstick, smoothing your hair. You had tried. God, you had really tried. Not too dressed up—Bob was more of a “let’s walk and talk” kind of guy—but you still wanted to look nice. Pretty, even. Worthy of that sweet, crooked smile he always gave you, the one that made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

He wasn’t like anyone else. He didn’t talk over you. Didn’t vanish after two dates. He listened, really listened. Sometimes he got nervous, fumbling over his words or going quiet mid-sentence like he didn’t know if he was saying the right thing—but he always tried. Always looked at you like you were something delicate and beautiful and real.

You hadn’t had a lot of luck with men. Mostly they saw your softness as weakness. Or they only stayed long enough to take the parts of you that were easy to love and then disappear before things got real. But Bob? Bob made you feel like maybe love didn’t have to hurt first.

That made what came next feel so much worse.

You checked your phone. He was late.

Ten minutes. Okay, maybe traffic.

Fifteen. You tried not to look worried. You sipped the lukewarm coffee in front of you and smiled politely at the barista when she glanced your way.

Twenty-five. Your stomach tightened.

At thirty minutes, the worry turned to a quiet panic.

You opened your messages and typed:

Y/N: Hey, just making sure everything’s okay. Are you still on your way?

You hit send, heart thudding. Please be okay. Please just be late.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly.

Bob: It’s better if we don’t see each other again. I’m sorry.

You blinked.

No. That—no. That didn’t make sense.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t just say that. Not after everything. Not after the way he held your hand last week like it was made of glass. Not after the way he looked at you like you were his person.

You started to type:

Y/N: Wait, Bob. What? Please talk to me. Did I do something?

Send.

The message turned green.

You stared at the screen. Tried again. Another green bubble. Your heart sank.

You tapped his contact, but it was blank now—no profile picture, no “last seen.” Just a gray circle and a dead line where his name used to be.

Blocked.

You scrambled to open your socials. Maybe something happened. Maybe he was just spiraling, and you’d find a clue—

But he was gone. Every chat, every photo, every comment. His username didn’t exist. Like he’d never been there.

Gone.

You stared at your screen for what felt like hours before the first tear spilled over.

You quickly wiped it away, trying to be discreet, but it was no use. The coffee shop was full of quiet clinks and low chatter, and you sat in the middle of it like a ghost, like someone whose heart had just been carved out in public.

You swallowed hard, trying not to cry harder.

But it hurt.

Not just because he left—but because you had believed this time. Believed in the little things: in the texts that said “sweet dreams, let me know when you’re home safe,” in the way he listened when you talked about your favorite books, in the nervous way he’d asked if it was okay to kiss you on your second date.

Bob had made you feel seen. Wanted. Safe.

And now, without warning, without explanation, he was gone.

Like it never mattered.

Like you never mattered.

You stared down at your phone as if it might buzz again and undo all of it. As if he might say, I’m sorry, that was a mistake. I’m scared, but I don’t want to lose you.

But it stayed quiet.

And so did you, wiping at your eyes and forcing yourself to sit still. The last thing you wanted was to fall apart in front of strangers.

But the damage was done.

Fooled again.

Left behind by someone who made you believe love could finally feel safe—only to prove it was just another lie wrapped in warmth.

Only this time, it was Bob. And that made it hurt more than anything before.

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

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Idiots At a Wedding

Summary: Pretending to be Bob's girlfriend in front of his family has to be easy right? Right...?

Pairings: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Warnings: Fake dating

A/N: Omgg, I am so so so thankful for all the love you've given to the first part. I was so scared while posting but you've just made me so so so happy. Here's the masterlist for the series. Happy reading, and please don't be a stranger.💞💞

1. Idiots At a Wedding pt.1

2. Idiots At a Wedding pt.2

3. Idiots At a Wedding pt.3

4. loading...

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

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B-A-B-Y (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: On a Monday morning, Rooster and Hangman bring Bob and Phoenix to a local diner, and Bob’s instantly smitten with the waitress singing along to the jukebox. Next thing he knows, “Diner Mondays” become a squad tradition… and so does watching Bob fall harder every week while the rest of the Daggers try to get him to finally ask her out. WORD COUNT: 2.7k WARNINGS: Fluff. Tooth rotting fluff. Reader wears glasses. NOTES: Yes. Like Baby Driver. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was an early Monday morning, and Bob was awake and ready earlier than he would’ve anticipated. He always woke up early for work, and on the weekend, out of habit. But that day, he had to wake up even earlier. Rooster and Hangman insisted on going to this diner with Phoenix and him. Bob wasn’t gonna turn down the idea of a real proper breakfast before their shifts, though he knew Phoenix was gonna be grumbling the whole time.

He pulled up in his baby blue truck to Dot’s and Joe’s, a stout metal and red building not too far from base. The sun was just rising, and it painted the sky that sleepy light blue. Spotting Rooster’s Ford Bronco and Hangman’s Jeep, he pulled up next to them right as they were getting out.

“Mornin’ Bob,” Rooster said. They were all dressed in their khaki uniforms, knowing they would change into flight suits once they arrived at training anyway.

Bob nodded with a small smile. “Mornin’ guys.”

Hangman stretched, “Where’s your pilot?”

He shrugged. “Phoenix isn’t a morning person.”

As if on cue, her black version of Rooster’s Ford Bronco pulled up and parked next to Bob’s truck. They watched as she got out of the car, grumbling and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Hangman teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Hangman. It’s too early for your bullshit.” She groaned, making the rest of them laugh. Only she would cuss like a sailor at five in the morning. “Why on earth would you guys want to do this?”

Rooster started walking towards the doors of the place, and the rest followed. “They’ve got quite literally the best pancakes I’ve ever had. It’ll be worth it.”

They all walked in, and Bob looked around the interior. It was like they had hopped into a time machine. The classic 60s look was clean and colorful, even if the outside of the building seemed a little worn down. Red leather seats and silver table tops. Warm fluorescents wrapped around a countertop bar. Old movie posters and pin-up art hung up on every wall while a jukebox played oldies by the kitchen door.

Rooster and Hangman led them to a nearby booth, and they scooched in.

“It’s nice,” Bob said, nodding with a small smile.

Hangman chuckled, “Figured you of all people would like it. You look like you would’ve gotten your lunch money taken in Back to the Future.”

That made Rooster let out a laugh heartily enough to capture the attention of the staff, and Bob rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help the smile. Okay, fine. That one was good. More original than his usual quips.

At the sound of Rooster’s laugh, the kitchen door swung open by the jukebox. A soft voice rang out. It was quiet enough for almost nobody in the diner to notice… But Bob sure did. A beautiful voice sang along to a song he didn’t recognize playing on the juke.

“B-A-B-Y. Baby. B-A-B-Y. Baby.”

His head turned over to see a waitress in a pink uniform and a little paper hat. In most cases, he’d just see the waitress and be excited to dig into some food. But for some reason, at the sight of her, his heart flipped in his chest. She was beautiful. In knee-high socks and glasses that were similar to his, though they weren’t nearly as big and awful-looking as his own. She swayed her head to the song without a care in the world as she held a notepad and pencil.

He didn’t even notice the rest of the squadron trying not to laugh at Bob’s obvious gawking.

“See something you like, Floyd?” Phoenix asked with a smirk.

Bob’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?” He asked quickly, making the rest of them laugh harder.

When the waitress spotted the table, she smiled and walked over.

“You two again.” She said, stopping by and looking at Hangman and Rooster, “And you’ve brought friends.” She smiled at him, and Phoenix and Bob could’ve sworn his heart stopped.

“Yeah, well, we had to share how good this place was,” Hangman said casually.

Bob looked at the nametag pinned on her top. Y/n. God, he was practically melting, and he was trying to resist the wiggly Charlie Brown smile that wanted to appear.

She tapped her pencil. “What were your call signs again? I remember thinking they were cool, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were.”

Rooster nodded and pointed to himself first. “Rooster. Hangman. Then those guys over there are Phoenix and Bob.”

She tilted her head with a smile as her eyes landed on Bob properly. “It’s Bob? What’s your real name then?”

With his heart beating out of his chest, he stammered, “B-bob. It’s just Bob.” He wished he could give another answer. He wished that his call sign wasn’t as simple as it was or that he had some sort of cool name like ‘Dagger’ or ‘Striker’... But he couldn’t even pretend like Bob didn’t fit him perfectly.

She laughed. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

She liked his name.

Hangman cut in, “We’ve made it stand for Baby on Board. He’s a backseater.”

“Oh, so like a WSO?”

She knew what that was? This conversation was just getting better and better, even with Hangman’s attempts to embarrass him.

Bob nodded, barely able to speak.

“That’s pretty awesome. My dad was Navy, so I like seeing ya’ll pop up here since we’re so close to North Island.” She explained, “Well, Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, and Baby, what can I get started for ya?”

That wasn’t his call sign, and if it was, it would’ve been more embarrassing than just Bob. But having the beautiful waitress call him Baby? He could leap out of his skin. The massive blush that spread over his face was uncontrollable.

“Just four hot coffees to get us started, will ya, Y/n?” Hangman said

She didn’t even write it down. “Simple enough. I’ll be back.”

Bob watched her walk away, completely mesmerized. Especially as she jumped back into the song.

“Just one look- in your eye. And my temperature goes sky hi-” And the kitchen door swung closed.

There was a silence as the three pilots watched Bob, surprised as he sat there with a dreamy look on his face.

“Jesus, Floyd. I’ve never seen you so whipped. And you usually are by most people.” Hangman smirked, leaning back.

Once again, he was sadly snapped back to reality by Hangman. A common occurrence. “N-no. No, I’m not. She was nice.” He cleared his throat, pretending to look over the menu, “Really nice.”

Rooster made a little ‘Aw’-ing noise. “Buddy, it’s okay! I get it. She’s super cute.” He said, trying to be supportive, but Bob quickly shushed him, horrified at the prospect she might overhear.

“And she matches your dorkiness,” Hangman added

Bob shook his head, but he had that feeling, too. Their interaction had been so limited, yet he had a feeling they’d get along perfectly. He was already completely and totally captivated by her.

They left the diner an hour later to make it to work on time, but Bob couldn’t shake the thoughts of her that graciously occupied his brain. The whole day, even as he was driving or flying or doing push-ups, he’d hear her calling him ‘baby’. Or he’d think about how, when he put in his order for strawberry french toast, she winked at him and said that was her favorite. It was both horrifying and the best distraction he could ever ask for.

Wanting to make it a tradition, Rooster dragged the three of them back to the diner the following Monday. It was a nice thought. Start the week out with a great breakfast and end it with a Friday night at The Hard Deck.

Bob got out of his truck and looked over at Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix, who were already there.

“You’re here before me, Phoenix?” He asked, confused.

Phoenix chuckled even through tired eyes, “Couldn’t miss the Bob yearning show this morning.”

He practically choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Yeah, we’re surprised you weren’t the first one here to say hi to your little girlfriend.” Rooster teased.

He let out a little exasperated breath. “Can we go in now?”

Hangman walked towards the door, “Whatever you want, Baby.” He teased back, emphasizing the name the waitress had called him last time.

For the next few weeks, they had the same routine. They would sit down in their booth, and like clockwork, Y/n would strut out quietly singing along to whatever song was on the jukebox. It was like she had a Rolodex of 50s/'60s hits. The Supremes. Marvin Gaye. Aretha Franklin. Tom Jones. Even the songs he didn’t recognize sounded like his new favorite song coming from her.

Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix would all watch him stumble and smile up at her. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. And they would all tease him or even subtly try to hype Bob up to her. The three noticed how she seemed to pay special interest to Bob, even though he remained oblivious. They noticed how she always complimented him or would point out his glasses. There were little things- like her making his paper plate of ketchup a winky face or a heart, while the rest got stars or smiley faces. The fact that she always addressed him as Baby was more than enough to convince them. It wasn’t Bob or Baby on Board. It was just Baby.

But Bob was oblivious. He was completely convinced that she was just being friendly because she was being paid to be. He figured that a girl like that would already have a partner, and he didn’t want to be a creep. It wasn’t like him to hit on a girl while she was working. His mama taught him that it wasn’t appropriate.

So even as the rest of them egged him on to ask her out, he didn’t. He stayed comfortable with the small talk and stammering banter he’d make with her on those Monday mornings. It got to a point where even the rest of the squadron knew about this. Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote wanted to come with and see for themselves, but for the first time- Bob vehemently rejected them from coming. It would be obvious if suddenly there was a crowd watching him try not to turn red in the face while talking. And she deserved better than that.

One Monday, Y/n came back out singing that Carla Thomas song again. And when she reached the table, Bob couldn’t help himself.

“What’s that song playing? You’re always singing it.” He asked

Her eyes widened, “Oh goodness, I hope it’s not too cringy that I sing while working.” She said with a nervous smile.

All of them shook their heads, looking up at her. Rooster and Hangman went back to their menus with smirks while Phoenix looked down at her phone, as if they were all letting him have his moment. His favorite part of the week.

“No. No. I- I like your voice. I’m just wondering what the song is.” He said with his typical bashful look.

Her nervous smile upturned to a genuine one. “Oh, well, it’s Baby by Carla Thomas, but the title is spelled out like B-A-B-Y… Hey, that’s like your call sign, isn’t it?” She asked excitedly.

Bob nodded. “Kinda. Kinda yeah.”

“Guess, I’ll be listening to this song even more then, Baby.” She said, which made Hangman and Rooster look at each other with raised brows that said ‘it’s so obvious’, “I’ll be right out with your guys’ coffee.”

As she walked away, he heard “Whenever the sun don’t shine.”

The kitchen door swung shut.

“Jesus Christ, Bob, this is torture.” Rooster groaned, leaning his head back.

He looked at him, confused with furrowed brows.

“Look, Bob, I was a whole proponent of the whole don’t ask her out at work thing, but this is getting ridiculous,” Phoenix said, grabbing her menu.

“I don’t know what you guys mean. She’s just being nice.” Bob said, looking around at his friend’s exasperated faces.

Hangman dragged his hands down his face, “And calling you ‘baby’.”

Bob shook his head. “She thinks that’s my call sign.”

“So… she’s going to ‘listen to the song with your call sign more now’ because…?” Rooster added.

He couldn’t deny that. It was probably the most forward thing she had done besides smile and point out they were matching every Monday because of their glasses.

Bob shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

Phoenix exchanged a look with Hangman… That couldn’t be good. Those two could barely stand each other, so if they were joining forces, something was up. Bob saw their stares.

“What-what are you guys doing?” Bob asked.

Phoenix turned to him, “If you don’t ask her out, I’m gonna have Hangman kill us in every dogfight this week. 200 push-ups each.”

He immediately groaned and put his head in his hands. The idea of that was pure torture. Not only did that mean he’d barely get to fly because he’d be tagged out every time they did, but 200 push-ups daily for a week. Look, Bob was strong… but his shoulders and biceps shivered at the thought.

“You’re evil. You’re literally evil.” He said, looking over at Phoenix.

Rooster tapped the table. “You’ll thank us later.”

After they all paid, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix all walked out, leaving Bob still lingering behind inside. He felt awkward. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there anymore because it was outside of this routine. When Y/n came back out, his heart beat so hard he thought it might stop. It had gone from zero to sixty at just the sight of her.

When she spotted him, her eyes brightened and she walked straight towards him. He swallowed anxiously.

“Hey, Baby! What are you still doing here? Need something?” She asked smiling

Oh god. Oh dear god.

“No, no, I was just uh, I was just-” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his friends not so subtly watching him from outside the window. He scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He nodded.

OH GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING? THANKS? A little confused, but still smiling, she nodded. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

He took a deep breath before spitting out, “I was just wondering if you’d like to… go out sometime. I- I know this isn’t appropriate when you’re working and all, but-”

“I’d love to.” Her face was the brightest he had seen it. It didn’t seem like forced hospitality. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “God, Bob, I was waiting for you to ask.”

He blinked and shook his head in disbelief, “You were?”

“I was worried you never would.” She said, “I’m free this weekend if you are.”

It felt like he was melting into the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I’ll uh- here.”

He reached over to a table and grabbed a napkin, quickly scribbling his number on it. Handing it to her, he added, “And if you change your mind, I won’t be mad.”

She took it and folded it neatly before putting it in her pocket. “I would never.”

They stood there for a moment just looking at each other. She smiled, and Bob let out a nervous laugh. This felt like a dream, and he was still waiting to wake up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She didn’t seem creeped out. And she had been waiting for him to ask her, despite being at work.

“I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you.” He said, nodding.

“See ya soon, Baby.” She waved before going back into the kitchen.

Walking out, Bob’s legs felt like jelly. It was like he was on the aircraft carrier for the first time, and he couldn’t get his bearings. He fully wore the bashful smile now, unable to resist it.

“So?” Phoenix asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk.

“She said yes.” He said breathlessly.

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

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Knight in Shining Glasses : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: All you wanted to do was enjoy your first night in San Diego at the bar recommended to you by your father, but a hot-shot new to the Top Gun program was intent on bringing you home with him, or at least couldn't take a hint. Lucky for you, there's a knight in shining glasses ready to save you.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), fluff, language, kind of a pushy douchebag guy is in this, female reader, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol but I did do a ton of research so hopefully it's accurate-ish), suggestive and steamy but no smut (but boy did we get real close), like a TINY maybe hint of angst for 0.2 seconds

Word Count: 11,044 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

“Another beer?”

You nodded your head at the gorgeous woman behind the bar, who was already sliding a beer your way before you’d even answered, as if she could read your mind. You gave her a smile in thanks, sighing the second your hand touched the cool glass of the bottle.

San Diego was hot, too hot for your liking. Every piece of fabric on your body felt as if it was clinging to your body right now in a way that had you begging the world just to make it legal to walk around naked. You much preferred the weather back in New England, on the complete opposite side of the country, but you had promised to come to town for a bit. It had been years since you’d seen your father, not since his promotion and subsequent move to San Diego, your conflicting work schedules making it impossible to make the cross-country trip, even if you missed him.

You were here now, though, seated in the bar that had come highly recommended to you straight from him: The Hard Deck, located right on Coronado Beach, just minutes from the Naval Air Station of North Island.

“Local beer?” you questioned the woman as yet another group of rowdy, young Naval aviators came bursting through the doors of the bar, disturbing some of the other guests in the packed bar. The woman, whose nametag you could now see said Penny, just laughed at the antics of her new guests before nodding at you.

“Yeah, local company. They’re pretty popular around here, so I always have to keep them in stock,” you hummed, taking another sip of the drink in your hands. Rich in flavor, maybe with a hint of sweetness that complemented the bitterness it left behind. You could see why it was popular around here. Penny wiped the bar directly in front of you, flashing you a smile. “Now, I know most of my regulars here, and you certainly aren’t one. Where’d you blow into town from?”

“Watertown, New York,” you told her as another group of Naval aviators passed by you in their service khakis, older than the group that had just come in. Your eyes followed them for just a moment, lingering as they moved to the back of the room to the pool tables as if they were there every night, before looking back at Penny. “My father is in the Navy, stationed here in San Diego. Thought it was finally time I visited him.”

“Good, means you know how to deal with the rowdy bunch I have here,” you both laughed as she gestured toward the group of young pilots that had just come through. Someone called to her from further down the bar, and she paid you one final smile. “Holler if you need anything, or if anyone’s giving you trouble.”

“Will do,”

With the jukebox playing off in the corner, Summer of ‘69 by Bryan Adams filling the air, it gave you a chance to really take in the atmosphere. Given the proximity to the Naval Air Station, you weren’t surprised by the amount of Navy paraphernalia that decorated the entire bar. Mugs hung from the ceiling with F18s on them, plenty of pictures of those monster jets hung up around the tables as well. And with the clientele that Penny seemed to attract here, judging by the number of young pilots scattered around, you weren’t surprised that this seemed to have turned into a place many in the Navy flocked to after a long day on base.

The young group of aviators, who seemed to have met up with another group of friends, were loud and rambunctious over by the dart board as they took bets on who could make a bullseye first. You rolled your eyes at their antics with a slight smile, reminded of the stories your father had told of his days, and looked over your shoulder toward that older group by the pool tables.

Easily your age, or at least older and more experienced than the group by the dart board. There was one woman among the groups of men with darker hair, already kicking their asses at the pool game they were playing. That alone quirked your lips up just slightly as you watched Penny deliver a tray of drinks to the group that seemed very personally friendly with her. Ah, so they must be stationed here at North Island and be regulars of the Hard Deck.

They were quite the bunch, from what you observed from the bartop. There was the young man playing alongside the woman, and what seemed like his best friend pestering him after another missed shot. There was a taller, tan blonde who you could tell from here exuded confidence in an over-the-top way, and a friend beside him who also seemed to have that arrogant confidence about him. The man taking the tray from Penny and passing out the drinks had that same confidence and charm, but it almost seemed to roll off of him naturally as if he wasn’t even trying to charm those around him.

It was the one sitting off to the side, silently observing his friends, that caught your eye.

He didn’t exude confidence in the same way that his friends did. He wasn’t walking sex on legs like many would think the tall, overconfident friends of his were…but he was to you. Quiet, simply observing his friends with a tiny smile that stirred something in your chest. One hand holding onto the neck of his beer bottle, the same one you were drinking, and the other casually snacking on a cup of peanuts. You tried, and failed, to keep your eyes from lingering on those long, slender fingers of his, or the fact that, even from here, you could tell his hands were large in a delicious way that had your mind imagining what they’d feel like settled on your bare-

Okay, yeah, maybe it was time to say ‘fuck it’ to your no hook-up rule and get laid on this vacation. You couldn’t be thinking like this over a man you’d been looking at for less than a minute, didn’t even know his name, or had yet to make eye contact with.

But then, when your eyes finally left those slender hands, you were making eye contact with him.

There was an adorable flush crawling across his cheeks, and god were you a sucker for a cute man in some glasses. His lips quirked up in a shy smile as he met your gaze, giving you a tiny nod. A similar flush crept up your neck at being caught staring, giving him a small wink before turning back around to not seem like a creep watching him.

With Penny off taking orders as the bar only seemed to get busier by the minute, and no one around you seemed like good options for a conversation, you found yourself spun around to lean against the bar and observe the room. No time like a crowded bar to people watch.

With a few work emails checked to ensure you weren’t missing anything pressing on your vacation, and a text sent to your father to thank him for the bar recommendation, you found your eyes drifting back to that same Naval aviator once more.

The woman had dragged him from his seat, his beer and peanuts left behind as a pool cue was shoved into his hands as his friends cheered, bringing a grin to your face. Your eyes tracked him as he bent over the table to line up his shot, his friends engrossed in a conversation together, but then his eyes flicked up and met yours again. Your eyebrow shot up as you raised a beer to him, a simultaneous encouragement for him to sink his shot and also a challenge to see if he could. His lips quirked up at that as, without even glancing down to his cue, he took his shot: directly in the pocket without interference. His friends clapped for him, patting him on the back, but his eyes stayed on you. Even with another flush crawling up his neck and nerves practically stitched into his smile, he shot you a wink this time, and you couldn’t stop the giddy grin on your lips.

“Well, never seen girl as pretty you before,”

You didn’t want to stop looking at that gorgeous man in glasses across the bar, but you were intrigued to know who was speaking to you.

He wasn’t the worst-looking man, he was attractive. Dark hair that matched the mustache and the beard that was growing in, which was definitely against grooming standards for the Navy. Pretty brown eyes…but he wasn’t your shy, glasses-sporting boy across the room. Plus, you recognized him from that rowdy bunch of pilots that had walked in beforehand. The smile you’d given the man across the bar dropped into the smallest, friendliest one you could muster as you looked at the name on his badge: Jackson.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to open up a conversation,” you shot back. The man only laughed, leaning against the bar next to you with a charming, over-confident grin on his lips.

“Warrant Officer Daniel Jackson,” he held out his hand to shake yours, and you reluctantly gave it to him. You regretted it the moment he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you quickly took your hand back and slyly wiped it along the side of your jeans. “Friends call me Caveman.”

“Interesting callsign,” you shot back with a fake laugh, tilting your head. “You get that from the unkempt beard that’s clearly not within grooming protocols?

He laughed again, but it did nothing to lift your smile from where it was frozen to be polite. He took a swig from his own beer that he’d brought over with him before leaning closer.

“Funny, and you know the Navy,” you laughed uncomfortably again, taking a subconscious scoot backward on your chair to get away from him. “Brand new to Top Gun, friends and I got in earlier. About to become the best of the best…”

He continued talking, droning on and on about Top Gun and the ‘prestige’ that came with being one of the best of the best (if he could actually get through the vigorous training). In the interest of being polite and not pissing off a man your first night in town, you laughed politely when appropriate and pretended to be listening.

When your eyes glanced back at that man in the glasses, though, he was already looking at you. Back to standing near the seat he’d occupied before, peanuts in his hands and the pool game abandoned as he seemed to be watching you. You gave him a dramatic roll of your eyes, pitching your head toward the pilot still talking your ear off as if to say ‘get a load of this guy,’ and you could see him laugh from across the bar. That simple action sent a flutter through your chest, and god, what you wouldn’t give to actually hear that laugh.

“...I could show you base sometime,” your attention was, sadly, brought back to Caveman beside you, who was still smiling at you as if you were a prize he’d won and wanted to flaunt around the entire bar to each and every patron. “Could sponsor ya for the day, give ya a private tour.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m sure if I wanted to visit the base, my father would happily sponsor me,” you shot back, trying to turn him down as politely as you possibly could. Your comment only seemed to brighten his mood even more.

“Navy dad, you say?” he’d leaned in closer once more, and you were running out of room on the little stool to lean away from him. “Guess that means you know a lot. Dad have rules about…dating pilots?”

Yeah, no, now you were uncomfortable. There was no being polite now, he’d made his intentions clear and could clearly not read your body language. Your body instantly tensed as your eyes avoided his, still trying to keep the most polite smile you could on your lips. Penny was nowhere in sight to help, so your eyes immediately found your pilot across the room.

He was already watching you, it seemed, but when you locked eyes again, he stood up a little straighter, the smile he had on his face dropping slightly. It was as if he could see the way your demeanor had suddenly changed, and god, you hoped he could see it.

“I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for anything like that,” you’d awkwardly laughed out as you looked back at him finally. “I’m just here on vacation.”

That was when his hand settled on top of your knee, and your heart leapt into your throat. The heat of his hand felt like it was burning a hole in your jeans as he squeezed just so.

“Don’t got to be anything serious, I’m down for some fun,”

That polite smile was gone off your face in an instant as you tried to yank your leg from him, but he squeezed it just slightly tighter.

“Okay, Caveman, sounds like you must’ve got your nickname from how you treat women,” that snide comment seemed to drop his confident demeanor immediately. “I’ve turned you down, I’ve made it clear I’m not interested. So I suggest you let me go.”

“Come on, I think you just need to-”

“I’m pretty sure she said let her go, Caveman,”

There was an edge to the voice that cut in, but not one that made you feel on edge yourself. A hand clamped down on your shoulder from behind, firm but not uncomfortable in the way that the hand on your knee was. Grounding, and when it squeezed your shoulder just slightly, it felt comforting. Protective, in a way. And when you finally turned your head and noticed those familiar glasses you’d been staring at all night, and those gorgeous blue eyes hiding behind them, you immediately relaxed into his touch.

Caveman’s hand immediately left your knee as he seemed to sit up a little straighter, putting his hands up in surrender as he looked at the man standing at your side now.

“Lieutenant Floyd-”

“Things are looking tense over here!” those two pilots you’d observed earlier, the ones who exuded confidence in your eyes, suddenly appeared behind Caveman. The taller blonde placed his hand down on his shoulder just as Lieutenant Floyd’s was on yours, and you glanced at their tags: Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw. The blonde pointed to Caveman, raising an eyebrow at the man at your side. “Baby-on-board, is this man causing trouble?”

Your shoulder was squeezed once more as you turned back to look at the man at your side, feeling another flutter in your chest as you got a good look at those sky blue eyes up close, which made him even more attractive in your eyes. He gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward your ‘friend’ just like you had earlier on.

“Is he bothering you?”

You’d glanced back at Caveman, who seemed semi-scared shitless around these guys, and a smirk curled up on your lips.

“Yes, yes he is,”

“Disrespecting a lady?” it was Penny’s voice now as she reappeared behind the bar, her glare set on that poor pilot that everyone was ganging up on. She ‘tsked’ in his direction, before stepping back to point to a sign hanging just behind her. “It’s your first night here, you should probably check the rules before you get comfortable.”

Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cellphone on my bar…you buy a round.

Alright, Penny might be your new favorite person, besides the hot ass pilot in glasses still comfortably resting his hand on your shoulder as the scene played out before you all.

Caveman never even got a chance to defend himself, as Penny had stepped up to the bell hanging from the ceiling beside the sign, the ring of it echoing throughout the bar. Within seconds, there were chants of ‘OVERBOARD!’ heard throughout the room before Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw had the man hooked under their arms, dragging him out to the parking lot as his friends quickly followed behind.

“A-Are you okay?”

Your eyes found your pilot’s brilliant blue ones again, this time in front of you as he chose to now occupy the seat Caveman was sitting in just moments prior. You simply stared at him for a moment, still trying to process the entire interaction, before a smile stretched wide across your face.

“You know, I thought the Knight in all the fairytales was wearing shining armor?” you posed it like a question, a teasing tone present in your words as you took a quick swig of your beer, eyes never leaving his, and your smile turning into a slight smirk. “Didn’t know mine was going to come bearing shining glasses, instead.”

He’d laughed, that laugh just minutes ago you would’ve burned this bar down to hear, and my god, did you adore it. You adored it more than you should, given that you still didn’t know this mystery man’s name.

“No woman deserves to be treated like that, ma’am,” he tried to dismiss you, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as your eyes trailed over those hands once again, now that they were so close. You could see the redness in his cheeks from this close now, too. “T-The way he was acting, my mom would’ve torn me a new one if I didn’t step in.”

“And is that the only reason?” you quipped back immediately, placing your beer down on the counter just so you could really look at him, study him. “That you stepped in?”

You could see the way he hesitated for a moment, but not as if he didn’t want to answer you. No, you could see that flush deepening in his skin: you were flirting with him, and he knew it, he just didn’t know how to handle it.

“N-No, no, that’s not the only reason,” there was a shy smile on his face as he huffed out a sheepish laugh, looking down at his lap for a moment, before looking back to you. “I should actually thank him, his incompetence gave me the balls to come over here and talk to you.”

He’d made you laugh, a boisterous one that caught the attention of a few lingering around the area of the bartop you were sat at, and you knew already that you were screwed when it came to this man. You’d offered your name immediately after that, a hand out to shake, and he took it in his own as he gave his name: Bob Floyd.

You tried desperately not to think about the way his hand had felt against yours, or the way it had absolutely engulfed your hand due to its sheer size alone. You forced your gaze to the badges that adorned the left side of his khaki uniform, glancing back up at him with a grin as you pulled your hand away.

“So, a Lieutenant?” you commented, gesturing toward the two silver bars on the collar of his uniform, before pointing with your beer bottle to the golden wings centered above his heart. “Flight officer badge. You’re a Weapons Systems Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave you another kind grin as Penny swung by quickly, shooting a wink in both of your directions as you slid you both another beer each, muttering something about it being on the house. Bob took his with a sheepish smile, thanking Penny quietly before his attention refocused on you. “Top Gun graduate.”

“Ah, that and the rank explain why Caveman was so scared shitless to see you and your friends,” he’d laughed again at that comment as you finished off the last of your beer, a sly smirk appearing as it was hard to miss the way that Bob’s eyes flickered down to your neck as you tilted you head back to finish off the bottle. “Typically, you’re only recalled here for special detachments and sent home to your squadrons, unless you’re here to train newbies like our friend in the sand outside.”

“We were brought in for a mission months ago,” Bob’s attention was turned away as Lt. Seresin and Lt. Bradshaw reentered the bar. They both gave you polite waves that you happily returned for what they’d done for you, before making the most obvious of kissy faces toward Bob that had him shaking his head in embarrassment. You tried to hold in your laughter for his own sake. “They thought we had good team dynamics, so they formed a special squadron to keep us in town for a while. VFA-73 Dagger Squad, at your service.”

“Well, cheers to you all and a sincere thanks for your service,” he happily clinked the top of his bottle against your own. “Must be one special group to get a new squadron formed, no less made up of the best of the best.”

“Oh, they’re special, alright,”

You’d quickly come to learn in the next few minutes that Bob Floyd might’ve been the quieter one of his friends, but he was just as charming as the rest seemed to be. Honestly, you weren’t sure he understood just how charming he really was. He’d pointed across the bar toward his friends, naming off their names and the callsigns that you were sure to remember more easily. With each name, he seemed to easily have a story or a quick-witted quip about each one (including the embarrassing story of his Bob ended up his callsign and how Hangman had turned it into baby-on-board) that had you progressively laughing harder, leaning further toward him. You were seated facing one another, bodies angled directly at the other, and his knee was just barely brushing up against yours now with each laugh shared.

“Hangman seems like a piece of work, but I bet he’s got a soft side buried somewhere down in there,” you’d shot back, turning Bob’s attention back to you as you leaned closer to him with a grin, launching into a story that Bob seemed gripped to, an easy smile on his own face. “My dad’s the same way, took my Uncle Solomon–not my real Uncle, but kind of chosen Uncle–to break him down a little bit, get him to loosen up more.”

“So, your father was in the Navy?”

“Still is, reason that I’m in town right now,”

With Bob this close, you were losing focus fast. The way he hung onto every word that you said, seemed to genuinely care about what you had to say, had a flutter flying through your chest that you hadn’t felt since your first boyfriend back in high school. Sure, you’d had your fair share of relationships in adulthood, but nothing that clicked, no one that made your heart soar or made you want to ‘pop your foot’ as Princess Mia always said in your favorite childhood movie. You were starting to understand her logic, though, because every second around this charming knight in shining glasses had you ready to throw caution to the wind.

So, with a little boost of confidence fueled by the third beer in your hand and the adorable sight of a blush on the Naval aviator’s face, you moved even closer. Your leg slotted itself between his, pressed between his thighs as your foot rested against the bottom rungs of his chair. You could see him freeze for just a second as his eyes followed you, not apprehensive, but just unsure, like he’d never been here before. With your beer pushed off to the side, not seeing a need for any more liquid courage, your elbow came to rest on the bartop and your head on top of your hand, allowing you to look up at the handsome man before you and watch as he visibly swallowed the lump in his throat.

God, that really had no right to be as hot as it was.

“S-So, he’s stationed here on North Island?”

“Maybe,” you shot back with a smirk, one that brought an easy smile back to his lips as he could surely hear the teasing tone laced through your words as you kept your answer vague. “I’d prefer not to talk about my dad, though, when I could be hearing more about the incredibly handsome WSO who saved this poor damsel in distress.”

Another easy laugh was shared between you both before the floodgates seemed to open up.

Bob had no issue telling you all about his childhood. He’d grown up in Montana, on a ranch somewhere on the outskirts of Bozeman, which prompted a lengthy debate on whether or not he qualified as a cowboy or not (you thought he did, and when he confessed to owning a few cowboy hats, you declared yourself the winner of the debate). His mother and father, Bonnie and Owen Floyd, had three daughters before finally having Bob, their youngest: Laura, and the twins Sophia and Sierra. He’d recounted a story from back in high school when they’d taken a trip to Yellowstone National Park for Bob’s birthday, at his request, where his oldest sister had gotten yelled at by a park ranger for stepping way too close to one of the hot springs.

“That’s, like, impossible to do!” you’d almost shouted through the bar incredulously as Bob laughed at your reaction. “All you have to do is stay on the guided paths, right?”

“That’s what I said!” Bob managed to explain through his own laughter. “Laura swore she saw a bald eagle and was just trying to get a closer look. She then, unbelievably, yelled back at the ranger about how one day she was going to be a conservationist and work there.”

“In the nicest way…she sounds like a piece of work sometimes,”

“No offense taken, the whole family agrees. I like to say she took all the extrovertedness in the family so that there was none left for me,”

Your lips quirked into another bright smile at that, tone slightly teasing once more, but in a soft way.

“I don’t know, you don’t seem so introverted around me,”

Bob paused at that, that adorable blush still ever present in his skin, as his lips quirked up just slightly higher than they were before.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t,” he’d shyly managed to say, eyes never straying from yours. “You make it easy.”

With more shared laughter, two hearts fluttering just from conversation alone, Bob even told you the story of how he’d decided to join the Navy. He’d been with his father one day, the family truck getting worked on at the local shop, and his dad had slid him some money to grab them both some snacks from the pharmacy a few doors down. Bob had only been around 10 at the time. In between those two buildings, though, had been a Navy recruitment center where he’d overheard the conversation inside with some high school students, and the rest was history. He suddenly had every book known to man about the Navy, was watching every movie that even mentioned the Navy in passing, and had sheepishly admitted to even starting a collection of model planes he’d built, dreaming one day of flying them.

God, if that wasn’t somehow the cutest story in the world, but also the hottest moment of vulnerability you’d seen from a man your age in years, you were practically ready to swoon and drop to the floor right there in the middle of the bar. You had a feeling that Penny wouldn’t take kindly to that, even if she seemed to like you and Bob’s friend group.

