unofficial-author - Tumblr blog

unofficial-author · 20 days ago

Text

When The Sun Hits

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

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 16,150

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Not bad,” She huffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”What window?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

——————

Four nights ago was movie night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was shielding himself.

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

The realization made you heat up, but also smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you melted into him.

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

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

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

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

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

He guided you backward with a quiet sort of urgency.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And god–he was beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bob’s breath caught in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reaction was instantaneous.

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

Then–CRACK.

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

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

Then everything happened all at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath caught in his throat.

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

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

——————

Yelena snapped her fingers in front of your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you felt it.

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

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

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

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

”Well technically I’m flying, and you’re just one of my lucky passengers. My first and only to be exact.” He corrected jokingly, you smirked at him, continuing to look over his face. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, as the air around you thickened, warming against your cheeks despite the altitude change. You felt like you were suspended in a dream–held against him, hundreds of feet off the ground, with only starlight above you, and a glittering city below.

“How does it feel?” You asked softly, seeing Bob blink down at you, eyes soft and uncertain, “To have all this power…” You added, your hand slowly unraveling from holding onto his hoodie, splaying it across his chest instead, rubbing along the warmth with a soft smile draped on your lips, “To be able to do this–to lift me off the ground, to break windows without touching them, to float above the world like it’s nothing…” The way you looked up at him–half curious, half lust driven–made something buzz in his bloodstream, something golden and chaotic, and desperate for attention as he felt your fingers trailing up the side of his neck.

Bob swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around your waist even more, his breath hitching as he let out a faint nervous laugh before glancing down at you, seeing your face glowing softly from the city lights that reflected in your eyes.

”It’s…Intense. I constantly have this noise in my head, like it’s trying to break out, and I’m always on edge trying to suppress it…But when you’re around, and you’re able to block it…I have those moments of peace, and I love it…So much Y/N.” He emphasized, as your fingers curled gently into the collar of his hoodie, while your other hand cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

”You know…I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” You whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the night, “The way you handle everything, the way you care about being gentle, the way you hold back even when you could easily just let go…” You went on, looking up at him with such admiration it made him gulp down the lump that was forming in his throat, “You’re just incredible Bob…And I wish you believed that more often.” Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he needed to steady himself from the weight of your words, and when he opened them again, they shimmered with something so raw and fragile it made your heart ache.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just disbelief. “It feels like…You’re seeing someone I want to be. Someone I wish I was.” You reached up with your other hand now, pressing it against his cheek.

”You already are.” You whispered, a soft smile coming up onto your lips, as your eyes trailed over his face.

Bob leaned forward, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warming your skin as it mingled with the air that kissed your face. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, he just held you close, taking in the night for what it was giving him so far. His fingers twitched against your lower back, like he was trying to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Can I ask you something…Kind of dumb?” Your lips quirked at his words, blinking up at him.

”There’s no dumb questions…Go ahead and ask.” He let out a nervous breath of a laugh, pulling his forehead off yours so he could get a better look at you, shaking his head a bit as if he was trying to psych himself up.

”I’ve been…Thinking for the past couple of days…And if it’s too soon or too much just–just tell me okay? I can handle it, I promise.” He started, stuttering through his words.

”Okay, “ You whispered, already feeling your heart climbing into your throat, seeing the way he looked at you with such hope, terror, and utter sincerity. He glanced away for a second, feeling his cheeks flushing hot.

“I was wondering if maybe–if it’s something you’d want–if I could, um…” He cleared his throat, then bit the inside of his cheek, finally whispering, “If I could make love to you tonight.” When the words fell from his mouth it felt like the sky was going to split open and swallow him whole, but he meant every word he said, and you could tell it was something that he wanted to make sure you wanted as well.

”I’ve been wanting to ask that for a while now, but I didn’t want to ruin anything or scare you off, or…” His voice faded, as he stopped himself from embarrassing himself any further, “God, I sound like an idiot.” He whispered. You shook your head, cradling his face in your hands, gently tilting his head down so you could look into those soft blue eyes.

”Bob…” You whispered, “You don’t sound like an idiot at all…You sound like someone who cares about me. A lot.” His lips parted like he wanted to protest, but the words never came. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, “And that’s never something to be ashamed of.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he trembled from the gust of wind that blew by the both of you, and from the nerves that prickled throughout his body.

”I just…” He started, swallowing another lump that began to form in his throat, feeling like he was on the brink of tears, “I’ve never done it like this before…Where it actually means something…Where I feel…So much that it scares the crap out of me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, removing one of your hands from his face.

”Hold me with one arm, I want you to give me one of your hands.” You instructed, and he obliged immediately, keeping you flush against him and giving you his other hand like you requested. You took it and brought it to your chest, laying it gently over your heart.

”Do you feel that?” You whispered, watching him nod slowly, his palm splaying flat over the pounding rhythm the shook the cavity of your chest, “That’s how I feel when I look at you…When you smile at me, when you hold me…When you ask me things like this, with all these nerves going through you…And that’s also how I’m going to feel when we make love tonight.” You added, feeling Bob’s breath hitch in his throat, and for a second he didn’t move. You thought you put him into shock, but then his fingers curled ever so slightly against your skin, like he was tethering himself to you.

”I wanna be good for you.” He replied, his voice breaking around the edges, “I want to be everything you deserve…I want to take my time…I want to see what you look like when you fall apart because of me, and I want to memorize every sound you make and every place you like to be touched and–and I want to hold you through all of it.” Your eyes softened at his words, feeling your heart folding at the edges from the way he said it with such trembling devotion, like he was offering you everything he had without knowing if it would be enough for you.

”I wouldn’t want it any other way Bob…” He breathed out slowly like he’d been holding it for minutes, like your answer reached someplace deep inside him he didn’t know was waiting to be filled. A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

“Okay,” He whispered. “Okay.”

You felt his arms shift, the weight of the wind returning to your skin, and together—slow and gentle—you began to drift back down. The city lights rose to meet you, the rooftop coming back into focus beneath your boots. He didn’t let go. Not even once. His hand stayed tucked between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, like he didn’t trust gravity alone to carry you safely.

The moment your feet touched solid ground again, you didn’t speak. You just stood there for a second, forehead still brushing his, eyes locked and dazed with something fragile and full and beautiful. And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed–it wasn’t even desperate…It was just full. Full of promise. Of understanding. Of anticipation humming low in both your bellies. His hand cupped the side of your face so delicately it made your knees weaken, and when he pulled back, you didn’t have to say a word. You just reached for his fingers and laced yours through them.

“Come inside with me,” You said quietly.

And he followed instantly.

————

You left the light on before you went up to the roof, so when the both of you stepped into your shared quarters, the soft yellow hue of the lamp greeted you with open arms and warmed your skin almost instantly.

Bob closed the door behind him with a soft click, the quiet thud echoing between your beds like a held breath. You stepped into the space between them, turning to face him slowly, your hands sliding up to push your hair from your face. His eyes followed the motion, catching every shift of your body like he didn’t want to miss a second, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his hoodie.

“H-How do you want to start?” He asked quietly, his voice threadbare with nerves. All confidence from the roof had dwindled pretty quickly once the reality of the situation really settled in, and now he could feel his chest tightening from the thought of what was going to come next. You could see it in the way he fumbled with whatever he could get his fingers on, it was the most obvious tell of his. You stepped toward him carefully, and held your hand out like you normally did with him.

”Come here,” You whispered. Bob didn’t hesitate this time around, taking a few steps towards you until you could curl your fingers around the hem of his hoodie, slipping your hands under the soft fabric so you could touch his burning skin. His jaw clenched for a moment at first contact, his lashes fluttering at the featherlight touch you always used with him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky breath against your mouth.

”We don’t have to start any particular way,” You murmured, “Just be here with me…” Bob gave a slow, trembling nod, bringing his hands to your waist. You leaned forward a bit, pressing your lips against his, taking his breath away in one quick moment of time. You could feel his shoulders loosen a little, as he sighed into you, his fingers squeezing your clothed flesh gently, pulling your body closer to his. You broke the kiss first, removing your sweater quickly because you were growing warm extremely quickly, just like Bob you ran hot, but only when you were anticipating something, and this was definitely something you were looking forward to.

You threw the sweater to the side with a sigh, pushing your hair out of your face again as you adjusted yourself, seeing Bob’s eyes following your movements, and tracing over the skin that was revealed to him. The light camisole you wore hugged your figure just enough that he could make out the subtle shape of your breasts beneath it, and in the dimmed hue of the room he could see the way your nipples pebbled against the fabric. Before he could even stop himself, his fingers curled under the hem of the covering.

”Can I…?” His voice trailed off, looking down at you with dazed eyes. You nodded immediately, raising your arms up slightly, feeling the way he peeled the fabric up gently, wanting to drink in every inch of newly exposed skin. He slipped the camisole off you, throwing it to the side to join your sweater now, as his eyes returned to your bare chest.

For a second, it was like he didn’t breathe. His mouth parted slightly, and a stunned silence stretched between you before he managed to snap himself out of the trance your breasts had put him in, clearing his throat.

”You’re so…Beautiful. I mean–I already told you that, but seeing you like this–“ He cut himself off, looking down at himself, flustered, “Makes me feel overdressed.” You let out a small giggle, seeing the blush that crowded his face turn an even deeper red.