In turn, you’d told Bob everything about yourself, too. Growing up in a town in New York that felt more like it was part of Canada than New York, given your proximity to the border. You were an only child, your father (who had you skirting around any details that Bob asked about him) was too focused on his career to think about having another kid. But he always swore that you were enough for him. His workaholic nature and deep love for the Navy and moving up the ranks strained the relationship he had with your mother until they divorced. How you never got to see him often, but he always managed to call at least once a week to talk to his ‘perfect girl.’

With the depressing comparison of your childhoods and family dynamics, you’d told him the happy stories and memories, too. Ones that you didn’t normally divulge to a man you had just met. You’d been on a softball team all through high school with your best friends, won multiple championships, and even gotten a scholarship to Boston University because of it. There were multiple stories about how your parents always bribed you with Cold Stone Creamery, and how it was still your favorite ice cream place today. That time your friends had gotten caught sneaking alcohol into the punch bowls at prom (that story had Bob laughing, as he recounted a similar one that Hangman had told them from his high school days). And, of course, the thrilling stories of your very mundane marketing job back in your hometown, the one you never managed to escape.

“You at least like your job, though, right?” Bob had asked, and with the way you were now sitting together, it would probably be more comfortable and practical to just climb into his lap and use him as a chair. Legs still wound around one another, both leaning against the bar with beers long forgotten, faces entirely too close together as you sat in your own bubble together. The sun had long since gone down, as it had still been in the beginning stages of setting when you’d first entered the bar.

One hour, two? You had no clue how long you’d been talking to Bob Floyd, but every part of you wanted to talk to him for the rest of the night and beyond. It was easy, it was comfortable, and you felt more respected in the entirety of this conversation than you did on any Tinder date you’d been on in years. Safe. That’s what you felt. You felt safe around Bob Floyd, a feeling that was a hot commodity in today's dating climate.

“I do. I went to school for it, so I hope I like it,” your eyes drifted to the bartop, finger absentmindedly tracing the water ring left around your discarded beer bottle. “Pays well, very well. Just want to do it…somewhere other than my hometown, is all. Love the company I work for, just want a change. If an opportunity presented itself, I’d leave Watertown immediately.”

“And besides your mom, you wouldn’t uh…you wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind, would you? No like a, uh, a boyfriend…or anything?”

You’d glanced back up at him now, at the way he bit into his bottom lip with both nerves and hope shining in his eyes as he waited with baited breath for your answer. And in turn, you smiled, leaning just the slightest bit closer to him with amusement laced in your words.

“Lieutenant Floyd, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been flirting with you all night. I wouldn’t do that if there was someone waiting for me,”

He laughed then, and you could almost physically see the tension and nerves leave his body.

“Good, because uh, I-I don’t either. Have anyone, I mean,” your head tilted as Bob groaned slightly, running a hand down his face and adjusting his glasses with a deep chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m really not good at this.”

“At flirting?”

“I never really get the chance to, no one ever really notices me,” he’d shrugged it off like it was nothing, but you’d felt a small pang in your chest at that comment. “Jake, Bradley, Javy…it’s always them, and it doesn’t normally bother me. But I…I saw you earlier, and you looked at me like you saw me. Like you really saw me. You never looked at them, you kept looking at me. And…I’ve never been the one looked at like that, not when I’m with them. I’m not the one noticed.”

You shuffled, sitting up slightly now so that you weren’t leaning against the bar, as you placed your hand on top of his, where it lay in his lap. Bob simply watched you, a tiny smile never leaving his face, as you reciprocated the look and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m not one to flirt with a random guy at a bar, or sit and divulge details of my life story to him for hours on end. Which means you, Bob Floyd, are special. And honestly? I’m glad the other ladies don’t notice you, because I sure did. And that just leaves more for me.”

There was silence for a beat before his hand under your own moved back just slightly, his fingers now splayed out over your own, wrapping around them slightly with a tiny squeeze. And somewhere in that small movement, in the looks exchanged in the never-ending eye contact you seemed to hold with one another, something changed. Those heated looks from earlier held a new weight with the words spoken out loud, the tension on the rope connecting the two of you tighter than it had been from the moment you’d first saw Bob Floyd from across the bar, and it felt like all it was going to take to snap that tension was to lean in-

“Baby-on-board! You done hogging your girl over there so we can meet her?”

And…moment ruined. Bob immediately shut his eyes, groaning with a mumble under his breath about how he was ‘going to kill Hangman’ while his friends all laughed from across the bar. You’d simply laughed, leaning your head down until your forehead rested against Bob’s shoulder, his breath and words ghosting over the side of your face as he finally spoke.

“Sorry about them. The one time I have a girl interested in me, they decide to be pricks about it,”

“Maybe they’re just trying to summon you back over, I have held you hostage long enough,” you commented when you finally lifted your head, glancing down at the watch on his arm to see that you had, in fact, held this man hostage at the bar for almost two hours, even though it had felt like minutes.

“Trust me, this was no hostage situation. I’d rather be over here with you,” Bob was quick to interject, his smile seeming to stretch wider as you were sure he could see the flush crawling up your own neck. Untangling your legs, Bob rose to his feet beside the chair as a pang of disappointment hit you square in the chest. That was, until he held his hand out to you with a sheepish grin. “Care to join me?”

You were pretty sure you would’ve followed Bob Floyd anywhere at this point. Was it insane to like a guy this much after barely knowing him for a night? Probably, but you didn’t feel like you’d just met him. No, Bob Floyd felt like meeting an old friend again, and god did you love the feeling. That’s why you didn’t hesitate to put your hand in his.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,”

There was another round of cheers the second you and Bob were finally in their vicinity, another comment from Hangman about ‘Bobby finally bagging a woman’ that ended with a harsh shoulder slap from Phoenix. You’d only laughed as Bob shook his head at their antics and gratefully accepted the barstool he’d held out for you. Your eyes watched him, like they had been the entire night, as he turned down the invitation to the pool game at hand, taking a seat on the stool directly next to you.

What he probably hadn’t expected was for your foot to hook around the leg of his stool, dragging it directly to your side until every part of you that could be pressed up against the handsome WSO was. When he saw the easy smile on your face and the tiny wink you gave him, you could see any last bit of tension leave his body as he easily leaned into you as well.

They’d all quickly introduced themselves, though Bob had already given you the rundown before. You greeted them politely with a smile, finally giving them your own name so Bradley didn’t have to call you ‘mystery bar girl’ anymore.

“Well, well, well baby-on-board,” it was Hangman once again, shaking his head as he took a shot on one of his last solids left in play, sinking it easily. “Looks like you snagged a confident one. Too bad, bet I could’ve swept her off her feet if given the chance.”

Flirty. Bob certainly didn’t exaggerate just how flirtatious Jake Seresin seemed to be, not that you were interested at all in any comments from him. The comments didn’t catch you off guard, but Bob’s actions did.

His hand was immediately on your thigh, closer down toward your knee, but resting there nonetheless. Just the slightest bit of pressure, enough to feel as if it had been meant in a comforting gesture, but it inherently held something a little more to it. Not quite possessiveness, but something akin to staking a claim, to say you were with him and him only. While Caveman’s hand on any part of you had you wanting to run for the hills, Bob’s firm grip had you leaning into his side more, chasing after the warmth and security he provided. It still sent a flash of heat through every inch of your body, especially when you glanced down to see just how big his hand was when it was resting on such a small part of you. You wished you’d opted for the jean shorts you had picked out earlier now just to feel his hand engulf your bare skin instead.

“Knock it off, Bagman. Clearly, she’s more interested in the quiet types,” the wink Natasha sent your way made you laugh, a similar chuckle coming from Bob at his front-seater’s comments, as she whacked Hangman over the shoulder. While lining up to take her own shot in the game, you saw her catch the way Bob’s hand rested on your leg, and a flash of surprise followed by pride seemed to cross her features. “So, never seen you around before. What brings you to Fightertown?”

“Visiting my dad for a few weeks, he’s stationed here on North Island. But…I’m also here for work,” you could see Bob’s head turn to look at you curiously from the corner of your eye, but you kept your gaze on Natasha. “The marketing firm I work for has a branch out here in San Diego, over in Chula Vista. They know I’ve been looking to move, so they thought I should come check out their set-up out here to see if I liked it enough to take their offer.”

There was a squeeze to your thigh as you turned your attention back to Bob, who was looking at you quizically.

“You didn’t mention that before,”

“Wasn’t sure I was going to take their offer earlier,” you shrugged innocently. “San Diego is hot, I’m not built for this weather.”

“But you…think you might take it now?”

You bit into your bottom lip, leaning just a fraction closer to Bob as you tried to hold back your grin as you replied.

“Well…maybe I found another enticing reason to hang around San Diego for a while,”

There was a low murmur of laughter throughout the group at your words, that gorgeous redness settling back into Bob’s cheeks, and you could hear Fanboy mumble out just loud enough a ‘damn, she’s good at this’ comment.

The group asked their questions, and you answered happily. Where you were from, what all your job entailed, even the stupid little questions like who your celebrity crush was or if you ever thought about joining the Navy like your father.

All the while, Bob never strayed from your side. His thumb had been rubbing little circles into your jeans, just firm enough to feel it on your skin each time the digit moved back and forth, and god, you were really cursing yourself for not wearing those shorts right now. At some point, during a pool rematch between Rooster and Coyote, your head had found it’s way to rest against Bob’s shoulder, and after a brief moment there was the unmistakeable feel of lips pressed to the crown of your head that had a shiver running down your spine and another flash of heat rushing through you, this time heading all south.

Charming, sexy in a quiet way that made him seem so non-threatening, and an absolutely sweetheart and a gentleman…it hadn’t even been a day, but you knew Bob Floyd had already ruined your standards for men. He was the standard.

“Sorry, my favorite fighter pilots,” the attention of everyone crowded by the pool tables turned to Penny, hand on her hip, but an easy smile on her face as she glanced around, eyes lingering on you and the WSO who were still wrapped around one another. “Last call time, going to have to kick you all out now.”

Last call? With a quick glance around the bar, you noticed that there was, in fact, barely any patrons still around. The ones still left behind were already moving toward the door. And with a glance down at Bob’s watch, the time was confirmed: 2 a.m.

“Damn, we almost never stay here until last call,” Rooster laughed, packing up everything on the pool table so that Penny didn’t have to deal with it, Fanboy and Paybackl disappearing after offering to help Penny clean up bottles still littered around the bar.

“Time does fly when you’re having fun,” Natasha commented, bumping shoulders with him before she set her sights on you. “What about you, our honorary Dagger? Need a ride back to wherever you’re staying?”

“Nah, I’m staying at Hotel del Coronado right down the beach. Perks of the job. I just walked along the beach to get here earlier,” your gaze then flickered over to Bob, his thumb still rubbing circles into your leg where he’d never let go throughout the night. “Though it’s pretty late, I’d love if there was some knight in shining glasses still hanging around that wouldn’t mind walking me back.”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation from Bob before he was on his feet, the heat of his hand on your leg disappearing, and then reappearing moments later when his hand wrapped around your own, fingers sliding into place between yours.

“I’ve got tomorrow off, I’ll see you guys on base Sunday,” Bob nodded toward his friends, tugging you even closer to his side. “Tell Penny I’ll come grab my truck later.”

“More like in the morning,” Hangman commented, trying to conceal it surrounded by fake coughs. The group had laughed, the comment spurring another bloom of red across Bob’s cheeks and your own, before he’d tugged you out the back door of the Hard Deck and into the sand.

The beach in these early hours of the morning was quiet, beautiful in a way that only these lonely hours of the night could make it. No distant sound of traffic, no families or rowdy groups of teenagers running up and down the sand, just the sand, the waves, and the moon. It cast streaks of light over the water, its reflection rippling in the waves as they crashed to shore, setting the scene of a picturesque night along the stretch of sand that lasts miles.

Bob had held you up as you removed your sandals, carrying them in one hand in order to appreciate the cool sand beneath your feet. Your other hand still stayed wrapped up in Bob’s, the warmth of his skin a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that came with the cool nighttime California air. Conversation hadn’t stopped, not once, since you’d both started talking earlier on in the night, but this time it was Bob pointing up at the sky as you lazily moved down the beach at the slowest pace you could, naming constellations visible.

“That one right over there,” you followed his gaze as he pointed just slightly West in the sky. “That one is Hercules.”

“Ah, absolutely. I can totally see it,” you nodded your head repeatedly, and it was clear that Bob was already starting to laugh at your response. “The square those stars form, and the little stick arms and legs, definitely gives off a mythological Greek hero to me.”

“Well, actually,” Bob managed to speak through his laughter. “It’s named for his Roman counterpart. Heracles was his Greek counterpart, so they’re essentially the same thing.”

After a moment, you dropped Bob’s hand, turning and angling your body so that you were facing him head-on, walking backward in the sand. Even in the dark of the night, you could tell there was a tiny blush creeping along his cheeks as you tilted your head toward him.

“Bob Floyd, don’t tell me you’re also a secret space nerd!”

His laugh echoed down the beach as he hung his head for a moment, adjusting his glasses when he finally looked back up to you with a grin.

“Guilty, hard not to be with the kind of night skies I grew up seeing in Montana. I-I haven’t…completely ruined my chances now that I’ve nerded out…have I?”

“On the contrary. I have a thing for smart men,” with another wink, you’d spun on your heel in the sand, continuing your walk toward the hotel. “Especially this smart, handsome WSO named Bob Floyd that I met tonight.”

You’d barely gotten a few steps away before there was a sudden tug on your hand, your body spinning back around in the sand until your chest was pressed directly to Bob’s. And before you could utter a single word, his lips were, finally, on yours.

Without a second of hesitation, you fell into him, swept away by the way his fingers traced the line of your jaw, sliding their way to the back of your neck as he held you in place against him. His lips moved against your own with a sense of gentleness that disappeared once it was clear you were reciprocating with vigor, his mouth swallowing yours with the hunger of a starved man.

Almost involuntarily, a delicious little sound you swore you’d never made before tumbled from your lips, swallowed whole by the soft, firm moves of Bob’s lips against your own. A spark grew in the pit of your stomach the second the hand on your waist gripped you just the slightest bit tighter, a spark that was soon a raging inferno that you had no thoughts about taming.

It takes no effort to give in to Bob Floyd, not when he holds you like this. Not when he’s kissing you on a moonlit beach as if you’d personally hung the moon in the sky just for him.

There is no question in this kiss, no lingering doubts about whatever had sparked between you both since the moment you’d made eye contact hours ago. When your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding through and tugging lightly on the sandy blonde hair you couldn’t even see in the dark, and he elicits a groan that has your knees threatening to give out in the sand, there’s no question: there’s a claim. If his hand on your thigh was the precursor, the writing of a contract to claim you as his in a way you didn’t even realize you already were, this kiss was the signature. Signed and dated, written in stone. You weren’t sure there was another man in the world who could kiss you the way Bob Floyd was kissing you, who could ignite a fire that bright in the depths of your soul.

With reluctance, as if it takes the gods themselves to pull either of you away, you part for the simple need to breathe. And, god, does Bob Floyd look wrecked. Panting, lips red and swollen, the skin of his neck and cheeks flushed red, and an unmistakable bit of fog to his glasses. You laughed then, breathy from your own lack of oxygen, reaching up with the sleeve of your shirt to wipe at the fog, knowing that, given how you felt right now, you surely didn’t look any better than he did.

“Well…hi,” you managed to huff out, chest still struggling to get air back into your lungs.

“Hi,” his voice came out almost like a whisper at first, full of wonder, his hand still cradling your head. His thumb was, once again, drawing little circles into the skin right around your ear, his smile wider than you’d seen all night. “I…I’m sorry-”

“Do not apologize for that,” you’d interjected immediately as Bob huffed out a laugh. “Please, never apologize for that.”

“Good, because I was lying. I-I’m really not sorry,” the hand against your cheek left you, taking its warmth with it, before both of Bob’s hands settled on your waist. You tightened your arms around his shoulders in response, sandals having been long discarded in the sand somewhere amid the kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours. I…I like you. Like, a lot. More than I think I should for the few short hours I’ve known you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re on the same page. I don’t divulge my entire life story to just any Naval aviator in a bar,” another breathy laugh fell from Bob’s lips as you leaned forward, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “No, I only tell all those stories to this one guy that I happen to really like. Like, a lot.”

And when Bob Floyd kissed you again, it was blissful. Gentler, still passionate, so full of an emotion that you wouldn’t ever dare to call love, not this soon. It was more like affection, adoration, a warmth that had you melting into his arms without a care in the world. You’d do anything, as long as it meant you got to keep kissing this man.

Maybe Princess Mia had been onto something with that ‘foot pop’ of a kiss idea, because this sure felt like that moment.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” Bob groaned out against your lips, hands squeezing at your hips again as you laughed, playfully leaning back to swat at his chest as he smiled down at you, illuminated by the moonlight.

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps kissing me. I think any court of law would find you at fault for that. Also,” you quickly gestured around at your surroundings with a tilt of your head. “Hell of a setting for a first kiss. A moonlit beach in the dead of night, did you walk straight out of a rom-com, Bob Floyd?”

“In all honesty, I was going to wait until I got you back to your hotel room to kiss you and hopefully get your number,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But then I looked at you and…and you were just too beautiful not to. And I was going to kick myself in a few hours if I didn’t kiss you.”

If you were ever asked to pinpoint something you adored about Bob Floyd, his ability to make you laugh with the simplest of things would probably be your favorite. He barely even had to try, and he had you laughing like a little schoolgirl.

The entire walk back to the hotel down the beach felt like a dream sequence, like something straight out of a movie that you never believed actually happened to people in real life. Bob’s hand never strayed from yours, swinging between you both as you kicked at the sand. Every few steps, he’d push you away from him slightly, just to be able to pull you back into his side and make you laugh again.

And somehow, in the midst of the walk, you’d ended up engaged in the most spontaneous round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ questions you’d ever been part of. You and Bob had both been caught speeding during college, but Bob had managed to awkwardly sweet-talk his way out of a ticket with the female officer. You’d been skinny dipping twice before, both on bachelorette trips for two of your college friends, and you didn’t miss the way Bob had to swallow the lump in his throat at that confession (no doubt imagining it). He, in turn, had ended up having to confess the embarrassing story that was him having a crush on his high school English teacher.

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around that,” you’d managed to say through your laughter that you couldn’t contain as you both approached the main doors of the hotel building. “She was at least young, right?”

“Yes, she was in her thirties,” Bob shook his head, obviously amused by how hilarious you found the story. Like the gentleman he was, he’d opened the door for you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he led you into the building. “Girls didn’t look at me in high school, okay. She always offered that I could eat lunch with her since she had a free period, and the entire school had agreed that she was objectively pretty. You can’t blame me!”

“Okay, fine, but you do have to admit it’s a little funny,” you’d offhandedly waved to the concierge, the same one who had checked you in that morning, now working the graveyard shift, before leading Bob over to the elevators. You rested against the wall, awaiting your ride to arrive, while Bob stood just barely a foot in front of you. “As for the girls: their loss. If I’d have gone to high school with you, trust me, I would’ve looked at you.”

The doors for the elevator slid open with a ‘ding’ as you quickly moved inside, back turned to Bob.

“And trust me, if I’d have known you back then, we’d be married by now,”

The second the elevator doors shut, you paused, finger hovering over the button for your floor. Turning on your heel back to Bob, head cocked to the side in amusement, you could see the realization flicker over his face as it dawned on him what exactly he’d just said.

“Oh, would we now? You saying we’d be high school sweethearts?” Bob sheepishly laughed, fixing his glasses as he looked anywhere but you. “That kind of sounded like a line straight out of Hangman’s playbook, and I barely know the guy.”

“Yeah…y-yeah, it really did, didn’t it? Might have to blame the alcohol, I-I don’t typically drink much on our nights out,”

You hummed, taking a step toward him with a growing smile as his stuttering came back for just a second, something you realized only ever made an appearance when he was nervous. His eyes were locked on you as you leaned up, nose bumping his.

“Don’t worry, I found it cute coming from you,” you leaned back to hit the button for the third floor, and the second you did, Bob’s hand was settled on your hip, pulling you back to him. Teeth gnawing into your bottom lip, you contemplated the words floating around your head for a moment, afraid that whatever was happening here was fragile and your words could break it. “When we get up there…do you want to come in?”

You had read it before, about the way a man’s eyes darkened with ‘lust’ or in moments such as this, but you’d never witnessed it. Not until now, and once again, Bob Floyd had you weak in the knees.

“I’d love to,”

“Good,” you nodded. “Just know…I don’t do hook-ups. I don’t do flings.”

“Good,” he responded with his own nod. “Because neither do I.”

“Good,”

The door of your hotel room had barely been closed before Bob was on you.

His hands on your hips guided you, pressing you up against the closed bathroom door just to the right of the room’s main door, and his lips descended upon yours as if he were attacking his target. Vigorous, relentless, he kissed you in a way you’d never been kissed before, not even like he did on the beach, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance. A wanton moan slipped out of you, parting your lips just enough for Bob’s tongue to sneak through, to savor the taste of you. You savored the taste of him, too: the lingering taste of the beer he’d been sipping all night, and the remnants of your own vanilla chapstick still smeared across his lips.

You moved in tandem, like your bodies were one with each other. It didn’t take long before your shirt was off, his lips hot, slicked with spit, dragging themselves over every inch of skin he could get his lips on. Every drag of his lips, every press of a kiss against your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts had your mind going blank, your fingers desperately fumbling with the buttons of his khaki uniform to no avail.

If you just asked, you’d let him have anything he wanted in this moment. You’d let him take you against this door, the wall next to it, the floor, the bed, hell, you’d let him lean you over the balcony railing where anyone might be able to see you both. Nothing else mattered besides Bob Floyd, as long as he continued to touch you, adore you, worship you the way he was.

In the moments it took Bob to maneuver you from the wall to the bed, you’d finally come back to yourself, able to delicately unbutton his uniform and not ruin it, before tugging it from its place tucked into his pants and tossing it across the room. The white shirt he had on beneath it was gone in seconds, too, and god, you wanted to admire him like a painting on the walls of a museum, like he was the Mona Lisa himself.

Like they say, it’s always the quiet ones. You shouldn’t have been surprised; he was in the Navy, after all. But you couldn’t deny the heat that pooled between your thighs from just a single look.

With a tiny yelp from your lips, your back hit the bed, and Bob was on top of you in seconds, drawing yet another moan from your lips. At this rate, there’d surely be a noise complaint in minutes. His leg wedged itself between your thighs, delivering just enough friction to have you squirming, while his lips locked back into your neck. From your jawline, all the way to your collarbone, Bob nipped at every inch of skin he could, blowing a short puff of air across over tender spot before leaving a searing kiss to it that felt like you were being branded. All the while, your hands roamed up and down every expanse of skin you could touch, His forearms to his biceps and every vein that ran along them, popping out from under his skin. The lean body that hovered over you now, nails ghosting along the lines across his stomach toward his chest that had a low grumble emitting from him. And in a moment of boldness, invigorated by the tension that had snapped between you both, your hand traveled lower, just barely grazing over the outline straining against his khaki pants, finally feeling for yourself just how big he truly was. And the groan that left him that time, wrecked and on the verge of falling apart, had a whole new flood of heat rushing through you.

In a show of his strength, Bob rolled you both again with just one arm. Suddenly, there you sat, straddling him as he lay below you, half naked, eyes blown wide behind those glasses, looking absolutely desecrated beneath you. The only sound that flickered through the room was the heavy pants from each of you, once again catching your breath and calming the firestorm of emotions in you both.

“So,” Bob had breathed out once he’d finally caught enough of his breath. “Y-You’re totally taking that transfer to San Diego, right?”

You’d let out a breathy laugh, swiping your hand down your face as you sent him a small smirk.

“In all honesty…I already accepted it. That was half the reason for this trip: to see my new office and meet my new coworkers. Meeting you, though…well, that’s just like the cherry on top,”

His grin was infectious, but your mind was elsewhere in the moment as you took your chance, simply grinding yourself down on the man below you with a smirk of amusement still on your lips. His smile was gone instantly, lips straining to hold in a moan as his hands gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to freeze in place so you couldn’t make that same move again.

“I-If you do that again, I’m not going to be able to stop myself,”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes, because I want to do this properly. I want to do this in order,” he huffed out a laugh. “Tomorrow, my day off. 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up. Il Fornaio, an Italian restaurant just on the other side of the island, right on the beach, with beautiful views of the water. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, and for dessert…a Cold Stone Creamery, barely a minute away. And if I can muster up the confidence to do it, I’ll make you mine before you’ve even taken a single scoop of your ice cream, because I don’t need a second date to know I want this. And then I’ll bring you back here, and then I’ll fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, to be worshiped. God…I already don’t think there’s a single thing I wouldn’t do if you just asked me to.”

If you opened a dictionary, Bob Floyd would be painted under the word ‘perfection,’ and there was no doubt in your mind about it. Hell, he’d remembered the stupid story about your favorite ice cream shop you’d told him hours ago. You were about ready to ravish him on the spot.

“Sounds like you’ve had this planned out for hours now,” your voice had dropped into a whisper, laced with just pure awe for the man below you.

“Since the moment we first locked eyes across the bar. Had to add the ice cream bit in, later,”

And you’d laughed, something you had done all night with him. For a moment, you paused, smile stretching nervously, as something you’d been meaning to say all night, but had been stuck in your throat, was itching to finally be said. It terrified you, but you had to say it. Bob Floyd was an angel; he deserved to know what he was getting into.

“Well, that’s a yes to dinner, and everything that comes after. I’ll just have to make sure to tell my father I can’t have dinner with him after I visit the base tomorrow afternoon. I hope he doesn’t get too upset, you know how the, uh…how the Vice Admiral can be,”

It was like you’d just dropped a bomb, and you could see the aftermath in Bob’s eyes. The way he tilted his head from beneath you, before realization seemed to crawl into every feature of his face.

“The…the Vice Admiral. As in…Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, Cyclone…” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and all you could do was nervously nod your head as Bob let out yet another breathy laugh. “Your Uncle Solomon…Rear Admiral Solomon Bates, Warlock. Wow, how did I not figure that out?”

“Because I was really careful not to give it away,” you’d tried to laugh, nerves only calmed slightly by the little circles that Bob’s fingers were drawing into the skin of your waist where his hands still lay. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said something earlier. But you were so sweet, and not to mention attractive, and it was so easy to like you…I was scared if you knew, you wouldn’t think it was worth it.”

Bob’s eyebrows furrowed as he shifted, sitting up on the hotel room bed now with you still positioned in his lap. One arm fully locked around your waist, the other taking your chin between his fingers to keep your eyes locked on him as he spoke.

“Why would I think that?”

“I dated a Navy man in college; he was a few years older than I was. He was excited for his reassignment; he was going to be training under my dad. But then, I told him that it was my dad, and he freaked. Thought he’d be treated unfairly if his superior knew he was dating his daughter. I just…I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t worth the hassle. I know how my dad can be.”

Bob stared at you for just a moment before he pulled you into another kiss. Softer than any previous kiss the entire night, but firm, as if he was trying to drill something into you. Whatever it was, it was working, as your chest fluttered and your hands wound their way back into his hair. And barely a beat later, he’d pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, hand on your chin, cupping your jawline to hold you there with him.

“If in the end, I get you…anything is worth the hassle,”

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 | bob reynolds

(gif credits to @tomundsen )

—summary: 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. —pairing: bob reynolds x female!avenger!reader —word count: 7k (oops) —content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, p in v sex, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, fingering, he talks to you through it, really passionate sex, a lot, lot of body worship, praise kink goes brrr, sub!bob, bob just loves his powerful strong girl too much. confident and self-assured bob is so dear to me.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

“H–hey, here's your milk— woah,” Bob interrupted himself when he finally lifted his gaze from the floor so he could look at you. His eyes fell on your figure, roaming up and down shamelessly, scanning in wonder-struck silence at the way you looked in the new suit.

You were in front of your full-length mirror, analyzing with squinted eyes the way the suit that had just arrived, restyled and upgraded, looked on you. All the details you had mentioned were fixed now.

It looked good on you, you thought. It fit your body like a second skin though. But the fabric was pretty much perfect, it was comfy and flexible, it was designed to match your abilities and fighting style, without excessively exposing you.

And you still had to put on the cape, a feature Valentina had insisted on adding to the final look, that way you would impose more respect and appear more intimidating, according to her.

Bob stood frozen at the entrance of your room, in his hands he was carrying cups of milkshake he had ordered not too long ago, one of them probably meant for you.

Even though you had told him many times that you didn't like to eat or drink before a mission, he did it anyway. He cared too much about you to not to. So every time he ordered himself something, he had to order something for you as well.

“Thank you, Bob,” you offered him a kind smile nonetheless in appreciation, turning your head so that you could face him. His countenance was all flushed red and the content of the cups swirled a bit with the tremor of his hands.

“Can you help me with the cape?” you then asked, watching him as he awkwardly set the cups down on the small coffee table in the center of your bedroom before making his way towards you with swift steps, as if you were the center of gravity of the entire universe, of his universe.

He couldn't control how his eyes drifted down from your face and swept along your back, drinking in every curve, every outline of your gorgeous, perfect figure, relishing in the way the tight black fabric clung to your body like a second skin.

Bob's gaze traced a very slow scan across your lower back, through the shape of your hips, the curve of your ass, the complex of your thighs—

“Isn't it too much?” you wondered out loud, making him flinch. Your eyes were looking at him through the reflection of the mirror as Bob stumbled to set the cape where it supposed to be, hooking it onto your shoulders very carefully, with trembling fingers.

You could catch a glimpse through the mirror of the way his eyes were glowing under the soft yellowish light of your room, you could see your own reflection within them, melting into all the darkness of his particularly dilated pupils. The darkness in his eyes surrounded you completely.

He finished settling the cape on your back and Bob took a couple of steps back from you, permitting himself to gaze at you in awe, his mouth falling half-open.

“You're— you look nice.” He responded to you, in a stammering but entirely truthful voice, nerves racing on his tongue as he pronounced one of the many compliments that were flooding his head as he ogled you with big eyes. “L–like, really nice.”

He nodded his head in a short frenzy, approving the words from himself. Then his eyes searched yours through the reflection of the mirror and he found himself swooning as you spun around to face him, your cape twirling in the air with the effortlessly graceful motion.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw how Bob held his hands out in front of him, fingers clasped together casually. He kept an innocent visage, though his cheeks were flushed, nervous eyes dropping to the ground as he saw you walking towards him in all your glory and beauty, like a goddess stepping down from the heavens. And you didn't have to coax him into surrendering to you, he already stood in the palm of your hand, wrapped around your pretty finger.

You flustered him so much it was silly. Every step you took stirred an earthquake inside him.

He was as yours as the sun is to the moon, as darkness is to light, as craving is to love.

His heart raced as you stood in front of him, gazing at him from all your power and majesty. And Bob knew he was long gone.

“Are you okay?” you asked him in a tone that conveyed raw concern, just as much as what your eyes shared with his in their familiar, heart-warming silent intimacy.

You had your head slightly tilted and your brow just barely furrowed in worry. You looked so beautiful, so cute, that you had him speechless for a few moments.

“Y–yes, I—” Bob stuttered, jerking his head gently, dismissing any sign of worry he might spark in you. “I'll s–see you after the mission—”

Immediately after that, he rushed to grab his beloved milkshake, flashed you a lopsided smile all crooked with nervousness and stormed out of your room, almost tripping over the box full of vinyls you had yet to organize on the shelves.

Shortly before he left, Bob turned once more to look at you, with that sheepish little grin curving his lips and you noticed how he struggled to hold his cup of milkshake now low in front of him, trying to cover up the prominent bulge that had grown painfully harder the more he watched you in that suit.

And then he just disappeared.

You stood in silence, dumbfounded, staring at your door with puzzled eyes and gaping mouth. Then you glanced down at yourself, searching around for something wrong, something that looked ugly maybe, something that would cause such an outburst in Bob.

But there was absolutely nothing wrong with you. In fact, you looked perfect.

When you came back from the mission, the first thing you looked for in the living room once you stepped out of the elevator was Bob, naturally, eyes flicking to the couch where he usually lay down to read or gaze at the cityscape.

Yelena and Bucky were talking animatedly beside you, exchanging a single knowing glance as they both caught a glimpse of disappointment surfacing on your face, still a little sweaty from all the physical exertion the mission had taken. It had not been difficult. The guys had especially relied on your skills to accomplish it successfully.

For that, you were a bit tired, your mind and body had given up a lot to the energy of your abilities. You were still buzzing. Adrenaline was throbbing in your veins. And normally when you were like this, you reached for Bob's comfort to anchor you back to earth.

Your cape fluttered behind you as you made your way towards the hallway to the bedrooms, looking defeated.

Yelena huffed a small chuckle at you, taking a sip of water from the glass Bucky had offered her, “I can't believe that less than thirty minutes ago you were at full power, levitating off the ground, with your eyes glowing and all, and now you go crawling back to your boyfriend like this.”

You just shrugged, offering them both a small tired smile before continuing to walk towards Bob's room, needing to see him and hug him. You didn't even care that you were still wearing your suit.

You stopped in front of the door and as you were raising your hand to knock on it, it swung open with a ‘wooshh!’, revealing a very distressed looking Bob. His hair was a bit messy, he was still wearing that black shirt that looked so good on him. He had changed his pants, though, now wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, hanging dangerously low around his hips.

He looked like a hot mess. In every good sense of the term.

“You're back,” he breathed out, as if he'd been holding his breath all this time in your absence, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped loudly. His eyes took a quick journey across you and widened as he noticed you were still in your suit. He pulled them back, forcefully, painfully slow back up to your face.

You looked at him strangely, realizing how you were both still standing in his doorway. “Yeah... are you okay, Bob? I feel you... closed off.”

“Yeah, it's just— I didn't want to distract you— before the mission and all that,” he explained, sounding more like a cheap excuse.

“Distract me?” You raised a single eyebrow, repeating his own word, noticing perfectly how his gaze wandered to your chest for just a split of a second, but nonetheless, you managed to catch up with it. A hint of an amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips, leaning against the threshold of his door, and he closed his eyes tightly, ducking his head in shame, knowing full well that he had been caught. Nothing could ever get past you. Not when it came to him.

“Looks like you're the distracted one here, Bob.”

“I'm not—” he stammered, his hands raised to his flushed face, “S-sorry, I don't mean to be like like a wacked out pervert— I don't want you to think less of me. It's just a s-suit.”

The last part seemed to be speaking more to himself than to you, as he grunted it under his breath, verging on a scolding.

But it wasn't just a suit.

It was you.

Your body, your naughty smile, your gaze, your lips tinted with that deadly crimson red.

A couple of beads of sweat led a wet trail down your neck. Bob could smell the saltiness oozing off your sweaty skin, mixed with that exquisite scent of your perfume. He could hear your heart pounding, the throbbing pulse in your jugular vein. Demonstrating that you were real, that you were breathing, that you were right in front of him, dressed like that.

You were devastatingly beautiful. And he was completely at your mercy.

Your hand rose to his face, making him stop his babbling with himself and lift his gaze slowly. His cheek felt warm under your palm, you didn't know if it was because he was a blushing mess or because that was the effect that your touch brought upon his skin.

“It's okay to feel desire, Bob, there's nothing wrong with that,” you reassured him, lowering your tone to a softer, more sympathetic one. “It makes me feel good that you desire me, actually.”

That got a reaction out of him, his lips quivered, hesitating whether or not to speak, until eventually, he made up his mind, “It makes you feel good?”

You nodded your head, your smile morphing to one of a little more shyness, “I thought you didn't like the way I looked in my suit. Since you just ran off without saying anything, I thought that—”

Bob interrupted you right there, shaking his head repetitively. You felt his jaw and flesh move under the palm of your hand as he spoke.

“What? No,” he blurted, huffing air as if it were the most obvious subject in the world. Regret passed over the expression of his face and he uttered your name in that adoring, soft way he did, “You look perfect. It drives me crazy, h-honestly. I haven't been able to stop t-thinking about you. You look so beautiful it makes me want to—”

He forced himself to shut up, suddenly feeling his throat constrict and his face grow even more red. One of his hands ran through his hair anxiously, looking really tense.

“You want to what?” You urged him, your breath feeling warm against his face, your thumb caressed his cheekbone, making him shiver under your touch, “Say it, Bob.”

Bob looked into your eyes again, struggling to maintain eye contact, his hands trembled at his sides, so desperate to reach out to you, to touch you, to grasp you. To hold all of you.

“Make love to you” He mumbled against your lips just before you kissed him, breathing in his air and devouring his words, covenanting them as a mutual yearning. A promise.

Bob kissed you as if you were the air his lungs depended on to breathe, his lips moving with yours like an old habit, like second nature.

“Jump,” he urged you between kisses and shaky breaths, his hands finally being set loose to reach out to touch you and hold your waist.

And you immediately complied, bouncing up and wrapping your legs around his hips. He lifted you up and held you so effortlessly. Sometimes you forgot that this man was the strongest among all of you. The strongest on the planet, most likely.