”Definitely overdressed.” You agreed, keeping your tone light, coaxing a nervous laugh from him. He ducked his head with a shy huff of breath, his hair falling into his eyes.

”S-Sorry. Didn’t mean to get ahead of myself, I just–“

“Hey,” You interrupted, reaching up to cup his face with both hands, forcing his gaze to stay on yours–his pupils already blown out from seeing your bare chest– as you ran your thumbs along his cheeks, “It’s okay…I like when you know what you want and ask for it. I also don’t mind being underdressed in front of you anyways. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” His lashes fluttered at you, as the tension in his shoulders melted just a little.

“Okay…” He whispered back, giving you a small nod, glancing down at himself. He pulled away from your touch, and with shaky hands, he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, tugging it down before peeling the garment off his arms and shoulders, letting it land in the soft pile of clothes that began to grow at your feet. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he hesitated for only a second more before pulling his plain grey t-shirt off as well, letting it join the abyss below.

The second the fabric cleared his torso, your hands were on him–warm palms pressing against bare skin, tracing up along his ribs and over the planes of his chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch, before bringing them up to rest at his neck. You pulled him down to you, fingers curling into his hair gently, as his lips met yours. The kiss this time was deeper–hungrier and desperate. He opened his mouth to you, feeling your tongue slip in, as your bodies aligned with each other again.

His hand slid up along your side, tracing over your ribs, until it found the curve of your breast, cupping it gently within his large palm. You let out a small moan of approval, your hips shifting slightly at the sensation and shivers that twinged up your spine. His thumb dragged over your nipple, circling it slowly before giving the flesh a soft and careful squeeze, not wanting to be too rough at first, drawing out a hum from you, and another gentle pull of his hair.

Bob pulled away from the kiss with a shaky smile, before peppering kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, carving out a wet path all the way to your chest, going to the breast that he wasn’t kneading with his hand still. His lips brushed over your nipple, testing, and teasing, waiting until you leaned toward him to close his mouth around it. A soft moan escaped the both of you, his breath warm and uneven against your skin as he sucked gently, his tongue moving in slow circles before fluttering along the peak. His other hand continued to palm and knead the other one, fingers teasing until both nipples were stiff beneath his attention. He switched sides, not wanting to neglect the other one, which earned another shocked gasp, feeling how more needy he was growing as he greedily sucked and nibbled. Your fingers laced deeper into his hair, trying to ground yourself when you felt your stomach somersaulting from the sensation of his tongue and mouth working in tandem together. Your words spilled out before you could really think–

“Jesus, Bob…” The moment you spoke he froze, pulling off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, lips shiny and slightly parted as he looked up at you. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes–God, his eyes–were wide and hazy, like he was drunk on you and the taste of your skin.

“Are…Are you okay?” You nodded immediately.

”More than okay.” You replied, as your fingers slid out from his hair to trail down his chest, moving with slow precision as you found the tie at the waistband of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze locked on his. You made quick work of it, undoing the knot in one swift pull before pushing at the fabric so it shifted down his hips, exposing more and more skin to you. He straightened up a little, taking his hand off your breast to push them off his legs completely, kicking them off to the side before mirroring your actions–going for your sweatpants too.

He bent down slightly to push them down your legs, and you took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from him, catching him off guard. The both of you broke into soft laughter, easing your nerves a bit. Once the sweatpants hit the ground you kicked them off your feet, letting them be banished with the rest of your clothes.

Now in just your underwear, the air between the both of you was thick with anticipation. Your breathing slowed, and deepend, syncing with his as he took you in–really absorbing every inch of skin he could see, battle wounds and all–his gaze lingering everywhere. You let your gaze fall for a moment, catching the shape of him beneath the soft cotton of his boxers. His erection was unmistakable, full and straining against the fabric, the outline was thick and defined, which made you nervous, but also excited. The image alone sent a pulse through your belly, and made your toes curl.

When you looked back up at him, he wasn’t staring at your body anymore, he was watching your face. His expression was so open, so filled with awe and admiration that it nearly made your breath catch in your chest. He reached out, his fingers gently cupping your jaw, his thumb running over the skin, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips, savouring the moment with a sigh.

Then, without saying a word his hand slipped from your face and slid around your back, while his other arm slid under your thighs, lifting you to him with ease. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carried you the short distance to his bed, throwing the duvet down to the foot of the bed, before lowering you down onto the cool sheets, letting the mattress form around your figure, pushing you up a bit so he could get on top of you.

Bob settled between your thighs with the softest exhale, like he was afraid to ruin the moment by moving too quickly. His knees sank into the mattress, feeling the way your legs guided him closer to you. His hands remained gentle–one braced beside your head, the other holding the side of your hip, absentmindedly tracing circles along it with his thumb.

You tilted your face up to him, and he dipped his head to meet your lips once again. The kiss was slower this time, deep with care and tenderness. You kissed him back with the heat of a thousand suns, your fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him a little closer as your body arched up into his. His hand on your hip drifted up your side, tickling your ribs with the ghosts of his fingertips, letting the intimacy of the moment wrap around you like a second skin.

Then, he pulled back slightly, just far enough to look at you–eyes searching, lips still parted, breath uneven against your mouth. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing idly over your ribs before he finally spoke.

”I-I want to go down on you,” He said quietly, as if the words were sacred to him. His voice was shaky, but you could tell it was just from the nerves that were pulsing through him in those moments, “I want to…Take care of you first…Want to show you how much I’ve been thinking about this…How much I’ve been thinking about you…If that’s okay?” Your heart thudded so loudly in your chest you swore he could hear it. The look on his face–open, vulnerable–was enough to make your breath catch. His words wrapped around you with such warmth that it rooted deep in your body.

You reached up, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as you whispered.

”That’s more than okay.” He swallowed hard, and then nodded, giving you a small kiss, before drifting down your skin, his lips reaching every inch of you, peppering wet little marks across you, committing every detail to memory. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, brushing across the solid muscles of his back. He kissed your chest, then your ribs, all the way until he reached the edge of your underwear. He paused, lifting his gaze to yours again, just to be sure.

You gave him a small nod, watching his fingers hook under the fabric. He pulled the fabric down your hips, and thighs, as you helped him by pulling each leg out for him. He let out a sigh, looking at your completely bare figure beneath him now, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth for a brief moment before returning to where he was moments ago, putting your legs over his shoulders.

Bob leaned forward, brushing his mouth along your inner thigh, peppering kisses along the skin, memorizing the taste of your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him the most. By the time he reached your core, you could feel your whole body pulsing against him, thrumming with anticipation and desperation.

When he finally brought his mouth to your core, he slowly licked upwards, wanting to savour the first time he got to actually taste you. The feeling of it caught you off guard, which drew a soft moan from your lips–broken and boarding on a whimper. His hands tightened at your thighs, holding you closer to him as he licked you again–more firmly this time–his tongue parting you gently, working up to circle around your clit without touching it quite yet. You closed your eyes tightly, reaching down to lace into his soft brown strands of hair. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every reaction that he coaxed out of you. When his mouth finally closed around your clit, your fingers in his hair tightened, hips rolling into him with a gasp.

“F-Fuck…Bob.” You choked out, and that was all he needed.

He groaned softly in response–just hearing your voice sounding so wrecked like that almost destroyed him–and he settled deeper between your thighs. He dragged his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, curling it just right at the tip, then flicking it softly against you until your legs trembled around him. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue with practiced rhythm, giving you just enough then pulling back slightly to tease again, letting you chase the pressure.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

”You…Holy fuck Bob…” You whined, not being able to find the words in your vocabulary because your brain was melting from the intense pressure that was building in your stomach. The way you said his name had him clutching at your thighs tighter, grounding himself as he buried his face against you more, like a man starved. He moaned softly, sending another wave of heat through your core, the vibration making you gasp. His tongue flicked, circled, and flattened, lavishing you with such deliberate devotions which drew you closer and closer to the edge.

He shifted slightly, and took one of his hands off your hip, bringing it between your thighs as he adjusted his other hand so it was splayed out along your belly. He traced his fingers through your wetness, dragging two of them along your entrance, teasing for just a second before gently slipping them inside. You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you looked down at him, seeing how focused he was on pleasing you, his eyes glistening with such intensity that you felt like you were going to die.

His fingers moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the slight stretch they provided, before curling them slightly, finding the spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed, crying out as your legs tightened around his head. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, he just groaned again, like your pleasure was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Oh my god–Bob–Bob please don’t stop…Don’t stop.” You begged, your voice breathless, and trembling on every syllable. Your fingers gripped his hair even tighter, as you felt the orgasm cresting with a pressure so intense it stole the air from your lungs. Your body was unraveling, and your muscles were tightening like a wire drawn taut. He felt it–he felt the way your walls began to pulse around his fingers, the way your hips started to jerk–and he doubled down, curling his fingers harder, sucking your clit in time with your shattering moans.

“Come for me,” He whispered against you, voice wrecked, barely audible but so sure. “Please. I want to feel it.” You broke apart beneath him with a cry, your thighs clamping around his head as your body seized, pleasure rocketing through you in waves so intense they left your limbs shaking. Your core pulsed around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out the release, breath stuttering through sobs of ecstasy.