Without ever stopping kissing you, Bob locked you tightly against him with one arm while the other one stretched out towards the door, closing it behind his back once he started to walk with you in his arms over to his bed.

Both of his hands grasped your body at the bottom of your thighs, squeezing and cupping your warm flesh through the fabric of your suit.

Promptly you felt the bulge press against the underside of your thigh, so desperate for attention, for you.

Bob broke the kiss, the noise of your mouths slipping apart from each other swept across the interior of his room, so filthy and hot. He looked at you with half-closed eyes, gaze darkened by desire and raw adoration.

He was breathless and feeling so flustered and anxious he was trembling, you could sense it as he held you close against him.

“I-I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. It—” he mumbled, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he felt your fingers sinking into his hair at the back of his skull, “It just... pops up. It's inevitable when it comes to you. You drive me crazy.”

He was referring to his erection, of course. His big erection. He was ashamed of it. Bob didn't want to appear desperate —although for you, he certainly was—; someone who was unable to control himself. He was striving for control.

“Just shut up and make love to me, Bob,” you murmured, pleaded, right against his lips, your tongue grazing across his bottom lip, pulled outward, his countenance turn into a pout. “I need you inside me, now. Please, baby”

“S-shit,” he hissed a lot of cursing under his trembling breath. He was buzzing, “I-I need you too.”

Bob kissed you one more time as he laid you down on his bed very gently, careful not to trip or get tangled up in your cape.

His lips traced a path of kisses across your face, down your chin, along your neck. Your body quivered as you felt his tongue run across your skin, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Your legs were still on either side of his hips, one of his hands was running up and down the outside of your thigh and the other was supporting his own weight on the side of your body.

You arched your back for him, grinding against his crotch. Bob groaned lightly into your skin at the friction.

“You drive me crazy— you don't know what you provoke in me,” he uttered, rasping out against the skin of your neck, like an unhinged man, blinded by lust and longing. “This fucking suit— shit. You look so good, so pretty for me. I need you so bad, baby. All the time.”

Rarely did Bob call you by pet names, but every one of those occasions elicited the exact same reaction out of you. Your gaze would darken and your eyes would squint. You didn't have to tell him anything at all. Your body spoke everything to him, calling out to him in silence, in complicity.

With you, the intimacy, the complicity spoke for itself above the silence.

He knew the power he had in you. He knew exactly how to use it.

“P-please... ah—” yet he still begged you, whimpering just from friction and touch alone, pulling his head out of your neck and bringing his face closer to yours. He kissed your lips once more, just as your legs squeezed tighter around his waist, pulling him closer to you and making him pant against your mouth. “I dreamt of your legs wrapped around my waist. Just like this...”

Even Bob couldn't fully recognize himself. He was in some kind of deep lust trance, everything was blurred, except for you. Just beneath him, your beautiful body squirming, flushed against his.

To think that not so long ago you had been out there, in your nice suit, in full super-heroine mode, helping and saving people. Protecting kids from the bad guys, fighting for them.

They all probably looked up to you with adoration, everyone would most likely be jealous of him if they knew how he had you now.

None of them could ever see you like this. Only in their dreams.

“Only in their dreams,” a voice murmured at the back of his mind.

“Bobby...” You breathed out his name, pleading for mercy, for him to do something, anything at all. One of your hands was curled around his forearm at your side, squeezing it to attract his attention. Your fingertips absentmindedly traced the veins outlined against his skin trough his arm. You could feel his throbbing pulse on them. Desperate and hepless. Craving.

“Let me taste you, baby, please” Bob cooed, his voice coming raspy and desperate out of his throat, “I need to taste you, yeah?”

“Y-yes, yes,” your mouth moved faster than your mind, gazing at him with eyes glazed over with lust. “W-wait, I have to take off my suit first, let me—”

Bob cut you off with a sloppy little kiss, pressing his forehead affectionately against yours, his nose nuzzling yours just before he pulled away, “I-I got it.”

He patted your thigh gently and you unwrapped your legs from his waist, following him with your gaze attentively as he settled over you carefully so that his fingers reached around your neck, in search of the zipper of the suit. When he found it, he began to pull it down, looking at you with ravenous eyes, blinking so slowly that it seemed like he wasn't blinking at all.

“Turn a little and lift your hips up, baby.” He said to you once the zipper trail was almost reaching your lower back. As he unzipped the bottom of it, you took off your top to help him, leaving your bare chest on full display for him. “That's it. God...”

Bob shakily exhaled air as he became aware that you weren't wearing any underwear at all, he had to be extremely careful not to tear the zipper into a thousand tiny pieces with the force he squeezed it, pulling it further below your hips.

“You don't wear anything under it? Should I be worried about this?”

His tone of voice was so confident and borderline playful that for a moment you felt like he was someone else entirely. He really wanted to look confident for you, he wanted to provide you that security and comfort. You were stripping naked for him, for God's sake. Bob had to make an extra effort to appear confident and self-assured.

“Just for you, baby,” you assured him, shifting your legs slightly just once to help him pull the suit off completely, tugging it delicately down your thighs. The distinctive noise of the zipper, which this time was reaching your ears like the most arousing noise on the planet, ceased at last, reaching its end.

“J-just for me,” Bob echoed, leaning into you again like a magnet to a gravity core. His lips latched onto your naked thigh, kissing the side considering the position you were lying on his bed now. His wet, leisurely kisses awakened shivers on your skin. He could smell how aroused you were. He practically could taste how wet your sex was. Thinking about it made his mouth water.

“So pretty, so beautiful, my God,” he babbled, his trail of kisses reaching your lower stomach, tickling you in a way that made you sigh. Bob looked up at you for just a moment, his pupils blown out with pleasure, “How could someone like me deserve something like this?”

It all seemed more like a conversation with himself, like if he was walking through a daydream.

Your hand came to rest on his face, cupping his cheek, and he leaned against your palm instantly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Bobby, please,” you pleaded.

And he gave in immediately, kissing the palm of your hand, “You don't have to beg me for anything. You already have it.”

His kisses trailed back down your stomach and you arched your back so beautifully for him. When he pulled away from your hand, it fell to the side of you on the bed. You clenched in a trembling fist all the fabric of whatever you could catch hold of.

“Are you— are you sure about this?” he looked up to you for consent, his fingers soothingly caressing your thighs, hands pressing them to either side of his face and settling them on his shoulders. When he saw you nodding your head, too much overcome with lust, he brushed a kiss on the inside of your knee, attempting to get your full attention back, “I need words, baby.”

You hurried to answer, babbling, gazing down at him, kneeling so pretty in between your legs as if they were the gates to heaven, “Yes, Bob, baby, please.”

He kissed your other knee now and then licked his lips, hungrily.

“I want to see you fall apart under me,” his hot breath brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, spreading your legs a little wider with a delicate but assured grip. “You're soaking wet, baby,” he marveled, in awe watching your pussy dripping with his adored honeyed water, yet his voice sounded disappointed, “you're wasting my meal.”

The mere sight of how his eyes sparkled with adoration as he gazed at your pussy could have made you cum right there if you started to think about it too much. Bob looked at you as if you were the center of the universe, the entrance to paradise, the sun he orbited around.

It all made sense when you were there. Your presence in the room shifted the whole gravity of his being. His everything was for you. He was all made for you.

All the sense he could possibly envision now was to devour your pussy as if it were his last meal. He devoured it like a starving man, like reaching an oasis in the most arid desert, drowning and sheltering into it.

The sloshing sounds that spread with each stroke of his tongue between your wet folds made you flush all over, throwing your head back against one of his pillows and squeezing your eyes tightly shut, muttering and moaning his name out like a prayer.

To Bob, that noise was the most beautiful melody he'd ever heard. He sucked particularly hard onto your slit, pushing his tongue just barely into your gushing hole, pulling a loud, raspy moan from your throat. Oh, that noise...

His name sounded like the utmost hopeless and religious chant out of your pretty mouth. At that moment he was loving his name, loving the way you moaned it and kept murmuring it, as if it was yours, holding it close to your heart.

Amidst all the acoustic thrill of raw passion, mingled with his own soft whimpers breathing out into your core, Bob could nearly hear the stars themselves just above his red, hot ears.

Your cunt was pulsing all around the tip of his tongue and Bob sensed, tasted your heartbeat through it.

To feel that close to you nearly made him cum right there in his sweatpants.

One of his hands unclasped your leg, crawling up through your skin, his digits drawing a smooth path up your stomach, through your ribcage, all the way to reach your chest, cupping one of your breasts with a possessive hold.

“Bob— uhh—” you croaked out his name, glancing down at him with half-closed eyes, searching for his gaze in desperation.

Your back curved into such a perfect arch, your body squirming up against him as you felt his tongue flick your clit, his fingertips gently caressing your nipple. The stimulation would soon knock you into fucking heaven.

“Yeah, baby,” he responded to your call, disconnecting his mouth just an inch from your pussy, feeling lust-drunk enough to hold your gaze. His whole mouth was drenched with you, the slickness glistening under the dim light of his bedroom. His other hand sneaked between your legs, just barely brushing your pulsating cunt, “I'm here, hm? I got you, angel.”

Angel. That one was new.

You looked as close as he could ever imagine to an angel; sprawled on his bed, your body, magnificent, perfect, damp with sweat and arousal, your gaze searching for his in longing. There, in the shadows, Bob saw the whitish gleam of your energy flashing through your orbs, your power lingering in the air, pulsating along with your heartbeat.

You were so powerful, so strong and marvelous.

And you were all his to break apart.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He asked right before passionately kissing your pussy, his fingertips teasing your clit as he plunged his tongue deep into you, knocking all the air out of your lungs. “I got you, I got you.”

Bob felt you clench impossibly tight all around the two fingers he had thrust into your warm, fluttering hole, barely pressing against the spongy walls of your insides. He sucked your clit just right, breathing your name against your hot flesh. That's what pushed you over the edge, making you cum, falling apart so devastatingly beautiful against his mouth.

He slurped and drank in everything you had to offer him, lapping at your cunt as if he was drowning and it was the oxygen he needed to keep afloat.

He paused to gaze at you attentively as he made you cum, your whole body buzzing, squirming so beautifully under his touch that you resembled some ethereal, otherworldly sight.

His name rasped out of your throat, as if it were your own religion.

“There you go...” Bob cooed, his eyes hazy with adoration, licking his lips clean and kissing your twitching pussy once again. “So good to me. So good...”

His lips kissed a trail upwards, swiping his tongue occasionally across the scars and freckles that decorated your skin as a constellation that appealed to him to adore. Eventually, Bob reached your face, looking down at you with pure love and a glimpse of that gentle shyness of his natural mannerism.

“A-are you okay?”

Bob watched your soul slowly crawl back to the ground and to your body, right back to him, finally snapping out of your post-orgasm trance. He propped his weight against the bed on the side of your waist with one hand, his thumb brushing against your bare skin and he brought the other to your face, caressing your cheek reassuringly.

Your response was your mouth seeking his to join in a deep, loving kiss. Bob closed his eyes, kissing you back, his hand cradling your face.

You could taste yourself through his lips and tongue. And that managed to turn you on even more.

Wrapped in an adrenaline surge of lust pumping through your veins, you rolled both of you over on the bed, laying him underneath you now.

It was nice that you had much more stamina and energy than a normal human. Although there, you didn't feel like a human at all.

You were animals driven by their own instincts.

Bob gasped against your lips, his eyes barely opening so he could visualize you on top of him now, grinding your ass down on his rock-hard erection as you sat so prettily on his lap.

“Shit,” he croaked out your name, his hands grabbing as much of you as they possibly could, sliding past the curve of your waist to your ass, pressing you harder down onto him in urging. “If you keep doing that— I-I'm going to—”

You stopped all movement of your body and sat perfectly motionless on his lap. Bob whined hoarsely in protest, but you didn't let him utter a word, your finger pressed against his lips, silencing him instantly.

“I want you to cum inside me, Bob.” You purred against his ear, your tongue lazily stroking his earlobe. He froze speechless, just staring at you flabbergasted, still delighting in the way you had said those filthy words, so softly and lovingly. He strained himself to keep strong and not burst into his boxers at your words alone. “Let me take your clothes off, okay? Can I see all of you, baby?”

“Yes, p-please, just take everything of me— it's all yours” he promised you, helping you take off that black t-shirt he knew you loved to see on him so much. Exactly why he had put it on that morning.

When his naked torso was fully exposed for you, you bent down to kiss his neck, his collarbone, his pecs, your tongue spent some extra time fondling his sensitive nipples and Bob's legs twitched under your thighs.

The light in the room flickered for a split second and you just grinned against his flushed skin.

“I-I'm sorry—” he apologized with his voice lowering sheepishly, embarrassed. Then he closed his eyes when you raised your head to hush him with a kiss that was more tender than anything, reassuring him in silence.

Then your lips specifically grazed the spot where his heart was, beating maniacally on the other side of his skin.

He was so perfect, effortlessly perfect.

Bob was the most powerful man on planet Earth and yet, he was crumbling beneath you, bowing to the mercy of your touch.

You might as well just tear his chest apart and take his heart, it was already lying open for you, so full of you.

It was yours to take, to hold, to shatter.

You took your time to strip off his gray sweatpants, kissing his thighs, his knees and his calves, gently tugging at the hem of the gray fabric until you eventually slid it off his body and tossed it on the floor, forgotten alongside your scandalous suit.

Bob stared at you with a blushing, timid face as you rose again up through his body, your fingers lightly fiddling with the hem of his boxers now, fully ruined by all the pre-cum he'd been spilling. And you lifted your gaze, searching for his, silently asking for his consent.

He nodded tremblingly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

With wobbly hands he helped you take off his boxers, lifting his hips so you could slide them down his body and toss them into the pile of clothes lying on the floor as well.

His cock sprung free and you looked at it in awe.He was so big, bigger than you had ever had before. It was long too, hard, powerful and desperate for you, just like him.

It's head was furiously red, throbbing and oozing pre-cum incessantly. You found it impossible not to bend down to his groin and swipe your tongue along his slit, scooping up every essence of him and savoring it delightfully. Your tongue lolled along the prominent vein that bulged all along his shaft.

Bob's eyes rolled back and in a blur of bliss, he had to struggle to guide a hand to your head, fingers brushing across your cheek to get your attention. You looked up at him with big, lustful eyes, swallowing everything you had slurped out of him. The taste was bittersweet, hot, familiar, like him.

“No— don't do— don't do that, p-please,” he begged for your mercy in a raspy, cracked, breathless voice. “Come here.”

His hand gripped yours as you took it and carefully, but hurriedly helped you to position yourself on top of him once again, his digits latched onto you your waist, holding you as you squatted just above his lap, straddling him.

You grabbed his cock and held it up against your pussy, the swollen tip slowly sliding in between your wet folds, pushing achingly slow through your entrance.

Both of you sighed at the contact. Wet, hot, shaky and desperate.

Slowly you began to sink down on his cock, hands pressed on his shoulders, clenching them more and more with every inch he pushed inside you.

Bob whimpered shudderingly, choking back the deep, heavy moan that crawled up his throat. He could feel his whole body shivering, squinting his eyes as he leaned his sweaty forehead against your shoulder, struggling to steady his breathing. It was like his soul was slipping out of his body and merging with yours.

No one had ever been so close to his soul. And he didn't think anyone else would, either. No one did it like you.

His veiny hands at your waist gripped your flesh, yet they never pressed you hard enough to push you lower any faster, no, he would wait for you so patiently, giving you the pause to accustom yourself to his size.

“You do it so— so good.” Bob praised hoarsely into your shoulder, his wet lips grazing across your skin, drooling all over you, “you take it so good, you take me so good. There's n-no one like you— no one.”

Heavenly, him pressing against you, his lips laying softly upon your neck, marking you on the outside and inside, his mouth felt like heaven, his kisses falling upon you like stars, shaping a constellation of raw adoration.

Your pussy fluttered around him, squishing him deeper inside.

One of his hands wandered down to your back, fingers tracing your spine reassuringly. He just took the time to reassure you amidst all the blissful trance of pleasure you made him feel.

“Just a little more, baby,” he murmured, his hand caressing your ass appreciatively. Your warm, spongy walls clamped down tight around his cock and Bob's voice cracked. “Oh— S-shit—”

You moaned so loudly against his forehead that your whole spine seemed to twitch, finally feeling your ass pressed down on his lap. He was so deep that you easily thought his tip was almost reaching all into your guts now.

“You're so deep, Bob” You whined, just barely pulling away from him so you could look at him. His eyes were already locked on yours and you caught a glimpse of that golden sparkle flashing through them, his irises glowing like two suns in the twilight. “Bobby—”

Your words struck him to the core and his eyes flashed golden once again, utterly starting to lose control.

“I'm here,” he hissed, panting your name breathlessly, his hands caressed your skin, scoring his imprint on it. He kissed you sloppily, “I got you, I always got you.”

As you began to move on top of him, Bob suddenly felt like he was in heaven. He could no longer envision a life where he didn't feel this way, where he didn't feel you. He shall be yours in every life.

He dropped back on the bed as your hand pushed against his chest, bending down with him and bouncing your hips so lusciously against his that you actually could see his eyes filling with tears, looking up at you riding him in pure adoration.

Bob whimpered your name endlessly, crying it out in a hoarse, broken voice, his hands squeezed your waist, your hips, your ass, anything they could possibly grope out of you.

“My God—” his eyes rolled back, arching his back as you delivered a particularly hard bounce down his cock, so deep that he saw the stars twinkle in the darkness right behind you.

The constant filthy noise of flesh slapping against flesh soon merged with the pornographic acoustic medley of moans, shattered sighs, slurred whispers of names and nonsense words.

You kissed his lips lazily, then his nose, and his chin as you cooed, “You feel so good, baby.”

The bed was beginning to creak beneath the ruthless sway of your hips, ass bouncing up and down heavy against his thighs, so deep that every time you bottomed out you felt him in your throat. His heavy balls were pressed hard against your ass, throbbing, so ready to give you everything they had, to fill you up to the brim, as if it were his sole purpose in life.

“You're perfect— perfect,” he croaked out so pathetically to you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours, plunging into you as if you were his nest, engulfing himself within your soft, warm, spongy walls, pressing against that squishy spot that knocked the breath right out of you.

He kissed your lips once more and in a fragment of a second Bob flipped you over on the bed, rutting into you so good that it made you gasp between kisses.

Bob began to set the pace just as your legs wrapped around his hips, pressing him impossibly close to you.

“Right there?” he whispered, burying his head down on your chest, nuzzling your sternum. “You feel perfect— so tight, my God—”

He kept on praising you endlessly, kissing you, grasping you, breathing in the air you breathed out, sharing the same oxygen, the same time-space that existed between you, that little inches that belonged to both of you and no one else.

“You feel like heaven.”

That was enough for him to have you cumming again, in some way even more earth-shattering than the last orgasm. Your body started to wobble, your pussy squelching and clenching so tightly wrapped around his cock.

The light voltage in the room lowered and raised, matching the racing beat of your heart.

Bob sensed the energy sparking off your body and blending with his own, merging and intertwining as one.

After feeling that, after feeling you so close, so inhumanly close, beyond the physical plane, beyond anything he had ever felt in his life —it was euphoric, overwhelming—; he was cumming too, picking up the pace to reach the apex of his high.

He buried himself in you to the hilt, sobbing out a ragged whimper as he leaned his forehead against yours.

The atmosphere shifted and the light in the room flickered once again.

His load felt hot and thick inside you, coloring your insides with his color, spurting what resembled an ocean of him inside your womb. His hips jerked, his cock shooting out ropes and ropes of hot seed, marking you from the inside.

Bob remained motionless on top of you, panting up against your face, keeping his eyes closed, buried to the fucking hilt inside your overwhelmingly stuffed pussy, making sure nothing could spill out.

And even though his body was drained and succumbing to post-orgasm limpness, he was careful not to collapse his full weight on you, supporting his hands on either side of your shoulders.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him close to you, hands soothingly caressing his back. He sighed against your lips, slowly opening his eyes.

Until then you hadn't realized that the room was completely dark now.

“I think we just blew out the voltage of the room.” You uttered after a comfortable silence, your throat felt scratchy and though you were still in the haze of the afterglow, your voice came out rather playful.

Bob glanced lazily away from you, finally noticing that there was, in fact, no light. He was grateful for that in a way, that way you couldn't see the blushing, tear-stained mess that was his face, snuggling it against your chest.

“I'm s-sorry,” he stammered in his own raspy voice as well, embarrassed, as if he wasn't balls deep inside you, his seed gushing out of your pussy. “I think— I think it was me.”

“I think it was both of us.” You smiled lovesickly as you kissed his sweaty forehead, fingers tracing his shoulder blades. “Don't worry, we'll fix it. Just give me a few minutes.”

Bob placed a couple of kisses on your chest before he began to reluctantly push himself up, carefully pulling out of you. You both sighed lightly at the over-stimulation and the loss of connection. Although, even when he had already slipped his cock off you, you could still feel him inside, leaking out of your gaping pussy, trickling down your thighs.

Bob rushed off in search of a washcloth, stumbling over the pile of clothes you had tossed on the floor. The sound of his feet walking clumsily back to you made you grin.

Then he swiped the cloth in between your legs, very delicately, wiping you clean. The contact made you shiver from the sensibility.

And even through the shadows of the darkness, you could see him frown slightly, very much focused on taking care of you, sensing how the fabric of the cloth felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin, “I'm sorry.”

“You apologize too much, baby” you tried to reassure him, already in need of him close to you again. “Come here.”

Bob instantly flopped down on the bed next to you, careful not to crush you, but with your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him tight against you it was complicated.

In between hugs and caresses, he ended up being the little spoon, happy to be able to feel your chest pressing against his back, arms embracing his torso.

“Did I— I do okay?” he asked after a brief silence, anxious.

“You were perfect.” You assured him, tenderly kissing his shoulder.

“You too” Bob whispered back, grabbing one of your hands on his chest and bringing it to his mouth, planting soft kisses on your knuckles. The words raced up his throat even before he could think, “I love you.”

He let the words carry up into the silence of the darkness and held his breath, already considering that he had ruined everything.

“I love you too, Bob.”

If it hadn't been for you holding him, his limbs tangled with yours, and because well, you were there, Bob had jumped out of his bed in joy.

But, because you were there, he stayed still, perfectly still, and smiled, utterly in love, savoring the way you had said the three words to him.

You were closing your eyes, drifting off in exhaustion when, through your super-hearing you heard steps approaching through the hallway, of more than a pair of feet, mixing with the voices of your teammates.

“What could have happened?” You heard Ava's voice ask, her tone hovering somewhere between worried and annoyed.

Yelena sighed. “I don't know. Some power failure?”

“A power failure in the whole city?” John remarked, as snarky as usual.

Your eyes opened wide and Bob halted his cute kisses on your hand, turning his head so he could look at you like a deer dazzled by lights.

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

the plan ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

notes: i fear i may never again experience as much joy as i did while writing this... guys, it was so much fun! i know it's long, but it's full of tension and pining and heat, please give it a read! i actually love this so much, and i hope you do too, so please let me know what you think!!! i literally fell in love with bob while writing this, the lewis pullman spiral is spiralling

warnings: swearing, big dick energy, movie references (the princess bride, the ugly truth, star wars), bob's big dick, tension, lots of horniness (18+ ONLY MDNI), italics, huge dick energy, jealousy, bob is secretly cut, emotional warfare but it's fun, and did i mention bob's massive dick? (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 21143

your callsign is sunny

It wasn’t long after the uranium mission that Dagger Squad was asked to stay on North Island and train as an elite, mission-focused unit under Maverick’s command. Not that anyone had to be asked—most of the squad was more than happy to be reassigned and stick together.

Once everything was finalised and the official special operations squadron was born, the first thing most of you did was move out of the barracks. You needed more space—both physically, and from each other—and, frankly, something that didn’t reek of stale socks and floor polish.

You and Natasha thought you’d hit the jackpot when you found a two-bedroom apartment right by the beach, with a spacious open-plan living area and not one, but two balconies. It was perfect. You could hardly believe it. Full of natural light, and just far enough from the boys you already spent too much time with—training, flying, doing push-ups every time someone pissed off Maverick.

It was meant to be.

Until the apartment across the hall went up for lease.

And that’s how you failed to escape the boys entirely. Reuben and Mickey spotted the sign while helping you move in, and before you knew it, they were neighbours—closer than ever and almost impossible to get off your couch.

A knock at the door draws your attention from the TV, and Natasha pauses mid-step on her way from the kitchen—bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Ten bucks says it’s Fanboy,” she says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

You know that Mickey is stuck on overtime tonight—punishment from Maverick for mouthing off during a fly drill this morning. Natasha, however, hadn’t been in the air with you and clearly wasn’t listening on comms.

Your eyes flick to the door and back to her. “Deal.”

She drops the bowl on the coffee table and doubles back, swinging the door open.

“Ugh,” she sighs. “It’s you.”

Reuben blinks, his smile faltering as his brow creases. “Nice to see you too, Phoenix.”

She heads back to the couch, Reuben trailing behind.

“Why’d you knock?” she asks. “It’s always open.”

“Wasn’t the other day.”

You sit up straighter, rolling your eyes. “That’s because it was two a.m. and I was home alone—sleeping.”

Natasha drops onto the couch, a little closer to you than before to make room for Reuben. “Do we seriously not have boundaries anymore?” she asks him. “What could you possibly need at two in the morning?”

He plucks the popcorn bowl off the table and settles it in his lap. “Fanboy really wanted to watch The Princess Bride, but Netflix logged us out and we couldn’t remember the password.”

You lean across Natasha for a handful of popcorn. “Then get your own Netflix account, you fucking freeloaders.”

Reuben gives you a wounded look. “Okay, rude.”

You roll your eyes again and flop back against the couch, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks, peering at you from Natasha’s other side.

Natasha snorts but keeps her eyes on the TV.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “My panties are perfectly untwisted.”

Reuben chuckles and shifts his gaze to the screen. “Then maybe someone should twist them up—get some of that tension out.”

You flip him off without even glancing his way, your scowl still locked on the TV. He just laughs again, and Natasha shoots you a sidelong, knowing smirk.

Twenty minutes later—and after Reuben has all but annihilated the popcorn—the front door swings open and Mickey breezes in, making a beeline for the fridge.

“Have you guys eaten?” he calls out. “Because I’m starving. I skipped lunch and Mav still kept me back.” He grabs a beer and spins to face the living room. “Isn’t that, like, illegal? Something about duty of care? I’m about to pass out, and it wasn’t even my fault I got held back. Hangman was the one mouthing off—I just told him where to stick it. But no, now Mav’s all professional, like he’s a real CO with a stick up his ass. Honestly? I liked him better before.”

He yanks open a drawer, fishes out the bottle opener, and cracks the beer. “Anyway,” he says, glancing up at the three of you, “pizza?”

A long beat of silence stretches through the apartment as you all stare at him.

“Jesus Christ, Mick,” Reuben mutters. “Take a fucking breath.”

Mickey just shrugs, heading into the living room. “What?”

He drops onto the floor—figuring the couch is already squishy enough—and sets his beer on the coffee table before reaching for the remote.

“No one’s watching this, right?” he asks—not that it matters.

He doesn’t wait for a response—just clicks a few buttons and starts scrolling through Netflix. Frustration simmers under your skin, because yes, you were watching that, but you bite your tongue. You know you’re in a bad mood, and it’s not worth taking it out on your friends. No matter how irritating they can be.

He finally lands on The Princess Bride and makes a satisfied little hum as he hits play. Then he tosses the remote back onto the table, picks up his beer, and leans back against the couch—his elbow jabbing your knee in the process. Your glass, balanced loosely on your leg, sloshes and spills cold liquid onto your lap.

“Whoops,” Mickey says, glancing back at you. “My bad.”

“Uh oh,” Natasha mutters, scooting slightly away from you.

“Seriously, Mickey?” you snap, eyes narrowing. “Could you not act like a clumsy lapdog for five fucking seconds?”

His eyes go wide at your tone.

“How the hell did you even get into the navy?” you bite, rising from the couch. “You’ve got the spatial awareness of a drunk oaf and the grace of a newborn deer on ice.”

You storm into the kitchen, slam your half-empty glass on the counter, and tear off a wad of paper towels.

“Very descriptive insults,” Reuben mutters.

Natasha lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s how you know she’s in a mood.”

“Why?” Mickey asks, cautiously glancing toward you.

You shoot him a glare over the kitchen island, dabbing paper towel at the top of your thigh.

“Bob didn’t talk to her today,” Natasha says. “Like, at all.”

“Ohhh,” Reuben and Mickey sigh in unison, the sound laced with realisation.

You toss the damp towel into the sink before turning toward the fridge and yanking it open, bottles rattling.

“To be fair,” Reuben offers, “you two were on different drills today. He probably just didn’t get the chance.”

You whirl around, beer in hand, glare sharp. “He asked Phoenix if she wanted to go for a run tomorrow morning—while I was standing right there.”

You shut the fridge with more force than necessary, then yank open the cutlery drawer and grab the bottle opener.

“Oh yeah,” Mickey adds. “He asked me too. Wants to do the Coronado Island Loop.”

You pop the cap off your beer and let it clatter to the floor. “Great. That’s great. Thanks, Mick. Love knowing I was the only one not invited.”

Natasha sighs, her eyes following you as you trudge back toward the lounge. “I told you—he probably just didn’t think you were interested. When have you ever wanted to go running?”

Reuben nods. “Yeah, you hate when Mav makes us run laps. You’re always the first to complain.”

You flop down into your spot and take a long pull from your beer, eyes on the screen. “Yeah, well,” you mutter, “he could’ve asked.”

“You could’ve spoken up,” Natasha points out.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and invite myself to something I deliberately wasn’t invited to? No thanks.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Bob wouldn’t leave you out on purpose. He’s too nice.”

“Exactly,” Reuben says. “It’s Bob. He probably just got awkward about it.”

You scowl and gesture to Natasha. “He asked Phoenix.”

“Yeah, but that’s Phoenix,” Mickey says. “They’re crammed together in the cockpit almost all day, every day. She doesn’t make him nervous.”

You scoff and sink further into the couch. “I do not make him nervous.”

Natasha sighs again. “Yes. You do. I’ve told you before.”

“And I don’t believe you,” you say, despite the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “You’re always saying Bob has a thing for me, but I don’t see it. Wouldn’t he actually talk to me if he liked me?”

“It’s Bob,” Reuben repeats. “He’s not like the rest of us.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “He’s polite and respectful. Way better than the rest.”

Mickey turns from the TV, shooting her a wounded look. “Ouch.”

Reuben shrugs. “She’s right. That’s why we can’t tease him about it. We can’t even ask him if he likes you—though we’re pretty sure.”

You roll your eyes. “How can you be sure when he’s never admitted it?”

“Oh, it’s so obvious,” Mickey says with a giggle. “He gets all googly-eyed whenever you’re around.”

You shoot him a sceptical look, brows furrowed. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, of course he’s not going to let you catch him staring,” Reuben says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, and he’s not stupid,” Natasha adds.

“But whenever you’re not paying attention,” Mickey continues, “his eyes are glued to you, like a magnet.”

You roll your eyes, determined to seem unconvinced, even though you can feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

“Oh, and every time you’re brought up in conversation,” Reuben says, “he’s locked in.”

“Unless we’re talking about you and another guy,” Natasha adds with a knowing look “Then he gets all huffy and weird.”

You snort a laugh before taking another sip of your beer.

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Mickey suggests. “Put us all out of our misery. Bob will stop being so awkward, and you’ll stop being so—” He stops when you shoot him a glare.

“So what, Mick?”

He turns his gaze back to the TV, muttering, “Moody.”

You scoff. “Yeah, okay. So, I’m just supposed to believe you guys when I haven’t actually seen any of these so-called signs myself?”

Reuben and Mickey nod, but Natasha just watches.

“I’m not doing that,” you say flatly. “I’m not asking him out just to be humiliated.”

The conversation dies as you turn your attention back to the movie, taking another generous sip of beer. Mickey pulls out his phone to order pizza, and Reuben heads to the fridge for another round of beers.

You keep your eyes locked on the TV, even though you’re barely watching. Instead, your mind is replaying the day, wondering if you missed the part where it was ‘so obvious’ that Bob has a crush on you.

It’s hard not to agree with Reuben when he says, ‘It’s Bob,’ because it just is. He’s nice, considerate, raised to respect women and the navy. He’s the perfect officer and the perfect gentleman, and that’s half the reason you’re so damn attracted to him. A gorgeous guy with manners and respect to spare? Yes, please.

But, God, sometimes you wish he was just a little more basic. A little more in touch with his primal side, instead of always using the higher-functioning part of his brain that most guys don’t even know exists. You’ve never even heard Bob say a woman is attractive, let alone spew some of the caveman shit that comes out of Jake’s mouth.

And yeah, sure, you could ask him out. He might even say yes, just to be polite. But you don’t want to put that kind of pressure on him or the squad. Him dating you out of pity would be worse than flat-out rejection.

An hour later, full of pizza and halfway through your fourth beer, you’re curled up with your head on Natasha's shoulder while The Ugly Truth plays on the TV—Mickey’s latest pick.

“Man, what’s with you and romantic comedies?” Reuben asks, nose wrinkling as he watches Katherine Heigl flail on-screen.

Mickey shrugs. “Don’t judge. Maybe I’m feeling a little lonely lately.”

“Aww, Mick,” you coo, voice dripping mock-sympathy. “Better get used to it. You’re going to be alone forever.”

His head snaps toward you, a scowl forming. “Okay, Miss-I-Refuse-To-Ask-Out-A-Guy-Who’s-Clearly-Into-Me-Because-I’m-Terrified-of-Rejection.”

A smirk tugs at your mouth. “That was way too long to sting.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re mean when you’re not getting laid.”

“Hey!” you gasp. “How do you know I’m not?”

There’s a beat—a static moment where you realise you’ve just fucked up—before they all burst out laughing. And even you can’t help joining in, despite the embarrassed flush crawling across your chest.

Then suddenly, Natasha jerks upright, knocking your head off her shoulder. Her laughter halts as she stares wide-eyed at the screen, lips parted in a gasp. “Holy shit. I have an idea.”

“An idea?” Reuben echoes, brows lifting.

“Yes!” She turns to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know how we’re going to get Bob to admit it.”

Mickey swivels on the floor to face her. “Admit what?”

Reuben rolls his eyes. “That he likes Sunny. Duh.”

“Oh.” Mickey glances your way, then back at Natasha. “How?”

“He’s only human, right?” she says, and both boys nod. “It’s obvious he likes her—he’s just too damn respectful. He probably thinks she’s out of her league. Or he’s worried about dating someone in the squad. But deep down? He’s still a guy. He has the same thoughts, the same... tendencies. He’s just better at hiding them.”

Mickey snorts. “Oh yeah. If the way he looks at Sunny in a bikini is anything to go by, he’s definitely got those thoughts.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t be gross.”

“No, he’s right,” Natasha says quickly. “I hate it, but he’s right. Every time we’re at the beach and you’re half-naked, he looks like he’s barely holding it together.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but your heart is thudding too fast against your ribs.

“Wait,” Reuben says, leaning forward. “I think you’re onto something. Like when she squeezes into the booth at the bar and hovers over his lap for a second—he looks like he’s about to combust.”

“Exactly!” Natasha exclaims. “That’s it. That’s what we need to do—we need to make him snap.”

You narrow your eyes, ignoring the spark of adrenaline beginning to curl in your gut. “Okay... but how?”

Natasha turns toward you, her eyes wide and full of focus. The same look she wears just before take-off. “You need to... tease him. Really make him suffer.”

Mickey’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, this could work.”

Your brow lifts. “Tease him how?”

“Tempt him,” Reuben says, matching Mickey’s grin. “Push every button. Get close. Make him want you so badly he can’t hide it anymore.”

You snort. “So, seduce him?”

“Worse,” Natasha says. “You’re going to give this man the worst case of blue balls in naval history.”

Both Mickey and Reuben flinch.

“He’s going to end up in the hospital with a permanent boner,” Natasha adds, mischief blazing in her eyes. “Crying. On. His. Knees.”

“Bob’s a good man,” Reuben says solemnly. “He’s respectful. Polite. Sensible. And we’re gonna have to break him.”

“We?” you repeat, pulse racing.

“Exactly,” Natasha nods. “If this were any other guy, you could get it done in a day. But Bob? Bob’s built different. If we want to unleash his inner caveman? It’s going to take a team.”

Your stomach flips, anticipation stirring beneath your skin.

“It won’t be easy,” Mickey says, his smirk returning. “But it will be fun.”

“Sunny,” Reuben says, locking eyes with you. “Are you in or are you out?”

That spark of adrenaline snaps through you like a live wire.

You nod. “Okay. I’m in.”

The plan is simple. Straightforward. One objective. Everyone's clear on it. It’s been mapped out and set into motion—now all you have to do is play your part. Which is probably why your heart is hammering against your sternum like a damn war drum.

“I don’t know, Nat,” you mutter as the two of you walk across the crunchy morning grass. “This feels wrong.”