Bob held you through it, fingers still moving slowly inside you as his mouth gently eased off, switching to open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, grounding you, kissing you through the aftershocks. He watched your body tremble beneath him, his own breath ragged with awe.

Finally, when you dropped back onto the mattress with a long, shaky sigh, he pulled his fingers from you slowly, kissing your hip one more time before crawling up over your body. His skin was flushed, his mouth was wet and glistening with your arousal, and his eyes were glazed and dark with want–but there was so much tenderness in his face that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before pulling back to caress your cheek, his thumb running just below your eye.

”Are you okay? Did I–“ You cupped his face, and pulled him back down to you, kissing him again, interrupting the words that were about to fall out of his mouth. He let a soft moan against your lips, before you slowly pulled back.

”You did…Absolutely amazing Bob. So fucking amazing.” Bob’s breath hitched the moment you said it, and you watched the praise ripple through him like a tide, flooding his expression with something raw and deeply earnest. He looked almost overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of affirmation, but he was appreciative of it regardless.

You gave him a second to breathe, brushing his hair back gently from his flushed forehead as he hovered over you, gaze still fixed on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then you tilted your head toward his ear, your voice soft and steady.

“My turn.”

Bob blinked, his lips parting slightly. “Y-You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” You cut him off gently, placing your palms on his chest and guiding him down onto his back. “I really want to.”

He let you maneuver him without resistance, collapsing onto the pillows as you crawled over him, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate movements that kept his eyes trained on you. Your fingers trailed down his torso, grazing the firm lines of his chest and stomach, watching as his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

When you shifted lower, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, he let out a sharp breath.

“Wait—” He said quickly, sitting up on one elbow, using his other hand to catch your wrist. “I–shit–I want you to just–just use your hands, okay?” You blinked at him, a little surprised by the request and the sudden interruption.

“Why?” You asked gently. His face flushed harder, eyes dropping to the sheets for a second before he met your gaze again, voice low and a little sheepish.

”Because I’m gonna end up finishing too fast if you use your mouth..And I don’t want to finish unless it’s inside you.” He admitted, his breath unsteady. Your thighs flinched at his words, leaving you staggered. You weren’t expecting it, not from him. Not from soft-spoken, anxious, stammering Bob…But then again he had just given you the best orgasm in the world…So he did have a bit more of a wilder side to him that evidently he only reserved for you at this point.

”…Okay.” You whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more, before easing down his body again. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers, and you eased them down his hips, eyes never leaving his as you exposed him to the cool air. His cock was thick and flushed, twitching slightly with need, already glistening at the tip with precum. The sight of him made your mouth go dry, and your stomach turn. You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, watching the way his jaw tightened at your touch, his head falling back against the pillow with a soft moan. Your hand moved in slow, steady strokes, twisting gently at the tip, your palm slick from how worked up he already was.

“Oh…Oh god you’re going to ruin me.” He rasped, breathlessly. You leaned over him, your free hand braced against his chest as you shifted to straddle his thighs properly. The weight of you over him made his eyes flutter open again. His hands went to your hips, as if just having you there made him feel steadier. Then without warning, he looked up at you with glassy eyes and spoke.

“C-Can I sit up against the headboard?” His voice was rough with need, but still gentle—like he didn’t want to disrupt the closeness, only deepen it.

You nodded immediately, helping guide him as he adjusted, both of you moving slowly so nothing between you was rushed. You cradled his shoulders as he shifted upward, his back settling against the cold wood of the headboard with a relieved exhale. The lamp’s soft glow painted his chest in gold, and his hair was a little messy from where your fingers had run through it, his mouth still parted as he looked at you with awe.

You straddled his lap again, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of him as he pulled you closer again. His head tilted forward and he pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, lips finding your breast again like he needed it, sucking gently over the flesh, making sure to leave a mark before pausing to let his breath fan across your skin. All the while, your hand kept moving—slow, slick, steady. You felt him throb in your palm, the heat of him pulsing like a second heartbeat. You could hear him panting, but he didn’t tell you to stop, so you continued until he pulled back from your chest completely, his pupils blown wide with something molten in his expression.

”Y/N, spit in my mouth…” He whispered, “I want all of you…I want everything. I want you in every part of me…Please.” He added, his voice on the edge of a whimper. Your breath caught at his words, not from surprise or shock but from the vulnerability the words had to them. His need wasn’t crude…It was devotional, like it was the only way he knew how to show you how dedicated he was.

You nodded once, slowly, with your eyes locked on his. Your free hand came up to cradle his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye before gently tilting his head back, exposing his throat to you. He kept his gaze on you, wide-eyed and trembling as you leaned over him, still stroking his cock while doing so.

With your lips parted and breath warm, you let a slow, steady thread of saliva slip from your mouth–down past his lips and onto his waiting tongue. He didn’t flinch, he just accepted it with a shuddering breath, swallowing it right when it made contact. A flush bloomed even more across his neck and chest. You smiled down at him, seeing how satisfied he looked. He took a deep breath, then surged forward, one arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you, open and warm, with his lips parting against yours like he wanted to thank you with his whole body.

You deepened the kiss, your chest pressing flush to his as he held you in his lap, the heat of his body radiating against yours like a shell. His hands roamed over your back, your waist, everywhere he could reach, but it wasn’t frantic—it was gentle and slow, like he was memorizing you by feeling alone. And then you pulled back, just enough to speak, your lips barely brushing his.

“I need you inside me.”

The words left you in a whisper, but they hit him like a lightning strike. Bob’s breath stuttered, and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours—glazed, dazed, and swimming in something so deep it made your spine curl. He nodded, a little frantic, the motion jerky as he grasped at your hips again, steadying you, grounding himself.

“You sure?” He asked, drawing his brows together, his voice hoarse, wanting to be sure you were on board with this completely. You nodded, kissing him one more time.

”Never been more sure.” You adjusted your hips with care, steadying yourself as you guided him to your entrance, the tip of him hot and slick against you. Bob’s breath hitched, his fingers flexing hard at your waist as he tried to hold himself still, trying not to rush you. You watched his jaw tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you slowly began to sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

The stretch made your thighs tremble and your breath catch, and Bob let out a strangled groan that vibrated through his whole chest. His head fell back against the headboard with a soft thump, eyes fluttering closed as he murmured something that sounded like your name paired with the words oh my God. You sat there a moment, your hands planted on his chest, letting your bodies adjust, feeling the twitch of him inside you, the way he was already pulsing with restraint.

And then you began to move.

It was slow at first, just the tiniest grind of your hips forward and back, your slick heat stroking along his length. His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brought his hands to your hips, guiding you gently, letting you take what you needed at your own pace, and in your own way.

You moved together like a heartbeat–slow, steady, with increasing intensity.

Bob’s hands slid up your back, then down again to cup your ass, helping you ride him deeper, pushing you just enough to make your breath hitch with every descent. His moans became more frequent, low and helpless against your skin, and he whispered your name like a prayer, again and again, until it bled into the rhythm of your bodies.

“God–you feel so good–so so good,” he rasped against your neck. “I don’t think I can–oh shit–”

Your hips were moving faster now, desperation threading into every motion. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your quiet moans, and his ragged breathing. You felt like you were both on fire—burning, blindingly alive.

And then, suddenly, Bob shifted.

Without warning, he gripped your thighs and flipped you, your back hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before you could say anything, he was there—above you—sliding back into you in one fluid, aching thrust. You cried out, your hands gripping his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, pulling him in closer.

Bob moaned softly, burying his face into your neck as his hips snapped forward with more force now, losing the gentle rhythm he had from before, exchanging it for something deeper, and more primal. One of his hands found yours and squeezed it tight, pressing it against the pillow beside your head, while the other shot out grip the headboard so he could brace himself.

And then the sound hit.

CRACK.

You barely registered it at first–you were too lost in the crescendo building inside your body, the way he filled you so perfectly, the way your name fell from his lips like he was worshiping you with every thrust. But his body shuddered on top of you, his hips jerking erratically now, the pace stuttering as he reached the edge.

“Oh God–God–Y/N–”

He moaned loudly, something close to a gasp punched from his lungs as his hips slammed into you one final time, and his whole body locked up. His hand crushed the top of the headboard–literally splintering the wood under his palm as he came inside you with a broken, breathless cry. You felt the wave of it, the way he pulsed deep inside, the warmth of him spilling into you, and it sent you hurtling over the edge too, your climax crashing through your limbs like a wave snapping every nerve awake. You cried out beneath him, your nails dragging down his back, your body seizing around him.

Bob collapsed, trembling, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot and wild against your collarbone. His hair was a complete mess, damp and tangled and wild across your skin. He was heavy and shaking, still buried inside you, both of you locked in the aftermath–too breathless to speak. You could feel his heart pounding against you–where his chest was pressed against yours.

Then slowly, you felt him lift his head from your shoulder, his cheeks a complete crimson now, lips parted as he gazed down at you with those shimmering blue eyes again, like he was trying to comprehend what just happened.

In those moments he leaned forward and kissed you, like he was saying thank you, or maybe he was trying to determine if this really was happening. You kissed him back with the same softness he gave you, your fingers pushing his hair back from his face. He sighed, and pulled back from your lips, his gaze raising slightly. You could see his mouth drop open slightly, and his eyes went wide.