“What does?” she asks. “The thong or the plan?”

You roll your eyes. “Both.”

“Well, suck it up. There’s no backing down now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Then you release it and reel yourself in. She’s right. You can’t be a chicken forever—and it’s not like you’re doing anything overtly humiliating. Besides, you’ve got a team at your back, and they’re not going to let you crash and burn.

Last night, Natasha had texted Bob to let him know she was inviting you on the morning run. He’d replied with a simple thumbs up—something you found a little rude, but the boys insisted he only sends that when he doesn’t know what else to say. Which, apparently, is a good sign.

This morning, you’d dug deep into your underwear drawer for a lacy black thong you bought a few years ago—back when you were more optimistic about your sex life. You pulled it on, despite the discomfort, and borrowed a pair of light blue workout tights from Natasha. Yep, that’s a black thong under pale blue, skin-tight leggings.

“Without being creepy,” Mickey says from a few paces behind, “the plan is looking really good from back here.”

You shoot him a scowl over your shoulder as Reuben smacks his arm, even though he’s wearing the same mischievous grin.

The four of you wait at a picnic table in the park where you’d agreed to meet, and it doesn’t take long before you spot Bob walking across the grass—dark grey sweats and an oversized U.S. Navy hoodie, his hands tucked firmly into the front pocket. Quite possibly the most innocent, basic outfit he could’ve worn—a ridiculous contrast to yours—and yet you still find yourself thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts.

About what’s under those sweats. About how good they’d look on your bedroom floor.

Even the soft smile on his lips as he approaches makes you want to scream. How is one man such pure, soft boyfriend material... yet still manages to awaken your most primal instincts? It doesn’t make any sense.

“Hey,” he says, eyes skimming over each of you before settling on Natasha. “We ready?”

Natasha nods, and the five of you start walking off the grass toward the footpath before breaking into a jog. She and Bob take the lead while you hang back, with Reuben and Mickey flanking you like a private escort. Exactly as planned. You might be trying to fluster Bob, but you don’t need half of Coronado getting a look at your underwear—hence the two-man protection detail.

Two kilometres later, you all stop for a quick stretch. Bob wanders off toward a water fountain, and you seize the opportunity to move up beside Natasha, placing yourself at the front of the group. Again—exactly according to plan.

When Bob returns and joins in on Reuben and Mickey’s conversation, you and Natasha shuffle a little closer. She props one foot up on the bench, leaning into the stretch as she gives a subtle nod—the signal to begin.

You let out a shaky breath, then slip on your best cool-and-confident facade.

“I’m never doing this again,” you say to Nat—loud enough for the boys to hear.

“I’m just gonna get a quick drink,” Reuben announces, conveniently cutting off their conversation. Right on cue.

Mickey busies himself with stretching, leaving Bob to ‘accidentally’ overhear what comes next.

“What?” Natasha asks. “Running? I told you you’d hate it.”

“No,” you reply, pretending to lower your voice—even though you don’t. “Wearing a fucking thong.”

She snorts, the laugh surprisingly genuine. Either she’s a fantastic actress, or she’s thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Why are you wearing a thong?”

You roll your eyes, falling deeper into the role. “Because I forgot to do my laundry and it was all I had left.”

She snickers. “Well, have fun on the next eight kilometres.”

“Oh yeah,” you sigh, “can’t wait.”

You glance casually over your shoulder—and bingo. Bob’s face is bright red. His lips are slightly parted. And he’s blatantly staring at your ass like it’s the final clue to finding the national treasure—and Nicholas Cage is depending on him.

Beside him, Mickey looks like he’s about to lose it.

“Ready to keep going?” Reuben asks, walking back up—perfect timing.

Everyone nods, and Bob clears his throat, licking his lips quickly. “Yep. Let’s go.”

You and Natasha take off first, keeping yourselves in the lead.

Every few minutes, you glance back—and without fail, Bob is staring. Each time, it sends your heart skittering, your cheeks heating, and your thoughts wandering into very unholy territory.

Maybe your friends have been right all along. Maybe he does like you. Maybe this will actually work.

By the seventh kilometre—with only three more to go—Bob looks like he’s hanging by a thread. He ditched his hoodie about two k’s ago, tying it around his waist. His hair his clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his glasses are fogging up slightly near the bridge of his nose.

You glance over your shoulder and give him a small smile. His lips pop open and he immediately averts his eyes, focusing instead on the pavement beneath his feet. You turn back, grinning to yourself, and that’s when he picks up his pace and jogs past both you and Natasha.

Natasha nearly bursts out laughing, but she smacks a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. She shoots you a sideways look and a smirk—and the two of you push forward to flank Bob, jogging on either side of him.

“Hey,” Natasha says, more than a little breathless. “You trying to make this a competition?”

Bob shakes his head, eyes locked on the path ahead. “Nope. Just staying focused.”

“What’s so distracting back there?” she asks, fighting a smirk.

“Is Fanboy being a pest?” you add, giving yourself a layer of plausible deniability—just in case he starts to suspect anything.

Bob’s gaze flicks to you, then drops briefly to your chest before snapping forward again. “Yeah,” he says, voice uneven. “He’s breathing like Darth Vader.”

“Hey!” Mickey calls from behind. “I’m not deaf!”

The five of you share a short, breathless laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. You’re thoroughly exhausted now and decide to give Bob a break for the last few kilometres—merciful, maybe, but also strategic.

Soon enough, the group slows to a walk as the café marking the end of your run comes into view.

“Thank God,” Mickey gasps. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry,” you mutter, shooting him a flat look.

The café is busier than expected, and you’re about to start crafting a subtle excuse to avoid going in when Reuben steps up behind you and unzips his jacket.

“Cover your ass up, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “For fuck’s sake.”

You try—and fail—to suppress your grin as he hands you the jacket. You roll your eyes and tie it around your waist, grateful for the cover.

Once you’re feeling a little more decent, the group heads inside to order breakfast and find a table out back on the patio. The food and coffee arrive quickly, and soon everyone is digging in, quiet with post-run hunger. Though judging by how often Bob’s eyes keep darting toward you, his appetite might not be entirely food-related.

“So,” Mickey says through a mouthful of bacon, “are we finishing the Star Wars marathon this weekend, or what?”

Bob perks up instantly, eyes going bright, the usual stormy blue softening into something more sky-coloured. “Yes. Tomorrow night?”

Reuben frowns. “But that’s Sunday.”

“Mav gave us Monday off,” Natasha chimes in. “Weekend rotation, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Reuben nods. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“How many are left?” Natasha asks.

“Six,” Mickey replies. “Not including spin-offs.”

“We’re not getting through six in one night,” you point out. “We’ll be lucky to finish the prequels.”

“Unless…” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief as they flick between everyone at the table, “we had a sleepover.”

You snort into your coffee before taking a sip, expecting someone—probably Natasha or Reuben—to shut the idea down. But instead, their faces light up with the same devious smirk that Mickey is wearing.

“We could,” Natasha says casually. “I think it’d be fun.”

Bob blinks at her. “You do?”

She nods. “Yeah. Why not? We could play some drinking games and not worry about getting home.”

“Drinking games!” Reuben echoes with excitement. “You’re a genius, Phoenix.”

With the way their eyes keep bouncing between you and Bob, it’s clear now: they’re scheming again. Plotting the next phase of Operation Bob's Blue Balls—and your pulse is already quickening with anticipation.

“We could do it at my place,” Bob offers, earnest as ever. “I’ve got a spare room. Plenty of space.”

Reuben grins. “What a great idea, Bob.”

Bob glances around at his grinning friends, the smile on his face tinged with uncertainty. He has no clue what he’s just agreed to.

“Did you pack sexy PJs?” Natasha asks, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t own any sexy PJs.”

She shoots you a sly smirk before her gaze flicks back to the road, her silence thick with something unspoken—as if she already has a plan to remedy your lack of Victoria’s Secret-worthy sleepwear.

Bob’s apartment isn’t far from yours. In fact, none of you live all that far from each other, but tonight, the distance doesn’t seem to matter. No—the real reason for tonight’s sleepover is something far more sinister.

You know you’re the last to arrive, not just from the cars parked along the street, but from the group chat where Mickey has been demanding you hurry up so he can order dinner. Your heart beats in your throat as you ride the elevator up, and the ding when it reaches Bob’s level startles you more than it should.

Natasha’s smirk stays plastered on her face until she knocks on the door, and the second it swings open, with Bob standing there, she’s all business.

“Hey,” she says casually, walking past him like she’s been here a thousand times.

A stab of jealousy twists in your stomach—completely unwarranted but sharp nonetheless. Has Natasha been here a lot?

“Hi,” you mutter, offering Bob a small smile as you follow Nat inside.

There’s a chorus of hellos from the squad scattered around the living room. Bradley lounges across the two-seater couch furthest from the door, and Mickey is sprawled in a bean bag beside him, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Jake and Javy are tangled together on one end of the three-seater couch, probably having just finished fighting over the remote. And then there’s Reuben, sitting in the middle, with Natasha plopping down beside him.

“Guess I’ll take the floor,” you mutter, dropping your bag beside the pile of everyone else’s stuff.

“That’s alright,” Jake says with his usual cocky grin, “You can sit on Bobby’s lap for a bit of comfort.”

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect of his words. Instead, you roll your eyes and flip him off, then plop down onto the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets on the floor.

Bob reappears from the kitchen with another round of beers, while Mickey takes orders for dinner. Then Bob settles down beside you, his arm brushing yours just enough to send a sparks crackling across your skin. A moment later, Jake hits play on The Phantom Menace, and the room settles into a comfortable, albeit charged, quiet.

It doesn’t take long before Jake groans that he’s bored, and Reuben’s eyes immediately flick toward Natasha—like they’d both seen this coming from a mile away.

“We could play a game,” Mickey offers, all too innocently.

“Yes,” Jake grins, already invested. “Let’s play a game.”

“What game?” Javy asks.

Reuben opens his mouth, but Jake beats him to it. “Truth or Dare, obviously.”

Natasha snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, but not before you catch it. That was exactly what Reuben had been about to suggest—and Jake is walking right into whatever scheme they’ve cooked up.

“How old are you?” Bradley asks Jake, brows furrowing.

“Not as old as you, Grandpa,” Jake fires back. “But you could at least pretend to enjoy fun.”

Bradley rolls his eyes but shrugs. “Fine.”

Everyone else falls in line, shifting around until you’ve all formed a lopsided circle on the floor, your back half-angled toward the movie. Jake claps his hands together like the ringmaster of a circus—which might not be far off from what this night is about to become.

“Alright. If you’re a chicken and won’t answer the truth or do the dare, you drink. Simple. I’ll go first.” He zeroes in on Bob—poor, unsuspecting Bob, who clearly just wanted to enjoy some Star Wars in peace. “Bob. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Bob says, almost too quickly.

Jake leans forward with a shit-eating grin. “Who would you rather go on a date with—Phoenix or Sunny?”

You choke on nothing, smothering the sound behind your hand and pretending it’s just a casual cough.

Heat blooms across Bob’s cheeks and starts creeping up to the tips of his ears. He glances your way—just for a beat—then over at Natasha, and your stomach knots. Is he seriously having to think about this? Have your friends been totally misreading Bob this whole time?

Then, after a moment of hesitation, Bob simply lifts his beer and takes a long sip.

Jake groans. “Ugh, lame.”

“Don’t worry, Bob,” Javy says with a laugh. “That was a trap. There was no right answer.”

Bob chuckles—a low, rough sound right next to you that sends goosebumps up your arms. “I know,” he says, voice deceptively casual. Then he shifts his gaze toward Mickey. “Fanboy. Truth or Dare?”

Mickey’s face lights up. “Dare.”

Bob smiles—and for the first time tonight, it’s almost a smirk. There’s something sharp beneath the usual softness, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Text the last person you hooked up with ‘thinking about you’—no context. And you can't reply until tomorrow.”

Mickey’s grin drops. “What the fuck, man?”

Bob just shrugs, raising his beer like it’s a toast. “You picked dare.” Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a generous swig.

And holy shit—you might actually combust from the sight alone. Bob being just a little cocky. Bob utterly destroying Mickey with zero remorse. You know there’s a darker edge beneath that quiet, boy-next-door act. You know he’s got a mean streak. And God, you want to find it. Pull it out of him and ask—beg—for him to do things you can’t even say out loud.

The group erupts into cackles as Mickey reluctantly pulls out his phone, Reuben peering over his shoulder to make sure he follows through.

“There,” Mickey mutters, tossing the phone face-down on the floor. “You better watch your back.”

But Bob doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, calm and collected, with that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When you finally tear your gaze away from him, you find Mickey’s eyes locked on you—an evil grin stretched across his face. “Sunny,” he says, voice smooth as silk. “Truth or Dare?”

You steel your nerves, unsure of what’s coming but already sensing the trap. “Dare,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Mickey’s grin widens, tipping his head forward like some sinister villain—and you just walked straight into his web. “Google a dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey... and whisper it slowly in Bob’s ear.”

Jake snorts, his face twisted with amusement, and the rest of the group follows—dissolving into fits of laughter. All but Bob, who’s already choking on his beer, turning an even deeper shade of red before you’ve even touched your phone.

You blink, eyes going wide. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Mickey replies, practically vibrating with excitement. “And no laughing. You have to sell it.”

You lock eyes with Mickey, your death-glare sharp as your hands shake slightly while you pick up your phone. Then, you reluctantly tap the search bar and type in ‘dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey.’ Before you realize what’s happening, Natasha leans over your shoulder.

“Ooh,” she giggles, pointing at the screen. “That one.”

You glance up at Bob, your expression a mix of apology and warning. He looks much less confident than before, his lips parted, cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. His throat bobs as he swallows, and a small part of you—one that feels dangerous—stirs with excitement.

The room falls into eerie silence, and you realize that Jake has paused the movie. All eyes are on you as you shuffle closer to Bob, getting onto your knees beside him. You plant one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and you feel the muscles in his leg twitch at your touch.

His breath hitches, his whole body going rigid.

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear as you murmur, “I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want to feel you everywhere until I forget my own name.”

A beat of silence stretches, and then Bob exhales sharply, his hand tightening around his beer bottle as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mutters under his breath.

“Holy shit,” Reuben says, breaking into laughter.

Mickey is howling, pounding his fist against the beanbag. “Worth it! So worth it!”

You slowly pull back, biting back a grin as you settle back into your spot like nothing happened. Bob, however, is still stuck in the mental tailspin you just launched him into, blinking hard and adjusting his glasses like he needs a whole system reset.

You meet his eyes, and for the briefest second, you see it—buried beneath the shock and heat—that glint of hunger.

God help you, you're not making it out of tonight alive.

The game moves on, but you can’t quiet your mind. You’re stuck on the way Bob’s thigh had felt beneath your palm, the way the muscles shifted under your touch. You can’t stop replaying the brush of your lips near his ear, the hitch in his breath, or the way he’d smelled—clean, warm, intoxicating. You don’t just want to fuck this man—you want to ruin him. You want him panting and wrecked, bruised and breathless, oversensitive and spent. There are things you want to ask of him that would guarantee you a one-way ticket to hell. But if he said yes—if he gave you those things—it’d be worth it.

You’ve never wanted a man the way you want him, and it’s starting to feel like a genuine threat to your well-being.

“Bob,” Natasha says, her voice snapping you back to reality, “Truth or Dare?”

You’re not sure how many turns you’ve missed, but Bradley and Reuben seem to have swapped shirts, and there’s a bottle of tequila on the table that definitely wasn’t there earlier.

“Dare,” Bob replies, seemingly recovered from your whispered indecency.

Natasha grins. “I dare you to pick someone in this room to do a body shot off of—excluding me.”

Your heart stutters at the last part. Did she say that because she thought he’d pick her? Would he have? Out of comfort, knowing it wouldn’t mean anything—or for some other reason?

You shake the thought off quickly and join the group’s laughter, mentally scolding yourself for the jealous spiral.

“Seriously, Phoenix?” Bob sighs, his brows knit.

She just shrugs, laughing. “You picked dare.”

He tips his head back and groans, giving you a perfect view of the long line of his throat, the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Come on, man,” Jake chuckles, “There’s only one clear choice.”

Your cheeks flush as Jake nods toward you, green eyes sparkling like he’s the one about to do the dare.

“As if you’re not going to pick Sunny,” Javy adds, watching as Bob’s eyes slowly scan the room.

Then his gaze lands on you—soft, but laced with something heavier. Something simmering.

He licks his lips, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining them on your skin. Imagining his tongue dragging over your body, slow and deliberate. The salt from your collarbone, your abdomen… or maybe lower—right above the waistband of your pants. Would he use the glass? Or would he press his mouth to your stomach, lips sealing around your navel, tongue lapping up the tequila while you tremble beneath him?

Then the lime—between your lips, waiting for him. His mouth brushing yours as he leans in, breath mingling, tasting more than just the fruit. You imagine the sharp burst of citrus, the tease of contact, tequila heat still slick on his tongue. He’d bite down, lips grazing yours, and it would wreck you more than any kiss ever could.

“Hangman,” Bob says suddenly, his gaze locked on the man across the circle—who now looks a lot less smug and a lot more stunned.

Jake’s brows shoot up. “Me?”

The room erupts into laughter. Bradley throws his head back, already fumbling for his phone to record whatever chaos is about to unfold. Mickey nearly falls over, gripping the bean bag for dear life, and Javy is doubled over, laughing so hard he can’t catch a breath.

“Why would you do this to me?” Jake gasps, eyes wide.

“You said there was only one clear option,” Bob replies evenly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I agree.”

“You bitch,” Jake mutters.

“Oh, this is so much better than what I thought was going to happen,” Natasha says. “Shirt off, Bagman. Let’s go.”

“This could be considered assault,” Jake mutters as he sits forward on the couch.

“Then press charges,” Bradley says, half-choking on a laugh. “But let him finish first.”

Natasha bolts to the kitchen for lime and salt, and the rest of the group scrambles to clear space on the lounge like they’re prepping for surgery. Jake peels off his shirt with the theatrics of a martyr, glaring at each of his cackling friends.

Bob, meanwhile, looks cool as ever—far more composed than Jake. And maybe that’s the point. Picking you would’ve set the room on fire. Picking someone else would’ve gotten laughs. But picking Hangman? That’s just cruel and perfect—and from the slow curl of a smirk on Bob’s lips, he knows it.

“Let’s go, Seresin,” Natasha says, reappearing with lime in one hand, salt in the other.

Jake lies back with exaggerated misery, like a man about to be sacrificed at the altar. “I swear to God, Floyd, if you do anything weird with your mouth-”

“I won’t,” Bob says, calm and unbothered. “Unless you want me to.”

Your stomach somersaults. He didn’t even look at you—but somehow, it still feels like the line was meant for you. Like he knows exactly what he does to you, without even trying.

Bob Floyd is fucking smooth when he wants to be.

The room falls eerily quiet as Bob kneels beside the couch, one hand braced on the cushion beneath Jake’s body, the other holding the tequila bottle. He looks serene—like he’s preparing for a sacred ritual rather than licking salt off another man’s chest.

“This is happening,” Mickey whispers, wide-eyed. “This is actually happening.”

“Focus, Bob,” Natasha says solemnly, holding the shot glass as he pours the tequila. “We believe in you.”

Bob sets the bottle down and leans toward Jake slowly, both hands now braced on the couch as he lowers his head to the other man’s chest. The room is absolutely silent, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the charged hush of everyone holding their breath.

Jake stares straight up, completely stiff. “Don’t look at me while you do it.”

“I’m not,” Bob says, deadpan.

He dips his head and licks the salt clean off Jake’s skin. Jake jerks like he’s been hit with a defibrillator.

“Oh my God,” Javy whispers, clutching his chest. “This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Natasha hands Bob the shot, and he tosses it back like he’s sampling a fine whiskey. Then he turns to the lime Natasha has jammed between Jake’s clenched teeth.

“Don’t you dare,” Jake warns.

“I’m just following instructions,” Bob replies calmly, and leans in.

There’s a ridiculous half-second where it looks like they’re about to kiss—and everyone knows it. You bite your fist to keep from bursting out laughing… or something else entirely. Because Bob? Cool as ice. Smooth as ever. He doesn’t even flinch as his mouth brushes Jake’s, teeth clamping down on the lime and tugging it free.

Jake makes a choked sound halfway between outrage and existential crisis.

Then the room explodes.

Bradley nearly falls off the lounge, still recording, laughter shaking his whole body. Natasha collapses into Javy’s lap, practically wheezing. Mickey is making noises like he’s being exorcised, and you’re on the brink of tears, shoulders shaking with laughter as Bob calmly returns to his seat, lime in hand, mouth twisted slightly at the tartness.

Jake bolts upright, wiping his mouth. “I need therapy.”

Bob frowns. “You needed therapy before that.”

“Yeah,” Jake spits, yanking his shirt back on. “Well, now I need more.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt it before—and you definitely don’t plan on voicing it—but right now, you are incredibly fucking jealous of Jake Seresin.

It takes a while, but eventually the group settles down and the game fizzles out—mostly thanks to Jake’s relentless sulking. Not long after, Mickey gets a notification that the food is nearly delivered, and everyone jumps into action to clear the table and grab what’s needed for dinner.

Less than ten minutes later, you’re all crowded around the coffee table, shovelling Chinese food into your mouths and stealing bites off each other’s plates. Jake’s sour mood has mostly vanished, and everyone is focused on the final battle of the movie playing out on-screen.

By the time the credits start rolling, most of the food is gone. You and Natasha start carting plates, bowls, and empty containers into the kitchen while the guys finish polishing off their meals, scraping the last of the food off their plates and into their mouths.

“Did I mention I brought dessert?” Reuben pipes up, eyeing you as you stack a few plates in one hand.

You raise a brow. “Are you about to make a gross joke?”

“No,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You know Barb, down the hall?”

“Neighbour Barb with the yappy chihuahua?”

He nods. “Yeah. She bakes, like… the most amazing stuff.”

You narrow your eyes, plates now balanced in both hands. “Do I even want to know how you know this?”

Mickey answers for him, talking around a mouthful of Mongolian beef. “Because we’re nice to our neighbours.”

You give him a disgusted look before turning back to Reuben. “Okay. Get to the point.”

He grins, a smug twist playing at the corner of his mouth. “She made a huge batch of cream pies—I mean, puffs. So she brought some over, and I brought them here. They’re to die for.”

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly—but Reuben catches it, and you can see the spark of amusement flash across his face.

“Have you ever had a cream pie, Sunny?” Mickey asks, beaming up at you with sauce smeared on his face.

Jake and Javy snort, and behind you—you swear you hear Bob snicker.

“Yes, Mick,” you bite out. “I’ve had a cream puff.”

You turn sharply back toward the kitchen, but not before catching the small smirk on Bob’s lips, his cheeks pink as he spoons another mouthful of kung pao chicken into his mouth.

“That’s not what I asked!” Mickey calls after you, giggling like a grade-schooler.

You roll your eyes and drop the plates by the sink, where Natasha and Bradley are already washing up.

“Lookin’ a little red there, Floyd,” Reuben teases, his voice carrying from the living room to the kitchen.

It’s the chicken,” Bob replies quickly—but there’s something in his voice that makes a stupid, lovesick grin spread across your face.

Once everything is washed up and everyone has returned to the living room, Jake hits play on the next film. You’re back on the floor, this time with your back pressed to the couch beneath Natasha, who’s curled up with her legs tucked beneath her, leaving you space to lean. Bob is further away now, sprawled on his back across a fluffy blanket, a cluster of pillows beneath his head, hands folded neatly over his stomach.

You try to keep your eyes on the screen—it really shouldn’t be that hard with both Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor to enjoy—but your gaze keeps drifting to Bob. He looks so content, so cute, his lips tipped into a soft half-smile and his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. There’s something about him that turns your brain to absolute mush, and you still can’t figure out what.

Maybe it’s the dichotomy of him. How sweet and quiet he is—some might even say shy, but you know better. He’s just overwhelmingly nice, with a pretty face to match. And yet, you have to remind yourself that this man is in the navy. He’s not spineless—in fact, he’s the total opposite. He’s sharp and quick-witted, strong both mentally and physically. There’s not a single thing about him that’s weak, yet he lets people assume otherwise.

Maybe it’s confidence. The kind that doesn’t need to be loud. He doesn’t care what people think or say. Not that he isn’t awkward sometimes—he definitely can be—but that’s more about being introverted. He doesn’t need to show off or run his mouth like Jake. He doesn’t need to fly like an idiot to prove himself. He’s just Bob. He knows who he is, and he’s not apologetic about it.

What is it they call that?

Oh yeah… big dick energy.

Your eyes drift down his torso, lingering briefly on his hands—the way his long fingers are laced together—before continuing down to the waistband of his dark blue joggers. There’s a bulge in his lap. A notable one. And a slight outline continuing down the left leg of his pants…

Wait. That’s like… kind of huge.

A hard nudge to your shoulder startles you, and you whip around to see Natasha staring at you. Her eyes are wide, her lips pulled into a smirk—half disbelieving, half smug.

Stop staring, she mouths.

You press your lips together to hold back a laugh, a little giddy from your fourth—or maybe fifth—beer. Your face feels warm, and you know if you keep looking at Nat, you’ll start laughing, so you quickly turn back to the movie.

“Okay,” Mickey pipes up, scrambling out of the beanbag and to his feet, “who wants cream puffs?”

“Only if you serve them warm and full,” Jake shoots back.

The room erupts—half groans, half childish laughter. Mickey just snorts and disappears into the kitchen, Reuben trailing behind him. A few minutes later, they return, each holding a heaping plate stacked with warm, golden cream puffs.

“Fair warning,” Reuben says, setting one down on the table, “these things are insane. Like... dangerously good.”

You grab one without hesitation—soft, golden, still warm to the touch. It’s dusted in powdered sugar and practically bursting with cream. You bite into it and—holy hell—the taste explodes in your mouth. Sweet. Rich. Ridiculously creamy. You moan without meaning to, eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh, wow,” you say around a mouthful. “That’s... actually insane.”

The group hums and laughs in agreement, but you barely notice. You take another bite—bigger this time—and it squishes a little too easily in your hand. Cream oozes out the side, trailing down your chin and, with an audible plop, lands squarely between your breasts.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, trying to swipe the cream away—but all you manage to do is smear it further.

There’s a beat of silence, and even the movie playing in the background seems to go quiet.

“Jesus Christ,” Reuben says, somewhere between impressed and scandalised. “You sure you don’t need a minute alone with that thing?”

Laughter rumbles around you, and only when you look up do you realise how provocative that just was—the heat in your cheeks deepening. But then your eyes catch on Bob.

He’s not laughing. He’s not even blinking.

The lazy smile he wore earlier? Gone. He’s sitting upright now, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. His gaze is locked on you like he forgot what movie is playing, what day it is—hell, maybe even his own name.

“Floyd?” Mickey nudges his leg with a foot. “You good?”

Bob jolts slightly, as if waking from a trance. He coughs, shifts, and yanks the blanket from the floor to cover his lap—too quickly to be casual.

“They, uh...” he clears his throat, voice rough. “They look really good.”

Your stomach swoops as he leans forward, still holding the blanket tight in place, and reaches for a cream puff from the plate right in front of you—still avoiding your eyes entirely.

Natasha leans in from behind, her voice low. “You are killing him.”

You press your lips together to hide your grin, eyes flicking back to Bob—who’s now doing everything in his power not to look in your direction.

The cream puffs disappear in what has to be a record amount of time. You’re pretty sure you watched Javy inhale at least four, and there was an unnecessarily loud argument between Mickey and Bradley over the last one, which ended in a begrudging decision to split it.

The rest of the movie plays out without incident, and afterward, everyone decides to change into their PJs for the final film of the night. You’re honestly surprised everyone has made it to movie number three, but you’re not complaining.

The boys start rummaging through their bags, swapping out jeans for boxers or stretchy pajama pants while Natasha grabs her bag and disappears into the bathroom. You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen to avoid catching a glimpse of something you definitely don’t want to see—because these boys? They have no shame.

“You can change in my room if you want,” Bob offers.

You glance up, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on him, because just a little to the left is where Jake is still mid-change.

“Yeah?”

Bob nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestures down the short hallway past the kitchen. “It’s the door just after the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, pushing to your feet and grabbing your bag as you slip past the others—now teasing Mickey about his choice of boxers.

The door is open just a crack, and your heart thuds a little harder than it should as you ease it the rest of the way. The smell hits first—clean and warm, with a twist of vanilla that makes you want to wrap yourself in it and never leave.

You flick on the light and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag to the floor. You know you should just get changed, but… you can’t help it. You’ve only been to Bob’s apartment a couple times before—once to help him move in (because of course the whole squad helped), and once with Natasha to pick him up before a night out. But never in here. Never in his room.

It’s almost unusually tidy, but that’s navy life for you. His bed is made neatly, topped with a soft baby blue duvet, coordinated beige and cream pillows, and a throw blanket folded at the foot. It’s a little faded and looks handmade, like something passed down through generations.

On one side of the room, a bookshelf houses a quiet little collection of well-loved paperbacks, a few aviation manuals, and a line of model planes—some pristine and precise, others clearly glued together by a much younger version of him. A framed photo of a beaming, pint-sized Bob in oversized glasses sits on the dresser, nestled between a small baseball trophy and a display of navy challenge coins.

A pair of worn sneakers sits neatly by the door, and his uniform jacket hangs off the closet handle, the door slightly ajar. The name tag catches just enough light to pull your eyes toward it. Everything about the room feels like him—modest, thoughtful, quietly proud. It’s the kind of unintentional intimacy that makes you feel like you’ve slipped behind the curtain and gotten a glimpse of the real Bob.

And somehow… that makes your chest ache. It’s just a room. But it feels so much like him—like you could curl up in here with him for hours, doing nothing but talking and dreaming. Getting lost in each other. Letting the rest of the world wait. And then, later, getting tangled together. Soft kisses, whispered pleas, gentle moans—slow and unhurried, learning one another’s bodies until you know each other better than you know yourselves.

You shake your head hard and take a breath. You’ve already been in here too long. Pull it together.

You crouch beside your bag and pull out your pajamas—soft lounge shorts and a matching long-sleeved shirt. It’s nothing special, but a step up from your usual: an old, food-stained navy tee and nothing but underwear.

You change quickly and shove your clothes into your bag before leaving the room. The lounge room has quieted down, everyone now back in their seats—except for Mickey and Bob, who are in the kitchen grabbing another round of drinks.

Jake hits play as soon as they return, and everyone settles in again. There’s less chatter now, probably because of how late it’s gotten. Bradley is almost definitely asleep, eyes half-shut on the two-seater, while Mickey is having the time of his life seeing how many of Bradley’s fingers he can get stuck in the top of his beer bottle.

Natasha is curled up behind you, her head resting on Reuben’s shoulder, and his blinks are getting longer and slower by the second. Jake is surprisingly alert and invested in the film, but Javy looks like his head might lull back at any moment. And Bob—Bob is still wide awake, his eyes sparkling with interest as he watches the screen.

Halfway through the film, Mickey pushes to his feet and offers another round of drinks, prompting a few sleepy murmurs of ‘yes’ from the others.

“I’ll help,” you offer, stretching as you rise from the floor and follow him into the kitchen.

You open the fridge and start pulling out beers while Mickey pops the tops off. But when you close the fridge and turn back around, you spot Reuben—now suddenly very awake—watching Mickey with intent. He’s wearing that little smirk that always means trouble, clearly trying to telepathically communicate something to his WSO.

Your brow furrows as you glance between them, trying to decode the silent exchange. Mickey looks equally confused for a second... but then realisation dawns and a wicked grin curls onto his face.

He turns to you and mutters, “Sorry about this.” But he doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic.

Your frown deepens. “What are you-”

But you don’t get to finish the question before he starts shaking the beer bottle in his hand.

“Mick—!” you cry, just as he pops the top off and sprays you with beer.

You shriek, throwing your hands in front of your face like that’ll somehow stop the onslaught. But it doesn’t. You’re soaked.

“What the hell, Fanboy?” Reuben calls from the living room, as if this wasn’t entirely his doing.

“Mickey!” you shout, dropping your arms and glaring at him.

“Whoops,” he says with a grin. “My bad.”

Natasha snorts and smacks a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. It’s not funny.”

“Wow, Fanboy,” Jake pipes up, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “Is that the first time you’ve made a girl wet?”

Mickey glares—or tries to. He’s way too pleased with himself for it to land properly.

“Hey, Floyd,” Reuben calls, “you got any spare clothes for Sunny?”

Bob is already looking at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He swallows hard before turning to Reuben and nodding. “Yeah, of course.” Then he stands, eyes flicking back to you. “Do you want to shower?”

Mickey gasps, scandalised. “Robert Floyd, are you propositioning her?”

Bob’s blush deepens, colouring his neck and the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look particularly ashamed. He looks… flushed. Hot. Close to unravelling. His glare cuts back to Mickey, sharper than usual, a little too dark to be playful. And then his gaze shifts back to you—specifically, your chest.

You follow his line of sight and immediately wrap an arm around yourself. Your nipples are pebbled beneath your shirt, the damp fabric clinging in all the worst ways. Or the best—if you ask Bob Floyd.

“Yes,” you say tightly. “A shower would be good.”

The room dissolves into quiet laughter as you follow Bob down the hall. He slips into his room for a moment, then returns with a folded towel and some clothes stacked neatly on top.

“Here,” he says, offering them to you. “Take as long as you want. You can use whatever’s in there. Not that there’s much.”

He dips his head—blush still firmly in place—and heads back to the living room.

You stare after him for a second, dumbfounded. He got embarrassed about his lack of shower products? That’s what embarrassed him? Not the full-body, post-beer-shower eye-fucking he just gave you?

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling hard. You’re buzzing. Overstimulated. Untouched and on fire. You feel like you’re being edged and then abandoned, left to squirm. You’re so sensitive it hurts. Bob is teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him—those glances, the heat behind his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open like he wants to say something but never does.

You might’ve thought you were playing a game, but Bob Floyd is about to kill you without even realising it.

You strip quickly, trying not to dwell on the fact that you’re naked in Bob’s apartment. You keep the water on the cooler side—a half-hearted attempt to wash away the heat still simmering under your skin. But it doesn’t help. You shower fast and step out even faster, wrapping yourself in the towel Bob gave you. It’s fluffy, soft, and smells just like him—which makes that spot deep behind your hipbones ache.

You dry off in record time, then turn to the small pile of clothes on the vanity—Bob’s clothes. Your hands tremble slightly as you lift the satin boxers, dark blue with little white stars, and slide them up your legs. Then the shirt: a worn white tee with a faded Star Wars logo across the chest.

His scent wraps around you the second you slide it over your head—oversized and impossibly soft against your warm skin. You try not to focus on the rasp of cotton against your nipples. God, if he ever actually touches you, you might just combust.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fire burning low in your belly, then scoop up your beer-soaked clothes and open the bathroom door—steam spilling into the hallway as you step out.

"Finally," Mickey says, popping up in front of you like he’s been waiting, holding out a plastic bag.

You blink. “What?”

“For your clothes,” he says simply.

“Oh.” You take it and shove the damp material inside.

His gaze dips—just for a beat—before sliding back up. Then he grins, gives you a cheeky wink, and turns back toward the lounge room. You follow, every eye lifting to you the second you reappear. Warmth floods your cheeks. You’re in Bob’s clothes. Bob's boxers. Bob's shirt.

“Can we play the movie now?” Jake whines, oblivious to the tension humming through the room. “It was just getting good.”

You nod, unable to speak, your gaze already locked with Bob’s.

His eyes rake down your body, slow and deliberate. He takes in the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the hang of his shirt against your chest. His gaze catches there, as if he can see straight through the fabric, then continues its journey down to the hem. The shorts are barely visible beneath the shirt, and judging by the heat in his eyes, he might be wondering why you're wearing pants at all.

You shift under the weight of his stare, hyper-aware of every inch of fabric against your skin—of how suddenly hot the room feels. Jake presses play, but no one is watching the screen. Every pair of eyes bounces between you and Bob, waiting—expecting—something to happen.

Bob looks wrecked. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, jaw tight. Like he has to physically hold himself back.

Natasha clears her throat, startling you more than it should. You tear your gaze away and flash her a sheepish smile before finally forcing yourself to move, padding back to your spot on the floor.

Even then, you can feel Bob’s eyes tracking every step.

The rest of the movie plays out in near silence, broken only by the soft snoring that eventually starts up from Bradley and Javy. It takes a while for you to settle, but you finally curl up on the floor with a pillow hugged to your chest, watching Anakin fall apart on-screen and become Darth Vader.

Jake is the only one still fully invested in the film. Even Bob seems distracted now, his eyes flicking toward you more often than the TV. He shifts in place, uncomfortable, dragging the blanket higher across his lap and holding it like a lifeline. You try not to smirk.

You think you know what might be going on under there… but you’re not about to assume. It couldn't possibly be just because you’re wearing his clothes.

…Right?

Eventually, the credits start rolling and everyone begins to stir.

“Where am I sleeping?” Mickey asks, already eyeing Bob like he’s got plans.