”…What?” You asked, your brows drawing together in confusion. He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently reached up and tilted your chin, guiding your gaze upward–and that’s when you saw it.

A clean, jagged split ran right down the center of the wooden headboard. Splintered and cracked like lightning had struck it from above. Your mouth parted in shock, and for a beat neither of you said anything.

Then you laughed.

It started soft–with disbelief and surprise–but quickly turned into full, breathless giggles that made your body shake. Bob buried his face in your neck again, groaning quietly.

“At least we still have my bed to move to,” You teased, stroking his hair to calm him down from the embarrassment he was probably feeling. “But maybe we should…I don’t know…Get things that don’t break so easily?”

Bob groaned again into your skin, and you could hear the shy smile behind it. “Y-Yeah…Yeah, maybe,” He mumbled, barely audible.

You could feel the heat creeping back into his cheeks.

“Though…” He added after a pause, voice muffled and sheepish, “If sex is always gonna be like that… I-I don’t think it’ll matter what it’s made of…” You smirked, pushing him off his shoulder so you could look at him–and the adorable way he immediately avoided your gaze. Your heart swelled.

“Sounds like a good time to me,” You whispered, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

Eventually, you cleaned yourselves up, and shifted to your bed, sliding in under the fresh sheets, tucking yourselves into each other. Bob curled around you protectively, your bodies bare and warm together, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, nose buried into your hair. You fell asleep like that–saturated in the safety of each other, breath syncing, hearts still fluttering.

——————

The morning sunlight slipped gently into the room, illuminating the soft gold glow of the lamp you’d forgotten to turn off.

You were the first to stir.

Bob’s arms were still locked around you, holding you like he thought you might disappear. You turned in his embrace, resting your palm against his chest, letting your fingers trace lazy circles along his sternum, and the little scars that he had around that area that were barely noticeable. His eyes fluttered open not long after, blinking slowly until they found yours.

“Morning,” You whispered.

“Hi…” He whispered back, his voice gravelly from, as one hand moved to push your hair out of your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “Of course I am.”

He returned a smile back to you, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in to kiss you–sleepy and sweet, his soft lips barely moving, while his nose brushed against yours. He pulled back slowly, letting his thumb trace your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it, with a sweet smirk.

”I could stay like this forever,” He murmured, trailing his touch down to the side of your neck, taking in the image of you in front of him, making sure he would remember this moment. You tilted your head into his hand, staring up at him with your heart pounding against your chest.

”Me too.” He grinned, just a little. The kind of grin that was half love-drunk and half processing the events that happened last night, then you remembered what you were going to talk to him about yesterday when you came back to the room, before you found his note.

”Hey I was actually going to tell you something when I came back to the room,” You began, already laughing at the story, seeing the way his attention was on you, hanging off of every word “During training yesterday evening, Yelena and Bucky gave me the third degree abo-“ Just as you were about to tell him you heard Yelena’s voice coming from an already opening door.

”Y/N, missed tra-OH MY GOD! HOLY CRAP!” You jolted, the covers pulling up to your chest as Bob yelped and scrambled to sit up behind you, wide-eyed and clutching the sheets. In the doorway, Yelena stood with her hands over her eyes, then immediately turned and bolted out again.

”I KNEW IT! BUCKY I TOLD YOU!” She yelled. The both of you glanced over at each other.

”…I’m assuming they gave you…The third degree about us?” Bob asked, finishing the sentence you were about to say before the interruption.

“Yeah…” You whispered under your breath, trying to suppress a laugh.

4K notes · View notes

unofficial-author · 22 days ago

Text

𝐨𝐡, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬. (𝐈𝐈)

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after being pulled back from one of the latest missions to recuperate, you take advantage of the time alone with your boyfriend.

can be read as a standalone fic. read part one here.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robert reynolds (sentry) / fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light smut (mdni), mild angst, talk of insecurities, mentions of past abuse/addiction, lots of fluff, heavy petting, heavy kissing, sub!bob, praise kink, male whimpering, dry humping, body worship, extremely soft/gentle smut, fingering (fem!rec), mutual orgasm, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thank you guys so much for the love & support on the first bob fic! he is so fun to write for and I just adore him! If you all are interested in more bob content, let me know! thank you all for your love and support and I hope you enjoy! 🫶

When the rest of the team inevitably discovers your relationship with Bob, there isn’t a single surprised face in the room.

Instead, you’re met with plenty of understanding, snide remarks regarding how it was bound to happen, and mild shock that it hadn’t happened sooner. You’re grateful that it doesn’t become tense or awkward — everyone’s accepting.

There is always an element of danger, forming a bond with someone who’s life is constantly on the line — yours and his. This additional layer complicates things, but you’re learning, navigating it all, and so is he.

An incessant fear still gnaws at the recesses of your mind, the fear of losing him somehow, leaving your heart ragged. Bob is afraid of it too, much more than you — when you leave for a mission, it’s perilous, dark whispers nipping at his heels.

However, things are progressing — it’s a sluggish beast, recovering from immeasurable trauma, but he’s putting in the work. Even after so many months, there’s a stagnation he feels, as if he’s slammed into a brick wall, a plateau.

It’s to be expected, his therapist warns, and Bob doesn’t enjoy the feeling of little to no progress. Nevertheless, he swallows the discomfort and only lets it loose when most appropriate, long-winded conversation during his sessions.

He has you, though — his biggest supporter, a cheerleader encouraging him every step of the way without wavering. Sometimes, he feels unnecessarily clumsy, like a child, and he knows that he isn’t. However, you’re always the first to assure him that he’s doing well.

When doubt begins to fester, you extinguish it as best as you can, but it doesn’t always work out the way you intend. The Void is a patient creature, skulking about within the darkest parts of him, a predator preparing to strike.

Low days, high days; the low days eat him alive.

Bob wonders why you continue to stick around even after what you’ve witnessed; a blackness so encompassing that it nearly takes you, too. Though he's gotten better at managing it, it doesn’t lessen the burden, doesn’t take the sting away.

He’s taken to calling the “in-between” days even days, where he’s caught somewhere in the mix of it all, of despair and joy, of grandeur and melancholy. It starts when there’s word of a mission, he knows that you’ll go — he gets scared.

The nightmares still haunt him, lingering when he’s most vulnerable, but they become less frequent. More often than not, you sleep in his bed every night, limbs entangled, anchored to one another to make the pain lessen.

There’s something to brighten his days — your budding relationship, soft and effortless, a bond he cannot recall having with someone else. Yelena is protective, cautionary; he assures her that you treat him well, that you’re perfect.

Today is an even day, made lighter by the revelation that you aren’t going on this newest mission.

Admittedly, you’re desperate for a break, to savor time away from constant missions, publicity events held by Valentina for funding, fighting; you’re tired. As the opportunity arose to skip out, you seized it, and that meant spending more time with Bob.

Once the team is gone, the tower is blanketed by an unusual hush, save for the dismal sound of running water. He’s doing the dishes again, you realize, watching as the jet departs from the landing, soaring through the skies above New York City.

An impressive palette of hues paint the atmosphere, shades of violet intermingled with the glow of a waning sun, settling into a gentle twilight. When you wander back inside, you can hear him humming; tranquil, placating.

Slivers of sunset fall across Bob, turning his brunette tresses to a warm caramel, sleeves haphazardly tugged up toward the crooks of his elbows. It makes your heart lurch within your chest, skipping a beat, mesmerized by him; dazzled, really.

“Hey,” Greeting him with a smile, you inch closer, leaning against the edge of the granite countertop. “Do you want some help with those?” You gesture toward the pile of dirty porcelain.

Tension unfurls from within him as soon as your voice inhabits the space between, head craning over his shoulder to peer at you. He nods, stepping to one side, making room for you at the sink. “Sure.” He hums, passing off plates for you to hand-dry.

Busying yourself with such menial labor, Bob is preoccupied with you, stealing glances every few seconds, lashes fluttering. He notices the shirt you’re wearing, because it’s his, grey material sagging on your shoulders.

A warm scarlet invades his visage, creeping along his jaw, stretching against his throat. Having you here with him is incredibly soothing, and he’s happy to spend more time with you. Truthfully, if he could steal you away, he would’ve.

He’s discovering what he enjoys again, buried beneath the ruin of his trauma; and you make things so much easier. “What do you want to do tonight?” Breaking the bout of silence, you wipe off flecks of orange from a plate.

Bob gawks, uncertain of what to say. You don’t really have to do much of anything, as long as he’s with you. With a nonchalant shrug, the stack grows increasingly smaller, until there’s only a handful of crockery left.

“I’m not sure,” He admits, cerulean hues flickering over you again, flustered by the sight of you in his shirt. It was unexpected, but he wasn’t adverse to it, not in the slightest. “Is that my shirt?” Bob inquires, head canting to one side.

Caught, a familiar heat rakes over the nape of your neck, tendrils creeping towards your face. “It is,” Embarrassed, you chew at the inside of your cheek, knowing you should’ve asked beforehand. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you if it was okay.”

Instantaneously, Bob is refuting your apology, afraid that he’s upset you. “No, no,” With a shake of his head, he smiles, an awkward chuckle slipping from his mouth. “I—I like it, I don’t mind.” He assures, and you feel relieved, lips twitching into a bright beam.