Bob shrugs. “Wherever. There’s the couches and a couple beds in the spare room, but someone’ll have to sleep with me.”

“I think Rooster’s good here,” Jake says, glancing at the man awkwardly passed out on the two-seater couch. “I’ll take this one.”

“I’ll sleep with you, Bobby,” Javy says through a yawn, stretching so wide his joints pop.

“Damn it,” Mickey mutters as he walks past, bumping your shoulder with his. “Missed opportunity.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. You know damn well you wouldn’t get any sleep next to Bob—not when he smells like that, looks like that, and keeps looking at you the way he does. So it’s probably for the best, but still, the thought lingers.

Everyone takes turns brushing their teeth and shuffling off to bed. You end up in the fold-out bed with Natasha in the spare room, while Reuben and Mickey claim the air mattress on the floor. Apparently, there’s no escaping these boys—not even for one night.

Mumbled goodnights fade into rustling fabric and shifting limbs, then finally, silence.

Too much silence.

You lie on your back, eyes on the ceiling, thoughts screaming through your head like they’re in a race. You should be tired—your body aches—but your brain refuses to shut up. You toss the blanket off, overheated, but even with the cooler air, your skin feels flushed. You roll to your side, careful not to jostle Natasha on the creaky mattress, but nothing helps.

You glance down at the boys, both snoring with their mouths open, and finally sigh. Swinging your legs off the bed, you wriggle out of Bob’s shorts, thinking maybe it’ll help. You don’t usually sleep in pants anyway.

It doesn’t.

Ten minutes later, you quietly slip off the bed and tiptoe toward the door, easing it open with practiced care to avoid the squeaky hinges. Then you turn down the hallway, barefoot and warm-skinned, and pad into the kitchen.

The hem of Bob’s shirt brushes against your bare thighs, stoking the fire already simmering between them as you stop in front of the fridge and pull the door open. A cool flood of light spills across the kitchen tiles. You grab a bottle of water and twist off the cap, stepping back and tipping it to your lips. But the cold rush does nothing to cool the heat thrumming beneath your skin.

“You always walk around other people’s places half naked?”

You choke, almost spilling water down your chin as you turn toward the voice—that low, raspy sound that makes your skin prickle and your spine snap straight.

Bob stands at the edge of the kitchen, leaning casually against the far counter—but there’s nothing relaxed about the way he holds himself. In the dim glow of the fridge light, he looks almost ethereal. His eyes are sharp, lit with something that borders on pain—hunger, maybe, or full-blown starvation—and his arms are crossed over his bare chest.

Yeah. Bob Floyd is shirtless.

You register a flicker of jealousy for Javy—the man who gets to sleep next to this—but you don’t let yourself linger on it. Not when Bob is standing right there in nothing but a pair of loose boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide the impressive shape beneath.

You don’t know if it’s because he’s a little turned on or just blessed, but damn.

“You okay?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a real question—because he already knows the answer.

No. No, you’re not.

You clear your throat, dragging your eyes back up to his. “Yeah, I—uh-”

Your words falter when his gaze drops to your legs. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to memorise every inch. His eyes drag slowly up your bare thighs, pausing at the hem of his shirt before gliding over your waist and stopping at your chest, where your nipples are clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton.

The heat of his stare burns hotter than any touch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s just making conversation. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you.

He pushes off the counter and walks straight toward you—slow, but sure. He stops right in front of the fridge, close enough that if you moved even a breath closer, you’d feel your nipples graze his skin.

You take a step back—barely. Just enough to let him slip past you.

He nods slightly—a silent thanks—and ducks into the fridge for his own water. When he shuts the door, the kitchen is plunged into darkness, save for dim moonlight filtering in from the far windows—but you can still see him. His outline, the dips and curves of his lean torso, the tilt of his head as he tips the bottle back and drinks.

You watch his throat move with every swallow, your lips parting slightly, craving his skin on your tongue. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You just stand there, watching.

When he finishes, he turns to the sink and drops the empty bottle in before bracing both hands against the bench. His chin dips toward his chest, and you see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he exhales—hard.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you forward until you’re beside him, your bare arm brushing against his. You place your own bottle in the sink, then turn toward him and lean your hip against the counter.

“Bob,” you whisper.

Every sound in the apartment feels louder now—the faint snores, the creak of the floorboards, your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

He looks at you, only turning his head, not his body. “Don’t—” he says softly. “Don’t say my name like that.”

You frown, sliding your hand over his. His grip tightens on the bench like he’s anchoring himself.

“Like what?” you ask softly.

“Like you want me,” he murmurs. His voice is thick—rough around the edges like it’s been scraped raw. Like he's holding something back with every laboured breath.

You press closer, your chest against his arm. The contact is electric. Your skin separated only by a whisper of cotton—his cotton.

“Bob,” you breathe, a little desperate now.

He exhales sharply and drops his gaze to the sink again, like something there might help him. “This isn’t…” His jaw flexes. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what?” you ask, playing innocent, even as your fingers trail lightly up his arm.

You can feel your chest rising and falling faster than it should, your breasts pressing against his arm like some wanton, starry-eyed girl. But you can’t bring yourself to step away. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve ending singed and tingling. You want him to turn around and take you—bend you over the counter and make you scream his name. Who gives a fuck who’s listening... or watching. You just want Bob. You want him to know how much you want him, how deeply you need him. How desperate he makes you without even trying.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers, finally turning to face you fully, “what you do to me?”

You feel it—hard and thick—pressing against your lower belly. There’s no mistaking it now.

“Bob…” Your voice is a sigh, wrecked and begging.

He catches your wrist, his grip firm, nearly bruising. His eyes are wild as they search your face—from your eyes to your lips, down to your chest, and back again—like he’s torn between reason and ruin.

You hold still. Waiting. Daring. Wanting him to snap.

But then... he’s gone—his warmth, his scent, the burning look in his eyes. All of it, gone in a breath.

“Goodnight,” he mutters, so low you barely hear it before the soft click of his bedroom door… and then the snap of the lock.

You’re left standing there, chest heaving, skin burning. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your mind is a mess. What the fuck just happened? Your panties are damp, and your chest aches like you've been torn in two. You want to cry, but you also want to break down his door. How dare he build you up like that? Look at you like that, talk to you like that—and then just walk away.

It takes several minutes before you can move, your legs shaky, your mind racing. You stumble back to the spare room, collapse into bed, and stare at the ceiling, flat on your back—Bob’s shirt clinging to your skin.

You don’t sleep. Not at all.

“He what?” Natasha’s eyes go impossibly wide. “And then he just—he left?”

You nod slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on your lunch. The mess hall is loud enough to muffle your conversation—one you should’ve had yesterday but couldn’t summon the strength for. So here you are, in the middle of the hall, with the boys a couple tables over, surrounded by lieutenants you don’t know—blissfully unaware of your current crisis.

“Yeah,” you sigh, stabbing at another piece of pasta you don’t plan to eat.

You haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours—not since the run-in with Bob. Everything feels bland now, drained of colour and taste, too dull to bother with. Anything that isn’t Bob just feels lacking, and you're starting to worry that one moment—one heated, breathless moment—has completely ruined you.

“That’s insane,” Natasha mutters. “That’s so... not Bob. How could he be so—I don’t know... rude? I just—I have no words.”

You shrug one shoulder. “It wasn’t rude. He just seemed... confused, I guess. And I don’t blame him. If I’m not what he wants, then-”

“Stop right there,” Mickey interrupts, sliding into the chair beside you.

Reuben drops into the seat next to Natasha, eyeing your tray of food.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to steal your apple. “We couldn’t get away any faster.”

You glance past Mickey, down the row of tables, and catch Bob’s eyes on you—just for a second—before he quickly looks away. Bradley, Jake, and Javy are still deep in conversation with the other guys, oblivious. Bob seems to be the only one noticing Reuben and Mickey’s absence.

“Start again,” Mickey says. “From the beginning. We knew something happened.”

Natasha snorts around a mouthful of pasta, and you sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing. They’d get it out of you one way or another.

Twenty minutes later, when you finally finish recapping the story for the second time, Natasha taps her watch and nods toward the exit. “We better get back before Mav, or he’ll keep us late tonight.”

Mickey’s brows are nearly touching as he processes everything you’ve said. “What does he mean, ‘you can’t do this’? He clearly wanted to—so why didn’t he?”

You pick up your tray and follow Natasha toward the return station. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I mean,” Reuben says, brows furrowed, “you said he was... at attention, right?”

You blow a half-hearted laugh through your nose. “Yeah.”

“So he definitely wanted to,” he says as the four of you exit the mess hall. “I just can’t think of why he wouldn’t go for it.”

“I think it’s because you’re in the same squad,” Natasha offers. “He’s probably worried it’ll get weird—or worse, if it doesn’t work out.”

You roll your eyes as you cross the hot concrete, heading back to the hangar. “But we’re both adults. Why can’t he just sack up and fuck me, and we’ll worry about the consequences later?”

Your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you don’t miss the odd looks a few passing officers send your way.

Reuben chuckles. “Maybe you should just say that to him.”

“No,” Natasha says, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve got a better idea. Call it Plan B or whatever, but now... we’re bringing out the big guns.”

“So Sunny pressing her tits against him wasn’t the big guns?” Mickey quips with a grin.

You smack him lightly across the chest before looking back to Natasha. “I doubt anything will work at this point, but... I’m curious. What’s the idea?”

“How’s your gag reflex?” she asks, tilting her head thoughtfully.

You rear back, eyebrows raised—and both Reuben and Mickey choke on laughter.

Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. “Not like that. I mean you’re going to need a strong stomach and a Juilliard degree to pull this off.”

You frown, slowing just slightly as the hangar looms into view. “Okay...”

She straightens up and faces forward, a proud smirk tugging at her mouth and her chin tilted high. “We’re going to make Bob jealous.”

Out of Mickey and Reuben, you all collectively decided that Reuben was the more convincing option. Not that you don’t think Mickey’s gorgeous—you do, and so does he—but his acting skills are questionable at best. You at least have a little more faith in Reuben’s ability to fake flirt without making it weird.

The plan is simple. Convince Bob that he’s lost his shot—or that he’s just about to. Make it clear you’re happy to move on. If he wants you... well, now he’s going to have to fight for it. Because tempting him wasn’t enough—apparently—you need to dig deeper. Tap into something primal and pull it to the surface. Exploit what lingers under the skin of every man: jealousy and competition.

You’re going to make this a game he can’t afford to lose.

“You ready for Phase Two?” Natasha asks as you cross the base, the sun still barely above the horizon.

You take a deep breath of fresh morning air. “Let’s do it.”

She and Mickey take off ahead of you and Reuben to arrive in the training room first. It’s a known fact that Bob is always ridiculously early—so you know he’ll already be there. You hang back with Reuben, rehashing the plan and trying to get used to flirting with him without cracking up.

At exactly ten past six, Natasha texts you to give the green light—no doubt having casually pointed out to Bob that you’re not with her, which you always are.

“What if he doesn’t care?” you ask Reuben softly as you climb the stairs.

He rolls his eyes like you’ve said something utterly insane. “He’ll care, trust me. He might be Bob, but he’s still a guy. And he’s obviously down bad for you—just needs a little push.”

You snort. “Little?”

Reuben chuckles. “Okay, more than a little. It’s Bob.”

You laugh too, quietly, and then steel yourself as you reach the door—slipping on your game face. You glance at Reuben, catching the smirk tugging at his mouth.

Then you both nod. It’s show time.

“So, you’re saying eye contact makes it better?” he asks as you step through the door, voice pitched perfectly.

You nod, casual but with a hint of something else. “Yep. A thousand times better. And bonus points if you know where to put your hands.”

He raises a brow, lips twitching. “Where do I put my hands?”

You giggle, soft and flirty, pausing a few steps into the room. “How about I show you later?”

His grin breaks loose. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

You head toward the rows of seats, sliding into your usual behind Natasha—not missing the way Bob’s gaze locks onto you like he’s been caught mid-thought. His head swivels as Reuben sits beside you instead of next to Mickey.

“See,” Reuben says, leaning in a little, “all these years I thought speed was the key. But you’re saying it’s finesse?”

“Oh, definitely finesse,” you say, holding his eyes. “Go too hard and too fast, and it’s just... messy. Sloppy. Unimpressive.”

Reuben licks his lips, his eyes flicking sideways to Bob—just for a second. “So, you’re offering me private lessons?”

You lower your voice slightly, knowing it’s still perfectly audible to the rest of the room. “Depends. Can you follow instruction without getting too flustered?”

Reuben’s grin sharpens. “I don’t fluster, sweetheart. I excel under pressure.”

You pause, your pulse a little too quick—partly from Bob’s stare, which he’s not even trying to hide now, and partly from the fact that yeah, it’s been a while. And if this whole plan does blow up in your face... well, Reuben doesn’t seem like the worst option for a little stress relief.

You fight down a laugh at the idea and finally drag your gaze toward the front of the room. Bob—just one row ahead—snaps his eyes forward like he’s been caught eavesdropping, but the bright red of his cheeks, the tight set of his shoulders, and the way his jaw flexes say it all. He’s tense. He’s listening. And he’s absolutely not okay.

A moment later, Maverick strolls in, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare brewing right beneath his nose.

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. Each evening, you regroup with your friends to scheme and strategize, brainstorming new antics to pull off the next day. Nothing over-the-top—just enough to catch Bob’s eye.

On Wednesday, you get Reuben to help you into your flight suit. You both time it perfectly: he exits the locker room just ahead of Bob, and you appear a second later, flashing a flirty grin before asking sweetly for his help. You giggle and call him a sweetheart while Bob nearly trips over his own feet, glancing back with a clenched jaw and a look that could burn a hole through steel.

Thursday morning, Reuben brings you a coffee—exactly how you like it—straight to the briefing room. You proclaim, not so quietly, that he’s giving total boyfriend material before he drops into the seat beside you and you both giggle over a (completely fabricated) inside joke.

That afternoon, during a short break between drills and the next briefing, he offers you a bite of his protein bar. You take it right from his hand, licking your lips and throwing him an innocent little wink before sauntering off like it’s nothing.

By Friday, Natasha warns you that the others are starting to notice. But you’re in too deep to pull back now—not when Bob looks like he’s about to unravel. He’s been tighter than ever, watching you like a hawk, eyes dark and stormy instead of their usual calm denim blue. You’re close. So close. And honestly? You’re kind of having a little too much fun.

That afternoon, during post-flight checks, Reuben sidles up behind you under the guise of pointing out something ‘mechanical’ on your jet. You’re not actually doing anything with it, but that doesn’t stop him from standing unnecessarily close, guiding your hand with his as he gestures toward something supposedly critical. The two of you are seconds from cracking up, but Bob doesn’t know that. Bob, from all the way across the hangar, looks frozen—eyes locked, breath held, jaw tight—as Reuben presses flush against your back.

Natasha really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is, but honestly? She can’t help it. It’s too damn entertaining.

“Hey,” she says, nodding at Bob as she approaches. “You good?”

He blinks, then turns his sharp gaze on her, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

She snorts. “That was very convincing.”

He rolls his eyes and turns robotically back to the maintenance logs he’d been filling out.

Natasha glances at the paperwork, noting the hard press of his pen and the uneven ticks and crosses—some scribbled over multiple times—down the checkbox column.

“Wow,” she mutters, raising a brow. “You sure you earned your pen licence? Or should you still be on pencils?”

Bob’s blue eyes flick up, darker than usual beneath his furrowed brow. “Ha. Ha.”

“Okay,” she says, biting back the laugh rising in her throat. “So, bad day?”

“Bad week,” Bob grumbles.

Natasha nods slowly. “Well, hey, why don’t we fix that by hitting up The Hard Deck tonight?”

He snaps the logbook shut and tucks the pen into his pocket. “Pass.”

“Oh, come on,” she sighs. “It might make you feel better.”

His eyes flick toward you again, watching as you and Reuben dissolve into giggles beside your jet.

“I doubt it.”

“Sunny’ll be there,” Natasha says, her voice light and teasing.

Bob doesn’t respond. Just keeps packing up his things—every motion a little too sharp, a little too fast.

Natasha exhales. “Come on, dude. Just come for one drink—it doesn’t have to be beer. Blow off some steam. If you hate it, you can bail early. But it won’t be the same without you.”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a beat before letting it out slow. “Fine. One drink.”

Natasha grins, her eyes sparkling even in the dimming light of the hangar. “Perfect.”

Later that night, Natasha drives the four of you—Reuben and Mickey included—to the bar. Everyone else agreed to meet there, and she insisted on driving so you could have a few drinks. Not just to loosen up for another round of torturing poor Bob, but to actually let loose a little. She can tell this whole thing is winding you up, and she figures a few beers and a night with friends might help ease the tension—and the guilt—and maybe even the gnawing fear that this whole plan could blow up in your face.

“Nat, are you sure this dress isn’t too short?” you ask, holding the hem down against the curve of your ass as you follow her toward the main entry door. “I haven’t worn it in years.”

“There’s no such thing as too short,” Mickey says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes and step inside, into the warm glow of golden lighting and the low hum of half-drunk conversation. You let go of your dress now that there’s no breeze threatening to lift it, and try to relax, even with the strange sensation of bare legs in public. You’re used to flight suits, not feeling this on display.

“Ready to put on your best performance yet?” Reuben murmurs, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

You take a deep breath, feeling it rattle faintly in your chest. “Let’s do this thing.”

Natasha shoots you a wink over her shoulder, already striding confidently across the bar, her gaze locked on the usual booth where the rest of your friends are waiting.

There’s a chorus of greetings as the four of you approach, and you all grin and wave, waiting as Bradley, Jake, Javy, and Bob shuffle around to make room. Natasha pointedly takes the spot beside Bob, with Mickey sliding in next to her. You claim the seat beside Jake—which puts Reuben on your other side. Just as planned.

It’s a little squishy, but after so many nights like this, none of you really notice. Except Bob. He’s noticed tonight. His eyes are locked on the way your side is pressed to Reuben’s, his arm is slung casually over the back of the booth, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

“He looks like he wants to kill me,” Reuben whispers in your ear, low enough that you can barely hear him over the chatter of the bar. “Pretend I said something funny. Laugh like you’ve got a secret.”

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and let out a soft giggle as you lean toward him just a little.

“You’re a pretty good actress,” he mutters before pulling back slightly.

You glance up at him through your lashes, feeling more at ease with the close proximity after the past week. Then you straighten your spine and lean in, your lips grazing his jaw as you whisper in his ear.

“You’re annoying.”

He chuckles quietly, though you know he really wants to snort and smack you on the shoulder. You’re both enjoying this just a little too much, getting a kick out of your undercover roles.

When you turn back to the rest of the group, Natasha is very deliberately not looking at you—and you know it’s because she’ll laugh if she does. Mickey, on the other hand, is watching with wide eyes, as is Javy. Jake and Bradley are still arguing about something on your other side, and Bob… Bob still looks like he’s ready to commit first-degree murder.

“Drink?” Reuben asks after a beat, his smile smooth.

You nod. “Absolutely. I’ll help you.”

You both stand and offer a round to the rest of the table, most of whom accept—which makes it less suspicious that you’re going together. At the bar, you make sure to stand just a little closer than necessary as he orders a round of the usual from Penny.

“Are you sure we’re not pushing it?” you ask, your voice laced with quiet worry.

Reuben shakes his head. “Nah, not yet.”

You frown. “Yet?”

“He’ll snap one way or another,” he says, leaning casually against the bar. “He’ll either lose it and blow up over something totally unrelated—and that’s when we’ll know we’ve gone too far. Or he’ll wake the fuck up and fight for what he wants.”

You open your mouth to voice another concern, but Penny is already sliding the tray of drinks across the bar. Reuben thanks her with an easy smile as you grab the two beers that didn’t fit, flashing her your own grateful grin before following him back to the table.

When you set the beers down, you feel the neckline of your dress slip just a little lower. Your eyes flick up to see if anyone’s noticed—and of course… Bob. His gaze is dark and locked on your chest, clearly able to see right down your dress. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to look away. He just stares.

But then he blinks and glances aside, not flustered or ashamed—just determined not to meet your eyes.

You straighten up and clear your throat. “I’m just going to duck to the bathroom.”

Then you turn and begin weaving your way through the bar, desperate for a moment to yourself—even though you haven’t been here that long—and to check that you don’t look completely ridiculous in the dress Natasha convinced you to wear.

You take your time in the stall, then rinse your hands under the cool water for a little longer than necessary. When you glance at your reflection in the full-length mirror, you’re surprised—and a little impressed. Because damn… you do look good. Maybe this dress deserves to see the light of day more often. And if Bob’s stare is anything to go by, it’s definitely not a bad idea.

You take a deep breath before pushing open the bathroom door, ready to continue your little charade—but you barely make it a few steps before someone blocks your path. You blink and stumble, stopping short before you run right into him.

You sigh when you realise who it is, that cocky smirk etched across his face. “What do you want, Hangman?”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

Your pulse spikes, but you do your best to keep your expression calm. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Payback,” he says, narrowing his green eyes. “Because I know that’s not real.”

Your breath catches—too quickly—giving you away as your gaze flicks to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes and leans in slightly, keeping the conversation low and private in the hum of the bar. “Don’t try to gaslight me, Sunny. I’m not an idiot. I know Phoenix is in on it—because of course she is—and Fanboy too, judging by the way he giggles every time you and Payback so much as look at each other.” He quirks a brow, daring you to challenge him. “The only reason Coyote hasn’t said anything is because he’s too polite, and Rooster hasn’t noticed because he’s too wrapped up in his own shit.”

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, matching his bravado. “You missed one.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You listed all the members of the squad… except one.”

“Right,” he chuckles dryly. “Bob. That’s the funny thing, because ever since we got to this island, you’ve been starry-eyed over Floyd, and he’s either too clueless to notice or too stupid to ask you out.” He pauses, letting it sink in, then leans just a bit closer. “Which is exactly why I’m not buying whatever you and Payback have been trying to sell this past week.”

You stare at each other for a beat, both stubborn and scowling, waiting for the other to fold first.

Then you sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to swear yourself to secrecy.”

His smirk stretches into a full grin. “I knew it.”

“Swear it.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up a hand. “I swear. I won’t even tell Coyote, and my pillow won’t hear a thing about it.”

You nod. “Good. Now come over and pretend to pick a song so this doesn’t look suspicious.”

You grab his wrist and tug him toward the jukebox, leaning over it and pretending to scroll through options while you give him a quick summary of Operation Bob’s Blue Balls—leaving out a few of the more... intimate details.

“So there,” you finish. “It’s underhanded and immature, but that’s what’s going on.”

His expression barely shifts the entire time, just the usual entertained glint in his eye and that ever-present smirk.

“Underhanded and immature?” he says. “I’m surprised I wasn’t in on this sooner.”

You roll your eyes.

“I want in.”

You blink, brow furrowed. “What?”

“I want to help,” he says, plainly.

You narrow your eyes, sceptical. “Why?”

He sighs and braces one hand on the jukebox, leaning in like he’s about to reveal some classified information. “Believe it or not, I’m not the worst guy in the world. I have a few ideas, and I think you two would be cute together.” He pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, “Besides, I’ve been going through a bit of a dry spell, and I figure helping other people get laid might buy me some good karma.”

You snort softly as he pulls back, his cheeks faintly pink.

“Alright,” you say. “You can help. But nothing obvious and nothing stupid. The last thing I need is Bob figuring this out and hating me for it.”

He rolls his eyes, that signature smirk firmly back in place. “Bob could never hate you. But I’ll be subtle.”

“Good.” You glance past his shoulder toward the booth across the bar. “We better get back before they get suspicious.”

“Wait,” he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “One more question.”

You raise your brows, prompting him to go on.

“When you fantasise about Bob, is he the top or the bottom? Because I just think you should manage your expectations—ow!”

He winces, rubbing the spot on his chest where you smacked him, watching you with a wounded look as you shove past with an exasperated sigh.

Great. Now Hangman is involved...

You spend the rest of the night practically glued to Reuben’s side, as planned. But now you’re a little on edge. You keep half an ear tuned to Jake’s voice, waiting to see when he might strike—and what he might say when he does. You trust him not to blow the whole thing, but you’re more than a little nervous about what his version of ‘helping’ might actually look like.

“Another drink?” Reuben asks, just as you finish the last of your third beer.

You nod, a bit too eagerly. “Yes, please. Maybe something stronger this time.”

He chuckles and slides out of the booth, offering his hand. You take it, letting him guide you up toward the bar. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely register the feel of his hand slipping from yours and settling at the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles there.

But Bob notices.

And Jake notices Bob noticing—taking special joy in the way Bob’s hand tightens around his bottle of Coke, knuckles going white.

Jake clears his throat and casts a glance toward the bar, leaning forward slightly. “They’re cute, don’t you think?”

There’s a beat of silence as Bob swallows—hard—and Natasha just blinks, clearly trying to catch up. Then the lightbulb goes off, and a wicked grin stretches across her lips.

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes following Jake’s. “I think they’d make a good couple.”

Bob snorts. Actually snorts. But he keeps his gaze fixed on the label he’s been picking at on his bottle.

Natasha arches a brow. “Something funny?”

Bob shakes his head. “No.”

“Really?” Jake presses, grinning. “Could’ve sworn you just laughed, Floyd.”

“It wasn’t a laugh,” Bob mutters. “More of a… breath.”

“Oh, a breath,” Natasha echoes, clearly amused. “Because it sounded suspiciously like judgment.”

“Or jealousy,” Jake adds, leaning back with a smug grin.

Bob’s gaze flicks to the bar—and to you—then just as quickly snaps away. “I don’t care who she dates.”

Natasha hums, fighting a smirk as she lifts her beer to her lips, “Didn’t say you did.”

Shortly after you and Reuben return to the table, giggling like idiots, Bob leaves. He mutters something about not feeling well and ducks out before even saying a proper goodbye. Part of you feels wrecked with guilt—but another part… is quietly hopeful. Because Bob isn’t like this. He’s good at regulating his emotions, even better at staying calm under pressure—he’s a fighter pilot, for God’s sake. But this? This is different. He’s never stormed out on the brink of losing control. Sure, he can get a little frustrated sometimes, maybe throw a snarky comment—usually at Jake when he pushes too far—but that’s as far as it goes.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s starting to unravel…

You spend most of the next day on the couch with the aircon blasting, while Natasha works through some paperwork at the kitchen table. It’s too hot to go outside, and you’re too distracted to do anything that requires even an ounce of brainpower. So instead, you let your mind rot with cartoons, obsessively checking your phone for signs of life in the group chat.

“I can’t believe Hangman is in on this now,” Natasha mutters, not even glancing up from her papers.

You sigh and roll from your side onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe he hasn’t cracked yet. If the roles were reversed, I’d be like a feral cat in heat by now.”

She snorts and lifts her head, flashing you an amused smirk. “You were already like a feral cat in heat for that man. Hence this whole situation.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, not wrong.”

Your head drops to the side as you half-watch the TV screen, until the apartment door swings open with a dramatic gust of air.

“I hate to say it,” Mickey says as he breezes in, eyes wide, “but the man is a genius.”

Reuben follows close behind, and then Jake—grinning like he just solved world peace.

“Oh, God,” Natasha mutters. “They’re multiplying.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t come to me sooner,” Jake says, strolling toward the couch. “I’m the king of seduction.”

You sit up, curling into the corner to make room for Reuben and Jake as Mickey heads straight for the fridge.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Just wait until you hear the plan,” Reuben says, practically buzzing. “It’s perfect.”

Intrigued now, Natasha gathers her papers into one neat pile and joins you on the lounge. “Alright, Bagman. Let’s hear it.”

Jake’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he settles in beside Reuben. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the beach.”

“You’re already way off,” you cut in. “Bob won’t agree to hang out again. Not after last night.”

Natasha nods. “She’s right. He needs to cool off before we wind him up again.”

“Absolutely not,” Jake snaps, brow furrowed. “You need to strike while the iron’s hot. You need to push his fucking limits.”

Mickey appears from the kitchen, a bag of pretzels already open in his hand.

Natasha frowns. “Okay, but how? He won’t agree to go if he thinks Sunny and Payback will be there.”

Jake grins. “Which is exactly why he’s going to think they won’t be there.”

“You want us to lie?” you ask.

He gives you a flat look. “After all this emotional warfare, now you’re drawing the line at lying?”

You shrink back slightly. “I guess not.”

“Exactly.” He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. “So—I’ll pitch the idea in the group chat. Sunny, you reply immediately that you’re busy—before Bob gets a chance to decline. Then Payback says something vague, like he might come or might not. That way, it looks like low numbers. And if Bob says no, the rest of us can guilt-trip him into coming. Which he will, as long as he thinks you’re not going to be there.”

Natasha tilts her head. “So... she will be there though?”

“Yes,” Jake says. “Just not right away. Give him time to relax, have some fun. We’ll play games—I’ll rile everyone up and get that competitive energy going.”

Everyone nods along, faces weirdly serious, like this is some highly classified mission briefing.

“Then, you two show up together,” Jake continues, gesturing to you and Reuben. “It’ll throw Bob off, but we won’t give him a chance to leave. We’ll keep the games going. Something with contact. You need to get right up in his space. Go all in. Because then... you’re going to knock him off his feet.”

“Literally,” Mickey mumbles, chewing a mouthful of pretzels.

You frown. “What?”

“Bump into him,” Jake says. “Literally knock him over. Skin-to-skin contact. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in a swimsuit—it’s borderline pornographic. Touching him? It’ll fry what’s left of his self-control. And then, when there’s a moment—just a second where you could apologise for being too competitive or whatever... you’re going to say something that makes him snap.”

You lean in, heart pounding now. “What am I going to say?”

The sun is high and brutal in the sky, and you’re already sweating—even though you’re still sitting in Reuben’s car with the aircon blasting.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” you ask, nervously bouncing your knee.

Reuben snorts. “If it doesn’t, the man isn’t human.”

“I feel bad,” you mutter, eyes scanning the stretch of gold sand through the windshield.

“You won’t feel bad when you finally see what’s in his pants,” Reuben says, barely paying attention as he scrolls through his phone.

Your eyes go wide and your head whips toward him. “So it is huge? I wasn’t just imagining that?”

He chuckles and looks up. “Oh yeah, he’s big. Like... big big. I remember the first time in the locker room—no one’s trying to look, obviously, that’s just not the vibe—but... damn. We couldn’t not look. Then everyone lost it. I think Hangman nearly cried.”

You press your lips together, trying to hold back a grin, but it’s no use—your cheeks are on fire, and your whole face feels like it's bright red.

“Damn,” you murmur, turning your gaze back to the front as your heart slams against your ribs.

Reuben laughs again, then cuts the engine, killing the aircon. “Alright. Pull yourself together. It’s go time.”

You climb out of the car and immediately wince at the lick of heat curling across your skin. It’s blistering—almost hostile—but at least you’re at the beach. Worst-case scenario? You’ll drown yourself in the ocean. Just walk into the surf and keep going. No one would blame you.

“Relax,” Reuben says, sliding a hand into yours like this is nothing. “This is going to work. Hangman might be insane, but I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s an evil genius.”

You roll your eyes, exhale hard, then square your shoulders and lift your chin.

You let Reuben lead you onto the sand, legs already working overtime to stay steady in the heat-softened grains. You can hear the chaos before you see it. Shouts and thuds echo over the sand as your friends tumble and crash around in a messy game of what looks like overgrown keepy-uppies.

“No hands!” Javy yells, just as Mickey swats the ball to avoid a direct hit to the face.

“Damn it, Fanboy!” Jake shouts. “You’re giving away points.”

Mickey drops his hands to his knees, panting. “Can we play literally any other game? I hate this.”

“You only hate it ‘cause you suck at it,” Natasha says, catching the ball like it’s second nature and bringing the game to a halt.

You swear you can see Mickey roll his eyes from here. You and Reuben are still on approach, trudging through the soft sand, unnoticed—so far.

“What about football?” Jake offers, tossing the round ball aside and already pulling a proper football from their pile of gear. “Dog-fight football?”

“Three versus three?” Javy asks, sceptical.

“What about four v. four?” Reuben calls, hand cupped to amplify his voice.

Everyone turns, and there’s a beat of stillness as they clock you. Then Natasha flashes a wide grin beneath her sunglasses, and Jake’s face lights up like a very satisfied evil villain—his plan falling perfectly into place.

“Well, if it ain’t Sunny and Payback!” he calls, spinning the football lazily in one hand. “You two done playing your own games already?”

You ignore the jab and focus on not rolling your ankle in the damn sand. At the pile of bags, you stop to drop your stuff and hesitate at the button of your shorts.

Jake’s eyes are practically gleaming. “How about a swim to cool off first?”

Reuben strips his shirt with a single tug. “You read my mind, Seresin.”

The guys—already in their swim trunks—bolt for the water, crashing into the surf in a chaotic stampede. Natasha peels off her shirt and shorts, shoots you a wink, and strolls in after them like she owns the ocean.

Reuben doesn’t say anything before he leaves you, but he gives a barely-there nod—directed past your shoulder.

You don’t need to turn around to know who it’s aimed at.

Bob’s still standing where he was when the game fizzled out, statuesque. His hair is tousled and his lips parted just enough to make your stomach flip. You’re at least ten feet away, but you can see the rise and fall of his chest—too fast, too hard. But he’s not out of breath. He’s not flustered.

He’s furious.

And those blue eyes? Laser-locked on you. His entire focus narrowed like a sniper sight. Not a blink. Not a breath wasted on anyone but you.

You swallow and force your body into motion, unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying out of them before pulling your loose shirt over your head. You drop your clothes on Natasha’s pile and turn toward the water, steady on the lumpy sand.

And then you hit the firm part—wet, packed, perfect footing—and you dig in. Hips swaying, deliberate and lethal.

You don’t need to look back. You can feel the heat of his stare on every inch of exposed skin. It’s scorching. Possessive. Almost punishing. Like if he could touch you right now, he’d brand you.

Hangman might be a genius after all.

You hit the water with a sigh, not even hesitating before diving beneath a wave before it can knock you off your feet. It’s the perfect temperature—delicious against your too-hot skin.

You dive under the next wave, cool saltwater rushing over your body, and come up laughing as you slick your hair back. Natasha is standing beside you, arms outstretched as the water laps at her waist, her eyes fixed on the shore.

You wade closer, smirking. “Did you see his face?” you ask breathlessly, heart still pounding from the walk down the beach—or maybe from the way Bob had looked at you like he was plotting your murder. “I thought he was going to spontaneously combust.”

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring past you.

You frown as her jaw goes slack and her brows creep up, sunglasses slipping down her nose as she stares at something on the shore—expression caught somewhere between shock and awe.

You freeze. “What?”

She still doesn’t speak—just tips her chin the slightest bit, silently gesturing toward whatever has her stunned.

You twist around.

And promptly forget how to breathe.

Bob Floyd is pulling his shirt over his head.

Bob Floyd, the man who never takes his shirt off. The man who wears it in the ocean and somehow isn’t bothered by the soaking wet material clinging to his body like a second skin.

And holy shit.

It’s glorious.

Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless before. Once. That night. But that was in the dark—his body tense, your mind scrambled, neither of you thinking clearly enough to appreciate what was right in front of you.

But in the light of day?

Alabaster skin. Broad shoulders. Deep-cut abs like he walked straight off the set of a Marvel movie. Lean muscle rippling across his chest and arms in a way that feels criminal on someone so quiet and careful. Droplets of sweat cling to his torso like even the heat doesn’t want to let him go.

The sudden silence behind you confirms it—everyone else is staring too.

You blink, dumbfounded, mouth dry. “That’s illegal.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh like she’s short-circuiting. “I mean, I knew he was strong but—wow.”

You swallow. Hard. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Your eyes follow him as he drops his shirt and turns toward the water, cutting through the waves like they’re nothing. He doesn’t glance at any of you. Just keeps his gaze locked on the horizon, jaw set tight, his body moving with single-minded purpose.

Before you can say something—or even blink—a surge of water smacks you in the face.

But it’s not a wave.

You cough and splutter, wiping the salt from your eyes and checking to make sure your sunglasses are still intact. When your vision clears, Jake is standing right in front of you.

“Wipe the drool off your chin,” he says, deadpan. “You’re supposed to be teasing him.”

You narrow your eyes, resisting the urge to shove him aside and keep watching Bob. “How did all of you know how cut that man is and not tell me?”

Jake blinks, thrown for a beat, then grins like the devil. “Wait—you’re mad because we didn’t tell you how ripped Bob is?”

You nod, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Correct.”

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Well if that’s got you steamed, you’re gonna be beside yourself when you find out he’s got a massive-”

“I know,” you cut in smoothly, a wicked smirk curling at your lips. “Payback told me.”

Jake gapes at you, brows knitting—but before he can get another word out, you shove his shoulder and send him sprawling into the water.

When he resurfaces, sputtering and grinning, he points at you like a man on a mission—then lunges.

You squeal, laughing as he barrels toward you, sending up waves in every direction. The two of you splash around like kids, Jake playing it up—grabbing you, poking at your sides, both of you pretending to wrestle. All for show. Because you both know Bob is watching.

Eventually, the others join in, playful chaos erupting around you. And before long, you’re panting and breathless, dragging yourself back to shore, your cheeks and chest aching from laughter.

Everyone settles for a few minutes, drinking from their water bottles and trying to knock water from their ears. But then Jake stands up, football in hand and a wicked smirk on his lips, ready to commence Operation Bob’s Blue Balls – Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.

“All right, I’ll pick teams,” he announces.

Normally, this would cause an uproar. But since most of you are in on the plan, everyone just nods in agreement.

“Phoenix, Payback, Bob,” he says. “You’re with me. The rest of you are on Rooster’s team.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your hip—it would seem strange if you didn’t challenge Jake just a little. “Why are you two always team captains?”

He winks. “Because we’re the best.”

You roll your eyes and turn away, joining the huddle with your teammates as Bradley and Javy argue over what your game plan should be.

After a few minutes of strategizing, the game kicks off. You’ve never loved dog-fight football—not like some of the others—mostly because it can get a little rough. But today… it’s more than just a game. It’s a full-blown performance.

You hang back for a bit, letting Jake and Bradley rile each other up and fire up their teams. Bob is still shirtless, which is a tactical advantage he isn’t even aware of—because every time he has the ball, every time he runs or blocks or is just generally in your line of sight, your knees wobble.

You’ve nearly forgotten what you’re supposed to be doing when Reuben jumps in front of you and snags the ball before you can—thrown by a very disappointed-looking Javy.

“Getting tired, Sunny?” Reuben teases, his grin smug. “I’m just getting started.”

Right. The plan. Flirting. Banter. Teasing Bob.

You step closer, slowing the game down a touch as you stretch onto your toes and drop your voice—but not too low. “Tired? Please. I’m still waiting for you to make me sweat.”

There’s a beat where you worry Reuben might break, might laugh—high on adrenaline and endorphins.

But then Jake hollers, “Cut it out, you two! Save the dirty talk for the bedroom!”

And the game is back on.

The sun beats down mercilessly, making every flexed muscle shine, every drop of sweat slide in slow, glistening trails. The sand is hot beneath your feet, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building as you and Reuben turn the game into one of Bob’s personal nightmares.

You dart to the left, brushing past Reuben with a smug grin, your fingertips dragging across his chest like you’re checking his heart rate.

“C’mon, hotshot,” you tease. “You could try a little harder.”

He laughs—low and amused—but gives chase, throwing a hand around your waist as you pivot. It’s all too easy to make it look a little too intimate, a little too tight. He lifts you off the ground to ‘block’ your goal and your head falls back in a laugh that’s just shy of indecent.

And Bob sees everything.

You feel it—his stare like hot coals dragged across your skin. When you glance up between plays, he’s standing at the edge of the group, jaw tight, shoulders tense, hands flexing like they’re ready to throw a punch. His eyes follow your every move like he’s marking a target, and if looks could kill, Reuben would already be six feet under.

You catch a toss, and Reuben crashes into you to intercept, spinning you both until you fall together into the sand. You land side by side, giggling like idiots—some might even say lovesick idiots.

He pushes up first and grins down at you, tipping his head suggestively. “Need a hand?”

“Oh, I don’t mind being on my back,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

You take Reuben’s hand and let him haul you off the ground, pulling you into his body just a little more than necessary.

“Damn, Sunny,” Jake calls from the other side of the makeshift field. “Takin’ a few hits today. Hope it doesn’t affect your game.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you dust sand off your body like everyone else paid to watch. “You know I like it rough, Hangman.”

There’s a chorus of oohs and a whistle from Mickey, laughter rippling through the group.

Except Bob, of course. He’s suddenly very interested in the sand, eyes locked on the ground—even though his rigid posture is telling you everything you need to know.

The game revs up again, and after a few scuffles, you snag the ball off a fumbled toss and break into a sprint, cutting across the sand with laser focus. Reuben’s behind you, winded, and the others are tangled up with the second ball—leaving only one person standing in your way.

Bob.

“Stop her!” Jake shouts, too far behind to intercept.

Bob plants his feet like he’s ready to block—muscles tensing, arms coiled. It’s almost enough to distract you. But you’re feeling competitive. A little reckless. And you’re seconds from a goal.

He hesitates when your eyes lock, just long enough for your wicked grin to register as you blow past him and skid to a halt—well over the line.

Your team erupts into cheers behind you, and you throw your hands up, chest heaving as you catch your breath. When you turn back around, he’s still watching you—eyes wide.

You flash him a slow smile as you walk past, brushing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” you murmur. “I’ll go easy on you next time.”

After a breather and a drink of water, everyone lines up for another play. Jake and Bradley drop the footballs into the sand, crouched and ready. Jake turns his head your way and gives you a subtle nod.

This is it.

Your heart thunders behind your ribs as you sprint and block and laugh along with the others. The competition hasn’t cooled—everyone is still hungry. Even Bob has snapped into focus, finally playing like it matters instead of just standing there watching.

And for a moment, it is just fun. No schemes, no strategy. Just friends, shouting and stumbling and laughing too hard to score.

But then the ball is in your hands again—and it’s time.

Bob is on defence—Jake made sure of that. You just have to get past him again. Or at least… make it look like you’re trying.

You tear forward. Jake is already behind you, Natasha lunges and misses by a breath, and Reuben very dramatically wipes out in the sand.

It’s just Bob now.

He sets his stance, head tipped down in focus. He’s going to stop you this time. Poor thing. He has no idea that’s exactly the plan.

You charge, feet kicking up sand, heart in your throat. His eyes widen just a second before you collide—your body slamming into his with just enough force to topple you both.

The ball flies from your hand as you hit the sand hard, clutching at whatever you can—his shoulders, his arms, solid and warm beneath your grip. You spit sand from your mouth and sit up fast—only to freeze, breath caught in your throat.

You’re straddling him. Hips locked against his. Chest heaving. His hands on your waist.

You don’t move.

You’re both panting. The air between you buzzes like static, and everywhere your skin touches his feels sunburnt and alive. His blue eyes are locked on yours—wild and stunned. Bright enough to drown in.

Your chest rises and falls with ragged breath, but you stay put.

“Does this count?” you ask, voice low and rough with adrenaline.

His lips are parted, soft and pink, breath coming in short bursts. His curls are wild, tangled with sand, and his glasses—crooked from the fall—are still somehow on. He looks wrecked. Shattered. Like you’ve stolen every coherent thought out of his head. His gaze flickers—searching your face, desperate not to meet your eyes.

You lean in just a little.

“If anyone else looked at me like that, I’d probably kiss them,” you murmur, squeezing your thighs around his waist. Then you bring your mouth dangerously close to his ear. “But we can’t do that... right?”

His breath catches—and his eyes finally snap to yours.

They’re wide and stormy now, brows drawn tight. He doesn’t breathe. He just looks. His mouth parts a little further, and you can see it all happening behind his eyes—every thought, every realisation.

Everything falls into place—the flirting, the giggling, the deliberate touches, the stolen glances. All of it. You’ve been baiting him. This whole time.

Before you can say anything else—before you can blink or breathe—

He snaps.

He flips you, smooth and fast, moving your body like you weigh nothing. Suddenly, you’re on your back, pressed into the sand, and he’s the one on top—straddling you, his weight holding you down.

And the look in his eyes could burn the sky.

He leans in, gaze sweeping over your face—your lips, your eyes, the pulse at your throat. He watches it thrum, just for a second.

You’re frozen beneath him. Every nerve on fire. Every inch of your body sparking. Your lungs are screaming for air, but you don’t know how to breathe. You can’t think. You can barely feel anything except him.

His breath ghosts your lips as he whispers, “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

It’s not careful. It’s not sweet. It’s months of tension and stolen glances and aching want—every second of restraint finally unravelling in a dizzy, reckless crash. His mouth claims yours like he’s starving, like he’s waited too long and can’t wait another second.

His chest presses into yours, slick with sweat and dusted with sand, and you arch into it with a gasp. He groans against your mouth, a low, broken sound that feels like fire in your veins. You can feel every inch of him—solid and hot and so hard against your hip, unmistakable and unignorable.

You shift beneath him, dragging your leg up around his waist, just enough to tease. His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you deeper, hungrier, like the noise you just pulled from him unspooled something he can’t reel back in.

You claw at his back—muscles tense and trembling under your fingers—trying to pull him closer when there’s no space left between you. The kiss turns feverish, tongues sliding, lips parting in desperate sync. You’re panting into each other’s mouths, completely lost.

There’s sand in your hair, in your mouth, sticking to your sweat-slick skin, but none of it matters. All that matters is the way he moves against you, the way he feels—like every bit of control he’d been clinging to has shattered.

When he finally tears his mouth from yours, he doesn’t go far. His forehead drops to yours, both of you gasping. He’s pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, lips swollen, pupils blown.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice wrecked, “you’re gonna kill me.”

And the way he says it—like a confession, like a prayer—makes you want to do it all over again.

“YES!" Mickey shouts, loud enough for all of North Island to hear.

Your friends erupt into cheers and screams, laughter lacing their gleeful proclamations as they jump and dance just a few feet away.

“Well, fuck me,” Jake drawls. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You both slowly—reluctantly—turn your heads toward the noise.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Reuben mutters, grinning wide, eyes sparkling. “Phase Three actually worked.”

You’re still pinned beneath Bob as they all close in, every face lit up with smug satisfaction.

“You named it?” Bob asks, closing his eyes as his cheeks somehow grow even hotter.

“Oh yeah,” Mickey says, beaming with pride. “Operation Bob’s Blue Balls. Phase One was the run and the sleepover. Phase Two, Reuben. And this—” he gestures wildly at the two of you tangled in the sand, “this is Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.”

Bob makes a noise. Somewhere between a strangled groan and a whispered prayer for death.

“You planned this?” he rasps, forehead dropping against yours again like he might just burrow into the sand and disappear.

Reuben shrugs, all innocence. “Worked like a charm.”

“Honestly,” Natasha adds, “we were starting to think you’d never get there. So… you’re welcome.”

You bury your face in Bob’s shoulder, mortified. He’s burning up beneath your hands—still—and breathing like he just ran a mile with you on his back.

Jake snickers. “Glad we could help you two get laid.”

“We haven’t—!” Bob blurts, redder than a stop sign.

You slap a hand over his mouth, grinning wickedly now despite the embarrassment. “Yet.”

There’s a beat—a millisecond of silence—before they all burst out laughing again.

Mickey curls over, clutching his stomach. Reuben walks away, cackling with his head tipped back. Natasha mutters, “Jesus Christ,” but she’s definitely smirking, and Jake claps his hands once as he says, “God bless the U.S. Navy.”

Bob drops his face into the crook of your neck and groans again, muffled, “I hate all of you.”

“Even me?” you ask, voice soft and teasing.

He lifts his head, chuckling softly. “No. But for all that? You’re definitely still in trouble.”

You lick your lips. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

He sighs like you’re actively trying to kill him, then sits up and pushes to his feet—only to glance down at the massive bulge in his shorts, which looks borderline painful.

“Shit.”

You scramble up after him, stepping in close and pressing your body to his, barely able to contain your giggles as you shield him from the rest of the beach.

“Need a minute?” you tease, laughter lacing every word.

His eyes flash—dark, hungry. “You and I are gonna need more than a minute to deal with this.”

Heat floods your face and pools between your legs, thick and insistent.

“But,” he says, glancing toward the water, “I’m just gonna go for a quick swim.”

You nod, eyes wide and dreamy, watching him from beneath your lashes like an absolute idiot in love.

And he looks at you like you hung the sun. Like you’re everything. It’s enough to make your heart stutter and your pulse race. He has no business being this beautiful—this sinful—a perfect contradiction of sweetness and respect, with just enough hunger in him, just enough darkness, that you know you’ll be walking funny tomorrow.

And probably for the next few weeks while you learn how to handle his massive dick.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, a shy smile curling his lips. “You’re making it worse.”

Your jaw drops. “It gets bigger?”

He laughs, then leans in to press a kiss to your open mouth—chaste, but lingering. Like it physically pains him to pull away. But he does. And when he flashes you that boyish smile—equal parts sexy and shy—it knocks the breath out of you.

Then he turns and jogs toward the water.

It takes you more than a minute to remember how to move—how to function—but eventually, you manage to drag yourself back to the others, who are still laughing and chatting like the beach hasn’t just tilted sideways.

Natasha passes you your water bottle. “What’s Bob doing?”

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him ducking under a wave. A smile tugs at your lips.

“Cooling off.”

END.

5K notes · View notes

thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

Cherry Waves

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

Summary: 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.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.

Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.

Word Count: 14,094

You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.

Three soft taps.

So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.

You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.

But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W–What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

And then he kissed you again.

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

Hangman's Sister (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Y/N is Hangman's little sister - everyone on the Dagger Squad knows she's dating Bob, except for her big brother.

Warnings: mentions of PDA? Little bit of sass from Bob.

The Hard Deck is teaming with Naval personnel when you arrive in the early evening. The drive in gave you enough time to prepare for the onslaught of friendly greetings from the rest of the squad - your friends. Well, first and foremost they are your brother, Jake Seresin's, team and friends. Yet as Maverick's assistant, they welcomed you onto the team as if you were just another Lieutenant.

As it was technically your day off and the weather was overbearingly humid, you'd opted for a small blue summer dress, the colour coincidentally the same shade as your favourite Lieutenant's eyes. As you enter the bar, you make a beeline for Penny, grabbing a bottle of water from her as you ask her how the crowd has been so far. "Nothing too rowdy yet, but then again, Maverick hasn't shown up yet." You both chuckle at her remark before she points out the Dagger Squad over by the pool table. With a brief hug and a smile, you make your way over to the team.

"Hey, if it isn't little Seresin!" Fanboy makes your presence known as the rest of the squad cheer at your arrival. Bob's attention is immediately on you as he takes in how beautiful you look in your dress, smiling as you make your way around the team, greeting everyone with a brief hug - yet your eyes stay on him until you're standing in front of him.

Bob pulls you into a tight hug, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he does so - he's missed you.

"How's my favourite Weapons System Operator doing?" You make sure to hold onto him longer than everybody else, appreciating the feel of him holding you tightly.

"Better now you're here, beautiful." He never fails to make you giddy with his terms of affection. As you pull away, he presses a chaste kiss to your temple - eyes meeting as you move apart.

"Alright, Baby on Board, I think that's enough physical contact for you." The sound of your brother's voice automatically has you rolling your eyes as he pulls you into a headlock.

"Jake, don't be an asshole."

"Sorry Robert, I didn't mean to offend."

"And yet somehow, you always manage." You can't say you're not impressed at the snide remark comes from your boyfriend. The rest of the team, equally surprised at this comeback too. "You know maybe she likes the physical contact with me?"

The group fall silent at this next remark. Your heart thunders in your chest as you stare, shocked at Bob's face. There's a confidence there that you rarely see, but my God, you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

"What the hell did you just say?" All playfulness leaves Jake's voice as he lets you go, straightening his body to tower over Bob.

"You heard me, Bagman."

The tension in the Hard Deck is ridiculously thick, an uncomfortable silence slowly spreading throughout the bar. Without hesitation, you throw yourself between the two men, pressing yourself against Bob as he refuses to break eye contact with your brother. His arm immediately wraps itself around your waist, hand resting firmly on your waist, fingers deftly clinging to the material of your skirt. You lean into his touch, "Bobby, please. That's enough." Bob's gaze immediately turns to you, his forehead pressing against your own as he nods.

"M'sorry, darlin'." A small smile graces your lips as you savour the feel of his lips on your skin. All the while, Jake looks like he's going to combust.

"I'm sorry. Am I missing something here?" Both you and Bob chuckle, leaning into each other's touch as you turn to look at your older brother. The smile never leaving your face. With a sneaky glance to your boyfriend. " Do you want to tell him? Or should I?" A mischievous look passes over Bob's face as he moves his hand lower, gently resting it on the curve of your ass. "Nah, let him figure it out."

With arms wrapped around each other you, you giggle moving to pass your brother as he stares dumfounded, his brain trying to comprehend his little sister and Bob being together.

"C'mon Bagman, we thought you were smarter than this."

"Bobby!"

"Sorry, darlin."

**Author's Note: This isn't my best but I wanted to start writing for Bob because I can't get him out of my head...

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

Meeting the Missus pt.3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Wife! Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: The Team finds out Bob is married and wants to meet the missus.

Warnings: Reader is described very similarly to Rhea Ripley, Reader and Bob are very much in love, No mention of Y/N used, Southern Reader (she's like all southern ladies sweet like iced tea, but can knock you on your ass if she has too), Express mentions of reader and Bob's Child, Lemme know if I missed any.

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: This is the third part of 'Meeting the Missus'. I'm genuinely so surprised at how many of you are reading this; it makes my heart swoon. I hope everyone enjoys!

Heading to the cafeteria for lunch, as soon as Bob sits down, he’s surrounded by the rest of the squad. Phoenix on his right, Fanboy on the left, Rooster across from Bob, Hangman across from Phoenix, Payback across from Fanboy, and Coyote on the other side of Hangman. All of them leaning towards him as though they were high school kids waiting for the newest piece of gossip. Fanboy was almost completely pressed against Bob’s side as he started to unpack his leftovers from last night’s dinner.

“So are we going to get to try any of your Missus’ lovely food at this cookout that you mentioned yesterday?” Fanboy asked as he ogled the food that looked mouth-wateringly good. Bob hummed as he got up to reheat his food, like a pack of strays, the rest of the squad started to get up to follow him to the microwave.

“You will,” he said non-committedly as he put the food in the microwave and started it up. Looking up and seeing the team still surrounding him, he quirked up a brow, “Don’t y’all need to go get your own food?” Watching with an amused glint as the team seemed to realize they did not, in fact, have any food of their own to eat for lunch yet, and seemed to scatter to retrieve their respective meals.

Meeting back at their table, Bob was quietly typing on his phone and smiling fondly while waiting. Once everyone arrived, he stowed his phone into one of the pockets of his uniform. “Missus has decided that the cookout will be next Saturday, you will be expected to bring food or drink, you don’t have to bring both, but if you want to, you can to get in my wife's good graces.” He said after finishing the first bite of his lunch, letting out a low hum of satisfaction at the flavor.

“So what can we expect from this cookout? Will there be games? Any more munchkins besides yours?” Hangman asked as he started to dig into his food, Coyote nodding along beside him.

“Is it going to be similar to the one Riley talked about from when you were stationed at Lemoore?” Phoenix drew her attention to Bob as he thought of an answer to the questions.

Deciding to answer Hangman first, “There will be games, board games, and some digital. Maybe some dogfight football if we’re lucky. As for other kids, I’m not sure,” there might be some of Rileys friends, but that entirely depends on whether you wanted to host a sleepover, which wasn’t likely; your social battery would be pretty drained after having so many people over all day. “ We’ll likely be eating lunch around one-ish, do games for a little bit afterwards, then Riley’ll konk out for like an hour and a half for a nap, and then it’ll just be us adults for a while.” Turning to face Phoenix, he answers her question.

“Yes, and no, none of our relatives are going to be here this time, and her friends likely aren’t either. It’ll be the same in the sense that it’s essentially a party of sorts, but with y’all instead of our families.” He stated while continuing to eat his food.

“Ok, so for food, does anyone have any allergies that might have detrimental effects if said allergen is ingested?” Fanboy asked as he examined the group and turned back towards Bob. Nos and nope's flowed from everyone's mouths after pondering for a moment. “Great!” he exclaimed, shifting back towards his food.

“Sounds like we’ve all got an idea what to expect. What time should we be there?” Rooster asked.

“Shoot for around 12:30, that way Missus can have a time to have everything fresh and hot to go,” Bob stated.

After that conversation flowed as usual, talking about drills and other happenings going on throughout the base, and the day continued.

Before leaving, Maverick pulled Bob aside, “What’s this I hear about a cookout?” he inquires as he looks at Bob with curiosity.

“Oh,” Bob fumbles briefly, “My wife and I are hosting a cookout next weekend, and we invited the squad over. Are you interested in coming as well, Mav?” Bob asks, while twiddling his thumbs behind his back at the sudden inquiry about personal plans.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet your wife, whom I’ve heard so much about from Penny. Is Amelia welcome to come as well?” He asks as he looks at Bob’s face. Bob relaxes, remembering that you get along quite well with Penny and have been mentioning wanting to introduce her to Riley

“That sounds like a good idea, sir. I’ll make sure to let her know that you all are coming as well.” Turning to leave, Bob remembers that he needs to tell Maverick to bring food or a drink. “Sir, please, bring a drink or food dish with you, otherwise my wife may not let you into our home.” He smiles sheepishly before heading to the parking lot. Once in his car, he messages everyone your home address and the date and time to be there.

Arriving home followed a similar fashion as the day before, Bob was greeted first by Nuggs, who was eagerly awaiting pats, before almost being bulldozed by your second dog, Beans, who was significantly larger than Nuggs. Followed by a “Welcome home, Sweetheart,” being shouted from the direction of the kitchen.

“We’re still making dinner,” you say as Bob enters the kitchen to see you sprinkling cheese over a pizza. “How was work?” you ask as you grab the pizza stone to put it into the oven. Riley runs over to Bob and gives his legs a squeeze and a big grin at him before going into the living room, where he then proceeds to hear the opening of ‘Magic School Bus’ play in the background.

“Good, everyone has a vague idea of what to expect for next Saturday,” He says, coming up behind you and wrapping you up in his arms, and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mavrick heard about the cookout, I’m assuming Hangman and Rooseter were talking about it in the hangar,” He mumbles into your hair, as you hum as a response and turn to start cleaning up the kitchen while you wait for the pizza to cook, Bob clining to you like a koala all the way.

“Is he coming?” You ask as you continue to maneuver around the kitchen.

“Yeah, he asked if he, Penny, and Amelia could come. I told him yes, I figured you’d likely hear from Penny about what she plans on bringing,” he answered.

“Amelia's coming? That’s good, I wanted to meet her soon, plus I think she and Riley would get along quite well.” You finally finished cleaning up. Spinning around in Bob’s hold to lean him against the counter. You give him a kiss and a sweet smile.

“What do you plan on making for the cookout?” He asks, there's a teasing smile on his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle just around the edges.

“You’ll find out with everyone else.” You giggle as he starts to pout just a little bit.

“But I’m your husband!” He squawks indignantly, starting to gain a flush in his cheeks.

“And you’ll find out with everyone else,” giving him a mischievous smile, as reach your hands around him to place them right below his ass, and with a firm grip you hoist him up and over your shoulder and start to head to the living room where your daughter resides.

He lets out a harrumph and then proceeds to yell, “Riley, come save me! I’ve been captured by your mama!” Entering the living room, you hear a squeal from Riley followed by uncontrolled giggles, as she sees you with Bob slung over your shoulder.

“Da–Dad–Daddy,” giggles, interrupting her as she tried to speak, “I can’t help you, Mama’s too strong!”

“You Traitor!!” He yells in false devastation as he feigns going limp in your hold.

a/n: I swear we will actually get to the cookout in the next part, but I'm a sucker for buildup and domestic family fluff. Thank you for reading, and see you in the next part!!

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

I'm your Huckleberry [Bob Reynolds x female Thunderbolts!reader]

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x female thunderbolts!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Bob wants to surprise you with dinner but things go wrong, so the of you end up having a movie night instead (among other things xD)...

Rated: E for explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Requested? No

CW: angst (struggles with depression), fluff, half of this is smut MDNI ([are we even surprised at this point?] fingering, handjob, oral (female receiving), squirting, dry humping, unprotected piv (be responsible, peeps <3), denied orgasm, needy Bob (i kinda feel like, at this point, this is a given?)); as usual: mild spoiler warning for Thunderbolts*; second half of this is not beta-read...

Word count: 12.3k

[A/N: This took longer than expected, so...] feeback and reblogs appreciated!

You turned the water off and slid the glass screen open, stepping out of the shower. The cold air of the bathroom hit your body and made you regret not turning on the little space heater before. Quickly snatching the towel hanging on the rod next to the shower, you wrapped it around your body tightly before you wiped the condensation off the mirror to look at your reflection. The bruises from the last mission were gradually fading, turning all kinds of shades of brown, green and yellow, some still a little bluer than others. The tear in your bottom lip was slowly closing, the scab having come off during your shower, but there was still a faint pink line where the skin had split after the punch to your face. You had a few more wounds covering your body than before going on the mission, but you’d told yourself that they were nothing a few stitches and painkillers couldn’t fix.

The smell of burning food filled your nose and then there was a loud clattering sound, followed by Bob’s angry screams echoing from the kitchen.

You wrapped the towel tighter around your body and ran out of the bathroom, worried about what you’d find in the kitchen. When you reached the origin of the commotion, you looked around frantically, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. There were splatters of food all over the kitchen, pieces of pasta and sauce stuck to the cabinet fronts, the wall on the opposite side of the room, broken pieces of the baking dish with even more remnants of what Bob must have tried to cook.

And then you saw him… In the middle of it all was Bob, cowering on the floor, his hands in his hair, pulling at his locks. His gaze was fixed on the mess before him, and you could see him fighting the tears that had started to cloud his vision. He was muttering words to himself that you could barely make out, but by the tone you detected, you were sure they weren’t words of praise and appreciation. He was slowly rocking back and forth, his thumb coming up to his mouth before he started biting at the skin around his nail. He hadn’t heard you enter the room yet, too caught up in his own thoughts, and you were contemplating your next move, not wanting to scare him in this state.

“Are you okay, Bob? Did you hurt yourself?” you asked softly, approaching him one careful step at a time, trying to stay clear of any pieces of broken porcelain. When he looked up at you, his eyes flashed in a faint grey and then he closed them, shifting away from your approaching figure, his hand coming up to hide his face.

“I’m fine,” he sneered, his voice darker, rougher than he usually sounded, and then Bob cleared his throat. “I’m sorry… yes, I mean… No, I didn’t get hurt”, he amended, his voice softer this time but still hard-pressed as to stop from breaking.

You stepped over the broken dish on the floor, and crouched down next to him. Being closer to him now, you could hear parts of what he whispered to himself, making out “waste of space” and “only making everything worse”, and felt your heart breaking a little.

You’d seen him having an episode before several times by now, you’d hold him after waking up from a nightmare. But this seemed different. There was a dark air around him, his finger tips had started to turn black, the darkness slowly creeping up towards his palm. Bob didn’t seem to notice.

“Bob…”, you tried, putting your hand on his shoulder. He jerked away and you pulled your hand back, unsure of what to do.

“It’s okay. I don’t wanna hurt you, love,” you started again, and his eyes were on you again, anger pulling his features into a grimace. “What happened?”

The grip on his hair got harder, his knuckles turning white, and you went for his hand, putting yours on his and not letting go of it this time. You pried his fingers open carefully and then took his hand in yours fully, intertwining your fingers and inching closer to him.

“Talk to me, please,” you begged him and cupped his cheek when the tears started to run down his face. “I’m not mad at you, Bob. Please just talk to me?”

He leaned into your warm touch and closed his eyes for a second, more tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft whimper leaving his lips. He took a moment, trying to calm down his erratic breathing and turning his face into your hand to place a soft kiss to the inside of your palm. This had become somewhat of a habit of his whenever he felt overwhelmed. Once, he had told you that it helps him stay grounded in the moment, to realise that he wasn’t alone and that you were there. Your touch quieted his mind and kissing the inside of your hand was like using his mouth for good. His mouth wasn’t just for saying mean things about himself, it was also for peppering kisses on your skin, for worshipping you. For being close to you like no other person was.

“What happened?”

You searched his face, not sure what you were looking for but also scared that if you let him out of your sight, he’d disintegrate and be gone the next time you’d look at him. His locks were standing up at odd angles from him pulling at them and there were deep lines on his forehead. You couldn’t see much of his lower face with it hidden in the palm of your hand, but the left corner of his mouth was turned down, his chin quivering fighting back the sobs that were trying to come out.

“I burnt the lasagna,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear and when his eyes opened, they seemed to hold the pain of the entire world in them.

The blue in his eyes had turned dark and cloudy, the thick unshed tears lining his lower eyelids catching the cold light in the kitchen. You sighed softly, your heart breaking even more at the sight before you. He no longer looked like an adult but like a kid, standing in the door to his parents’ bedroom after waking up from a nightmare, begging them to let him sleep in their bed for the night.

“I wanted to surprise you… To make dinner for us, to make myself useful,” he went on, wiping his eyes and then the tip of his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You know, since I can’t help you guys on missions…” His bottom lip quivering and his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “And I fucked up…”

He sobbed loudly, covering his face with his forearms, falling backwards against the bottom cabinets with a loud thud. Bob’s head almost hit the drawer handles if you hadn’t let go of his hand and put yours out to lighten the blow.

“I’m sure, it’s not that bad, honey,” you offered, looking at the deeply burnt top of what you now recognised as the remnants of an attempt at lasagna. “I bet it would’ve still tasted worlds better than whatever Alexei cooks whenever it’s his turn.” You sat down next to him, then, stretching out your legs and pulling at the towel to readjust it a little.

“Man, I really do not know how he survived as long as he did on his own,” you added, a chuckle falling from your lips.

You shook your head at the thought of the last – absolutely disastrous – dinner extravaganza, as Alexei liked to call it. I make best food from my home country, like no other. He had a point with that. You were sure there was no one else cooking quite like that.

For a second you weren’t sure if you’d made Bob feel worse or not but when you looked over to him, you could see his shoulders bop up and down in laughter.

“Yeah, that… borscht was really something,” he agreed, sniffling into the sleeve of his sweatshirt again. There was the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips and when he looked at you for a second, you saw a glimpse of the man you were falling in love with. The kindness in his eyes and the softness of his features.

“Also, I think lasagna is like, really hard to master, you know? Sometimes, you just burn the lasagna, babe. I’ve tried soooo many times and I can never seem to get it quite right, either.” you poked his side playfully and his shoulders slumped a little again.

“But I made a mess… Not just making it,” he said sorrowfully, looking around at the state of the kitchen.

There were cans of tomato puree stacking in the sink next to pots and pans, the cutting board still on the counter, the knife precariously close to the edge.

“I was just checking something in my room when I realised that I had forgotten to set a timer… God, how stupid am I to have completely forgotten about setting a god damn timer?!”

“Honey, that happens to the best of us.” you smiled at him and wiped away his tears, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Have I told you about the time I almost burned down my apartment back in D.C. because I accidentally turned on the wrong stove top and left my kitchen towel on it?”

This earned you another small laugh from him and you smiled proudly at being able to elicit this beautiful sound from him.

“Look at you, smiling again. God, I love it when you smile.” You poked his cheek and grinned at him, the air around you feeling a little lighter already.

His cheeks turned pink, and he chuckled a little, quickly averting his gaze and running his fingers through the locks that had fallen into his face. Then, his shoulders slumped and he started playing with the soaked cuff of his sweatshirt, pulling it over his fingers and letting go again and again. “I’m sorry, [y/n].”

“What for?” you asked and took his hand again.

“For being such a mess.” He looked at you with an unsure look on his face, shrugging his shoulders and scratching the back of his head, more tears rushing into his eyes. “You deserve to be with someone who has his shit together…”

“We’re all a mess sometimes, Bob. That’s part of being human,” you told him, intertwining your fingers with his and putting your head on his shoulder, caressing the back of his hand gently. “You’re allowed to be a mess, and it’s ok to make mistakes, sweetheart.”

“But I…” you could hear his voice break again, his shoulder starting to shake underneath your head a little. “I make so many mistakes,” he sobbed, his eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown before continuing: “I just waste everybody’s time… Yours most of all…”

Pulling back a little to get a better look at him, you shook your head vigorously in disagreement to his statement.

“Bob, you’re not wasting anybody’s time.”

You made to stand up and pulled him up with you before wrapping your arms around him into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around your body instinctively, digging into the soft fabric of the towel still wrapped around your body, and he put his head on top of yours and turned it sideways a little.

“I am so glad to have met you in the Vault that day,” you mumbled into the embrace, turning your head to make it easier for him to hear your words.

“While I feel a lot of hate for Valentina and everything she has done to us… I will forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe put you in that box in the vault with us.”

“You don’t mean that, surely,” he grumbled, the disbelief in his voice prominent, and his grip on the towel loosening when he pulled away from you again.

“No, I do,” you assured him, your gaze not leaving his. “I really am so incredibly thankful to have you in my life and to be with you every single day.”

Bob didn’t say anything to that, just gulped and then looked down at the floor again, kicking his foot at an imagined rock.

“You know what? I’ll put on some clothes real quick,” you started and then looked around the room. “And then we, uhm, order some pizza and clean up a little in the meantime. How about a movie-night after?”

He bit down on his lip to calm down and then shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to do than to spend your evening with me?” He was playing with his sleeves again and you quickly took his hands, angling your face and making him look at you.

“What in the world could be better than spending the evening with my incredibly hot boyfriend? While everyone else is gone on a mission? Better than watching a film and eating some tasty pizza? Maybe even getting some cuddles in?”

You smirked at him, caressing the back of his hands with your thumbs.

“I think I’ll take cuddling with you on the couch any day,” you added and then got up on our tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips.

He melted against you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer, one of his hands buried in your wet hair and the other placed on the small of your back. You grabbed a hold of his shirt and held onto the back of his neck, trying to get more stable. He noticed, his right hand leaving its place in your hair and, with the other hand, moving down over your ass to grab the back of your thighs. Bob picked you up and then broke the kiss for a second, making sure he was putting you down on a clear spot on the counter before continuing to kiss you hungrily. You wrapped your legs around his hips and pressed up to him, your fingers playing with the locks at the back of his head.

His fingers danced up the side of your thigh and moved up under the towel to rest on your naked hip. His soft touch sent sparks up your spine, and you could feel your body reacting to him with that familiar, warm glow in your core. You ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip and Bob moaned softly, giving you access to his mouth. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and met his, dancing with it masterfully. Then, Bob’s right hand moved up the side of your body to where you had tied the towel around your frame, and he pulled the fabric from the fold, making the towel drop and pool around your hips. Bob broke from the kiss, looking down at your naked form. At how your back was arching into his torso, your tits perky and nipples hardening from the sudden loss of protection from the cold air.

“Oh, god…” He bit down on his bottom lip and then met your eyes again. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Now, it was your turn to blush, still not entirely used to having him look at you like that. His eyes darkened with lust and his kiss bitten lips a little fuller. His locks standing up at odd angles from your fingers running through them. His lips parted, shallow breaths flowing in and out while he took you in. There was something so primal, yet so loving in the way his eyes drifted over your figure. Like he wanted to burn the image of your naked form into the inside of his eyelids, to have it there whenever he closed his eyes.

“How do I deserve you?” He asked, running his fingers over your clavicle and down your breast, his hand cupping it while the pad of his thumb brushed over your pebbled nipple.

“Because you’re a good person, Bob,” you breathed, your mind a little hazy from making out and from his hand on your breast. Your hand went up to his cheek and you caressed the soft skin, brushing away a lonely tear. “Because you deserve to be loved.”

You ran the heel of your foot up the back of his leg and moved in closer, placing your lips on the slope of his neck, peppering the skin with kisses. You stayed at his pulse point, sucking on his delicate flesh, your tongue darting out and over the spot every now and again. Knowing there would be a bruise if you kept going, you stopped and brushed your fingertips over the spot in soothing circles.

“You deserve all the good things in life, my love,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear, and nibbled on his earlobe playfully.

His grip on your breast got a little tighter, when your hand ran up the front of his leg and then over his growing bulge, a low whimper escaping his parted lips. Your hands did quick work, grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pushing it up his torso before pulling it over his head. You dropped it onto the floor and then your nails dug into his skin on their way down his chest, appreciating the rise and fall of his abs flexing under your touch.

“[y/n], we should probably clean the kitchen before we…” He shook his head, trying to free his mind of the thickening fog of lust and cleared his throat but his hips betrayed him when they bucked into your touch squeezing his growing erection through the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Why clean up a mess if we’re just gonna make another,” you purred, your lips parted and lids hooded. There was no innocence left in your words anymore.

You met his gaze once more and bit on your bottom lip, your hand undoing the little bow he had tied the string of his sweatpants into. You pushed down his sweatpants, the fabric pooling around his ankles, and then placed your hands on his still covered asscheeks, squeezing them a little.

His jaw dropped, surprise and eagerness playing at his features, and he could only nod in agreement, before you kissed him again. The kiss was hungry. Tongues meeting like the waves crashing into the rocks during a storm. Lips bitten. Hands roaming the other’s body. Your fingers slipped into the front of his boxer briefs and a harsh gasp fell from his lips when your hand ran down his length and then cupped his balls. Bob’s lips left yours as his head fell back, his right hands gripping the edge of the countertop tightly. You played with them for a second before moving back to his dick, wrapping your hand around it and pumping it up and down slowly.

“Fuck, baby…” His head fell to your shoulder, eyes closing tightly, while his left hand danced up the side of your right thigh. Your thumb swiped over the tip of his dick, sticky precum clinging to the pad of your finger. Bob’s fingertips pressed into your flesh, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, a muffled but guttural groan escaping him at how delicious your touch felt.