“Good. I like it, too.” Delighted, you fail to stifle your laughter, helping to clean the last of the dishes before you take the time to put them all away. Bob assists when you can’t reach something, hovering over you with a relaxed expression.

Slouched lounge pants complement his shirt, grey material swallowing you whole, still carrying the scent of him. Staying in the Tower often relaxed your dress code; Bob always thought you looked pretty in anything and everything.

When you weren’t looking, he was; azure hues never strayed far from you, his sun, emanating with a radiant warmth, chasing away the darkness. His gaze was one of longing, thinly-veiled affection, a security that he finds in you, you in him.

Fading sunlight turns grayed windowpanes to masterpieces, catching refractions of light, splaying out over the dark tile. Everything is bright, splendidly so; you’re bright too, beam glittering over your pearlescent teeth.

“I was thinking about watching a movie, maybe ordering something to eat,” It’s something idle to pass the time, but you’ve found that Bob finds enjoyment in it. “Does pizza sound good?” Your stomach snarls at the mere thought.

Bob barely registers your suggestion, too busy ogling you with doe-like hues and a countenance bristling with affection. He realizes how strange it might’ve been for you, his constant staring, murmuring an apology before he answers.

“Hm? Oh,” His throat stirs. “Yeah, pizza’s good.” Lips split into a smile that melts your insides, butterflies swarming within the pit of your belly, marrow turning molten.

“Hey,” You reach for him, hand gentle against his forearm. “Are you okay?” It’s something you’ve grown used to asking, practiced; it’s a habit, born of concern for him. Bob nods, visibly reassuring, the sincerity reaching his eyes.

“I like watching you,” There’s a peculiar softness in his admission, but he fumbles, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Not — Not like that.” He sighs, but you understand what he means, flattered that he’s drawn to you; it’s endearing.

“I know what you mean, Bob.” With a wrinkled nose, you step closer, hesitant to invade his space without permission. He savors the physicality of it all, growing accustomed to your touch — it’s always gentle, always accommodating.

Allowing you to thin the distance, Bob exhales when your arms curl around his midsection, musculature firm beneath your palms, through the material of his sky-blue sweater.

He always tries to hide his blushing, hands coming to cradle your face, foreheads dipping to ghost over one another. Every facet of your countenance is committed to memory — it’s a face he knows he won’t forget.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” It’s almost breathless, the way he says it, steeped in such reverence. He’s gotten better with the compliments, better at being a partner, a boyfriend. He’s warm to the touch, a kiss of fire to your flesh.

Flustered, you fail to dismiss his sweet praise, content to stand here in the kitchen like this; together. A shiver cascades down his spine, able to feel your fingertips draw patterns over his back, the sensation unbelievably soothing.

His lips caress against your crown, allowing it to linger, moments stretching into some blissful infinity. It’s his heartbeat you listen to, a melody that climbs in rhythm, quickening when his head lowers, dipping against yours.

“So are you.” Without pause, it earns you a small chuckle from Bob, whose heart gallops, sings to you when your mouth ghosts over his. Everything slows to a crawl, deliberation exuding from you, sluggishness intentional, meant to savor.

Just as his heartbeat begins to race, so does yours, ringing deep within your ears as you let the kiss continue, disarmingly gentle. He’s careful with you, cautious even when he doesn’t have to be, thumbs stroking along your cheekbones.

Absentmindedly, you find yourself smiling into the kiss, palpable, and he feels it too, unable to stifle the blush that flourishes within his features. Bob exhales, flesh beginning to sting with excitement, and he gingerly withdraws, visibly smitten.

Reaching for your tresses, he toys with your hair, satiny between his fingers. Wordlessly, he kisses your cheek, lips drifting over the bridge of your nose, over the corner of your mouth.

“That’s nice,” You hum, lulled into a state of serenity, delighted to be doted upon, showered in peppered affection. Bob knows that you’re just as starved for contact as he is, the pad of his thumb sweeping over your brow. “I’m going to order that pizza now.”

He’s nearly forgotten about it, hunger lurching within his stomach, growling at the thought. Before you untangle yourself from him, you rock up upon your toes, planting a chaste kiss against his mouth before reaching for your smartphone.

Bob never strays very far away when you’re together, the closeness comforting to him; and you don’t mind whatsoever. He lingers beside you when you’re on the phone, fingers idly messing with his sleeves, waiting for you to finish.

“It’s your turn to pick a movie.” He reminds you, curious to see what you choose. You have a unique taste — you like everything, and he tends to find something good in each film you’ve watched together.

Indecisive, you hum, wandering toward the lounge, couches forming an oval, centered around a massive screen. It’s typically used for analysis and surveillance, but you don’t mind hijacking it from time to time for entertainment purposes.

With a soft huff, you unceremoniously fall into the plush, crimson cushions, one leg folded beneath you as Bob sits beside you. “How would you feel about watching a drama? Something historical, maybe?” You muse, and he shrugs.

“I don’t mind.” Bob feels you reach for his hand, digits twining together. The consistent touch is something he’s grown used to, something he adores. He feels seen, wanted; his thumb traces across your knuckles.

Contemplative, you recline, partially slumped against his shoulder as you wrack your brain for something to watch. When you come up empty-handed, you clear your throat. “Would you rather listen to music?”

That suggestion is met with some enthusiasm as Bob nods, seemingly embarrassed. “I figured out how to make a playlist,” He wasn’t incredibly skilled with a smartphone, and watching him try to navigate it was amusing sometimes. “I made one for you.”

Incredulous, you sit up enough to tilt your head, flattered by the innocuous gesture. It’s unexpectedly charming, endearing — he’s a little flustered, but he doesn’t shy away from wanting you to browse the songs he’s chosen for it.

“You made me a playlist?” Others might’ve scoffed at the gesture, found it meaningless or juvenile — not you. Music was something that you often shared with Bob, a method of connection, of furthering your relationship.

Flickers of anxiety tick across his features, coupled with that of boyish abashment. A stifled hum escapes him as he nods, dark hues meeting yours, lips wobbling into a half-smile. “Yeah,” He clears his throat. “It’s just songs that make me think of you.”

“Do you mind if we listen to some of it together?” Unsure if he wanted this to be something private, you ensure to ask, and he’s willing to share. After he tells you he’s agreeable to it, your belly pools with a pang of heat.

Bob shuffles from the couch, finding the nook he’s crafted beside the window. There’s a variety of books haphazardly stacked atop one another, a side-table where his phone sits.

“It’s still a, ah — A work in-progress,” He clarifies, wandering back towards you, eyebrows scrunched together as he navigates through his phone. Rejoining you, he sits down, feeling your hand nudge against his ribs. “There.”

Connected to the Tower’s mainframe and subsequent speakers, he hits ‘play’, starting the playlist from the beginning. A softer folk song reverberates throughout the room, the melody reminiscent of a lullaby.

Songs that make me think of you; it means more to you than he fully realizes, the thought that each song was chosen with meaning, with intent. A hush fell between, a comfortable silence as you listened to the music, feeling his arm curl around you.

Tucking your head between his collar and jaw, you listen to the thrum of his heart, to the idle humming that occasionally slips from his lips. Draping an arm around his midsection, space becomes nonexistent, bodies flush together, basking in the moment.

Bob’s eyes flutter, pleasantly half-lidded, drinking in the physicality that you provide. Gooseflesh ices his spine as your knuckles graze in circles over his ribcage, cheek resting comfortably atop the crown of your head.

“This is the sweetest thing someone’s done for me,” A low utterance leaves you, cadence bristling with a kindly warmth, one that weaves around him. Each song had meaning — things he remembered about you, or the melody simply resonated with him, as you did. “Thank you, Bob.”

Flushed, he nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed the growing lump forming, stuffing down his nervousness. There was no reason to be anxious around you, he knew this — it was his own thoughts that made him flustered.

“You mean everything to me,” Despite the twinge of shrewdness within his tone, he’s sincere, palm mimicking your action of tracing over his ribs. With a brief exhale, he gets closer, if that were even possible; you’re nearly in his lap. “I should be thanking you.”

A mirthful scoff huffs from your mouth, as if the idea of him thanking you is a preposterous notion. “No, you shouldn’t,” You murmur, head tilting just enough to plant a chaste kiss against his jaw. “I really like being with you.”

It’s a raw reminder of how incomparable you are in his eyes — glittering, radiant, perfect. Bob’s smile is small, but it grows in your presence, proximity having something to do with it. Digits idly sweep aside his hair, lingering behind his ear.

Somewhere in the darker recesses of his mind, scrambled memories float about; he recalls feeling like a burden, feeling unwanted. Bob winces, pain unfurling from his chest, scratched raw, but it subsides when he glances toward you.

Several of the music choices are merely classical compositions, sound strung together to create enchanting harmonies. You wonder how they remind him of you, what goes on inside of his head, how he sees you from his perspective.

“I hope you like it,” Some small sliver of him worries that it’s all too much — he’s being too much, but you seem elated. “I wanted to make it special.” His cadence softens to a lower timbre, one that he doesn’t use often.