“You like that, love?” You wrapped your fingers around his chin and made him look at you through his lashes, pleasure pulling his eyebrows together and his bottom lip between his teeth. He whined, grinding his hips into your hand, and his eyes rolled back when you let go of his chin and slipped your hand into his boxers to work on his balls again.

“Touch me,” you begged, your lips at his clavicle. Your tongue ran up the curve of his throat and you placed a few kisses along the underside of his throat before moving on to his lips again. Kissing you back hungrily, Bob’s hand left its place on the edge of the countertop and moved to your left hip, angling you back to gain more access to your pussy.

His fingers slipped over your thigh and ran up the inside, slowly, tentatively, knowing exactly what he was doing. Your breath hitched when the tip of his finger dipped against your clit, lazily pushing apart your folds and he smirked against your lips, feeling the slickness pooling between your legs.

“So wet… Just for me. And I haven’t even done anything yet,” His voice was barely louder than a whisper against your lips, but the lustful darkness vibrated through you, adding to your arousal. The ball of his thumb brushed against your clit as his finger slid further through your folds and slipped into you. Bob curled his finger on the way out and you could hear a wet squelch when he pushed his appendage back into you. “God, listen to you.”

After a few more slow thrusts of his finger, he pulled out and worked on getting another finger covered in your arousal. Your hands were still working on him and you could tell that he was trying to fight his orgasm, his breaths shallow and deep concentration making lines on his forehead appear. His hips were moving with your hands, the precum leaking out of him helping with making your hand slip up and down his member more easily. But then he stilled, the fingers on your hip digging into your flesh firmly, and a deep moan fell from his lips as his head fell back. Looking down at where your hands dipped into his boxers, you saw the petrol fabric darken as his climax overtook him. His cum flowed over your hand, seeping in between your fingers and you kept pumping your hand up and down, purring into his ear about how much you loved seeing him cum. See the wave of pleasure wash over his face in furrowed brows and his jaw going slack. Hearing the string of curses fall from his parted lips like a prayer to the goddess that you are.

He kissed you hungrily and just as his tongue slipped into your mouth, he pushed two of his fingers into you quickly and knuckles-deep. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to the way his fingers filled you, just pulled them back out and curled them, brushing up into that spot that has you seeing stars, before thrusting them back into you. The pad of his palm brushed against your clit and you whined into the kiss, the sensation of him touching you like that too good to be true. The noises filling the kitchen were obscene and you were thanking the gods that you had the Tower to yourself when his name fell from your lips.

“You say my name so sweetly, love. Makes me go crazy every time,” he groaned, his breath hot against your ear.

His lips connected with your pulse point, and Bob sucked on your skin, the sweet sting clouding your mind. He sank his teeth into your neck and then licked over the sore spot. You whined wistfully when he broke away from you and dropped to his knees, your sticky hands running over his chest. He pulled you closer to the edge of the countertop, your hips practically hanging in mid-air, and then wrapped your legs around his neck, telling you to lean back on your elbows before burrowing his head between your legs.

Eating you out was his favourite way to worship you. Feeling your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands when his tongue brushed over your clit in that way that had you calling out his name. Tasting you on his tongue, sweet and salty and so delicious he’d tell people the taste of you was his favourite. Feeling your thighs strain against his head, quivering from your climax cursing through your body. Covering his hand in a mixture of his own spit and your arousal while pumping his fingers in and out of your slick pussy.

This time was no different. His eyes were fixed on you as the tip of his tongue ran through your folds, watching your chest rise and fall quickly, your head fallen back, mouth hanging open with quiet moans on your lips. Bob put his lips on your clit, sucking on it gingerly, and let his fingers slip back into you. Your fingers ran through his hair and buried themselves at the back of his head, as you already felt the familiar knot tighten in your lower stomach. You grinded your hips into his face and he chuckled at how eager you were, the vibrations of his voice pulsing through your core and right up your spine.

“Oh, fuck, Bob. You feel so good,” you exclaimed when he’d found the perfect pace for his fingers to move inside of you, eliciting obscene moans from you with every thrust of his middle and ring finger. Your mind was getting fuzzy around the edges and your eyes rolled back, feeling him push you closer to the edge with every swipe of his tongue against your sensitive clit and every brush of his fingers against your g-spot. You could feel the pressure building deep inside of you and chuckled, your head spinning with pleasure.

“Come for me, baby. Be a good girl,” he coaxed, pushing his fingers in even deeper, and lapped at you, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit.

“Oh, Bob, yeah, right there,” you cried and felt the knot burst in your core. Your orgasm washed over you and with it came a release you’d never felt before, your juices squirting out of you and covering his hand and mouth. Your thighs clamped around his head and you arched your back, pleasure raining down on you and washing the last bit of composure away. He hummed against you, making sure to get every last drop of you, and rode out your climax, his fingers slipping in and out masterfully.

Laying down on the cold countertop, you put your arm over your eyes and tried to catch your breath, chuckling in absolute awe of just how good Bob had made you feel a moment ago. He pulled away from you and you looked at him from under your arm, a big grin on your lips as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was a dark glimmer in his eyes and he licked over his lips as he brushed his hands off on his briefs.

“Fuck, babe… I think I need a shower before we clean up the kitchen.” His thumb ran over his bottom lip and he scratched the back of his head, looking at how you were lying on top of the counter, your legs still spread and dangling over the edge, your pussy glistening. “Wanna join me?”

His fingers danced up the inside of your leg and he kissed you softly when you pushed up on your elbows. His arm wrapped around your back and rested on the small of your back, pulling your chest into his. Your arms snaked around his neck, knowing that he’d hold your weight, as your legs wrapped around his waist, hooking in the back.

“Ready?” he asked against your lips and held onto your leg with his free hand. You nodded, pulling from the kiss, and put your head on his shoulder, turning your head to have your face burrowed in the crook of his neck. You could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs feeling weak. “Here we go, babe. Hold on tight.”

You cuddled up to him tightly and he picked you up from the countertop, grabbing your towel before making his way out of the kitchen.

~~~

Bob set you down on the bathroom floor carefully, his hand on the small of your back while you took a second to find your footing. He, then, ran his hands through your hair and leaned down, kissing you softly, a small smile playing on his lips. It was the softest of kisses, innocent and almost endearing in the way his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the freckles dusted there. The swipe of his tongue was tentative, shy even, asking for permission to slip into your mouth rather than a demand. Your tongues danced together for a moment, before he pulled away from you again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Hey.” His eyes wandered over your features and then Bob smiled at you lovingly, soft lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“Hi,” you chuckled at him and felt your face split in a big grin.

You looked at each other for a second then, basking in the intimacy of the moment. You looked at the locks curling at his temples, at the way his head turned into your hand when it came to rest on his cheek, at the sparkle in his blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt like you were sixteen again. In love for the first time in your life.

“I love you,” he mumbled and pushed a lock of hair behind your ear.

It was the first time any of you had said it. And it sounded like it was the easiest thing he’d ever said. Like he’d said it a thousand times before. And he had. He had said it over and over in his head. Every time he caught a glance of you from across the room. When he heard you laugh at something Yelena had said. But especially when it was you who was telling the team about something you thought was funny and your face would split into a grin before you even got to the best part and how you would try to keep going, saying whatever it was you wanted to say between heaps of laughter. The words had rolled off his tongue so smoothly like they were made especially for him to say. Like it was second nature. And they set a fire ablaze inside your chest. A fire that quickly consumed all of you, heat rolling over your arms and legs, sending butterflies to your stomach and you felt your cheeks heat.

“God, I love you so much and I just needed you to know that,” he blurted out and then gulped at your surprised face. You didn’t know what to say, all words blown from your brain, the rushing of your blood everything you could hear. You had hoped to hear him say these words just as many times as you wanted to tell them to him and now that he had said them, you were so blown away and flustered that you couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

His face fell when you didn’t reply, and he took a tentative step back, suddenly feeling the need to cover himself. His eyes fell to the tiled floor between you and then he ran his hand over his face, while you tried to work through the pure disbelief.

“But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, you know,” he muttered, turning away from you and looking for his bathrobe hanging on a peg on the wall.

“No, Bob. It’s not that…” You walked up to him, putting your hands on his arm and his cheek, making him look at you again. He tried to avert his gaze but when his eyes met yours, you could see that there were tears forming and on the verge of rolling down his cheek.

“It’s not that I don’t feel the same,” you started and smiled at him encouragingly. “I love you, too. So much.” Your thumb brushed away the lonely tear that had escaped and you kissed him gently. “You just kinda took me by surprise, right there.”

“You do?” he asked, his voice so low and haunted that it sent a pain right through your heart. His eyes flitted around the room but then met yours again and you nodded, your eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“I do. And I will make it my life’s mission to make you feel loved everyday,” you promised and he took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening out a bit. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love, Bob.”

“Oh, don’t go quoting Adele on me, babe,” he laughed and your heart grew lighter at hearing your favourite sound. He wrapped his arms around you and spun you around, earning himself a highpitched squeal from you. You clung to him, laughing wholeheartedly at the butterflies in your stomach, and buried your head in the crook of his neck. He walked over to the shower and when you heard the water turn on, you looked at him, your eyes wide with suspicion.

“Bob, no! My hair, please, I’ve just washed them…” You tried your best to get out of his arms, kicking your feet and squirming. “And you’re still in your boxers! Don’t you dare,” you begged and his face split into a big grin, before he stepped into the shower, the cold water raining down on the two of you. You let out a shriek and slipped down his body, pulling at his torso and trying to get him to shield you from the cold. “God, you are so evil. It’s so cold.”

You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, trying to get as far away from the stream of water as possible, and swatted at his arms when he tried to pull you back to him.

“No, turn on the warm water first,” you told him, pointing your finger at the tap, while the water was running down his face and body, his drenched locks sticking to his forehead. He pouted at you playfully and then sighed dramatically, mumbling a ‘you don’t love me anymore, be honest’ under his breath.

“Yes, I do. But look, your boxers are all soaked now.”

“Well, they already were before, so…” He shrugged and then bent down, pulling his sodden boxers off and tossing them into the other corner of the shower, before putting his arms out by his side and presenting himself to you for a second. “Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, and turned to switch the warm water on.

You let your eyes travel over his body, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and nodding half-aware, a quiet ‘yeah’ leaving your mouth. Turning back towards you with a confident smirk on his face, he brushed the hair from his face and motioned for you to come over to him. You obliged, stepping up to him again, and followed a bead of water down his torso with your finger.

“Can I wash your hair?” you asked under your breath, your eyes flicking up to him under your lashes and he cocked his head, an amused look on his face.

“Your wish is my command,” he accepted and turned around, bending over to get the bottle of shampoo that rested on the tiled step in the corner. Taking the chance, you slapped his ass, a surprised chuckle leaving his lips as his hand moved to the tap and he accidentally cut off the warm water. Ice cold water flooded from the overhead shower and directly onto you and you screamed as he turned back to you.

“Oops, guess I turned off the warm water. My bad,” he laughed and wrapped his arms around you, pushing you to the tiled wall. He kissed you in between chuckles and you swatted at his arm, your body shivering from the sudden change in temperature.

“Asshat,” you muttered under your breath and glared at him, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Oh, and you love it,” he purred into your ear while his hand trailed up your leg and up your side.

“I’m starting to regret it,” you lied, a playful tone in your voice, as you tried to grab the shampoo bottle from his hand.

Bob stepped away from you, his arm in the air, and pushed his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “Take that back,” he cried out in fake-shock and held out his hand to keep you away from him. You looked at him for a second and then intertwined your fingers with those of his outstretched hand.

“Ok, I’m sorry, I would never regret loving you, Bob.” You tugged on his hand and asked him to come back to you.

“No, I don’t believe you.” He turned up his face and fought the smile daring to split his lips.

“Do you want me to get on my knees and prove it to you?” you asked and started to drop down, his eyes watching you closely. You could see him debating his choices for a second, trying to keep his face hard but then he smirked, a puff of air leaving his flared nostrils.

“No, it’s ok, I believe you.” He grabbed your elbow and pushed you up on your feet, handing you the bottle of shampoo before turning off the water altogether. “We’ve got enough time for that later.”

You took the bottle of shampoo from his hand and squirted some product into your hand while he got on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you with bright eyes and a loving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, wrapping his hands around your thighs to get a bit more stability. After putting the bottle aside and rubbing your hands together for a second to build up some lather, you buried your fingers in his wet hair and started massaging his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut at the soothing touch and you bent down to his face, pecking his lips, your fingers still working on spreading the shampoo in his hair.

“Ok, I think you’ll have to wash my hair from now on, babe,” he said, a satisfied hum following suit as you found a particular good spot. You let your fingers stay there a little longer, drawing circles on his scalp, and then ran your hand through his ends, excess foam dropping to the floor with wet splatters. Brushing off some foam from his brows, you placed kisses over his face, starting at his forehead and then moving on to his closed eyes. When you’d reached his lips, you kissed him softly before pulling away from him and getting the hand shower. Bob looked at you from the corner of his eyes, a thick swoop of foamy hair on his head and the softest gaze in his eyes, as you turned on the water again and held your hand into the stream, making sure it was neither too hot nor cold.

“Close your eyes and put your head back,” you instructed and stepped behind him, holding his head gently. “Tell me if the water is too hot, ok?” You moved the shower head over his hair and ran your fingers through his locks, making sure to get everywhere.

“This feels nice,” he mused and put his thumb up.

When you’d finished washing out his shampoo, you took the bottle of conditioner that stood next to his shampoo and went on repeating the same process you’d just worked through with the shampoo.

“Ok, so, we should probably leave this stuff in before washing it out,” you explained, looking at the back of his conditioner, while scrunching his hair a few times.

“Can I get up from my knees?” he asked and opened one eye cautiously, his hands resting on the small of your back for balance.

You nodded, putting the bottle aside, and washed the residual conditioner off your hands while he was getting back up on his feet next to you. Your eyes followed his body and you smiled to yourself.

“Like what you see, hm,” he teased and turned from side to side, offering you the whole view and you rolled your eyes at his antics, chuckling softly.

“Would it be so bad if I said that I do?” you asked him, running your fingers over his jaw and pulling him down to kiss him. Bob shook his head against your lips and deepened this kiss, one of his hands cupping your cheek while the other rested against the wall behind you. You pawed at him, pulling him closer, and moaned into the kiss when he pressed you up against the wall. You hooked your leg around his and he slipped his tongue past your lips, while the hand on your cheek moved down your body, his fingers loosely following the drops of water running down your figure. Your hips rolled into his and you let your hand run up his other thigh, testing the limits.

“How long do we have to leave this stuff in because… uh, I don’t know if I can stop if you keep going, babe,” he panted, out of breath from the last kiss, and rested his forehead against yours. His eyes had darkened with lust and you knew he was serious because you felt his dick growing hard against the inside of your thigh.

“Uh, I think it should be fine to wash out by now,” you stumbled and nodded, a little light-headed yourself. You ran your hand through your hair and tried to suppress the urge to grind into him again, your eyes travelling down his chest and to where your hips met his.

“I’m begging you, stop looking at me like that or I will have to take you right here,” he whined desperately, holding your hips tightly to keep them from moving. His eyes flitted to your lips, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and then you closed your lips around his finger, sucking on the fingertip a little. His eyes closing tightly, he shook his head and sighed: “Please, I don’t wanna risk breaking your neck slipping on these tiles.”

You let go of his thumb and it slipped out of your mouth again with a popping sound. Your leg slid from around his hip and you made to stand up straight again, the corners of your mouth dropping slightly.

“God, you’re gonna make me regret trying to be the responsible one for once…”, he sighed, and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a second. “Let’s make a deal, babe…” He pulled away from you and grabbed the hand shower. “We’ll finish up here and then clean the kitchen real quick…” He thought about how he’d go on for a second, turning on the water and waiting for it to heat up to the right temperature. “And then, we can go back to what we were doing? Unless you really wanna watch that movie. Whatever movie.”

You pursed your lips, considering his offer for a moment and then sighed, crossing your arms in fake-protest. “Fine,” you muttered disgruntledly and added: “I guess that works, too.”

He watched you for a second, before grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. Bob squeezed your hand a little, getting you to look in his eyes, and he smiled softly.

“Hey, I love you.”

Your features softened and you cocked your head, a smirk on your lips.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

~~~

You were just drying your hair with one of Bob’s towels when he popped his head in from the bedroom. Your gaze met his through the mirror and you stopped for a second, a smile on your lips.

“Wanna borrow one of my shirts or should I get you something from your closet?”

He had put on some clean sweatpants and a sleeveless top, his broad and muscular shoulders on display. His hair was still a little damp from your shared shower, curling at the ends beautifully.

“I wouldn’t mind borrowing one of your shirts. Oh, and maybe one of your boxers?”

He nodded and then vanished in his bedroom for a second, before returning with a stack of his clothes. Bob walked over to you and set the folded clothes onto the vanity next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded and tugged at his shirt when he turned to leave for the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to you, an expectant look on his face.

“I’ll get started on tidying up the kitchen, come and join me when you’re done, ok?”

“Kiss me?” you asked and pouted at him with big puppy dog eyes. His face brightened and he leaned down, cupping your cheek and kissing you gently. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kept him there, deepening the kiss. The hand resting on your waist slipped down your side and stopped on the back of your thigh, Bob’s other hand moving between your shoulderblades before he tipped you back swiftly. You held onto him and chuckled into the kiss, your heart skipping a beat. When he put you back on your feet, you ran your fingers through his hair and then put your hand on his cheek, your cheeks burning brightly.

“Was that good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, a little out of breath, and nodded your head. “That was a good one, love.”

He saluted you and then turned to the bathroom door before marching off.

~~~

“You’ve got everything?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at Bob who was holding two glasses, a supersized bottle of coke and a bag of buttery microwave popcorn. He nodded after checking again, and then you turned off the lights to the kitchen with your elbow, balancing two giant boxes of pizza in one hand, while the other held onto packets of peanut M&Ms and sour patch kids. Trying your best to not let the top box slide off the other, you made your way over to the living room and put the pizza boxes and snacks on the coffee table.

“What do you wanna watch?” You looked up to Bob, taking the bag of Popcorn and plopping down on the couch.

“I’m open to whatever you suggest as long as I can cuddle with you.” He sat down next to you and slung his arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple gently. You leaned over, getting the folded throw blanket, and put it over your and Bob’s legs before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

“Oh, you know what I haven’t watched in forever?” Your eyes went wide and you looked at Bob with an excited grin on your face. He cocked his head, asking you to enlighten him, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.

“Tombstone.”

“That Western from the ‘90s?” he asked, a chuckle falling from his lips, while he bent forward to get a slice of pizza.

“You mean ‘that absolutely iconic Western from the ‘90s’? Yes, exactly that one!” You nodded enthusiastically and looked the film up. “Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday is simply something else!” You looked at him looking at you and your smile faltered a little. “But… we don’t have to watch Tombstone if you don’t wanna.”

Bob shook his head and grabbed your hand to kiss the back of it. His eyes turned soft and he intertwined his fingers with his.

“Oh, no, babe. Like I said, I’m down.” He slumped against the backrest again and took a bite from the slice of pizza. “I just love when you’re excited about something,” he told you in between chews, his free hand covering his mouth. “Whenever you get really excited about something, your eyes sparkle and then that dimple pops on your cheek and…” He leaned over and ran his thumb over your cheek, his eyes falling to your lips, before he added: “Man, I love you so much.”

He kissed you passionately, dragging you closer, and you put your hand on his chest. His muscles flexed under your touch and Bob pulled you into his lap, the blanket slipping off of your legs straddling his hips. Your fingers were in his hair, tugging at his locks, as his hand slid up your naked thigh. His palm stopped on the small of your back, his other hand still cupping your cheek, keeping you close to him. In the background, the intro to Tombstone started playing, setting the scene for the plot but you didn’t catch a word of it. Too lost to the way Bob’s lips felt against yours. How his tongue would dart over your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. How his fingers felt against your scalp and poring over your back. How your chest brushed up against his when you took a deep breath mid-kiss.

When the cowboys started shooting up the wedding, you pulled away from him, breathless and your mind a little hazy. You slipped off of his lap, throwing your legs over his lap, and then leaned over to get one of the pizza boxes. Putting the cardboard box in your lap, you picked up a slice and handed it to Bob, whose eyes had followed you the whole time.

“What?” you asked, biting off the tip of the slice you’d grabbed for yourself a second ago, squinting at the TV screen from the corner of your mouth.

“You really went back to watching the movie, just like that,” he chuckled and took a bite of his slice of pizza.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss the entire beginning. Let’s try and make it at least through the first 40 minutes.” You finished the first slice of pizza, suddenly realising how hungry you were, and picked up another one, guiding the sloping tip into your mouth with your other hand. By your side, Bob’s jaw tensed while he readjusted the way your feet rested on his right thigh, trying to hide the fact that it wasn’t the pizza he wanted to taste. What he didn’t know, however, was that he wasn’t the only one who was left insatiated after what had happened in the kitchen and then almost happened in the shower…

You didn’t quite make it through the first 40 minutes of the film. You really tried, your eyes glued to the TV screen while you watched Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday reunite in the titular town. When the two of you had finished the first pizza just as Josie Marcus and Mr. Fabian got into town, Bob took the empty cardboard box from off your lap and put it aside, his fingers dancing up your legs. A few minutes before, he’d started drawing loose patterns on your skin, his eyes flickering from the TV screen to you. Every now and again, his gaze would stay on you for a little while, mesmerised by the way your lips moved as you recited the dialogue. By the way the corners of your mouth would bop up and down a little in a silent chuckle when one of the Earps or Doc said something funny. Every so often, he’d shift in his seat a little or exhale a little harder, a whine falling from his lips. When you felt his eyes stay on you longer than before, you glanced at him, his eyes still glued to your lips and his bottom lip between his front teeth.

“Bob, you’re not even trying,” you laughed and threw a pillow at his head. He caught it easily and put it aside, a smirk on his lips while his eyes never left yours.

“Well, who can blame me when the most beautiful woman sits next to me and we’ve got the whole tower to ourselves?”

He moved quickly and trapped you beneath him, his arms next to your head while he tried to not put all of his weight on you. Bob shifted a little, his hips slotting between your spreading legs, and then he dropped his head to your neck, blocking your view of the TV. He started placing kisses all over your throat and the slope of your neck, his hand running up your side underneath your shirt. Your arms snaked around his torso, one hand burying in his hair while the other moved down his lower back. You let out a moan when Bob cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. The soft squeeze sent shocks down your spine and your back arched into his touch, begging him to keep going.

“And seeing you in my clothes, too,” he purred into your ear, his voice darker than a second before. “You know, this is torture…”

His hips rolled into yours and you gasped, feeling his erection rub up against your core. Bob looked at you, his blown pupils filled with lust, and then he kissed you hungrily. The kiss was messy, lips crashing into each other, teeth clinking softly as your tongues pushed through them. His hand was on your jaw while his hips grinded into you, a meek whimper leaving his mouth.

“God, watching you mumble the lines under your breath has me wanting to make you forget every word you’ve ever known,” he told you, no hesitation in his voice. Bob pulled away from the kiss and you weren’t surprised to see his eyes glimmer golden for just a split second. His words knocked the breath right out of you, your jaw dropping slightly as heat rushed up your neck. You could feel the arousal pool between your legs as his hips continued rolling into you, the friction of the layers of fabric against your clit adding to the pressure that was slowly building in your core. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you rolled your hips against his, meeting his movements perfectly.

“You like that, baby?” He asked, his lips brushing against your ear lobe. There was something animalistic in the way he had uttered the words, a deep growl in the back of his throat. You just nodded, your breath caught in your windpipe while his hand travelled down your side again, hitching your leg higher.

“Bob, feels so good,” you whimpered, feeling the first sparks of your nearing orgasm shoot up the base of your spine with every time his clothed erection brushed against you.

“You know, I thought I’d get used to just how badly I want you… That this constant need to feel you, to taste you would just… get better with time…” He held onto your jaw, making you look at him while the words left his mouth, his hips rolling against your clit with every thrust. “But it just gets worse every day,” he added, his eyebrows pulling together in pleasure. His jaw went slack and he stopped for a moment, his grip on your chin growing stronger. “This isn’t working…”

He pulled away from you, running his hand through his hair. You pushed up on your elbows and looked at him confused, your eyebrows raising in silent questions.

“What do you mean ‘this isn’t working’?”, you asked, your eyes wandering over his body and then staying on his face, trying to find any signs of what had just happened to make him change his mind.

“I… I can’t do this… Not again,” He bit down on his lip, not in a lustful way but with a nervous edge. He started fidgeting, his fingernail scratching at the skin on the side of his thumb, his other hand adjusting the way his briefs and sweatpants sat on him.

“Bob, you’re scaring me, a little… Did I do something wrong?” You sat up, your hands coming up to him, one trying to stop his left hand from fidgeting while the other cupped his cheek.

“No, you didn’t do anything, love.” When you made him meet your eyes, you could see that the self-assured glimmer in his eyes was gone, replaced by sheepishness. His left thumb came up to his mouth and he nibbled on the bit of skin he had scratched at before.

“Then what is it?”

“I wanna feel you… Wanna come inside you.” His voice was a whisper, so low you almost couldn’t make out what he’d said over the applause coming from the TV. “I need you.”

“Love, you can have me. All of me.” You moved onto your knees, kissing Bob’s cheek, hoping he’d wrap his arms around you again and go back to what you’d just been doing.

“Not here… Or not like this. I don’t want to have to worry about the couch getting messy.”

You had to put your hand over your mouth to hide the smile that had started to spread on your lips at his sudden innocence, a warmth spreading around your heart. You hadn’t even stopped to think about anything getting on the couch, every thought in your mind about Bob and how good he felt. How good it felt to feel his lips against your lips or on your skin, his fingers rolling your nipple and squeezing it so deliciously… His hips bringing you closer and closer and closer to your climax.

Coming up with a solution to your problem, you got up from the couch for a second and picked up the blanket that had long been forgotten, spreading it over the spot you’d just laid in before. When you nodded, satisfied with yourself, Bob’s eyes moved to where you were standing in front of him, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, now we don’t have to worry about the couch getting messed up because we can simply wash the blanket.” You cupped his face with one hand, the other one brushing away the stray locks that had fallen into his face again, and straddled his legs. Closing the distance between you, Bob kissed you once, his hands moving up your thighs. His fingers wrapped around your hips and then he turned, laying you down on top of the blanket, your hair fanning out around your head in a halo.

His gaze traversed your body before he moved down, his fingers hooked in the waistband of the boxers he’d lent you. Bob stripped the fabric off your body, letting it fall to the floor and then spread your legs, a coy look on his face.

“Are you sure about this?” The question came while he got himself situated between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs and putting them over his shoulders. He looked up at you through his lashes, pulling you down a little before placing a kiss first on your left inner thigh and then the right one.

“Yes, baby.” You ran your fingers through his hair and nodded encouragingly, your chest rising and falling steadily while you were resting on your elbows. He let his head sink a little and blew a breath on you, keeping his eyes fixed on you. A chuckle fell from your lips at the sensation and you bit down on your bottom lip, your head falling back. He started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on your skin, moving from your pubic bone to the point where your leg melted into your hip and then closer to your core with every subsequent kiss. The anticipation and need to feel him where you wanted him most had you pulling on his hair, eliciting a snicker from him that sent vibrations up your spine.

“Ever so impatient,” he scolded you, his eyes on you again.

He put his lips around your clit and sucked on it, the tip of his tongue circling the ball of nerves slowly, expertly. Your breath hitched and the grip on his hair tightened, tugging at the roots. A low hum echoed from him, as he put his tongue against your folds and then pushed the tip through them in an upward motion. His laps were slow, reverent and your mind was growing hazy while more and more arousal pooled at your core. You could feel the point of his nose bury between your folds while his tongue circled your cunt, slipping in every now and again. You whined at his slow pace, growing more and more desperate with every passing second.

“What’s up, baby?” He kissed your clit, his lips wrapping around it again and your mouth fell open, an obscene moan leaving your mouth when he sucked on it harshly.

“I need you,” you breathed desperately and grinded your hips on his face once, twice, three times.

“What do you need me to do?” Another kiss to your hipbone, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin stretched over the bone there.

“I wanna feel you inside of me.” Your eyes met his and there it was again, that golden glimmer. His lips jerked up in a smirk and then Bob ran a finger through your folds, getting it nice and slick with the mix of arousal and spit.

“You mean like that?” His finger ran down through your folds again and then slipped into you. He slowly pushed into you until he was knuckle-deep and then pulled his finger out just as slow, curling it to brush against that spongy spot in you. You nodded, the feeling of his finger slipping back in making goosebumps rise over your arms and legs. When he’d found a torturous rhythm, he lowered his head again, his mouth moving back to your clit.

“Bob, please… faster,” you begged, your hips trying to meet his movements, rolling into his fingers and mouth. He obliged, pumping his finger in and out quicker, every thrust accompanied by a wet squelch from deep inside of you. You could feel your arousal mixed with his spit run down your perineum every time he pulled his finger back and felt your cheeks heat at the fact how wet you were for him. Bob stopped sucking on your clit for a second, releasing the nub of nerves with a soft popping sound and then lapped up your juices as if he’d read your thoughts.

“You think you can handle another?” He asked, moving up to your face and placing a kiss to your cheek. His lips were sticky, covered in the mixture of his spit and your arousal, and you ran your thumb over them before kissing him hungrily. When you didn’t answer his question, he broke from the kiss and put his forehead against yours, asking you again. “I’m not gonna go on unless you tell me to.”

You gulped, your throat a little dry from all the quiet moans he had coaxed from you. Closing the distance between you, you kissed him eagerly, pushing your tongue past his lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it sent you into overdrive, your fingers digging into his back while you pulled him down.

“God, please Bob. Go ahead already,” you begged hopelessly, pushing his hand down between your bodies.

He chuckled against your cheek, the ball of his thumb brushing past your sensitive clit while he pushed his fingers through your folds. Your head turned to the side a little, your eyes rolling back, the thrill of his touch leaving you breathless. When he felt that they were sufficiently lubricated, he thrusted them into you, your mouth opening in a satisfied ‘o’ at the way his fingers stretched you. After a moment of letting you adjust to the size of his fingers inside of you, he started moving them again and you slipped from your elbows, your back now on the blanket underneath you.

“Just look at you.”

Half-dazed by your approaching climax, you let your hands wander to the front of his sweatpants, and pulled at the strings to undo the bow. Your finger slipped past the waistband and into his briefs and you hummed when you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing cock. Bob groaned into your ear and his hips bucked into your touch, eager for some attention.

“Fuck, babe, I need you,” he muttered, his dick twitching in your hand as your thumb brushed over his tip. “I don’t know if I can last long enough if you keep touching me,” he added, his head resting on your shoulder while you pumped his length.

“Fuck me then,” you whispered into his ear, the nails of your free hand scratching over his lower back. He slipped his fingers out of you and then pushed down his sweatpants, kicking the fabric off his legs. Your legs spread a little more instinctively, making more room for his hips to fit, and then you let go of him, his own hand taking over and covering his erection in your arousal. Slotting his hips between yours again, he guided his dick through your folds and then stopped, the tip of his erection at your cunt.

His eyes flashed up to you, silently asking permission, and you nodded, pulling his face closer to yours and pressing your lips to his. You both broke from the kiss when he pushed into you, filling you slowly, inch by inch. It didn’t matter how often you’d slept with him before because every time you felt him sliding into you, stretching you so well, you were convinced that there was no better feeling in the world. Bob stopped, pulling back out and then angling your hip a little before thrusting back in painfully slow. That time, his length slid in deeper, his balls flush against your ass as he bottomed out.

His brows were pulled together and you could see him struggle, trying to give you time to adjust to having him this deep inside of you before pulling his hips back. Your thumb ran over his cheek and you kissed him softly, your leg hooking around his hip.

“Don’t hold back, Bob,” you told him, your gaze fixed on him and he gulped, his eyes flashing to where your bodies melted into one.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He leaned down on his elbow next to your face while his other hand moved to the leg wrapped around his hip.

“You won’t.” You winked at him playfully and rolled your hip into his.

His jaw clenched as he slowly pulled his hips back, leaving just his tip inside of you and then his eyes searched yours again.

“You sure?”

You just nodded, your thumb caressing his face again, and then he thrusted back into you, not holding back this time. You yelped a little and closed your eyes tightly, relishing in the slight pain you felt from his thrust.

“Keep going, I’m ok,” you assured him and he repeated what he’d done before, pulling out almost completely before thrusting into you and bottoming out, his balls slapping against your ass. Your head rolled back in pleasure and your jaw dropped, a high-pitched moan falling from your lips. Seeing you like this was the only prompt he needed to keep going, plowing into you again and again, pushing you closer to the edge with every brush against your g-spot. Your vision was going hazy at the edges as your eyes locked with Bob’s, his mouth hanging open, panting breaths and curses escaping him.

“M-hm, Bob, just like that,” you cooed as you felt his hand rub on your clit, the pad of his thumb circling it expertly.

“Fuck, you look like an angel taking me so well,” he groaned, his lips sucking on your pulse point delicately.

You could feel your orgasm crawling nearer by the growing pressure in your core, tiny sparks rushing through your body with every perfectly timed thrust of his hips. And Bob didn’t seem to be far behind, the grip on your hip tightening with every time his hips rolled into you. His movements were picking up in speed, growing erratic even. Your lips were just about to brush against his ear lobe, telling him that you were close, when you heard laughter in the hallway.

You sobered up immediately, recognising the signature Eastern European drawl that clung to Yelena’s voice.

“Bob, stop,” you whisper-shouted and your hand came to cover his mouth, anticipating him wanting to ask what was wrong, when Bucky’s voice echoed through the hallway, making the footsteps stop for a second.

“You know what? You go ahead to that bar. I’m gonna meet up with Sam, talk to him about this whole lawsuit again.”

Bob’s eyes went wide as he pulled out of you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness inside of you.

“What are they doing here? Weren’t they supposed to come back tomorrow at the earliest?”, he asked, his voice on the verge of breaking from the shock of almost being walked in on.

He clambered off of you and started gathering your clothes, throwing the pair of boxers you’d worn over to you before he hastily tried to get back into his own sweatpants. You shrugged, slipping into his boxers, and tried to pull the blanket over your legs in an attempt to hide any wet spots. Running your fingers through your hair, you hoped to fix any signs of sex-hair and looked at Bob with a questioning look, who was still struggling to get both the sweatpants and his briefs on at the same time. When he finally pulled the fabric up to sit on his hips, he leaned over to you and flattened out your hair, bringing some of them over your shoulder, covering the darkening spot on your throat. You could feel heat rush up to your face and put your hands up, hiding your face as you started laughing silently.

“What’s so funny?” Bob asked, embarrassment making his cheeks flash red while he plopped down on the couch a good distance away from you so as to not draw any further suspicion on you.

“Sorry, I just can’t help it,” you laughed, turning your body to face back to the TV and trying to swallow any laughter when you heard footsteps coming down the hall again.

“[y/n]? Bob? Where are you?” Ava asked loudly and you sank in your spot on the couch, trying to look as comfortable as possible.

“We’re in the living room,” you yelled back and then looked over the back of the couch just as Yelena, Ava and Alexei reached the door.

“Surprise! We’re back early,” Yelena yelled, putting her arms out at the side and shaking her hands excitingly.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you laughed with her and then let your eyes wander over the three of them, looking for any signs of major injuries.

“The mission was an absolute bust, so we figured we’d go out and get some drinks,” Yelena explained and you nodded, your heart still thumping in your chest quickly.

“We’re just each gonna take a shower before we leave, wanna join?”, Ava asked and looked at Bob, who was sitting in the corner of the couch, his back awfully straight and his stiff arms at his sides. His hands were clasped over his lap, hiding his raging erection from showing through his sweatpants.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna stay in today. I’m kind of tired from working out.”

Bob choked on his spit next to you and everyone looked at him, his face turning even redder from coughing.

“Is he ok?” Ava chuckled and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Wait, are you watching Tombstone? Oh my god, I love that movie,” Alexei exclaimed, his eyes trained on the TV behind you. “Kurt Russel as Wyatt Earp is so good.” He pushed through Ava and Yelena and made his way over to the couch, a sixpack of beer under his arm. He plopped down on the end of the U-shaped couch and looked over his shoulder at the two women standing in the doorway.

“I think I will stay home, too. Catch movie with Bob and [y/n],” he told them and then his eyes moved to me. “Is that alright with you?” When you nodded, he looked over to Bob and grinned at him. “What about you Bob?” Bob, who had just recovered from his coughing fit, nodded and sank deeper into the cushions, mumbling a strained ‘sure’ while looking like he was hoping for a hole to open up and swallow him whole.

“Wonderful! And look, you even have pizza!” Alexei leaned over to the pizza the two of you had forgotten about and grabbed a slice, stuffing half of it in his mouth and letting the other half slope down over his chin as he ripped through the cardboard of his sixpack. He pulled out a bottle and then slammed it into the edge of the coffee table, the bottle cap flying through the air and landing next to Bob with a soft thud.

“What perfect timing, just in time for the shooting at the OK corral!” Alexei shimmied his hands while pronouncing that last part, spilling some of his beer over the carpet with his exaggerated gestures.

When they’d left in the direction of their respective bedrooms, you looked over at Bob, who had half of his face hidden behind a hand. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes and then readjusted his sweatpants a little. You mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ to him as Alexei laughed loudly at Doc Holliday’s iconic “I’m your huckleberry” line.

“Dad, please be careful. Walker will have your ass if you get the living room dirty,” Yelena groaned and you looked at her from over your shoulder, just as she ran her hand over her face. She turned to Ava and then motioned for them to go on. “Come on, we should get going before it gets too late.”

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thunderboltschaos · 6 days ago

Text

what it is and what should never be // bob reynolds

Summary: A mission goes sideways, and you end up in a coma. The team works against the clock to save you, but… do you really want to be saved?

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: reader is an ex-widow, mentions of abandonment, mentions of past trauma and bob's past addictions, mentions of death, slight violence (bob lost his temper and attacks walker), angst, friends to lovers, few fluff moments, thunderbolts* are family, happy ending!!

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @ladybirdbeewrites for proofreading this!

Although I got the djinn lore from Supernatural, I bent it a bit so it would fit better with the story.

I used google translate for the Russian parts, so I'm sorry if it's not perfect.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

“The east wing is clear.” John Walker’s voice rang through the earpiece as you walked along the concrete hallways.

“North wing is clear, too. I’ll check the west side.”

You had carefully examined the floor plan; in theory, the warehouse should be deserted. However, experience taught you that anything could happen. Every corner may hide something or someone, so you always had to be on alert.

The flashlight in your hand dimly illuminated the path as you cautiously made your way through the corridor until you reached a sturdy metal door. The first thing you noticed was that the lock had been forced, which was a terrible indicator.

Your pulse increased, but you did not hesitate. Carefully, you pushed open the door, which creaked slightly as it opened, and stepped into the darkness. The air was dense and smelt like dampness and old wood. You used the beam of your flashlight to look for any movement or suspicious presence.

In the silence, you heard a faint noise and then noticed a moving shadow in the far corner. You paused, keeping your gun poised and your finger on the trigger.

“I think someone's here.” You spoke as quietly as you possibly could through the comms, in case whoever was here couldn't hear you, but loud enough for John to hear.

A violent crash broke the silence again, followed by a resounding crash of crates falling, echoing off the walls and sending shivers down your spine. The jolt caused you to instinctively take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. The flashlight flickered for a moment, emitting intermittent flashes of light.

When the light stabilized again, your gaze was drawn to a little figure running rapidly amid the crates… a small, scared rat.

You let out a laugh as the tension dissipated and an exhale of relief escaped your lips. With one hand on your chest, still feeling your pounding heart, you brought the other to your earpiece. “False alarm, it was just a—”

Before you could finish your sentence, something violently shoved you against the wall, causing the gun and flashlight to fall to the floor, out of your reach. Your eyes widened when you felt something pressing against your chest. You fought to free yourself, but your attempts were futile.

Amidst the darkness, hypnotic blue-glowing eyes seemed to pierce your psyche. Your legs began to quiver, as if they were made of jelly, unable to support themselves. Then a hand as cold as ice was placed against your forehead, and you felt the air collapsing in your lungs, making breathing difficult.

Your ear picked up John's voice through the earpiece, clear yet frantic. “What's happening?! Are you okay? Y/N! Answer me!”

And then your body collapsed to the floor, and everything went black.

Sunlight peeked through the windows, and the golden threads of the early morning hit your face. You grumbled and attempted to roll over to continue sleeping, avoiding the light of day.

But something was stopping you.

With resignation, you slowly opened your eyes and, still drowsy, realized the reason you couldn't move— a warm, muscular arm wrapped around your waist with a firm yet gentle grip. You shifted your gaze slightly and saw a head of brown hair, strands over the pillow, partially covering his face.

Did you go out last night and end up in some stranger’s bed?

That wasn't like you.

You gripped the stranger's arm and carefully pulled him away from your body. The man let out a muffled grunt and shifted in the bed, trying to find a new position that felt comfortable. After a few seconds, he stopped moving and his body relaxed again. You let out a deep sigh and slowly sat up in bed, but then a wave of dizziness hit, making your head spin.

Despite the persistent headache, you became more aware of the details surrounding the room.

And that's when panic began to invade you.

This wasn’t your bedroom.

You weren’t at the Watchtower. Or any of its rooms.

Where were you?

The more you tried to remember how you got there, the worse the pain in your brain got.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, searching for a path to the bathroom. Each movement was slow, trying not to make a sound that would wake up the man still lying in the bed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and everything seemed in order; your reflection showed a familiar image, albeit with your eyes a little hazy due to the headache. You opened the medication cabinet, desperate for some Tylenol to relieve this persistent and unexpected migraine.

“Babe?”

Babe?

That voice… What did it sound so familiar?

You closed the medication cabinet door, and in the mirror's reflection, you saw him.

“Bob?” you asked, your voice filled with bewilderment.

He was standing there in a basic white t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants that hung loosely over his hips, highlighting his V-line.

But something was off.

He didn’t resemble the Bob you knew. His hair was a little longer, and a faint stubble shaded his jaw. His shoulders weren’t hunched, and there was an air about him – and an undeniable confidence, that you had only seen on rare occasions, mostly when Sentry took control.

“Do you feel alright?” he asked as he approached you.

“I’m sorry, I’m slightly confused right now.”

‘Slight confused’ was an understatement. You had no fucking clue what was happening.

He chuckled softly. “Told you you were drinking too much last night.”

What?

“Here.” He handed you a glass of water and a pill of Tylenol from the bottle you had been holding just a few seconds before. “It will help make you feel better.”

Confusion overtook you, and for a moment, you wondered if it was all part of some kind of dream or if you were losing your mind.

“You said that I drank too much last night?”

He tilted his head as he gazed at you. “You really don’t remember?”

He reached for his toothbrush and squeezed a generous line of toothpaste on it, and began brushing his teeth.

“This must be your worst hangover. Topping that time when you ended up singing loudly at the top of your lungs in the middle of the street.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t sing.”

He rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth. “Oh, but you did. Yelena had you recorded on video.”

That sounded like something she would do.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me and take it a bit easier, but for now, what about some banana pancakes?”

You huffed. “I don’t want banana pancakes, Bob.”

“Okay, now you’ve got me worried. Are you feeling nauseous?” His hands cupped your jaw gently while he examined your features.

“What? No, I–”

You paused, motionless for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell on Bob’s hand, where a gold wedding band sat snugly on his finger. Then your eyes turned to your left hand, where the sparkling diamond on your left finger shone softly in the bathroom light.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh my god,” you blurted out, your voice more frenzied than you’d intended. “Are we married?”

Did you get so drunk last night that you ended up marrying Bob, like in those cliché movies?

He didn’t appear concerned about the whole ordeal; on the contrary, your words made him burst laughing.

You didn’t understand why he was so chill about everything.

“Why aren’t you panicking?”

“Trust me. I already did,” he remarked with a chuckle as he exited the bathroom. You followed him, your mind racing. “On our wedding day, three years ago.”

You blinked, trying to process what he just said.

Three years ago?

He walked into the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. It was a large space, with modern yet modest furnishings. It felt cozy, like a home.

“Those cocktails struck you hard, huh? You really forget we’re married?” he asked as he beat some eggs, and you could sense his tone was playful. He must have assumed you were messing with him. “So much for ‘I could never forget you, babe.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” you said, mildly annoyed at his attempt at mimicking your voice.

Your gaze scanned the living room more intently, as if you were about to find an answer to what was going on. It was then that you noticed one of the framed pictures on the shelf. You approached and cautiously held the frame in your hands.

You nearly stopped breathing, your chest hitching.

Two people smiling at the camera. Their happiness was palpable, and it was not simply because they were smiling or because it was their wedding day. It was something deeper.

You couldn't recall a time in your life when you'd felt this happy. And you knew Bob well enough to know that he had probably not felt it either. You felt a twinge in your heart again, but this time for a completely different reason.

You placed the photo back on the shelf, and your eyes fell on the framed photo right next to it.

You, Bob, Yelena, and Kate.

From the background, it looked like a restaurant, and from the partially visible slice of cake with candles, you assumed you were celebrating a birthday.

Another thing that was off.

Kate Bishop wasn't even that present in your lives. If you remembered correctly, you had only met her once or twice since moving to New York.

And then there was a third framed picture.

The camera had captured a woman, surrounded by children, about five or six years old, give or take. The bottom part of the frame had a gold plaque engraved with the words: ‘The best teacher in the world.’

What was going on here?

The aroma of freshly prepared pancakes drew your attention from the photos to Bob at the kitchen island. He had two plates ready, each topped with maple syrup and blueberries.

Your stomach grumbled.

“Oh, I thought you said you didn't want my banana pancakes?” he said, moving the plate out of your grasp with a sly smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“You wounded me, baby… But a kiss might heal me, and I’ll let you enjoy this delicious breakfast,” he said, while taking a bite from his plate.

Although you had never voiced it aloud or confessed it to anyone in particular, you found Bob really cute. He was sweet, caring, considerate, and kinda awkward, which only made him even more attractive in your eyes.

He was very different from other men you had met before – in a good way. Maybe that was the reason you were so drawn to him.

You usually would pull yourself out from missions to stay back at the Watchtower with him. At the beginning he would apologize for you having to babysit him, and you would tell him that he didn’t need a babysitter and that you enjoyed his company.

You weren’t sure if he truly believed you, but you liked being around him. It would probably be an odd thing to say, considering everything he had been through and what he was dealing with, but he brought calmness to you.

Then you started to spend more time together – going out around the city, reading, training… And at some point your feelings for him gradually evolved from friendship to something deeper.

“Well, I’m waiting.” He was leaning on the counter, studying you with a smile.

You stood on your tiptoes, one hand around the back of his neck and the other placed against his chest, before pulling him down toward you and meeting his lips.

Bob instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, while the other hand cupped your jaw. Your hand on the back of his neck moved higher, and you let your fingers get lost in his brunette curls. His lips were soft and warm, and everything you’d always imagined.

You dived in with the intention of it being a small, chaste kiss. But the instant your mouth collided with his, it felt like you could never get enough of him.

When you felt like your lungs were giving out, you pulled back, foreheads pressed together while trying to regain your breath. Your gaze met his blue-eyed one, and you bit your bottom lip when you noticed his flushed cheeks.

“Sorry,” you muttered a bit sheepishly. You certainly gave him more than he anticipated.

“Oh, no, no… That was–” He took a long breath. “Wow.”

You smiled at his reaction. “So, did I earn those pancakes?”

“What the hell happened?” Bucky was fuming, running his fingers through his hair while he went in circles around the room. “You go on a recon mission and come back with Y/N in a coma?”

“I told you what happened,” John said, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, yeah. A tall man with tattooed skin that emitted blue light. That explains everything.”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen worse,” Ava commented.

“We definitely haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“Did you at least kill that motherfucker?”

John remained silent for a second while the others watched him expectantly. “No.”

“Why the hell not? Did you let him escape?”

“I did shoot him, like twenty times… everywhere. And that thing did not even flinch.”

“Great,” Bucky sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “So what, another O.X.E subject?”

You were lying in one of the beds in the medical wing, connected to a monitor that measured the frequency of your heartbeat.

Yelena sat at your bedside, holding your hand in hers while looking at you. She hadn’t moved or said anything since John Walker stepped out of the elevator with your unconscious body in his arms, after the recon mission you were assigned to went sideways.

“What happened to Y/N?”

Bob was in his room, reading the new book you had bought him at the bookstore you two went to every Thursday, without fail. It had become a weekly routine that Bob looked forward to.

You had assured him the mission was simple and wouldn't take long, so you could go when you got back. You had promised him, and he had taken you at your word.

Although he wouldn't admit it if asked, he had been constantly staring at the clock, as if staring at the hands would make time pass faster. The Watchtower was still under construction, and its walls were not entirely strengthened, so it was easy to hear the others' voices. He could tell from their frantic tones that the mission had not gone as planned.

They all looked at him, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Uh, she… she got hurt in the mission, but she’ll be alright.” Ava tried to dismiss it, but the unsureness and dread in her voice gave her away.

Bob knew they were lying to him, but decided not to comment on it. Instead, his glance darted toward your unconscious form on the bed, a flicker of something crossing his face before shifting back to Walker. “Where were you?”

John tilted his head, watching him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

Bob took a few deliberate steps forward, his motions were measured. “You went together to that mission. Why weren’t you with her?”

“We split up to cover more ground. The warehouse was supposed to be empty!” John exclaimed angrily, tired of everyone blaming him for what had happened.

“You should’ve known better.” Something was starting to shift in Bob’s demeanor. The first indicator was the tone of his voice. The second, the faint flickers of gold in his eyes. “And you were supposed to protect her… I would have protected her.”

John huffed, and without realizing the emotions that were building up inside Bob, he lit the fuse. “Respectfully Bob, fuck off.”

And that was it.

He launched at him, slamming him against the wall so hard that a small crack appeared. His hands were around his neck, squeezing it tightly, cutting off his breath. John's eyes widened in panic as he struggled against the grip, his fingers clawing at Bob's wrists.

Bucky, Ava, and Alexei reacted almost immediately, attempting to push him back, even though they knew it would be in vain.

“Bob, hey, let him go. It wasn’t his fault,” Ava shouted, her voice shaking with panic.

“It was his fault. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”

“We know you care about her, we do too… We’re going to help her, but this isn’t the solution.”

Ava’s words didn’t cause him to quiver; it was when Yelena placed a hand on his bicep that something slightly shifted.

“She wouldn’t want this.” Her voice came out quietly. “Remember what she taught you during training.”

Something clicked inside him.

You had spent hours with Bob in the training room, helping him control his powers, guiding him through every step.

You were always patient, never pressuring or rushing him.

There had been times when he almost lost control – like right now. And you were always there to ground him.

You believed in him.

You believed he could do better.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Inhale and exhale. He repeated the sequence several times until the tension in his muscles slowly dissipated.

Finally, he unwrapped his hand from John's neck, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Ava and Bucky quickly rushed over, helping him to his feet and guiding him to one of the nearby beds in the medical wing.

Alexei placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, and he turned to the Soviet super soldier, who looked at him sympathetically. “It’s alright, kid. No one is at fault here.”

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since you returned from the mission unconscious and the incident in the medical wing.

Things had only worsened.

Bob hadn't left the room since then; the emotions of what had happened to you, along with his attack on Walker, had overwhelmed him.

However, when sleeplessness seized him at night, he would leave the room, making sure not to be seen, and go check on you. He would sit in the chair Yelena occupied in the mornings, hold your hand, and beg you not to leave him.

Someone had once told him that people in a coma could hear and feel what was going on around them, and he hoped it was true.

John had not left his room either. Partially to avoid running into Bob, and partially because he was tired of the accusatory looks the rest of the team was giving him, blaming him for what had happened.

And you.

It appeared that the coma you were in was more complex than the team and Dr. Ashford had initially anticipated. Because yesterday, she had to deliver the most unpleasant news in the medical field: you were dying.

She was unable to explain the cause. But the evidence was there, in the samples she took every day, in how your skin grew paler and paler, and how your heartbeat grew slower and slower.

Something was destroying you from within.

And they didn't know how to stop it.

“A genie?”

“A djinn,” Bucky corrected, emphasizing the term.

Bucky had told Sam about your situation, hoping that his friend would have some insight, after all, he had dealt with his fair share of strange things before. Unfortunately, Sam didn’t have an answer either. But he promised he and Joaquín would dig into it.

What they found, however, was not what Bucky would have expected at all.

“According to the lore Joaquín found, they are rare cave-dwelling hermits that have the power to produce powerful hallucinations inside the minds of humans,” Bucky explained. “Most people don’t believe they actually exist, but according to Walker’s description of the thing that attacked Y/N, it’s our best guess.”

“That doesn’t explain why she’s in a coma, or why she’s dying.”

“Here comes the tricky part. When it touched her, it poisoned her. The lore also states that djinns usually feed from their victims.” He halted as he noticed the horrified expression on Ava’s face. “Which is probably what would happen if Walker weren’t there to bring Y/N home.”

“Wait. Did Wilson and Torres explain why Walker couldn’t kill it? Is it immortal or something?”

“Apparently, it can only be killed in a very specific way. There were so many debacles that they couldn’t confirm which was the real one.”

“What are the hallucinations about?”

Everyone turned their attention toward Yelena. She had barely said anything these past few days, and she had barely left your side either. The dark circles under her eyes were a clear indicator of exhaustion from a lack of sleep. They knew how bad it was affecting her – the probability of losing you.

You and Yelena go way back.

Back when you were just two scared children in the Red Room.

Back when Yelena got back from the blip, only to learn that Natasha was gone, and Alexei was MIA.

You were there for her through everything. Not because you had to. Not because you felt obligated to, just because she gave you your life back.

You were there because you wanted to. Because you chose to.

You were her safe place — where she could be real and vulnerable, without being judged or pitied.

You were her sister.

“Oh, yeah, that. Contemporary lore depicts them as genies —”

“AHA! Genies! What have I said? I love those blue-skinned floating wish-maker tricksters.”

“Alexei, shut up, please!” Yelena said exasperatedly, her voice sounding tired.

“As I was saying, they’re depicted as genies able to read a person’s mind to learn what their heart desires the most,” he explained, repeating the information he had been taught. “But they don’t truly grant wishes. It’s just a ruse to inflict their poison. You believe you’ve gotten what you wanted, then your physical body dies in the real world.”

“But she must know she’s trapped in a… I don’t know, a fantasy reality?”

“Difficult to know for sure. Djinns are powerful enough to convince their victims that they are actually living in the reality they implanted.”

“So that’s it? She stays in that made up world while that fucker’s poison kills her here?”

Bucky paused. Doubting if he should say it or not. Not wanting to give her false hope. But Yelena caught on his hesitation, her eyes narrowing slightly as she questioned what he was holding back.

“Barnes, spit it out.”

Bucky sighed. “There may be a thing, but I cannot assure it would work,” he said, “Joaquín found this thing called African dream roots. Apparently, if you take them and go to sleep, you can enter people's dreams and interact with them.”

“Not the craziest thing we’ve heard so far,” Ava commented.

“I’ll do it,” Yelena said, without hesitation.

“Yelena –”

“I’m not giving up on her, Dad… I’ve already lost one sister; I am not losing her too.”

She could not bear it.

Not again.

Yelena opened her eyes, slightly dizzy. She was struggling to adapt to her environment. Her gaze scoured the cozy living room; there was no trace of you anywhere, and for a brief moment, she thought those herbs Bucky had given her had been ineffective.

But there was something off about the atmosphere, which Yelena could sense in her bones.

Unlike the rooms of shame where The Void had trapped them, this felt more manufactured, yet safe at the same time, as if these four walls painted in earth tones protected you from the outside world.

“Yelena?”

She turned when she heard your voice.

You stood in the doorway, your head tilted slightly, a puzzled expression on your face.

Yelena regarded you for a few seconds without saying anything. You didn't seem scared or in danger. You were... normal.

That was what struck her the hardest.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you realized that she had no intention of saying anything.

“What am I doing here?” She repeated your question in amazement after a few seconds, when she appeared to have sprung out of her trance. “I came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? From what?”

“The genie!” she exclaimed.

“The what?” you asked, perplexed.

“You were attacked during a mission. You’re dreaming, this isn’t real.” She got straight to the point, explaining the situation as simply as possible.

“It’s real enough to me.”

Your words jolted Yelena back. She blinked a few times. “Y-you… You know?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Of course, I know. Look around, Lena.”

“Then why haven’t you freed yourself? Bucky said —”

You interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. “Because I don’t want to.”

Yelena looked at you, not expecting that response.

“All the pain, the suffering, all that we have lost…” You walked toward the kitchen island and took a seat on one of the stools. “I’m tired of carrying that weight on my shoulders every day.”

“What your heart desires the most,” she mumbled under her breath, quiet and barely audible yet clear enough for you to hear.

“What?”

“What’s so special about this place, Y/N? What do you have here that you cannot have in the real world?”

“My parents are alive, they actually love me, and never abandoned me.” Your voice cracked a bit, and Yelena could notice the unshed tears building in your eyes.

“Oh, pchelka.”

She knew that was a difficult subject for you. When you told her that you wanted to dig into your past and find out how you were taken, she knew deep in her gut that whatever you found wouldn’t be good. Nevertheless, she still supported you in your decision.

She helped you gather all the information you needed, and then she held you in her arms when you discovered that you had not been kidnapped — your parents abandoned you, they actually sold you to those Sovietic scumbags.

“There’s no pain in here, Lena,” you said. “No pressure to save the world, or for the world to like us. No Valentina. No Avengers. Just living a normal life.”

“The picket white fence, is it what you wished for?” she asked. Curiously, you’ve never talked about this before – how you imagined your lives if your circumstances were different.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of your hand, more specifically, of the shiny stone. “You’re married?” she exclaimed, a bit too loudly, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You didn’t answer her. You just looked at the shelf where the photos were, and she followed your gaze.

“Bob?” There was surprise in her tone. “You like Bob?” She directed her glance back toward you.

“What’s wrong with liking Bob?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly assured, “It’s just that… I don’t know, you never said anything.”

You shrugged, a slight smile on your lips. “It's not like we’re very good at communicating how we feel.” Your gaze returned to her, and a hint of vulnerability crept into your words. "But, yeah, I like Bob. More than just a friend, I guess.”

“Well, you’re going to be thrilled then, ‘cause he likes you too. The real one,” she stated, emphasizing the word ‘real’.

Maybe it was wrong. Yelena knew this wasn’t her confession to make. But desperate times needed desperate measures. Besides, if Bob was one of the reasons you wanted to stay here, he could also be the reason for you to leave, since you could have him anyway.

You rose swiftly from the stool. "You don't need to lie to trick me. I told you that I'm not leaving."

“I’m not lying,” she said, offended that you expected her to lie to you about something like that. “He attacked Walker ‘cause he blames him for what happened to you. He hasn’t left his room for days… Except at night, when he sneaks out to see you in the medical wing. The thing is, he cares profoundly about you, and we are really concerned about him and what’s going on in his mind.”

Yelena paused for a moment, considering whether to voice her next words. She knew she might regret them later, but she couldn’t ignore the ache she was feeling in her chest. “Yesli ty ostanesh'sya zdes', ty egoistichnaya suka.”

Her words struck you hard. She’d never been so crass with you before, and part of you couldn’t believe she’d aimed those words at you. “Excuse me?”

“You’re dying out there, dammit! Dr. Ashford doesn’t think you’ll make it to the weekend. The team is in disarray—Walker is feeling guilty, and Bob is doing even worse than when we met him. Bucky, Ava, and Alexei are on autopilot, not stopping searching for a way to help you… And me? Do you even care about me? You think your choices don’t have an impact on the lives of others?” she outburst, tears overflowing in her eyes due to the intensity of her emotions. “I know our lives aren’t perfect, and we haven’t always had it easy, but we have each other. And that is real… Is that not enough for you?”

“I get it, trust me, I do. All this —” She waved her hands, signaling your surroundings “— Having what you wish for the most, it’s enticing, and it’s unfair that it isn’t real, but you’re not alone, and you still can be happy. You want Bob? He is waiting for you. You want a family? You’ve got us. You got me… Family doesn't end in blood, but it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.”

She approached you, her hands cradling your face as she brushed away the tears that had silently fallen from your eyes. “I love you. Pozhaluysta, sestrichka, vernis' domoy.”

You let out a sob, followed by another, and so on. You wrapped your arms around Yelena, clutching her tightly as if she would vanish at any minute. Your face pressed into her shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks. With a broken voice, you kept whispering your apologies, while she held your shivering body.

Waking up from a coma is a strange sensation, something you've never experienced before. The closest thing you could equate it to is the Red Dust breaking the mental grasp on your brain, and yet, they are two completely different things.

You rubbed your eyes with the side of your hand, your vision slowly adjusting to the light and your surroundings.

The first thing you heard were sighs of relief, followed by Alexei's strong arms wrapping around you in a hug, squeezing you against his chest. “My pchelka! You are back. Oh, we were so worried.”

Bucky and Ava stood at the foot of your bed, watching the scene, their expression showing relief but unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, guys,” you murmured, your voice a little hoarse. “I got a little caught up in all that… fantasy reality.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Bucky said, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew it was. How worried they had been these days, thinking they wouldn’t be able to save you. “Could have happened to any of us.”

“Important thing is, you’re back,” Ava added, offering you a reassuring smile.

You rolled onto your side, your gaze settling on Yelena, who was already awake, her eyes fluttering open from whatever she drank to enter your dream. As your eyes wandered around the room, you realized that Bob and John were nowhere to be seen.

As if she could read your mind, Ava chimed in, “They’re in their rooms.”

You started getting out of bed, detaching yourself from the heart monitor and removing the IV from your arm, but Yelena swiftly stopped you. “Woah, where do you think you’re going, miss?”

“I have to—”

“What you have to do is wait for Dr. Ashford to examine you.”

“I’m fine, I feel fine.” You looked at her, pleading, “There’s something I need to do first.”

Yelena glanced at you, and you could see the internal conflict in her eyes. For a second, you thought she was going to fight you on this one, but she merely sighed and let go of her grip on your shoulders, giving you the go-ahead.

You walked down the halls with a specific direction in mind, and when you arrived, you paused in the middle of the hall to stare at the door.You had a fleeting moment of hesitation, but you shrugged it aside and knocked softly on the door.

Not a sound could be heard behind the door. Perhaps he wasn’t there. Perhaps he was refusing to recognize the knocking. Then you heard feet shuffling on the floor, and the creak of the door hinges as they opened.

“And now what?” His voice was rough and tired at the same time. The frown he was sporting on his face completely vanished when he saw you, replaced with a startled expression. “Y/N?”

You observed the red markings on his neck, and your gut twisted as you remembered the talk with Yelena.

“I woke up,” you said meekly, awkwardly moving your hands. “They figured it out… Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you.”

John furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you confusedly.

“Yelena told me what could have happened if you didn’t get me away from that thing, so thank you for not abandoning me there… Also, don’t crucify yourself, alright? What happened, it wasn’t your fault,” you reassured him. “There was no way we could have known.”

An awkward silence fell over both of you. John continued to stare at you without saying anything, and you stood on the threshold of his door, fumbling with your hands, unsure what else to do.

You knew John Walker wasn't good with words, but this wasn't exactly the reaction you were expecting.

After a few more seconds, and unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, you turned on your heels to leave.

As you were about to turn the corner, he called out your name. You stopped and turned around, and he said, “I’m glad you’re back.”

You offered him a smile in response, and you made your way to the other side of the tower.

Again, you found yourself in front of a closed door.

But this one was different.

You could feel your palms sweating and your heart thumping against your ribs.

You'd been in Bob's room numerous times before, so why did it feel different now?

The truth was, you were scared. Scared of being face to face with him—with the real Bob—after the short experience you'd had in the Fantasy Universe.

You knew things were different here. Bob wasn’t yours, and you didn’t even know for sure if he harbored any feelings for you. You just had Yelena’s word for it, and while you knew your sister would never lie to you, how could she even know how Bob felt in the first place?

When he opened the door, his reaction was nearly identical to Walker’s – stunned, eyes wide open in surprise. The sight of you standing on the threshold of his bedroom door caught him completely off guard; he plainly did not expect to see you there.

He probably didn’t even know the team had a plan to reach out to you. Yelena mentioned he wasn’t coping well with the circumstances, so it made sense if they hadn’t told him, in case things didn’t go well.

Your heart plummeted when you looked at him. Tiredness was etched onto his features, his eyes were heavy and swollen due to exhaustion. He was more hunched than usual, shoulders slumped by the weight of the past four days.

“This is your fault,” you thought, “He thought you were dying, you idiot. How do you expect him to look?”

“Hey,” you said weakly.

“You– You’re here,” he murmured, puzzled. He rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him and that his lack of sleep wasn’t causing him to become delirious.

“I am.”

Without a warning or a second thought, he threw his arms around you, engulfing you in his embrace, drawing you close to his chest, allowing his emotions to sweep him away.

You were here.

You were fine.

You were alive.

He tightened his grip on you, relishing in the comfort you always provided to him.

“I thought I had lost you.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, muffled against your head, but enough for you to hear.

“You’re never going to lose me.”

He drew back slightly, his eyes studying you carefully to ensure you were in perfect condition. “How do you feel? Has Dr. Ashford checked on you? How did you wake up?”

“Bob, I’m fine,” you said calmly, lifting your hands from his side to rest on his shoulders, bringing an end to his rambling. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Bob shook his head. “No, no, that – that it wasn’t your fault. Walker shouldn’t have —”

“It wasn’t Walker's fault, either.”

Something more serious took over Bob’s gaze. “Yes, it was. We’re a team, and he was your partner in that mission —”

“We were covering more ground separately, and I got ambushed, and I couldn’t react in time. Shit happens all the time during missions; it’s part of the job.”

He still looked unsure. He knew you could defend yourself, of course. You were a very skilled fighter, he had seen it firsthand. Still, the fact that you got hurt and that you had been on the verge of death until just a few hours ago, was something he couldn’t shake off his mind… and his heart.

He grabbed your hand and drew you to his bed, where you both sat on the edge.

“What happened?” he asked, “You didn’t wake up, and Bucky, he… uh, he said you got —” he stumbled over his words, trying to find the right way to say it. “That it was a genie that attacked you?”

You explained what happened in the warehouse the best way you could, based on what you recalled, which wasn't much. You were still confused about it, and you didn’t know all the details regarding this genie situation.

You could wrap your mind around the Red Room, HYDRA, OXE, and even Thanos. But the concept of a tattoo-covered humanoid entity with the ability to read minds and apparently grant wishes while putting you in a coma-state… that was a lot to take in.

“What did you dream about?” Bob asked curiously, “I mean… What was your dream life?”

You swallowed. Although you had a close friendship with Bob, and you had told him things about your past, the same way that he had told you things about his,this particular topic had only been discussed with Yelena.

“You know I grew up in the Red Room, right?” you asked, and he nodded. He remembered the first time you made skin contact while in the vault, and he unintentionally sent you to one of your shame rooms. “Well, there were girls from all parts of the world; some of them were orphans, some of them were kidnapped and taken away from their families… A few years back, I was going through a hard time and I was feeling this –” You paused, unsure whether to voice the word on the tip of your tongue.

Bob noticed your hesitation, and he surmised what you meant to say. “Void?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to know more about my past. I thought I needed to… to move forward, I guess. Yelena advised me it was a terrible idea and that certain things are better left unknown, but I didn’t listen. So, I started digging and I found my biological mother. I was ecstatic, a bit nervous, but for a moment something inside me felt complete, y’know?”

Bob's gaze met yours, and while what you were saying to him sounded nice, your expression and tone of voice spoke a very different message. “It didn’t go well, didn’t it?”

You averted your eyes and shook your head. “She was surprised to see me, that much obvious. But the first thing that came out her mouth was, ‘Oh, you’re still alive.’” Your voice cracked a bit, and you took a long breath, attempting to maintain your composure. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out that I was not kidnapped.”

Bob took in your words and what they meant, “She – Did she… She handed you over to those people?”

“Yeah.” It was quiet and barely audible, but enough for Bob, who immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward his chest, in an attempt to offer you comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his face pressed against your head. “She didn’t deserve you.”

“I didn’t think that her loving me was something I craved so much. Not until I woke up in that place and I found that we were actually a happy family – me, her, and my dad. I didn’t know you could miss something you never had.”

Bob paused for a second, taking in your words, then tentatively said, “Maybe that thing… What did you say its name was? Maybe it was all a ruse, to mess with you.”

“I don’t know. Apparently it can read your mind, to see what someone wishes for the most, so they gave it to them,” you said. “Besides, there were other things… Other things that I also want.”

“What were they?”

“A normal life. No Avengers, not fighting for my life every day… Nothing of this.”

“You mean the team?” he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat before proceeding with his next question. “I wasn’t – The team wasn’t part of your life?” He corrected himself quickly, but you picked up on it.

“Well, Yelena was part of it,” you admitted. You didn’t get the chance to meet that version of her, but you remembered the picture in your living room. “And… you were there too.”

You could feel his body going stiff.

“I was?” He sought for confirmation, almost unable to believe it. In Bob’s mind, the idea that he was part of your dream life seemed too good to be true.

You hummed in response.

Then you decided to be brave and dropped the ball, bracing yourself for the worst. “We were married.”

Bob's arms that had been wrapped around you fell limp at his side, and you immediately missed the warmth and comfort. Something ached in your chest, and you could feel his piercing gaze on you, but you didn’t dare to look at him, so you kept your eyes on your hands.

“We – we were… married?” he stuttered, the ‘married’ part getting slightly stuck in his throat.

You just nodded, and hummed again.

“Is that… That’s what you want?” The incredulity in his voice was obvious. “That’s your dream life?”

When you ask someone about how they imagine their dream life – a life they will most likely never have – they would mention amazing things, good things; most of the time unrealistic things. You told him that you dreamt about your parents being part of your life, loving you; and he could relate to that part. Living a life where he wasn’t a burden and wasn’t constantly reminded of how he always made things worse sounded nice.

But him being part of your dream life?

He didn’t understand it.

Out of all the things you can wish and dream for, you wanted him?

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You could have had anything,” he said, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“And you… You wished for me?”

“Maybe I just want you.”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his. You could feel the war going on behind his dark blue eyes.

“Was he any different from me?” he asked.

“The ‘you’ from my dream?”

He nodded.

You tilted your head, as if you were deep in thought. Then a small smile spread across your face. “Nah, you were still yourself. Same Bob who stole my heart.”

A flush crept up his neck; he couldn't recall the last time his heart pounded so fiercely against his ribcage.

You reached out your hand, softly grazing his cheek. His eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, and a low gasp escaped his lips. For a moment, the warmth of your palm appeared to soothe the turmoil in his head.

“You’re already everything I ever dreamt of, why would I change anything?”

Bob opened his eyes, his gaze piercing into yours, looking for any sign that this was all just a joke or that you were just playing with him. But he knew you better than that, and your eyes reflected genuine care and affection.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, and he started to lean in, slowly. He could feel your breath hitting him in the face. His lips finally brushed against yours in a timid, delicate kiss, still feeling a bit unsure. Then you scooted your body closer to his, your thighs bumping, and one of your hands slipping into the back of his neck and his brunette curls. His hair was shorter here, but still silky.

His mouth was still addictive, his taste leaving you craving more of him.

This kiss was so much better than the ones you’d shared in the dream world, because this one was real.

“Wait, now that I think about it…”

He pulled back slightly, a slightly worried expression etched on his face.

“Have you thought about letting your stubble grow a bit?”

He blinked, surprise clouding his features. “Stubble?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile on your face. “Just a thought,” you said as your fingertips traced his jaw. “Would make you look extra hot.”

His cheeks heated, turning red as your compliment washed over him.

“I can do that.”

…

Hours later, you were lying in bed. The sky had turned black, and the city lights cast shadows across the walls of the dimly lit room.

Your head was resting on Bob's chest, and the steady rise and fall of his chest brought you a sense of calm. His body emanated a welcoming warmth, and you relished in it. One of his hands was entangled in your hair, fingers playing with the strands, while one of your hands was intertwined with his free hand, fingers laced together.

“Can you tell me more about the dream?” he asked a bit hesitantly.

“There isn’t much to tell,” you said, sincerely. “I was a teacher. There was this picture of me and my students in our living room.”

“Is that the path you would have taken?” he asked softly, “If you had had a choice.”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I think –” you paused for a second, trying to find the right words for what you want to express. “I think my subconscious chose that because I didn’t have the easiest childhood… No one protected me, so a part of me felt the need to protect other kids from going through what I did,” you explained. “I’m not sure if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he said sincerely, dropping his hand from your hair to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance.

“Oh, and we lived in Florida,” you added.

“Out of all the places you could have chosen for us to live, you chose Florida?”

“Stop belittling my dream life,” you said, clutching his side in mock offense. Then, your eyes shifted, playfulness aside, your gaze rose to meet his. “Would you like to go back someday?”

“To Sarasota Springs?” he asked, and you nodded. “Not really. There’s nothing left for me there anymore… Everything I want is here.”

Your heart did somersaults, his eyes shone, and a blissful smile spread across your face. You adjusted your body slightly so you could reach his mouth to press a quick kiss on his lips, but Bob had other intentions, and he grasped your jaw, keeping you in place and deepening the kiss, not wanting to let you go just yet.

You could get used to this.

“I'm glad you dug yourself out. Most people wouldn't have had the strength, they would've just stayed,” he said when you parted lips.

If he had been in your situation, he knows he would have stayed; he would not have had the strength to let you go. A dream world in which you were his wife, and lived a normal life, free of the burden of his past addictions or his childhood trauma was indeed a dream life.

“I would have… I mean, I wanted to…” you admitted, knowing how easily you fell for everything. “But Yelena helped me realize something. Maybe this life isn’t perfect, and it might be difficult at times, but we’re not alone, and there are still things worth living for.”

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