Gooseflesh ices your spine, a twinge of want stirring within your chest. It feels detestable to desire him, as if you’re some pervasive force invading his space, but you can’t help it. With a smile, you shift against his side, distracting your thoughts with something else.

“I love it,” As the music crawls to a heartfelt ballad, you decide to stand, slowly untangling yourself from Bob’s embrace. He seems a little disappointed, but it’s fleeting when you extend your hand towards him. “Do you want to dance?”

He laughs as if the idea is silly, but he’s more embarrassed than anything else. “I—I’m not going to be very good at it,” Bob trips over his words, gaining footing toward the end. “If that’s alright.”

With a wrinkled nose, you reach for him, hands twining, digits threading together, two pieces of a puzzle. It’s a seamless fit as you coax him forward and off of the cushions. “I’m not any good, either. We can just sway.”

“Sway,” Bob chuckles, still clinging to timidity even as he moves off of the couch and into your arms. Hands find their place against your waist, a touch shy as your arms loosely dangle around his neck. “What now?”

“We move,” A grin splits your lips, and he’s still laughing, a soft sound that jostles his shoulders. He’s a little uncoordinated, but he’s adaptable, mimicking your movements as you slowly turn about the lounge. “See? You’re a natural.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Blushing, Bob nearly hides beneath his lashes, posture hunched, as if he’s attempting to suppress his own height. Though, he does like being closer to you, too. “It’s nice.” He murmurs, digits curling into your shirt.

“Yeah?” A sigh of a whisper fans across his jaw, your breath a sweet plume. He begins to relax, less rigid, beginning to sink into one another. “Spin me around?” Playful, you take one hand, starting to twirl, albeit a little graceless, as he lets you turn.

Bob’s smile is the widest it’s been in a long time, and he’s careful with you, so delicate for someone with his inhuman strength. He eases you back in, hands joined together at one side, and he spins you again, caged to his chest.

You’re giggling, he’s chuckling, too; it’s pure bliss.

There’s a constant hint of shyness that permeates his visage, as if he’s stupefied by you. He knows that sentiment won’t change anytime soon; you’re beautiful, and you’re home.

“I’m happy,” Bob blurts, lips parting to make way for a trembling exhale. It almost feels strange, as if his life isn’t meant to be this way — he’s not meant to be happy, not meant to feel worthwhile. “Almost forgot what it felt like.”

Steps cease, swaying coming to a crawl as you stop to muster up a response. It’s devastatingly poignant, his statement — and yet, there’s something saccharine about it, too. “Bob …” Brows knit together, lips twitching into an empathetic smile.

“I—I know you don’t want my gratitude, but you make me happy,” It’s as if the earth shifts beneath your feet, something monumental; you feel just as undeserving as he does, sometimes. “You do, and I want you to know that.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, vision growing bleary, a haze of emotion as you swiftly try and blink them away. “You make me happy, too — so much,” You murmur, forcing a laugh to dispel any potential sobs. “I’m proud of you.”

Proud of you; Bob wants to dismiss it all, tell you that there isn’t anything to be proud of, but the words fade to ash upon his tongue. He’s still learning, still healing, a heart and mind that haven’t completely mended.

He knows that you don’t care, you take him as he is — Bob, the Void, Robert. Even the darkest parts of him are ones that you care deeply for.

It was his turn to become blubbery, head dipping as he stifled the tears, a smile still tugging at either corner of his mouth. Wordlessly, Bob’s lips press against your crown, the kiss firm, lingering; it’s his way of thanking you without saying it.

Violet-bruised skies subside, falling subservient to an inky black, chasing away the last wisps of an orange sunset. The room darkens, save for the glow of the monitor’s massive screen and the pallid lights that shimmer near the floor.

Before your lips can search for his, there’s a buzz that hums throughout the room — the bottom floor. There’s a monotonous voice that alerts you to movement downstairs, and you realize that the pizza is here.

“Oh,” Bob hums, mouth agape as another chuckle escapes him. “The pizza.” Admittedly, he had forgotten all about the food, forgotten about the vicious snarl emanating from his stomach.

“The pizza,” Conceding, you click your tongue, peering up at Bob with a tender smile. He’s flushed, using his sleeve to rid himself of any stray tears, pearlescent teeth glittering through the dim light. “You okay?” You ask, and he nods fervently.

“Yeah,” His smile grows when you kiss his neck, unable to reach his jaw this time. Fire follows in the wake of such an innocuous gesture, and he gapes, wanting to feel it again. “I’m fine — I’m hungry, too.”

“Perfect,” Clearing your throat, you move towards the elevator, pressing the communication button beside it. “Have him put it on the elevator, Tower.”

There’s some strange intelligence unit that helps power the Watchtower — you’ve taken to calling it ‘Tower’. Bob is somewhat unnerved by it, but it’s helpful to have an additional layer of security. Though, the elevator is notoriously slow.

“Now we wait.”

Remnants of a pepperoni pizza lay scattered atop the granite counter in the kitchen, scent of melted cheese and marinara heavy in the air. Bob is licking the grease from his fingertips while you’re cleaning up, tossing the box into the trash.

He’s grown fond of junk food; when in the throes of active addiction, he rarely ate, wasting away whilst searching for drugs. Bob fills the cravings with everything he can, with a penchant for burgers and milkshakes, too.

“That was good,” He remarks, having eaten a majority of the extra-large pizza you’d ordered. You were content to let him, noticing the streak of red sauce that’s still on his chin. “Thank you.”

“You’ve got something,” Gently, you reach forward, rocking up upon your toes as the pad of your thumb wipes away any stray marinara. “There.” You’re smiling and he’s smitten again, a bemused huff escaping him as the kitchen turns sparkling again.

The two of you go to your room this time, as opposed to his. Bob prompts the change of scenery, curiously admiring some of your decor, a reflection of your personality. There’s a picture of the two of you that Alexei took, secretly, both of you two deer in the headlights.

As the door slides shut, you move to turn on the nightlight over your headboard. You never had much of a use for it until Bob started sleeping in your bed — you don’t mind it.

“You kept this,” Bob murmurs, gingerly handling the photograph with a shy smile. “I—I didn’t think you wanted your picture taken.” It’s a small detail he’s picked up about you, incredibly adverse to flash photography.

“I didn’t, but it’s of us,” With a beam, you begin to fix up your comforter, making sure the pillows are there, sheets corrected. “I talked Alexei into developing it for me.” You muse, sitting down along the corner of your bed.

He examines the picture, finding you to be flawless in all senses of the word. You look startled, and even still, it doesn’t detract from your beauty. “Do you think I could have one?” He asks, glancing from the photo to you.

A peculiar warmth snakes over the back of your neck, heating your skin as you nod. “Absolutely, and we can take a new one together, too.” You wonder if it’s more than just sentimental reasons; so he’ll remember you, if something happens.

“I’d like that.” Bob hums, gaze fluttering about your room again. He’s been in it a handful of times, but things are constantly shifting around. You’re often inclined to go to his room when it comes to this.

Fingertips trace over the picture once more before he places it back on your vanity, hands retracting to toy with the hem of his sweater. Bob glances toward you again, his shirt pooling around your frame, exposing a glimpse of your collarbone.

A sliver of flesh, and he’s reeling, mind beginning to drift off, wondering what you might’ve looked like without his shirt. It makes his flesh burn with a feverish pitch, as if he’s been swallowed by fire.

He’s been thinking about it more often — intimacy.

Everything seems murky, clouded still as he wades through the tides of his past, searching for memories fragmented after he consumed the serum. He knows that he’s had a past fling, but none of it held a candle to what he shared with you.

He knows that he yearns for you, a feeling so intense that it’s overwhelming at times, something he tries to bury; and that’s wrong. Bob doesn’t want to scare you off, and he doesn’t want to make anything awkward.

Sluggishly, he moves to sit beside you, feeling your fingertips lightly trace over his spine. The sensation is something he welcomes, attempting to relax; you can hear his heartbeat. It’s somewhat erratic, an uneven rhythm that pounds within your ears.

Quiet, Bob dips lower, nose grazing yours, able to hear the subtle hitch within your throat. The kiss is devastatingly gentle, as always; there’s something inviting about his mouth, sweet and cautious, usually a touch shy.

As lips linger and still, he draws away, gazing down at you as if he’s awestruck, the ghost of a smile haunting his features. Wordlessly, you ask for more, tilting in again until his head briefly jostles in a nod, a sharp inhale puncturing his lungs.

There’s a subdued fervor behind this kiss, as if the both of you are actively skirting around the elephant in the room, avoiding startling the other. Absentmindedly, your hands gently perch against his abdomen, muscles firm and marblesque beneath your palms.

Bob feels himself burning with affection, but it’s heavier, heady; he feels your hands, steady atop his midsection, and it’s enough to make his head spin. Your lips are saccharine, each kiss one of a prevailing tenderness, a softness that he savors.

Kisses intensify, born of ardor as you tilt your head, deepening your entanglement. A soft, keening groan reverberates within his throat, a noise that makes you writhe in delight.

Finding some sliver of courage, his own hands snake toward your waist, hesitant, caging you in against his chest. Your hands are all over him, lavishing him in sweet caresses, and he begins to squirm beneath you.

One palm splays over the small of your back, digits ghosting over bare flesh, beginning to glide beneath your shirt. He feels your mouth stutter during the kiss, breath sharp and punctuated, likely out of shock.

“Sorry,” Bob apologizes, fearing that he might’ve taken it a step too far, but you’re there to soothe him, visibly content within his hold. “I—I should’ve asked, before …” His heart threatens to beat right out of his sternum.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Reassuring, you wonder what he’s thinking about, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I wanted you to.” Admitting your growing feelings, you notice the gears turning within his head, darker hues sparkling through the faint illumination.

“You do?” Incredulous, Bob doesn’t pull his hands away, doe-eyed as you attempt to broach the subject of physicality. You wouldn’t do it if you didn’t love him, that much you know. “If we … Would it be okay if we kept going?”

The thought entices you, heart pounding away beneath your sternum, as if it might rip a hole through your chest. You want to tell him just how much you want to, but it’s better to approach this gently, slower steps, easing into it.

“Yeah,” Swallowing the nervous lump within your throat, you ensure that you’re both on the same page about this. “We don’t have to do anything that you aren’t comfortable with. Even then, I want to take things slow.”

Bob isn’t exactly discomforted by the thought of exploring the physical aspect with you, but he’s terrified of disappointing you, or not being good enough. It’s maimed him, darker insecurities, but he knows how much you care.

There’s a distinct lack of raw lust, instead instilled by a burning tenderness, a mutual yearning, souls and bodies interconnected. That’s how you know that you’re willing to be vulnerable with him like this, in a way that you never were with others.

He nods, lips twitching into a tranquil smile as he holds you close, and you reach up to caress his brow as you’ve done many times before. “You’re so pretty.” Bob utters, wide-eyed and wanton, eyelids fluttering beneath your embrace.

Fingertips skirt along his brow, until your palm cups his jaw, thumb tracing circles over his cheek. He exhales, tension unfurling from his shoulders as he lets himself relax, lets himself become vulnerable. “You’re perfect.” You croon, beguiled.

It’s you who closes the gap this time, lips softly tangling with his own. Passion festers, a present spectator the more your mouths meld together, seamlessly molding to one another.

Bob shivers when your digits toy with the hem of his sweater, the feather-light dusting of your fingertips brushing over bare flesh. He’s not used to being touched like this, with kindness, reverence; a low groan stirs within his throat.

Shy, he begins to urge you closer still, but you’re halfway in his lap. “Is this okay?” Bob mumbles between sluggish kisses, and you’re quick to nod, adjusting yourself until your thighs are firm on either side of his hips.

This all feels like some distant fantasy, one that might slip through his grasp at any moment. He’s blushing, features permanently stained with scarlet as he adapts to the new position, his hands still politely gripping your waist.

He doesn’t know where to start, but he has inklings of ideas, awkwardly fumbling with the hem of your shirt, his shirt, blanketing your frame. You’re patient, preferring to explore, drinking him in for the hundredth time.

Tilting forward, your lips meet in another kiss, deliberate, and you can hear his heartbeat climb with a peculiar intensity. Bob caresses your waist, fingers flexing against the cotton material of your shirt, feeling your hand nudge beneath his sweater.

As mouths clawed for one another, a gnawing ache began to fester within your stomach, manifesting as arousal that coalesced between your legs. There is little space between you, replaced with a heated friction that seeps into your bones.

Your palm is cold against his abdomen, his flesh running hot, a shiver coursing through him at the contact. The sensation is somewhat foreign, but he enjoys it, reciprocating the kiss with a sudden blaze of passion.

His hands are like hot brands as they trace your bare flesh, gathering the confidence to push beneath your shirt. You shudder, delighting in the lingering kisses you give one another, never devolving to anything rough.

Slowly recoiling from his lips, your hands find the hem of your shirt, beginning to peel it from your body. Admittedly, you’re just as shy as he is about it, and the process of undressing feels like some sacred ritual.

Bob swallows, countenance one of pure amazement and elation as you toss the garment toward the foot of your bed. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers. There’s scars on your body, past experimentation, but he finds favor in every single one.

A simple, black-cotton brassiere conceals your chest, nothing extravagantly fancy. His hands smooth over your waist, one arm curling around you, drawing you closer. Quiet, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, over a small scar.

One of your hands shifts, coming to perch against the nape of his neck, digits idly carding through brunette tresses. Bob exhales, the sensation pleasant to him as he feels your lips pepper his jaw, each kiss one of pure ardor.

A hoarse, low whimper escapes him when you gently kiss his throat, feeling his hands caress over your body. “Is this okay?” You mumble into his flesh, feeling his head jostle in an eager nod.

Poised to continue, you lavish him in feather-light, sweet kisses, chest flush to his, other palm still firm atop his abdomen. His noises are endearing, eyes nearly closed, preening beneath the attention you give him, kissing your way along his neck.

Thrumming in your ear, his heart sings a melody, calls your name, feeling your hand peruse through his hair. Flushed, Bob wants to reciprocate and more, heat bleeding from his skin, like warmth oozing from a crackling flame.

Lavishing him in the affection he deserves, your mouth continues to explore his neck, dipping against the hollow between throat and shoulder. Every kiss is fire, and he is naught but ash, a string of groans leaving him.

Joined hands meet at the trim of his sweater, following after you as he rids himself of the garment, running abnormally hot. As the blue material crests over his head, you marvel at the sight of him, as if he’s carved from stone.

He’s indestructible, muscles taut and nothing short of impressive, prompting you to swallow the lump within your throat. He’s so handsome, endlessly shy, his visage smitten as your gaze meets his.

Bob smiles, scarlet-faced as he moves to cradle your face. He’s more relaxed than he thought he’d be, stomach still coiled into an excitable, anxious knot, flesh bristling as he kisses you again.

Bodies twine together, and you’re slotted in his lap, hips occasionally urging against his own. There’s friction present, hot and unfamiliar; he’s infatuated by the sensation. He feels your hand drag from his torso to chest, hovering over his heart.

It’s soothing, your presence; a sanctuary that he feels uninhibited within, where his confidence begins to take root. It’s faint, but he can feel his courage flourish when his mouth begins to descend towards your jaw.

Bewildered, you feel yourself gasp; a subtle, surprised noise that becomes lost in the entangled barrage of sighs. He’s agonizingly slow in the best possible way, gaze occasionally shifting to make sure that he isn’t hurting you somehow.

Bob simply mimics your actions from before, and it has a rather powerful effect, ripping a low moan straight from your diaphragm. The sound is pretty, gives him some encouragement to know that he isn’t completely hopeless.

“S’good?” He murmurs, and you can feel the little quirk of his mouth against your throat. You nod, urging him to continue, and he’s more than eager to do so, kissing a trail toward your collarbone.

His hands remain stagnant, one occasionally caressing along your spine, the other content to rest against your hip. You don’t mind it, reveling in the affection he provides you, deliciously gentle, in the way that you desire most.

A shiver passes through him, your digits idly carding over his scalp, threading within his tresses, the sensation pleasant. Cupping the nape of his neck, you exhale, a shaky noise wrought with exhilaration as he kisses toward your sternum.

He’s blushing again, heat radiating from his skin, hesitant to continue further. Every scar on your body is tended-to by his sweet kiss, as if he’s worshiping your flesh, something you feel marrow-deep.

“Do you mind if I …” A tremulous sigh escapes him, and he reminds himself that there’s nothing to be nervous about; it’s just you, he loves you. “I want to see you — more of you, if that’s alright.” Bob inquires, his timbre low, a touch skittish.

A molten warmth curls over you, festering throughout your entire body, as if you’ve been struck by a fever. His constant desire for consent is endearing, and you nod, crawling off of his lap in order to sit beside him, instead.

It’s been so long; he knows what to do, he thinks, but it’s overshadowed by this unforeseen pressure, impressing you. Bob knows it’s going to take some time for him to work himself up for the entire act, but he knows just how patient you are.

Shimmying out of your thin, pajama bottoms, you nudge the material aside, letting it pool on the floor below, left in your undergarments. His eyes are wide again, silently appreciating you, drinking in your beauty — he’s not subtle about it.

His hand flexes into the edge of the mattress, nearly ripping it apart, if he wanted to. Bob watches, mesmerized as you tilt forward, capturing his mouth in another kiss, one hand poised against his thigh.

He tenses, a soft groan pulled from his throat as each kiss seems to burn with a growing intensity. It feels incredible, to be wanted — to be desired by you, in all ways imaginable. As your other hand settles against his abdomen, his lips come to a crawl.

“Still okay?” Ensuring that he’s still wanting to explore, he nods, though there’s a bit of hesitancy present. “What’s wrong?” You ask, cadence soft and assuring, wanting him to know that his well-being comes before any physicality.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” The weight of his confession is somewhat relinquished, vocalizing his nervousness out in the open. You’re nearly slotted in his lap again, chest ghosting over his, caressing across firm muscles. “It all feels new; but I know it’s not.”

Through furrowed brows, you shake your head, fingers sweeping to stroke through his tresses. “You’re not disappointing me,” You murmur, lips curling into a warm smile. “It’s okay if it feels new. I don’t have any expectations — I just want to be with you.” With that in-mind, he begins to relax.

Bob nods, visibly flustered as he shifts beneath you, attempting to hide the evidence of rousing feelings. “I want to keep going,” He gushes, hands settling against your hips. “Just a little more.” The enthusiasm in his voice is charming.

“Define ‘a little more’,” You utter, gaze glittering with curiosity as you caress his jaw, thumb tracing circles into his skin. “This is new for me, too, but it feels comfortable with you.” Those words strike a chord within him; he’s safe for you, too.

A twinge of embarrassment settles onto his countenance, marked by furrowed brows and a halfhearted, anxious smile. “I want to touch you,” He decides it’s best to be forthcoming. “If that’s alright.” Bob murmurs, watching your lips part in surprise.

Touch holds a certain meaning — you know what he wants, and when it comes from his mouth, it makes your skin scream with heat. Even then, he appears a little shy, as if the admission of it somehow tarnishes him.

“Okay.” Conceding, you watch as he sits back just enough, politely adjusting you to ensure that you’re in his lap again. Your hands settle against his shoulders, taut and broad beneath your palms, flesh an open furnace.

Bob beseeches you for another kiss, something to distract himself with, one hand fumbling over your thigh. He wants to come across as confident, self-assured, but it’s harder than he thought it would be. He starts to relax when your digits idly massage into his shoulders.

Lower, lower still; you shiver when his hand ghosts over the inside of your thigh, touch incendiary, a brand etched into your skin. Each kiss makes your head spin, a dizzying feeling.

Between loving, sluggish kisses, he finds the confidence to skirt past the material of your panties, digits finding the warmth between your legs. A sharp gasp splits your lungs, and he almost thought he might’ve burned you.

If it weren’t for his arm keeping you aloft, you might’ve collapsed beneath his touch, melting away into wisps of ash. Each sigh was rapturous, wanton moans inhabiting the space between bodies, a feverish warmth crawling over your spine.

“Bob,” Stifling a whine, you kiss his face, mouth snaking over his jaw as he begins to touch you. His ministrations are slow to start, sheepish, trying to find his footing with the act itself. “Keep going.”

The sound of his name rolling from your tongue with such ardor makes his heart catch fire, a low groan stirring when you plant kisses below his jaw. Nimble digits find the apex of your thighs, gliding through your folds as he touches you.

The sensation clouds your vision with a haze, drowning in desire as his fingers idly stroke along your cunt, rhythm somewhat erratic. He’s trying to discern where you enjoy it the most, but it’s difficult, especially when you’re kissing his throat.

A low, husky groan fluttered from his mouth, a noise that turned your stomach to molten heat. “G—Good?” The words barely escape between his hand and your mouth, and you nod, forehead drifting to press against his.

Pleasure coils your stomach into knots, letting him touch you, explore as much as he wants. He treats you with such care, visage flushed, chest-to-chest, his heartbeat slow compared to yours.

Scarlet blooms against his features, perspiration building along the nape of his neck, in spite of the friction. Your body continues to urge against his, sending tremors of delight through him, the closeness nothing short of perfection.

Arousal seeps into his bones, visceral and raw as he urged his digits against your cunt, easing them backward in rhythmic strokes. His pace was jumbled, each touch wanton, exploratory.

As his fingers deftly caress your core, you lurch forward when they graze your clit, countenance contorted into an expression of desperation. “There,” You moan, feeling the little spike in his confidence. “Right there, Bob.”

Bob exhales, head jostling in a brief nod, faces flush together, allowing him to steal a kiss from you. He whimpers into your joined lips, coupled with the sensation of your hand caressing his tresses, hips grinding against his.

Listening to your encouragement, his digits seek the spot that made you shudder, and when he finds it fully, you’re sighing his name. It’s beside his ear, hot, fervent; he’s enamored, completely and utterly devoted to you in all senses of the word.

As his fingers carefully circle around your clit, you find it difficult to sit still, squirming atop him, which only furthers the existing friction. Bob steels himself, flushed and exhilarated, gaze wide and doe-like as your eyes momentarily find one another.

You’re everything to him — his world, center of gravity, light in the darkness. There’s a semblance of awe in his eyes, coupled with adoration, a budding desire.

With a soft whine, your hands relocate, back to caressing over his chest, abdomen, ribs; anywhere within reach. Lurching forward, you desperately seek whatever scrap of friction he provides, feeling the coil in your stomach begin to unfurl.

“You — You’re so pretty,” Bob sighs, and it makes your limbs crawl with heat. “Like this.” He’s stumbling over his words, but it doesn’t stop you from soaring, completely enamored with him. He feels strange, saying something like that, but it’s the truth.

“Doing so well, Bob,” You huff, “Don’t stop.” It emerges as a breathless plea, and he reels at the thought of you embracing him like that. The room is shrouded by tangled sighs, groans, whimpering; the temperature feels rather tepid.

Preening beneath your praise, Bob holds you close, delighted to know that he’s been the source of your ecstasy. Lips collide once more, the kiss bruising, devastatingly tender even through the constant flurry of passion.

Consumed by want, by the adoration you feel for him, your hips continue to urge into his hands, chasing after any lick of heat. Bob is more than eager to give it to you, grinding haplessly against the pearl of your cunt.

Close; you can feel it, your body screaming for a release that you haven’t had in what felt like forever. Unbeknownst to you, Bob is there too, pushed to the brink by the constant drag of your hips against his.

The touching doesn’t stop, trembling digits steadying as he circles your clit, rhythm somewhat erratic, but you don’t care. You’re nearly there, each kiss raw, eliciting amorous sounds from the both of you, tangled within one another.

He groans your name and it’s your ruin, toppling over the edge at that sound. Bob sputters, foreheads nestled together, your chest flush to his, fingers drawing circles into his abdomen. Muscles tense, clench beneath your palms, his head canting just slightly.

As his fingers still toy with your cunt even through your orgasm, you reach for his wrist, a gentle reminder for him to slow down. A gentle ‘sorry’ slips from his lips, hand ceasing as he withdraws, caressing your body, instead.

Attempting to catch your breath, you notice his flurry of embarrassment, visibly sheepish as your gaze drops toward his groin. “That was perfect,” You whisper, and he’s crimson. Tracing your fingers over his brow, you make sure he’s alright. “You okay?”

More than okay, he realizes, sticky with an amalgamation of perspiration and his own spent, watching with mild dismay as you crawl off of him. However, it gives him an opportunity to retreat to your bathroom for a few minutes.

When he returns, hunched and flustered, you’re laying in bed, wearing his shirt, no pants; his heart nearly bursts from his chest. Bob basks in the afterglow, crawling into bed with you as he curls inward, his larger frame engulfing you.

“I’m fine,” Bob assures, pressing a kiss behind your ear, arm looped over your middle. He feels you writhe within his grasp, only to turn and face him, smiling as if the world is right again. “Was that alright?” He murmurs, hoping for your approval.

“It was amazing,” Admittedly, you weren’t expecting his enthusiasm, but it all seemed to work in your favor, and his. “I want to touch you too, next time — maybe a little more.” It’s an absentminded remark, but it makes him blush.

“I—I liked that,” Bob sighs, feeling you perch atop his chest, lying beneath you as your fingers caress over his torso. “I liked touching you.” His confession is sickly-sweet, wrought with a tenderness that makes you melt into him.

Loved it, really; his arms cage you in against him, holding you, even if it’s you halfway on top of him. There’s a semblance of contentment he feels, closer to normalcy, closer to himself.

Smiling to yourself, you hear his chest expand with a yawn, rising and falling underneath your head. “You’re good at it.” Praising him with saccharine words, you watch as his visage brightens with mild glee.

He’s less timid; he’s still nervous, but it isn’t as outwardly prevalent. Bob turns just enough to kiss your forehead, nestling against you, his breath pluming over your features. A hush falls between, and he’s content to hold you.

Beneath your palm, his heart hums, the rhythm even, placating. You press a kiss to his collarbone, bare skin still fuming with heat, his warm breath tickling your cheek. “Are you tired?”

With a nod, Bob melts into you, chin tucked atop your head, arms tangled around one another. “Yeah,” He hums, gaze half-lidded. He wishes that he could stay up longer and talk to you, but he’s beginning to feel groggy. “I can stay up, if you need me to.” He offers.

“No, no,” You soothe, peering up just enough to fully glance at him, pressing a kiss against his jaw. “We should get some rest.” Typically, you’re always the one falling asleep first — it was reassuring that it was the other way around this time.

“I can hold you,” Bob murmured, knowing that it was often you holding him; he wanted you to feel just as loved as you made him feel, too. With a smile, you turned over, back snug to his chest, his arms caging in around you. “You’re cold.”

“You’re really warm,” With a cheeky grin, you feel his head nestle within the hollow between your neck and shoulder, perfectly slotted there. Reaching for his hand, you interlace your fingers together, resting together over your abdomen. “Bob?”

His eyes are closed, legs tangled within one another, as if he’s wrapped you up in the heat of his body, all coiled around you. “Mm?” On the cusp of sleep, he’s almost out, so comforted by your presence that it’s lulled him to slumber.

You want to say it — the monumental confession, the three words that change everything; it hangs upon the tip of your tongue, dangling there until you swallow it whole. You’re anxious that it might be too soon, or that it might scare him.

“Goodnight.” You whisper, and your response is a soft kiss, buried into the column of your throat.

1K notes · View notes